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.