thecapitol | The bridge to nowhere. [CLOSED]

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The bridge to nowhere. [CLOSED]

WHO | Sigma Klim, Black Tom Cassidy, Jet Link, Sadie Doyle, Cyrus Reagan and Darcy Lewis.
WHAT | A series of interviews on which Sigma's citizenship hinges.
WHEN | As soon as every character involved is back in the Capitol.
WHERE | Sigma's room in District 10.
WARNINGS/NOTES | Sigma being a jerk, probably? An abundance of spoilers? Warnings to be added.

The petitioning process was a considerably less formal affair than Sigma had been led to believe. Ms. Blackwood had graciously provided him with a general overview of the Tribute Release Programme, but Sigma would never have guessed that three of his five auditors would be fellow Tributes.

The location of his interview hardly mattered, as it seemed the decision was based on a pass/fail response rather than the general impressions of their masters (regardless, the Capitol had every square inch of the Tribute Tower under surveillance). Still, Sigma had opted for what little privacy he was entitled to and summoned the men and women upon whom his fate rested to his room rather than to the open suite. He tells himself that it is for the benefit of maintaining the tenth floor's silence and not to avoid Clara's disappointment in his answers, but as he rearranges his room he decides he appreciates her absence.

All personal items have been removed from plain sight: photographs stowed, ships in bottles packed away, cat towers dismantled, notebooks recycled. He plans to leave this room the way he had entered it at a moment's notice, but still allows his cat to rest on his bed, where the oblivious animal swishes his tail at the figures passing by the open door.

For the sake of the interview, the side of Sigma's bed has been pushed against the wall - in the space it once occupied now rests a table flanked by two comfortable armchairs. Sigma has wholly exploited the Avox's complimentary room service: atop the table he has laid out jugs of tea, coffee and water, plates of cookies and biscuits. This was mostly in the interest of keeping the favour of those who had to take time out of their busy schedules to meet with him, but he supposed Jet Link could also indulge if he so chose. Seated at the table, Sigma pours himself a cup of coffee, black and bitter, watching the door over the rim of the mug as he indulged.

Sigma waits this way, all day if he must, for his interrogators to arrive.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Here: Another thing that Cyrus would never have been asked to do before he was reassigned to the Training Center. But he finds, as he prepares himself, as he pins on his badge of office and straightens his clothes before the mirror, that this is a duty that it's difficult to resent.

There is something in him pleased to represent the Capitol in this; something in him satisfied with the idea of being allowed to speak for all of Panem, to say You are one of us, or not, as he chooses. He has always believed that the gate to citizenship should be a narrow one, and there is a confidence that straightens his spine, that settles at the center of him, at the thought that he should be its gatekeeper.

Also: He remembers well what Sigma did for him the night of Eva's blackout. He's feeling well-disposed toward his interviewee as he ascends the tower, checking once more on his communicator the location they'd given him. The Tribute's quarters. There was an interesting choice. Not hard to find, at least, and it's early that he comes in, not many minutes after the time recommended to him in the message he'd received.

"Mr. Klim," he says from the doorway, tapping twice on the doorframe with one knuckle-- I would have knocked if the door were closed. His smile is courteous, and his sense of his own authority sitting in the set of his shoulders. "I hope I'm not too early?"

Sigma, as well, had dedicated time to polish his appearance - though not quite in the same way Cyrus had. At home, the ex-Gamemaker was used to presenting himself with some (if, perhaps, imagined) authority: military jackets with gold piping, high boots, red stripes, metal decoration. Today, he would wear understated clothes: a black turtleneck and dress pants, semi-formal as to be respectful but with no shortage of humility. If there were a single man Sigma was eager to impress over the course of his interviews, Cyrus Reagan was the one. From the moment the appointed hours begin, Sigma sits tall at the table, preparing for a powerful guest.

He lowers his cup with barely a sound, almost graceful in its reverence, and stands just as Cyrus appears at the threshold. The Doctor smiles a warm, almost friendly grin... accompanied by a formal stiffness that acknowledged the difference in status between the two. "Sir, you are precisely on time. I am pleased to meet with you once again, Mr. Reagan," he answers, and hastens to greet him. The Tribute outstretches his cybernetic arm to shake the hand of a man who had, to his credit, once spared Eponine's life.

Cyrus steps in and sets his briefcase down beside one of the two chairs before he moves to shake Sigma's hand - allowing him to wait, just a moment, on Cyrus' convenience. It's a little show of power, nothing more, an acknowledgement of the difference between that Sigma is so rightly demonstrating he understands. This is a small thing, but it speaks well of him. "The pleasure is mine," he says. "I was very glad to hear I'd been selected to speak with you."

He glances down at the food on the table-- the biscuits, the coffee. "This is quite a spread," he says. "How thoughtful of you." He pours a cup of tea for himself before he sits down, allows Sigma to stand a moment longer - again, not long, not enough to be uncomfortable, but just a second or two longer than necessary. He looks up at Sigma as he sits, inviting him to sit, as well. "Do you feel ready to begin? I'll wait for you to prepare yourself, if you need to. I'm ready at your convenience."

Edited (READING COMPREHENSION) 2015-03-17 20:10 (UTC)

Sigma is perfectly patient; he has waited over two years for his opportunity to leave the Games and in comparison the few seconds Cyrus demands of him are infinitesimally small. Even his cat knows better than to bother his master when he is having a serious conversation, and curls up in his place on the bed and falls asleep.

The Doctor smiles appreciatively at Cyrus' compliment, but decides to leave it at that. He takes up his second comment as an opportunity to show his respect: "It is the least I could do after you came all this way. Please, do let me know if there is anything else I can have sent up for you," he explains, taking his seat after Cyrus. Without breaking eye contact, Sigma straightens his back against the chair, threads his hands together on his lap, and relaxes. "I have looked forward to this moment for a long time, now. I am ready, sir." With a nod, he passes himself over to Cyrus to be judged.

Cyrus nods in acknowledgement of the offer, though he doesn't ask for anything else. He sets his cup on his knee, his communicator tablet balanced in his other hand, ready to accept his notes. It's a comfortable gesture; he's not sitting on full formality, here. Relax. It's just your future.

"Now, we don't need to stick to a script, of course, but there is a standard form," he explains. "So-- forgive me if anything I ask seems redundant, or obvious. Remember that not everyone reviewing your case will know you so well as your interviewers." This, too, has the sound of rote - almost a little apologetic, like he's afraid to insult Sigma's intelligence.

"First: Explain to me, please, why you want to leave the Games." He likes the structure of this question - likes that it isn't Why do you want to be a citizen, which is its own question entirely. Hating the Games is not reason enough to remove someone from them, and, Cyrus imagines, not considered a satisfactory answer by those with the decision-making power.

Sigma nods everywhere he judges to be the right place, but ultimately says nothing until Cyrus has asked his question. They were off to a smooth start; he could only hope his luck would not run out on him. "Well, sir, while I consider it a great privilege to be a Tribute for District 10, after two years with no victory I believe that there is something more I can do for Panem." He is sure to look a little bit apologetic. "As you may already know, this July I shall be seventy years old. In spite of the high score I have earned, I find it increasingly difficult to contend with the younger competitors in my bracket. I believe it is the time for change." He knew well that his physical age did not advance so long as he competed in the Games (there would be a marked difference between how he would look and feel at ages 67 and 70), but he would not let on that he suspected such a thing.

He wants to change the topic should Cyrus think him foolish for making such a simple mistake. Sigma leans back in his chair and places a hand on his chin, organic eye half-closed, deep in thought. "I had a very long and successful academic career in my world. I would like to offer the Capitol my services in the skills I have honed over those fifty years of study."

God, it's strange to be interviewing someone seventy years old about buying out of the Games. Cyrus is half Sigma's age, but for his entire life, the Hunger Games have been the province of the young - there's still a part of him that can't quite wrap its head around the fact that that's changed.

But he listens, and his brow furrows only slightly at the near slip-up. He covers it with a long sip of tea, nodding slowly, an active and involved listener.

"--And what skills would those be?" he asks. "Specifically. What did you study, in your own world? What were your accomplishments there?" A smile-- "No need to recite a resume, of course. But the Capitol would be most pleased to have a variety of fields in which to consider placing you, should your bid for citizenship be successful."

For all of the times the man had rehearsed this meeting in his head, this was the part of the conversation where Sigma stumbled, where he had to start over from the beginning. What were your accomplishments there? He could not know how closely Cyrus paid attention to the Games or to Tribute's personal lives. For all he knew, Cyrus was about to be surprised.

There's a nervous twitch in Sigma's fingers and he tugs absent-mindedly at his left sleeve. He sometimes forgets that other allies of the Capitol would not have the knee-jerk reaction to his history that his former friends did, but the marks of such hatred were branded into his bones. "I earned my first Doctorate in Genetic Engineering," Sigma begins carefully. He has settled for the bare facts; whether or not Cyrus was impressed would depend upon his philosophies. "My second was in Artificial Intelligence Programming. Later in life, I obtained a masters in Mechanical Engineering, as well." Sigma has stopped tugging at his sleeve, and is instead wringing the cuff between his fingers. "It may seem odd to you that one man would squander decades of his life becoming an interdisciplinarian when he might easily settle for 'specialist,' instead. The fact is, Mr. Reagan, that there were Games in my world, as well." He has no idea how Cyrus will receive this news, or if he would even believe him. "After decades of hard work, I had become Head Gamemaker," Sigma admits finally. "I dedicated my entire life to ensuring the Games at home ran smoothly. I could never hope to hold such an honourable title twice, but I will do whatever it is I can to aid Panem as I did for my own home."

Now was the part where the Doctor held his breath.

Edited 2015-04-10 16:47 (UTC)

Not all of it is a surprise. Cyrus did his research before he came. He doesn't spend a great deal of time learning Tributes' names or stories or histories, unless they've done something of particular note - most commonly, something particularly rebellious - but why wouldn't he have come prepared, when not having done so would leave his judgment vulnerable to fabrication?

...That doesn't mean, however, that he's come incapable of being surprised.

It shows on his face-- in the very slight widening of his eyes, a short tipping of his head forward and to the side, as though to listen closer. Tributes have told him (whether he requested it or not) much about their worlds. Some of them, they've claimed, have been similar to Panem, set on the same continent, or a similar time. Not one has ever claimed to have come from somewhere with Games.

"Fascinating," he said. It was a stalling tactic, while he moved from that into a reply relevant to the purposes of the interview; but that didn't mean he didn't genuinely mean it. "That is... quite a history, Mr. Klim."

A pause-- and then a shake of his head, as though he just couldn't quite move on from this. "And you say you hold no ambition whatsoever to a similar position here? Even with such a-- a uniquely applicable skillset?" He looked like he could hardly believe it-- though there were neither anger nor suspicion on his face, nor in his voice.

Edited 2015-04-14 02:06 (UTC)

Sigma allows some of the stress to fall from his shoulders as he sinks back in his chair, hoping to hide the fact that he is relieved. The last thing he had wanted was for Cyrus to think he was a liar on a power trip - so far, that did not appear to have happened. If anything, Cyrus seems to be pleasantly surprised.

"Oh, certainly, if I could work on the Games it would make me a happy man, indeed," Sigma admits, folding his hands on his lap again, "but it would be selfish of me to believe it is in my rights to make such a request. The Games are such an influential, well-respected operation, and I imagine the selection process is extremely competitive." He looks to Cyrus for confirmation, certain the man would be better versed in the culture of the Capitol than he was. "I will be satisfied with helping wherever I am needed."

Cyrus nods, confirming - the Gamemaker selection processes are notoriously cutthroat, and turnover is high. But it is not an outright denial of Sigma's ambitions.

"Remember," he says mildly. "To make a request is always within the rights of a citizen."

Is it a veiled promise? An indication that this is going well? Cyrus chooses not to make that perfectly clear. His expression stays carefully, pleasantly neutral; he leans over to refill his cup of tea. It is, if nothing else, a simple statement of truth - there are no such things as fundamental rights in Panem except the right to request a privilege which may or may not be granted.

"It's interesting to me," he goes on as he sits back up with his cup refilled. "I think you might be the single person in Panem who has known the Games both as a creator, and as a participant." (The word is blithe, smoothing over the ugly reality of participation in the Hunger Games.) "Has that not changed your viewpoint some?" With a wry quirk of his mouth-- "I don't think I need to tell you that the Districts have some... rather choice ways of referring to Gamemakers, out of polite company."

Darcy was honestly a little surprised to get ~~the politest demand ever~~ a request to interview someone who's petitioning out. First off, she'd never met Sigma, having only heard of him in various news reports. From what she'd managed to take away about him, she knew all of three things: he's old, he's loyal to their captors, and he's some flavor of cyborg (which seems to be the popular thing for a lot of the Tributes they've dragged here for whatever reason). Hell, she couldn't think of a reason why they'd want her to be one of their interviewers since one of her closest friends/allies was a pre-brainwashed Thor.

She's never really been to D10 before. Sure, there've been a few elevator stops, but other than that, this is completely new territory for her (totally ignoring the fact that the layout is exactly like the layout on every other floor. She wanders down the hallway that looks like it's the same hallway she lives off of in D6 until she gets to an open door, peeking in, looking slightly awkward considering she's pretty sure she might be the last one considering it's already midafternoon. His room takes her by surprise considering that it's spartan, to say the very least, as cold and sterile as things get in the Capitol. Which is kind of terrifying, considering how many Arenas the dude's supposedly been in. The most normal thing in the room, from what she can tell is one super comfy cat.

She wiggles her fingers in a wave of hello. "Sigma, right? I'm Darcy," she says as she crosses the threshold. "I'm here to interview you?"

Sigma shared Darcy's surprise, indeed. He had never ventured far outside of District 10's suite and, while he had once kept meticulous track of every Tribute in the Games, other players were more often than not a mystery to him. He couldn't even place a face to her name, at first, which was deeply unsettling; whether this was from inattention or the early signs of senility, it was decidedly a bad sign. Since then, Sigma has made a point of learning the identities of every one of his interviewers. He perhaps tries a bit too hard to appear welcoming.

"Darcy Lewis, was it?" Sigma answers, and rises from his chair (he does not, however, greet her at the door as he had Cyrus). "A pleasure to make your acquaintance. You are correct - please, have a seat."

The beating of tail against mattress stops at once, followed by the patter of small feet across a goosedown blanket. The cat trills at the new face, encouraged by his master's friendliness, and hops down from his perch to greet the visitor with a curious mewl. The other Tributes had always been kind to Nye - Lyle going so far as to give him pats on demand - thus, there were few unfamiliar faces the animal considered unapproachable.

"Oh, my goodness," Sigma says with a click of his tongue, though his irritation is certainly false, "I hope you are not allergic, miss."

There was what Darcy had been expecting when she had been told that she was going to go interview someone who wanted to be released from being a Tribute. A cat was not one of them. Maybe it's from being from a cat-obsessed internet age, but that just makes this entire situation go from 'wow, this could end up being terrible' to 'OMGKITTY!'

"It's nice to meet you too," she says trying desperately not to give into the temptation to run over to the cat and coo at it. "Nope, not at all, I love cats."

Okay, she loved animals in general, but wow, cats. Cat's are great in her opinion. Especially friendly cats who walk right up to her and start doing that whole chatty cat thing. Which only prompts her to bend down and pet it. "What's his name?" she asks, beaming up at Sigma, obviously in her happy place.

Nye is very pleased to get a reaction out of his new friend, and bumps his head against her hand with a trill. "His name is Nye," Sigma answers, looking a little bit bashful, wringing his hands in front of himself nervously. "I named him after a scientist I admired as a boy. The pattern on his fur looks vaguely like a group of cells..." Sigma stops explaining, because even he could gather that nobody cared about that part.

Instead he clears his throat and watches his guest and his pet enjoy each other's company. Things were much simpler outside of the Arena, for certain. "I am pawleased to find a fellow cat lover in the Tower," he finds himself saying. "One that was selected to interview me, no less. If you ask him to, he may sit on your lap when you take a seat. He loves to be coddled." Now Sigma feels a little bit guilty that he pulled Nye's cat tower apart and packed away his toys - the poor thing was no doubt very bored without them.

It's weird hearing someone who's obviously older than her mention that his cat is probably named after her favorite TV science guy. "You mean Bill Nye?" She smiles as she scritches Nye behind the ears. "Hands down, my favorite days in high school chemistry class were usually when they'd roll in the TVs and we'd get to watch his show." Which...probably doesn't make her sound too good, but to be fair her chemistry teacher droned on like Ben Stein.

Darcy lets out a playful groan at the pun. "You sure? I might wind up being distracted from having a cat in my lap?" And hopefully that doesn't make him change his mind because fuck yes cat time.

Sigma grins, genuinely thrilled that someone would remember his boyhood idol. That, and it's always nice to know someone whose earth was very similar to his own - if at least before the outbreak. "Yes! The Science Guy!" He blurts out enthusiastically. The way he says it, the absence of a Bill! Bill! Bill! echo in the background is sorely missed. Realizing that he is acting more like a child than the seventy year old man he is, his pale cheeks turn a little red and the Doctor calms himself down. "The famed CRT TV wagon was only slightly before my time, but my mother subscribed to some rather smart children's programming on which his specials still ran." In his professional opinion, Eyes of Nye is still the best fucking show. He's willing to fight about it.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and Sigma must begin directing her to start the interview. "Do not worry. The more comfortable you are for this, the better. I don't suspect the questions shall keep either of us very long, anyway." He takes a seat, himself, still smiling gently.

If Sigma could see into Darcy's mind he'd hear her filling in the Bill! Bill! Bill!. But it's probably a good thing that he can't because he'd also hear her traitorous thoughts and that would, in her mind, end horribly. "It sounds like your mom had great taste," she says with a huge grin. "My friend-slash-boss back home is an astrophysicist and I kept trying to get her to go to conferences he'd be at so I could meet him." Maybe one day, if she ever manages to get home.

The reminder that she was sent here to do something other than talk about one of her favorite scientists is a little sobering, but she nods nonetheless, sitting down across from him. "Yeah, we should get this ball rolling. Okay, first question," she starts off, trying not to sound like she's memorized these questions, "why do you want to stop competing in the Games?"

The Doctor beams at her compliment, smiling with innocent envy. It would have been better for him if he had had a role model of a friend as a young man, and had focused less on partying compared to his homework. "How lucky," he chuckles. Without intending to be condescending, he wishes his youth had been so simple, that he could have fulfilled his boyhood dreams of meeting his idol instead of fighting tooth and nail for the survival of his species. He reminds himself that he had always worked to make it so that was how things could be for everyone - that everyone was entitled to a carefree adolescence - and it helps to dull the sting. Besides, he had no idea what Darcy's life was like back home.

Sigma finds a the most comfortable position in his chair as he prepares to answer the questions. "Well, Ms. Lewis, you may not have noticed that I am very old," he jokes dryly. "Seventy this July, in fact. I cannot help but believe that fighting in the Arena is a young man's game." He pours himself another cup of tea. He decides he can afford to be casual around Darcy. "It has been ten Arenas and rarely do I breach the halfway point. There are other ways I can make myself useful."

Darcy never tries to think about the fact that it was random luck that she wound up being Jane's intern, or that, with the way the world works, she probably never should have met her because of their wildly different fields, but still did because she was desperate for an internship anywhere (even with an astrophysicist in New Mexico) and Jane was desperate for an intern (even one whose field of study was polisci). "Guess I am," she says blithely, trying to cover up the fact that she suddenly has home and Jane and all that good stuff on her mind that she can't think about without getting this little ache.

"I thought age was supposed to be nothing but a number," she says with a little smirk, shifting in her chair slightly. "But 10 Arenas definitely seems like a lot. I probably wouldn't be able to handle being in five of them." There are other questions she should ask, like the ones she was given. Or ones she wants to ask, like how else he could make himself useful, but there's another one that comes to mind. "Why'd it take you so long to petition out, then?"

He hadn't left his new apartment set between the second and third floors since he'd awoken there after the arena's end. It hadn't been very long, but all of two days without eating or moving from his bed had left him in a sorry state. Deep and dark circles had formed under his eyes, his hair that usually held at least some of the styling gel put into it even in the arena, was long and loose around his neck and his bangs hung pathetically in front of his face, a sad mockery of how his hair used to look when he was younger. If only he had his longer hair like back then, maybe then he could hide how terrible he looked as he went to face a man he didn't intend to see. Really, he hadn't meant to see anyone, but certainly not one of them men he'd killed. Of course, the other one hadn't come back.

He didn't have much say in the matter, in the end. He threw on a hoodie he'd stolen from Albert's closet and made his way to District 10's floor. Once there, he found Sigma's open door and lingered outside it a moment before heading in. He moved like a ghost, barely noticeable but for the fact he was the only other person there and completely lifeless. Dull blue eyes leveled on Sigma, the instructions he'd been given dredging up in his mind. Might as well get this over with.

"Yo...guess we're supposed to talk."

Sigma had expected frosty relations between himself and Jet - mostly on his own part. After all, the other Tribute had taken his life only weeks ago, and as the esper approached physical infirmity he had grown tremendously weary of death. While he knew his assignment in the Capitol would be no vacation, he almost looked forward to navigating a life of intrigue and lies; it would be a vast improvement over pushing his death count towards the triple digits.

But when his eyes fall upon the Tribute that passes through his door, the Doctor has a difficult time kicking up his rage. There's something disturbingly (-viscerally-) familiar about how Jet is behaving; it isn't until he is completely inside his room does Sigma finally place it. The Initiate, Homura, and Sigma, himself... They had all stood in that very spot, the very same expression on their faces, approximately one year ago. Breath catches in Sigma's throat and he sets his cup down on the table with numbed hands. Could it be...?

He recovers quickly and decides to pretend that nothing is wrong - not so much in the way of Jet's condition, but that nothing is wrong between them. The Doctor was content to bury the hatchet, if just this once. Were someone to have riled Sigma up after Diana's incarceration, he may have been driven to kill: perhaps them before following after, himself.

Indeed, if Sigma wanted anything from Jet, it would be wise to play fair. "...Yes, so it would appear," Sigma begins hesitantly. He does not bother to stand. "You do not look well, Mister Jet Link. I don't suppose you have appealed to the Capitol for a substitute?" As if they were a generous, understanding lot.

He didn't flop into the chair meant for him, in fact a lot of the ease and grace he usually possessed in his movements were gone, replaced with rigidity and care like his surroundings were made of glass and everything around him would shatter if he made the wrong move. They sort of already had.

He didn't look at any of the offered refreshments, just kept his gaze on Sigma. The question -far too polite from a man who he'd killed, but Jet wasn't going to question why there wasn't hostilities when he was thankful there weren't- dredged up a humorless smile and Jet shook his head. "Like I could. Come on, I'm sure you want this over with as much as I'd like to be back in my room. Why would you possibly want to leave the Games?" If there was a hint of sarcasm in the question, Jet couldn't deny it was exactly where it should be.

Well, he certainly didn't waste any time. Sigma is caught off guard by Jet's stilted behavior, having expected the two of them to converse at least a little before the interview process began. Even Nye cannot get a read on the situation; the cat leaps from the bed and hovers around the two men's feet, blinking at Jet slowly and curiously.

Sigma's worst-kept secret is that he is abysmal at non-scripted social interaction, and following Jet's sarcasm, Sigma can only blink back at him in a state of utter confusion. "...Has the interview started or was that question off the record?" Sigma mumbles awkwardly.

Jet gave him a look that held confusion and a touch of 'are you serious?' If he'd been in a better mood, he might have laughed. Instead, he shakes his head and instead bends over to pet the cat looking up at him. Jet had a weakness for small furry or feathered things and he was careful to keep his touch light.

Petting the cat took his mind off some things and let his tone be a little less dry and a little less sharp, something that was almost patience. "That was an actual on-record question. I've been in something like three interviews in eighty-something years of living, sorry if I'm not doing it right."

When Jet leans down towards his cat, Sigma tenses to stand and protect his animal - but when the other's fingers rest on Nye's fur gently, he eases back into his chair. He isn't certain why he had expected Jet to hurt Nye. Perhaps because Jet had shown him violence he had also expected him to be cruel to his pet... but that isn't quite right, he realizes. At last Sigma recalls himself behaving neglectfully towards his innocent animal when he, too, was out of his mind with grief. Jet was, it seemed, an all-around better person than he was. It didn't take much.

As for the epiphany concerning Jet's true age, Sigma can almost feel the blood pumping through his heart turn to brine. He was supposed to be occupying his younger body, too. Why was it that Jet and Albert had everything he'd been promised but had come to lose: their youth, their health, their honour, their love? Sigma was furiously jealous, and it horrified him to be jealous. He seeks to end this negative feedback loop of anger and self-loathing by focusing on the problem at hand.

"Alright, then. To begin, when I was a young man, I once took the crown of the Games in my world." If the reason for Jet's cybernetics had never been made clear to Sigma, perhaps the reverse could at least come into focus. "Forty five years later, it seems, I have lost the capacity for victory." He frowns, and the lines on his face sag deeply with it. "What I do have is a skillset from many years of study that I believe I can use to great effect, outside of the Arena. I wish to emphasize that while I consider it a great honour to be a Tribute, it is a greater honour still to be in a position where I can give back to the Capitol."

Sigma's answer made him sick but he knew they were being watched, maybe even recorded, so he held his tongue. Just when he'd started to maybe feel bad for the guy, that puddle of sympathy dried up and Jet was impassive and uncaring once more. He gave the cat a final scratch at the base of it's tail then pulled away, arms crossing and one leg folding over the other to keep himself closed off.

The fact Sigma claimed to have won 'games' on his own planet and even inferred that he'd received his cybernetics because of it didn't escape Jet's notice, but he filed it away. Right this moment he didn't care about anything beyond getting this over with.

"Help like how? What're you thinking you can even offer them?" It wasn't exactly what he was supposed to ask, but it was what he wanted to know.

Sigma's organic eye momentarily flicks upwards to hold Jet's gaze, certain his answer would drive a permanent rift between the two of them. There would not be another chance to extend the olive branch. He wonder if the other could handle his answer without flying into a rage, or if he was just associating how Albert had reacted two Arenas ago with his husband.

"I am surprised you don't know," Sigma answers calmly, as if he were chatting with Jet leisurely over tea. "After I won the Games, for the 45 years that followed, I was our world's equivalent of a Gamemaker. Of course, that was not my only occupation. On paper, I was a scholar - three doctorates over those 45 years so I might master the genetic engineering we would need for our Games... as well as the mechanical engineering and computer programming necessary for our facilities, our traps and our security. It was truly an airtight, self-contained thing." He makes a dismissive gesture. "At any rate, I do not aim for such a lofty status here. I only wish to provide whichever service the Capitol needs most."

Edited 2015-04-04 15:34 (UTC)

"So you're planning on helping them make the arenas even worse. To make things like those damn birds or the robots or whatever it was that called--" He stopped himself, anger clear and the first real glint of emotion he'd shown since stepping into Sigma's room.

Jet stood and walked to the other side of the room, agitated but unable to leave with their appointment not yet finished. Just the thought of those muttations that had surrounded and killed him at the end of the last arena made him sick with anger, the easiest reaction to have. "I'm supposed to ask you how you expect to 'adjust to life' as a citizen, but I'm gonna guess you'd just slither on into that life with no problems at all. Don't you feel anything?" That last question was an accident, but he couldn't pull it back now.

Sigma's eyebrow rises impatiently as Jet begins his rant, but he isn't fazed until it concludes. There's a reflexive twitch in response to those words, a widening of the eyes and an intake of breath. Akane had told him what his friends thought of Sigma Klim, PhD, in comparison to Sigma the youthfully optimistic undergraduate: 'Not Human Anymore.' As easily as he was startled he recovers, turning his head away from Jet with indignation, a posh display of offense.

"Of course I plan on helping the Capitol," he answers coolly, drumming his metal fingers against his armchair. "There is no guarantee that they will place me in a position related to the Games, but so long as I can have a hand in keeping this civilization from the brink of war, I will be satisfied."

His face darkens as an unfortunate thought crosses his mind: Jet would not deny him for speaking against the Capitol, as a Capitolite would. Jet would deny him to prevent him from assisting the Capitol. He rounds back on Jet anxiously, watching for his response to his words. He decides to try and justify himself: "...However bad you believe you have it in the Arena, just getting through the day in my world was far worse. In comparison to most others, I was lucky to have so much as an occupation and some shelter for my family. I appreciate being brought here, I appreciate the opportunity to live a better life, and I shall return the favour," he concludes.

When Sigma starts into his 'explanation' the very first thing into Jet's head is 'boohoo' and he very nearly turns the disdain into something verbal, but then Sigma kept going and mentioned how he was grateful for this life. Wasn't that how Jet had been feeling? What he half admitted to Initiate in the space station arena? This place sucked, it had a bullshit government and assholes populating every nook and cranny and there was definitely going to be a war before anything began to even remotely look okay...but it was still better than Jaden and the world Jet and- Jet had come from before this. Better than an already ruined world with only a glimmer of hope to hold onto. It was better than death.

So, no, Jet couldn't blame Sigma for that sentiment, he could even see where that feeling could be twisted into some screwed up desire to 'pay the capitol back' even though Jet whole-heartedly disagreed with it. Besides, hadn't the Capitol just ruined all that? Why should he let someone help it?

Slowly, he leaned back against one of the walls, his eyes closing as frustration covered his expression. He didn't want to think about this, didn't want to talk about it and didn't want to have to debate about it. All he wanted was to pretend none of it existed and sitting here thinking about whether he should think the Capitol ruined or improved his own life and apply that thought process to a guy Jet really didn't want to be around was making everything worse.

When he spoke next, his voice was quieter, more tired and sounded closer to the eighty-five-plus years he actually was than the twenty-two year old he appeared. "Whatever, Sigma. I think you're wasting your time and making a mistake, but I probably want you out of here about as much as you want you out of here."

Sigma is left speechless in the face of Jet's response. On one hand, he is immensely relieved - he desperately needed this out for more than one reason. On the other... there's something draining about finding pieces of himself in his enemies, in people whose hearts were closed to him. He unwillingly identifies with Jet's exhaustion - the way he sank into the wall, how his voice betrayed his youth, the condescension he had towards those who would disrupt the peace. He could have been Jet, had his possibilities converged the way he had planned. Perhaps in some universe or other, their places could have been swapped, the young man and the mole.

He cannot say so. Instead Sigma meets his frustration with neutrality. His fingers have ceased to drum on his chair and he tilts his head curiously, impatiently. "So. Does this conclude the interview?" he asks stiffly and without gratitude.

"Yeah, it does. Get the hell out of Dodge." Frustration reigns supreme as the easiest emotion to process and Jet uses it like a crutch so he can limp his way through this and back to the abysmal sanctity of his empty room. He couldn't do this anymore.

He stood and headed back for the door, not even sparing Sigma a glance on his way out. He didn't have anything else to say to the man, all he wanted was to turn off the lights and go back to pretending nothing existed.

Invited to a tribute's private rooms? Why it was simply too this side of scandal to refuse. Anticipating a somewhat focused point of view from her interviewee- what man did not have his own agenda in mind, after all?- she was thoughtful enough to her own needs as to provide her own refreshments in form of a flask in her jacket pocket. Otherwise, she comes armed with nothing save her wits and a low cut black dress to the event. As well as a smile firmly in place.

She does have the good manners to knock before entering, however. No matter the station of the receiving, it was important the visiting showed their own manners.

"Hello?"

In spite of the recklessness of his youth, Sigma considered himself a cautious man. He had briefly investigated the persons assigned to handle his fate, and when he had learned that one of them was a sponsor, he was careful to consider the implications. What good was a Tribute outside of the system to a sponsor - if not for manipulation? If Sigma could impress her enough to gain her approval and have her set him free, would it mean she would consider him indebted to her? He had no idea what to expect from Sadie Doyle.

And for all of his preparation, she still manages to throw Sigma for a loop.

When Sadie arrives at the door, Sigma rises from his chair and looks the Capitolite over. An expression of confusion crosses his face: his organic eye flicks toward's Sadie's bustline for a fraction of a second before his gaze meets hers. Interesting choice of dress - he would not flatter himself with believing she had chosen to wear such a thing for his sake, but part of him also figures that if a sponsor arrived at a Tribute's bedroom dressed like that, it might herald bad news. He remembers The Baron well. Even if Sadie has no sinister intentions, Sigma decides it would be wise to tread carefully.

"...Ah, hello. Ms. Sadie Doyle, correct?" Sigma begins as politely as he can manage. "Please, come in and make yourself comfortable. My name is Dr. Sigma Klim. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The bridge to nowhere. [CLOSED]

let me know if this is an okay beginning! if not, I can def. change it.

Perfect! :)

Re: Perfect! :)

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Lemme know if I need to change anything!

Naw, it's great! :D

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