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.

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"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."

"Frankly, I don't think you can do it, and I want to amuse myself by watching you try helplessly to prove me wrong." He says it flatly. It's not the truth, not at all. Howard had him right when he'd said bleeding heart, but Albert is also possessed of a talent for looking impassive or dour and that's the look that he pulls now. "Go on. Try."

"That's easier for me to swallow, I swear." And he drinks from his coffee, lower lip twitching a little. Even if the term is some sort of conversational fiction, he likes feeling like he understands how the interaction's going. "So. What District you in?"

"Three. At least that's what they tell me." And Jet's not, which is the only thing he cares about at the moment. He has to find him...

"I don't suppose you've seen a tall blond man, roughly six feet? He generally wears his hair slicked back. I haven't seen him since the arena." Since he bled out in Albert's lap.

"That's my ex's District. Eponine. You better be a good roommate to her." There's a certain fierce protective tone in Howard's words that don't match how scared and shy he otherwise is. "And no, I don't think so. What's his name?"

He hasn't met Eponine yet but Howard's sudden protectiveness earns a raised eyebrow. Perhaps her being an 'ex' wasn't Howard's idea. Still, it's not his business so he only answers to the second bit.

"Jet. We were taken from the same time and place."

"Nope, haven't seen him. There's some other blonde guys around here but they're all mentors, far as I know." He gets up, cradling his coffee to his chest protectively, as if it's an injured kitten. "Laters, man."

Well that's abrupt, but Albert simply nods and stands off the counter to move on with his search in the rest of the tower, though he does stop at the door briefly before stepping through. "Let me know when you want to make a go of this petition."

He catches his voice as too gentle and quickly changes his tone, putting a hard glint in his eyes. "It should be entertaining, at best."

With a smirk that's far from genuine but looks it in spades, Albert leaves Howard to his coffee.

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