thecapitol | (no subject)

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WHO | Sandy and YOU!
WHAT | A new tribute is confused and...hey free food?
WHEN | pre-Arena 5
WHERE | suite 12
WARNINGS | None for the moment.

Sandy felt decidedly out of place in the lavish surroundings of the Capitol. She was after all, a skinny little brat from the bad side of town. And yet here she was with freshly washed hair, clean clothes, and a view of the city from this gigantic window.

It had all happened so fast she still wasn't entirely sure she was alive at all. One minute she was running for her life, the next she was being told by some old farts that she was going to be fighting for her life.

Then it was off to bed and now here she was. Alone in a room that was bigger then her entire apartment. It was enough to make a girl wanna scream just to hear it echo.

More curiously she had tried in the shower to do her special trick, to make her skin hard as stone and nothing had happened. It was gone.

Her attention was drawn by a smell. A strong smell, a sweet smell. It led her from the window to the kitchenette area where delicious food sat on display. Like someone was preparing for a party but no one came.

Eyes shifting around cautiously as if an adult was going to pop out of one of the many doors to this area and yell at her Sandy hesitantly took a flower shaped roll out of a basket and broke it open.

It was still steaming inside.

That was all the encouragement she needed. Finding a knife she took stock of the various items near the basket and decided to try what looked to be pink butter. It was even better then she imagined! Raspberry honey butter! She devoured the roll in a few bites and moved to the fruit basket. Some kind of purple melon caught her eye and she plucked a crescent shaped slice.

If she really had died, this was not what she had imagined Heaven was like. But it was a good start.

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The door was open, of course, and his eyes first fell upon the spears lining the wall before it fell upon the girl in the middle of the room, trying them out. A smirk spread up his lips as he couldn't help but be drawn into the doorway, leaning upon it as he watched her.

"You'll never manage the leverage, at your weight," He said after a few moments. "It would give you reach but your response time would be too slow for the reach to be useful. You're better off with a dagger, or a knife."

Sandy turned sharply at the voice and practically dropped the spear in the process. First her cheeks flushed with embarrassment then she scowled.

"I-I was just messing around." She protested and then turned to stomp over to where she'd gotten the spear and put it back. Still her eyes fell on the daggers and throwing knives glittering dangerously at the table. He had a point. Those would be easier to run with.

She moved to the side to pick up one of them and examine it carefully while calling out over her shoulder. "Who are you anyway?"

"Sherlock." He didn't give his last name, this time, lest he receive a reaction similar to the one he had gotten from Danny.

He didn't move further into the room, simply standing where he had planted himself in the doorway and watching her with a hawk-sharp gaze. The smirk was still on his lips, however.

"Tribute," he added, eventually. "And yourself?"

She thought he had to be messing with her now. No way was she about to let him see her acting all confused and buying into a name like that.

"Sandy." She answered back leaning on the table to look at him. "Unwilling tribute."

"Aren't we all," He mused, before finally leaning out from the door, stepping across the room and up to the row of knives. He let his fingers gently trail over the hilts. Even here, they took mostly familiar shapes. He'd be able to pinpoint a wound made with any one of these.

"Gladiator never was one of my preferred career options," He said, picking up one of the knives, turning it over, and then sticking it into the table, hilt up.

"Me neither. But some of these jerks actually seem excited to be killing each other for some stupid TV show."

Turning to face the targets Sandy held the knife and threw it clumsily. The knife was not made for throwing and so it clattered uselessly to the floor spinning where it landed.

"Idiocy knows no bounds," He said easily, glancing over as she threw the knife.

"Not that one," he said as it clattered to the floor. He looked back to the table, frowned at it, and selected four or five, placing them on the edge. "These. Throwing knives, and better weighted to you. The one you threw is a hunting knife. You wouldn't want it to leave your hand."

"Great." She sighed head hanging. "I can't even tell the difference. Who thought it would be a good idea to put me in some kind of a death match with adults?" She protested grumpily.

"Whoever thought I would be interested in killing, I assume. It's an easy enough distinction to learn, however." He held up a throwing knife.

"Throwing knives are always smaller, lighter. Generally out of once piece of material, usually steel. They rarely have handles, instead one end is blunt and the other sharp. They often have holes in the held end in order to decrease the weight." He put it down and picked up a hunting knife.

"Hunting knives are bigger. Heavier. Always have a hilt, often have a hilt guard." He pointed to the metal separating his hand from the blade. "Also often have two edges, and the edges are often different. That allows the hunter to do different things with the knife."

He set it down. "See? Simple."

Edited 2013-01-13 18:35 (UTC)

Though sullen she listened to his explanation and felt foolish for needing something so simple explained to her. But it made sense the way he said it.

Taking one of the throwing knives she aimed at the target again. "I'm just wasting time I'm sure. It's not like I could kill anyone even if I wanted to. Which I don't." She grunted and threw the knife as hard as she could, but her release was too late and it flew too low skittering across the floor and swinging wide and to the left.

"Running is all I'm really good at."

"So don't kill anyone," he said with a shrug, playing with a throwing knife. He knew the theory, of course, but not the technique. A demonstration wouldn't help.

"Throwing knives aren't likely to be much use anyway. If you miss, all you do is arm your opponent." He hummed lowly to himself as he looked over the knives, and took out one that resembled the hunting knife, but slightly smaller and without the serrated edge.

"Here. A Bowie Knife. Meant for close-quarter combat. You run, and if someone catches you, you lash out with this. Meant to deal good damage at a close range, and can be used either as a slash weapon or to stab. Doesn't require you to learn how to use it."

He put it down and then leaned back against the table, crossing your arms. "Run, and wait until the homicidal maniacs kill each other off. I can't imagine we're the only tributes with no interest in murder."

Sandy accepted the knife and held it. It felt heavy. Even heavier when she considered what it was intended for.

"So what happens when all they have is a bunch of tributes who don't want to off each other?" She asked as though the thought hadn't occurred to her. "Can't be much fun to watch."

"I imagine they have ways to 'inspire' us," He said, his voice taking on a slightly darker tone.

"The Romans used wild animals. Who can say about the Capitol?"

Sandy wasn't sure what he meant by The Romans. All she knew about Rome was they wore togas, and had some connection to pizza that she hadn't looked into.

"Like how?" If this guy wanted to help her figure things out she wasn't going to say no. Especially not after some of the encounters she'd had today.

Sherlock shrugged. "Depends on the level of technology available to them. Considering that they are pulling beings throuh dimensions," for that was the only way he could explain it, thus far, "who knows what they would be capable of throwing at us. If they are determined that all but one of us will die, I'm sure they'll find a way."

He picked at the table with the blade of the knife.

"I have abosuletly no intention to do as told, however."

She set her knife down gently, glad to be rid of it's weight. It still felt so off to hold onto something deadly.

"Thank GOD!" She sighed "So many people around here just seem...OK with this whole being forced to kill each other thing. I thought I was going crazy." Even in New York people weren't THAT heartless. Some were but not all.

"Acclimitization is a powerful thing," he said for the second time in as many days. "Atrocities become bearable - even normal - if suffered long enough. And it's hardly the first time that glory has been linked with murder."

He used some words that were beyond her but Sandy got the general gist of what he was saying.

"So what do we do about it? Can we just...leave?" She had thought about it but every time she got close to the main exit she caught sight of the door man who was...decidedly imposing looking.

Sherlock was silent for a moment, unwilling to state that in all honesty, he had no idea. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"I don't have all the data, yet. But considering how we came here I imagine it will be quite difficult to return home."

"I don't even remember how we got here." Sandy confessed. "One minute I was...well running for my life. And the next minute I'm in some room in some clothes that aren't mine." She tugged at the collar of her outfit. It still felt weird to her. She missed her favorite well worn shirt.

Sherlock glanced at the door. "No. I don't recall exactly either. But I can extrapolate from data. This place does not exist on my world, at least not yet. Which implies heavily that they use either some sort of forced time travel or dimensional travel."

He made a slight face. "This branch of physics isn't exactly my area. The exact method of how we arrived here is not as important as the general - that we have been brought to a different space and time. Which was, I believed until now, utterly impossible. The chances of recreating an event to go backwards..." He trailed off, frowning.

"I simply don't have the data required, yet."

Edited (sobbing i can spell honest) 2013-01-19 15:55 (UTC)

"I guess it could be magic." Sandy reasoned unhelpfully. "My dad used to tell me stories about this guy who lived in Greenwich Village and could do all sorts of magic before he left our world behind." Just one of her fathers many stories of the old world before he had gotten taken away.

"So where do we get the data? A library?"

"Magic doesn't exist. There's always a logical explanation." He said it flatly. Little did he know.

He shook his head to the question, brow furrowed. "No. I doubt they would carry such sensitive information. Without even knowing who is directly responsible, we don't know where to find exactly what we need." He stood, slipping his hands into his pockets. "So for now, we observe."

She wanted to argue with him on the magic issue, but it seemed like a moot point.

"So we just...pay attention to people and hope for a clue?" That sounded too optimistic for her. "Like who? Anyone?"

"No. I've already determined some are useless for anything reasonable," Sherlock said with a look towards the door. "The tributes obviously know as little as we do. The stylists a bit more but most of them are vapid and useless. The Peacekeepers, possibly, but the real key are the game makers." He turned his head back to look at her.

"That test we were forced to complete. The ones who were watching us."