[OPEN] Ghosts of the past always tend to revist

[futilecycle]

WHO | Sigma Klim and anyone in the Training Center.
WHAT | Some "face to face" contact with a Gamemaker as Sigma observes training from his perch.
WHEN | Any time before the next Arena.
WHERE | The Training Center.
WARNINGS/NOTES | This is one of the few ways Sigma can interact with the Tributes safely. He will be behind his force field in the viewing room a few metres above the Training Center floor, but can be spoken to clearly (for handwaved reasons, like a sound system or a special barrier that lets sound in). Sigma can also be coaxed down to the main floor if given good reason, but he will be flanked by peacekeepers. Attempts on his life (other than attacking the barrier by "accident") will have consequences.



It was not long ago that Sigma had been in the thick of training, himself. Muscle and bone as old as his required frequent exercise to stay fit enough to fight, and over the past two years Sigma had grown familiar with every inch of the Training center. There was scarcely a weapon or workshop he had not come to master, and the frequent additions to the center always kept the regimen interesting. He'd worked hard to remain deserving of his score.

Watching the Tributes from above offered a considerably different perspective. Between the force field separating him from his players, the elevated vantage point, and the cushy leather seats the Gamemakers were entitled to, it was easy to feel removed from the chaos below. These were, after all, Games intended to be sport, and he and his colleagues may as well have been watching a football game on a panoramic screen. Sigma's eye flicks from Tribute to Tribute, telescopic eye following what his organic one could not reach. In the event a Tribute approached the loft, Sigma would rise to meet them at the edge of the balcony and match their glance with a neutral stare. Sometimes, he would even offer what little encouragement he was allowed to give.

On occasion, Sigma will send another Avox to disturb the Initiate from cleaning the Training Center wall and force him to cater to some whim at random. There are also times the Initiate is instructed to hover by his side, waiting for his next order. It's a boast in plain sight, the fruit of his labors displayed on the trophy-shelf that was the perch. One would suppose that a nation-wide broadcast was not enough.

Comments

[futilecycle]

There's a blind spot in the shadow below the perch, more pronounced for those relaxing on the couches, but one would have to be wholly inattentive to miss a Tribute hurtling towards the wall beneath them. A flashbulb memory ignites in Sigma's mind and he is brought back to when a fit of parental rage had 'accidentally' sent a javelin from his hands into stone - instinctively, his hand reaches out to steady the Initiate, should the collision cause him to lose his balance.

He catches his mistake before the vibration at their feet has ended and retracts his arm at once.

In an effort to save face, Sigma rises from his seat and approaches the field, peering over to where Roland waits below. A wince cuts through his expression - the wall Roland had collided with was made of solid concrete. The thought that his old ally may have been trying to send a message does not cross his mind until he has already met his eyes, and even then Sigma tries to convince himself he is being paranoid.

"We are fine, of course," Sigma assures, and is surprised to find a note of concern in his voice. Not even his Zero persona could successfully repress his empathy. He gives up trying: "Are you alright, Mr. Deschain? If we could feel that up here, that must have been quite the blow." He can hear his colleagues clucking with disapproval behind him.

[ka_sera_sera]

The tone of Sigma's voice is just as surprising as his honest wellwishing the last time they'd spoke had been. Feels like just as much of an insult. Roland wishes, for an instant, that they'd had a little more time knowing each other before all of this. If they had, maybe he'd know better now exactly how good the man is at putting on an act.

Roland himself is fair at it, when he needs to be. The look in his eyes when the doctor meets them speaks to that well enough, although like the best performances, the emotions this one uses are true. A little anger, but mostly a careful blankness. Distance. Roland would need that blankness over his face whether or not his tumble had been intended as another threat - which it wasn't, in this case, though if the other man assumes so that might be better. If it didn't seem that Roland kept this conversation going out of anger, it might be too easy to guess that he's trying to open the lines of communication between them up again.

There may be no real way to know what horrors this Capitol is going to commit next, but having a gamemaker's mouth to his ear would not be a bad one. Nevermind Roland's own feelings on the matter, which would only confuse this situation more if he tried to sort them out. What matters most is that this is an opportunity he ought not let pass.

Speaking of opportunities, he's got to keep this conversation going until he finds one. Or maybe speaking a while will be enough. Is that concern in Sigma's voice real? May be time to see.

"I'll find out. Don't think I'm feeling it all just yet. No reason to worry - I'll be in good enough shape to put on a good show once the arena starts. I know you'll need a good showing, with the tributes you've lost since the last one." Roland does not so much as twitch his glance toward the empty husk of an avox standing up there on that platform. He doesn't need to.



(ooc: If Roland doing any of that would be likely get him in trouble with the gamemakers let me know and I can edit - although I might be cool with it, if you think it would we can pm and talk it out.)

[futilecycle]

Sigma is not so sensitive that he should recognize every word against him as an insult, but he would have to be completely oblivious to miss the subtext in Roland's remark. He feigns misunderstanding with a dismissive wave of his hand: "We always aim for a 'show' better than the last, certainly," he says with an almost whimsical tone, having inherited some showmanship from his mentor, "but there is no such thing as an irreplaceable Tribute. I would go so far as to guess that my slot was on the brink of being reassigned before I recognized I could assist elsewhere. Our pool of potential candidates is larger than ever, these days." Before he had given up his life in the Games, he was the longest running Tribute. There was no way they would allow an unsuccessful old man to fight in an eleventh Arena - he knows he would never have been resurrected if he had kept his plans to petition out close to his chest.

"At any rate, promises can not stand in for physical capability. If I were you, I would remove myself from training for the day lest I exacerbate my injuries." Roland is not the only person capable of concealing intent. He'll let Roland off with a warning, this time: shape up your attitude or one of us will have to leave.

[ka_sera_sera]

He nods. Message received. Now that's done, it's time to step back. Figuratively. May have taken a little risk just now, taking it that far, but it does at least give Roland a conversational opening. He rubs at his back a moment more, then drops his hand, letting the high, angry line of his shoulders drop and the proud steel in his spine curve a little. His expression, if it can be seen from up there, is wary, maybe even a little worried.

"I cry your pardon again, sir," he says, still rolling his shoulder and shifting his back a little. The opportunity to come over and speak may have been calculated, but the tumble he'd taken to do it had been real enough. Worth it, of course, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt and there's no reason to pretend otherwise. "You know how to do best for the arenas, better than I ever will."

There's a moment, perhaps a hesitation, and then Roland speaks again. "Is there some way I can make it up to you? Maybe if we spoke again later I could show you I'm not so arrogant as I sounded just now."

[futilecycle]

Sigma's eye flicks momentarily from Roland over to the men monitoring him as closely as he had observed the Tributes. There isn't a thing he can do against the approval of his jailers lest he end up in a black bag in the morning. It would be wholly scandalous for a Gamemaker to accept an invitation to mingle with the Tributes here... and yet, the fact remains that Sigma wants to meet with Roland. They had both been entirely too hostile with eachother for reasons mostly outside of their control, and if there was ever an opportunity to repair the relationship that could have been a friendship, now was the time.

Sigma hesitates before answering noncommittally. "I am quite a busy man in these upcoming weeks, you understand... There is much work to be done." Surely, that excuse would satisfy both of the men he was eager to please. He is quick to append his response: "...Perhaps if you extend an invitation immediately after the Arena ends, I may accept, provided there is space in my schedule. This is, of course, assuming you survive." He wanted to emphasize that it was not a given that he would return - too few Tributes took their extended lifespans for granted.

and end, unless there's anything you'd like sigma to add

[ka_sera_sera]

The satisfaction of a risky job accomplished does not, of course, show on Roland's face. The ache in his back's good for that, gives the surface of his mind something else to focus on. Something, too, other than the disappointment that he hadn't really expected. There was no chance the gamemaker would lower himself down here to speak to Roland at this very moment, but apparently a part of him had wanted that anyway. Maybe it's the thrill of doing something of real purpose, after all this time keeping his head down. Taking genuine risks, rather than prearranged arena ones, is something that Roland has missed. Maybe it's due to something else, at least in part, but self inspection is currently the least of Roland's concerns and the last thing he is about to waste his attention on.

"Gracious of you, sir," he says, bending his neck in a nod that adds for a second to the complaints his other muscles are making. "In the mean time I think I'll take your advice and beg off training for the day. Best be well rested if I'm going to put on a fair show." With that he stops craning his neck to look up, takes a step backward and turns to head for the elevator. Best not to look as if he's taking Klim's offer too seriously, but it is not one that he intends to forget.