universe, how strong am i?

[costing]

Who| sherlock holmes & ian gallagher. sherlock holmes & joan watson.
What| shady meetings in back alleys & exploring the capitol.
Where| the streets outside on of the capitol's more indulgent establishments & then the districts shopping plaza.
When| a late night & an early afternoon before the races start.
Warnings/Notes| drug use/discussion.

ian |

The first thing that Watson tells him, when he wakes up, is that the drug situation in the Capitol is going to be a trial for him. His first instinct is to write her off, to dismiss her concerns and rely on his own strength of will. But he cannot simply do that. Sherlock has learned, over hard months and he trials of his first arena, that he isn't as strong as he would like to believe. His mind may be exceptional, but his body is not. And addiction falls somewhere in between, turning both against him. He's managed, in New York, because he's had support and control. Here both things have been taken from him.

He's exploring the Capitol in a careful grid, mapping out each building, alley and road in his mind. He believes that the key to bringing down the Capitol will be found somewhere in the turns of its city, hidden in plain sight. Usually he spends time with Watson, but tonight he's restless and craves solitude. So he wanders through the streets with an idle gait but a gaze of focused precision, his hands tucked into the pockets of a dark coat.

Sherlock passes the building-- a club, a bar, some seedy combination of the two-- and doesn't think much of it. It's the small hours of the night, just before daybreak. But as he gives the place a second thought, Watson's warnings about temptation come back to him. There had been times, in the arena and since, that he'd wanted to drown out the cacophony of his circumstances. But he's stronger, now, and more centered.

He walks past.

joan |

It feels normal, and that's enough to make him suspicious. After a week or so locked in the District 11 suite, researching past games, Sherlock has decided that it's time to see the rest of the city in detail. He invites Watson along because he needs her-- she's seen more of this place and knows more people. While she's always an asset, his trusted and necessary partner, in this world her importance has taken on new levels. Sherlock knows, in the back of his mind, that this might be a liability. But she'd told him it could also be a strength. For now, he decides to trust her judgment.

He's gotten to know, and come to hate, his stylist by this point. But on off-days he's left to his own devices, so he's dressed like himself in slacks, a collared shirt, and a suit vest. He's got his hands resting lightly inside his pockets as the two of them stand by the central fountain, ready to create their plan of attack.

"So, Watson," Sherlock says after a moment. "Where shall we start?"

Comments

[formersurgeon]

Joan and her stylists have come to something of an understanding. After several instances of her almost being late to some Capitol event or another because every outfit proffered was met with a "Ha. No," they've allowed her neutral colors, and she's put up with shiny fabrics and the occasional rhinestone (ruffles continue to be right out, though). Joan has on a thigh-length coat that's soft dove in color with a slight opalescent sheen, and a beret that was feathered when it was first handed to her. ("Ha. No.")

"Most of the people who are here to shop are here for the mind boggling atrocities that pass for clothes. Or we can go to the District 3 section and look at electronics."

She raises her eyebrows slightly with that one. Electronics that they could doubtless take apart and reconstruct. If they could figure out some way to do it subtly.

[costing]

"I suppose it would only make sense," he agrees lightly. "Seeing as we've already been supplied with our own mind-boggling atrocities."

He doesn't really care about wardrobe, most days, but he understands that having them unable to dress themselves is another layer of control exercised by the Capitol. So far it has been a nuisance, but he can see, like beads sliding along an abacus, how the small nuisances might build up to something heavier.

Still, as he takes long strides towards the Third District, things seem at ease. Right, in a way. He tries to shake that feeling off, however. It can only be a distraction.

[formersurgeon]

She keeps up, walking beside him. There are Capitol citizens all around them, a rainbow of ridiculously architectural attire. There are a few people who look at Sherlock and Joan and obviously recognize them, whispering to their friends and pointing them out. Joan resolutely refuses to make eye contact. The last thing they need are people hounding them for their autographs or asking prying questions.

"This place is all about appearance. A game of smoke and mirrors that's been played for decades. Of course, anyone can play. Create a story that people will believe."

[costing]

He makes no secret of the fact that he's taking in every detail, matching every inch of the place. He spots the different kinds of citizens, tries for brief moments to understand the complex psychoses behind their hysterically ostentatious appearances. But for the most part he does this all silently, passively. There's nothing to confront yet.

"Potempkin Villages are notoriously easy to tear down, Watson," he says, arching a brow at a particularly styled citizen. "I imagine that's why they feast on the emotion of our struggles. They imagine it to be real."

[formersurgeon]

"When in reality it's as orchestrated as anything else."

They pass by a pair of Peacekeepers in their white uniforms and helmets, and she thinks briefly of Dan, the Peacekeeper she had befriended, how she hasn't seen him in a while. She hopes he's okay, that his association with her didn't get him into trouble.

"We're not talking about Ed Koch hiding urban blight by putting pictures of curtains and houseplants in the windows of abandoned buildings," she continues. "We're talking Germany in November of 1938. Only it's lasted for over 75 years."

[costing]

That's the real question of this place, the one that Sherlock keeps coming back to. How is this dramatic landscape maintained? Obviously something about the original system became untenable, and that is why they know fight instead of the native children. But the overall structure is the same. If he had to wager, Sherlock would have bet that such a brutal regime would've erupted in rebellion years ago, and several times since. Even though this structure is meant to keep the spirited in check, it couldn't have worked forever.

"What is your assessment then? How has it lasted?" He has a theory, but he's more than willing to pick her brain first.

[formersurgeon]

She glances to the side, wonders how good the cameras and microphones doubtless planted everywhere could be. The market is bustling and noisy. Maybe they can talk a bit more freely. It isn't like she hasn't said a lot of these things out loud before. But now...

Now he's here. They had leverage before, of course, but not like this.

She moves to walk a little closer to him, shoulders almost touching, and lowers her voice.

"People want to be comfortable and happy. So the Capitol gives the citiens here what they want. The clothes, the food...the drugs...the spectacle. Just wait until the Coronation. They pull out all the stops."

She narrows her eyes slightly.

"Most of the people in the districts aren't so lucky, of course, but the ones with the least...they have the most motivation to rebel, and the least means. And if they try, the Capitol will destroy them."

She glances at him.

"Literally. There used to be 13 districts."

[costing]

People respond better to myths than facts; it's a failing on humankind's part that Sherlock understands, even if its root cause baffles him. So the whispers of a thirteenth district, destroyed utterly, would certainly go a lot further than an objective history of one group's rebellion. Yes, whoever is in charge here certainly knows what they're doing. And Sherlock is quickly coming to hate their genius more and more.

"I don't suppose we could volunteer to join the former group." He says this offhandedly, because he already knows the answer. Still, it sets up a neat system-- the Capitol and Districts firmly divided, one group utterly beneath the other. And then there are the new Tributes, still a wildcard in every sense.

They come upon the first store in the section and Sherlock moves to open the door for Watson, a conscious but familiar move on his part.

[formersurgeon]

Joan wishes the destruction of the 13th district was a myth, but as far as she can tell from her interactions with Dan, it's a fact.

"We can apply to become citizens," she answers. "If we can prove we have something to offer. Detective is out, and considering their technology, doctor too."

She walks through the door as a matter of course, only musing afterward about how comfortable and familiar it is.

[costing]

Sherlock follows after her. Out of the corner of his eye he can see a Peacekeeper moving on the street behind them-- following their movements. He decides not to think too much on it; after all, when are they not being watch?

"All our marketable skills reduced to nothing." His tone speaks to false remorse, as he begins examining the shelves and the store's wares. "But I suppose citizenship, too, comes with its drawbacks."

[formersurgeon]

Like the marketability of their skills has ever been important. She suppresses a smile. "No one's going to pay us to be detectives here," she agrees, matching his tone, and briefly meeting his eyes before going back to surveying the electronics.

"Being a Citizen means becoming part of all this. You have to prove to a committee that you're worthy. And then you get to watch your friends die in the arena without being there to help them."

Joan knows full well they'd never let her be a citizen, and she has no intention of abandoning her friends.

She notices the Peacekeeper, and makes sure her hea is turned before she frowns and glances at Sherlock. Being watched is one thing. Being followed is different.

[costing]

"I've never found fault with being an ex-patriot, before," he says, as though that decides it. He knows she'll understand, the obvious assessment of who would want to go through any of that, for any of this? Although, it's probably more accurate to say that they are refugees, here, or prisoners of war. They do seem more like gladiators than anything else.

He follows her gaze to the Peacekeeper and lifts both his brows. He doesn't recognize the man; does she?

[formersurgeon]

"Mmm." She doesn't comment, but she's never lived out of New York. Her friends, her family, her father...her ties were tight. Being an ex-pat might be familiar to him, but it's uncomfortably, even painfully, alien to her.

He gives her that questioning look, and she twitches her eyebrows up in response, with a slight turn of her head. She's never seen the man before. It doesn't mean he doesn't recognize her, though...maybe he was one of the Peacekeepers that "bought" her for a dance with Dan.

sorry I'm late!

[wantwhatiwant]

One of the doors open just in front of Sherlock and Ian stumbles through, he has no idea what time it is. Time lost meaning quite a while ago but he finally had the presence of mind to figure he should get going, find his way back to the tribute tower.

He is not dressed for the weather, but he doesn't seem to notice as he leans against the wall of the building, trying to get his bearings. He's not sure where he is, as usual it is not where he started, but standing around didn't seem like a good idea so he lurched forwards, realising too late that someone was coming towards him.

no worries <3

[costing]

Sherlock spots him as soon as the doors open, but he doesn't expect his interest to be so immediately caught. He'd like, very much, to just walk past. If he continues on his way, he can forget any of this has happened. But he knows he won't do that. Some days he really does miss misanthropy.

He stops a foot away from Ian, stance carefully neutral. He hasn't gotten through all the tapes of past games, yet, but he can recognize the face of another Tribute well enough. He holds up a hand, arches a brow-- and then Ian moves suddenly, and Sherlock finds himself raising both his hands to catch him.

[wantwhatiwant]

Ian wasn't able to stop in time, his reaction times slower than he would like. A disadvantage of drinking, but not a big enough one to stop him. He grasped the strangers arms as he steadied himself.

"Sorry..."

[costing]

His initial instinct is to push the boy away from him, but thankfully Sherlock doesn't have him in him to act on that. Instead he waits a moment for Ian to steady before taking a step back.

"Are you really," he says, tone biting. He's not really referring to being bumped into.

[wantwhatiwant]

Ian frowns at the tone, and tried to keep himself steady. "Yeah." He shrugged, "I didn't see you." He kept his own tone calm, trying to calm any anger that the other man had towards him.

[costing]

Leave it at that, the isolationist in him urges quietly. But something else wins out. Sherlock straightens up and clears his throat. "You're a Tribute," he says matter-of-factly. "Were you planning on returning to the tower." He's not exactly offering to walk him home, but he imagines that's what Watson--or Alfredo--would do.

[wantwhatiwant]

"Yeah." He nods, though the fact he is a tribute is pretty obvious, he's definitely not a Capitolite. "You are too, right?" He didn't quite trust himself to move yet.

"I'm heading that way yeah, need company?"

[costing]

He weighs his options carefully and then nods. "District 11," he says, by way of clarification.

Then he looks back towards their destination and shrugs. "I suppose I wouldn't mind." He even takes the first few steps. Perhaps more observation will give him better perspective, more distance.

[wantwhatiwant]

"District six." He answered. "Not that it means anything." He follows the man, catching up easily despite the swaying.

"I'm Ian, by the way."

[costing]

He notes the swaying-- he's prepared, even, to catch Ian if he looks ready to topple over.

"Sherlock Holmes. Pleased to make your acquaintance, I suppose." That's dismissive enough, a platitude at best.

hoping the minor 4th walling is okay, if not lemme know and I'll change it

[wantwhatiwant]

"Yeah, same." Ian shrugged at him though he did offer a smile. The guy was nice enough to keep him company after all.

"Wait, you serious. Sherlock Holmes? Wow your parents must have been douchebags."

totally fine o>

[costing]

"My father is, certainly." There's no point in denying that. "But my name has never been the sticking point, between us."

It's still a bit unsettling, to have people act on a reputation he doesn't know of. It's a variable, and one he can't account for. But nevertheless he walks with a lose gait and attempts to seem utterly unruffled.

"I'll admit I didn't expect my name to precede me, here."