I'm scared that everyone is out to get me [semi-open]

[orestes]

Who| Any and all District 5 Tributes
What| Talking, alliance building. Mainly this is just a chance to grab some inter-District CR.
Where| District 5 suites.
When| Vaguely post-Arena 6
Warnings/Notes| Nothing that I can think of immediately, but I'll be sure to edit this if anything touchy comes up.



There was an anxiousness to the areas designated for the Tributes which prompted Enjolras to actively avoid them most days. The Training Center was the most troublesome and wearying by far, but even the rooms they were given had become pervaded by a sense of real or imagined hopelessness. It was, after all, quite complicated to be forced to live with people who would just as soon be enjoined to kill you, or do so of their own volition.

As such, it had taken a conscious effort on his part to remain in the small common area alotted to them for the better part of the day. While he detested the effect the very space had over him, and the way it made his stomach twist periodically, its convenience couldn't be denied. Moreover, nor could the necessity of building relationships between the Tributes of his District. It was complicated to live with people who could easily become your murderers, but to do so without even attempting to dissuade them was not only troubling, but foolish. And thus, armed with several volumes on the history of Panem, he deposited himself in a comfortable chair with a good view of the room, and resolved to watch from over the top of his books and lure anyone who could be lured into conversation.

Comments

[earthborn]

Shepard had never made a habit of staying in, nor sleeping late. She was a woman of action, both by necessity and personal preference, and lately her life had made her even moreso; kidnappings and impending bloodsport notwithstanding. She left the apartments early, usually before anyone else seemed awake, and returned late; sober, and also sobered. Not a bad life, by her standards, moving around the Capitol, training relentlessly more for occupation than need, but neither was it a good one.

Still, she recognized a cue when she saw one, and the pensive look on Enjolras' face paired with the pile of literature on his table was more than enough to qualify. She could sigh, but Jane was still Shepard, and therefore still commander enough to know when something needed dealt with.

"Alright, lay it on me," she offered the opening longsufferingly, but without malice, "What is it now."

[orestes]

"I beg your pardon?" Courfeyrac had commented once that Enjolras had less an appreciation for social constructs and conventions than an appreciation for other people's appreciation for them inasmuch as they met his ends. That was entirely accurate. Closing his book, he marked the page with the dust jacket and set it down, turning back to Shepard only once an time appropriate for feigning polite disinterest had passed.

"Oh, I do not believe we've met. We should, we represent the same people." His voice was even and clear, though not without an air of purposefulness, which spoke to exactly how much thought he'd put into all of this. Politely, he rose and extended a hand to her. "Enjolras, citizen of France. The pleasure is mine, I assure you, Miss."

[earthborn]

"It's Commander," Slowly, and very deliberately, Shepard ignored his hand, cocked her weight onto one hip, and folded her arms, "Shepard."

Of the many an numerous insults Jane has ignored over the years, being ignored in turn is not one of them. Eventually those in power learned to take it in stride— or else respond well enough to placate her. Enjolras was earning himself only an unimpressed expression; the disdain was casual.

"I don't represent anything but a particular pool of bets at this point. If you mean that we're all assigned to the District Five dorms, then I'll buy that. What can I do for you today, Mister Enjolras, now that we've formally met."

Give me your sidequest mission, bystander.

[orestes]

It was hard to miss the standoffish way in which she regarded him. Enjolras himself was no stranger to keeping people (even comrades) at a distance. It was actually how he was most comfortable dealing with most people. Still, overt rudeness very rarely occurred to him and he visibly stiffened at the reception. His social disturbances were usually caused by an impressive level of honesty to the point of bluntness and were very rarely intentioned. This was... Well, more direct, to say the least.

"Our response to the Games, and our willingness to participate in them has a direct result of better living conditions for a number of people, none of whom, I would presume, are allowed to participate in any of those bets. Speaking for myself, I represent them, if I must represent anything at all." His voice was controlled, and he matched her lack of concern with his own, distractedly stacking and re-stacking his books so as to avoid looking at her again too quickly. "To that end, I would like to become better acquainted. If I fail to serve them, then you might. We better our odds within the Arena and theirs outside of it."

[earthborn]

"You're looking for allies."

She considered that. Enjolras didn't look like much, but then neither did she, once upon a time. And what seemed relatively harmless in wool or cotton wouldn't be the same with a weapon in his hand or armor on his back. After all, hadn't she met people who seemed sweet and turned out to be— well, Mordin.

As for the bit about the districts receiving boons in exchange for victories on their behalf; she wasn't sure. They couldn't confirm it, but then, could they rely on any of this information? It was at least nine parts bullshit, the lot of it. Probably.

"Alright then, I'm listening," And that was a little gentler, because she was listening. The Games, with their supposedly-impermanent death and by-proxy soldiers seemed unreal, in more ways than one; that they might have bearing on the Real World outside the Arenas was an idea with legs, "Tell me how you see this working. Exactly what can you do for me?"

[littlebitrockandroll]

Little Rock was not that impressed with her current life situation. But that wasn't anything new. Really, when compared to Zombieland the only part that hurt was that Wichita wasn't around to help her deal with it this time. But lies, death, betrayal? Totally just another day in the life of. At least around here the dying was just for fun. You got to get back up at the end of the day.

Without her sister around, she was stuck with the people dressed in matching clothes instead. Like blondie. If anyone really needed to come up with a new name for this place, it was him. Enjolras. Come on. The man may hear a slightly suffering sigh behind him as she spots the pile o'books, but then makes her way over so plop in a chair next to him anyway. Trust wasn't exactly a word she used for people she wasn't related to, but they had survived together a few weeks. He at least got the benefit of the doubt.

"Hey, Paris. Homework hour?"

[orestes]

"Good afternoon, Little Rock. I've been reading about the history of this place." He decided to ignore the complacency in her voice in favor of initiating a polite conversation instead. A fond smile played at Enjolras' lips as he turned to her. One of the (many) benefits to death being temporary here was the chance to replace the image he'd last had of her in the Arena with one that was slightly more comfortable. "It's impressive how much these people could write without definitively saying anything."

[littlebitrockandroll]

"So it really is homework."

Sure, school had ended in a zombie-filled blaze before she'd really hit the essay writing part of life, but even kids BS what and when they can. She picked one of the books up on random, flipping through it casually.

"What year is it, anyway?"

[orestes]

"I haven't the slightest idea. Apparently they adopted a different numbering system at some point decades ago, and as of yet, no one's seen fit to explain it." His smile turned slightly wry. It was frustrating an hour ago, but at this point Enjolras could only find the ridiculousness of it amusing. It didn't truly matter what year it was in relation to his year, or even hers. They were both outmatched by the technology here in different ways and knowing just how much wouldn't actually change anything of it.

"Where are you off to today?"

[littlebitrockandroll]

"One of the escorts said they had a whole room with nothing except desserts. Ice cream cakes taller than me. I'm gonna find it. And see if you really can have death by chocolate."

She looked at him with raised eyebrows over the edge of the- now upside down, mind- book she'd stolen. Both daring him to tell her it was stupid, and more than a little implying that maybe he should think about doing something fun. For the tiny amount of time they were actually allowed to do it, and all.

[celebrityskinned]

Venus isn't unused to walking in on people surrounded by books - after all, every superhero team needs a brain, and she certainly wasn't about to be it. Never had the drive, never had the curiosity, and after the events in her childhood, she was so behind in school that she never really bothered to catch up beyond what would buffer her from looking like a total buffoon.

What she is unused to, however, is walking in on a brain who isn't fuzzy or wearing glasses. He's actually rather attractive, she thinks, although that only makes sense, since they're entertainers. Star power and high cheekbones are positively correlated.

She walks out of her bedroom in flip-flops, short-shorts and an over-long t-shirt that still tapers in at the waist - an artfully-crafted mimicry of a messy coed. The makeup is a dead giveaway. The Avoxes have brought a coffee to her in her bedroom, and as she wanders around to check out the view from the fifth floor she takes little sips from it.

"Hi," she says, walking up to the chair beside him and taking a seat on the arm. "I'm Venus. You live here too?"

She doesn't bother to ask for a name. Generally, if someone's important, she's introduced to them and never has to inquire.

[orestes]

"Everyone representing District 5 lives here." He voice is passive and Enjolras makes a concerted effort to avert his eyes politely. It was only a matter of time until someone stumbled out of their room half-dressed, he'd realized, he just hadn't been prepared mentally for it to have been a woman. It was chivalrous nonsense and after the last Arena he had more than enough evidence of exactly how futile such notions could be. Nevertheless, his modesty dictated a certain course of action in this scenario even if her's was mysteriously absent.

The books provide a suitable distraction, and he raises one again to block the bulk of her body from his vision. With that protection politely in place, Enjolras turns more directly to face her. "Enjolras. I've always preferred the Greeks, although the Romans are significantly more popular at the Capitol."

[celebrityskinned]

"Huh. So this is like the cool people's dorm." She kicks her leg up and crosses it over the other, taking another sip from her coffee. She's burning her tastebuds off, but she doesn't much care. Enjolras seems shy, or bored of her, which is a bit of a buzzkill, but intellectual types usually are like that.

When he places the book in front of her bare thighs, she figures he must have a girlfriend. She blinks a winces a bit of sadness away, because it's a shame to send people off to die on TV if they have loved ones waiting for them. At least she joined up for a life of risking her neck on camera when she had no family to miss her.

"Hmm? What do the Romans have to do with anything?"

[orestes]

"Your name." His reply is mild, matter-of-fact. It's a joke he's aware she's probably heard before and thus, there's nothing clever about making it again. Smalltalk, is, however, smalltalk and while Enjolras is by no means afraid of polite conversation, quite the contrary, he's also very aware of his awkwardness at navigating them. Oratory skill is hardly the same thing as fluency and poise, and political savvy was yet another matter entirely.

"I prefer the Greek deities, though I suppose there's rarely a difference between them and their Roman counterparts. And, of course, Venus is easier to spell than Aphrodite." Dropping the book slightly, he focused his attention specifically on her face. She was clearly perfectly comfortable with both their proximity and her manner of dress and it would be terrible to offend her when his intention was exactly the opposite. "The government here is rather loosely based on that of ancient Rome, and I've noticed that most of the Capitol natives have Roman names. You should be quite popular with them, Mademoiselle."

laaaate :c

[carnagecarnival]

More often than not, it's in the early mornings and late evenings that the Initiate tends most to stalk to and from his block, coming out in the times when darkness has fallen, then the retreating with the sun's rise. But even being nocturnal, he is restless. Not a bit of proper rest he has managed to get. For many reasons; a lack of sopor and coon to keep the daymares at bay, an itch for club and fear that can't be soothed yet, and a want for so many other things that were not available to him here. He sleeps like so much motherfucking shit.

And in his restlessness, it is why he comes out now, even in the daylight hour, just a little groggy and a lot unhappy. This particular troll, even young as he is, looms tall over those around, and as he peers down at the books-- and subsequently Enjolras-- he leaves quite a shadow. A burn of jealousy rears up that this alien should be able to read where he cannot. He draws near to paw at the cover of a book not in use, trying to make out the scrawl that certainly isn't Alternian.

never c:

[orestes]

The blocking of his light had been one of Enjolras' major pet peeves. In Paris, at the cafés which they frequented, his friends had realized this early on in most of their respective and collective relationships and sometimes, when the wine was flowing well enough and his almost priestly dedication to the cause had seemed amusing, they'd made sport of putting their hands and faces between whatever he'd been reading or writing and the lamps that would hang low over the tables. Bossuet had rarely avoiding causing any number of fires that way. The memory of this ritual (though not the potential fires, particularly) is what keeps Enjolras' temper from rising. He looks up, half expecting to find his friend's cheerful eyes and balding head looming above him, or Courfeyrac's teasing smile, ready to insist that he "relax, by God". To say that he's surprised by the amber eyes and grey skin he finds instead would be an understatement.

The fashions of the Capitol had been shocking enough, but even after encountering Thane, people of other species still befuddled Enjolras. He watches the alien study his book, not entirely sure of how to respond. Finally, after what seems like an impolite amount of time but is probably only a few moments, he finds his voice again. "Do you care much for history? I confess my interest has always been more politically motivated."

c:

[carnagecarnival]

History. So that's what it was then. Irritation flashes across his face and then is stifled. He's not sure how he eager he is to share with this human that he's incapable of reading that for himself.

"A highblood LIVES history. HUNDREDS OF SWEEPS and further, as long as a motherfucker ain't too DULLPANNED AND WEAK to avoid greet of death," he says, absently. He picks the book up, flipping through pages with his claws, trying to parse something, then places it back a little more roughly than necessary in frustration. "BUT, in writ and rite FOR HOLY WORD, a motherfucker must turn ocular backways."

He looks at Enjolras now, really taking him in for the first time.

"AND WHAT IS IT THAT YOU EXPECT TO FIND?"

[orestes]

The words are English, he's almost entirely sure of it. Still, between their uses here and he what he presumes is new terminology, Enjolras is finding all of that difficult to parse. He's lost in his attempts when the alien asks what is otherwise a perfectly discernable question. It's enough to make him pause, almost blankly. Surely it wasn't as simple as that. Not after that rather grandiose bit of exposition.

"I'm sorry?-- Oh, I-- I would like to know more about this society. They're history and how they came to be so dependent on the Games. Thus far, none of the natives have been inclined to tell me much about it directly."

also open to other d5 people!

[lassoftruthiness]

Diana hadn't had a chance to speak with those of her District very much so far, spending most of her time out in the city meeting Tributes by random chance and trying to understand this city as much as possible. At least, when she wasn't training or watching videos of the past Games, of course.

This morning she was leaving to continue her exploration and socialization out and about when Enjolras caught her eye. She recognized the boy, young man really, who reminded her so much of herself when she was still fresh from the island, especially after that pleading message he'd put on the network, and she hesitated halfway across the room. He looked to be researching, would he resent an interruption?

[orestes]

There was a difference between being engaged in something and losing yourself within it. With Enjolras, achieving the former was always a challenge as he had a natural proclivity toward the later. He was not incapable of doing something by halves, it simply went against his intuition and usually, his better judgment. Nevertheless, he worked valiantly at maintaining a level of self-awareness as he read, periodically peering over the top of his book as he heard the rustlings of other people within the suite. It was during one of these methodical, borderline obsessive checks that he spotted Diana. She seemed to be gazing back at him and he felt himself almost blush in embarrassment. Perhaps he'd not been as vigilant as he'd intended.

"Good morning," Enjolras is good at faking confidence, better when there's a particular purpose behind it. He isn't however, fantastic at smalltalk. He smiles at her, however, marking his place in the book, and pushing it away before standing up for a more proper greeting. "I don't believe we've officially met. I am Enjolras. May I ask your name, miss?"

[lassoftruthiness]

"Good morning," she smiled back, coming close enough to hold out a hand. "You're quite right, Enjolras, I don't believe we have. My name is Diana Prince, of Themysicra."

[orestes]

"Madame," He nods in greeting, clasping her hand delicately, although the firmness and strength in her grip is immediately apparent and renders his efforts almost humorous. At the mention of her home, his expression doesn't darken, exactly, but takes on a decidedly quizzical quality. "I confess that I haven't heard of Themysicra. I hope you won't think too poorly of me for it."

hello there c:

[carnagecarnival]

The question was, would she? There was something about her, perhaps the black wave of her hair, or maybe the way she carried herself... She wasn't like the other humans here, the Initiate thought. But she was here in the district lounge, which should mean she was to fight. Unless she was one of the mute voiced servants. He hadn't been awake in the days long enough to know who every single person was here.

"SISTER!" He calls from across the room, a ways off from Enjolras. It's a whim, and he doesn't even know if this is worth inquiry, but he's already called her, and it's not like he'd been doing anything else aside lounging against a wall or meditating. "You motherfucking speak?"

this will be beautiful

[lassoftruthiness]

Diana turns, startled more by being called sister, not only by a male face but so far away from home, than the call itself. She stares at the other Tribute, matching face to name from the Games propaganda she tries to keep up on, and raises an eyebrow. "I do," she says, coming over. "As, clearly, do you. Did you doubt that I could?"

(o:

[carnagecarnival]

"ALL TO BEING a lot of fuckers here what don't. A SISTER DON'T WALK LIKE THE OTHERS OF HER KIND, the motherfucking tributes. THOUGHT to see which kind she talked of, if at motherfucking all," he says, looking up at her from the floor. "WALK LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING WARRIOR, A SISTER DOES. Can tell."