Stranger With My Face [OPEN]

[mediumdrip]

Who| Blaine and Anyone
What| After his work out with Sebastian, Blaine heads back up to his suite to change and meet his fellow Tributes. Then to a common area where he gets distracted by the Games and in particular one werewolf.
Where| Tribute Tower: District 2 Suites, Common Area
When| The day that Blaine comes back.
Warnings/Notes| Mostly opening this one up for District 2 shenanigans and having Blaine react to his face twin in the Games.

[In District 2 Suites]

Blaine had worked through most of his frustration over his situation by boxing with Sebastian. It had been surprisingly comforting. When he headed back up to District 2's suite he was a little overwhelmed by the beauty of everything around him. The technology here was fantastic. It was really a completely different world than the Arena and it drove home the fact that he wasn't home.

He showered, dressed in some of the clothes provided for him, and wandered around the Suite for a moment, taking it all in. He was a little unsettled by the silent people who were there for him to order around and he was curious about any of the other Tributes who were supposed to be representing the same District as him.


[In Common Area]

Eventually he found himself checking out the common areas too, wanting to take in his surroundings and figure out a general layout of the places in the Tower he had access too. It was towards later in the afternoon that he finally managed to have a complete meal without his stomach twisting up at the memory of dying.

The Games were being broad cast in the mess hall and he was half watching the projection until the announcers were talking about the newest Tributes. One of them Atticus, was being discussed when Blaine looked up. The sight of Atticus made Blaine drop his fork. There were even jokes, comparing the two of them. "Trust me, they're not the same person. Oh yes, that would be cheating wouldn't it?"

Great. So soon after dying, was he going to be stuck watching someone who looked so much like him die too? Could this place get any worse?

Suddenly his appetite was gone. He pushed his food away and watched the broad cast, taking in all of the news of how Atticus was faring in the Games. He couldn't help but find himself hoping that the other man survived.

Comments

[greatestdetectiveaward]

Javert's well aware that hiding in his suite is not a habit he needs to get into, and as such he's forced himself out of his room and into the common area. He's not sure he wants to face the Capitol as a whole yet, however; it's not shame or fear, but simply that it's a lot to take in, and he can only process so much new information at a time.

Currently he's looking at the television, which someone has finally explained to him. He stands in front of the screen, hands folded behind his back, observing. He hears a scrape from the young man behind him and looks back to see that he's pushing away his plate.

Then he doubletakes, looking back at the screen, where an identical young man is in the snow. Then back at the one on the couch behind him, face contorted into an expression of utter confusion.

[mediumdrip]

Blaine notices the expression of confusion of a Tribute next to him.

"Yeah, tell me about it," he says in response to it, but he manages a small smile to show that he doesn't mean any by the statement. He's trying to be friendly. "Before you ask, I don't know him. I have a brother, but he doesn't look anywhere near that much like me."

[greatestdetectiveaward]

"You aren't related at all?" Javert is generally very good with recognizing faces, and that's clearly exactly the same bone structure, the same thick eyebrows and full chin. "He could pass for you easily."

[mediumdrip]

"He looks little older than I do. The commentators said he was in his 20s. I'm 18," Blaine offered. "But yeah, he could. Or I could pass for him. I... I don't know what to think about it. I guess there's such thing as doppelgangers?"

[greatestdetectiveaward]

Javert nods a bit, then looks back at the TV. It seems to have a little bit of a mesmerizing effect on him, and that unsettles him deeply. What strange, captivating technology. "I suppose it's not unheard of for unrelated people to look so similar as to be mistaken for each other. I've made such mistakes in my own career."

He pauses. "But you are both Tributes?"

[mediumdrip]

"He came in after me," Blaine explained. "They probably thought it would be funny. He looks stronger than me though, so I guess that means joke's on me too."

[greatestdetectiveaward]

"Looks can be deceiving." Javert fails to see how this whole thing could be a joke, really. "What's your name?"

[mediumdrip]

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, realizing that his shock at having seen Atticus's face had drive him to being impolite with this stranger. He got up to offer his hand to shake in greeting. "I'm Blaine."

[greatestdetectiveaward]

Javert shakes back. It's a firm gesture, one of a man who lacks doubt and uncertainty, although truthfully Javert's still unsettled by this entire turn of events. He hardly knows who he is anymore, much less how to interpret this strange new world.

"Javert." He takes a seat on the couch, at least a cushion away from where Blaine had been sitting. "I died and was resurrected a few days ago."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock had been sulking. He'd barely left the District 2 suites for days now, had absolutely refused to wear anything provided him save sleeping wear and a silk robe that vaguely reminded him of home. Sometimes he watched the television, though it was most certainly not to check on Danny (except that it was). He'd spent one day marking every camera in the district 2 suites with small black x's just beneath them, and the rest of his time lying on the couch like a dead thing, glaring at those eyes.

They wanted a show? Fine. He would give them a show as boring as he was bored.

[mediumdrip]

Blaine came into the room that Sherlock was in and paused. "Hello?" he asked. Sherlock didn't look like an Avox at all, but it felt like most of the people that Blaine had come across couldn't communicate with him.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock tilted his head back over the arm of the couch so that he could see the body that the voice was attached too, even though he was looking at him upside down.

"Obviously a tribute." He said, half to himself and half to Blaine. "21st century. Midwest America - what, Ohio, perhaps?"

[mediumdrip]

Blaine blinked in surprise. It was a strange introduction but a part of him was just so pleased to be talking to someone who still had their tongue. "That's right. I'm from Lima," he said. "You're a Tribute too, aren't you?"

[alldeduction]

"Yes." The word was quick and final and not a little bit bitter.

He moved abruptly, swinging himself upright and turning on the couch, pulling his knees up.

"And apparently will continue to be so." He had been under the impression that a battle to the death ended in - well, death. Being wrong on that particular account made him more edgy than anything else. "You've been in, I assume."

[mediumdrip]

Blaine's hand moved to the spot on his body that Copycat has exploited to kill him. The memory was fresh in his head and flashing back to it wasn't the best way to continue a conversation. There's a moment, though, when he can't help it.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess you're right too. We'll just keep going back in and getting killed, won't we?" He felt a little pathetic to ask that when he knew the answer, but he was also a teenager talking to an adult. While he wouldn't normally want to be considered a kid, there was something comforting about being around someone older than he was.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly at the movement of Blaine's hand, but as he suspected, there was no physical sign of anything that would have killed him. He suspected there wouldn't even be scars. After all, Sherlock had none. Even his fingers showed no trace of the frostbite that was slowly rotting them away before.

Too bad for Blaine that this particular 'adult' was currently in the middle of acting like a four year old.

"I believe that is the intention, yes." He said flatly, eyes still narrowed. He didn't want to admit that he had no idea how they had done it. He raised a hand, pointing to the nearest black x that he had drawn, on a flower vase on the coffee table. "And watch us break."

[mediumdrip]

Blaine heard those words. Watch us break. They filled him with a sense of dread but also a quiet determination. He thought about how so many people had tried to break him back home and remembered what it was like to watch Kurt fight against everyone who tried to harm him. Homophobic bullying didn't seem like much compared to literal death matches, but that strength was still important wasn't it?

He looked over to the X and then realized that he had seen them around the suite. They hadn't seemed like part of the decor. When he considered it though, he realized that they marked off something and that Sherlock had probably been the one to do that. There was subtle change in him as he figured out what they were. He knew enough of the Games to realize that everything in the Arena had been recorded, so why wouldn't everything be recorded here?

His stance changed. His body straightened a bit. If they were watching him they weren't going to get a scared teenager. They were going to get the best face he could possibly put forward. Sherlock probably saw it for what it was, his own quiet defiance not to break in front of them.

"I'm Blaine," he said, pretending that everything was perfectly normal. "I think we're roommates now."

[from_a_distance]

Clint got in the habit of watching the Games to check up on Stark scope out the competition. (Because he totally wasn't worried about Stark. That would just be stupid and suggest he actually cared about the guy a little.) And it sort of stuck.

Even after Tony died he figured it would be a good way to get an idea of what the other Tributes could do, since it was obvious they were gonna put him through this all over again.

He's taking up all of one of the couches, keeping an eye on anyone else in the room but watching the Games all the same.

[mediumdrip]

Blaine noticed the man but let him watch the Games in peace for a while. Finally, after the channel changed to some advertising. "Excuse me?" he asked, directing the question to Clint. "Are you another Tribute?"

[from_a_distance]

Clint glances away from the TV to the kid. He's not all that surprised to see a face like the one that was on the screen, partly because he'd seen this kid in the Games before he died and partly because he just met someone who swore up and down he looked just like her twin brother.

"Yep. Most of us are, aren't we?"

[mediumdrip]

"Most of us, though I guess you could be a mentor," Blaine pointed out. He doubted Clint was an escort or Stylist. He didn't have the Capitol flare for fashion.

"How many Arenas have you been in?"

[from_a_distance]

Yeah, he definitely does not have a Capitol look to him.

"Just the one."

He's kind of glad this kid doesn't know, because it probably means he doesn't know how long he lasted. "You?"

[mediumdrip]

"Just one," Blaine says, acknowledging that they had a similar experience. "It was..." he stars to say but he doesn't know how to finish. How could he ever sum up what had happened to him in that place? How could he face the fact that he was supposed to go back in?

[from_a_distance]

Clint snorts out a faint laugh. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

It's not like it had been all that much worse than some things he'd been through, but he'd always thought when he finally got killed that would be it. Turns out it's not the case at all.

[mediumdrip]

"How did you do in there?" Blaine asked, gesturing a bit to the projection of the Games, even though he knows that Clint has to know what he's talking about.