Who| Dave Strider and y'all
What| Dave comes back from the worst canon update ever.
Where| D9, the corridors of the tower, the roof
When| About a week after he died in the Arena, slightly backdated.
Warnings/Notes| Death, existential crisis

The general sound that fills Dave's head when he wakes up is best described as static. Loud, buzzing static that seems to overpower the sound of anything else. He's where he had been when he first came here, where he showed up after every miserable failure in the Arena, but something is different.

He went home.

Then he died.

He's dead. He needs to repeat it in his mind to solidify the concept. He's died over and over, but he went home. And he died. And he doesn't know if there's anything in the universe that can do a reach-around on an official and heroic death when you've abused your consequence free card for so long. The most profoundly difficult concept to comprehend is the fact that he died here, he died there and then he came back here like it was nothing. Like it was a sunny little trip back home to show him just how quickly everything went wrong. For so long he'd been banking on getting home, picking up his sword and facing the shit he'd been running from. He'd been guilty and worried and detached from a life that he'd been so heavily involved in, now it's gone and it's official. His relationship with the Capitol is committed, they just burned down his apartment so he had to move in permanently. Soon they'll be tying the knot and next thing you know he'll be stuck here without an out in sight.

In the back of his mind, he considers Bro. The fact that he's dead back home makes his life here all the more important, every Arena could be the last one and then there would be nothing. Just a black void with which to return to, a void that Dave now belongs to as well. He'd told Punchy that his universe had a way of keeping you around if you were, as he put it, integral to the thing they're doing. Maybe he isn't integral there anymore. There are other time travelers for sure.

He could be integral here, but he's not sure he wants to be.

A. District 9/Dave's Room.
When Dave musters the fucks it takes to pick himself up and drag himself out of the training center, the static in his mind has dulled some. It both does and doesn't feel like he's been away for a little while. His surroundings are familiar and distant all at once. He doesn't spare much time looking around, choosing instead to focus on bowing his head and hitting the increasingly familiar elevator button up to his floor.

He steps in cautiously, checking for familiar faces before crossing through the suite toward his room. If he doesn't get sidetracked, he'll be quick to drag himself into his room and shut the door. He spares his collective posters and possessions a quick glance before he starts to feel uncomfortable with it all and chooses to faceplant onto the bed. He shouldn't be tired by any means, but he already feels drained enough to bury his face into the pillows and lie inelegantly on the bed like a stretched out starfish.

Company would be great, something distracting would be awesome, but he doesn't want to seek it out.

B. The Corridors.
Eventually the siren song of basic necessities, company and a need to absorb his surroundings once again wins out and Dave picks himself up and leaves his room. He mills around the kitchens but he's slinking out into the corridors pretty fast. To anyone, he looks visibly disorientated and he's distracted enough that shoulder bumping is liable to happen. If he happens to make eye-contact, there's a high chance he'll step back, size you up and speak.

"You there, boy, what day is this?" If they don't say Christmas, he will be severely disappointed. He's all out of whack as far as time goes. It's hard to say how long exactly he's been gone between the long span of clockless Arenas and however long he spent home. He doesn't know how long an express trip to other universes takes the Capitol. It could be hours, it could be weeks. All he knows is that he hates being detached from his sense of time but he's almost anxious about checking a clock or a calender. He'd rather hear it from someone, let it sink in better if he's been gone five hundred years.

C. The Roof.
When in doubt, head for high places. Dave has always been partial to rooftop anything, and this roof in particular holds a few memories. Getting drunk with princesses, having real talk with Tony, making plans with Bro to break into a highly secure prison, reuniting with Karkat. You know. The usual.

It's a chilly day already, but Dave doesn't particularly regret coming up without a hoodie. Something about being cold from his eyebrows to his toe jam makes him feel a little more grounded. He draws his arms over himself and wills himself to step closer to the sides taking in the view of the city slowly starting to light up for the evening and letting it sober him up some. He's here, he's definitely here.

Eventually, he's stepping back to take a gander up at the sky. Upward to the ol' Space Jam that defined his existence for over three years and then back to the city that took it for about a year. It's deep. He's really glad nobody can hear his thoughts, because they sound an awful lot like Micheal Cera or Logan Lerman should be muttering them over the faint sounds of stirring hipster tunes.

Turns out, there is a time for melodramatic thoughts and typically cinematic displays of restlessness. That time is now, right now. Dave is scrubbing at his face and pulling away from the view, turning to take the nearest seat he can so he can invest his attention on his feet.

It's cold. He should have worn long sleeves.