thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who| Diana and OPEN
What| Diana is basically just trying to figure out the situation.
Where| Anywhere in the city, really, just make sure it's clear!
When| Between Arena's 5 and 6
Warnings/Notes| Nothing at the moment.

Diana was...unhappy, if the understatement could be forgiven. Taken from her bed, stripped of her powers, tossed into this world where she was meant to fight and kill for the entertainment of the ruling class...

Well, she was familiar with concept, obviously, but that didn't mean she liked it. And she liked even less what little she'd understood of the situation, of the history, before she'd been ushered to her quarters. As soon as she was left alone she was off, exploring the building, the city, anywhere she was allowed to go in search of answers. Of a crack in the prison walls.

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R goes back to the elevators. It's comforting to shuffle in there and stand there riding them up and down for hours, a little bit of routine back from home at the Terminal. Ride the escalator, ride the conveyor when they work, and things should be like they used to.

Until the Living people pile into his elevator. It didn't stop surprising him when they walked in, gave him a curious look at the muzzle, but still pushed themselves in to stand next to him.

R stared.

He was still staring at the next person came on, a tall Living woman with thick black hair that a zombie could grab onto, longer than even Julie's. R was finding this Invasion of the Living interestingly stressful now, enough to open his mouth and croak:

"What...floor?"

Diana stared for only a moment, more startled at his ability to speak than that there was a zombie on the elevator at all. "Oh," she said, a little flustered by the question. "Surprise me, I guess. I'm not going anywhere in particular, just looking around. That's a fantastic piece of technology, if you don't mind me commenting."

R turns at the "surprise me" and hopes he can get this right. Spontaneous thinking isn't really his thing, usually, and he jabs at a random button in front of him. The first couple of attempts misses. On the third try he finally gets it, the number 4 lighting up a pretty blue color as the doors close. R tries to ape what he saw the other passengers doing all day: making awkward small-talk. Trying not to make eye contact, though, is a bit harder than he expected. (Creepy staring is kinda his thing).

"This?" R points at the elevator. He shrugs and grunts. "Nice. Good times."

Look, he's even grinning, sort've. It's the kind of grin that sends the few fans he has running for the hills or to the other Tributes. You're kind of okay, lady.

Edited 2013-02-26 10:10 (UTC)

Diana is all about the eye contact, however, and she only smiled in response to the creepy staring and grin. She's had far creepier. "Ah, I meant," she waved a hand at the muzzle, having assumed it was something to help him talk. It occurred to her belatedly that it was in fact meant to perform the services of any other muzzle and while the thought was barbaric, it was hardly shocking with what she knew of the Capitol so far.

"I love elevators myself," she said, instead of finishing her original thought. "I was an adult the first time I saw one and first chance I got, I rode it up and down for half an hour."

What she really meant flew over his head like a lot of things these days did. Maybe when R was alive, he would've caught it, went "ah-ha" and then had the most amazing, smartest conversation with her in the history of ever. She wouldn't know what hit her. Now? Not so much. The fact he still managed syllables was a miracle. R's blank face didn't exactly light up on the subject of elevators, but it did make a good effort to twitch into something like an expression.

Someone with a hobby like his! Yes!

"Me too!" R tried to make his moan sound excited. "They're...great. Always moving."

R didn't know what else to say about them that didn't boil down to that. He'd been making it a habit to ride the escalators and conveyors back at the airport whenever he could, every day, and they were almost, he didn't know, relaxing. R had an Idea. He turned toward the Living woman, his corpse's hand coming up as he tried to maneuver it in front of him. Aw, look, the zombie wanted to shake.

"Rrrr. R," he clarified, shoving that hand at his new elevator partner. "You?"

Edited 2013-02-27 07:36 (UTC)

Perhaps zombie was the wrong word, though it was the most convincing one that came to mind. This...boy, this R was much more coherent than the zombies Diana was familiar with, aside for the Black Lanterns who were a different kettle of fish altogether.

Well, she'd figure out the proper term later. For now she took the offered hand and shook it gravely. "Rrr," she repeated, trying to mimic the way he said it, like she was trying out a different accent. "It's lovely to meet you, R. My name is Diana."

"Dian-na," R almost got it on his first try. The second was right on the mark. "Diana."

The way she rolled his name sounded funny, like she was purring in the back of her throat. It was...interesting. New. R's fingers stiffened around hers and while his grip was strong - it had to be, for his new 24/7 - his actual handshake was limp, arm flopping. After a few seconds he seemed to realize he should probably give Diana her hand back.

"Were you in..." R paused. She was way too nice to be from the city back home. "Arena? Ice?"

If she was, R didn't see her, but you never knew.

"Ice? Ah, the last Arena?" She'd been told this was a fight to the death, and then told that death was a word with a different definition in this place, and it was still disconcerting to realize they were meant to continue the fight even after they were killed. "No, I just arrived. I've barely been out of this building."

The elevator stopped at the fourth floor, but Diana hesitated to leave. It's not like she had a pressing engagement, so instead of stepping out she turned back to R, "Were you in the last Arena?"

He was, kinda. If you counted being stuck in an icy hole and having two different Tributes taking potshots at you as “being in the Arena”, then sure.

R shrugged and nodded, head bobbing. The fact he got mauled twice didn’t strike him as traumatizing – surprising, maybe, but that was it.

"Died," R said, sounding confused. "But back?"

Seeing Diana not stepping out, R decided he'd be adventurous. Take the initiative. His finger came out very slowly, like a drunk man trying to pretend he was steady and capable, and stabbed at the 10th floor button. He wasn't sure how to explain it to Diana. Her Escort could probably do a better, faster job than he could.

Diana opened her mouth, then shut it again. Even her experience in politics failed to provide her with a polite way to ask what he meant by 'died' considering his current state. Although possibly it meant he didn't win. A zombie in a fight to the death changed many of the variables, it seemed. "So, will they have you return in the next Arena?" she settled on asking at last, allowing R to choose their destination with little concern.

R hadn't even thought that far ahead. He might be better off than most other zombies on the decomposition front, but the thinking about the future, even a few days ahead, still wasn't one of his strong points. R stood there looking stumped, as if Diana had sprung a pop-quiz on him.

"Um," R looked like he was straining something trying to think. Good thing he was too stone-dead to get a hernia. "Maybe? Try...not to go for...you" R waved vaguely at Diana, as if that was supposed to be comforting.

Diana was pretty sure she was getting the hand of this. He wasn't too terribly obtuse anyway, surprisingly. "I appreciate the thought," she said, with a small, sincere smile. "I must admit, though, I'd rather you go for me than someone else, if given the choice. Not that I wish to fight you at all."

R shot her a strange look. "Why....you?"

The zombie looked about as taken aback as a corpse possibly could. He wracked his head for the last time someone actually said they'd take someone's place as dinner and realized he couldn't: Diana was the first. What kind of human was she?

Diana hesitated, not sure how to put it to someone who didn't know who she was. It didn't happen very often anymore. "I have combat experience for one. And putting myself between others and a dangerous situation, well, that's essentially my job description."

"Soldier?" R peered at her as the elevator went back up again. Lights flashed as they ascended, flickering over Diana's face.

This is probably the part where, if he was M and a lady's man, he'd tell her she was the prettiest soldier he ever saw and go from there. Lucky for Diana, he's only got eyes for Julie.

"Not technically, no. I'm...a warrior," she said, because 'superhero' just came across as arrogant without the reputation behind it. "Protector. It's what I do, or try to do. What about you? Your occupation, I mean." It was probably rude to assume he didn't have one, zombie or not.

R wasn't sure he saw the difference between a soldier and a warrior. Protector, though. He liked the sound of it. It sounded like something from the past, before....before things like him. Protector struck him as noble, somehow.

"Don't...have one," R mumbled. Compared to "protector", he thought "unemployed corpse" sounded even worse than usual. He hurried to add more. "Like to collect. Stuff?"

"A collector?" said Diana, glad to be discussing something other than whether or not they would be killing each other in a week's time. "Of what?"

R nodded. "Records. Music. Things I..." R wished he could say it was all stuff he probably liked when he was alive, but he wasn't even one hundred percent sure. "They're...cool. You'd like."

He was very proud of his collection, okay. R was dying for an excuse to show it off to anyone, everyone.

"I'm sure I would. I love music." Diana had many questions crowding her head at this point (where did he get the records? did he buy them? where would he get money?) but couldn't think of a tactful way to ask any of them. "I rarely have the time to just sit back and listen to a record."

"Too bad," R wheezed. He meant it too. "Can't...make time?"

That was the thing about being dead - he had a whole lot more free time on his hands than someone alive, like Diana. He tried to imagine what someone like her could be doing to be so busy that she couldn't kick back. Busy doing protector stuff, he guessed. It was probably a full-time job.

"I could probably try harder," Diana admitted. "I've got...many different responsibilities that take up my time, but I shouldn't let that become an easy excuse. Have you found out how they record music here?" It may not have been a priority, what with the forced death match and all, but people (and zombies, probably) could acclimate to a new situation very quickly.

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