thecapitol | we fail to represent, we fail to be content.

Who; Dave and Oh God Another Open Post
What; Prompts in the comments- Mostly Dave being a Teenage Boy.
When; The days after Shit Hit the Fan but things got Sort of Better.
Where; Training Center, Out and About
Warnings/Notes; Swearing, mentions of death as usual.

Dave is starting to get what people mean when they talk about a Week From Hell. Only it hasn't been a week, it's been weekS. Month. Months? Hell if he knows. He's entirely lost his touch with time since they took his powers away, but his perceptions are screwed to hell and back anyway. In a lot of ways, this had been on the same level as his life back home. You never knew when you were gonna die, when your friends were gonna die, when things would fuck up and you'd all be scrambling to fix it. But it had always been a game. Now, people are dying. It's IRL action movies right here, but who the fuck is Nic Cage? He hasn't seen much incoherent screaming from anyone yet, but the reference isn't funny without his friend John here anyway. Not that he wants him here. Much. There's something to be said about your friends all being an elevator ride away, here. Not universes away, timelines away and possibly dead.

It's a downer to think about. It sucks to think anything could be better here. He has a wider social circle than his younger self would have given him credit for. Who knew dorm living brought out the social side in anyone? He can feel himself settling into his ways a little too much here, he's almost glad the Capitol gave them the old reach around several times to really get the point through. It fucking sucks here. It will always suck. They will take everything you love, shit on it and light it on fire. They made that point vividly with Bro, before he could even think twice about opening his big mouth and rebelling.

Instead, he channels his energy into other things. Distracting things. Things he doesn't have the means to do back on Ol' Space Rock.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Dave may not be her kid, but he's still a kid and he looks like he damaged something (maybe more like his dignity than anything physical, but it counts) when he fell. Which means Clara's obligated to make sure it's just a case of bruised dignity and not something more serious. So he's going to have a hand offered to him to help him up.]

You okay?

[Dave resents that line of thinking, because he clearly is not a kid. He is a man, a small man with very little facial hair to boast about and now very little dignity to go with it.

He stares gormless up at the hand as if considering whether it's worthy of being taken. He reaches for it, but instead gives it a vigorous shake before letting his hand drop back down.]

I'm great, thanks. How are you on this fine morning?

[But alas, Clara's going to continue that line of thought, considering he's acting like David during one of his "Mom, I'm fiiiiine, I can get up on my own, I'm a big kid" moments after any of the number of times he fell while goofing off or playing hockey.]

I'm good.

[Yeah, she's just going to keep that hand out to help him up.] Nothing broken, I hope.

[Having grown up without a mother, Dave is stubborn in the face of attempted coddling and caretaking. At least, he tries to. It's hard not to be coddled when you go around falling off things.]

That's good. So many people aren't good, y'know. Life is always holding hands in their faces when they're trying their best to be poised. [He shrugs against the ground.] My faith in myself, mostly.

[It may help that Clara has years of experience when it comes to coddling. Really, she's a pro. Which is why she crouches down and balances on the balls of her feet, still with a hand out to help him up.]

In that case, how about we get you back on your feet. That might be the best place to start so you can get it back.

[Finally, Dave starts to feel more like an ass than he does cool. Yeah, stick it to the man, refuse to accept help. With a long suffering sigh he lifts his arm limply so she can help him if she wants.]

Nope. Crippled for life. You tried your best but you didn't succeed. [He pulls himself off the floor and brushes himself off, staring up at her curiously.] If you have a habit of saving all the floor children you're in the wrong place.

[Yeah, she's just going to grab that hand and drag him up the rest of the way.]

I usually don't try to rescue all the floor children I find, just the ones who look like they need some help. Though you might be a lost cause if you're going to go around quoting Coldplay.

I'm flattered to be in that narrow category, I'd like to thank my family, my fans and President Snowbama for the opportunity. [He raises a brow when she gets the reference, almost looking impressed.]

You look me in the eye and say you haven't curled up on a bad day and cried openly with the soft croons of Chris Martin playing on repeat. [He looks defensive, even if he isn't a Coldplay man at all.]

I'm sure they're all very proud of you.

Not since I was in my teens or early twenties, at least. I was young and dumb and it was before the "conscious uncoupling." [She's not counting that time she heard Fix You after the bombing and ended up crying over Alex while curled up in their bed. Everyone has their breaking point and for some ungodly reason, her's involved Coldplay.]

Please, Coldplay is like the contagious and infectious gift that keeps on giving. It's a reoccurring disease encoded in your DNA and fighting it only strengthens its tight, soulful clutches on your soul. In your darkest hours, when there's nobody to turn to, there's Coldplay. There. In the back of your mind. Playing on repeat.

[He finishes that up with a small nod.] I didn't see you back in the Murdersville mixer.

[She's tempted to compare Coldplay to glitter, but no, she wouldn't dare. Glitter isn't that bad in comparison.]

My husband and I were trying to lay low through most of it. [She finds absolutely no shame in the fact that they spent most of their time in the arena hiding out in a house.]

I'm Clara, by the way. [Hopefully she'll find out what his name is so she stops thinking of him as Parkour Kid Who References Coldplay.]

You have a husband? You've been leading me on this whole time? We're over, I'm out. [He takes an indignant step back, but he isn't going anywhere.]

Dave, I guess. That's what they tell me, anyway.

Yes, that was my entire goal: lead on a teenager until he finds out someone already liked it and put a ring on it. All my careful planning's been ruined by a meddling kid. [Clara isn't trying to hold back her laughter. Nope. Not at all.

Her smile probably falters for just a second. This kid isn't like David, for the most part. He's older and snarkier and doesn't seem to give a single fuck about hockey. But there's a spark of something to him that makes her think of her son, and his name on top of that...well, it hurts. And it drives home the fact that she hasn't seen her son in weeks and how much she misses him.] Dave's a good name. It suits you.

You know, Beyonce told me the exact same thing. [In his dreams, anyway. The dreams where he meets Beyonce and she lets him down gently. He's always been a realist.

He notices the way her smile falters and it confuses him, because if he hasn't scared her off by now he needs to wonder why just telling her his name would do that.] Guess I'll put a hold on changing it to Draco Skywalker for the moment.

[She's slightly tempted to say "Oh?" and repeat it over and over again, just to really bring the Beyonce quotes out. But she won't because that's just a little too tacky.

Maybe she'll tell him one day. But not right now.] Good, you don't seem like much of a Draco anyway.

Not even a little? Man, my father is going to hear about this, Potter. [He's folding his arms over his chest now and staring for a long moment before his stomach grumbles and ruins the intense stare off.]

..He says hello.

Only in the hair department, maybe. [Well, it's nice to know that where and whenever Dave's from, they still have Harry Potter. It's a nice constant to be aware of.]

Well hello to him too, then. You wanna grab some lunch?

Pssh, what do you know? [He shrugs flippantly, perking up when she mentions food. Typical teenaged boy over here.]

Hell yeah I want to grab lunch. [Eating with strangers is always a good idea.] Where we gon' go? You know there's places here where you're meant to eat with your hands? Don't order the soup.

we fail to represent, we fail to be content.

WHOOPS, SORRY DAVE. YOU'RE ABOUT TO GET MOM'D

DEAR GOD

MOM NOM NOM...wait no

NOT FOR EATS

Oh right, this is based on The Hunger Games, not Hannibal

sometimes that's debatable

brought to you by the game that brought you romantic cannibalism

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