thecapitol | With a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit 'em right between the eyes [Closed]

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With a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit 'em right between the eyes [Closed]

Who| Linden and Phone Guy
What| Time for a Mentor to do his job and give the Tribute he kind of considers a kindred spirit some advice on how to survive.
Where| District 6 suite
When| A few days before Arena 14 starts
Warnings/Notes| When these two are in a room together, bottles of alcohol just appear. They are that mutually enabling.

The Arena's approaching quickly. Between taking last snatches and glances of people he will miss when they're pulled away to fight to the death, he's trying to actually do his job and Mentor 6's Tributes. While he doesn't think that someone as deadly as Molotov would appreciate or benefit from being approached by District 6's resident specter, he knows that a few of them would, and that's why he seeks out Phillip earlier than he's usually awake. He doesn't knock; this is disturbingly typical for him, just letting himself into rooms that aren't locked (or unlocking them without warning if he has a key; Linden's grasp of boundaries just isn't fantastic.)

"I hope you're not hungover," he says crisply. "If you are, grab a bucket and a bottle of water and follow me. We have to go down to the Training Center and work some things out before the Arena if you want a shot at surviving to the end."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

When the Phone Guy slept as soundly as he did just now, he looked at least five years younger and messier. As if the events back home never happened and he was an ordinary person thrust into the Games.

Foxy has turned out to be a lousy guard animal as he just snoozes along the foot of the bed. Then again, Phil had no reason to lock the doors anymore with Dandy gone. For better or for worst, Linden's one of those people that the former guard trusted implicitly to not smother him or steal his home.

"Not that hungover," he yawned but he did pick up the water for added precautions. He gives his pet a quick snap of his fingers to have it settle on the ground and away from the door. This isn't a drink call, if Linden wants him to be sober, this is shop talk. He dresses in training clothes just in case, "I'm listening."

Linden's been true to his assurances, and hasn't complained once about Foxy; if he seems to dislike and avoid dogs, it at least doesn't extend to the little canid who inhabits Phil's room. He doesn't go out of his way to lavish her with attention or anything like that, but at least he isn't noticeably put off by her.

"Good," he responds, eyes following the other man's movements as he reaches for a bottle of water, gaze turning impassive when Phil starts to dress. "First, before we go down there, I want you to tell me what you think you'll benefit the most from receiving in the Arena. I'll do what I can to get it to you; I've had this talk with Karkat, and he asked for a sickle. Weapons are trickier... I can maybe see that there's one in the Cornucopia, but if it's less significant, maybe even mundane, there's a good chance I can send it to you directly after the Bloodbath."

"Huh?" the former guard peeked out of his shirt, "Well, I prefer a knife, it's portable and a-as long as I can use it for foraging and incapacitating others. I hope that's within the rules, sir."

Phillip knew he was holding off the inevitable kill, he knew he was being a coward after all this time. But he had been practicing his knife skills at the Training Center, making sure he could inflict quick, clean bleed-out wounds that would allow him to escape rather than to murder his opponent.

As soon as he was done, Gray snapped his fingers and pointed to Foxy to go into his little cubby, a command dutifully followed through by the pup. With that, Phil was ready to go, nervous but ready to listen.

"A knife?" Linden asks, sounding relieved. "That's both standard and common. I can almost promise that I'll get one to you very near the beginning of the Arena. Usually there are food rations available, but I prefer a more survivalistic approach, so... if there's anything that can help you forage or make do with your surroundings, I'll be prioritizing that. Not only do those kinds of sponsor gifts allow you to live off the land, but the audience finds it impressive when Tributes are resourceful."

He continues speaking as he turns and starts walking toward the elevators at a brisk pace, leaving it to Phillip to follow. While he's listless and lethargic for much of the time between Arenas, and drunk more often than not, now that the Arena's getting closer he is all business. Linden is, despite everything, somewhat professional about all this.

"I've thought it over and I honestly think that your best chance at winning is going with what you've been conveying with successful sincerity, which is your desire to protect children. Fortunately, our District has a couple, so you're in good shape there."

"I think on my feet, given the options," Gray admitted as he did his best to keep up with his mentor, "And I don't particularly take to easy pickings, there's always a catch and it'll bite me in the ass."

The proposition implied that, or at least to the former night guard, that Linden may not fully believe how deep his commitment goes to ensure the safety of children. Especially after his failures, Phil would let Clem kill him if it got her closer to the finish line and get her our of the Arenas and into relative safety.

"Do you still doubt my promise?" he asked simply, standing straight in the elevator. No stuttering here, he had to be sure that they were both on the same level. That indulging in drinks aside, they were a team. And thankfully, there wouldn't be as much an issue with inner District killings.

Linden's fingerprint has the elevator there in seconds; he's returned for so many consecutive years that he's practically a part of it, and it knows him well.

"I don't doubt your promise. I just doubt the Capitol's ability to believe that anyone is really that good. They're always on the lookout for acts and tricks... they're present in almost every Arena, false alliances with inevitable betrayals."

Phil chuckled just a little darkly towards his Mentor, "They'll be sorely disappointed then." And that's what Gray kept in his person: don't lose sight of the end goals but never give up those hard-earned morals to the Capitol. He didn't feel like a good man, he felt like he was making up for those past mistakes, an endless task.

But there was one thing that Phil needed the most help, "I don't know if I can pull off a kill though."

"Disappointment is not always a bad thing. Often it just means that a person's expectation were different from a situation's outcome, and personally, I'm reading that some actual displays of human compassion and altruism can benefit this audience."

He shrugs as he punches the button that will take them to the training center.

"Killing is not as important as it's ramped up to be. I mean... it's an important part of the Games, no doubt, but did you know that Gamemakers have arranged the deaths of frontrunners who were too brutal? It happened with 6 a few years ago, when a Tribute named Titus was winning but went insane partway through the Arena and started engaging in cannibalism. An avalanche took him out. Something similar happened in the Arena a friend of mine won; some Careers brutalized her in ways that went beyond even the Games' standards of taste and decency and she ended up winning practically by default. So you see... doing anything to win does in fact have its limits."

Edited 2015-06-08 13:37 (UTC)

And thank God Phil had yet to eat breakfast because he looked physically ill at the thought of the cannibalistic forerunner and what that Tribute went through, "Holy crap...how's your friend now? Is she, um, all right?" Even through the sanitized lens of what was the news in 1993, the Phone Guy had somewhat of an idea of what could've happened. He's glad he hasn't gone that far into the records.

Linden could rest assured that this Tribute wasn't that desperate to win, but it's left Gray a bit shaken to the point that he hesitates in grabbing his weapon of choice when they arrive, the hunting knife, opting instead to await orders.

Linden lifts his head, staring toward the top of the elevator doors as if silently asking the same question to a stubbornly unresponsive universe.

"She's married. She has a family, but I heard a little while ago that her youngest child died. Congenital heart failure. I sent a letter expressing my sympathy, but I don't know if it reached her, her... husband really doesn't like me."

There's a layered story there, as there is with most relationships in the tangled web of Capitol staff.

Noting Phillip's hesitation, Linden stands back, canting his head sideways. "How are your survival skills?"

Edited 2015-06-08 14:09 (UTC)

"My condolensces for her loss," and Phil meant them, before adding, "Does she have a jealous husband? I don't mean to pry." Oh boy was the truth a lot more complex than mere jealousy.

The question brings Gray down to earth and he gives Linden the honest answer, "I won't be winning any prizes for creativity but I can hold my own. I'd rather avoid conflict and I suppose I still remember how to keep food safe for consumption, perks of working in a restaurant, I suppose." His strategy was to play the long game, to outlast the others and harm only when necessary.

Linden's answer is the pad of his thumb pressing against his lips, with a soft "Perhaps..." mumbled around it. The brevity and simplicity of his answer probably says more about the situation's complexity than words or explanation could.

"It's a starting point, and I've worked with less. Rations are made to keep, but as I think I mentioned I'd ultimately prefer if those were saved for a pinch. I'd kind of like to focus on foraging for awhile. There's usually at least something edible in the Arenas, but a lot of it will be poisonous, so... if you don't know how to identify common plants it's a good time to learn."

Edited 2015-06-08 14:43 (UTC)

There's a lot Phil wants to ask but even he knows that messing around with his Mentor's personal life, or any Panem citizen for that matter, would bring trouble. There's enough on Linden's plate and the guard knows when to leave well enough alone.

Though his face does show a bit of embarrassment, "Heh, um, I guess so." He knew the basics, like poison oak and ivy and what berries would give him the runs but...yeah, the last time Gray went into the forests, he was five year old.

This is about as open a Linden actually gets with his personal life; up until this point, actually, anyone who hasn't heard this much probably couldn't be blamed for thinking that he has none, but clearly that's far from the case, and it does raise a lot of unanswered questions... but the important business, embarrassment aside, is trying to prepare Phil for the Arena.

"You guess so?" Linden asks flatly. "That means no. Come on... there's a station for identifying them. It's like a game."

He crosses the training center toward it, practiced fingers booting up a holographic display. "I've set it so that you're supposed to press everything you think you can eat. If you fail, you die, by which I mean you'll hear a loud and obnoxious buzzing noise."

"Oh I like these," some of that Fazbear's immaturity peeked through but Phil caught himself for it, "Kinda like the arcades back home only you only get simulated death instead of a booming voice that says something like 'FINISH HIM' or something. And I rambled."

He kept quiet through most of the initial rounds, flinching slightly at the very distracting noises. The Mentor wasn't kidding about that much but as soon as some of Gray's hearing came back, he asked, "You should, uh, you find her, get together. It'll be nice, and you deserve it."

Too bad reality is much more convoluted than a mere reunion.

Linden watches apprehensively as Phillip jumps happily into what he sees as analogous to an arcade game. The slight rambling gets a bemused headtilt, especially at the words "FINISH HIM", and Linden is convinced that Phillip absolutely comes from a bizarre world.

"Oh, that's... no... I want to say you shouldn't eat anything in this Arena, Phillip, you'd be better off just starving it out."

He's joking, but like most of what Linden says, there's that frost touching it saying that it's far more serious an issue than a few buzzing noises and flashing lights might suggest.

At Phillip's suggestion that he reunite with Temple, Linden's absolutely silent, staring at the poisonous plants, Phillip's errors illuminated in incriminating scarlet. "Yes..." he says slowly. "I suppose that's true. I do deserve it."

"Well, live and learn!" The game itself provided some tension relief...right up until his Mentor fell silent through the last rounds. Phil bit his lip and stopped the training session in between the simulated Arenas.

"Okay, what did I miss? Because right now, that's worrying...did I miss a cue?" He then clarified, "I don't have all the details of what happened after you won your Arena, sir, but if...did you and this friend of yours have a fallout? I promise, whatever you tell me, I'll take it to the grave."

And that was good a pact as Phil could offer, having taken everything from his world and held it tight for half a decade.

"Live and learn, that's the important part," Linden mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

When the training session comes to a pause and Phillip addresses what's going unsaid head-on, it's a bizarre spotlight on something vulnerable and secret. Linden's caught in it for a second like a deer watching a mysterious, growing yellow disc, unaware of what the tracks and rails under his feet are carrying but knowing it can't be good.

"No, you... didn't miss a cue," he says quietly. "I guess..."

How to say this in a way that gets the message across without just saying it?

"I'm trying to make some changes in my life, recently. As you know. She and I are... probably too similar for those changes to last long. Whether or not it's fair to her, some distance..."

Too late. Grinding, smeared remains, gristle and grease dragged for miles.

"...for my health, if only because I really think her husband would kill me if he could."

It takes a few precious milliseconds for Phil to process and understand the implicit notions of-OH. There was a lot of baggage in that revelation and none of it was conductive to a proper recovery in Linden's case. "I understand," he doesn't stutter on that, "and like I said, Linden, to the grave."

Because he's pretty sure this friend's husband will beat Lockhearst to the punch. Literally.

"She's not here...is she?"

Linden seems to grapple with the idea of someone else knowing about this, other than Gowan, Temple's husband who is defiantly informed by smeared makeup, rumbled hair and sloppily torn clothes when his wife has returned home late.

"Thank you," he responds hollowly. "And no, she isn't, but... I don't know if that's going to last. I'd like to see her again, of course, but..."

He lets that sentiment hang. He'd also like to do Morphling again, every single day, but that doesn't make it a healthy craving.

"But in good terms," Phil suggested as neutrally as possible, knowing that whoever this friend was, the risk of relapse became much more real than ever. And there's of course the social stigma of being with a married person. "That both of you can agree, like a restaurant, right?" The former guard didn't want his frie-Mentor, don't forget that, to feel judged or worse, so let's keep things on the bare basics of human interactions.

Linden still seems uncertain and more than a little unhappy about the direction this has all taken.

"A restaurant..." his tone is doubtful. Eating together was never one of their priorities. Of the top of his head, he can't remember a single time they shared a meal.

"You've never been in a situation like this before, have you? Or had such a friend?"

"Is it that obvious?" Gray admitted a little sheepishly, "I didn't stick around during those, uh, bar outings. Just, you know, had a bit of fun for that one night. And in retrospect, no, I don't think I had a friend like that."

Hell, the closest thing he had for a friend has been dead or in a vegetable state with a good part of his brain missing.

"I-I was kinda a loner, you know?"

"Obvious? Yes, but that's not really a negative, not in any way," Linden says softly. There was nothing inappropriate about those kinds of trysts, from the sounds of it. Fun for one night, simple fun, good fun.

"It's not bad to be a loner, either. The fewer connections you have, the fewer vulnerabilities you have. There was a Mentor who liked to brag that she couldn't be hurt because there was no one left she loved... not my friend, but you get the idea."

"She sounds like a real team player," Phil quipped before resuming the games, "And for the record, it was mostly wham-bam-thank-you ma'am, have breakfast, and then go our separate ways." Something told Gray that Linden and his fellow Victor friend were far in deeper than just quickies. "Apparently the Capitol thinks I've divebombed into people's beds."

But he had to concede something to his Mentor, "Never a dull day with you, huh?" Even training brought one of his better parts. "If I win this round, one beer and we carry on, all right?" As if one beer will do.

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