thecapitol | [OPEN]

Entry tags:

[OPEN]

Who| Sam Wilson + open!
What| Trying to figure out wtf is going on after just arriving
Where| Around the Training Center
When| After the arena
Warnings| none yet!

None of this was what Sam'd expected when he woke up on that cot, and was all but dragged out of the room by a group of guards. Not that he had all that much experience with kidnapping or being taken prisoner, but he was pretty sure they didn't normally include a kickass suite and free run of not only pretty much the whole building, but whatever city they were in. And he was definitely sure prisoners usually didn't get handed a map of the damn place and a credit card.

It didn't make him feel at all better about being grabbed, of course. If anything, their determination in treating him like he was supposed to be some kind of honored guest was making him twitchy, almost as twitchy as being told he'd been picked up off the streets to fight to the death like some kind of gladiator.

...it's also making him wary about just how good their security has to be, if they're actually letting prisoners have free range like that. Not enough not to test it, but definitely wary. So he waits a little bit after the guards leave him alone, exploring the room and giving them long enough to actually get gone, if they're really going. Then he's out, intent on seeing just how much leeway he has, and if he can figure out where he really is.

District 5 Suite

His first stop is the rest of the suite they'd dropped him off in, of course. He lingers in the kitchen - not really for food, though he is kind of hungry. At the moment, he's not willing to risk eating anything that might be available, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to check it out.

Which is why he's opening cabinets and peering in the fridge, eyeing the kitchen knives he'd found and wondering if they'd do anything if he grabbed one to keep on him.

Training Center

He has to admit, the place that gives the building its name isn't bad. In fact, it's pretty damn good, if he'd had a place like this back home, he'd probably have been there every day. It makes sense, he guesses, to give them access to a place like this, if they're supposed to be gearing up to participate in a battle to the death. But it also means their captors are either stupid or really, really good, and he doubts it's the first.

Rooftop

By the time he makes it up to the top of the roof, he's feeling a little overwhelmed. He'd gone up to clear his head a little, get some air, but he's not up there long before he's wondering if it wasn't a bad idea. Just looking out towards the edge makes him miss his wings; he sure as hell could use them right about now.

He stays anyway, sitting on one of the benches to look up at the sky, and keep an eye out for any fellow prisoners - or any of their captors - that might be up there as well.

Threaded | Flat

Steve's pent up energy is through the roof. He's been watching the arena - what Thor is going through, that Stark went though - and it makes him feel useless to help them. A feeling that's seeping into his limbs, it feels like a choke hold and he needs to get it out, to slam his fist into the punching bag again.

The disfigured and distorted brand of the Capitol's insignia on his right cheek aches as he frowns. The shape of his mouth pulling at the still healing flesh. But the ache of the skin across his knuckles is more. Hurting himself won't help, so he slows to stop, holding the punching bag as he catches his breath, still barely winded, but more winded than a super soldier should be.

He looks up as a movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention.

"Damn," it's more a sound on an exhale than a word spoken as he realizes who he's looking at. They really were drawing out his punishment. He pushes off the punching bag, coming to stand on his own.

"Taking the tour?" His tone is disappointed, but still a touched with wry humor.

Edited (oops) 2014-10-03 01:37 (UTC)

Kankri wanders out of his room, yawning. He feels like cooking a suitewide breakfast-brunch today, he hasn't done that in a little while.

Seeing the newcomer, he blinks the sleep from his eyes. It must be that time, the Capitol seems to be bringing its usual crop of new people. "Hello," he says with a little smile and wave. "Are you hungry? I was going to make a bit of something for the suite anyway, you may as well sit down so you can meet everyone. I'm assuming you're our newest District-mate? I'm Kankri Vantas."

Don't mind the gray-skinned, horned, sharp-fanged teenager trying his best to appear as harmless as possible, Sam. The muddy red irises and yellow sclera are not at all an indication of being some kind of demon, try not to be a space racist like Aragorn please.

Dennett's taken to coming up to the rooftop. He can't sleep well, here, haunted by visions of his own death, and the idea that one day it might be someone else's, at his hand, that dogs his dreams.

He watches the other arrive, move toward the edge, looking down. Almost...wistful?

"Pretty long way down, isn't it?" Dennett Norton: conversationalist, strikes again.

Most use the training center for its intended purpose. Some others use it as some sort of art studio, spreading paint from the camouflage station into murals on the stark gray walls. This may be the first time in the history of Panem though that someone has used it as a place to attempt flower arrangements.

Here's Albert at his full 5'10" bent over the knot tying station with his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth in concentration over a large candle adorned with white and orange orchids. He's attempting to tie them with twine so the string doesn't show, but he's not exactly apt at keeping knots invisible.

The newcomer's presence seems to have gone completely unnoticed.

When new tributes come, they tend to arrive in batches, but it's been quite a while since District Five has had anyone new. Actually, the last new person they got had been killed off, but Hans doesn't particularly care as he found them to be insufferable. Oops, right?

Still, as a Mentor he does like to take care of the fact that he's making good impressions with everyone and his tributes in particular are important to win trust from. He really doesn't look like someone who has any sort of business winning a murder game, especially when he pads into the kitchen and peers curiously at Sam before addressing him.

"Hello?" He quirks a confused brow, but he's still smiling sympathetically at the stranger. "You must be new here- in District Five, I take it?"

While Sam sits to himself, Tony appears in the elevator. Even with lighting that's on the roof, Tony doesn't give him more than a passing glance to see that he's there before heading to his usual part of the railing for him to lean on.

Sam wasn't the only one missing the sky and the equipment that got him up there. And for the first time since arriving in the arena he doesn't have a drink up here with him. Though that was mostly the fault of the last arena. After a moment of contemplating the sky and how good it is to at least feel the wind on his face from the skyscrapers, he looks over his shoulder at the younger man on the bench.

"Going to take an educated guess, and say you're new here."

Usually, when Jet was on the roof, it was to stare at the sky or out over the city. Just the other night, he'd been up here feeling caged with his wings effectively clipped and the need to fly sharp in his veins but tonight he tried to drown the feeling out with something else, something he could control.

In a few weeks time, he would be getting married and he hadn't danced in years--with exception to that time in the temple under Mocawa, that didn't count when there'd been fire all around them threatening to kill them.

He'd started in a relatively secluded part of the roof garden, practicing various different types of dances to the music playing in his memory, he didn't know which dance they might do, so he figured he ought to practice them all. Except Broadway dances, those he left alone.

Unfortunately, Jet enjoyed dancing more than most things and more than that, he was good at it and he quickly got caught up in the moment...causing him not to notice when his graceful movements lead him right into the path of a man sitting on a bench.

Jet froze and instantly lost his stance, face turning a blazing red even in the city's illumination.

"...sorry, I didn't know anyone was up here, um..." Shit.

The Initiate-- a seven foot troll with waving horns, facepaint, and fangs that hang over his bottom lip-- is settled just off in the corner. He pokes and prods at his own food, a plate of fish, taking the time to feel the texture and really taste it now that he has a tongue again.

He watches the motherfucker walk in and go on to exploring. He especially notes the way the knives are observed.

"KNOW WHAT AS YOU'RE UP AND MOTHERFUCKING THING," He says, in a strangled tone that tries to be quiet and fails. "And yeah, they'll be apt to catch you. WOULD GIVE PEACEKEEPERS EXCUSE TO LAY STRIFE. Wouldn't recommend."

Edited 2014-10-03 03:49 (UTC)

There's at least one other Tribute up on the roof. One of the more unusual Tributes, in fact. But she seems friendly enough, or at least willing enough to share the roof.

On the other hand, it's probably not every day that one finds what looks pretty much like a dragon anywhere, much less a roof. True, it probably shouldn't be surprising that a dragon might have reason to want to get closer to the sky then most people would, but it doesn't change the fact of what she is. She doesn't speak up either. Instead, she simply watches Sam, mostly because if nothing else she's pretty sure she hasn't seen him before (and because she's curious to see what might end up happening next).

One of the people occupying the training room is going to be unpleasantly familiar to Sam.

The Winter Soldier is here and taking full advantage of the facilities on offer. His hair is tied back into a messy tail as he heads towards the holographic combat simulator. It's not nearly so satisfying as attacking a physical but Bucky has... problems, holding back during even training combat. He'd never been taught to hold back by HYDRA, when he was being trained by them they didn't care if he broke bones or sometimes even killed the grunts they sent in against him.

With the Peacekeepers so on edge right now it's best he stick to the holograms and not risk their intervention should working with a physical opponent go wrong.

His progress stops when he sees Sam. He knows this man. By sight if not personally, he remembers attacking him before on the Insight helicarrier. It's the man with the wings.

It's not until a few days in that Sam and Venus actually meet each other. She's been spending too much time in her room, a sad shadow to the District like a skulking cat underfoot. She's evident in the drained cups of coffee in the sink and the stack of empty yogurt and fruit cup containers in the trash can, the fashion magazines left on the floor next to the couch before the Avoxes clear up the clutter, and very occasionally the sound of muffled sobbing audible through her door in the hallway.

(At one point, she catches a glimpse of him in the common room as she comes out for another fruit cup, but immediately slinks back to her bedroom and shuts the door behind her.)

Whatever sadness is plaguing her lingers around her when they do come face to face, but she's up to talking to people, and that means she turns on the charm and pep. When Sam comes out of his room at one point, she's in the kitchen, humming a pop song at the coffee maker, leaning against the counter with her arms folded as it burbles at her.

She's clearly someone once stunningly beautiful, but she has a burn across the side of her face that was meant to disfigure. It makes her cute hairstyle and perfect makeup look almost like a mockery, like a fancy red bow put atop an eviction notice. She greets him with a smile, one that seems both genuine and apologetic about the circumstances.

"Hi. You're- you're the new roommate, right?" She holds a hand out to shake. "I'm Venus. I live down the hall."

You're in my ex-boyfriend's old room and he's dead now, she doesn't quite say. She thinks it would be a flimsy excuse for why she hasn't introduced herself.

The main entrance to the suite opened as he was eyeing the knives and a pale young woman breezed into the room with long black hair and a sharp and shapely business suit in a flurry of colors like the changing leaves of Autumn. As she moved the colors shifted slightly like the suit was alive.

Her eyes instantly found him in the kitchen and narrowed with suspicion. She was studying him, judging him. Picking him apart at first glance.

"Sam Wilson?" She questioned.

Astrid wasn't entirely a veteran in the Games, having only been here for just a little over two months, but she'd been around long enough to get an idea of who the old faces were. So when she wanders out onto the roof, one of the few places that didn't entirely feel like a jail cell, she immediately picks up on the fact that he might be a newcomer.

They're still bringing in more people, aren't they, she realizes, a bit frustrated that the cycle was something that never really stopped.

She contemplates for a moment before deciding to speak up, knowing that first arrivals weren't always the easiest. "Looks like you found the good spot pretty fast."

Ever since Darcy woke up from dying (which is a weird thought, so she tries not to acknowledge it), she's taken some comfort in the fact that looking down from the edge of giant buildings is the same wherever she is. In New York, in London, in the Capitol, it's all the same.

Of course, when she turns around and sees someone sitting on one of the benches, she can't help but yelp and jump slightly. "When'd you get here?"

Threaded | Flat

Training Center

District 5

Rooftop hope this is okay?

no subject

d5

Roof? Roof.

Rooftop

D5