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.
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.
no subject
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!"
no subject
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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
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?"