thecapitol | (no subject)

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Who: Orc and you
What: Drinking to forget and failing
Where: The Bar in the Training Center (With special bonus thread set in his room later)
When: During the finale of the Arena
Warnings: Well he's a suicidal, depressed, short tempered drunk 15 year old boy trapped in a rock monster's body. I'm sure something will come up.

The bartenders and serving staff had gotten used to Orc over time. They knew if they kept the booze flowing and put him in a dark corner somewhere he would keep quiet...mostly. And the other customers wouldn't be as bothered by any rude sounds he made or if he was disgustingly slopping drink on himself or mashing food into his maw like a pig.

Orc had gotten used to the bartenders and serving staff. He knew that if he kept quiet and didn't shout they would keep bringing him drinks and not tell his handlers to get him out of the bar.

It was a semi-functional relationship that allowed Orc to try and numb every last feeling he had with alcohol and food.

That part was not as functional.

Part of the problem was there was a TV facing him. Normally the staff was smart enough to change the channel but today they had forgotten and he was watching the coverage of the games, complete with some of their top 10 kills so far.

His death at the point of Ellie's spear was number five.

Then there was the hot topic of who was dating who, some woman in a suit that looked like it was made from those fancy Christmas flowers...whatever they were called, was commenting on the possibility of Orc and...Eponine?!

"What the hell does Porcupine mean?" He muttered as the word was pasted under a picture of the two of them drinking together in the arena.

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"Do you truly want to be?" She liked the thought of it - but she didn't dare to hope that someone as kind as Orc liked her enough to want to be friends.

"Sir, don't frown at me like that. Come, don't. I am sorry - we are friends, truly! But you ought not to say that - you do not know if I would not like you. You are probably still better than the man I call my husband, and my Pa's gang. Truly, if you knew me in Paris, you would not come near me at all. Or perhaps you would, and more fool you." She shrugged and laughed.

"You're not as bad as you say...or act." He had caught her little display in the arena and was ultimately confused by the whole thing.

"Are you and him dating again?" He asked deciding he might as well try to clear that up.

"No? Well, perhaps not here." She laughed easily. "Here, I do not starve, and my Pa isn't here to send me out begging or thieving, and Montparnasse ain't about neither. I don't have to be bad here - and I never was supposed to be so bad, really."

She looked confused at his question. "Dating? Like courting? Who am I courting?" She leaned her elbow on the bar, propping her head on it.

"If you mean, Howard... well, he wouldn't have me. He thinks I am scum."

Orc sighed and shook his head.

"Like he's got room to talk. He and I are both rotten. He's got no right to be calling other people that when they don't deserve it."

Was she passionate? Yes. But scum? Not really. And it was rude of him to say.

"I probably do." She signalled to a barman for another brandy, which she downed in one. It was nice to have that lollopy, drowsy feeling take hold again.

"I told Howard a secret and - I told you in the arena about us, no? Well, I do not mind names, Sir. I don't care. Even my Pa called me a bitch and a slut. I don't care... But I care because I thought he loved me. And no - he was like the rest. Pretending so he may be satisfied or because no one else would have him. It is the same as Paris. I have been with men who hit and claw, that better women can refuse..."

She hadn't realised what she'd said. "I wish I had never met him . He is the worst man here. He pretends to be good. At least people like Monsieur Aunamee show me at once what they are. Then I do not mind. But to trick me and hurt me - now that is the worst."

"He's not the worst." Orc argued weakly.

"He just screwed up. We all screw up." He reasoned. After a moment he added "You deserve better then someone who would hit you though. Or trick you." That much was obvious.

"Sorry." He added and finished off his second glass of brandy.

"Don't matter." She shrugged it away, and signalled for another brandy, but was handed tap water instead. " It is just how it is - only men who don't care if they hurt me can stand me. I suppose I ought to be used to it. It doesn't matter. Someone has to have such men."

She smiled a crooked smile, though there was no humour in her words.

"And here, we were to have a nice time, and not speak of horrid things. Come, tell me of your por- porkinine, did you say?"

"Porcupine." He pointed at the TV which was talking about other tributes in the arena now. "The TV had pictures of you and me and was calling us Porcupine. I dunno why."

The TV was of no help because now on screen was some raptors making a meal out of Joan Watson.

"Of you and I? When we were drunk?" Confusion was written on her face. Eponine couldn't imagine why anybody was showing a picture of herself alongside Orc. "Perhaps they are mistaken, Sir? I do not know what a porcipine is but I am convinced that I am not one."

She looked at the scream and wrinkled her nose. "Those things are horrible. I am glad I did not eat one of those. It is not nice to be eaten alive."

Orc nodded.

"A porcupine is like...like a little rat with pointy needles. It eats bugs and stuff." More to his confusion as to why people were calling them that.

"I got eaten by a sand worm." He commented unhelpfully. He didn't think the raptors had strong enough teeth to bite through his hide.

"I have never done that... I used to be called a cat - a gat - in my language, Sir. But hardly never a rat." She was so confused.

"That is a bad way to go. I perhaps killed Monsieur Alex in such a manner as well, Sir. But I didn't mean to, if I did."

She had just refused to open the tent for him.

"But I have not been eaten by a porcupine though. And neither have you. These people I do not understand. What they think of death, now this I cannot follow at all."

"Cats are nice." Orc commented unhelpfully. "Howard likes cats. I like dogs more but cats are nice and peaceful." He paused and then added "I have a pet sheep here. I named it skittles." The sheep had been waiting for him obediently in his room when he woke up.

"Does he?" That was quite the blow. She didn't want to like what Howard liked. But she laughed at the idea of Orc having a sheep - "A sheep, Monsieur? Really? And such a funny name. Why is it called so?"

Oh good, she had such a pretty laugh.

"We had a candy back home called skittles. They were colorful. The Sheep is like a rainbow." He tried to explain. "She's pretty nice. Gentle. Doesn't hate anyone. Doesn't judge."

"I want to see him, Sir!" She laughed again. "Truly I cannot imagine such a sheep - Skittles! And such a funny name. More funny than your own, Sir."

Even though she was calling his choice in names silly he couldn't help but smile. "You can come meet her, or I can bring her back down here. She's very friendly." And that had been one of the two qualities that had drawn him to her the most.

"Very peaceful."

"Can I truly?"

She finished her drink, and handed over her Tribute Card, before sliding off her bar stool.

"Now - might we go now?"

Orc was actually somewhat pleased when he thought about it. She seemed to have actual interest in Skittles and he did like the sheep.

Finishing his own drink he led her in an awkward sway and shuffle to the elevators, escorting her up to his floor.

The tabloids would have a field day with this one.

His room itself was cleaned up and tidy thanks to the Avox of the floor, his few scant possessions were placed on the dresser in front of a vanity mirror that had been covered in a sheet.

Orc didn't like looking at himself.

And there she was, a sheep with rainbow colored wool. She was chewing on a bundle of sweet grass that had been brought for her and gazed up at Orc and Eponine with dull but peaceful eyes and let out a bleat.

"Skittles, Eponine." He introduced them. "Eponine, Skittles."

Eponine hung back a little when they got to Orc's room. Not that she was shy about going to the room. She didn't care what the Capitol thought of her and quite frankly, she had forgotten that the cameras were watching her anyway. No, she hung back because - well, she'd never seen a sheep before. Not up close. And she wasn't scared, of course not. It took more than a sheep to scare Eponine.

But still, it was strange to see a living, breathing sheep. And she looked at it apprehensively.

"Will it bite, Monsieur? Is it's fur soft? It looks like a cloud - but with colours. A cloud under a rainbow, perhaps. It should be in the sky, not your bedroom."

Orc nodded at her observations. "She's never bit anyone before." She had always seemed completely relaxed and at ease.

Skittles to her credit waddled over letting out another bleat and waiting patiently for expected petting. Orc took a few steps towards his dresser and drew out a baggie with little colorful balls.

"These are her treats. You can give her one."

Skittle's eyes instantly moved to the bag knowing what was inside.

Eponine flinched as Skittles bleeted. She hadn't expected it to make a noise. But she held a hand out for a treat and then held her hand out to the sheep. She watched it carefully as it came closer to her, and she flinched again as it's face made contact with her hand. But then she laughed.

"It's like a cat, but bigger! Or a horse, but smaller." She laughed in delight.

"Can I touch her? Oh, her fur looks soft enough to sleep in. That is what I should do, Sir."

Orc gave another gentle nod. "Go ahead. She likes to be pet."

Skittles was delicate when she ate from Eponine's hand. Not that the sheep had to be delicate when eating from Orc's hand, it was just how she was. A peaceful gentle creature. Everything that Orc had come to idolize since his transformation.

Once Eponine touched the almost silky clean wool Orc seemed to shuffle uncomfortably before finally asking something that was on his mind. "What does it feel like?" His condition meant that only the most sharp of touch sensations were felt through his pebbled armor.

"Can you not..." She trailed off as she looked at Orc's hands. No, of course he couldn't. She petted Skittles again, trying to work out what the sheep's wool felt like.

"It is like... Like hair. Not like my hair now, Sir. My hair, it's all greasy and matted and it breaks. But his hair, no. It is springy, a bit, like when you walk on grass with no shoes. Or like a pillow. It's thick: you can bury your hands in it, but it is tangled like my hair underneath. And itchy, a bit, too. It is a bit wiry, perhaps, Sir..."

She trailed off again, quite aware that her description was lousy.

"Can you feel nothing at all?"

Orc nodded understanding her description just fine, and then held up his hand to indicate the pebbles coating his skin.

"I can feels things. Just not...very well." For the first few weeks not at all. But he had developed the ability to feel through his stones like it was skin.

"It's just part of being a freak."

She stood up, and went properly over to Orc. Gently, she reached for his hand, so that she could trace the rough pebbles of his skin.

"You're not a freak, you know. Or perhaps yes - yes you are. If I were in Paris, I should think I was so hungry I had imagined you with the other monsters. But you are not a monster, you know. Can you feel my hand in yours? Can you not smell my hair - I do not think you want to, but I can smell it, so you must be able to as well. You are just someone that bad things have happened to."

Like her, if Howard had been believed. But then, no. He had changed his mind, and she was simply cheap again, and deserving of what life doled out to her. Eponine sighed, and squeezed Orc's hand.

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