steve rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
decommission) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-08-25 03:42 pm
decommission) wrote in thecapitol2015-08-25 03:42 pm
we'll put it together (open)
Who| Steve Rogers (AU) and (OPEN)
What| Wandering around after his arrival
Where| Training Center (roof and d9 apartments)
When| Mid-late Tuesday
Warnings/Notes| None yet. Will edit if necessary!
THE ROOF
He needs air. After bolting out of the sub-levels and briefly heading into the streets above (almost as bad as the basement, everything outside is too quick and unfamiliar) he finds himself on the rooftop of the Training Center, standing near the railing. There's a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, his gaze fixed on the city below. Just a few hours ago he was sitting in a small, humid apartment, barely listening to the music on a tinny radio of Peggy's and wondering how much longer he'd even be there. Now - the scene from earlier replays in his head over and over as his mind struggles to process and reconcile his current situation into reality - none of the information properly sinking in yet, none of the names or places or sights prickling any sense of familiarity.
Like everything about his past couple of weeks, it's a work in progress.
A hand runs through his hair and he sucks in a deep breath before abandoning the railing for the rest of the garden, eventually stopping in front of a marble statue carved in some amorphous shape. He reaches out, running his hand over the smooth surface. He might as well be sleep-walking right now, holding his hand there for so long, until his mouth starts twisting.
"I'm not killing for anyone."
The amorphous marble blob, understandably, doesn't respond. He has the sudden urge to laugh, feels it threaten to bubble in his throat - but there's nothing funny about any of this.
DISTRICT 9 APARTMENTS
When he finally takes the elevator back down to the apartments, it's out of hunger. There's a very obvious communal kitchen and dining space when he first enters, but first he runs a slow check of the rest of the floor for a concrete count on rooms and exits. Once he makes it back to the common area and the kitchen his demeanor is one of intense concentration - though on what would be anyone's guess. He doesn't actually take anything, seeming to prefer poking around at the cabinets instead.
Should any footsteps approach from behind, he won't turn around - instead his stomach gives a greeting for him in the form of a loud growl.
THE CAPITOL
For the rest of the day he can be found moving through the streets, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in his pockets. His pace isn't leisurely, he's not someone looking to be stopped. When he does stop, it's at a bar where he finds a seat at a stool shoved up against the wall, not ordering anything and slow to strike up conversation with the workers. There's something rigid about his posture when he actually does get to finding the person he's looking for and the talking part: some sort of abbreviated job interview for a barbacking position set up by the Escort that had accosted him in the Training Center.
For someone his size, that tense sort of demeanor comes off vaguely aggressive and when the conversation is over the bartender appears somewhat relieved to return to what he was doing. Steve lingers at the bar - you look like you could use this had been what the man said a bit nervously when their business was done, sliding over a glass full of some amber liquid. Steve had nodded his thanks, waiting to give a suspicious glance at it once the bartender's back was turned. He leaves the glass there, and if anyone sits next to him with an eye for it he'll eventually jerk his chin toward the drink without making eye contact.
"Haven't touched it." His tone is more neutral than friendly, but it's clear that he's offering the drink up for free.
What| Wandering around after his arrival
Where| Training Center (roof and d9 apartments)
When| Mid-late Tuesday
Warnings/Notes| None yet. Will edit if necessary!
THE ROOF
He needs air. After bolting out of the sub-levels and briefly heading into the streets above (almost as bad as the basement, everything outside is too quick and unfamiliar) he finds himself on the rooftop of the Training Center, standing near the railing. There's a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, his gaze fixed on the city below. Just a few hours ago he was sitting in a small, humid apartment, barely listening to the music on a tinny radio of Peggy's and wondering how much longer he'd even be there. Now - the scene from earlier replays in his head over and over as his mind struggles to process and reconcile his current situation into reality - none of the information properly sinking in yet, none of the names or places or sights prickling any sense of familiarity.
Like everything about his past couple of weeks, it's a work in progress.
A hand runs through his hair and he sucks in a deep breath before abandoning the railing for the rest of the garden, eventually stopping in front of a marble statue carved in some amorphous shape. He reaches out, running his hand over the smooth surface. He might as well be sleep-walking right now, holding his hand there for so long, until his mouth starts twisting.
"I'm not killing for anyone."
The amorphous marble blob, understandably, doesn't respond. He has the sudden urge to laugh, feels it threaten to bubble in his throat - but there's nothing funny about any of this.
DISTRICT 9 APARTMENTS
When he finally takes the elevator back down to the apartments, it's out of hunger. There's a very obvious communal kitchen and dining space when he first enters, but first he runs a slow check of the rest of the floor for a concrete count on rooms and exits. Once he makes it back to the common area and the kitchen his demeanor is one of intense concentration - though on what would be anyone's guess. He doesn't actually take anything, seeming to prefer poking around at the cabinets instead.
Should any footsteps approach from behind, he won't turn around - instead his stomach gives a greeting for him in the form of a loud growl.
THE CAPITOL
For the rest of the day he can be found moving through the streets, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in his pockets. His pace isn't leisurely, he's not someone looking to be stopped. When he does stop, it's at a bar where he finds a seat at a stool shoved up against the wall, not ordering anything and slow to strike up conversation with the workers. There's something rigid about his posture when he actually does get to finding the person he's looking for and the talking part: some sort of abbreviated job interview for a barbacking position set up by the Escort that had accosted him in the Training Center.
For someone his size, that tense sort of demeanor comes off vaguely aggressive and when the conversation is over the bartender appears somewhat relieved to return to what he was doing. Steve lingers at the bar - you look like you could use this had been what the man said a bit nervously when their business was done, sliding over a glass full of some amber liquid. Steve had nodded his thanks, waiting to give a suspicious glance at it once the bartender's back was turned. He leaves the glass there, and if anyone sits next to him with an eye for it he'll eventually jerk his chin toward the drink without making eye contact.
"Haven't touched it." His tone is more neutral than friendly, but it's clear that he's offering the drink up for free.
no subject
(Don't ask her what a xerox is, she just picked up the term from the more tech savvy people. An elf, or a parrot? The world may never know.)
"You certainly look like Steve, though. I think he was the only tribute with a ranking that wasn't a commander, we've got three Commanders and he was sitting there with Captain. But don't take my word for it, it's not like we invited each other to our nameday--birthday parties." She shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck. "Anyway, I only know him because I try to have at least a passing knowledge of the people I'm thrown into a bloody death match with." There's a pause, then her hand is held out to him.
"It's a good policy for you to start on. Luckily, you get to start with the most attractive tribute in the tower. You can work your way down the totem pole from there." She grinned at him, without an ounce of shame to be found. "Warden-Commander Revas Tabris, at your service."
no subject
"Steve Rogers." A muscle twitches in his jaw and he says his own name like he has to force it out of his own throat. The outstretched hand is ignored. Captain Steve Rogers. He won't say his rank, he's not the same person that earned it - but apparently someone's been using it. Or -
"How did he die?" His voice is harsh and there's something close to panic rising in is throat like bile as he racks his brain, sifting through the past hour. He couldn't have been here before - he'd start to remember something by now, they avoided sending him on certain missions because of that. And this scenario that's been cooked up is so far out there -
His hands are closed into fists, fingernails digging hard into his palms.
no subject
"Well, let's see. The first time, I guess he got brainwashed by this crazy clown into serving against the Capitol--Which is a bad thing to do, the Capitol is fantastic." She pitched her voice higher that last sentence, glancing around nervously, as if worried that people might descend from nowhere to take her to task for not making that quite clear. "Anyway, he got killed for being a dirty traitor, as happens to dirty traitors. Then he got brought back, but he was like. A noodle. No muscles, and I swear he even shrunk. Bayard could've fought him and won. And Bayard's 12. I remember that part, because Bucky went and killed me when I laughed at him about it." She wrinkled her nose at that part. Stupid super assassins.
"Then he died again, and he didn't come back at all. And now you're here." She tapped her chin thoughtfully at that, staring off as she thought on it. Her tone was calm, with no emotional connection to the situation. It sure did suck, but that's how things worked here. People didn't come back. She'd lost a lot of people like that. "I'm pretty sure that there was a version of you that was born here, who died, too." That's what the video featuring Peggy had mentioned, at least. "You better watch out, you don't have good luck here, do you?"
no subject
"Bucky - where is he now?" There's tension lining his face, both fists still closed. If he's supposed to believe everything she's saying, then the man she's talking about likely isn't the same one that he knows. If not - neither option is comforting, and it should be very clear from his body language that he's on edge.
no subject
"He's no longer with us." She tells him somberly, and that's the closest that she can figure for the truth. "In a better place, you know?" He didn't know--Didn't know about District 13, or any of that shit, but it's the closest Tabris can tell him without dragging him to a blind spot, or getting the peacemakers descending on them.
And she's pretty sure he won't take to being dragged off.
"He's a good guy, though. He's one hell of a fighter, I've never seen a human move like he did when he kicked my ass. Not that I didn't have it coming, I totally did."
no subject
"What the hell happened to him?" The question is barked out like an order. He's not considering that this might not be a James Barnes that he knows (he can't consider that idea at all just yet) - all he can tell right now is that she's dancing around the details and Steve's not here for that. His hands lower after the shove, but he remains in her physical space, his face made of stone.
no subject
"He's not here." She replied stubbornly. "When he died in the arena, he didn't resurrect back here." She doesn't seem to care that he's still in her space. In fact, when his hands go down, she leans forward, because two can play in this game. She's not intimidated by the star spangled hobo, and she lets him know, with the way her back stays straight as a rod, and how she stares at him squarely.
"And you better be careful, because the Capitol doesn't like us fighting outside of the arena. And the Capitol? It's always watching." There's an insistence in her tone as she says that, her gaze intent. "Always watching, even here. You understand?" Hopefully he'd understand enough of what she was trying to say. That some things just couldn't be said.
no subject
But some rational part of him hears her warning, struggles with the part of him that doesn't care if there are government thugs waiting around the corner somewhere to haul him wherever they toss troublemakers.
It takes what feels like forever in his mind, but Steve lets out a sharp breath and takes a step back, expression still tight but no longer bordering on crazed and hostile.
"Why wouldn't they bring him back?" Had Bucky done something the Capitol didn't approve of, like all of the other versions of Steve apparently had?
no subject
But he controls himself, and she nods in approval as he seems to get it. She doesn't know if he understood the message underneath it--That she can't talk about Bucky, not when they're being monitored.
"Well, the official reasoning is that sometimes technology shits itself. My world is pretty behind on this whole technology thing, reloading crossbows are cutting edge science. So I couldn't disprove it if I wanted to. However, if you want my opinion--And of course you do--?" She raised her eyebrows, and shook her head. "Sometimes, they just can't be assed, if you're not worth it. Or they want to hurt someone. I couldn't tell you, but I can shoot you the names of some people who knew him better, if you want. A lot of his old crew got offed too, though, so that's a thing. They've been doing it to my world, too. We're all slowly just." She fluttered her hands dramatically. "Dust in the wind."