thecapitol | (no subject)

(no subject)

WHO| Tate Langdon & Momoko Ryugasaki
WHAT| Meeting and eating
WHEN| The first day they arrived
WHERE| District 7 Suite
WARNING/NOTES| None at the moment.

Tate wandered out of the bedroom assigned to him when the woman who never spoke opened the door to gesture him out. It would appear that it was time for a meal. Tate looked blankly at the woman as if she were dumb. Tate didn't need to eat, and if he ever did it was only for show. He wasn't a very social person, but at the same time having spent all that time in the bedroom watching the wall of a TV screen, he had grown bored. Maybe talking to the people here he could learn more about the Capitol that he had only been in for a day before being tossed into the arena.

Tate walked to the large table full of lavish foods that had to have taken quite some time to cook and arrange. It was a shame that it went to waste on him. Still he was seated and decided to wait for his mentor or other tribute or whatever to show up. He'd killed the other girl "from his district" in the arena so he was fairly sure he didn't have a good reputation around there.

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Momoko entered the room reluctantly, having much preferred to eat alone in her rooms. While she was the only District 7 tribute in the Capitol the various people assigned to handle her had let that go, but now she was apparently supposed to get to know her fellow district tributes. Which didn't make any sense to her, only one person could regardless, but it wasn't worth fighting.

Besides, if nothing else, the Capitol certainly knew it's way around a dessert table. And the dessert section of the table already set up was exactly where she was headed, though the sight of a boy already seated drew her up short. "Oh, hello," she said, mildly disappointed. She'd had hopes of grabbing a plate and retreating to her rooms after all.

Tate looked up when she had approached and spoke. "Hi." His tone wasn't completely apathetic, he was immediately struck by her clothing and that she was Asian. He hadn't seen many Asians around and when he met her eyes he sat back and looked her up and down, but not in an attracted way."You the other tribute?"

He could assume off the bat that she was, but it was still worth asking. All of the escorts seemed older and more elaborately dressed in the Capitol's bizarre fashion. However she, like the last one already looked weak and defenseless. Causing him to shake his head and chuckle- one less to be worried about in the arena.

"Yes," she said shortly, her unpleasant mood only worsened when he laughed. At her, she was sure. With a huff Momoko moved forward, sitting on the far end of the table from the other. "You're one of those from the Arena. You died, I saw," she added, not even trying for sympathy.

Alright, so she wasn't much to look at if you were thinking of bloody battles to the death, but this boy was the first to outright laugh at her.

His brow furrowed at her comment about him dying. It wasn't Tate's proudest moment and not something he wanted to be reminded of.

"Just seemed to miss the part where I killed people then." He just stared at her unamused. He watched her sit far away from him, assuming she was scared of him or something. That was just his ego still at work.

"What are you, Japanese or something?"

"I didn't miss anything," she replied haughtily, more composed than she actually felt. In fact, Momoko had skipped the video of Tate's kills, as well as most of the other deaths in the Games she watched, telling herself that it didn't harm her strategy. If things got to that point, she was dead no matter what, no point in giving herself nightmares. More nightmares.

"My name's Momoko Ryugasaki, what do you think," she said, not bothering to wait for anyone else before she started piling her plate with fruits and sweets. "And you're an American 'or something'."

American 'or something' just makes him smirk as he watched her collect an odd mix of food on her plate. "I think you better be one of those Japanese school girls who can wield a katana like a Samurai." he pauses recalling the situation at the beginning of the last Game. "And pray there even is a katana to grab when you get there." Tate had heard through the grapevine that some arenas didn't give you any weapons at all. That sometimes it was real luck to have something to snatch.

Seeing that she claimed to not have missed a thing, he didn't find it necessary to introduce himself. He also assumed that this girl, having seen what he did to the last tribute he was paired with would trust him as far as she could throw him, which again, he guessed wasn't far based on her size. So Tate found a lot of the polite formalities to not completely apply to these two. Tate sat with an empty plate in front of him while wondering if this Momoko would notice he never ate.

"So you ever kill somebody?" Blunt but relevant.

Momoko frowned but decided not to point out that not many schoolgirls could wield swords like Samurai. Generally it was Samurai who could wield swords like Samurai. Instead she decided to just ignore his babbling and concentrate on food, maybe finishing before anyone else comes in, and then his question sunk in and she froze. A split-second hesitation before she started rearranging the food on her plate, pasting a thoughtful expression on her face.

Should she lie? Could she make that believable? Would that hurt the image she's trying to cultivate for the Sponsors. "Not personally, no," she said eventually, vaguely. "My father's Yakuza, so I'm not new to killing of course. You? Before the arena, I mean." A half-truth. No one needed to know that her father was kicked out of the Yakuza when she was little for being a useless thief, after all.

"I don't know who Yakuza is." From the context he had assumed that was her father's name, not an organization of any sort. Tate had played with the internet before, but he was alive in the 90's, before it all so in comparison to modern day kids, he didn't have access to the vast amount of knowledge to know much about Japan that wasn't on TV or movies.

"Uh, yeah, like 10 people." He shrugged speaking casually and watching her poke her food. "Some with guns, some with fire, some just with my hands." Well he didn't really kill his mom's boyfriend with the fire, the guy had lived, but that was a minor detail. The main point was that he was able and willing.

"You been downstairs? To the parties." He grins having found a topic he was fond of. Not that he was fond of the people at the parties, but it was there that he had been able to watch the other tributes before the days in the training center.

"Yakuza's not a person. Yakuza's..." said Momoko, making vague gestures in the air. This was the first time the language barrier had come up, since whatever magic technology they had here could apparently take care of that. She frowned, not sure how to explain. "Yakuza are...criminals. Professionals."

Tate's casual manner was making her suspicious of his claims. She couldn't doubt his kills in the Arena, but there was nothing stopping him from lying about his past same as Momoko herself. "So you're experienced then," she said simply in reply. To be fair, she hardly knew the appropriate attitude a killer should have.

She was also rather suspicious of the subject change. Was he making a comment on her appearance somehow? Regardless, Momoko shuddered in response. "Yes, I have." When they made her. "It's horrible. All those people, they won't leave me alone. And the clothes." She grimaced.

"So your dad is a gangster?" He would have said mobster, but that sounded too flattering in his mind. Gangs in LA were a very dangerous and terrorizing culture that stayed in their own hood, but Tate knew enough about them to stay away when he had been alive. "A professional Japanese criminal?"

"I suppose you could say that." He shrugged. He would personally describe himself as experienced, as a mass murderer, or a serial killer even. All of those titles had a good ring to it. None the less he took it as it-is-what-it-is and kept the conversation moving.

"Oh god," he laughed, finally something they could agree on. "What the hell are they wearing? I'm not even gay and I know its all in awful taste." Fashion was really the last thing Tate ever thought of - he was a 90's grunge kid - but the Capitol was so bizarre it made him notice. "Its all so...bright. Thank god for alcohol...I guess." It had little effect on him, he just thought he looked suave drinking it.

"Yes, that," said Momoko, pleased. "A hit man," she added, because why not? "He trained me, of course, thought I'd follow in his footsteps but I much prefer a more...civilized lifestyle." And what was more civilized than the Rococo period? Nothing.

"It's awful," Momoko agreed, a little relieved to be talking on a less murderous if equally gruesome topic. "No one here knows the definition of good taste. I almost miss my neighbors in their terrible discount supermarket clothes."

"Wish my dad had bonded with me like that." he snickered despite there being some truth behind the statement. Tate's dad had supposedly run off when he was younger, but he often thought that was a lie told to him by his mom. Regardless he never had one nor had he wanted one.

"So long as we don't have to dress that way." he watched her plate. "They can all burn in their not-so flame retardant clothing when we burn this city to the ground." he wasn't being serious yet he found it amusing, evident from his amused grin. "In their own way they have great taste!" Yeah being friendly didn't seem to last that long with Tate. He had no need for friends here. Only allies who were strong.

Momoko spared a moment to imagine what it would have been like to grow up with the Yakuza hit man she's built up as her father, to 'bond' with him. Probably a more useful childhood to prepare her for this experience, but to her surprise she found she rather preferred the useless, cowardly father she had upon thinking about it. "It was alright," was all she said.

"...They haven't tried to put me in anything like what they wear yet," said Momoko eventually, because it was true that her stylist had mostly backed off after the first day, and also because Momoko wasn't sure what to say to the second comment. Was he serious? Was he trying to put up a tough act like herself? He didn't seem to need it, but if you hadn't watched him the arena he wasn't all that threatening just to look at, so maybe. Though there was something unsettling about him...

Being suspicious of everyone's motives was much more exhausting when Momoko actually had reason to care about everyone else's motives. "I don't think flammable is good taste," is what she settled on in response, finally.

"I guess its not." Tate found her response amusing, feeling that it made her seem uncomfortable. His comments often had that effect when he desired them to. Tate was never one to avoid asking the awkward questions no one else wanted to venture into. Rather he sometimes did it for entertainment value he found in it.

"So, you like ready to die in the arena then?" This was asked far too casually as if they were still talking about clothes. "I mean, it's not like you actually die apparently, but its really- well it sucks. And its painful. People's guts and brains everywhere." His eyes shifted down to her plate when he pauses. "Are you really going to eat that stuff?"

Actually Momoko was having second thoughts about it, the usually enticingly pastel-colored sugary treats suddenly far too red and pink for her taste, like artfully arranged bloody brains and why had she allowed herself to picture that. She closed her eyes and forced the image from her mind, thinking only of Rococo, green fields and soft sunlight.

Finally she spoke, hoping she'd come across as annoyed rather than perturbed. "This is what I always eat," she said. "And nobody's 'ready' to die, that's stupid. You just die."

"You live off sugar?" He reworded. Not that he was the image of health or anything, but it still caused him to make a face. He wasn't big on sweets when he was alive and able to actually taste them. "Healthy."

"Yeah. Okay." Tate heard what she said and nodded after giving it some thought. She was right- no one got ready for it. It just happened. If Tate had remembered his own death at home, he should have been expecting it at least, but rarely do people get ready for it. "But knowing what we're about go to into, its something to considering doing. Getting ready to die, that is." His smile was sort of eerie as he said this, almost as if he liked the thought.

"Fruit is healthy," Momoko said, holding up a strawberry for emphasis. "Sugar is the best kind of food. Girls who eat sour things--or both sweet and sour are just...ugh." She wrinkled her nose and popped the strawberry in her mouth, tempted to just ignore the rest of the conversation.

Somehow she doubted he would let it go at that, he was so horribly invested in talking about murder and killing and death. "You only get ready to die if you don't intend to win. Don't you intend to win, boy?" she asked casually instead.

He dropped the topic of food the second she called him 'boy.' That was a trigger for Tate and his expression showed his irritation. "Of course I intend to win, little girl." He glared at her now. "And I intend to take you out in the process." He paused, for effect and to gauge her reaction. "I just haven't decided if it'll be quick or slow."

Momoko didn't blink at being called little girl--as far as she was concerned, she was still a child, in the ways that counted. What made her scowl was his threats. He wasn't allowed to do anything to her outside of the Arena anyway (wasn't he?), so she stared right back at him, more angry than scared for the moment.

"Take your time," she snapped, slamming her hands on the table. "It'll be a long while before you get the chance to lay your dirty hands on me."

Tate didn't flinch at the loud smack her hands made. He only laughed. Her anger and tough front amused him. Or at least that's what he took her for. "All right, I'll remember that when I see you in the arena." He stood now feeling like he was done with this conversation. He'd gotten a taste of who this other girl was and like the one before her, he didn't particularly like her. Not that the thought much bothered him.

With that he turned and went towards his room, never once touching the food when he sat there, and not bothering to say good night.

Momoko glared as he walked away, angry and unsettled. She looked at her own plate for a long moment, let out a huff of annoyance and shoved it away before returning to her own room. She wasn't hungry anymore.

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