thecapitol | [open]

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Who: Dennett Norton and OPEN
What: Unhappy nerd exploring the Capitol after his first inauspicious Arena death
Where: Mostly District 1
When: Nowish
Warnings: none I can think of.

Dennett had thought that the last week back home had been the worst week of his life: he'd testified before Congress, and had gone from a private citizen to the target of a firestorm of controversy. Controversy he fully deserved. He'd told himself, when it happened, 'nine days' wonder'--that they would move on to something else, some new scandal, some new controversy. It hadn't been nine days so he didn't know if that was true. Instead he'd woken up here, thrown into some gladiatorial death match...thing. And now here, in a place that looks like it should be hosting a chess competition. Or an old tuberculosis sanatorium. It was so far removed from the brutality of the Arena that it hurt his head to try to think about it.

1

The boardwalk shops cast garish light through the gathering evening, filled with trinkets like souvenirs, everything but shells with googly eyes glued to them. Who would want souvenirs of this place? And did that mean he could go somewhere else, like home?

He was pondering that latter as he turned off the boardwalk, up the road that led to the hotel(?) where he was staying, when a snowball smacked into the back of his head, followed by fast footsteps pounding into the shadows. And Dennett is not going to take this anymore: he runs--as fast as his middle-aged softness will let him--following the sound. "Come back here!"

2

He's never been a fan of rumors, but after meeting Clara--painfully--he'd kept his ears open. Alex was here. That was beyond doubt. Which was bad enough, but the other rumors were even worse. And he didn't want confirmation but, well, he'd run away before. And he owed Alex, whether Alex knew it or not.

He talks to anyone who makes eye contact, and even a few who assiduously try not to. This is important: comfort zone be damned.

"Yes. Please. Alex Murphy. He's...quite tall. Have you heard anything, please? Where I could find him?" He just hopes Alex doesn't slap him, too, when he finds him.

3

He's at the training area, but he's not training. This isn't him. He can't do this. He doesn't even know what half this stuff is for! But still, they seem to expect him to 'train', and he doesn't need psychic powers to deduce they were disappointed with his 'performance'. So he's here, but he's watching, instead, looking about as lost and uncomfortable as you could imagine. "I..there has to be another way.".

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"I guess I don't see the humor." There's a reflexive swipe of his palm over his eyesocket, where he'd been stabbed. It didn't hurt, physically, anymore but he could still feel it.

"That's...not really where my strengths lie." A sheepish grin. "Do they have a beginner course?"

"This is the beginner course," Joel says, pointing at the survival skills stations. "Take your pick. If you're lucky, you've got a good mentor who can help you out. Make a friend or two, if not."

He looks over nervously at the stations, like he expects them to bite him. He hadn't expected the nice lady with knitting needles to hurt him and boy, he'd been wrong. "I don't...I'm used to being the mentor."

What he wouldn't give to see Kim right now. N-not that he wished her here.

"Can I ask--how long did it take you to, um, adjust?"

Joel gives the other man a long, long look. In his time here, he's come to understand that most of the other tributes tend to come from better worlds than his. More comfortable positions. For most of them, it's the arenas that are difficult to adjust to.

"Where I come from, when you die, you don't come back," he finally says. "So I adjusted quick, a long time ago."

For some reason, that comment hurt more than it probably was supposed to. Maybe it was his own, slightly ignominious death, and maybe it was what he did back in Detroit.

"Is there a limit, to that, I mean, here? How many times they'll bring us, erm, back?" If so, he's used up one and suddenly that's less of a miracle than worrisome. "I'm just--I've devoted my whole life to healing. Not killing. I'm not sure I can 'adjust'."

Joel sighs, almost feeling sorry for the guy. As much as he can feel sorry for anyone anymore, at least. "If there is, they would never tell us," he points out frankly. "This is the tenth arena since they started bringin' in people from other worlds. There aren't many left who remember the first one, though, far as I know. Wyatt, maybe, he's been here a damn long time. And there's some that make it a point not to kill, I think. On principle, or whatever. But keep in mind, they'll only keep you alive as long as they find you entertaining."

If Dennett could weaponize his ability to make people feel kind of sorry for him, he'd be in business here.

"I don't...I have no idea how to be entertaining. Or if I want to be." Seriously, is he entertaining? No. "But others here don't kill? How do they manage?" Because maybe he could figure something out that way.

Joel just shrugs again. "Most of us don't know how. That's what the arenas are for, though - they do awful things to us for entertainment. And the ones who don't kill - I think mostly they just die a lot, but sometimes they get lucky. Enjolras - some stuck-up, pompous French kid drowning in ideals won a couple of arenas ago, but even he's started talkin' about how it's morally okay to kill in self-defense."

"Oh. I...don't really enjoy that experience." So, Dennett, it's apparently die or kill. Harder a choice than it might look. Well, maybe not so hard, considering Dennett's a soft, old man who looks like he'd have problems hurting someone's feelings, much less anything else.

"A-and what do you think? You kill in these Arenas? Doesn't it...bother you?"

"Yeah, well, we all have to do shit we don't like. There's only one winner in every arena. The rest of us die. Every time. Best you can hope for, most of the time, is that it's quick and painless."

Joel looks at the other man again, something hard and empty in his eyes. "I've been killin' to stay alive for twenty years. If it bothered me, I would've been dead a long time ago."

"But what if we fight back? What if we refuse to play their game?" Brave talk from...well, just look at him. But he's feeling a little reckless, if it means he doesn't have to kill anyone.

"I just...I'm sworn to heal. To help people. Not hurt them." He holds his hands out, as if he could somehow show his twenty odd years of surgical experience. It probably just looks a little helpless instead.

Joel scowls. "What do you think? Have you been watchin' the broadcasts lately? They just wiped an entire goddamn district off the map. You think they'll stand around and let you or anyone else try to fight back? You think they'll hesitate to kill anyone who defies them?

"You go get yourself killed for good if you want, but some of us are interested in stayin' alive."

"There has to be a limit. I mean, OmniCorp. There was always the profit margin, what they couldn't afford. There has to be something like that here." There probably doesn't have to, this world obviously didn't follow the same rules.

"Do you hate the people you kill? Do they hate you? I mean, afterwards?" He can't believe he's trying to talk himself into this.

Joel just shakes his head sadly. This guy, for someone who obviously has a lot of book knowledge, clearly knows next to nothing about how the world really works. What people will do, to keep control of even a tiny piece of what they think they're entitled to. No matter who it hurts, no matter what damage it causes. But he doesn't say that aloud. It's too dangerous, and this guy really needs to learn to keep his morally righteous anger to himself if he wants to keep his skin.

"Hate?" Joel shrugs vaguely. "Someone comes after my kid in cold blood, I make sure they know not to do it again. But most folks won't do that. Most folks, when they kill, do it for the same reason: because they have to."

He doesn't have it in him to hate people for doing exactly the same thing he does.

It's true: Dennett's spent most of his life in his own head, or in his lab, which, well, is pretty much the same thing. He let Sellars do all the politicking, all the fundraising, all the things he knew he was no good for.

"I-is your child here?" Well, just when Dennett thought his situation was the worst ever, there's one that tops it handily. "I spent my whole life refusing to make things that kill and...this...." He shakes his head. "I'm not sure I can."

"We're not related," he clarifies - it's starting to become tedious, the way he has to explain things to everyone. Not this guy's fault, just something that annoys Joel in general. "She's mine through circumstance. I look after her."

He shakes his head. "I used to think that. I used to think I could never kill someone. It was unimaginable. But then the unimaginable happened. Most people can kill if they're driven to it, in the right circumstances. You'll learn."

"I understand." He does, kind of, the way he feels strangely protective of Alex, despite the fact that Alex is more than capable of, well, defending himself. "It must be hard, here."

Understatement of the day? Week? Year?

"I'd rather--there has to be another way. Or at least some rules." Self defense? Maybe? Could he?

"Everyone has a line," Joel says with a shrug, turning to go. This guy's disbelief and moral outrage are, frankly, starting to wear thin on him. "You'll learn what it is. You'd best stop with the hand-wringing now, though, because that won't get you anywhere. Suck it up, and keep movin' forward."

Dennett's not what you'd call a 'people person'. He spends far too much time either in his lab with machinery or with anesthetized patients. Still, he can tell that the other man has probably heard this all before, and probably knew it didn't end well.

Surprise, Dennett, you're not the first person to think they could morally outrage themselves out of here. This man knew how to survive here, which was way more than Dennett did. "Look. I'm sorry. I know you're giving me good advice. I appreciate it." He wants there to be a 'but'. He really does. He even waits for one to come.

Nothing.

"So. What do you suggest as a way to start, to be more...'entertaining'?" If that's what it takes, he will try.

"Try to stay alive," Joel says with a shrug. "They seem to find that pretty entertaining."

"I'll...try to keep that in mind." As in 'haunting his nightmares', probably. "I hope if I run into you...in there...you'll give me a head start." That's an attempt at a joke. It wouldn't change anything: Dennett can run about as well as he can kill.

"It's not me you have to watch out for," Joel says with a shrug. "I don't kill without reason."

And this guy is highly unlikely to pose any kind of a risk to Joel's safety - or the safety of the kids he looks after.

"I, uh, yes. If I ever...do...have to kill someone, it will be for a reason." Namely self-defense and a side order of luck.

He sticks his hand out. "Dennett Norton. I'm a doctor. Well, technically."

Joel stares at the offered hand for a moment, then takes it with an air of wariness. It's not personal, just long, long habit. "Joel," he finally says, ignoring the 'doctor' part - he uses first names, anyway.

"I'd say start with the survival stuff -" he points at the stations for things like building a shelter and starting a fire. "Anyone can learn that, just takes a little practice."

In the circumstances, Dennett supposes wariness is to be expected, though he still struggles with anyone finding him a threat.

"I would say 'nice to meet you, Joel', but it doesn't seem like the place." Nice to meet you hope we don't have to try to kill each other?

"So, right. Like Boy Scouts, or something." He's trying to find a frame where this doesn't seem quite as horrid as it is.

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