thecapitol | I will never die

Entry tags:

I will never die

Who| Peggy and D10 tributes; Peggy and Open
What| Peggy is evaluating her new tributes, and in between evaluations she bugs people to spar with her.
Where| Training Center
When| Soon after Peggy arrives
Warnings/Notes| Maybe from violence from sparring?

Closed to D10ers

"I want to evaluate each skill you may need in the arena." Peggy Carter is large and in charge, perfectly composed and stepping like an army woman with a clipboard at her side. Today, her scarf is black, and her clothes are suited for training. "I want you to sit at each station--not just the combat stations, but all of them--and complete whatever task it is set up to allow you to practice. I will time how fast it takes you to complete and take note of any particular problem areas, and we can work together from there to set up a training schedule that works for you. Do you understand?"

Open to All

She's put away her clipboard, but not the training clothes or the black scarf. She's doing a circuit around the training center herself, working at the survival stations, evaluating what she can learn and what she already knows, but most of all, she spends her time with the combat training equipment. Exercise, weights, axes, arrows--and even, though she spends some time staring at them with an inscrutable look in her eye, knives and swords. Work. Work. She goes through it with the methodical air of a woman who's been doing this for a very long time, even if she hasn't been in the arena for years.

But obsessive exercising can't take the edge of for her anymore. She's back in the tribute center, back where her life had been consistently destroyed year after year after year, back where she and Bucky and all of the tributes she had mentored before had scrambled to survive. She couldn't sleep here, and she had to force herself to eat. Not even destroying herself with exercise will remove the horror now fresh on her mind.

Eventually, she abandons the weights and weapons, instead approaching the nearest person. "Do you feel up for a spar?"

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Of course I understand. It was scarcely a complicated request. But, having decided to play nice, Éowyn is more than capable of keeping a straight face, smiling a little - rather blandly - and nodding. "Of course," she says, reaching back to smooth her hair, which is pulled back into a ponytail for the time being. "Where would you like me to start?"

"Let's try plant identification." Peggy points towards the station, one with screens with pictures of the herbs as well as physical examples of them to be matched to names and lists where one can fill in the uses of the plant to be evaluated by the computer. "I want to see how many you can accurately recognize."

No matter how good she was in her home, it's possible that the plants native to Panem are different from what she's used to.

It's a valid concern. Éowyn has tried this station once or twice before, with limited success. A combination of Healer studies and spending time around rangers has left her with a pretty solid understanding of plants - but only those which are native to Gondor and Rohan. The vast majority of the plants at this station are ones she has never seen before.

Still, she nods agreement, striding over to the station in question and looking down at it, readying herself. After a moment - breath in, breath out - she starts, without further preamble, her brow creased in concentration. She moves quickly at first, dealing with the plants she's sure of, then slows to a snail's pace as she begins to struggle.

Peggy stands over her, taking notes and keeping time. She sees how quickly Éowyn can recognize some, but not others. Maybe Peggy could find a book on the uses of Panem plants. She needs to become familiar with the flora native to her new place of residence.

"You can move on to the firemaking station if you feel you can make no more progress."

Éowyn nods her acknowledgement, but continues working for a minute or two more, until she's absolutely certain that there's no more progress she can make. Then, straightening up, she turns to head to the firemaking station.

"I have been meaning to work on that," she observes, as she walks. It's true. It's just also true that she mostly gets sidetracked by the much more satisfying training in weapons.

The firemaking station, on the other hand, she needs absolutely no help with. Even without flints, this is something she's known how to do since she was a little girl; in less than a minute, she has a bright little flame crackling away, and she stands back in some satisfaction.

"I'll find a book on local plants for you and we'll work studying that into the regime," Peggy notes before standing over Éowyn while she works the fire. Seeing her work so quickly makes Peggy smile, but she covers it strategically with a hand before she can wipe it off her face again. She tries to stay professional while mentoring, and smiling isn't very professional in her mind.

"Good. Within the arena, you should be wise about when you set a fire. The smoke will attract people to you in the day, and the light will attract people at night. Luckily, with the new format, tributes are far less desperate than they used to be and they're likely to leave you alone if you're far away or in a group." Peggy looks down at her clipboard and makes a few notes. "Next, let's see what you can do in the camouflage station."

"If I light a fire," Éowyn says seriously, "it will be because I want to be found. That much, I know. As for what I can do with camouflage..." Her grimace is unfeigned. "Very little, I fear. Such things have never been my strongest suite. Still, I will try."

And try she does, taking a few moments to examine the tools at her disposal before she even begins. What she knows about camouflage is second-hand, and isn't particularly applicable to this station in any case; she knows how to move quietly and to stay downwind, and she knows that a well-chosen cloak and hood can go a long way to helping you disappear, but beyond that, she's lost. It doesn't help that her bright gold hair is as obvious a flag as you could hope to find.

The best she can do, after due consideration, is to darken the roots of her hair and break up the lines of her face with muddy-coloured paint. It's not particularly impressive, though, and she knows it. Stealth is not her best weapon, in any case.

"Hmm."

Peggy writes some notes on her clipboard. "Rinse your face and hands. Dry them off thoroughly, because our next station is the tree-climbing station."

She clicks her pen closed for the moment, glancing back at Éowyn's somewhat mediocre camouflage. "We can discuss it later when setting up your routine, but I would urge you to learn a little more about camouflage. In the last traditional games, the 74th, one of the victors survived for days after being wounded by making himself look like a rock next to the river."

Yes, she said 'one of' the victors. As in, there was more than one.

Éowyn nods slowly, turning to splash water over her face. She scrubs her face down and, towelling herself off, looks back over her shoulder at Peggy. "I had been wondering, and could find little of it. Why did they end?" It is a dangerous question, and she knows it. But it is also a reasonable one, and one which feels important. She doesn't necessarily expect an honest answer - not in a place where they can all be watched - but she watches Peggy's expression closely, hoping to gather as much as she can from it. "What happened, to make them change it so?"

Peggy's lips momentarily thin. Discussion of the 74th Hunger Games, while not illegal, is dangerous. Many of the Capitolites aren't penalized for it because they are kept in the dark about the unrest in the districts and to them it's just a fabulous game, but someone from the districts talking about it won't be taken as so innocent.

"Well, when the Hunger Games began, Quarter Quells were instituted to celebrate every twenty-five years of games. The Quells were written up beforehand as deviations from the traditional games. On the twenty-fifth Hunger Games, districts were asked to vote on which children they would have to represent them, instead of leaving it up to a lottery. This was to remind us that it was our responsibility that the Hunger Games were happening, because we had risen up against the Capitol in the Dark Days. On the fiftieth, districts were asked to give twice the usual number of tributes, and we had twenty-four girls and twenty-four boys compete for victory. This was to remind us that in the Dark Days, for every dead Capitol citizen, two rebels died. Now, on the seventy-fifth, the games are never-ending." She doubts that was what the founders actually wrote on the plan for the third Quarter Quell, but current politics required some action. "I believe the Capitol judged a constant flow of tributes from the districts, or even from other worlds, to be unsustainable. So they changed the system to accommodate."

She waves absently, trying to be casual about the horrors she discusses. She manages it well. She's grown up with dead and dying children and murderers pointing the finger at the districts and telling them it's their fault. Softly, as if she's not really concentrating on the question, she says, "But the old games ended on quite the theatrical note in the end. I think it's befitting, considering it was the last of its kind. The first and only game where there were two victors, not one." That is why the games changed.

Éowyn considers this, but silently. Aloud, she just says, "That makes some sense, indeed." A sick, vile sense, to be sure, and the thought of anyone viewing it as logical is enough to grip her stomach in an iron clamp. But, still, it makes some sense. To keep the reminder present, to keep their own people compliant without decimating them in the process... oh, yes, it makes sense.

It also sickens her, and she wishes with all her might that she could rant and rail and strike out at whoever did this, scream at them that if they only thought, if they only felt for their citizens, all this would be unnecessary. But Roland's warning echoes still in her head: it is not only herself she could bring down that way, and she has no desire to see others suffer for her sins. So she only smiles at Peggy, whose discomfort is clear, and nods. "Yes, it makes sense. Quarter Quells. Thank you for explaining to me. Doubtless, I ought to seek out more of the history of this land, for I find myself accursedly ignorant." Clearing her throat, she wipes her hands one last time on the towel and turns fully back to her mentor. "Where would you have me try next?"

Privately, Peggy gives Éowyn her approval. She seems to understand the subtext, and moreover, she's able to understand it without speaking up against it. She can see that the vast majority of off-world tributes are against the games because none of them have any sort of incarnation of them back home, but the smart ones know when to keep their mouths shut. Éowyn has a good head on her shoulders.

"I can point you towards resources for that, if you would like. We have a healthy store of history texts in the library." Peggy points towards the next station. "Next is trapping and snares. These are useful not just for catching small animals, but for catching other tributes."

Éowyn nods. "I would appreciate that," she agrees, following Peggy's lead to the next station. Snares and trapping are not her strongest suit, but she's grown up around rangers and hunters; that, combined with some skills Faramir taught her in passing, is enough to lend her some familiarity with the process. Privately, she promises herself that it will never come to snaring another person - she has some honour left, and they will not take it from her - but with a glance to Peggy, she bends to her work. The principles are simple, and her hands are used to weaving and sewing; she's quick enough to pull together a few basic snares.

"With lime, you can trap birds without any of this," she comments as she works. "We used to catch them back in Edoras, to keep them from stealing the horses' feed. But I suppose one can't rely on that in the Arena."

"No, I'm afraid you can't count on lime to be in the arena. Nor can you always count on the birds behaving the way they should."

That's another thing they should go over. The kind of animals Éowyn will face.

"Have you heard anything of muttations yet? As I understand it, they're not terribly common outside of our world."

She shakes her head. "There are many things in this world known by different names," she says cautiously. "It may be that these... muttations, you say? Are among them. Yet it is not a word I know."

"Muttations are creatures genetically engineered by the Capitol. They're designed down to their very DNA, grown in a lab, and released to complete whatever task they were designed for."

She speaks very matter of factly, considering the enormity of the scientific achievement.

"A good example of a muttation would be a jabberjay. They're an all-male race of birds created during the Dark Days that can hear and then repeat entire conversations. They were meant to be spies on the rebels, but when the rebels started feeding them false conversations, the Capitol released them into the wild and they interbred with mockingbirds, creating mockingjays."

Well, that certainly isn't a case of a different word for the same thing. Éowyn can't help gaping a little. She doesn't understand every word Peggy just said (DNA? Lab?), but enough to get the gist... and the gist is horrifying. Creating new species? That is something only the Valar can do, and to create them for so specific a purpose brings to mind one Vala in particular. She already hated the Capitol and all that they are capable of, but this is the first time she's thought of them in a way so closely comparable to Morgoth.

She swallows, pushing the thought away as far as she can, and focuses on finishing the traps she's making. When she's done, she steps away, hands clasped in front of her, and looks up at Peggy. "Why all-male?" she asks after a moment. It might be a banal question, but it's safer than most of the questions she could ask, and saying something helps to distract her from her thoughts.

She can tell that the concept unsettles Eowyn. Peggy's used to the idea of muttations, though, because being from the livestock district, she has worked with them regularly before. That's not to say muttations can't be terrifying, though--she remembers the rats that hunted her and the other children in her arena.

"If they're all male, that means they can't breed. If they can't breed, that means the Capitol controls their population with the labs, they can't accidentally evolve to lose the traits the Capitol engineered them for in the first place, and they can't disrupt preexisting ecosystems for an extended period of time. Their ability to breed with mockingbirds was unforeseen."

Éowyn considers this for a moment, then nods. That makes sense, once she gets past the insanity of the idea that you can simply create more. In fairness, that's an idea that takes some getting past. Even those with the power to make new life in Arda imbue that life with the power to breed.

But if you can create life at will, and care so little about it, then it does make sense to create it all one sex. Like how many cattle breeders keep only one bull, or how most billy-goats are killed while they're still kids. Breeding is a complication.

She nods again, clearing her throat. "And these muttations, they can be dangerous?"

"Some of them can be harmless. Some of them are very, very dangerous. If you meet one in the arena, it's most likely the latter."

For a moment, Peggy's composed mask thins. There's something haunted in her face. Then it's gone.

"In my games, they created muttations that looked like flies. They would breed inside the bones of skeletons left around the arena. When you searched the skeletons, the bones were brittle enough to snap open with the slightest effort, and the mutts would swarm out to flay all your skin off so they could eat your muscles and organs and then lay eggs in the bones left behind. They could do it in less than ten minutes all together."

She saw it happen. It nearly happened to her, too. She doesn't like the kinds of mutts that show up in arenas.

Éowyn sees that moment, though. Sees the haunted look in her Mentor's eyes, and cannot help but sympathise with it, especially as Peggy explains further. Her respect for the other woman grows a measure, for not many she knows could speak so calmly about something so clearly traumatic.

It's out of that respect that she doesn't let her horror show. If Peggy, who lived through it, can speak of it so calmly, then Éowyn can hear it in the same vein, though she imagines the image will haunt her sleep for weeks. She simply nods, clasping her hands in front of her, her face a carefully-schooled mask of polite interest. She will not patronise Peggy by showing her pity.

"What you mean to tell me," she clarifies after a moment, "is that I ought to be careful even of such innocuous-seeming things? I would not have thought such things possible. I thank you for the warning." She curtsies politely, looking to the next station - climbing - then back at Peggy. "I shall try to watch back past Games, if you think it wise, for it strikes me I know less than I ought of what dangers may await. Shall we?" Gesturing to the climbing station with a little incline of her head.

Peggy appreciates it. She's always hated being pitied more than anything. It makes her feel like they thinks she's weak, when she's anything but.

"Yes, that is exactly what I am telling you. Be careful of any animals, especially ones that look or behave differently than you are used to. I'll direct you to some Games that work as good examples."

She gestures to the climbing station. "Yes, we shall."

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I will never die

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Ready to fade?