When you own the world, you're always home.

[streetsmarts]

Who| Nick and OPEN
What| Fresh in from the zombie apocalypse.
Where| D7 suits, Commons bar, through the halls.
When| 11/01, ish.
Warnings| Sexual stuff in some of the threads.

It was over. Done. Done like dinner. After a goddamn marathon of bullshit, after continuous strife and disappointment, their asses were safe. That doesn't mean Nick isn't in a mild state of panic when he arrives. You spend a while attached at the hip with some mouthy assholes, you kind of notice the silence when they're gone. The fact that they'd come so far to be separated isn't as much of a relief as he'd thought it would be. He could use Rochelle to tell him to snap out of it right now, but instead he has weird looking guards devoid of emotional response regardless of his questions.

If they think he's bad, they should meet Ellis.

It becomes abundantly clear that this isn't some quarantine facility. This isn't the Thunderdome of the apocalypse, and somehow that makes it weirder. His chest is still tight with uncertainty and fear, but he hasn't really processed all of the information he's been spoon fed just yet.

D7 suites: It's hard to be angry when he's lead to the lavish suites and left the fuck alone. His grubby suit doesn't suit the fine decor, and that becomes abundantly clear as he catches his reflection in the reflective surface of a window. He visibly crinkles his nose, and he can't be looking anything but himself at this point.

"Rough.." He mutters, brushing off his front like it'll do him any good at this rate. Whatever. He's bone tired and the couch looks all too appealing, so he's sinking back onto it with his dirty shoes propped on the arm of it. He's already lounging around like he owns the place, but he couldn't care less about what anyone thinks. Hell, he hasn't seen anyone to be dismissive of yet. Not anyone who seems to care what he thinks, at least.

Lobby Bar: After lounging, Nick finds something to change into. He almost wants to keep his suit on for how little he wants to be caught dead in jeans and a button up, but the stink of months of fighting zombies is far more notable when you're removed from the situation.

He's had a shower, he's clean and he's ready to scope out what the Capitol has to offer. He's headed out to the streets when the bar catches the corner of his eye and well, one drink couldn't hurt, right? He makes his way to the bar and orders, and his desperation probably obvious from the way he slams the drink down. One drink becomes a couple and he's starting to become curious, he eyes people nearby and decides to approach them every so often.

"If you've been here longer than an hour, you could really put my mind at ease here." He says smoothly, trying to come off as someone in need of sympathy without compromising himself too much. "I'm having some technical difficulties here." He taps his head to demonstrate this. "Is it meant to come off like some weird fever dream? 'Cause I can't be sick. I use hand sanitizer religiously."

Through the halls: Now that he's had a few drinks, he figures he might leave wandering the Capitol for some other time. Instead, he'll work from the ground up. He pokes around the floors of the towers, but it's getting to be night and it's getting to be quiet. He's in his own head, mulling over how impossible all of this crap here, wondering where the other assholes got to and pretty much any sudden noise could have him lurching to the side. He reaches for a gun that isn't there before he forces himself to calm down, shoulders slumping a little when he does.

"I'm never gonna grow out of that." He groans mournfully, his heart still racing in his chest. He's going to be thinking about the Infected for a long, long time.

Comments

D7

[tevintage]

Dorian was at least getting used to the other faces of D7, which meant when a new one joined them, it was his turn to recognize that this was, in fact, someone new. So curiosity (and, to be frank, the idea of doing something that wasn't desperately trying to talk himself out of killing Jason) was what led him to the couch, after watching Nick evaluate himself in the mirror.

"Oh, I don't know, I think you're being altogether too hard on yourself."

[streetsmarts]

There's a bit of a scramble when Dorian speaks, Nick let his guard down for a moment and he thought he might regret it. It seems like the guy is here to be friendly, but he's been flattered by plenty of people who wouldn't think twice about knifing him before.

"If I'm not hard on myself, whose gonna do it?" Moments of self-degradation are fleeting with this guy. He gives Dorian a curious once over and pushes himself up into a less vulnerable position. "You part of the involuntary peanut gallery here too? Am I late or something?"

[tevintage]

"Involuntary peanut... What a particularly odd phrase," Dorian said, frowning. "And no - at least, Maker, I hope not. I was hoping to at least catch a moment's breath before being dragged off somewhere again." He sat down with a graceful 'thump' on the couch opposite, leaning back and spreading his arms out, crossing his legs with a sigh.

"I am a 'Tribute', as they say, which I believe I can rightly guess is a title you also have been given."

[streetsmarts]

For a moment Nick considers pointing out that Maker is just as odd a thing to say, but he thinks better of it. For now. There's something outlandish about this guy compared to the company he'd been keeping for the past few months, but the company is.. Well. It's nice.

"Dragged off? You run errands in your spare time or something?" God, he hopes that doesn't apply to all Tributes. He hates doing stuff, especially for other people. "It's the fanciest word I ever heard for cage-fighter, that's for sure." He snorts to himself. "Guess that makes us roomies, then. Sure hope we aren't sharing bunks here." He pauses for a moment before adding, "No offense."

[tevintage]

"You haven't met Jason then," he says, and it's in a wry tone, because poor, poor Nick.

He raises an eyebrow to the last, and smirks. "I play much harder to get than that, I assure you. But no - we have our own separate quarters. The bathroom - the wonder of the 'modern age' that it is, is shared, but I'm sure you'll be able to find a time to secure it solely for yourself, as you so obviously require." He paused, then smiled. "No offense."

the bar holla

[fusshionable]

Porrim doesn't, as a general rule, hang around in bars by herself during the day. It bespeaks a certain sort of desperation for escape that she's never found necessary. But today, something in her has a very strong desire to nurse a mimosa and dwell in her thoughts. So she makes her way down to the lobby bar, her glossy black hair pulled up into a perfect topknot, round black sunglasses perched on her face, lipstick the darkest mauve imaginable, all in black like she's headed to an extremely fashionable funeral.

And there she sits at the bar, knees tucked neatly to the side, leaving a ring of lipstick on her champagne flute as she nurses mimosa number three, when a stranger approaches her. The Escort raises a sculpted eyebrow over the rim of her sunglasses.

"Fever dream? Hardly, darling. This is all quite real. I'm guessing you're a new arrival."

[streetsmarts]

What Nick should be doing is getting to the bottom of this fun mystery here. What he should not be doing is scoping out the fine ladies the Capitol has to offer. He doesn't see why he can't incorporate both, though. It's been a damn long time since he saw a lady who wasn't pointing a gun at him at the infected.

It's been a while, so there's some understandable cold feet in approaching here. He knows he'll be rusty, but you gotta sink before you swim, right? A smirk tugs at his lips despite being unhappy to hear the reality of all this. He's past that part of his crisis, even if he's mining for information.

"Right on the money there, dollface." He confirms with the briefest of winks. "Trust me when I say this isn't a build up to a bad line, but are you from out of this world?"

[fusshionable]

Porrim turns her head back to face front, smirking at herself in the mirror over the bar. Oh, how little he understands, making a comment like that. The thought of it still unnerves her, still causes her stomach to twist in myriad uncomfortable ways, but hearing someone say it so offhandedly is amusing in its own right.

"You have no idea," she settles for saying, raising her champagne flute to her lips. "Aren't you supposed to be too freaked out to be flirting with women in bars?"

[streetsmarts]

"Oh, believe me. I got that all out earlier, but if I'm not being tailed by zombies every god damn second here then I'll take my chances." He runs his tongue over his teeth idly, trying to fit the part of the unperturbed cool guy.

"But if I'm so freaked out, what's the deal with the cagey answers? Where's the sympathy? The cooing?" He spreads his hands as he hunches his shoulders in a shrug.

Barrr

[plushaeusrumpified]

Nick isn't the only one who enjoys the bar. Whenever it catches his eye, he can't resist going in for just one drink. And it catches his eye often- and just one drink is never enough. Especially not lately, when everything is too damn difficult and stressful to put into words. Not that he's turned into an alcoholic or anything- he'd never go that far in a place like this. Too many people to protect. But a drink occasionally? You bet.

Looks like he picked a good day to do it, because he's definitely noticed the new guy. He's been watching him for a few minutes. He just can't help but overhear a few of the exchanges, and after a while he snorts audibly before sliding a few seats down so that he's sitting next to Nick.

"I've heard better pick up lines from a two year old," he says casually, like he isn't being insulting at all. "Is that really the best you've got?"

[streetsmarts]

Nick hasn't noticed Bro watching him, if only because he's blinded by determination and what have you. He doesn't feel entirely satisfied by the information he's managed to mine for today. It doesn't really tell him where Ellis, Coach and Rochelle got to or why he made it here alone, but it's more than he knew before at least.

He's taking a long sip of his drink when Bro invites himself to sit by him and he casts a glance toward him. Fashion wise, he's seen weirder here, but that doesn't mean the glasses aren't weird.

"I don't think I wanna know what you've been doing with two year olds, guy." He grumbles, not interested in the unsolicited advice. "If I was actually here to pick up, you'd know about it." Totally not defensive, this one.

[plushaeusrumpified]

Bro scoffs at the initial reply, because wow that's a low blow and Bro has standards to uphold. He can't be having anyone implying things like that and slandering his good name, now can he? But he lets it slide when Nick continues, and Bro raises an eyebrow at him, vaguely judgmentally. What else are you supposed to do at a bar if not pick up?

"Right, so your intentions are totally fuckin' pure, right?" he asks, his voice coated in skepticism. "Alright, so what's your real goal here, if not to get laid?" He folds his arms over his chest and leans forward a little curiously.

[streetsmarts]

"I wouldn't say that." He grumbles audibly, because that's pretty much his natural method of speaking. He can feel the judgement, worse, he can feel himself rising to it. Shit, is he that out of his element?

"I figure I should be here more than a few hours before I start looking for tail." He punctuates that with a long sip of his drink, because clearly booze ranks higher than booty scoping. Amazing. "You been here long? Cuz you might be the man I'm looking for."

D7

[ruffntumblenut]

"What?" A voice call responds to his speaking followed by a "Thunk" and a curse.

Out of the kitchen area the sound of a cupboard door opening and a messy looking blond teenage girl appears from behind the counter. Her clothes are rumpled and have food stains on them, was she hiding under the counter?

She scans the room before her eyes settle on him and they narrow. Another new guy? How often did new people get dropped in here.

"You want something?" She sounds guarded, not sure if she trusts this guy because on the one hand he's in a suit. On the other hand it's messy just the way she likes things.

[streetsmarts]

Nick makes no effort to stand when he hears the voice, because he's quick to dismiss it as a threat. If he's wrong, he can beat himself up over it later, but he isn't even going to look over when Ruffnut rustles around in the kitchen.

"Nothin'." He says in response to her first question, folding his arms behind his head and still not shifting to look at her. It's been too long since he enjoyed a couch like this, he's not getting up for anyone.

"A drink." He answers her second question, even though she sounds too young to

[ruffntumblenut]

Her face tightened and frowned helping herself to an orange from the counter and working to peel it with her carefully manicured nails.

"What am I your mother? Get your own drink. Or make the avox do it..." She glanced around not seeing the silent servant "Guess he's off cleaning or something."

[streetsmarts]

"You asked." He points out, but he pushes himself up so he can get a proper look at her. She's young. Young enough that it strikes the tiniest amount of sympathy in his cold, mobster heart.

He moves to stand, approaching the kitchen with a bored air, like he has all the time in the world to amble over. "Alright, first things first, what's an avox?"

[whatisay]

Nothing in Nick's file stood out to Jason except the lack of a last name. Jason knows Nick's far from the only one to not have an attached surname (hell, not even the only Nick), but it stays stuck in Jason's head like a particularly obnoxious melody. Nick, no last name, like a crack in a marble counter. It might be that he doesn't have one, that the Gamemakers didn't know it, that they didn't find it important enough to include. Nick, no last name.

He goes about setting up the proper appointments anyway, waiting in the District Seven common area for Nick to emerge from his bedroom. He gets antsy, and after the third cup of coffee before sunrise that antsiness turns into irritation, and that blossoms up into a spring cherry tree of frustration. Jason gets up and starts stalking the halls, throwing open District Suite doors, checking his watch and seeing he only has half an hour to track this Tribute down.

He finally finds him in a hallway on an entirely different floor.

"There you are. Where the hell have you been?" Jason's voice is thick and angry, not from worry but from the embarrassment of being an Escort unable to locate his own Tribute for half an hour. That he didn't find Nick safely in bed (where he should have been) has only ticked him off more.

[streetsmarts]

No last name Nick is not expecting to be tracked down. The jolt it gives him is easily visible, as is the way his hand reaches for a weapon that isn't there. It's been far too long since someone he could give less of a shit about yelled at him. Hell, there was a time he'd probably fire for less. Things were different before he got here, now there's another new agenda to acquaint himself with. He can thank Dorian for the little chat, because it's the difference between being menacing and taking this situation in his stride.

The look he gives Jason briefly resembles a deer in the headlights, but it relaxes into something less impressed once he forces himself to calm down. He doesn't know who the hell this guy is, but he fits the description of pit bull pretty well. This is the con...sort..No. Escort, that's it. Thinking of the word is enough to make a smirk pull at his lips, but he thinks better of saying it.

"Around." He answers blandly. "Sightseeing." He adds, like that helps his case any here. "Am I meant to be somewhere?"

[whatisay]

"You're meant to check in with me. Didn't the prep team tell you anything when they dropped you off here?" Jason looks, as much as livid, absolutely exasperated, as if he's been turning down corridors and running into locked doors all morning. The whole world is conspiring against him, pressing in like afternoon shadows along an alleyway.

To Jason's minimal credit, he doesn't reach over and outright grab Nick. He does get a little too into Nick's personal space when he comes to a stop, leaving a scuffmark on the carpet from his expensive, but beaten, shoes. He shoots a glance out the window, where the sun is rising.

"Great, I wanted to sit down with you for half of hour before we take you to get sized, but I guess that isn't happening. Why they don't just measure you people when you're unconscious before you get here is beyond me."

[streetsmarts]

"They said good luck, was I meant to pass that one on?" He rubs idly at his neck, distracting himself with the action rather than taking a more venomous approach like he really wants to.

He keeps running what Dorian said through his mind, but the desire to clock the guy is still high. Especially when he gets up into his personal space like that. It's enough to make Nick crinkle his nose, visibly irritated with the imposition.

"Is it meant to be a courtesy thing? Because that doesn't fall into line with the whole kidnapping shebang." A frown pulls at his mouth, but he's talking before he can shut himself up. "Believe me, if it got you off my back I'd sign the forms."

Halls

[carnagecarnival]

There are so many little ways to tell as someone's new. Looking unfamiliar. Looking alien. Looking around like the whole place is a maw what's readying to snap the fuck shut and chew them up in sanguinary little show of how fucked they was being.

He hears the groan and it pulls a laugh. It's not mocking so much as it's nostalgic.

"Heh, probably not," He says as he walks up. "BUT THERE ARE WORSE HABITS AS TO HAVE. Still got at a motherfucking strife ahead up in arena."

[streetsmarts]

"Jesus Christ- what the fuck are you even?" Nick thinks that he didn't say that out loud, but he did. His hand is still groping for his gun, even as the stranger laughs. He finally relents and drops his hand, opting to try look unimpressed rather than scared.

It's not an infected. It can talk and he doesn't stink like one. If it were some sort of massive witch hybrid, he'd be dead. He's not dead, he's fine. He just.. needs to keep telling himself that.

"Right." He huffs out, straightening up a little more to compromise from hunching in fear. "So I'm gonna live my life on the edge of shitting myself every time someone walks around a corner? Great. I'm tickled fucking pink." He's partly making conversation and partly just bitching out loud.

[carnagecarnival]

"TROLL. Inidigo of the church. TRIBUTE. Definitely not no motherfucking Jesus Christ," He snorts. He missed the days when fear was fun. This is harmless enough he can take humor up in it without no motherfucking qualm.

Besides, wouldn't be so long before this tribute got used to it, he's sure.

"CAREFUL NOW," He warns. "Don't want as to be too pink. YOU'LL INSPIRE A MOTHERFUCKING FASHION UP IN THESE FUCKERS. Making product up of it as we make all to speak, would bet."

[streetsmarts]

Barely any of that in conjunction makes sense to Nick as he hears it. His face screws up to demonstrate this, as if offended by the fact that he doesn't know exactly what's going on here.

Okay. He said Tribute. He's.. Seriously?

"Tribute? So you're.. what? Fighting with the rest of us?" The only people he's seen so far are humans. Ones he didn't think he'd have a hard time neck snapping or spine cracking. "That's just not fair." He exclaims, spreading his hands in dramatic annoyance and disregarding literally everything else Initiate says.