thearena | [open] And think well, yes think as you are fighting

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[open] And think well, yes think as you are fighting

Who| Phillip Gray and open
What| Surviving and other errands, along with a Valentine's delivery
Where| All over the Arena
When| End of Week 3 (Valentine's) Twelve hours before Nick Sr. finds him
Warnings/Notes| Arena shenanigans and flashbacks of his home

Lasting this long in the Arena, almost three weeks surviving, Phil uncovered his mouth to let out a soft chuckle. He'd joked with Piers Nivans that he'd only last two weeks tops back at the Crowning, that he wasn't much to behold. Dandy called him fodder for killers, that there wasn't any other place for him in this world unless he was guilty of something. But Nivans was dead, and Gray had watched Mott die. It wasn't a natural transition for him, Gray admitted as he'd patched Venus up that day, to go from having basically no agency on whether he lived or died to making choices, good or bad. It felt...liberating. It felt so good that his chuckle became a full-on laughing fit that toppled him onto the ground. He was alone, with the cameras watching, so he uttered a thanks to the viewers, well aware that someone on the other side of the lens would hear him. He also said it to the people that helped him get this far: to Sandy, Milo, and every Sponsor Stephen sent. Phil owed them his life and come hell or high water, he'd stand by them.

A Sponsor packet drifted across the sky, almost dancing, prompting Gray to sit up. "Small one," he figured and got back to his feet. All he had of his original Cornucopia bounty was the bag it came in, he'd left the tent in Sandy's care to free up the carrying space. As Phil opened the package the moment it landed, the smell of flowers invaded his sense of smell, reminding him of his last Valentine's Day. It'd been the year of the first dead child and he still remembered how her eyes lit up at the sight. "Erm," he had an embarrassed look on his face, especially when the tag read his name, "Two dozen roses..." That was two bouquets to do as he pleased with. Checking his wares and confirming he had enough food and water to last him a day, Phillip decided to make a trip. He knew exactly who to give these to. As a professional thank you of course! Nothing else.

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Sigma heard the laugh long before he saw the sponsor drone, and the cyborg hits the meadow grass hard, hoping to conceal himself from the madman at a distance. He lays undignified in the dirt to eavesdrop on the other Tribute - he is not close and the words are indistinct, but he suddenly realizes that the Tribute is not threatening someone else, but is speaking cheerfully to the cameras. The laugh had been familiar, actually; not unlike how Sigma himself had reacted to the presence of puzzle rooms. The Doctor smirks to himself and decides hiding might be a waste of time.

Then from the sky the drone descends and Sigma kneels to observe. Phillip's bouquet is a red blot on the horizon and for a moment, Sigma wonders if the drone had somehow injured him. His sight is not what it once was, and it isn't until he zooms in with his mechanical eye that he notices the other Tribute had received a Valentine's Day gift. It's Sigma's turn to laugh; he will not be expecting any of those, himself.

His heartrate back to normal, Sigma rises slowly to his feet, backpack slung across his shoulder. He had pledged to make a kill this Arena, but the Tribute's good mood takes the wind out of that promise. Instead, Sigma begins to walk towards him, waving pleasantly before he can get close enough to speak. He attempts to be as nonthreatening as a man with a security camera for an eye can be. Just passing through.

It's not his business, but he'll break the ice with curiosity. He shouts across the gap between them: "A gift from someone special?"

The greeting was a surprise and Phillip immediately raised his hunting knife in case it was an actively aggressive Tribute. This was still an Arena after all and many of those Gray cared about were injured, lost, or dead. Thanks to the bouquets on his back though, he doesn't look as intimidating as he'd wanted to. Spotting the camera in the eye, the former guard blinked; was this strange man a cyborg like Jet and Albert? No, he looks much older than those two...probably more experienced and would likely kill Phil if he made a stupid decision.

Sigma's question is replied with a confused but honest answer, "I dunno, it's strange but...I'm gonna go out of a limb and say they wanted to spread some Valentine cheer. I-I'd be surprised if I had fans at all!" Seeing as this newcomer wasn't actively trying to kill or dupe him, Phil sheathed his weapon, and added, "Are you lost?"

Sigma stops abruptly as Phillip raises the knife, not so much alarmed as wary. He knew how a Tribute looked when they were at the end of their rope, when they were prepared to tear their opponent apart by their teeth, and this man did not fit that description. Sigma manages a courteous smile as Phillip answers his question nonetheless, pleased he had backed down. The cyborg had come to rely on his physical strength rather than a weapon these days, but getting stabbed at his age was... unpleasant.

"Are you a new Tribute? Perhaps it is a welcoming gift. And, no, I am not lost. I was hoping I could find something of a 'weapon' in the toxic flora," he points to the field of wildflowers, in the distance behind Phillip. "A few Arenas ago, I came across a book that went over toxic plants in great detail. It was quite useful. Regrettably, I did not have a bouquet drop from the sky." Sigma grinned. He did not mean to insinuate that Phillip's flowers were poisonous, only that there could be a number of creative applications with a Valentine's Day gift. "A long story made short: forgive me. I did not intend to startle you."

"Bouquets are still deadly, you know? Allergies, jam the thorns into the-" The guard hadn't noticed that and made a mental note not go near those flowers. They were pretty. Phil's expression didn't leave much down, "Is it that obvious?" Being one of the newer tributes probably made him easier picking once upon a time but hey, he was learning. Aside from the camera eye, Sigma looked like a scientist or a professor at some high-end college.

"It's all right, I spook easy," Phil admitted, knowing his nerves were shot even before the Arena reared its' cold head. "Sir." Somehow he figured that, along with the image of the scientist, it'd help to use formalities.

Sigma is flattered when he is spoken to with respect, and smiles politely back at Philip. Perhaps the other man knew who he was - or, conversely, it was because the man didn't know his identity that he was being treated kindly. No matter. He would take what he was given.

This Tribute was already getting the hang of thinking outside the box, it seemed. "Do not worry. It had nothing to do with your behavior per se - In fact, I would go so far as to say that you are already preforming much better than I did in my first Arena. You see, I have been in ten of them, now, so I have come to learn the faces of my competitors. With such a high turnover rate, one loses allies quickly..." He holds out his hand in greeting. It's still awkward to make physical contact with new acquaintances, but if he were to lower the chances of making a dangerous enemy, he'd have to make the effort to be charming. "My name is Sigma Klim. Welcome."

"Phillip Gray, and," the former guard hesitated before shaking the hand, understandably so, "Holy crap, ten arenas. Damn that's impressive. You've probably seen everything under the sun."

That same part of the brain that told Gray to be formal was now telling him that, even if it's for this one arena, Sigma was a good ally to have. "This place isn't safe out in the open. I, uh, got what I needed and whatever's happening, I don't want a part in."

Especially the possibility of murdering kids. That disgusted him to no end.

Sigma draws his hand away a little too quickly, but it isn't from disgust or from a dislike of Phillip. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Gray. It may sound impressive... until you consider that I'm still here," he laughs bitterly. "No victories in ten Arenas... I suppose my age is catching up to me. But, I can impart some advice, if you'd like to hear it." There was something Phillip needed to know if he was going to make a sweeping statement about the Games like that.

He agrees with finding some shelter, of course. "Let us find a place to hide, first. Assuming you are comfortable with me joining you for a short time." He is careful not to sound anxious or as if denying him would make him angry. It's all up to Phillip.

Working in a place where the high turnover rate was less to do with bad coworkers and more about murder, Phil didn't question the quick withdrawal. "If you say so sir." He still had his own doubts about Sigma's intentions but he won't say no to any advice, "I would like to, if you're, um, offering. More the merrier, unless you have an idea to stake out."

Knowing nothing about the cyborg's past was both a blessing and a curse. He could as what he wanted, a clean slate...but what if he was walking into his own death? Phillip chose the former and allowed his temporary companion the benefit of the doubt.

Sigma nods in satisfaction. "Wonderful. Then let us head towards the mountain," there was a small, mountainous area east of the lake, not too far a hike from their current location. Like the barrier to the west, it was not worth the energy to surmount, but its rocky terrain made for relatively safe overnight stays. Back to where it all began, he thought. "On my last visit, I found a rather comfortable den. If another beast has beaten us to it, well, at least I shall eat well for several days, again," he jokes. "...Please, do not worry. With two sets of eyes, we should be safe. Ready?"

"I'm ready," Gray responded with a nod and ready to follow as he needed. Though wary at first to climb anything after Nick's prank, he wasn't that much a sourpuss to let it stick.

As soon as they were close, his mind slips to Venus, and the eight arenas she'd experienced along with Sigma's. Hell, this was the reason he was delivering these roses in the first place: to at least give her something to that effect. This was his way of acknowledging his gratitude for not dumping his scrawny ass to the curb as others might have.

"You've killed some of these?" Now he's impressed.

Sigma hesitates before answering. "...In the first week, yes. My arms are not organic." He is certain, a metal eye decorating his face and all, he does not need to explain himself to Phillip. "My body is considerably stronger than it appears. Of course, even beasts believe an elderly man is an easy target; I suffered a bite or two for their mistake, but that will not kill me." He displays a rip in the side of his sleeve nonchalantly... before his face creases with concern. "...But the animals have changed, recently. I may still be able to take them down, but the marked shift in behavior is... alarming, to say the least."

As though the mutts were 'programmed' to become more aggressive as time marched on. What sort of creatures would they deal with as the Arena drew to a close? The thought is cut short as Sigma finds his cave, a hole dug downwards into the megalith by eons of some species' burrowing instinct. It was wide enough for two people, but it might be a bit of a tight squeeze. "Ah, vacancies. Excellent."

To think that Capitol could have that much control over the pieces in the Arena made Phil shudder, "...That sounds disturbing to say the least. I can believe your strength but everything has a limit."

As soon as the cave was spotted, the guard studied the opening and checked it out before letting Sigma lead the way. He wasn't that keen on closed spaces, but this is what they needed if he was going to live a little longer. "Snug but I'm good...and no bugs, better."

Sigma rather enjoyed that (if unintentional) pun, and laughs quietly to himself. After so many years in isolation, he still enjoyed the simple things. "Yes, I could do without those. In these Arenas, everything is a potential threat. That aside, there weren't many bugs where I was from, and I am not fond of them..."

Sigma pulls his backpack from his shoulders and places it between them to give the both of them the benefit of a boundary. It was not an uncrossable line, of course; more reassurance that Sigma had no intention of getting too close with the weapons he hid in his bag. "So. I am not certain if you are aware- and if you are not, I do not intend to start off our alliance with bad news-" he chooses the word "alliance" carefully, as he knew friendship was often too strong a word for the partnerships that occurred in the Arenas- "But, you should know that there are consequences to not participating in the fight."

The mention of consequences made the guard sigh, "Figured...it is a fight to the death, after all."

Phillip was holding on that he wouldn't have to hurt anyone, or at least hold off the killing until there was no way out of it. And THEN he'd put up a good fight."What kind of consequences are you talking about though?" he swallowed for a moment, "Is this enough?" He had to admit, he was morbidly curious.

Sigma shakes his head gravely. Phillip already had the right idea. Idly, the old man inspects a zipper on his backpack, not wanting to meet Phillip's eyes when he tells him the truth. "You must put in an active effort, unfortunately." There is exhaustion in his voice. "Do you have anyone you care about at home, Phillip?" He doesn't mean for it to sound like one, but after a year of learning how a proper Capitolite behaved, it almost comes off like a threat.

The question is met with an almost perfect neutral expression, more so when Phil shakes his head. "Not in the technical sense. Parents are dead and I might as well be if they send me back." Hell, the only things he cared about back home were in fact the animatronics trying to kill him.

In the actual Games however, he probably should've kept his mouth shut. "B-But I understand what you mean. Do the effort...no one gets in trouble."

Sigma raises his eyebrow, wondering if he should feel relieved or sorry for a man with no loved ones for the Capitol to use against him. More than that, it appeared that Phillip may not be in the best of places, himself, at home... He will not make assumptions, but that interesting detail does not go unnoticed. "I am glad you understand. But as you may have already surmised, being dead does not bar someone from arriving here."

He lifts his eyes from his backpack and meets Phillip's gaze at last. "My first Arena, I decided not to kill, believing a pacifistic strategy might gain me allies. After my death, my son and his mother were selected as Tributes. They were both targeted by the Gamemakers and did not last long." The implication being that one of them had already passed before they arrived, but he does not go into detail. "Loved ones are not restricted to the Arena, either. After I decided to play the game as it was meant to be played, an old girlfriend of mine was brought here for a month. Afterwards, she..." He pretends to sound grateful. The Capitol paid no attention to subtlety, anyway. "...Was returned home safely." He smiles wryly. "Either way, it pays to be a real contender."

Sigma's story, especially that tiny, tiny detail of those he loved not being restricted to being dead, that unnerved Phillip to no end. The cyborg could probably see the color drain out of the younger man's skin. He couldn't bear the thought of those kids suffering all over again just because he couldn't commit to the Game. He still had to deal with the possibility of Foxy having been used in the last Arena.

"I-I see. They really do own us, don't they," he tried to keep a confident smile. But in the end, it was just like home. The Capitol was just more blatant in exerting its' control.

"Why are you telling me this? I appreciate it, sir, but...I'm the competition."

Sigma knows he has hit a nerve and in spite of his caring nature, he cannot help but feel some satisfaction at Phillip's reaction - it was proof enough that Phillip had a developed sense of empathy. Such a trait was surprisingly rare in the Arena. At the question, Sigma puts on a somewhat sinister smile. "Why would I help an enemy, hm? I suppose that would strike you as rather odd. One reason is that this will be my last Arena in the Hunger Games - if a new Tribute can make use of my advice going forward, I shall be very pleased, indeed. You see, soon I will be a Panemian citizen: above all, I desire an exciting game, and I could not stand to hear you refuse to participate."

Of course, he would say nothing about trying to evaluate the content of Phillip's character. If a Rebellion were going to rise and Tributes came and went, they would need to make sympathizers of the new players... "...As for why I have no desire to kill you, most Tributes despise me and nights are much easier to survive with a partner. Two can swap shifts between sleeping and playing watchmen - and I can bank on you being unable to slit my throat as I rest."

Edited 2015-03-04 03:11 (UTC)

"Huh, well shoot, that's a lot of trust and hype to live up to, Sir," Gray kid around with a smile, "But I can try to live up to it as best as I can." He wouldn't simply betray a Tribute that trusted him with his life, especially if the Tribute was already helping him in the first place. "After ten Arenas, retirement feels more than a little deserved don't you think?"

The guard may have his own personal demons and, if pushed by those who hurt a child in his presence, a manipulative streak a mile wide. But aside from that, he was as honest and blue-collar as Sigma would ever find. It wasn't because this was his first Arena and had never taken a life before. He went in like this after the five-year stint that was the haunted pizzeria and facing the murderous robots head on every night. The man's resolve was both endearing and maddening to those who knew him.

"You can rest assured, I don't need much sleep, I can manage the first turn."

"If you think that is hard to live with, wait until you meet your fanbase," Sigma tries to joke. It isn't funny, seeing as rabid fans of the Games were very unpleasant people. "In all seriousness, leaving will be a relief. But, who knows: I may yet live up to the stereotype of dying just before retirement." By which he meant something more permanent than the cycle of post-Arena ressurection, of course.

Unsuccessful humour attempted and failed, Sigma is back to business. "I was prepared to offer the first watch, but if you would prefer it, it is a waste of energy to argue. Do be sure to get enough sleep when you are able, though. You may yet end up looking like me."

...Now he's flushed the sarcasm out of his system.

The sarcasm was duly noted and it earned Sigma a knowing smirk, "I wish I could be as 'experienced' as you, sir. I'd lived a longer life than I have any right to." Whether Phil admitted it or not, gallows humor was his favorite way to deflect and argue.

The concept of a fanbase was...interesting for Phillip to say the least. "That's an actual thing? With Tributes?" he asked as he shifted towards the entrance of their makeshift hideout, "Even newbies?" He wasn't that confident about his own public persona, simply because he was used to being behind the scenes even as a manager.

Sigma can't prevent an embarrassed blush from forming on his cheeks. That all but confirmed that Phillip was dead at home, and Sigma's joke had been rather insensitive in light of that fact. At least Phillip seemed to be taking it in stride.

"Ah... I suppose that would be the case..." he mutters sheepishly. He's grateful for another question to answer. "Oh, yes. We are regular characters to these people. A handsome young man such as yourself is bound to have some immediate admirers..." Sigma smirks knowingly. "Who knows? You may get some valuable survival gifts out of it. Or, perhaps, you'll find your face plastered on the side of a cologne advertisement. Either way, prepare yourself for the attention." Sigma had always found the advertisements he'd been in as an overwhelming invasion of his privacy, and thought Phillip would want to be warned beforehand.

Phillip could see the discomfort the admittance caused in Sigma so he just shrugged and said, "I accepted my death when it happened, I wasn't careful. And I long realized that if it happened, it was my fault. You don't hafta feel bad, sir."

Strangely enough, death was a more comfortable subject for the former phone guy than it was to be regarded as a celebrity. "I can accept th-the gifts just fine! The ads...don't they have their own for that? Stars, models, you know?! Thanks for the head's up, because I'm trying to figure things out here, the Capitol is a whole other can of worms. Especially...bidding."

That one terrified Phil to no end: whatever power of choice he had here? Taken again.

Sigma stares at the floor as Phillip answers, deeply unsettled. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be confronted with the permanent death of someone so young. Even approaching the age of 70, Sigma considered himself too young to die - mistake or not, how could Phillip possibly be at peace with himself?! He decides not to let the topic resurface, and continues on: "Unfortunately, Mr. Gray, we are their stars," Sigma answers with a wry smile. As for bidding, even Sigma can't help but shake his head disapprovingly. "I haven't heard of Tributes in this generation of the Games being bid on," he answers neutrally. He watches Phillip's expression, hoping the other man saw the warning in Sigma's eyes. Perhaps it wasn't so foolish to reject the victor's crown, after all...

Edited 2015-03-21 01:50 (UTC)

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voiceinthephone - 2015-03-21 19:33 (UTC) - Expand

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