thecapitol | even a natural born fighter can find cause to break sometimes

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even a natural born fighter can find cause to break sometimes

Who| astrid and anyone
What| not getting the best first impressions on her first day
Where| training center (district 6 suites, halls/elevators, training room)
When| 7/31
Warnings/Notes| mentions of death

Astrid had grown up knowing nothing but how to fight. She came from a world where warring against dragons was once all that she had known, where there was only ever enough time to think of survival and whether she could be up enough of a defense to live for another day. But that had long since been over. It was years since the Vikings had made peace with the dragons, learning to live amongst them, obtaining the privilege to go about each day with harmony and the opportunity to just laugh without the constant fear of dying.

She never imagined being thrown back into a world like that, not in this way anyhow. Filled with strange foreign gadgets and nothing at all familiar from her home, all she's told is that she would be fighting for her survival--a tribute, they called her, yet all she can wonder if she had somehow been a sacrifice to the gods. Perhaps, that's what this was, a test of some kind. But even so, nothing explain this strange place she had been brought to. Where was Berk? Where were her friends? Where was Hiccup?

a ↠ district 6 suites

Insulation might be one of the first things she really takes notice of, oddly enough. But when you experience nine months of harsh winters in your home, it wouldn't take long to catch on to the incredible new sense of warmth that overtakes you. Not that the lack of cold truly made her feel better or safer in this situation anyway.

The entire floor was incredibly large, noting the almost endless amount of rooms that she'd learned belong to others much like herself. She finds herself in the common room, carefully touching the incredibly soft, bench-like furniture (Were those safe to sit on? Why were they so soft?) before noticing the moving paintings on the wall.

Except they weren't paintings at all, recalling someone mentioning televisions and that they would display everything she needed to know--about the "games", the Capitol, the tributes. She studies the screen with a mixture of confusion and curiosity, noting how the pictures seem to "speak" as well. But she hardly pays mind to the spoken words, not when suddenly the most disturbing deaths are displayed for her to see, horrifying images that even someone such as herself, so well acquainted with war, grows sick in the stomach just to watch.

The sequences switch through fast, but she has no doubt when she sees a well-known blond twin on the screen and subconsciously rejoices for a quick second at the sight of a familiar face before suddenly there's a bite at the neck and all she sees is Ruffnut being eaten alive.

A struggling gasp is all she can manage, the screen already switching to yet another gruesome death as if the one of her friend no longer mattered, just another number in the toll of all these people losing their lives so instantly lacking reason. If it weren't for an empty stomach, she'd have lost all its contents in that moment, not that it would do anything to help with taking in the next sight.

Hiccup.

It was only on the screen for mere seconds, but she knows that ruffled mess of hair and peg leg anywhere. And in a quick flash that she's convinced is an illusion, she watches as the love of her life gets stabbed in the chest, not even having put up a fight, falling hopelessly into death.

b ↠ halls / elevators

It wasn't exactly easy to be in the best of moods after seeing hundreds get murdered right before your eyes, including a close friend and your lover. But she needed to figure this place, figure out why she was here and what she needed to do to get out as soon as possible.

But this place was so large, odd contraptions scattered about, strange moving boxed rooms that took her up and down the height of the building--everything was too otherworldly, things she never could possibly understand. So in addition to the anger already dwelling up inside, frustration becomes a familiar friend as she wanders hopelessly through the different floors of the building, a lost Viking with no idea how to get out.

c ↠ training room

Finally, something familiar to her. Even if she's disgusted about this new environment, the sight of the double sided axe that she quickly takes in her hands brings an extreme comfort to her. Suddenly, she's much more protected. Even if it was just in this room, holding it brought forth a new sense of courage that she had yet to experience since she came upon this new world.

She swings around the axe with ease, and for a few moments, she forgets everything she's already seen that day, everything she's learned and her mind relaxes as her body becomes accustomed again to what she had always known well how to do: to fight.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He seems genuine enough to say the least, though it's interesting to learn that someone was there to actually help her. The overall structure of this whole ordeal didn't seem to make much sense--people fighting to the death, coming back to life, people providing them with help and supplies. What was the overall goal in this anyway?

"And what do you get out of it?" She couldn't help still have suspicions, of course.

For a moment, the question catches Stephen by surprise. Then he spreads his arms and shrugs. "This is my job," he says. "It's one I care a lot about, but if you're looking for the bottom line, that's it. Or did you mean a more general you, as in the Capitol?"

"Depends if you had an answer for that. So far, I've seen this Capitol place doesn't have a knack for being pretty clear about things."

It crosses her mind that it's possible there were people here who might be trying to make the best of a bad situation, and this guy could possibly be one of them. Maybe. It wasn't as though she'd be so quick to trust, but discussing the situation a bit more with him might not hurt. "Do we ever get to leave?"

"I might be able to explain things a little more clearly." He steps forward and takes a seat in one of the chairs, motioning for her to sit down.

"To answer your first question," he begins, a little apologetically, "there are no current plans to send the Tributes home. I'm sorry about that. Perhaps one day, if the format of the Games changes radically enough, the Capitol may decide to send you back where you came from, but for now, I would advise learning as much about Capitol life as you can."

She hesitates only for a moment before she settles down to sit as well, shifting uncomfortably, still a bit uneasy about where she was. But she listens, though each sentence only confuses her further than making things more clear.

"But why? Why are we even here? We have our own homes. We have nothing to do with this! Why can't we leave?"

"Let me start from the beginning." He takes a breath, then starts the story -- with a little less gusto than he's given it in the past. "Panem is organized into one main city, the Capitol, and twelve Districts. Each District has its own industry -- textiles, produce, livestock, power -- and they provide these goods to the rest of Panem. In return, the Capitol organizes production, ensures that everything happens smoothly, and is the center of learning and art. However, nearly eighty years ago, there was an uprising. The war between the Districts and the Capitol was brutal, and in the end, the Capitol won. The Hunger Games are the Districts' punishment. Until about two years ago, each District would send two Tributes, one boy and one girl, to the Capitol to participate in a fight to the death, until only one was left alive." Here he pauses, to make sure she's following.

Astrid decides to listen as carefully as she can without too much interruption. She may not have been too happy with her current situation, but some further information might at least do her some good.

"So what's the difference with how it is now? They just upped the number of people who go in?" She asks, though she doesn't seem to take into account that at that point, fight to the death actually meant fight to the death.

"Not exactly, although you're correct." Good, she's keeping up. "Every twenty-five years, we have something called a Quarter Quell, where the Hunger Games are played by special rules. So, for the seventy-fifth Games, the Capitol announced that from now on, instead of being taken from the Districts, Tributes would be reaped from other worlds. They also decided that more Tributes would compete, that Arenas would be held about four times a year instead of annually, and that fallen Tributes would be revived and made to compete in subsequent Arenas. We call it the Neverending Quell."

"Neverending Quell," she repeats it simply to register it further in her head. Based on his explanation, she's understanding the setup, but the reasoning is still completely over her head.

"But I don't understand why they're taking people from other worlds and completely against their will. Isn't that just kidnapping?"

Stephen looks worried for a moment, then holds a finger to his lips.

"The Capitol doesn't see it that way," he says. "And speaking against the Capitol will get you in trouble. You saw the men in the white armor as you came in, didn't you? Those are called Peacekeepers. Be very careful around them -- if you don't cooperate, they will arrest you."

It's his tone that keeps this from being a threat: the way he says it is earnest, concerned, and cautionary.

Luckily, she gets the hint. Whatever the authority here was, they seemed to be very strict, which meant Astrid couldn't just do the usual "Astrid thing" and just cause a riot about it--it meant she probably need to take the more Hiccup way of doing things, without making a scene.

"So, to sum up, I, along with a variety of other people from other worlds are supposed to fight in these so-called arenas, where, if you die, you'll be revived afterwards." It sounded even more like nonsense saying it out loud, but she'll deal for now.

"What happens if you win?"

"If you win, you no longer participate in Arenas. Instead, you help coach Tributes in your District on how to win, and during each Arena you try to convince citizens to sponsor your District's Tributes." He's watching her closely. "Has the sponsor system been explained to you yet?"

So there really was no escape. Even if you won, you wouldn't have a chance to leave. You wouldn't fight, but you'd still be wrapped up in the games. A never ending cycle.

"Sponsors? No. They didn't really give me a lot to go off of other than the whole general 'fight or die' tagline." Or however it was worded. It was a lot to take in at the time when she had just arrived, with no knowledge of how she got there or where everyone was. It wasn't exactly a time to pay attention to details.

Stephen moves slowly to one of the chairs arranged around the coffee table. He sinks into it. His guard isn't down completely, but Astrid's listening to what he has to say, and that's a step in the right direction.

"While you're in the Arena," he begins, "the people left in the Capitol can send you things. It can be anything -- supplies, weapons, food, water -- all useful things, all things that could save your life. But they're expensive, and the prices go up the longer you're in the Arena. It's the Escorts' and Mentors' job to convince these sponsors to spend money on their District's Tributes."

Well, that all sounded incredibly convenient. "Alright, but what's the catch? What actually gets them to send those things? Because I doubt anyone would do something like that just because."

She knows people far too well. And with a place like this, it seemed too good to be true that there were people who'd gift much needed items for free without expecting something in return.

"You're famous, Astrid." Stephen spreads his arms with a shrug. "By the time the Arena comes, everyone in Panem will know your name. You'll have an interview with Caesar Flickerman in a few weeks, and that's when everyone in the country will decide if they like you or not. If they do, they'll want you to win."

He taps his chin with a finger. "And, if they think you have a good chance of winning, they'll bet on you. If they do, and they think they can recoup what they spend on a sponsor gift with gambling winnings..." He leaves that open-ended; Astrid's more than bright enough to put it together.

"So I have to be likeable so that people will be willing to send me things to survive? You all sure have a weird sense of entertainment."

Though Astrid's not minding the system, considering she's pretty sure her chances of winning are fairly good. Even if she just got here, she was one of the strongest on Berk, twice as fearsome when she rode on her dragon's back. Things might be different here, but she's sure she can adjust. She just needed to prove it.

"And what exactly do I need to do to get people to like me here? Back home, if you were strong, that was pretty much what guaranteed some attention. Do I need to wave around an axe or something?"

"That's a darn good start," he says. "Strength is good. So are good looks -- which, if you don't mind my saying, won't be a problem." It's the casual way he says it that keeps it from being a come-on. Stephen Reagan doesn't hit on Tributes...not unless they hit on him first. "But what'll really get them is a story. Fighting for yourself is all well and good, but the Capitol understands that you fight harder when you have something to fight for."

He gives her a searching look.

"Something tells me you already do."

She's been hit on for years that she doesn't get so easily fazed with a compliment. It came with the territory of actually looking pretty decent amongst a tribe of unpleasant looking Vikings. Her reaction usually involves a nice jab to the face, but aware it's just a simple comment, she only responds with a raised eyebrow.

But something to fight for? It didn't exactly take a genius to catch on to that one.

"Is that why they brought me here with him? Some sort of motivation?"

Stephen runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know," he admits. "No one really knows how new Tributes are chosen. It's certainly possible, but I can't confirm it." He drops his hand and looks at her. "But whatever the reason, it'll help you in the arena." He pauses, and his manner softens a little.

"Can you tell me about your relationship?"

She's a bit surprised to hear the question, mainly because she's never really had to explain it to anyone before. People just sort of knew. She gazes around the room, exploring her thoughts trying to find an actual way to describe it.

"I used to hate him actually," she laughs a bit, reflecting on so many years past. "Hate is a strong word, I guess, but he was a pain in the ass and did pretty much nothing right, but ... he changed me. He changed everyone. With his recklessness and idiocy, he made everything better—brighter."

Her face softens, a slight smile appearing as her mind wanders. "He's the chief of our village now. Years ago, I would have been so angry that it wasn't me, but now I ... I just want to support him. I don't really know what else to say about it, other than the fact that I'm gonna stick by him no matter what, no matter what crazy messes we get in to together—because I know that if Hiccup's involved, it will turn into a mess—but I'll be there. He ... he has my heart."

She doesn't voice it often, and even with five years of closeness and kisses, speaking it has a rare blush spark on her face.

Oh no.

Oh, no. That was sweet.

A few months ago, Stephen would have been caught up in the drama of it: he would have felt nothing but delight over Astrid's story. Now, though? He can't help but think of Guy, who would never see Eep again all because he was brought here. He can't help but feel sad.

What happened to Guy was not going to happen to Astrid. Not if Stephen has anything to say about it.

"He's a lucky man. I hope you don't let him forget it."

"Trust me, I won't. I've got a pretty strong right hook if he ever tries to." She brings out a laugh, trying to make up for her red cheeks, a bit embarrassed for saying something so honest just then.

"Look, I still don't really get much of this—it's kind of tough to wrap my head around of it. But if he's here, I want to do everything I can to protect him. So ..." She trails off, a bit reluctantly, but so far, she hasn't found much of a reason not to trust him. "So if you know of ways that could better my chances of doing that, I'd appreciate it."

"I'm thinking you can help each other," Stephen says, leaning back and tapping his chin. "You're obviously a warrior queen, but having Hiccup here gives you a soft spot, something to humanize you. And Hiccup? This is going to convince everyone he's amazing -- because with a girl like you, how could he be anything else?" He looked her over a moment more, then nodded, content with the plan. "I probably don't need to tell you this, but stick close to one another in the Arena as much as you can."

Humanize. It's such an interesting word that she scoffs with amusement upon hearing it. Though admittingly, it had some truth to it.

"So, what, are people really going to like because we're together or something? Seems like a ridiculous thing to get caught up in." It did get people hyped about them back home a bit, especially since Hiccup was the chief's son and Astrid was one of their strongest.

"But either way, you're right, I'm not gonna leave his side if I can help it. I don't want that—" She gestures with a nod towards the television. "—happening to him again."

even a natural born fighter can find cause to break sometimes

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