Gotta reach for the top

[somebiblicalshit]

Who| Coach and anyone interested!
What| Coach's here and he's confused as hell.
Where| D11 suites and Training Center bar
When| 9/22, Tuesday



D11 commons

Coach has never been in a place this nice before. It's almost too fancy, like a posh Vegas hotel. More up Nick's alley than Coach's, who favors a more homey environment. There are some luxuries he can't resist though, like a good long shower. He must have spent an hour in there before changing into a clean, dark green button up shirt and pants. He feels lighter just from that even though he's pretty sure he's only shed a couple of pounds from living it rough for a while.

"Man...kinda quiet in here for such a big place, ain't it?" He's hoping for someone to answer, because he's a man looking for answers. "Anybody here?" He continues on, not making it a secret that he's amusingly disturbed at what he's been told. He's hoping that it's just a joke with a pending punchline. "I've got a couple of questions pertainin' to my apparent new responsibilities if you are to be so kind."

TC Bar

"Look, I know I don't got the money but I'm tellin' you son, after what I just shared with you about the Tanks on the explodin' bridge on top of everything else I've been through? I think I deserve a couple of cold ones."

The bartender looks at him like he's heard all this shit before, as if it was yesterday's news. So he just raises a brow at the man and pulls out a glass of ice and fills it with water before walking off to the other end of the bar. That's fine enough for Coach as he quietly thanks the man. He's not one to beg but it was worth a shot. He's back in civilization again and should act like it, even if this is nothing like back home.

He really should step out and have a look around, but for now he's sitting down on this bar stool like he hasn't sat down in a long time. Raising a toast to the faces he's kept on his mind since this all started, he lets out a sigh and takes a drink.

Comments

[president_evil]

A figure appeared beside him. An Avox, like a thin, red shadow, seemingly springing from nowhere. Pale and wane, her dark eyes never quite seemed to meet Coach's - the small 11's tattooed on her cheeks like delicate black tears - as she gestured for him to follow her.

Wesker had been informed to expect newcomers, but when none had appeared by the time he was ready to take one of his strange meals, he'd set the woman to wait, and watch, and fetch. If Coach did as she bade, she would lead him down to Wesker's private quarters in the Victor's corridor.

She took a few steps back, hand curling again in a small, insistent wave.

Is this where Wesker spins around on his chair and being like "I've been expecting you"? XD

[somebiblicalshit]

That caught Coach by surprise. Thankfully, nothing more than a hitched breath escaped him when he noticed the little lady. He could already say that he was thoroughly creeped out by her, but also told himself that he had seen worse and been through worse. The thought to grab a small lamp or something with him to use crossed his mind as if he was still in full survivor mode. Even after that shower, there were some things that couldn't be washed away. He followed her like he was (silently) asked to and shifted his feet awkwardly to meet whoever it was he was supposed to meet.

"Uh...hello?"

You ruined his swivel-chair surprise.

[president_evil]

The Avox knocked demurely on one of the doors near the end of hall, like a bird tip-tapping, and then moved aside, her head bowing as she heeled obediently.

Inside, Wesker set down his silverware and wiped a smear of greasy blood from his lips on an elegant linen napkin.

"You may enter," he called in response to the uncertain greeting, reaching for the cover to his plate with one hand and tapping at his keyboard with the other. The information he'd been provided, shimmering into existence above his desk. Coach's picture and his vital information handing suspended, scrolling slowly.

HUEHUE.

[somebiblicalshit]

"Boy," Coach remarked with an exhale, taking in the high tech environment, "there are some things I don't think I can ever get used to." He had directed that comment to the Avox, unaware of what they were besides just...oddly dressed people, but shrugged off her lack of response. Some folks just weren't the chatty type.

Finally, a voice that wasn't his own. Coach approached the seemingly important looking man and gathered as much that he ought to be polite. No promises though. "Hello there, sir. Didn't mean to interrupt your meal but I'm the new guy in town. Can I safely assume you could tell me just what the hell is goin' on?"

Coach's eyes trailed at the floating images, eyes widened at the displays. "Shit, either I'm really behind the times or I got sent to the future..."

[president_evil]

"You've been brought to another world," Wesker said, even though he was aware it hadn't been a question. "Panem, to be specific."

He lifted an elegant hand, and gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk - a large, mahogany affair, wood so dark it was almost black; Wesker himself seated in his victory throne, the head of a dragon, it's sightless eyes staring out across the room.

"This is District 11. You are a tribute, I am Albert Wesker, your mentor."

The basics to begin with, Wesker had learned. Baby steps, like guiding a toddler through its A-B-C's. (No amount of wishing otherwise would speed them along.)

[burningdaylight]

Luke's an occasional barstool-warmer, unwinding after a training session or a soul-draining shift at the art museum. It's an unassuming place compared to most in the Capitol, a good choice for the nights when he hasn't the patience to put up with the ooh-ing and aah-ing of Capitolites at neighbouring tables eying him through glittery lashes. Of course, it's also a place of opportunity for casual eavesdroppers. Booze loosens tongues and he catches interesting threads of conversations now and again while staring dully into space, some more useful than others. So it's not hard to overhear Coach from a couple of stools down - tanks and explosions are not typical subjects - and Luke glances across the counter, studying him with a tired sort of wariness.

Big guy, able-bodied.

"You new around here?" He asks, in greeting, when the man appears to have taken the edge off his thirst. Never hurts to get to know the competition a bit.

[somebiblicalshit]

"Yeah, pretty much." Coach answers with a nod and already accepting that he's going to be hearing that question a lot. He turns his stool to face Luke and immediately registers that face as one that has seen a lot of shit. Too much for one life time. It takes one to know one. "Son, you look like you've been through hell and back."

Not exactly an ideal way to start a conversation, but there is some level of concern from Coach's statement. That and it takes one to know one.

[burningdaylight]

The remark almost brings a smile to his lips but he chuckles instead, soft and mirthless, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, I ain't the only one." Most any tribute, man or woman or child, wears the same hollow mask in time, slowly eaten away on the inside by grief, by forced silence. He purses his lips, canting his head. There's a sympathetic furrow to his brow. "Sounds like you've had hell of a time a' things yourself."

Looking to the empty stools beside Coach, he adds, after a beat: "...Mind if sit next to you?"

He doesn't suppose the guy will object but it's too early to be making assumptions about the comfort levels of strangers.

[somebiblicalshit]

Coach makes a gesture to the seat next to him. "Go right ahead. I think I still need to sit here a while longer to absorb all this." He can still hear the explosions ringing in his ear, along with the roars and chainsaw buzzing.

"Folks call me Coach." And that's the closest to a name Luke and pretty much anyone is going to get out of him. "What's your name?"

[burningdaylight]

"Thanks."

Luke drops into his new seat with a sigh and sets his beer down on the counter, though it's all but forgotten as he considers the introduction he's given with a measure of curiosity.

"Coach..." He echoes. Can't fault the guy for playing it safe. There's a story behind it, he's sure, there has to be whether it's a literal nickname or not. "Well, I'm Luke..." And then something clicks -- and Luke can't help pausing anymore than he can help his face going blank. But the moment passes and he's soon leaning on his elbows to search Coach's expression for the answer that Rochelle needs, a twinge of quiet, daring hope quickening his pulse.

"...Does the name Rochelle--" he frowns - "--mean anythin' to you?"

D11

[contrarianlibrarian]

China takes her sweet old time leaving her room even when she gets the news that her new charge is expected. Surely he can entertain himself for a little while, and, besides, she can't hurry. That would be absurd.

Just please let it not be a rebellious one, she intones in her head as her heels click their way down the hall to the Common Area.

The question is already a few seconds cold in the air when she materializes into view, but she smiles and responds smoothly. "I can oblige you, if you are indeed the new Tribute. Would you like to take a seat, Mr. ..?"

[somebiblicalshit]

Coach is just about to turn around and make it for the elevator until China chimes in. He lets out a deep exhale before approaching her because lord knows how much he wishes for his new purpose here to be a joke.

"Everyone calls me Coach." He sits down at one of the chairs and makes a mental note of just how damn comfortable it is. "And you, miss?"

[contrarianlibrarian]

She raises an eyebrow when she realizes that, nope, no other name is forthcoming. "A title and a name? How very versatile."

She seats herself across from him, posture erect, hands set primly in her lap. "China Sorrows. In case no one has made you aware yet, I'll be your Escort during your stay here, helping you however I can." A soft, almost apologetic smile. "I understand that the transition may be difficult, so, please, don't hesitate to ask any questions you may have."

[somebiblicalshit]

"It's also short and easy to remember." Efficient in the face of the apocalypse, where he's grown to deal with the strengths and the burden of attachment.

"Interesting name, Miss Sorrows." He'll remember it too. "Nice to meet you." Coach's brows crease a little. He has questions in mind but the introduction just adds one more to the pile. "Uh..."escort"?"

...Is he in Vegas?

I laughed at that

[contrarianlibrarian]

One side of her mouth sneaks up. "I hope the Sponsors will find that to be true as well."

"Yes. I will be guiding you through this experience." Dare she ask? Just this once, she allows her curiosity to get the best of her. "Is there perhaps another meaning to the word in your previous world?"

COACH

[shiftingurbulls]

It's at the bar where Ellis hears that unmistakable drawl and the man that comes along with it. He should be horrified that Coach is here, and not in that weird dream place like last time. He should be worried that his father-figure was reaped along with Nick and Rochelle...

But Ellis can't find a fuck to give at this moment as he rushes over, clad in jeans some Capitol band shirt and his telltale hat, his token as he screams, "COACH!"

The hug might have been more of a tackle but Nick can attest, Ellis can get a little emotional.

DOGGIE. I MEAN, ELLIS!

[somebiblicalshit]

Coach knows that Care Bear-DNA filled voice anywhere, and registers it just quick enough to stand up and turn around to catch Ellis into a hug. Playing football in his prime paid off, because he manages to hold his ground from that tackle, only just bumping his back against the seat behind him.

"Ellis!" Coach lets out a roaring laughing fit, fear of being the only one left from that escape subsiding. "Young'un, you made it!! Alright, alright. You can leggo now." People are staring and it has been confirmed that Ellis is indeed, not a Jockey trying to jump him.

Just as eager as a labradoodle

[shiftingurbulls]

Ellis shook his head at the mere suggestion of letting go of a man he so highly respected and cared for. They were all here and now nothing, not even the Capitol could hold them down. But the truth was that image was everything and as much as the mechanic wanted to stick around, he finally freed Coach from his embrace and wiped away any wetness around his eyes. It's been one hell of a ride for El and he intends to keep his spirits high.

"Yeah, me, Ro, an' Nick, we're all here," he spoke, his voice heavy with every loss and every death he's felt in the arenas. "Yer lookin' damn good all things considered."

And here we go.

[somebiblicalshit]

Coach exhales deeply and lets out another grateful laugh that all four of them made it out of there. It shook him a little, at the possibility of being the only survivor after what they all went through together.

He holds his arms out, nodding and smirking to show off the (metaphorical) guns that helped him on more than one occasion against the infected. He sets his arms down with a grin. "You too, son. Kinda weird to see you without your overalls though. They gave you new clothes and a place too, I take it?"

[shiftingurbulls]

"Yeah, well, gimme a day an' I'll be back in my coveralls, I'm workin' as a mechanic here while the..."

Oh shit, the Arena. The reason they were all here and it makes El's skin color drop into a snowy hue. Losing Nick rocked the hell out of him and Rochelle. He had to get things right the first time, and so he asked, "W-Wha' district did they tell ya you were assigned to?"

He has to find help.

TC Bar -- Because someone needs to introduce him to some real weirdness

[glowygreendeath]

Ermac had just finished his training for the day, and after a quick shower had gone down to the bar for a drink. There wasn't much else to do, really. Train or drink. The library and museums were full of blatant propaganda, the films were passable at best, and there wasn't even any decent hunting anywhere near the Capitol. So, training, putting up with sponsors, and people watching were really all there was.

It's while he's enjoying a very peculiar kind of greenish cocktail that Ermac overhears an intriguing conversation about some realm overrun with "Tanks" and "Witches." When the offworlder is denied a drink, Ermac beckons the bartender over and slips him enough change to pay for a beer.

"We will cover it."

He turns to Coach now, fixing him with an intense and unearthly stare.

"Continue."

[somebiblicalshit]

Coach thought he just heard a voice made of nightmares...yeah, he just did, and it's taken the form of a man that looks like he belongs in a movie. He looks at the bartender with a raised brow and mouths "we"? but the guy just shrugs it off and takes the payment and replaces it with a cold one.

He's only slightly weirded out, but he's not going to at a gift horse in the mouth. Coach nods his head and thanks the stranger, sniffing the brew and giving it a taste before drinking a good amount of it. "Oooh, yeah. That hit it."

He smacks his lips next. "Well, assumin' you just heard everything I've been tellin' him, there ain't much to say after that. We had a close call with a Hunter, one of them infected that likes pouncing on people. It got me, but a buddy of mine knocked it and sent it flyin'. We made out...and I know it wasn't the chopper that brought me here."

[glowygreendeath]

"Infected...you keep using that term. What were they infected with?"

He takes a sip of his own drink and leans in to hear this 'Coach' better.

[somebiblicalshit]

It's a lot easier to chat when he's got a drink in his hands. "It's called the Green Flu. I don't know 'bout it too much as far as the science-y shit goes, but people get sick first, then they start vomiting until they can't no more, and then they start to change. They start to mutate." Coach goes on explaining the nature of the infected, rabid and hostile beyond reason to the point where the survivors had no choice but resort to brute force. Then he gets to the special infected, taking sips of his drinks in between describing the Hunters, Smokers, Witches etc.

"Jockeys are annoyin' what with how they jump and try to steer you around. Tanks are the worst though. Takes a whole team to take just one down. That bridge had four roamin' around. I can't say I miss that."

[glowygreendeath]

"We are impressed that you survived."

He half-raises his own glass in a kind of salute.

"You may become a warrior yet."

Everyone thought great warriors were simply strong and took orders, but the best he'd seen had the right essence for the kind of discipline such a life demanded. Anyone who could not only survive, but fight their way through an environment like that, almost certainly had the right mental profile to become a true warrior.