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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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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