[Open] Not The Absence, But The Ability To Cope

[earthborn]

Who| Shepard and Anyone Else who might come across her
What| Shep wanders around the capitol a bit, getting her bearings
Where| Random street locations (choose your own)
When| The day of her arrival
Warnings/Notes| Possibly language

This was, surprisingly, the absolutely strangest thing that had ever happened to Shepard. Blood sport, she'd had that, in both its clean, relatively safe, publicly sanctioned form and otherwise. Opulence like this could be found on any one of a dozen Asari worlds, and plenty of places on the Presidium as well. Even kidnapping, so far as this experience went, was...not entirely outside of her experiences. But all at once?

All it needed was a clone imposter, and it would officially make her day.

Damn, but if it wasn't surreal, and she had to stop and stare, looking up at the glittering high-rises and all the careless, meandering people. It was as if war had never come here. No Reapers, no hardship. Not six hours ago, to her mind, they'd hit Earth running and had been fighting uphill against Reaper abominations ever since, and then—

And then suddenly; this.

The skies were blue. There was the smell of lilacs in the air. Nobody was screaming. It made no sense, despite the explanation, and there was no way to recover from the whiplash of moving in one day from the grim end of the world, to the Capitol of civilization and indulgence. Even if it came with that familiar undercurrent of wrongness. Shit.

"Shit," she muttered, looking across an open expense of grass that divided a skyscraper from a cheerful little restaurant, watching a pair of clearly-involved teenages walking hand in hand. They were almost alien, the way they dressed, the ease with which they moved, living without fear. But it was peaceful. Happy.

It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to her.

Comments

[big_badass_hero]

Chris watched her a few moments before moving close. "Pretty much sums up this place. Even Raccoon didn't feel so... sterilized."

Well okay compared to the arena, but hey he was being nice.

[earthborn]

Shepard hadn't lived this long without a little situational awareness; she turned as he approached, perhaps a little too quickly. Watch yourself.

Actually, what...are you talking about?

"Who're you?" Weird guy approaching strangers on the street.

[big_badass_hero]

"Figured you're one of the new people at the tower." He jerked his thumb at the tribute training center. "I'm Chris, D-8."

[earthborn]

"Yeah, I am," Alright, he's to-the-point at least. Shepard can live with that, "That's district they assigned you? You're really buying into this."

[knifewithnoname]

To add to the strangeness a little girl appears, eating an ice cream.

She had asked her escort about the card thing and they had explained that it had no money on it until you killed, but you could have negative money, like a bar tab. She didn't like the idea of being in debt but she had killed two people in the arena so had plenty of money for ice cream.

She had learned to recognise new tributes, they were the ones looking around confused like they had never seen anything like this before, just like Pruna had.

"It do no be getting any less weirder." She paused as she passed before going back to her ice cream.

[earthborn]

"...Good to know."

Well, alright, a kid with ice cream. She stared for a moment, then glanced off to the side, warily. No parent, and the girl didn't seem to have much concern about that. Alright, fine. That coupled with a wild guess lead to...

"You're a, uh— a tribute, huh?" Kids as the subjects of blood sport. Well, wasn't that just wonderful, "What's your name?"

[knifewithnoname]

Pruna nodded and licked her ice cream again, "I do be being." She seemed very not phased at that and shrugged again wrinkling her nose.

"I do no be having a name," she sighed, "But if silence do be a language you do be struggling with then they," she waved her spare hand around at the city, leaving no question as to who they were, "Do be calling me Pruna."

[earthborn]

"Alright, Pruna," She knew how that felt, to be assigned a name, and to accept it because how else were you going to get by? But, clear enough, this wasn't an ordinary child.

Most kids didn't agree so casually that they were engaged in deathmatches with their peers. Or hell, maybe they did, here.

"I'm Shepard."

[antowinette]

This was despicable.

But...there was something to be said for people like this. She almost had to thank them for saving her from her fate -- cruel, twisted as it was. And wasn't this a bigger prize than the last competition she was in? Eternal glory, all of that money, and the fame. . .

The woman in front of her looked just as out of place as Celes did, perhaps more so. So of course, the correct strategy to adopt for this conversation was being uncertain about the situation; she frowned as she approached the stranger.

"Oh my. It is troublesome, isn't it?"

[earthborn]

"It's peaceful," she replied, frowning. Was this how everyone's first day went, sightseeing with a side-order of being chatted up? "It's wrong. But these people—"

She remembered James on the Presidium, practically shedding his skin to be away from the opulence and hypocrisy. That had been a long time ago, but she hadn't seen his point then— this was enough to drive the point home, "It's peaceful."

She gave the girl the once over, and folded her arms derisively, "And you are?"

Explain yourself, young lady.

[antowinette]

"It's a clever change of pace."

Extremely clever -- at least here the bloodlust was more containable, hidden better. There was no outright death warrant signed upon their entry, because they made escape seem possible. Celes wasn't sure which one she preferred, but she almost (almost) missed Naegi and his ruthless optimism). . .

No. There was no time to think of that; she put it out of her mind.

"My name is Celestia Ludenberg," she smiled, folding her hands under her chin. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My real name can be overbearing so please, just call me Celes. What's your name?"

[earthborn]

"Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy," It was practically a call to attention, said that way, each syllable hard, uncompromising, "You're one of the 'tributes' aren't you."

Because Shepard sure as hell isn't. She might be forced into this, might have to fight in the arena, but she will never call herself by that title, if she can avoid it.

"Can I help you, miss Ludenberg?"

[battlesleep]

He forced himself to spend time among the populace, trying to determine more about the place that he had ended up and the people that he was surrounded by, but it was not an activity he enjoyed.

Nevertheless, it seemed now that it was one he should be grateful for. Because there was Shepard across the street, unmistakable, the differences from the her of his memory negligible. A moment of hesitation, and then he crossed the street immediately, holding his arm up in a silent salute. To call her name would bring too much attention, given the constant surveillance, but he could not simply let her pass.

He did not want her to be sentenced to this place, but he had missed her more than he had thought he would. Unable to forget was his default, but with her it was something more than that.

[earthborn]

She'd glossed over him in passing— another bright blot of color, standing to the side. This one had a way of moving, easily dismissed is irrelevant— but. Shepard turned, like a weapon coming to bear, and stared.

Thane.

She was numb, unable to look away, unable to blink. Thane. He was alive? How? Was this some kind of trick? It was Thane. She'd prayed with him, sat with Kolyat, spoken at his damn funeral, had hunted down and killed a man for putting a hole in Thane Krios. To avenge his death.

No. No, it was impossible. This didn't happen, not to her.

Not to her.

Jane watched him move, so very much like— like himself, and the world narrowed to his face, wreathed in red fog, and a high thin note, rising over the background noise of the Capitol around them. She could feel her hands balled into fists, the adrenaline rush, and in a moment something would snap. This couldn't be real.

[battlesleep]

He was not sure how to catalogue her reaction or the expression on her face, at first, and then slowly it turned to anger and his steps towards her slowed as he frowned, tilted his head and came to a total stop not far from her.

For a long moment there was silence, trying to just drink in her presence before he said anything, before whatever was causing the expression on her face had to be said. He had missed her more than words could say, even those of his native tongue.

"How long have you been here?" It seemed like the question to ask - he could so easily have missed her. That was a painful thought - one street over, one block further along, and he would not have seen her.

[earthborn]

The tension broke, like a sigh, and with it the torpor that had held her back. She ignored the question, and instead stepped into his approach, her hands coming up as if to embrace him.

Shepard seized him, the imposter by the collar and turned, pivoting on one foot and with all her strength threw him into the wall. It was stone, of a variety, smooth and white and very pretty unless someone spilled something on it. Shepard had only the vaguest memory of what color drell bleed, but maybe it was time to remind herself. That'd feel pretty good.

"You son of a bitch!" She came again, vicious and uncompromising, catching him on the rebound and shoving him into the wall with both fists and all the promise of violence she could bring to bear.

She'd kill him. It'd be hard, he looked so very like Thane, but this couldn't be allowed. No more clones, no more tricks, and the world could damn well stop shitting on her just this once, "If you think you're going to come to me pretending to be Thane Krios, desecrating his memory, then so help me god have you got another thought coming. I'm sick of this, do you hear me? You have ten seconds to tell me who sent you— Talk."

[shambler]

It was the same culture-shock R got when he arrived: too many colors, not enough corpses lying there or shuffling around. Everything from the sounds to the clothes screamed how different things were in the Capitol, a constant shout in his face hitting him like flood-lights.

When in doubt, wander aimlessly. It worked for him back home with the other zombies. The problem was when he did here, sometimes he'd have these Capitol citizens in their expensive blouses and feathers coming at him with these glowing tablets. "Autographs", they insisted, and tried shoving styluses into his limp hands and giggling about his "relationship with Julie" and "ooh, I absolutely loved her dress that night!". That? That was a lot of giggling, R forgetting for a second he was supposed to do something with the stylus until one of the girls nudged him. He kinda scrawled something, the stylus squiggling over the screen. Judging by the looks he got, R wasn't sure if that was good enough. Hey, he tried.

R was starting to realize he better watch out for the small packs of pre-teen girls and boys. Most didn't ask - some of them held their breath and crossed on the other side of the street - but some did and those were the ones he had to look out for. R tried to duck into an alley, shuffling out without looking both ways like his long-dead Mom probably taught him.

R ran into the other Tribute without seeing her until it was too late. He got a glimpse of bright red hair, cropped short, an incoming whiff of Living crashing over him like the tide coming in. The good news? He was lurching along at a zombie's drunk stagger. No harm, no foul. Slowest head-on collision in history.

If her doign this isn't cool, let me know and I'm happy to edit, okay? c:

[earthborn]

Today, in particular, is not a good day to act dead around Commander Shepard. Between the kidnapping, the rude interrogation, and other fun surprises, she's a little keyed up.

Elbow up, strike blind— never panicked, no, just...just startled. Yeah, fighting more to gain distance than to cause damage. One of the dubious advantages that came with living five years of your life under the semi-regular threat of husk attack was that when something shambled into you, you reacted swiftly.

"Watch it!" snarling is something of a default, and...Wow, you're not a husk. You look a little too human. For a moment it seems as if she might punch R again, if only for the sake of her dignity, but then, she relaxes a fraction, staring, "...uh."

ahem.

"Sorry. I thought you were something else."

That's awesome, I love being surprised! :)

[shambler]

The last thing he expected is getting an elbow to the face.

R stumbles back with a startled grunt, thinking that "watch it" is a little too late. Try a lot too late. By some miracle he didn't get the muzzle shoved straight into his skull and kill him on the spot, his eyes having a hell of a time trying to focus. For a second he's worried they got popped back out again, both of them this time, only instead of darkness his vision blurs and smears instead of blacking out. He'd blink, if he was human. Maybe even work up a cry because damn.

He can't even do that.

"Uhgggh...!" R groans. His head is still spinning. (In a way, he's relieved it could still do that - it almost felt Alive while he's teetering and trying not to fall over on his butt). "It's...okay. Cool. I'm...cool..it's cool - "

R's babbling - for a zombie - still trying to find his sense of balance. He might accidentally stumble back into the woman. You break it, you buy it - all 6'2'' of a dead boy.

[polyturtle]

Jane wasn't the only one walking around the city. There was a giant turtle also walking around, which might have reminded Jane of a krogan. Vaguely. Maybe.

And incidentally, he was just about to bump into Jane. It was quite clear he wasn't paying attention, at least not to Jane. He was actually thinking. Wondering what that interview was about. Hoping that he wasn't doing anything, hadn't said anything that could be used against him, or more importantly, the people he cared for. What if he'd said the wrong things? What if he just gave the Capitol incentive to bring people in from home to bring him in line?

What was going to happen next?

Aside from him running right into Jane, that is.

[earthborn]

Alright, so maybe she was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, rubbernecking like a tourist on their first trip through the presidium. Fair enough. But that doesn't give you license to just stumble right into her, and this is the second time in half so many hours.

When Don clips her shoulder, Shepard shoves back, unrelenting. She's seen ghosts, been pulled out of the biggest, worst fight of her life, been told she's to participate in blood sport, and been invited to a television interview, of all things. Today was not her best day for patience.

"Hey!" you weird...turtle...Krogan thing, "Watch where you're going!"

[polyturtle]

"I'm sorry." Don quickly turned around, his hands up. "I didn't mean to, ma'am."

However, his look of apology turned into a look of confusion. He was getting a strange sense of deja vu. For some reason. He frowned.

"...Hi?"

[honeyedwords]

"Well, it's a bit soppy but I'd hardly call it that," comes a voice from behind her. Sherlock rocks back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets. He's looking much more cleaned up than usual but still very obviously under the weather, the dark circles under his eyes plain to see against his sickly pallor. One of the stylists has forced him out of his frayed sweater and into a more respectable outfit, "respectable" here meaning black, angular and embroidered with golden stripes. He looks remarkably uncomfortable in it.

"They're a solid handful of weeks into their relationship with no major squabbles; watch their body language. Most people in their peer group don't last half as long before their coupling collapses in on itself."

He clears his throat and holds out a hand to her for a handshake, stiffly, in a canned gesture of politeness. "Sherlock Holmes, District Three mentor."

[earthborn]

Shepard regards him skeptically, Sherlock and his monologue all in one glance. After a moment she decides it's worth whatever risk the association might entail, and unfolds enough to reach for the hand. Firm grip, shake once only, keep it professional, then let go; textbook. Still, it was nice to have a purely human gesture reciprocated, once in a while.

"Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy," her reply is not as clipped as it might have been, but then it has been a long and very full day, "Do you do that often?"

But then, she's dressed remarkably sensibly for a tribute out in public. Simple dress shirt, black slacks shot with silver pinstripes, flats, and a remarkable lack of jewelry. Must have something to do with the way she'd threatened her stylist's life before being let go.

[honeyedwords]

Strictly professional is more than alright by Sherlock. He's always preferred the formality to the overenthusiastic feigned friendliness that seems to be the norm in the Capitol. It's usually accompanied by a smile with far too many inhumanly white and regular teeth, for one, and that unnerves him.

"Do I do what often? Talk to strangers uninvited or analyze relationships between people about whom I could not actually care less?" It sounds like an earnest question, but he keeps going before Shepard has a chance to respond, plowing onwards at speed. Such is the nature of conversations.

"Right, Jane Shepard, assigned to District 5. You're one of the people we've roped into our merry little game, and for that I feel I must apologize."