[OPEN]

[xanthous]

Who| The Psiioniic, the other trolls, and YOU! It might lean heavily towards trolls, but anyone is welcome to join them!
What| Watching the final week of the Games.
Where| The Training Center common area.
When| Final week!
Warnings/Notes| Trolls everywhere. And also mentions of violence, death, and etc in passing.

It's probably not unusual for people to group together and watch the violence unfolding. The Psiioniic certainly doesn't see why it would be strange, and he looks remarkably unimpressed as a recap plays some especially gory scenes. He seems to be prepared for a crowd, with plates of food nicked from the District 2 suites scattered around him. He even prepared a sign for his little shindig:


Of course, most people won't be able to read the sign, and do you even know how long it took him to find a marker even close to the proper shade of yellow? Too long, that's what. But now he's prepared for the final cullwatch, and ready to spend time with members of his species. And people who might be curious as to what the hell he's scrawled on the sign.

(You would think something like "fiinal cullwatch" is pretty self-explanatory, but you could never be sure with aliens.)

Comments

[xanthous]

The staring is getting progressively more nervous, especially as the silence goes on. He's not really sure what is wrong with this guy, obvious pan damage aside, but the smell of decay is getting stronger with each second that crawls by. Maybe humans have more problems similar to trolls then he had automatically assumed.

"It might help you more then you'd think." It's probably for the best he doesn't ask because hey, the Capitol voodoo science didn't extend to understanding the written word.

He squints at R, trying to figure out how someone like him could function in the games. He's slow, physically and mentally, and nothing about him really screams survivor. Maybe he's just here to be cannon fodder or something, the Psiioniic isn't sure.

[shambler]

The problem is getting the words out before his Escort runs him over with her chattering. She's probably insanely patient, compared to the others, but she's clearly never had to babysit a walking corpse before and it shows. It shows a lot. Even R's perfume that he has to wear to cover up his usual smell is starting to wear off, the zombie oblivious.

R teethes away at the advice and decides he likes it. "I'll...t...try it. Thanks."

It takes him awhile to realize he's being squinted at like he's missing something. The troll's face is hard to read with the blue/red eyes, R guessing he's being looked at but he's not entirely sure, either. He didn't drop a body part on the troll's feet, did he? (R tries to be a ninja and check - nope, he's still good. Thank God). R decides maybe he better say something else. Clear the air. Do anything but awkwardly stare back at that red eye and the little fangs peeking out.

"Other...tips? What's...name?" R starts to work in a "please" there, but it gets stuck in his throat; the only thing that comes out is a strangled little grunt like he choked on it. Jesus, really?

[xanthous]

The smell is starting to get overwhelming, but Psii doesn't want to just...leave. He's not sure how the man will react (if it was a highblood they would probably kill him for disrespect), so he stays put through the smell of decay.

"You're welcome. Try not to fuck it up."

That's encouraging, right?

His eyebrows are well on their way to his hairline, and he's not sure what, exactly, R is looking for when he looks at their feet. It's pretty much the most obvious thing ever, and the staring hasn't gotten any less unsettling.

"I haven't been around enough to have any." Sweet mother grub what is that noise. He almost wants to laugh at it. "You can call me the Helmthman."

[shambler]

God, R hopes he doesn't fuck it up either. He's trying not to. Given he's currently a zombie, he guesses "don't fuck it up" wasn't one of those life skills he excelled at.

"Helms...man?" R sounds about as skeptical as the troll looks. "Funk...y name. Job?"

R means that in the nicest way though. First Karis with her "Karis Needleteeth" and now this guy. At least you can't forget a name like "the Helmsman" (is that "the" part of it? Can you drop it or is this troll picky?). R could see himself teething himself down to the gums on that kind of name. With a name like that plus the horns and the eyes, R doesn't think he'll be forgetting the Helmsman anytime soon.

[xanthous]

Dying is a pretty big fuck up, so that advice is pretty null by now.

"You could call it that, I think." You could also call it torture, punishment for crime, slavery, and a whole lot of other things. But he's not going to really get into all of that for R, now.

"And your title ith...?"

That grunting earlier totally couldn't be what he's called. Right?

[shambler]

Wow, okay, so R barely remembered what a helmsman did - boats, right? - but that sounds...qualified. Smart, Living people things. A lot more respectable than rooting around some hobo's small intestines. R wishes he had a title to sling back at the Helmsman, something cool and impressive and so totally awesome it'd knock the troll off his feet.

"Just...Rr. My name," R says, aware of how pitifully short it sounds compared to The Helmsman. He'd been proud of even getting that much up until now.

[xanthous]

More like spaceships, but most of the species here didn't seem to have the same level of space travel that trolls did. It was almost disappointing to him.

"Oh." He...didn't realize that grunting earlier was supposed to be a name. That's. Oops. He scratches the back of his neck, and his cheek take a decidedly yellow tinge. "Well, R, it'th..." Been nice? He is one of the few people he hasn't wound up butting heads with, but...Nice might be be a stretch.

[shambler]

Where R came from, LAX was bombed out and planes were a fading memory. NASA wasn't even the equation. Wherever the trolls came from, they'd probably find R's world pathetic; "disappointing" would be the biggest understatement ever.

The zombie could see Helmsman was searching for what to say as he trailed off. R struggled to think of anything else he could add to push the conversation forward. It's nowhere near this complicated with other zombies: a few grunts and maybe someone's jaw falls off and that's good enough to last weeks. With the Helmsman's crazy eyes and that lisp, R feels pressured to do better than that.

"See...you...around? Nice...meeting..." R pauses, swallows to stall and pick out the word he wants, "...you."

That's how it's supposed to go, right? Right.

[xanthous]

Needing machines to fly would just make the Psiioniic frown at the human race as a whole. Why don't any of them have psychic powers? Sheesh.

He nods awkwardly. Most of his actions are awkward, but he just...doesn't know how to handle people on a good day. This whole conversation is just making this a weird and confusing day.

"Uh, yeah, thure. Nithe meeting you too, R..."

It's not going to be rude if he just...leaves, is it?