thecapitol | Out tonight

Entry tags:

Out tonight

Who| Ian and open
What| Partying. And by partying we mean coming down off his two week binge of trying to forget the arena
Where| Bars, clubs, the streets of Panem
When| Current, at night/early morning
Warnings/Notes| Underage? drinking (not sure on the drinking age of Panem), drugs, breakdowns

He had told himself he was fine. He had died, woke up, got a shower and went out. Breezy pausing only to check the death toll. Blaine and Kurt had survived, they must have escaped. Well at least his dead hadn't been completely in vain. His escort had even congratulated him for fighting back, like they had expected him to just lie down and die. He had smiled and headed to a bar. He had just died, he figured he deserved a drink.

One drink had led to another, and one club had led to another, he had veered off from the main clubs by the tribute tower and had found a few ones that played decent music. Nothing he knew of course, but heavy and angry, matching his mood.

That had been two weeks ago, he had slept at times. Either back in the tower or wherever he found himself. Not always alone. Being alone was painful, as was being sober or not being high. He had all the money he wanted and so he spent it on forgetting.

Somewhere deep down he knew he was acting like Frank and it sickened him, a burning hatred that reared up whenever he was sober enough to think. Though he had always drank, and smoked shit it was never serious, just mucking about with Mandy or Lip. He had wanted to be an Officer, or if he couldn't be, his GPA was not the best, join the army and work his way up. It had kept him focused, kept him training, kept him out of the worst of trouble.

He didn't have that anymore, or more he had it in a twisted nightmare form. An eternal soldier, unable to die, not fighting for any cause just for entertainment. Killed and revived on the sick whims of a crazy futuristic society. It wasn't going to change, and they weren't going to escape, shit like that didn't happen. The Capitol had no reason to change, this worked for them. So what was the fucking point of trying anymore? So he had stopped trying, stopped thinking and everything had become so much easier.

Tonight was a night like the nights before, he moved from club to club, going with the crowds. Not knowing where he was, not caring. Escaping from his own head, because everything was shit and finding a way to make it not shit would involve far too much thinking.

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Ian had no idea where he was, but that was normal and he didn't care. He recognised it as a club not on the usual stretch that tributes frequented though, and he had soon found out that once he reached the point where he didn't mind being stared at everything got a lot easier.

He stumbled over to the bar where he recognised the girl there, Eponine, from Marius' world, the girl that had scammed him. He sat down and picked up the drink downing half of it in one. "Fancy meeting you here."

"What? You think I would not drink? Because I am a woman, Sir? But - ah, no! That is a lady, and I am not one of those."

She shouted back over the music, glugging again from the electic blue cocktail that had been pushed in front of her. It tasted foul and she grimaced, but she gulped again.

"What are you doing, Monsieur? This is not a place for Tributes."

"Why would I think that?" He slurred, confused. Not understanding that she had misunderstood his words. He had just as little idea what the drink was but he drank it happily and smirked at her.

"Oh, you not a tribute? Did you win while I wasn't looking?"

"There is no need for rudeness, Sir. Perhaps you are not so gentlemanly either." She accompanied her insult with a laugh - but oh! How infuriating was this boy?

"You know I have not won anything. But perhaps also I should have said this is not the place for the good tributes."

She held up her wrist with the Capitol cuff firmly fastened to it.

"Me, I am not so good a Tribute."

He laughed back, because gentlemanly was not something anyone would use to describe Ian. Ever.

He smirked at the cuff, "Not good enough to not get caught anyways." He shook his own empty wrist at her, not that that was because he was clever, just he had literally been in the city a day before they were given out, there hadn't been time for him to get into trouble.

"Ah - did you help them with their bugs, Sir? And this is why they call me bad - let the bugs kill them, I said, and we do not have to fight any more. It seemed sensible to me - I do not know why everybody else did not say the same.Though perhaps that is why they have not made me beautiful this time."

She gulped the end of her drink, and slapped Ian's wrist away.

"Ah, soon, if you are bad, you might wear their honour too. Such an honour to remind me that I am in jail."

"Oh, that." He nodded, he had helped. Even if this place was shit he wasn't about to let fucking aliens take over. There were kids here. Some of them were tributes.

"Yeah maybe." He finished his drink as well and ordered them some more. "You don't look bad though." Her teeth were cracked and yellow but she was from eighteen hundred and whatever, he had thought it strange that her teeth had been so white. He slid another drink over to her.

"No?" She laughed and slurped her new drink.

"And here was I to think you did not like me for what I did in the arena." She lifted her new glass to clink it against his.

"Cheers, Monsieur."

"Cheers. Yeah well." He shrugged, "If we held grudges about the arena our lives would be pretty miserable." More so than they already were. Anyways she reminded him of him, it wasn't like he hadn't lied, stole and scammed before.

"Because they are oh so happy now, Sir." She grinned again, and laughed out loud.

"Oh, you are funny, Sir. You make me laugh."

She gestured at the barman: he produced two tots of brandy immediately.

"I shall pay later, Sir." She nudged one over to Ian. "Now this stuff, this is brandy. This is what I drank always in France to make it go away. And for you - to make up for stealing from you. Though do not tell Monsieur Marius. It is not becoming of a lady to drink spirits. Oh what the hell, he would not care if I did or did not. Tell him if you will. See if I care."

"Name's Ian." He took the Brandy with a grin, "You don't have to sir me. Do I look like a sir?" He raised an eyebrow. "I don't think Marius has much clue about what is becoming of a lady. But he wont hear it from me." He winked and took a mouthful, wincing a little at the taste. He drank it though, he wasn't really drinking any of this shit for the taste.

"It is a habit I have. Even still - at home, everyone is a 'Monsieur', except my Pa and Montparnasse. The poor men are less likely to hit you, and the rich more likely to hand over a penny if you say it. So you must excuse me, Ian."

She grinned and downed her glass of brandy in one, licking her lips with relish. Apparently, it is a taste that one becomes accustomed to.

"Marius does, though. Do you know, he is a Baron? That is grand - and he knows what a lady is. He knows Mademoiselle Cosette."

"Well I wont hit you." He tried to smile but wasn't sure he could so just drank some more brandy.

He blinked at the revelation about Marius though. "A baron? Seriously?" His knowledge of nobility was mostly non existent since he had never really cared, but he knew enough to know that that meant he was important. And Cosette... and actual lady, like French nobility lady.

"No wonder he's shit at life."

She shrugged. "If it happens, then it does. But it is silly a camoufle if it can be avoided, no?"

She shrugged again, and polished off her brandy. Wow, it was powerful. None of the watered down rubbish she was used to from Paris. Her head swam just a little, and she laughed at Ian's words.

"Oh hush, Monsieur. He is not such a bourrique. He is not part of the pigritia as we are, Sir. He ought not to know as we do."

(translation: a camoufle = take a beating: bourrique = fool: pigritia = underclass.)

"Well it won't." He looked down, and took another gulp of brandy.

Marius might have been trying to teach him French but he hadn't gotten very far and none of the words she used were words he had come across.

"Did you just call me a pig?"

She burst into laughter again.

"No - oh, gosh, no, Monsieur, NO!" She had to stop her explanation to laugh more, and she slid off her stool so that she could stand right up close to Ian to whisper in his ear.

"No, not a pig, but you must not tell - oh Monsieur Enjolras would shake me if he knew I said it - it is a language I know. Not French. It means the underclass, Sir. The criminals. The ne'er-do-wells, Sir. Like us. Only do not tell. On your life, you do not tell."

Her whispers were dreadfully slurred and she swayed gently next to him. Her limbs felt heavy and light all at once, and the lights very bright and her head very far away and oh, it felt so delightful and she started to laugh all over again.

"Oh." He's not laughing, he opens his mouth to tell her he's not a criminal. But shuts it again and drinks more brandy, he might have done his best to stay out of trouble all his life but she's right. And he isn't even surprised he's ended up drunk, high and stuck in a death game.

Alright the last was a surprise. "I won't tell, no ones laying a finger on you alright. I'm sure there's a frying pan around here somewhere."

She hadn't even realised that she had spoken about another person committing violence against her, and she looked completely confused.

"Do you want a pan? Tell me why! Are you hungry ? Come, Monsieur, come and I will buy you food to make up for the arena."

Now Ian looked totally confused, but hey free food. Never say no to that. He dropped the subject, with a shrug and a grin.

"Alright." He grinned, finishing his drink. "What kind of food do you like?"

"Any food!" She grinned. "Sir, I have been here so long now, I do not know how long exactly, but I have died five times, six if you count when they executed me, and still I have not got tired that there is food - food, Sir, whenever I want it, and all different types. I like chocolate, you know? And ice cream. And Howard - he showed me a pizza but I do not like that so much. But I will eat anything, so you may as well choose."

She chattered on, even as she began to stagger for the door. Luckily, she was barefooted, so she at least didn't have high heels to contend with as well.

"They executed you?" He staggered after her wondering why she had no shoes on and how anybody could not like pizza. "I'm pretty sure we can grab some ice cream, craving fried chicken myself but not sure anywhere would sell it." At least not the way he liked it.

She looked back at him, suddenly panicked, and at once, her finger was on his lips.

"I should not have said that, Sir. Forget I said it. I lie." It was pretty obvious that she was lying now, rather than before. But she held her finger against his lips for a minute, before laughing.

"I have never had a fried chicken, Sir. You must show me. Will you show me?"

"Yeah... okay..." He wasn't going to forget it. But he wouldn't mention it, if she wasn't supposed to have said anything.

But execution, what had she done? And why was she back?

"Ian, not sir, but sure. Let's go find some."

"You must show me where. I do not know a fried chicken."

She laughed again, her worry about blabbing apparently forgotten, and she pushed open the door and staggered into the street.

"Come - come, Sir. Ian." She flinched as her foot hit cold paving stones, but she moved anyway, swaying slightly and falling against the wall with a chuckle.

"You need carried?" Why wasn't she wearing shoes? Surely her stylists had given her some.

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