thecapitol | (no subject)

Who| Maximus and YOU, OPEN for Mingling - All District 3 will be 'Asked' to attend, but everyone else is welcome
What| Come get Combat Training from the Cyborg Gladiator
Where| The Training Center
When| Two days after the Motorcycle Races
Warnings/Notes| Nothing so far! Maybe violence, but nothing with gore since it's just training weapons.

Maximus was a regular in the training center, but today was different. Today he had set up a good portion of the hall exactly as he wanted it - a large training mat (one of the better inventions in the last few millenia), a large rack of swords, shields, and spears. He couldn't find pilla, but spears would do well enough. The day before, he'd gone around to each of the rooms in district 3 and told them to report to the training center the next day, or face consequences. He also, however, asked Wyatt to attend, and mentioned it to anyone else he thought could use some training.

It didn't really matter who showed up, he would treat them all the same.

It took more than a day to make a soldier, but perhaps at least he could begin to get some of the tributes thinking like one.

Or maybe they would start seeing the benefit of working together.

His Sabertooth Tiger, Ferox, prowled around the edge of the training mat, watching the tributes as if one of them might make a good dinner, and occasionally coming up to rub its large head against Maximus' prosthetic leg.

[OOC note: Each tribute will be greeted, have a rough assessment of their skills taken, and then given a series of instructions for training. Trainees of a similar level will be grouped together, for team activities. Feel free to either tag in for the greeting/assessment, or create an open post for other people to tag you for mutual training.]

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Maximus frowned, but took the question seriously, thinking it over for several long minutes before he replied.

"By all natural rights, I am meant to be dead," He said eventually, stiffly, not looking Albert in the eye. "No man would have survived the wounds I had taken. Or, if he had, he would have been a cripple the rest of his life - if he did not take his own, first, for his honour. Yet I am alive, and my leg is made of metal, and moves as I think and breathe."

He paused again, twisting his metal ankle as he looked down at it.

"I did not cope well, when it was first given to me."

It's strange, but somehow Albert is guiltily happy to hear that. It makes him feel validated after how jarring it was to see Miss Dean strut about with her cybernetics on display. It obviously improved her quality of life, but for someone like Albert, who had been augmented against his will even though the technology had saved his life, it was uncomfortable. To know Maximus had a hard time as well, when he'd come from a similar situation to Albert's, gives him some peace of mind.

"I was much the same." It's all he says, no judgement other than a small sense of camaraderie there. They're not here to talk about their feelings or simper, they're here to train, but it's nice all the same to know there's at least one kindred spirit in this strange an overbearing place and he will continue on the subject if Max wants to pursue it.

He nods, taking the camaraderie for what it was. It didn't offend him. He shifted his weight, his leg creaking under him, and shrugged.

"In the end, we carry on, as we must." He offered a slight roguish smile. "And those who underestimate us for it will quickly learn their mistake."

He tilted his head.

"What did they do with yours?"

"They made me a weapon." He shrugs, trying as ever to convince himself that he's over it. He is, mainly, given his fully human body now and that it was seventy years ago. "Knife in one arm, a gun in the other. Both of my legs housed missiles. My body was metal from the neck downward; all they'd used of me was my brain and nerves."

Albert shakes his head. "All without asking, of course, though I suppose I was near dead already. Actually I'm fairly certain I died during the operations at least twice. Both times I was resuscitated. I don't remember much but pain." He shrugs again and shuffles the spear from one hand to the other, a rakish grin of his own flitting across his lips.

"It would have been useful here, though. That arsenal."

Maximus' face grows more stoney as the story continues. He couldn't possible imagine a hell worse - his leg had been hard enough. To lose a hand? His whole self?

He didn't really know how much of him was kept in the brain. Or what nerves were. He wondered what a man could possibly be without his liver, without his heart.

"Probably why they did not allow you to retain it," He murmured. "Though I would give anything for my leg, so I imagine it isn't too great a loss."

"Oh I have no doubt. Couldn't give me an unfair advantage, now could they?" He doesn't sound nearly as bitter as he could.

"I am glad though. To be able to actually feel with my own hands again... it's a gift. No offense meant, but I fear losing that should I emerge from the arena injured badly enough. I'm not sure I could face it again." Or perhaps he could, but it doesn't mean he's eager to go losing another arm or anything.