thecapitol | No I don't know where I'm going

Entry tags:

No I don't know where I'm going

Who| Albert and OPEN; then later Albert and Jet
What| Waking up after the arena. Wait, wasn't he dead...? Panicked flinging open of doors ensues. Then a dramatic reunion.
Where| Training center. All over it but starting on Level 3 (especially looking for District-mate CR); then a bar
When| Beginning Week 6
Warnings/Notes| Sex in the ~~champagne room~~ closed thread, just fyi. Gettin' hot and heavy up in there.

One// OPEN

Searing pain.

That's all that Albert remembers as his mind snaps to consciousness. It takes him a moment to realize he's not still in it, that he's not so much charred meat on the walls of a museum gift shop.

It takes him a moment to realize he's alive. Why is he alive?

He breathes raggedly, trying to piece everything together, trying to calm his shocked system and scrambled nerves, trying to focus on something, anything, else.

With a pop of stiff joints, Albert forces himself to sit and take stock. He’s alive after setting off an explosion at point blank. He’s certain he died there in the middle of the gift shop, so then they still have the cloning technology? Or is this an actual revival of his physical body? Worse, does this mean they’ll be reviving him indefinitely? And what does that mean for Jet and the others? He’d seen them only briefly, separating from Pyunma and Joe, finding Chaud and Jet...

Jet.

If he's alive then is it too much to hope that Chaud and Jet are as well? He means to find out.

Throwing off the covers - uncomfortably posh, not only the bed but the entire room done up in a modern sleek design with smooth curves and sharp angles, silk and smooth metal the predominant textures - Albert makes for the door, then the next door he can find. And the next. He winds his way around the building searching blindly, throwing open doors and uncaring to his general dishevelment and gruffly demanding to know what in the hell is going on.

Two// CLOSED

Hours later, after he'd finally calmed down and the poor harassed assistant caught up with him to give him some effects (phone, credit card, etc), Albert finds himself in a bar. It's the only lead he'd gotten in his tearing through the training center and since he has no other earthly idea of where to look in a city so large, it'll have to do. If anything, he can drown himself in a bottle and not have to think about any of it for at least awhile. How they've been brought here to murder each other time and again for entertainment? He can't decide if this is an improvement from Jaden or not.

His heart leaps in his throat when he sees the familiar shock of blond hair bent over the bar, a small collection of shots scattering the area around him. Then there's relief. He's alive. Three times now, three times Jet's died and three times he's returned and Albert has to wonder if his partner is protected by some lucky star.

Or is it unlucky? He's died and come back himself twice now, and it's as unpleasant as it is confusing... And now they, this government in this new place, has full control over their lives. What relief had washed over Albert ebbs a bit at the realization.

Taking a soft breath and exhaling through his nose, Albert slips onto the stool next to Jet at the bar, tapping his credit card to get the keeper's attention and flicking it towards what looks to be the most expensive drink on the wall. If he's going to live and die for their entertainment, he may as well make them pay for it.

As the barman busies himself, Albert silently reaches over and places his hand on Jet's, barely even looking as he does. He says nothing, the drone of the Games on large screens all around permeating the air and making it difficult to think let alone be heard well over the din.

He lets his grip speak for him, tight as a vice but solid and whole and, if he has his way, ever-present.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Howard's jumpy enough without people throwing open doors. He's finally emerged from his bedroom to try and see if he can hold some coffee and a piece of plain bread down when the District One door all but flies open, and he nearly leaps out of his own skin. Coffee goes spilling across the counter and his heart feels like it triples its pace in his chest. He tries to mop up the coffee with a napkin but his hands are shaking so hard he just drops it on the floor.

"Jesus!" He twists around, and getting a look at Albert's weird, pupil-less gaze doesn't really hearten him at all. Howard shrinks into himself a little, into the baggy clothing that only somewhat hides how tiny and skinny his frame is. "What the hell? Do you even live here?"

The sudden clatter of the mug on the counter seems to startle the man in the doorway as much as it does the man who dropped it, Albert freezing for a moment and staring at it with a far away look that makes him appear all the more addled than just his unkempt hair and slept in clothes would suggest. But it passes and a more natural look of sheepishness falls over his expression.

"Ich habe das nicht gewollt. I'm sorry, I'm just looking for my friends... here, let me help to clean that up," he takes a step inside, meaning to go for a kitchen towel if not stopped.

"I don't fucking speak German!" Howard shrieks, somehow ratcheting up his distress despite Albert's gentle demeanor. He practically throws a towel at the guy and backs up to the back of the kitchen, looking for half a second like he wants to crawl into and hide in the sink.

Failing that, he hunches up his shoulders and shrinks inside his clothing, hands in pockets, neck disappearing into his sweater.

With just that one foot inside, Albert flinches, not stepping any further and simply holding the caught towel in one hand as he raises both of his in a gesture of surrender. He speaks low and soft and in English, lightly accented but easily understandable. "I'm sorry, it's a habit when I'm nervous."

He swallows, not wanting to frighten the edgy man further, especially since Albert's the intruder here. Permission is better than him just striding in; even if he knows his own intentions are benign, it doesn't mean this man knows that and it's the last thing Albert can blame him for after the arena. "Is it alright if I come inside to clean the spill?"

Howard takes a few moments to pause and consider that. It's difficult, weighing down the urge to jump at shadows with the logic that says that this person won't hurt him. At least, not here. "Yeah, it's alright."

He slaps a button on the coffeemaker, trying to get it to start again, but without a fresh cup of water to filter it just makes a spitting sound at him.

"Most people just sweat when they're nervous, not start talking German. You an immigrant?"

"No, I'm German," he tries very hard not to give a scathing look for that one. He has no issue with people from other countries as a rule - they're all people, cultural differences aside - but Americans have this tendency to assume that everyone else is some Americanized hybrid like they are.

Keeping as wide a berth from the other man as he can so as not to panic him again, Albert steps in and starts to clean up the spill he'd inadvertently caused. "I think the coffee machine needs more water."

"Not anymore. Now you live here." So much for a warm welcome.

"Maybe it's just spitting mad at me. Get it, because it sounds like it's spitting..." Howard says the second half of that sentence into his collarbone, rather than to Albert.

"Where you live doesn't dictate your heritage, that's where you're from. As I am from Germany, that still makes me German." He shouldn't be arguing, he knows, but he's already had his identity shaken up simply by being stuck here, he's not about to relinquish his nationality along with it.

He glances over at the joke, a little garbled as it wasn't spoken loudly. The guy is nervous, understandably so, and Albert's aware he's the main cause. He should at least try to fix things. He adopts an amused smile, letting the ire from the discussion of his origins fade completely as he finishes mopping up the coffee and moves to the sink to rinse the towel. "I get it. Clever."

"Jeez, no need to get all testy about it." Howard frowns and starts to pace in circles around the kitchen as Albert cleans up. It's a habit, the pacing, and anyone with serious deductive skills would probably notice that the soles on Howard's new shoes are already coming apart from the leather from it. The kid is anxiety personified.

"So what's your name, then? If it's Hans I'm going to laugh. Real loud. Swear."

"No, but it is Heinrich. Albert Heinrich," he turns from the dregs of coffee swirling brown down the drain as he twists the towel under the faucet. "You?"

The kid's nerves radiate off him in a general cloud of anxiety, even if he wasn't pacing hard enough to wear a ditch in the floor it would be obvious. There's something beyond just general jumpiness here. "And how old are you, if you don't mind the question."

"Howard Bassem." He fixes the coffeemaker and rocks back and forth on his heels.

"Fifteen. Sixteen maybe. We don't age here, so it's hard to tell."

It's enough to make Albert want to shove his fist through a wall. Hikaru, Shindou, Elraine, Kiri, Chaud, and now this kid. All children and all placed in situations where they'll have to fight and die for no cause whatsoever.

He manages to contain himself but the rag he'd used to mop up the coffee suffers for it. "That isn't right."

Howard can practically see the righteous fury coming off Albert, and he isn't sure it isn't directed at him, so he opens the fridge as if to look something (really, it's so the door is a shield between him and Albert).

"Well, I'm petitioning out, I hope. I'm done with this life. One way or another."

Did he hear that right? Albert takes a step backwards and leans so he can try and see around the door. "Petitioning out? You can do that?"

"Yeah. I mean, I think only two people ever did it, and you have to do a bunch of interviews and have a talent and everything, but it's- I mean, the worst they can say is no." Howard shrugs and slips further back, abandoning the fridge.

"A talent?" Hm... it might be worth looking into, especially for this boy. Albert's fairly certain that if he gets put in another arena he may well crack, and this is based on their first meeting. "What sort of talent? And interviews?"

Please explain.

"I don't know. I don't know what talent, okay?" Howard gets defensive, gets shrill, pained by how hopeless the venture seems. "The only thing half the people here are good at is dying, and that just means that we're fucked inside the Arena and out."

"Easy, I'm just asking what sort of thing they're looking for." He folds his arms and turns to lean against the counter. With how wound up Howard is, Albert finds the boy's plight tugs at his heartstrings. It's not really his business, but... "I know how to do quite a lot. Maybe I could help."

Howard's brow scrunches down, his eyes dark in the hollows of his face. He goes and finds a seat on the other side of the counter.

"Why would you help me? You don't know me."

"Because you're too young to be in this situation." It may hurt feelings, but if Howard is trying his damnedest to get out he must know already. "Because I take issue with a society who would throw a child into a fight to the death. Because If anyone has a chance at getting out of this, they should be offered all the help possible."

"Aren't you a bleeding heart." Howard frowns and settles down on a bar stool, as much as someone this jumpy can settle. "They used to play this with twelve year-olds, you know."

"I've been called that before. I don't find it much of an insult." He'd rather be a bleeding heart than ignore the suffering of others. He may not be a cyborg anymore, but he still holds on to all the ideals that made him still feel Human when he was.

"And I know. It's disgusting. I'd prefer they didn't 'play' with anyone, frankly."

"I'm guessing you react just as well to 'sap' and 'sucker'?" It's engrained in Howard to be suspicious, especially of unsolicited help. "You the kind of person who throws themselves down on the grenade?"

"Didn't you see the arena? I'm the kind of person who is the grenade," he looks down his nose at Howard for a moment but then relaxes again as well as he can. "I am well aware that this attitude is easily taken advantage of, which is why I am watchful and careful where I must be, but I won't let that allow me to disregard other people and their needs. I decide what and who I am, not others."

Which is sometimes a tricky business, but this kid is young and he'll learn with time. Hopefully. Albert raises an eyebrow. "Would it make it easier on you if I told you I wouldn't help you and expected you to beg me?"

Obviously he doesn't think so.

"I haven't watched it back yet." He always needs a little bit of time to unwind, to let the freshness fade. He still can feel R twitching and dying in his arms. He still remembers the pain in his eyes from where his eyes burned out. He needs distance.

"Yes. Yes it would." Howard wraps one hand over the other and rests his face on them. "Lie to me, big guy."

No I don't know where I'm going

no subject

yay new cr!

Re: yay new cr!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)