thecapitol | (no subject)

Who| The Summoner and Anyone
What| Too big for the Capitol
Where| District 2 Suites and the Training Center
When| Today
Warnings/Notes| None

District 2 Suites

The Summoner had been cleaned up and led to his level and pointed to a room. He had been itching at straps for the fake wings he was wearing that mimicked the real wings he had tied down under his clothes. This was a strange place indeed.

So far in his stay he has left a hole in the wall with one of his horns above the door to his suite. It was an accident, and after that he hadn't attempted to go through the door again. He was currently slumped on one of the couches pondering his next move. He could probably stay where he was and just sleep here until they could do something about his door.

"I wonder if anyone minds me sleeping here for now."

Training Center

Having finally escaped his living quarters the Summoner has come to a place he thinks is somewhat familiar. There are weapons all around but he goes straight for a lance, the sort he's used to using. Of course to get to the lance he has to go past a rack of throwing knives (which he bumps with his horns and knocks over) and an area for practicing camouflage (which he has dragged his fake wings through on the way). Between the mess and the noise, and the generally huge horns he's walking around with it's impossible not to notice he's there.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There's rarely a day when Dualscar isn't in the training center. He has no friends to speak of and very little to occupy his fantastic and intelligent mind with, so he entertains himself with long training sessions. He may be the most bored tribute, but at the very least he will also be the fittest.

It's hard not to notice the other troll as he makes his way through the center. Dualscar follows him with his eyes, giving him a bland look as he attempts to identify him. He doesn't know him and he certainly doesn't look worth knowing, so he will speak as freely as he likes.

"You've brought new meanin' to the belief that lowbloods shouldn't be seen or heard." His voice is ever so dry and he's going to just fold his arms over his chest as he scrutinises The Summoner. "The powers that be certainly have a fondness for the incompetent. They seem to drag you in by the dozen."

Edited 2013-09-11 15:55 (UTC)

He finally had himself righted and was trying to figure out how to rip the fake wings off so he could move more freely when Dualscar spoke up. He knew that derisive tone far too well and he wasn't the least bit surprised to see it coming out of a sea troll.

"If only there were so many of us. It would just make it that much easier for us to kill you." He stalks over, leaving his wings behind as he does.

"It's lucky for you that I've already been warned against culling here. It's been far too long since I saw one of your kind hanging by his gills until he stopped wriggling."

"There's a fair few of you now, gathered together like squeakbeasts festering in their own filth. I'm sure you'll fit in just fine." And he's been taken down before, but he won't mention that. The less said about it, the better.

"Lucky for me?" He scoffs. "I have no interests in your exaggerated tales of grandeur, but I can assure you that someone so easily dismantled is not one of my kind."

Unfortunately he's also well aware of the consequences of scrapping with fellow tributes, despite how often he yearns to put them in their place. As if to restrain himself, he folds his arms over his chest and keeps them there.

"And to whom do I owe the pleasure of such an enlightening tale?" He lifts an eyebrow, waiting for the other troll to introduce himself.

He actually laughs at that first comment. The last thing he's being doing so far is "fitting". Not through doors and not by racks of weapons and not really with the other trolls.

"If this game we're supposed to play is for real we might get a chance to find out just what you're made of." Just because they couldn't fight didn't mean they couldn't talk trash.

"I am the Summoner. Don't worry about remembering it. You'll have plenty of time to get it straight once I brand my sign into your cold body."

Dualscar doesn't understand the need for the laugh, mostly because humor is truly beyond his comprehension at the best of times, but also because he pressumes all low bloods happily commune in their stupid ways. Were he aware of the cold shoulders Summoner had been receiving, he'd happily rub it in all of their faces. Hypocrites.

"It certainly is for real." He rolls his eyes. "I'd already managed to slaughter quite a few of my opponents before the bush haired troglodyte interfered." Oh look, common ground. Pity that's very nearly all there is between them.

"I've no intention of recalling it through any such methods, I'm perfectly capable of remembering such a simple name. I've collided enough lowbloods and they've all been perfectly forgettable." But curiousity urges him along anyway. "How do you fit into the grand scheme of things. I've not heard your title before."

"Oh, so someone took down the high and mighty Highblood? Such a shame." Summoner mocks him with a false frown. There's some perverse pleasure to be had from hearing that. But having an actual conversation wasn't really on the Summoner's agenda and he sours on the idea fairly quickly.

"Maybe you should give me your title first. It might help me explain if I knew where you feel. You might even be one of my culls and I wouldn't want to spoil that surprise for you if I could help if."

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TRAININ CENTAR

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