thearena | [OPEN] We may well find you laid like your steed in his reins

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[OPEN] We may well find you laid like your steed in his reins

Who | Sigma Klim and OPEN!
What | Sigma ventures into the fourth floor where his, and possibly other's, secrets are revealed on camera...
When | Beginning of Week 3, after closing time.
Where | The fourth floor movie screen.
Notes/Warnings | Mentions of suicide, illness. You are free to view Sigma's, or just put your own Tribute's private conversations on screen, if you want!

Masks secured to his backpack with whatever extra wire he could scrounge up from the fifth floor, Sigma lumbered along the fourth, still vigilant in his search for Eponine. In the hall ahead, bright light bounced and flickered across an old movie screen in perpetuity. Intrigued, though the trap was obvious, Sigma crept closer to the video to catch a glimpse of what was playing.

What he found certainly caught his attention, and he immediately parted from his hiding place for a better view. On screen was a Tribute's bedroom, viewed from a ceiling corner, littered with scraps of cloth and cat toys. A familiar photograph of a young man watched the room from its position on the bedside table. It was a short, silent clip of his own self, seated at his bed and sewing a particular red velvet rabbit, needle following thread again and again and again...

The Doctor stopped to gawk, unable to believe his eyes. It was common knowledge (or, rather, common sense) to Tributes that their keeper's surveillance was extensive and spanned most of the Capitol and the Tribute Tower. But this entire time, even their own sleeping quarters had been rigged with cameras? It was a chilling, and disgusting, thought. At once Sigma understood the purpose of revealing such a trump card: they would be entirely unable to plot and rebel so long as they remained in the Capitol's clutches...

Then the clip cut into something new, though the setting and angle did not change, and before the audio began Sigma knew what he was about to witness: an ailing Howard was thrashing on his bed, whimpering, struggling against an invisible enemy in his sleep. Sigma's lenticular copy on screen is reaching to hold him, to wake him, and the Doctor hears Howard's familiar exhausted squeak in his memories before it happens.

"Dad?"

In front of the screen, Sigma's whole body flinches. It is worse the second time. He's watching his expression twist in sorrow, contorting against the apathy the creases in his face default to and then retreating back to them as he speaks again.

"It's me. It's Sigma. Relax. You're alright..."

"Sorry. I got confused. Please don't tell no one.."

He could not stop himself from sighing, shaking his head. How unfathomable it was to him that that same boy had threatened to kill himself just last week...

"Last time I was this sick was my first Arena. I was the first one to get dropped midway through, you know?"

Sigma knows what is next and though his stomach churns he watches intently, nausea building, praying that the video will cut away before it gets to that part-

"Tell me about your kid?"

That is enough. Though the clip keeps on, Sigma wrenches his eyes away and covers his ears, deeply ashamed. He feels his eye sting and his cheeks burn hot and had half a mind to hunt down anyone who was watching. His and Howard's privacy was something Sigma valued, and did not wish for such an intimate secret to be passed around. But what would he do if he found someone, after all? Kill them? Even if he had the gall to do something so unspeakable, it would not erase what they had seen, nor what the rest of Panem had just viewed during their after-dinner broadcast...

With no other choice, Sigma had prepared himself to flee, to turn his sight inward and rush past whomever he saw on his way out, when he mercifully heard unfamiliar audio cut in - motivated by curiosity, the Doctor released his head and turned to watch...

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An unfamiliar clip, but an all to familiar face. A district mate, his voice low and rough, thick with emotion as he stood in the privacy of his room - just down the hall from Sigma's own - speaking to his lover.

"Max, I ain't askin' for nothin'. I jus' -- I can't go in there without..." Wyatt leaned, pressed his forehead to Max's. "I love you."

The other man didn't reply - not with words. His lips pressed forward, met Wyatt's in a firm kiss....

Sigma's response to the video was a baffled exclamation before he clapped one hand over his mouth to silence it. He saw nothing wrong with homosexuality, of course, but a romantic relationship between Maximus and Wyatt was the very last thing Sigma had expected. He quickly turned away from the screen, more agitated than he had been before.

This had to be a joke!

And yet... the clips that they had shown of him had been authentic, so how could he deny the authenticity of this one?

Aside from embarrassment, for an instant, Sigma felt... apologetic, even, but quickly smothered those feelings in unqualified justification. No, no, it was not right to defend something so evil even if it had been committed by a loved one. Unless it had to do with something outside of their cont- shit! Sigma realized he had no right to object whatsoever. The true meaning of Wyatt's words several arguments ago finally crashed down about him.

Worst of all, it appeared that the marshal was not at all the lonely man like Sigma had assumed. Like he was, himself...

The clip was short: Wyatt's declaration, the heated embrace that followed, and then the footage winked out, mercifully cutting off instead of carrying on as the moment had for the men.

Unmercifully, as if the video had conjured him up - one of the men in question wasn't far away. While Howard rested in the basement, Wyatt was supply hunting, coming out of the increasing picked over cafe in hope of finding something useful.

He, like Sigma before him, paused at the light show. Glancing about warily as he drifted closer.

Hearing someone behind him, Sigma responds to the intruder a little too late, diving for shelter just as Wyatt appeared. Despite the distraction of the screen, it was now too risky to unhook one of his masks from his pack to alert him of death.

Though he knew it would be best to seek a route of escape, he watches the space where he had been standing. When Wyatt appears, he is not sure if he should be sympathetic or enraged. The Capitol decides for him: just then, he can see on the screen the beginnings of a telltale party, of Eponine crying alone under a tree... No, there was no way Sigma was going to allow a precious memory to be manipulated for Wyatt's hate.

Annoyed, Sigma purposefully knocks over a display to distract the mashal - and crept back during the bang to hide behind a different one, noting where the brightest light fell and hiding in the shadows the farthest away from it. He was unarmed, but even if the other Tribute caught him, he was interested to see how Wyatt would deal with it. If the man leapt for him without hesitation, he would know Wyatt and Maximus were truly meant for eachother...

Wyatt's crowbar was out, gripped loosely at his side, as he moved slowly into the theater. He stopped, where Sigma had stood only moments before, and stared at the screen, transfixed. Not for the reason Sigma believed - Wyatt did not spend his days dreaming up new ways to hate anyone, lest of all those two - but rather because of what the clip meant.

He too was smart enough to put two and two together. If the Capitol had footage from the party, was broadcasting this private moment of weakness for all to see... what else did they have? What else had they been showing?

Disgust and anger bubbled in his gut, his fingers tightened on the steel bar, a muscle twitched in his jaw-- and a crash ripped through the quiet.

He spun on his heel, weight shifting on his feet, ready for an attack, ready to defend himself... but nothing else moved. Just the shadows again, thrown wild by the screen.

The hair on the back of his neck on end, his eyes jumped from one dark corner to the next. Waiting.

The Doctor held his breath. There was no doubt in his mind that Wyatt was familiar with combat - after such an obvious diversion, Sigma would need to take his time and slip under the radar if he wanted to escape alive. Still, that screen threatened to spill more intimate secrets the longer he lingered. Sigma gritted his teeth.

As quietly as one with metal bones could manage, Sigma crouched as low as he could and began to creep along the bottom of the display. He reached the edge and looked across the room - a short walkway separated the next case Sigma could use to hide himself. If he could make it there, he could try for a run... he waited for an opportunity, for Wyatt to turn his gaze a different direction.

Behind Wyatt the clip of Sigma and Eponine ended and changed, turning slowly into something new - something old, for Wyatt. A quiet Capitol street, turned gold by the setting sun, Wyatt and Howard walking side-by-side, talking softly together.

Wyatt promising that it was better Eponine found out the truth from Howard, rather than later, from a stranger - from the Capitol.

Wyatt's jaw tightened, but he didn't dare turn back to the screen. Knew better than to react.

There was something, or someone in here, and he didn't doubt for a second that if he gave it an itch, it'd take a mile. He didn't even dare for the door, not knowing where it was or it was capable of.

"Well," he called out, speaking out over the clip playing behind him, voice echoing in the empty theater. "Let's get on it. I ain't got all damn night."

The new clip turned Sigma's head from his hiding place, drew his eyes like a moth to an insect lure. His gasp caught in his throat. Howard! All this time, Sigma had had no idea that Wyatt Earp had been looking out for him as well.

Sigma takes one last look at the exit, wondering if he could make the sprint. It would be his last chance. Instead, he thinks of Howard and finds himself standing. It's an action he almost immediately regrets, he wonders if being bludgeoned to death with a crowbar would be any more or less painful than a sword through the stomach. "Wait. I need to talk to you." He does not raise his hands to show he means no harm, but hangs them at his sides, no weapon to be seen.

Of all the things Wyatt expected to come popping out of the dark, Sigma Klim was not among them. He took a half-step back, an instinctive shifting of weight, reading himself, but could do little more than stare at the grizzled face that appeared before him.

"Skulkin' around on folks, but I'm the rude one," he rumbled. He watched Sigma warily, but made no move to get closer. The crowbar remained at his side. "Whata'ya want?"

Though he was grateful to see the man had no intention of attacking yet, Wyatt was one of the few capable of getting under Sigma's skin and he cannot suppress a low, annoyed sigh. "As if I had a choice," he hissed, "The Capitol did not exactly choose the most favorable clip for you, either!"

Before the conversation can turn in this direction, Sigma quickly adds, "-Forget about that! It is Howard. I did not know the two of you were close." He scans the other man's face for any sign of affection toward the boy. For all he knows, a person like him could be using Howard as a tool, a scapegoat to soak up blows in the Arena. But he had certainly seemed genuine...

A beat. "Do you know where he is?" Sigma's tone is urgent.

"Of course ya wouldn't, Doc, ya already decided I wasn't worth nothin'."

He wouldn't notice things like boy coming to see him, sleeping in his room when his nightmares were too much. To pay attention to how he gave everything to defending the boy in the arena. How he was willing to die for him.

But he knew, himself, that Sigma to some degree, did care about Howard. So, after that low, dry remark, he forced himself to try and play nice.

For the boy's sake.

"He's with me." A beat, as he imagined Sigma rushing off to try and take Howard away out of some misplaced fear that he was going to hurt him. Wondering if Howard would go with him. Telling himself that would be alright, if it was what Howard wanted. "We got some space in the basement."

Sigma is about ready to scream, his patience put to the test. It had been a very long time since Sigma had disliked a person as much as he disliked Wyatt. For Howard's sake, he controls himself, taking a deep breath.

Despite all of this, he is monumentally relieved. "...Good... That is good to hear." He lifts a hand to cover his eyes and every inch of him appears his considerable age. There would soon come a time his nerves would be unable to handle this stress.

He sighs before speaking again. "He has to win, you understand. Every time I try to protect him, I..." Something goes wrong. Someone gets in the way. His age reveals itself, he isn't strong enough. Once, even, he caused Howard's death.

Lifting his gaze, Sigma meets Wyatt's eyes without malice. "Howard told me something very troubling." His organic eye creases and folds into sorrow. "I believe you have the right to know."

Despite himself, Wyatt softened, the muscle hard in his jaw twitching and relaxing as he listened. He knew that feeling. That guilt, that weight, all too well.

"I know," he murmured, shifting slightly in his moccasins, shoulders falling by degrees. "If yer about to say what I think ya are... I know. He came to see me, before the trips." He exhaled heavily through his nose, looking more and more tired as he stood there. "I'm goin' to get him as close as I can."

Relieved he would not have to put such a terrible thing to words, Sigma let Wyatt’s promise hang in the air. The cyborg clutched at the sides of his arms, drawing them closer to himself as if they could feel cold.

“I see…” he begins, gaze wandering to the ground. “Thank you.”

Not entirely finished without knowing just how much Howard had told him, Sigma continues. “He said… he would try when he returns to the Capitol. I do not intend to win, and so if I do see him there, I… will give him my support,” Sigma confides. “Besides that, I am afraid there is not much I can do. I have kept masks so that I may use my powers, but that is never a guarantee. Please look after him.” Against all of his pride and his hatred for this man, Sigma is begging. He will do what he must for Howard’s sake.

"I made him a promise, Doc," Wyatt replied, shoulders straightening again. The moment passed, his second wind found. "You may not want'a believe in it, but that don't make it any less true."

He looked toward the screen, the clip changed again, this time his own face staring at him. Sitting in a crisp, clean hospital room, smiling across at Max, a big rough hand resting on the man's chest.

Mouth tightening, he turned back.

"I'll get him as close to the end as I can, an' if it comes down to him er me, I know what to do."

Sigma finally shoots him an angry look, tired at the repetitive insults against him as they were discussing something so beyond petty grudges. "I never said I didn't believe you could help Howard," he says flatly and factually. He has already thanked him for his help, and is relieved to hear what Wyatt will do: Sigma is prepared to do the very same thing if it should ever happen to him.

Wearily, Sigma turns to watch the screen, not at all surprised at the content of the video. He knows exactly what the Capitol would choose to show them before he turned his head. Without bothering to account for privacy, Sigma watches with a sad sigh.

"I found out before you came," he admits. "Congratulations, I suppose." He is sincere, if even to his own ears he sounds unexpectedly jealous. Sigma had lived alone and he knew he was fated to die alone.

"...I do not forgive you. But I understand." It is all he can offer.

Wyatt stared at Sigma for a moment, as if expecting more - some hissed insult to follow the quiet admission. Another hard jab at Max's honor and his own by association.

When it didn't, he shifted, mouth working slowly, a muscle rolling in his jaw.

"I told ya, yer not the only one with family here."

He looked back at the screen, watched his double squeeze Max's arm and grin as he pulled a deck of cards out his pocket.

"What happened between the two of ya wasn't malicious. He was doin' what he had to."

Wasn't malicious. Sigma tastes bile as he hears that, as good as Wyatt's intentions were. He remembers the machete twisting in his stomach and the anguish he felt as Eponine's head left her body. Nothing malicious...

But the two of them watching the screen, now, at last he cannot blame him. Defeated, tired of misunderstandings and miscommunications, Sigma gives up fighting with him. Wyatt saw Maximus through a lover's light, the way that he saw Diana. He makes the connection that anyone else who looked upon the woman who ended the world would not see her with quite the same passionate endearment Sigma did. He nods. He understands, and he's done.

This talk of family has wearied him. He wondered if Wyatt would care to see things from his own point of view, or if his concerns extended only as far as the reach of his arm. Empathy for fellow human beings had always been the deciding point where Sigma separated friend from foe. "My son and his mother were here," his voice is almost a whisper before he can stop himself. If he were to say so any louder, he would not maintain his composure. "It was Maximus who won their final Arena." It had taken every ounce of his self control to watch the recordings and see how they finally died. Akane's tiny, frail body was strewn across the Cornucopia where it laid to rot. His son, poisoned, curled into an agonized and moaning heap as he died. All of the life in Sigma's body seems to leave him as he remembers this, and he questions whether he will feel the happiness Wyatt is feeling on screen ever again.

"I wonder if I could have at least saved my son if I had not died first. I wonder..." Of course, it ran deeper than that. All along, Sigma realizes he has held Maximus at fault for his own failure as a father and a partner, but Eponine had been in trouble and Sigma had reached out his hand of his own volition. He had paid with his family. Sigma sighs, losing one weight and adding another, due time for him to shoulder fault for himself.

"...But Maximus was not to blame." If they at least can cooperate to save Howard, this is the extension of the olive branch.

Wyatt's head dipped, eyes closing for a moment as he felt the weight of Sigma's confession. They'd all lost, simply by being here, but some more than others.

He wondered silently, if Sigma might look at Max differently if he knew just how much the two of them had in common. ...But that was Max's to share. (If the Capitol hadn't already - broadcasting their short-lived holiday for everyone to see.)

"No, no he ain't," Wyatt murmured, looking up again. "An' neither are you. Not even me, not really." His eyes fixed on Sigma, the blue gaze meeting the strange mechanical one. "However much we might like to take it for ourselves, it all belongs in the same place."

It was.. unusual. Despite how he had felt towards the man, Sigma welcomed Wyatt's sympathies, feeling as though he was no longer at the limit of his endurance. He had indeed passed Sigma's test. It also relieved him to clear away most of their animosity, and it is suddenly apparent to Sigma how much Wyatt's relationship with him had weighed him down: it had reminded him too much of what it was like to be hated by someone he had once considered an ally.

Finally turning his back to the screen (he felt he no longer needed its perspective), Sigma beheld Wyatt a moment, digesting what he had admitted to. Then, gently and knowingly, Sigma smiled at him through his pain, at last more man than machine. The Initiate would truly kill him for admitting allegiance to the rebellion, and so he held his tongue... he hoped Wyatt would understand.

The Initiate stays low as the seen plays, creeping closer as he hears the voices first. The words "Dad" and "son" get thrown around, sounding both foreign and not. "Kid", he knows. A joke. A real damn funny ass joke, good for chuckles all the fuck around for the charge of a seagoat. He's gotten his kicks out of it before, but not right now. He's heard by now, vaguely, that these people care for their own young but to hear it is different. To hear it from someone he knows is surreal.

He gets close enough to see the screen, but it doesn't matter much. He doesn't care for anything but what's being said and he shouldn't even give a damn on that but he does. Why does it matter, why does it matter? He's eight, this should be past him. But he stays and he watches and listens. He doesn't even get the chance to decide how he feels, before he spots Sigma, finally, and he sees Sigma turn.

"LIVED BEACHSIDE," an all too familiar voice says in fluctuating tones, going from rough growls strangled out to soft again, over and over like waves. "Lived... alone, sister. BEACHES WOULD MAKE UP LIKE AT TO SPIT THE FUCK OUT ANY WRIGGLERS GETTING HIVE UP IN THAT MAW, EVEN WITH WHAT ALL PROTECTORS THEY UP AND GOT. But not he..."

His eyes go wide and the back of his neck pricks. He always knew they were being watched constant but that's not the problem here.

He lifts his chin, as if it is a source of pride and not just something sort of pathetic. "FOUGHT MANY A MOTHERFUCKING TROLL, OLDER THAN HE. Apparently they got some kind of motherfucking dumb-ass taboo up on it here, but all back where he was being, winner was who all was stronger, be they one who stepped on a grub. THERE WEREN'T NO DIFFERENCE THERE AND I AIN'T SURE WHAT ALL IS DIFFERENT NOW BUT BEING OTHERWISE HE'S BEEN UP AND TOLD. Wonder what all they'd say knowing he took them motherfuckers down what tried on him back when all he was being but a wiggler."

The Initiate is still in shock. Just like clockwork, the Terezi on screen goes on until eventually, the question is surfaced again.

"They'd probably be impressed. Maybe their expectations would be higher, at least. They should be. But... You weren't completely alone, right?" She raises a brow, a frown tugging at her lips. "Didn't you at least have a lusus with you?"

He lurches out before Sigma, as if he can stop it before it happens. Break the screen or break Sigma. But just like Sigma, there's nothing he can do to stop it. It's spat into his face right after Sigma's show, and he throws a mask at the screen-- the only other thing besides his club in hand-- letting loose a terrible howl. It doesn't do anything to stop the last words from coming before it cuts out.

"WAS JUST ME. Had an old an old goat for a lusus. LIKED FOR THE SEA. Liked for the sea better. MOTHERFUCKER DIDN'T LIKE AT TO STICK AROUND. So, he up and didn't. MOTHERFUCKER'S BEEN GOOD AS DEAD FOR A LONG TIME. Been naught but me, my culls, and the church."

Edited 2014-02-07 03:59 (UTC)

At first Sigma flinches to find the Initiate approaching, still boiling over with shame. He knew he had only shown the troll a side of weakness and dependency and to top it off with his tears is the Capitol's ultimate insult. The Doctor worried the other now saw him the same way he saw himself, as a worthless old man who had accomplished nothing. But the new clip on the screen plays on, and Sigma cannot tear himself away. Only when the mask shatters against the screen, accompanied by an anguished howl, does Sigma realize he has witnessed something profoundly personal.

With a jolt, he turns his back on the picture, eyes instead locked on the Initiate. The narration, unfortunately, is not lost to him. Lips pursed in thought, for a moment he forgets the other can see him, and thinks deeply on what those words may have meant. At the very least, it was clear the Initiate had felt abandoned by someone he had dared to love. Against reason, there's a wash of affection over Sigma. It appeared his son had a kindred spirit in the Initiate, and he wishes to tell him how much his guardian must have loved him, despite the bad decisions parents were wont to make...

Unfortunately, Sigma is awakened to reality a little too late; the paternal sympathies that flickered across his eye could not have gone unseen. "I- forgive me!" He clamors for an apology, hands raised in passivity. "I was not thinking. I should not have watched." He begins to repeat himself awkwardly. "Sometimes, I just do not think. It is a weakness of mine."

It's too soon after Kankri having found what he had. It's too soon to have this and what was revealed of Sigma together. When Sigma turns, for a minute, he's nothing but small, weedy kid, with too much hair and teeth too big for his mouth, trying to look big in front of his hive for another predator. He bares his teeth and crouches for attack-- to run or roll or pounce. But he remembers where he is, and he sees... he sees pity.

"DON'T," He growls before sigma can even begin. Then, "Of course you shouldn't have. OF MOTHERFUCKING COURSE ALL YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE SEEN." He doesn't think of hypocrisy. He's been shamed and he's angry. "Weakness. YOU GOT TO HEAR TALE. And you talk of weakness. DO YOU SEE IT NOW?!"

The last part is a roar. He turns. Almost makes to pace. He broke his mask. Lost his power and it wasn't even enough. He spins, smashing his club into a display. He smashes another, glass shattering all over, then overturns another bit. Petty vengeance.

He looks back to Sigma. "It means nothing. NOTHING IT ALL UP AND MEANS, YOU UNDERSTAND?! You put that in your damn pan and you make to let it be known to your own motherfucking self. I COULD STILL CULL YOU. I could cull every single motherfucker what be here. THE WICKED PICTURES COULD MAKE ALL TO BE PAINTED AND ALL WHY I AIN'T DONE SO BE DOWN TO NAUGHT BUT MY CHOOSING SO. You got your hear on to me?"

'I was unable to look after him the way I should.' The words ring and with it the sympathy. He thinks of the old goat. He thinks of the sweeps of making excuses for him, the maybes, the hopes. He thinks of Kankri again and how he'd almost let himself hope the same, but of course it'd been traitorous, blasphemous lies, and then this new, weird, wrong Kankri came again to drag him through... and then here's Sigma. His claws raise to rake through his hair and on his scalp, and again he howls.

"FUCK! Motherfucking-- NO!" His hands raise to his ears and he shakes his head. "Shut up, SHUT UP!"

Edited 2014-02-11 23:21 (UTC)

Sigma stands his ground as the Initiate prepares to attack, matching his aggression with cold composure. He guesses correctly; the troll does not lunge for him. His embarrassment has melted away, he had tried his forgiveness and that was all that could be expected of him.

Instead of reacting, giving the Initiate the fear he expects, Sigma calmly watches him wreak destruction about the room as if to say 'are you done yet?' He does not see a vicious predator in a display of dominance. What he sees instead is a frightened and misguided young man who never had a father, a reflection of his own boy stomping about his lab and breaking whatever was in his path. In his memories the black-haired man screams his own plans to murder Sigma for his betrayal, for his involvement in a plot he had been given no choice but to participate in.

He answers the both of them. "Kill me if you wish. What good would it do for you?" There was rage in his voice, back then, but not now.

Here, there is no sedative to control the rampage with. Trying a different and more responsible technique, he hoists his pack upon his back, stepping towards the Initiate, and says firmly, "I understand. It doesn't mean anything, after all. Isn't that right?"

Sigma is right to see a child because when he manages to surface enough out of his tantrum to find Sigma barely reacting, it only aggravates him further. It makes snarl.

"I'm not weak. I'M NOT WEAK." He insists, though Sigma has insinuated no such thing. Explanations, excuses, running through his head for why and how he'd run into such as Sigma, how he could be fooled, but even he's not so far gone to believe this could've been arranged pre-emptively. There was no way to know, Sigma of him, nor he of Sigma. They couldn't have known.

"You're not him. NOT OF THE SEA," He rambles. Trying to reach through to his own self. "Only bleed red you do, only red just like every other motherfucker. I WANT HIS BLOOD. It's mine. IT MUST BE HIS AND MINE. Mine and motherfucking his."

He sees a flash, all white teeth. Something that ain't there, but his eyes go round and he spins quick anyway, searching. He shakes his head. He's still in the arena and Sigma's still here. He looks at the man like a riddle, then at his own hand, where he cuts a line across his palm with a claw. He reaches down to the floor, kneeling, and smears the color there. Just to be sure.

Indigo. Of course.

But then...

"WHY? Why did you do it? YOU HUMANS HAVE AT FOR THAT DON'T YOU? Family? THAT'S WHAT ALL YOU UP AND CALL IT, LIKE ALL TO BE THE CARNIVAL BUT BOUND FOR STRENGTH IN BLOOD. In the blood it's like to be tied the fuck up, closer than all afforded of caste simple. WHAT ALL GOT IT THE FUCK IN PAN TO DO. He a failure? NOT MOTHERFUCKING GOOD ENOUGH?"

The eruption of emotion in front of him is almost too much for Sigma to handle. He watches the Initiate leap from question to question, bleeding himself, in a stupor, amazed his way out somehow made everything worse. How had it come to a comparison between the Initiate's guardian and himself? True to his tenacity, it is so out of his control, Sigma cannot help but try and stem the flow.

"Calm yourself. It had nothing to do with weakness," he answers authoritatively; not to lash out at him, but to correct him. "My son was as powerful and dangerous as you have made yourself. Even while injured, he was strong enough to impale the man who killed his mother through solid steel. Many times, his wit and his rage got the better of me, broke my bones and burned my flesh in retaliation. I did not abandon him because I was not impressed."

He tone is firm. He is not sure if what he shares will do him any good at all, but as always, an attempt is better than nothing. "I promise you that you were good enough. It was not you, but selfishness. I put my goals before my son. Is that not why you hate your father? Did he not love the sea more? My dreams were my sea." Nothing Kyle could do could have stopped him from completing his task.

"Another thing," Sigma adds, his voice a tired sigh - he lifts his hand to his lips and bites down, hard, on the flesh between his thumb and index finger. Extending his arm, white 'blood' spills from his hand onto the floor, overlapping the Initiate's. "Not every human is as similar as you make it sound." It is his own way of arguing against the distinction between human and those who were not. Both, at least, were living. He does not know why, but in spite of what he has seen, he still finds himself wanting to befriend the Initiate. Many of his companions were fellow trolls, and the species barrier was one of the last to cross, evidently.

His eyes go round. He stares. Not at Sigma, but at the color on the floor. There is no blood in spectrum of white. It's the damp fur of the old goat. Lusus white, white like bone.

He would have to scour the markets for this on Alternia. He left for a market as wiggler, side split and bleeding once, all for this color, all for fixing a painting on a wall that didn't even up and matter.

He drags his fingers through the blood. Then pulls into a shape; horns and skull. He dots his indigo into the pits to make the goat's eyes. Here it was. What'd he'd been looking for.

"He wished me dead," He says. "WOULD BE EASIER; HE WOULDN'T ALL HAVE TO GIVE A DAMN NO MORE. Neither would I, if I killed him like all intended." Funny now, how he can see his father's will bled into his own. Father. What a strange word for it.

He lies, knowing that being a landdweller, he'd never have survived the waters, "HE COULD HAVE HAD BOTH. He didn't have to choose between the sea and I, always had the know I would share."

He's been made a fool of and put to shame. He doesn't know what more to say, what more to do. He hangs his head, let's hair fall over his face, so he doesn't have to look at Sigma and Sigma can't see him. He draws in the blood.

He gives the Initiate his moment. Part of him urges to follow his instinct and back away, and he feels guilty immediately; the thought alone is a betrayal against his ally. Instead of disturbing the silence and reaching for his medical kit, Sigma clenches his fist to stop the bleeding, his cybernetic arms without a capacity for self-healing. He wants to say he is sorry, but the Initiate is not the first to warn him against the dangers of pity.

Sigma watches and pledges the scene to memory. More and more, until against his will the image of Kyle he has built up in his head and of this sorrowful, violent beast that only ever wished for the time of his father have irreversibly associated. The question is not what to do now but where to go next. He dreads with a horrible start that, like Eponine, like Howard, the Initiate would become another one of his own that would set root into his heart, one he'd have to look after or risk bleeding to death with their removal - but not to physically protect, like the other two. Something else-...

-Of course, he cautions himself, this is all speculation...

Before he can think better of it, he's found himself at the Initiate's side. He stands there, head bowed, hand suspended just over the other's back. It is not in pity. Rather, he radiates remorse.

He's not pale for Sigma, not even close. No diamonds. There's no infidelity here. But for that, he's not sure what it is he wants. What is the name for something like this? Is there a name proper for it?

Or one that won't make him think of how untrollish this all is, how every Alternian rule written would make to say the motherfucker ought to take off his head and gut him here, remove him from the species for the sick wrongness of it all. Weakness could not be tolerated. Failure in compliance, failure in survival. Outliers were unacceptable. Disgusting. Something to be hated, he couldn't possibly--

"No, you do. You just hate yourself for wanting it." Kankri says again in his head.

His breath hisses through his teeth. Then, with all the shame that could be, he pushes up and back into Sigma's hand. The way his Da's giant muzzle would push into his chest and arms in those first blearily recalled sweeps. His white and indigo marked claws drag from the mess of blood. There's a low clicking, animal whine emanating from within, that chokes after only seconds more.

As Sigma's hand meets the skin on the Initiate's back, it feels like rest at the end of a long and exhausting journey, an oasis of hope found just before collapse. Closing his eyes so they have no chance to weep, he wants to soothe the Initiate of the agony that caused him to make such a sound. His hand runs down his back with all the affection he would show his own son, if he could show his son affection.

Sigma knows the Initiate is not Kyle, the Initiate can not replace Kyle. But so long as there was a single person who needed his help, had Sigma not always offered it freely?

If he should put the mask on, Sigma wondered what he would forsee, if it would be a road of fulfillment or end with the two of them shifting their pain onto the other. He reminds himself that whether or not they will truly be family remains to be seen. Regardless, from this moment on, he knows the two of them are inextricably linked.

She heard the voices, first. She heard Howard's voice and she was making a beeline for him, worried about him. He sounded awful, and she needed to see him. But as she came around the corner and she saw Sigma she jolted to a stop, the sudden realisation that she'd been hearing a recording and not Howard himself incredibly jarring.

She still wasn't used to tvs yet.

"... Sigma?" She asked, her voice cutting over the audio from the screens. She'd only met him once, had no idea whether or not he could be trusted in the arena, so she carefully drew her bow, keeping the notched arrow pointed to the floor.

"You know Howard?" She asked carefully.

Following something so personal, Sigma cannot help but flinch as he rounds on the girl - he wonders if Ellie has mistaken his fear for aggression, and his eyes fall on her lowered, but strung, bow. The Doctor showed her his hands.

It is an incredible uncanny feeling, to realize a young one he once considered capable of no wrong could be violent, and he experiences this again with Ellie. It would only take a raise of her arm and the twitch of her finger to end his struggle in this Arena. Sigma's brow furrows.

"Ellie, wasn't it? ...It is good to see you again," he starts genuinely, though the weapon made him nervous. There would be no cat puns or friendly jokes just yet, and he figured he'd better answer her question before too long.

"Yes. Howard is a good friend of mine," he says carefully, pausing to let his response sink in. He had no idea how the youth of the Arena got along, but if it was anything like the historical Hunger Games, Sigma worried it was not well. "That isn't a problem with you, is it?"

The tension of the string gently eases, but she doesn't put it away, not yet.

"No. Howard-- we're friends. If you're cool by him, you're cool by me," She adds, glancing back behind him to the screen.

"What's-- where is that? Is he alright?"

Though thankful he'd found a friend of Howard's, the Doctor feels his cheeks burn red at Ellie's question. She is clearly intending to watch, and he cannot stop her. It would be foolish to ask her to stop.

"That, ah. That would be my room," he admits, and wonders if it is strange to hear a man of his size stutter so, for both herself and the audience, "Just before the last Arena. He fell very ill, I am afraid. Influenza." He wants to shudder in empathy, as it would not be long after the video he would fall ill himself. Sigma tries to push this from his mind.

"Fortunately enough, he did recover on his own."

"Oh," She said, relaxing instantly an letting out a shakey breath before slowly putting her bow away. She kept her distance, but she wasn't afraid of him suddenly attacking her, anymore.

"I didn't even know he got sick. Some fucking friend I am," She said quietly. "Sorry to uh -- I didn't mean to intrude. I just thought I heard--"

"No, it's perfectly understandable," Sigma offered, trying a smile in spite of her colourful language. He believed she had made the right choice, putting her bow away - though Sigma knew the irony in wishing no one would fight in a death game. "He did make it to seem like he was merely congested. I am sure it is not your fault." He faced the screen. "It appears the Capitol is displaying some of our secrets for their entertainment. I would not linger long if you have something to hide," he cautioned.

The reminder came like a shock as he thought of whom else Ellie was friends with, what personal attachment she might have to another Tribute. Sigma flinches as if struck, and he immediately turns again to face her.

"Ah! Ellie!" he shouts unexpectedly, taking a well-meaning step towards her with urgency. The words spill quickly from his mouth. "That's right! Please forgive me. I completely forgot- there was a man looking for you earlier." His eyes are heavy with sympathy. If Sigma's suspicions were right... well, he understood the implications of having a loved one in the Arena. "I had intended on searching for you, but I was distracted. I owe the both of you an apology."

She wasn't expecting the sudden shout, or the movement towards her, and she stumbled backward and drew her bow almost instantly, grabbing the arrow a second later. She only slightly relaxed when she realised that he was talking, and not attacking her.

"I... It's fine. Joel, you mean, I'm guessing. You met him?" She asked carefully.

Sigma flinched, feeling his nerves protest against the stress, angry with himself that he had startled her. This was truly not his first death game and would not be the last, yet he had been spoiled by allies willing to trust him upon first meeting. It was apparent to Sigma that Ellie was not so naive.

"I... Forgive me, Ellie. Sometimes I forget myself." He folds his shaking hands in front of himself so they are visible to her and smiles nervously. "Yes, it was Joel. It isn't my business, but he seemed desperate to find you. Should I be helping the two of you reunite?" His smile dropped and he watched her sympathetically. If his suspicions were correct, he knew what it was like to be separated from a loved one - but from Ellie's lack of enthusiasm, he worried he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Perhaps this Joel was no friend, after all.

She wasn't all that eager to put the bow back so quickly this time, watching him warily as she lowered it.

"No, I'm fine," She said, carefully. "I already found him, so, we're all good. Don't worry about it."

"Ah..." Sigma fidgeted, adjusting his collar. "I see. That is good news, then. Congratulations." Whether or not Joel was to be trusted was still a question that weighed heavily on his mind, but he shelved it for now. It was no business of his.

"I make you nervous, don't I," he sighed. "I suppose it is to be expected. The feeling is mutual. My words will not convince you, but I do not like to fight in these Arenas when I can avoid it," he admitted.

"It's not like I'm out for blood either, Gramps," She said wryly as she replaced the arrow.

"You just can't really expect to jump at a girl in the middle of a death match and not make her a bit jumpy, you know what I mean?"

"I know. As I said, it was my fault," he admits apologetically. "It is not an acceptable excuse, but I promised your 'friend' I would let you know of him if I encountered you. I'm getting old, Ellie. That's the first time something so important has slipped my mind." Now nearly seventy, 'getting old' was the understatement of the year, but sometimes Sigma truly forgot he no longer occupied the same body he had met Diana in. "If it helps at all, you can ask him in the future."

Sigma looks her over a moment, wondering how old she is in comparison to Howard. She looks much older to him than she did on Christmas Day with a weapon in her hands. They all grew old too quickly in the crucible of the Arena. Referring to her first statement, Sigma ponders aloud, "I did not think you were, Ellie. I still do not believe that is the case. But we have come a long way from puns and Christmas sweaters, haven't we," he laughs with wry amusement.

She's not totally sure how much the believes that reasoning - she's never actually met a person that old, before Panem. They simply didn't survive, in her world. Hard to run from the infected at that age.

She can't help but give a wry smile, when he mentions the sweaters.

"... Yeah, just a bit," She admits. "Did you like it though?" She asks suddenly, looking much younger than she did a moment ago. "The sweater? I thought it was pretty corny, but awesome..."

At her childlike reaffirmation, Sigma feels things are right again in the world. "Ellie, my excitement was not feigned. I loved that sweater," Sigma answers honestly, nervous smile cracking into a grin. "It is not every day someone gifts me with attire with kittens on it. I would show off your meowsterful taste more often if it weren't a seasonal gift." The last thing he needed were people thinking him as awkward as he truly was.

She snorted, despite herself, smothering the laugh in a lopsided smile.

"God, your puns are worse than mine," She accused. "So obviously you can't be that bad."

Sigma made an expression of feigned insult before a smile rippled across his face. The wrinkles it left were unfamiliar and strained in contrast to the rest of his skin.

"Pawlease excuse yourself! My puns come from a lifetime of purrractice. I cat nyaat even control them any longer." He was thankful, though, that she thought so.

He waited for her response, but took a few steps back and hoisted his bag over his shoulder - feeling, perhaps, he had reached a good place to take his leave. He had frightened the wits out of the poor girl enough. "Ellie," he said seriously, "do pawtch yourself. I mean, watch yourself. Howard would be furious with me if he found I let you leave only to run into trouble."

"Don't worry, old man," Ellie said, watching him back off without making a move toward him.

"I can take care of myself."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[OPEN] We may well find you laid like your steed in his reins

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