Joel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aintyourdad) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-09-01 07:29 pm
aintyourdad) wrote in thearena2014-09-01 07:29 pm
Entry tags:
open;
Who| Joel and YOU?!?!
What| Joel has found the TLOU store and isn't pleased. Alternately, Joel has found a copy of his biography and is REALLY displeased.
Where| The TLOU store; the bookstore.
When| Week 2 yo
Warnings/Notes| Cussin', possibly violence, references to body horror and torture/murder etc.
[ Option A; the TLOU store ]
He stumbles upon it early the second week. They've been scouring every shop and store - anything might have useful items, after all, and even if they don't, potential hiding spots are good to have as well. So it's a shock when he makes his way into the next shop on his list and finds -
Toy plastic gas masks. A neon colored flamethrower. Artfully tattered backpacks, bandanas, plaid shirts. Dawn of the Wolf posters.
The scowl on his face deepens as he wanders further into the shop, not liking any of this one bit but wanting to be thorough, too. And then, there they are. Ugly as sin, and even knowing they're fake, made of rubber, enough to get his heart racing a little faster - clicker masks.
[Option B; Story time ]
Later in the week, he's making the rounds and ducks into a bookstore for a breather, not expecting to find anything of interest. That is, until he picks up a book at random and sees his own goddamn name on it. It's like watching a train wreck, really - he starts flipping pages, unable to look away. The story itself doesn't bother him. Even the exaggerations, the blatant inaccuracies, the clearly biased point of view - he couldn't give two shits.
But the fact of its existence is just one more reminder that the Capitol seems to know everything about them. Things they shouldn't have any knowledge of, they know about. Enough to twist it all around to suit whatever their purpose happens to be.
There isn't much that frightens Joel, but this is kinda scary.
What| Joel has found the TLOU store and isn't pleased. Alternately, Joel has found a copy of his biography and is REALLY displeased.
Where| The TLOU store; the bookstore.
When| Week 2 yo
Warnings/Notes| Cussin', possibly violence, references to body horror and torture/murder etc.
[ Option A; the TLOU store ]
He stumbles upon it early the second week. They've been scouring every shop and store - anything might have useful items, after all, and even if they don't, potential hiding spots are good to have as well. So it's a shock when he makes his way into the next shop on his list and finds -
Toy plastic gas masks. A neon colored flamethrower. Artfully tattered backpacks, bandanas, plaid shirts. Dawn of the Wolf posters.
The scowl on his face deepens as he wanders further into the shop, not liking any of this one bit but wanting to be thorough, too. And then, there they are. Ugly as sin, and even knowing they're fake, made of rubber, enough to get his heart racing a little faster - clicker masks.
[Option B; Story time ]
Later in the week, he's making the rounds and ducks into a bookstore for a breather, not expecting to find anything of interest. That is, until he picks up a book at random and sees his own goddamn name on it. It's like watching a train wreck, really - he starts flipping pages, unable to look away. The story itself doesn't bother him. Even the exaggerations, the blatant inaccuracies, the clearly biased point of view - he couldn't give two shits.
But the fact of its existence is just one more reminder that the Capitol seems to know everything about them. Things they shouldn't have any knowledge of, they know about. Enough to twist it all around to suit whatever their purpose happens to be.
There isn't much that frightens Joel, but this is kinda scary.
Aaaaaaaa gurl
Normally she'd have passed right by this other store. She almost does. It's only something just in her line of vision, on the wall, that makes her stop and wander in, slowly, cautiously.
She stops at a display of red flannel shirts, gently reaches up and feels one of the sleeves. It rings something deep within her, brings to mind flashes of blond hair and tan skin and autumn in Colorado. Fucking Brock Samson, was there anything he couldn't taint?
It's almost impulsive, the way she suddenly yanks one of the shirts down and pulls her tank top off with little mind to who might be around. She drops her kit bag at her feet. The shirt's pulled over her head, and she looks down at herself -- the hem reaches past her ass, the torso monstrously wide on her tiny frame. She takes a step to a mirror and examines her reflection thoughtfully, thinking that the sleeves aren't wide enough for Brock's huge forearms and biceps, even if they're far too long and wide for Molotov herself.
Rolling them up, she twists and turns a bit, still watching herself in the mirror.
woooo
Of course, it's far more sensible a piece of clothing than anything the tributes have been forced into this arena, so Joel doesn't have an issue with it, per se. Still, he makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat as he pulls another of the shirts off the rack - for himself. After another moment, he grabs a second - in case Tess needs something more sensible.
"Guess not everyone hates my fashion sense," he says wryly.
no subject
"Reminds me of someone I know," she says, watching Joel collect shirts for himself. "He used to wear something like this, sometimes. Red, too. This is... your store?"
no subject
But maybe he's assuming too much. He's used to making snap judgments, that's often all he has time to do.
"Can't say it's my store," he points out with a shrug. "Got a couple other folks from my world here." He knows what she means, though, and eventually nods. "That's my shirt you're wearin'."
Or, well. A ridiculous replica of it, complete with the faux wear-and-tear. His real one, of course, is actually worn, dirty, stained with sweat and blood. The one she's wearing is new and clean, just made to look a little worn.
no subject
She nods as well, unconsciously mimicking him, and tugs at the bottom hem. It's easy enough to pretend. She knew it was someone else's from the get-go; Brock wasn't here. Something roils in the pit of her stomach, and Molotov realizes she might actually be homesick. So many other people got stores filled with crap that at least looked like their homes, and Molotov got a cart of eyepatches, like there was so little else to her life to represent other than what she looked like.
"They like clothes here," she says simply, hugging the shirt around herself as she drops the floor, next to her kit bag. She needs a drink, and as many hard feelings as they may have between, she can't see Joel as the sort who just kills a woman out of nowhere -- he's a fighter, proved that in his reaction to her at the gym. A bottle comes out of the bag and she knocks back a gulp. "My cart is mostly this kind of dress-up garbage, too."
no subject
"They like makin' us the butt of all their jokes," he comments.
no subject
"I don't think they mean to do it," she says. "I think this really is their way of loving us, their dressing up and all the pictures and crazy screaming and things like that. They can't help that they are all idiots. This is how they've always been."
no subject
"They're not completely stupid. They did do all this."
Better not to underestimate what they're up against, after all.
no subject
She glances around at the store. Really, she doesn't think the arena is so impressive, it looks like they just decorated an empty mall. Any asshole could do this, she thinks.
no subject
The mall itself might not be impressive on the surface of things, but it's what's hiding just beneath that, that makes him nervous. The surveillance, the invisible cage, the ability to bring people back from the dead.
If this woman wants to keep her head on her shoulders, she needs to know not to underestimate these people.
no subject
She doesn't move, but her eye makes a slow run from left to right, finally spotting the camera hidden in the mouth of a cutesy stuffed bloater that's lurking in the corner. "The surveillance is really the thing to look out for."
no subject
"Death is final. Should be final." The fact that it isn't, here, and yet they don't use their obviously enormous power to, well. Fix their own world, that scares him.
no subject
Her head leans back and rests against the shelf behind her. "If we had technology this good, I can think of people I would want back."
no subject
What would he give to have Sarah back and safe with him? A lot. Would he want her back only to have to compete in arenas too?
And what about Tess? Having her back now, after so long trying to forget her, putting her out of his mind, what good will that do if she just gets killed again?
It's a two-edged sword, for sure.
no subject
"I'm sorry," she finally says, turning her gaze away. "For yelling at you, before. It was my first day, I was on edge. But it really is my name. I'd show you in those books about us, but mine is just gibberish. They tried to write it in Russian."
no subject
So he just shrugs it off.
"Doesn't matter," he says mildly. "I've heard worse - names and yelling. At least if your book is gibberish you won't have to worry about anyone reading lies about you."
no subject
She takes another drink and shrugs. "Everything about us here is lies. Sell the lies, get the sponsors, live your life in private. That's the game. Fuck, I can't go outside the tower without seeing my face on a billboard, and I hate that weird glittery liquor I signed on to shill."
no subject
And he hates it. All he wants, is to be left alone - him, and Ellie, and Tess. So they can find somewhere quiet, and live.
no subject
Folding herself forward, she hugs her knees and rests her cheek on them, watching him. "Just... you just have to win. Win and go somewhere and live however you want."
no subject
"And if you think winnin' means you get left alone, you are dead wrong."
no subject
"They don't force us to stay here once we win. The victors used to go back to their districts, they only had to come back to be Mentors. And we have more than enough of those around. You aren't even that popular, Joel, not with the Capitolites. I doubt they'd care if you fucked off to wherever and hid forever."
no subject
"You really got no goddamn idea, do you?" he mutters, shaking his head. "If you think this is all just a popularity contest..." Well, he doesn't feel comfortable saying anything more. Not here, where their every word is likely to be broadcast on national TV. If she thinks the Capitol would let him just "fuck off to wherever", though, she really is dumber than she looks.
no subject
"Whatever. You want to convince yourself that they have something special out for you, go for it. This is all the same as what they were doing before, only now they have us, and they keep us because they can keep us alive. Haven't you read up on the past Victors? The Capitol people adore them, until they die! They love us because they can keep watching our stories, they can get invested. And if you ever plan on winning, maybe you should cater to it, because that's how you get the shit that helps keep you alive!"
no subject
no subject
She waves her hand vaguely at him, putting her head down on her knees.
(no subject)