[OPEN] I wish for Clairvoyance

[futilecycle]

Who| Sigma Klim & You!
What| Sigma investigates the masks after watching the Initiate use them.
Where| The culture exhibit on the Second Floor, though he could move anywhere.
When| Week 1
Warnings/Notes| As offered on the last PPP, this is a chance to abuse Sigma's "fortune-telling" powers, or just general Arena shenanigans, if you prefer!



After his encounter with the Initiate, Sigma struck out on his own briefly, lead by the dim hope he might come across Eponine. There were others he still needed to find, of course, but the chance he could gather all of them together without a fatal disagreement was slim. While he was a generally agreeable person, he was not much of a leader in the same way Eva had been in his last Arena.

However, finding his 'little girl' was not his one objective. Following the Initiate's example, Sigma filtered into the second floor and began to look around for one of the masks he had claimed. Sigma lingered too long in the exhibits, reading the plaques out of genuine interest, investigating the histories of his fellow man... He felt a heavy ball of guilt settle on the bottom of his stomach. This was the culture and innovation he had ended with his failure. Above all of this, Sigma had chosen a single life to rescue and had left the rest to burn out slowly. The Doctor suddenly found it difficult to breathe, and turned away from a plaque about the settlement of the American west with a sigh.

What was more, Panem's history was the same as his world's, after all. He hoped against hope that this universe was not the future that awaited them without Radical-6, if he had not triggered the mass extinction. Doubt prickled at his brain like hair rising at the back of his neck. The paranoia was familiar and pervasive: what if it was? Sigma shuddered, curling in on himself, metal fingernails digging into his clothes. Though he could no longer witness it with his own eyes, Akane had ensured a way for another universe to be created. Was this the work of his hands? Had the Nonary Games become the Hunger Games, and his legacy of a competition to the death for the 'greater good' stretched on into the future for eternity?

Deciding to rid himself of this ugly spiral of logic before he drove himself insane, Sigma turned to finish his visit. The Initiate had taken a mask from here, he remembered, though it sank razors into his skin. Sigma lifted one from its place and beheld it, chuckling to himself; there had been a game he had enjoyed in his childhood that involved putting on masks to change one's shape and abilities. Holding his breath, Sigma placed the mask on his face, closed his eyes as if to feel for the presence of the morphogenetic field, and made for the elevators. As he moved, he waited patiently for the insight his clairvoyance would bring...

Comments

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

The vents are a blessing. It would be too tight a fit for all but a small number of Tributes, and in addition to providing a space to stash hoards of food, it also serves as a way to get from one side of the floor to another. Unfortunately, that only works laterally and not vertically, but beggars can't be choosers.

That doesn't mean they aren't dangerous. Howard's aware that when she's crawling around inside one, he can't turn around if another one of the small Tributes (his mental list is Karkat, Kankri, Pruna, Willow, Sandy, Mindy and perhaps Ellie) wriggles up inside. Furthermore, the sounds of his shuffling around on his knees and elbows can be heard in the room below him. Whenever he squirms through the shafts to leave food in his stash, he waits a good long time before he comes back out.

He peers out the grate and starts to push the cover out when he doesn't see anyone. When he gets halfway out, like a butterfly trying to squirm out of its cocoon, he manages to look around a bit more. He's covered in dust now, and the parts of his rabbit pajamas that were once white are now distinctly grey.

He realizes he's made a mistake when he notices that it isn't that this room is vacant; it's that the person inside it is facing the wall, with a mask over their face, and has declined to move where Howard can see him.

It's only how wrinkled the back of the neck is that gives Howard hope.

"...Sigma?"

[futilecycle]

Sigma stops on a dime at Howard's voice, the uncharacteristic smile of relief on his lips concealed by his disguise. That made two Tributes accounted for. His plan to check in on as many of his allies as possible was going well, and if the Doctor knew where Howard hid, it made protecting him with his powers that much easier.

"Howard. Clever hiding place," Sigma smiled approvingly, jogging over to the space beneath the open grate. He knows he is on a time limit before those ungodly razors sink into his skin, but decides to keep the mask on should their reunion be observed. While he was at making blind leaps of logic, he chooses to believe the boy retreated from his hiding place just to see him, and this helps to soothe the ache Eponine's absence had left.

"Pay no attention to the mask. How are you managing?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

The relief courses through him and flattens his shoulders like water over hair.

"I'm okay." Howard actually grins, one of those grins he only has half the Arenas because the other half he gets his face beat in the first week. "Managed to not get myself all bashed up, for once."

He finishes wriggling out. He has bandages all over his bare feet, covering up the burns from the fire alarms. Some of them on the back of his heel are peeling off, revealing bloody stains on the undersides. Other than that, he looks quite alright.

"I'm not going to pay no attention to the mask, though. What's up with that thing?"

[futilecycle]

What a pleasure it was to find Howard well, and even cheerful. There's a gentle smile in the Doctor's voice as he explains the mask without argument.

"I was told by an ally these release one's powers. There has been no success yet, unfortunately, but it might still be of use. Do not put them on, Howard, as they are no use to you: there are blades inset along the edge that pop out after a certain amount of time." After how long, he did not know. Sigma flinches as without warning, another one of his selves informs him graciously, a memory intruding of blinding pain and Howard's face disappearing from view as Sigma clawed the mask from his face, leaving a trail torn skin and blood that gushed down the front of his pajamas in its wake. The Doctor panted, cursing the time that had passed under his breath for his other self to hear, and the image went dark.

"...Actually, I believe it was about ten minutes," he growled sourly. Just because it didn't happen in this timeline did not mean he could not remember the pain.

Sigma's eyes then fell to Howard's feet, wondering how he could have come by such marks. Was the metal inside the vents wearing away his skin? "My turn to ask you a question. Howard, what on earth are those wounds?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard pauses, then tilts his whole body over to the side to try and get a look at the edge of Sigma's face. "You don't look like you found that from first-hand experience. There's no blood on your collar."

He lifts his foot up and holds it out. "Fire alarm. Turns out they spit acid rather than water. Or something like that. It's just little burns, nothing serious."

He decides to follow the train of the conversation and continue the exchange of questions. "You seen anyone I should have seen already?"

[futilecycle]

Sigma smirks, deciding it would be wise not to alarm Howard. I saw myself getting stabbed in front of you, while we were talking was an unnecessarily grim detail. "I saw it happen to somebody else..." He would answer two questions in one. "The Initiate should be returning here once he runs out of masks. He is as fond of them as I am. Other than that, there has been no one."

Raising an eyebrow at Howard's comment, his hands are already moving for his backpack. "Do you need fresh bandages? I have not used any of mine, yet. In any rate, I have come into possession of some rope I have no use for, if it will help you to navigate or exit the vents, somehow..."

His offer went slightly beyond his compassionate nature. Secretly, he was still trying to square away what he now referred to as the 'fishing wire' incident (The Doctor regarded getting sick as something they agreed to forget about; thus, it did not count).

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"The Initiate creeps me out. He's too loud. And tall." Not to mention Howard's convinced the guy's at least half-crazy. He's seen him from afar and kept his distance, thinking it wise in the interest of self-preservation (or in defense of his ear drums).

He shakes his head. "Nah. The burns are mostly healed, it's just skin-deep. Wouldn't say no to rope, though."

And then he laughs, quietly so it doesn't echo. "As long as it's not to hang myself with."

[futilecycle]

Sigma smirks, having first mistaken Howard for violent, as well, when he'd come at him with his knife at the Cornucopia a year ago. First impressions were not always correct, especially in such violent games. "Well, perhaps I shall introduce the two of you. He is certainly tolerable once you get to know him."

The Doctor's arm is already in motion to extend the rope to Howard when the boy comes up with that stinger, and clearly offended, Sigma pulls it away from his grasp. Lips pursed, he stares down blankly at Howard. It's the sudafed all over again.

There's a pause as Sigma thinks over Howard's intentions. "I can never tell when you're joking..."

Not one to rescind kindness, he reluctantly hands over the rope.

[iflipmyhair]

At long last, Homura was ready. She'd spent hours making bombs, and several different types. Ones made not just from the platform explosives, but also, remote detonators improvised from car parts. A bag from the gift shop ensured she could carry them easily, as she made her way to the second floor once more.

And stopped cold at the sight of the masked man's figure. In the shadows, she couldn't tell exactly who it was. It was better safe than sorry, as her hand went to her bag.

"Don't move."

[futilecycle]

Sigma obeyed, freezing up and slowly turning to face Homura. He knew his mask may become a liability like this- his allies would be unable to identify him- but it was a risk he was willing to take, so long as his powers would alert him before disaster struck.

"Homura. It's Sigma Klim."

[iflipmyhair]

"...Dr. Klim."

Homura sounded slightly surprised, before her voice returned to his normal cadence. Bringing her hand away from the bag, she walked forward.

"Dr. Klim, I...ohapologize. I didn't realizeoh noit was you."

She walked forward towards himits happe, her feet barely making a sound.

"An ally...at last."

[futilecycle]

Interruptions blipped like static across both organic and cybernetic eye alike, and for a moment Sigma clutched his head, trying to concentrate. As he gained control over his powers the splitting headaches he experienced became fewer and father between, but he had been deprived of his ability for so long that a dull thud grew behind his eyes. What was it that the morphogenetic field was trying to show him? It did not bode well.

"N-No reason to apologize," he began, trying to compose himself, though his voice was strained as he ignored the pain. "This mask... I was told it contained unusual properties..."

He took a step towards Homura to greet her properly. At that moment, there was an explosion of pain inside of his skull and Sigma's vision went white - what existed in the present moment vanished like smoke rising into air, replaced by a future yet to come to pass, a future that had not been decided.

The Doctor found himself watching through his own eyes, like viewing a recording in first-person, filled with memories he had yet to make and emotions he had yet to feel. Brought to the forefront of his consciousness was a promise, what he had sworn to Homura at the wedding... that if she were to fall into despair, he must kill her, no matter what the circumstance.

As Sigma stretched out his hands to meet her pale neck, self-revulsion grew in his stomach and he hesitated. He could not bring himself to give the girl the same blessing that she had given him. His eyes met hers apologetically, sorrowfully. Surely, the consequences could not be as bad as she had made it out to be...

[iflipmyhair]

"Dr. Klim--"



Suddenly, she started laughing. It was a laughter punctured by tears, as Sigma's hands began to draw back.

Even with her in the shadows, there was no doubt her face was filled with scars; who knew how many times she'd used the masks. How many times she'd used those masks to save the life of this person. Then the museum had come to life, wax figures with their full powers. And now Homura was stuck in the recesses of the hole in the wall made by her own body, by the force of it being thrown, rubble piled up all around her. Her back was likely broken, but she didn't seem to care that she was broken and torn.

"It's fine, Dr. Klim. I thought you couldn't do it. I knew you couldn't. Not after that." That creepy, frightening smile on her face - the only thing clearly visible, along with the stains left by her tears, and the blood from her injuries - was illuminated by the bright, flashing, almost living rainbow black light inside of what looked like a Faberge egg, cupped in Homura's shaking free hand. "Besides, I think I've changed my mind about what I want to do, now..."

[futilecycle]

Sigma had reached for her hand, instead, to comfort her, believing she did not have much longer - and drew back with a snap of his metal fingers when he saw what was clutched inside it. He could not contain his surprise at the pulsing, ethereal light that came from the bizarre artifact. Surely, that had not been there before...

"What is that...?"

He could hear, behind him, a broken wax figure he had felled stirring again, rising to its melted wire feet for another round of battle. Sigma did not move, would not abandon his ally.

"Homura! Homura, stay with me..." He moved instead to wipe the tears and dirt from her face, chilled by her smile. He had seen this state before reflected in the victims he had inoculated with radical-6: this was insanity brought upon by desperation. "Don't speak. It is going to be fine. G-..Give to me one of your bombs. The two of us can get out of here together..." He was too much of a coward to kill her with his own hands, but with her own tools, perhaps he could manage to take both of their lives.

Or, perhaps, he was already too late.

[iflipmyhair]

"What bombs?" The laughing died down, though the tears didn't stop. Nor did the smile lessen; it was as if she were having some horrible epiphany, a revelation Sigma could not, would not understand. "They are all gone. I used them all. Surely, surely you remember..."

The figure stumbled, fell. But it would get back up, eventually. She didn't care.

"But it doesn't matter...not anymore. Ah, I'm sure the whole world is watching me, now, with so few of us left. Weeping, thinking that I am sad about my inevitable death. Watching, shocked at my condition." The lights within the egg began harsher at this. "Good. I want them to watch me. I want them all, every last one of them, to hear me...to see me...to know what is truly in my heart...before my words can no longer be felt by their weak hearts."

At this, Homura's eyes looked up at Sigma, finally illuminated by the light. They are almost glowing, as the egg is, along with her smile...

"Would you like to stay, and know?"

[futilecycle]

Sigma cried out as the figure collapsed behind him, turning to look over his shoulder for only a moment, long enough to swallow his tears. When he turned back, his jaw was slackened in denial and confusion.

"Not... Not a single one...?"

He gripped her shoulders tightly, meaning to be reassuring, though it must hurt her to be touched. So frightened he was of her inexplicable behavior that he could no longer think clearly of what he was doing or saying. How silly it must seem for a man of his size to be scared by a little girl, but Homura was the member of the pair who always had things under control, who made the difficult decisions when Sigma had not the strength, and he could not stand to see it reversed. If Phi was in her position now, he had no doubt he wound find himself unable to go on.

"What are you saying?! That's all nonsense, and you know it! Homura, tell me what is happening... Tell me how to stop it, now!"

As if he could somehow prevent whatever was set to occur next, Sigma defiantly released her shoulders and lowered his hands to block out that grim source of light cupped in her palm...

YES HELLO sorry for leaping into this so late ;;

[lessthanelementary]

He's been moving up, slowly and steadily, since his original panicked sprint away from the Initiate and back down to the first floor. He moves only when the shadows do not, which means that he's been left behind by most of the crowd. He has found that he will hide under anything, behind anything, run with sobs in his throat any distance, if it means escaping the little pricks of light at the corners of his vision, the not-quite-audible whispers of spirits that cannot, cannot, cannot exist.

The elevator is, mercifully, empty, though the floor is slick with blood. He does not look at it as it ascends; he leans on the rail and waits for the door to open and prays to any god that there will be no one waiting for him when it opens. From the cheerful ding of the landing, he is poised to run, every muscle taut, and the doors are barely open wide enough to leap through before he is shoving through them, set to bolt--

Yes. There is someone here.

When he sees the mask, Neffa is sure, for a long, horrified second, that it is the Initiate. He freezes in place-- scans wildly for a hiding place-- finally just throws his back against the thick metal of the closing doors behind him, hardly caring about the loud thunk it makes. It's more important to have that solidness at his back, for there to be one direction from which nothing terrible can possibly come. His heart is hammering wildly (so fast he's afraid it will trip over itself and fail to get back up).

"Go," he blurts out. "Please. I'm not-- no more miracles, please." (I will strike him if he comes closer. I will get a shoulder in his ribs. I will grab his face with both hands, I swear, I swear--)

You're never late! :D

[futilecycle]

Sigma did indeed come closer, a smile growing beneath his mask. It was good to find yet another friendly face, and Neffa was a man that, from what the Doctor understood, would also benefit from use of these artifacts. Sigma decided he would tell him.

The Doctor paid no mind to the words inside Neffa's panicked pleas, assuming there was a Tribute other than the Initiate that had found the masks. If they came this way, Sigma would know before it ever happened. "Neffa!" Sigma acts as if he had not seen him since his death, though he was genuinely ecstatic to find him. "You're alive!"

Collecting himself, Sigma realized that, first and foremost, it would be wise to calm the other Tribute down. "Ah, forgive me- I cannot take off this mask just yet. It is Sigma Klim, do you remember me? You are in no danger, believe me." He had not forseen his death, after all - Sigma extends a hand to him with an ushering gesture, not so much an invitation to take it but a way to coax him away from the elevator door.

[lessthanelementary]

"...Sigma," he breathes. This should be a relief. This should make his heart slow down, his breath come slower, his hands loosen from tight fists.

It should, but it doesn't. His heart is still hammering. His legs are still shifting under him, begging him to move, to go. He knows-- he knows-- that he can move, that forward is now safer than backward-- why is his mind the only part of him that believes it? Why will no other part of him believe that he is in no danger?

"Sigma." He says it again, because maybe that will anchor in his mind that this is an ally. That this is better than alone. He straightens, and makes himself pull his shoulders off the door-- more than one step forward is still too difficult, but he manages that one step. Relief, he tries to put on his face; relief, friendliness, support. His smile is tight at the edges, though, and his movements are small, all corners, and his eyes flick between Sigma's face and the hallway behind him. "Of course I remember you. You..." You came back, after the last Arena. Good for you. He doesn't say that. Of course I'm in danger. We're all in danger. He doesn't say that either. "....Why are you wearing that?"

[futilecycle]

Even Sigma, the completely obtuse, is not blind to Neffa's fright. From his complete lack of reference the Doctor assumes the man must be thinking back to when he had died by Howard's hand. He shudders in sympathy, guilt stinging at his heart, now upset he had never brought it up with the boy; he could see how it would be difficult to ally with anyone after an incident like that.

And so, he does not waste any time explaining the mask to Neffa, hoping to gain back the man's trust. "These masks return one's powers, Neffa; at least, for a limited time. I told you some time ago that I excel in magic pertaining to time. So long as I am wearing this, I can foresee see if my death- or the death of anyone around me- should come to meet us in the near future. Rest assured, Neffa, you truly have nothing to fear." He decides to hold off on his information on the blades until he has no choice, fearing it might set him off, again.

[lessthanelementary]

...Not all the masks are made the same. That's the greatest source of relief he's heard so far - that this will not be another run of nightmares, that Sigma's mask will not pull the spirits out of hiding.

And more than that-- if Sigma can be trusted (and half of Neffa says he would never lie to you and the other half hisses anyone would lie here), then he's-- safe? No, he isn't safe, but--

His shoulders, hunched protectively, slowly sink. He takes another cautious step away from the wall. "And that's-- that is, the deaths you foresee-- can they be prevented, once they're visible to you?" A great help that would be, to have to stand and wait for the only demise more inevitable than the one already before him. "And you would tell me? If you foresaw such a thing."

There's no finesse to his bargaining, but haste is more important to him now than charm. He wants to know all the terms of the agreement Sigma's made with that mask.

[futilecycle]

Sigma is taken aback by the question, forgetting, for an instant, there are some here less merciful than he. His eyes furrow with concern behind his mask. "They most certainly are. I once possessed the ability to go back in time at will, as well, but that has not been an option here just yet..." It is unnecessary information, but added nonetheless to make conversation.

He adds calmly, "Of course I would tell you, Neffa. What on earth do you take me for?"

[lessthanelementary]

To go back in time. Neffa's mind races. Now there is power. There is an ally worth the risk. He wonders if that will come, if he waits-- if Sigma, provided he keeps the mask on, would not only foresee his death, if it comes, but undo it.

"...I'm sorry." He puts on real chagrin, and this time the fear in his voice helps him. "I've found nothing but enemies since this began. This place makes friends difficult to recognize."

He forces his feet one more step closer. Striking range, now, for Sigma. Look, I trust you. I'm all right. It's reassurance for himself as much as for Sigma. Being this close to anyone makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle. "...Tell me-- do you see anything now?" Not necessarily about his own death; but anything. Any premonition at all.

....And. Keyboard. Wow. LAST EDIT I SWEAR

[acro_bat_ic]

Plants. Barbara had been reading up on them, learning the edibles from the painfully poisonous. Assuming she could actually trust the Capitol to follow their books - hardly - this green stalk should be food. Like. Also minty.

She took a bite, chewing off and swallowing as quick as possible, and trying to block out the sticky sap exploding down her tongue as she funneled it into her belly. Maybe braving the cafes wouldn't be the worst idea in hunger games history after all, the red head admitted to herself. Maybe it would actually be... not bad.

She eyed the door, considering whether she could afford to sneak in right then. A noise on the other side of it convinced her that maybe her timing wasn't much better than the plant.

Np! Sorry I'm late!

[futilecycle]

Sigma had not ventured into the cafes before, as it was an obvious trap that would gather more Tributes in time than the scraps that littered the Cornucopia. With his mask, he was feeling much braver: Sigma stocked up on cream packages, sugar, and even a pastry (he was careful not to take too many. They were not rations it was wise for an old man to rely on), knowing his death was unable to creep up on him.

His pack heavier with supplies, Sigma moved to return to the culture exhibit to find himself more herbs - and opened the door, revealing himself gracelessly to another Tribute.

Sigma jumped back, prepared to defend himself: but by the calm look in his eye behind his mask, it was clear Sigma had no intention of attacking.