ain't no party like a ranger party [open]

[elfstone]

Who| Thorongil and anyone!
What| That great big open party log I promised! Thorongil is taking a different approach to this Arena, and that approach involves giving people free food.
Where| Around the arena -- generally in the forest area.
When| Late week 1, post-Bilbo and Sam )':
Warnings/Notes| Feel free to respond using the log prompt itself, but if you have another idea, feel free to throw it at me in a toplevel! Thorongil will be wandering around the Arena hunting for food, so he could stumble on conceivably anything. Ragnar, Anna, I'm looking at you two especially.

For many of you, this Arena will be one of the most traumatic things you've ever experienced.

For Thorongil, it's Tuesday.

Most nights, he camps with a fire. Reckless? Perhaps, if he were trying to win the Arena.

But that's not Thorongil's goal.

He hunts during the day and cooks what he catches at night: if the firelight doesn't draw in other Tributes, the smell will. It's been a few days. They're probably starting to get hungry.

Approach in the open, and he will greet you with a nod of his head. Try to sneak up on him, and he will hear you. "You'd better come out into the light," he will say, putting a hand on the long, sharp spear he's made for himself. "I know you're there."

Comments

[elfstone]

"A snowstorm, from the feel of it," Thorongil goes on. "Come -- sit down. What I have, you are welcome to." There's one fish, cleaned and gutted, roasting over the fire, and two more sit skewered on the sticks used to roast them, propped up next to the fire like little flagpoles.

"Keep your bread. You need it more than I."

[shenunigans]

It's hard to say if Dave is mouthing no or snow but his expression is the kind of mortified that's appropriate for either. "Fuck that." He says finally. "Fuck all of that. I knew there'd be a catch. Snow. God damn it, why can't it be lava? It's never lava." He babbles with indignation, but he's ambling toward the strange guy with the food anyway.

"Whatever you say, wilderness Jesus." He tucks the cracker back into his pocket and sits a little ways away from him. He's clearly suspicious, careful with his movements and tense. He reaches out for one of the fish, but he pauses. "Are you sure?"

[elfstone]

In answer, Thorongil reaches out and takes one of the cooked fish. They're clean, gutted, and still warm, and he takes a bite of it. See? It is not a trick. He looks from Dave to the fish, nodding at them. Go on, what are you waiting for?

"My name is Thorongil," he corrects, never having heard of this Jesus fellow, "and I, personally, am happier to have snow than lava."

[shenunigans]

Well, that's a pretty sure sign then. He may still pull a Dread Pirate Roberts on him, but he doubts he'd go to that much effort for one, dumb kid. Wait, he's not dumb. He's great.

Whatever.

He reaches for a fish with an appreciative nod, sniffing it before he takes a bite. He works on that for a moment before it occurs to him that he should say his own name. "Dave." A pause, that sounds much less impressive than Thongrill. "Strider." He adds. "Lava is my game. Snow is the opposite of anything I want to deal with."

[elfstone]

One eyebrow arches skyward.

"Strider is your last name?" Thorongil asks. He says last name and not family name for a reason: he's been in the Capitol long enough to have picked up on the differences between how citizens and other Tributes generally talk and how he does. The change in word choice is deliberate.

[shenunigans]

Dave levels a confused look on Thorongil, unaccustomed to his last name being the most objectionable thing about his introductions. Though he is familiar with the fantasy movies with a particular character who goes by a similar name, he hasn't yet drawn that conclusion. After all, this guy's name is Thongrill.

"Sure is. I inherited it from my brother after the Strider Elder Gods bestowed it upon him for being a stone cold badass. Why? Does it mean something offensive in your language? Because let me tell you, Thongrill sounds like a mild barbeque porno." Just eat your fish, Dave.

[elfstone]

A snort of laughter. "You," he says, "are not the first to make that joke. But if your name is Strider, I am sorry -- in the North, from which I come, 'Strider' is an unflattering nickname bestowed upon homeless and suspicious-looking vagrants by the kind of provincial folk who have never set foot more than a mile from their town."

[shenunigans]

"Harsh." He says, almost visibly bothered for a moment before he shakes his head. "Don't be sorry, it don't mean shit where I come from. I mean, I'm homeless but I sure as hell am not a vagrant." He splays a hand on his chest. "I'm a Knight." He keeps forgetting people usually want proof of that, but who cares. "Do you get that a lot? I mean, no offense, but you're kind of rocking the hobo-chic ain't got no home look. Not that it isn't flattering." Just stop.

[elfstone]

Well, that's one he hasn't heard before. Flattering, hm?

"I know of one who has been given that name," Thorongil says, flirting dangerously with the truth, "but he was rocking the look much harder than I. He was much dirtier at the time. But what of you? You look very young to be knighted. How did that come about?"

[shenunigans]

One day, Dave will stop accidentally hitting on people who are too old and too cool for him. Today is not that day, that day will never come.

"Is it a highlander thing? Like there can only be one Strider and it goes to the dirtiest one? Because I have a brother and. Uh. He's pretty dirty." Just not in the muddy sense and entirely in the terrible moral compass sense. "Destiny." He says vaguely. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm also gonna go out on a limb and say we do titles differently where I'm from, but I died for my shitty sigil so that's how I ascended." Even if he was a Knight of Time the whole time, that was when he got the cape.

[elfstone]

"If the name Strider were to go to the one who has been most covered in filth," Thorongil shoots back, entirely missing the other meaning of dirty, "I think the title must fall to me. It would take you or your brother several Arenas, end-to-end, to leave you in the state I was in when I was brought to Panem." It's pretty apparent that this young man knows nothing of woodcraft, so Thorongil is quite confident in his guess of city kid.

"But that doesn't matter. Tell me of your knighting." He's less surprised by the died for my sigil than he would have been a few months ago; in some places, clearly, death is not irreversible. Thorongil still dislikes resurrection and sees it as a violation of nature, but he understands that it's a thing.

[shenunigans]

"I dunno, you weren't here for fog town. I was covered in mud and spider gunk and the blood and tears of a scientist by the end of that one." He crinkles his nose, but he's not sure why he's trying to debate this. He definitely isn't gunning to be hobo of the year, but the more they get to talking, the more familiar this guy is coming to be.

"It's hard to explain." He warns, washing his hands of the inevitable confusion that will surely follow. "My friends and I were, uh. On a quest. For a new. Home." The choppy way he tells his story makes it clear that he's trying to replace words here and there. "And part of accessing your "true potential" or whatever means you have to face your death. So I blew up a sun. It was awesome." He folds his arms over his chest, now that he's finished his fish. "Everything else was destiny. So what's your story, sub-hobo?"

[elfstone]

He followed Dave's story well enough, but something tells him that he still has a very inaccurate picture of Dave's knighting. Titles are different where he's from, Thorongil reminds himself, and decides to try to understand it later.

"I," Thorongil says aloud, "have been wandering in the Wild for more years than you have been alive. More than twice that, actually, unless I miss my guess and you are older than you look."

[shenunigans]

"I'm seventeen. Sixteen. Technically, anyway. They put a damper on age here, so my peach fuzz is never going to bloom." He gives his chin a thoughtful scratch, then he considers what Thorongil is telling him. "You don't look that much older than thirty, though. For someone who weathers the wilderness, anyway. So you've been doing it since you were what, five? Did you get abandoned by humans and adopted by wolves or something?"

[elfstone]

He breaks into a laugh. "No," he says, "at five, I was safely housed and cared for. It was at twenty that I left, joining the army of first one country and then another, serving under king and steward for thirty years. It is the forty years since that I speak of."

Put it together, Strider -- do the math. It's the way this kid talks that makes Thorongil want to mess with him; the irreverent drawl all but invites it.

[shenunigans]

Surprisingly, Dave doesn't struggle with math. He can crunch the numbers easily enough to give Aragorn a look of absolute scrutiny. Maybe he's not such a good judge of age, or maybe he's just assuming this guy is a normal human from normal earth. Something about him is truly familiar, and he knows roughly how to figure this out.

"You don't look a day over fifty, sir." He quirks a brow at him, just so he knows he's weird. "Where are you from, anyway? What's your homeworld called?"

[elfstone]

Immediately, Thorongil is on his guard -- he knows from Steve Rogers that there will be those, especially the ones who talk like Steve does, who know of him from Bilbo's book.

However, he believes that even if this other Strider knows where he is from, he can dissemble enough to conceal his true identity.

"My home-world has many names," Thorongil begins. "The universe of all that is is called Eä. Arda is within it: it is the sun, the moon, and the lands of the Children of Ilúvatar. The earth itself contains Aman, which is the Undying Lands, and Middle-earth, where mortals and immortals dwell alike."

[shenunigans]

Dave may not be the most well read person, but he has a wealth of knowledge for stories and movies and references. He can make a Fresh Prince joke and proceed to reference poets and historical leaders like it ain't a thing.

Even so, he doesn't have any familiarity in his expression at first. It all sounds like your average fantasy novel at first, until he gets to Middle-earth. Dave's brows raise high into his hairline as pieces start to come together.

He leans in, almost conspiratorially, voice lower for discretion. "King of Gondor and the hobos, huh?" He pulls back, looking amused. "You're a busy guy."

[elfstone]

Thorongil laughs. "I thought you might get that impression," he says, "for you are not the first to recognize my world, and the other who did talked much as you do. The man you think I am is one of my kin -- he is the chief of my people, and it is he who was called Strider." The Ranger is flirting with the truth like it's his hot cousin 30 times removed who he can gaze longingly at but never actually get with. "But he is no king, and if that is in his future, I would not know of it. Knowing events to come takes greater wisdom than I possess, and the smallest act can change their course. Tell me no more."

[shenunigans]

"Yeah, it's a pretty popular story where I'm from. Or where I was from, anyway. I'm not surprised it rings a few bells." He sounds awfully casual about it all, but he's already made peace with meeting Iron Man and Captain America so he doesn't fight it too much.

"Right." He says, and he sounds absolutely unconvinced. He just taps the side of his nose as a symbol of his topnotch secret keeping skills. "Your secret is safe with me, not-Strider." He can't, however, debate the validity of keeping spoilers secret. "I'm used to it, time travel is my thing. You don't want to cross those wires, that's for damn sure."

[elfstone]

Arguing the point further would be protesting too much. He just gives Dave a shrug, like, ok, sorry about your wrong opinion. "If calling me Strider is easier than Thorongil, you may -- I think he would not mind if I borrowed the nickname. After all, I am, most likely, the dirtiest hobo in this Arena. Or you could give me a new name, if you like. It would be convenient for you, and amusing for me."

His aspect turns more serious then. "But tell me more about time-travel."

[shenunigans]

Dave opens his mouth, prepared to get indignant with Thorongil's tone and dismissal of his very valid points. His attention is caught by the offer and immediately several unflattering ideas are filling his mind.

"Well, Strider would confuse me, 'cuz I was here first and I had it first. By rights, I am the first and probably the best Strider here." He furrows his brows as he considers his options. "I'm calling you T-Grizzle. T-Grizz for short. Enjoy."

With that squared away, he can focus on the question. And by focus, we of course mean he brushes it off. "What's there to say about it? You go back and forth through time and fight fate and math on a daily basis." He follows that with a shrug. "It's a big thing." Very specific.

[elfstone]

It says something that T-grizzle was not the worst name he had ever been given. Thorongil gives a short, sharp laugh -- it would do.

"Well! If you have no intention of telling me about it, we shall have to find some other thing to talk about." He saw you brush that off, Dave, and is calling you on it while also giving you an out if that's not something you feel like getting into.

[shenunigans]

"Hey, hey. I'm not deflecting, you'd know if I was deflecting." Which, technically he does, but the less said about that the better. "I'm just saying it's a big field to cover, immense. You need to be really specific, otherwise it's like strolling up into a forest and being like so tell me about trees." He feels like T-grizzle can relate to that metaphor, clearly. What with being a rambunctious woodland hobo.

"Uhhhh. God. I don't know. Is this your first Arena? Why don't we talk about something horribly depressing?"

[elfstone]

"It is not," says Thorongil. "It is my second. I was afraid that they all would be like the last one.

"What about you?"