[open] Shame, such a shame...

[shiftingurbulls]

Who| Ellis and open to anyone!
What| El is assmad at being killed so early and then furious at Nick the Dick's death
Where| D4 Suite, D7 Suite, and everywhere in between!
When| Starting Week 2
Warnings/Notes| El's use of the English language is a wonder to behold, mentions of death by fire and zombies

[District 4 Suite]
Dying on the first day was so not what Ellis had planned for this Arena, as he woke up and thrashed in his bed. Within that room is a tornado of anger as the mechanic wished he would have done things differently. He promised Nick and Rochelle that he'd be helpful, that he wouldn't be a burden....and now he was back here and useless to his friends and those he considered family. He was absolutely livid at himself.

So yes, he'll be sitting in the common area for his assigned District, fuming along with the reports and the bloody spectable. This was unfair! He wanted to get out there and keep the promise he made at the bar!

[District 7 Suite]

When news of Nick's death came along, the first thing Ellis did was rush up to District 7 with a weary but still optimistic grin on his face. Death wasn't permanent here, right? At least that's what the mechanic firmly believed. That sourpuss must be raising hell too, he thought as he walked along the hall and knocked on the door.

"Man oh man, yer lucky Coach ain't here to have seen yer fairy-ass, only me an' Ro! " he called out to the closed door, hoping for any sort of response, hell even an insult, but would get none. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Ellis leaned his ear to the door, and let out a small whisper, "Nick, are ya there? Talk to me...you're scarin' me. Are ya screwin' around? Because tha's wha' tha' diva Compson's for, cut it out!"

He sat against the door, not unlike a hopeful dog waiting for his friend, waiting for an answer from his suit-wearing survivor. He couldn't be dead for real, right? "Nick, please don't be gone...please..."

For once since the Green Flu, Ellis was alone again. And it terrified him more than any Tank, Witch, or monster the Capitol had in store for the Tributes.
[Put your own prompt!]

Comments

D7

[conifer]

At hearing an unfamiliar voice Emily emerges from her room, peering round the doorway looking puffy eyed and sleep deprived. "Can I help you?"

[shiftingurbulls]

Ellis didn't recognize the woman by name but he assumed she was a satff member just like Jason. "Hi ma'am, uh..." he fumbled for a bit, taking off his hat and giving her a nodding bow in respect, "I was lookin' for Nick, he's a Tribute here an' I heard he got killed in action so I wanted to visit him! Name's Ellis, I-I come from his world too."

[conifer]

"...Ah." Her face falls a little, and she steps out of her room fully, leaning on the door frame in the corridor, seeming to not care that a complete stranger is seeing her in her pyjamas. "I'm sorry, but he hasn't made it back yet. We're still hopeful," she adds quickly, thinking about how long it had taken Dorian to return from the last Arena, "but right now he's not ... here."

[shiftingurbulls]

"We're still..." Those words brought no comfort for Ellis as he realized what that meant: that Nick, his Nick was lost to the Arena permanently. His skin lost its color, and he began to rattle for a bit.

"I-I'm terribly sorry then ma'am, fer disturbin' ya, I, uh, I can getcha coffee if you want? I don't mind fetchin' ya a mug, no need t' drag an Avox person outta bed for this. My-my name's Ellis an' I kinda already met Mr. Compson over here."

The young man was trying to fill his head with noise, lest he fully realize the loss.

[conifer]

Emily holds up her hand at mention of Jason, as though she's scared that alone will summon him, even though she knows he won't have left his odd, ramshackle mausoleum of a home to get over here this early. She's tired, it's true, but she can't help but feel bad for Ellis, and tries to offer a small sympathetic smile, but it freezes on the way to her lips as she realises just how shook up he is.

"I have a better idea. How about you go sit over there on the couch, and I'll bring you coffee, okay?"

[shiftingurbulls]

Ellis can't refuse her offer and he settled down on said couch, letting his hands play with his hat. "I'd rather be a real gentleman an' help ya but...well you're the boss here."

And boss she was as there was no sign of the camphor smelling escort anywhere. "You're a Mentor right? You're the one sendin' gifts too."

[conifer]

Her mouth quirks up into a smile, endeared by his need to be chivalric as much as she's refreshed to hear someone refer to her as the boss in the very place of Jason Compson's tyranny. She waves away an Avox who automatically goes to take over the coffee making when Emily steps into the kitchen, wanting to keep her hands busy and thinking that this, at least, she can do. "That's right. Although it seems I haven't done too good a job of that." She'd thought there'd be sponsors queuing up to buy extravagant weapons for Nick, after his performance in the last Arena. She can't help feeling that she's done him a disservice.

d4!

[theyoungperish]

Ellis wasn't the only one who hadn't planned on his living through the first day. Chuck, and Derek too, had decided pretty early on that Ellis and Sebastian were probably their best shots to winning. To have Ellis already down and out? Well, shit, it's a downer. But whatever, the beauty of the Neverending Quell is that there's always another Game. It's really different from his own Game, enough that Chuck's still adjusting. But hell, he doesn't need that much time to roll with punches. Or at least, to act like it.

So walking into the common area and spotting a fuming Tribute, well, it's part of the gig now ain't it? Max is with Derek, so instead of an image softened with a truly sweet bulldog, Ellis is cornered with by a massive, scarred Mentor, mouth twisted in a scowl.

"You wastin' time feeling sorry for yourself?"

[shiftingurbulls]

"No, I ain't." The glare hidden under the brim of his hat was evidence of this but at least he recognized the authority, "Jus' fuckin' mad I didn't git anything outta tha' mess an' my buddy Nick's gone an' gotten himself in trouble."

Ellis thought he could make it, and scavenge the rest as he always did...but now this was just sad. "You're th' District 4 Mentor I take it?"

El, leave the cattiness for the Training sessions.

[theyoungperish]

Well, at least the guy still has some fight left in him. Chuck's scowl softens a little bit, even as he eases back, crosses his arms over his chest. Yeah it was a fuckin' disappointment that Ellis died so early, that he got jack shit out of the Cornucopia, but it isn't the first and it won't be the last time. Chuck doesn't even have to worry about dealing with new, unruly, tributes for the next Arena -- even if they aren't trained like the Careers of old.

"One of 'em." The cattiness doesn't bother Chuck, if anything it's familiar, easy. He prefers it to the strangeness that is Aang or Anna. "If you're so worried about your buddy, send him some gifts. Can't do shit just sitting around."

[shiftingurbulls]

The moment Chuck mentioned something about sending gifts, El tipped his hat and uncovered his eyes, "Here I thought only sponsors could send those gifts." It's this thought that mellows the mechanic's rage against himself and makes him feel useful again, "I could send 'im an' Ro somethin'...yeah! Some good shit too!"

Ellis takes a few seconds to think of a plan before he sits up proper and asks, "How's the rest of the District then? How are the others?"

[theyoungperish]

"If they won't let you, come find me or Derek. We'll figure it out."

And, yeah, he's got your number Ellis. Chuck was in your position not too long ago, though he was a newly crowned Victor then, Mentorship an illfitting weight upon his shoulders as he tried desperately to keep Derek alive with sponsorship. It worked for him, but it doesn't for everyone. He knows that well. Still, he nods a bit to the commentary, head cocked. Shrugs one shoulder at the question, tossing thoughts on the other Tributes.

"Well, they're still alive." That's basically all he can say, so far. "Too early to tell how it's gonna go, but they're in one piece for now."

[shiftingurbulls]

"Fuck yeah!" Chuck gets to see Ellis spring back onto his feet and clap once in joy. "I know those two, sir! They can fight a eight-foot tank with a shotgun an' a peashooter o' a handgun, they can live through anythin'!"

If there was one trait that defined Ellis, it was his optimism. The man could take a lot of shit the universe tossed at him and he'd still look for a way out with a smile on his face.

"Thank ya kindly sir," he tipped his hat in gratitude, "But I'mma guess yer here not just on my previous bitchin'."

[itscalledfashion]

Jason's prohibition on nearly everything is probably going to kill Cassian one of these days, but at least Jason is as nicotine-addicted as Cassian is, so he's free to smoke away, humming to himself as he blew smoke out of lips colored a soft green and brown gradient. His focus is on the splayed magazines, and sketches of outfits around him, but that changed as he heard someone hollering in the suite. He got up, to find one of the other district tributes banging away at Nick's door.

Well, Ellis he knew of, faintly--Nick had been their best shot at winning, and it was easy enough to keep tabs on his friends, since he appeared to have exactly two. And conveniently divided into female and male. His mouth twisted sympathetically, as Ellis grew more and more visibly upset.

He tossed his cigarette in the ashtray, and walked over, sliding his hands into his pocket. A somber face, despite a loud, garish wardrobe. Even he knew how to not be a total asshole at times. "Sometimes...It takes longer than other times." He said outloud, with a shrug. "It's been known to take a week or even more, sometimes. That's just how it works."

[shiftingurbulls]

Ellis lifted his hat and...wow, that's a lot to take in. This had to be a Capitolite and not like the old money kind. Whereas Jason had a look that reminded Ellis of the decrepit manors and plantations that dotted the land back with his grandparents in Georgia, this stranger was cosmopolitan and fresh, like Atlanta.

"You think ma-" that's not a woman's voice, "Sir? Haven't seen ya before...I'm Ellis!"

He gets off from the floor and takes off his hat. "Um, sorry for th' racket."

[itscalledfashion]

"Oh, whatever you want," Cassian responded to Ellis' stumbling over titles, flapping his hand around, as if he couldn't bring himself to care any less. "Surprise me."

He did hold out a hand, though. "My name's Cassian, I'm the new stylist for district 7--I didn't do that fairy costume, in case you're wondering. I just came in." And it really was a shame, because Nick had so much potential for some fun designs. He wasn't exactly young, but for the grizzled old guy thing, he was doing pretty good.

Cassian's eyes dart over Ellis. Now, he would be fun to dress up. His stylist had the right idea of showing that tattoo off, and his arms. "But it's no problem. What district are you? If Nick shows up, I'll have an Avox come fetch you."

[shiftingurbulls]

The invitation was well received by the mechanic as he returned the smile, "Mr. Cassian then, yer a Capitolite an' I heard som'where it's best tha' I treatcha with respect." He will even salute the Stylist, "And really? Tha's not your doin'? Here I though I could split a beer with y'all for makin' tha' the best thing to see before I died."

Maybe it was the hope that one day Nick would come back, but joking about that made El feel a little better. "I'm in District 4, I suppose I can't get his suit jacket while he's gone?" Sentimentalism at its' purest.

[itscalledfashion]

"Well, of course you are." Cassian responded, with an almost child-like innocence. The idea of them not treating him with respect was unthinkable--Only the truly wicked tributes, those awful ones that were probably traitors would do such a thing. "But no, unfortunately. I liked the wings, though. And the vines. But that was the last stylist. It was decided that letting him dress them for the arena would be his last hurrah. Then I took over."

And Stig was finally taken out of that farm in the country.

He hesitated at the question, scratching his nose. "Well, I guess you can have any of his clothes that are still here." He pulled out a key, and unlocked the door, throwing it open with the nonchalance of a person who didn't really respect other people's privacy. Or understood that Ellis might have been sarcastic. "I'll say it was for helping keep the tribute's morale up, or whatever. A touching sentimental momento. But really, I've of it taking a few weeks. Technology just has bugs sometimes, like when your TV gets a little static!"

[shiftingurbulls]

Finding the white suit jacket was the easy part, keeping his shit together at the loss was not, at least for Ellis. He held it up for a moemnt before he pulled it closer to his chest. Even after probably a few washes, he still felt the scent of Savannah, of the Sugar Mill, of the nitroglycerin used to blow up the bridge. "I'll just take this. If Nikita ever comes back, he can come over and get it." As soon as he's ready, the mechanic stepped out, "Much obliged, Mr. Cassian, is there any way this Tribute can pay ya back?"

His word was as good as a contract, he wasn't giving the Stylist any bullshit or empty promises.

D4

[quiethumerus]

Kurloz was not happy. Dead at the cornucopia, dead on the first day! Disgraceful. He had expected better of his Tributes. He had worked hard on building a winning image for the arena, all dashed.

The worst part of it all was that he knew Chuck would do well enough for reaming on his own. They couldn't all play bad cop. But just as well. He didn't like playing bad cop anyway, left a bad taste.

One other good thing for Ellis was that, being mute, he couldn't do something like state the obvious. "You lost" or "that was terrible" were not worth the effort of pulling out a pen. He goes instead to stand in front of Ellis's line of sight before the telecasts, hands on his hips.

[shiftingurbulls]

Even though Kurloz is a hundred and some pounds wet...Ellis feels small and incompetent when he sees the Stylist over him. He can't even muster some of his usual cheer, he's that embarrassed by his own performance.

"I know...I done fucked it up on my first round. Lesson learned, big stashes o' food an' weapons? Not worth it." Yep, the pup knows he's done very wrong and poorly, as he hides his eyes from Makara.

[quiethumerus]

Well, at least he understood then. He closes his eyes, sighs, and shakes his head. It's not his job to tell Tributes how to play their games, so he can at least let that bit drop.

He sticks out a hand, pointer finger up, telling Ellis to wait just one moment. He disappears back into his office and returns with clicking heels and a pen and paper.

He has a greater motive, but to get this all out of the way first, he writes, BE THERE APPETITE OR ASPIRATION OF WHICH THERE IS WANT INSPIRING AVIDITY?

[shiftingurbulls]

There was a moment when El had to figure what Kurloz was trying to say. Poetic language was something he was getting though reading more helped. "I wanna do better tha's for damn sure. I want my next run t' be as good as I say I am."

The mechanic looked away for a moment to the Arena, "I need t' study things more, it ain't just brute strength an' raw survival. Tha' was my mistake an' I got lucky I got back here."

[quiethumerus]

Most of the time failure to understand his preach is taken in good humor, welcomed even, for why shouldn't he enjoy watching others struggle and squirm? This is not the case.

Kurloz humors him, watching appraisingly, then finally conceding to nod. Ellis was spotting wrongs for himself. This was good and ought to be duly rewarded. But that all done, he goes to re-write under his earlier piece.

DO YOU REQUIRE ANYTHING IN THE IMMEDIATE?

[shiftingurbulls]

Ellis shook his head and looked up to the screen, "Nothin' at the moment, but how are the other District 4 Tributes? How's Miss Anna?" They may all be from different worlds but if they're on the same boat, the mechanic will make sure they're all safe and sound.

Teamwork was the reason he was here and not in a mass grave with all the immunes and carriers. "How's sign language goin'? I know I promised to learn." And he kept his promises.