[open] They're mopping up the butcher's floor

[samson]

Who| Brock Samson and YOU
What| Brock gets over himself and goes to the zoo
Where| Training Center (D8, gym, roof, commons) and Capitol Zoo & Aquarium
When| Weds., Jan. 14

a. TRIBUTE TOWER.

After the Arena, Brock spent a little over a week being as reclusive as one can in a world where one has been foisted into Kardashianing against one's will. He spent a large amount of his time in the Training Center -- specifically in the gym.

Today is really no different. He's in the gym, stabbing training dummies and hitting the heavy bag and climbing the rock wall. He has a lot of aggression to work out, and this is the best way to do it.

Still, it's been over a week. It's time to buck up and get over it. It's not so much that Brock's mad he lost -- he didn't really care to win, and, to be fair, pretty much everyone was cheated out of a fair fight because of several circumstances -- but rather that his death disturbed him more than he'd care to admit. And the best way to deal with things he didn't want to admit, in Brock's experience, was to distract himself to the point where he didn't have time to think about it. But there is a thin line between healthy coping mechanisms and being a little bitch about something, so he makes a concerted effort to move the hell on.

Midday, he's up at the rooftop garden, idly looking over plants as he smokes a cigarette. Which is probably not a great combination, but screw you, just try and stop him. Occasionally, he leans over to touch the plants, frowning, before he moves on to the next planter.

He can also be found in the District 8 Suites and in the Central Commons, though he doesn't stay in either place for long, only passing through.

b. CAPITOL ZOO & AQUARIUM

As the day winds down, Brock heads out into the world. He's usually at the zoo every week, every Wednesday, a quirk he's not sure the Capitol has picked up on yet, judging by the lack of paparazzi following him here. But it's not like there aren't cameras everywhere anyway, he muses darkly, as he looks over giraffes and monkeys and other things on his way to nowhere in particular.

Or at least that's how he's trying to appear: he's going nowhere in particular. He always winds up by the polar bears as the sun begins to sink down, then upstairs to the otters and sea lions and other aquatic mammals. He lingers here awhile, maybe waiting for someone, but then again, maybe these are just his favorite animals. Either way, once it's dark enough, he moves on, glancing at a few more exhibits before he leaves.

Comments

b.

[silberfuchs]

"I'm surprised to see you here," Albert smiles a little, watching the otters doggedly crack shells on their bellies. "But I guess judging anyone by what they see in the Capitol's footage is a bad idea."

Brock isn't the only one who comes to the aquarium to unwind, though Albert's not certain the man is aware of the lack of microphones at this exact spot near the otter tank. The muscular blond has been on Albert's radar as someone to keep an eye on. He could go either way, or simply be in it for himself, but as Albert's staunchly ensconced in the Rebellion now and he decides he should try and vet as many of the newer Tributes as possible. Though Brock's not exactly 'new'. Still, Albert's not going to pass up the opportunity.

"Albert Heinrich, District 3." He turns from the railing to face the other man, offering his clearly metallic hand for a shake with a small smirk. "Fellow sea-creature aficionado."

[samson]

Though Brock has been doing his best to keep track of the other Tributes -- as much for potential allies as potential enemies -- it's hard to sort out pertinent, useful information from tabloid trash. As such, he knows very little about Albert, apart from his name. He's even surprised to see that he has like a robot hand or something? Not that Brock is unfamiliar with robot hands in general, but he hadn't been expecting it.

He takes his hand with a bit of a blank look, and then he glances around and realizes where he is. "Oh... yeah. Sea-creatures -- isn't that more, like, fish and stuff? Whales?"

[silberfuchs]

"Well they're sea otters, but I was being broad. This is an aquarium." It's a mild, friendly rebuke. "I like them though. They use tools."

Albert leans on the railing, blank white eyes scanning the tank but attention still clearly on Brock. He needs to get the man talking a little, see where he stands in general on the Games, though that might be difficult to mark considering very few of them are willing to be completely candid about that. "How are you finding Panem?"

[samson]

Brock glances at the otters in the tank, not really having noticed that before. Of course they use tools. They hold hands, too, which is just as humanizing a trait, but not one he's about to bring up.

Generally, Brock is careful about what he says. He knows the Capitol is always listening and always watching, every inch of every place bugged and wired. But the waterfall by the otter exhibit, he's concluded, is enough white noise to drown out any bugs that may be around. It's why he comes here every week, waiting for information from a certain individual, but apart from their first meeting, she's never showed.

Still, even though he's pretty certain that the Capitol can't hear them, you can never be too sure who's in their pocket. Not that general bitching is enough to arouse suspicion, so he's not being too careful just yet, just snorts and rolls his eyes. "Oh, yeah, I love mandatory murder orgies and finding glitter everywhere," he says, very flat.

[silberfuchs]

If Brock had said that, Albert would have simply agreed. He finds it endearing even if it's just so they don't float away from each other while sleeping. Though you might say it's the same reason people hold hands, so they don't float away. There's certainly enough footage of him holding hands with his husband in the Arenas and out to support that idea.

"There's a few that do." He shrugs, but by his tone he's not among them and is glad that Brock doesn't seem to be either. "Which is why we find places like this to speak freely."

Not that subtle, but close enough; a tip that this is a blind spot and they won't be overheard.

[samson]

That response gives Brock a bit of pause. It's a little too obvious, which automatically makes him suspicious -- one of the first rules of being a spy is to trust no one. Naturally, that extends to people who are all but begging you to trust them.

"I guess," he says in a way that is carefully noncommittal, glancing around. Maybe they're being physically watched and Albert's trying to trip him up. It's sloppy, but it's a possibility. "Doesn't really do anything about the glitter, though."

[silberfuchs]

It may ring internal alarms for Brock, but Albert is far more a soldier than a spy. He can handle stealth alright in active mission scenarios, but he's never been good at the information gathering and playing a role that others of his original team excelled at. But his team isn't here, it's just him, and he may be awkward with it but he knows enough to tell that he's tripped up and Brock is eyeing him with suspicion.

"Ugh, glitter." His disgust isn't faked at all. "It never comes out, does it. Not even in the shower, it's like a disease." He's not sure where else to go from there. It would be so much easier if he could just simply be sure. Maybe he should just honestly treat this as a first meeting with nothing underneath. It would be easier. "And all the gemstones and such they spangle all over the costumes. We're representing Districts, not pole dancers."

[samson]

"Pfft," Brock says, eyes rolling up to the sky. "At least if it were pole dancers, we'd get more perks."

Like getting to interact with pole dancers. Those kind of perks.

Brock's still suspicious -- nervous isn't something he wants to admit to, though his steady level of paranoia since arriving in this world is making it harder -- but he pauses for a second before deciding to backtrack. Albert's been nothing but genial so far, which could either be genuine or not. The way he just rolled with Brock's subject change makes him want to lean toward the former, but then again... he could know that Brock knows that he knows. That sort of shit.

Being a spy is honestly exhausting sometimes.

"Brock, by the way," he says, gesturing at himself. "I hear there are some places that people can talk, but I dunno how reliable that intel is."

[silberfuchs]

Having already shared his name, Albert nods in acknowledgement of Brock sharing his. "It's reliable. I acquired knowledge of this one and a score of others myself."

Finally, Albert turns away from the otters, leaning back on the rail. "I can tell by the look on your face you think this information is too easy to be true, but I've never been good at cloak and dagger. It's not what I was trained for." Or rather made for, but people tend to react to that choice of words with confusion.

[samson]

A score of others. The Eponine girl had told him about the dive bar, but he didn't know how accurate that information was, either. He's itching to get more solid intel, but he doesn't trust Albert all the way quite yet. Not enough to press him about the information, anyway; he's sure he's got some ways to earn Albert's trust as well.

Then again, maybe not. People outside the game were always more open with their trust than not. "Trained. You military?"

[silberfuchs]

"GSG-9. You too?"

It's a courtesy question. He can tell by the way Brock moves and takes in surroundings, how he holds himself. Also very few people built like Brock, with the obvious care taken to build that muscle and maintain it instead of just natural bulk, aren't in some combat-related field. Maybe heavy construction, but with the way the man's responded to Albert's interactions, he doubts a regular blue-collar job.

[samson]

German, then. It is an extremely German name, but you can never really be certain. Brock's not exactly from Stockholm, after all.

Brock's gaze is constantly from Albert to their surroundings and back again, just making sure they aren't being observed. Just because they can't be overheard doesn't mean people can't read lips or something. "Started in the US Marines. Intelligence for twenty years, though. OSI."

He hasn't exactly worked out yet that the OSI is not a pervasive thing through different universes or realities or whatever it is that's going on here.

[silberfuchs]

"I haven't heard of the OSI, but my partner was US airforce." And NSA, but Jet doesn't really like to broadcast that, so Albert's not going to mention. That's for him to tell.

"That's a long time to be an intelligence agent, though. You must be good." People don't last in that line of work that long without demonstrating a certain level of prowess.

[samson]

"Well, it's one of those extra top secret kinda deals, so..."

It's something more like an open extra top secret kinda deal, but. He supposes not everyone was on a need to know basis. It doesn't really matter here, though; Brock was mostly through hiding his experience after his first Arena. It also helped that nobody can hear him admit this.

He gestures vaguely in the air, continuing. "OSI deals with supervillains. Guild-sanctioned ones. Used to be all bogged down in red tape, but my old CO got upped to general a little while ago, so. We're starting to crack down on their dumbass bullshit."

[silberfuchs]

"Sanctioned... supervillains?" That's a completely foreign concept to Albert. As someone who'd fought what could be termed a supervillain organization for several decades, he can't imagine who would sanction something like that, let along a government.

Or maybe he can, thinking of Samuel Capitol and how they'd held the NSA and the US Government at large in their pockets during the His Voice attacks. And if Brock worked for a US spy organization, he'd have to work within those confines. Even a general is beholden to the money that keeps his department functioning.

After some thought, it really sounds like the only difference between the NSA and the OSI is that the OSI is open about letting certain things slide. Still, Albert's aware that all his assumptions are speculative and the thought that any supervillainy is allowed is still an alarming one, so he has to ask. "What do you mean by 'Guild-sanctioned' supervillains?"

[samson]

This is the first time Brock's actually spoken to the Guild with anyone here, and he's mildly perplexed at the idea that this isn't a normal thing. Most people don't deal with supervillains day in and day out, so he's used to the concept that it might all seem fantastical and... you know, dumb, but Albert's reaction is not what he expected.

That Brock's own world wouldn't be the litmus test for normal is not something he ever considered.

"Uh," he says a little blankly, then shakes his head, trying to focus. "The Guild of Calamitous Intent. It's kind of like a union for organized villainy. They get the protection of the Guild as long as they play by the rules, pay their dues... whatever. It's a lot better than the alternative; there are free range supervillains who do the lone wolf thing, but without any rules to hamstring them, you know. All bets are off."

[silberfuchs]

"That's not an organization that I'm familiar with. We must come from different timelines." he says it as if it's an everyday occurrence, and for the Capitol it sort of is considering how many Tributes they've taken from completely different worlds.

"I'm surprised that a guild could hold together that many of that sort of borderline personalities in any kind of coherent way. I understand the logical benefit of it overall, but are there so many villain archetypes willing to actually cooperate? In my experience they find themselves above such groups." Clearly he only has experience with free range supervillains.

[samson]

Brock accepts that explanation pretty easily, too. He's had his fair share of bullshit time travel shenanigans even before being sucked into this crapsack world, so he tends to just roll with the punches. Where the punches are, in this case, completely hare-brained pseudoscience. Sure. Why not.

"Maybe," he answers vaguely, then shrugs. The Guild is a little bit of a weird thing, rules heaped upon rules to keep a bunch of psychotic pajama-wearing, laser gun wielding murderers in check, but it works for the most part, so he's not about to knock it.

"Yeah, there's like a hierarchy thing. You play by the rules, you get bumped up... better toys, better enemies. Most supervillains just want to arch somebody -- you know, the whole Hollywood ideal of having a nemesis. That sort of shit. The real megalomaniacal types either try to throw coups and get slapped six ways to Sunday by the Guild, or they strike out on their own without any kind of protection. I took a, uh, sabbatical from the OSI about a year back, and went after the guys outside the system. They're the dangerous ones."