thecapitol | OPEN

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Who: Calliope or Caliborn and OPEN!
What: Introduction!
Where: The Training Center
When: Morning / night
Notes: Started in prose but feel free to switch to action!

(A) - Calliope

Though the idea of a death match is daunting and scary and all sorts of bad, bad things... Calliope is not one to dwell on those bad things. She looks at the bright side.

It is far too nice to not be cooped up indoors. Though it is colder than she is used to-- far, far colder-- Calliope takes her time to slowly and cautiously explore the training area. It is not a thorough exploration; she is careful to avoid being seen. (Maybe you feel someone watching you, hear the sound of footsteps retreating, and see no one there?) She looks all around, but eventually settles on the rooftop. She can see far, far out from this height. The city is hustle and bustle and it is incredibly frightening. But it is also incredibly enticing.

The people here are all so beautiful. It goes to figure, right...? They're largely a group of humans. She hasn't seen a single nonhuman anywhere so far. It's all the more reason to avoid being seen. She expects shock and horror and so, with a lined notebook and pencil in hand, she sits herself down so she can see if anyone is coming up to the roof. It's just to be able to hide. She's scared of the other people here-- they are beautiful and she's sure they are wonderful, but she is someone who has never spoken out loud to anyone else in her life before today!

However, she gets a little carried away drawing and totally forgets where she is. Come bother her?

(B) - Caliborn

After a brief back and forth with his sister via a notepad and pencil, it is night. He briefly wonders what the hell Calliope was doing for so long, but decides he doesn't actually give a flying fuck. He's excited. The idea of a death match is totally awesome. But you know what else is awesome? Not being chained to a fucking wall. Caliborn runs around the suit until he is tired, flops on the floor, and rolls. After that brief display of really childish glee, he suddenly gets up and does the opposite of what Calliope did hours before him: he approaches people.

So, have one green skeletal boy approaching you wherever you might be, making an exaggerated show of looking you up and down, and saying just a simple thing:

"You. Hey. You're going to tell me something."

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Javert eventually makes his way to the rooftop. Despite how unsettling the skyline here is, with the office buildings taller even than the greatest cathedrals of Paris, he knows that getting high up is the best way to learn the lay of the land.

He's been bracing himself to be overwhelmed by the view. He was not expecting to see a skinny green girl drawing with a pencil. He pauses, unsure how to respond, before he decides that the most likely explanation is that it's one of the many ridiculous fashions the people of the Capitol adopt. It must be paint, or dye.

"Good evening. What are you drawing?"

She startles at the sound of his voice, looking over and pinning the book to her chest, eyes round and wide. Realizing that it's just another person, someone who is not unfriendly at that, Calliope slowly eases the fear and stiffness out of herself. She tries to return that friendliness.

She replies in an uneven, squeaky but androgynous tone.

"Good evening to you as well, dear," she says. "Um. I'm not drawing much of anything. Just sketching some figures, and, ah... admiring the skyline."

Edited 2013-02-11 04:55 (UTC)

'Dear'. It rankles a little, but Javert supposes he needs to just get over that he's no longer an authority figure. No one's addressed him as 'monsieur' yet and he doesn't predict that changing.

He looks out over the skyline - how different from Montreuil-sur-Mer, how different from Paris. How lonely from up here, despite all the people and monuments of their progress. He paces the perimeter of it the rooftop slowly, less like a lion covering its territory than the edge of a pool of water, expanding to take everything in.

"It is quite the skyline. Are you a native to this city?"

Edited 2013-02-11 05:00 (UTC)

She gets a sense of having said the wrong thing. Was 'dear' too familiar? Did her tone imply something she didn't mean? Talking is hard when you're used to communicating completely in text.

"Oh, heavens no," she says, slowly closing her notebook and slipping the pencil into the coils. He may notice: the sharpness of her claws, the edge of her teeth, the abnormal size of her eyes. From a distance a mistake might be made, but if really looks at her... it's obvious she's something else completely. "I've only just shown up here. I was told I was something called a 'tribute'."

He doesn't make it obvious that he's observing her as he paces, walking close to the edge of the roof and glancing down at the 'compact carriages'. They're nothing but little moving lights from up here.

But he doesn't know what to make of her face, her fingernails, the large doe eyes or the hairless scalp or the jutting cheekbones. She looks, he thinks, more like some sort of demon than a human; but then again, the poor of France often don't even look like proper people anymore to him, with the malnutrition and sicknesses.

"Ah. So we're the same, in that regard." Now that he knows they're not being punished so much as elected to be Tributes, he's not sure how to feel about children being used. Calliope seems older than Sandy, but not by terribly much. "I didn't see you in the last Arena, but I wasn't there for the entirety, nor did I meet all the competitors."

Calliope does not notice him looking at her. She thinks he is being polite by not staring, and appreciates that. It's hard to talk face to face with someone, and this is her very first conversation proper. Maybe he's used to ugly things like her, she thinks.

"Yes! It seems so," she replies, cheerful. Similarity! "I've just finished looking about the place for the first time. I haven't yet participated in the games, or even taken a looksie. What are they like?"

"They're...difficult." Javert presses his lips together and comes to a stop, standing at the edge of the rooftop like a heroic gargoyle. "I've never been involved in anything like them. We're set out in the wilderness and made to kill each other."

It's not terribly different sounding from the game she's playing with her brother, but she does not say that. She just watches him in silence for a good moment, unsure of where to go from there.

"They told me it was a death match," she eventually tells him. "I thought it was a bit of rubbish, honestly, but that was only at first. I suppose it must be true. I've never been to the wilderness in my entire life."

"Ah. Then you know as much as I did when I entered the arena. It's true, it's a death match." He leans back a bit on his heels. "It comes as some comfort to know that no one dies permanently, it seems. They cheat us out of heaven."

She seems surprised, but not awfully so. "You're not fibbing, are you...?" Her demeanor brightens, and she sighs in relief. "I'm terribly relieved. Dying isn't fun, but this sounds far better than being gone for good."

"Fibbing? No." He doesn't see what's so exciting about what he's said. He supposes it's nice not to die, but it's disquieting, too. "It's unpleasant, dying. I'm not eager to repeat the experience."

"Of course," she says, full of cheer. "Dying isn't pleasant in the least. But it has to be easier if you know you'll come back good as new."

She tries not to think of her own experience-- knowing that she wouldn't wake up the next time she went to sleep-- and instead focuses on how nice it is to not disappear after something so scary.

Or so he says. She believes him, but tries to leave some room for doubt.

"You weren't in the last arena, so how would you know that dying is unpleasant?" Javert raises his eyebrows, lifting his gaze from the cars to the skyline and then turning a little to look at her over his shoulder.

There is the most minute of hesitations. She can't tell him the full truth, but she'll edge as closely as possible.

"It's just a guess," she tells him, smiling. "I can't say I know firsthand. But I was awaiting death not so long ago. I wouldn't have minded waking up after that."

He pauses before answering, trying to decipher that hesitation, then decides to ignore it. He's sure children don't want to meditate on their own mortality.

"It seems you've avoided it for the time being. Congratulations."

Here's a non-human for Calliope to meet. Neeshka likes the rooftops because it means she can see more and maybe laugh at people without being seen, herself. It suits her rogue nature.

So she wanders up there, tail swishing catlike behind her and horns guilded in the latest Capitol fashion for people with horns. Meaning, well, her. She's about the only one left. But she's finding she kind of likes that.

Spotting the little green girl, Neeshka pauses. Then she considers briefly, and starts sneaking up behind her, aiming to surprise and startle her. The only other green person she's ever seen was pretty awesome, anyway, so hey, why not give another a try?

((let me know if you don't want Neeshka telling Calliope about the coming-back-to-life thing, and I'll make sure she doesn't :) ))

Calliope is oblivious, scribbling away on her notebook. She sketches small designs and more obviously, a girl with corkscrew shaped horns and short light hair. Neeshka will see this if she peers over her shoulder.

She even starts to hum quietly to herself.

Awww. She'ss so... weird. But kind of cute! But mostly weird. Neeshka creeps right up behind her to look over her shoulder at the image. Huh. Somebody else with horns. That's unexpected.

She announces her presence with a cheery, "Whatcha doin'?" chirped right in poor Calliope's ear.

Calliope jumps to her feet, whirls around, and holds her drawings close. Ah. She's not human. That is a slight comfort-- she thought she was the only one here-- but not terribly so. Neeshka is beautiful, after all.

Eyes wide, voice squeaky: "Blimey! Hello! You've gone and given me a good scare."

Anyone calling Neeshka beautiful will probably earn themselves a friend for life. That's not something she's used to in the slightest! She rolls her eyes, grinning, and says, "Well, yeah, that was the point. To give you a little scare. No heart attacks, though, right? Everything still working?"

She laughs, nervous. "Yes! Nothing is amiss. I believe everything is in working order."

Closing the notepad, Calliope lapses into a brief silence. "Um. To answer your question just now, I was only drawing. But you likely saw as much for your own two eyes."

"I saw that. Somebody else with horns." Neeshka taps the tip of one of hers with a finger, grinning still. "Not a normal kind of thing around this place, huh?" She's trying to make a guess as to what green girl is... she looks kind of like the githyanki who'd been after them a couple months back, back home. Maybe she's a kid githyanki.

"Yes," she says, nerves obvious. Slowly: "It wasn't quite normal back home, either! Unfortunately, I haven't met anyone with horns myself. Fortunately, that has just changed! It's very nice to meet you, um...?"

Neeshka is not the most observant (or compassionate) of people, so the nerves are, for the most part, ignored. She does pick up on the question, though. "I'm Neeshka. From Neverwinter, but I bet you've never heard of that, right?" Said with unfazed expectance; she's used to nobody knowing where she's from. She even sticks her hand out, offering to shake hands. "Who're you?"

Before they'd even finished the trip back from the arena, Wesker had been twitching - groaning and jerking - as the virus brought him back. Just a few short hours later, T added by the steroids they'd pumped into his veins, he was back on his feet, unblemished and unharmed, for all that happened, and making his way back to his floor.

He rode the elevator in silence, expression as cool and unreadable as ever - belying the heat in his belly, the sharp bite of anger.

He'd miscalculated. Not a completely unheard of result, but rare enough to sting. He chewed over it, replaying the events in the crevice over and over in his mind, as the elevator chimed happily and the doors whispered open.

He stepped into the hall, hands clasped behind his back, fingers twitching restlessly - and paused, a pale brow arching as the small, green... creature gamboled up to him.

"Am I now?"

Edited 2013-02-11 17:11 (UTC)

Caliborn looks at him in a way that is very nearly an outright leer. He looks kinda tough, he guesses?? Like. A real hardass. He probably works out. That's cool. He's cool. Caliborn decides that depending on how useful he is, he might not hate him as much as everyone else he's spoken to in his entire life.

"Yeah. You fucking are. Got it?? Alright? Now. Tell me. Where I can get a steak."

"How remarkably offensive," he drawled, a flash of white teeth the only outward movement he made. The ebony lenses reflecting nothing but the creature's own image.

"You didn't say the magic word."

"Abra fucking cadabra. Open your trap and seasame where the food is." Caliborn waves a hand, dismissive. "I've been around all day. And I'm pretty sure. I haven't eaten a fucking thing."

"You're 'pretty sure,'" Wesker echoed, mimicking the beast's stilted speech for extra emphasis. "I'd suggest a good nanny is more what you need, if you can't tell."

OOC: So many edits. ~~I do this a lot~~ D: Sorry!

Edited 2013-02-13 11:34 (UTC)

"It's complicated. You wouldn't understand. Now. Come on. I'm waiting for the answer to my question." He catches the way Wesker is mimicking him, but it doesn't quite put him in a bad mood.

[ ooc: no worries! ]

Wesker might, under other circumstances, have found that response of interest - it's complicated - but he wasn't in a hand-holding mood.

"I'll give you a hint-" and he leaned closer - perhaps close enough that Caliborn would be able to see through the glass, see that there was something wrong with the eyes on the other side - to stage whisper, "-not here."

He shifted back again, straight and tall. "So I recommend you look elsewhere."

He sees his eyes and he guesses but he is remarkably hard to shake or maybe just stupid, so it doesn't really process as being too odd. He has very little to compare it to.

But Caliborn does leap back a step, offended. "Unhelpful. And all up and popping. My personal space bubble?? Bro, fuck you. I'll ask one last time: where can I get a steak. Directions are not optional."

There was, for one shining moment, a flash of what Wesker imagined what it would feel like to have his hands around the creature's scrawny throat. The crack of its neck snapping.

And it was deeply satisfying.

But, alas, the butchering of other tributes was strictly forbidden outside of the arena and he was trying to earn their trust here. The Capitol's. After all, how could he hope to bring them down from the inside, if they wouldn't let him in?

So he refrained. And settled instead for a flat, "And deny myself the opportunity of watching you starve? I wouldn't dream of it."

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