thecapitol | woosh

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woosh

Who| The Batter, OTA
What| Roller coasters? Nah, Duck Hunt and Pong.
Where| in the Capitol, exploring the carnivale and arcade.
When| July 30th
Warnings/Notes| TBA, nothing of note yet.

This isn't exactly what he had in mind. He supposes there's only so much training and exercise one can do over the course of a few days, and he still hasn't managed to change his preference from blunt instruments to something a little more efficient - a blade, perhaps, something sharp for a quick and efficient end. But practice is practice, and when the time comes, he's more than prepared for the task.

The world here is strange, but he's accustomed to it. The rules are different, but he will abide by them. It is not his place to question, to have cause for concern, he simply follows and does as higher authority commands. He can sense the darkness, the impurities tarnishing a once great land, and if it is his duty to cleanse it and prove his worth in the arenas, he considers it an honour.

But the arcade and carnivale is a little more than unexpected. It somehow reminds him of home, as he walks along the pier and watches the roller coasters zoom by. He almost wants to go wait in line for it. But that would be ridiculous.

He's in the arcade now, a plastic, bright orange handgun in his hand and a pixelated brown dog congratulating him on his kill - the Batter has never seen real purple ducks, but it's a possibility in this world. The game isn't difficult, but he's more than half tempted to shoot the damn dog whenever it laughs at him for a missed shot. Stupid thing.

There's evidence he's been there a while. A collection of trinkets and plushes are gathered at his feet, toys that he has no use for and will not keep. But dammit, he's going to beat this game and every game in the arcade if he has to. A waste of time, but no video game is going to laugh at him and get away with it.

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-- okay point, they are children's toys, it is only logical to assume that the pile on the floor belongs to another child. It's a thought that only occurs to him after she says it, and suddenly the small collection of plush bears and other trinkets is far less appealing. What could he possibly use these for? He's not a child.

"Do you want them?" he asks with a shrug, brow furrowed. This is such a ridiculous pastime. He's not learning anything from it. This isn't training or weapon practice - it's not even a real gun. "I've no need for them."

She was about to question why he went to all the trouble to win them, when her fans surged around the corner.

"Yes thank you!" She scooped up the toys in her arms and brought them to the crowd like some form of sacrifice to appease their tribe.

The girls squealed and each took a toy, even fighting over the larger ones. Sandy just seemed greatful to give them something to focus on.

... well. That's one way to dispose of a bunch of needless, unnecessary toys.

The Batter watches the plushie frenzy for a few moments, seemingly baffled by the sheer insanity of it all. There's a part of him that finds it almost endearing, but it's a very small, miniscule part of him and he silences it quickly with a scoff. Stupid and pointless, all of it.

"Glad to see they will be of some use," the Batter replies, a bit puzzled but mostly irritated - all that squealing is awfully shrill. "Companions of yours?"

Sandy's glad to, it's almost enough to make her feel bad for seizing the opportunity so swiftly. But the girls seem content and she smiles apologetically at The Batter.

"The Sand Sisters." She held up a leather hand made bracelet with the same words stamped into it. "Fans of mine who get a little excited when I'm hanging out in the same places they do."

The girls affirmed this by squealing excitedly before going back to their squabbles and excited giggling.

"Sand Sisters." He repeats the name, sounding confused but not overly enthused. He never is.

The concept of fans is a little strange, especially for an otherwise seemingly bland and ordinary girl, but it's not his place to question these things. The Batter eyes the bracelet she shows him, an eyebrow raising - an odd mark of leadership, cheap and clearly not a real symbol of any authority. Pitiful, really.

"They seem bothersome." And shrill. "Perhaps you should have them removed."

Her face somehow fell even more and she stood a little straighter like she was being cornered.

"I can't do that, they're perfectly fine here just...a little worked up." She defended them and then under breath mentioned "And I need all the support I can get in the arena." And the Sand Sisters had drummed up support any number of times.

Ah. So they were a support system. Likely not a system with many benefits in the arenas themselves, but for some, emotional and moral support helped in other ways that he simply could not understand. Or tolerate. Were he armed at the moment, that incessant shrieking would be silenced immediately.

"I see."

One of the toys is dropped again, rolling on the floor to land near his feet, and the Batter only regards it for a moment before giving it a light kick back towards the group. He'd rather not get any closer.

"If it is what works for you, then it works for you."

"It's one way of doing things." She agreed, and then deciding it was rude not to introduce herself to a guy who had just helped her out "I'm Sandy Marko, District 12. Nice to meet you." She offered a warm smile and a held out hand for shaking.

Hand shaking. Right, that was a common form of greeting in most lands. He can't recall if he's ever done it himself before, but he can give it a try.

"I am called the Batter," he answers, grasping her hand maybe a little too firmly for his first known handshake ever, though the way he awkwardly raises their hands up and back down is proof he's a bit of a novice on the concept. "I don't believe the same could be said."

This handshake is somehow even more mechanical then the time she shook hands with a literal robot who was a tribute once. She's all too happy to have her hand back but don't think she missed that little barb at the end. It's enough to make her smile fade.

"Batter huh? So do you play on a team or something? Do you play any field positions too or just...batting?"

Even in the crappy version of New York she's from, baseball is still a big deal.

She certainly knows how to bring up the questions that really make him think, that's for sure.

The Batter's stare is a long and puzzled one, indeed. It's not that he doesn't understand the concept of what she's talking about, because the game is familiar to him. But the fact remains that he simply cannot recall a time he's ever played the sport in the first place. His bat is not for sport, it is a weapon.

"It is the name assigned to me by the creator," he eventually does answer. "I'm not on a team."

"Creator?" Ok now we've steered from uncanny valley handshakes into possibly not human territory.

"So wait...you were created? By who? For what?"

He wouldn't be the first person she's met in the last two weeks who was created. And if his reasons were as dark as her districtmate who happened to be a bunch of souls bound together to kill people...well this next arena was gonna get interesting.

Oh, one can only hope the girl has the time and patience to deal with the response that's coming.

"Hugo."

-- it's an odd name on his lips now. It feels as if centuries had past before he'd last spoken it, and yet it comes naturally as though nothing is changed. He's not sure what to call the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he brushes it off and continues, explaining what he can to sate the girl's curiosity.

"He created us to assist the Guardians in building a new world after the calamity," the Batter carries on, not entirely unaware of how strange the whole thing must sound. "He was a child. We were given new life to keep the world pure and safe from ruination."

Patience she has, time might be another story. But for now...

"That sounds...pretty heavy. What was the calamity? What were you going to do to keep things pure?" She had been here long enough now and spoken to enough people to hear about the death of worlds multiple times. Sometimes through war, other times through natural disaster. But most often it was the fault of humanity. An ominous fact that had not been lost on Sandy's young mind.

"It was before my time," the Batter continues. To anyone else, it would be troubling, not knowing the details of such a significant event of their home world's past, but the Batter is almost disturbingly unaffected by it. As he is by pretty much anything.

"The details were not necessary," he explains, leaning down to pick up one of the discarded toys. Maybe some other child will want it. "My only task was to destroy the impure beings tarnishing my homeland's grace. I did not hold back."

It is a bit unsettling to speak with someone so...cold. Unmoved and unmotivated by the sorts of things that normal people would speak about with passion. He was starting to make Sandy's skin crawl.

"So since you can't do those things here how are you just totally not losing your mind? Have you already found a new purpose?"

The Hunger Games did seem plenty capable of forcing people to re-evaluate their lives.

"My purpose is to be my district's victor in the arena, when the time calls for it," came the Batter's quick, equally unemotional response. It really was as simple as that. Once he was victorious, it was hard to say what came after that. But all of his focus was spent on the immediate road ahead, and what would follow, would follow.

"I would imagine the same could be said for yourself," he continues, keeping the toy in one arm as he turns to face her again. "Is it not the purpose of all of us newcomers here? Victory in the arena?"

If it's not, this city sure is sending out the wrong signals.

Sandy had to take a moment to decide if this guy was drinking the Capitol Kool-aid or if he simply didn't know better. It was impossible to say for sure.

"Well yeah, most of us want that. No more death, no more starving, at least until they put the mentors back in for a special arena." As that had happened twice now it was more or less confirmed being a mentor did not make you any safer then being a tribute.

"But some people don't want to win. They just want to try and...I dunno hold onto their humanity you know?"

Which was a drawn out way of saying they didn't want to kill anyone or be manipulated.

"Honestly at this point all I ever aim to do is survive."

They just want to try and hold on to their humanity.

What a strange concept. The Batter's not sure what to think of it, but there's a great deal he doesn't know what to think about in this world. The people here are so very different, they have odd ways of thinking that are foreign to him, and that means there's really only one explanation for it.

"Then I am not human."

If he has no humanity to hold onto, after all.

"Survival is all that those of lesser strength can hope to accomplish," he answers, cold as ever. "Even then, it is a fool's hope."

And with that, this guy has moved one notch further down into the category of "People Sandy does not like"

"I don't think it's foolish." She retorted "I've been here long enough to see that there's lots of different kinds of strength. Fighting and killing isn't always the best way to win."

She braced herself and then cast a wary glance towards the peacekeepers but they'd finally gotten bored and moved along. That was a small comfort. Saying these sorts of things even in a tactical sense wasn't exactly smiled upon.

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