[open]

[biomechatronic]

Who: Dennett Norton and OPEN
What: Unhappy nerd exploring the Capitol after his first inauspicious Arena death
Where: Mostly District 1
When: Nowish
Warnings: none I can think of.

Dennett had thought that the last week back home had been the worst week of his life: he'd testified before Congress, and had gone from a private citizen to the target of a firestorm of controversy. Controversy he fully deserved. He'd told himself, when it happened, 'nine days' wonder'--that they would move on to something else, some new scandal, some new controversy. It hadn't been nine days so he didn't know if that was true. Instead he'd woken up here, thrown into some gladiatorial death match...thing. And now here, in a place that looks like it should be hosting a chess competition. Or an old tuberculosis sanatorium. It was so far removed from the brutality of the Arena that it hurt his head to try to think about it.

1

The boardwalk shops cast garish light through the gathering evening, filled with trinkets like souvenirs, everything but shells with googly eyes glued to them. Who would want souvenirs of this place? And did that mean he could go somewhere else, like home?

He was pondering that latter as he turned off the boardwalk, up the road that led to the hotel(?) where he was staying, when a snowball smacked into the back of his head, followed by fast footsteps pounding into the shadows. And Dennett is not going to take this anymore: he runs--as fast as his middle-aged softness will let him--following the sound. "Come back here!"

2

He's never been a fan of rumors, but after meeting Clara--painfully--he'd kept his ears open. Alex was here. That was beyond doubt. Which was bad enough, but the other rumors were even worse. And he didn't want confirmation but, well, he'd run away before. And he owed Alex, whether Alex knew it or not.

He talks to anyone who makes eye contact, and even a few who assiduously try not to. This is important: comfort zone be damned.

"Yes. Please. Alex Murphy. He's...quite tall. Have you heard anything, please? Where I could find him?" He just hopes Alex doesn't slap him, too, when he finds him.

3

He's at the training area, but he's not training. This isn't him. He can't do this. He doesn't even know what half this stuff is for! But still, they seem to expect him to 'train', and he doesn't need psychic powers to deduce they were disappointed with his 'performance'. So he's here, but he's watching, instead, looking about as lost and uncomfortable as you could imagine.  "I..there has to be another way.".

Comments

3!

[aintyourdad]

Joel, for all the time he spends in the training center, rarely does much actual training himself. Once in a while he'll show someone a trick or two, but mostly he just hangs around and watches others.

He's gotten used to being one of the oldest people in most situations - it doesn't bother him. Where he comes from, anyone who lives as long as he has is, by definition, a badass. It's not ego, it's just a fact - only the toughest survive.

So if anything, Joel is a little surprised to see someone who looks his age or older in the training center. He knows most of the older tributes, at least by sight. Sigma, for instance. This is a new face, though, a very nervous face. Not the face of a man who's seen a lot of hardship, in Joel's opinion.

"In the arena, you kill or you die," he points out in response to the other man's statement, with his usual Texas drawl. "Or at least you learn how to hide really damn well."

:D

[biomechatronic]

Dennett has seen his share of things, at least things nicely spread in a surgical suite. Things that involved knitting needles to the eye? Not so often, though.

And he's already done the 'die' part. Not particularly eager to do that again, but killing...? "I think hiding is my best option." He is no badass; he's not even going to embarrass himself pretending. "I can't imagine it's very entertaining to watch an old man like me out there." If it's all supposed to be 'entertaining' in the first place.

And he'd thought American reality TV was bad....

[aintyourdad]

"Considering how many of us they keep tossin' in there?" Joel shrugs. "Somebody obviously finds it pretty damn funny.

"At least you should make sure you've got some survival skills under your belt - know how to start a fire without matches, build a shelter, that kinda thing."

[biomechatronic]

"I guess I don't see the humor." There's a reflexive swipe of his palm over his eyesocket, where he'd been stabbed. It didn't hurt, physically, anymore but he could still feel it.

"That's...not really where my strengths lie." A sheepish grin. "Do they have a beginner course?"

[aintyourdad]

"This is the beginner course," Joel says, pointing at the survival skills stations. "Take your pick. If you're lucky, you've got a good mentor who can help you out. Make a friend or two, if not."

[biomechatronic]

He looks over nervously at the stations, like he expects them to bite him. He hadn't expected the nice lady with knitting needles to hurt him and boy, he'd been wrong. "I don't...I'm used to being the mentor."

What he wouldn't give to see Kim right now. N-not that he wished her here.

"Can I ask--how long did it take you to, um, adjust?"

[aintyourdad]

Joel gives the other man a long, long look. In his time here, he's come to understand that most of the other tributes tend to come from better worlds than his. More comfortable positions. For most of them, it's the arenas that are difficult to adjust to.

"Where I come from, when you die, you don't come back," he finally says. "So I adjusted quick, a long time ago."

[biomechatronic]

For some reason, that comment hurt more than it probably was supposed to. Maybe it was his own, slightly ignominious death, and maybe it was what he did back in Detroit.

"Is there a limit, to that, I mean, here? How many times they'll bring us, erm, back?" If so, he's used up one and suddenly that's less of a miracle than worrisome. "I'm just--I've devoted my whole life to healing. Not killing. I'm not sure I can 'adjust'."

[aintyourdad]

Joel sighs, almost feeling sorry for the guy. As much as he can feel sorry for anyone anymore, at least. "If there is, they would never tell us," he points out frankly. "This is the tenth arena since they started bringin' in people from other worlds. There aren't many left who remember the first one, though, far as I know. Wyatt, maybe, he's been here a damn long time. And there's some that make it a point not to kill, I think. On principle, or whatever. But keep in mind, they'll only keep you alive as long as they find you entertaining."

[biomechatronic]

If Dennett could weaponize his ability to make people feel kind of sorry for him, he'd be in business here.

"I don't...I have no idea how to be entertaining. Or if I want to be." Seriously, is he entertaining? No. "But others here don't kill? How do they manage?" Because maybe he could figure something out that way.

[aintyourdad]

Joel just shrugs again. "Most of us don't know how. That's what the arenas are for, though - they do awful things to us for entertainment. And the ones who don't kill - I think mostly they just die a lot, but sometimes they get lucky. Enjolras - some stuck-up, pompous French kid drowning in ideals won a couple of arenas ago, but even he's started talkin' about how it's morally okay to kill in self-defense."

[biomechatronic]

"Oh. I...don't really enjoy that experience." So, Dennett, it's apparently die or kill. Harder a choice than it might look. Well, maybe not so hard, considering Dennett's a soft, old man who looks like he'd have problems hurting someone's feelings, much less anything else.

"A-and what do you think? You kill in these Arenas? Doesn't it...bother you?"

[aintyourdad]

"Yeah, well, we all have to do shit we don't like. There's only one winner in every arena. The rest of us die. Every time. Best you can hope for, most of the time, is that it's quick and painless."

Joel looks at the other man again, something hard and empty in his eyes. "I've been killin' to stay alive for twenty years. If it bothered me, I would've been dead a long time ago."

2

[yourmove]

When the door opens, Alex stares blankly Dennett Norton like he's never met him before. The bonus is he doesn't slap him point-blank range like his wife: with Alex's strength, decapitating the doctor would've been a real possibility. The conversation wuld've been over before it started.

He stands there towering over Dennett, trying to work out if he's supposed to know him or this is another one of those Capitol peoplle trying to figure out what paint stytle they can stick on his chassis. Rig. Prosthetic. Alex isn't entirely sure which one it is and he's not entirely sure he wants to know, either. Anyway, this old guy looks reassuringly plain compared to District 5's Escort and the Stylist team, Alex a little bit more inclined to trust his opinion at this point.

"Yeah?" Alex doesn't let him in just yet. "Please don't tell me you're here to color coordinate this damn thing."

He gestures at his suit.

[biomechatronic]

Believe him, Dennett had been thinking of Alex's strength and the possibilities of a slap. It was why he fully intended to stay out of range.

'Damn thing'? Damn thing? Excuse him for huffing for a second, because he designed most of that suit, Alex. And he finds the silver and black to be rather, well, aesthetically appealing. Far better than the black Sellars had insisted on. "What's wrong with it?" He means at first, the color, but then, also, the suit itself. "I mean, it's functional, yes?" Clara had spoken about seizures. Who knew what that meant?

[yourmove]

Yeah, this must be the tech guy. He looks so normal Alex feels his guard starting to relax despite himself: he's not sure if its the gray hair that hasn't been dyed blue and hit with sparkles or it's the slightly lop-sided glasses.

"Yeah, I guess it's functional," Alex says with a little frown, shooting the old guy a look. How would he know? All he has to go on are the stupid messages that keep popping up in front of his eyes like floaters. "Come in. I'm Alex."

He steps to the side, figuring he should hold out his hand and get this over with. Clara said he couldn't get out of the rig but he's hoping this man can tell him differently. Or at least tell him how much he had left of his body, if he lost an - an arm or something.

"So where do we start? Like, the...maintenance," Alex pauses on the word.

[biomechatronic]

"The tech guy?" Excuse his parroting. It's a bit of a blow to his ego--on top of the other blows to his ego, his self-concept, his eye. "I suppose you could say that." He designed it, installed it, did all the biomech hookups. Tech guy? Reductive, but accurate.

"I know. Alex. It's me, Dr Norton." You know, Dr Norton. Your old...uh...pal you tried to strangle on first meeting. But he's using his patient bedside manner voice, hiding the confusion and alarm. "We can, well, I'd need to take a look first. What's wrong?"

[yourmove]

Alex looks right at him and there's no flicker of recognition. He wonders briefly if he's supposed to know him but, wracking his memory between waking up in the suit, the Capitol's idea of a doctor looking at him, and walking out to the car that night, he's got nothing.

At least he can focus on the "what's wrong"?

"I keep...uh, I keep seeing things here," Alex points at his eyes. "Like error messages and whatever. Can you get rid of them? It's distracting."

And then get him out of this rig but he'll start with this first.

[biomechatronic]

The blank look tells Dennett something, but not enough. Alex should--shouldn't he?--still have the entire Detroit police database in his head. And while Dennett wasn't exactly a criminal, he did have records Alex should access: his driver's license, if nothing else.

But that train of thought gets derailed by 'error messages'. "What did they do to my--I mean, what kind of error messages. Do have codes?" He can try to remember--there was a reason he wrote a manual, after all. "I could, well, with the right tools."

[yourmove]

"Uh," Alex pauses to wrack his brain, trying to remember what was popping up in the arena. "Stuff like Targeting Offline and Thermal errors."

Alex would be horrified if he found out there was a damn manual to him now.

He does that rapid, involuntary blinking motion ike he's got dust flying in his eyes: a marker labeled [ DIAGNOSTIC REQUIRED ] pops up, right on cue, Alex fixing Dr. Norton with a quietly pleading look.

"Please tell me you can turn it off. Where do you get the tools?" And when he means "turn it off", Alex really means all of it.

[biomechatronic]

"Thermal?" He steps forward, in spite of manners, reaching to touch Alex's cheek, trying to read his body temperature. "And you, are you feeling feverish? Disoriented in any way? I mean, other than being here." Which, well, was still knocking Dennett for a loop.

Well, most of the manual is in Dennett's head, at least. The important parts.

"I'd have to ask. I mean, I just got here myself. I'm honestly not sure they'd let me have them." Then again, what better way to arm a surgeon than hand him a scalpel?

[yourmove]

Alex started to jerk his head back before he remembered Dr. Norton was on his side. "No, I feel okay. It's just driving me real crazy to see that crap all the time is what I'm saying."

He let the man do his job, touching his cheek, holding still. The man had the long spidery fingers he's seen on people like surgeons and pianists, and none of the scars or knobby knuckles of the cops with broken fingers he's seen back home.

"So are you a Tribute or they pull you in for cyborg duty?" Alex has to know.

[biomechatronic]

"It's meant to get your attention, yes." The idea being, of course, Alex would come back to base for a diagnostic.

Alex's face feels fine, the skin not waxy or showing signs of rejection or missing the chemical protocols. He ponders for a long moment, trying to figure out what he could do with what he had...which wasn't much.

"I'm a...Tribute, I guess. Though not much of one." He peers up at Alex's face. "What's the, uh, the last thing you remember before here?" It was the same question Clara had asked him. Maybe it was a key.

[yourmove]

He's...a Tribute. Alex has trouble processing that because when he looks at Dr. Norton, he just sees an old man who seems like he should be collecting retirement or something, not running after people half his age trying to kill them. Actually, Alex has the feeling Norton probably does more running (and hiding) than actual killing.

"Checking out my car back in Detroit. Then waking up here." Weird, Clara had asked that question too - seems to be a popular topic. "What's that got to do with anything? You're serious about the Tribute thing?"

Alex seems to be temporarily hung up on that thing, cyborg and memory issues aside. He really, really can't picture this guy in the Arena no matter how hard he tries.

[biomechatronic]

Dennett has several years left before retirement, thank you very much. But his career field has different standards than Alex's, before and after the accident.

"Not a very good Tribute, apparently," Dennett said, distracted, studying Alex's armor for signs of damage. "I got stabbed in the eye." By a woman. And a knitting needle. But only one embarrassing revelation at a time.

"It's just that," right, and maybe he could talk about his embarrassing Arena death again? "We met. In China. I made you. Well, this." And maybe Dennett should consider stepping back out of range. Maybe. Because their last intro had gone so not well, too.