Meal Time~ [Tino/Open]

[Tino Väinämöinen]

If I told you what I was,

Would you turn your back on me?

“ACHOO!”

Dammit. Fuck everything to hell. Tino sniffled, pulling a Kleenex from his pocket to blow his nose. Fuck the stupid guard, who pushed him over the bucket, fuck the bucket for being full of cold water, fuck them for making him clean like this… Fuck everything. Tino sat miserably in a cell, assigned to clean once more. Apparently his boss was impressed with how the four cells looked when he finished and had assigned him to clean a handful more. He had at least been rewarded a pressure washer this time, but he still scrubbed everything down to get a good chunk of the filth out.

Tino sneezed again and nearly toppled over, trying to get used to these stupid water pressure settings. His eyes were puffy and weepy, his nose was running like a faucet and his head pounded as if someone were striking him, hard. The last thing he honestly wanted to do was stand here hosing down a cell and washing the suds from his brush, stuck in the stupid shithole of the Underground. He missed having a bed, and being warm. His cabin leaked heat like mad and he was constantly chasing that damn stray cat out of it, plus the mice weren’t completely taken care of.

Stuck in his own personal pity party, Tino began to quietly murmur to himself. “Take the job they said. It’ll be fun they said. Leave your nice place in Moscow they said,” he groaned, bellyaching over a stupid cold. Tino utterly hated being sick. He’d rather have his nose shattered and face bashed in that deal with a runny rose and muted senses. He was an oversized child when it came to the flu, but to be fair, it was not his fault. He had been tripped without warning and left wet for hours. He probably had pneumonia or the bubonic plague, whatever that was, or something equally terrible. Great. He was probably going to die.

Tino continued to think miserable thoughts about what he’d put in his will as he clicked the machine off and wiped down the sink. He had already done the toilets and the beds had been stripped and cleaned. Someone else would put sheets on later. He didn’t notice the approaching footfalls until someone rapped on the steel bars and addressed him, their voice a much less harsh and angry than the days before.

“Карлик! Отвлекитесь от чистки. Раздайте обед для мутантов. Там в список грудью на кухне.” // Dwarf! Take a break from cleaning. Hand out lunch for the mutants. There's a feeding list in the kitchen.

“Ладно…” // Okay… Tino replied, trying his best to sound enthused. He was tired and looking at food made him want to gag. Oh well. Perhaps he’d make some new connections whilst handing out meals.

After cleaning up and giving his hands a good wash (and sneezing four more times), Tino sanitized himself and glanced at the lit. It confused him as to why certain mutants were designated different portions, but he was too tired to think it through properly and just pinned it on different metabolisms or something. Grabbing a trolley cart, he loaded up each specified meal, but then added a few extra packaged foods from the guard’s cupboards. He hid said items in his shirt because he damn well knew he wasn’t supposed to give out packaged goods like nutrition bars. Rolling off with the cart and his list, he made his way into the containment hall and started to work his way down the cells, scrolling through lists as he handed out meals to each mutant.

And if I seem dangerous,

Would you be scared?

tags: Drama queen Tino, words: 602, notes: Open to any mutants <3
Coded by: PerfectFallacy of Gangnam Style

[Feliciano Vargas]

Grwwwwwwrrrgh

Feliciano winced as his stomach rumbled unpleasantly, making its displeasure known. It was hard enough to eat well in this place, when the usual meals consisted of a bowl of simple soup, small pieces of bread, and milk or water, depending on the day. He hadn't eaten like that since his first weeks in the Underground; his total unwillingness to participate in the Arena matches usually left him with no more than a bite or two of stale bread and half a cup of oily broth, if they even bothered to feed him at all. Thankfully, he could survive off that (or at least convince himself he could), but even now his body continued to suffer under those conditions for so long. His stomach ached almost all the time it was so empty, and what little fat the brunette had on his bones was long gone, making it that much harder to keep himself warm. "Veee, I'm sorry, tummy," he murmured, reaching down to gingerly rub his abdomen. "I don't have any food left.

Sometimes, especially around auction days, all the mutants got additions to their meals in order to keep them from looking too starved in case of potential visitors. Of course, there were sadistic prospective owners who enjoyed the idea of starving mutants; the idea of using food to train them a very appealing one due to its effectiveness. More humane--or perhaps weaker-stomached--humans usually leave the Underground looking horrified at the conditions the mutants were in, especially the lower-priced ones. Feliciano had hoarded those extra meals like a pack rat, hiding them all over his cell for the times when he was back to three meals of musty nothing. (Partially from necessity, but also because his poor, poor stomach had shrunken so much that he couldn't handle a lot of food at once, especially the richer flavors his tongue demanded.) However, a trio of 'bait' mutants, like himself, had been in the cell next to him, along with a new addition to the Underground on his other side. One party was particularly sick and weak, while the other just so miserable Feliciano hadn't been able to stand it. So, despite earlier intentions, he'd waited until the guards were gone and managed to squirm past the bars just enough to pass what food he had to the other cells. His stomach was particularly displeased with this course of action, but the teary thank yous--whether they were genuine or not--warmed his heart enough to not care what his body had to say.

The Italian still didn't regret his decision, even as his stomach snarled again and gurgled painfully against his ribs. He was hungry and a bit miserable for it, but all he had to do was wait for lunch to arrive and he could take at least a little edge off the bite.

Speaking of lunch, the rumble of a cart echoed from a little further down the hall. Feliciano perked up immediately, sitting straight from his half-curled slouch. He could hear other mutants getting up and hurrying to the bars of their respective cells even from here, but it would be a few minutes, at least, before the guard(s) reached him. It'd probably do the boy a bit of good to stand up and get some exercise, even if it was just pacing around the cell until his meal was dropped off. However, his stomach ached and it was still that same biting cold that left his hands and toes hovering in the grainy area between aching cold and unpleasant numbness. He didn't really want to get up just yet.

Still, though, his stomach urged him to follow the example of the other mutants; get your ass off your bed and go find the food already! You've starved me long enough! It wasn't a terribly pleasant kind of urging, either. Not when he can easily hear the sounds his stomach makes when it's hungry enough to try digesting itself. "Shhhhhh," he soothed, still trying to massage away that ever-present ache. "Just a couple more minutes, ve."

[Tino Väinämöinen]

If I told you what I was,

Would you turn your back on me?

Tino couldn’t help but notice how little they actually fed the mutants. As he handed out bowls of lukewarm soup, he tried not to think about it too much. The broth was hardly substancial (he had tasted it in the kitchen and it lacked any sort of flavour, and the bread was crusty and clearly not fresh. Few things really struck a chord with Tino, and food happened to be one of them. Although his tastes and preferences made others gag, he always thought food was important and one of the essential components of his life that he actually looked forward to. So, to see legions of mutants crawl to the bars with needy hands, he tried to address every one of them by name. He wanted to learn who these people were, to the point that he’d know them as well as they’d allow. Sometimes he got a scoff, sometimes a glare, and sometimes and cautious stare. He was always polite though, smiling and passing out the rations with manners.

Violet eyes scanned the endless halls as everyone seemed to line up at the bars. He tried to remove himself from their hollow eyes, but it was hard. They were practically rotting in these cells. Some seemed healthy (but thin), while others were so malnourished that their bones jutted out from their bodies, as if they were skeletons not long from starving. He swallowed uncomfortably and continued passing out portions. He had a few protein bars in his pockets, but there was no way he could possibly pass them all around equally. It would end with a brawl between inmates, and that was something Tino couldn’t risk. He sneezed twice before using a gob of hand sanitizer and continuing down the rows.

One other thing bothered Tino. Some mutants weren’t actually on the list, and they happened to be the most deprived looking ones. Pursing his lips defiantly, he handed meals out to them as well and, when at the end of the hall, found himself short. He wheeled the cart back to the kitchen, filled up a few more bowls a little fuller than they were supposed to be and returned back to the hall. There was a single cell remaining, and Tino wasn’t entirely sure it was occupied until he approached it. There, he saw a mutant curled in the corner, not having approached the bars. Tino felt his heart rate increase; had it died? It was painfully thin and looked pale against the soiled floor. His suspicions were disproven when he hurt a gurgle rattle through the cell, bouncing off the walls. He smiled sadly, returning to the cart. The mutant inside was Feliciano Vargas, and like all others, Tino had memorized a small profile of the mutant.

Vargas, Feliciano. Age 20. Mutation: Selective Synesthesia. Senses appear to be blurred between one another and/or enhanced willfully via mutant’s intent. Able to increase senses beyond human levels. Fighting experience is limited. Combat: Mace to eyes/nose to override senses, taser probes if resistance persists. Hazard rating: Low to medium.

Tino glanced at the list, and to his own disappointment, found that Mr. Vargas was not on it. Not on the regular feeding, or even the reduced portions. His name was just absent alltogether. Tino glared into the page, before flicking his eyes up to the mutant huddled in the corner. There was no way he could simply not feed him. He was starving in that cell and he looked so sad and pitiful that Tino forgot that he himself wasn’t feeling well. He whined and fussed over having a cold, but then after looking at this unfortunate brunette, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Far more guilty than he did with the other mutants that he had met.

Tino took one of the bowls and topped it up with the broth of another. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the non-existent amount that the mutant was supposed to get. Placing the nearly-overflowing bowl on a tray, along with the remainer of the bread on the cart, Tino approached the cell door and slowly unlocked it. He didn’t fear Feliciano like he did the others, but he was almost always on his toes. The other looked a little too weak to do much harm though, so Tino relaxed his guard and edged the door shut, keys in his pocket. He approached the other slowly, before placing the tray at his feet.

“Here. You sound hungry,” Tino said with honest-to-God sympathy, trying to urge the other to eat. He backed off a bit, but he remained where he was in the cell, hoping no one would appear for patrol. If they did, he already had a plan formulated to say that this mutant wasn’t moving and he was checking if it had died or fallen ill, which technically he was.

And if I seem dangerous,

Would you be scared?

tags: Tino and Feli, words: 813, notes:Hope this is okay. If Feli did move I’ll rewrite the last bit ;3;
Coded by: PerfectFallacy of Gangnam Style

[Feliciano Vargas]

It was easy enough to track the sound of the cart down the halls; so easy, in fact, that he didn't even feel bad for eavesdropping like he often did on the other mutants or the guards. There were more stops than he was used to hearing, however, which was a surprise to the Italian. Was everyone getting food today? The footsteps he heard weren't ones he was used to--this man didn't step with the self-assured stomp several of the normal guards had mastered (though even each of those was different because each man and woman possessed a different stride. Pyotr, for example, had a bit of a limp from knee pains in his right leg. He could hear the older man's cartilage rub together and it wasn't a healthy sound at all. He never heeded the mutant's warnings, though, so it never got better. He hoped Tatyana, his wife, could talk some sense into him). This guard stepped like he didn't mean to be noticed; not from self-consciousness, though. These strides were too deliberate for shyness. To approach without a sound, to traverse the world without letting it know he was there... Feliciano wondered what kind of guard would want to move like that, especially once one's charges were under lock and key.

However, before he actually caught sight of the cart, it and the man pushing it along came to a stop. A very long stop, it felt like, too. His heart beat a little faster despite himself, anxiety coming over him when he hadn't wanted to hope too much. What was taking so long? his stomach practically screamed, a powerful, room-shaking growl escaping it. He hoped the guard didn't hear, amber eyes peering anxiously at the cell bars. Then the guard turned around and left the way he'd come. The Italian could've cried then and there. He wasn't getting fed after all. With a heavy feeling in his chest and his stomach aching for sustenance, he turned his attention away from the sounds of the retreating cart.

He was being punished, that's what it is. Maybe one of the other mutants said he was sharing his food; he'd sworn the ones he'd fed to secrecy, but you never know who couldn't help but tell their own close friends, and the news would spread like wildfire. Food was a rare commodity for most mutants without homes or approval from the guards. It wasn't unheard of to share with any friends or, may God help you, family members, because there was a personal attachment there. To give food away, especially the 'decent' food given in order to fatten and docile before an auction, was unheard of. In Lovino's words, "No one would be that stupid." Feliciano couldn't help but feel vaguely amused, wondering how Lovino would react if he knew it was Feliciano. Probably expected it; he never kept it a secret he thought his little brother was an idiot. Was his name being spread around, or was he just some faceless, naively generous mutant? Either way, the guards would probably punish anyone they even remotely think is breaking the rules. There are mutants down here who would tell the guards everything going down in the Underground for a few extra scraps for themselves and their friends. The brunette couldn't blame anyone for just trying to take care of themselves, of course not. Even if his own life was a little harsher for it, Feliciano didn't get too upset because those prisoners weren't reporting people out of spite. Of course, there are the mutants who just think the humans are better than the rest of us, "superior beings" simply for being ordinary, and report anything going wrong because "no one should be breaking the rules". Those mutants were must easier to dislike. The conditions were disgusting down here; treated like less than human, less than animals. Simple toys to be played with, that's what the humans thought. A deep frown tugged down Feliciano's lips and he curled back in on himself. Maybe they were planning on starving him out for an Arena match--make him want to fight for them, in exchange for food. There's no way he would ever want to fight for the guards' amusement, save them holding his brother or Ludwig at gunpoint saying "you don't, they die", but no one really needs to know that but they'll do as they please. One of the guards might've had this "great" idea and got the Warden to agree to starve out bait mutants for the aforementioned reason, while it was actually preemptive punishment and a little fun torment game.

Dio almighty, he really hated this place.

Cleketacleketacleketaclek

Feliciano's ears twitched. The cart was coming back; it wasn't nearly as laden as it had been before, but he could still hear soup sloshing around as those slightly squeaky wheels rolled in his direction. Confusion filled his mind; why was the guard returning? The others always made sure to leave the kitchen with just enough food for the mutants who were being fed. No extra, and never not enough. As much as he would like to have food, to eat and finally fill his stomach, he was wary. Amber eyes darted over to stare at the cell door now, cautious. This could just be some new trick the guards were playing; give one false hope, maybe. Or enrage them by parading the food in front of them like that, only to take it away. That could end with one of the mutants lashing out, which the guards probably want in the first place. All the more reason to punish the offenders.

When the guard parked the cart in front of his cell and gathered up a tray of food, however, Feliciano couldn't help but second-guess himself. The guard, with slightly matted blonde hair and dark circles under violet eyes, didn't seem particularly malicious. He was just tired. Finely-tuned ears latched onto the blonde now and he could hear a slight wheeze in every exhale. Either the man smoked a lot, or he was sick (or perhaps both, but he was straining his ears enough without forcing his sense of smell into overdrive as well). Either way, he seemed miserable. So this wasn't just some ploy--he was actually being fed.

The mutant sat up as the blonde set the tray of food down and backed away, hesitance and wariness bleeding out of his frame. Curiosity filled the spaces they left behind. "Here. You sound hungry," the guard said, almost worried. Such a foreign sensation, having one of his captors speak to him so softly. He glances from the man and down to the tray, eyes widening. There was at least half a loaf of bread, even if it's still stale, and the bowl was overflowing, it was so full. What was with all this food? Enough to feed two of him, at least--well, not actually, but compared to the usual rations they were all fed, this was almost a feast.

A gurgle escapes his stomach again and Feliciano laughed to himself, uncurling from his spot to cross his legs beneath him. "Vee, you're stating the obvious--everyone here is hungry," he replied, reaching out to carefully pick up that tray and set it across his lap. It was so hard to not just lean over the tray and stuff his face, but he didn't want to make a mess and spill what was given to him. That would be such a waste. "W-What did I do to deserve all this, though..?" he asked, for the moment ignoring the food to stare up at the man, worried now himself. "You walked away--no one leaves without enough food, ever, ve. What happened? ...I am supposed to eat, sí?"

[Tino Väinämöinen]

If I told you what I was,

Would you turn your back on me?

Caution was a tactic that Tino always employed. Always ere on the side of caution, always expect the unexpected, always be prepared for anything. Such concepts were not foreign to Tino Vainamoinen. Yes, he was being cautious with his current scenario, but he was also approaching a line that he dared not be caught crossing.

Tino was no longer completely new to the layout and schemes of the Underground. He knew how things worked almost better than some of the veteran guards and the map of the complex was cemented into his frontal lobe. However, Tino was still learning some of the unspoken rules, some of the background traditions and such that could only be learned with genuine time and experience. This was Tino's first exposure to starvation, and while his first impulse was to feel something, some sort of pity or remorse, he did not. Emotions were things that would only hinder him in his covert position.

It was a teeter totter sort of game. Tino was very good at putting on a show. He could genuinely look upset, angry, happy, or tired and even the most experienced personnel specializing in body language were unsure of Tino's true emotional state. It was due to the fact that he stood at the very edge, dipping his toes or fingers into a reservoir of feelings and expressions, but only a small amount, just enough to wash over his physical exterior and blanket it. Tino denied it to any supervisor or the actual Governor, but he did feel things, to a minor degree. Emotions did not completely escape Tino, but he often boxed all acknowledgement out. He convinced himself he felt nothing, expressed nothing valid, and would always remain that way. Tino was, as they stated on his confidential file, the 7th successful experiment in the MEF prototype program, and he always would be.

However, just because he was a perfect soldier didn't mean he couldn't get sick, or become susceptible to certain emotions while in an immunocompromised state. Roughly translated, feeling as shitty as he was, he couldn't help but sympathize with the mutant, even just a little more than he would have normally.

Vargas seemed apprehensive and showed response when Tino entered the cell. So he was in fact conscious and very much alive. Good. Tino really didn't want to have to deal with any fatalities or the resulting paperwork from a death due to the fact that his supervisors didn't have the brains to know they were starving their livestock. Suspicion and wariness were good signs of strength, but that also meant this mutant wasn't as susceptible to trusting Tino instantaneously. Tino had to play his cards carefully. With certain mutants, it was better to fold his hand, especially if they risked tattling on him. Tino would gamble with this one. He needed to stack his deck with words and responses. They were important for a first impression.

Feliciano's response to the food was what Tino expected after learning the proper portion size. The agent knew he had at least doubled the normal meal, but Tino had his reasons. He wanted to be confided in, to be held with respect, and to be the guard they approached if a coup was ever staged. By feeding them extra, showing compassion and remorse, and by stating he wished they could all live free would be the perfect breeding ground for a 'double agent' as they'd call it. Tino's small acts might also attract Freedom Fighters to himself to request his presence in the organization, but that was being outrageously optimistic.

Baby steps, baby steps.

A quiet laugh that was also hollow filled the air as Feliciano finally moved, if only to a more comfortable sitting position. His words alone were bitter, as were every mutants, but his tone softened their meaning. He seemed a little more friendly that some of the others caged, but that was being hasty in assessing Vargas's persona and attitude. Tino bowed his head ever so slightly, letting his violet gaze drop. The mutant's statment was no wrong; everyone did appear to be hungry. It was not fair, but was life ever so generous?

"I know..." Tino added quietly as Vargas moved again, civilly taking the tray and setting it across his lap. He did not touch the warm food, despite the fact that Tino wouldn't have judged him for stuffing it into his mouth. Hm... he had far better manners than some of the other residents in the holding cells.

"W-What did I do to deserve all this, though..?" Suddenly there were questioning eyes locking onto Tino's face. Tino allowed himself to flinch ever so slightly. So the questions would begin to fly...

"You walked away--no one leaves without enough food, ever, ve. What happened? ...I am supposed to eat, sí?"

It seemed as if Feliciano Vargas wasn't stupid. He was observant to notice meticulous details, and the question he asked... the mutant already knew the answer. Tino made a mental note to be careful around this one; he'd be able to pick up on any loose lies that Tino didn't perfectly weave into his web. The Fin would comply with the gentle queries nevertheless. An arm was thrown behind his head, scratching the nape of his neck as his violet eyes slid to the left. He coughed twice into his sleeve, but that was merely because he wasn't well.

"I... miscounted. I'm not feeling the best and I must have counted my portions out wrong. You're supposed to eat. You're all supposed to eat..."

A gentle lie for a gentle soul. If Tino wanted the fib to be believed, he'd have all employees in the Underground accepting that each mutant was on the feeding list today, and he'd even have the coworker who constructed said list questioning his memory. He purposefully laid the words and sentences out to try to cover up what he had done, and to soften the news. A guard being kind? It was unheard of. Tino wanted Feliciano to know, or at least suspect, that Tino had disobeyed orders. It helped emphasize that he was on their side, or was pretending to be.

Baby steps, baby steps...

And if I seem dangerous,

Would you be scared?

tags: Tino and feli, words: 1033, notes: Sorry this is late and really crappy >.< 
Coded by: PerfectFallacy of Gangnam Style

[Feliciano Vargas]

The small blonde shifted awkwardly in place under Feliciano's questions, pretty purple eyes gazing towards the wall rather than at the mutant. The guard was obviously discomfited by this; part of that discomfort had to come from the very real, lung-shaking coughs that escaped the other a few moments later. He didn't like the mutant asking questions. Though, really, who did like having their actions, their motives questioned? "I...miscounted," he mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck almost sheepishly. "I'm not feeling the best, and I must've counted my portions out wrong. You're supposed to eat. You're all supposed to eat."

It was almost laughably easy to see he was being lied to.

Honestly, though? The Italian didn't really mind. It was the truth that the blonde wasn't feeling well; he'd heard the signs himself before the blonde mentioned his poor condition, and even if you could fake a cough, these were too harsh, clogged, and gross-sounding to be anything but genuine. That didn't make the rest of his words any truer, though--on any given day, at least one or five or half of the entire cellblock could lose out on a meal or two. As much as the Underground prided itself on its 'good' management, the ever-rotating feeding shifts put guards in a position of utmost power over their charges. They could easily starve whatever mutants they saw fit, for any reason they pleased. He couldn't count how many times that had happened to him his first few months here, when his 'lackluster' performances in the Arena helped plenty of the guards lose their monthly paychecks to the more well-to-do members of society. It was a sad, sick game, but Feliciano was used to it; they were all used to it. Thankfully, only a few guards were that underhanded, but they were senior guards now, and who knows what they'll try to teach the newer recruits, like this small blonde man. However, no mutant who wasn't schedule to get food, received it. None of the guards sympathized, or even pitied the mutants enough to try and save them from a day of hunger and pain.

This guard did, though. Why else would he try to lie, using his illness as an excuse?

Feliciano knew that eating this extra food would be a bad idea. He was so used to not eating that, honestly, he wasn't sure he could even finish what was given to him. He could probably down the broth well enough and save the bread for later, though, because the other guards wouldn't be so kind. There was no worry that he'd be caught, though--he could hear the guards coming from a quarter-mile away, if he so wanted to, so all he'd have to do is warn this blonde man and have him leave before either of them got caught. Thus, the brunette was perfectly at ease as he finally lifted up that loaf of bread to tear a piece free. "Being down here won't help you feel any better, ve," he replied, dunking the small piece of bread into his 'soup' just long enough to soften it before he popped it into his mouth. He hardly even chewed--not only because he was too hungry to waste the time and effort, but because the food here tasted awful and he couldn't leave it sit on his tongue long enough to register the gross ingredients making up their 'nutritional broth'. Disgusting.

Amber eyes flickered back up to the blonde, giving his stomach a moment to get used to having food; if he ate too fast, he'd throw it all back up. "Influenza is really bad this time of year; you'll only make yourself sicker if you stick around instead of staying home and resting." He gestured over to one of the small cots. "If you're really feeling that bad, though, you can take a nap here, ve--it's not very nice, especially not compared to what you might have back at home, but it's better than standing on your own feet all day, sí?" Feliciano offered a reassuring smile, completely comfortable with the idea of the guard staying in his cell much longer than any usually wanted to. "You don't have to, if you don't want to, of course, but the offer's open. Veeeeee, and you won't get caught, either, if that's something you're worried about! The other guards are all in the guard-station right now--none of them are patrolling our cell block, since it's lunchtime. Lunchtime is usually pretty calm, since the others are focused on eating, so the guards don't waste their time watching us. It's kinda like break-time, so once you feel better you can join in on their poker games--though don't bet too high against Pyotr. He always cheats when there's a big pot."

It was probably disturbing to a new recruit to know just how much Feliciano "knew" about the the guards' actions--they probably thought he was insane, had memorized them or something over the past two years of forced isolation. He didn't have to waste his energy on that, though; he could simply hear them walk around, mapping their movements in his head as easily as if he were watching them from an unobstructed aerial view. It was so simple, really; the edges of the Underground, where the exits were located, was a bit hazy right now, but otherwise he could map out almost all of this dark labrynth in vivid detail from sound alone.

"If you don't want to nap here, though, that's fine~! But I think it'd be a good idea to go find your senior guard, or the Head Guard, and ask for a few days off to rest, ve." The Italian shrugged, reaching down to scoop up that bowl of soup into his hands--spoons were too dangerous for the mutants to get their hands on, after all. "It's better to rest and take care of yourself--the other guards might pick on you, but they'll pick on you more if you keep coming into work sick."

[Tino Väinämöinen]

If I told you what I was,

Would you turn your back on me?

Tino didn't gaze back to Feliciano Vargas for quite some time. He didn't want to meet the peering amber gaze, at least, not yet. He honestly should have probably left at that point. It would make sense, really. Get in, give extra portions, get out. Nice and simple, no need to get caught by any human patrolling the halls. It would work well enough both ways. Feliciano Vargas would think Tino strange, but probably kindly and perchance think a little better of the Finnish guard. Insertion of trust depended on each host that Tino attempted to infect. Conversation might speed up the incubation process.

Yes, it was entirely appropriate to refer to a relationship with Tino Vainamoinen as a disease. After all, it would only kill the host in the end, slowly and painfully. Such was the life that Tino chose with little regret.

After a few awkward seconds of silence where neither moved, Tino made the first motion to indicate that he was feeling uncomfortable, or at least feigning it. Leaving this mutant to their meal would probably be best, Tino decided as he barely began to turn before the other spoke. Tino's violet eyes finally met amber ones once again, noting the fact that Feliciano had barely begun to dive into his meal. Either the mutant was greatly withholding himself because of Tino's presence or due to the fact that he clearly wasn't fed on a regular basis. These mutants were treated like pets. Perhaps that's all they were, but Tino was often immune to governmental messages. He knew half the propoganda messages they fed to the public were total lies .Just because the government told Tino to believe something didn't mean that he took it to heart; it meant that he smiled and spoke what they wanted to hear when he was asked.

Even if he were caged, a dog always knew what smelled like meat and what smelled like bullshit.

Feliciano's words were not concerning Tino's obvious lie. No, instead the mutant addressed his physical condition in terms of what would worsen or lighten it. Tino's brow rose a marginal amount as he ceased any motion to leave. If the other would show interest in continuing conversation, that Feliciano Vargas was far more open than some of the others that Tino fed today.

It was sweet that Vargas showed concern for him, but it also showed a weakness that this mutant could potentially be manipulated through slight guilt or the fact that he might have possessed a conscience. Tino glanced down at the food and noted how a small portion of it was practically inhaled. Ah, so Vargas was indeed starving. Perhaps food would be a better motivator aside from Arena battles. Tino made a mental note.

Then Feliciano surprised Tino. He offered Tino his cot.

It was strange. It was wrong and countless red flags waved involuntarily behind Tino's face. It was a trick. A ploy. Feliciano could have tried to strangle Tino in his sleep, or steal his set of keys, or anything. Although Vargas was of little risk, Tino wasn't about to take up such an offer. Even if he did lay down, he would be unable to sleep and Vargas had heightened senses; Tino could slow his breathing and heart rate, but he probably wouldn't be able to fool the sensory abilities of the brunette.

The way Feliciano acted bothered the Fin as well. True, Tino had gifted the other with a generous meal, but otherwise, they were complete strangers. All mutants disliked the staff, so for Feliciano to treat him with kindness so soon was suspicious. Was Feliciano fishing with the same rod as Tino? The mutant had an innocent enough face with a warm smile, but was Tino looking in a mirror? Feliciano could probably get away with more than Tino believed if he used his features to his advantage.

Feliciano spoke more words that Tino would have hoped for on initial contact. His knowledge of the workings of the Underground were... alarming at best. How did someone like Vargas know something so petty as to misconduct during card games? For that matter, how extensive was Feliciano's intellect? This was far worse than Tino had initially thought; true, mutants that lived in the Underground would eventually compile information about the place, but Feliciano had profiled people in the staff room and was able to detect habits. For that matter, could this mutant extend his senses further past boundaries, listening in on private conversations? Could he map the expanse of the Underground? Did he know the way out if there were a distraction?

More importantly, would Feliciano Vargas be the mutant that led them out in case of a smoke bomb? A coup on the other side of the facility? Tino let the ideas percolate in the back of his mind. He might have to do something about this one.

Again, Vargas mentioned his health. Tino bowed his head and glanced away. As much as he hated to admit it, this mutant was right. That being said, Tino couldn’t have called in on one of his first days with an illness. Now though, he posed a risk of infection the lot of them, especially the weaker mutants (despite Tino’s regular use of hand sanitizer). Like Feliciano said, he should probably take a few days off.

Tino hated stagnation though. He had other plans if he wasn’t scheduled shifts.

“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think I’d be able to sleep, even if tried. I cough when I lay down. I wouldn’t mind sitting here for a few minutes though… Some rest would be nice…”

Tino shifted twice, shuffling back a few feet so his back was against the wall. He wanted to support his weight if he could. “Oh! Sorry, I’m trying to get comfortable and I don’t want to make you sick.” He explained, coming up with a reason why he had moved away from the mutant. Distance really wasn’t an issue here, and Tino was not lying. Physically, Feliciano was of little threat and Tino was confident that he could manhandle the mutant down if he tried anything.

“Haha, I know that the other guards like to slack off, from what I’ve seen. I usually don’t get to partake in any of their events or games. It’s an ‘earned right’ as they put it. That’s alright though, I’m horrible at poker.”

Tino sighed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He could feel a headache coming on and his nose was going to drip, so he wiped it as quietly as he could manage. It was still obviously that he felt ill, and he wanted to do nothing but curl up and die.

“I think I will talk to her though… I don’t want to get anyone else sick. I’m pretty healthy, but if any of you caught this, it would be a lot worse.”

And if I seem dangerous,

Would you be scared?

tags: Tino and Feli, words: 1161, notes: sorry for the wait!
Coded by: PerfectFallacy of Gangnam Style

[Feliciano Vargas]

Acceptance of his offer wasn't actually expected--if the young man before him had actually accepted the offer, he would've been genuinely surprised--but Feliciano felt obligated to offer a momentary respite all the same. Not because he had been smuggled an extra-large meal when he was otherwise promised none; rather the mutant knew from experience how it felt to be in bad shape and forced to keep working. A little kindness can do wonders to help a person. There was no reason to be rude to the new guard, either. If he wanted to prove to people that mutants were humans, just different, he couldn't go around acting like a jerk all the time, si? Not to mention the fact that the other guards'll be spending plenty of time hazing the small blonde as it is. Why add insult to injury, on top of illness?

However, the Italian was surprised by how the man responded. A particularly stupid man would agree to the offer--now, it wasn't particularly nice for Feliciano to think, but even a weak individual like himself could hurt or steal from a sleeping man. (He wouldn't; that kind of escape would fail spectacularly. It would be so easy for him to get trapped once the alarm sounded. Almost all of the mutants stuck in the Underground would panic or report anyone caught outside a cell unsupervised, so there's no way he'd be able to sneak out now, and he'd get caught in a second when that guard woke up and realized his keys were missing. Plus, Feliciano had no idea where his friends and family were located right now; too many scents and sounds to tear through at the moment to even attempt locating them. There was no way the Italian would leave without them.) It was just too risky to take up his offer. So, only an idiot would go flop on one of the cots and take a nice nap. Crueler people would immediate react with suspicion and, depending on their temperament, lash out at the mutant offering such a ridiculous notion. This man did neither; Feliciano saw the minute widening of those pretty violet eyes, and the calculating way they narrowed mere increments more--both movements slightly too deliberate to be fake, but slight enough to be unconscious responses. Even he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been staring at the blonde, waiting for an answer to his offer. Any other reaction resulting in either surprised or distaste was absent; only further defined those minuscule reactions as involuntary. It's hard to control your body like that. The scientists at Weeds had tried to teach the Italian, train him to hone his ability to focus attention down to individual muscle strands and keep them under control. However, it had been too abstract a concept for Feliciano; how can you keep yourself in constant check like that? Why would you want to? It was such a headache, figuratively and literally.

The range of control the guard had over himself was glaringly evident when taking those unconscious reactions into consideration, because those involuntary movements lasted a second at most before smoothing away into thoughtfulness as he turned away. This self-control, coupled with his near-silent gait; Feliciano couldn't for the life of him understand why the man before him was merely a guard. The mutant had never bothered to ask why the others chose this profession themselves, why they'd willingly spend so much of their time in the murky Underground. For the others, it just seemed...obvious. Pyotr didn't care for mutants, so he was happy to help keep them in line and where they belong. (He really should choose a profession that was better on his knee than patrolling concrete halls, though) Dmitri, on the other hand, wanted control; he was cruel, not clever but not stupid either, adn he wanted something to put beneath him, to be more powerful. That was easy to tell, with the way he was so quick to hand out a beating to anyone who questioned him.

This man, though, he was different. He was kind enough to give the mutants food when he couldn't get anything in return, but he was cautious enough to stay on alert and not give anything away, either. Why didn't he try to do something else? He could've gone somewhere much more fitting for himself than here. Feliciano hoped the dark didn't bother him that much, in any case. He decided to leave the man in peace for now, lifting the bowl to his lips and swallowing a large mouthful of bland, oily soup. It hurt his abdomen to eat and the flavor grossed out his tongue, but the warmth of the food sliding down his throat and into his stomach curled his toes.

The guard seemed to come to a decision by the time Feliciano finished most of the bowl. He still didn't make a move to turn back to face the mutant, though. "That's very kind of you, but I don't think I'd be able to sleep, even if I tried. I cough when I lay down. I wouldn't mind sitting here for a few minutes though... Some rest would be nice..." With that, the blonde made short his trip over to the wall closes to the bars, heavily leaning against it. Before Feliciano could even open his mouth to ask why the blonde didn't sit on the cot to his left--sitting had to be better than standing, and better to sit on a bed than the floor--the other spoke up again, in a hurry. "Oh! Sorry, I'm trying to get comfortable and I don't want to get you sick."

he couldn't help but chuckle a little, tipping his head back a moment to drain the last of the soup before setting the bowl aside. His stomach was full near the point of unpleasantness, but it was nice to have a source of warmth in his belly for once. That smile turned to the blonde and Feliciano tucked his legs up to his chest, almost protectively curled around the bread still settled in his lap. "You don't have to apologize, ve--there's nothing to be sorry for, silly~" he reassured, tilting his head to one side. "It might be more comfortable to sit down on a cot, but once you sit down sometimes it's hard to get back up, si? It's fine if you just wanna stay over there, it's not like you'll hurt my feelings. But thank you for thinking about me," the Italian added. "I don't want to get sick, either."

His smile dimmed a little at the other's amusement, an expression of vague curiousity passing over his face as he looked the blonde over. "I dunno, ve... I think you'd be really good a poker, if given the chance." Then he shrugged, drumming his fingers against his shins. "I know that Miss Héderváry'd give you a few days off. She's not the nicest lady ever, but she'd definitely much nicer than a lot of the guards. She'll take care of you. So you should definitely talk to her as soon as possible. But..." the Italian paused a bit, smiling again. "What's your name, by the way? It'd be uncomfortable calling you Mister Guard, si?"

[Tino Väinämöinen]

If I told you what I was,

Would you turn your back on me?

This mutant was odd.

All mutants were in fact different, and all responded to situations differently, but this one seemed quite gentle, meek even. For a soul who had been contained and prodded at least half his short life, he seemed too friendly. Resilience perhaps was a trait highlighted in those amber eyes; few mutants could keep up such a disposition after all this time, or perhaps it was an act.

The act of lying was a trained procedure. No one was born a natural liar; through interactions with friends, family, and teachers, individuals would craft their skill, refining it every time they realized they were caught. Some individuals were of course better at it than others, but natural skill often only took one so far. Tino knew how to lie. He had never been particularly good at it as a child, but life demanded perfection, so he carefully rehearsed his performance over many years, fine tuning every response down to the casual movements of his fingers and toes. He was a mastered artist -- that much he knew. He could convince anyone of anything, with his warm smile and words, seemingly glowing heart of gold and ‘honest’ disposition. This was all information that Tino was well aware of, but he was more concerned with how applicable it was to this mutant.

Tino should have known his history more… However, with the sheer number of mutants in the Underground, it was difficult to examine each and every single one’s life in excruciating detail; he familiarized himself with their mutations and powers, focusing on the mutants that could kill him, not on the ones with more nominal abilities. His gentle gaze rested on Feliciano’s drooped shoulders. If anything, this mutant shared traits with Tino; he had many years to forge the ability to lie.

Tino now decided to focus a little more on Feliciano’s reactions to their conversation. Yes, he seemed genuine and kind and grateful, but how much of this was truth and how much was practiced? From what Tino understood, Feliciano was a bait mutant used simply to heighten the bloodlust of the crowd. Maybe pity was the only tactic this mutant had left… Tino would casually inquire about Feliciano’s history with the other guards, see if he had ever tried to blackmail them with his knowledge (after all, Feliciano knew more than any guard would want him to). That was information not stored in electronic records, something he could (and would) access on his own time.

For now, Tino would err on the side of caution and tiptoe around this character until he was more aware of his history and tendencies.

The quiet that settled allowed Feliciano to sip away the contents of his bowl, an act that made Tino’s stomach want to turn. The thought of food made him gag, and the smell and taste of that watery broth did not help matters. He glanced to the side and willed his stomach to keep its contents contained; he really didn’t want to have to mop up his own vomit. He managed to sit and rest for a moment, his raspy breaths rattling past chapped lips. He sneezed once during the mutant’s gentle words, forcing him to pull a clean but crumpled kleenix from his pocket. He blew his nose before stuffing it into his opposing pocket, which was now bulging with used tissues from his runny nose. He wanted to moan in self-pity as he squeezed a gob of hand sanitizer into his palms, rubbing them back and forth. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want to get any of these mutants ill. If they did… he’d probably get punished for it.

Even if Feliciano’s ‘concern’ was possibly faked, Tino had to act like he bought it. Simple enough, as she glanced at the brunette with tired appreciation in his eyes and a half smile. He had to debate if he had the means to take time off… He didn’t want to lie in an ice cold cabin with no heat if he forgot t throw wood on the firestove. He hated his stupid cabin and he was pretty sure if he didn’t get killed in the line of duty, that something to do with that dilapidated building would do in him. Maybe a structural beam would fall on him, or the chimney would catch fire. Or maybe there was some sort of disease rising up from the floorboards that would kill his lungs more than his cigarettes.

What a way to go… after all he had been through, a house would kill him. Peachy.

“I’ll ask her after I rest a bit. Now that I’m sitting down, I can’t will myself to get back up, haha…”

He sighed before glancing at Feliciano once again when he asked for his name. Right, there was no way for Feliciano to have known it. No other guard referred to him by it, only by his pet name ‘Dwarf’. He smiled at that, deciding that it would be nice to be treated normally, even if it was by a mutant.

“My name is Tino. Tino Vainamoinen, although the last part is a bit of a mouthful and most people struggle with it. You can just call me Tino.”

And if I seem dangerous,

Would you be scared?

tags: Tino and Feli, words: 880, notes: RIDICULOUSLY LATE
Coded by: PerfectFallacy of Gangnam Style

[Feliciano Vargas]

Were it not for the knowledge of the young guard's illness, Feliciano might have laughed at the way the blonde grimaced and looked away as the mutant ate. After all, the fact that the food was shit was lost on no one. The mutant could hear the way the blonde's stomach roiled and gurgled with nausea, smell the curtain of sick draped over that small frame like a blanket. It was hard to laugh at someone so miserable. Even if the food was that gross (only by strength of will and smothered tastebuds could Feliciano stomach the food himself, after all). However, it was easy to see that "Mister Guard" was one final push away from vomiting, and the mutant didn't want to tip the other over that edge. He might be sick himself, if that happened. Surreptiously, Feliciano wiped his lips and cheeks off on his sleeve. It was the best he could do to erase the taste of the soup from him. He'd like to stand up and rinse his mouth in the sink, as well as hide his feast of bread, but with the other still in sight of his cell, that seemed a bad plan. Plus, they had been getting along so well; comfortable enough to sit together in amiable silence. Such a shame it would be to accidentally startle or set the strange guard on edge by moving unexpectedly.

The strong smell of alcohol stung Feliciano's nose. A glance to the bars of his cell showed the smaller man rubbing his palms together, almost violently. The mutant hadn't felt a sudden burst of chilliness, so the action wasn't necessarily from the cold. Maybe he was using that disinfectant doctors use; smells the same, after all. Perhaps he had put his hand on damp stone, or in a puddle of ice water. Poor guy. Amer eyes were colored with concern, but curiosity sparkled unhampered as he watched the other. Feliciano could see...something pinching the corners of violet eyes, but he couldn't tell what it was.

After a moment, when the blonde promised to speak to the head guard after some rest, Feliciano dropped the curiosity and thoughts associated with it entirely. There were far too many reason to look so tired and tense. No reason to fuss over it, even with the blonde being so odd. "If you aren't feeling well enough to stay home alone, you could always stay with a friend, or maybe in the infirmary here, ve?" the mutant suggested with a smile. "They usually only let the guards use the infirmary, so you shouldn't have to worry about sleeping with any of us." Amusement danced across his face at his own words, resting his elbows upon his knees.

His humor only lessened once the blonde smiled again as well. "My name is Tino," the guard replied to his question. "Tino Väinämöinen, although the last part is a it of a mouthful and most people struggle with it."

"You can just call me Tino."

Genuine surprise took over the mutant's expression. He hadn't expected the guard--Tino, he reminded himself a bit helpfully--to so kindly share his name. Väinämöinen was definitely a mouthful; Feliciano struggled to wrap his mind around the fact the blonde willfully told him to call the other by his first name, let alone attempt to carve the proper pronunciation into his mind. The other guards insisted on "sir" and other variations therein. So it's strange, incredibly so, but...

A large, pleased smile spread across the brunette's face, accompanying warmth blooming deep in his chest. Feliciano felt so...normal right now. Simple introductions, no orders, no cruel remarks: a simple introduction. It was so delightfully human. "Tino...Vainamoinen?" he attempted, the word sliding clunkily from his tongue. Normally, his words flowed like a river, mimicking the babbles of one more than anything else. The sound of the name isn't...terrible, he didn't think, but his normal fluidity was lost and compared poorly to the ease the blonde stated his own name. Feliciano winced sympathetically all the same. "I'm sorry. I wanted to act least attempt it..." The mutant chuckled quietly, carefully tucking his half-loaf of bread out of sight as he shifts to a more upright position. He turns his smile on the other, a strange but welcome fondness crinkling up the corners of his eyes. "You probably know my name already, so please just call me Feli. Most of the other struggle with "Feliciano"." A flicker of amusement shone in his eyes, perhaps a one-sided camaraderie at the fumbling of others over their own "difficult" names. "It's nice to meet you, despite the circumstances. I hope you enjoy your stay!"

At least one of them should, after all.