blueeyedflyboy (blueeyedflyboy) wrote in strangergamesrp, @ 2012-07-26 19:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | balfour vallet, closed, gin charlie, log |
[Log] Arrival
*
Who: Gin Charlie, Balfour Vallet
When: July 13th
Where: The Infirmary
What: Balfour arrives! Gin Charlie gives him the lowdown on this strange new world.
Warnings: Swearing
Open or Closed: Closed
Observable: No
*
Gin Charlie slipped into the room and leaned against the wall, loosely crossing his tattooed arms over his bare chest. He had been called quickly to deal with this new one, and hadn’t had time to put on a shirt....or his collar that marked him as an Other. He out of all of them did not need it, for he’d been around before the collars. But the Scientists thought it fairer if he was not seen by newcomers without it.
Well, nothing for it now. Other things had to be dealt with, such as the problem of a large and grouchy dragon with a toothache.
Gin Charlie was just glad he wasn’t dealing with that.
There was a chair by the stretcher, but Gin Charlie ignored it and leaned against the wall. He eyed the monitoring screens and waited for this newest arrival to wake up.
Balfour had been listening for newcomers, laying quietly as people walked in and out, but never really spent much time worrying about him. When Gin Charlie walked up and leaned against the wall, his eyes fluttered open and he shifted a little to see who was there, what they were doing. When he realized that the man seemed to be waiting on him, he sat up and stretched, offering a small smile.
“Ah, hello,” Balfour said softly, offering an awkward wave, then scratching at his collar. “Can I help you?”
Not really, he thought, considering he was the newcomer. It was only polite to ask, though.
Gin Charlie snorted. A little surprising this one was up so quickly, but there was no telling what resistances or bodily composition he had...he looked fairly human, at least. “No. I could probably help you, though.” His lips turned up in a smile - it wasn’t exactly a pretty expression and showed crooked teeth with a gap where one had been knocked loose, creasing up his wrinkled and scarred face. “You’re one of the calm ones. I like that.”
“I see no reason to be...well, anything other than patient.” Balfour frowned a little. Did these people deal with angry newcomers a lot, then? Was being here something he should have been worried about?
Well, yes, in a way, it was. He was certainly not home, but it was nothing to throw a fit over. Better to get information first.
“Would you mind terribly telling me where I am?”
“Welcome to Pacis Urbs,” Gin Charlie told him, calmly, smile falling away to calm blankness.
“And where exactly is that?” Balfour asked softly, looking down at the ground, then back up at the man, eyebrows knitting together as he observed him, really took in the man’s figure, his tattoos, his face.
And then he shook his head and looked at his hands once more, trying to think about things other than the lighting in this room, or how uncomfortable this surface--was it a cot?--was.
“And why am I here?”
“You’re here because the Machine brought you here,” Gin Charlie recited. “You’ve been brought from your world to this one.”
“And why is that?” Balfour asked oh so calmly, as if he had been through this a million times before. But he hadn’t, and he was starting to get nervous. He tugged at a finger, then looked off to the side once more, meeting the man’s eyes.
Gin Charlie rolled a shrug. “Hell if I know. They say it’s because they can’t shut her down, but whether or not that’s the fucking truth, only the sacrificed god knows.”
That wasn’t very helpful, but all Balfour could do was thin his lips and nod a little bit, intertwining his fingers, then twist his hands.
“So, what is this Pacis Urbs?” he asked quietly. “What...what is this place like?”
“A great city with some damn confused architecture. Too many cultural influences. You’re not likely to see much of it. Others like us are confined to the Ludus, this facility, for the native’s fuckin’ peace of mind and our own goddamned safety.” Gin Charlie smiled again, and it was not a pleasant smile either - it was darkly amused. He remembered.
“You’ve been brought here, and the Scientists can send you back, but it costs a hell of a lot of money to do it. If you work around here, you can get back faster.”
“Okay, what kind of work?” Balfour asked, nodding a little bit. He didn’t understand why someone would have kidnapped him to some strange place with confused architecture, to quote the old man, but he was certainly glad it was ‘possible’ to get out.
Well, it might not have been possible, but he was being told so, thus he thought it best to pretend like he believed him. He’d heard of slaves before, read about them, researched them. He didn’t think the Ke-Han used them anymore, nor did Volstov...and this man certainly didn’t look Ke-han.
He squirmed in discomfort.
“If you can fight, you can go into the Games. If you can’t fight, you can work in the club. If you can’t do that, well, hell, there’s always chores that need doing.” Gin Charlie shrugged.
“I must admit, I’m not the greatest fighter,” Balfour said shyly, shrugging a little bit. “So I suppose I am better off with the club or other jobs. Do you have one that involves cooking? I quite enjoy that.”
He smiled softly at this man, suddenly remembering himself and offering his hand. “My name’s Balfour, by the way.”
“Well, in the Domus you can bartend or serve. Here in the dorms you can cook or clean, mostly.” Though he had Sophie and she did a hell of a job cleaning. He liked the woman. “I’m Gin Charlie. I’m Master of the Dorms.”
“Ah, well, it’s nice to meet you.” Balfour nodded a little bit and folded his hands back on his lap, looking around for a moment. “I believe I shall look into the cooking job, if not the serving one. I suppose it is nice to have options.”
He sighed, stretching, rolling his stiff shoulders once more. “And what of this fighting? Is it mandatory?”
“Depends on the match,” Gin Charlie grunted. “We’ve got a job for damn near everybody. We can find one for you too. Anything else you want to know?” Moving along. They had things to do - or at least, he did.
This man seemed in a hurry, so Balfour shook his head, asking one last question before letting him get on with his life.
“You mentioned dorms. How does one go about getting a room?” he asked softly. “I’m sorry to have so many questions. I just...like knowing what I’m getting into.”
“If you’re done asking questions for now, I’ll take you to your room,” Gin Charlie answered. “All your shit you arrived with is in there, and any weapons will be in the locker there.”
“Yes, you have answered my questions,” Balfour said, slipping off of the table and cringing a little at the cold floor under his feet. That would make his feet and calves hurt later, certainly. “Thank you very much.”
Gin Charlie grunted and pushed away from the wall. For a man who looked so old, he moved smooth and clean, with the grace of a trained fighter. His feet in their soft moccasins were silent, and he lead the way out past the curtain and into the tiled hall of the infirmary. Two medics passed by, wearing the long white robes with their green sashes.
Gin Charlie glanced back to be sure Balfour was following him before he started down the hall.
Balfour followed him, padding quietly down the hall, his fingers dragging along the wall as his head turned almost ceaselessly. He was mapping the place out in his mind, noting lights, turns, tiles, posters, anything and everything that could help him find the place again. He never knew where he would need to go again.
And anyway, this could be enemy territory--thus the collars--or something could happen and he would need to escape.
“Why do we have collars?” he asked after a while, his fingers reaching to touch the metal around his neck.
Gin Charlie punched the button for the elevator and leaned against the wall, waiting. “That’s the control system. All the Others wear them. Or an alternate version of them.” Except for him, but he did try to wear it occasionally. Just so no-one got the wrong idea.
“I see. Control for what?” Balfour asked softly, stepping up to wait on the other side of the elevator, twisting his fingers together. He looked up at the other man, mouth opening to ask a question before he clearly thought better of it and looked away once more.
“Keep your powers in check. If you go berserker they can bring you down without a fuss.” Gin Charlie stepped into the elevator and held the door for Balfour. “Ask, I might as well fuckin’ answer while I’m here.”
“Powers?” Balfour asked, having gotten distracted as he stepped into the elevator, looking rather closely at the buttons, and then the box itself. “Are there many magicians here? And what is this box for?” His fingers ghosted along the button panel, but he didn’t dare press anything, looking at Gin Charlie instead.
He would not ask about his gloves, he decided. He wasn’t a child, after all. The man had said that anything he came here with would be in his room, so they would be there. If they weren’t, then he could ask.
“It’s an elevator. Transport.” Gin Charlie reached over and poked a button, leaning around the younger man briskly. “You will be living on the third floor. The infirmary is down in the basement,” he instructed.
As the elevator began to move, Gin Charlie leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “There are magicians and more among the Others. We have creature who are nowhere near fuckin’ human.” He paused, and added, “The dorm rules are simple. No fighting, and no killing anyone without damn good reason. And ‘he was looking at me funny’ is not a good reason.”
Balfour couldn’t help but to laugh a little bit at the man’s words, shaking his head. That phrase sounded so incredibly familiar. Too much so, to be honest. It was one of Rook’s--one of the nastier men in the Corps--favorite phrases.
“Well, you will probably be relieved to know I’m not that kind of man,” he said softly, leaving a smile for the gentleman. “Where do I go to sign up for these jobs? Not that I’m overanxious or something, but...” He sighed and shrugged a little. “I don’t know. I just don’t like being useless, and knowing what I’m supposed to do will help.”
“You sign up at my office,” Gin Charlie answered. “You can take a few days to get settled before you decide anything, if you want.”
The elevator swayed and Gin Charlie frowned at it. Was it going to be acting up again? Dammit he hoped not.
“Thank you,” he said, still smiling, but the smile faded quickly when the elevator started to sway. He put a hand against the wall and looked around, frowning a little bit.
“Is it meant to do this?” he asked softly.
“Not always.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Gin Charlie stepped out into the third floor lobby. A lovely woman with miniscule pearly scales instead of skin blinked inky black eyes at him, and stepped onto the elevator as he left it, her long embroidered cheongsam rustling softly. Gin Charlie waited for Balfour to join him.
The statement only made Balfour frown deeply, and he followed Gin Charlie out, glancing at the woman with scales. He had been taught young to not stare and he valued himself in that skill. Even still, it was hard not to take a subtle second glance at her. She really was beautiful and certainly out of the ordinary.
“Well, at least I am off of it. Are there stairs, by chance?” he asked, careful to be polite about it. He didn’t want to insult the technology here, especially since he didn’t understand what he had encountered thus far.
“No. Too many ‘accidental falls.’ ” Five flights down was more than enough to kill a man, at least, and people had taken to hanging themselves off the railings. Or hanging others. Gin Charlie was glad he no longer had to police the stairs. He gestured.
“Kitchen, that door. Training areas, there. My office, this way.”
Deciding he didn’t really want to know what Gin Charlie meant by ‘accidental falls’, he merely nodded and walked along behind him. He made sure to make a note where the kitchen was, fingers still dragging along the wall.
“The training area’s for the occasionally-mandatory fights?” he asked, frowning a little bit as he made a note of this. More the occasionally-mandatory part than where the training area was. He was going to have to work out more if he was going to be here.
“No, training areas are for whoever wants them. The Games are in the big arenas.” Gin Charlie paused and pointed to his office. The door had sign-up sheets tacked all over it. “My office.”
He walked over and entered his office. He emerged moments later with a bottle of gin in hand, already open as he took a hard pull at the bottle. He politely offered it to Balfour as well, though he didn’t expect the quiet kid to take it.
He nodded when Charlie corrected him, still following, still touching every damn thing within half an arm’s length. He was glad when they paused at the office, following the older man just to the door, then staring at the sign-up sheets, reading each one, the purpose, the time, the names. He wouldn’t remember much of it, but it would be nice to recognize names and put them with jobs later.
He was caught by surprise when he was offered the bottle of gin, smiling a little. “Ah, thank you,” he said, taking it and taking a swig without even coughing before handing it back. It was enough to be polite, yet it wouldn’t get him drunk.
Then again, he sort of felt like he was in some sort of drunken dream right now, which made him wonder what the other men had put in his food this time.
Gin Charlie smirked as he took the bottle back. “I think you’ll make it, kid,” he said, with a rusty chuckle, and headed into the commons. There was a rowdy bunch watching a broadcasted Game, and a pair of catgirls playing poker on one of the couches. Gin Charlie crossed the tartan shag carpet without paying attention to the others. “This is the commons. The dorm hall is here.”
“I certainly hope so,” Balfour said with a quiet little chuckle, his cheeks darkening a shade or two as he walked into the commons, eyes immediately going to the different people in the room, then back to the man he was following.
“Thank you for showing me around,” he murmured, wondering if the tour was over or if he was going to assign him a room as well. He wasn’t overly eager for the tour to be over. He was not comfortable there, and though he didn’t expect to be comfortable yet. “Does this place have a map? Just to look at for a minute or two.”
“No. It doesn’t.” Gin Charlie shrugged and led the way into the tiled hall, with rows of doors down either side. He walked along, taking sips from his gin, until he found Balfour’s name on the plaque by the door. He stopped. “This is your room. The laundry room is at the very end of this hall.”
He gestured with the gin bottle. “Oh. One more thing. Don’t fuck with the drones.”
Balfour was disappointed to find that it didn’t have a map, deciding that he would probably have to sketch one out. Then he chuckled slightly when he realized that he would already know the place by the time he sketched out a map, so it wouldn’t even be worth the effort.
He was about to thank him again when the man mentioned drones. That term caught his attention, causing him to tilt his head a little and frown. “What are drones?” he asked.
“They’re...” Gin Charlie stopped as the laundry room door opened and a drone came shuffling out, carrying an empty basket. Gin Charlie whistled at it, then made an odd little clicking noise. The drone perked up and bobbled over, coming to stand attentively (and somewhat hopefully) before Gin Charlie. It was obviously a mechanical creature, wearing a heavy dark brown concealing robe with a hood. It held the basket in its hands carefully.
“These are drones. Don’t break them, lock them in closets, or otherwise abuse them, or I will fuck you up.” He turned to the drone. “Run along now.”
It nodded and shuffled away, still clutching its basket.
“Oh,” Balfour said in understanding when he saw them, then putting his face in his hands as the rules concerning the drones were explained.
“I would ask why such rules are needed, but I lived with thirteen men who would do just that and worse, including putting paper mache breasts on them,” he muttered, shaking his head in near disbelief, sighing quietly. “I see no need to do such a thing, thankfully. They seem nice enough, and as I don’t see them breaking me or locking me in closets, I see no need to do so to them, myself.”
Which said something about him. He wouldn’t bother anything that didn’t bother him. And usually not even those things that did bother him. Until he reached his breaking point, that was.
“Good. This is your room, you can tell the drones to clean it or tell them not to bother. All your clothes and shit are in there. You need me, come to my office.” Gin Charlie took a long pull at his alcohol. “Any last questions, kid?”
“No, thank you very much,” Balfour said softly, heading in and immediately looking for his gloves, pulling them onto his hands, then turning to grin and wave at Charlie, closing the door to get his clothing on and get out of the hospital clothing.
If one thing hadn’t changed, it was that those were terribly uncomfortable. Needless to say, though, he was glad to have his gloves back.
Gin Charlie snorted, turned, and left. This kid would do well enough on his own. There was some sterner stuff under there than it seemed at first.