[open]

[rumlow]

WHO| Rumlow. And open.
WHAT| Taking in the lay of the land.
WHEN| Day after his arrival.
WHERE| Tribute Common Area
WARNINGS| None yet. The day is young.



Whiskey sounded like a good first step.

The people around here didn't skimp on quality, that's for damn sure. He got service with a smile, and a glass of the top-shelf stuff, two fingers, neat. No charge, they said, and he didn't question it for a second, draining the clear amber liquid a swig at a time.

These were the sort of accommodations the one percent dreamed of, back home. Kind of reminded him of Dubai, if Lady Gaga had taken over the fashion industry. With a privately amused snort Rumlow took it all in, the people wandering by, the lush decor and the swanky bars, the prestige that came with being a 'tribute'. As far as kidnapping and imprisonment went, they could definitely do worse for cells. He'd give them that much.

All he had to do in return is participate in these...games, and crack a few skulls along the way. It all seemed a little too simple, too straightforward. Someone around here had to have the real score. He supposed he could return to his floor -- District 6, they'd said -- and investigate matters from those supposedly on his own team.

One more drink, maybe.

Comments

[tricksandmischief]

Loki had been assigned to District 7, but of course he was looking around in many other places and this time of day found him in the Common Area. His eyes scanned the area for any familiar faces then started sizing up any strangers.

He glanced to the man who was drinking and wandered closer.

[rumlow]

Of course, there was no way in Hell he wasn't going to recognize that smug face. Not after SHIELD had poured all its resources into tracking the asshole down, only to have him launch an alien invasion in their backyard.

He might have been a stranger to Loki, but Rumlow knew exactly who he was looking at the second he lay eyes on him. Something incredulous painted itself over the man's features as he stared openly at the approaching Asgardian.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me."

[tricksandmischief]

That greeting was quite obvious.

"I take it that you know who I am," the god of mischief smirked.

Although he couldn't be certain whether the man had recognised him from his recent broadcast proclaiming himself the next victor of the Games or maybe he knew of him from somewhere else back in their universe.

[yourmove]

Now that he's finally a Peacekeeper, Alex makes his rounds on his first beat - they've given him the "milk run" that frankly, he's overqualified for because it consists of checking the Tribute Center for signs of vandalism, asking certain Tributes to turn their music down to acceptable levels and this. The Tributes who choose to indulge in alcohol and the other substances made legal in the Capitol. He intends to carry out his duties and report back after he's compiled a list of factually based reasons why he should be placed in a more...aggressive position that could better use his skill set.

Alex doesn't sneak up on Rumlow. It's physically not possible with all the noise he makes when he walks - even if it was, he wouldn't see the point because there's nothing more accessible than the highly visible front door approach.

"Please drink responsibly, Mr. Rumlow," Alex pauses, his head tilting down with a gentle whirr of servos. His HUD lights up with the man's biometrics, measuring his blood alcohol content - it pings back acceptable so long as he doesn't operate heavy machinery. "Is there any service I can provide you while I'm here?"

[rumlow]

"Yeah, but you're not gonna like it."

Rumlow eyeballed the man-machine for a moment, nonplussed by his rather noisy approach or his sudden concern for how much he decided he wanted to drink. They'd said it was free, wasn't it? If the lot of them were expected to wade out into a battlefield, the least they could do was let them drink in peace.

"So who are you supposed to be?" he pressed on, giving Murphy the once-over before turning his attention away.

[yourmove]

"Alex Murphy. I'm a Peacekeeper, here to serve the public trust. And you Tributes," Alex adds, almost as an afterthought. "What kind of service do you require? So long as it's legal and doesn't promote anti-Capitol sentiments, I'm happy to help."

Mostly he looks about as interested as a worker at the DMV - same flat-eyed stare, the same disinterested tone of voice that's professionally polite.

[tookthewheel]

It shouldn't as much of a surprise at it is.

The once Asset, now going by the reclaimed name of Bucky Barnes, stops in his tracks when he see's the man drinking in one of the seats in the lobby. It takes him a moment to positively identify him with the gut feeling that the guy is HYDRA hitting him before he can put a name to the face. Brock Rumlow, STRIKE team leader.

Bucky's hands tighten into fists in the pockets of his jacket. A quick mental check assures him that the kitchen knife he plucked from the cutlery drawer in District 1 is still hidden in his left sleeve as he advances forwards with no real plan in mind, it's like he's on autopilot suddenly and he'll only know what he's going to do when he gets there.

In the months he's been here not much has physically changed about the Asset (dying and being reset twice will do that) but Brock might notice that his left cheek is sporting a messy and ugly brand on it, a wound that hasn't healed the way it should have.

[rumlow]

You want a way to spook a guy, that was it. Right there.

Seeing the asset approaching a quick clip with a look that meant business was all that was needed to send a very real chill down his spine. It wasn't as if he didn't know what he was capable of. He'd seen him fight, more than once, a privilege at the time. That thing was a finely-honed weapon, brutally efficient in ways he could only dream of. And if he was a tribute? Rumlow's chances just took a tremendous nose dive.

Rumlow doesn't let that fear shine through, though. You never let them smell fear or panic. Instead he locked eyes right back, his back straightening, jaw tightening. He's taken account of the ways out of here already, if it comes to that, but he's already got a smile pulling into place, lacking warmth of any kind. "Well, look who it is."

He takes another swig, not lowering his eyes for a second.

[tookthewheel]

"I know you."

Bucky gets all the clarification he needs for that fact in Rumlow's reaction to him but he doesn't attack (for now). There's certainly the temptation to go ahead and eliminate the potential threat, a thought that's clashing in his head with what's left of the programming they gave him. However he can't forget that Capitol has too many eyes and ears everywhere for him to ever hope of not getting his own execution order if he did, the rules are clear and their captors are unforgiving.

His hands slide free of his pockets, the silver metal of the left one gleaming in the artificial lights.

"How long have you been here?"

[reassures]

Something about the guy seems a little off. It's the first thing Nill notices after she spots him - something in the air around him, or maybe the way he holds himself. If asked she wouldn't be able to pinpoint exactly what the problem was, only that he was off, and usually when people seemed off to Nill she was right about them.

But it had been a long time since she last needed to rely on that particular skill, and she doubts its ability to still be accurate. Not completely, but enough so that when she approaches the guy there's a small smile on her face. When you watch people as much as Nill does you tend to notice when new people show up, and while she likes people here, they tend to lack in the informing newbies department.

There's already a message written on her notepad, which she holds up for him to see after she takes a seat.

hello. my name is Nill. I'm in district 9.
did they tell you about curfew?

[rumlow]

There's not much there to read as 'off', unless 'off' constitutes being a little pissy about being kidnapped and thrown into a publicly ritualized death match. But Rumlow knows about blending in. Hydra's done it for the past seven decades without notice, he can have a drink at a bar for five minutes without setting off any alarms.

Wouldn't be a very good agent, otherwise.

When the girl approaches he looks a little puzzled, to say the least. She's not one of the tributes, is she? Girl looks like a strong wind would knock her over given the opportunity. But sure enough she's holding up a sign -- district 9, he'll remember that -- and it's confirmed. No sense going and getting attached then.

Even so.

"Hello yourself." A small smile twitches up into place, to mirror her own. "Maybe they did and I just wasn't paying attention. Run it by me again?"

[reassures]

It's a bit of a skill, either built up out of natural empathy or of survival instinct, but one that Nill no longer trusts or is currently able to deem as accurate. The way a person views the people can get a little screwy after spending years judging the merit of outward appearances by whether or not they severely contradicted with the thoughts attached to them, before her ability to hear them got taken from her. So when he smiles she immediately brushes it off with a little flutter of her wings. Probably just general newbie unease.

She holds up a finger - a signal to give her a moment, because this is one of those messages that can take a minute to get out - before going about writing out a curfew summary. When she's done she lifts it again.

curfew is from 11pm to 7am.
you need to stay in your suite after that.
if you don't the peacekeepers will take you in.
you can request a pass for 1 night, or a full pass for every night.
if they say yes to the request, they interview you on what you can do for the Capitol.
if they like your answers, you get the pass.

And then below that, because she gets asked it by almost everyone, I'm sorry for the hassle. I'm mute.

[atoner]

Natasha doesn't do a ton of drinking except for the occasional casual beer. But she does frequent bars, sometimes. They're a good setting - lots of crowded people, loud music. Good places to watch people unnoticed. Good places to have conversations or pass off information.

When she spots Rumlow over by the bar, it's almost like one great cosmic joke. Like Pierce is going to show up right on his heels, despite being dead. The Capitol is pretty much a HYDRA wet dream, what with the constant ( and impressive ) surveillance and the near-total control they force upon some of their citizens.

For now.

She leans against the bar counter, arms crossed and her expression surveying.

[rumlow]

Of course he notices her. If she hadn't wanted him to, she wouldn't be standing out in the open like that, would she?

And oh, how he smiles at that.

"Agent Romanoff." He could almost sound pleased to see her, and that grin crinkles the corners of his eyes. Old, familiar masks that still serve a purpose. "How about that."

There's certainly no move of aggression made. She's an enemy to be sure, but now isn't the time or place for that to become a relative factor. Obviously she sees the sense in that logic, or she'd have taken him out without him ever glimpsing her.

"So I'm guessing they nabbed the whole crew. Our boy in blue, too?" he guesses, after another swig from his glass.

[atoner]

It's true. If she wanted him dead, there wouldn't have been a trace of her after. But the Capitol's information networks are pretty omniscient, as much as she hates to admit it. And she's pretty sure the administration frowns upon tributes killing other tributes outside of the arenas. After all, where's the fun in it, without an audience to witness it?

No, she's here as a warning.

She smiles back, all barbed sweetness, the same as him. "Don't tell me your boss tagged along. I was kinda hoping he'd stay dead. Same goes for you, too."

Well. A building collapsed on him. If he isn't dead back where it matters, it'd be a little surprising.

[celebrityskinned]

Venus doesn't know who she's sitting down next to, only that he's new. She knows everyone's face from the last Arenas, has them imprinted in her memory as if from far away, knows soon enough her mind will hold them in three-dimensional form as she meets them in person.

She settles on the barstool, folding her legs over each other so her feet in their couture heels dangle like Christmas lights. She pushes her sunglasses up to be a headband; with them not hiding most of her face, the ugly scar over a third of it is all too evident.

"Bartender, you got anything virgin?" She rests her elbows on the counter before turning to Rumlow.

"Hi. New blood?" She pauses, then winces. "Sorry, that's probably a bit of a gruesome term here."

[rumlow]

Rumlow chuckles, shaking his head. "If you're looking to put me off, sweetheart, you're going to have to try a lot harder than that," he replies, swirling the whiskey around at the bottom of his glass.

He glances briefly at her, notices the scar, but does her the service of not staring openly at it. A souvenir from the arena, possibly? Ah well. She's a pretty girl regardless, and he's not one to balk at scars.

Quite the contrary, in fact.

[celebrityskinned]

"Good. Some people here look like they're about to lose their lunch for a whole week after they first show up."

She takes her drink - something fruity and pink, because the bartender knows her well - and fiddles her fingers over the little umbrella on the top, the splash of paper yellow completing the picture of liquid paradise. She wonders about the new guy, about what background he came from that keeps him calm right now, or if he and alcohol are just making a valiant fight on the side of denial.

"I adapted pretty quickly, honestly. Sometimes it's a relief to see someone else do it too. Makes me feel less like the odd one out."

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Sam makes it a policy not to drink much while he's here - that ridiculous sham of a slumber party aside - but he also doesn't stay in one place much during the day. And he's still trying to make a decent impression here, when he thinks to put forth the effort, which means which means a little mingling in bars and common areas sometimes.

Today, though, he spots a familiar face. One of the last people he thought he'd see again, given the way Sam'd left the guy, but he's already learned that time doesn't work right here.

He can't stop the instinctive sneer when he first sees him, because oh fuck this asshole, but it's gone by the time Sam heads over.

"Must really be desparate for Tributes, if they're dragging the bottom of the barrel," he comments conversationally as he slides into a seat at the bar, leaving an empty one between them.

[rumlow]

There's a soft snort as Rumlow helps himself to another swig of whiskey. "Says the kid who got his ass kicked."

By the time Sam drops by, he's hardly surprised. He does look amused, however. They're going to have to tolerate his presence or face the consequences, and he's alright with putting them a little more on edge just because.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

He snorts back, raising an eyebrow, just as unimpressed now as he had been back then. "Uh-huh. Seems like you don't remember how that fight ended; I was the one who walked away."

Didn't matter that a crashing helicarrier might have helped a bit, walking away was walking away.

[actually112]

Some people are dressed up nice and fancy. Not this kid. He's in a loose-fitting t-shirt and pants; the shirt feels weird enough, but they don't have many robes around here, so he has to wear what he can get. Oh, and he's bald and has arrow tattoos on his head, arms, and legs. So overall, looking a little out of place.

He's drinking papaya juice at the bar, swinging his legs on the stool and looking around at the people with bright eyes and hands that are busy playing with the napkins. As he sips on a straw, he folds the napkins into flowers, birds, little boxes that eventually collapse on themselves because napkins aren't a good building material... and then he notices Rumlow. While Aang doesn't know every tribute by name, he does know their faces, and this is a new face.

New faces should be greeted kindly, especially considering how awful it is to come here so suddenly.

Aang folds a napkin into a little paper airplane (or a paper glider, as he would call it) and throws it gently towards the new person with a playful smile.

[rumlow]

The napkin gets plucked out of the air before it can nudge into him, and Rumlow turns it over in his hand with a 'are you kidding me' sort of expression before finally lifting his eyes to Aang. A kid. They're throwing kids into the ring. Just when he though the whole situation couldn't get more screwed up.

Carefully he turns it about in his hand, before tossing it back in Aang's direction. Curious looking little dude. The tattoos are certainly an eye-catcher.

[arrogantalloy]

Tony sidles up to the bar, right next to Rumlow and completely oblivious to who he's standing next to as he gestures for the bartender with his hand that has a large cuff on it, he's all professional grins and smiles to the man, asking for his usual.

As the bartender wanders off to sort out said usual, Tony glances at the man next to him, raising his eyebrows and head slightly in that causal 'hey' kind of way that people who have noticed each other do but don't really expect anything to come of it. When the man returns he places the drink down in front of Tony, it looks like it should be an appletini, it even has an apple wedge in it. That being said it's not actually alcoholic at all.

He takes a drink and seems pleased with what he's got, then turns and leans against the bar to watch what's happening.

"So. How are you finding it so far?"

Let's remember, Tony's not a stupid man. He might not know who the man is he's talking to, but he knows that the man is a tribute, his outfit is no where near the levels of over the top of those who live and breath capitol. He is also no one Tony recognises, and while he hasn't met every tribute, he's at least seen their faces on the screen come arena time, also just because he doesn't look like he's about to throw up on himself just means the guy isn't afraid to start a fight at the very least.

[rumlow]

For a moment Rumlow's got to stare. It's surreal, how much of what's familiar and known was dragged over here with him, juxtaposed against the strange dystopia he'd found himself in. Oh, he knows who just settled himself in beside him at the bar, easy as you please. How could he not?

"Tony Stark," he utters with a shake of his head, almost amused enough at the situation to laugh. "They just must love picking up people from our neck of the woods. Or someone's got a sense of humor."

He takes another swig of his whiskey, licking his lips and turning his gaze back to the bar, to the rows of bottles and the narrow strips of mirror glass meant to make it all look larger than it really was. Seemed to be a trend here in the Capitol.