thecapitol | Choose to Fight for a World Beyond

Who| Laia Martinez and you
What| There's a new arrival in the detainment center. She's not impressed.
Where| Detainment center cafeteria and training areas
When| After the D10/D11 battles
Warnings/Notes| None, will add if necessary

Cafeteria

Laia does not regret her choice of reaction upon waking up on a steel cot and being escorted somewhere by soldiers. Submitting to the guards, sizing up the location's layout and her captor's capabilities, and then taking the first chance to knock them all out and flee had gotten her a black eye and a pair of plastic wrist cuffs, true. But she had made her decision with the information available to her, and going forward, she wouldn't make the same mistake twice. This wasn't the Gurhal system, these weren't the Illuminus, and her position as president meant nothing. It was all bullshit (and she had loudly declared as much), but it was new bullshit. Different than the mess that she was now, apparently, very far away from.

It still wasn't enough information to properly operate on, though. The truth that comes from the mouths of administrators and the actual truth are worlds apart, in her experience. So she had settled herself in the cafeteria with a mug of tea and a plastic baggie full of ice, intent on flagging someone down and grilling them for on-the-ground details. But there were video screens showing the most hideous things... she has found herself drawn into a Greatest Hits recap of the Hunger Games, and can't quite manage to tear her eyes away. Laia knows death when she sees it, and she is damn sure that these scenes of carnage are not carefully-done special effects. But that would mean.... what would that mean?

Having viewed someone's particularly gruesome end, framed with dramatic music and entirely too flippant narration, she can't stay silent any longer. "Hey!" She calls out to someone at the edge of her vision, but doesn't look their way. "Hey, you, is this..." Up goes a hand, turning vaguely around, as though she might pluck the right words out of the air. "...what the hell is this?"

Training Facilities

If they've brought her here to fight, Laia intends on doing the job properly. And since it seems they're not allowing her any of her actual equipment, she's just going to have to get used to going without. Without a line shield, she'll have to be more alert and agile. Without a nano-transformer, she'll have to content herself to limited weapons and no on-the-fly healing. And something else feels off, too, but she can't quite put her finger on what...

But she puts it out of mind. She puts just about everything out of mind, in all honesty, for she's focusing her frustration and irritation and confusion on the punching bag before her. Fists fly, elbows are thrown, middle and high kicks impact noisily, and on she goes, pushing past any aching or tiredness. Those last few months behind a desk and a microphone had put her off her game, and like hell she was going to stay off her game if what these strangers had in store for her was true.

Later, she's at the weapon rack, considering what to give a try... and looking no small amount confused, too. She pulls a sword free, and is thrown off by the weight and balance of it. "...it's solid? Tch, that's primitive, isn't it?" For all that they'd managed to haul her here, just what kind of rinky-dink low-tech operation were they running?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Were you expecting something else?" Albert's mood as improved at least a little by helping to get Sam back into rebel hands safely, even if it had resulted in his death at the hands of a self-styled super villain who had a hard on for the German cyborg's misery. Black Tom is really little more than an annoyance though, considering how easily he'd been manipulated into covering Sam's 'capture.'

Still, there's little to do in prison between battles and with Jet's hours being unpredictable as he's weened from whatever psychotropic drugs the Capitol had him on, Albert finds himself with a lot of down time. Sometimes that means running around the track outdoors, and sometimes that means utilizing the training facilities, a place Albert is surprised even exists in a prison. Oh well.

The elven girl's exclamation catches his attention, as a diversion more than anything, and so he responds. He has some time, he might as well spend it on a potential new ally.

Albert's good-natured comment gets an uncertain side-eye in return. Who is this? Is he worth trusting? She's plainly sizing him up as she replies. "I was. There isn't a single photonic weapon here. No one uses stuff like this anymore, where I'm from. Unless you're some kind of weird history nerd, and even then..." She gives a frustrated huff, then turns to set the sword back where she got it from.

"...So who're you?" Names to go with faces are nice. And he's got an interesting face, come to think of it...

"This world is both more advanced and entirely backwards from the civilizations it pulls from," Albert replies as if that answers her frustrations about the weapons. He gauges her reaction; surely she noticed by now that this place is a literal prison complex and they wouldn't allow advanced weapons, even if the presence of something as rudimentary as medieval cutlery is still strange.

"Heinrich. Albert Heinrich. I'm a... guest, like yourself." He leans back against the wall, reconciling himself to the fact that she looks like an Elf but is clearly from a technologically advanced world. True, it makes sense that Elves, like humans, would also continue with the march of progress on some plane, but Albert's always thought of them in the Tolkeinesque fashion, all ethereal movement and cryptic prophecies, steel and sorcery, that sort of thing. Her mention of 'photonic' weapons is like hearing a toddler recite Shakespeare; it doesn't quite work in his head, but he tries very hard to keep his expression impassive and not let any of that knowingly offensive thought show.

Edited 2016-03-11 15:58 (UTC)

It's half an answer, as far as Laia is concerned. A kind of mushy-middle thing that isn't the exact thing that she's looking for. But it's something, and she can build on that something. "How advanced is 'more' advanced? Have they mastered space flight? Faster than light travel? A-Photons? I'd go look into this myself, but I don't think they want me to leave just yet...." As serious as it all is and as much irritation as she feels, she can't help but say it with a smirk.

There's a very brief pause as she takes in Albert's name, and as she considers her own introduction. "...Laia Martinez." Out goes her hand for a handshake, which he'll find to be very firm. "I've been a 'guest' in places worse than this."

"They have force fields..."

Okay, so maybe what he'd said wasn't entirely accurate compared to where this person comes from. She lost him at A-Photons.

Still, he reaches out to shake her hand. If her grip his firm, his is unforgiving. Not in the sense that his grip is too hard, but simply that his hand literally has none of the give that flesh is supposed to under pressure. Whether its the gloves he has on or something else suspicious is open for debate.

"Remember saying that. You might change your mind."

"That's a start." Space elves with laser swords, man. The multiverse is full of all kinds of things.

There's a subtle shift in Laia's expression, a recognition of the kind of handshake that Albert just gave her. Either it's a prosthetic, or he's some form of CAST. Neither's worth actually mentioning, though. He knows perfectly well what he is, whatever it is, and she can't say that she particularly cares. "Maybe. I'm willing to believe it can get a lot worse, but I'm not going to let the bastards get me down."

"I wouldn't call them that so loudly. We are... 'guests,' remember." A friendly warning. "It won't do to insult our 'hosts.'"

"Anyone who puts a bruise like this on me is a bastard, whichever side we're all on." Her look goes sour as she points to the rapidly-purpling bruising around her right eye. She hears that friendly warning, and only gives about half of a damn about it. "I know what I'm here for. More or less."

Albert puts up his hands in surrender. He warned her. If she doesn't want to heed said warning, then that's her decision.

"They won't want to leave you like that, at least. There is an infirmary for our use. I can show you where it is, if you like. Maybe get a cold pack for your eye." Y'know, since its swelling.

"I've been icing it." She lifts a hand to give a quick and dismissive wave. "I got tired of sitting around holding something on my face, found this place, and figured I should get myself back into fighting form." She doesn't look particularly out of shape. She's wearing a sleeveless top, showing off well-toned arms, the upper right one bearing an intricate tattoo. "Maybe you can show me when we're both done, though."

He is surely here to work out, and not to just hassle the new folk.

"Seems as good a plan as any." He offers a smile, tight as it is, and takes her dismissal as cause to make his way over to the set of mats across the room. Albert doesn't necessarily need strength training, his arms being metal and especially with their powers usually on during the sojourns to the Districts, but like his it's just his arms and legs that are metallic; his core muscles still need to be maintained.

He'll just be over there doing push ups and sit ups until he's needed again.

"Right." She gives him a curt nod as he goes, and turns back to the weapon rack. Maybe she can try her luck with a spear. That can't be too off balance from the kind that she's used to. She snags one, goes to find herself a clear spot where she can swing it about... and well, Albert gets the occasional curious glance, but only occasional. He's not that fascinating.

Maybe the can talk more later when she's figured out if there are places where no one can overhear.

Choose to Fight for a World Beyond

Training Center cw: mention of forced drug abuse

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wrap?

Sure!