[open]

[alldeduction]

WHO | Sherlock, Morrigan, and whoever else wants in on this. OPEN.
WHAT | A couple of new tributes wake up together and snark happens
WHEN | pre-Arena 5
WHERE | Some hard cots and then their respective suites (1- Morrigan, 2- Sherlock), and then presumably around the Capitol
WARNINGS | all the sarcasm. But nothing else for the moment, will update this as necessary.

[ooc note: Sherlock and Morrigan will be tagging together for a bit but then end up going their separate ways, so feel free to start your own thread! just note who you want to tag with and where they are, and we'll do the rest!]

Sherlock awoke suddenly, his eyes snapping open as his entire body registered the fact that a) he shouldn’t have been asleep, and b) he had no idea where he was. Last he could recall he had been running down the street with John, handcuffed and giddy from escape. And now?

He sat up abruptly, eyes narrowed as he scanned the room. Almost entirely bare, save for his cot and.... hers. She was, of course, the only object of interest in the room, and likely the only way he was going to find out exactly how he’d got here. (A quick inventory of himself revealed no wounds of any kind, which removed the possibility of getting shot or hit by a car or another traumatic event. He also had absolutely no belief in an afterlife, so where another person might wonder “Am I dead?” the thought only barely occurred to him before it was completely dismissed. He was very much alive.)

He watched the woman for another moment, growing more and more frustrated at time went on, as he could only tell a few things about her. The first was that she had absolutely no synthetic fabrics on her - they were entirely made of natural fibers, though there was something odd about them that he couldn’t place. It meant, however, that she was definitely not from a modern civilization as he knew it, and as he didn’t recognize the style of dress, unlikely from somewhere he knew of...

He cleared his throat. “Wake up.”

Comments

[downbeat]

On the streets of the Capitol, Katurian was begging for freedom from anyone with a uniform.

"Please," he said, wringing his hands like a towel, his eyes wide and desperate. "There's been a mistake."

He repeated his routine with the Peacekeepers, the Avoxes, even the waiters and waitresses at the local restaurants. He complimented their outrageous hair and their wonderful posture as he bowed his head. He made a name for himself in quiet, hopeless submission, although he never approached the same person twice. He knew very well that submission could soon become protest. Katurian was well-versed in rigid societies, in the secret police.

"Maybe I'm supposed to be here," he'd sometimes say, hedging when he needed to hedge. He was not going to Make Trouble. "Maybe I am, I mean, maybe there is something very important about my being here, but I'm not a fighter, I'm not a fighter, and I have a brother at home who-- ... yes, sorry, thank you, I won't be a bother, thank you ..."

He stood on the sidewalk, lost.

[alldeduction]

After receiving the communicator and the map, Sherlock had almost immediately set out to see the capitol for himself. The information was almost too ridiculous to believe, had he not now seen for himself that there was absolutely no way he was in his own world. Though his mind raced, he still had more than enough attention to take in the city and its denizens, though he said little and less, content merely to observe.

He paused, however, a block away as he accidentally eavesdropped on the plaintive pleadings of a young man that immediately caught his interest.

It wasn't difficult to deduce exactly what he was pleading for.

He watched him for a moment, eyes drawn to the finger nails, the hair line... The nails told him more than enough, but the rest of him helped to. He stepped up towards him.

"Well. It seems there are more of us. You've been here what, a day?" He glanced back at the nails, and then forced a smile. "Perhaps fighting is beyond you, but I'm sure you know how to carve."

[downbeat]

Katurian had dried blood under his fingernails. The blood from the killing floor would soak into his gloves now and again, leaving small specs and stains that would never go away no matter how much he washed. Sometimes he imagined that he could smell the blood everywhere he went. The grocery store. The library. His bedroom--

( -- where the walls sometimes screamed and the shadows sometimes twisted alive, where he buried his head in his pillow and cried and cried and cried.)

Katurian curled his fingers into his palms and stepped back. He did not trust this man with the tight smile, this man who looked too closely.

"Don't you know how to say hello?"

[alldeduction]

"It's never been a strong suit," Sherlock said with a smirk as he came to a stop, standing perhaps a little too close. Personal space wasn't a strong suit either.

"Though considering we both seem to be meant as canon fodder, I suppose I could spare the attempt. Hello."

[downbeat]

"Hello," he echoed. His voice was breathless and his mind was elsewhere. With the mention of cannon fodder, Sherlock's previous comment had finally caught up with him. It seems there are more of us.

"You're a tribute," he said uselessly, but that hardly seemed to cover it. He was standing before a man who might kill him. He was standing before a man he might kill. The fear curled around his head like a beast's jaw because this man, this stranger, spoke with confidence and a sharp tongue and moved forward when Katurian moved away. He was not a friend. He was a snake.

"I have personal matters. At home." It was too difficult to say home world. He glanced at the nearby Peacekeeper, the one he had so recently pleaded with. "That's why I'm--" He swallowed. "I have responsibilities. And n-no one -- no one else will take care of them if I'm gone, and it's not fair to punish anyone else for my being here."

Sherlock, Waking Up

[ordonaturalis]

Her first reaction was to frown- scowl, really, at the unseen voice making, of all things, demands of her. Then one hand came up to block the light from her eyes as she blinked, adjusting to the sudden waking as she searched for the source of the voice. If it were another sloth demon come to bother her within the Fade, she was going-

“Oh- oh.”

The first noise had been questioning. The second was annoyed. Awake now, she could tell the very tension of the air attested to the fact this was not, indeed, the Fade. Nor even some foolish Lord and whimpering Lady’s castle. Lovely. Leave it to the mages of the Circle to fail at even a simple portal opening. The Warden shouldn’t have bothered wasting the time. A swift blood ritual- or better yet, a swift spilling of blood through more mundane means- would have solved their problems far more satisfactorily. More the fool her, Morrigan was forced to suppose, for agreeing to be the little messenger girl in that pointless drama. This was the reward for good intentions. Even those which had not been hers to begin with.

A matter for later thought, however. For the time being, there was the man. With his demands. Without pause from her initial, self-directed dialog, she swung her legs over the side of the cot, sitting up to regard the…well, strangely dressed covered only the most obvious traits, man. Her free hand came to rest reflexively on the staff besides her, though she left it laying beside her rather than picking it up. For the time being.

“Not a demon, then. Very well. I’m awake. Dare I wonder if your plan extends past such a grand accomplishment?”

[alldeduction]

Once she moved, he saw the staff that had been lying on the other side of her. Another puzzle piece, but one that only confirmed his earlier conclusions.

It did not, however, help him feel any less disoriented.

"Not my plans," He said matter-of-factly, slipping out of the cot and testing his legs. No muscle weakness, so he couldn't have been out very long. He frowned down at his feet before looking back up at her. "And given your state, I'm assuming not your plans either. Unless your building materials are several centuries advanced from your textiles."

He tugged on his jacket, sorting out his clothes before sniffing once and taking in a better view of the room, almost pointedly ignoring both her and her staff. "Though if I merely interrupted a scheduled nap, by all means, return to it."

[ordonaturalis]

"A simple 'no' would have sufficed, I think."

Well, then. If a viewing of a bleak, empty space was to be her fate then she had best get along with it. She followed suit and stood besides him, staff now in hand as she took in the area. A gentle tap of the staff to the ground- no. Nothing. A child's fancy. Whatever had caught them had planned well. Still, the ground echoed back at her in a way she had never heard, a strange material. But it did not concern her over much. There were many things in the 'civilized' world she had yet to gaze upon, and which Flemeth had seen no reason to inform her of.

"I shan't dare venture any hope at all regarding your usefulness, then, hm?"

[alldeduction]

"No," He replied with a smirk, all too willing to be unhelpful as possible. For the moment, anyway. He walked over to the door and tested the handle. Locked, of course.

He started to scan the ceiling as he spoke. "Do you have any bruises or marks that you didn't have prior? Any feeling of disorientation, grogginess, short-sightedness-- Ah!" He interrupted himself as he found the camera watching them in the corner.

"Bizarre," He said mostly to himself as he stepped up under it. "Not a make I recognize..."

Morrigan | Out and About and Open to all

[ordonaturalis]

Following the thus far delightful introduction to the- what she very generously begrudged to call a- world, Morrigan was on the prowl. Typically, she would do such in a more appropriate form. A cat, perhaps. Or a crow. Or a monstrous spider set on razing the building down to its very foundations. Whatever struck her fancy, truly. Without her magic, however? Without her magic she simply walked.

Ah, but how the mighty had fallen. A fine thing Flemeth could not see her now.

Her staff- now reduced to little more than an over glorified walking stick- was still in hand as she took in every accessible corner of the building set aside for 'tributes.' Which she now had the glorious honor of counting herself amongst. As for the city itself...Morrigan did not fear. But the sheer size of the world of men outside the doors of the building was disquieting. And a quest for another day. For now, she contented herself to more local property damage.

And, of course, the inquisition of any she came across.

[downbeat]

In the training room, Katurian was learning about poisonous plants. He sat hunched over the laminated book like a student in a library, flipping between plant and index, plant and index, plant and index. Aesculus hippocastanum. Aquilegia. Daphne. Delphinium. Excoecaria agallocha was also known as blind-your-eye mangrove which sounded like a perfect defense if he had ever heard of one.

He tried to smile at his more lucrative finds. He tried to bask in the beautiful information he was learning (couldn't he write so many stories with these poisons? couldn't he do so much?) but it was impossible to truly relax in this room, in this center for murder preparation. Now and again, the reality of the situation would smack him on the back of his head and he would look up from the text, breathlessly scanning the room for his soon-to-be enemies.

[ordonaturalis]

Humans- and their ilk, it was pointless to list out dwarves and elves as well at every reference to sentient creatures- fancied themselves so very above the wilds. They built cities of stone and steel, driving nature from their sight. An accomplishment the men of this world had proven particularly apt at, it would seem. Yet, at the core, nature remained. True, primal nature. For equality was not a natural state, merely a whimsical fantasy dreamed from behind walls of stone. Ever there was the hierarchy. Here, they most openly dressed it as the tribute and sponsor. But at all levels, it stood. The predatory. And the prey.

When Morrigan met the eyes of the man hunched over a book, she had no question which role she would be playing. She didn't bother quickening her step- truly, there was little left to her but time to dispose of before the games began, it seemed- merely strolling towards the lone figure. A figure on the page caught her eye, and she smiled.

"Well, well, what have we here. A curious soul, I wonder? Seeking to preserve the self from nature's little tricks? Or a desperate one, perhaps. Hoping, rather, to inflict them upon others?"

[downbeat]

Katurian drew his fingers across the page and folded the book over his hand. He had no illusions about this woman's intentions. His skin prickled as she approached him slowly, easily, like a cat playing with a mouse that already had its entrails pulled out. He could practically taste her salivation.

He wondered if she had killed someone before. How many of them came in capable? How many were prepared?

"I'm just keeping to myself," he said. He curled his free hand against his leg to keep it from trembling.

Ugh, it sucks but it gets things rolling.

[danno_williams]

God this place wore on you. He had only been here a few days maybe a week and he was already drained.

He'd been sitting on his bed in his room when he'd heard someone enter the District 2 apartments. He'd met the normal residents here and this? The pattern of footsteps, etc just didn't match. He grabbed the nearest heave object which happened to be some sort of decorative stone piece.

Right, District 2 did stone besides churning out gestapo.

Danny made his way to the common room always keeping to cover. It was from said position of cover that he shouted out, "Identify yourself"

not complaining 8D

[alldeduction]

He was not exactly paying attention as he was marched to his Suite, his communicator now in hand and his face set in a dark frown, his mind whirring behind it. Thus he wasn't exactly on the lookout for hidden assailants brandishing stonework when he entered the apartments, the sudden shout snapping his attention to the here and now.

His eyes immediately trained on the figure crouching behind a large piece of furniture. He narrowed his eyes.

"Or you'll what," He asked, baritone voice laced with sarcasm, "Lob a chunk of rock at me?"

Weee!

[danno_williams]

Huh, English accent, that'd be the first time he'd heard that particular style of English here. "I've got great aim I'll have you know. It's one of my many sterling qualities. Now, back to my question, what the hell are you doing here and who the hell are you?"

[alldeduction]

"Yes, I imagine your sterling qualities are beyond count," Sherlock said sarcastically, walking further into the room, not seeming to care about the threat of a stoning at all.

"Considering that I've been in this god forsaken place for all of an hour, I imagine you know the answers to those questions more thoroughly than I do - save one. Sherlock Holmes. Am I required to show you my papers before you desist?"

Sherlock, about the capitol, feel free to catch him

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard's finally maxed out his credit card. Fortunately, there's no dearth of wealthy people around the Capitol, and while he gets a bit more attention than he likes as a Tribute, he still has somewhat fast hands. So he's been going around taking the wallets and dipping his hands into the purses of others, and thus far he's chosen his targets carefully enough that he hasn't been caught.

He notices a man that doesn't appear to be watching him specifically so much as taking in the entire crowd around him. He's much taller than Howard, which means Howard might be able to slip by entirely unnoticed if he's quick and keeps his head down. Howard dodges past some people on the street and quite convincingly 'accidentally' bumps into Sherlock, slipping his hand into Sherlock's pocket as he does so.

8D let me know if this is okay. Sherlock's a pretty decent pick pocket in his own right...

[alldeduction]

Sherlock's hand shot out almost instantly, to snatch the boy's wrist.

"Well, it's almost pleasant to know that there's something here that feels like home," He said companionably, glancing backwards at his catch. His grip was firm, but not hard enough to hurt.

He turned more fully in order to take a better look, and couldn't help but notice where the boys pockets were slightly more full than they ought to be - almost invisible outlines of wallets previously stowed. He smirked. "Not bad. Getting a touchy greedy, but not bad."

Works for me!

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard wrenches his arm back, trying to break Sherlock's hold. It's not a practiced flail, more of a reflexive one.

"Get the fuck off me, man!" He keeps his voice low because he doesn't want to attract attention - even if Tributes can get away with all sorts of things, he doubts any security guard or police officer is going to believe the story of a black teenager laden with extra wallets over a white guy with a more believable (and accurate) explanation. "Let me go!"

There's nothing companionable in the glare he gives Sherlock, which communicates something to the effect of 'drop dead'.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock offered a smile that did not reach his eyes, but held on for approximately 4.5 seconds longer before he let go, and then straightened his jacket.

"Relax," he said, a touch of boredom in his voice. "I couldn't care less. Though I am curious as to who or what would resort to pickpocketing in a place like this."

The clothes were new, but dark and without the questionable fashion taste of the rest of the citizenry. Even if they did seem well made and likely expensive. The accent, as well, did not match anyone he'd overheard that was native. Only one likely explanation, then. He smirked.

"Boredom? I was under the impression that Tributes were exceedingly well kept."

Sherlock; District 2 Suites

[electriccandlelight]

Valeria was growing more and more distracted as the Neverending Quell went on. Her work ethic had always been surprisingly strong, exemplary by Capitol standards, really, but now that same trait and her unfortunate lack of creativity was draining her at an alarming rate, eating up her time and energy so that she didn't realize she'd gotten off the elevator on the wrong floor until she was standing in front of a door that quite distinctly did not say '3'.

"Oh," said Valeria, hand hovering the knob (she wasn't in the habit of knocking). "Oh damn." Somehow, walking all the way down the hall to get to the proper floor seemed a daunting task and instead she simply drew back and leaned against the wall opposite, closing her eyes.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock barely spared her a glance as he walked straight down the hall, his coat billowing behind him, as he had been unwilling to trade it for any of the Capitol fashions. She was obviously native, which meant that his initial interest in her was set to absolutely zero.

The fact that she didn't seem to be in the right place and didn't know what to do with herself, however, meant that he at least spoke.

Still not looking at her, he swung the door open. "Well? In or out."

[electriccandlelight]

Valeria jumped, but quickly got a hold of herself, calming and looking the man -- new Tribute? -- up and down. It was instinctual to lick her lips, smirk, and say, "Is that an invitation then?" though her heart wasn't really in it.

[alldeduction]

"I wasn't aware anyone from the Capitol required an invitation for anything," He said with a slightly sarcastic tilt, stepping into the suite and leaving the door wide open behind him.