(no subject)

[foundafamily]

Who| Firo and anyone!
What| A newbie getting his bearings and bugging others
Where| All throughout the Training Center
When| About a week after the last arena
Warnings/Notes| None as of now

Firo isn’t much the type to shut himself away when he’s freaking out. No, he’s the type to pace restlessly even if he has no idea where he’s going. To expend some of that energy and, hopefully, the jitters, he decides to explore.

Common Area

“Wow…”

Firo doesn’t get too far out of his room before he’s gawking at the décor and furnishings of the place. He has to admit, especially after the drabness of Alcatraz, the rooms are impressive, if not exactly to his taste. He wanders around the floor unabashedly staring at everything.

Including any residents. If he spots someone, he’ll pick his way over to them.

“So, uh. What exactly do you do?”

If there’s some way to tell apart the tributes from the staff and other Capitol denizens, Firo doesn't know it yet. Either way, he figures he should get to know them. If what he’s learned so far is correct, he’ll be stuck with these people for a long time.

Bar

As he spots the bar, Firo nearly feels something akin to contentment for the first time since being dragged here. He already knows it’ll be no Alveare, but he’s in dire need of a strong drink.

He's not so stupid as to think getting drunk in a strange place is a good idea, so he'll just settle for one. Or two. As he works his way through one of the plainer beverages offered, he watches (read: rudely stares at) the others frequenting the bar.

Training Center

He eventually works his way down to the training area. Even if he doesn’t want to think about what’s waiting for him in this place, he can’t ignore the fact that he’s more comfortable around weapons and movement than the ostentatious luxury of the other rooms. He meanders around the stations, clucking his tongue in dismay at all the unfamiliar information and staring with childish amazement at strange weapons. When he reaches an area full of knives, he pauses and considers them all.

If he spots anyone else in the area, he’s going to quickly stride toward them, knife in hand. He doesn’t seem to realize that this isn’t a way people don’t really like to be approached—and despite his unimpressive size, he won’t hesitate to block their path if the ignore him.
“Hey. Where do I get one a’ these? To keep, I mean.”

Aside from the time he just spent in prison, he’s hardly been without a weapon since he first joined the Martillos. He keenly feels the absence of his knife, especially what with being stuck in an unfamiliar place and all. He wants to be ready.

Comments

[burningdaylight]

There’s a reason why Bill had kept all the alcohol locked away in the armory other than to secure and maintain his brand of tyrannical control over all things in the community. The near-constant threat of death in its many forms back home means Luke is about as cautious with his drinking as Firo when he settles into the bar, needing to escape the well-intentioned concern of others that has somehow become so smothering.

Just one glass of beer. Just a little to dullen the ragged, cutting edge of sobriety and slow the bleeding some. This is no time to carelessly drink himself stupid. It never is; not anymore.

It’s hard to relearn how to relax. Harder yet when he can feel someone’s gaze on him and he wonders if this is something he should be any bit concerned about. He hasn’t always managed to bite back his more unfavourable opinions of the Capitol and it doesn't help that there were few if any places that weren’t packed with cameras and devices out to catch every last word that came out of one's mouth.

He can only feign indifference for so long before he dares to offer the man in the stool beside him a brief glance, keeping his expression carefully neutral. No words. Just gauging his reaction.

[foundafamily]

Firo wasn't expecting to get any eye contact back, but he's almost relieved to see it. There's something almost dreamlike (well, nightmarelike) about this bizarre place and he needs some sort of confirmation that this is all real and he's not alone.

Someone to punch would also be nice, but he'll see what kind of a person this guy is first.

He shifts around his seat to face the guy more directly. "Who're you?"

He asks as if he's not the new person here. He has to get to know people somehow, but Firo's not too good at meeting people in a scenario that isn't incredibly hectic. So that'll have to do.

[burningdaylight]

It’s an interesting way of posing the question, reminding Luke of what it felt like to be the unfortunate new arrival to Panem he had been two month ago, disoriented and desperately searching for his friends while struggling to come to terms with what it meant to wake in a place where the threat of walkers and bandits didn’t exist and few understood the significance of it. A place offering the luxuries of running water, a warm, soft bed, and a wealth of fresh food he had long since forgot the taste of.

A place, also, where he still had to look over his shoulder.

Some things never change.

“One a' them tributes from District 2,” he offers mildly before glancing back to his glass, keeping his expression as inscrutable as he can make it despite the twinges of curiosity. “And yourself?”

[foundafamily]

Firo frowns and wonders if everyone here has their position tied to their identity or if he asked the wrong question. His shoulders become less stiff, though, to hear that this guy is a tribute and not one of the Capitol people.

"Firo Prochainezo." The next words are something of a struggle to get out. He hasn't been here nearly long enough to consider his new role a part of him. "I'm in the same boat as you, but for District 8."

"You got a name?" If the question sounds testy, it's only due to Firo's general feeling of confusion and anger, nothing aimed at Luke. He's just grateful to hear a normal if unfamiliar voice.

[burningdaylight]

He considers Firo’s answer a moment, committing his name to memory. It’s useful to know a thing or two about someone beyond what they looked like, particularly in Panem where conversations with strangers went on far longer than they tended to back home and being trapped here meant one would see the same faces time and time again. Someone you said hello to in a coffee shop today could be drawing a weapon on you in the arena tomorrow. Though he'd rather not think of it that way.

“It’s Luke,” he says, noting the wary edge to the question and subtle drop to the young man’s shoulders. A swallow of beer, and then: “So m’guessin’ you’re new around these parts?"

There's no bite to it, no bitter amusement. If anything, there's a thread of sympathy underlying the tiredness in his voice. No one deserves to be here, caged in and forced to struggle viciously for survival all to keep the Capitolites entertained.

oh well clearly they have to meet in the training center

[biomechatronic]

Dennett Norton is slowly coming to the realization that he may have to actually kill someone.

No, that's not quite right. His master plan is to at least begin to look like he's capable of killing someone, so that he can scare them off, the way Robber Flies look like bees and scare away predators.

It's based on science, therefore it is a good plan.

But it's hard to keep up his new Tough Front when he sees the knife. He gives a probably unmanly 'eep', putting his hands up in front of him, then putting them behind his back--he's a surgeon and his hands are his most valuable tools. "I. Uh. Please. It's not..it's not necessary." Don't kill a guy with glasses!

Haha, yes! I'm just going to apologize in advance for him

[foundafamily]

Firo, being self-centeredly caught up in his own issues, misinterprets that question. He raises an eyebrow; at least in his neighborhood, most people having a knife or gun (legal or not) on their person is completely normal.

"Not necessary? Are you crazy? Why would anyone walk around unarmed here?"

He waves his arms around to emphasize how emphatic he is about this point. Don't worry, the knife won't come too close.

perfect!

[biomechatronic]

"Because--" Well. Actually, that's a very good point, Dennett thinks. Why hadn't he thought of that before himself?

But. But!! "I mean, could you, just...." A vague wave of a hand toward the knife. "I. Just. Weapons make me nervous." Especially when they're pointed at him.

[foundafamily]

"Huh?" He glances at the knife and shrugs, then leans over to set it down on a nearby table. "All right, then."

Well, having been blasted to bits my machine gun fire before, Firo supposes he wouldn't really enjoy staring one down again. Though he's more likely to get angry than nervous. After the blade's already out of his hand, he wonders if this is some sort of trick to leave him vulnerable, but that seems unlikely given what he's seen of this man's demeanor so far.

Instead of repeating his question, Firo remarks. "This seems like a bad place for a guy afraid a' weapons."

[biomechatronic]

There's a noticeable loosening of Dennett's posture, as he figures he can stop trying to figure where he could possibly run here. Or if screaming would help.

"It's a bad place, period." Guess who's not a fan? "Unless where you're from, killing for entertainment is normal, too?" Hmmm, maybe he should take a step back. Just in case.

Common Area

[drinkupmehearties]

The pirate had wandered his way over to the fridge in the meanwhile, popping it open to rummage around in it. He'd discovered the fridge and the wonders it performed -- a box that cooled food and much more importantly drinks -- on his first day, and since then had been making heavy use of it. In this particular instance, when Firo approaches and asks him a question, Jack pulls away from it with a full bottle of rum in hand and an orange in the other.

He gives Firo a questioning look, at first, then slides the fridge closed and cracks a small smile. "Eat. Drink. Be merry. What else is there?"

Common Area

[foundafamily]

Be merry? Firo's pretty sure that's impossible when he's so far away from his home and family.

"Uh, that sounds nice and all, but I meant more like your... job here." Basically, are you a tribute or not? Firo's still not at all comfortable with the term.

He hasn't even thought about what to do with downtime. It hadn't occurred to him that there would be any, despite being left on his own for a little while.

[drinkupmehearties]

Oh, Jack had known what he'd meant -- the pirate just wasn't too keen on acknowledging his unfortunate and unplanned imprisonment in this place. He twists the top off of the rum bottle, takes a hearty swig of it, then lowers it.

"Job?" A couple wobbly steps bring him to the nearest island counter, where Jack places the orange and bottle atop it, then leans forward to rest his elbows on the hard surface. His eyes narrow a touch, studying Firo. He didn't dress in the absurdly flashy way that the Capitol citizens did, and the wide-eyed way that Jack had seen him exploring the common area all pegged him as another tribute. "Wouldn't call it a job, as it were, so much as an elaborate an' dolled up death sentence. I've been marked as a Tribute for District 8."

[foundafamily]

Though there's not much joy in it, Firo musters a half-smile in response to that. He can't disagree with this guy's assessment at all and there's something reassuring in hearing someone articulate that sentiment out loud.

"Me too--same District and everything." So, as far as Firo understands, they're on the same team but still only one of them can live through an Arena. Fun.

He follows to the counter, just drumming his fingers on the edge for the moment. "I'm Firo Prochainezo. You?"

[drinkupmehearties]

He starts to peel the orange, discarding the pieces in a somewhat tidy pile on the counter. "Same boat then, you an' I." His smile mirrors the tone of Firo's own, cheerless and empty. "Lucky us, aye?" One victor. Which meant that the two of them would eventually be pitted against each other until one or the other was dead. Fun indeed.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, at yer pleasure." And oh wait. Jack quickly flicks a finger up, emphasizing: "And don't miss the Captain bit, there, it's important."

commons

[reallynow]

The key difference between Tributes and Capitol people is that Tributes generally dress as they're accustomed to and Capitol staff dress like they're trying to emulate multi-coloured disco balls. Jolie looks a little like that right now, the heavy make-up doesn't help and she looks like she's searching for someone.

And this could be the guy.

She has a new Tribute somewhere, this is the clearly the guy since she's never seen his face before. Offhandedly, she observes that he's pretty cute and that could come in hand. She's surprised when he makes the approach, but it doesn't throw her.

"I'm a Stylist. I dress people." You, specifically, but she'll save that tidbit for later.

[foundafamily]

Now this person is the first one Firo's encountered so far who really looks like they belong here. As she answers the question, he can't help but stare at her clothes and makeup.

He scratches his head, "Seems like a strange job to have when most people can just dress themselves."

Sure, he knows that there are people even in his world who pay people to mess with their hair and clothes, but those are all weird rich people, right? And he's still not clear on what fashion would even have to do with fighting to the death.

[reallynow]

The staring doesn't seem to bother Jolie any particular amount. Most offworlders seem affronted by the glitter and glamour of it all. Also the not so secret tidbit she is, in fact, a man in a dress.

"In my vast experience, most people can't actually." She pulls a face, but she doesn't seem too bothered by it. "Believe me, though. After meeting twenty or so of you guys I am already well aware of the fact that style is futile and that you just want to loaf around in your burlap sacks." She gives her shoulders a light shrug. "But I'm here and so are you and I get paid to dress you, so I will. Nice to meet you, what's your name?"

[foundafamily]

He glances down at his clothes, then frowns back at her. "Burlap sack..?" He's not one to be proud of his clothes, but how rude!

At least he's spared having to try and make a stand about his desire to avoid fashion. If the other tributes are of a similar mind, he can be thankful for that.

Already feeling somewhat insulted, he feels the need to straighten to his full (but still not-so-impressive) height as he introduces himself. "Firo Prochainezo. You got one?"

[reallynow]

It's an affectionate kind of rude, one Firo will either learn to love or come to loathe intensely. She doesn't mean much by it, but she talks in dramatics to get her point across. She grins, because it seems like it's worked well enough for now.

"Très Jolie." She sticks out a hand for him to shake, both business like and casual in her mannerisms. "You got a favourite colour? A favourite style, maybe? If you let me, we can work together on this one. I want you to look your best, that's my job."

Bar

[pimpcanes]

Tom isn't, generally, a creature of habit. He usually doesn't stay in one place too long, globetrotting out of a natural restlessness as much as because he's a fugitive in almost as many countries as he isn't. He's already outstayed the time he would stay naturally in the Capitol, and his inability to just get up and leave has left him restless.

This means drinking. Not drinking too much, because like hell is he going to leave himself vulnerable to embarrassment at the hands of his peers here, and he's old and experienced to know that a high alcohol tolerance is far from one with no threshold at all, but drinking on a somewhat regular basis. He's at the bar now, a book splayed open on the wooden counter in front of him getting dog-eared every few minutes as he loses interest and then returns, a few moments later, back to it. He tosses back another shot of whiskey as if it were water.

He raises an eyebrow when he sees he's being watched - subtly, observed but not targeted, he imagines. He likely wouldn't have noticed were he not so often hired as an assassin or counter-mercenary, if it weren't usually a matter of survival. He folds a corner of the book over and closes it before turning to the man.

"New here, lad?"

[foundafamily]

Firo shows as little shame when he's noticed as he did during the actual watching. "Yeah." He'd consider cracking a 'how did you know' joke, but those are probably done to death here.

He swivels in his chair to face this man straight on. He has a whole battery of basic questions at the ready--about the guy's name, his job, how long he's spent here--but random curiosity overwhelms those for a moment.

He jerks his head toward the book. "What'cha got there?"

Except for the books Luck and Claire lent him when they were kids, Firo's not much of a reader. But he is curious about any guy who'd be reading in a bar and what kind of books a place like this would have.

[pimpcanes]

Tom holds the book out; it's a treatise of wartime strategy when Panem fought the Districts, one which, Tom suspects, is stuffed to the gills with hyperbole and propaganda. After a moment he gives it the slightest toss and it lands on the counter in front of Firo.

"History. I thought it might be helpful for understanding the people here on some level deeper than what their television would allow me." He shrugs and reaches up, patting part of his mustache back into place. "What's your name?"

[foundafamily]

History. Firo absently opens the front cover of the book and flips through a few pages without even really scanning them. He doesn't see the potential that this other guy does, but the explanation sounded good enough.

He nods his thanks and tosses the book back. He's more of a fiction person, if he has to pick. There are only a few areas of knowledge that he considers "useful" and he avoids everything else as if it'll take up valuable space in his head.

"Firo Prochainezo. Yours?"

[pimpcanes]

"Tom Cassidy." He claps open a briefcase by his stool and slips the book into it, before snapping it back closed.

"Prochainezo. Is that Italian?" Tom's accent on that would be perfect if it were; he can't show off the number of languages he knows but there's still some vestige of his polyglotism on his tongue. Unlike Firo, he absorbs information as a matter of pride and of survival. Being able to blend in with different social circles like a chameleon, to draw from anecdotes to figure out a solution in an instant, to adapt, has been the iron rail along which his life in the criminal underworld runs.