open spectator log because why not

[shenunigans]

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.

Comments

[ka_sera_sera]

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."

[paidinbeer]

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.

[ka_sera_sera]

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."

[paidinbeer]

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.

[ka_sera_sera]

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."

[paidinbeer]

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."

[ka_sera_sera]

"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."

[paidinbeer]

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.

[ka_sera_sera]

"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."

[paidinbeer]

"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.

[ka_sera_sera]

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.

[paidinbeer]

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.

[ka_sera_sera]

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.

[paidinbeer]

"Agreed." He tilted his head in acknowledgment. He hoped more people would grow to feel that way in case something else triggered his aggression and made him lash out in the arena.

He still had nightmares of the way he had yelled at Ellie before she stabbed him in the face.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland nods, acknowledging a proposal made and agreed, then turns away again, wrists crossed over the back of the couch. It's good to have made at least an alliance of a sort, even though he's not been putting as much effort toward that sort of thing as he probably should be. He's certainly not going to start putting effort toward it now, not today with Detta's disembodied voice blaring in his ears, but this has been a start.