thecapitol | Closed

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Who| Eowyn and Firo
What| Watching westerns and coping with post-Arena blues
Where| District 8 and 10 suites
When| A few days after the end of the Arena
Warnings/Notes| Will update as needed!

The Arena sucked, which wasn’t a surprise. Getting eaten by rats may have been on his top 5 most likely ways to die list as a kid, but he’d hoped to have gotten past that by now. Moved up in the world and all.

To add to the disappointment—pretty much wiping out the petty annoyance that is being a chew toy for rodents—is that there are certain people who haven’t come back at all.

But there are still friends in Panem and one Firo’s thinking of in particular. Eowyn is no delicate flower, but this was her first Arena and he didn’t particularly enjoy his first either. She got way farther than he did and he supposes that only makes it worse; in his case, he knows that he had pretty high hopes that she'd be making her way out of there.

What he has in mind may not help her at all, but she’s a friend. He has to at least try.

He slips out of the elevator, glancing around the common area for her. He doesn't often go on other floors, but Firo isn't a stranger to barging in where he may not be totally welcome, so he's not all that uncomfortable raising his voice. “Hey, Eowyn? You here?”

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Losing was bad. Losing to someone she hates so much was worse. But worst of all, by a clear margin, was coming back to this prison to find that none her comrades from home had been so lucky. Éowyn has grieved before now, for friends and family and countrymen, but even Théoden's death didn't feel like quite such a punch in the gut. No matter how she tells herself that she has other allies here, others who she is close to, it doesn't change the fact that all her connections to home have been severed at once.

She's spent the last few days since her return in a kind of melancholy haze. She confirmed that they were all gone - Aragorn, Arwen, and Samwise - within a day or two of waking up, and since then, has been drifting; wandering on the rooftop, sneaking down to the stables, or training until her hands bleed. None of it settles her. When Firo comes to find her, she's sitting on the floor in the corner of the common area, turning her wedding ring over and over between her fingers. It takes her a moment to raise her head even when he hails her. Slipping the ring back onto her finger, she gets to her feet to greet him.

Although her injuries and damage from the Arena are gone, she looks pale and tired, her hair windblown and her dark gown soiled from her hard training session. Still, she gives him a wan little smile, moving to embrace him and kiss his cheek. "I can hardly say how glad I am to see you yet among us," she says, her voice grave. "Are you well?"

His eyes catch the object her hands are fiddling with and he feels that uncomfortable lurch in his chest, like someone's trying to rip out his heart. Missing Ennis, he imagines he has some idea of what Eowyn's feeling.

He doesn't shrink away from the unexpected affection, but returns the hug with a bit more strength than he did in the Arena. Nothing like the possibility of losing your friends to make emotions a bit more easy to express. "Same to you."

He shouldn't have worried too much, he thinks. She made it to the end and she put on a good show, so why wouldn't they bring her back? But there's always a part of him who's sure it's the end when the corner of his eye catches a friend's death on the screens he's trying to hard to avoid.

"I'm fine." He spreads his arms out--look, no damage. Isn't it great? He should return the question right now, but there's something more pressing on his mind. More pressing because he's almost certain she'll simply give the polite response and he'd rather get started on trying to help her.

"Actually, I've been figurin' some stuff out since I got back. Wanted to show you somethin', if you're not busy."

Edited (Hit enter too soon, sorry!) 2015-07-11 13:50 (UTC)

"Do I appear busy?" Clasping his shoulder for a moment, she pulls away and pushes her hair back behind her ears. "In truth, I'd welcome the distraction. What is it you'd show me?" It will get her out of this room, at least, and maybe make her feel a little less isolated. A little less guilty that those she had sworn to herself she would protect with her life are dead, and she yet lives. A little less angry that the man who she holds responsible for Aragorn's disappearance is to be feted and celebrated, because she failed to kill him.

Yes. A distraction would be more than welcome. She turns over her hand, scratching idly at one of the scabs where her hard training has worn away the skin, and gives Firo another thin little smile.

The sound that he breathes out is very nearly a laugh. "No."

He straightens his back as he makes his pitch, trying to project a cheer and energy that he doesn't quite feel. "You know those 'television' things? I think I figured it out! Kinda--just, like, the basics and all that. And you can watch movies on 'em--you don't have those where you're from right? I thought we could, you know..." And there he finally slows his babbling, watching her carefully for any reaction to his offer "--check 'em out together, maybe. It's not exactly like how we did it back home, but it's close enough."

He rocks back on his heels, hands clasped behind his back and hopeful face upturned to hers.

It's that expression, as much as the suggestion, that she responds to. He is her friend, after all, and he is offering her company - not only for her sake, if that look is any indicator, but for his own. At least, she can convince herself of that, which means it is far easier to agree.

She nods, her smile a little steadier, and reaches out to touch the top of his arm. "I would be honoured," she says gravely. "And curious, for that matter. Here, or on your own floor?"

He shakes his head, hoping the quick movement will hide his blush. "You don't need to be all formal about it."

"Well... I got the channel all set up on my floor, but I can try and figure it out here. ...But I also found popcorn there too, and I don't know if I can get the microwave to work again. It was probably just dumb luck that I got it anyway."

The anecdote isn't all that important for their decision, but Firo knows that sometimes stupidity makes people laugh. And he has a lot of stupidity to offer, so maybe that'll help perk her up too.

It does make her smile a little - not because she thinks it's stupid, but because it's a comfort to be reminded, even when it isn't her primary concern, that she isn't alone in finding this world so alien. And it's good, too, to know that he cared enough to set this up. She doesn't laugh, can't even come close to that just yet, but she does feel a deep and genuine gratitude for his friendship, which feels deep and uncomplicated in a world where she's become unmoored.

"Your floor, then," she says with a little smile. "I don't think I've ever had popcorn before. Certainly not by that name. How can I turn down something yet untried?"

She gestures towards the door, indicating for him to lead on. Despite his saying she doesn't need to be formal, it's a hard habit to break. Especially when he seems to consider formal many things she thinks are casual, even rudely so.

Lead on he does, masterfully instructing the elevator to return to his floor. Of all the inventions here, it's one of the few he's actually familiar with, some of his Family's buildings having them.

"Really? It's, like... I don't really know how to describe it. Salty and buttery and all that. It's one a' the first things people think of when you talk about goin' to the movies."

He keeps his tone matter of fact as he reflects on all she's missed coming from a place that doesn't have the things his world does. "Of course, it's harder to steal popcorn than it is to actually sneak into the movie, so it ain't like you need to have it for the full experience... but it's pretty good, so I thought it'd be fun to have it."

"I see," Éowyn says, in a tone that makes it quite clear that she doesn't see at all. There really is no parallel to popcorn and movies in her world. The closest you might come is watching a play, but there are no foods associated with that, and corn is foreign to that land anyway. Still, she shrugs it off, willing to trust his word on the matter - he knows what he's talking about, and she has no reason not to trust him - and follows him into the elevator, flinching only a little when the doors close.

She doesn't like the elevators, even now. They are too close, and too tight, and it worries her to think of how trapped and helpless she would be, if the doors failed to open. Like being in a burial mound, or trapped in a tiny cell. She says nothing, but she breathes a little sigh of relief when they reach his floor and the doors slide open. For choice, she thinks with a bitter kind of humour, she'll go on taking the stairs.

Her sighing is the only distress Firo notices in the elevator, but he chalks it up to... well, everything else that's wrong.

He hops out quickly, not from distress, but from eagerness. "Like I said, I've got the channel already up there, so you can go ahead and sit down, if you want. I think there should be a new one startin' up after they go through all the commercials..."

He waves his hand over to the television in the Common Area, glancing at it briefly to make sure that what he's saying is correct. The screen flicks an ad proclaiming the airing of "Amos Clay: Knight of the West" in 5 minutes, then moves onto a commercial for Incredible Dental Modifications. Firo frowns and turns his attention back to Eowyn as he walks backwards to the kitchen.

"I'll go get the popcorn." He pauses in the doorway. "...There's also wine, if, um. If you want that too."

It's a party staple, as far as he's concerned.

Éowyn hesitates, but only for a fraction of a second. This isn't the Arena. Her one worry in drinking wine - that it will dull her senses and her reflexes - doesn't apply here. If anything, it would come as a relief. "Gladly," she says, nodding. "What is a gathering, without wine?"

After a moment's thought, she goes to sit down, curling one leg under her as she settles on one of the soft armchairs. It isn't a ladylike way to sit, but just at the moment, she can't make herself care overmuch. Looking over her shoulder at him, she gives him a little smile, hoping he can see how much she appreciates his kindness.

She hasn't spent much time watching the televisions, not beyond the horrified fascination of Arena reruns, and her familiarity with the commercials is limited to seeing them out of the corner of her eye as she passes. She's actually more interested than she'd let on at just how bizarre the things they're advertising are.

Firo laughs in response. "A damn boring one."

Even when they had each other's company to keep themselves bright and cheery, the Martillos still had quite a lot of alcohol flowing. ...Even when it wasn't exactly a party. Even when it was noon or even earlier.

Knowing next to nothing about ladies, Firo won't bat an eye at the way she sits when he returns from the kitchen. He plops down on one of the chairs next to hers with much less grace.

"Hasn't gotten too cold just yet. Try it."

No matter the taste, Firo will insist in his heart that any food back home was better. But he can't give that to Eowyn, so he settles for shoving the bowl of Capitol corn at her, still feeling privileged that he gets to witness her first taste of popcorn.

Éowyn frowns at the puffy off-white things, looking very uncertain as she reaches out and takes one. She sniffs it curiously, and recognising only the smell of hot butter, cautiously pops it into her mouth. Her expression, when she bites down, is one of unadulterated surprise.

"It is air!" she exclaims aloud, smacking her lips. "Flavoured air!"

That isn't quite right, of course, but she was expecting something much more solid and oily, even looking at the odd-shaped, fluffy pieces. Even feeling how light they are. She hasn't experienced anything like that before; even loose pastry and spun sugar have more body to them, and she's had those rarely enough. Coming as she does from a place where the norm is heavy meats and pastries, it's hard to imagine any food more foreign.

That doesn't stop her reaching out, less hesitantly now, after a moment and picking up a handful of kernels, eating them one at a time.

"Flavoured air," she repeats, "but not unpleasant."

"Air?" Firo blinks, even as her enjoyment is contagious enough for a grin to slowly spread across his face. He doesn't quite manage to hold back a laugh as he watches her go at the bowl.

"It really is corn--just... popped or whatever. I think. You used to be able to watch 'em make it at the theater."

Here he didn't see what was in the bag before he tossed it in the microwave, but he imagines it's similar. And if it's not, who cares?

Bowl still in his hand, he tries to draw out a large square shape with his hands, barely managing to keep everything in the bowl. "They had this huge thing and they'd just pour all the stuff in, heat it up, and bam!"

He holds his free hand as a fist, then suddenly splays out all the fingers to emphasize that last part.

Éowyn raises her eyebrows, looking down at one of the popcorn kernels, and examines it closely and thoughtfully. Looking at it with that eye, she can see where the original kernel was, the cracked pieces of its surface. "This is what happens when you heat corn?" she says, still rather wonderingly, though a little sheepish at not knowing this, which seems like it ought to be clear enough. "I never knew."

With a little shrug, she pops the kernel into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully and turning her attention back to the screen as the movie starts. "So these movies," she says after a moment, "they are like plays, yes? Tales shown before you?"

"I guess so." Knowing so little about crops and stuff, Firo doesn't even think to wonder if it has to be prepared in a special way or anything first. Seeing her amazement, though, keeps the grin on his face. "It's pretty neat, huh?"

He settles down to watch, keeping the bowl between them and in her easy reach. "Yeah, that's it. They do all kinds a' stories!"

He laughs self-consciously as the opening credits roll over shots of guns firing and horses galloping. The plays she's seen, he imagines, are probably much higher brow entertainment--made for her kind of person, which he imagines is refined and intelligent. "I mean, they're probably not as... smart or whatever as plays are, but they're fun."

Someone has never seen a play in his life.

Considering some of the plays she's seen, Éowyn hides a smile. She's used to entertainment in longhouses and great halls, ringing with drink and laughter. Smart has rarely been a factor.

She watches the opening credits for a few moments, genuinely fascinated. After a moment, though, reaching over for another kernel of popcorn, she points to the screen, and the gun being drawn as the credits roll. "Ought I to know what that is? It sounds like the... the 'cannon' they fire in the Arena, but..."

True, she's seen the Peacekeeper's guns, but they look so little like the old-fashioned revolvers on the screen that she can't really be blamed for not recognising them as the same thing. And before coming here, she had no experience of guns at all.

Firo blinks, then shakes his head to rattle his brain back into sense. "Ah--sorry, they're all over the place where I live, so I forget some people haven't seen 'em."

And she missed them in the Arena before this past one, which he can't say was unfortunate.

"It's a gun. That kind's a revolver--that spinny thing goes around and holds the bullets, see--but there's all sorts. 'Least where I'm from. Ones a whole lot bigger than that, and even smaller ones too." He holds up his flat palm. "You can completely hide 'em in your hand."

"They're big in movies like this. And with most a' the other Families back home."

"Oh." Éowyn frowns, still clearly confused, and watches the movie a moment longer. "The bullets are those things shooting from the barrel, then? These are weapons, like slings or bows?" Despite herself, she rather wishes she could get a proper look at one of them, not just the fleeting glimpses in the title sequence. The idea of a weapon that holds more than one shot, that can fire them with any kind of force just at the touch of a trigger... it shouldn't be strange, after all the wonders she's seen here, but it is. To someone whose comfort with technology extends barely to longbows and trebauchets, it's impossible to fathom.

As with most things she's seen here, therefore, it's quietly relegated to 'things too complicated to understand', a mental category a hair's breadth from 'magic'. All she needs to know is that it's a weapon. If anything else comes up in the movie, she'll ask it then.

For now, she settles back in her seat, taking another handful of popcorn, and watches the opening sequence raptly. "That man," she says after a moment, pointing, "is a terrible rider. Look how much light is showing at his saddle. I've seen sacks of potatoes with more skill."

Seeing her confusion, Firo frowns with the effort of wracking his brain for a more helpful explanation. Her additional questions are thus a relief and he can hardly bob his head fast enough. "Yeah, exactly! They do a lot more damage than a sling, though."

At the same time, he's thinking of the little barely-weapons he and his friends cobbled together for mischief.

Firo spends just as much time--if not more--watching her face as he does the actual movie. Part of the fun of sharing things with people is seeing their reaction and, besides, he wants to see if she looks any better.

The disdain, though, is entirely unexpected. He whips his head from her face to the screen, then back again. "...You mean that ain't how you're supposed do it?"

Éowyn's look is not so very unlike his; she knew horse-riding wasn't so key in his world, but had somehow failed to really register it until he asks that. To her, the flaws in the movie hero's riding are just so glaringly obvious it takes her a moment to be sure he's not joking.

"No," she says after a moment, swallowing her popcorn and pointing at the screen. "Look how much he shakes when the horse steps. He needs to ground himself, settle into the saddle, learn to move with the horse rather than just because of it. Ride half a day as he does, and you'll find more sores and stiffness in your legs than if you rode a month properly." She half-smiles, shaking her head, a little guiltily smug at for once being a voice of authority here. "He's not been trained to the saddle properly, that man. And it certainly isn't his horse."

Even in so little time, it's already clear that she's starting to relax slightly. She hasn't forgotten her grief and her anger - may never forget them - but for the time being, the companionable conversation and the movie are enough to distract her.

While she speaks, Firo nods as if he has half a clue about what she's saying. All the while, though, his face is blank and mystified.

Firo turns back to the screen once more and focuses for a moment, trying to spot all the little movements that tell her these things. When he gives up a few seconds later, it's not for lack of looking but for lack of understanding.

He chuckles and shakes his head as he reaches for more popcorn. "How do you know all that just from lookin' at him?"

"I have watched men ride all my life," she answers, with a little laugh of her own. She isn't looking at him now, but watching the screen, fascinated as the protagonist rides into a town that's like, and yet unlike, the villages of home. "One learns to see such things, I suppose, just as you might know from watching a man move whether he is an experienced fighter or no."

On the screen, the rider dismounts, tying off his horse at the saloon rail, and Éowyn relaxes a little into watching. "Next time he rides," she advises, "watch how he throws his weight. When the horse puts its foot down, he lurches the other way, like a man riding a rocking boat. He has no confidence in his ability to hold on with his knees, and it throws his balance."

Having said that, she falls silent, breaking off almost mid-word to listen to the dialogue.

He nods firmly at her recommendations, as if he expects to be quizzed on them later. "Weight, knees, got it."

If only he knew where to begin, he'd want to ask her about horsemanship, but he sees her listening and shuts his mouth.

He blinks as the protagonist approaches the barkeep and demands some drink that sounds like stuff they had at home, but not quite right. And the voice that says it tries for the thick, swaggering drawl that fans of westerns anywhere would recognize, but can't disguise the hissing undertone of Capitolite accent. He frowns. "...It sounds a little different in the movies back home."

He holds back a faint sigh of homesickness--that'd be stupid, getting homesick over this--and offers her the wine bottle.

"Different how?" Éowyn asks, with genuine curiosity, and takes the bottle from him gladly, pouring herself a large glass. To her ears, more used to Westron and Sindarin than to English, the accent sounds like a few of the Tributes here, but the Capitolite edge isn't so obvious. For all she knows, they might speak like that in every world but her own. "The accent only, or some other manner?"

Passing the wine back to him, she takes a long draught from her glass. She's drunk nothing but water for days, and not much of that, so the slide of sweet wine down her throat is oddly emotional. It makes her think of home, more than anything. Wine, and peaceful companionship, and gentle chatter. And yet the situation is in all other ways so foreign...

It feels, in short, like a stab in the gut. The slight smile drops from her lips, and she settles back into her seat, looking at the screen. It seems distraction isn't as easily achieved as she'd hoped.

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