thecapitol | [open] The circus is full from top to ground

Entry tags:

[open] The circus is full from top to ground

Who| Phil Gray and Open!
What| PG attempts at being a mentor part I
Where| Various locations, see prompts
When| September 1 through 5
Warnings/Notes|To be added but prompts include discussions about torture, Capitol nastiness, Arena nastiness, ect

I - District 6 Floor - Let Them Eat Cake

As much as Phillip wanted to have Linden to guide him through this new job as Mentor, he had to realize that he wouldn't be there forever. The metaphorical training wheels are off and he finds himself in the strangely familiar position of being somewhat behind the scenes again. Phone Guy had been an instructor for the security guards back home and guide them through the difficult five nights at Freddy's, now he was tasked with making sure his former fellow Tributes stayed alive.

He has every Tribute's file and a few more documents on the table, along with a tablet he's been tinkering with to help along with the Mentor tasks.

But it shouldn't be all business and Celebrus did get a few things right: Phil had a knack for cooking and baking. He's been a waiter, he's helped in the kitchen and knows how to read a recipe and anyone passing by District 6 will be treated with the smells of oven-fresh pizza (no, not THAT greasy thank you very much) and a two-story cake decorated with the Capitol's colors. Little shows of patriotism go a long way. "Help yourself, top half's regular vanilla, lower's chocolate," he will greet anyone that comes by in a black suit ensemble, to show his grief over his Mentor's apparent betrayal and his love Venus lost to the Arenas. Foxy's close at hand either following his master or sitting in an empty chair, nibbling on a toy or leftover pepperoni.

I-b Locked to Linden

Phillip didn't mind visiting Linden in his room, it was better this way, to meet behind closed doors under the guise of supervising the recovery. He knows how closely the Capitol is watching their District and the suspicion cast upon them. But even "traitors" deserved a cake slice...or two.

"I didn't know which one you'd like or were allowed to eat, so I brought both," he whispered, checking the medical charts and for any signs of negligence. To the public, Phil showed resentment towards his Mentor, but they were friends for long enough that there were tells. His altruism never faded, especially in this time of need.

II - Training Center

Seeing the Classic Victors in the Arena and knowing that war was all but inevitable, certain changes were put into Phil's training routine. Sure he kept his speed and knife skills up to par...but now he incorporated much more running, strength building, and even how to properly fire a gun. The weight was still foreign in his hands but he had to learn somehow.

Phone Guy isn't the only one training as he too had his pet in a regime. Foxy was being taught how to track scents and find items, as well as burrow into different spots. When asked why, Phil would smile, "Eh, he's as finicky as a cat but as loyal as a dog, and it's fun for him!"

III- The Capitol Streets - Day and Night

There is a lot on Phil's plate as the dust settled and the footage was being dissected by the Capitol media because that's EXACTLY what they do. Karkat's talk was eye-opening to say the least and Gray trusted him to do his best in every interview that may present itself. Phil couldn't say he was ready for this but Lockhearst warned him back at the Crowning. Questions about Phone Guy's own loyalty to Panem would be quickly shot down with a gentle sigh, hand placed on his chest like a stricken man and a very believable "I am indebted to Panem for giving me a chance to serve as a Tribute and now as a Mentor. "

For now, he's shopping for food for his District under the guise of more ingredients to partake in his off-duty hobbies. There's probably a lot of leftovers from his last few days of cooking, surely he can't eat all the meals he makes on a whim! Maybe new clothes and toys for his faithful companion but always within reason.

By all appearances, Phil Gray was taking a page from two Classic Victors: from Temple Stevens in portraying himself as a well-adjusted person fit for the Capitol (to an extent) and like Linden in playing the long game and surviving.

By night, part of those survival skills would be put to the test as Phil came along to every event he could to boost District 6's positive image and profitability for sponsors. He dances...awkwardly, but what he does best is talk about his Tributes in the best light possible.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Lately, everything seems to just be blown out of proportion. The timeline is very clear from Linden's perspective; he was never supposed to go back into another Arena, and was forced to anyway. Furthermore, he was forced to make it look like he wanted to, like it was some kind of voluntary honor that beckoned him back to something glorious. Then, after the Capitol took his healing body and broke it more, he was expected to celebrate his District's victory, and then to deliver a speech to young people about unity.

When whippings are doled out as punishment for broken people behaving like they're broken, some kind of insanity's at work. Unfortunately, it happens to be the kind that the Capitol revels in. The official story is that Linden said something that was taken wrong, and that while he had to be punished for it, he was of course still a Mentor, albeit a somewhat disgraced one. He's used to that. But Celebrus has taken this and run with it, especially in light of Phillip's Crowning; Linden didn't just make a mistake, according to the publication, he is a traitor, and that's a very damaging word even if the crime he was caught for was merely a brief one of thought.

He'd hinted at this at Phillip's Crowning: the simple fact that surviving while living a lie is difficult, but telling the truth is harder by far, especially to those who can guess well enough what's coming to them if they dare to voice it. Even though he was in a haze of pain, with a skeletal, flogged back stripped and exposed to everyone, he remembers Tony's eyes before they shot him, that brief moment of contact and shared realization. Linden had wondered, sincerely, if he was next, but then they'd taken him to recover and mend an umpteenth time, having learned his lesson like an errant child and unlikely to repeat it after such a torturous experience.

He's kept to himself since then. He doesn't want to leave his suite and face the press with all their questions and commentary. He understands that everything he says will be scrutinized more closely and though he secretly thinks the moment he paid for worth it, it's too risky to attempt another one like it. The will exists, but unfortunately, Linden's body promises to fail first. Even the whipping had been partly wasted on him; his eyes had rolled back in his head and he'd passed out after the third lash.

Not that he's past the pain of it by a long shot. The wheals are slow to heal and make moving, dressing, bathing and even resting exercises in extreme caution. This time he caved quickly to the prospect of painkillers, with the insistence that their dispensing is controlled and monitored meticulously by his physician, and that's making his recovery a little more tolerable. He's sleeping facedown when Phillip comes in but wakes quickly, alert and guarded. He knows why Phillip has to discount him in public, but it's another way to drag his punishment out long after it was supposed to have been over with. Anyone can take a lashing, but it takes an incredible amount of fortitude to withstand a level of shunning that no public overdose could hold a candle to.

He moves to take the chart out of Phillip's hand, a quick, brisk movement. "I know why you have to talk the way you do to reporters," he says shortly. "That doesn't mean that you have to overcompensate quite to this extent when we're alone. Rest assured, they're keeping me very much alive."

Edited 2015-09-04 18:01 (UTC)

The sudden snatching and snapping just made Phil sigh in acknowledgment, and simply sets the plate to the side, "So when I can stop pretending like you're the scum of the earth and go back to how things were? Treating you like a person and not a caricature. Because the last time I did this sorta deal was back in my home world and it's just as exhausting."

Guess what Linden? Seeing Tony Stark die the way he did, your friends are going to be worried about you in more that just appearances. Karkat's visit to his suite made the situation that much real and Phil has tried to find out more about this.

"And knowing that you're considered a threat to the nation of Panem for a speech and a man was shot point-blank to the head, excuse me if I check for anything out of the norm."

Phil's in panic mode these days but he does his damnedest not to let anyone see it outside. But the door is closed and there are no cameras in here, "Sorry if I sound harsher than I should on television."

It's difficult when it comes to this in so many ways. Phillip is caught between a rock and a hard place, because being a model Victor isn't always the same as being a good friend, and what helps Linden is somewhere indistinct and elusive between the two.

"I'm not the scum of the earth," he says briskly, kicking aside his blanket and getting out of bed, still holding his chart, clinging to that bit of privacy and control. "Not even the Peacekeepers who whipped me think that. I am a Mentor who... misspoke." he might as well be trying to say that word around a bar of soap, for how bitter it tastes. "It's happened before to Victors and will again, and don't even think it's on the same level as what Stark did. Every time that's implied, by Celebrus or another Mentor or Capitolite, I'm one step closer to..."

I can't possibly need to say it.

There's nothing chemical and comforting to reach for. He's hours away from an Avox bringing his next scheduled dose of painkillers, so he pulls a loose white shirt on over his chewed-up back and takes a crouching seat by his chessboard, resetting the pieces and starting the white side of the board off with Scorpii's opening moves.

"You're doing and saying things that will probably protect you in the long run. I can't fault you for that. Victors all know very well that sometimes to survive, other people have to go under."

"I don't want to drag you under the bus so to speak or keep treating you like Celebrus has because all you did was speak while Stark was a laundry list of crimes," Phillip rubbed his forehead and let the chart stay in Linden's possession: he can read between the actions and knows when to fold his hand. "I'll start letting up, no reputation is worth losing a good friend. Maybe I'm that naive and think I won't lose you again." And permanently this time.

Gray remembers the chess set and a little smile sneaks into his face. It was at a chess game that he and Linden first met, watching his mentor playing the game on his own. How things change in a brief moment in time.

"I'm not handling any of this right," he admitted in a voice barely above a whisper.

Linden keeps his back to Phillip, silent while the man rambles along in a sad but earnest attempt to repair the damage that both of them can sense has been done. Linden's not lying when he says he understands, though, and he truly holds no grudge. It's not that he isn't the type; he's well-known for being the type, in fact. It's that he sees no point or purpose to it now. For all he knows, the next time he leaves this room could be for his own execution, with some other unfortunate there to witness it at point-blank. Hell, it might even be Phillip, scaring the new Victor straight to ensure that he never even dares to say a single word out of line.

"I don't know what's right. Like everyone, I do my best," Linden replies softly. "Sometimes it works and sometimes I get punished, but I have never once made a decision thinking it would do more harm than good. I love my District, and when I see things, I know it's not right to turn a blind eye and encourage others to do the same. As my friend, I think you should know what motivates such things."

Edited 2015-09-06 20:13 (UTC)

It's in the privacy of the room itself that Phil lets out a rather tame statement, "I know and I understand the drive for changes to happen." He slipped in a quiet whisper, "I...I heard once in my world that a government's as good as their word to the people." He left that for Linden to hear and think about, and no one else. Mostly because the Capitol broke their word for the sake of circuses and and not a single pound of bread.

"I want to help you and the District that gave me a roof to sleep under."

That commitment never wavered on that front, and while Gray knows he made a mistake shunning his mentor in public that harshly, he needed to learn the act of balance.

The Capitol has eyes and ears everywhere, but Mentors engaged in moments of private self-comfort are of less interest than they might be. Even very recently punished Mentors like Linden, whose innocent-sounding words carried the weight of dangerous resentment that was audible to the ears of impressionable youth. He swallows, averting his eyes, trying to ignore the way his back sticks to the fibers of his shirt and stings when he shifts and moves.

They broke their word. They broke their Victors. They'll break more yet.

"Then help me," he urges. "No matter what happens in the coming days and weeks, keep going. Don't avert your eyes, but never look back. You have to be strong and you have to be this District's Mentor, even if you don't feel ready and even if you don't have the guidance you were counting on when you were crowned. Promise me that much, all right?"

He's paused in his game. It's at a point where it could really go either way, where black and white are both in a position to potentially win. It's the same game Linden has replayed for years, as faithful and rigid as a tic. It's also the game he's refused to change the order and sequence of for any reason.

"...sit down. Play white. Do that for me, please."

Edited 2015-09-07 03:46 (UTC)

Gray nodded just as somber, "I promise you all that, sir." The honorific title never really left when Phil thought of his mentor in any way. They did share a toast back at the Crowning: unity through adversity and no matter what, the former guard would come through.

"Huh?" he tilted his head slightly before joining Linden in the other seat. He then studied the board. Phone Guy might be more a checkers sort of man but from the rules he remembered, the game was pretty even. "Sure, though you might have to bear a learning curve with me. It's been years."

Was this Phil learning how to be more assertive? Maybe, but his mind needed the stimulus, and the long-term strategic planning. There was something weighing his mind down though, and he spoke it, "Have you ever heard of the saying 'an east wind is coming'? I read it somewhere in my world, those pulp fiction books."

Edited 2015-09-07 20:23 (UTC)

"Thank you, Phillip." Linden leaves it at that as the other Mentor joins him, sitting across from him on the white side of the board that Linden's seen filled many times, but never for this game. His heart clenches in his chest and he takes a deep, shaky breath.

"It doesn't matter what you do," he assures him, even though he looks like he's fighting to go forward with this decision. "It's been years. You're right. It's time for a change."

He shakes his head. "I've read a lot, but I've never heard that about east winds. I'm not aware of the significance."

Gray wasn't as good as his mentor but he moves a pawn forward, before he explains, "Back in my world, east winds usually carry storms and turbulence. Hell, the big ones get called nor'easter they cause that sorta damage. Houses get uprooted, rivers overflow and lives can be irreparably affected in every way possible. Storms like those are unstoppable forces, all you can do is hunker down and hope for the best."

He's still taking about the weather, right?

"That said, if the Capitol is as far inland as the maps say, then it shouldn't be bothered by those sort of winds." This was a saving throw, just in case.

Linden knows full well that he won't be, that he can't be. After his own victory, he'd dedicated years to studying chess and becoming one of the best in Panem, even if it's enough of a niche oddity that he's become more famous for other, less fortunate things. "I see..."

Under the table, his fist clenches. The pawn isn't how it's supposed to go. Even though he wants this very badly, it's just as hard as getting clean in its way. It means sacrificing an old comfort for something unknown, and possibly unpleasant.

"No, it really shouldn't be. Those kinds of storms only happen in the Districts, and only some of them at that."

The words help, even if he can't focus on them fully, as his eyes are riveted to the change in the long-played game. He changes his own move and it's all he can do not to just reach out and reset the last two moves.

"Lucky," Phillip thinks of his moves at least twice now, he was in the presence of a player with a skill level he can't possibly comprehend. He admired his mentor for many reasons, but the main one had to be his wit and quick thinking. He has no clue of the patterns being broken but he is aware somewhat of the importance of this game. This game was usually played by Linden, and Linden alone...

His next move is another rookie thought in motion: move another pawn out. His plan was to build a small wall of pawns zigzagging the white front while allowing the stronger pieces room to catch any black stragglers. "So everything is simulated here...even the weather."

Linden only half-hears what's become, on the surface at least, nothing but small talk. About the weather, for crying out loud, the most mundane of possible topics. Though there's an undercurrent of truth and dissent there, very possibly, it's well-hidden, and it's nothing more than an accent piece to the game that's simultaneously killing and liberating one of Panem's ragged, exhausted, enslaved Mentors.

While this game is usually played by Linden, he had a partner once, someone who generated white's moves as he smirked and toyed with him. It was, all things considered, a very gentle way to beat someone, letting him down easy and allowing him to get away with the same kinds of rookie moves and mistakes that Phillip's currently making so as to drag out the game unnecessarily. Though Linden has since realized why he lost that game and conceptualized hundreds of better outcomes, obsessing over it, he's never actually switched up the board even in a solitary theory game.

This is huge, and Phillip is perceptive to get that it is.

He swallows, closes his eyes, takes a corner bishop between the pawns to ensnare one of PG's rooks. His blood is rushing in his ears, heart pounding through his chest. "Everything..." he croaks hoarsely, staring at the pieces, wondering if it's too early to rejoice. Seeing the game through to the conclusion is the important part, second only to actually winning this time.

Phil catches the move but more so when he hears the barely restrained excitement in Linden's voice. His wall had a gap he couldn't cover now, and that bishop was a problem. He tries to counter with one of his knights but he finds his playing field cramped...unless he's willing to sacrifice one of his pawns for the move. He knows that Lockhearst is watching, and while it's just a game for Phone Guy, not so much for his Mentor.

Something about this board, and the way it's been set up is causing this reaction. Black's defenses were too high and...he takes a risk and has one of his knights step out just beyond the bishop's path.

"Shoot," he lets out.

Linden lets out a deep breath he's been holding. He can see the game clearly now, laid out before them like an offering. All he has to do is break away from the obsessive compulsive rut he's been in for nearly the last decade and a half, reach out, and take the opportunity to finally start healing from his deepest wound. He's ready now, and the hard part is convincing himself.

Because yes, it's so much more than a game.

His moves are quicker and more confident now. He wants a fast end, a result that can allow him some peace following a very painful and difficult battle.

"It's OK," he says, soothing himself just as much as Phillip with the soft words as he moves his queen toward the center of the board, well-guarded and with a long arm. "Check. It's OK."

The sudden shift in energies was as surprising as the move, and Phil needed a second to realize how screwed he was in the game. But it was...enough because the change was enough to get Linden out of the rut he'd been going through.

Gray tried to reach out and try a move but he'd boxed himself in. Any moves left would just result in prolonging the inevitable.

"Well, I guess checkmate because I'm screwed," he chuckled with no ill will and took it as a chance to learn a new game.

Linden glances up furtively, eyes wide. He shakes his head violently back and forth several times.

"No, no, don't guess. Don't forfeit," he begs. "I won't prolong it. I won't toy with you, but we have to finish. Please."

Phillip's skill is the absolute last thing that matters in this strange scenario. What matters is that it's finished, and that it's different from the same game Linden's practically worn grooves into his board compulsively playing over and over again.

Noting that extreme reaction, Phillip looked at the board once more and moved his other knight to cover his King. "Gotcha, sir," he assured Linden that, now with a more critical mindset, he still had a move or two left in this game.

He can see the mania in Lockhearst's eye, that if this game is beaten by someone giving up, then where's the resolution? Even if every move left is an added sacrifice.

It's an extreme reaction, especially from the normally placid and calm Linden. He simply doesn't emote as freely or frequently as others, and it's clear from every indication that he needs this desperately.

He chews at the tip of his finger, worrying and gnawing at it while Phillip moves. He returns it immediately, and within just a few more moves, the game is finished with a softly spoken "checkmate" from Linden.

Standing when it's done, he stands and walks across the room, reaching into his jacket for a carton of cigarettes, hand shaking as he lights one and draws on it silently.

As satisfying the game was for Phil, even if he lost, it was nothing like the sort of relief his mentor got from the win. It's with this that he joins Linden after studying the board a few times. Though he was basically a toddler in skill level and the victory was probably pyrric, it wasn't the case here.

"Shall I reckon a guess that this was a game that never got completed?" he asked, almost joining in the smoking. From the looks of things, and the lack of an Escort like Stephen, there was need for a healthy set of lungs yet.

Linden's in a world all his own, removed and isolated from the situation at hand as he tries to make sense of what he's just permitted to occur.

He thinks it's freedom. But it could also be something lethal that promises to end him. Scorpii might be the only person he's ever seen as a true equal, at least intellectually. It seemed natural that they would die together, because of their respective actions. Is it like spitting on his grave, to change their game?

He twitches and turns his head quickly at Phillip's approach, but he doesn't do more than that, having long ago learned not to interpret him as a threat.

"The same," he replies softly. He offers the carton of cigarettes as if sensing that Phillip might want one. "I don't know what to think yet, I might need a second."

Phil gently turned the offer down, he already knows he would have to drink some of the Capitol kool-aid if he is to survive. It's very likely that if he could engage in alcohol at the drop of a hat (his liver is still recovering), another vice would not be too far behind.

"I can leave you be," he spoke in a hushed tone before lowering his head slightly (it's a formality that never really went away) and settling over to serve their pastry meal. The chart said nothing about cake so he's setting half from both flavors for Linden.

Linden wishes every day that he could deal with quieting his pain in the ways that he used to, the ways he know work. It's not permitted, both medically and by the code of resilience and determination he's trying so hard to adhere to. But the fear and tragedy aren't silenced that easily anymore, and he's left to stare into their deafening horror while faced with the prospect of soothing them in strange, new and untested ways.

"If... you think staying would implicate your image, then you should go," he suggests. "You've humored me enough already."

It's his way of releasing Phillip without having to lie about wanting him gone.

"If I actually cared about my image-" Phil doesn't complete the sentence because in the end, he really doesn't. He just want things to be all right, even if they won't be the same. "I thought you needed time to recover."

The worst part of all this is the fear. The lingering sense of dread born from Tony's head spilled over the concrete walls and floor...it's a sensation that would beat out an earlier terror. For the first time in Phone Guy's life, there is something worse than dying by animatronics: having to watch one of the people he cared be shot and killed. But he doesn't want to be a bother.

He stands up and gives his superior a nod, but leaves him a quiet statement, "My door is open for you, should you need it." By now those words are less of a statement and more like a truth.

So much goes unsaid, but it's true; it's not really like it needs to be, in the end, to be understood anyway. Unbeknownst to both of them, this is one of the last times they will see one another in the Capitol, possibly even in this life.

He glances back Phillip's way, fear fighting with resignation for a place on his pale features. "Thank you. I'll remember while I'm on the mend, and if you're not opposed, I might come to pet Foxy. I like animals. Yours is well-behaved and probably therapeutic to spend time with."

Phil chuckled at the suggestion and nodded earnestly, "He's taking a shine to you too." He didn't know that their time together as fellow mentors was limited and he's unaware Linden's plan with his pet. "Just snap your fingers twice and Foxy will come, okay?"

As he headed out of the suite, Phone Guy offered Lockhearst a familiar good bye, with that eternal optimistic tone, "See you on the flipside, okay? Rest well a-and I hope you feel better."

"Twice... OK, I've got it. I'll do so."

Linden watches him leave. "I already feel better, Phillip," he murmurs as the other man leaves.

Well, Foxy found something. Or rather, someone. Just as Sayaka is walking across the training centre to pick up another sword from the rack, she feels something fuzzy brush up against her leg, and instinctively leaps back, her hand landing on her hip where her scabbard ought to be, but isn't.

Then she realises what she's looking at and stands there, a little confused.

"Hello?" She ventures, after a moment. There are some strange things in this city. A talking fox wouldn't be too out of the ordinary.

Edited 2015-09-05 00:58 (UTC)

Thankfully, Foxy isn't a talking animal but he's a smartass nonetheless. He makes chirping noises and barks before assuming the play position. This person was new for the foxling and he was about to nip at her shoes when two fingersnaps are heard from a distance.

"Foxy! No no! No biting!" Phil rushed in after noticing just where his pet had gone to, "Sorry about that, uh...he's a curious little fella but he's harmless!" He immediately picked the critter up by the scruff, and let it curl in his arms.

"Uh, I hope he didn't spook you too much." Nothing like his counterpart back in his home world. "Pleasure to meet you."

Edited 2015-09-05 02:11 (UTC)

Oh. So the fox was just a pet after all. Sayaka breathes a sigh of relief - she's had quite enough talking animals for one lifetime.

"It's fine. I just thought he was something else." She says, peeking curiously at the fox. She had no idea they were so affectionate.

"I wasn't scared." She's only half telling the truth. She's been on edge since the day she got here. "It's um, nice to meet you too."

Sayaka nearly introduces herself, but then she remembers where she is and pauses - is there any point making friends in a place like this?

Edited 2015-09-07 14:35 (UTC)

"Well, unless you're up on District 8's floor, you're pretty safe from a cursing parrot, a pink Pomeranian and matching tiger cub," Phil remarked as he remembered how he met Swann's pets and Crackers' squawking. Foxy himself couldn't chime in as he was indeed just a fox whose breeding kept him small. He was simply affectionate because this human picked him from the other, much more fashionable foxlings in the store.

"You're new aren't you? I haven't seen you in the previous Arenas," Gray broke the silence as best he could: he doesn't remember seeing her in Arena 14 or the Mini-Arena. With his pet climbing his way to rest on his shoulders, the man added, "Which District were you assigned?"

Being a new Tribute was never an easy process and he made it his mission to make every person he ran into feel comfortable.

Was that a joke? Were people really allowed pets here? Sayaka narrowed her eyes at the fox, but he really did seem entirely ordinary.

The man's question made her eyes flicker back to his. That's right. The other people here had been in the arenas before - and the fact that they'd survived meant that they'd probably killed people, too. Was this friendly persona just a mask? Still, Sayaka couldn't delay her answer any longer.

"It's true." She said. "I'm new here. I'm in District 9." At least, she thinks that's right. Honestly, she hadn't been in any fit state to pay attention.

"What about you?" She asked. "Have you... been in an arena before?"

"Yeah...twice, the mini arena was my last one," Phillip admitted with just a hint of shame and sadness, "I was one of the Victors in that one. N-Now I'm a Mentor for District 6."

His friendliness was real, whether the subject was two-legged or four-legged, and even more so when it came to newbie Tributes. This newer tribute looked like she was troubled, and more so than his duty as an Instructor, Phone Guy sought to make everyone he met feel more at home if he could help.

"I know someone in your District, Daryl Dixon, he's a closed off kinda guy but he's all right. But if you have questions, I'm here to help."

Sayaka was shocked. This man seemed so friendly, and yet, he had to have killed people to win the arena. More than that, he sounded almost ashamed about it.

If Sayaka looked troubled before, she was even more troubled now, and she couldn't help but blurt out her most pressing question:

"Why do people go along with this?" The people she'd met in the Capitol so far all seemed so... normal. She couldn't believe that friendly people would just start murdering each other on a whim. There had to be something more.

The look on Gray's eyes hardened, because he knows the answer will not be easy to talk to with the amount of scrutiny he's under. He has to uphold his District's reputation and his own Mentor Linden's legacy above his own feelings on the matter and the guilt he carried with him at all times.

He left his training gear and allowed Foxy to run alongside him, and crossed his arms, "The simple answer is that there is no other choice. It's the Games or all-out war." This was a lie, Phil already knows that war will eventually break out. He's all too aware that there is a rebellion and it will not be silenced. But he promised Linden that he would not turn a blind eye to the clear injustices in this world.

"Before, the Districts would send in two children, reaped to participate in the survival that is the Hunger Games, one winner out of 24. The winning District would get extra rations for that year, and the Capitol would take care of the Victor, in exchange for their services as Mentor for the next reaping. The difference now is that they've managed to reap people from other worlds in place of their children."

He gestured with his head, to tell Sayaka to walk with him to the elevator. There is a measure of privacy in the Mentor suites.

"Before, the Capitol would allow credit lines to the offworlder tributes...right up until Jason Compson exposed this to be paid by the Districts themselves. Needless to say, they were ticked and the Capitol cut the lines but added that Tributes who killed in the Arena would get paid."

Yeah. This place is fucked up.

"But most don't kill for that or for the joy of it," he clarified, "Some do it in self-defense while others," and this is where that sense of shame comes along, "L-Like myself, did it out of...a moment of rage." His Victory came about with an accidental one, two revenge kills in which he lost sight of the person who took a loved one. His brain simply replaced them with the serial killer back home.

"Offworlders come back from the Arena, but every death is remembered."

Edited 2015-09-12 20:31 (UTC)

For a second, Sayaka assumed she'd angered the man, and her grip on the sword in her hand tightened. But when he began to walk, she remembered that they were being watched here. Against her better judgement, she left her sword on the rack and matched Phil's pace, listening carefully.

So Sayaka was here in place of children from her district. What kind of society sent children to fight and kill one another? She thought. The same kind of society that would kidnap people from their own worlds and force them to fight, she supposed.

She followed Phil into the elevator, her head buzzing with this new information. To think that all this time she'd been thinking of herself, without considering that if it wasn't her here, it might be someone else.

She barely heard Phil's explanation about credits - she was too busy thinking about why such an opulent place couldn't afford to pay for the tributes' themselves.

She tuned back in when Phil finally addressed her initial question. She couldn't see any cameras in the elevator, but presumably it was private enough for them to speak a little more openly.

Put like that, it made perfect sense. Sayaka couldn't honestly say that she had never acted in self defence before - in fact, she'd even act in defence of other people. The rage, too, made sense. She thought back to her fight with Elsa Maria, the Witch - and then the way she'd argued with Madoka, afterwards.

"It's hard to think straight when you're angry." She murmured. If she could take back what she'd said to Madoka, she'd do it in a heartbeat - and this guy had done something much worse than just argue with a friend. It seemed like Sayaka had misjudged him.

She was about to apologise when she caught the tail end of his explanation.

"Come...back?" She asked. If that meant what she thought it did - but no, that was impossible. Surely?

"The Tributes I-I attacked, they killed the man who helped me get through my arenas, m-my teacher in a sense, and a girl I cared for as family. I can't justify what I did, but I know I have to live with the fact that I did it," Phil added solemnly, "As do most Tributes I know think. I took no pleasure in their deaths and prayed that they would-"

Oh wait, that merited an explanation.

"Yeah, offworlders are resurrected in a way that keeps their memories intact. Don't me how, I prefer being able to sleep at night. My first death was getting shot by a guy named Nick, and the second one, I was hung from a scaffolding by a young lady named Wednesday Addams," Gray exhaled as they arrived in District 6, "And I remember both in vivid enough detail that I get sick. Well, the hanging not so much but...the last sound I heard was the snap, of the rope."

"You don't have to feel bad about trying to protect the people you care about." Sayaka said quietly. Isn't that what she'd been trying to do back home? Maybe that was her purpose here.

Then again, that description made her baulk a little. Could she really face death if it was going to be like that?

"Did it hurt?" She blurted out again. Not that she needed to worry about that.

"I know I shouldn't but..." Phil has other issues that weighed on his mind, "I always thought that if the people that I hurt didn't come back, it would be my fault."

Her next question was considerably harder to answer and he asked for a quick clarification, "Which part? Because dying hurt like heck, but coming back? Uh, not really. I personally feel sick but that's just because it's how I cope."

Phil gives a quick once-over to the District fridge to fetch Foxy a snack and make sure it was stocked to the brim before he opened the Mentor's suite. It's his Victory money and if he wants to spend it on keeping people fed? So be it.

He offered Sayaka both a chair and some tea before closing the door.

"I prefer talking about these sorts of matters in a less crowded space," he explained, letting his pet skitter to his cubby. "Especially when surveillance is at an all-time high and an execution this recently. Normally, I'd refer you to the District 9 Mentor to help you out but since there's none, you get the picture."

Dr. Quinzel kind of died.

Sayaka frowned. So not everybody came back. That complicated matters a little bit.

She'd meant the dying part - she hadn't even considered that resurrection might hurt more than dying in the first place. Her hand went to her pocket and clasped around her soul gem. There was no telling if it had stopped working alongside her other powers.

Sayaka took the tea, and murmured a "Thank you," as she sat down on the chair. She listened carefully to everything Phil had to say, but she was still struggling to process everything else he'd told her.

Of course Sayaka had seen Tony's execution, but the meaning of it was lost on her. Now, she understood - it was a warning. To tributes like her... and Phil, too.

"Is helping me going to get you into trouble?" Sayaka asked, setting the teacup back down. She wasn't going to let Phil risk his life over someone like her.

Gray shook his head, using Emily Finch as an example to lead, "I don't think so. I'm not favoring you over my District Tributes, in training or in the arena." There is no questioning his alliance and care towards his friends. "I'm simply helping as a Staff member to make your stay in Panem that much more comfortable."

The sentence was rehearsed to hell and back but not necessarily in the context of the Capitol. After all, it wasn't the first time Phone Guy had to welcome and comfort a person facing life or death, make them settle down and face the dangers. But unlike before, the Games themselves allowed Phil to be more open about the hazards ahead.

"Them's the breaks, I'm afraid. But I can offer you this much advice: friendships here are worth it. Friendships and alliances..."

God knows Phil owes so many people for keeping him sane and reminding him that his choices or his past didn't reflect on him as a person. Favoring them in the Arena later on might be iffy but how else would he thank them?

Gritta's schedule keeps her busy, between school, training, and filming various shows and commercials. It doesn't leave her much time to get her shopping done, so she's hurrying through the aisles, pushing a cart and quickly picking out the things that she knows she can afford. Pasta goes a long way. Cans of tomatoes and beans, too. And if she has two or three packages of cookies in there as well... they were on sale. And she fully intends to share them with whoever's funds are a little lacking. District 7 is all in this together, aren't they?

"Oh!" It's when she rounds the corner into another aisle that she spots Philip, and she recognizes him immediately. "Oh, hello!" And it's a pleasant sort of recognition. She hadn't had a chance to congratulate him on his arena win. But she could do that now, right? It's that sort of motivation that has her darting quickly on in towards him.

Unlike the first time they met, Phillip is much more receptive and open towards Gritta and gives her a bright smile to match her greeting. "Hello-Hi!" he hasn't seen this one in a while, or at least on a physically present level. He's seen all the ads she's done and call him both amused and joyous at how versatile Gritta was. Though her expose was a bit tricky to get behind, Phone Guy gave everyone the benefit of a clean slate.0

"How have you been!" And if she needed some extra cash for her sale-hunting, Gray's just going to pitch as an anonymous patron...if to troll Jason for a while.

"Busy! So busy. Aah, but I think I like being busy." She bows her head and gives a girlish sort of giggle, a hand coming to briefly cover her mouth. "I'm sure you know a little bit about that? Congratulations on your win."

She's honestly happy for him. Very happy. He seems to be the sort of man that deserves to be away from all the awfulness of those arenas.

"A-Ah, yeah, uh, thanks..." Being a Victor is awkward for Phil on so many levels because he's seen how he acted and well, he used to have a death wish once upon a time. He genuinely believed he deserved to die but now? Now he had to make things right in another way. He's bound by the Capitol to be a good Mentor and not be like his supposedly lackluster predecessor.

"I'm used to heavy workloads, don't worry about that. My ticker can take it," no not really, "Uh, it feels weird to not-" Phone Guy stopped himself as he straightened up, "Anyway, I'm sure Mr. Compson will make it so you survive too!" Because he mirrored Gritta's thoughts: she was far too sweet to be in the Arenas.

"Are you baking too?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[open] The circus is full from top to ground

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cw: death descriptions

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III - Day

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