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

d! lemme know if you want anything changed

[reassures]

Though certainly not as long of a day as Linden unfortunately needed to have, Nill's own hadn't exactly been sunshine and rainbows. As it turns out Candi's interference nearly twenty hours ago was almost entirely because she recognized the bidder Linden was with - a fact that she let Nill know as she was dragging her back to the group she was with for the evening. Though the words "you do not want to spend the evening with that man" had probably been said out of kindness, one of the few kinds that Capitolites actually seem to know, they had done next to nothing good for Nill. She had tried to get away, to go back and do something, but the only time Nill managed to look was long enough to see Linden making sure Claudius didn't try to bring her over again, and that was the last she was able to spot him.

So, perhaps understandably, it had been a rough night after that. She finished up her with the people that wanted her time and went home and finished off the stash she had hidden from one of her earlier Arena deaths, and waited until Stephen called to let her know that Linden was back, and that he "would be" okay. Then it was mostly spending the next twelve hours drinking coffee, or trying (and failing) not to doze off on the couch several times. She never drifted off for more than thirty minutes, but at least she didn't try to blame Stephen for the ordeal or try to punch him, which she very well may have done had she found him right away.

It's during one of these periods of dozing off that Linden finally wanders out of his room, and though he's not making much noise Nill starts awake. Thankfully that couch isn't really in easy view of the rooms, so Linden might not notice it, but Nill waits a moment to listen and gets up immediately when she determines the person walking is in fact not Stephen. Nill doesn't get more than a few feet closer before she spots what's been done to his neck and she freezes in place, worried and slightly wide-eyed, horror in almost every line of her features.

Oh, god, that bastard.

<3

[dead_black_eyes]

Capitolites aren't all bad, and as Linden had left the bar with a firm, possessive arm over his shoulder and accompanied Claudius back to his lavish cave-themed home, he'd thought back to Candi's gesture. It had gotten him through a lot of unpleasantness last night, actually, just knowing that someone had been looking out for Nill in a moment where he was all but powerless to save her. He's getting sick of that feeling in general, the fact that for Capitolites who want to fuck up a Victor as well as fuck them, Linden is practically playing on easy mode.

He'd gone to bed last night after washing every inch of himself that he could access, feeling filthy even after almost scrubbing his skin raw. The sleeping pills had hit him hard, especially having been swallowed with alcohol, and he hadn't even fully dried from his bath before collapsing in bed, but he'd managed to convince himself during those hours that all things considered, it could have been worse, and therefore, it ultimately wasn't that bad.

Shuffling painfully out to the lounge area in the suite, the first thing Linden sees with his blurred and slightly doubled vision is Nill's face, and all those carefully constructed, bolstering denials come crashing down in response to her horrified countenance.

It's that bad.

"It looks worse than it is," he says hastily, knowing it's wishful thinking at best. He's hoarse when he speaks, his neck and throat both aching. He wants to see her smile, have some kind of reassurance to grab onto and hold like a lifeline, but he can tell that it'll probably be quite some time before she can look at him without that horror in her blue eyes.

[reassures]

Though it's likely not a gesture that Linden himself knows, and Nill is fairly certain the only reason she knows it is because what little she remembers of the man that first taught her tells her he was foul-mouthed, she lifts her hands, the way they move through the air almost looking sharp as she signs, {Bullshit.}

Despite the gesture she can't bring herself to summon the kind of fury that seemed to encase her last night, her shoulders hunching forward slightly and wings mostly folded down against her back. She gingerly steps closer, within reach though she doesn't dare try to touch him right now, and takes a few brief seconds to get a closer look at his neck before she has to blink several times to make sure she doesn't start crying.

Then, almost an echo of the last time she really got to see him she lifts a hand to her chest, the gesture nowhere near as casual or accidental as he had made it seem.

{I'm so sorry.}

Even though she had gone over with the intent of maybe getting Linden out of there, or changing the man's mind, or just doing something, the only thing she had accomplished was making it worse. That much was obvious with some of the comments that disgusting man had made, and yet she never just left like she should have.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden doesn't know the sign, but the way the gesture manifests tells him enough about what it probably means, at least the gist. Nill's more than unhappy, she's livid, whether at the man who did this or Linden for allowing it to happen. Hopefully Stephen has escaped the bulk of the blame; Linden doesn't like thinking about the Escort catching shit for this, given how much he'd initially opposed it.

Whatever fury he was bracing for never comes. Her shoulders wilt forward and her wings fold, making her appear even smaller. She steps closer, as though approaching something wild and wounded, and Linden shifts but manages not to insult her by flinching or withdrawing. If he could manage to let Phillip help clean him up last night when he came in in his respectful, businesslike way, he can stand his steady ground before a person he frequently mourns not being able to touch. He notices her quick blinking and the glistening sheen on her exhausted eyes, and when she apologizes to him in turn, he's momentarily paralyzed.

"Firstly, it is not that bad," Linden insists, hating the way his voice moves through bruised and creaking channels as if to pathetically call him a liar with every word. "It's like finishing a chore that needs doing, and it is hard..."

Understatement of the year

"...but I'm stronger than everyone thinks I am. I'm a Victor, Nill, we're... not supposed to need protecting."

He speaks like someome half-convinced, half trying to convince himself, and fully grateful that Nill wasn't a part of his taxing rendezvous.

[reassures]

Nill couldn't be angry with Linden for it happening if she tried. How could she be after what that man had done? Claudius, on the other hand, has found a special place in the very blackest part of her soul, the spot reserved for people like Angelika, the woman who utterly destroyed Heine and all the people around him, and for Spencer, who ran his own kind of game and who she killed eventually. If ever they won this war and she had any say in it, Claudius would not remain alive for long after that either.

For a moment a very small, lopsided kind of smile makes its way onto her face, but it's not the happy expression that he would probably like it to be. She makes the same gesture as before, {Bullshit,} but the sharpness has leaked out of it, leaving it a far more neutral movement than it was before.

She lifts her hands again after a moment, about to try to sign something else, but then a small frown appears on her face and she lowers them, glancing down at them somewhat unhappily, as if disappointed in her inability to find the gestures or phrases that she needs.

...Or maybe it's just an excuse to give him more space when she thinks he probably needs it. A moment later she turns to walk back to the couch to grab her notepad, and when she comes back she leaves several more feet between them. She wouldn't move if he tried to reach for her, but he's well outside her reach now. The smile makes it's way onto her face, a quiet and somber thing, but the usual fondness for Linden is there too.

you're the strongest person I know, but everyone needs to be protected.

Even him. Even her, though that's still something that makes her uncomfortable. Sometimes it seems to her that the people in Panem have long since forgotten what it's like to actually have the power to protect the ones they care about.

She knows Linden doesn't agree, and doesn't think that much of himself at all, but whether he agrees on that matter is probably the only thing she doesn't care about when it comes to Linden.

[dead_black_eyes]

There's no mistaking the meaning of the gesture, now. Linden's laugh is soft and wavery, but there's some substance there, enough to say that he's not so broken he can't appreciate Nill's ability to see him for who he is. He's not broken at all, despite knowing that people are going to be treating him that way in this suite for the foreseeable future. Shaken, yes, but this is hardly his first violent kink rodeo.

She starts to sign more, and he rivets his attention to her hands; he's having some difficulty with his vision since last night, and he has to focus harder than he might have otherwise to make out a certain level of detail. She goes for her notepad instead, and he turns his good eye so he can better see. Closing the aching, bruised mess that is his other one eliminates the blurring and double-vision substantially. Still, it's not close enough to read, so he draws nearer, to the point where they're nearly touching. He smells like several different types of perfumed soap.

"The fact that you believe that isn't an honor I deserve."

He means it. He's humbled. His fingertips brush her elbow, barely grazing her sleeve.

"I don't get to protect others very often, which is ironic, considering my profession as a Mentor. Thank you for letting me, last night."

He might owe the lion's share of that to Candi for pulling Nill away from what promised to be a hellish situation if the angel-winged girl had been successfully drawn into it. That being said, he still moved quickly, ensured Claudius was distracted adequately from following them, and as bitter as that kiss had been, as much as he'd wished he didn't have to give it to someone else in front of Nill, it had been worth it to know that she was safe for the evening. He's not sure he feels like the strongest person anyone here could know, but he at least feels something like a man despite being treated like anything but by Claudius.

[reassures]

It's a rare thing when Nill wants to reach for people not to give them comfort - though that urge is near constant, more instinct than much else - but to find her own comfort. Anything like that is brief and typically brought about by fear or separation, or sometimes both. Like when she hugged Karkat after he'd been gone as long as he was after the last arena, or when she hugged Linden after it. While not a stronger urge it leaves a dull, numbing ache in her chest, and she can't act on it, won't. As much as she would love to hug him, or touch his cheek, or do much of anything she has no idea how much touch he can handle right now or how much worse the physical damage is where she can't see it.

She writes a new line, and hesitates just the slightest bit before hooking the pen onto the notepad so she doesn't need to hold it. Then Nill reaches for his hand, the one still at his side, and if he doesn't flinch or try to pull away she'll carefully lift his hand and place it against her own cheek, holding it there. If Karkat could do it without them getting into trouble, then surely she could at least one time.

thank you for protecting me.

As much as she hates to admit it, had Claudius succeeded in forcing her to come back with them she would not be handling it as well as Linden is, not even close. Nill only hopes that she can return the favor some day. It doesn't feel like she's ever succeeded at keeping Linden safe.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden is, even on good days, not a particularly physical person. He acts and reacts like someone who doesn't quite fit in with his surroundings and is afraid of leaving a mark that can be traced back to him; from his grasp to his footfall, he's delicate and careful, which might make both the vague and explicit brutality of the night before seem even more perverse. No one could be blamed for assuming the worst of a famously skittish and unpredictable Victor this morning, especially when his movements hint at other injuries his clothing hides, but when her hand finds his and raises it to her cheek, he's malleable and compliant, not reacting noticeably until his palm is flush against her warm, smooth cheek. His fingertips curl slightly against the place her cheekbone starts.

Even if I managed to protect you in some small way, there'll probably come a day I can't stop myself here. For that, I'm sorry in advance.

"It doesn't end there, you know. If he remembers you and tries to get you within throwing distance of his house..."

He can't openly threaten or plot against a Capitolite, as per Cyrus' rules. Far too dangerous, but the glint of broken glass in his undamaged eye says that it's very unlikely Claudius would have a home to take her back to.

[reassures]

If Nill were smart she might have spoken to Harley about bidding, or maybe given the conversation much thought with her Escort after Ampora was replaced, but the Escort spoke with her so infrequently that she could never muster the courage to bring it up more than a fleeting "please don't let it happen." They weren't close. He had no reason to try to dissuade them if someone influential or with a reputation wanted her. When it came to Harley she couldn't handle bringing it up when Harley already treated her as if she were most of the way broken for what few reactions she'd seen from her. Maybe that was a mistake of pride more than anything else.

In that way, what she did the night before was a huge mistake. Stephen was someone that would do everything in his power to help Linden, and she knew that. It wasn't the same for her.

She hoped he wouldn't think of that.

The smile that lights up her face this time is still small, but it's a little on the happier side, if not reassuring. Her hand is still on his and she gives it a gentle squeeze, but has to let go to actually write. Whether he keeps it there is up to him.

I'll be careful. I promise.

You don't need to do anything dangerous is the general intent. It was an Escort's job to tell her who would be at what Capitol function if she asked, right? She'd know in advance if he was there and avoid him like the plague. There's a lot of room for error there, but there's not much else she can do.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden didn't get to be the winner of the Hunger Games by failing to think of unsavory or risky outcomes. He tends to constantly be running through them and considering what could happen; given his history of drug use and addiction, this might be a little ironic, but Linden would be the first to insist that it's very different. He certainly thought his situation would be, that he was far too clever to ever become reliant on a mere substance.

He is much humbler nowadays.

Linden's hand remains, knowing the risk and what it must look like on camera. He won't get fired for a tender touch in a vulnerable moment following a hellish night; that would be ridiculous even the standards of those harsh new rules, even with the thin ice he's been skating on since lashing out at Jason. Those rules might be what make his hand linger, since what comes with it is the knowledge that he can't do more.

"You can be careful and still get hurt."

The fingers of his other hand go to the page, running over the words she wrote: everyone needs to be protected.

[reassures]

Had Linden brought it up when Claudius was around, Nill would have to admit that what she did at the time and most of the things following the disappearance of the two were far from wise; though she was intelligent enough not to actually get drunk around Capitolites she was not intelligent enough to stay out of a bottle when she retuned to her room, and she was not careful enough to look like she had herself together when she came down to Six and spent the remainder of the next twelve hours lingering and drinking coffee and popping the occasional tylenol for the hangover that inevitably comes whenever a light weight tries to drink.

None of these decisions were good ones, and if Linden knew the full extent he might be significantly more worried about her ability to 'be careful.' Luckily for them both, at least instances like that only pop up every blue moon or so. Normally she's smarter; normally she's better.

Maybe Linden isn't the only one with poison under his skin.

It's not an easy thing for Nill to allow people to try to protect her. She's spent so much time trying not to be the kind of person who needed protecting that now it almost feels like an admittance to weakness, when she has so hard for so long to be strong. But it doesn't mean she doesn't need it.

For a moment she lifts the hand with the pencil to touch her fingers to Linden's arm, but it's a brief and fleeting gesture because she needs to go back to writing.

I'll be careful. I promise.
I'll do what I can.

Higher up on the page, everyone needs to be protected has also been circled. There is little else she has to offer him in regard to this, and even if she made a point to avoid Claudius she would probably run into him eventually. They just had to hope the bidder didn't care.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden would be the first to assure her that intelligence has nothing whatsoever to do with certain frailties; he's living proof of that. Willpower, just like compassion and constitution, is a limited resource. Nill looks as ruined as Linden in both similar and contrasting ways, and he's familiar with (and sympathetic to) all of them. But he's talking about a different kind of care, maybe a futile one, but if the cards are played right, perhaps they can both survive just a little longer in a way that makes life worth living.

If she means what she said about Linden being the strongest person she knows, then logic dictates that she should trust him to protect her, along with all that's important to her. Linden's already settled on that conclusion, despite the danger and the fear, and the fact that his wiry, brittle body isn't good for all the literal and dramatic applications of protecting (he couldn't stop a flurry of bullets or stop a train, no matter how much he wishes he could.) His wits are about him, though, and he's got the advantage of being considered relatively harmless by many in positions of power.

Hell, a man just spent a night abusing him because he was so certain there would be no consequences. He stiffens almost imperceptibly under her brief touch, lots of deep and hidden injuries responding in shrill, keening ways to the fleeting caress.

He gives several slight nods at her written words, wordlessly thanking her for a promise he knows must be difficult for her to make.

"Do you have Candi's contact information? I guess I can get it from Stephen, but I feel I should send her a token of appreciation. With any hope, she'll be inspired to look out for you in the near future."