thecapitol | OPEN

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Who| Sabriel and you
What| Sabriel's back in the Capitol after her first death. There's a lot to catch up on.
Where| D10 suites, training center, and various shops and restaurants around the Capitol
When| After Sabriel dies in the arena
Warnings/Notes| Mention of death, avoxing

Option A [The common areas of the 10th floor were where Sabriel took her breakfast most of the time, and where she sits on the couch, looking over the news about strange diseases and the fate of District 3 and Cecil Palmer as she drinks a cup of tea and tries not to throw up, or start shouting in rage.]

Option B

[Sabriel spends some time at the training center practicing with a sword, doing her best to hack several dummies to pieces, and then skewering each piece.

But she spends far more time at the survival skills stations, and learning about spears and knives and a variety of improvised blunt weapons. She speaks to other tributes on occasion, her demeanor seems oddly intense.]

Option C

[She needs sponsors, she needs information, and she wants to get out of the tower. This is how Sabriel winds up eating dinner at a variety of restaurants and shops, examining the wares, eating, and talking to fans. If there's one thing thirteen years of etiquette training have given her, it's the ability to smile and act like she's having a wonderful time when she really isn't. Still, whenever she spots a fellow tribute, she can't help but wander over to talk to them.]

[Closed to Hans]

[The Speakeasy is probably the best place for this, Sabriel realizes. It's noisy enough that they probably won't be overheard, and people there seem more interested in their drinks than visiting tributes. So she sends the invitation handwritten on fine stationary, containing a time, location, pointed allusion to Starkiller, and signed with a flourish.

She arrives early and sits down at a table, drinking some kind of dark red fruit juice as she waits for a mentor she's heard about, but never met. Hopefully, she'll be able to explain what Starkiller did, and why she didn't consider his death to be completely in vain.]

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[Dennett just needs a clue. He still can't believe this is happening, and he's not sure how he feels about dying. On one hand, he didn't kill: he held to his principles. On the other: he died. That was...unpleasant.

[Even the food here doesn't quite wash the memory away, so he's doing something a little uncharacteristic for a neurosurgeon. He is drinking wine, and looking lugubrious at the crowd of revelers.]

[Sabriel takes a seat next to him, looking mournfully down at her soda. She never saw the appeal of getting drunk before, but now she does. Unfortunately, most places are reluctant to serve an eighteen year old alcohol, for obvious reasons

She's as unnaturally pale as ever, but beneath the shock of dying, there's a strange sort of energy in her movements.]

It was your first arena too, wasn't it?

Is it that obvious? [Of course it is.]

And I'm not sure how people get used to them.

[That drink looks awfully fizzy for the expression on her face. He looks over at the server, signing him to come over.]

Can I get you something? [No one's going to tell a man his age he can't order two drinks. Breaking the law? A petty resistance, but it's still something.]

You'd be surprised what people can adjust to- and I wouldn't say no to some wine.

Maybe not as surprised as you'd think, with some of my research.

[He catches the server's eye, pointing at his glass, and signing 'two'. Really, what can they do to him? Kill him? ]

Do you study behavior, then?

[She grins, and scoots a little closer.]

Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Sabriel.

Sort of accidentally. I study, well, the brain. All behavior goes through the brain.

[What had he told Kim? Consciousness is merely the processing of information?]

Dennett. [He flashes a timid smile.]

What do you do--or did do, before you came here?

Well, I attended school, and after I graduated, I had to travel to deal with some family business. [Which is all technically true, but incredibly misleading.]

Oh. [He sounds wistful. To be young and a student again, with all that potential left ahead of him....

[His thoughts are interrupted by the server, returning with the two glasses of wine. He'll wait till she leaves before subtly nudging one over to his new companion. He's a doctor: he won't let her get too drunk.]

So this place must be quite a shock, I imagine.

Orc came shuffling out of his room around this time looking dull and struggling to blink the sleep from his eyes.

He was shirtless, not that it mattered given the thick coating of pebbles that covered every inch of his body. His beady little eyes scanned the room and took a moment to study this unfamiliar face before he decided he needed to wake up more to think about who she was.

Each step he took, even at a shuffle was heavy enough to make noise. When he reached the kitchen he promptly took an entire bottle of orange juice from the fridge, removed the cap and proceeded to gulp it down, spilling a trickle of it from his cracked lips and having it run down his thick neck.

Sabriel cleared her throat, and strode forward with the strangest sense of deja-vu. She'd seen the rock-man around the suite, but hadn't spoken to him before.

"Stop that," she reprimanded in her best prefect voice, reaching for the bottle, "Use a glass instead."

Orc stopped though the bottle was already half empty and some juice had made it's way down his stone covered chest to his wide stomach. Lowering the bottle he leveled his gaze at her dryly. His tone was not annoyed just not fully awake yet.

"Glasses break." He gestured with his thick fingers. He was perfectly capable of holding a decent sturdy glass when he had his wits about him but until then they were just a liability.

Of course he didn't have to clean the broken glass up so there was that at least. Now! Onto the mystery of this woman and who she was.

[The training center is the one place he can return back to without feeling crushed under the weight of memory he can't deal with right now. He's gone here everyday almost, painting, training, all different memories, none of them associated with one singular person. It's safe here, in that sense.

He's been collecting allies. But now that he has them, of course he has to check on them. Just to be sure of each and every little thing. There is indeed an intensity about her, and he almost feels as though he's learning more this way, just by watching her train and fight from his place by the wall-- all painted up glorious with carnival, death, life, and loves, as he tends to make it. At this point, he'd be surprised if she couldn't feel his eyes on her.]

[Sabriel turns to look at the Initiate, smiling faintly as her eyes go over the mural.

The Initiate is her ally, and while it's not safe to say anything here, there's much she wants to tell him. It will have to wait.]

Preacher, I didn't take you for an artist.

[Well. If that don't just goddamn make his day, and make him like her all significant, he doesn't know what up and could. It breaks some of the solemnity of the events current, and what can't be broken can be wrapped up clean and neat in the guise of being called "preacher". It lifts him up from within, visibly, to be referred as such.

His lips pull into a smirk, first to her, then to his own work.]

It's a good hobby. USEFUL IN MANY WAYS. Survival, expression, communication, reaching understanding, grasping a unity, balance, finding beauty and sharing such... IT PLEASES THE MESSIAHS. And it pleases me.

[He turns to her again, with his paint coated fingers.]

DO YOU TAKE PART IN THE HOLIEST MOTHERFUCKING ARTS, SISTER?

In music, as much as I can- singing, bells... other instruments as well. [She's managed to acquire several as gifts from fans, and many of her invitations to parties come with a request to play at them.]

I was meaning to ask you- can you tell me more about your messiahs, now that we're out of the arena?

[His brows go up. His face goes surprised. And then he grins huge. In this very moment, this very second, she may be his favourite person.]

Why, sister. HE WOULD DO SO GLADLY AND WITH GREAT MOTHERFUCKING PLEASURE! Tell him, is there anything what all you wish to know particular? OR SHALL HE ENLIGHTEN IN HIS OWN EASING TO THE HOLY?

[The grin takes her by surprise, but she nods.]

Tell me what you think is most important about them.

Important? SISTER, WHERE CAN A MOTHERFUCKER EVEN UP AND START ALL UPON THE IMPORTANCE OF THE HOLY TWO. The Messiahs, Sister, are beginnings and ends of all things. THEY ARE CREATION AND DESTRUCTION. They are life and death. DARK AND LIGHT. They are. SO. Many. MOTHERFUCKING. Things.

[He gestures as he speaks. His hands punctuate the things he says and his arms spread as a natural preacher's would.]

THEY ARE FEAR AS YOU KNOW. But more so, they are mirth. THEY REPRESENT A CELBRATION, SISTER, A CELEBRATION OF ALL MOTHERFUCKING THINGS. All motherfucking things what he has just told of. THEY REPRESENT THE FINDING AND EMBRACING OF BEAUTY IN EACH PART. Recognizing that each is part of the grand cycle and so as much important as the other. WE INDIGOS, MYSELF AN INDIGO, WE ARE THEIR CHOSEN CHILDREN. But under the Messiahs, their is beauty in all and so, he believes as in part of the deepest most hidden scriptures. AS IS EVEN TREASONOUS. The Messiahs have plans for all colors.

[He whispers that last part conspiratorially, thrilled.]

IN THE OLDEST SCRIPTURES OF OLD, THERE IS TELL, WE SHALL ALL GO TO OUR AFTERS EQUAL. The faithful of course are picked out from the sinners, without saying. BUT THE CARNIVAL DOES NO BAR DOOR FOR NO PALTRY REASONING. So long as mirth is had and the sacred upheld. AS LONG AS THE MESSIAHS ARE GIVEN THEIR PRAISE AND DUE AND HEARING, SO THEY WILL GIVE THE GLORIES OF SHANGRI-LA. Paradise... like what cannot be reached in no mortal realm. A PLACE OF ETERNAL CELEBRATION. A place of good.

THEY ARE MIRACLES, AND THE MAKERS OF MIRACLES. They bring joy and laughter to the Carnival. THEY GIVE IT SOUL. And they give us place for the resting of our souls. THEY GIVE US PURPOSE. They give us reason to be. THEY ARE ALL POWERFUL, ALL SEEING. They are. SO. Motherfucking. BEAUTIFUL.

But they are gods, remember. THEY ARE ABOVE US. They have no motherfucking reason why all to look the fuck down on the rabble. IT IS IN THEIR RIGHT, TO NOT BEHOLD THE WRETCHED BELOW. They need not bless, nor guide. THEY NEED NOT SHOW US THE PATHS WHAT WE CANNOT SEE, NOR LET US HEAR DIRECTION FROM THEIR VOICES TWO. They need not to give us family, pity, hate, friends, miracles. THEY NEED GIVE NO MOTHERFUCKING PARADISE, THEY NEED GIVE NO MOTHER FUCKING THING WHATSOEVER.

...But they do. YOU ARE NEVER ALONE, WITH THE MESSIAHS AT YOUR SIDE. You are never entirely without.

[His eyes are closed now. Both hands are pressed to the center of his chest, like he can feel his gods' touch within him. His expression is strange; serene, but intense, calm, but emotional. When he speaks, it's with a breathlessness.]

I CANNOT TELL YOU WHICH PART OF IS OF MOST IMPORTANCE. That is like to ask your favourite singular anything of everything at once. I CANNOT TAKE THE MESSIAHS APART. I am their most devoted servant and couldn't possibly make to choose.

[Hans half considers ignoring the message. It's a fleeting thought, a desire to remain uninvolved in anything suspicious. Unfortunately, his clear and stubborn connections to Starkiller have already sullied his hands so much that not pursuing it would be impossible. Those thoughts aside, he is curious as to what this person could possibly tell him that he doesn't already know. The pursuit of information is an honorable enough mission for him, so he decides to arrive as discreetly as possible.

He slinks into the bar with a carefully blank expression, his eyes falling on Sabriel almost immediately. He crosses toward her and slips into the chair across from her, giving her a small smile in greeting.]

It's nice to finally see you in person.

[Sabriel's smile is equally polite, with a carefully schooled blankness underlying it.]

As opposed to over the screens? [She steeples her fingers together in front of her as she gets straight to business, her tone matter of fact.]

I was there when Starkiller died. And I've seen the reruns, since my return to the Capitol. Tell me, did they offer any more information when he actually died? Because if they didn't... You're his friend, and I feel obligated to tell you what happened if you don't know.

Yes, actually. I haven't had time to touch base with many of the new tributes, particularly ones out of my district.

[He looks sympathetic, but he breezes past the small talk as soon as she starts to delve into the topics she hinted at in her initial message. His face becomes stern immediately and he nods curtly.]

Please, anything you could tell me would be most helpful. The Capitol is determined to turn to tell me as little as possible, but.. I know him better than they think I do. [He'll open his eyes a little wider, add a little more distress. Poor doll face, so worried for his friend, better tell him everything.]

I'm sure you've guessed by his punishment that he managed to hit a nerve.

[Sabriel leans forward, twisting the ring on one of her fingers. It's a skull, carved from bone. She's careful to keep her tone conversational- as though there's nothing they're discussing that could possibly be worth eavesdropping on.]

That power outage in the Arena? Starkiller was the one responsible for that.

They certainly did a number on him, seeing him like that is.. hard. There's no way to help it, either. Not without endangering us both.

[His hands are folded over his lap politely, he's clearly trying to stay reserved. His brows furrow in confusion at her words, he's a strange mix of shocked and impressed.]

I had a feeling his arrogance was warranted. [There's a brief, fond smile.] What compelled him to do that? How did he do that?

He's my friend, but that's a stupid risk to take. Particularly given our hosts tendency to overreaction. And I don't think that's what he'd want.

[Sabriel's lips curl up into a faint smile]

Electricity- he channeled a great deal of lightning into the force field, and shut it- and the rest of the Arena- down. Unfortunately- and I don't know if they did it deliberately, or if was part of a safeguard- my powers stopped working after his deat so I couldn't go and make him tell me. [Talking to dead people is totally a normal reaction to your friend dying, right?]

Absolutely not. The best we can do is show that we're willing to behave, perhaps they'll be lenient. [He doesn't look like he's entirely sure of that, but there's a small amount of hope in his voice.]

He did? [He's trying to match her casual air, but his eyebrow quirks tellingly.] Did he know what he was doing.. I suppose you wouldn't know, would you? ..And do you really think the lack of your powers had been the only thing stopping you from talking to him if he was dead?

[Sabriel shrugs. She's obviously not that optimistic.]

If they want to punish us, i suspect they'll do it directly. But for now... you're right. It's better to be a reed than an oak. Especially when the storm has only just begun.

Yes, it was. If my own death taught me anything, it's that Death here is in many ways the same as Death in the Old Kingdom- and I started walking in and out of it when I was twelve. Unless you mean you don't think he'd want to talk about it?

It wouldn't do anyone any good if we compromised ourselves so early on, if anything it's been proven very vividly how fruitless it can be. [His voice is particularly low when he admits that, he's trying to give Sabriel the impression that he trusts her with the sentiment.]

So what you're saying is, you have the ability to talk to people once they're already dead? [He shakes his head at her question.] I know how he can be, but I'm sure he isn't that bullheaded.

Well... a little more than that. Necromancy involves mastery of the Dead, not just talking to them. [Sabriel frowns.] But he didn't tell either of us- to keep us safe.

Necromancy? That sounds impressive. [He makes a note to ask her about it later. For now, he should focus on Starkiller. Which he will, by pressing his hand to his temple.]

Right.. point taken. I don't suppose you've ventured a guess as to why he decided to take it upon himself to do that, have you?

It is. [Sabriel's tone is a weary acknowledgement, not a boast.]

Either escape, or an act of defiance- a far more effective one than people who simply complain on the devices about how much they hate the Capitol. [Why bother expressing rebellious sentiments when your captors will only beat you, and no one listens?]

Although if it was escape... he ought to have worked with others. Plans made alone and in haste rarely succeed.

It wouldn't have been an escape. [He's very firm with that.] He's not the sort to make his point by running, and.. As far as I know? He wouldn't leave without me. Not without dropping a hint, somehow.

[He shakes his head.] I think we can say with certainty it was an act of defiance, perhaps because his powers made him cocky. He made his point vividly, though, I'll grant him that.

He might not have had time. Not if he only came up with the idea while he was in the Arena. [But it's not as though she has anything solid to back that up- it's just a feeling.]

If it's any consolation, I felt him die, and it was a quick death.

That's my meaning, really. Unless something happened, I have a hard time imagining he'd make a break for it, but that's just a hunch.

[He gives her a soft smile, looking sad and relieved.] I'm glad. He doesn't deserve to suffer, not then or now. He's gruff, but.. he's a good guy.

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OPEN

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Sorry for the delay!

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District 10 commons

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B - after Penny & Cruentus annoucement

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sorry this took so long!

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Whoops HTML

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