I'm the Reason I Don't Go Out

[metalicarus]

Who| Jet and OPEN
What| There's too much to explore, too much to think about and not a damn gun to be seen
Where| The bar, the training facility and then around the capitol
When| Across Week six
Warnings/Notes| The different scenarios are sequential but spread across week six


When he'd first woke up in Site-B to find the world was only a hair away from being destroyed, there'd been a sense of failure and anger that everything he and the other cyborgs had fought and suffered for was meaningless. Finding out only a portion of his family was still around to help try and fix it had set in a sense of loss and near-desperation to hold on to what was left.

He never would have guessed he'd find himself wanting all of that back.

This was messed up on an entirely different level and from what he could gather, there wasn't some 'Big Bad' to defeat except a corrupted government most of the people seemed happy to keep corrupted. Not that that would keep him from fighting back as best he could, but after nonstop fighting and corrupted governments trying to ruin the world, Jet found he was temporarily done.

Which had led him to the bar in the lounge of their new 'home.' It was broadcasting the very death arena he'd been thrown into so he could satisfy both his desire to drink and his need to watch how the rest of his family fared.

For once, he wasn't battling a mixed feeling of happiness they were there too and sadness that they were stuck in a terrible situation; he simply wished he could send them away. They wouldn't die for good as far as he knew, but the thought that they would die all for the sick entertainment of these people was infuriating. And there was nothing he could do.

The blond threw back drink after drink, making sure to always have one nearby so he could down it before his fast metabolism ruined his efforts. He didn't know what he was trying to accomplish, but the numbing effect the alcohol was having was good enough.

//

Once he'd gotten through the first few days of moping and the subsequent drinking, he decided to turn his ever-present and only growing inferno of anger and frustration on something more productive. He went down to the training facility in the hopes a little target practice would help, but there was a distinct lack of any kind of gun or blaster or anything he was familiar with except knives and he wasn't very good at throwing those.

If these were the things they expected them to fight with, he was going to have a hard time next arena. Good thing he was pretty good at teaching himself. He chose the bow and arrows--the closest thing to a gun he could get--and set to working his sharpshooting into a new kind of medium.

//

Just as he couldn't drink forever, he couldn't train forever and he sure as hell couldn't watch that damn broadcast forever either, although it was hard to avoid when it was shown everywhere. But there was a whole city to explore, something he'd sort of missed when every city they went to was deserted, it was easy to get lost in the crowd and see what this place had to offer other than the promise of death and torment.

Although he was aware he stood out among all of the ridiculous and over the top styles since he insisted on something less ostentatious. No flashy colors or glitter and glam for him.

Comments

[loadchaud]

Chaud still wasn't sure what to think.

Could he really be glad that he wasn't dead for real? When they were all expected to be entertainment for these sick people in this corrupted world? He wasn't even sure whether he should be happy about his allies being here with him or not... It was good to not be totally alone, but if it meant people he liked were suffering this same fate... Not to mention, it didn't explain what happened to those who weren't here, like ProtoMan and Q and even Kirk...

...No. It was better to try to stick to the crisis at hand here, and ignore as many unchangeable facts as possible. It was how he survived before; it was how he could survive now.

For his first self-given mission, he decided it would be beneficial to seek out a familiar face. That face just so happened to be Jet once again, who Chaud spotted at the Commons bar drinking...something. Probably alcohol, although the teen was just guessing based on assumptions he'd gained through pop culture and the like; it wasn't as if he'd ever really been to a bar or even had alcoholic drinks before.

Nevertheless, he approached the blond without hesitation. "Jet?"

[metalicarus]

He honestly couldn't decide if he was glad to hear that voice or not. It wasn't like he didn't want Chaud alive, far from it, it was that he felt like he'd failed in letting the teen die in the first place. Sure, it wasn't permanent, but even had he known that at the time, Jet wouldn't have wished the experience on him.

Dying wasn't pleasant, it was painful and he'd done it himself three times now and it hadn't gotten any easier. But on his end, he'd just do what he always did and bury it so didn't have to deal with it--how do you even deal with something like that? But Chaud deserved more than that and Jet didn't know the first thing to tell him. Everything he could come up with sounded hollow.

He turned to look at the younger man and offered a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey." He pushed the stool next to him out as invitation for Chaud to join him. "How're you holding up?" Dumb question, but he asked it anyway.

[loadchaud]

Chaud took the offered seat and stared at Jet quietly for a moment before answering, "Fine enough..." It was then that he started feeling awkward - not an uncommon thing for him to feel around Jet, but at least before it was because of how they failed to get along at times. Now it was just...

...those memories of dying right in front of each other. Something that Chaud would rather not think about, but it was impossible to not think about it...especially when Jet was right here next to him. The teen didn't even consider how any of it could be the older man's fault; he just hated the fact that it had to be like this in the first place.

... ...But, again... It was better to not dwell on what they couldn't change, right? The past was one of those things...

...But what else could they do now?

"...So," Chaud suddenly said after another pause, "what do you think we should do?" He didn't bother asking how Jet was doing; he could already imagine the answer just by looking at him. No, it was better to focus on what they needed to be doing. He just had to keep telling himself that...

[metalicarus]

He appreciated Chaud's question for what it wasn't. He didn't know how he'd answer a question concerning his state of being--mentally or emotionally--other than to just not answer it. Or to just give the same answer he'd received. What other answer could they have to dying? It's not like it had or would get any easier.

So he focused on what was being asked, although he hardly had an answer for that either, but at least he could BS something. He shrugged. "Wait for the others, I guess. Then we can decide what to do. In the meantime, we should probably check this place out, learn as much as we can while we can so nothing else can get the jump on us."

That was Jet's plan, anyway. After he was done trying to get drunk.

[loadchaud]

The teen nodded in response to Jet's ideas. They were about the same as what he would have suggested had the question been asked of him first. Waiting would be painful, but at least they had the freedom to do something productive in the meantime.

"Then let's get going. The sooner we do, the more time we'll have to investigate and find out as much as we can." Despite saying that, Chaud didn't move to stand or even try to tug on Jet's sleeve or anything like that; rather, he gave the older man an expectant look, as he watched him continue to drink. He assumed Jet would be ready to go in a moment or two, whenever he was done downing what he'd ordered. (...Whatever he'd ordered.)

[wantwhatiwant]

Ian looked across the bar at the man who was throwing drinks back like he was running out of time. Maybe he was.

Ian didn't recognise him, but he didn't look like a Capitolite. A new tribute perhaps? He might have been in the arena, Ian hadn't watched any since he had came back, avoided it as much as possible.

He grinned at him though and ordered another drink, "You in a rush?"

[metalicarus]

Jet didn't try to smile back but he wasn't hostile either. Just uncharacteristically quiet. He didn't know this guy, he could just ignore him and continue drowning himself in whatever glass his hand found.

But while the alcohol made him more morose than he'd already been, it hadn't sapped all of his manners or changed the fact that 'misery loves company' was definitely true in the blond's case.

"Not really. My body's just not too hot on keeping this stuff in my system. The faster I drink, the longer the effects last." He was going to leave it there, but the (small) sensible part of him recognized making conversation was a better option. "You don't seem to be in the kind of mood most people have when drinking alone. The kind of mood this place warrants, I would think." You know, with people dying for entertainment and all.

[wantwhatiwant]

"Oh." Ian nodded, not sure why that would be, fast metabolism was one thing but to not be able to get drunk...

He shrugged at the question, "I was alone most of the arena." Hiding, staying away from people who could kill him. "Guess it made me more sociable."

[metalicarus]

Alone up until he got killed--but Jet wasn't so far gone as to actually say that.

But he had a point: Jet had been so set on keeping himself and Chaud away from other people that some of that had probably followed into them waking up here. While their lives weren't in danger, it would probably be more beneficial to make connections and find things out that way as well.

Besides, Jet preferred the company of others over the company of his own thoughts any day. "Yeah, guess that makes sense." He offered his hand to the other to shake. "Jet."

[wantwhatiwant]

Ian eyed the hand, not used to such formality but grinned and shook it anyways. "Ian. You just got here?"

late orz

[iphigeneia]

It had taken some arguing, but Felicity had finally convinced her stylist that she was to be dressed only in trousers going forward. And now, sporting her very own pants, she was ready to venture out into the world. First she would have to depart the District Two suites, however. She'd been avoiding everyone rather successfully for weeks, but now that she felt comfortable and renewed, she wanted to be social and establish a harem of friends.

Finding the common area of the suites vacated, she wanted the halls of the housing building until she found herself in the training facility. At first, she thought it was empty in there, and she was prepared to leave somewhat disappointed. But then she saw the male figure with the bow and arrow. Her pulse quickened-- not for him, but for the weapon. That was her weapon of choice. And as far as she could see, he was in dire need of some help in using it.

"Have you ever used one of those before?" She approached him in a gliding step, blinking her eyelashes demurely.

Never <3

[metalicarus]

He'd been concentrating so hard on what he was doing, the voice nearby surprised him and he released the arrow he'd been lining up, only for it to land with a disheartening thunk far from the center of the target.

With a sigh, Jet turned to face the woman, secretly somewhat thankful for the moment to take a break from the frustrating attempts to learn something he didn't know the first thing about.

"No. That bad, huh? The kind of weapon I'm used to they don't seem to offer here, so I'm trying to find something else." Except knives, he could use knives, but he wanted to learn something a little more long-distance.

\o/

[iphigeneia]

"I have seen worse," Felicity replied as she continued in her approach. "The bow is not as intuitive as one might think. It isn't like a pistol or other gun." No slight meant to gunfighters, of course. She was simply referring to the physical differences.

She pointed to the bow, gesturing for him to raise it again. Her eyes were a glow as she studied the bow. "It's a lovely weapon, isn't it. Too bad there weren't any in the Arena. I'd have lasted for ages with one of these."

[metalicarus]

He's not known for following directions, but when it came to learning new things, he was actually a pretty good student. Learning had always been a secret love of his, one he would deny to the end of time.

He raised the bow and waited for further prompting, although her comment brought a smirk to his face. "Yeah? Same for me if I had a gun, but it looks like this place isn't too keen on those. So, how do you use this thing, then?"

[iphigeneia]

Taking this as a cue to correct his form, she went to place a hand on his drawing arm to guide it into place. She then moved to guide his other arm. "Your elbow must be placed as so. It may feel uncomfortable at first, but you will adjust when your muscles are used to the motion."

Stepping back, she appraised her work and his form with a smirk. "That's much better. You at least look like you can shoot it now."

this took me forever, I'm so sorry

[orestes]

"They have stronger methods of anesthetization here if that is truly what you are after," said Enjolras in lieu of a true greeting as he stepped up to the bar. He'd been watching the man drink for some time now, and while Panem had developed in him a certain acceptance of the benefits of alcohol, there were benefits to moderation. This was doubly true in a place where all of your actions were subject to review and liable to be used against you if given the opportunity. Life here was a constant balancing act, and there was a need to block out at least part of reality lest one submit too easily to the crushing paranoia such a society engendered. Nevertheless, the need for caution was very real and this stranger seemed content enough to ignore that and publicly self-destruct.

He turned, holding out a hand in greeting as months of forced courtesy finally got the better of him. His expression remained impassive, not betraying his assessment of the man beside him. "We do not know one another. I am Enjolras, a Mentor for District 5."

No problem, it wasn't going anywhere! <3

[metalicarus]

Jet set the glass he'd been nursing down, finally realizing that the effects might have been kicking in a little faster than he'd realized. He wanted a little bit of numbness, not intoxication to the point of making a spectacle of himself.

He wasn't the type to necessarily heed what people in society said about him or thought about him--if they weren't his friends and family, what did he care?--but that didn't mean he wanted to develop a hangover and half-remembered memories of being an idiot either. He had plenty of idiotic moments without the alcohol.

He took the offered hand steadily enough, the alcohol high enough to loosen his tongue but not enough to really impair him too much. "Jet. Tribute for District 2, I guess. A mentor...? I've heard the term used, you're like an adviser. How'd you get that job?" In his anger and confusion-induced rush for information, figuring out exactly how a mentor became a mentor hadn't been among his priorities.

c:

[orestes]

The handshake was firm, not overly enthusiastic or vigorous, but confident enough. After settling in, Enjolras made a point of catching the eye of the Avox bartending. The young man, or the practical ghost of the young man, knew his preferences well enough that a glass of slightly watery red wine would follow soon enough. Uneasily, he watched the Avox a bustle, the eerie, soulless quality to the movements never failing to capture his attention.

"I won the last Arena," he replied, not making eye contact. Uneasily, Enjolras watched the Avox bustle. The eerie, soulless quality to the movements never failed to capture his attention and he had to stop himself from staring with open fascination. Just because those poor creatures couldn't say anything about it didn't mean he needed to embarrass them. "After you win, if you win, they force you to tutor others. I was not a very competent competitor, and so I am a rather poor Mentor."

[metalicarus]

"Oh." He hadn't really thought about it, what would happen if someone won--and someone would have to win, obviously--apparently the answer was 'continue to be screwed over.' What a surprise.

He didn't want Pyunma or Joe or Albert stuck in this violent cycle, but would forcing them to 'mentor' others really be any better? At least they wouldn't have to do the fighting they hated so much.

"Well, you won somehow, that sounds like qualification enough to me." Jet's way of saying 'I'd learn from you, if you were offering.' "Is winning the only way to get out of this mess?"

[orestes]

His wine had arrived by the time Jet posited his question and Enjolras took the opportunity to take a sip, thus stalling his answer for as long as physically possible. He was well aware that they would be watched, of course, that they were always being watched, and that his assessment of what winning entailed could very easily be used, not only against him, but against anyone he cared for. The wine was suitable, expectedly, watery on his tongue. It would allow him to drink with this stranger for as long as necessary. "That depends entirely on your definition of escape, I suppose."

A lack of commitment was the best he could offer given the circumstances. He took another sip, sizing up the man in front of him as he did. "I won by hiding for the majority of the Arena, and then instinct after that became unreasonable. It was an ignoble Victory. There are ethics to such a combat with which even I am not yet fully comfortable, but even so, I cannot help but think I chose poorly in my actions."

Punchy makes good life decisions

[nunpunching]

Punchy, by contrast, seems all about ostentatious clothing. His Stylists have loved how eager he was to try just about anything on, and as such he has a leather jacket that shoots flames, big gold goggles, and chain pants with about a foot too much fabric. He also has a tattoo of a dragon that crawls up his neck and perches above his eyebrow, because that's cool, right?

He's in the training center too, not using the ranged weapons but simply using the weights. All things considered, he's in pretty peak physical condition. He's flexible, his muscles are big and toned, his delineating lines sharp.

Shame the same can't be said for his mind. He waves a hand at Jet. "Yo, dawg, you need a real target to practice on? Bet I'm slick enough to get off without you scratching the paint."

Very good life choices, Punchy, keep it up-

[metalicarus]

For a moment, all he could do was stare. The kid was showy and Jet had to wonder why he thought dressing like that while training was a good idea, but he also decided it didn't really matter; whatever he wanted to do. After all, he could imagine someone like G.B. or even Francoise to a degree getting into the fashion of this place.

The blond smirked and shook his head, turning back to the target cross from him. "I'm not going to shoot arrows at you." Not here, anyway. "Sparring I'd consider, but if you want to test your speed, there's less lethal things I could throw at you."

Re: Very good life choices, Punchy, keep it up-

[nunpunching]

"I'm down for trouncing you hand to hand too, homie. I don't discriminate." Punchy shrugs, as if completely unaware that he's been given an out from getting getting shot at with very pointy and dangerous weapons. He starts to pull off his coat and casts it aside, then starts on all those collars, only half of which are attached to shirts.

(The leather jacket gives a last puff of flame. Thankfully, nothing catches the blaze.)

"What's your name?"

[metalicarus]

"Jet. What's yours?"

This kid kind've reminded him of Q and it brought a small smile to his face. Not that that would make him hold back if this is what this guy wanted. After all, he had years of street fighting underneath five times as much military training under his belt. He set the bow down next to the arrows and stepped away from the table.

"Are you really sure you want to do this?"

[nunpunching]

"Punchy." Punchy gestures to his chest as if it's written across it, which has the unfortunate and somewhat macabre similarity to a 'slit your throat' gesture, although that's entirely unintentional. He frowns a bit.

"What, you think I can't cut it with the high-rollers like you? That what you think? That I'm just fronting?"