thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who| The Psiioniic and YOU
What| The Psiioniic has noticed an influx of new faces. He wants to know why.
Where| Tribute tower common area and the training center
When| Before the crowning.
Warnings/Notes| There's nothing too extreme atm, will add warnings if anything crops up!

Common Area

There are new people. He's seen them, just a handful, not enough to be really noticeable, but they've all just appeared around the same time, and...some familiar faces seem to have left. Maybe it came from sweeps of catering to the whims of highbloods, or sweeps spent evading capture, or the thousands of sweeps spent overseeing the day-to-day functions of Battleship Condescension, but the Psiioniic was observant. He might not be the friendliest, most open troll, but he watched and observed and he knew that there were people who were gone, and people who were new.

And he wasn't sure why. Did the people who left die for good, or had they been sent home? Was it because they weren't entertaining anymore? He imagined that the new people were simply replacements, and while a part of him wondered what they had done to deserve being brought here, he didn't care much for the reasoning of the Capitol, if there was any. Highbloods were highbloods no matter the species, and they couldn't be expected to be logical or reasonable.

Still, he wanted to know why people were chose to be brought here, and he figured now was as good a time as any to find out. He feels better than he has in a while, which might explain why he's approaching people, lisping at them and asking what they did to deserve coming here.

Training Center

He's determined not to die so quickly this time, and he takes a break from his interrogations to make his way down, down, down to the training center. He's still weak - he'll never not be weak - but he's slowly regaining muscle mass. He's determined to live. There's someone he care for, and he's going to do his best to stay with him. To not leave him alone while he wastes away in the Capitol feeling sorry for himself.

So he picks up some throwing knives, and he approaches the target. His aim is...well, it's pretty impeccable, but there's not much force to his throws, and the knife end up clattering to the ground right in front of the target. He sighs, bending down to grab another knife. He's going to try again, and again, because he needs some form of offense with his psionics gone. He'll stay there for hours, and if he doesn't get interrupted soon he's going to work himself to death.

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He flushes as soon as Kurloz approaches him - he won't deny it. He's embarrassed. He's not sure why, but he is. Maybe it's because he's doing so poorly, or maybe because it's embarrassed because Kurloz is so...strong. He's everything the he isn't, and sometimes he wonders what he can even do for the indigo.

He frowns - pouts, really - and looks at the dagger sticking out of the target, before turning to Kurloz and huffing. "I wath trying to do that."

He looks down, down, and he notices his hand. He reaches forward, hesistant to touch. "What...what did you do?"

"Meulin," He says. The name is a numb buzz on his tongue. "THE DISCIPLE, SHE SAID AT HER TITLE TO BE. Said she knew you." It's the ache in his knuckles. "I DIDN'T CULL HER. Didn't motherfucking touch a hair, all let her be as the fuck she is." He takes a deep breath, focuses on Mituna's touch on his hand. "SHE SAID AT SHE WISHES TO GIVE WHAT WAS OWED. To you. MAKE ALL THE FUCK UP OF WHAT SHE CAN... For what was done." He keeps his eyes closed and tries to pretend he isn't as angry as he is, that his eyes haven't gone that extra bit more orange as they tend to do.

"I BROKE THE ELEVATOR WALL."

He tenses, mouth pursed and brows furrowed. He debates not telling him - but he can't keep a secret from Kurloz. He has to share with him. "Thhe came here. I...already thpoke with her."

He swallows, lifting his hand and frowning on the cuts. Then he splutters, staring up at Kurloz. "Broke? What- why? Why would you hurt yourthelf like that?"

"Figured at if she was an ally to thee as all was said, a brother wouldn't want for her culling. SO MOTHERFUCKING UNCULLED SHE WAS LEFT AT TO BE," He says, as if that's an entirely logical explanation, especially leaving out the 'I was too angry not to break something and I couldn't break her'. He looks at him now, even with his eyes blazing as they are. "It will heal. AIN'T BROKE, JUST BRUISING. Done worse." He opens and closes the hand to prove it still could.

He doesn't think about it. He never has. He did what he had to do, for whatever reason he had to do it, whether he needed color to paint, to honor messiahs, to pay for sins commited. To do something with the rage he had when there was no other thing that could be done. It just made sense, there wasn't anything to be thought on it.

"DID SHE SAY WHAT ALL SHE PROMISED? Without harm to he?"

He frowns still, ducking his head down so he could avoid looking into his face. He pretends to be inspecting the cuts and bruises even closer, and when he flexes his hand he gives it a soft squeeze.

"Thhe thaid that thhe talked to you, and that...thhe wath thorry and wanted to know how thhe could repay me."

Shrugging, he wipes at the dry blood on the Initiate's hand, licking his thumb and rubbing it off. "I told her nothing could equal what thhe left me to."

He nods, silent, squeezing back when Mituna does. She hadn't lied. Good then. Perhaps she had learned something. Perhaps she had some small shred of honor to her corpse, a bit of dust where there should be something tangible, but given as she should give every scrape of it.

His eyes squeeze shut and his head bows. The hand not held, clenches into a fist. "IF A MOTHERFUCKER HAD KNOWN... I couldn't have and up and known. I WOULD'VE HAD YOU SPARED, WOULD'VE GAVE PARDON. I would've found you before." He unclenches his fist and raises the hand to touch his moirails face. "YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN HERS OR THEIRS. You should've been mine."

The indigo-grey of his eyes darts down to the knives, away from Mituna's face, and then over at the target. "HAVE YOU BEEN TRAINING MUCH?"

He presses a kiss to the hand he holds, unconsciously leaning into Kurloz's touch. He stands there for a moment, quiet and just watching him, and then he smiles small and sad. "You thhouldn't think of thingth like that. I'm here now, and that ith thweepth and thweepth behind for me. I don't hate you for what you did."

And it's true. He doesn't. Any hatred he had for the Grand Highblood had faded away centuries ago, and was replaced with an odd sort of understanding. The Grand Highblood did what he had to do. What was expected of him. What was right.

He nods, nuzzling against the hand on his face. "I've been doing my betht."

"A rare motherfucking troll you all up and are, Mituna," He whispers. There's an honesty and even awe to it. He doesn't really understand. He can't imagine he'd ever be able to forgive something like that to him. No. He knows he couldn't. He remembers some nights of being entirely unable to contain his rage at creature over being left for a couple of sweeps never mind a thousand. Whether it was right or not surely there could've been a different way to punish. One not so long and drawn out as that. Something.

"WOULD YOU LIKE A BROTHER TO TEACH YOU? You know me to be skilled. I CAN SHOW YOU WHAT ALL EVER YOU LIKE," He says, thumbing the face in his hand and making no move to pull away. He looks Mituna over. Small, skinny, mostly bones more than anything else. He gives Mituna's upper arm a light squeeze but the boniness of him still hasn't ceased to be a thing. He frowns. "You ain't got the muscle build as you are." Or highblood strength to back that up, but that went without saying. "PERHAPS A BROTHER IS SUITED FOR THINGS IN RELATION TO A QUICK CULL? Ain't necessarily strength what wins a strife. SEEN OTHER HIGHBLOODS FALL TO A LOWER FOR ONE REASON OR OTHER. He mentioned before indeed having culled. YOU GOT AT A TECHNIQUE WHAT ALL TO USE?"

"I'm jutht an old man who'th learned how to deal with thingth." An old, sad man who's not so sad anymore. This moirallegience with Kurloz - the future Grand Highblood, isn't something he ever continued, but it's something that just feels right. Like this was meant for him, and it's perfect.

"Teach me?" He tilts his head, squinting up at him. "The only thort of technique I had wath my pthionicth, but I don't...have them now, tho I need to do thingth the methy way. Tho...I think having lethonth are in order."

He barks a laugh, "The messy way? IS THAT ALL TO BE WHAT YOU UP AND CALL IT?" Well, he supposes it is true. But he preferred to think of it as the fun way.

"He can do that then," He says. He reaches down for another knife and folds it into Mituna's fingers. Then, he moves behind him placing his hands over Mituna's and shifting him this way and that. "SEE THIS? What all a brother is trying at to do is throw with this bit here." He hovers his hand over the spot then starts to shift him again. "WHAT ALL A MOTHERFUCKER WANTS FOR IS THE USING OF THIS BIT HERE." Another hovering of his hand. "You ain't all to be throwing with what muscle ain't being there. TAKE CARE ALL THE SAME NOT TO THROW IT OUT."

He steps back from Mituna and picks up a knife for himself, slowly positions himself then same so Mituna can see, then throws the dagger. He straightens.

"You got a balance all to you already. AND PERCEPTION. Already both he up and has. THINK AT A MOTHERFUCKER COULD JUGGLE SUCCESFULLIKE IF HE TRIED. It is only to be a force what you lack for this. ONLY EVER BEEN HIGHBLOODED MY OWNSELF, CAN'T AMEND AT FOR STRENGTH AFFORDED OF THAT. But he was small once too, unlearned in the strife. TRY FOR NOW."

"Are you thaying that'th not eckthactly what ith ith? Blood getth everywhere when you uthe your handth." It's gross. Besides, do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out?

Though, considering who he's talking to... He has to repress a shudder, because he's almost two hundred percent certain that if they weren't in a place obsessed with appearances Kurloz would never have clean clothes to wear for the simple fact that he doesn't give a fuck about cleanliness. And that's just gross.

He listens quietly, letting himself get moved this way and that and he thinks he understands what his moirail is saying. There's a technique here he needs to learn, and if he's at a huge disadvantage...

The Psiioniic squares his shoulders, grip tightening on the knife given to him by Kurloz or just a moment before he throws it at the target. It still clatters to the floor, but he believes that he might be making some improvement.

He only laughs more. Sometimes he wonders if this motherfucker is even a troll. "Mituna please. THAT'S THE BEST MOTHERFUCKING PART! You get to feel at that all right up in your hands. WHY ALL WOULD YOU EVEN WANT AT TO GET BLOOD MARK OUT?"

He gives a fuck about his paint. The only thing that matters.

He observes Mituna as he throws the knife then gives him a nod. He shows him little adjustments to make here and there. He's not great, but it's certainly better. And there was only so much they could do in a small period of time. He gives another nod for him to try again.

Kurloz. Kurloz, no. Don't say things like that. The look his giving Kurloz right now is one twisted in total disgust, and he shivers as he thinks of being covered in blood. "Becauthe that'th tho groth!"

2o gro22.

He watches with rapt attention, and this time when he throws the nice he manages to flick it just so that it ends up embedding in the target. He brightens visibly, turning to look up at Kurloz for some sort of acknowledgement.

It doesn't stop being funny. It really doesn't. He was just so very much not an indigo.

"It's sign of victory in a cull! IT'S SIGN YOU AIN'T ALL TO BE TOUCHED, THAT YOU ARE OF POWER, BRINGING ABOUT THE SICKEST MIRACLES WHAT ALL IS AMONG OUR OWNSELVES! It's color, brother! IT'S MOTHERFUCKING LIFE GETTING UP ON YOU! And it is goddamn beautiful it all is. NOTHING GROSS ON FOR WANTING TO FEEL LIFE."

The knife embeds and Mituna looks up at him bright, what can he do? What can he do but grin right back?

"Yes! JUST LIKE THAT MY BROTHER! I knew you could," He says with pride. He reaches down for another blade to pass over. "WE GET A MOTHERFUCKER ALL FAMILIAR AT WITH THIS, get all up and held in pan for remembrance all whenever it is to be needed. THEN PRACTICE UP ON A TARGET WHAT ALL MOVES. Motherfuckers won't stand a fucking chance."

He's almost as far from indigo as you can get.

"I think we can agree that you're groth and that'th okay. I'm going to thtay ath clean ath I can."

He's still smiling though, and he takes the next knife with a pleased hum. He feels...warm, pleased and flattered. It's a good feeling. "How long do you think it'll take for me to get that good?"

He would argue that.

Kurloz rolls his eyes. "A LACK OF MOTHERFUCKING APPRECIATION IT ALL IS. Suit yourself. MORE FOR ME," He laughs. He places a hand over Mituna's, the one the holds the blade. He gives a soft squeeze before letting go.

"Can't rightfully say on it for sure," He admits. "LIKE WAS SAID; all a motherfucker lacks is strength and practice. SKILL UP ON AIM AND THE LIKE IS ALREADY ESTABLISHED." He heads on over to the target, pulling the blade out. He turns it over in his hands as he heads back. "It took this motherfucker some part of a sweep to get skilled up on it, but a motherfucker was young, starting from scratch. HE HAS FAITH A BROTHER SHALL BE MUCH QUICKER. If you wish, we could start now."

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