[PSL - Hunger Games testdrive with Howard]

[kassquit]

Just when she thought the Race had accounted for every act of depravity the Tosevites were capable of, they trotted out...this. A civilization - she was being very generous to label this particular Tosevite group a "civilization" - who pitted non-citizens in fights to the death, as entertainment. Barbarians, the lot of them!

Kassquit, of course, was horrified. She didn't have a tail-stump like a proper member of the Race to quiver in rage - she could, however, stiffen and draw herself up to her full Big Ugly height. It didn't seem to impress the wild Big Uglies as much as she hoped.

The alarming part was the level of technology. She didn't understand how she was here. One minute she had been safely in her cramped quarters back on the starship, then she was here, lights popping and flashing in her face as she recoiled back with a hiss of dismay. The air that hit her wasn't the too-hot temperatures back home; compared to that, this was a blast of much colder air, her skin raising in strange bumps as she was herded - yes, that was the word - herded away to be poked and prodded.

They hadn't liked her hair. She could understand that much as they kept running their hands through it and tugging at it and jabbering away.

From what she could gather, it wasn't because she had hair at all - the Race researchers found body hair disgusting, especially the new growth on her head she decided to let go unshaven - but because it didn't look the way they wanted. They tugged at the tangles, Kassquit unable to help the instinctive liquid forming from her eyes.

"Stop that!" She found her voice. Kassquit put as much authority into it as her status as Junior Researcher permitted and perhaps a little bit more. "Enough! You will return me to the nearest Race embassy!"

She even tacked an extremely emphatic cough, loud and imperious and far more demanding than she would've dared with the Race. The female Big Ugly had looked at her with a baring of teeth she knew was a Tosevite smile, and then treated her as if she was ill. It only got worse from there once Kassquit was made to understand what she was here for. The videos they showed were downright disgusting. If she had developed the facial ability to curl her lip in horror, she would have. Kassquit's face remained frozen as she watched Big Uglies fight and kill each other - were ranked! - and then given the typical gaudy Tosevite celebrations.

She had to get out of here. Kassquit wasn't quite sure how, yet. First thing was finding out where she was, then reporting this place. (It was almost one of those places she thought deserved an explosive-metal bomb). Maybe they were related to the Deutsche: their practices seemed to have some similarities, thinking back to what she saw of the Race's horrified reports about that particular not-empire.

As soon as she was free to mingle with the other Big Uglies who had been "chosen", Kassquit immediately strode to the closest one: a shorter male, with much darker skin than the Yeagers and very little hair to speak of. If it wasn't for the slight stubble, he would have almost been respectably bald.

"You there." She came right at him with the usual directness of the Race. "I must talk with you now."

She didn't bother calling him "superior sir" or even thinking it, like she did with the Race. This Big Ugly (Small Ugly?) had no rank body paint to speak of. From what she gathered, most Tosevites didn't. It did make propriety difficult. She peered down at him, taking in his mobile face (compared to normal people - people being the Race) and the fact he seemed more comfortable with the Tosevite body-wrappings than she felt. Kassquit couldn't quite place it on a fingerclaw, but somehow this Small Ugly gave off the impression of being almost as good at skittering places as the Race.

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[iselldrugstothecommunity]

For the most part, Howard's been watching and keeping to himself. He knows the competition is sizing him up on first sight and he can't really do anything to dispel their assessment of him as weak, scared and scrawny. Honestly, he doesn't want to argue their assumption, because if anything tipping his hand about his wilderness skills just means that he'll make a target of himself. Better to be written off from the start, and no one seems to find it odd that the skinny short kid is avoiding all the bigger, stronger tributes.

He's curled up on a bench in the training room, watching the others under the guise of being distracted by a piece of rope they're supposed to practice making snares with. He gives away that he isn't as apathetic as he appears when Kassquit approaches, because there's no startlement when she tries to order him around, just a vague surprise and annoyance that she's so blunt about it.

He's already noticed that she's weird. He catches the way she doesn't use body language like a normal person, the way she hisses, how she carries herself as if affronted to be here and expecting authority instead of scared or rebellious like everyone else. He doesn't know what to make of that, though.

"Yeah? What about, 'how to not be a freak' lessons?"

And the Games haven't exactly softened his already spiky personality. It may be a reality show cliche, but he isn't here to make friend. That's just begging to be duped, or to give yourself conflicted emotions later, and he wants to keep this as simple as possible. There's only so much of a human's brain that can be used at a time and he'd rather the pursuit of survival not have any distractions.

He glances up from the rope he's tying - he's trying to look as if he doesn't know what he's doing, so he's made an outsized cat's cradle rather than a snare. He just hopes he doesn't hang himself on this strategy.

Hah, hah.

[kassquit]

The skin at the corner of Kassquit’s eyes tightens in annoyance, one of the rare signs of emotion from her she can’t stop. He couldn’t know it, but he hit a sore spot in the scales she doesn’t have – she knows the researchers thought of her as a freak themselves, even though she did everything she could to act and look like one of them. Other than that, her face is as expressionless as before.

“You are a Tosevite,” Kassquit tries to be patient as she belabors the obvious. She also tries to ignore the feeling of the bodywrappings itching at her knees and elbows – her very first “clothes”– and wonders briefly how this fellow Big Ugly can manage. All she knows is he is just about as cynical as the males of the conquest fleet, complete with that sharp, biting sarcasm. “You must know where I can find a telephone at the very least. I’m Kassquit, a Junior Researcher of the Race. Obviously I don’t belong here.”

Looking around, she hasn’t spotted a single member of the Race at all. It’s disheartening to be in a land with no people at all, only bloodthirsty barbarians such as these. It’s also equally odd to hear the mushy sounding words coming out of this Big Ugly’s mouth and be able to understand him – even the Race doesn’t have translator technology like this! She doesn’t need to have more elaborate body-paint to know what this means: it means trouble. As big trouble as when the wild Big Uglies began to poke their squashed snouts into orbit where they had no place being. Kassquit turns back to this dark-skinned Tosevite, her eyes dropping down to take in whatever he’s up to. Unlike many of the others in this training room, he doesn’t seem to be launching himself into the weapons like it’s second nature. In fact, she can’t tell what he’s doing. Somehow ropes and knot-tying never came up in her education.

“What is that?” Kassquit finally gives into her curiosity. “That thing in your hands? What are you doing?”

She tilts her head, bird-like. The Big Ugly is much smaller than the majority of the others here. Perhaps he’s seen these “Hunger Games” before. (She resists the urge to point out Games such as this would never be allowed in the Empire). Kassquit stoops down so she can better see what he’s doing. Unlike Howard, it hasn’t occurred to her at all to show a weak or strong front or any front at all. Her eyes go up from his hands to his face, trying to read him and finding it difficult.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"A what?" Whatever it is, it sounds Russian, and a bit like a hawk proclaiming to an ant 'you are an insect'. Generally you don't go around slapping labels on people unless you believe yourself to be both above and outside of the category. "And oh, yeah, I totally snuck a cell phone in, they just took it when they strip-searched me and put me in this stupid X2 outfit like they did everyone here."

The truth is, he's reacting with fear, but the way it comes out around strangers is anger. The more subtle symptoms of anxiety are, as always with him, present in his body language: the twitch in his fingers, the dark blots on his lips that betray picking, the glances he keeps casting around at the other tributes. But fear is not a comfortable outfit, and as such he'd rather pretend it's irritation, indignation, anything but terror slowed down from an explosion to a dull, ceaseless roar.

"It's wire. Duh, Casket." He untangles his hands and tosses it to her feet. She may have given out her name, along with a title that means less than nothing to him, as easily as a business card, but he's more liable to turn over the string than return the favor. She mentioned that she was a Junior Researcher, but he remains to be impressed by her data-collecting skills.

But maybe everyone's just a little on edge out here. He watches another Tribute out of the corner of his eye shove a smaller one up against the wall before some guards come and break it up. No bloodshed until the Arena, that's the rule. Which is stupid, Howard thinks - if they're going to get everyone all hopped up on aggression, they might as well expect a few casualties before the gongs even go off.

[kassquit]

"I believe you call yourselves 'humans' in your languages." Kassquit says.

This Tosevite mangles her name very, very badly, making it almost as ugly as he is. Kassquit rolls the word “wire” around in her mouth silently as she tries it on for size, not sure what “duh” is supposed to entail, and she is unable to decide how much of his words are sarcasm and truth. It’s refreshing in a way not to know. The conventional males and females of the Race are so literal that half the time they can’t tell when you’re only pulling on their tail stumps. Now she finds herself in the same place with this odd, dark little Tosevite.

“They must keep your possessions somewhere, in the rare event you survive,” Kassquit insists. “That is, I – ”

She cuts off at the commotion to the side, turning to take it in. Unlike a proper female, she can’t simply flick one eye-turret back and keep the other on Howard – her whole head has to turn and it doesn’t occur to her to do anything but stop and stare. More Big Uglies being, well, Big Uglies. They’re always fighting about something. She can’t explain it, that feeling of something electric in the air as if there’s something wrong with the air scrubbers, and with her lack of experience with Wild Tosevites, she can hardly say if this is natural or something else. All she knows is on an instinctive level her body seems to be reacting to it. Her palms are warm and moist with more of that disgusting “sweat” secretion her species produces as she reaches down to pick up the wire.

“I fail to see the point of these games. Nothing ever stopped you Big Uglies from finding excuses to kill each other before.” Her voice is matter-of-fact. Will Tosev 3 revolve around its star? Will its aliens always find new, creative ways to wipe each other out? Somehow she doubts it. It’s the one constant on a world with none. “Why were you chosen?”

That, she thinks, is a decent enough question. The how of it concerns her too, but the why is also important. If Kassquit could understand the whys, maybe she can work with that. This male strikes her as facetious but nowhere as violent as the others. Maybe she can work with him too. In any other circumstance she would even enjoy the novelty of someone new, someone so vastly different from the typical person that it’s a breath of fresh air.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Yeah, when they decide to give me my stuff back, I'll let you know." Given that he's coated that in more sarcasm than anything else he's said thus far, it's fairly evident that he believes he's never going to see any of those things again. You probably only get them back if you win, and Howard doubts he'll be winning anything; even if he does, Kassquit won't be around to share the tale with, as she'll be necessarily dead.

He hums that My Chemical Romance song about "mama, we're going to die" under his breath as they watch the commotion. The guards pull the larger tribute off the smaller one, and even though they came in quickly, Howard can see that the younger boy received a bloody injury to the eye. He makes a mental note for later, when they're in the arena. It's useful to keep track of any and every weakness, in case it can be exploited.

"I was chosen because God hates me." It's as likely an explanation as anything else. He doesn't see the point in trying to reason his way through it, but if she does he supposes that's a legitimate enough coping mechanism. He just cares less about the why and more about the what next of it all. "But the point is to be entertaining. Have people root for you. Have people want you not to die, so they send you stuff so you can make other kids die instead."

It's all so cynical. He twists his mouth to the side a bit, watching a handler swoop in and try to chastise the tribute who started the fight. He looks over at Kassquit, too, at the way she seems less surprised with the violence than with her own response to it. Maybe she has problems with panic, he thinks, like he does. They wouldn't be the only ones here. Who knows?

[kassquit]

So he’s another one of the false believers. It's not surprising. From what she knows, most Tosevites cling to their own nonsense beliefs instead of acknowledging the true Emperor…although she isn’t sure why this mythical Big Ugly would single out one out of many to punish. Aside from being small, squirrely and cynical, this one doesn’t strike her as particularly special or evil.

She draws herself up ramrod straight at this Big Ugly’s words. “Disgusting,” she repeats again. “Where are the other not-empires during this? I understand some of them are loud about things such as ‘human rights’. Why are they not here to stop this?”

Perhaps, a part of herself thinks, this is where they send their unwanted. It’s not unheard of with Tosevites. It’s times like this that Kassquit is revolted to share the same species with them, even if it’s by unlucky chance. She even wonders if this Big Ugly has ever had the same thoughts. Sometimes they could surprise you by acting civilized one moment, then completely alien the next. The…maneuver her companion pulls with his face, his pushed-in snout squishing and pulling at his mouth, is fascinatingly odd to watch. Judging from his words earlier, she assumes it’s most likely an expression of distaste. Maybe.

It hasn’t sunk in until now that she could actually die here until she watches the Tosevites brutalize each other before the Games have even started. Somehow it was different watching it from a screen, telling herself it was more propaganda that the not-empires used. The only time she thought she would die was when that Deutsche pilot tried to attack her ship – being nearly atomized wasn’t the same as being killed slowly, brutally, with an audience gambling on you outlasting their other victims. The sheer barbarity of the situation makes her long for her cramped cubicle back on the ship.

“Will something like this make the audience root for you?” Kassquit demands, stabbing her finger at the wire in her hand. It’s still looped together in the strange formation the Big Ugly was making earlier. “I want them to like me.”

If she’d had any more experience with being human, she would know better then to show all her cards to Howard. Lucky for him she hasn't caught on.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Well, generally, the people whining about human rights are the ones who are weak enough people are taking them away in the first place. So they're easy to squish." At least, that's Howard's ken of the situation. He isn't exactly an expert in human relations, except for what he's observed in the FAYZ, which mostly reinforces his belief that human rights are a luxury that get cast aside around the same time proper manners and hygiene go.

Unlike Kassquit, Howard has already resigned himself to being unable to change the circumstances at all. He's been like that for a while now, more intent on exploiting the situation than altering it; he's only ever encountered resistance to the latter. Thriving in the gutter has served him well this long, and this will be no different.

He looks down at the wire in her hands. "Just playing with wire? No, they'll get bored of that. They want blood and guts, sex appeal, and then they want saps like us to be there for the cool kids to pick off."

He tilts his head at her, as if thinking about something. "But if I were watching you on TV, I'd play up the weirdness. Be like, quirky, unique. Someone other weird people can root for."

He thinks it's probably better not to underestimate her - if she doesn't pick up on normal human cues, then odds are she isn't going to 'play fair' by normal human standards - so he doesn't want to give away too much. And in a deathmatch, any advantage someone else gets is something that can be used to hurt him. But there does seem to be something inherently unfair in putting someone so unused to human society at all in a game like this.

[kassquit]

For being a Big Ugly, Kassquit finds herself unable to argue with some of his logic (if you ignore the other foolish bits). At least he recognizes the hypocrisy in human rights. Of course things could be different if Tosev 3 was probably integrated with the Empire, but until then there’s…this. These Games, the latest horror from this planet. Right now she wishes more than anything that a fighting force of males would storm the place, take it by force and pacify it until you couldn’t recognize it. At least this Big Ugly is being honest with her. Kassquit appreciates it more than she wants to admit.

She fixes him with all her attention, both eye-turrets worth, as he tells her what needs to be done. Blood and guts, she’s not sure she can manage. Fighting isn’t in her; she’s only seen combat from the news logs on the computer. She’s lived a well fed, cramped, and (looking back on it), boring life. In fact, she has no idea what it’s like to be hungry. If Kassquit has any say in it – she’s suspecting she has about as much say as this Big Ugly, which is none – she wouldn’t be there to “pick off” at all.

Sex appeal, though. Maybe she can manage that. She files away “sex appeal” as something to ask around about later. For all she knows, this is how her companion plans to make people like him.

After all, he did come up with the plan first.

“Weirdness?” Kassquit echoes. She’s not following. “What about – ”

The ding signaling the end of training interrupts her before she can grill the Big Ugly for any more useful tips, Kassquit blowing out a frustrated breath. The other tributes put away their weapons and tools as they line to be collected and herded. Kassquit purses her lips into a straight disapproving line.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Be outrageous. Keep people guessing what you'll do next," he says, before they're herded up.

His fellow Tribute from his district is a girl much taller and heavier than him, and from the outset he's decided he doesn't want to ally with her. She seems to like being solo, for one, and she's not very good-looking, for another, and he suspects that being pretty gets you more sponsor gifts, especially if you're a girl. He doesn't have size and strength to spare, but that's also something she could use against him.

As it stands, when in the larger group or separated into district's Howard gets fairly quiet again. His district's suite is only a floor above Kassquit's, a fact he notices when they're all bundled into elevators and sent to their own sections of the tower. Given that he wants nothing to do with his fellow district representative, he may as well visit the weird one, once dinner's over.

As usual, he eats the provided Capitol food until he's sick. His Escort chastises him about table manners but he ignores her. Out in the arena the odds of having a full meal are low, so if he wants to stuff himself here he can't see it as being anything but a clever way to stock up on body fat for the upcoming adventures. His district teammate seems to have similar ideas, and that remains the only way they bond - both shoveling food into their faces across a table from each other, not talking.

That night, rather than sleep, Howard sneaks out and down the stairwell, where he plays with a lighter that he's sure will be confiscated before the games in the next few days. After that eventually loses its appeal, he wanders to the suite on the floor below him, and knocks on the door to Kassquit's district.

[kassquit]

The door takes a moment to open. When it does, he’s greeted with Kassquit’s impassive mask of a face: the harried look in her eyes betrays her and it becomes clear why when another Big Ugly sways into view behind her. His own face is flushed with red splotches, eyes unfocused. Kassquit tries her best to ignore him stumbling around trying to find the couch as she regards Howard as if they’re not only days away from trying to kill each other. She’d love to say she could keep one eye turret on the Tosevite staggering behind her, just in case, but she was born unlucky and a Big Ugly like these two.

She hadn’t seen the appeal of that red drink. Her teammate begged to differ. With the reflexes he has now, it makes her wonder how deadly he could possibly be during the Games.

At least Howard is infinitely better company than her district teammate.

“Ah. You. Greetings, Howard,” Kassquit says, relief bleeding into her voice. “Come in.”

After her encounter the other day, she made it a point to find out more about the Small Ugly she talked to. Now she has his name. It's nice and short, and not full of nonsense. She likes it. Ho-ward. Rolls off the tongue.

She steps back to let the dark-skinned Tosevite into the suite. It’s much, much bigger than anything she’s seen back home in the ship, excess personified: too big halls, the ceiling vaulting up and for once, she doesn’t have to stoop to use any of the facilities here. While she doesn’t mind that part, the rest makes Kassquit feel uneasy and exposed. Howard, however, seems to be much more at ease with the dimensions of the building.

Kassquit walks back into the suite, the silk robes they gave her sweeping at her ankles and making her want to mince away every time they did that. Clothes. She knows why they’re there, in theory. Without scales, Big Uglies need clothes for protection, for climate control. These don’t seem to serve any purpose as far as she can tell, even if her Escort kept making strange cooing sounds at the color. It takes every ounce of self-control not to shed it like she wishes she could shed her own skin. Instead Kassquit folds herself into a sitting position at the empty table, sitting ramrod straight and waiting for Howard to make himself comfortable.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard looks at the other Tribute and wrinkles his nose. "You really want to be going into these matches hungover?" he asks, not expecting an answer to his unsolicited criticism. For all his illegal activities, he's never been much a fan of drinking so much as getting others drunk. The lack of control, the taste, the aftereffects - some people might find it to be a release, but he hates every bit of it.

He still remembers what it's like to have a drunk best friend bash his nose in. It's not the other Tributes fault, but the memory alone casts a sour shade on the already distasteful notion of interacting with another potential victim or murderer.

While he's much more at ease here than Kassquit is, there's still an element of being displaced. This level of luxury is not only one he's unused to, but one that reminds him of the class status he was only dimly aware of as a teenager. The people of the Capitol have the kind of money his family would have wanted to send him to a better school, maybe one where he wouldn't act out so much. He keeps tugging at the sleeves of his fancy new Tribute outfit too, trying to get them to lay flat, and casting his eyes up to the vaulted ceiling as if surprised that there's empty space there.

He follows Kassquit, taking in how uniform this suite is with his. Everything the same. It's strange - for as much as the stylists try to sell them as people, there's really no consideration for them as individuals. No consideration for how much they might not want to die, or kill each other, or any of that.

"How you holding up, Casket?"