thecapitol | so here's my hope, my tired soul. ( open )

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so here's my hope, my tired soul. ( open )

She's been here for a day now, enough time to convince herself that this isn't some kind of awful dream. In a lot of ways, it's almost surreal. For one, she's clean for the first time in months - actually, truly clean. In part, thanks to the efforts of her prep team, who had tsked at the filthy and matted state of her when she'd been brought in.

So here she is, squeaky clean and sitting in the corner of the common area in front of one of the many television screens. Watching one of the programs that seem to run around the clock. This time, it's highlights from the last arena.

Beth's no stranger to violence. Her life has been full of it for the last two years, ever since the dead stopped staying dead. She's seen a lot of it. But this is a full highlight real of awful, grisly murder being narrated by people with chipper voices like some kind of sick sports event.

"I'm gonna be sick," she mumbles quietly, mostly to herself.

TRAINING CENTER RESTAURANT

They give her more food than she's ever seen in her life, and Beth looks down at it like it's an alien thing. Like it can't possibly be real. She's perched on the edge of the bar on a stool with a plate heaped high and for a moment, she doesn't make any move to eat it. Because even before everything went wrong, they never had food like this on a farm where they grew mostly everything they ate.

She sort of just looks at it, fork in hand, like she's in shock.

Threaded | Flat

"Staring at it like that isn't going to make it eat itself."

Tess had made her way down to the restaurant to grab something for herself, a small plate with some veggies and dip and a toasted sandwich with the works (lettuce and a tomato slice, a slice of swiss cheese and meat), a glass of orange juice to top it off. She had only decided to come on over to the young girl's side, approaching slowly and carefully, when she'd caught that expression so openly on her face.

Setting her plate down on the counter she slides up into the stool next to Beth, seating herself there despite the empty booths she could've settled into for a meal on her own.

"Some people think it's not actually real." The voice comes from a young man sitting one table over, a cup of coffee in hand. His eyes are also fixed on the screen, though after a sip of coffee they slide on over to her. "That'd be crazy, right? Killing people and treating it like it's all fun and games, hm?" He smiles, or... tries to smile. There's an upwards twitch of his lips. This really isn't a situation that calls for smiling, but you're supposed to smile at people when opening up a conversation. So he's trying.

"It's going to get cold if you don't eat it." comes a helpful piece of advice from a young girl, currently clambering up onto the stool next to Beth's. It's a bit high for Clementine and she might be more comfortable sitting at one of the tables but she liked getting to swing her legs and secretly felt more grown up sitting at the bar.

It wasn't like they'd serve her alcohol or anything.

Clem picks up the menu to peruse what's on offer today, the meals regularly changed and somehow, always, were delicious prepared despite that.

As she does she gazes sidelong at the woman beside who seems a little stunned at the food on her plate. She wonders if it's the quality or the quantity, or both.

Luke knows that blank-faced look of wonder all too well. Heck, he stumbled in with it and it’s all over his face still while he struggles to grasp how any of this can exist, nevermind the excess of food that tastes just as he remembers it. All he knows is that he has no hope in hell of finishing his own plate and he’s plucking carefully at his helping of fresh-cut fries like they’re the wires of a live bomb when he glances her way and takes in her expression.

"...Y’alright?" He tries, quietly, from a few stools down. For a moment he wonders if the fry cooks might have left something nasty on her plate. A deep-fried insect or two, maybe.

Edited (fixed format) 2014-10-22 16:09 (UTC)

"Yeah no kidding."

The scene that had been playing out was of a lanky blond girl who had apparently been about to fight a pretty dark skinned girl. The blond only held a can of something while the other girl had a bat. At the last minute an old man with a metal arm had stopped the fight and sent the other girl on her way.

As soon as the blond girl let her guard down though, the old man had run her through with a blade.

And now that same blond girl had appeared behind Beth looking irritated. "That guy is such a loser. I mean if he wanted me to die he could have at least given me a fight instead of sneaking up on me."

She looked remarkably not dead. Her hair was shiny and clean and her clothes...while wrinkled and still showing a few stains from her breakfest were at least not torn and ripped and bloody like in the video.

"I liked being eaten by the shark better." She added. "Least the shark was honest about it."

"You don't need to watch that crap," Joel says quietly, after watching a sequence of himself killing that younger guy - the French one - who tried to attack him in the last arena. It was a short but brutal fight, and it never gets less weird to watch himself.

The girl looks young, though, if a bit underfed and hollow-eyed. Like someone from his world might look after a bath. Maybe that's why he's talking to her - both of those things. He feels especially bad for the kids brought here.

"If you don't like what they've served, lass, you only need to tell the Avoxes. They're quite handy. They'll replace it in a moment."

Tom's own plate isn't piled nearly so high, but he's enjoying what's on it - it's certainly a sight better than prison food, and he knows once they get back into the Arena they'll once again be scavenging for meals that will be, in all likelihood, unimpressive.

Despite the fact that the hour is encroaching on afternoon, he's eating breakfast, and his clothing is ever-so-slightly rumpled. He's just come down from a night with Molotov, and hasn't seen fit to really start his day yet. His cane rests on his thigh as he perches on the stool.

The girl down the bar from him, he assumes, is another Tribute, and not a particularly intimidating one at that. He raises his eyebrow at her as he adds yet another unsolicited comment.

"You eat with your mouth, not your eyes, you know."

The viewing options around here are genuinely depressing, and poor Beth certainly doesn't look like she's enjoying it a great deal. Nill spots her when she wanders in from the street almost immediately, and after a moment of making sure she's right she quickly walks over to where Beth's seated, making sure that her footsteps are heard and that she doesn't sneak up on her.

When she stops she already has something written on her notepad, and she holds it up for Beth to read.

are you ok?
there are better things to do than watch that.

Gannicus knows that look. He's sure he had the same look on his own face when he had first been presented with the kind of food that he could never even possibly had dreamed of in his entire life. It was a shock, an actual slap in the face, to be given so much. And for free, without even having to kill it or do something in return.

His own plate is smaller. Gannicus has learned that - after a lifetime of slave diet of simple meat and bread and wine - gorging was a terrible, painful idea.

The gladiator slides in to a seat across the table from the blonde girl and nods at her plate.

"Eat that with haste and risk seeing contents of stomach upon floor," He warns with a lazy, easy grin.

Threaded | Flat

TCR

Training Center Commons

Restaurant

food times -- with a bit of time breakage

TCR

commons!

no subject

tcc

restaurant!!