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Who | Fitz and YOU!
What | Fitz has been dragged away from his Extremely Vital Quest and dumped in a weird city. This does not please him.
Where | Around and about
When | A few days after the Crowning
Warnings/Notes | None yet; will update if needed

A: The District 11 Living Room

Fitz awakes aching and exhausted, and lies for a while in the darkness behind his eyes, feigning sleep as he pieces together what he knew. He had just come from the Elderling city, mired in the tug of the Skill, when suddenly he had awoken in a cold, bare room, foreign in its strangeness. Awareness of the severity of his situation had come in waves; no Skill river in which to reach, not a flicker of life showed to his Wit-sense, not even an awareness of the distant bond with his wolf. He had no weapons, and they had taken his clothes and his pack, and with them his elfbark and herbs. Locked up, alone and unarmed in a strange land, it's no surprise that when the Peacekeepers came for him, he hurled himself into them, trying to get past them and away. He had, he recalls with a flicker of pride, knocked the teeth loose in one’s mouth, and kicked in one’s knee with a force that would not soon heal, but in return he received a solid beating, and a blow to the head which sent him spiralling down into one of his seizures, to awake here. The bed is soft and silk-sheeted. There is blood in his mouth where he has bitten his tongue, and the area above his eye feels tight and bruised. At least one rib is bruised if not broken. But mostly, he felt wreathed in the unbelievable sore tiredness that followed a seizure. And mostly, he’s bone-tired, stiff and sore from his seizure, and cursing himself for showing that great weakness.

Without his Wit, he can’t tell if there are others in the room with him. Certainly, he’s no longer in the cell he woke up in before, but was he moved by his captor or rescued by someone else? Either way, it seems likely that as soon as his hosts know he’s awake, someone will come for him. And unarmed and disorientated, he has little chance of escaping this room if they do. Best to move fast. Cautiously, he cracks open his less-sore eye. The lights hurt his head something awful, brighter and harsher than firelight or daylight. The room is empty. He lies still a moment longer, gathering his thoughts, eyeing the room from under his lashes, then moves sharply.

He swings himself out of the low, soft bed, ignoring how the room swims around him, and, lurching slightly, makes for the door. To his surprise, it opens easily. The first door leads into an odd ceramic and silver anteroom, walled with mirrors; a dead end. The second leads into a hallway, and from there into a glass-walled room, laid out with low tables and soft chairs. He moves into the living room near-silently, warily, like a caged wolf. Distracted by a combination of concussion, Skill-headache and exhaustion making his vision blur, and lacking the familiar warning of his Wit-sense, he doesn’t notice there’s someone else sitting in there until he’s already moved out of the cover of the corridor.

B: The streets of the Capitol

Later, after having this place explained to him (however loosely) and after his test, he is surprised to find that he is free to leave the building. On the pretext of visiting the market, he has determined to find the edge of the city and plot his escape before they throw him into this deathmatch. But now he’s out in the city, he finds it almost distracts him from his plans. If the magical tower with its sourceless light and great glass walls and self-opening doors was strange, these streets are incomprehensible. He recognises not one in a thousand things that the huge glass-fronted stores display in glittering mounds, there are vehicles that make no sense, and even the people passing him, with their impossibly colourful hair and skin, and shimmering, shifting, oddly-cut clothes, are so alien as to be barely recognisable. They seem barely human. Elderlings? he wonders briefly, but puts the thought from his mind. If they are Elderlings, they seem hardly likely to come to the aid of the Six Duchies, when they are so venal and sick as to battle humans for sport. What’s important is to gather what information he can, then return to his friends and to Verity.

Admittedly, that currently mostly seems to take the form of standing, rather dumbstruck, in the street, looking very lost. This place is so confusing.

C: The Training Centre

There is one place in this odd city that seems almost familiar, and that’s the training centre in the building. The room itself is as strange as everything else, but the familiar weight of weapons in his hands is oddly comforting, especially when, bereft of his weapons, his Wit and his poisons, he feels much more vulnerable than he’d like in this strange and hostile place. And, having decided it best to present himself as a predictably aggressive soldier, he feels no qualms about being seen here. Not to mention, the more he sharpens his rusty skills, the better his chances of survival.

Hefting a suitable sword, he goes through familiar drills swiftly and neatly, one by one. The physical exertion frees his mind, takes him back to a time before everything went so wrong, running the same drills again and again out in the yards before Hod the Weaponsmaster’s sharp eye and critical tongue. By the time he pauses, panting, and notices that he isn’t alone, he feels almost cheerful despite his situation. The exercise is good, and he is feeling the benefits of relief from the constant guard he has had to keep on his Skill for the last few weeks on the Skill-road.

He throws the newcomer a wolfish smile, tossing his sword from hand to hand. “Looking for a sparring partner?”

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It's an interesting way of looking at the situation, she thinks. And one that she shouldn't permit without gentle correction if she wants to avoid criticism. "You steal nothing from them, your failure simply denies them a reward. The extra."

"If it does bother you, though, you can win. Then you won't have to worry."

She dips her head. "It's not easy, but we'll help you, of course."

"I wouldn't see it that way, if I were in their shoes. Starvation has a way of making people irrational. Perhaps it's for the best that we won't come face to face."

He rests a moment longer on the glass, then turns back to her, somewhat more in control of himself, though he's still as tense as a coiled spring.

"Why me? Why am I here?"

She dances her fingers over the cover of the book in her lap. "I hope your feelings won't be hurt if I say it really had very little to do with you."

The Capitol would likely want her to say that he's lucky, but she imagines that would be dangerous ground given his reactions already. She doesn't want to bait him. Not when she hasn't yet determined how he may be useful.

"The mechanism chooses at random, I believe. It could happen to anyone."

Coincidence, then. An accident of fate. He snorts bitterly and wonders what the Fool would make of this. The Fool is so convinced he's special, fated to change the world? If anything disproved that, it's surely this. He's been taken away from the only people in the world who actually need him, and it doesn't even mean anything.

All the fight goes out of him suddenly, and with it the angry energy holding him together. He sinks into the nearest seat with a hard, bitter little laugh.

"So what happens now? When do I fight?"

She bows her head as he sits, as if to thank him for joining.

This question is at least a little easier, though the answer hardly delightful. "You will not be informed of the Arena's start almost until you're being dressed in your costume for it. However, the last Arena just closed and we tend to go a month or more between them. You should have ample time to relax and adjust to this place."

As if adjusting were so easy. But she does try to be encouraging.

He sighs, dropping his aching head into his hands. Everything is so abruptly pointless and meaningless. The idea of waiting a month or more and then fighting to the death for nothing is something he can't accept, won't accept, and yet he just can't find the energy to make it feel any less than inevitable right now.

He sits in silence for a long moment, controlling his breathing with difficulty, trying to force himself to process the information he's been given, to look at the situation from all angles and consider its strengths and weaknesses, find a way out. But his skull is caught in a vice and his hands are shaking and all his joints hurt from his fit and he's exhausted and it's so hard, so hard to focus...

In terms of how long it is until the Arena, he has time and to spare to find his pace and figure an escape. If they have the capacity to pull people in from different worlds at a whim, why would they bother chasing him? It would be worth punishing escape harshly for their propaganda, but easier for them to just cover it up and let him go as long as he hasn't already become known for the Arena. If that was all, he could wait and formulate a plan. But his friends and his king and his world need him and he's sitting here in some plush room failing them, he can't even think straight, he can't do anything and with Regal's men on their tail every hour counts. How long has he been here already? How long did it take to get him here, how long was he unconscious for?

He makes a snap decision. He needs to get his energy back, needs to keep the pain at bay, which means he needs to trust his captors. If they want him to fight for sport, they'll want him alive and fit. The chances they'll poison him are slim - drug him, perhaps, but he's hardly good for anything as it is.

He raises his head and speaks in carefully measured tones, changing the subject totally. "In my country, we have a herb. Elfbark. A stimulant of sorts, and a painkiller. I..." He takes a deep breath. He doesn't talk about his fits often even to his friends, let alone his enemies, but they know of it now, and he needs help. "When your soldiers took me, I had a blow to the head which awoke an...old wound. I'm exhausted and hurt and what you've told me will take a lot of processing. Is there...something here with a similar effect? Elfbark, or something like it? It has been my habit of old to carry it with me, for when my wounds plague me, but it seems in coming here my supplies were lost." There's more than a hint of sourness to that last, but in general his tone is far more neutral and polite.

"Elfbark? I don't believe I've ever heard of that." But she beckons to the Avox again, this time whispering to them to retrieve some medicine.

As the Avox leaves, China returns her attention to him, frowning sadly. "I do apologize for the harsh treatment." She chooses her words carefully. As much as she feels it could be beneficial to get along with the Tributes, she needs to remain in good favor with the Capitol first. Criticizing Peacekeepers isn't the way to do it.

"I imagine it must be difficult to understand when you've undergone such a jarring change of scenery, but they do not tend to be unnecessarily brutal. Hopefully you will heal soon and that will all be a bitter memory--and an incident that won't be repeated."

The Avox quickly returns, offering him a few pills.

"If you're hungry as well, food can be fixed for you easily enough."

Fitz grimaces, remembering the moment the door opened and the Peacekeepers entered. "I don't blame them, particularly." This is half true. While he resents them about as much as the rest of this godsforsaken place, and his battered ribs and sore everything give him a decent boost to his resentment levels, he does recognise that they didn't behave unduly. After all, he attacked them fairly brutally in his panic. In their shoes, he would have done the same. "No more than I blame you, or anyone else who is doing their jobs in keeping me here. I was come from a place where I had been sorely unwell, and I was weakened. Had I my full strength, I would not have had old wounds reopened. Had I all my wits about me, perhaps I would not have attacked them so savagely." A trace of a wolfish smile flickers around his mouth. "Perhaps I would. Under the circumstances, I acted as I saw fit. But now I know more, and so I would not attack them again without provocation."

His words are carefully pitched. He can't disguise his anger at the Capitol, but he recognises the effort she's making to help him, whatever her motives. He could stand to make it clear that he knows she's not culpable, that he knows she is no freer than him. And in the process, he's telling her and whoever is watching that he will not lose so easily next time.

He takes the pills from the Avox with a nod of thanks, and sits for a moment turning the little capsules in his hands. Where he's from, medicine mostly means herbs and roots, powdered or shredded or steeped in tea or wine. He understands that sort of medicine, flatters himself that he can recognise most common medicinal herbs in most forms by look and smell before even taste. But these little capsules are white and odourless and utterly inscrutable. His eyes slide to the Avox, and to China, and then, after a moment's hesitation, he closes his eyes and dry-swallows the pills. Half because he really does desperately need something, and half as a gesture of trust. Which may be misplaced, but at the very least it casts him as someone who might co-operate. That's a safer place to be than a wild threat, even if it means being prepared to puke his guts up at the first hint of dizziness or nausea.

"I'm not hungry," he lies, once the pills are down. "Perhaps I'll take something later, but food may be a little much for me now." He's actually ravenous, but he'd prefer to know the source if he starts to feel any ill effects. If he eats their food so soon after taking the pills, he won't be able to tell whether the food or the drugs are not to be trusted. And he'd really like to find out whether he's going to be able to eat here.

Edited 2015-07-22 16:09 (UTC)

Without provocation. She can't miss that part and she can't miss the dangerous implications. Her smile remains serene despite the wheels turning quickly in her head. "Good sense will save the day. I don't believe this will be too much of a blemish on your record, considering the circumstances."

New Tributes--and even not-so-new Tributes--have said worse things. She'll just have to keep her eye on him and be ready to sever ties and throw him to the wolves in case it seems he'll bring her down with him.

"Food is very easy to acquire whenever you may wish. There are ingredients and such in the kitchens and the Avoxes can cook if you cannot."

She pauses, a hint of concern creeping into her smile. "...Will I need to explain the refrigerator to you? There's no shame in not knowing--I ask because technological differences are an issue we've encountered before."

She should welcome it, given that it makes the assertion that the Capitol is better--at least, technologically--easier to back up. And maybe lording knowledge over other people should be fun, but some of this is just sad.

Despite what she says, he does feel rather ashamed when he has to admit "We have nothing of that name in my land." It's very easy to let this place intimidate him with its strangeness, and to feel like a cloddish backwater boy. Like the bathroom he saw in passing, ask chrome fittings and pipes, which he could only recognise the function of by the existence of a bath. Or the glass walks and black screens in here. It's not common for him to feel so backwards. He may not know everything about everything, but he grew up in the capital of his country. He's well-travelled and well-educated. But he recognises less than half of the things around him, can't even guess at their function, and that kind of ignorance is downright humiliating, especially hot on the heels of eventing else that's happened since he arrived here.

She smiles what is meant to be a comforting smile. Shepherding these people is her charge, after all, and trying to put people at ease just comes naturally to her. "Don't worry at all--it's simple enough to learn about. And this puts you on common ground with many Tributes in this District."

"It stores and keeps perishable food cold; it's a very useful invention. I won't bore you with how it runs, but just know that you may have the full use of it."

He furrows his brow. "That does sound very useful," he admits, thinking of hours spent jerking meat only to have it go bad unexpectedly, and of vegetables gone to rot in days. "I suppose you've done away with smoky fires and hauling water too. I can see I've a lot of learning ahead of me."

"We have. Though some people may find a demonstration of those things pleasantly quaint."

She files the idea away in case they need to set up a Sponsor event with him at one point. They need to use novelty where they can get it.

"Hopefully the learning won't be too hard. Remember that there are plenty of people to help you and there's no shame in needing advice." She laughs. "I'd much rather you ask someone how to use the stove than set the place on fire."

"Quaint." He almost-laughs, with only a hint of bitterness. "I suppose it must be. But I'm sure I'll learn fast enough the ways of this place. I'm sure I'd better, if I'm to remain in the city." It does occur to him to worry he may have immediately become too compliant, but now he's taken his temper in hand it's very clear to him that raging and snarling is likely to get him locked down and do him no good at all. Still. "All these little changes. And big ones. I'll be sure to devote my time to mastering them."

"Thank you for that. You have no idea how much it means to us that you intend to do your best."

"While it may seem baffling now, I assure you that there is a reason for everything." Those reasons may range from the foolish to the sadistic, though.

She pauses and cants her head to the side as if she's just remembered something. "All the same, I imagine you may at times desire an escape... in which case you may avail yourself of my library at any time. It's quiet and usually much less bustling than other attractions."

He'll do his best, alright. The more he understands of this place, the less there is to catch him off guard. The better his chances of escape. But if it pleases them to watch him try to master this world, so much the better.

Something much more like true interest lights his face when she mentions the library, despite himself. Books he's at home with, and though he'd rather not show himself as too intelligent, it's an opportunity he can hardly pass up. "You have a library here? I'm no scholar, but I've some interest in reading. Perhaps, if you have journeyman scrolls or histories, I'll even find a little aid in accustoming myself to this place."

She dips her head, her own smile growing. Maybe he's faking, but she's pleased to see any sort of appreciation for her books. And if it's not feigned, then all the better. "What library would be complete without a comprehensive history of its home? I can oblige that need easily."

Especially considering that him learning more about what kind of place this is saves much work for her.

"If you like, we could go on an excursion there at some point. I'll show you just where they are."

He nods tightly, but there's still a light of excitement in his face as he tries to temper his enthusiasm. "That would be a great aid to me. Perhaps I could explore for a while, gain my bearings, first, and then perhaps in the next day or so? I'd not want to make a fool of myself trying to find my way there and back."

Her hands fold in her lap and she straightens further, because that's just how delighted she is with his suggestion. "What a splendid idea. A very intelligent choice."

"Do be warned of the possibility of being mobbed by your adoring fans." She considers mentioning that, in that case, he needs to behave himself above anything, but she's sure he'll understand. Hopefully. "Aside from that, you should have a lovely time in the city."

Fitz raises a sceptical eyebrow, "My adoring fans? I've been here but a scant few hours."

She nods her head. "And doubtless some have already fallen to your charms. Some will be District 11 diehards, some will simply find that you align nicely with their personal preferences." Brushing a piece of hair back, she smiles, "And some you'll win over in time. But do not underestimate how quickly it can happen. In time, you may come to appreciate that."

His smile is wholly gone now, as she reminds him that he's been being watched and his actions scrutinised since he arrived. It isn't in an assassin's best interests to be famous. The name FitzChivalry Farseer being known across his homeland has certainly bought him nothing but trouble. And here he can't even hide from it. He feels like a rabbit caught in the open.

After a second, he bows his head. "I can't agree with their tastes, to find one such as me so fascinating, but I can only thank them for their consideration, I suppose."

Her expression doesn't falter or shift when she sees his initial reaction, though it's, admittedly, not what she would have hoped for. Smiles sell pretty well.

But a new warmth enters her eyes when he speaks. Long as she hoped for a Tribute willing to play the game, and it seems she may have at last received it. "Oh, please, spare us the modesty. But your gratitude is appreciated--I can guarantee you that I and others are making note of it."

"All good things, of course."

He tries for a smile, and almost succeeds, though it's rather tight and forced. He's had fans before, ballads of his deeds sung in halls, people who'd like to see him sit on the throne, even. It didn't end well for him. It's generally safer to go unnoticed, but he's not half as good at that as he'd like to be.

"Of course. And I'll try to keep it that way. I wouldn't want to let the Capitol down."

He eyes the Avoxes standing around the room. Yes. Not letting the Capitol down seems like a good idea.

Her sweet smile belies the ominous undercurrent of the conversation. Of which he's all too well aware, if his look at the Avox is any indication. "No, you wouldn't."

"I don't believe we'll have a problem with that at all--you're such a bright young man. And part of my job is ensuring that you please your fans and don't inadvertently stray, so consider me a resource for you."

What she'd prefer to say would be something along the lines of 'don't squander my expertise,' but she learned at an early age that people were more receptive when you didn't let your high opinion of yourself shine too brightly.

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witbastard - 2015-09-18 16:39 (UTC) - Expand

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