Dr. S. Klim (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
futilecycle) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-02-12 10:09 am
futilecycle) wrote in thecapitol2013-02-12 10:09 am
Entry tags:
[OPEN] And pray there's no one left to fight:
WHO| Sigma Klim and you.
WHAT| Sigma watches this entry on television and freaks out accordingly.
WHEN| During Week 5, after his son's arrival.
WHERE| The District 10 common room.
WARNINGS / NOTES| Anxiety attacks, allusions to death, language.
Sigma awoke from death as easily as one wakes in the morning. He found himself far less upset about the circumstances of how he perished than he had expected. It was not that he'd become content with dying, only that he'd accepted it was more a part of an esper's life than any other human being. How many times had this been, now? Twenty nine deaths? Thirty?
The days followed quickly. Sigma did not leave the floor to explore the Capitol, the thought of citizens gawking at him disgusted him. Instead he focused on what he knew would be a necessary evil to succeed in the next Arena: he took to watching the show. The Doctor observed coldly and analytically in the common room of District 10 for hours on end, making a note of the faces he saw.
Indeed, he had been so caught up in his investigation that the introduction of one particular Tribute caught Sigma unprepared.
The tufts of jet black hair peeking around the edges of the parka hood were his first clue. Dark glasses concealed his face, but the Tribute's height and build were oh-so-familiar. Such an innocent man, almost like a child, carefreely playing in the snow, gathering it into shapes... He must have been soft in the head, he was sure some would speculate. How were they to know that he had spent his whole life encased in metal, that he had never seen the sky, never lived with nature, never known winter?
Sigma turned white and found himself unable to breathe. Chilled and his chest tight, the old man collapsed backwards into his seat weakly, gawking at the television. Forgetting where he was, Dr. Klim covered his face and shook, filled with more electric terror than he had felt the duration of the Arena. Let it be a dream. Let this one live...
The one he had seen on screen was his boy.
WHAT| Sigma watches this entry on television and freaks out accordingly.
WHEN| During Week 5, after his son's arrival.
WHERE| The District 10 common room.
WARNINGS / NOTES| Anxiety attacks, allusions to death, language.
Sigma awoke from death as easily as one wakes in the morning. He found himself far less upset about the circumstances of how he perished than he had expected. It was not that he'd become content with dying, only that he'd accepted it was more a part of an esper's life than any other human being. How many times had this been, now? Twenty nine deaths? Thirty?
The days followed quickly. Sigma did not leave the floor to explore the Capitol, the thought of citizens gawking at him disgusted him. Instead he focused on what he knew would be a necessary evil to succeed in the next Arena: he took to watching the show. The Doctor observed coldly and analytically in the common room of District 10 for hours on end, making a note of the faces he saw.
Indeed, he had been so caught up in his investigation that the introduction of one particular Tribute caught Sigma unprepared.
The tufts of jet black hair peeking around the edges of the parka hood were his first clue. Dark glasses concealed his face, but the Tribute's height and build were oh-so-familiar. Such an innocent man, almost like a child, carefreely playing in the snow, gathering it into shapes... He must have been soft in the head, he was sure some would speculate. How were they to know that he had spent his whole life encased in metal, that he had never seen the sky, never lived with nature, never known winter?
Sigma turned white and found himself unable to breathe. Chilled and his chest tight, the old man collapsed backwards into his seat weakly, gawking at the television. Forgetting where he was, Dr. Klim covered his face and shook, filled with more electric terror than he had felt the duration of the Arena. Let it be a dream. Let this one live...
The one he had seen on screen was his boy.
no subject
She felt better about the deaths she'd caused, after talking to Katniss and some others. Not by much, but it was better than-
-this man.
Chibi-Usa's eyes widened as she saw the old man in the chair. Tremors, inability to breathe, sallowness of the face? The princess was no doctor, but she had friends who were training to become doctors, and according to them, those were bad, bad signs.
Aah! He's having a...a mitochondrial reflection! A...a...HEART ATTACK!!
"Aaaaah...!!" Chibi-Usa was instantly hovering over him, hands up. "Do you need a doctor? I'll call a doctor!!"
no subject
"No! No Doctors," he says quickly, but his face is still pale and pained. Sigma attempts to straighten up properly and restore his dignity. "It... I am fine. It is not anything serious."
no subject
Chibi-Usa gulped. She now couldn't help but be worried; he was clearly quite old in the physical sense, and he was still very pale. Not looking good at all. And acting like Mamo-chan when he was sick but pretending to be fine.
"I could at least get you aspirin..." If he was having a heart attack, that would help, she knew that. "Ask one of the ladies to get one..."
no subject
A moment passed where he hoped the girl would walk away, but the silence was enough for it to become apparent to Sigma that his son's appearance had given him quite the physical shock. He felt cold, drained, generally unwell... perhaps taking some medicine would be prudent. He had a suspicion they wouldn't be so eager to resurrect a Tribute who had the foolishness to die outside of the Arena. "-Wait. If you wouldn't mind, I do think I could use an aspirin. Please."
He closed his eye. It was quite unlike Zero to be so powerless.
no subject
She sighs, runs a hand through her hair, and enters the district ten common room, intending for all the world to be kindly yet aloof to her Tributes' competitors. And then she sees the old man she sent food to staring at the television, looking as if the air's been forcibly ripped from him, and she can't help but approach.
She stands next to where he sits on the couch and reaches out to his shoulder, but doesn't touch without permission. "Doctor Klim, right? Are you alright?"
no subject
But she is the oldest person he's met personally so far, and quite unlike the others: he notices her hand raised over his shoulder in sympathy. This alone is enough to bring Sigma's guard down, and his glare lightens into a blank stare until he lowers his gaze with shame. Eventually he turns away to sigh and rub his eye with a gloved hand. "There aren't many of us who still are, madam," he weakly replies.
no subject
"True that." She drops her hand down to her side, and sits down on the couch without asking his permission. "I got off on the wrong floor and noticed you seemed upset. I'm Eva."
He may recognize the name from the food she sent him, but just in case he doesn't, she adds in, "I'm not a Tribute. And I send food to the youngest and the oldest participants in each arena. No offense meant if you're just a really weathered-looking twenty-something."
no subject
As such, Sigma is completely unconcerned that she has seated herself beside him. "Eva... Thank you." There are few who could render the Doctor speechless, but he is truly at a loss for what to say. Sigma decides it is useless to reintroduce himself, as she made it clear she already knows his identity. His thoughts turned to Sandy, how hungry and afraid she had been, and pictured Eva's gift floating down from the sky. What joy she must have felt! Who knew that someone from Panem could feel compassion and a compulsion towards generosity? "...You are kind. I don't know how to thank you."
no subject
It's not as if she doesn't appreciate being thanked, but this is such a small token of penance compared to her many sins. She spreads her credits around during the penultimate week of each arena because she doesn't have enough to provide for her whole district.
"I'm the mentor for District 9. 37th Hunger Games. Back when everything was a little more permanent." She wrings a hand, glances over his shoulder at the television. "You know, if watching the tapings are upsetting you so soon after coming back, I suggest polarized glasses. They make the screens all wavy so you can't tell who's vivisecting whom."
no subject
Sigma smiled at her joke the best he could. Eva's kindness had eased the worst of his pain, but fear for his son gnawed at him. Had they brought Kyle here as a way to force his pacifist father fight? He'd made a mistake, thinking himself a hero for avoiding violence. Sigma glanced towards the screen - Kyle was still there, playing in the snow. He hastily turned off the television. "It was a part of my strategy. I did not expect it would get under my skin."
no subject
She drops her hands back to her knees and reclines a bit against the back of the couch. "Was that someone you knew, on the television...?" And her eyes widen slightly as she recalls the face she just saw of the boy making a snowman, and sees the same bone structure now draped not in taught skin but in the older veils of age.
Her gaze lowers; her heart grows heavy, with renewed empathy, with a stirred pain she hadn't recognized in time to brace for. "Ah. I'm sorry."
no subject
Dr. Klim only shook his head weakly, not suggesting she had it wrong, but that he did not wish for her to say any more. It was already enough for him to know that the boy who had slept with a stuffed animal until he was eighteen, the lonely child who once snuck into his father's room just to watch him sleep, who as an adult had constantly requested a new story from his 'mother' each night - Sigma would have to watch that man die one more time. Kyle's deaths he had already witnessed had been planned: controlled, even. He had been able to prepare himself for them long before Kyle's birth. But this was not the Nonary Game and he did not need for his son's chances to be said out loud, for he felt that would tear away the last of his composure.
Sigma covered his face with his hands, defeated. "I am sure there are still parents capable of loving their children in Panem, and even here in the Capitol," he muttered beneath his fingers in nearly a whisper, hoping his words fell on Eva's ears alone. "I do not understand how this was allowed to go on. I cannot understand."
no subject
She pauses for a moment and then pulls up her dress slightly, to reveal a small tattoo on her calf. A date in November, some thirty-nine years ago. She hopes Sigma understands the significance; it's her son's birthday. It's clearly not hers. "Panem is not short of parents who love their children."
She looks down at the carpet and lets her dress fall back to cover it. "In fact, quite often a parent's love can be perverted to keep this whole structure standing. People don't fight back very hard when you hold a gun to their babies."
no subject
He turned and stared at the wall, thinking of how many parents in Panem were in the same position he was now... a spectator, powerless to stop their children from being slaughtered. Dead if they complained, and their little one as well. Sigma straightened up. For the first time likely in the history of the Hunger Games, he would be able to step in, to defend his child... This time he would not fail.
He took a breath. "I am sorry, it is not my place to be ungrateful of gifts. But if, in the future, if you decide to sponsor me again... if instead you could send him the food you'd have given me..."
It was the only sort of begging he felt would do any good.
no subject
She walks around the couch, looking out the window at the Panem skyline. "There's only so much help I'm comfortable giving to Tributes outside my District. I do have some loyalty to my people, if I have nothing else. But...your request doesn't fall on deaf ears."