thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who| Nikola Tesla, open
What| Getting his bearings
Where| around the Capitol
When| daytime
Warnings/Notes| none so far

Nikola has been taking his time settling in to the city. Other than the trip to Dreiberg's, he has spent most of his time exploring the training facility and studying the abilities of his fellow tributes. (He's impressed by quite a few of them.)

Today, though, he has decided to expand his research a little, and he has wandered out to the city proper. He isn't a big shopper, but he browses the major stores, looks for libraries and schools, and eventually makes his way to a small coffee shop, taking a seat at an outdoor table to examine the passersby.

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If there was anything made Sherlock the man he was, it was the intense level of observation and scrutiny that he subjected the world to. So one of the things that he noticed was when someone else was acting as the observer, rather than the observee.

Sherlock slid into the coffee shop as naturally as possible, glancing at the stranger. Not a citizen, that much was more than apparent. No one who lived in Panem bothered to *look* at it for more than thirty seconds, let alone closely watch those on the street. So tribute, then, but not one he remembered.

Sherlock slid into the chair across the table with a slow but deliberate movement, clasping his hands together and leaning black to watch the passerby.

"New?" He asked, curiously, but didn't otherwise indicate (beyond proximity) that he was speaking to the him at all.

Nikola did not have quite the level of perception that James was blessed with, but he could certainly tell when someone else was in the same situation he was. He marked the man almost immediately as not being a Capitol citizen and gave no indication of surprise at being addressed.

"Yes, you could say as much."

Sherlock stretched his legs and recrossed them.

"Obviously a tribute, and guessing by the clothes your stylist has given you, likely District 10. Is that accurate?"

Nikola leaned back a little, smirking over at the man. "Well spotted," he said with a nod. "Hobby of yours?"

It doesn't exactly bother him, to feel watched, but there has certainly been a special kind of irritation under his skin since the Arena ended for him. Where he had given room for madness and lashed out with violence now lies a deafening silence, a conscious effort to stay put and behave until he gets the chance to get away with something better.

His hands are tucked in his pockets, stopping to look back at the stranger, without shame or open hostility. They say there's always something bound to happen when you exchange eye contact for any longer than a second. Hyperion doesn't see why he shouldn't be the first to make it true.

"Something on my face?"

Nikola is moderately impressed that a) someone even noticed he was watching and b) they bothered to ask him about it.

"I'm not sure. Come a little closer, and I'll let you know."

The dare isn't taken lightly. Eyes are cast down for a moment, balance hanging somewhere between his legs before he walks onwards, looking back at the stranger.

Here he is.

It isn't really a dare. There's not any threat to the words, just amusement.

"You must be a tribute."

"I am."

A simple answer. He is one of the most brutal tributes, a reputation he has willingly built around himself. It's always a bit of a surprise to find someone who isn't aware.

"And you are-?"

He's new. Forgive him.

"Also a tribute."

His eyes drift downwards, scanning him.

"New?"

He leans back, opening himself to scrutiny.

"Clearly."

Someone who doesn't know who he is. Someone who hasn't gotten the chance to find out.

He will.

"Fresh meat."

There's a pause. Hyperion smiles at the thought.

"You don't seem worried."

"I don't see any reason to be," Nikola says lightly. He's seen some of the footage of previous arenas. He knows there is generally somewhere he can go or something he can do to get his powers back, and beyond that, he has supreme confidence in his intellect.

"You're not afraid of dying?" Hyperion wasn't, not really. He was maddened by the end of it, yes, without food or rest or any foundations of reality to remember why he had to survive. All he cared about for those last moments was winning, and he clung pathetically to that thought until the very last second.

"Why should I be?"

He is, of course, though he's put that concern aside several times in the last few years. It's just that he has so much still to accomplish.

"It's my understanding that tends not to be quite the permanent solution it was back home."

His understanding would be right. It took Hyperion a while longer to take it in himself.

"Doesn't make it any easier. Just endless."

It helps that he's seen some of the tributes from the highlights of the last arena wandering around looking perfectly alive.

"Only if you don't win."

A pause.

"Do you intend to win?"

"Doesn't everyone? I thought that was rather the whole point."

Wrong.

"Not everyone wants to win. Most just want to survive."

He blinks and tilts his head.

"I was given to understand the two were synonymous."

"People make friends."

Therefore they don't really want to win. Just holding on to some flawed hope that it can all work out if they hold on tightly enough.

"Would you murder a friend?"

Edited 2013-06-25 22:27 (UTC)

"Anyone who wouldn't doesn't really want to survive."

"Anyone who really wants to survive wouldn't make friends."

"That's just hubris. We all get by with a little help from our friends."

"Not all of us."

"To your disadvantage, then."

Hyperion pauses, observant, lightly thoughtful. Then his lips stretch.

"You should look at the footage. From the last arena."

"I'm sure you do just fine on your own most of the time, but anyone who thinks they will never need assistance is just waiting to fail on the day they do."

"Is that what you're expecting from the experience? Assistance."

As far as Hyperion could tell, the only official assistance came after your body was effectively turned into a temporary corpse.

"I'm not expecting anything from it. Why should I?"

"I don't think anyone goes in completely blind to the circumstances."

"I see. And you equate the two, hm?"

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