thecapitol | [Open] Alone in the Town

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[Open] Alone in the Town

Who| James Sunderland and Open!
What| Sunderland arrives at the Capitol, finds himself in dire need of dry clothes
Where| All over the Capitol
When| Arena 13 finale week
Warnings/Notes| As per Silent Hill 2 and Sunderland's canonpoint, spoilers and mature topics may be hinted.

A. I'm alone there now [Capitol]

There wasn't much of a break for James Sunderland between being fished out of Toluca Lake, then shoved into the glaring lights that dominated this new environment. He coughed and hacked out as much water out of his throat in a desperate bid for air he'd foregone just a few minutes before. Mary sat beside him, seatbelt on, sleeping without there being need to be. No more pain…no more misery, it was just silence and the sounds of water invading his ears. Wait-

"M-Mary?" the clerk gasped out, "Mary!" Maybe it was a dream, or maybe it wasn't, but he thought he saw shadowy hands pull the lifeless body out of the rustbucket they called a car. Whoever stole his chance to be with his wife forever, they now had her, somewhere! After all he'd done to see her, hear her voice again, now she was gone! A rush of anxiety, of fear came over James as he patted around his heavy, sopping clothes for a picture of his wife, but to no avail. All he had on him was the small broken radio he'd found in that first monster, feasting on a corpse. Once upon a time, it would've emitted white noise and static when danger approached within the town of Silent Hill, making the man tense and ready for the incoming onslaught. To hear nothing out of it was much more distressing for James, it truly meant he was alone in this strange new city.

"E-Excuse me, but have you seen my wife, Mary?" the man asked around the citizens, most of whom were too outlandishly dressed for this to be real. Was that woman blue?! And that man, did he have scales?! What kind of hell was this? Silent Hill was really outdoing itself now. "Sh-she has red hair, fair skin, really sweet smile…she's in a floral dress and pink sweater. Have you seen her?" James tried in vain to find out more but no one knew anything or worse, laughed at him. This only made him ask around more.

B. In our Special Place [Tribute Tower]

It took a few hours of asking around until a Peacekeeper had James escorted into the Tribute Tower, unrelenting even as the man asked for information. Sunderland could tell the officer relished in that he is an honored guest of the Capitol and he was here to serve as a Tribute. What did he mean by Tribute? Like a sacrifice? To what? James kept quiet during the short trip, mulling things over. He remembered more about the last few minutes of his life in that ill-fated trip to Silent Hill than he did coming here. Angela's voice crackled with the fire that consumed the Lakeside Hotel…how Eddie's laughs hung in the air as he taunted him in the meat locker…and Laura's screams…He still remembered Maria's rage as the town let her become the avatar of his dead wife's resentment. To be here was an affront to the town's power and judgment.

They said I was assigned to District 3, whatever that means, he thought as he arrived. Whatever this place was, it was now his home. There was no warmth, it was all sheen and most of the inhabitants were too busy with the large and flat screens to pay attention to him. Or so he would think. It's not that easy to sneak around when you're sloshing around. No radio noise plagued his ears, but why would it? His lifeline to his past was dead.
C. Waiting For You [District 3 Common Area]

Maybe here…maybe someone in his district knew something about Mary…or Maria if it was the case. Though he'd have one hell of a bad time telling the difference at this point. So he was here to die in the service of District 3, a district that he had no connection to or even an inkling if it even existed. For all he knew, none of this was actually real. Though the sharp pain in his stomach sure was. Oh yeah, the last time he ate anything was before he and Mary made that trip to Silent Hill. The journey itself yielded no chance to eat meals that weren't rotten , a health drink or devoured by Eddie.

Finding the fridge wasn't a problem, and there was a strange relief when it didn't have a body stuffed into it.

"I-I hope they don't mind."

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Emily's sat in the common area, poring over a glossy magazine and bookmarking mentions of her Tributes. When she sees James she smiles, tentatively but friendly. "I don't think I've seen you around before."

The voice startled James out of his thoughts and he immediately turned to face her. She seemed friendly enough but Maria and Eddie had been proof positive that looks could be deceiving. She looked like a local, comfortable enough with the imposing building that she could so easily break concentration.

"Uh, no, I've just arrived from..." from what, his mind struggled to come up with an answer, "A vacation in Silent Hill." His voice was distant, one could say lost. He'd almost forgotten why he was so wet until his pants made a sloshing sound.

"I don't mean to be a bother but do you know where the nearest clothing store is? I've been like this for a while a-and if I'm a guest, it would be rude to get sick, right?"

Another new arrival dragged here to fight to the death for the entertainment of the masses. Emily wishes she were sympathetic, but that impulse is overridden by the relief she feels that the children of her own district, including her two younger brothers, would never have to face the reaping now that outsiders fought in their place.

"There are a lot of stores around. Fashion is one of the things the Capitol has in abundance." Even though most of it was hideously tacky, to Emily's tastes. At least the fact that James is a new arrival means that he won't be faced with Arena merchandise with his face plastered all over it. She still found that unnerving even years after her own Arena. "There should also be clothes for you in your room. Your stylist will have seen to that." She looks him up and down, deciding that he could definitely use a change of clothes. "Were you told what District you belong to?"

"I have a what?" Sunderland looked caught in the headlights; a Stylist? He clutched his radio tighter now, to ground him or hope it sounded off for enemies. "I'm not much of a fashion sort of guy," he admitted, even the words sounded off. Most of te things he'd seen people wear here would make Maria, an exotic dancer, look almost matronly. "I'd rather not head back out there...some of the people look sick, or dead." And the Peacekeeper that dragged him in here was still around.

Oh right the question about his assigned District, "I'm in District 3. I just arrived and was told that." Along with a few other things he's not comfortable talking about yet.

"District Three, okay." She didn't envy him there, especially after the destruction of the District itself, Three was a difficult District to get sponsors for. "Well they have a floor in the Training Centre, I'm happy to take you over." She extends a hand for him to shake if he wants to. "My name's Emily. I'm the Mentor for District Seven."

James had no idea what happened to District 3 other than it's currently unavailable for contact, as told by the Peacekeeper without much explanation as to why. Other than it's gone now, nothing really concrete has surfaced for him.

"Uh, I'm James, James Sunderland," the new Tribute finally speaks up and takes the offered hand with just the slightest hesitation towards touching another human being. She's real, she's definitely real, this place? Not so sure, James thought to himself, then apologized out loud, "Ah, um, sorry about the mess. Didn't have time or money to get some new clothes."

Edited (added a little more!) 2015-04-07 22:17 (UTC)

"Don't worry about it, I've seen worse messes." Everyone became a bloody wreck sooner or later in the Arena. In comparison James looks as though he's gotten off lightly, though she's not about to say that. "And you don't need to worry about clothes, they'll sort you out at the training centre."

The less James knows about the Arena at this very moment, the better, as he tried to keep his waterlogged clothes mess as contained as possible. His records would show he already had a kill count to his name, though he'd rather do his best to learn from Silent Hill.

"You said you were a Mentor...right?" James asked as he followed Emily like a sick dog yearning for some purpose. "Is that for the, uh, Arena? To face?" The way he clutched the tiny radio, it was his anchor.

With his coat collar pulled high, head bowed, and hands shoved in his jean pockets, Daryl's doing his best to weave through the Capitol citizens crowding the sidewalk when the unkind, raucous laughter from somewhere ahead draws his attention. Normally he'd go out of his way to avoid whatever unfortunate scene is unfolding, but with limited room in which to manoeuvre, he eventually finds himself face to face with the strange man asking after his wife.

"Ain't seen her," he mutters without even glancing up, shifting his weight to a foot and preparing to step around the guy. But the soaking wet clothing gives him pause, causing him to look up curiously despite himself. The stranger isn't dressed like the average Capitol citizen, and the fact he's behaving so off-kilter suggests he might not be native to Panem at all. "The hell happened to you, man?"

What is it with him and finding all the half-drowned people, anyway?

Every negative answer drove James further into a state of panic, that the Gamemakers did leave Mary in the town of Silent Hill, all alone and in possible danger. Or worse, she'd become their leverage piece against him, keeping her just out of reach. He wanted to rest alongside her.

"Huh?" Sunderland blinked a bit startled by the additional question. No one had asked him that, even if it was fairly obvious. "I-I had a car accident in Toluca Lake, over at Silent Hill," The lie just poured out of his mouth, like the acid those creatures spewed onto him, "I was rescued by the authorities here...my wife with me, I need to know where she is."

Edited 2015-03-20 17:11 (UTC)

Toluca Lake, Silent Hill — neither of these spark any recognition from Daryl, and he's shaking his head faintly as he gives the guy another once-over, still wary despite his initial concern.

"Rescued ya but couldn't be bothered to offer a towel?" There's a healthy amount of skepticism in his tone, but also a measure of sympathy, because the scenario doesn't actually sound that far-fetched for the people of the Capitol, admittedly. Those involved with the arenas especially. "You a Tribute?" he guesses.

If he is, it would simplify matters. Daryl could guide him to one of the communal bathrooms in the Tribute Center and help get him cleaned up, without having to worry about the peacekeepers bitching about security risks or what the hell ever.

"Figures they were in a hurry or something," the clerk shrugged, "Yeah I am. Well, I got called that back in that white room. Am I supposed to work somewhere? Because I can do it, but I really would-"

The stranger probably didn't need to hear about Mary again, even as the worry swelled in his chest. Could she be here? Or was that a lie the people behind the glass told him so he would comply?

"As a Tribute, you'll be dyin' a lot for others' entertainment. That's our job," Daryl explains with a grim expression, a bitter edge bleeding into his voice. Entirely serious. Narrowing his eyes, he subjects James to several moments of intense scrutiny in silence, as though trying to decipher something about him, then eventually nods in the direction of the Tribute Center.

"What's your District? C'mon," he says as he begins walking away, pausing only long enough to check and see if the new guy's following. "We'll see if your wife's a Tribute too and get you a damn towel."

"I'm District 3, sir," James answered promptly, "My wife's Mary, Mary Sunderland-Shepherd." Maybe it was the dizziness that came with a new arrival or the mental haze of what happened in those last twenty minutes before his death, but James was laid bare to the stranger. Maybe Silent Hill still had an effect on the man, distorting a truth he'd finally come to. Wait, what did he say his job was?

"Dying? What do you mean? I-I don't understand," Sunderland tried to clarify any doubts in Daryl's answer, "Are we...sacrifices?" Was that Red Pyramid here?!

The mention of District 3 catches Daryl's attention the way nothing else had. Same District as Rick's, and conveniently enough, he's already familiar with that floor of the Tribute Center because of that fact.

"S'pretty good term for it," he decides. Because that's really what they are — sacrifices. They die now in lieu of the children from the various Districts, which was how it was done before, as he understands it. And death had been permanent, then. All for the sake of entertainment, celebrating the glorious something or other of the Capitol, they should be honoured, all that bullshit.

The CDC. The prison and Woodbury. Terminus. He has diminishingly little hope that circumstances here will turn out any better.

Throwing another questioning look over his shoulder at James, he asks, "They didn't give ya that spiel? About the arenas, and victors, and shit?" He doesn't know what the arrival process is like during the 'off season', as it were. He'd been abducted from his home during an arena and had immediately been forced into the fray.

"Not really, then again, I wasn't in the clearest state of mind when they were talking to me," Sunderland admitted, rubbing his forehead as he tried to make sense of it all. So he really was here to die for the entertainment of others...And here he thought Silent Hill was bad. At least that place was self-contained in its' misery.

"I wasn't listening either," he added, "Too worried about my circumstances to actually care."

Understandable but James then asked, "H-Have you been here long?" Maybe he was reading too much into his companion's body language but there was an undeniable resignation in Daryl's face to be anything but.

Understandable, Daryl supposes, but rather foolish, and his opinion is pretty damn clear in the disgruntled look he's giving James. To not even listen to the explanation is just exceptionally poor survival instincts. Maybe James was brought here to be the equivalent of cannon fodder in arenas.

And maybe he feels a little bad for thinking that way, but it's hard not to. With children in the arenas, they're (presumably) looked after by adults, and he can see how that might conceivably be entertaining for the audience. Tug at those heartstrings a bit. But an adult guy being that helpless? It doesn't bode well for James.

"Bit less than half a year," he guesses, and realising they'd missed introductions, adds, "M'Daryl, by the way. District 9." As though it matters. Coming to the entrance of the Tribute Center, he holds the door and nods James in before following, and directs him to the nearest elevator.

There was a high chance the man was brought more because of what he did before arriving here, but James couldn't trust or even discern to this man what went on. He wasn't much to look at, but there was a capacity for violence and even cruelty within the guest from Silent Hill. Only time and the Arenas would tell if James was an easy kill or a long and drawn out battle.

"Pleased to meet you, Daryl, my name is James Sunderland," the clerk responded with a politeness that comes from a life of middle-class comfort and mourning. The Tribute Center was so pristine, it almost hurt the man's eyes. No fog, no monsters, just people. How absolutely off for James.

"Is everyone here a Tribute?" all animals to the slaughter?

Edited 2015-04-01 22:22 (UTC)

"Most. Some're the staff assigned to each district," he explains on the short elevator ride upward. "There's the peacekeepers, security. The mute servants are avoxes. Don't expect 'em to talk to ya; they can't. No tongues." There's more than a hint of distaste in his tone with the latter. If James had tuned out the orientation... maybe he doesn't have a real sense of how the Capitol operates yet.

Leaning in, Daryl lowers his voice as he adds in warning, "Mind what you say 'bout the people in charge. Tributes can get avoxed, too, if you piss off the wrong people."

On District 3's level, instead of heading for the Tribute suites, Daryl opts for the communal bathroom first and motions James along. "You'll already have a room assigned to you here. And unless you got friends in other districts, you're stuck living here full time. District three don't exist no more, got blown up." Which is how Rick has come to share Daryl's house in District 9 with him, on the occasions when they travel there.

James took mental note of these new surroundings, but there wasn't as visceral a reaction when it came to the Avoxes' lack of tongues. In fact, there was a slight cringe but not much after that before his conscious mind caught up to the rest of his mind. Delayed horror was usually a sign of deceit, but for James, it was remembering how cruel humans could be outside the decrepit walls that once held him.

"I'll do my best to not be an unwelcomed guest...of sorts," the clerk sighed then immediately reeled at the truth about the District, "What?! Why? Was there a quarantine or something?! Or..." it was the Avoxes that reminded James that whoever the people in power were, they didn't appreciate a negative opinion. "Or..." the tone spoke more than the word he laid out: or did they do something to the Capitol?

"Dunno exactly, it's somethin' I'm still lookin' into. Happened before I was brought here," he admits uncertainly, though there's enough wariness in the glance he gives James to confirm his suspicion, which Daryl shares — District 3 must have been doing something pretty major to warrant total annihilation like that. Presumably something to oppose the government, or at least chafe it something fierce. And it's made him appropriately leery of spending too much time in his own district, even though he's not sure what threat a district known for grain could pose to the government, unlike one responsible for technology, as District 3 had been.

In the spacious communal bathroom, he hunts down a towel and tosses it to James. "Here's where you'll shit, shower, and shave," he says dryly as he turns, one arm outstretched and making an all-encompassing gesture.

The "grand" gesture and the humor wasn't lost on Sunderland as he did his best to be snarky right back, "Glad to see there's still people capable of colorful commentary." Was that his attempt at normalcy? Maybe, but it still made a difference as James began to settle into this brave new world. It had life, it had people that were still sensible enough to laugh and not enjoy the incoming bloodshed.

"You're awfully familiar with this District, uh, Mr. Dixon, do you have friends here?"

Understatement of the century when it came to Rick Grimes and Beth Green.

"Yeah, I know a guy in Three." Plus every floor has a similar layout, but he supposes James will discover that on his own. In the meantime, he'll undoubtedly be seeing a lot of Daryl in passing, since he's taken to haunting the District 3 floor because of Rick.

"About my height, dark hair, beard, suspicious eyes, kinda glare that'll make ya wanna confess your sins — that's Rick Grimes," he says, and there's an undisguised note of fondness in his voice. "Ain't real friendly, but if you mention knowing me, you might get a word or two outta him."

Daryl and Rick's relation to each other is hardly a secret, to anyone who either watches arena footage or catches a glimpse of any Capitol gossip rags. There's little harm in acknowledging their connection, he figures. Leaning back against the counter, he gives James a long look, taking the measure of him in silence. After a few moments, he asks in a low voice, "How do you know they saved your wife too?"

Sunderland was way too new to have picked up on any magazines or anything, but he heeded the warning well, "I-I'll keep an eye out then, for Rick Grimes, right…" The two survivors would have something in common as it turns out: both were grieving widowers who experienced a psychotic break from reality. One would get calls from the grave, and James still held the broken radio that first whispered Mary's voice.

The question brought the clerk down from his own haze and it forced him to close his eyes, his mind straining to remember, "We were in the car, falling to the bottom of the lake…I thought I saw the divers pull her out along with me, but now, now I'm not so sure. I mean-" she was already dead then, three days even why would they resurrect her?

"I just have to know if…if they could help her, she was sick and this place is advanced enough. I'll do every arena they want me to if they can save Mary." Save her from him.

Daryl hasn't been sure what to think about this frantically sought 'Mary', whether she's even real or not (becoming delusional is certainly one way to cope with trauma), but it's watching James and carefully listening to how he speaks as much as to what he's saying that convinces him — this is either the truth, or the truth as James sees it. Either way, it's no skin off Daryl's back if a stranger wants to lie to him anyway, and James at least doesn't seem like the kind of crazy he needs to worry about protecting Rick and Beth from. Doggedly tracking family regardless of the odds is in fact exactly the sort of crazy he understands.

He inclines his head, his keen scrutiny beginning to ease, his expression subtly softening along with it. His sarcasm and abrasiveness aren't meant to be taken personally; it's simply how he treats strangers. ~~When sober, anyway. Lookin' at you, PG.~~

"If she's here, chances are she'll be a Tribute too. Mary Sunderland, right?" he asks, pushing off the counter. "I can ask around. Meantime, you go check out your room, there should be some dry clothes there." People will be more likely to help James if he doesn't look like a half-drowned madman, after all. Daryl pauses, watching him again. "And one last thing."

"Thanks, I-I can try to stay out of trouble." The possibility of a warm bed and new clothes was almost too much for James to think about as he nodded and headed into an empty room, probably for him. Daryl had been very serviceable, if gruff but hey, strange man soaked to the bone and raving like a lunatic? Sunderland couldn't blame him. ~~Duly noted!~~

"Yeah? What's up? Is something wrong?" The illusion of Mary possibly being alive was just about cemented in the man's mind.

Nothing's wrong... per se. Daryl's curiosity had been piqued, and he's been silently debating the whole time whether or not to ask this final question. There's a nagging feeling that he ought to leave well enough alone, but he's also been finding out that, in Panem especially, sometimes it actually is better to ask, to know.

"The radio," he says, tipping his chin toward the small device James is clutching. "What's that about?"

Daryl's question stopped the delusion from bearing the fruit of forget, of making James believe that everything that happened had been just another bad dream and that somewhere out there, Mary was there. No, this was a little bit of Silent Hill that kept him safe,

"This...this is my radio," he spoke in a robot-like voice, "It makes noise when monsters are around. It once spoke Mary's voice...I-It's been quiet ever since I've come here." He'd give anything to hear the static again, unaware that the screeches and hisses would never stop in the Capitol.

And that doesn't sound crazy at all.

To Daryl, it actually doesn't.

He's not only heard his brother's voice coming from a broken walkie talkie — hadn't even had batteries in it — guiding him with knowledge neither of them could have possibly possessed, but he's also hallucinated his brother on more than one occasion, helping him when he most needed it. Who's to say it isn't the same for James? The mind is a strange thing and he doesn't pretend to understand it.

Daryl's eyes flicker between the radio and James's face, expression carefully kept neutral. But he accepts the explanation for what it is.

"... Alright," he says and tilts his head in lieu of a shrug. "Let's hope it stays quiet, then." Probably best to let the man get his bearings and settle in now. His other questions can wait. "I'll let you know if I turn up anything on your wife." With that, he turns and heads back to the elevator. He truly does intend to ask around about Mary Sunderland, for what it's worth; he's a man of his word.

James' eyes kept to the radio, and maybe he'd have it fixed, but then how would he know if Mary would ever speak to him again? He knew what he did was cruel beyond words, and if Daryl or anyone were to know...He nodded at the suggestion and the help, "Thanks sir, I mean, Daryl." The help would be appreciated but something told him that it would all be in vain, that she wasn't here and all the Arenas, they would all be for nothing. Just like that trip to Silent Hill. For a moment, James thought he could see flickers of the fog enter the floor and the decay of the Otherworld before he shook his head.

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[Open] Alone in the Town

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