thecapitol | [OPEN]

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[OPEN]

Who| Dirk Strider and YOU. Yes, you with the face.
What| Dirk's arrival.
Where| Out in the Capitol, then the roof.
When| After his briefing.
Warnings/Notes| None that I can think of!

Dirk was... angry, to say the absolute, very least. After the trickster debacle, everything had gone to hell. Or rather, it was already hell and had only gotten worse. He had no way of knowing if Jane or Roxy or Jake were alright, thanks to being teleported away.

And then he'd woken up here. Told he had to play some sick and twisted games. It was bullshit. He has no intention of doing what they say- but he's not stupid enough to actually make a move against them right now. They took his weapon, and the only remnants of his godtier are the clothes on his back, which he's currently wearing. So that cuts flying away out of his list of potential ways to get out of this shit.

Right now? He's roaming the capitol, taking it all in and trying to look for some way to leave, even if in his gut he feels like it's pointless to even try. At the same time, he's getting gross deja vu simply from observing the capitol people. It's like reliving trickster mode all over again, with the vibrant colors and the weird sense of fashion. The only thing missing is candy in people's hair. Even their personalities seemed weirdly enthusiastic, though he never stopped to converse with anyone. He would much rather watch from a distance instead of have to talk to any of them.

Eventually when he really starts to feel like there's absolutely no way he's going to find a way back home, he stops at a nearby bench and just kind of... lays down on it. He's done. This is all bullshit, and he's just done with it all. So he's just going to lie there and stare at the sky for a while. His mind is racing though, wondering how the fuck he's going to get out of this shit and get back to his friends.

[OPTION B: Roof of the training center.]

It's hours later when the sun's finally setting and casting an orangey glow over the Capitol that Dirk makes his way back to the training center. He doesn't stop at his room though, and just decides to go up to the roof to watch the sunset. He's feeling frustratingly hollow, as if he's used up every ounce of his ability to give a fuck trying to find a way to get out of the city. Or maybe it's just that he's tired, and it's not really sunk in completely yet.

Either way, he feels simultaneously nothing, and like complete shit. So when he's on the roof, he sits down and stares out at the Capitol, the way the dying sunlight reflects over the buildings. He'd be lying if he said the place wasn't gorgeous. Absolutely so. But it wasn't for him. It was too fancy, too... foreign. He'd rather be back in the Medium than be here.

After a while, he lets out a sigh and runs a shakes his head. "Son of a dick, this is stupid," he murmurs to himself. He's angry- mostly right now, at himself. For all of his intelligence, he should be able to find a way back home. Instead, he's resigned himself to the roof watching a goddamn sunset. It felt too much like giving up. But what else was he supposed to do? It would be suicide to do anything else at this point. All he could really do is... wait, and hope an opportunity presented itself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

At the voice behind him, Dirk whips around and is on his feet as fast as possible- which isn't nearly as fast as he's used to moving. Everything feels sluggish right now, and it's going to take some adjusting to get used to the fact he can't move at the speed of light like he could back home. He takes a defensive position though, as months in the medium have taught him to be on guard, even if he doesn't have a weapon.

He looks the boy up and down critically, taking in everything he can about him. "I said, and I quote, "Son of a dick, this is stupid." Dirk says after a moment, relaxing slightly when he feels like he's not about to get attacked. "Who're you?"

Eridan can't say he's that thrown by Dirk's reaction - he's known lots of kids who were skittish as hell. He can be pretty jumpy himself...It's just how kids tend to be, when they know that one day they can be chosen to fight to the death to maybe make their lives easier for one year.

Though now they don't have to worry about that.

"Interestin' phrase." Eridan scoots forward, nudging at the ground before sitting down heavily. "Name's Eridan. I'm one a' the mentors here."

Dirk just kind of watches as he sits down. When it becomes clear that Eridan isn't going to attack, he relaxes fully, though he doesn't sit back down himself. Not yet. He can't help but quirk an eyebrow though, at the last bit. "A mentor?" he asks, his tone skeptical, and for a variety of reasons. For one, why the fuck does this place need mentors? And two... "Aren't you too young to be a mentor? You look fifteen."

"I'm sixteen," he grumbles as he pulls out a ball of yarn. Get a talent, they said. Something to show the Capitol what you can do without slaving away, they said. Something that reminds you of your arena, they said.

He pulls out a set of knitting needles as well, not bothering to look back up at the blond. "An' age ain't a requirement for that shit. Didn't they tell you anythin'?"

You look like a raging idiot, Dirk says. Like wow, a total grandma, he says. Dirk folds his arms and continues on with the skeptical air. "They told me I was gonna play death games or whatever. They didn't say any mentors were going to be involved. Unless I tuned that part out. It's pretty fuckin' possible that I did." He listened, he just kind of didn't take everything that was said to heart, considering he was too focused on trying to figure out how he would get out. "Care to tell me more, granny?"

Ugh. He can't believe this. Eridan rubs his temple, sighing heavily. His life is hard. "A mentor is a previous victor a' the Games. They lived, while the twenty-three other bastards all died. They then get roped into helpin' the next kids who're reaped." He casts on some yarn, getting to work on another scarf as he talks. "They talk to sponsors an' offer advice an' all a' that shit."

Your life is never going to be as hard as Dirk's. He was taken from a very important point in his life. That's hard. But still, he listens as Eridan speaks, because now that he knows Eridan has been a part of these games, suddenly the guy is a lot more interesting. At least this means he can learn a thing or two before he's got to do anything. "That sounds like a goddamn depressing job," he says after a moment of thought. "I mean, if I'm getting this all right, doesn't it mean you just end up watching people you get close to die?"

His life is so much suffering, though. Eridan shrugs dismissively, focusing on his knitting. "Usually, I guess? But you know they're gonna die unless you're from a career district, an' than it's like anythin' you tell them doesn't matter because they probably already know it. An' normally the tributes aren't around long before they go into the arena. Maybe a week or so I saw my mentor?" He finally glances up at Dirk for a moment, squinting at him. "But when I was in the Games, death was permanent."

This place is so fucking morbid, Christ. He doesn't understand how a government like this even functions. It seems more defunct than the Batterwitch's regime. Everyone eventually died out then and yet this place is apparently thriving when it's fucked up beyond belief? It makes no sense. "Huh," he is all he says for a moment, just kind of taking it all in. It's really the last part pings him though, more than anything else. "What, are you saying death ain't permanent now?"

Tell him about it. It's only been this way for decades. He scoffs, lowering his knitting so he can stare at Dirk. "I mean when you die in the arena, it ain't over. The Capitol brings you back so you can do it again an' again."

He's beginning to feel like coming to the roof was a horrible idea. "But when I was in the Games, if you died you died for good. They didn't bring 'em back. It woulda defeated the purpose."

Just when he thought it couldn't get anymore fucked up, Eridan goes and says that. Ah, what a predicament he's found himself in. So if he dies, then that means he's going to just get brought back again so he can play the games again. Wonderful.

"This is bullshit." He says it in a casual sort of tone, but there's also a hardness to it. Like he's completely done with this. "What if you refuse to play, what the hell do they do then?"

Welcome to Panem, Dirk. Enjoy your stay.

"How would I know? I didn't go through the same shit you're goin' to go through. I had a reason to fight, but I imagine they'll find somethin' to make you." The Capitol had ways, after all. He sounds pretty Done, too, like he's just tired of having to explain all of this.

Which, he is. Nobody is happy about being in the Games, but nobody really understands why they were started in the first place, either.

Yes, he will enjoy it very much. Except no.

Dirk can tell that Eridan sounds just as Done as he does, and he has to wonder if it's because he's sick of this shit, or if it's something else. But he's not just going to stop asking questions. He's found someone to answer shit, and he's going to soak up the only resource he actually has.

"What reason is good enough to kill innocent people, though?" his voice is a little less edgy than before, as if he's legitimately curious. Killing skeleton monsters and Derse agents is a lot different than killing actual people.

Too bad.

Eridan doesn't have enough patience to get sucked dry. He really doesn't. Plus everyone he's explained shit to just hasn't understood anything, and he's tired of it.

"A long time ago there was a war," Eridan starts, sounding every bit like someone who's repeated this over and over. "Thirteen districts rose up against the Capitol to fight for freedom. They lost. District 13 was completely wiped out durin' the war, an' the Capitol decided that they needed a way to keep the districts in line, to keep 'em subjugated - so they started the Hunger Games to do just that, an' every year for seventy-four years they would go on as the Capitol had planned."

Ah what a good info dump. Dirk just listens and takes it all in, as if eating it out of a spoon. He wasn't expecting a history lesson, but hey, he'll take what he can get. It... still doesn't make much sense to him though. This seems like a damn extreme punishment for a war. Usually wars are started for a reason. He can only imagine why they must've needed a war back then.

"That's nice and all," he says after a few seconds, "But it doesn't answer my question, regardless of how interesting it is. I asked why you fought. Why you apparently had such a good reason to kill people. Or are you just sayin' you believe everybody deserves this for the war?"

For the same reasons they need one now, pretty much.

Eridan blinks up at him, pushing his glasses up. "Because I got Reaped. Every year, when it's time for the Games, an escort from the Capitol comes an' picks the tributes at random. A boy an' a girl, an' it could be anyone in the district. Some districts get people who volunteer, but that's normally just one an' two, an' one a' their tributes normally wins anyways."

Sheesh, does he have to tell you everything?

"So I fought because I had no choice."

"Oh, is that all?" he asks when Eridan is done, feeling as if that little explanation was a bit anticlimactic. "The way you phrased it earlier made it sound like you had some big, special reason for fighting." Dirk shakes his head, "But you're no different than me and the rest of the people brought here from wherever-the-fuckville. We're being made to fuckin' fight just like you were."

"Yep." He snorts, tapping his needles together. "It was just luck a' the draw an' the desire to stay alive that had me fightin' and killin', just like how it is for you." He slowly returns to working on his scarf, dropping his gaze. "But like I said, you get to come back. The people who died in my games didn't."

Dirk guesses that's... sort of a comfort, in a weird, fucked up sort of way? He would honestly rather not die permanently, but at the same time, god that's just sick. Bringing people back time and time again just so they can kill or be killed. "Well... That sucks for you." It's about as close to sympathetic as he can bring himself to be right now.

"If I'm gonna do this, though, I don't have any intention of dying." And yet with those bold words, he realizes that with them comes the fact he has to inevitably kill people in order to survive. It's... quite a bit to take in, and he has to sit down. So he just kind of steps a bit closer, though not enough so as to look like he's sitting with Eridan, and sits down cross-legged on the ground.

"Sucks? Is that really what you're goin' to say about my way of life?" Eridan shakes his head, eyeing Dirk as he sits down. He's a strange tribute, but at least he doesn't look as strange as some of the other ones. It's all a bit unsettling, to see all of this different species around, so seeing a human - and a human close to his own age - is...nice.

"Well, good luck with that. I really don't think you'll be able to win on your first go," he mutters. "You've got a lot a' competition, kid."

He would've been able to forgive the lack of faith- after all, why should Eridan have any in him when he hasn't proven himself- but with the 'kid' remark, that quickly goes down the toilet. Anger flashes in his eyes briefly and he tenses up, before taking in a deep breath and deciding it ain't worth getting upset over, no matter how condescending it might've been.

"Kid," in a scoff, and Dirk shakes his head. "We're the same age, jackass. And don't pull the 'I've seen things you wouldn't believe', because guess the fuck what? So've I. You and me ain't so different." He's still annoyed, but he takes pride in knowing that he's really not a kid. Especially not to Eridan.

"I have nothin' to prove to you, by the way." But he's saying he's gonna fucking win despite that.

"We might be the same age, but that doesn't really mean shit." Eridan doesn't really care about what Dirk says, giving him a blank look out of the corner of his eyes as he starts knitting again.

"I don't doubt that whatever you've been up to where you come from is some weird shit, but where you came from doesn't matter. You gotta play by the Capitol's rules now." Unless you want to become a martyr, or get erased in some way. Eridan admittedly hasn't been able to find as much as he wants to, but he knows that the Capitol isn't above playing dirty, if the Games weren't enough of an indication.

"You don't, an' I don't know if you can prove anythin' to me anyways." Because he really doubts Dirk's abilities.

"Just because I have to play by their rules doesn't mean I'm going to just fuckin' lose," he says with an annoyed edge to his voice. As much as he doesn't feel like he has anything to prove, he still doesn't like being doubted, nor condescended to by someone his own damn age who thinks he's better than him.

"But whatever," he adds. "You just keep knitting whatever the fuck it is you're knitting and I'll just go off and fight like a real man." Because obviously winning has made Eridan go soft if all he cares about is knitting. And maybe he just wanted to throw a little cathartic jab in there.

"Isn't ignorin' the rules a disqualification?" Eridan can't say that such a thing even counts in something like the Hunger Games, but he's heard stories of people who tried to do things differently and who had to deal with horrible things in the Arena.

He's not impressed with the jab, either, rolling his eyes. "I'm supposed to be knittin'. It's my talent. The Capitol likes it when the victors pick up a hobby to show off. Like, hey, they're life is so fuckin' good now they can afford to waste all a' their time."

"I can think of worse things than getting disqualified." It would be an easy out. It beats actually having to kill people. It's less shameful than goddamn dying. Maybe getting disqualified wouldn't be so damn bad when you really get down to it.

Dirk lets out a snort. He's actually amused right now, and the sound is pretty damn condescending. "So out of everything," he says, the amusement and condescension clear in his voice, "You chose knitting. Oh man, you're so fuckin' scary. That goes good on a resume. Arena champion and professional knitter."

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