some legends are told [open]

[elfstone]

WHO| A scruffy lunatic in the park and you
WHAT| A Ranger gets the lay of the land and finds the biggest green space he can.
WHEN| Slightly forward-dated to shortly after Clara's win.
WHERE| The biggest park in the Capitol.
WARNINGS/NOTES| Just a reminder that your character is 100% welcome to have heard of Middle Earth and the things and people in it, but he's pre-canon, so I'd prefer if you kept spoilers to a minimum! Also, he'll be using an obscure alias and won't be recognizable from the movies. If you feel your character would still recognize him, message me!

Strider has never felt so trapped.

It is not that he is unused to cities. As Thorongil he had spent time in Edoras and Minas Tirith and had found it no worse than nights in the Wild, and Rivendell, though it was by no means a city, was where he would call home, were he asked to name it.

Buildings and beds Strider can handle. It is confinement to the city that makes his hair stand on end.

The materials the city is built of do not help this sense of entrapment. The towers of Gondor had been quarried from stone, good plain stone worked for strength. Strider knows not the arts by which the walls of this city were fashioned, but when he puts his hand on the wall of the Tribute Center, it seems to him him unwholesome. The stone is smooth, too smooth, as though it had been liquified and poured into its shape. Even the rough pavement below his feet feels like a poison.

Strider feels cut off from the outside world, locked in a strange cage with folk of strange talk and stranger dress. He has paced the limits of this cage by now, finding the edges of the city beyond which he is not allowed to pass, speaking with few. Finally, in the late afternoon, he returns to the largest stretch of green he has found and walks through it, casting himself on the ground at whiles and listening intently to the earth before rising and pacing once more.

Even if his behavior were less unusual, Strider cuts a strange figure; there is nothing remarkable about his hooded shirt or jeans, but his brown boots come nearly to his knees. He looks too old to be in such clothes: his hair is streaked with gray and his face is weathered, and always he wears a troubled look. Often his left hand strays to his belt, as though checking for something that is not there.

He's probably just mad.

Comments

[hiccup1puberty0]

This place was enough to make anyone mad but he was possibly just new. Or used to places with no walls and open sky. Hiccup knew that pacing, that edginess that came of feeling trapped. He'd spent most of the last five years up in the sky. Sometimes he stopped and actually thought about that, about how much time he'd spent each day in the air and it astounded him. Nearly every day. Some days from waking until sleeping other than the occasional break for him and Toothless.

And now? Now he was grounded. He was grounded and far, far away from the towering trees of home, far from the mountains - his mountains - cutting into the sky, worlds away from the endless waves lapping against the edges of the island.

No more exploring, no more map-making, trapped in a rigid, defined world, with man-made monoliths blocking out the sky he missed so much.

When he spoke, it was with a strange cadence, genuine sympathy mixed with other things. Dullness some moments, a manic edge others, as if he was only just getting control of his emotions again. He was sitting under a tree, half hidden by a bush. He'd been in his own little world for a while, pretending the buildings that the boughs above and the bushes around him were obscuring weren't there.

"It feels like a cage, doesn't it," he said bitterly. "We're allowed to walk around but it's still a cage."

He'd come to the park for the same reasons, the green and the more open sky. He'd done his pacing earlier, before Strider even arrived.

Upon looking at him, Strider would be able to tell a few things. For one, he was clearly from somewhere at least similar to where Strider was from. He was wearing a furry boot on his flesh and blood leg, leggings and a sleeveless tunic with a thick leather belt over it all, all clothing not unlike what could be found in Middle-Earth. For two, he was clearly tougher than he looked, given he'd apparently lost a leg. And last but not least, the boy had obviously been mistreated. There were bags under his eyes and his skin was the pale color that came on when someone was constantly stressed or had been dealt some great trauma. He was curled in on himself like he was trying to hold all of himself in as if he'd been hit so hard that the outer shell of his sense of self had cracked and some of his insides were leaking out. And on his forehead was a brand that had scarred, a design Strider might have seen around the Capitol already, a symbol of their might that had been burned into his forehead.

Yet despite how beaten down he looked, clearly he was holding onto some small edge of defiance, because instead of letting the brand stand on its own, he'd put a mark over it with oil and ash, blended it into the design so that the mark took prominence. The small braids that were threaded through his hair even looked meant to hold it out of the way so the brand and the mark were visible.

[elfstone]

His dress was less strange than most, Strider could admit. He didn't yet know how he planned to dress himself if he was to stay here: something comfortable, utilitarian, and attracting little attention, he thought. But Strider needed to observe the locals more before he could determine just what constituted the last.

He had noticed the young man on an earlier pass but paid him little mind: Hiccup was in his own world, and Strider was in his. However, when the young man addressed him, Strider turned to look at him properly -- and his expression hardened at what he saw. It was not the first time Strider had seen someone in such a state.

"Indeed it does," he said. With a voice that was even and calm, Strider asked, "Tell me. How long have you been imprisoned here?" He kept his thoughts on the boy's state to himself.

[hiccup1puberty0]

Hiccup pushed a shaky hand through his hair, ducking his head awkwardly. He knew he looked a mess. Thank all the gods that he, Astrid, and Ruffnut were all together. If any one of them was a mess, they had the others to help take care of them.

"Not that long. A few months?"

He lowered his hand.

"Prob'ly looks like I've been here longer, I bet. I know I'm probably not lookin' my best right now."

[privilegecheck]

Tributes, especially new Tributes, tend to stick out like a sore thumb. Particularly when they keep turning up by the cafe Kankri is frequenting today. It's been more than an hour that he's lingered this time, and as the day wears on into evening, Kankri wonders if the man is cold; autumn is well underway by now, the air crisp and cool.

Well, no reason not to be polite. Nothing about this place is easy, and it's certainly a harsh shock when one first arrives. Kankri orders two disposable cups of the hot tea lattes the shops have started flavoring with spiced pumpkin, and walks out to the stranger.

"Hello," he calls as he approaches, holding out one of the cups. "You look like you could use something to warm you up. You're another Tribute, I take it?"

[elfstone]

It is not a friendly look Kankri receives.

This is not because Strider has anything against pumpkin spice chai lattes. Rather, blame it on every other creature with gray skin Strider has seen and their tendency to attack him on sight. He knows of no other living creature with such an appearance, and it puts him on his guard. His hand goes to his belt again, and once more finds nothing. No matter: Kankri was small and alone, and if he proved hostile, Strider would need no sword to slay him.

"You are fair-spoken for an orc, if indeed that is what you are," he said guardedly.

[privilegecheck]

Wow, rude. Kankri bristles at the obviously aggression in the human's reaction. And something about fair-spoken just sounds condescending to him - like the coldbloods who would compliment him on being so articulate, like it was an impressive feat for something they viewed on the level of an infant barkbeast.

"I'm a troll, thank you," he sighs, not even bothering to hide his exasperation as he leans over and puts the latte down next to the stranger. He takes an offended little sip of his own. "And the way you say orc inclines me to believe you're insulting me, which I certainly don't appreciate when I'm only attempting to be friendly and considerate towards someone in the same position as myself. Really, you've been kidnapped to another dimension and the first criteria you can think of to judge people on is superficial appearance?" He can tell it's his appearance by the way the man looks at him, and of course from having received similar reactions before.

[aboveangrybees]

Steve finds himself in the park often enough these days. The capitolites don't care much for him with the marred and disfiguring brand on his right cheek marking him a traitor - at least not face to face, his popularity seems to be larger than ever on the network, though much more anonymous - so he finds himself in the park to sketch now. No sketching at the cafes, he just gets asked to leave or refused service and it seems pointless to take up a chair for no reason. Besides, there's more to doodle in the park.

He's not really drawing anything in particular, just some ideas he has, obscure recollections and some of the beauty he can find around him. So, it doesn't take much for his attention to be drawn away from his art and up at the man who just put his ear to the ground. Steve watches for a moment, unsure, but then the man is up and pacing again.

New tribute? He seems agitated, like an animal pacing his cage, which makes sense for someone unfamiliar with this place and circumstances.

Steve gets up, approaching the man, but he keeps a comfortable distance. His words are kind enough, but they offer a level of understanding in their tone. "If you're thinking about digging your way out, sorry to say, but probably won't work."

[elfstone]

"It certainly won't," Strider says with frustration. "They have done something to the ground here. They have riddled it with holes, with pipes and walls, and water runs swift in all directions. I have never seen its like before." His hands rest on his hips as he blows out a breath, frowning deeply. "Even if I were inclined to dig, I would not get far."

He knows this is likely not news to the blond man with the close-cropped hair, but Strider voices his frustrations anyway. It is not the digging that troubles him but the fact that all the holes muddle his senses: he cannot hear the sounds of what walks on the earth, because they do not carry here.

[aboveangrybees]

Man, this guy is tall - well, no taller than Thor, but with it being uncommon to meet people this tall, so it's still noticeable.

And no, it's not news to Steve at all, rather all common place in a city, but the way the man speaks catches him. Something almost old fashioned about how the words are strung together and placed in the sentence, especially the context of the words - like that of a man who isn't used to technology of this kind, but in tune enough to understand it. Both things that he would say reminds him of the Asgardian.

"It's a city - the capitol - the whole place is going to be like that, only solid real chunk of nature you'll find around here is outside of it. Not that we can leave," Steve's tone sounds as if he laments that fact, he's never done well with being confined against his will.

[atippleoftransparency]

It wasn't often that Lyle saw an older sentient fling themselves to the ground for no apparent reason, lay there for a bit, get back up and wander around only to do it all again. Once he was sure that the sentient wasn't injuring himself in the process, he was intrigued. And since his current activity of people-watching wasn't offering anything that was more interesting than investigating a new Tribute, Lyle abandoned it in favor of following the older apparent-human.

From concealment. Because sneaking was always more fun than walking right up to someone.

[elfstone]

Strider didn't like it when other people followed him. Rarely did they have a harmless reason for it, and he was all the more suspicious for being in a place like the Capitol. He gave it a minute, and then --

"I know you're there," Strider said without warning. "You've been following me since I crossed the path. I suggest you show yourself and explain your errand, or I shall come behind that tree and ask you again, not so nicely."

[atippleoftransparency]

Oops, spotted. That never got less annoying.

"Tip to the newbie," Lyle said, leaning around the tree in question. "You might want to be more careful about throwing those threats around." He raised his eyebrows and smiled toothily. "I could have been a Peacekeeper or something, and let me tell you, sentients who threaten them aren't treated with nearly so much kindness as they treat the rest of us."

He stepped the rest of the way out from behind the tree, though he lingered near it rather than approach any closer. What could he say, he preferred to avoid being within arms' reach of muscular strangers who had nearly a foot in height on him, especially when he was needling them.

"And I'm following you because I'm bored and you're the most entertaining thing I've seen today."

[failbender]

Despite all the downsides of the Capitol itself - like how they'd blasted the ongoing arena over every one of those "teevees" when he'd been trying to avoid watching his friend and the hope of his world suffer, for instance - the relative freedom was nice at least and now that the arena was over - and Aang was still alive - he could actually take full advantage of it. Zuko had the freedom to push all the buttons on everything he found that had buttons as he tried to figure out how it worked and could walk around the city and take in the deplorable mockery of anything resembling culture it had. It was actually pretty horrible but funny? In a way? Unintentionally comedic?

The one genuine bright spot was he'd found a little food market with real food. They never made the food in the Tribute Center spicy enough. Never. But there was a store there that sold snacks and he'd found some kind of spicy snack mix, something called "peas" mixed with rice crackers that were dusted in some kind of pepper powder. It still wasn't hot enough but it was close to fire flakes and better than nothing. Zuko was so eager to eat it that he popped open the bag and started snacking on it as he walked back to the Tribute Center, dignity and manners be damned.

It produced an interesting effect in that as he saw the stranger acting that weird in the park he was standing there still eating his snack, like someone watching popcorn while watching a movie.

"What are you doing?"

You weird, crazy hobo man.

[elfstone]

Strider was stretched out on a swath of grass, ear pressed to the ground. His eyes opened when he was addressed, and he took in the stranger with a long, slow glance.

It was not simply that Zuko looked like an Easterling, nor was it merely Zuko's discourteous manner. It was both: the one fed into the other, and up came Strider's well-used walls of mistrust.

"Listening," he replied. It was flippant, matching the stranger's discourtesy. Strider did not stand up.

[failbender]

Listening. To the ground. Yeah, that explained everything. IE the obvious. It didn't explain why.

Zuko rolled his eyes.

"Listening to what?"

And there he went upping that discourtesy like a heavy gambler upped a bet.

[smarterthanthem]

"What are you doing?"

The voice comes above, from a low branch of one of the trees in the park. Tree climbing has turned out to be an excellent pastime for Clementine when trying to enjoy what will be the last fading days of reliable good weather in the Capitol (so she's told). It's autumn, officially but the sun is still shining and it's warm enough to go out without a jacket on.

Today Clem's wearing a pale yellow sundress with dark leggings underneath and a pair of pumps, her short hair gathered in its usual pigtails and topped with the old reliable baseball cap. She's also sporting a puzzled expression, one eyebrow raised as she watches the grizzled stranger, who reminds her of some survivors she'd seen back home, pace about and then lie down to listen to the ground.

He's almost certainly a tribute because no Capitolite would ever be caught dressed like that.

[elfstone]

The child hadn't escaped Strider's notice, but he had not hailed her. Strider was immersed in his own business, so unless approached, he would not seek out conversation. Besides, she might have been a Capitol child, and Strider was not interested in speaking with the children of his captors, children too young to be complicit but already twisted by the nature of their home.

Yet when she speaks he finds that it is not so; this child who looks like a Southerner does not speak like the Capitol folk. Has she been brought here like him to serve the Capitol? Was she to be made to participate in this land's blood-sport?

Strider does not know what to make of her yet, so his reply is cryptic.

"I am listening."

[letthemburn]

He could be mad. But Iskierka doesn't really bother herself much with that. She's much more interested in the fact that he's someone that she hasn't seen before, and that's always interesting. Besides, she likes it better outside than indoors and possibly always will. And if there are new people around that's significantly more interesting than waiting for the Arena to end.

Of course, there's the fact that new people might not be quite as used to seeing what is very clearly a dragon heading their way. True, she's stands not much larger that your average horse at the shoulder, but even a small dragon is still a dragon.

"I do not think you shall find anything there," she offers, once she gets close enough to be heard properly.

i'm so sorry he's going to be horrendously prejudiced, also thank you for tagging me this is a+++

[elfstone]

He hears her coming. Not through the ground -- the voice of the earth is still too confused for that -- but like most people hear footsteps, dull thuds on the grass. The cadence is unusual, which is what makes him open his eyes and look up just in time to see a motherfucking dragon oh fuck.

Sweet Elbereth.

He leaps to his feet, eyes wide, but keeps enough presence of mind not to reach for his sword (or where his sword would otherwise be). A small dragon it might be, but Strider knows he is outmatched, sword or no. He breathes in deeply, trying to remember what he knows about dragons and dealing with them. They value courtesy, he remembers, and they enjoy riddles and guessing-games.

"That," he says, frightened but clear-voiced, "depends upon what it is I am looking for."

[bravebargain]

After the Capitol increased the amount of Peacekeepers, the more uncomfortable and anxious did Belle grow around the Tower. Even though she loved beautiful gardens at the rooftop it wasn't a place where she could relax and forget any more. Not when she knew that there was always someone behind each corner watching her.

So, to help her anxiety she started to take regular walks at the park, which she actually found more preferable as there weren't nearly as many other tributes around as back in the gardens. Even though Belle grew up by spending most of her time alone, it wasn't like she had enjoyed the solitude. But now, after the horrors of arena, she found herself favouring the silence over the conversations and talks and avoided the company of others as much as possible. It was strange, especially considering that before coming to Panem she hadn't seen another human being in a while.

During her walks, like today, she usually stopped under a huge oak tree (or at least that's what she thought it was) to feed the birds. The birds got used to her presence after a few days and now they were trusting enough to even sit on her hand.

Belle was completely lost in her thoughts and only paid attention to the birds around her (one sitting on her palm, two on her shoulder and two next to her feet), watching them eating the seeds she brought for them. She didn't notice this stranger with rather unique behaviour until his sudden presence surprised few birds away.

“Oh.” Belle raised her brow and stood up quickly and observed the elder man from behind the tree as he suddenly laid down on the grass. That...certainly seemed rather odd thing to do. Was he sick, perhaps?

“I'm sorry. Is everything okay?” She inquired as she carefully approached the man.

[elfstone]

For a lady, Thorongil would take his feet; it would be rude to address her while lying on the ground like a fool. He stood, slouching a little, conscious of the height difference between them -- he did not mean to frighten her.

"You shall have to make your meaning plainer," he said, resting his hands on his hips. "I am all right; there is nothing wrong with me. Everything else, however, is decidedly not all right, making it as untrue to say yes as to say no."

[butwhataboutme]

Cassius paces through the park, in full Peacekeeper armor, trying his best to make his gait look intimidating and dignified as opposed to just fidgety. After the blackout and ensuing riot, the Capitol was desperate to put on a strong front, and the tensions of the Senators and policymakers rolled downhill onto his superiors. Which, of course, meant more work for him. He couldn't just slack off around the Tributes anymore. He had to get serious.

He scans the area for any suspicious activity (not that he expected any in broad daylight), only to see some bum or hobo passed out on the grass. Probably high or drunk, no doubt, and most likely one of those new tributes; after all, most proud, Capitol natives have the sense to keep their daydrinking to their own residences. Cassius is about to move on, assuming him harmless, but he thinks better of it. He might be a benign, inebriated presence now, but what if someone stumbles across him? What if he makes a fuss? And if he does, who would get blamed for that? Him.

Cassius groans to himself and trudges along the grass towards Aragorn, trying to think of how to best handle this. Maybe he can drag him back to the Tribute Center to sober up and be done with it.

[elfstone]

He does not hear Cassius's approach through the ground, which impresses upon him further the wrongness of this place. But Thorongil does not need to be in tune with the ground to hear the heavy tread of a Peacekeeper's boots, so as Cassius approaches, he picks himself up.

Thorongil does not step back, not yet. His posture is not threatening: there is a slouch to his shoulders, a caution in his face, that renders it so. But he is not afraid to speak directly to Cassius.

"Have I broken one of your laws?" he asks.

[dingadong]

A young man with a fur-collared jacket and a light blond pompadour crouches down next to where Strider is lying. "I don't suppose you're hearing anything interesting?" he asks, his tone friendly and jolly. His clothing seems a bit archaic by the standards of this place--and thus just a little closer to what Aragorn might have seen as normal.

[elfstone]

"It is interesting," says Thorongil, "that I hear nothing. Is there no place in this city not riddled like a rabbit-warren?" His voice holds a note of complaint.