[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

[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."

[earthborn]

Shepard is beginning to believe that talking to strangers apropos of nothing is just something people do around here. It's not necessarily a bad habit, particularly given the circumstances, but it's different.

"—Just Shepard is fine," and lets go of the district designation, for once, "Why? You in on the decision-making process around here?"

[honeyedwords]

"Fortunately, no," Sherlock says. "I'm a victim of the system as well, though perhaps arguably not as much an innocent bystander as your fellows. I'm a native, you see. One of the people that the games were originally meant to punish, before we figured out our shiny new interdimensional toy."

He shrugs, rocking back on his heels again, frowning slightly. "I won the Games back when they picked tributes at random from the districts. It's not my fault specifically that you're here, but you won't get anything from the actual perpetrators. I feel somewhat obligated to offer my condolences either way."

[earthborn]

"Nobody's ever called me innocent before, and I don't exactly intend to just stand by," the scoff came automatic, and easy. Worse came to worse, she could guarantee a clean death if she wanted, and a permanent one. The question would be, as ever, how many of these bastards would go with her.

I'm a native, you see.

And now Sherlock had her attention, as laser focused as ever, all red glare and poker face. Hello there.

"I don't need condolences, I need information. How about you start with exactly how much you know about me."

[honeyedwords]

Very to the point. Good, Sherlock hasn't had nearly enough conversations that haven't been filled with waffling and niceties since he arrived here. The red glow to her eyes and scars is perhaps also a bit unnerving but it's not much different than some other cosmetic modifications he's seen.

"As of right now? Virtually nothing other than your name, appearance, and district designation. What I can tell you, if you're not already aware, is that there was a woman named Shepard here before. Also a commander in an Alliance navy. Perhaps not yours, but it's certainly possible. Won her games, disappeared mysteriously. I'd advise caution."

[earthborn]

"I'm gettin' a lot of that lately," She comes by the scars honestly, and the glare as well, "But that much I did know. What else do y'got for me?"

[honeyedwords]

"Quite a lot," says Sherlock. He's making a point to keep his voice low enough that the bugs he suspects are nearby won't be able to pick up exactly what he's saying, but loud enough so as not to draw attention with conspiratorial whispering. "It's mostly a question of where to start and how much you know. Any specific questions?"

[earthborn]

"All I know is that this the third time in my life that I've woken up on a gurney and been told I'm about to fight for my life, and everyone else who's tried it on me is dead," she replied evenly, matching his tone, "I'm pretty sure you can see from there where I mean to go with this. I guess some advice for the upcoming...games..."

God she hated that term.

"...wouldn't go too far off bat, for starters."