thearena | [OTA] Someone else is listening in.

Entry tags:

[OTA] Someone else is listening in.

Who| Perry and Hawkeye; Perry and OTA.
What| First army buddy meeting, and then anything that people might want Perry for!
Where| Third Floor/Fourth Floor.
When| End of week 2.
Warnings/Notes| Army time, trigger warning for slight talk of suicide and end of the world scenarios. Will update as needed.

The fourth floor was every little kid's dream. Perry had always loved this kind of stuff, the dinosaur bones on display, the places where you could put your hand in and feel whatever it was underneath. A wooly mammoth tooth, fur from an ancient cat. Okay, some museums were a little weirder then others, but this area was still cool.

So long as no one else was around, he took time to check each display out. And when someone was there, it could go one of two ways. A fight was something he both dreaded and relished. And making a friend... making a temporary ally.

That could work, too. Working one way down the hall and moving to the next, he kept a shifting pattern, weaving so he could see what was going on, and making himself less of a target if it came down to it.

But that movie screen was tripping him up. It was the normal stuff, and then it wasn't normal. It felt like eavesdropping, and he almost wished he had someone here who knew the people a little more, or what they were actually saying.

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This week had been one of the harder ones he'd ever had to deal with. Not just in the arena, but in his life. It threatened to eclipse the year after his dad's death, in the people, no, the person he trusted the most. It was even messed up in his head, which was why he was alone once more.

Alone to think. Alone to hide in the corner, lost in thought, with a hand steady on the knife. If anyone came by, he was ready to fight. But in some corner of his mind, that little idea was taking hold again. Things were getting tough again, but Perry was more of an insular person when it came down to dealing with problems.

The TV flickered, like a new tape being put in, and he watched it for a moment. Nothing new, and he turned away from it. There was something about it, something he couldn't put a finger to. But he had plenty of time to find out.

Keeping himself alive, he hated to admit, was boring. Either that or lonely, or he simply was terrible enough at it that despite having somehow earned himself a mercy drop of food and whatever Ellie had sneaked him, his stomach still burned with hunger. And admitting he was terrible at something wasn't something he'd do, so it became that he wouldn't pay attention to his every mistake and missed opportunity because he was bored, because he was expending all of his energy on getting a mental workout of some sort or other. He wasn't constantly exhausted or grim or starving because he was useless in this environment, no. He was just too bored to be anything else. In one particular fit of boredom, one night, he had taken to the stairwell and moved a floor up.

He figured Father Mulcahy would have some remarks about the displays on evolution, and then realized he'd thought a lot about the man since the arena began. The threat of death did that, he supposed, and he touched the flashlight in the pocket of his bathrobe, red and the only thing on him, after he glanced at one corner of the floor. Black-- and anyone who may hide in there might have the same idea he did, and that was to not get involved. What kind of lure would come from the gems, anyway, and so Hawkeye stepped in, weary and wary.

There was the droning of a television, and Hawkeye's attention was drawn to that. He couldn't hear company, sure as heck couldn't see it. That was, until the light of the old video shined on a knife- and he knew what it was because no man got this far without borrowing paranoia- and he stilled in such a telling way. Because he was exhausted, he inched a step forward. And by the time he mustered the strength to face the boy, to feel a relieved regret at learning it was a boy and not a man near his age, Hawkeye's hands were up in surrender.

He'd high tail it out of there in an instant's notice.

"I won't hurt you," he says. "I just heard the television." And it was true, and it was difficult to keep his attention a hundred percent on the boy with the knife when there was such a stupid distraction so nearby.

There was a little titch of surprise, a jump without the fanfare of being a true jump. Just a jerk, a stiffening of the shoulders, and Perry turned to see a man's hands in the air. That TV had kept his attention more then he liked, even if it was something he'd already seen.

His hand automatically went for the knife, stuck in one of the belts he'd stolen from one of those wax tributes. He let his hand rest on it for now, and kept the crowbar leaning against one of the rocks, where it was.

"Keep your hands in the air, and turn to the right and then the left." An easy way to check to see if the guy had any weapons, especially when neither wanted to get close to the other. Once he saw that he didn't have anything on him, he took a little step further, his own hands hanging by his sides, palms out.

"Checking out the gems, TV, or looking for someone?"

Oh, he needed to get off it. The danger period had passed, or else Hawkeye acknowledged he was growing too trusting or he was more comfortable in his own oblivion. He watches the boy brandish the knife, steps back, watches as nothing comes after that. Neither of them wanted a scuffle or else there damn well would have been one already, and hadn't he done a great job at announcing himself? If he was a killer he would have sneaked, would have shot an arrow through the guy's neck. You know, if he carried a bow and arrows at all. Hawkeye's lips downturn in distaste. He lowers his hands.

He stuffs them into his pockets, a stubborn streak telling him he wasn't about to be taken prisoner by a punk as clueless as he was. He digs around for the flashlight in one, the fire starting kit in the other, brings them out surely and obviously and out-turns the pockets as he did so to show there's only lint left. Hawkeye figures he's even being nice, holding both articles out for inspection. He doesn't turn, he just sort of half-bends his knees one way and the other. For crying out loud, what a stupid reason for so much tension. "The third one, fella. Along the way, there just happened to be gems and a pretty but busted television set. Do you need me to tell you a password, too?"

It was a bubbling hint of irritation that made him rattle out, "Look, Sarge, usually it's the Captain who gives the orders, not the other way around." What did he know about this boy? Absolutely nothing. "So put the knife down because I'm not looking for trouble and I happen to know you aren't, either." And, heck, just to keep with the theme: "And that's an order." Sharp and ringing and oh, he remembered when a tap-dancing chicken had been on the receiving end of that bark.

"No, there's no password." Also said with some annoyance. To check out the gems, the TV, or look for someone. Perry had thought those were pretty easy to pick from. It was the third that was, or could be, a problem for him. What if someone else had also chosen here for a meeting point? He could have been, not walking into a trap, but hiding out in one.

But this guy doesn't have anything. A flash out and fire starting kit, and yet Perry's shoulders didn't relax. He couldn't let himself do that, because of the what if scenario. All of the what if scenario.

And then an order, and reflex made Perry stand up straighter. He put away his knife (no way in hell he's putting it down), and he held his head at the perfect height.

"Yes s--" He cut himself off with a frown. Instinct took over, but realism made him stop. "You're an Army Captain." Not a question.

See that? Trained like a dog, and Hawkeye can't stop the blurred moment of confusion. It wasn't the first time he had held himself like an Army clown, but like heck he had expected anything but a sharp curse in return. And no wonder so many kids got themselves shot, if they'd follow any moron with the right bars on his shoulder, or who only said the right word. 'No password' his ass. He quirks a brow.

"And that means I outrank you," he said, still not even sure if he should continue the game. Well, why not? The knife was down. He wouldn't ask the guy's rank, thought they'd both gone and identified their lowest common denominator already. "What's your name, fella? We can get chummy after introductions, since it didn't seem to be going so well before them." Behind them, the television still plays, the dull narration drones on and on like it recites a textbook in a schoolhouse. "I'll go first, if you like. And don't feel like you have to salute. Captain Pierce. If you call me 'Hawkeye', I won't tell your C.O. If you call me 'sir', I might just call you 'Radar'. I'm named after the guy on the hundred-dollar bill but I prefer the Indian. I also happen to be a doctor. Impressive, I know." He wanted to say something about how it took less muscles to smile- about how he was an expert in such things, but he might just be a little in over his head. "Your turn."

He wasn't stupid when it came to something like this. There was a set schedule back in the stadium, once he'd signed up into security. Switching from what he loved to what he needed. And there were drills, and you were taught to address your superiors as sir, since most of them are men.

Everyone is a soldier. But this guy knows what to say, is doing what he should be, and so long as he didn't come in and attack Perry, he could settle down enough to actually know who he is. And he was learning it all very fast. Hawkeye, no salute, sir... Radar? Perry has never seen a one hundred dollar bill his entire life.

And a doctor, and Perry knew, he just knew, that Nora would like this guy. "My name's Perry." Then he pauses. What else does he want to know? What can he tell him? There are no real secrets to keep.

"Perry Kelvin. I joined up with Security back home, transferring from agriculture." He has no idea what to say. "Only with them for a year before I died." Still no idea. "I've never seen a hundred dollar bill before."

Yeah, he's not sure what else to say about himself. He's not much, and he doesn't feel like he's worth anything to anyone.

Simple questions. That's all he's been asking these boys. In return, he expects simple answers and he hasn't gotten any of that kind yet. Instead he's always told about some branch of military he doubts he's ever heard of, and told too much detail about a life he can't help fix. 'Security' makes Hawkeye think it's just an umbrella term for the dear old Army, albeit a strange one, he knows nothing of agriculture expect that the Koreans can only try to farm the land now riddled with mines, and he doesn't know what to do about death.

So after a beat the best he can come up with is, "That's fine. I'm much better looking than the geezer whose face they printed on them."

So Perry isn't the only one drawing a blank. Their standoff seemed terribly anticlimactic. Hawkeye wonders briefly what the kid thinks of a grown man wandering around with only a bathrobe, decides he doesn't care, decides then to step closer still. Breaking the ice one inane question at a time. "How old are you, Perry? I'm going to go ahead and sit down right here, so don't try to run off on me. Don't stab me, either." He doesn't even tack on the 'try' there, because any inclination to run him through with the pointy stick would likely succeed. And what the heck's so wrong about some kid, somewhere, having a normal life before all this? Why the heck couldn't Perry have said 'Hi, I'm a West Point grad' and left it at that?

It's just weird. Not that the whole situation isn't already weird, just to get that one out of the way. But what are the odds of meeting someone from an actual military here? That's the one thing Perry knows that's something bigger then what they have back home. There used to be an army. A real American army, but there's only so many of them left.

Sometimes you went outside, and never came back. "I'm not going to stab you." He hesitates, mostly because of how he possibly could. He wouldn't smash him, either, but let's keep the crowbar out right now.

"Sorry, this is weird. And I didn't know there was going to be someone from an actual military group here." It's definitely different. "I'm nineteen." Perry pauses, and tries for a smile. Tries. Fails, but tries.

"How old are you?" It's supposed to be a joke. It comes out like one, a tiny bit.

Tell me about it, Hawkeye was about to say, nestling down, his full confidence on the boy and his reason. You can't even tune the television with a knob, he was about to say, but then Perry went on again and dragged the military back into the conversation of theirs and Hawkeye got the impression it was a Big Thing for the boy. Nineteen. Hardly old enough to take his father's Chevy around back to load at the Sears, but old enough to enlist and shoot and get shot. And Hawkeye regretted not asking for a rank, because maybe then he'd have a better stick to measure the fella with. Radar, bless him, had joined as a boy too. Radar, bless him, Hawkeye figured couldn't go a round against Perry on his best day.

He keeps an open manner as he mulls over his thoughts. If he prickled up, see, if he tensed and worried over getting stabbed or trapped or strangled, then he might very well put worry on a boy who didn't look for it and didn't deserve it. So Hawkeye nods at the new info, counters Perry's pathetic little attempt at a smile with a sharp one of his own but it's in no way malicious, no way ill.

In fact, it builds a perfect playful bridge between the sympathy and the way Hawkeye lifts his chin snottily, sniffing sharply, drawling out "Much too young for you, fella," in jest. A moment later, he's somewhat sobered and adding, "Thirty-one," with another nod. "But I'm into the older crowd. No offense. There's just more class to reap, more finesse. Experience." Which was a joke, and it even came out like one.

Perry laughed. He laughed. It was a short burst of sound, hoarse, and it surprised the hell out of him. It still surprised him, though he'd laughed about things before now. But back home, he hadn't laughed much at the end. So it was always surprising.

But this guy was funny. Not the best stand up comedian, not a talk show host where their life depended on making people laugh. But funny in a dry kind of way.

"I'm not really looking right now, so you're safe." I'm into younger ones, no that didn't sound good when you said it out loud, he wasn't doing that one. "Something to be said about more energy, though." That was a joke, and it came out a little better then the other had.

Perry was about to say more when the television blared, and he looked to it. It was just changing into a new subject, and he looked away.

He had his mouth half-open for a retort, feeling blissfully alive with the banter and the good luck of having found a good kid to jest with, of having heard a trickle of hoarse laughter he wouldn't direct unwanted attention to. It almost seemed like a shame that the television, of all mundane things, had been what brought them together and was now demanding its fair share of affection. Hawkeye closed his mouth because he wasn't to invite flies, frowned a little at how loud it seemed and looked behind himself to see if the new light cast a shadow. It didn't, much, and then Hawkeye had the mind to ask if there was a knob for the volume before he saw that there wasn't.

"You've been here longer," he said. "What's that all about?"

He was asking about the television, and at least this, this little bit of information here, he knew. It felt good, to be going by rote with things. Like having a slide to point to, not just talking at the podium with no notes. He took another step closer, in what he felt was a nonthreatening manner, and went over to the television.

"I've been here for a few hours now. The TV is on all of the time, except when the museum 'closes down'." He uses his fingers as quotation marks. "But there are five subjects it covers, in the gem stone area here."

Perry looked around, just to show that it was only showing what was here. "During the five subjects, though, it suddenly flickers. And that's when it shows a map of the building." Perry got a little smile, because it felt good that what he figured out would be acknowledge by someone else. "And on the map, they have dots that mark out where everyone is at that time."

So Hawkeye filed away the information that maybe it was a good idea to ask Perry questions because maybe it seemed to him that Perry like to answer them. He doesn't shift in the slightest when the boy ambles over- doesn't see a reason to, anymore. Hard to believe as it may be, he liked to trust. His gaze follows when his body doesn't, and Hawkeye first has to wonder why a boy looking in good shape would stay in one secluded corner for so long. And then it hits him that, hey, maybe the fella only didn't want to die and that was an okay excuse for laying around if he ever knew one, but the strangeness of it sticks in his mind.

Hawkeye caught the glimpse of the smile- said, "That's smart," like he was only muttering it to himself with no intention of being heard. Then louder, of course being careful to not let his voice ring through the entire floor, he asked in earnest, "That's helpful. What have you done with the information?"

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[OTA] Someone else is listening in.

[Closed for Hawkeye] Sir yes sir!

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