thecapitol | We’re all scared of trenches. [semi-closed]

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We’re all scared of trenches. [semi-closed]

Who| Thor and [closed] to close CR/people who have arranged to meet him. Mostly Avengers/Vikings but if you have a burning need just message me!
What| Thor returns from the glorious finale and is understandably ruffled by how it went down.
Where| D2, the commons/particularly the bar area/training center
When| After Thor dies.
Warnings/Notes| Talk of a vicious death, drinking to cope

If there's any good Thor can take from this, it's that his legs don't hurt anymore. He awakes and returns to his dwellings in silence, the weight of the past few months sitting heavily on his shoulders. Self care comes first. He eats, he drinks, he showers and he tries to make himself rest in silence for at least a while. He soaks in all that he has gone without in the Arena, but he can't stay idle for long. Being alone makes him repeat everything, every mistake he made and every chance he should have used. It will be much better to be around people, his people. He hadn't expected Bro's words to stick and resound for so long, but it gives him something to strive for. To be, as he put it, selfless or whatever and someone to lean on just as Thor should be.

And so he sets off to find them, and he'll poke his head around many places in the tower. He's dressed casually in a flannel shirt over a white shirt and jeans with his hair pulled back, he definitely looks as unimpressive as he feels, but he won't dwell on that. He'll wander through the training center first in the hopes of approaching his friends, then he'll move to the commons in the hopes of catching them as they pass before moving to treat himself to a drink at the lobby bar. Eventually, he'll find himself back up in District Two and acquaints himself with the couch, knowing people will seek him out there.

Even with his friendly intentions, he can't help the fact that he's glowering for the most part. He tries to look approachable, but the stern annoyance is apparent in his expression.

Threaded | Flat

Carlos, post-arena, is not staying shut up in his room. No, sir. Even though Cecil is gone -- to relative safety in 13 or to oblivion, Carlos can't say -- there is still work to do.

Being called to the Speakeasy had been more than enough to shake Carlos out of any lingering predilection to mope. A scientist did not mope, not when there was a job in front of him.

He had information. He had people to give the information to.

That was why he was out in the commons -- he, like Thor, was looking for his friends. So of course they would spot each other.

Thor was easy to spot, anyway. Carlos could see him from a mile away. When he sees Thor, his face lights up; it isn't an answer to all his problems, but it is a relief to see that Thor, at least, has been brought back. He approaches quickly, not quite a run but almost, fast enough to make his lab coat catch the air behind him.

"I told you I'd be fine," he says. "It's really good to see you."

She watched his death, every agonizing second of it. She'd felt somehow that she owed him that, even if she knows that he would have wanted to spare her the sight. Perhaps the great big fool would even think himself somehow diminished because she had seen him so beaten down.

As if she hasn't done that before.

His last thought had been of Jane, and she is ashamed of herself for the pain she felt, hearing that dying gasp obscenely amplified by a greedy network eager to milk as much drama as they could out of the final arena showdown. Of course he thought of her, doesn't he always? She knows that the Midgardian scientist is never far from his mind, and that is as it should be. He loves her, after all.

Jealousy is such a petty thing, and it is beneath her.

Far more relevant is the fear that she really did witness his final moments. That he will not come back. Not all do after all, she knows that now.

She can cope with loss, she has done it before, but it still makes it feel like someone has punched a hole in her chest to think about losing him. To think about losing him here where there is nothing else to keep going for.

All these dark thoughts are a poison, and she doesn't know how to drive it out. It is an attempt to at least distract herself from it all that drives her to the training center, where she tries to lose herself in the familiar dance of combat, a sword flashing in her hand like a gleaming extension of her arm as she moves through various forms with brutal strength combined with sinuous grace.

Perhaps unexpectedly, Feferi is in the training center, doing some leg workouts. Without her normal strength, she finds herself sorely lacking in that area, and with little else to do but wait out the end of the arena, she might as well get a head start on the next one. She's determined not to lose again, she needs that win-- and so does everyone else, but she has to look out for herself. Sort of sad, knowing that her friends will have to die to that end, but it will only set her up to take their freedom back.

She's fairly intent on her workout, and looks to have been at it for a bit, from the flush on her cheeks. But it's hard to not notice a presence like Thor's, and as soon as she spots him wandering in, she locks the machine and hops up, waving to him.

"Thor, over here!" She's trying to look as cheerful as possible, and has been since her own death. He's here and he doesn't look like a winner, so even though she's pointedly ignored the rest of the Arena's happenings, she knows something must have happened to him. He saved her from murderous cleaning robots, so the least she can do is try to save him from the disappointment of losing.

Edited 2014-10-03 19:45 (UTC)

Ruffnut is in the commons area lounging about with a new toy she'd found while wandering the Capitol. It's a simple toy with a ball on a string attached to a wooden cup. But it's just simple enough for her to understand it and in a way it reminds her of home.

Laying across one of the sofas she flicks the ball up into the air but can't seem to catch it in the cup yet. Hand eye coordination is not her strongest suit yet.

Not the most interesting afternoon for Ruffnut but she was hoping her fellow Vikings would be about so she could pester them.

Bucky finds him at the bar.

He hadn't been heading there himself but for seeing Thor, who being such a huge man was nigh unmissable as a presence in any room. So Bucky diverts from his original course to step and see him.

It had been uncomfortable to watch Thor's end in the arena. His own had been slow and painful but not so vicious. The Soldier had preferred his kills to be quick and clean, only doing differently when he had been expressly ordered to by his masters. Thor's had been messy, sloppy and made his hands tighten into fists where he'd been sat.

Now he approaches the stool beside him. "Thor." he greets, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, a habit he'd started to pick up more lately. Whether it's an old or new one he can't tell.

Sandy tried drinking alcohol before. It didn't agree with her. Maybe sweet drinks were more her style.

As such she was at the bar moping over some kind of dessert. It had brightly colored fruits and jellies in a glass stacked in a tasteful sort of arrangement.

The TV screens overhead were featuring the highlights of the arena and Sandy was doing her best to ignore them. As such she didn't notice Thor at first.

Tony was already in the lobby bar, sitting comfortably in one of the couches, While he did have a tall glass in his hand it didn't have anything that Thor would have been used to him seeing with since getting here. It was a rich yellow with a pineapple wedge in it and an umbrella impaling the harmless piece of fruit.

When Thors eye has been caught, Tony gives him a nod and gives his glass a carefree tilt towards the larger, more blonder man, before drinking more from the glass, letting him chose to come over at his own leisure. After all, While Tony hasn't been watching how the game was going since he left, it was hard to be in public and not hear how Thor or any of the others had fared in there. So he wasn't about to stop the man from getting a drink for himself before having to also deal with Tony.

She had faced enough shock from her first death experience that even she had been baffled on how to handle it. She hadn't ever expected herself to be the kind to resort to drinking, trying to pretend she wasn't in a death match where everyone was meant to face nothing but continuous grief, but in the end, it ended up hurting her more than solving anything.

There hadn't been many left in that last week, most she was unfamiliar with, but she knew Thor. She knew him well, drunkenly deciding to send her support in the best way a Viking knew how to, with a drink (or forty-three to start, she wasn't really counting), hoping it might help to raise his spirits. Whether that was the case or not, it didn't prevent his inevitable death, something that came to her as a shock perhaps just as much as her own.

Someone had asked her if she would be angry if he didn't win, but his death resulted in just the opposite. Pushing away the alcohol, she returned to the training center, where she was meant to be, and returned to becoming dedicated in getting stronger. Thor fought as hard as he could in the end, avenging those who died and protecting those that lived on. The man she had always believed in never once faltered in the arena and even in death, showed her that they needed to keep pushing forward no matter how horrifying this world was.

She ceases her training, dropping her axe, only when she sees him, chest tightening when she sees the all too familiar tall blond, perhaps not in an appearance she's accustomed to, but alive. There's an attempt at a smile, subtle but there to show she's glad to see him, all too relieved to know he's okay.

He may have died—they both had—but it hadn't been the end, not in the least.

Darcy watched Thor die. Okay, a bunch of people watched her die and didn't try to find her and there are a lot of people she watched die and didn't try to hunt them down. But Thor's different, he's her friend. He's home. So from the moment he dies in the the Arena, she begins checking in his district to see if he's back yet.

She's rattled by the fact that she doesn't find him there the next morning, so she keeps checking. Because he has to come back. He's Thor, he always comes back (even if it takes a couple years sometimes).

So when she checks into D2 for the fourth time that day and sees him sitting on the couch, she can't help but walking in like it's no big deal with a box of what she's found taste like Panem's version of Pop-Tarts. She doesn't say a word and instead sits down and offers him the open box.

Steve can feel the ache and sting in his knuckles as ht tries to work the restless energy in his limbs out. Watching his friends fight and struggle and die in the arena always does a number on him, he should be there to help them, not helpless here to watch. Sure, good things came out of being here this time, but watching Stark choke to death, watching Thor bleed and suffer to death, it doesn't feel like it balances out, but then, just how much could he have really helped them?

Probably not at all.

Still, he forces himself to a slow stop when the ache in his knuckles outweighs the ache of the uselessness in his body. There's no use injuring himself, what good would it do, especially when he doesn't heal as fast.

Looking up from the punching bag, he sees Thor across the room, his expression less than pleasant, which he can understand why, but it doesn't ward off Steve from approaching.

"Saved me the trouble of finding you later."

Some were so shaken by their torture as to be extremely off balance and half-mad, some had shouldered the burden that came of it with dignity and grace, and some were left trapped in that space in between, where they tried to be brave and tried to carry on but were nevertheless touched by it. Grieving, hurting, struggling, sometimes triumphant sometimes as fragile as spun glass.

Hiccup had lived a life of relative comfort. Despite the dangers of the constant war with the dragons, his father had always protected him. While he'd faced danger many times through his young life on all his adventures with his friends, Hiccup had rarely truly suffered or spent a long time living with fear. Usually he and his friends were triumphant over their enemies.

The worst of it had been his leg and most of his time suffering from that had happened in a drugged stupor thanks to the herbal remedies of their village elder Gothi. He didn't even remember it.

He hadn't known pain, truly known it, before he'd been kidnapped to this place and with the Capitol using his own very imaginative mind against him by giving him drugs that had caused him to hallucinate, the sky had been the limit. After all, his imagination was a powerful thing.

That was why when Thor saw him, he was now a twitchy shadow of his former self. Cagey, like he expected Peacekeepers with needles to pop out of the walls and attack him, occasionally blinking and holding his eyes shut like he was seeing something sinister dancing in front of his eyes, sometimes leaning against walls for support.

And yet the brand was clear to see on his forehead. He'd enlisted his girlfriend's help in doing up in his hair in a few more small braids so it was clear to see, and over top it he'd drawn on his chief's mark with the strange cosmetics they'd discovered. It made it seem almost as if the scars were meant for that instead, meant to give it shape and contour. It was a clear act of defiance, of refusing to be ashamed, without being overt enough to necessarily get him into trouble. After all, he could just claim it was a typical custom.

When Hiccup spotted Thor he was excited to see him alive but then he thought back to his pitiful showing in the arena and was immediately disheartened. Yes, he'd tried to save Astrid after she'd tried to save him and gotten shot for his trouble, but he'd been a frazzled mess for almost the whole arena, hallucinating and sleeping, so that his friends'd had to protect him. Meanwhile, Thor had fought to the bitter end, trying to avenge a fallen child, exactly the way you'd expect a god to act. For a moment, Hiccup considered running away and avoiding facing him, in much the same way he sometimes tried to avoid his father when he'd done something stupid when he was younger.

But he wasn't a child anymore and he had to get better, he had to be better, so instead he walked over to him.

"Hey, hi. Uh, hi. It's good to see you're okay. Astrid was watching but I couldn't - I -"

Awkward pause there and, yep, that just sort of trailed off into nothing.

"So, uh, I've said hi, that's what I came here to do. And you're alive and that's great, and uh, I think I'm gonna go, bye."

With that he tried to turn around to leave, just as suddenly as he came.

Threaded | Flat

no subject

Training center

training center

Commons area.

lobby bar

The bar

no subject

training center;

District Two

Training Center

Commons