Beck Scordato (
beckstitch) wrote in
thecapitol2016-02-29 06:12 pm
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Entry tags:
oh why do we run, run, run/so far from each other
Who| Beck and OPEN (to Capitolites)
What| Heartbreak
Where| Around the Capitol.
When| After the D11 liberation.
Warnings/Notes| Swearing, some discussion of neglect/depression, other warnings TBD.
At first it's just an echoing disbelief. Beck waits outside Emily's door for hours after the last of the Capitol soldiers have come back. Emily has to be with them. Has to. It doesn't matter what she said, what she was going through, she has to come back. She can't be gone.
Then, it's tears. Tears and curling up in the corner around the aching emptiness in her gut, for once not caring who sees her, not caring that she's balled up foetally in the corridor outside her ex's flat looking (and feeling) utterly pathetic. One person, one person in the world she thought wouldn't find something better and move on... one goddamn person who she thought might stay, and she's gone. Just like the rest of them. Mothers and fathers and friends and lovers and everyone who's meant to stay.
Even at her worst (and her worst has been pretty bad, at times), Beck's never felt so utterly, utterly alone. Isn't this when you're meant to be able to turn to someone? To your mother, or your father, or your siblings? And who's she got, but a couple of Avoxes who aren't even the same Avoxes who raised her, and a whole plethora of friends who were in it for the sex and the glamour and the shoulder to cry on?
After the tears comes rage, and the rage doesn't go anywhere. She runs, runs all through the city with her head down and her heart pounding, not caring who she bulls past. She keeps running until she can't run any more.
And when she's done running, she fights. For the next couple of days, every waking hour, you can find her in the gym, kickboxing, like she can somehow force all her anger and grief and betrayal out into a stupid punchbag, like it makes any goddamn difference to the people who took Emily from her (who took her father from her, took her life from her, who want to take her city from her). She snatches moments of sleep in the gym, or in her office. A couple of times, she tries to pull herself together and get some work done. It's not happening.
What's the goddamn point, anyway? Why bother working to be loved, to make a difference, if all it does is get thrown back in your face?
What| Heartbreak
Where| Around the Capitol.
When| After the D11 liberation.
Warnings/Notes| Swearing, some discussion of neglect/depression, other warnings TBD.
At first it's just an echoing disbelief. Beck waits outside Emily's door for hours after the last of the Capitol soldiers have come back. Emily has to be with them. Has to. It doesn't matter what she said, what she was going through, she has to come back. She can't be gone.
Then, it's tears. Tears and curling up in the corner around the aching emptiness in her gut, for once not caring who sees her, not caring that she's balled up foetally in the corridor outside her ex's flat looking (and feeling) utterly pathetic. One person, one person in the world she thought wouldn't find something better and move on... one goddamn person who she thought might stay, and she's gone. Just like the rest of them. Mothers and fathers and friends and lovers and everyone who's meant to stay.
Even at her worst (and her worst has been pretty bad, at times), Beck's never felt so utterly, utterly alone. Isn't this when you're meant to be able to turn to someone? To your mother, or your father, or your siblings? And who's she got, but a couple of Avoxes who aren't even the same Avoxes who raised her, and a whole plethora of friends who were in it for the sex and the glamour and the shoulder to cry on?
After the tears comes rage, and the rage doesn't go anywhere. She runs, runs all through the city with her head down and her heart pounding, not caring who she bulls past. She keeps running until she can't run any more.
And when she's done running, she fights. For the next couple of days, every waking hour, you can find her in the gym, kickboxing, like she can somehow force all her anger and grief and betrayal out into a stupid punchbag, like it makes any goddamn difference to the people who took Emily from her (who took her father from her, took her life from her, who want to take her city from her). She snatches moments of sleep in the gym, or in her office. A couple of times, she tries to pull herself together and get some work done. It's not happening.
What's the goddamn point, anyway? Why bother working to be loved, to make a difference, if all it does is get thrown back in your face?
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He knows things aren't sunshine and roses. Stephen's well aware that Beck's going through a really, really rough time. But he's keeping the conversation light and friendly, because you don't open with the heavy shit. You distract, and if someone wants to talk, they talk.
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Really, it's an offer for company; drink, in this context, implies a listening, sympathetic ear. Stephen's offering to spend time with her, to let her unwind with someone else watching her back, and to take care of her when she's finished.
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"Right behind you," he says, straightening up. "Where would you like to go? Would you prefer getting privately or publicly smashed?"
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It feels like it ought to take twenty years to clean herself up, to scrub off the sweat and tears and grief and make herself look human again. Twenty minutes is a good start, though.
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He'll hit the showers, put his own face on, and be waiting with his hands in his pockets, leaning easily against the desk. Stephen's sporting a Capitol version of the t-shirt and blazer look, effortlessly stylish, casually classic. No, he'll never stop overthinking his own clothing; he wouldn't know what to put on in the morning if he weren't trying. He's texting as he waits, and there's nothing impatient in his posture. If she's a little late, it won't be awkward.
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"I need a manicure," she complains, as she heads over to him, and looks down at her hand. She's broken most of her nails punching out her frustration, and she didn't feel up to putting on acrylic ones. "That's tomorrow, I guess."
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She offers her arm, her smile only looking a little brittle around the edges. "Shall we?"
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He takes her arm gallantly. "Got a particular place in mind?" he asks, strolling out toward the street.
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Stephen clicks his tongue in his mouth thoughtfully. "Okay, okay. If any place has staying power, it's .infinity -- they've been relevant since before the Quell. It might not be the most cutting-edge club in the Capitol, but I think we can find ourselves a good time."
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"Thank god I found you," Stephen says, crossing his legs comfortably in the backseat of the car. "I needed a break, too. You wouldn't believe the headache this week has been." It's meaningless chatter, idle talk, bitching meant to fill silence.
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That thought's oddly painful. Thoughts about sex and romance tend to be, lately, and for someone like Beck that's very disconcerting. She sighs, and tries to forget about it. "Oh, well. There's bound to be gossip in .infinity, right?"