thecapitol | Welcome to my school. This ain't no High School, this is the Thunderdome. [OPEN]

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Welcome to my school. This ain't no High School, this is the Thunderdome. [OPEN]

Who| Bucky Barnes (Lady!AU) and YOU
What| Lady Bucky wakes up on a metal table (again) and Simple Plan plays in the distance.
Where| The Training Center
When| Backdated to very early on Friday morning before the Crowning.
Warnings/Notes| Vague references to PTSD due to torture and experimentation.

Waking up (No Prompt, Just Meta)

It's early, not long after dawn that she's found herself in the Training Center basement. Overwhelmed would be the only proper word to describe her present state, though it still feels insufficient. She panicked upon waking on a metal table, though the Peacekeepers called it a cot, she can't not see it as a table (not unlike the one she was once strapped to). She fought and struggled, hyperventilating and backed into a corner. At first, she was certain it was a nightmare born from the dark memories of the hydra factory, but there was no Zola, no restraints, no needles.

Once she calmed enough to pay attention, she was given the explanation. 'Honored to have been brought into Panem to complete in the Hunger Games... competing with the other Tributes in a battle to the death.' There was more, but that was the only important part. Shock and survival instinct lead to her mind evening out and playing along even though she thought it was insane. Bide your time, then escape.

A) District 11 Apartments

As she was escorted through hallways filled with such advanced technology and given a communicator that attached to her wrist, her hands started to tremble with the creeping realization that this wasn't bullshit. So that is how she enters the District 11 Apartments: arm with the holo communicator on her wrist held to her chest while the other grips the device tightly to steady her hands.

She stands outside the elevator doors in her Army Nurse uniform for a good minute before adventuring into the common room in a bit of a haze, but compartmentalization is already taking place in her mind. She's good at it, looking for points to focus on and take in to pull herself into the moment and out of everything that just happened and will happen.

It's at this point that she shows off just how out of date she is, if her clothes and hairstyle didn't already say as much, because she spots the T.V. and it immediately catches her attention over the view out on the deck. The first television was demonstrated when she was a kid, but it looked nothing like that.

"The hell?" She walks to it and taps on the screen with a knuckle. "Thought these things were made of glass."

And smaller. She grabs the edge of it to tilt it and see behind- and predictably, it falls out of the wall with a spark and very not good sound. "Ah shit."

B) Central Commons

Later that morning, after taking care of television business and gaining some more composure, Bucky makes her way down to the Ground Floor to get a better idea of the building. And to start learning more about the Capitol, this Country they call Panem and its people. Know your enemy.

She's still dressed in what she woke up in, of course. That 1940s hair and olive drab dress uniform of the Army Nurses stands out in a place like this with so much vibrance and modern decor, but she's more focused on the cocktail bar several paces away. Her lips are pursed as she considers the fact that it's not even noon. But given the circumstances, she doesn't see the hour as that good of a reason not to hit the bottle.

Upon discovering through observation that Tributes can eat and drink here free of charge, she gives in and will be taking a heavy seat at the bar. Her jaw and cheek get propped in one palm and she looks at the bartender in a way that says 'please don't go judging me for this, it's been a long morning.'

"Just get me something high in alcohol with a swift kick to the kisser."

The lingo of her era seems to slow the bartender down, but he nods after a pause, getting the gist and goes to get what she described. After that she'll glance over at whoever else is at the bar and within conversation range.

"What're you in for?"

C) The Roof

Then, nearing the start of the Crowning, she can be found on the roof, looking out over the city with that kind of look that someone gets when they're seeing something they previously thought couldn't exist. Because that's kind of exactly what she's experiencing, though she mutes it into something closer to casually impressed.

She'll be walking around the roof slow and along the edge in laps, not just to occupy herself, but because she keeps seeing something new about the city from every angle she scans over. The force field is of course, not something she's noticed because she isn't gonna be falling over or throwing something over the edge, but that would get her eyebrows going up for sure.

She'll stop circling at some point and lean her arms on the ledge, looking directly down below. The Training Center is not nearly as tall as the empire state building, but everything else more than makes up for it.

"Kinda disappointed that there's no flying cars." She mutters, remembering Stark's near-success with it at the Expo.

Not much later, the sounds of the Crowning starting will echo over to the roof, and she'll not really be aware that she's supposed to be attending. She'll make it eventually, but anyone is welcome to start bustling her out.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

China's relaxing in the staff area of the suite when she hears that not-so-promising sound. A new Tribute is expected today, and she supposes that must be it--that, or Altair is throwing a tantrum. While her plan had originally been to let the guest wander over to her, she rises to slip into the suite proper. This is probably something she should deal with.

She quells a sigh as she recalls her first encounter with another of the District 11 Tributes, Hawke. ...And her talks with Altair and FitzChivalry, for that matter. Must she always host the technologically incapable ones?

Nonetheless, there's a warm smile on her face and her monotone remains gentle. "In case you haven't already figured it out, that is not how you operate the television."

Like most of her ilk, there's a hint of outrageousness to her attire--in this case, the black tattoos that whirl and writhe around her bare arms.

She was halfway through bending down to inspect the damage when she heard China's voice. She looks up and then slowly straightens, looking the woman over with a wary gaze. Her stance shifts a bit, angling into something more protective, though not timid or shy. The tattoos don't offend her, though they are certainly not something she's seen before.

She notices that she's clenching her teeth rather hard and forces them apart to reply. "Gee, I thought maybe I was on to something with that loud crunch."

Her hands are shaking again and she clenches them into tight fists at her sides.

The joke makes her smile a little broader, only for it to fade when she sees the woman's hands.

"Are you rattled, dear?"

But the woman's attire looks almost like a uniform of sorts and China imagines it takes more than a sudden noise to spook someone of that sort. Then again, it could just be fashion; this early in an acquaintance, China doesn't like to jump to conclusions.

Really, there's probably just the very obvious reason that winding up in a world different than your own is pretty weird. But for the sake of performing her role as a good little Capitolite, China pretends that doesn't even come to mind. "If you're concerned about the damage, don't be. We'll find a way to sort out payment; I'm sure a first offense will be granted clemency."

Her gaze sharpens with a bit of a deadly edge, though it's just for a fleeting moment and an accidental slip, so she hides it with a charming, self-assured smile and a tilt of her head, the picture of polite dame with a flirty side. It drives the men back home crazy and she's used it to convince soldiers to stay put on their cots when in her care. But in this case, it's armor. She doesn't like showing vulnerability or being talked to like that, it registers as condescending in her mind.

"Thanks." She puts a hand on her hip and looks down at the television with a short sigh. Her hands aren't shaking and her posture has smoothed out its edginess into something more relaxed, though she's gripping her hip a tad tight. "I'd've liked to see it up and working. I'd like to pay, though I just got here." So no money. She looks up at China, "If you've got some ideas, I'm all ears..."

She trails off and then smiles with that same fabricated charm, "What's your name?"

Edited 2015-08-24 17:32 (UTC)

"Do I have ideas." It is her job, much as she'd be fine with not working for her paycheck. She shakes her head briskly, though not briskly enough to set a carefully secured hair out of place. "But we can cross that bridge when you're more settled in--though I dare to say you seem to be adjusting rather quickly." There's an approving smile with the last remark.

"China Sorrows. If you're on the proper floor, then I'll be your Escort." She holds her arms out slightly from her sides, palms up. "May I have your name?"

The approving look doesn't really make her feel more at ease, she can't tell if it makes her feel encouraged or more suspicious and agitated. More the former, but she continues with the easy smile, looking over China's hands and over her posture with slow consideration before answering her question.

"James Barnes. Nice to meet you." Then she looks over at the way she came from the elevator, "And if I'm on the wrong floor then you'd have to give those Peacekeepers a lesson in math."

Since they escorted her here. There's a slight hesitation before she says 'Peacekeepers', not used to the term.

"I'm sure they could do without it." Peacekeepers are strength. Doing anything but buttering them up wouldn't fit with her strategy--and, besides, there are a few she does like.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, James." Interesting name, she notes, though she doesn't change her expression or ask. That's information that might surface later and it's so much easier to let these things come up by themselves. "Welcome to the Capitol. Do you have any questions I could answer? I find it's easier to start that way."

She steps forward, nodding toward the chairs and inviting her to sit.

"Hariti, no!"

A bat comes sailing out of the door, narrowly avoiding dive-bombing Bucky's hair because it's obviously having a lot of trouble flying straight. It spirals into the air and a little Tibetan boy with blue arrows all over his body rushes past Bucky, clipping her hip with a shouted, "Sorry, ma'am!" before jumping onto the edge of the roof.

He catches the bat in the air, teetering dangerously close to the steep drop down, but he doesn't seem at all concerned as he straightens himself and pins the bat's wings to its body. "I said your wing's not ready to fly over the edge."

She steps to the side to catch herself when she's bumped, but it wasn't harsh enough to have her reeling. Then, she looks over to the boy that had run past her and-

"Shit!" She impulsively reaches out a hand to try and grab his arm, but then he straightens and she stops, watching him closely. "Hey kid. You wanna get down from there before I have a heart attack?"

It is in Aang's contract to give every Bucky he comes across a good heart attack, thank you. Not that he knows he's still fulfilling that contract, yet.

He turns to look at her, still close enough to the edge that it looks like a stiff wind could knock him over, and gives her a smile as he proudly presents his squeaking. "It's okay. I caught her before she fell."

He pauses a beat, then realization crosses over his face. "Oh, you mean a heart attack over me." Forgive him. He's used to airbender sensibilities. "I'm okay. Don't worry." Nonetheless, he learned from the last Bucky that it's easier to just acomodate reasonable adult concerns than fight against them, so he steps down from the edge, putting a couple feet between him and the drop.

She gives Aang a bit of an odd look, because of course she meant him. But then nods, letting it go. At least the boy has some level of awareness, even if it's belated. Now that there's no urgent worry that a kid was gonna get flattened on the pavement right in front of her, she can get a look at him and his bat. Tattoos, East Asian looking clothing, shaved head. Monk, she supposes, though not behaving like one she ever heard of.

She lets out a huff and takes a couple steps to the side to lean one arm on the top of the ledge and shifting her weight to one leg. Gonna take a damn load off after that. "So was that a one time only experience, or do you scare the hell out of unsuspecting bystanders all the time?"

She doesn't sound angry, just exasperated and making conversation.

"I'm told that I have single-handedly taken ten years off the lives of any adults who are supposed to look out for me."

Aang readjusts his hold on his bat because she's squeaking unhappily. He scratches between her ears, which just makes her look generally exasperated because it's hard to be angry when she's getting little scritches. "I think they worry too much," says the boy who just almost pitched himself off a roof for a bat.

He frowns, cocking his head at the woman now that he has a chance to see her. "Have we met before?" He knows all Tributes that have been around for over two weeks just by face, but he can't quite put his finger on where he's seen this woman before. Maybe she's a Capitolite? But they're not supposed to go to the roof...

"Yeah, of course you think that. We all think that when we're... what are you? Nine?" She squints a little as she asks that, though there's a bit of a curl at the corners of her lips and a laid back attitude in her voice, softening the question into something of a gentle poke instead of a jab that some people would say that with. Then she smoothly moves into answering his own question with a slight tilt of her head, "And I think I'd remember you."

With a look and personality like that, who could forget? "What's your name?" Let's get properly introduced, then.

"I'm 113," Aang chirps. He considers letting her know that he was frozen for a hundred years and has been constantly reset to twelve due to the arenas, but it's funnier when people hear his age without context so he's going to let her reaction play out first. "I'll be 114 next month."

He places the bat on his shoulder with a warning pinch to the back of the neck (provoking an unhappy squeak) before he clasps his hands and bows respectfully. "I'm Aang. What's your name?"

Her eyebrows scrunch up and a little bemused smile forms on her lips 'well that was a weird reply', then she huffs a bit in some amusement. "Cute."

Her tone might as well say 'suuure you are'. Then she reaches out a hand to shake in response to the bow whenever he rises back to a normal standing position, "My name's Bucky."

Aang lets out a laugh, but it doesn't quite sound right for a cheerful little boy. There's a brittle edge that doesn't belong. "You think I'm joking." He wishes he was.

He's ready to explain the whole iceberg thing, but then she says her name and the brightness fades completely from his expression. He reaches out and takes her hand, the handshake awkward because he's still not used to it as a greeting. "Is that, uh, a common name where you come from?"

"Huh?"

Bucky might have been addressing someone else, but instead a young gangly looking girl looked up from a letter she appeared to be hard at work writing . She had a brightly colored desert in front of her in a glass, stripes of fruits, creams and syrup on display with a spoon crowding the lid alongside a banana, and a little umbrella.

"Oh um...guess two years to life. A short life depending on how many more times the Capitol wants to bring me back."

The awkward sort of half smile that followed was practically broadcasting the words I don't know if that was funny or not but I'm trying to act cool in front of you stranger.

Her eyebrows go up slightly when she spots the girl. Then she looks down at the bar countertop to hide her feelings on someone so young being in this position and having died multiple times. It's then that the implication of dying and coming back catches up to her and her brow furrows as she looks back at the girl.

"They bring us back?"

She hasn't been told about that yet, thank you small child.

She can't help but smirk a little at that and nods.

"Not all the time, but most of us have died and been brought back. We don't know why the choose to bring some of us back and not others...maybe it's just about who's entertaining? Anyway yeah you go to the arena, die horribly, come back exactly as you started. They just don't tell you because they're hoping you'll fight harder and be more scared if you don't know."

She frowns slightly and looks back to the counter. A second later, her drink is placed before her and she pays the bartender with some of the small allowance she's been given until she can get work. After he leaves, she replies while thoughtfully swirling a small straw in the liquid.

"Well, I guess the chance that you'll get dealt the short straw and stay dead might be enough for some people to fight for their lives." The pain too, but she knows better than most that quick and painless can be achieved in multiple ways.

"It seems to do the trick for most of us. Heck it's gotten me this far."

She can't blame the new stranger for wanting a couple good stiff drinks in her. Sandy would probably join her but the one time she snuck alcohol it tasted so bad that she had no intentions of a follow up.

"Then of course there are some tributes who really enjoy the fight and honestly wanna win and become mentors, and all the money and security that comes with that job." He tone goes from honest to sarcastic near the end indicating there really isn't much security involved.

"It's supposed to be about feeding the districts, they probably told you that part? That's one reason The Hunger Games got started in the first place."

Well, it's always noon somewhere.

Shepard watches that 40s hair come in thoughtfully; there's something about newcomers that just screams tourist. You can tell by the way they look at harmless things like they might be trouble, and dangerous things as if they don't mean anything. Sometimes a painting is just wall decoration, and sometimes it's concealing a hidden mic. But still, there's a businesslike air to this one, and Shepard appreciates few things more than a businesslike demeanor.

Just get me something high in alcohol with a swift kick to the kisser.

The barkeep hesitates-- this one is new, and she won't have any money to her name. And thanks to Reagan Sr, who is clearly in the business of making friends, no one is giving anything so pedestrian as a bar tab to an unknown tribute. Shepard decides to intervene.

"Just give her a long island and charge it to me," relieved, the man nods and goes about his business. Poor bastard probably never signed up for this kind of bullshit. Shep cocks her head at the newcomer and, after a moment's thought, decides to go with the honest answer, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Got a name, newbie?"

Edited 2015-08-25 04:02 (UTC)

She looks over at the woman who spoke up. She hadn't wanted to bother with giving a specific drink name in case the ones from her world didn't exist here in Panem. But apparently they at least have Long Island Iced Tea... unless it only shares a name, but she decides to take what she gets.

"Guess Tributes don't eat and drink free around here after all..." She says in a sarcastic mutter directed at the countertop. If she's going to potentially die for entertainment, she should at least be allowed to get plastered free of charge. Then she turns her head to look at Shepard, going sincere, but definitely still bitter (understandably) "Thanks."

She then straightens to answer her question, leaning her forearms on the counter heavily. "I think I can believe a lot of things at this point. And my name is Bucky. You?"

"We used to. Then a bunch of what I will kindly term bleeding hearts got vocal about how the powers that be chose to arrange tax benefits to pay for it all," As if the fact that the Panem government chose to subsidize their expenses with District labour was somehow novel or unexpected, "Now, you wanna eat, you gotta find work."

As if they didn't subsidize almost everything else in the same damn way.

"But hey, on the plus side, I'm always up for buying a pretty lady a drink."

She sighs a bit, nodding when Shepard finishes explaining the reasons why they no longer get free things. Politics are a pain and she's dealt with all kinds of it in her world. But the compliment has her eyebrows raising a bit and looking over at the other woman more fully. She's not sure if that's just the way women talk to each other where Shepard's from or if that's flirting. Because it certainly sounds like flirting if a man were to say it to her.

She's not offended if it is flirting, the second great war had the side effect of a burst in lesbian romance as women were given excuses to live with each other and were assumed to have no sexual needs or desires so nobody ever blinks twice. About half of her second and first lieutenant nurses have slept with each other and she's definitely been propositioned. But even then it can be difficult to say. And she'd be lying if she said she never considered it somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind that she ignores.

Not long after the initial surprise, she opts to smile, genuinely flattered. "Thanks, you're not so bad yourself." Then she remembers: "And I didn't get your name."

"Sorry, I'm Commander Shepard," she hesitated, wincing at the impulse that had tacked on the rank, then stuck out a hand, "Jane. And you're Bucky Barnes."

Shepard was proud of her handshake, and she had a right to be. Nice and firm, dry palm, not too hard. Calm. Professional. The smile that went with it was less professional and more interested, but there she was.

Was this flirting? Oh yes. Always.

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

Wesker had heard the smash of glass from across the suite where he was ensconced in his room, and while he could imagine a number of explanations, as he was at the time in the midst of a call with a sponsor he couldn't immediately investigate.

By the time he emerged, the Avoxes had already seen to the mess, but the empty space where the screen had sat was tell-tale.

Mouth thin, he scanned the room from behind his dark sunglasses and paused on the new face - yes, he did recall receiving a new file.

"You're doing, I presume?"

They didn't always respond to their abductions with violence, but it wasn't uncommon enough not to be tiresome.

She looks over to Wesker from where she's standing with her arms crossed over her chest in front of the glass door to the deck. Her eyebrows go up slightly in reaction and then she lets her hands drop down to cover one with the other against the front of her skirt. It's habit for a girl raised in her time period, though it goes against how she's feeling; have to look proper and polite. Usually, she falls into those stiffer habits in the presence of people who make her especially guarded. And, well... Wesker, you know.

"Yeah. That's right." Her head tilts and she glances over at where the television used to be, then back at Wesker. "Sorry."

She doesn't sound sorry at all.

A breath buzzed from his nose, mouth pursed. Clearly noting the lack of sentiment behind the apology.

"Try not to make it habit of it, hmm?" he hummed, lowly, deciding it wasn't worth it at this early stage. "The first can be forgiven, but the Capitol's patience, and your account won't last forever."

And Wesker didn't believe in handouts.

That, apparently, settled, he gestured with an elegant hand to the grand dining table. Ushering her to take a seat.

"I assume you're District 11's new tribute, James Barnes?"

Iskierka is not, precisely, at the bar. For one thing, she's never exactly seen the appeal of alcohol, and for another, bar stools - or indeed, chairs of any sort - are not particularly convenient to a general quadripedal sort of stance. Still she is close enough to hear Bucky's question, and she's never been one to ignore a question, much less one that seems to be open enough that anyone can answer.

"Oh, I am not here for anything. It is simply a convenient place to be."

Unfortunately, Iskierka is not particularly good with slang in general, and while she thinks she has the gist of Bucky's comment she's rather missed the mark a little.

She hadn't noticed Iskierka, and when she hears her speak and looks to the source, she's not sure how in the world she missed her because-

"Holy shit-" She cuts off the word a bit too late, teeth slamming together as she leans back on her stool to get a better look at the dragon, eyes wide. "... Convenient." She repeats, a bit dazed, then a hand goes to her forehead and slides up to her hairline in a show of absolute disbelief, because dear god, this is ridiculous, "Yeah, I bet. For a dragon. Christ..."

A pause as a stray thought flickers into her mind, "... That's what you are, right?"

It's easier to lose her - metaphorically speaking - in the noise and general comings and goings of the bar. Not that she'll ever truly blend in, but there are still enough trolls around that horns are not entirely uncommon. And in either case, Iskierka isn't particularly concerned with how Bucky has managed to not notice her. It's not particularly relevant, or at least, is distinctly less relevant than the fact that she has, now, been noticed - and it should be noted that she almost unconsciously draws herself up a bit when Bucky names her for what she is.

"Of course I am a dragon! I should have been very displeased if they had made it otherwise when I arrived."

Not that she has a problem with humans, precisely, but she doesn't want to be human. Not when it looks so terribly inconvenient to not be able to fly.

The truth is, Bucky's reaction is not far from what Clint's own was, all those months ago. But he was thrown headlong into an arena, blind to everything but the knowledge of what he was culled to do. It's been nine months, but this hasn't changed much. The Capitol is mercurial and merciless, hidden behind its gilded layers.

But that's not so unusual.

The thing is, Clint's been here long enough that he knows all the tributes, even if he's never spoken to them, and there's no way not to recognize fresh blood. Bucky, with her uniform and careful hairstyles stands out of place, easily. So really, he's watching her even before she speaks up, nursing a drink all his own. Sam's gone, and Bucky, and hell, even Steve's been gone for weeks now. A drink isn't amiss, besides, the Capitol is rife with alcoholism, they're nowhere near the only two in here.

Still, she speaks up, turning his way, and Clint raises a brow as he sips at his drink. Thoughtful, careful, ever a spy. And he smiles, haphazardly.

"Fella did me wrong," a quote, though she won't know it, Natasha's words fitting in his mouth. "You?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Welcome to my school. This ain't no High School, this is the Thunderdome. [OPEN]

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b! hello my love <3