Dr. S. Klim (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
futilecycle) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-05-11 09:23 am
futilecycle) wrote in thecapitol2015-05-11 09:23 am
Entry tags:
[OPEN] Ghosts of the past always tend to revist
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.
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.
no subject
Neutralized by the force field, the arrow snaps into pieces inches in front of Sigma's face, its metal remains showering down onto the floor below. His consistently weakening heart jumps hard in his chest and sends an ache through his entire body, and the Doctor must take a deep breath to ease it. Growing old outside of the Arena would prove to have its own set of disadvantages.
Sigma blinks slowly at the perpetrator, pretending to be unfazed by his strike. The protection of his barrier was absolute... of course. "Oh, no trouble, sir," Sigma answers calmly while his heart rattles inside of him. "You should consider it fortunate that we did not install a barrier that would send one's strike back in the direction it came. We recognize that accidents happen, of course." He could not control what Quintus and the rest of the Tower's security team decided, but he chooses to leave the implication hanging nonetheless.
no subject
The implication sounds like a threat and he has to resist shooting another arrow at the barrier. "Even if it did, it wouldn't be a problem. Unlike some people, I don't need to hide behind things to protect myself."
Jet's stomach twisted sharply and he longed to do something more, to cause pain like he hadn't felt in over a year. He wanted nothing more right then than to shatter Sigma's neck like the arrow had shattered against the barrier.
If he ever ran into the doctor face-to-face again, he doubted he'd be able to restrain himself, no matter who was left in the Capitol.
"What're you trying to accomplish by watching, Sigma? You'd think you'd have a good idea of how we can kill each other. Some of us in more detail than others."
no subject
"I am doing my job," he answers with a growl, "though I need not answer to you. Getting awfully familiar, are we not, Jet Link?" Sigma hadn't bothered to learn whether or not either member of the couple had elected to have their names changed, but regardless, the lack of respect stands. He's done trying to bridge the gap between the two of them, grasping at straws to communicate to someone who might eventually understand that they were not as different as they seemed. It had only ever been a fool's hope. "By the way," Sigma begins sharply, having intended to be sympathetic until Jet egged him on, "I could not help but notice what happened to your husband. Truly sorry." There was some information even Sigma was not privy to - for all the Doctor knew, the Capitol had simply decided not to revive Albert.
no subject
In this particular case, it worked in his favor, as far as the Capitol was concerned: Albert was gone for good and to prevent that from coming true, he had to pretend that was still what he believed too.
"Fuck off. Keep your 'truly sorry' to your damn self." He turned away from the forcefield to give his attentions to his training again, although he was definitely distracted now. "Just because you're used to slipping everyone a healthy helping of your lies doesn't mean they always take."
no subject
And concerning Plutarch, he can hear the man shifting in his seat behind him, ready to calmly take control of the situation the way he did when he was dissatisfied. Sigma reminds himself that, as far as the Gamemakers were concerned, he owed the Tributes nothing. And indeed, in his rage Jet was behaving more like a petulant child who could not get his way than a man who was supposed to be older than himself, desperate for the last word. Sigma decides to cease to indulge him. "Very well. I will be delighted to keep to myself." He takes a step away from the edge and, still looking at Jet, offers his advice one last time. "...However, I believe you shall see it my way before the end." He was happy to remind Jet that each time he spoke against the Capitol, he played with fire.
no subject
Maintaining his silence, he turned away from the booth and returned to his training. He'd put his all into it, be as vicious as he could be and wear himself out quickly so he could leave sooner. He didn't want to stay where he knew those damn eyes could watch him.