The Gamemakers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thecapitol2014-04-14 01:46 am
gamemakers) wrote in thecapitol2014-04-14 01:46 am
Entry tags:
- sigma klim,
- terezi pyrope,
- the grand highblood,
- wyatt earp,
- ✘ brainiac 5,
- ✘ carlos the scientist,
- ✘ courfeyrac,
- ✘ felicity worthington,
- ✘ guy crood,
- ✘ ian chesterton,
- ✘ jessica wakefield,
- ✘ joel,
- ✘ kankri vantas,
- ✘ lyle norg,
- ✘ marius pontmercy,
- ✘ maximus,
- ✘ nasir,
- ✘ shion,
- ✘ stephen reagan,
- ✘ topher brink
Thicker Than Blood Start
For Tributes with keen eyes, they'll notice that Peacekeeper presence seems increased and yet infinitely more ineffective in the last few weeks. Peacekeepers seem harried, as do the Stylists, and most of the Escorts titter and plot without alerting the Tributes as to what, exactly, is so exciting. They simply say that this weekend they'll know.
And so it happens that on the weekend in question, the Tributes are woken by their Escorts early and brought to a restaurant for a hearty breakfast. The restaurant is nothing spectacular, although they seem to be trying to make an impression on the television cameras that float around. The sleepy, cranky meal goes by and then the Tributes are led back to their Suites for a mandatory meeting.
Sitting on couches and the floor, in chairs and on windowsills, standing off to the side - people from the Tributes' homes are waiting to greet them in each District Suite. Some are confused, some accepting, some frightened and some elated to see their beloved. Either way, it should be an eventful reunion.
And so it happens that on the weekend in question, the Tributes are woken by their Escorts early and brought to a restaurant for a hearty breakfast. The restaurant is nothing spectacular, although they seem to be trying to make an impression on the television cameras that float around. The sleepy, cranky meal goes by and then the Tributes are led back to their Suites for a mandatory meeting.
Sitting on couches and the floor, in chairs and on windowsills, standing off to the side - people from the Tributes' homes are waiting to greet them in each District Suite. Some are confused, some accepting, some frightened and some elated to see their beloved. Either way, it should be an eventful reunion.
District 8
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He hated going out in public, kept his shoulders stubbornly hunched and avoided making eye contact - or camera contact - as much as possible. He hated seeing his face on screens everywhere, hated the big crowds, hated being gawked at like a zoo animal.
So yeah, mostly he was annoyed - annoyed that he'd been dragged out of bed (or rather, the nest of blankets he slept in on the floor of his room), out in public, with all those cameras, for apparently no good reason (not that there was ever a good reason for that shit).
When he got back to the suite, though, he could see something was up - a bunch of new people were around, and the looks on the faces of his districtmates were, well. They all told stories, some of them quite eloquent. The strange faces didn't put him at ease, though, and he escaped to his own room quickly - only to hear the water running in the nearby bathroom - a tray of coffee on his nightstand that he knew hadn't been there when he left.
He pounded a fist on the bathroom door, annoyed. "Ellie, is that you? Can you believe that breakfast bullshit? Like they expect us to put on a show without any notice..."
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It takes him a few minutes before he finally spots the backpack on the other side of the bed, leaning casually against it. It's not Ellie's. In fact, it looks like -
It looks like Tess's backpack, from back in Boston. Joel can feel his throat go dry as he stares at it, as it remains exactly the same, apparently innocuous, as though it's not potentially about to turn his world on its head.
The water turns off in the bathroom, and Joel turns to face the door. He has a feeling the owner of the backpack will be coming in for it presently. And not for the first time since showing up here - he's suddenly afraid.
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Except this is Tess, and Tess is dead.
Suddenly he knows how Ellie felt when she first saw Riley here. He comes to himself with a start, realizing his jaw has literally dropped at the sight of her, his hands limp at his sides. When did he stand up? He doesn't even remember.
"Tess?" His voice comes out a rough croak.
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So yeah, Joel knows.
And then he remembers all the strangers out in the common room of the suite, his fellow Tributes suddenly joyous or tearful or terrified. Oh. This must be the big fucking surprise everyone's been hinting at for the past week or so.
He doesn't even know what to say. Except -
"Are you alright? Did they - hurt you?"
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"No, it's not a dream," he says carefully, eyes skimming back up to her face. "They've been tellin' us there was a surprise comin'. I guess you're it."
He doesn't look particularly pleased by her presence - much as he's missed her, no one gets brought to the Capitol without a lot of strings attached, and this? Is probably very temporary.
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"It's not you, it's - the people runnin' this place. They're not exactly charitable with this power they got."
Meaning - they didn't bring her back out of the goodness of their hearts. They did it to mess with them both, most likely.
no subject
He doesn't want that for Tess. Would he rather she still be dead? That's not a question he can answer, but he knows for damn sure that he doesn't like the idea of the Capitol fucking with Tess - or using her to fuck with him.
Shit, is she even cured? Or did they decide to leave her infected, just for fun? That's what has him knocking on the bathroom door when he thinks it's been plenty of time for her to get dressed.
"Tess?"
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Christ, he can't figure it out - like his brain can't quite process what his eyes are seeing. He doesn't know how to act, how to feel. So he settles on feeling nothing. On shoving things down, in favor of - well, information.
"You're gonna need to know - we'll get stared at a lot. They'll probably make us go places - events, parties, who the hell knows. There's cameras everywhere. Everyone watches us. The government, the people. We're entertainment for 'em, and they expect us to stay in line. There's no infection. We're like - reality TV stars."
Paging Dr. Frankenstein...
Mostly, they lie by pretending. They pretend that things are better than they are, more exciting, more innocent -- often, it seems, to themselves. So when they ushered him up this morning with the promise of a leisurely breakfast -- one that he must attend -- he knew there had to be more to it than that. Doubly suspicious, when he returns, that their police -- their 'Peacekeepers' -- are all over the building.
He does not remotely suspect the sight waiting for him on the floor of the District 8 dorms. He can only barely resisters the presence of the camera crew when the next person the Creature lays his eyes on is him.
They would have offered to clean him up. Offered him food or fresh clothing, perhaps. Whether he accepted any of those or not, it's impossible to mistake the man who brought him to life. The man he left abandoned on the ice, who he feared might have already died without him.
The Creature stands frozen in the elevator as soon as the door slides open. He's dressed, today, in denim jeans and a short-sleeved tunic: green, a color close to the coat he wore when he was brought here.
He freezes and, for those first few seconds, he doesn't move.
"Master!"
The elevator dings, the door begins to shut, and the Creature shoots out a hand to block it. He surges forward into the room, leaping over furniture until he can get to the man, reaching out with a hand to close it over an arm, a shoulder, his neck. Whatever he can grab onto to keep Frankenstein in place.
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The answers do not come, so he busies himself inspecting all that is around him. His clothing remains practical, yet with flair: a sort of long frock coat with a high collar and solid undershirt (the material feels artificial somehow), trousers and a soft sort of shoe, not unlike canvas. His auburn hair has been tended, yet sits in a mess on his head from repeated frustrated passes with his fingers; he constantly asks about the devices following him, and even tries to take them apart to the chagrin of the attendants.
It is the breaking of silence that alerts him of the world outside his mind, and he turns in time to see that hideous thing coming towards him with all the speed and grace of a terrible jungle cat. Victor struggles, cries out, but stumbles backwards over a small piece of furniture and feels the iron grip of his Creature closing around his wrist.
"--You!"
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But a few seconds pass, and the Creature grins. His grip tightens further on Victor's wrist.
"Frankenstein, it's you!" He throws an arm around Victor's shoulders and squeezes, pulling him around in a half-turn. "You didn't succumb to the ice and snow. You're alive!"
That's wonderful. He stops spinning, pulls back with his hands on Victor's shoulders.
"This is good. You look strong." That's punctuated with a whack to Victor's upper arm, and a gutteral "Ha!" -- since when was the last time Frankenstein ever really appeared strong? The Creature spins away across the room, still grinning at his own joke.
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"What is the meaning of all this?"
Seeing the thing, dancing about in devilish glee... it sets his blood aflame. Elisabeth. Victor starts after him- their feud is not so easily forgotten. But the cameras follow his movements, and he waves his hand angrily at them.
"Leave us be! Or the whole world bear witness to our madness."
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When he stopped spinning, one arm had stopped in a crooked position, the elbow bent above his head and his fist curled up against his own neck. He stretched it out behind him.
"What have they told you?"
Re: District 8
There were no green faces greeting him, though - and no Legionnaires, either.
The latter was understandable, given how often the Legion was traversing the multiverse. The former was also understandable because of the destruction of his universe.
It was comforting. Most of the people in the room seemed to be family or friends that were there for someone else, barring a black-haired humanoid male that left the room and didn't seem to be there for anyone. (An oversight, perhaps?)
He needed to go up to Lyle's floor and see if one of their friends had been brought for him.
An unfamiliar, brown-haired woman joined him in the elevator and for some strange reason, after he hit the button for Floor 10, she hit the cancel button. Before he had a chance to react, he felt a hand against the back of his neck and a sudden piercing pain.
Then he couldn't move, couldn't speak, all he could do was stand there, feeling the death of a star in his stomach and the resulting formation fo a black hole.
no subject
"Hello, son."