(no subject)

[tis_allgood]

Who| Cuthbert and Open
What| Extremely mature pouting and moping
Where| District 3 Suites, mostly
When| After his death and return to the Capitol
Warnings/Notes| none so far

Cuthbert Allgood is not taking his latest death well. It doesn't help that his fight with Sherlock is making the rounds in the highlight reel, and he's taking it harder than he has in the past. He hasn't talked to anyone so far, not even the avoxes who he will carry on half conversations with most of the time.

For someone who spends a lot of his time training normally he hasn't been further out of the District 3 Suites than to ride the elevator down to District 1 and back up. He hasn't even been able to get off the elevator to see someone he really wants to see.

Most people will find him wrapped up under a blanket from his room in the main District 3 eating area watching and (surprisingly) not commenting on their activities. All of this is abnormal behavior for him, not that he would notice or care at this point.

Comments

[retrieverchef]

Eliot definitely notices the difference in his districtmate's behavior. They may not have spent time together and Eliot may not be in the District 3 suite much at all but he's had enough time to recognize Cuthbert's usual manner. He's not the type to get someone to talk about their feelings, though, and that won't solve anything here anyway. So he doesn't say anything until he's finished what he's cooking this time.

He sets a bowl of soup down in front of the other tribute. "Ya want me ta turn the tv off for a bit?"

[tis_allgood]

Cuthbert just shrugs and stares down into his soup. He knows he should eat, he hasn't done much of that either since he got back.

"Won't change the outcomes."

His voice sounds rough, like he's been hoarse or crying too much. He can't meet Eliot's eyes, even as he eats a spoonful of soup.

"Thankee. For the food."

[retrieverchef]

"No." Eliot knows about that all too well by now. "But it'll give ya some time ta focus on somethin' else."

He steps back to the stove and dishes out a bowl for himself. "It's no problem. It's relaxin'."

[tis_allgood]

"You like to cook, then?"

One spoonful is about all Cuthbert can handle at the moment, but he will stir it around a lot and stare into it. It's easier than looking Eliot in the eyes or staring at the TV like had been doing previously. All of this is a good distraction, and even when he's feeling his worst, he can't seem to help but be somewhat sociable.

[sleeplessinalternia]

It takes longer than he really wants it to for Karkat to come down to see Cuthbert--and it's probably just as well that Cuthbert hasn't been able to get off the elevator at District One, because Karkat hasn't really been staying there since he got back. He's sharing Signless' room again and this time it isn't because Karkat's terrified of his suitemates--luckily from him, most of the psychos are gone--but because Signless is currently so fucked in the pan from what the Initiate forced him to do that he hasn't felt right leaving him alone for very long.

But right now Signless is sleeping and Karkat finally has time to see the other person he's been worrying about.

"Hey," Karkat says, sitting down next to Cuthbert. "What's with the torso-covering thermal retention fabric?"

[tis_allgood]

That is a confusing greeting, so Cuthbert just stares at him in return. Even at his best he probably wouldn't have anything good to say about it.

He flips on the television and watches the latest highlight reel. It's nothing too upsetting so far, people he vaguely recognizes. He doesn't want to kick Karkat out again, but he doesn't want to talk to him either. Watching other people die with Karkat next to him is the closest compromise he can get right now.

[sleeplessinalternia]

He meant the blanket, Cuthbert. Honestly.

Karkat sighs. "Look, did I do something to piss you off? I'd have come to see you right away if I could, but Signless was seriously fucked up by what happened and I didn't want him to-- I mean, for all we know if you die out here you stay dead."

[tis_allgood]

He shakes his head at Karkat, he isn't upset at him, he just doesn't know what to do with himself. He shifts deeper into the blanket so it's up to his ears. That way if he does talk it will be too muffled to make sense, which feels better than actually talking at the moment.

"I could test that theory for you."

The TV is showing some of the murder party and Cuthbert just stares at it blankly.

[wiredup]

Eddie has been doing, shockingly, about the same.

He was still feeling weak from his injuries. It might all be mental, given the Capitol's medical skills, but it didn't stop him from feeling it.

It also might have to do with the withdraw, and sudden return of the morphling in his system. his body was not exactly thrilled with him lately. No drugs, death, too much drugs.

So when he flopped down next to Bert, he looked pretty worn out.

"Sorry for being a shitty mentor."

[tis_allgood]

Bert spared a quick glance for whoever was sitting with him. Eddie looked as bad as he felt right then, and that just made him feel worse. No one got out of the arena in good shape, it seemed.

"Sorry for dying pathetically in front of everyone."

That was the crux of what he was upset about. He wasn't exactly a deserving gunslinger when he could be killed so easily. And for the third time. Not to mention that he let down everyone who was betting on him, and his whole district.

[wiredup]

"I'll buy you a drink, you buy me one?"

He offered a pathetic, half assed smile, before nudging Bert. And trying to find some words of comfort. What would he wanna hear?

Well 'The train back to 3 leaves at noon' would be a good start, but it wasn't happening anytime soon. So pointless to day dream about.

"Everyone dies in there. And no death is pretty."

[tis_allgood]

Bert sighed and turned away. He wasn't sure he could explain how he was feeling, so he stares down at his hands instead.

"No death is pretty, aye. But a death can be useful. And mine wasn't, I couldn't even be useful before my death."

He was a waste, and he couldn't shake that feeling. It would have been better for him not to wake up from this death at all.

[alldeduction]

It took him almost two days to wake up, and all he could feel was blades for several seconds before his brain registered he was alive.

He spent the third day huddled in his room, blanket wrapped around him, staring out at the city.

On the fourth day he went looking for Cuthbert.

He wasn't entirely sure why or what he wanted to say. He knew the man was back in the capitol, knew he was still alive, but something compelled him to check. As if he wouldn't be satisfied with Cuthbert's continuous existence until he had seen it for himself.

So he took the elevator for District 3 and walked in with a very false sense of confidence, immediately looking for an avox to lead him to Cuthbert's suite. Once there, he knocked soundly on the door.

[tis_allgood]

He was wrapped up like a Cuthburrito and staring at his window, which he had turned to a scene of a rainy city. It was like he was trying to enhance the sense of macabre. Or just being dramatic.

"Whatever it is, I do not want it right now."

He thought an avox was in checking on him again. He wasn't angry about it, he knew it was their job to make sure he didn't die. But he certainly wasn't in the mood for it at the moment.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock pauses at the voice. Certainly Cuthbert's. He's sure of it. For a moment he considers letting that be enough, and turning around without a word and leaving the man to his thoughts, but he can't. He needs to know. For certain.

"... No, I imagine you don't," He says instead, his low baritone voice a rumble against the door. He knuckles are still braced upon the wood, but he doesn't knock again. "However, I don't plan on leaving until the door opens, so your choice."

[tis_allgood]

He knows that voice all too well and it's not one that's going to get him out of bed any faster.

"If you're so damned clever, figure out how to open it yourself. Or if you'd rather, stand there and fuck yourself. I know which I'd choose."

He curls up more on himself and hopes that Sherlock doesn't actually try to open the door. The avoxes aren't letting him lock it while he's like this.

After she gets back from the arena...

[pythianjudgment]

Terezi isn't exactly feeling her greatest when she finally gets back to her district's floor. Taken out by an explosive isn't the more glorious way to go, but she couldn't care less at the moment. It's all the other stuff that's still digging under her skin.

Stepping off the elevator, she fully intends to head straight to her room, but the scent of a familiar person freezes her up just past the door. She shouldn't bother talking to him, she knows it hasn't gone well in the past few months. He's made it clear how much he despises her now. But maybe there's a small part of her that hopes things are different now.

Either way, she's not going to know where she stands unless she says something. Even if that something is said while warily keeping her tone as neutral as possible. There's no need to give him ammo, if he's still hostile.

"Anything interesting?" she asks, lingering at the doorway and motioning with a nod towards the televised broadcasts.

[tis_allgood]

Cuthbert doesn't look up when he's addressed. He knows Terezi's voice and he doesn't really want to look at her.

"Your death has been replayed if that's what you're asking."

He doesn't sound angry or snarky or any of his usual vocal tones. He just sounds worn out and used when he talks, he's too tired to be angry anymore.

"I did manage to see what you did before you died. With the other trolls."

He's not making any judgement calls on that either.

[pythianjudgment]

Ah, so they were showing it already? She really shouldn't be surprised. What she did, she's pretty sure that's the stuff that those vapid airheads love to watch. Her stomach turns just thinking about it.

"You and all of the Capitol, I'm sure." There's no anger or snark in her tone, either. It's surprisingly similar to Cuthbert's, though she's well aware of the tiredness in his that isn't fully there in hers. She at least remembers feeling close to rock bottom and wanting someone nearby to understand.

"...I didn't think it was very interesting, myself."

[xanthous]

The Psiioniic isn't one to worry about people. It's...not necessarily that caring isn't in his nature, but it's not something he's done for centuries. It's weird to him, and so he's been doing his best to not care. If he's afraid to care, well, he's not going to say anything about it.

But when he sees Cuthbert standing in the elevator, wrapped in a blanket and looking like hell, he knows that he can't just leave the boy alone. Especially not after what Cuthbert has done for him.

"Cuthbert? What are you doing?" He raises an eyebrow, standing in the elevator's door and holding it open as he stares at the human.

[tis_allgood]

"Riding." He tells Psii, as if that wasn't already obvious. He's not too keen on being found, especially not like this.

"I'll go back."

He means to his rooms, and he sounds like he's been reprimanded. But it doesn't matter what it is, he's shrinking away from the troll and back toward the back of the elevator.

[xanthous]

"...Right." Well, this just got a million times fishier. Fishier than the throne room on Battleship Condescension.

He shuffles into the elevator, reaching out to grab onto Cuthbert's blanket. He's not going to let him get away so easily. "You thhould come to my thuite inthtead. I've got thome cool thhit I can thhow you."

Like his tribble. Hell yeah.

[dividedgirlofmine]

"Hey, sugar, you okay? You look like you bought a one-way ticket to the Land o' Counterpane."

And that would be Susannah, who's wheeled herself in front of Cuthbert so he can't actually see anyone on the television.

[tis_allgood]

Here is a voice he's actually begrudgingly grateful to hear. One he actually understands and who might, possibly, understand him as well.

"I've forgotten the face of my father, Susannah."

[dividedgirlofmine]

"Oh honey."

Susannah knows exactly what those words mean, too. She leans forward in her chair to awkwardly hug him. "I'm not your dinh," she says softly, "but I'll listen anyway."