thecapitol | open spectator log because why not

Entry tags:

open spectator log because why not

Who| Anyone who wants to spectate but doesn't want to make a million logs
What| Spectations, spectactling, spectalary. Gathering together to cross fingers and watch the mini arena.
Where| The Commons
When| All through the mini-arena. However many hours people feel the need to watch.
Warnings/Notes| Watching your friends die, kind of a huge bummer.

In one of the many tasteful bursts of helpfulness the Capitolites are prone to having, the commons are full of bowls of snacks and drinks. Popcorn or many varieties, candy and drinks are spread across the table, as if it's a delightful addition to the decorum right now. In another bout of helpfulness, there's also over a dozen tissue boxes spread across the room, nested between couches and chairs. Basically, it's all super tasteful.

It's probably a little sickening watching the Arena on the screens in the common room, but it's hard not to keep a close eye on your friends. Surely some people will opt to keep their viewing in private, but perhaps others are inclined to gravitate toward other people while this shit goes all the way down.

As far as parties go, this one is a real stinker.

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It's impossible not to notice when something that big moves toward you, so Roland's expression isn't quite one of surprise. But his mouth does part a little, and his eyes do widen. There's seeing, out of the corner of your eye, that type of solid hugeness coming your way and then there's turning and really seeing it, having it right there in front of you.

He recovers quickly. "I know her well. And you? Do you know the two of them?"

"Just Susannah. I haven't met err...Detta?" He shrugged his massive shoulders. Despite the deep gravely growl in his voice his eyes were soft and simple. Like a dog.

"Miss Susannah is in my district." He added "We see each other around the common room. But I didn't know she was crazy."

Charles "Orc" Merrimen. Master of subtly strikes again.

"Most of the time she's quite sane." Roland shrugs. If sai Merrimen needs a lesson regarding that particular word, he's not going to get it from this quarter.

"And the other? Her friend? Do you know the lady-sai well?" Perhaps 'lady-sai' was a little much. But it's either be overly polite about the woman or yell about her. And it's not the time for yelling.

Edited (icon) 2014-04-05 10:47 (UTC)

"Not very well." Everyone knew Harley Quinn was Joker's girlfriend didn't they? But Orc had to remind himself not everyone had grown up with cartoons like he had.

"She's crazy, and dangerous. She says she's a doctor but I dunno. District Nine though." He explained as best he could given his weak communication skills.

It's not much, and it sounds like that 'not much' is all the man knows, but Roland listens closely and files away what information is there. Then he nods, grunts a little, and looks over the crowd again, listening closely for another hint of Susannah's voice. That's where most of his attention's going, the listening.

He knows he should be trying to learn more about the creature in front of him. Roland knows tales that might explain such a creature, but they're only tales, and not the ones he remembers clearest. He should be learning about all these people, whenever he can. But right now there's no patience in him for pleasantries.

"If you face her," he begins anyway, because why not? The more these people know what's happening in there, the more they'll learn this anyway. "And she speaks so. You're best avoiding her altogether, if you can."

Edited 2014-04-06 02:07 (UTC)

That was enough to make Orc give pause and look puzzled.

"But why does how she speak change things?" He'd met plenty of people who spoke plenty of different ways. It never seemed to change who they were though.

"Besides...look at me. How much can she do?"

Roland looks him over as requested, then back up at his face. He looks, if anything, unimpressed, though not because the figure in front of him is unimpressive. "She's sly and damned clever whatever name she goes by. But if she speaks as she did then," he waves a hand toward the screen, "then the name she goes by is Detta, and Detta is more than deadly. She's cruel."

For a moment he remembers - graceful fingers curled into claws, her body twisting snakelike across the sand. Lovely features knotted with glee and malice. He remembers her slow, rich chuckle. You be findin' dat out. Sho. "And loves nothing more than to be underestimated."

Roland raises his eyebrows then, expression dry. If the other man would like to count on a tougher body to protect him, he's welcome to it.

Edited 2014-04-06 18:40 (UTC)

Cruelty. Orc has known cruelty in his short life in the Capitol and before it at home.

His mind drifts to a beautiful woman with cold souless eyes and a smile that contained no more warmth then a block of ice.

Blinking hard to try and focus himself "So should I kill her if she talks that way?" He didn't want to kill, but he was willing to make an acceptation for those that would cruelly torment others.

As a former bully, he felt it was only right.

Roland shakes his head before he knows he's doing it, opens his mouth and pauses. Should he? There was a time when Roland himself would have killed Detta, and that for good. If he'd needed to. He will not avoid admitting that to himself.

The body housing the woman he loves so dearly would wake in this tower after, healthy and alive. Ready for another round in the story the Gamemakers are using her to tell. Roland knows that. A part of him knows that.

"Avoid her." Roland shakes his head again. "If you can. It usually doesn't last. Detta can only take control for long if she has help." Before, that help had come from inside Susannah's head. It's not really a surprise that such 'help' doesn't need to be inside her body to be effective. Or at least, it shouldn't be one. Roland turns a little, frowning again at the wall near the screen. It certainly hadn't been a surprise to that other. She hadn't found it a difficult thing to figure out at all.

Edited 2014-04-07 12:12 (UTC)

Orc nodded accepting the advice.

"I knew a guy like that back home." He explained. "Horrible, cruel. He hurt people just to see them suffer."

It turned Orc's stomach to think about it.

"He died, but came back as like...a zombie. But half the time he would change. He'd become this girl who was very sweet but still evil I guess. I was supposed to keep them locked up but...I got angry. And he got out."

There was shame in Orc's voice. Along with shades of the aforementioned anger and some humility.

That actually pulls Roland's attention away from the broadcasts for a moment. The confusion doesn't last, though. Is that really so strange? Compared to some of the things Roland's seen?

"Does that happen often? Your anger?" The question itself is one that might spark that anger, and Roland's ready to avoid a swing if he needs to. But if he answers, it'll be good to know.

He wanted to lie and say no. To act like he was a mature responsible teenager turned rock monster.

But was it mature to lie about your problems?

"Yeah. Especially when I drink." And yet here he was looking around for a refill to his beer.

"I got anger issues." He concluded simply. "Makes it hard to think."

Roland half turns again, thinking a little about his own problems and not really looking at the other man at all. "Yes. It does."

No judgment here. No platitudes. Only information asked for and received. He'll remember it, if he needs to. "But only if it can't be used."

He understood at least part of it. Anger had saved his life and the lives of others...but it had also ended lives.

"How can I use it without being bad?" He asked feeling exceptionally childish.

It's an honest question, isn't it? Roland studies the face in front of him, trying to decide. He thinks it is. That deserves more than a quick, offhand answer, so Roland speaks a little more slowly, thinking it through as he talks.

"It takes time. Practice. Keeping a part of your mind separate, to rein yourself in if you're going too far. Keep that part of you that knows anger always has a cost. Then, once you let your anger free, you'll know when it's been loosed on the right target. But in the short term... I've seen men do all sorts of things to distract themselves from anger. Playing cards with themselves, sex, even singing." He shrugs. "Anywhere you can place all your focus."

He listened carefully, nodding to show he was doing so. So far he'd tried drinking away the anger. Even hitting things for all the good it did. Playing cards, sex and singing were things he'd never considered to help sooth his anger.

"What do you do to control it?" He wondered.

The screen runs one of those clips again. That new, familiar voice catches in his ears and Roland's head jerks toward it reflexively. His expression darkens and he looks at the floor a moment, takes a breath. A breath, and a moment to be honest with himself. "I plan."

He looks back up into the eyes hiding under that heavy brow, looking for understanding there. "Sometimes anger'll let you burn it slow, if it knows you're only waiting for the right moment."

Orc turned to look at the screen. Currently the black woman and her blond friend were mugging a small child for her supplies.

"The right moment huh?"

He thought he'd found the right moment, but he'd failed then.

"Thank you for the advice." He dipped his head in thanks, "I'm sorry about your friend."

"She'll be alright. Detta's a survivor." Among other things. He pauses a moment but then continues, voice flat and matter-of-fact. "And Susannah's far too entertaining to let stay dead. Not now."

And that's all there is to say about that, really, so Roland moves on to the next topic. The man doesn't look convinced. "Anger's tricky. It convinces your reason to go along with it. Separating the two takes time. And work."

Roland's not going to gloss over the most important part of it, but nor is he going to go any further than that. Whether Orc chooses to give up or not is his own business. He considers the huge, gravely hand a moment, then holds out his own. "Roland Deschain."

Orc reaches out gently to take the hand, it took him months of practice to learn exactly how much force or lack thereof was required to properly shake.

"Charles Merriman. But people call me Orc."

He still hadn't decided if he was going to try and leave that nickname behind or not.

"I'll keep that in mind, sai Merriman." He retrieves his hand, and finds it both functional and whole. Well, whole as it ever was. Sending the two fingered right hand, instead of the left one, to be shaken by a grip composed seemingly of small boulders probably wasn't much of a risk. It had, though, been a slightly strange experience. "I'm sure I'll see you again. Soon, depending on how long this lasts."

"Hopefully not too soon." He sighed ruefully. Because the sooner things ended here the sooner they were likely to get thrust into another arena.

And once again Orc would be tasked with saving the lives of people he'd failed time and time again.

He frowns. "I don't take your meaning." Roland's learned how things work here, at least some of the time, but this is the first arena he's seen. He hasn't been here long enough to be thinking of next time - only afterward.

Orc hadn't been counting on that and he rubbed at his arm feeling awkward.

"Well...I mean the way things work around here we might be in the arena next time we see each other. And no one likes being in the arena."

Because sometimes fighting was the only option there.

Roland nods and eyes him, trying to imagine such a meeting. "No hard feelings either way, if we do." He means it. Cruelty is one thing, but death? Necessary killing? That's quite another, and he understands it well enough.

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paidinbeer - 2014-04-14 19:23 (UTC) - Expand

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