ArchivedLogs:MORE MEAT

MORE MEAT
Dramatis Personae Peter, Imani
In Absentia	2013-05-14 (Part of Thunderdome.)
Location Thunderdome
It's a basement, somewhere, that much is clear from the slightly musty-cool feel, the lack of windows, the stark-bare cement decor. What purpose this place originally served is hard to discern; something industrial, judging by the heavy reinforced eyelet hooks still set into the ceiling, now devoid of any loads to bear. Of late the place has been repurposed, though. Around two parallel edges of the room, sturdy cells have been constructed, heavy reinforced metal segmenting off large cage-like cells. The enclosures are largely identical: two sets of bunk beds with pillows, thin sheets, identical grey wool blankets. A pair of large covered bedpans, a bucket usually filled with fresh-ish water. The center of the room is divided in two. One half is large and open, a spacious expanse of cement floor and emptiness. The other half holds long trestle-tables, long benches, both riveted into the cement floor. The ceiling -- of the room, of the cages -- hold very noticeable dark security-camera bubbles. There is one door leading out of here, heavy steel that is securely chained and barred from the outside. It is - sometime after breakfast. /Lunchtime/, probably. Trays are being passed out; Peter has already snatched one. And is now in the process of scavenging for extra meats from various sources, quickly delivering them to the trays of two blue twins who look - kind of sharkish. Near the end of his scavenging run, he's starting to gravitate toward people he's never tried to scavenge from before - new faces, new fighters - mingling to see if any of them don't need their meats. Filing their faces away for /future/ meat-scavengings. Which brings him to Imani - he approaches the woman near the end of his run, settling down in front of her with his tray (which he's yet to touch - save for a few quick trades that have left him minus his rice pudding). Peter is - among the more /unusual/ exhibits here. The boy's bare save for his dress slacks - dark greyish black pants that have weathered a number of trials and tribulations. He's also - /black/. Not in the way Imani is; actually, Peter was actually born caucasian. No, he's /literally/ black; the teen's skin is the color of pitch and charcoal - with an unusual metallic blue sheen to it. Akin to what you'd see on the back of a shiny beetle, maybe. He's also got a greasy mop of dark brown hair and several fresh stitches over his body - forearm, stomach, hips - along with several notable scars. "Hi," he announces shortly after landing in front of her with a *whump*. "Um. I'm Peter. Are you - a vegetarian." He sounds. /Hopeful/. "Imani." She considers the second question and contemplates the sad little hamburger patty on her plate. She follows his gaze to the twins. She looks back at the hamburger and purses her lips. She doesn't make a decision right away. She sits there, coolly contemplating it. Weighing factors. Making decisions. Thinking things through. Finally she shakes her head and forks it over. "I am not vegetarian," she replies. "So I will share one, and only one, of my meat portions each day. I have to keep up my own strength too." "Ohwow. Really? Wow," Peter says, and he looks shocked - and /thrilled/! "That's really - um, you know," and now he sounds a little - self-conscious, throwing glances back at the twins and frowning intently, eyebrows /crumpling/ together. "I mean I'm not trying to talk you /out/ of it, but you're gonna - burn a lot of calories, here. I guess - starch is good for that, though. I've been eating potatoes like crazy oh my /God/." Once the teenager gets started, his nattering seems - unstoppable. "But um the twins - they're /carnivores/, I mean, like cats? They really can't process much /besides/ meat, I don't think..." She sits and listens to him, seeming infinately patient with it at least. Her expression never flickers to anything other than polite, attentive neutrality, anyway. "They're lucky to have a friend like you watching their backs," she says quietly, when he's taken enough of a breath for her to get a word in edgewise. "But don't worry about me. If I didn't think I could spare it, I simply would have said no." She cuts into one of the boiled potatoes on her plate and puts it decisively into her mouth. "Pffft are you kidding they're /sharks/ I mean if I wasn't getting them extra meat they'd maybe /eat/ somebody," Peter says, half-jokingly; there's a sort of manicness to his grin that betrays that this might /not/ be a joke, though. "But um yeah they are my friends," and with this announcement, Peter's skin goes from a metallic blue sheen to a metallic violet sheen, starting at the head. "But, um, I think - I think everybody should /try/ to be friendly here I mean..." A nervous little glance at a camera, followed by: "...have you fought anybody yet." "No. I've only been here for about a week," Imani says, following his gaze to the camera. "Have you? Been in the fights yet? How long have you and the other two been here?" She tries not to stare at his shifting skin, but she finds herself...watching it anyway. "How do you know when you've been chosen for one? Do they make announcements beforehand? Sort of schedule them? Or do they just shove you in?" "Two fights. Lost both of them," Peter says, providing her with a sheepish grin. "I'm not - um. The twins have --" Suddenly, that flash of violet /deepens/; the metallic hue goes from violet to indigo, threatening to spread down past his sternum. "--helping me and some others spar, Sloan, she helps too, um..." He quickly moves on to her second question: "Sometimes they'll tell you. Sometimes they won't. It's - not done very systematically. They didn't tell me before either of my fights, but they've told others." He sucks in a breath. "They'll basically just shove you into this big cage surrounded by screaming people and there'll be someone else there and you have to hit them until they stop moving. Or vice versa. Then they stitch you up and it's over." "Winning the fight isn't nearly as important as getting up after it's done," Imani says placidly. "You aren't letting it break you, and that's the important part. Where do they stitch you up? I haven't seen any medical facilities around here. Or is it all just done ringside?" She pops another one of those potatoes into her mouth. "They just take you into a room and some guy gives you stitches or whatever," Peter says, sounding - not /thrilled/ by the prospect. "Some antiseptic and stuff, but - like, no /anasthesia/," he adds, frowning. "Just, poke, poke, poke." He holds up his forearm, then - there's a series of black stitches that are difficult to make out on the chitin-like skin, but are definitely /there/ - interrupting the reflective surface, tracing a long jagged path of what might be a claw-mark. "I don't even think the guy's a /doctor/," Peter adds, wrinkling his nose. "He probably is not." Imani agrees, nodding her head as her lips compress into a tight, grim line. "Or if he is, he's some chop shop fellow who lost his license." She examines the stitching, but says, "Still, it doesn't look like you're getting infected or anything. It's not the worst field medicine I've ever seen. Not the best. But not the worst." "Naw I've been cleaning it up and stuff," Peter announces, sounding a little /proud/ of this accomplishment; like he deserved accolades for learning how to /bathe/ himself. "Still but, y'know, they're, um. Kind of." He eyes one of the cameras again. "...terrible. Anyway, nice to meet you, Imani. I should... get back to the twins. Thanks for -" Indigo slips back to violet, retreating toward his jaw. "--for the meat stuff, I mean. That's -- thanks. If you need anything... I mean anything I can /do/..." She doesn't say that there won't be. She doesn't say that she will be. She merely nods her head in a sort of slow incline. But she holds out a brief hand to touch the kid on the shoulder. "It looks grim. Right now," she says. "But it's going to be okay, Peter. You, your friends, you're going to be okay. When you find yourself in the midst of horrible shit like this, you just have to focus past it a little bit. Even if it doesn't seem likely right now, even if you can't imagine anything better, you have to think about that better anyway. Sort of see yourself in it, know it's coming if you can just grit your teeth and get through this. It will help focus you, center you, keep you from letting your emotions suck you down. It'll give you strength." When that hand descends atop of Peter's shoulder, the violet once again threatens to extend down his throat and across his chest; nevertheless, he grins back at her. "Oh man I -- know, it's fine. I mean, it's /terrible/, but -- it's gonna be /fine/," he tells her, and there's an unusual sort of - confidence? To this statement. "We just gotta stay alive, y'know? And help each other out and -- this won't last. I /know/ it won't last. Just gotta keep as many people alive as possible until -- it turns around." "Good man," Imani says gravely, eyes serious and searching. She's apparently satisfied by whatever she sees. That's when she drops her hand and says, "Which means not having a sharkpit feedin' frenzy all up in here, so go on and get them fed." She jerks her chin towards the twins, smiling faintly.