thecapitol | [open] Follow the Leader

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[open] Follow the Leader

Who| Leonidas Cora and Open!
What| Leo catches up with his Tributes, the Capitol
Where| Training Center and the Capitol
When| August 7 and 8
Warnings/Notes| D2 Priorities, so expect callous description of murder and foul language

I – Training Center (Open to all)

The number of Tributes dwindled with every Arena and Leo wouldn’t be too surprised if some never really made it back at all. Garrett’s return was a boon; the thief had one Arena under his belt. Cullen had no real drive to be of any use…the Batter had the makings of being a Career but lacked the Arena experience. These were things he had to account for in the next Arena and ...well... Jet Link was permanently gone.

So yes, Leo is extra bitter this time around, because another Arena that could have been survivable if they played the rules right but nope. Worse, it was won by one of the oldest, if not THE oldest Tribute District 10 had…it said a lot about the odds in favor of his District. So if anyone were to find Cora, he’s training, stabbing something in the Training Room, or running so many simulations on the computer,

He’s sent all District 2 Tributes a summons to show up at different appointment, to hand them specific sponsors to appeal to and their performance in the last Arena. If Signless was taking a proactive approach to Mentoring, Cora wasn’t going to let him win this little competition they have.

II – Capitol Shopping District (Open)

No sleep was lost for Leo as the Tributes were forced to get jobs in and around the Capitol to make up for the Districts pay for their credit. He’d been wondering about the extravagant lifestyles some of them had and with no way to account for it. Sure, it meant that the staff had to scramble to find more sponsors and maybe even jobs if need be. The Capitol thrived on publicity, on making every Assi worth it.

For now, he sits in a coffee shop, to work somewhere outside from the Tower while also getting a proper gauge of how his District Tributes were seen. The man was clearly on a mission but he had to be a professional about it. From what he hears…it’s not great and

III – Training Center (Closed to China Sorrows)

The invitation sent to China’s suite was as every bit as Spartan as the training she would get from the Small Lion. It read:

You are cordially invited to take part in a fencing session. Please dress comfortably for the occasion, tea and snacks will be available.

I don’t go back on my word, Miss Sorrows. I hope this will be to your liking.

Leo was already making sure that every set of equipment was up to snuff…they were going to indulge in a bit of violent behavior within the Capitol.

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It's not often when he sees Leo and never by his own request. But, as always, he's punctual, wearing jeans and flannel and a neutral mask, jaw set, as he steps into the training centre expecting to be slapped across the face with a lecture.

Show some teeth.

Stop helping your friends.

He doesn't know what, if anything, Leo has taken away from the slander masquerading as an expose and after he had caved his best friend's skull in with a rock in the previous arena. But whatever the case might be, Luke's looking to get this over with as soon as possible.

He finds his mentor working up a sweat and makes his presence known with a nod and equally quiet "hey", whether or not he's been noticed, before slowing to a stop a respectful distance away. For a moment he just looks on expectantly, canting his head. "You wanted to see me?"

Call Leo a mentor and he will chew you out, Luke...Cora is no mentor, as much as he wishes he were. He has the combat knowledge, the survival skills and the knowledge of Sponsors without ever setting foot in the Arena, a fact that kills him from the inside. But for now, he'll be setting that aside to meet this tribute for the first time.

"Yes, though I expected something a little more comfortable than what you're wearing," Leo remarked, "Your combat's barely passable and the only reasons you're a threat is the virus that reanimates you. How do you plan on keeping anyone safe if you can barely swim?"

It’s hard to breathe through a sudden, winding tightness in his chest. And while his skull rocks with the blood that comes roaring hot through his eardrums, almost drowning out his thoughts, he debates whether he should open his mouth at all because the muscle flexing in the sharp line of his jaw and the way his brows settle low over his eyes speak volumes.

He should've guessed his drowning would be used as ammunition against him. Maybe, in a fucked up way, it's meant to have a motivational effect if it's not just a low-blow he's meant to take like one of the dull-eyed training dummies stationed in the room. It seems about right from what he knows of the Capitol.

"I ain't gon' pretend that I can protect them all the time. Ain't nobody out there who can, an' sure as hell not in them Games." It takes everything to bite back a handful of vicious adjectives to describe the arenas. His voice is low and barely controlled, the rise and fall of his chest quickening. "But if you wanna help them, then m'sure they'd appreciate all the supplies you'd be willin' to send."

Leonidas would have thrived in the violence that bubbled underneath Luke's voice but he's learned how effective honey can be to flies. "Get mad at me all you want, but I'm not here to coddle you and say you did a good job out there," he explained, "If you've been here long enough, why haven't you improved? I can send all the supplies you want but there has to be a return in that investment, especially now."

Luke wasn't a big spender but D2 was furious nonetheless that they'd been paying for all this time.

"At this point, I'm not asking you or anyone in my District 2 to kill, I'm asking you all to survive. I can't break your ties to the others, it's not worth the trouble." This is as diplomatic as Leo will ever get.

Edited 2015-08-12 12:48 (UTC)

There's no sense explaining the measures he had taken and was still taking to improve his odds. In the end, the hours spent refreshing his knowledge of edible and non-edible plants and working to put meat onto his starved bones haven't amounted to the desired results. But he's not under any illusions that he'd have Leo's respect if his luck had held out any longer. What approval he might earn from someone who stood to profit from his ability to weather out the tortures of every new and carefully-engineered deathtrap wouldn't mean much to him in the end.

Luke glances aside to others tributes driving fists and blades stiffly into dummies, empty air filled with shimmery blue holograms. Each fighting for a hope to survive as much as he had for the past few years. He won’t make any promises of holding out to the end, of being there, always, when he was needed. Not to Leo, to himself, or to his people. His will to survive is quietly, fiercely strong for all the times he's struggled to find a way to push on in the face of senseless hardship. But at the end of the day a hunger to live can only take him so far. Death comes for everyone; it's only a matter of time before that bell tolls for him again.

“Look, I ain't gon' make any promises.” He says, his voice quieter, hammered flat. Guarded. "But I’ll do what I can." And he means it. Others are counting on it.

It's that promise that Leo then turns around, "Tell me your top five supplies you need in the first week and I will make them happen. I can't promise you a flamethrower, but if it will give you an edge over the competition, the better. You've known the Cornucopia is more a death trap than a reward...so let's make those chances a little better." Luke was a quiet survivor but he lasted long enough to earn the extra look from Sponsors.

"Do you have sponsors to compensate?"

His brow furrows, mouth skewing. But it takes no time to drum up a list of necessities. "I’ll need water, food, a first aid kit, a knife, an' matches.”

Survival came easiest, so to speak, in the wilderness. Growing up in the country - a childhood full of adventures and scraped knees, bug bites and poison ivy rashes - made him comfortable with the outdoors, but the sudden collapse of civilization forced him to adjust to it entirely, to rely on his ability to identify some edible berries and mushrooms and his familiarity with fire-building to eke out a living. Nature in temperate climates is generally bountiful but future arenas wouldn't always present generous hunting and scavenging opportunities, and that is where a ration of food and a pack of matches early on could make a world of difference.

"The supplies comin' in have been from you, mostly." He folds his arms loosely across his chest, a hand curling around one bicep. "Those sponsors, they come an’ go s’far as I can tell.”

"Food and water will be sent in the moment I can, I can try for the knife but the matches might be a problem if the Arena doesn't allow it," Leo dictated, knowing the rules of the Hunger Games by heart: nothing that can give a significant edge to the Tributes of one District. He knows the Gamemakers are loathe to have this happen and then ruin their plans however mysterious they might be.

"Then we have to make them stay, for your sake and knowing you're not going to make the kills necessary to get a compensation," Cora stated pretty much outright that Luke, like many of the other Tributes he had in his workload, would rather survive than kill a fellow competitor.

There are much uglier, blunter remarks to be heard and he's not upset in the least. Surviving and without turning to violence to thin out the competition is the sort of approach to life that had labelled him as weak before the Games. Carver had left no room for debate on the matter. But what matters most to him is coming out of this with as many of his principles - and as much of his soul - intact as possible.

There isn't always a choice, he knows that. The reason why he has a little more money to his name now is because he had to put Kieren down with an axe to the brain, had to smash Nick's skull in. But those funds wouldn't last long no matter how carefully he monitored his spending.

"Well, I'd appreciate anythin' I can get. The rest I can try to improvise an' work around, dependin' on what's out there." He's made weapons and tools of twisted shards of metal and sharpened sticks. It wasn't pretty but it had gotten the job done. The sponsor situation - or lack thereof - is a little less straightforward.

"So what're my options?" There's no confrontational edge to his voice even if his arms are still crossed. He's cautiously curious, suspecting he'll be asked to compromise his dignity in some way.

"Advertising, paid dates, guest spots talking in Arenas," Leo listed off at the answers, "You're a reserved Tribute, not my usual work but I can manage around that. You'd best talk to Torin as well, the man is a Mentor I deeply respect." A sincere statement on his part, "He can help you with the survival techniques. I can only give you combat training if necessary." And boy howdy did Luke need that.

"I will ask this once though: how far are you willing to go for your friends and to survive?"

Not an easy question but it's one Leo used back at D2 to sort out his cadets.

'Paid dates' gets an eyebrow lift out of him, though he's sure it's far from the worst of his choices if he meant to dig a little deeper.

He's not above training with or under someone to improve his combat skills - because his ability to trap someone in a rudimentary headlock or disarm a rifle-bearing enemy was highly dependent on the circumstances. But first he'd need to discipline his arena-reset body, to regain the stamina and strength to use new strategies to their fullest advantage. Filling up on regular meals and putting meat back onto his bones was a part of that.

It's all as much for his friends and family as it is for himself, and he doesn't shy away from Leo's question because it's something he's been forced to ask himself, more and more often. He thinks of the firefight between his group and Arvo's, the sputtering crackle of gunfire carrying for miles.

"I'll go as far as I have to." He answers, his expression grimly accepting.

There wouldn't always be a choice -- and when that happened and push came to shove, he'd show his teeth. He had to.

"That's not the answer I want and that's not the answer the sponsors prefer: what are you willing to do to ensure your group's survival? Because you're not doing enough, you're not raising the stakes and fighting back if a threat falls upon you. I'm not telling you to make a show, but if a child comes with the intent to kill, what then?"

This is the truth about the Hunger Games, and Leo stresses, "You don't get a second chance in the Arena to right a wrong. Do it right the first time and then you get rid of the problem."

It's with that he stands up. Luke is another cadet, plain and simple.

"Come with me, you're learning how to disarm and incapacitate. You know how to kill, and you can't rely on your condition to have a shot."

Leo's right about the answer: sponsors would want something fiercer, sexier.

Transforming into a snarling, mindless flesh-eater is the last thing he ever hopes to let happen, never mind is something he ever intends to rely on, and Luke's manner grows cooler and less sympathetic, a defiant edge to his jawline even if he agrees to training even if there isn't much else he agrees with. He fought Black Tom for Beth's safety; had fought Thor for Nick's. But he's not here to argue. There's no winning here, no winning against the Capitol the way the situation is now, when he'll be tossed over and over into a meat-grinder of an arena with everyone else.

They both have jobs that need doing and Luke will keep lying and putting on airs for the Capitol as long as he needs to, but he won't bend himself over a table for them. Maybe the question isn't how far he's willing to go for his survival and that of his loved ones but how far he's willing to please and appease the Capitol to gain some semblance of an edge within the boundaries of what the Games allowed for.

Still, he follows, stiff-jawed. There's work to be done.

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[open] Follow the Leader

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just wrapping it up