sixthiterationlogs | (no subject)

WHO: Oliver Queen
WHERE: along the river in 6I
WHEN: 3 November, afternoon
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: TBD

When Oliver was younger, his parents used to refer to this as snow weather. It's just a little above freezing, from what he can tell and there's clouds low and heavy in the sky. It's getting darker earlier in the day; by his reckoning, there's only about eight good hours of sunlight now and there's not much of it to speak of. It reminds him a little bit of home, if Star City were in the middle of the pristine wilderness instead of an industrialized and globalized city.

He's not running today. Instead, he's walking along the river, trying to skip stones across it like he had as a kid. It was good luck to get one all the way across and he remembers his father being really successful at it almost all of the time and Oliver himself failing miserably about 90% of the time. Later, when he'd gotten older, it'd been him teaching Thea how to do the same thing. The stones along the river here are flat and smooth, just right for getting them to skid across the surface.

His first attempt isn't so great. It skips for a moment and sinks down to the bottom with a plop and a splash. His next is better, though, and it skips about halfway across the river before it falls beneath the water. There's a scientific principle to it, he's sure, but that's not what he's interested in right now. Right now, he's wondering what's going on in his city, what he's not able to prevent because he's stuck here.

Oliver closes a hand tight around a stone and curses beneath his breath, frustrated by his impotence in this place. This place holds him here just as much as it holds everyone else and no matter what he's done and what he's capable of, he's held by the same strange power that keeps them all trapped here. He's no better or worse than anyone else. Maybe he has a little edge on some of those who've never had to survive outdoors before but that's it. That's his only advantage in the world.

"Looks like I've turned into just one more madman railing at the sky," he says, frowning deeply. The heavy clouds don't respond.

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Oliver hasn't done much to get to know the people of the village outside of a few faces here and there but he thinks this one would stand out regardless. He's good-looking and has an easy sort of way about him, a charm that makes it easy to imagine divulging a secret when he asks what's on his mind. Oliver shakes his head.

"Just thinking about this place, is all. I can't seem to figure out the motives behind it and everything has a motive. There's nothing that just exists like this. It doesn't make sense."

Finnick's growing slowly more accustomed to the fact that people don't instantly know him and his life story here. Ten years of being one of the most famous people in all of Panem still make it difficult to remember that he's just another villager here, perhaps known for the time he and Annie had spent living in the woods when they first got here, or for the theories he'd had about Gamemakers and arenas, but not for being in the public eye since he was a teenager.

"Come up with anything?" Finnick asks, though he's certain he knows what the answer will be. They've all been thinking about why they're here, who brought them here and how ever since they arrived here. Finnick once had a sense of certainty about it, but that's long gone.

After all, he's wearing a wedding ring, and that would never have been allowed if this place was what he'd been so sure of when he arrived.

"No, nothing much. Just thinking out loud, unfortunately, and not coming up with much of anything in the process. I didn't even introduce myself, did I?"

It's not Oliver's way to get distracted like that on a small piece of mundane information but something about this place gets under his skin in a way other things haven't lately. He's used to being able to at least puzzle out motives if he can't predict next steps and this is frustrating beyond belief.

"Oliver," he offers, extending a hand to shake.

"'Nothing much' is about the most anyone seems to manage," Finnick says, his voice a strange combination of wry sarcasm and actual sympathy. It's frustrating, for all of the people here who've tried to get out. Not that Finnick has any particular desire to leave this place, because that would mean going back to Panem, where he'd have to go back to pretending not to love his wife, not to have married her.

He reaches across to shake the extended hand of the newly-introduced Oliver.

"I manage to forget more often than I should. Finnick." He tips his head a little to one side. "And no, I don't think this place just exists. It seems planned to me."

He's no longer truly convinced that this place is leading up to forcing them all to turn on each other the way they would in an arena, but there is far too much that's too like Panem to think this place wasn't created by whoever brought them here.

"Good to meet you, Finnick," Oliver says, committing the name to memory. It's an unusual name and one he hasn't heard before and he doesn't think he's likely to run into another one. Finnick, it seems, is going to be a singular sort of person. That's not such a bad thing, in a place with little variety in housing - at least the people are stand out.

"Question is, planned for what? I have no idea what this place could be planned for or be training for. It doesn't seem to show its hand at all."