thecapitol | [OPEN]

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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.

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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."

Oh, dear. Dirk, if only you knew. "In the case a' these games? Disqualification is just an easy way to say the Gamemakers are after your head."

It's a miracle Eridan just shrugs his shoulders. Then again, he has the satisfying knowledge that he doesn't have to get thrown into the arena. He doesn't have to fight for his life time after time, and he knows what he went through to have the luxury of not needing to work anymore. "Why not? Can't go wrong with shit to wear. 'Sides, they like it if your talent plays into the arena you went through in some way."

Are you serious? Man this whole goddamn place is nothing but murder, murder, murder. It can't just be a simple disqualification, can it? Of course not. He hates life. "Somehow I'm not surprised. Doesn't change anything, though. I'd love to see 'em get me."

"Why not?" He says, "Because it's fuckin' lame. You could do so much better. I mean really, you could... I dunno, you could... sew." Yeah, that's right. Sewing is so much better. Smuppets, aw yeah. But still, he quirks an eyebrow. "And how the hell does it play into your arena?"

"They already got you." Which Dirk should realize. He's in the Capitol's world. It's not the other way around.

"Sewin'? How is sewin' any better?" Sewing takes so much less skill. "Because my arena was a fuckin' frozen wasteland an' I almost froze to death. A few less fortunate assholes did freeze to death, so why not make shit that's gonna keep you warm?"

"Obviously, but I'm saying now that I'm here, they ain't got much of a chance." In his head, it makes sense. Just because they have him doesn't mean they have him.

Guuurl you did not just insult sewing. "It's just fucking better. I mean look at all the shit you can make- all the shit that doesn't make you look like a grandma when you wear it." He doesn't understand the point of it, though. "From what I've gathered it ain't like you have to go back, so what's the point in tying your talent in with it? It doesn't make sense."

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Well, out of his head it makes absolutely zero sense.

Guuuurl he totally did. "I don't see what grandparents have to do with knittin'." Because they have to work themselves to death just like everybody else! "The Capitol likes knowin' they had an impact on you. That they know you'll never forget what you went through."

"It means what it means." Your face doesn't make any sense, but he's not going to comment on that.

He just gives Eridan the most unimpressed look he can possibly muster. "So what you're telling me is you're just playing right the fuck into their hand." Why the hell would you do what they want you to do? "You've already won the game, why go along with anything they say or want you to do? Why let 'em continue influencing a damn thing?"

"That's a fuckin' cop out answer." He's onto you, Dirk.

You can take your unimpressed look and shove it, because Eridan's already looking unimpressed back. "The Hunger Games ain't really a thing you win. You can survive it, but once you're in you're in for good, unless you want to get on the Capitol's bad side. 'Sides, I got mentorin' to do, so it's not like I can just cut myself off."

Yeah well, it's the answer Eridan is going to have to deal with because he isn't going to say anything more on the matter.

"So what, mentoring is a mandatory thing?" he asks, "What's stopping you from just not doing it. Like, seriously, they can't have that much hold over you after it's all over, can they?" Forgive him for being so damn skeptical, but he just can't see how they have that much control over someone.

He's not going to deal with it in any way, shape, or form.

"Yes an' no. There's usually multiple mentors at a time for a district, barrin' any unforeseen circumstances, but..." He sighs, shaking his head. "But that ain't the point. The point is, yes, the Capitol and the Gamemakers can have that much hold over you. They're givin' you the life you have now, your home in Victor's Row, your money, your protection. An' if they wanted to, they could just send some peacekeepers to your home an' kill you because why not? It's the Capitol, they can do whatever they want to you an' there's nothin' you can do to stop it."

He tuts, shoving his yarn and needles back into his bag and giving Dirk a sour look. "Does that convince you at all?"

Despite his nonchalant demeanor, Dirk is in fact listening to every word he says. It would be stupid not to, considering Eridan obviously knows what he's talking about, even if it's all really stupid to Dirk. When Eridan is finished and he's posed that question, Dirk is quiet for a long moment. Does he want to give Eridan the satisfaction of knowing he's convinced him?

Eh.

"It gives me shit to think about at the very least." He's a stubborn buttface, so of course that's all he's going to say on the matter.

Eridan stands, brushing dirt from the seat of his pants and shooting Dirk a look of disbelief. "Well, I s'pose I can leave you to your thoughts. I don't think you'll need me to hold your hands through thinkin', right? You're a big boy an' can do that much for yourself."

And with that he begins stepping away, swinging his bag in time with his strides.

Dirk doesn't deign a response to that one. He'll let Eridan go, as he stands and makes his way towards the edge of the roof, so he can look back out over the city. He has a lot to think about... It's going to be a long, long night.

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