[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]

Sigma has yet to learn everything there is to know about his roster, especially when it came to veteran Tributes, and the Gamemaker finds his curiosity piqued by this woman. As his sense of humour was so rarely indulged at home, he's flattered that she would laugh at his joke, but keeps his smile even and controlled.

"Your suggestion has been noted," he answers with a firm nod, though the likelihood that the other members of his team would take it into consideration was slim. He supposed it could be a comedy option. At least she had the mind to act as though she knew her place, and Sigma thought such insight should go rewarded. "Ms. ... Tabris, was it?" His stern, important air evaporates, replaced by something almost friendly. It was in his best interests for the Tributes to stop considering the Gamemakers their enemies. "I admit that I lack the familiarity with individual Tributes my coworkers possess, and you have roused my curiosity. What sort of period do you hail from, if you will permit me the question?"

[allyorfoe]

"Warden-Commander Revas Tabris." She rattled off the name. Not that she expected them to pay any attention to her various titles. But damned if she wouldn't introduce herself properly, at least. She glanced at him, calm but careful, wearily looking him over, then casting her eyes over to the rest of his coworkers. He's not quite what she had pictured for a Gamemaker. Whenever people spoke of them, it was in snide tones, the way people treated blood mages, or worse. She expected to see a baby roasting, a puppy just for kicking.

She supposed that's what the big qunaritroll was for.

She can't help but wonder if this was doing a really bad job of keeping out of the spotlight, like she'd been asked to. Well. Whatever. She was pretty sure that him asking her questions about her home wasn't going to ruin her ability to help out when the time came. So she thinks on it for a moment. "I hail from Thedas--There are a decent number of us here. For me, the period is year 41, of the Dragon Age. I don't think you follow the same time, though...Someone called me a walking renaissance fair? We're pretty far back, I guess. There's no guns or cars or that electricity stuff." She shrugged. They were, however, pretty up to date on institutionalized oppression and church-sanctioned racism, but humans rarely liked being told that they were shitlords in every world.

Fucking shems.

[futilecycle]

Sigma pauses to mull over the significance of her name. While it was true that titles barely mattered here, he had still been grateful towards those who chose to call him 'Doctor,' and likewise preferred to show others the same respect. "Did you prefer Warden-Commander, then?" He smiles the showmanship smile that Plutarch had taught him, the one to convey that he was serious, but had the power to revoke his cooperation at any time and that he was fully prepared to do so. It was a useful tactic when dealing with the press.

"I presume that you did not call it the Dragon age without reason? Such things are, indeed, not from our history. But even before I arrived here I was familiar with the concept of alternate universes - I think you are right to say we do not follow the same timeline." Sigma smiled. He wondered if Tabris would come to appreciate the next Arena, or if he was stereotyping her time period. If he owed anything at all to his isolation, it was that over the years he had somehow managed to put a limiter between his brain and his mouth.