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

[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."

[metalicarus]

Jet was silent a moment, taking the excuse to get another drink and begin sipping from it, slower than before. Ignoble was right. Hiding away like a coward when he could've at least been helping someone else, the thought itself didn't sit well with him.

And yet he didn't feel like he could judge too harshly, that was exactly what he and Chaud had been doing until they'd been found. And if that was what saved any of his family from dying in one of these things, he'd be the first to suggest it.

And it was better than going around slaughtering strangers.

He shrugged. "It kept you alive. I'm sure someone thinks it wasn't a bad decision." The very nature of the Games meant people had to watch as the people they cared about killed and got killed like it was some football game. He'd rather watch Albert win by hiding than die under any circumstances.

"I don't think it's the worst decision." Hypocritically, it wasn't a decision Jet would make for himself, he just couldn't.

[orestes]

Warily, Enjolras eyed him from over the top of his glass. Jet wouldn't the first person to condone his actions, however begrudgingly. Strangely enough, however, he seemed to crave the disapproval, the chance to justify himself even to a stranger.

"This society centers entirely around the Games. Their government, culture, and daily way of life fixates on it. We are their entertainment, and, as I had no say in my initial participation, I chose to be as far from entertaining as I could possibly be." Another solution might have been to kill himself from the start of every Arena, but though his victory had ultimately come through the failure of such an attempt, suicide was still a sin. One could believe in the excellence of reason above all else and still be unable to shake the dogmas of a religious upbringing. "I am no pacifist, but I would not kill innocents for their entertainment, nor would I allow myself to be killed without a fight, and that would only give them what they wanted. So, I hid."

Golden brown eyebrows knit together, and Enjolras pursed his lips as if to imply that that was all there was to say on the subject. It wasn't, but however necessary, the topic was far from pleasant to him, even now. "Others handle it differently, and that is their right. The title of Victor is misleading, however. I do not think there is a way to win the Games, only to survive them."

[metalicarus]

Jet was silent, staring down at his glass and processing a moment. Explanation or not, he didn't blame Enjloras for his actions even though he was a bit torn over them in general. His gut reaction was to say that it was better to fight back, to not just roll over and accept their fate. He was a fighter, he didn't want to survive, he wanted to live and anyone just throwing that away or passing it up simply to survive with no foreseeable change just didn't make sense. As though his mind rejected those options.

And yet, he wasn't the type to just kill for killing's sake. He'd do it if it was necessary, if the ends justified the means, but for entertainment? That went against his moral code just as much as sitting by and doing nothing did.

But there was one thing in all of that that didn't make sense, one thing that didn't add up. "Why doesn't anyone fight back? If there's enough of us that aren't happy with this system--and I believe there have to be, considering--then why can't we just band together and overthrow them. We're stronger and some of us are bound to be smarter; surely whatever process they did can be reversed of enough geniuses are put on it."

He looked expectantly over to the other man, a bit of that fire he'd been quelling for months in his tone and in his eyes. Between Black Ghost's experiments, the American government's betrayal and all the bull with Jaden they'd been fighting against, all this boiled down to was another super power bent on dominating that needed someone to stand up to it. It was no different.

[orestes]

He indulged in a sip of the too sweet wine, his mind racing anxiously as the other man spoke. Was this how he'd sounded a year ago? It must have been. Enjolras couldn't decide if he missed that level of optimism, or not. While he still agreed with the sentiments, it was more complicated than such rhetoric had ever implied.

"The people have been oppressed for almost a century, and they do everything in their power to keep us from them. Those fortunate enough to have been born in the Capitol are quite content with things as they are. And even amongst the Tributes, there are not many willing to bring such a fight." Together with Joly he had been taking stock of their resources and of whom they could rely upon both in the Arena and out of it. It was a delicate matter, asking someone to risk their life. More delicate still making them understand that even if they continued to exist under the current system they were not truly living. It took time, effort, and finesse. He had all the time in the world of late, but the second requisite talents were becoming more elusive as the days passed. "Were I one to make wagers, I would bet on twenty-five of them to join us, given the opportunity. No more. Not right now. We are outmatched no matter how clever we might be."

[metalicarus]

"Twenty-six." He said it with stone-cold seriousness. It wasn't the alcohol talking, it was just Jet, Jet and his ever-present need to live up to his own ideals. They'd been muddled in the mud that was American politics and grasps for power the quarter-century he'd been involved, but since finding that resolve to fight back, it felt like most of what had kept him going since he'd woken up in that lab and it hadn't gone away when he'd woken up in this place.

He'd say twenty-nine, but he wasn't going to account for the others without their say-so. Maybe twenty-eight years ago, maybe then he might have said something, but Pyunma and Joe didn't want to fight, Chaud was just a kid and Albert...Albert had never liked to fight but, more than that, Jet was still worried for his partner's health and while he was hardly going to keep anything from him, he wasn't going to push for the older man to fight either. Not when Jet had enough anger and fire to fight for them.

"I've faced down organizations equal no better than this and won. There were only nine of us at the most then, I don't think twenty-six is such a bad number."

[orestes]

"Then you have had better luck in your uprisings, my friend." He wasn't prepared to recount the misfortunes of the barricade here, and certainly not to a stranger, so he let the cryptic reply suffice. Still, if forty had been an unfit number against the French National Guard with their canons and grapeshot, which he could now recognize were quite primitive, how would a few beaten down Tributes do against a nation with machine guns and bombs? Not well, he'd imagine. The odds were not in their favor.

Still, there was hope to the man's disposition, a certain radical quality with which he could sympathize. He tilted the glass, swirling the thin wine in the translucent container. The lights were lower by the bar were lower than in the common area. Everything was bathed in gold and shadow, just as it had been in the back room of the café Musain. It wasn't quite a welcomed parallel.

"You should be careful of speaking like that in public. I agree with your sentiments, monsieur, but this is bigger than either of us, and our kind are not so prolific here. We owe it to each other to stay alive."

[metalicarus]

The 'monsieur' gave him a small pause, he'd never heard it from her lips thanks for the translators they'd all had, but it was French which only served to remind him of Francoise. He missed her, for all the times her passive nature and his constant call to arms had clashed, she was still like his sister and while this was the last place he wished she'd be, he did wish for her more level head in these matters.

He was old enough now to recognize that this was not one of those times he could go dashing off on his own to fight and expect a good outcome, but that was his nature and having hers there to balance him and let him know he was being an idiot would be nice.

But even without her there or any of the others who took it upon themselves to do that for him, there was one thing he he could promise: "You don't have to worry about the staying alive thing, that I can do."

He wasn't so good at keeping quiet and he wasn't the best at the tactical know-how required for something like this, but if there was one thing he was good t, it was surviving and continuing to press on until something gave. "I'm not going to give up, but I'll keep quiet while I have to, if that's what you recommend."

He barely trusted the other man, it took more than one conversation involving similar goals for Jet to trust anyone, but he did believe that they shared the same sentiments about their situation and that was enough for now.

[orestes]

"I have been here for a year now. I spoke out against them for most of that time, and it got me little than their suspicion." His tone carried less regret than it did a sort of self-effacing irony. To a newcomer, Enjolras realized, winning might still seem like quite a lot. All it had actually gained him was more to lose, and more that could be used against him if he stepped too far out of line.

Leisurely, he took another sip of his wine. There was a benefit to all of it, he supposed, if one had a large enough network of people willing to rebel. One person yelling loudly enough could effectively distract from a dozen others working in the background. He swallowed hard, focusing his attentions again and trying to seem less calculating than thoughtful. "For my opinions, I have made myself into a target. Perhaps that could be used by someone to a more effective end."

And then, as if to deflect attention away again, he turned back to the wine. Whether Jet cared enough to pursue that angle was on him, Enjolras hardly considered it worth while to force a man he didn't know and especially not one so content to publicly self-destruct. "If you wish to know what I think of them, monsieur, you can check for any of my recordings on the device which they give us. To my understanding, nothing we put on them ever goes away, and there is more than enough of me running my mouth, as they say, to paint an adequate picture."

[metalicarus]

"Maybe I will." He wasn't a hundred percent on how the device worked, but it didn't seem to function too differently from the one Q had made, so finding that old broadcast probably wouldn't be too hard. At least not once he was sober.

"I think you're right, it could be used as a benefit but, again, you're right that maybe now isn't the best time. As much as it pains me to say it, something like this needs a plan." And yet Enjloras seemed resigned not to be the one to make such a plan. He seemed resigned to quite a bit and it didn't seem right if he wasn't lying about the content of those past broadcasts.

"I have some friends who showed up here with me, two of them are better at that kind of stuff than I am. I'm sure that, with a little bit of time, they can think of something." A wry smile twists his lips and his eyes find the surface of the bar. "And they're a lot better at not running their mouths than I am, so that should help."

[orestes]

"Your friends should perhaps meet my friends." There was no guarantee that anything would come of it, of course, but he would be a rather poor mentor if he didn't at least offer it as a suggestion. Any alliances could be useful in the Arenas, and at least on Enjolras' part and that of his friends, they were being offered in good faith. He trusted each of the Amis, and the small collective they had amassed, to be true to each other, or, at the very least, not cruel. He drained his glass, the large sip causing his nose to burn slightly with the excess of alcohol.

Perhaps he seemed unwilling to plan, but that wasn't quite the case. Enjolras may have been adverse to making overt plans, unwilling to disclose them to a stranger and in so public a place, but he wasn't categorically opposed to them as much as he may have seemed. Rather, the plans, if they were to be plans, needed careful consideration and guarding if they were to have any effect at all.

Drink finished, he rose from his position against the bar. "Well, monsieur, if you are alright, I should be on my way. I meant what I said about our mutual friends, however. In my opinion, the Arenas could use more friendship."

[metalicarus]

Jet nodded, thinking it over. "Yeah, I agree. We'll have to arrange something." Sometime when half of them weren't still stuck in the arena and things had calmed down as best they could in a place like this.

Jet stood as well, deciding he actually preferred the thought of a brief walk before turning in. "Good night."