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[ The feed flickers on, and the camera noisily jostles, the hands holding it trembling faintly, but not out of fear. The man that appears on the screen, ragged as he is, looks as far from fear as he can be. In fact, he's even mildly annoyed, instead, his face sporting a few bruises here and there. ]

Well, isn't this just cozy.

[ A rather unimpressed smirk twists over his lips. ]

Expected where I was going to be a lot less... formal. You know, the ritzy carpet here and the beds. Nice welcoming committee-- screaming ghost children. I think I like that one best. Really... authentic.

[ The styling of this place would make Effie Trinket sob. Even he finds it gaudy. He looks off screen for a moment, as if examining something (an empty flask), the clink of a metal lid being unscrewed, a scoff. As if he didn't both look and sound annoyed enough already. ]

I'm going to need to know a couple of things. One, has anyone gotten together any plans and information to get out of this place, or we all just going to sit and play patty-cake until something goes bump in the night? And two -- a drink. Something strong. I've run out, and I'm going to need another very soon, the way things are here.

[ Not that he would trust many (if any) of them, but better to use them for what they know now if it will help him and his get out of this place. Of course he's probably more concerned than he looks, but there's not a point in letting them see him sweat. Not when there doesn't appear to be any outright danger, but that is most concerning of all, of course. ]

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And I'm sure you've enjoyed every moment of your stay.

[ Because who doesn't love a creepy, ghost-ridden hotel? ]

Unless medical attention means you have a stash of moonshine somewhere, then no. I'm peachy.

I lived through the Great Depression. It was more fun than this.

I'm afraid I don't. I could probably get you some coffee, if that would help.

The Great Depression?

[ Now that piques his interest. That's something he's only ever read about, tucked away in dusty old books and files he probably never should have gotten his hands on. ]

Coffee, a man after my own heart. [ It would at least potentially help his roiling stomach. Or make it worse. ] Where did you say you're from?

Yeah. You know it?

[Maybe not on a personal level. But Steve's already learned that not everyone here is from Earth as he knows it.]

The United States. Brooklyn, New York, actually.

Relatively.

[ There are books somewhere in Panem with all of this information, but the Great Depression sounds a bit light hearted in comparison to the Hunger Games they're thrown into every year. He's pretty sure somewhere in the history books it was called fascism. ]

Heard of it, but that was a long, long time ago where I'm from. Those places don't even exist anymore.

Edited 2015-03-28 02:40 (UTC)

[Steve sighs, glancing down for a moment. He's heard this story before, thinks it might be the same one that Cage told him.]

War?

War, revolution, rebellion. It was called a lot of things. The Dark Days.

[ Haymitch knows this story as well as anyone in Panem might, and though they moved past the Dark Days, he can't help but wonder if they ever really left. ]

Paint a cat a different color, it's still a cat.

I'd always hoped that there'd be less of that in the future, not more.

[But it's looking more and more like he was wrong.]

Sorry to say there's not.

[ And maybe it's not war yet, but it's well on it's way there. A rebellion does not quite reach the level of all-out war, at least now how he's left it. ]

But in some cases they're necessary.

Sometimes.

[When homes are taken or lives threatened. Generally whenever the little guy is being pushed around, someone needs to step in.]

There's hope there's none here. The battleground wouldn't be very big.

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