(no subject)

[shieldofrohan]

Who| Éowyn and OPEN
What| Éowyn just arrived and is really rather confused and angry about this.
Where| Around and about in the Tribute Center
When| After the Arena
Warnings/Notes| Nothing springs to mind

After the guards left her, Éowyn stayed in the suite for a long time. There wasn't much choice. Fear and rage and wonder and horror were warring in her, roiling into such a wild storm that she half-feared she might burst from it, and she didn't trust herself enough to leave. She needed the time to sit there, to let it wash over her, to hammer that maelstrom of emotion into something colder and harder and more manageable. It had been hard enough to stand there while they explained her predicament; hard enough not to let those waves of hopelessness drag her down.

All this time. All that blood, all that loss, and she was back where she had so long been; a gilded cage, where she was to play the part set out for her. She would almost have preferred a dungeon to this luxurious palace which she was no less imprisoned. At least iron bars and shackles would have been honest. At least there she would have known what to expect, and not had to feel so thoroughly unmoored. It could hardly have been more than an hour since she had been sleeping beside her husband, all fear banished for the time being, in their own room, in their own lands. Now she felt herself adrift, and part of her thought that, if someone said the wrong word to her now, if the wrong thing were to happen, she might simply break like dry straw.

But even with that fear, there was only so long she could stay still and alone in such a vast, alien room. She didn't expect escape to be easy - from the near-casual way they had handled her arrival, she doubted she was the first, or even the hundredth, to come into this place so strangely - but she was damned if she would stay sitting there like some fainting maiden awaiting rescue. At the very least, she could find out more. Maybe someone who might tell her more about this place and its barbaric Games, or some open space to lessen the stifling claustrophobia that was starting to set in.

So when she had steeled herself appropriately for what might await, she arose and left that place without a backwards glance. She took the strange objects they had given her, hoping that someone might be able to explain them a little better to her, and headed out into the hallway. It was an effort to hold back her astonishment at the wonders she saw... doors that opened by themselves, witch-lights ensconced on the walls and ceilings, strange moving pictures on the walls. It was an effort, but she did it nonetheless, schooling her face into a mask of empty disinterest and holding herself tall. Confidence was hard to muster when you were trying to fumble your way through a world so strange, harder still without a knife at your side or a friend at your back. But she was Éowyn of Éorl's line. She was the doom of the Witch-King, the Lady of Ithilien, sister to the King. She would not quail.

It was with that stony resolve in mind that she set out to find someone - anyone - who might aid her. When she did see someone, she swept over to them, hailing them with a graceful lift of her hand. "A moment, if you would?" 

Comments

[whatisay]

"What?"

Jason probably catches Éowyn's eye because he looks like a native to this place, watching the Games in the Tribute Commons with a notepad and a pen that he periodically sticks behind his ear, where it competes for space with the hook of his eyeglasses.

Everything about his posture, with his feet up on one of the coffeetables, radiates of someone who doesn't bother to impress others because something inherent to him does it for him - in Jason's case, it's neither wealth nor reputation but the fact that he's a Capitol-born citizen of Panem, and that places him on an irrefutable pedestal over these offworlders and District brats. He has an electric cigarette hanging from his mouth, and he looks bored by the Games except when a Tribute named Nick appears, in which case Jason jots down notes that seem almost written in code for all their shorthand.

He looks over at Éowyn, then scrunches up his brow with vexation. He doesn't recognize her face, but he knows he's due to get some new Tributes, and God knows he just might kill for one with some basic manners. He flips through his notepad looking for the names of descriptions of his new crop and finds nothing, then looks back to Éowyn.

"You one of mine? Did someone send you my way?"

[shieldofrohan]

Are all those here so ill-mannered? Éowyn almost snapped in response, but she knew well enough that to let herself be angry would be a fatal error. She needed information, not enemies, and she had been raised better than to answer rudeness with rudeness. Instead, she put on a polite smile and hid her scorn. Still, there was something in the set of her jaw, the tilt of her chin, which hinted at her disdain.

"I know not, sir, for I know neither who you are nor what you mean by yours. Nor was I sent here. I do but wander." Clasping her hands behind her back, she looked up for a moment at the screen, frowning a little at what she saw there. It made no sense, and not only because she didn't understand the technology. Was this entertainment? Education? Example? She was sharp enough to guess that it was some kind of projection of the Games she was supposedly doomed to, but why it was shown in this way, and why he would watch it, she struggled more to grasp.

Tearing her attention away from the screen and back to him, she drew herself up to her full, fairly imposing height and cleared her throat. "Éowyn, they call me, of the house of Éorl. I am a stranger here, and do but seek the guidance denied me by our hosts. What is this place? How came I here? Where is my husband?"

[whatisay]

The practical avalanche of questions weighs heavy on Jason's nerves, and he sighs deeply, so much that his shoulders slack like a spent bow. Incompetence, all of it, Tributes being sent to their Escorts without the slightest clue what it is that they're doing, what the Games mean.

"Oh, goodie, another one of you maidens and dragons types." Jason wrinkles his brow at her mode of speech, which he finds quite tortured, and flicks through his notepad some more, finding no evidence of an Éowyn - thus, she isn't his, not his Tribute, not his problem. He reaches over for the remote and turns the volume down on the Games broadcast, which is busy showing Cullen Rutherford running from a fire.

"It's not my fault you didn't get dressed down by the people who brought you here. Do I look like I know where your husband is, or what he even looks like?" He sets the notepad down on his thigh, looking none the more tense for her intimidating presence. "You're in Panem. You're a Tribute, which means you're one step on the totem pole above the mutes, so have fun with that."

[shieldofrohan]

One eyebrow rose slowly. "And yet, it seems, still more capable of manners than those who think themselves above me." She allowed a little ice to creep into her voice, although her smile remained as polite and diplomatic as ever. "Panem, you say?"

It wasn't a name familiar to her from any of the maps she had studied, or from her lessons as a child. Perhaps some local name? she wondered to herself. Or perhaps the building itself is Panem? We speak the same tongue. Surely we cannot be so very far from home?

Aloud, she demanded, "In what kingdom? Who rules this land?"

[whatisay]

Where Éowyn is ice, Jason is fiery, all hot molten anger simmering under his skin and showing in his mouth and eyes like glowing through the cracks of a rock shell. "Think and know, Tribute. Don't get smart with me. I don't owe manners to people like you."

And with that, he responds to her demands with a sort of laugh that's near vulgar in its snideness.

"We don't have a king. We're civilized here. We have a President."

[shieldofrohan]

"Civilised?" She arched one eyebrow, her grey eyes narrowing, and put her hands on her hips. "Civilised men take captives only in war. Civilised men do not make slaves, do not delight in violence yet fear so that they must choose others to wield the sword, do not treat free Men like chattel. A civilised man, o stranger, would know that to treat others so lowly is a sign not of their position, but of his own cowardice, vulgarity, and self-hate. Be it ruled by president or King, if you are any symptom of your civilisation, then I spit on it."

So much for staying calm. But there was a difference between being well-mannered and being a doormat, and if he was so determined to treat her without respect, then she would damned well return the favour. For now, at least, she did so without quite matching his fire. She might loathe the man already, but giving in to the overwhelming desire to break his nose was liable to be a bad idea, when she was still a prisoner and needed enough freedom to find her way out.

Her fingers did tense on her hips as if trying to form a fist, though.

[contrarianlibrarian]

China glided through the halls, clearly in no hurry, and so she stopped easily when approached. She smoothed the sleeve--too sheer to hide the twisting tattoos on her arms beneath--of her dress and turned to the woman. "Certainly, dear."

She studied the face quickly. It wasn't one she knew, which would have led her to assume that the woman was a new arrival if China didn't so dislike jumping to conclusions. "Do you need any help?"

[shieldofrohan]

"Perhaps." Éowyn wasn't particularly fond of being anyone's dear, but that was a trifle compared to the situation she found herself in, and she certainly wasn't going to quibble over it. Instead, she smiled, glad to have found someone willing to speak with her, and inclined her head a little in gratitude. "I fear I am a stranger. What can you tell me of this place? For the men who brought me hence were... brusque." Was the polite way of putting it.

[contrarianlibrarian]

At least this one knew how to be polite; China knew many Tributes didn't mind expressing their displeasure rather loudly. "Ah. Yes, they sometimes lack a gentle touch with new arrivals. I hope it doesn't leave you thinking ill of us."

Not that China cared all that much, beyond the necessity to maintain her facade.

"If you've been brought here, you are to participate in the Arena, as I'm sure they told you." She paused, then smiled with warmth inappropriate in a chat about a bloody battle. "It's a great honor."

"We still have some time until the next Arena, so, until then, these are your accomodations." Arms sweeping outward, she gestures to the building around them.

[shieldofrohan]

"An honour? So they told me." Éowyn couldn't quite help the heat that crept into her voice. "I fear I do not see the honour in playing out some false war, against those I bear no ill-will. What manner of place is this, to make such sport of battle?" Of course, she knew that some people enjoyed watching fighting. When she had been a girl, she had loved to see the men training, thrilled to sparring and hunts. Even now, there was a kind of second-hand excitement in seeing such things, something that called out to the wildness of her blood and made her long for the song of steel.

But such things were acts, and they were to a purpose. The idea of watching others kill and die, for no reason other than their own misfortune... that turned her stomach. As did the fact that this woman, too, called it an honour. Was she truly so blind as to believe it, or was this only another part of the web woven around them? As if calling it an honour enough times would make it so.

"If it is an honour," she said gravely after a moment, smoothing the acerbic edge from her voice as best she could, "then it is one I should fain leave to one more glad of it. I have had my fill of fighting. I have a home, and a duty, and a husband waiting."

[contrarianlibrarian]

There it was. China liked to know where people stood, so she listened more attentively than what might expect from a Capitolite. She kept her smile carefully blank. "You're very well spoken."

The expression on her face didn't change at all, but a shift in her attitude was suggested by the way her hand rose to her hip. "Unfortunately for you, such an honor is bestowed upon you and you do not choose it."

The hand moved again, now held out flat as if she were offering a gift. "You may not have asked for my advice, but I'm going to offer it anyway: the best thing for you to do is to cooperate."

i hope this is cool c:

[soultospare]

Megan had been taking Swann up on her offers of all-you-can-eat ice cream sundaes, and after having popped into the District 8 suites to help herself to something sweet, the pink-haired mutant fairy was strolling through the lobby of the center, licking her ice cream with delicate, deliberate swirls of her tongue. She'd hardly paid any mind to Éowyn, being that she was solely fixated on avoiding her mentor and escort and the lecture that would go with her decision to binge on sugary dairy products, so it took her a moment or two to realize that the woman was addressing her. Sheepishly she smiled at her.

"Huh?" She blinked, black eyes sparkling. All of her was sparkling, really. Such is the nature of fairies. "Oh hullo! I didn't see you there!"

but of course! :3

[shieldofrohan]

"Ah." And, now that Éowyn got a full look at the girl, she took an involuntary half-step back. The pink hair, she had been willing to assume was merely a part of the strangeness of this place. The black eyes, on the other hand... well, they were probably just another part of it too, but they were unquestionably disquieting.

Clearing her throat, she pushed her hair back with both hands and made a valiant attempt at regaining her composure. "Sorry. 'Twas not my intent to disturb you. I do but seek a guide, for this place is strange indeed to me."

[soultospare]

"You didn't disturb me at all!" Megan's voice was chirpy, cheerful, like a songbird's. She hadn't expected to be called to, but then again, she was the helpful sort who didn't mind company and liked to feel helpful and important. So she smiled, wings flickering slightly at her back. "Did you just get here? Isn't this place the weirdest? I know I was completely out of sorts for about the first week or two. It's mad, isn't it? Oh, I almost forgot. I'm Megan. What's your name?"

[shieldofrohan]

"Éowyn. Lady of Emyn Arnen," she added after a moment, in the vague hope that it might be recognised. But she held out little hope for that. In this strange and foreign place, this girl was perhaps the strangest and most foreign thing of all. She had never heard of anything like this - people with wings, with blackly hollow eyes, with pink hair. Somehow, it only made it more disquieting that Megan was so friendly and cheery. It made the whole situation feel more dreamlike, more disjointed. Maybe it was a dream, just a particularly vivid one. Maybe she would awake in her own bed before too long, wrapped around her husband, safe at home.

She didn't really believe that, though. Not for a second.

"Well met, Megan," she managed, with a little smile and a nod. "You guess aright - I came to this place perhaps two hours past."

[needlebearer]

Arya had just left the training area, somewhere she's spent a lot of time since returning from the Arena, both to become stronger for the next one - she's determined to win - and because she hasn't found a better substitute for her frustration and rage than repeatedly whacking at a training dummy. She's on her way back to the District Ten suites, sweaty and dishevelled and trying to regain her breath, when she nearly bumps into Éowyn, stopping just short as she addresses her and skidding to a halt. There's something in the way that she carries herself that reminds her of the ladies back in Westeros, and that makes her a little homesick, but resentful at the same time, knowing that was the mould she'd been expected to fit in.

"What is it?"

[shieldofrohan]

Ill-spoken. But Éowyn was not yet so bitter as to hold a little rudeness against someone who was so clearly still a child. Rather, she felt a curious kind of nostalgia for that tone. There had been a time, before Théoden's court had drummed a sense of diplomacy into her, when she would have answered the same way.

She smiled, a taut, rueful thing, and pushed her hair back with one hand. "Do you know this place? For I fear I am a stranger, and all that I see is..." She hesitated, lost for words. How could she properly express that feeling, that wild mix of confusion and wonder and rage and fear? What words were there to describe a prison so hateful, and yet so full of miracles? Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment and began again. "I am lost, child. Aye, lost and far from home, with many questions and few answers. And if you could help me, answer some of my confusion, I should be glad indeed of it."

[needlebearer]

"It's all right. I was lost too when I arrived. Everything's strange here." And very little of it had turned out to be good. Arya takes the woman's sleeve, pulling her along after her toward the District Ten suites, ready to answer any questions she had as best as she could.

[shieldofrohan]

"Strange indeed." Éowyn considered that an understatement, and laughed a little at it, a harsh and bitter bark of a sound, as she followed the girl. "You are not native, then?"

The implication of that was enough to make her stomach churn. If this girl had been brought here for the same reason that she had... well, she might have brought herself to fight other soldiers, but to fight a child? To the death? The idea made her sick to her stomach. She wanted to disbelieve it, and quietly prayed that she would turn out to be wrong. Probably this girl, wherever she was from, was another kind of slave. After all, what entertainment would even a bloodthirsty place like this gain from watching children fight grown adults?

[needlebearer]

"I got here just before the last Arena." That was about three months ago, but it's not a measurement of time that means much to her. "None of the Tributes are native to here. I think they used to be, but now they just bring us in instead."

sliiiiiides in here hi

[cowcatcher]

Their paths cross just outside the elevators that open into the common area of the tenth floor where they both live. For all of Éowyn's grace, Jane seems like she's set out to counter it. She's a smaller woman, drawn and hard at all her angles, with hair cut to the root in fistfuls with a knife. Her fitted training gear only emphasizes how pared down she really is, how little she had where she came from.

Except she wasn't training. Her latest loss hit Jane quite hard, and she's been nursing her wounds the only way she knows how when there's no one around that she trusts enough: all by herself with as much liquor as she can stomach. Mostly she drank in her room in an attempt to avoid Capitolite attention, but last night she had decided she needed some air.

... An entire night and morning's worth of air, apparently. She's just getting back, her skin a little greenish except for the dark rings under her eyes. The scent of alcohol and sweat cling to her skin. To say she's a sorry sight would be generous.

But for all this, Jane practically snaps to awareness at the sound of someone's voice. There's a shrewd light in her eyes, quick to take in the unfamiliar woman standing before her, even if she's slow to respond with words. She scrubs her face with a hand, slumping to the nearest wall with a sigh. A few more steps, and she could have puked in her shower in peace and gone to bed. It's just her luck.

".... Sure. Why not." Comes her grumble of a reply. "Though you're better off asking someone else if you're looking for the welcome tour."

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn arches one eyebrow, taking in the smaller woman's state. "Not a tour, yet you hit near the mark. I had hoped for someone to at least tell me where I am, beyond some tritely meaningless babble about tribute. But it looks as if you may sooner wish to find your way to bed and a dark room." There's a rather judgemental edge to her voice. She's never really held with drunkenness, and in such a place as this seems to be, she can't fathom how anyone could let their guard down so far. "Shall I fetch you a glass of water? You look rather as if you need it."

[cowcatcher]

Jane tips back her head with a squint, trying to convey through narrowed eyes how unappreciated Éowyn's holier-than-thou tone would be if she gave a shit. A big part of her wants to turn on a heel and go until there's a door slammed shut between herself and the newcomer. Clara would find her before long, anyway - she's not her goddamn problem.

But something too ragged to be sympathy wins out in the end. Jane sighs again before pushing off the wall, indicating that Éowyn is free to follow with a toss of her head. Resignation pulls on her features grimly as she makes her way to the common area in their suite. Was it always this bright in here?

"Kitchen's as good a place to start as any." And a glass of water is not a bad idea. Jane gets it for herself, however, lingering in the cold air of the open refrigerator before turning back to the other woman. She'll let her start.

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn follows her, clasping her hands in front of her like a good lady, and looks around the kitchen with undisguised wonder. She hates to see wonder anywhere in this prison, but still... she watches with fascination as Jane opens the refrigerator, feels the cold air brush against her face. The kitchen is filled with metal and smooth edges, and appliances she can't even begin to guess at the purpose of. She sees no fireplace, no oven, no spit. Nothing hangs from the ceiling - no strings of onions or drying herbs, no meat or spices. The air doesn't smell of smoke and cooking, but as clean and clinical as everywhere else she's seen in this queer place. It is, in short, nothing like any kitchen she's ever been in, and it fascinates her as much as it makes her skin crawl with its foreignness.

With an effort, she forces herself to focus on the woman, not on her surroundings. "Where are we?" she asks, simply. "They would not explain. Not what land this is, nor how I came to be here. That, above all else, would I know. Where are we?"

[cowcatcher]

It's hard to focus on anything that isn't the hangover descending on her, but even now Jane's too wary, too tightly-wound, to miss the way Éowyn reacts to their surroundings. She has a certain way of speaking too, and there's more grace in her folded hands than Jane's ever had in her whole body. That feeling like sympathy sinks in again, and she stares down at her glass, scowling. You had to hand it to the gamemakers; they sure know how to pick them.

"This is the training center." her voice loses some of its gravel after a drink of water, but it does nothing to alleviate how tired she sounds. "Here's where they keep us until they ship us off to die in the arena. Outside, in every god damn direction you look, is the Capitol... and somewhere out there are the districts. Put it all together and you get Panem, the happiest country there ever was."

There's a smile curving Jane's lips now, like she's proud of her description. It could almost pass for natural, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She lowers an elbow onto the counter to lean on it heavily. The water's not going to be enough, she can already tell.

"You're lucky. I got dropped straight into an arena when they brought me here." Jane nearly laughs. There's nothing remotely lucky about either of their situations.

"At least you'll have time to train."