Benjamin F. "Hawkeye" Pierce (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
swill) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-10-04 09:31 pm
swill) wrote in thecapitol2014-10-04 09:31 pm
(open) Please remember to say "please" and "thank you". Thank you.
Who| A captain called Hawkeye and whoever happens to be in the way
What| Arrival and readjustment
Where| D4 for starters, then the Training Center Bar and Commons
When| Today. Hideously early in the morning. Let's do this.
Warnings/Notes| None, I think, but of course I'll edit this if something comes up.
Was this different than last time? No. Not really. Exhibit A: Hawkeye is still in olive drab and mud caked boots, still with the same old two dog tags hanging around his neck, still with untidy hair and a touch of stubble and he's, you know, fully aware. Aware that waking up in some strange new place that's all razzle-dazzle and big guns isn't normal, aware that he might have shrieked a little that first moment he knew he wasn't lying on a flea infested old cot, aware of who he is and how much he can't do. Like make sense of anything. At least not until the memories flood in the way the bright lights flood the room and the big burly guys in equally bulky armor seem to flood the halls outside.
Things were exactly as they'd been last time, because Exhibit B: Hawkeye's a white knuckled mess now, and he'd been a white knuckled mess then.
Things were exactly as they'd been last time, because as Hawkeye's led from that one chamber to the other, more spacious and colorful and comfortable chamber, he still kind of feels like he's either dead or about to die.
Which, knowing the place, wasn't his gut telling him a lie.
Blah, blah, said some man with a helmet. Die, die, he explained.
Don't mess up, because someone was going to die.
So, okay.
So, okay, Hawkeye was led easily up to the district suites this time around and he honest to God couldn't remember if he'd put up a fight at all before. He remembers the number and remembers the theme- and so, okay. He didn't feel like running his mouth or squirming like an oiled piglet under the iron grip of the Capitol this time- so he didn't feel like cracking wise about something smelling fishy. And then he remembered, no, something was wrong and more than in the usual sense of the word. He nearly wished he'd been chucked into a pod and lifted into a jungle instead of the nice room. Naturally, the wish didn't last.
[District 4 Suites]
Something was wrong and it was up to him to find out what. He marched through the suite like he owned the place- boots stomping and leaving traces of dirt and God only knew what else where he stepped. Hawkeye had only the courtesy to peer into his assigned room for a minute- three tops- and survey what was there for him. A bed, a projector-window-flip-the-channel-thingy, a dresser, a lamp and other nonsense stuff. He flung his jacket into the bed and slammed the door shut- slammed it not in the I'm-sorry-let-me-be-quieter-next-time sort of way, more in the I'm-a-moody-adolescent sort of way. He tucked those stupid cowbell dog tags into his green shirt out of newfound habit.
And went knocking on whatever other shut door he could find. The bathroom, the bedrooms, the kitchen cabinets that looked suspiciously spacious enough to hide a body. "Oi! Hey! Anybody in here? Hey-"
Something wasn't right, see, the Capitol's Darling would have shut him up by now-
"Finnick!"
Like he's a kid. Just like he was a kid wailing for his sitter.
Or what, was he not supposed to say that name?
[Commons and Bar]
Hawkeye had, some way or another or through good old black magic, calmed down. The initial freak out-- oh good Lord, who was he kidding, the initial freak out had only just begun. And it was, what 10 am? At the latest? Too late, as far as he was concerned and gee, wouldn't he rather just lie down in his new comfy emperor-sized bed and sleep this over? Well, he would, but the cynical part of him tittered that he'd sleep when he was dead. Oh, the time's he had muttered that in the O.R.- oh, to be in that O.R. again! The elevators were always a riot to get into and out of- Hawkeye squeaked the whole way down and told himself he was a rat. The commons gets a scan- the fashion of the Capitol citizens is given a grimace. And then Hawkeye catches sight, or whiff, of the bar- of that glorious nectar that would pull his brain awake and would shock his system into that great defeat. He all but makes a beeline. Busy or not as the bar may be, Hawkeye snags himself a prime seat and a hearty round of drinks. The threats and scares of the day are thrown aside- more like forcibly pushed. Hawkeye stands, feels like he's got those good ol' jelly legs, raises a half-empty glass and announces, "Drinks on me!" in that voice that plainly told he had forgotten the drinks were free, that plainly told he was so convinced he'd fix something by the act. The surgeon sits his ass down and looks around and grins-
"Go wild, boys!" No, wait, no no no no-
"Mild- I sai-" Guns and threats, yeah? "I said mild! Gee, cut the greenhorn a break around here!"
But wouldn't you know it, literally nobody had given a damn. Those stinkin' hypocrites.
[ooc: Give me prose or brackets, I'll follow your lead!]
What| Arrival and readjustment
Where| D4 for starters, then the Training Center Bar and Commons
When| Today. Hideously early in the morning. Let's do this.
Warnings/Notes| None, I think, but of course I'll edit this if something comes up.
Was this different than last time? No. Not really. Exhibit A: Hawkeye is still in olive drab and mud caked boots, still with the same old two dog tags hanging around his neck, still with untidy hair and a touch of stubble and he's, you know, fully aware. Aware that waking up in some strange new place that's all razzle-dazzle and big guns isn't normal, aware that he might have shrieked a little that first moment he knew he wasn't lying on a flea infested old cot, aware of who he is and how much he can't do. Like make sense of anything. At least not until the memories flood in the way the bright lights flood the room and the big burly guys in equally bulky armor seem to flood the halls outside.
Things were exactly as they'd been last time, because Exhibit B: Hawkeye's a white knuckled mess now, and he'd been a white knuckled mess then.
Things were exactly as they'd been last time, because as Hawkeye's led from that one chamber to the other, more spacious and colorful and comfortable chamber, he still kind of feels like he's either dead or about to die.
Which, knowing the place, wasn't his gut telling him a lie.
Blah, blah, said some man with a helmet. Die, die, he explained.
Don't mess up, because someone was going to die.
So, okay.
So, okay, Hawkeye was led easily up to the district suites this time around and he honest to God couldn't remember if he'd put up a fight at all before. He remembers the number and remembers the theme- and so, okay. He didn't feel like running his mouth or squirming like an oiled piglet under the iron grip of the Capitol this time- so he didn't feel like cracking wise about something smelling fishy. And then he remembered, no, something was wrong and more than in the usual sense of the word. He nearly wished he'd been chucked into a pod and lifted into a jungle instead of the nice room. Naturally, the wish didn't last.
[District 4 Suites]
Something was wrong and it was up to him to find out what. He marched through the suite like he owned the place- boots stomping and leaving traces of dirt and God only knew what else where he stepped. Hawkeye had only the courtesy to peer into his assigned room for a minute- three tops- and survey what was there for him. A bed, a projector-window-flip-the-channel-thingy, a dresser, a lamp and other nonsense stuff. He flung his jacket into the bed and slammed the door shut- slammed it not in the I'm-sorry-let-me-be-quieter-next-time sort of way, more in the I'm-a-moody-adolescent sort of way. He tucked those stupid cowbell dog tags into his green shirt out of newfound habit.
And went knocking on whatever other shut door he could find. The bathroom, the bedrooms, the kitchen cabinets that looked suspiciously spacious enough to hide a body. "Oi! Hey! Anybody in here? Hey-"
Something wasn't right, see, the Capitol's Darling would have shut him up by now-
"Finnick!"
Like he's a kid. Just like he was a kid wailing for his sitter.
Or what, was he not supposed to say that name?
[Commons and Bar]
Hawkeye had, some way or another or through good old black magic, calmed down. The initial freak out-- oh good Lord, who was he kidding, the initial freak out had only just begun. And it was, what 10 am? At the latest? Too late, as far as he was concerned and gee, wouldn't he rather just lie down in his new comfy emperor-sized bed and sleep this over? Well, he would, but the cynical part of him tittered that he'd sleep when he was dead. Oh, the time's he had muttered that in the O.R.- oh, to be in that O.R. again! The elevators were always a riot to get into and out of- Hawkeye squeaked the whole way down and told himself he was a rat. The commons gets a scan- the fashion of the Capitol citizens is given a grimace. And then Hawkeye catches sight, or whiff, of the bar- of that glorious nectar that would pull his brain awake and would shock his system into that great defeat. He all but makes a beeline. Busy or not as the bar may be, Hawkeye snags himself a prime seat and a hearty round of drinks. The threats and scares of the day are thrown aside- more like forcibly pushed. Hawkeye stands, feels like he's got those good ol' jelly legs, raises a half-empty glass and announces, "Drinks on me!" in that voice that plainly told he had forgotten the drinks were free, that plainly told he was so convinced he'd fix something by the act. The surgeon sits his ass down and looks around and grins-
"Go wild, boys!" No, wait, no no no no-
"Mild- I sai-" Guns and threats, yeah? "I said mild! Gee, cut the greenhorn a break around here!"
But wouldn't you know it, literally nobody had given a damn. Those stinkin' hypocrites.
[ooc: Give me prose or brackets, I'll follow your lead!]
no subject
"I'd even more careful than before though, if the warning makes any difference to you. Things have gone even worse to Hell." He knows he and Hawkeye hadn't exactly been close before the other man had up and vanished, but Albert can't help but have a fondness for put-upon doctors who really only want to help people.
no subject
"No kidding?" Hawkeye asks, dull but without a hint of criticism. This fella he remembered being proper, or something like that, or at least one of the decent ones around, and so Hawk has the courtesy to lower his voice to what's considered normal. "I come here and the first thing they do is remind me they've got a hold of everyone I know- as if dragging me back wasn't proof enough of that. I see guns out everywhere and it's a good thing I'm used to parading through metal heaps or else I'd be a little fidgety right now." Complete with the one shouldered shrug that admitted, yeah, the doctor wasn't comfortable in his skin quite yet. He motions to nothing with his free hand. "I'm telling ya, it's a good thing I'm used to this." Though a charge of mutiny here versus a charge of mutiny courtesy of Burns would be, Hawk figured, drastically different levels of serious. Not that he'd been fond of the first one to begin with.
"Now here's an odd question- humor me, will ya- how've you been? We'll get back to Panem one-oh-one after that."
no subject
"I'm surprisingly good." True, though there's a great deal of voluntary repression in that, but can he really be blamed for not wanting to think about how he had to murder his fiance and then get unsuccessfully water boarded into drowning by a 12 year old who he could have overpowered in a heartbeat, even given is injuries? No thanks. Let's focus on other things. Forever. And never talk about that. "Getting married sometime after the crowning."
Which brings some levels of guilt with it, why he should be allowed that happiness when there's so much awful to go around. And the worry that the Capitol will somehow undermine the whole thing.
"Not much else to tell that isn't par for the course." Which is utterly false, but they're too exposed here, he can't tell Hawkeye anything about the rebellion, about what they found during the blackout, it's all too sensitive of information. Even if he could without fear of being overheard, Pierce seems a bit too twitchy right at the moment to be given anything clandestine in nature anyway. It might be too heavy a weight.