I Know Explosions Make Debris, and Catching it Kind of Suits You [Open]

[dead_black_eyes]

Who| Linden and Stephen, Linden and OPEN
What| Linden and Stephen do another blindspot conversation about rebellion stuff. Also a catch-all for Linden
Where| Lots of places
When| Before (for Stephen) and after (for everyone else) the Binding!
Warnings/Notes| Bidding mentions/implications, profanity, descriptions of injuries and sad stuff.



[a]. [for Stephen]

Linden is a lot less recognizable than he usually is today. Despite the nice weather, he's bundled up in several sweaters, and doesn't appear to be perspiring. He's got a few books under his arm as he strolls down a busy Capitol street, getting a few glances and murmurs of "is that...?" from curious appreciators of reality television. He's not wearing anything around his neck and his scar gives him away to attentive fans of the Games, and who in this part of Panem isn't?

He's not planning to hang out on Main Street, though. Linden Lockhearst is going into the seedier parts of the Capitol, striding through streets he is seldom if ever seen and ignoring casual midday offers for scantily-clad companionship. Eventually, he makes his way to a dark, isolated and unbugged alley, turning past the rougher edges of an older building than is typical in the Capitol. It's clean enough, unremarkable and nondescript, and when he sees his District's Escort, he approaches. Since Cyrus began cleaning up Stephen's image, he's been wearing clothes that are more subdued than any he's likely ever worn in his entire life. Traces of glitter remain, but ultimately the aesthetic is reminiscent of Cyrus's, sharp, clean-cut and professional.

"It took me long enough to find this place," he says; even with the confidence that they won't be overheard, he keeps his voice low and the movement of his lips minimal.

[b]. [tribute center rooftop]

Linden is off Morphling, clean for weeks and counting. The world is sharper, brighter, and a lot more hateful than the one he remembers cultivating for himself after his Games; that being said, he's found other ways to stimulate and soothe himself when either of those effects are needed. One such method is hanging off the guard rails by the back of his knees, dangling his body over the edge of the tower and gazing down through the forcefield at the street many stories below as blood rushes and sings in his ears.

The Sun's setting soon. From Linden's current vantage point, it'll look like it's levitating and being absorbed into a strange, solid, silver skyline composed of jagged skyscraper teeth. He tries to focus on this instead of the depressing revelation that Panem and especially the Capitol are falling apart, and even if he has to do some pretty shitty things to contribute to a cause that has actually succeeded in lighting a fire under him, he's on thin ice. It would take so little to slip and fall, and the precision of a tightrope walker to succeed; it makes hanging off the edge of a building seem dull and unadventurous by comparison.

The building has a safety net, after all; the rebellion doesn't, and anyone willingly involving himself with it carries the welfare of everyone he cares about on that wire with him.

[c]. [upscale Capitol bar]

The Binding had shaken up a lot, and for good reason, many staff members or people who are otherwise closely affiliated with the Games have been extra careful not to arouse suspicion. In this classy, upscale establishment, Linden actually looks like he (or more likely, 6's stylists) have put some real effort into his appearance tonight. He looks like a caricature of himself, dressed in close-fitting black vinyl with silver accents. It covers every inch of him below the neck, but is skintight on his extremely thin frame. His hair looks artfully tousled rather than slept-in, and his dark makeup accentuates the hollowness in his eyes and cheeks rather than attempting to soften, conceal or apologize for it.

For as little as he really looks like himself, absolutely no one could mistake the strikingly larger-than-life Victor as he currently appears. Even his scar is exaggerated and accented with makeup, and it's not long before a tall Capitolite of indeterminate gender is slipping into the seat next to Linden, ordering a drink and wrapping the man's thin fingers around the frosted glass. They strike up a conversation, appearing to already know each other. From a distance, it appears that the Capitolite is getting close and cozy, and though Linden doesn't reciprocate, he isn't making an effort to distance himself from the situation, either. He sips at his drink as his companion's hand strays to the sharp blade of Linden's hip.


[d]. [d6 suites]

Linden comes in late assisted by two Avoxes, seeming to time it so he isn't seen by anyone. A long bath and approximately 12 hours of sleep later, he reluctantly emerges from his room, appearing... strange. He's had some help from stylists, clearly, but the swelling around his eye is still noticeable. Foundation light enough to match Linden's parchment-pale skin is hard to come by, so the result is a mismatched nightmare that clashes with the cool tones in his complexion and does very little to cover the mottled bruising. The same goes for his neck; what his higher-than-normal collar doesn't cover tells a disquieting story of someone breaking his rule about even touching his neck rather severely.

If he notices someone staring, either at the bruising or the ginger, painful way he moves, he'll offer a tight smile. The tone will vary depending on whether or not they're friendly, but the message is always more or less the same.

"You should see the other guy."

Comments

c

[reassures]

It seems like everything as of late has gone right to hell. If Karkat was okay then no one was making a point of telling Nill what was happening to him - not that she would expect them to - and she is far more than just certain that both Steve, her District mate, and Kurloz are dead, the kind that the Capitol will not bring them back from. She almost hopes they're dead, because between all the things the Capitol could do to them it was probably the kindest.

(Please, please don't still be alive.)

It's the kind of thinking that would easily destroy Nill if she let it, which is why she's been trying to do other things, keep heerself busy, make things easier for other tributes. So when her escort - who Nill has only heard speak very rarely - suggested that being in the public more often would be a good idea she wasn't really in any position to turn it down, and certainly not the state of mind. No one had bid on her yet but that was purely luck, and if she was going to keep herself mostly whole she had to learn how to be casual in a place like this, how to not want to crawl out of her skin and leave it behind for the people that actually want to touch it, because she sure as hell doesn't.

She's not with bidders when Linden arrives, but there is a small group paying attention to her off to the side, relatively quiet compared to some of the other people. Nill's fans, at least the ones that she's with this evening, are a bit more subdued than some others. While she doubts it will last she's nonetheless grateful. They ask about her clothes, about her favorite brand of cigarettes, if she liked the e-cig Oceana had given her for the evening (because she has been smoking constantly), how hard it must be to care for her wings, if she would ever want to dye her feathers, they could just be so lovely if maybe they were a little more purple--

If Linden didn't actually see Nill when he came in it's because she's trying not to be seen. There's only so much she can handle for an evening, and him spotting her here isn't something she wants to worry about dealing with for now. She continues to think as much when she glances towards the bar every few moments. Oblivious, her fans offer her drinks, but she denies most, writes that she would rather recall speaking with them than not, and they practically swoon.

She doesn't budge until when she glances up she sees that the Capitolite actually has their hands on Linden, and after that it doesn't take long before she's waved some of them off and on her feet. Nill approaches immediately and practically yanks the Capitolite's hand off Linden, but she doesn't look at him, instead holding up her notepad for the Capitolite to read almost the second she's touched them.

would you buy me a drink?

The smile on her face is quiet and polite, but if in the last Arena Linden saw fire in her veins after Karkat was killed then now the only thing in her eyes is pure ice, the coldest he has probably ever seen her.

And if she's managed to get between them a bit then that's all the better if it means this disgusting excuse for a person is not touching someone she cares about as much as she does Linden.

Today her hair is lightly curled and left down instead of the usual braid or ribbons. Oceana was kind to her and though she's wearing the equivelant of a little black dress with some red trim, between her hair and her clothes it's hard to see any of her scars without looking for them purposely. Her makeup is meant to imitate something more natural, but to Linden it will still be obvious where the foundation is around her eyes to mask the fact that she has been sleeping even less than she did before the Binding, and her e-cig with at least two packs worth of vapor in it is matte black to match her dress. Appealing, but not eye-catching. It's practically advertisement.

[dead_black_eyes]

The two are close, involved in a conversation that Linden seems tolerant of, if not wholly comfortable with. He's tense under the Capitolite's touch, but nods attentively as the other person speaks, as if it's the natural and expected course for the discussion to take.

Nill's appearance is sudden and startling, and Linden freezes, wide-eyed, as the Capitolite's hand is forcibly removed from his person and Nill is demanding the gaudy individual's attention as well as a drink on his dime. She's positioned between them, almost protectively, and though the pit of his stomach is cold and sick, he tries to school his expression into mild surprise rather than utter horror.

No, not here...

The Capitolite laughs heartily, a deep voice revealing the high likelihood that he is male under all that heavy makeup and festive, colorful hair style. His lashes are bright red, his makeup is dark and intentionally smudged, and a direct look at him will reveal that despite being middle-aged and having a bit of a gut on him, he's had some plastic surgery in the facial region to make him more resemble Scorpii Cronen.

"Why, hello young lady," he grins, batting his long, crimson lashes coquettishly. Even if some of his features resemble an older, fatter Scorpii, nothing about his mannerisms speak of the dead Tribute. "Do you make a habit of interrupting other people's dates to demand alcohol? Or are you jealous? Don't worry, there's plenty to go around."

"She's an offworlder," Linden supplies hastily. "She doesn't understand."

"I know who she is, Lockhearst. Everyone who reads the tabloids knows, you dog," he adds, tone teasing as he flashes Nill a knowing smile. "Are you as vanilla as you seem, Nill? You can't be if you've ever shared a bed with Linden. Are you hiding handcuffs and a restraint system under that darling little black number you're wearing?"

"Claudius..."

"Ah, yes. Thank you. I should introduce myself! Nill, I'm Claudius Westchurch. I've been a lover of Linden's ever since he won his Arena; I was always more of a Scorpii fan, myself, but this is the next best thing, isn't it? A way to live a part of one of Panem's greatest tales of love and betrayal!"

"That's right," Linden confirms. "I'm here because I want to be, with my friend Claudius, it's all right, Nill..."

Claudius snorts. "Are you dismissing your lady friend, Linden? Nonsense, the more the merrier! I'll buy you all the drinks you'd like if you join us, angel-wings."

[reassures]

It probably is the natural course, and truthfully, Nill has seen things like this often enough that she knows interfering is an unwise choice to make, that it will only make the stories in the tabloids worse after this. There are so many dangerous things going on that acting in this way is about the stupidest decision she could possibly make.

But as of right now Karkat and the Initiate are probably dead, or Avoxed, her District-mate is probably dead, she has no idea how she is supposed to go talk to Bucky or Dave later when she knows Steve meant the world to Bucky as much as Karkat did to Dave. At least for a few days everything in this place feels empty and cold except for Linden. Now this person thinks he can do whatever he wants to Linden, touch him like he's a possession and not a human being, and that she would just sit back and not care and not at least try to get his hands off Linden for a few seconds?

Fuck that. Fuck all of it, fuck this place, and fuck these monsters trying to parade around and tell themselves they were good people.

It doesn't take long to pick up on at least the physical resemblances to Scorpii, the cheekbones, the way he has tried to be something he so clearly is not. Nill hadn't liked Scorpii, would never like him, but he was the charming sort that most people did, and this man doesn't resemble that in the slightest. She can't drag Linden out of here or tell this man to go right to hell, so she would just have to handle it however she could.

The smile remains firmly in place on her face, while almost every other word he spouts and every other thought she has about the thing in front of her continues to spiral. He reminds her of Scorpii, but more than that he reminds her of the first man she killed. Entitled and cruel, and she hadn't been there when he breathed his last, but she saw the videos on the news and she remembers the few fuzzy photos of the body that were shown. She had been in prime self-destruction mode, and right now she's not, but maybe if Linden was gone too she would be. She had felt very little about that man, and she's sure she would feel less about Claudius as well.

To her credit, being mute is a fairly effective way to hide your intentions. Most people won't look twice at a young woman that smiles and can't speak, and she's glad for it, because the only crack in her exterior that shows is when the man says lovers. The side of her smile twitches, and her wings fold in closer to her back, not because she's hiding them but because if she doesn't they will give away how livid she is under the surface. She only glances at Linden when he says friend, and though none of the ice running through her is directed at him he probably knows her well enough. That is bullshit, Linden, that is bullshit and you know it and she is not leaving.

I apologize for interrupting. It works a little differently in my world.
it's nice to meet you.
could you move down a seat?

If it wasn't already clear before, Nill has no intention of letting this man get anywhere close to being within easy reach of Linden again. Hopefully Claudius will be flattered instead of put off.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden feels like he's watching a trainwreck in slow motion. Not the way that washed-up celebrities with drug problems are described; an actual train wreck, a collision head-on, with twisted metal and mangled bodies smeared and clinging to sparking rails.

Nill, you mean well but you're in over your head. Do you realize that?

Seemingly, she has no idea. She didn't plan for all the possible, terrible ways this could go.

Claudius smiles accommodatingly and slides to his right, freeing up the barstool between himself and Linden. "Who am I to deny a lady the chance to be the meat in a sandwich?" he jests sweetly. "If you want so badly to be close to Panem's greatest Victor, I'll be generous and share for now. Linden, you must remember my generosity later on and appreciate it with one of your many less well-known talents."

"Yes. Of course," Linden responds woodenly.

"Bartender! Please make a Lavender Collins for the lady, and absinthe with sugar for Lockhearst and myself. The drink of the divine," he says indulgently, before returning his attention to Nill. Rather than practice the fine art of conversation and ask about her world or her interests or even her Arena experiences, he's happy to prattle on about himself and what he likes, which comes down to a decade-long plus obsession with Linden's arena.

"I'm sure you've seen the tapes for the 63rd Games, my dear. I have seen them so many times I practically have them memorized... every motion, gesture, and word, every beautiful and heartbreaking moment! I have my own set. They are my favorite Games. No offense to you and the offworlders, but I much prefer the old Games. The fact that we lose 23 Tributes for good means that the Victor who comes out of it, the strongest and fiercest and bravest of them all, is so much more precious!"

At Nill's side, Linden watches the absinthe as it's set before him and the bartender distributes the other drinks. He doesn't look strong, fierce, or brave. He barely looks alive.

Claudius nudges Nill's glass closer to her as he goes on happily, fueled by alcohol and his own enthusiasm and excitement. "It happens that tonight is very special. My fascination with the 63rd Games is such that I want to touch every aspect of it, and there are some I haven't gotten to, yet. Victors get some rules, and what was yours, Linden?"

Linden doesn't answer. He's in the middle of taking a drink.

"Well, you probably know given your relationship, but he has a rule about touching his neck! The most distinctive and interesting thing about him by far and it's off-limits to bidders, can you imagine? But tonight that changes, and I cannot wait."

"You'll need to," Linden says dully, setting his absinthe down. "Scorpii did, after all."

"Quite right, quite right! I'll have to defer to the authority on the 63rd Games, always. At least in public while the lights are still on!"

Linden peers over his shoulder, hoping to see someone who knows Nill who can extract her from this situation. Claudius isn't as interested in the new Tributes or the neverending Quell, he's very much a purist that way... but he loves the 63rd Games, and if Nill represents a development in the life of its Victor, she becomes interesting automatically.

"You're new to the bidding game, aren't you angel-wings? Do you have your eye on a first? If you're lucky, you can find someone who would have you do something you'd want to anyway..."

He leans forward to shoot Linden a smile, which the other man does not return.

[reassures]

To a certain extent she does realize it, but there are certain levels to things that sometimes she just isn't interested in paying attention to. It would not be the first time that a man like Claudius has given her attention; it will not be the last, and Nill knows full well that at some point eventually she will be the one sitting here trying to drink herself into oblivion before they can start putting their hands on her so she won't have to remember it come morning. She's smart enough not to glare at the man at the frankly grotesque suggestion, and she's careful enough not to let anything about her expression become unfriendly. To someone like Linden, who knows Nill as well as he does, there is close to nothing on her face that is realistic; for him her hatred for this man is probably blatant, and if not then the distaste for him is. He can read her better than most people can.

She's good at seeming polite however, even as she glances at the bartender every so often to make sure there is nothing extra in her drink. She takes it with a polite smile when it's set in front of her, about the only genuine thing she's managed this entire evening, and it's gone just as fast. For the most part she's happy to let him prattle on, as most anything he would ask her would receive a partial lie in return anyway. It's easier. And the longer he talks, the longer it will be before he leaves.

But the more Nill listens to him talk the more the polite smile slowly drains out of her expression. It's still there in the corners of her lips - which have been painted to shine in a way that is not overly noticeable, but tends to draw attention to them anyway, thanks to her stylist - but outside of that it doesn't hold up as well. He cites dates and years and Nill wants to punch him just for being that obsessed, for making Linden's life as awful as he has.

When the most disturbing aspect of it finally hits Nill in the chest in the chest she almost forgets how to breathe, and though she has not touched the drink she takes a very hesitant sip, far less to actually get any alcohol in her system and far more so she can look away. Her pen, which matches her outfit, is held in a white-knuckled fist on her lap, mostly out of view from Cladius but maybe not Linden.

This man has been using Linden since the moment he won his game, and he's one of the reasons that for years Linden preferred the sting of a needle to actually needing to live in his own skin and mind. Probably one of the reasons why sometimes he still preferred to live that way, and always might, despite trying his damnedest not to go back to it. This man is a living embodiment of the things that destroyed the boy from the interviews with Ceasar.

Nill also remembers that night on the roof before the first Arena, remembers carefully trying to get Linden to somewhere that could be close to safe, or as near that as either of them could get in this place, and how even though he had no idea where he was and who he was with he still curled in on himself and practically begged without ever speaking that they just not touch that one part of him.

There have only been a handful of times in Nill's life where she wished that she could scream, but sitting there, staring at this man that was going to do the one thing Linden had managed to avoid, she wishes she could. She wishes it was a restaurant instead of a bar, that instead of napkins on the bartop there were utensils, that if she actually reached for it there would be a knife in her fingers in a moment instead of a useless pen.

It's lucky that Nill is too smart to think for even a second that she could just grab Linden and leave. No matter what they would be caught, and they would be killed, and his parents and karkat would go down right alongside them. She clenches her jaw, mostly so she can stop holding her pen as if she wants to plunge it into the man's eye.

my escort and mentors have decided it would be best to wait until I'm a victor.

It's a neutral enough answer, one that doesn't really give any indication of her own feelings on the matter while not exactly confirming whether or not she's used to it. She hopes it's enough, because the next thing Nill writes she actually wants an answer to.

why can you do it now?

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden wants nothing more than to down the contents of his glass and quickly ask for another one in the hopes that perhaps he can be violently sick and interrupt this nightmare that way. His concern for Nill keeps him imbibing moderately, or at least what counts as moderate for him... especially when he glimpses her white-knuckled, furious grip on her pen and sees the fragments of ice in her eyes. It's a fierce coldness that the doll-like, calm visage of the rest of her features utterly belies.

He wants Claudius to shut up. With every moment of blithe prattling he's bringing Nill closer to something drastic. Linden isn't sure what, yet, but whether it's a punch to the face or a brave attempt to volunteer to take Linden's place in Claudius' bed, it will not end well.

"A shame, a shame," Claudius says at the written words. "Your looks and sweet gentleness would appeal to so many here, not merely Linden Lockhearst. How does that coupling even work, with the two of you being different as night and day? I would pay to watch you make love," he adds, chuckling but dead serious, if Linden's stiff reaction is anything to go by.

The other question is one that Claudius seems very eager to answer. "Because fortune smiles upon the patient, my dear girl! And I have been so patient with Linden," he adds. "Last time, I will admit, I did get carried away once he was in my embrace." He chuckles, pulling up his sleeve and showing off a ridged, uneven scar on his forearm that looks to be the result of a hideously deep bite. "It scarred. I made sure of it," he adds affectionately, shooting another impish glance the Mentor's way.

Linden, conversely, retains a rigid, unreadable expression.

"Anyway... imagine my surprise when I hear from Linden's managers that he's interested in revising that contract clause if it means I'll bid on him again. Of course I jumped at the chance!"

"It's true," Linden concurs hollowly. "My camp contacted him, and not vice-versa. I want to be here."

I'm so sorry. I didn't want to tell you, but... if it gets you out of here, I can try to explain later.

[reassures]

He wouldn't think her so sweet and gentle if there was anything sharp within her reach. As it is the temptation to stab the pen down and ruin something he so obviously cherished is overwhelming. Nill sets her hands on the bar top, still managing to seem mostly polite as she twirls it idly with her fingers because she does not trust herself not to do something with it if she can hold it in her first for an extended period of time. It's a good show of dexterity, though not an over the top one, and concentrating on it does at least help not to have her mind focused purely on this pathetic moving pound of flesh in front of her.

Thankfully Nill's tells are restricted to her wings this evening; though she can't possibly stop every little thing that would give her away, if she's conscious of it then she can at least make sure that most are only seen in the shift and bristling of feathers. There's a very obvious twitch when Claudius talks about watching then, and Nill needs to put a plastic and not as convincing smile on her face so as not to outright grimace. Maybe, maybe that could happen between them some day, if either of them lived long enough for at least one of them to get over all the trauma and misery that might prevent it, but the idea of this monstrosity watching is enough to make her feel ill.

It's nothing compared to the sudden, gaping hole in her chest when he says there's a revised contract, that it's no longer a rule, that he absolutely intends to touch Linden's neck later whether he wants it or not, maybe even because he doesn't, and her wings practically turn to stone against her back, tense and rigid.

Whether or not the confirmation from Linden makes it worse is of course unclear, but it is one of the only times during most of this entire thing that Nill completely turns her attention away from Claudius so she can look at Linden, expression remaining mostly neutral save for where the ice has been replaced by confusion and an at least partial lack of understanding.

What the fuck was Stephen doing?

She looks like she wants to ask, to do something, but she doesn't have the chance. It's around then that a woman from the group Nill had been in earlier finally makes it over to the bar, and immediately starts gushing about Nill's clothes, her drink, and Linden might recognize her, because it's the Capitolite that Stephen just broke up with recently that has come to fetch Nill again. That might also be why she doesn't seem intent on sticking around, because though Nill jumps slightly when Candi grabs her hand the young Capitolite woman seems not to have noticed, and is entirely intent on brining Nill back over to the people that have technically been given her time for the evening and who Nill has not been paying enough attention to.

Unless Linden or Claudius try to get them to stay she will probably succeed in dragging Nill away.

[dead_black_eyes]

The facade works perfectly well on the imperceptive Claudius, but Linden knows Nill well enough to read certain nuances that others miss. She's furious. There's blazing hatred there for those who know how to see it, and Linden has a front row seat. Too bad he's limited vastly to the role of a reluctant spectator rather than a participant; though this is for an excellent cause, he is stripped of agency tonight. Someone else has bought and paid for his time and it's up to him to make the best of it, even if he finds parts of it incredibly unpleasant or painful.

He won the Hunger Games. He can take it. Manifestations of panic, trauma, or otherwise lashing out are actually a selling point for this particular pervert...

Your eyes were so beautiful when you thought you were going to die

...but Linden is confident that he can weather, endure and survive, which is kind of what Victors are known for. No matter who one asks, it crops up in every definition.

Her confusion is almost worse than the ice. He wants to take her by the shoulders, hold her, reassure her somehow that everything is going to be all right and that he has to get close to strike at a tender underbelly. He wants to tell her that he insisted on using the in he has as a Victor popular in certain extreme niches, but he's limited with the bidder on his time and body so nearby. He tries to make the gesture look casual and absentminded and meaningless, but it's a sign meant for Nill's eyes, and it's all he can give her.

I'm sorry.

When Candi interrupts, Linden wonders if Stephen's given her instructions to not allow interference with this rendezvous. Her timing is just too perfect... if it is a coincidence, it's an incredibly lucky one. He wants desperately to thank her for her interruption, her compliments, and her insistence that Nill needs to come back to her party.

As Candi pulls Nill away, Claudius stands as if to follow and protest, but Linden moves quickly, taking the seat vacated by Nill and leaning in for a bitter kiss that's eagerly accepted.

For someone with "extreme tastes and developed appetites," you sure don't know when you're being poisoned, do you?

The whirlwind of boisterous energy Candi engulfs Nill in as she rejoins the group is nearly impossible to break away from, and if Nill does manage even within minutes, the two men at the bar will have vanished the next time she glances that way.