thecapitol | I'm not sure what I'm looking for anymore

Entry tags:

I'm not sure what I'm looking for anymore

Who| Rochelle and Open!
What| Rochelle just got here. What's going on, where am I? Why does everyone make a face when I ask about Nick???
Where| Around the Tribute Center
When| After the arena
Warnings/Notes| Possibly swearing at some point? Discussions of violence, probably.

Was this the rescue they'd worked so hard for? Was this the rescue that her and her team had dragged themselves through hell, chased by zombies, tanks, witches, and every special type of infected that walked this godforsaken earth? The last thing she remembered was making it to the helicopter, a tank close on her heels. It'd been a close one, but when she'd reached out, sturdy hands gripped her, as they always did when she needed them to. Whose hands, it didn't matter, because they were all a unit, each depending on the others for survival.

But this was different. The Hunger Games, they said. Battle to the death, they said. Like some kind of Battle Royale, except instead of Japanese kids in a dystopian future...It was her. Also in a dystopian future. Well, shit. She knew that there had been a lot of issues with carriers, people immune but exposed. They'd been gunned down by the military (though her sources on this were scribbles in pen on walls), but it seemed a little...excessive, to shuttle them in a helicopter to compete in some kind of blood match.

She is careful, as she walks, slowly going around the suite, looking into her room, walking down the hallway and exploring the areas available to her. She's thinking, mind whirling, but stays calm. Anyone who sees her will notice, she doesn't seem to be panicking, but there's a way that she watches everyone around her, quietly observing them.

She hasn't seen people in a long time, besides her teammates, but even as she quietly looks around at these new faces, she feels lonely. Three shadows are missing from her side, and she constantly turns to speak, asking Nick what he made of this, about to joke to Coach they ought to find the cafeteria, asking Ellis if he saw anyone looking friendly.

Her priorities were ordered neatly: Find her boys, find out what's going on, find weapons, and escape.

Rochelle can be located pretty much anywhere she's allowed in the Tribute Center, and might approach friendlier-looking people. Those who aren't so friendly-looking can come over and figure out who the new meat is.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If she wants to ask Nick what he makes of this, she just needs to turn around a few inches. He's ambling through the halls of the tower towards his suite, having spent most of the day doing things he probably shouldn't be doing. Fuck it, he's mad. He toiled away in that godforsaken Arena and he's no better for it. He was inches away from winning before than asshole Tony Stark managed to get a knife inches in him.

It's frustrating to think he'll be back there in a few weeks. Probably without a gun to even the odds, probably even less likely to win this time around. It's all he can do to enjoy the Capitol as much as possible. Things like having a place to sleep, food to eat and all the showers, clothing, women and booze he could want are things he sorely appreciates. It isn't like he doesn't miss the people he left behind, but he doesn't miss the place he left behind.

He tries not to think about it much, but he can't help thinking he's seeing things when he's starting to catch up with a familiar figure. He'd know that up-do anywhere, but he's almost afraid someone is just sick enough to emulate her style.

"..Ro'?" There's an edge to his voice that betrays how bewildered he is right now, the expression on his face is a lot less smug and smooth than he'd like it to be. "Christ." He spits out, more and more aware that he isn't just seeing things here.

Her name. Or part of it, at least. Two letters don't constitute much, but the combination and the voice are enough to make her pause, and turn around. Her calm expression can't hold on when she finally sees a familiar face, changing to one of shock, and relief. The few feet between them are quickly crossed, and she reaches out, grabbing his arms with hers.

It's a funny thing, traveling with the same three people for as long as they did. You get sick of each other, ready to chuck one another over the nearest cliff. But you get used to them, too, to the point where being without them is like missing a limb. But then, for her, it was barely a day.

She looks like she's contemplating hugging him, but resists. He's not the type of guy, and he'd probably just grouse at her about ruffling his clothes. Talk about her getting sentimental on him. So instead, she just stands there for a few moments, staring up at him. Then, once she's sure it's him, speaks. Her voice is low, controlled, out of fear of the strangers here overhearing.

"Nick, thank god it's you. I've been looking everywhere. Have you found the others...?" She glances around, then ducks her head, whispering. "Nick, they told me we were in some kind of...Games. Is this what they're doing with the carriers now? I--I can't imagine even the military would authorize this. I mean..." Her expression is...fear, and worry. Looking at Nick for some kind of assurance, like he's going to explain everything, put it in real terms, because he never bullshitted the facts, and if she needed an honest opinion, she could trust him.

Once the truth of it becomes undeniable, Nick suddenly feels something of a weight on his chest. He doesn't know if he should be relieved, he doesn't know if this is better than back home. He does know that if she's here, odds are Coach might be here soon too. Or, y'know, on the way. Trust him to take his sweet time. The point is, it feels like he's to blame somehow and he's not sure why. He's suddenly hyper aware of the fact that the only people whose opinions he could give a damn about are starting to file in. Oh boy, do they have catching up to do.

He decides then and there that he'll let them figure it out himself, particularly since he's being inundated with the kinds of questions he'd been asking when he arrived. He holds his hands out, palms up and toward her face in an effort to calm her a little.

"Hey, hey. Slow down." He gives her a look, just so she knows that he knows it's alright to be calm. "This is some sci-fi bullcrap right out of some redneck magazine, but hear me out. This?" He gestures around. "This is not our world. There's no Ceda. No infected. They literally picked us up and put us in a new universe." He gives her a minute to process that, trying to keep a straight face even though he knows it's ridiculous. "Look, I've been here almost two months now. I've been in the Games. I can tell you what you want to know, but it's not good."

His expression does calm her down, which is fortunate, because of what he's going to say next. But Rochelle trusts him implicitly--she's learned that when Nick gives his opinion, it's honest, whether you like it or not. So she stares up at him, and nods, slowly relaxing. She doesn't let go quite yet, though the grip relaxes, and Nick can remove himself if he chooses. But with her world turning to a chaos beyond even the Green Flu, she wanted to know that at least one thing was there that she could count on.

As he explains, though, her look becomes more and more incredulous. If it had been anyone but Nick (or Coach), she might ask just what the fuck he was on. She'd assume that they'd either taken too many hits from a charger, or given up and gotten ridiculously high. She opens her mouth to protest that it couldn't be two months, that they'd just gotten on the helicopter, and realizes...that'd kind of the least incredible thing about all of this.

She does let go of Nick, then, to lean heavily against the wall. One arm supports her against it, the other arm goes to rest on her forehead. There is no way this is happening. In fact, she informs Nick as much.

"There is no way this is happening."

But it is happening, this place is too shiny, too futuristic, like she had fallen into some Sci-fi channel original movie. She takes a few long, slow breaths. Collect herself. Stay cool. But it's real hard to keep her usual calm. "So this is it. No helicopter to rescue us, no boat to climb in. No way to get out of here. We're stuck in some future Battle Royale from hell." She finally manages that much, at least.

There's absolutely no reason to sugarcoat shit like this. You don't stare down a hoard of zombies and say it'll be an easy ride. Lying about the odds is for conning and conning alone. He isn't looking to trick Rochelle, even if being the bringer of bad news isn't something he relishes. He'd like for her to be happy to see him and call it a wrap, but it's never that fucking easy.

Normally he'd brush her off for touching him too long, not because he doesn't like it but because he has posturing to do. For now, he's letting it happen. If it stops her freaking out, she can do it as much as she likes as far as he's concerned.

"If it's not happening, we're both high out of our gourds." He says that bitterly, because it almost seems like the better option at this point. "You got it, toots." A small smile finds his face, even if it's insincere. "But until they send us in the Arenas, you can focus on the fact that there's no infected. You know what there is, though? A bar. Booze. We're celebrities, we don't pay for shit. They feed us and dress us like we're the fucking A-list around here, Ro'. We don't need to get out of here, we need to win." He came to that conclusion a long time ago, like hell he isn't getting the team in on the plan here. "We've all seen bullshit before. There's no way we don't have an advantage here."

She listens to him quietly, staring off. Just like she listened to so many other plans. Calculating, evaluating. His point is a good one. They're suddenly safe from zombies, safer than she could have imagined. In a land that was not even touched by zombies. Even back in New Orleans, getting carted off by that helicopter, they could only imagine what fate might have in store for them--Living in some post-apocalypse grungy wasteland, like some kind of movie you'd see on the sci-fi channel.

Was this really better? Fighting to the death repeatedly, for the sport of some sick assholes? But if they won...But of course, only one could win.

Finally, she looked up. "Alright, Nick. We need to find Ellis and Coach, then. You said you've been doing this for--two months?" Disbelief flitted across her face, but the odd time difference was the least crazy thing about all of this. "The four of us...we can figure this out. Plan together. If we've gotta win to survive, than we're going to win." That's what they did, wasn't it? Surviving.

With a surprising amount of patience, Nick lets her stare off and think about it all. He needed his own time to mull it over, but he'd been alone with nobody to spell it out for him quite so well. He doesn't snap or bother her, but he does smirk half-heartedly when she finally snaps out of it.

"You're late to the party, Ro'." He feels pretty damn bad for her planning like she knows the half of it. "I know where Ellis is. He's in District Four, boring someone with his story. Coach is.." He trails off, because this part in particular is enough to stir sadness in Nick of all people. "Coach isn't here. He's probably still back home."

One of those shadows was already buzzing around, looking exasperated and at least five years older. Ellis had been trying to make amends with a lot of Tributes but the scathing glares and the insults were starting to get to him. What was so wrong of people to understand that out of all the kills Nick racked up in the Arena, the little boy from the South was probably the most merciful of all? And yes, it took a lot of alcohol for Ellis to internalize that,

What he didn't expect in his life in Panem, or ever, was to see someone so familiar it hurt more than the knife he had jabbed into his throat at the caves. It couldn't be, it shouldn't be,

"Rochelle?"

Even after calling her name so many times in their trek from Savannah to New Orleans, the name sounded alien.

How many times had she heard that voice with her name on his lips? And she wheeled around to respond, just like she had every other time. Sure enough, there he was, new clothes, but same goofy hat, same Ellis--Even if he looked a lot more...worn. More tattered around the edges than that cap.

And she's there to help him, hurrying to him. She doesn't have a medkit to fix whatever's wrong, but she puts her arms around the younger man, pulling him into a hug. "Hey there, hee-haw." She gave him a little squeeze before releasing him, and taking another good look at him. While she'd do anything to help the others, Ellis was the youngest, the one she fussed over the most. "Ellis, lord above, I am glad to see you. Can you believe this?"

She shook her head, and glanced around, as if wary about eavesdroppers. "I don't know what's happening here, but we're going to figure this out, alright? Just get the others, and...I don't know." She frowned, looking down. This was out of her realm of expertise, which these days, usually involved zombies in some capacity. "We'll figure this out, okay? Get out here and back on our way."

Ellis hugged her so tight, he almost lifted her off the floor, "Oh thank God you're all righ' an' safe." Panem didn't seem so bad now that two out of his group were here. All they needed was Coach and they could do anything! Or at least that's what El thought, "I can an' trust me, I'm still reelin' from it!" Rochelle always kept an eye out for him and he in turn made sure she was safe and motivated. There were hard times back then and there were going to be hard times here.

But when she suggested the escape, the mechanic's body dropped for a moment, "I...I dunno about tha', Ro. Coach ain't here an' Nick's around...hopefully safe since he's kinda not liked. An' not in the usual way."

Oh boy that was a thing that happened.

She couldn't help but laugh when she was pulled to her tip toes, his enthusiasm contagious. Once let go, she stayed close to him, patting his arm as he drooped. She didn't seem to pleased when she heard that Coach was MIA--He was their leader, the one who made the calls, the one that hustled them around and made sure they didn't fall behind. It would be hard to figure all of this out, and what to do, without him.

She has to raise her eyebrow when he mentions Nick, though. Nick, not liked? At least one thing had stayed the same when everything else was different.

"Okay, I was with you, up until 'not in the usual way', you're going have to explain that one a little better." She told him, a small smirk playing across her lips. Clearly, she had no idea just how bad Nick had pissed everyone off--In her head, she pictured Nick swindling some poor saps out of their money, that's what he was in Savannah to do in the first place, right?

How does one tell their apocalypse big sister their resident jackass went on a shooting spree and killed about 20% of the Tributes here? Including children? That was a question on Ellis had been thinking about for a while now and it was showtime. Rochelle would be one of the few people in the world who'd understand as he did, she knew what was at stake back home...but the kids' deaths were still a hard sell even for him.

"Well, he did try to con a few people but tha's not the problem. Let's find ya a seat an' you gotta promise you're not gonna freak out, because I plan on kickin' his ass," El prefaced as best he could.

Rochelle had learned to take her teammates' various flaws in strides. But the way Ellis spoke, she could already feel a headache forming. She gave him a concerned look, lips thinning. "El, you're really worrying me now." She told him, but agreed. Heading off, she quickly located a little alcove with some seats. While walking, she kept close to him, occasionally glancing at him, and once even reaching out and gently tapping his arm. Being separated from them had been a challenge. And now that she was getting more and more nervous, knowing at least one of them was next to her have her some comfort.

She sank down into the too plush chair, frowning and wiggling around in the unexpected comfort. Turning to her teammate, she leaned forward, lacing her fingers together. "Alright. Lay it on me, Ellis. What happened?"

The assurances were needed as Ellis settled into their private little corner. "Nick shot at least eight people in the head, includin' a twelve-year-old boy an' a nineteen year old girl, I think."

Jesus Christ.

Being blunt may have been his thing but Ellis would have to learn some tact before he went out for interviews. Maybe Rochelle could coach him in the future. He paused and immediately added, "They ain't infected or permanently dead! I mean...I guess you were told about the Hunger Games an' really, I died too!" El points to his neck and ribs, "Got jabbed here, here, Nick too an' we're all in this Tower reality show. Did I lose ya yet? Because it's gonna git worse."

At least Rochelle would get everything she needed from the young man, even if it were the hardest pill to swallow.

Ellis was never one to explain things delicately, but even Rochelle is floored by the revelations that Ellis dishes out rapid-fire. She's glad that he suggested sitting, or she might have been literally floored. Instead, she sinks into the chair, gripping the edges, and staring down. Her eyes are wide, and for a moment, she is certain that this is all a big prank that Ellis did, some elaborate joke for the one who woke up late, and he was about to drop the truth, and work with her on what they were going to tell Coach.

She stares at him in utter confusion for a few moments, waiting for his face to crack into a grin. But he doesn't.

"Ellis...Ellis, you got to be kidding me." She spoke softly, a hint of pleading in her voice, asking him to be kidding her, because the truth would be so much worse.

Hearing that plea, that assurance that this was all a hoax, it wasn't possible for El to lie. The wear of his first Arena took away some of his old joy in life, enough that it could be seen.

"I wish I was," he spoke in a rare whisper, a sound that he never let out unless there was danger around the corner. "Ro, we're here an' that's wha' we gotta concentrate on. We either win an' live in the lap of luxury for all time, or we keep dyin' an' coming back like som' twisted respawning. An' trust me, there are people here that are ruthless, worse than what Nick did. We gotta meet with Nick an' git something going, anything for the next one."

That was the mechanic's priority now: make sure both his friends, and Coach if he came, make it as far as the gambler did, or further.

He was serious. Even if that look on his face didn't seal it, the whispering did. She leaned forward, a look of pain on her face. This was beyond the Green Flu, this was beyond everything else. She reached out, touching Ellis' wrist gently. Whatever was going on...He was right about one thing. They'd have to do this like they always did. Together.

"I...yeah. Alright. We'll figure out how to win. We can do this. Let's find Nick."

She doesn't know what to think. But she does know that whatever they're going to do, they've got to do it together.

"I haven't run into him just yet, but I plan on huggin' him then punchin' him in th' dick."

Ellis truly cares about Nick but Rochelle wasn't there when he saw the kills, rage boiled in his blood. The man wasted bullets, precious bullets, and yes, he was eager to kill as many Tributes, he should have known better. But Rochelle's expression rendered his threat mostly moot.

"Do ya wanna settle in somewhere? Wha's your District?" He tried to make her feel normal. "I can take ya over there...How was Coach back home?"

"Good. Give him one for me, too." She replied calmly. She hadn't quite had the chance to process what Nick had done yet, to be honest. The whole stuck in a revolving door death Battle Royale was still weighing heavily on her. Thinking on what Ellis told her, she really wasn't surprised. Nick was a survivor, just like her. But unlike her and Ellis, the whole morality thing had never seemed to quite sink in. He would do what was necessary to survive. She didn't find it hard to expand that to include killing other people.

She'd discuss it with him later.

"My district..." They'd mentioned it to her, even though it meant nothing to her. "Is 3. What does that mean? I can stay with you and Nick, right?" She knew that in a setting where you didn't have to constantly huddle together for life, people might find her staying with several grown men a little...odd, but she'd rather get looks, than have to sleep alone.

"As for Coach...I don't know, I mean. The last thing I remember, we were all together. We'd just crossed that godawful bridge, and reached the helicopter. All of us." She shook her head. Ellis had clearly been here longer than her, but to her, they had all been there, only a matter of days ago.

The mechanic had one rule about killing other survivors: do not engage unless threatened with life or death. Sure it was naive but maybe he held onto whatever hope they had of solving things without murder. "A hug or an impromptu opera performance by Nicole?"

At the mention of her district, El smiled, "You're not supposed to but I'm right above ya on D4. Nick's D7 an' it's easier for him to sneak out than the other way around." And yet he would leave his room if to make sure Rochelle had a good night's sleep. The time displacement however, spooked the young man.

"It...seems longer. That feels like it happened months ago, Ro."

Rochelle was never one to be quick to try to kill anyone, either. But Nick was...Nick. She would with hold judgement until she had a better grasp on the situation. Right then, there was so much going on, she would have to compartmentalize and figure out things in order. Maybe when she saw Nick she could speak to him. She laughed, at what he said, though, shaking her head. "Both, maybe." At least he still had his humor.

"I don't understand this district stuff. Why do we have to stay in our district suites? What does it matter?" She leaned back, crossing her arms. She didn't need to share a room with the guys--The idea of a full night without listening to snoring had it's merits--But she didn't like the idea of being on completely different floors.

She tilted her head at him, looking...confused. "...How long have you been here? I mean--I remember running for the helicopter. Ducking past all the infected, jumping on it. It was...barely a full day ago."

"I've been here for a month, maybe more. Nick's been here for far longer. The Arena made me lose track o' time, an' I slept a lot after I came back from th' dead," Ellis spoke in a distant, even melancholic manner. Rochelle barely had a moment to rest after New Orleans.

"It's supposed to be so we know who we're gettin' killed for, instead of their people. It's in th' grapevine, or somethin'," the mechanic explained as best he could, unaware that children used to be Tributes. "I guess I can try an' visit ya. At least I don't snore like Coach did."

The man could literally wake the dead.

"A month? Longer?" She stared at him with no small amount of alarm. Even that phrase, After I came back from the dead. Surviving had always been their thing, they'd called themselves survivors, and suddenly that was no longer an option. Suddenly dying was not only a real possibility, but doubtless, and they would just pop back up. And Ellis and Nick had already done it once before. Without her.

"...I see." Rochelle did her best to stay collected, stay calm. But it was clear that all this news was slowly, quietly picking at her. It was too much to take in at once, too awful to imagine. She held her hands together so they wouldn't waver, eyes staying wide so she didn't have to try to blink away wetness. What good would it do anyone? What good would it do Ellis? Herself? No, she would hold herself together.

"I'd appreciate the two of you being around. I'm just sorry I couldn't be there for you." She reached out for his hand, guilt eating at her. Ellis was worn, she could tell, and if he could have survived the Green Flu, only to become ragged here...That gave some show of what they were dealing with. But at least, she'd be here to help.

Empathy had been one of El's strongest suits and he knew exactly how Rochelle looked and sounded like when she was about to cry. He not only allowed her to take his hand but he also swiped his other thumb along her cheek, as if to tell her that it was okay to let things out. The Green Flu made the young man grow up in terms with dealing with death and loss, this place just reinforced it even further. The moment he came back from the dead, it was then that he realized just how deep the Capitol owned him and Nick. Rochelle didn't need that burden thrust onto her.

"Don't be sorry, Ro," the mechanic offered, "It's not your fault, tha' you weren't here baby girl. We were stolen away, we didn't choose this. I would've given the world if you an' Nick be spared from all this." But it had to be said, "As long as we don't win, we're not Survivors. I will do my damnedest to make sure one of us takes tha' title again."

Her movements were subtle, gripping his hand, but scooting closer. She presses her face into his shoulder, and doesn't move. It's not fair, they worked so hard, they tried so hard, they suffered and suffered, mauled by tanks and witches and everything the Green Flu could throw at them, ran across a bridge that was being bombed, dodging a horde and a tank and everything else--To end up here. Had they not earned rest? Had they not earned freedom from fear?

Her tears are silent, only her shoulders shaking as she took raspy breaths, only the dampness in his shoulder. There were few she trusted her tears to, and she would keep them as private as possible. His words don't help, though she knows they were meant to. But she can't decide which is worse--The idea of being stuck in some never ending death match, or watching Nick and Ellis have to be stuck there, while she rests easy. No, that would be worse. All or nothing.

Once she can speak, she does so, though her voice is shaking more than she would like. "I'd rather be in that arena, than in here, without you, Ellis."

The mechanic held his friend close...and maybe let some tears slip out of his face while he could. He had to allow himself this moment of weakness, of having done so much, killed so many Infected, and now this? To kill their fellow survivors or whatever they were for someone else's sport?!

"But what if...I don't want you or Nick t' suffer an' goddamn, Nick got so close," he whispered, broken for this one instance. It was physically impossible for Ellis to be the happy-go-lucky young man all the time as he used to be, "I don't wanna see you guys die. I don't wanna lose ya." Over and over again. That was his hell, wasn't it?

"S-Sorry," he immediately tried to get his bearings for her. He tried to smile again, "Just had to let that out. I'll be all right." No he wasn't but at least he had someone to be honest with. To not be afraid in baring his heart to.

Edited 2015-03-29 07:26 (UTC)

"Don't be sorry, El." Rochelle responded immediately, squeezing his shoulder. "This...this is some bullshit. Some straight up bullshit. I don't want to lose either of you, either. We'll just...We'll find Nick, and we'll talk it all over, alright? We'll figure something out. All three of us." She nodded her head firmly, wiping the tears off her face as she straightened. Okay, she had to keep it together. For Ellis, and for herself.

"And you're allowed to be upset, okay? No one ever accused you of being some kind of stone cold statue, and now? Would be a real bad time to start. We have every single right to be upset." She pressed her lips together, feeling anger stir where there had been grief. These weren't zombies that she could just shoot, but it felt like it was similar--Just as hopeless, just as impossible to really solve.

So much for being survivor.

The assurance that as a group, they would find a way out of this mess and finally be safe was enough to stop any leftover tears from falling. Jesus Christ, he shouldn't have been so weak, he could have done more in the Arena then and maybe keep Nick alive somehow.

"If ya believe it so. But I ain't gonna let this get to me, an' one by one, we're gonna win an' be safe. No safe houses, no Infected, we'll finally get the break we freakin' deserve." Yes he was pumping himself up but he also wanted to get Rochelle as motivated.

If El had to make the same choices Nick had to make in his tenure, then he would gladly do them if it meant the people he cared about got ahead. Not just the people he met in the Arena, but these two.

Éowyn was, not to put too fine a point on it, lost. Even without the constant distraction of the place - which seemed filled to the brim with impossibilities and wonders, things she could hardly begin to fathom as anything but magic - she had never been anywhere with this kind of layout, with some doors that opened seamlessly and others that refused, with parts apparently only accessible through... some kind of moving box she couldn't begin to name. She was lost, and she was afraid, and most of all, she was angry, futile rage bubbling away just below the surface.

Still, when she saw the other woman, she approached with as much calm as she could manage, even putting on a politic smile. The only hint of just how on edge she was was in her posture, taut as a bowstring, her chin lifted and her shoulders back, as if facing this place with dignity would somehow make it less of a prison.

"My lady? Will you hold and speak a while?"

My lady? Rochelle wondered, as she turned around, looking baffled. The woman before her...Well, she wore the clothes that had been handed out, but there was an odd feeling to her--Besides the fact that she looked like she was tighter wound than a new slinky. And not just that she didn't belong here, because none of them belonged here.

Until she could put a finger on it, she smiled pleasantly, trying to relax the other woman. How long had it been, since she'd had a conversation with another woman? A few quick words with Zoe, mostly sharing relief at there being another woman.

"Hey, I'm not in a rush, I can talk. What's up?" Friendly introductions, those were rare, too. It was nice to get to indulge in them again, even if the circumstances were undesirable.

Éowyn frowned a little, actually glancing upwards for a moment before she registered that it was some strange figure of speech. As if it weren't clear enough that she was a foreigner here. Even their speech was so different. She had a great deal to learn, she thought grimly, and perhaps not so much time to learn it as she would have liked.

But for now, the best she could do was ignore the part she didn't understand, and try not to let her ignorance stall the conversation. Pushing her hair back with one hand, she steadied her smile and pushed on. "I fear I am but new-come, and not by choice. I seek..." What, exactly? She settled for the not-entirely-accurate "...company. Counsel, perhaps, from one more well-versed in this land than I." Then, because it would be ill-mannered indeed not to at least introduce herself, she smiled a little apologetically and inclined her head. "Éowyn is my name, Éomund's daughter. I hope we are well-met, for all this vile circumstance."

There was something definitely odd about this woman, though Rochelle couldn't quite pin it down. The best she could do was say, well, probably a foreigner. European, maybe. The woman definitely had the look to her, long golden hair, tall and solid. Not someone Rochelle would want to get in a fight with.

She did seem to be in the same position as Rochelle, though. New, with no clue what's going on. She wished that she could offer more help. She really wished she had a better idea, too. "I'm new here too, Eowyn. It's nice to meet you." She offered out a hand, smiling. "My name is Rochelle. Uh. Daughter of Harold. It's nice to meet you too. I just wish I could offer more information. I thought that we were safe from the infected, but...I don't know if this is better, or worse."

It took a moment for Éowyn to register the gesture, but when she recognised it, she clasped Rochelle's hand firmly enough. It wasn't a gesture native to Rohan, but she had met enough people from elsewhere to know what shaking hands was. She even smiled, and it was less false and diplomatic than it had been. It was more reassuring than she cared to admit, having someone be friendly in this place.

"Information matters less to me than knowing I am not wholly alone in this," she assured Rochelle, shaking her head a little. "I am truly lost here, and this place resembles naught that I have ever seen." Then, frowning, "But you speak of the infected. Is there then some plague?"

"No, and I've seen a few people. So we're not alone, technically." She waved her hand around. "On how many levels, I can't say." She certainly felt alone, without her teammates, even surrounded by other people. Though she stops, staring at her with come confusion. Although news was slim, surely Europe had some idea of what was happening?

"Uh...you didn't..." She rubbed the back of her head. "You haven't heard of the Green Flu? I mean...it's a. Pretty big thing..." Zombies. Fucking zombies. But she shook her head, crossing her arms. "Other than that...I mean. Well. I guess my first option will be looking for my group. Have got anyone?"

"I know of no plague." Now Éowyn's frown deepened. Was it possible that tidings had simply not reached Ithilien? If so, they might all be in danger. That only made it more vital that she return, to pass on that warning. "There was a pox which passed last winter on the borders of Rohan, but naught else that I have heard. Whence do you come, that you bear such ill tidings?"

Clearing her throat, she shook her head. "As for your group, Lady Rochelle, gladly will I aid you in your search, if I may. I know of no-one who is sure to be here, and I pray that none of my kith and kin are brought hence to this fell place."

"Uh...I was in Savannah, Georgia. I've never heard of Rohan, before. What country is that in?" It sounded...German, maybe? Or somewhere in the United Kingdom. But with the way she spoke, and calling her a lady...Rochelle realized, she felt like this woman had just tumbled out of one of those Renaissance festivals. But society hasn't fallen so fast that they'd all resorted back to the Middle Ages, had they?

"Alright, well. The guys I'm looking for, their names are Coach, Ellis, and Nick. Coach is a big guy, bald, older. Around ten years older than me? Likes hamburgers, good at giving orders. Ellis is southern as southern gets, kinda young, but he's a good kid. Real sweet. Calls people ma'am and everything. Nick is...a bit older than me. White suit, too smart for his own good. Thinks he's an asshole, but you can trust him, even if you think you can't. I'm sure he'll be easy to recognize, he'll be flirting any pretty women."

Listing them off gave her stomach a twist. God, she had barely been away for a day and she missed those idiots. She'd have to find them, wherever they were.

"I mean...Yeah, I don't want them to be here, but...I don't want to be here without them. I guess..." She rubbed the back of her head. It sounded selfish, now that she thought about it. Maybe it'd be best, if she didn't find them.

The hairs on the back of Éowyn's neck were prickling. Something was wrong here. It was possible, of course, that Georgia was simply so far distant that word of it had never spread so far west as Gondor and Rohan, but... for neither of them to have heard of the other place? Not even in myth or in half-forgotten rumour? And yet, for both to speak Westron, and understand each other without difficulty?

"Rohan is a country," she said at last, choosing her words carefully. "South and west of Gondor, where the Anduin winds. My people have dwelt there since time immemorial, since before the fall of Númenor. And in all that time, in all that they have spoken and written, there is no breath of any place called Georgia." Her frown deepening, she ran one hand back through her hair, pushing it off her face. For a moment, she closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. "Mystery falls upon mystery. I fear that I am further from home than I had ever dreamed."

Where that might be, and how she could possibly have come here, remained to be seen. But her first thought - of escaping this strange citadel, finding herself a horse, and simply making all speed to find her way back to Gondor - was looking more like a childish fancy by the moment.

There will be other ways, she told herself firmly, and straightened her back a little, grounding herself as best she could. Only wait. You have lost hope before, and found it anew when least expected. Although she was still a little paler for the thought, she did manage to steady herself, taking a deep breath in through her nose. "In any case," she said, a little stiffly, "we shall seek your companions. Well do I understand your need for them, for to be alone in dire straits is oft the deepest pain." She managed a smile, although it was rather thin and taut. "Coach, Ellis, and Nick. I shall remember."

"..." She stared at Eowyn for a few moments, eyes wide and confused. Rochelle was a fairly well traveled woman, as an aspiring reporter, and she'd had a decent knowledge of the politics of the world. And Rohan was no country she had ever, ever heard of. Nor any of the other places she listed off. Slowly, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I've never heard of...any of that. I think we're both pretty far from home."

It didn't make sense. None of it. Why did the helicopter take her here? How? She crossed her arms, shaking her head, though it did little to bring any more sense to the matter. They were going to need more information, if they wanted to learn what was up, they were going to need to find some other people.

Hopefully, her team would know better than she did.

"Thank you, Eowyn." She told the other woman, rubbing the back of her neck. "Maybe they'll know. Or we can find someone else. Either way...They were all brought here with me. I need to make sure they're safe." Or at least, that had been her assumption, for they'd all been together the last time she remembered. "I guess we should keep looking around...This place is so huge, though."

Éowyn nodded soberly. "Huge, and labyrinthine," she agreed, looking around. "I've seen nowhere like it. But doubtless they seek you too, if you were lost together?" It was what she would have done - would be doing now, if looking for her husband didn't mean accepting that he might have been dragged here too. "If so, I doubt not that you will find one another. Vast as this place is, it is not infinite."

"I would hope they'd be looking for me." Was her reply, pressing her lips together. She knew it had to be true. They were a team, they operated as a unit. One of them fell, the others came to fetch them. If the three of them were together, they'd be looking for her. If everyone was apart, they'd all be trying to locate each other, just as she was. "I don't know if I should hope they're here or not--But I'm not sure what I'll do if they aren't." She rubbed the back of her head, looking puzzled by the idea. "I can't get too far alone. I haven't traveled by myself in...God, I have no idea how long we were together. But it feels like forever."

"Being alone is a heavy burden," she agreed, quietly. Unlike Rochelle, her own experience of being alone was still raw and recent; that time spent at Edoras with Éomer banished, Théodred dead, and Théoden sick beyond healing were all too close, even more than a year on. She had travelled alone, aye, but she would wish it on nobody. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment, but when she opened them, she looked thoroughly determined. "You know them, as I do not. If they seek you, and do not find you, and believe you gone, what will they do then?"

Venus is one of the friendlier people, all smiles and fruity drinks and short dresses in the Tribute Commons, even though something seems off about her face, as if she's far older than her twenty year-old body would suggest. She just woke up today, and she feels a sense of peace about it - she no longer wants to rush towards death upon opening her eyes, nor does she want to examine a list of which of her compatriots haven't risen yet. She prefers instead to extend her ignorant limbo, spending her first day back in the Capitol having a drink and a laugh and a moment of oblivious peace at the expense of knowledge of the things she can't change.

She'll find out what happened to Kankri, Albert, Jet, Phil, so on tomorrow morning. For tonight, she doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to look at every new face with a sense of mistrust, thinking that they might be the replacement for someone she loves. She wants to be open and wholehearted and accept tonight on its own terms, with no concern for the future.

She's checking out her reflection in a silver tumbler where green appletinis get sloshed up, trying to decide if she likes her current hair, a series of bright blue braids piled into a bow on her head. It looks a little Gaga for her tastes. Maybe Harajuku. She notices the girl behind her through the reflection and swivels around on her barstool.

"Hey, girl. You new?"

Now, here is a scene Rochelle recognizes. She wasn't much of a bar hopper, but even she had to blow off steam occasionally. Load on the jewelry, get a cute dress, and go have some fun. And she can't help but take a moment, to stare at the scene. For a second, a little wiggling nugget of jealous embedded itself in her, twisting her stomach. How long had it been since she'd looked like that? Flaunting sex appeal and slugging back drinks. In the standard, plain outfit she'd been handed, no jewelry save those bangles she was allowed to keep. It'd been a long damn time since she'd gotten to look sexy.

Although the hair was a bit much.

Before Rochelle could try to say anything, she had been caught staring. She gave a lopsided smile, and an awkward wave. "Hey there. That obvious, huh? This place sure is something, way different than where I was. I'm just trying to find my people and orient myself."

She flags Rochelle down towards the empty barstool next to her. "Your people? I've been here years, I can tell most everyone's people. Unless you're talking about a scene, in which case, I'm not sure I'm much help."

It's the least she can do for new people, show them the ropes. It makes up for the fact that this whole scenario never fazed her; she feels like if she absorbs everyone else's culture shock, she'll retroactively become a little less of a sociopath. Flimsy logic, but it's something she can hold onto.

"I'm Venus. Who're you, what's your District, what's your story, stranger? I'll buy you a drink, I'm loaded." Years after getting off the streets, she still can't help but flaunt her newfound wealth sometimes.

She takes a seat at the empty barstool. The woman seems friendly enough, and the lord knew Rochelle could use a drink. "My people. The four of us got on the helicopter together. Nick, Ellis, and Coach. We've just come from New Orleans." She explained, drumming her fingers on the bar. The woman seemed nice enough, and seemed to have a handle on everything--A relief to be around, honestly. At least someone knew what was happening.

"Ah...I guess I wouldn't mind a drink. I'll just have a margarita, I haven't had alcohol in ages. Damn shame." She shrugged, figuring that it was okay to relax a little--This woman could probably help, right? Indulge in some comforts before getting everyone and leaving. "My name is Rochelle. I guess I'm in District 3...? I don't know what that means, but. Originally, from Cleveland. Was in Savannah, Georgia when the Green Flu hit. Trying to do a story on it, but I don't think anyone knew what we were dealing with. Ended up getting stick there. Found my group, and we made it to New Orleans. The army was supposed to help us, we ended up here." She made the assessment quick, only giving the details that she felt was necessary. The rest, the woman surely already knew.

Rochelle's willing to allow some conspicuous consumption to be exerted on herself. It's been a while since she's been able to be a little pampered.

"We got two Nicks and I know there's an Ellis running around." Venus gestures to the bartender and flashes her prettiest, sparkliest grin. Now that her traitor brand has been removed, she's again a beloved celebrity, and if she wants free drinks she needn't even use words to ask for them. And if they don't come free, there's that kill-money she bragged about.

"Savannah, you say? No way. I grew up in Savannah." A drink for each of the girls comes, and Venus slides the margarita over to Rochelle with practiced grace. Like anything Venus orders, her own is more sugar than alcohol, made up of something fruity enough to match the little paper umbrella sticking out of it. Venus takes the umbrella and tucks it behind her ear.

"Two Nicks? One was more than enough." It's a lame joke, but she makes it anyway, giving Venus a little smile and chuckle. "They should be easy to recognize--Especially if you're from Savannah, really? Ellis is as southern as it gets, I swear to God, bless that boy's heart, he's the sweetest redneck I've ever seen. Wears a baseball cap, has a tattoo on his arm. Nick looks like a used car salesman, but he's a decent guy, too. Just don't leave your money near him. He keeps a cool head, though, and he's one hell of a fighter. One of the best guys to have on your back, even if saying so ruins his street cred." She chatters as she receives the margarita. Sugar and alcohol were both rarities where she had been from, and Rochelle was more than happy to indulge in both, sipping as she explained the two men. Her expression is fond, two people she had barely known, but forged into her closest friends through trials of fire. She'd trust either of them with her life without question, and has had to do so.

"Ellis is from Savannah, so's Coach. I was down there to report on the Green Flu. Then everything went belly up and we had to get out. I'm sorry." She adds on, feeling she should apologize to the woman, for the destruction of her hometown. She had no idea how her own hometown was doing, but, well. She wasn't holding out hope. Best to just assume everything was gone.

"I am, yeah." Venus' accent doesn't sound it, though - it's been too long affected Californian, helping her to fit into a 'classier' Hollywood culture. Even talking to Rochelle, her accent returns a little bit but not entirely, not enough to make her sound native to her own hometown. "There's a hell of a lot of Georgians in the Games, weird enough. And just Southerners in general, but most of y'all come from those worlds with zombies. Oh, sorry, that might have been insensitive, drink's getting to me..."

She juts her lower lip out a bit as she listens to Rochelle recount what sounds like a eulogy to Savannah, like she should be saying something like ma'am, we have news about your son or a doctor saying it's not looking good. "Far as I know Savannah's been scorched off the map in like, twenty different universes, so don't think I'm coldhearted if I don't shed any tears. Green Flu?"

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