(no subject)

[yourmove]

Who| Alex Murphy, Aragorn, Megan Gwynn, Sam Wilson, Oswald Mandus, Buddy Glass, Black Tom post-approval
What| Alex is interviewed by Tributes and Buddy Glass to determine if he'll be a Tribute or graduate to the ranks of the Peacekeepers.
Where| Training Center/Tribute Suite
When| After the Crowning
Warnings/Notes| None so far.

They bring Alex Murphy out of maintenance early when he receives the papers, with "eligible to start the interview process" written at the top in small, flowing cursive. He doesn't celebrate. His team doesn't expect him to - they hug, crack open a bottle of champagne that is cheap enough to be hopeful but not overboard because technically he hasn't become a Peacekeeper. They think he has a good chance. They aren't interested in discussing probabilities, however, so Alex leaves them to it and moves on to meet each of his interviewers.

Wherever he goes, he's announced by the whirring of his chassis, the heavy thud of armored footsteps. When he knocks, it's polite and almost surgical, no impatience or nervousness or any sign that he has a personal stake in something that could decide his future. Just a 1-2-3 series of raps with his flesh hand as he stands there waiting to be let in.

Edit: Individual subthreads up for the interviews with Alex

Comments

Megan Gwynn

[yourmove]

[Prose]

[soultospare]

How exactly Megan got picked for this was beyond her. She didn't know Alex Murphy, she barely even knew what a Peacekeeper was, and she had no real idea of what it meant for a Tribute to become a Capitol citizen. She was probably the least qualified person to determine Alex's worthiness for the role. And yet, there she was, dressed in a subdued, yet fashion-forward ensemble, prepped and coached by her handlers as to what to say to him and how to perform her duties properly.

When the knock comes, she rises to her feet and practically flutters over to the door. The smile on her face is nervous. Despite having had the questions and procedures fed to her, she's still unsure what she ought to expect. As she opens the door to let Alex in, her voice is loud and squeaky, "Hi! I'm Megan. It's nice to meet you, Mister... um..."

[yourmove]

Alex doesn't bat an eye at the pink hair or the black eyes - his main concern is that she doesn't commit any crimes while in his presence...even if he isn't authorized to perform arrests at the moment. It's the principle, really. Doesn't sit right.

"Alex Murphy. You can call me Murphy, however," Alex steps in, no chit chat or small talk about the weather or the fact they're still running murder games every now and then. His head swivels left and right as he scans the room and seems to find it satisfactory. "I assume you were given questions to ask me. Let's start."

At least he doesn't beat around the bush: he sits down at a chair that groans under his weight, his flat, lifeless brown eyes fixing on Megan. He's looking at her and yet somehow past her at the same time.

[soultospare]

"U-uh, yeah, I do." Black eyes blink rapidly as she scampers back over to her own seat. As eye catching as she is herself, she can't help but stare at him. He's like if Iron Man, if Iron Man weren't a raging alcoholic and had a lot more self-discipline. Megan can't decide if that's a good thing or not.

She takes a seat, eying his chair suspiciously. "Right then. Mister Murphy, why would you like to leave the Games?"

[yourmove]

Alex takes the staring in a stride. "I feel I can better serve the Capitol - and you Tributes - if I'm operating in the Capitol instead of trying to maintain order in the Arenas. They don't allow me to have full access to my capabilities in there."

And you Tributes are allergic to law and order goes unsaid.

Sam Wilson

[yourmove]

[Prose]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Honestly, Sam's got no idea what he's doing here. He's not in any way qualified to figure out what'd make someone a good Capitol citizen - except apparently an enjoyment for watching people kill each other - and when push comes to shove, he'd be more inclined to vote for approval just to get someone out of the arena.

But he's there anyway, waiting for the guy to show up. Because he'd been asked to, and Sam's still playing along with them as best as he can, and because, all right, he's curious about Murphy. Despite being in his district, he hasn't met the guy yet, but he has talked with Dr. Norton about him. And some of the things he'd said, well, they're definitely adding to Sam's curiosity.

When he hears the knock at the door, Sam answers quickly. Based on what Dr. Norton told Sam, this has to be him.

"Murphy." It's a simple greeting, accompanied by a head nod as he opens the door to let him in. "Come on in."

[yourmove]

"Mr. Wilson," Alex sounds less polite stranger on the street and more like an interrogator greeting a suspect. He steps in, ducking the door frame slightly because his chassis added a few inches he didn't have before. "Thank you for interviewing me."

He steps inside, giving a cursory glance around the room to check where furniture is, any items that could present a falling hazard. Satisfied with what he sees, he turns back to Sam. He hasn't personally run into him in the Arenas, but he does know they're both from District 5 - considering how long his maintenance can run for, how Alex can be sedated for days at a time, and it's not a surprise that they've missed each other until now. Probably for the best. Mr. Wilson will be an unbiased observer then.

"You had time to go over the questions? I'm happy to answer others as well, although it's best to keep things relevant," Alex says mildly.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

His eyebrows raise a little at that tone, but he doesn't bristle at all, even if part of him'd like to. But he does wonder, if this is part of what Dr. Norton said he was hoping to fix. He'd called him cold, and Sam can't say he's wrong.

Still, he gestures towards one of the chairs in the room, after Murphy's done with his surveillance. There's still more than enough military left in Sam that his room is spotless - not that he's been here long enough to have really anything personal in it.

He sits down in another chair, nodding in response to the question. "Yeah, I can do that. Why do you want to be a Peacekeeper?"

Aragorn

[yourmove]

[Brackets]

[elfstone]

Come in.

[Thorongil is seated at the head of the table in the suite's common area; he gestures for Murphy to sit down.

He knows what's happening; why he's here has been explained to him. This man is petitioning to be let out of the Arena, something Thorongil can understand. Privately, he has already all but made up his mind about it already -- why would he deny someone who wished to leave? -- and the questions were all but formality.

At least, until he saw Murphy walk in.

The way the man moves is wrong. It is too regular, too controlled, with no energy spared for useless movement -- this man was not human. At least, not entirely. Surprise and unease flash across Thorongil's face before he can stop them: what has been done to this man?

But when he speaks, his voice is steady.]

Sit down.

[yourmove]

[He's aware of Thorongil: his list of crimes would be enough that Alex would prefer to lobby for his immediate arrest but unfortunately, he's not authorized to carry out those actions at the moment. He moves to sit, bending in neatly segmented movements like he doesn't have all the bones and muscles he should.

He notes there's some trace signs of agitation and surprise on Thorongil. It's possible he's aware of his criminal record and knows he's sitting across law enforcement...even if Alex is well aware that DPD jurisdiction doesn't apply in the Capitol. ]

Good afternoon. For the record, while I'm aware of your crimes, they won't have any bearing on the interview. Think of it as a randomized process, like jury duty selection.

[elfstone]

[Ah, his crimes. Yes, he is something of a highwayman, is he not? A thief and a murderer who makes his living in the wild by preying on others, and who recently ventured into the Capitol sewers without permission

He will not correct Murphy.]

And the purpose of this interview is to determine whether or not you will be released from the Arena, correct?

[He has been given questions, he has read them -- but how much he will follow the script is still up in the air.]

It is not difficult to see why a man would wish to petition out. Yet why do you seek it? Do you wish to escape from the suffering and death that the Arena brings? Or is there something else?

[He hadn't been planning to ask in so much detail. However, the mechanical man sets Thorongil's teeth on edge, and Thorongil cannot assume that he has normal motivations for anything.]

Oswald Mandus

[yourmove]

[pigspigspigs]

In Mandus's house, the carpets are ornate and the walls are filled with paintings from a long forgotten era. A skeleton crew of Avoxes flitter about the halls. Other than Alex and Mandus, they are the only living souls within these thousands of square footage. The whole place gives off the impression of emptiness -- but not abandonment. Every piece of furniture is perfectly dusted, perfectly maintained. The house resembles a stage, a place where great things might yet happen.

A place where great things will happen.

"Mr. Murphy," he says, guiding the man into a room with two large arm chairs and a rather impressive grandfather clock, "Can I interest you in a drink? Some water? Some tea?"

[yourmove]

Alex follows Oswald in - someone's ordered the thickest (cheapest) carpets to be laid down just for this visit, aware that the cyborg's chassis will scuff up and damage whatever he walks on. This way he doesn't ruin a carpet that costs . His HUD comes up empty, for the most part. Nowhere near the same number of Avoxes he's seen around the Tribute Tower. Any weapons on display are ornamental, safely secured, no visible violations that he would need to issue a verbal warning over.

Everything is acceptable.

"I'm not permitted to drink liquids. Thank you," Alex takes the offered chair, sitting back as his false spine purrs. His armored platting scratches into the upholstery. "Mr. Mandus, I'd like to start with the interviews. It would save the both of us time."

It's true, in a way. Alex should get back to maintenance and he's aware that his socializing skills are...poor to the neurosuppression. Why waste this man's time with unsatisfactory conversation?

[pigspigspigs]

Mandus has already been primed to dislike this strange robotic man. What purpose does it serve, mixing something so imperfect as a man with a machine? If the people from Murphy's world wanted something truly special, truly admirable, they would have built a machine and left it at that. In Mandus's eyes, Murphy is hardly different from an Avox. Something dirty, something rotten, molded into an ideal that could never truly be met.

He sneers.

"If you would please, Mr. Murphy," he says, swallowing his disgust and taking the opposite chair. "I will ask the questions when I am good and ready. You see, I like to treat these interviews as a conversation. Not an interrogation."

He tenses his fingers around the arm of his chair, then relaxes every joint, every muscle. It is important to keep his temper in check.

"Now tell me," he resumes, calmer, "Why is it that you cannot drink liquids? And how do acquire nourishment?"

Buddy Glass

[yourmove]

Re: Buddy Glass

[parenthetically]

Buddy Glass' renown predilection to the meticulous did not, it seemed, extend to his work spaces. The luxurious office on the top floor of Peacekeeper HQ was made infinitely smaller by the stacks of files, books (thick looking tomes, really), pamphlets and other written materials that towered imposingly on the massive bookshelves that covered all conceivable wall space. Worse, however, was the fact that the overhead light had been disregarded entirely in favor of a small banker's lamp, and the window (the curtains of which, even if it hadn't been late in the afternoon, were drawn).

All in all, it rendered the office of the top ranking Peacekeeper in all of Panem seem cavernous. It reeked of ink and seemed to exude the feeling of being one man's space. To walk in it, even on legitimate business, was to intrude on his domain. Which wasn't to say that it wasn't cozy, it was simply cozy for a particular individual with absolutely no regard for the potential unease of anyone else.

In this contained, cavernous chaos, Buddy paced. Not out of any irritation, really, but rather out of a trepidation. He was, after all, to interview a potential new recruit. One that seemed promising, at that. The mix of eager anticipation and positive disdain for the bureaucratic rigmarole necessary for such things weighed heavily on him, to say nothing of the letter-writing-type's typical aversion to face-to-face interactions. So, he paced, back and forth between the stacks of papers and books, stopping only when the expected knock finally knocked and the hope of some resolution dragged him forcibly from it.

"Alex Murphy?" The question wasn't phrased as such, but rather read as a customary pleasantly to be easily brandied about as he settled back behind an oversized desk, Alex's file confidently in hand. "Take a seat, please. You understand we have some questions for you and I felt it best if I were to administer them personally. We care deeply about the quality of individuals who serve Panem. There are just a few things that can't be gleaned from watching videos of your Arenas. Before we begin, do you have any questions for me?"

[yourmove]

Alex does as he's told, swiveling neatly with his legs first, hips and then head finally to position himself into the chair. It's a lot like watching a ladder folding in on itself. "I understand. Let me access what I've compiled."

Like a good little Peacekeeper in training, Alex has already filed a list of things he would like to know more about regarding the ranks, daily operations, personnel who seemed to be on top of things from his shadowing to others who seemed to be phoning it in. While he does have a basic profile of who Mr. Glass is, this is his first face to face meeting with the man. Surveying the office, Alex would be surprised at the clutter, the smell of old books, if it wasn't for the suppression leveling everything out. Mostly he notes that it could use some organizational skill and that if it keeps up, he would have to label Mr. Glass as "potential hoarder" - the towers of files alone presents a hazard to one's personal health, for example.

Alex stares right into Buddy's face without flinching at the idea of sitting across from the head of the Peacekeepers. "Why have you not outfitted the rest of the Peacekeeper force with cybernetics? It would lower the probability of personal harm to them and increase their efficiency."

Any other man and the tone might've been almost accusing. With Alex, though, Buddy can rest assured he gets what it says on the tin because the neurosuppression makes him incapable of caring about agendas or if he can knock someone down a peg. His head tilts a fraction, giving the illusion of being curious with a professional interest in Mr. Glass's answer.

[parenthetically]

It had been difficult for Buddy to overcome his propensity to flinch under such an intense expression. As a younger man, he'd repeated mantras in order to hold his ground. In another life, Buddy suspected he might be extraordinarily easily bullied. Perhaps easily enough that he could be bullied by letter. Ball-point pens held a particularly denunciatory appearance when pressed hard enough onto a bleached, loose-leaf page. As things were, however, Buddy met Alex's gaze impassively, looking away only when he was sure the man had finished his thought. It was a move of conspicuous consideration.

"Lower the probability of personal harm while ignoring their personal feelings on the matter. We have armor, and, all things considered, there are few incidents of violence against Peacekeepers in the Capitol and out in the Districts. It's not a pressing enough issue that we need to address it immediately, and I'm for keeping my boys as happy as possible. Some people might opt into it, at some point, I suppose, but I wouldn't ever force something like that on them unless it were the only option." He paused, shuffling papers on his desk until Alex's file was placed neatly (or, mostly neatly, at any rate) on top. "And then there's the expense to consider. Not to mention the risks of testing that kind of technology. Without knowing about side effects, I could end up losing men.

"Do you have any other questions? If not, I have a few for you."

After he's approved to be a Peacekeeper - Black Tom

[yourmove]

[pimpcanes]

Tom doesn't hate Alex Murphy. Far from, actually; he finds him idle entertainment, one of the many small notches in his belt, a nuisance at worst but mostly one of his new situation's curiosities. Ultimately, he's got the upper hand between them; not only did he kill Alex in the Arena (and so easily), but he's also insulated by the rules of the Capitol. He's inoculated against retribution.

That may all be about to change, and that makes Tom not nervous, but mildly annoyed. This time, rather than 'politely' avoiding Alex by going to his room or out with Molotov when Detective Murphy makes his visit to Clara, he stays put in the kitchen, where rather than cooking he's brewing coffee at approximately four o'clock in the afternoon (totally reasonable, he thinks, having been up late with his Russian tigress). He doesn't eavesdrop, but he leaves implicit the possibility that he would, and rather than have his presence linger around them Clara and Alex go elsewhere to do other things.

When Alex escorts Clara back to her room later, Tom's still there, with coffee and his network device and slippers on as if he's going to call it an early night. The large hologram wall in the lounge is set to display a crackling fire. When Alex is alone, Tom raises an eyebrow and looks over at him from the lounge chair.

"I hear you had interviews."

[yourmove]

It could be latent passive-aggression resurfacing Alex. It could be he's just keeping an eye on a criminal or he's simply making a personal visit to his wife that involves no sexual or emotional intimacy. He could just plain dislike Tom. Whatever the reason, Alex seems to ramp up his visits to Clara over the next couple or weeks. If he spots Mr. Cassidy, he stares with that black, dead fish stare, his face frozen into a mask so neutral it's flat.

His head swivels as he identifies Mr. Cassidy's voice and his location.

"Yes," Alex doesn't seem to feel the need to dangle anything. The information is freely available to the public - unfortunately, Mr. Cassidy still counts as one of the public despite his various, heavily documented crimes. "I received notification today that I'm officially a Peacekeeper now."

Alex lets that sink in, not even blinking as he stares into Tom's face as if he can see the very guilt from the inside out.

[pimpcanes]

"Congratulations." Though Tom smiles enough to deepen his eyes into crow's feet, there is no warmth in his face. His eyes are like ice and his smile like a canyon carved into his lips, handsome yet forbidding, with the hint of teeth like whitecap rapids.

He tempers his annoyance by remembering how a single blow dropped Alex like a sack of flour. How easy it was to undo the tin soldier.

"Unfortunately, as you likely understand already, you hardly have permission to arrest me, as I've done nothing but obey the laws of this fine city." He gets up out of his chair, cracking his neck as he does so, and walks across to his new bonsai tree. As irate as he was to lose the first, he's adapted by taking his tree to his bedroom when he isn't out here to watch it. He takes the pair of comically tiny scissors fixed to the side of the pot and trims a stray leaf idly.

"In fact, the city encourages me to undergo the actions I took in the Arena. You'll find that the actions of Tributes in the Games are exonerated by legal procedure upon our release from the match."