thecapitol | Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue.

Entry tags:

Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue.

WHO| Wyatt and OTA
WHAT| Christmas Shopping!
WHERE| Various Capitol shops
WHEN| After getting the Secret Santa notes
Warnings| None at the moment. Will edit if anything comes up!

Like all the others, Wyatt had discovered the note in his room directing him to come up with a gift for one of his fellow tributes for Christmas. Never mind that he'd never even met the "Iskierka" listed on the card, or even known there was any kind of gift exchange going on in the first place.

...But he couldn't say that the idea didn't appeal, the more he thought about it. There hadn't been much to celebrate, that first Christmas of his in the Capitol, but this year....

Picking up the strange card he'd been given - trying not to think of the funds they'd given him as blood money - he cornered his escort for information (the man tried at least to look sheepish for signing Wyatt up) and then headed out into the snow.

Even armed with everything his escort could tell him about Iskierka, Wyatt still had little idea where to start shopping for a dragon. While he chewed it over, he hunted down some other gifts, knowing nothing would really be able to tell Max or Howard what they meant to him, but wanting to do something, all the same.

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R jerks his head in a nod that's more purposeful than usual, more attentive than drunken sagging. Seems like the tendons along his neck are losing their usual rigor mortis. "Sherlock...Holmes."

The zombie shrugs.

He's not sure which one. He was told there were two Sherlocks. R's never really gone gift shopping, like, ever, so he's not sure what to even get. He shifts more toward Wyatt, unconsciously wrapping his arms around himself against the cold. Is Wyatt a gift man? Would he have better advice than his Escort?

"Getting for...Max-imus?" R asks. Seems like the logical choice with how those two are glued at the hip.

Wyatt raised an eyebrow, guessing that was a yes and that the zombie had been selected to get something for Sherlock. (Had to be close, he figured, as to who had it worse. He couldn't say he'd have found Sherlock any easier to buy for than the dragon.)

"Iskierka," he replied, though the warmth under his handsome green scarf said he couldn't deny the truth in R's question. "But yeah, him too."

Clearing his throat, off-footed at being so obvious, he looked sidelong at R, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the boy's high color, the brightness in the usually drab eyes. R usually looked just a shade off of death, but today....

"Ya feelin' alright, R?" he asked gently.

A trick of the sunlight off the snow, maybe, but if he wasn't feeling on, Wyatt would help him back to the Tower.

That name doesn't ring bells. But he's not surprised either to find out that Wyatt is in the neighborhood to get Maximus something, either. What do you even get a Victor? Swords? Doesn't seem like much of a hat man like Wyatt, so maybe no on the hat idea. Anyway, he's sure Wyatt has a way better idea what to get him. That look that softens the creases near his eyes says all it needs to.

His eyes meet Wyatt's at the question. They're still that usual pewter grey, flat, the pupils unable to dilate or contract like a Living's (yet, he hopes. He loves there's a "yet" now). He seems to stare directly at Wyatt now instead of vaguely in his direction. There's an alertness that wasn't there before.

"Feel..." R pauses. He thinks his guts are cramping. His mouth alternates between grave dry and drooling more than usual these days. Thankfully it's too cold for the drooling. "Good. I feel...good. Look."

R decides to show Wyatt his new souvenir, a sign Howard was right about the Cure. He rolls up his sleeve, exposing pale flesh riddled with veins blackened by death. Halfway up his arm is a rash. It's bright as blood, a splash of color against his corpse. R proudly holds it out to Wyatt because they're friends, because he's one of the first people he wants to show the new, strange things happening to his body.

He looked, the wrinkle in his brow deepening, but resisted to urge to reach out and take a closer inspection. He'd seen enough to know catching something from R was not a way he wanted to go.

"What'd ya do, son?" His eyes flicked up, meeting R's again, noting the attention there. The new focus. The way R seemed to really see him for the first time, looking at him less like an object in his path, and more like another person.

How he seemed to be happy about this development on his arm.

It's like he rolled around in a patch of poison ivy then got stung by a bee swarm: it's, as they used to say, a gnarly rash. It pulses red. It's even weeping a little, this clear puss that doesn't look like it's polluted by black like everything else in his body.

R's even proud of the pus. "Escort says...pills. I should take...them. Cure..?" He manages one of his smiles, baring his teeth at Wyatt. "Good sign."

He finally rolls his sleeve back down. Okay, enough about his cool new rash. Back to helping Wyatt with his shopping. R gets down to business as he lifts his chin.

"Can I...help? Could...carry," he adds.

A cure? They could fix R?

He smiled, a wide, honest grin against R's slightly lopsided one. "That's a great sign, R." And he did reach out then, squeezing the boy's bony shoulder. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm happy for ya."

Then, giving his shoulder another pat, he nodded happily.

"A'course ya can. I'd appreciate it, an' maybe I can help ya in return. See if we can't figure out somethin' Mr. Holmes."

Wyatt's smile lights up his face and peels back the stress, the pain and the years he's lived too fast, too early. R leans into his touch, relieved he can bring some good news for a change.

"Sounds like...a plan," R grunts. "Let's...do this."

He steps to the side so Wyatt can enter the store first, content to fall into step behind the human. In his mind, Wyatt's a natural leader - you just kinda...want to follow the guy, make him proud. It's a different feeling than following the hungriest, most motivated zombie to a food source. R's head lolls left and right as he checks out the shelves and racks inside.

Wyatt had no real rhyme or reason for coming into this particular store, other than it happened to be the next along the street. With no plan in mind, he believed - hoped - that when he saw the right gift, he'd know it.

He strolled down the crowded aisles, the top of his hat just visible over the rows.

"Given any thought as to what ya'd like to get for him?" he asked R as he gently turned a snowglobe around to face him, peering down at the little faces within.

He follows the hat, forced to lift his head. "Holmes...?"

He pauses, thinking about the Holmes he does know. The shadows under his eyes that are bright, piercing into the soul he might not even have. Reading him. R catches up to Wyatt as he picks up the snowglobe, and for a moment it reminds him of the one found that lab, Perry's blood still hot on his mouth. Blinking rapidly, he focuses on Wyatt's hands, the sparkling snow swirling inside the glass.

"Pretty," he says. Right, Holmes. Gifts. "Uggh, I think....smart but...practical."

He shrugs at Wyatt. His eyes go back to the snowglobe. Inside a Victor in miniature stands, a sword raised high in a silent salute.

Edited 2013-12-24 06:54 (UTC)

It reminded him of Max, the little man inside the glass, but not in a good way. It made him think of the things Max had said about being trapped. Being owned.

Setting it back with a frown, he continued down the aisle, squeezing around a woman laden with bags, chirping noisily at her communicator.

"A book'a some kind, maybe?" he offered R, with a glance over his shoulder. Thinking of Eva and of the one she'd given him. All those poems he was slowly working his way through. "Er maybe a puzzle. Somethin' to keep that mind'a his busy."

He'd only met the man the once, but that was nevertheless his impression of him.

Mind sharp as a tack.

Edited 2013-12-24 12:27 (UTC)

Books, books. This would be the part where he should be able to look down and have all those shapes and squiggles resolve into words. Meaning jumping off the covers. He glances down, half-expecting that the Cure's fixed his illiteracy too.

Okay, so that's still the same. The pictures don't help either. Maybe Wyatt's puzzle idea is better. R frowns at shelf after shelf, trying to work out what puzzle you get for a man might've (or not) met. All he knows is the Sherlock he met, he seemed smart. Deadly smart, obviously, if he made it through the Arena. Smarter than a zombie, easily.

"What are...good puzzles?" R finally throws in the towel. He'll need to pick Wyatt's brain for this a little bit more. "Out of...loop."

"Hmm..." Wyatt hummed thoughtfully.

What was good to him, did not necessarily mean it was good for a man like Sherlock. Leaning, he looked to and fro and spotted a worker, given away by the plastic badge pinned to their festive striped sweater.

"'Cuse me, Ma'am--" he reached out to touch her shoulder gently, trying to catch her attention. "Ya got any puzzles?"

It took a moment, as she looked between them, but it was clear when she placed them as the tributes she'd seen so often. Her eyes widening, her smile spreading like a tide.

"Oh, yes! Yes, of course, this way."

She led them through the crowd, taking them toward the back of the store and a case of several shelves stacked with puzzles - the picture kind, where one had to put the pieces together, and several toys. Blocks and rings and chains that had to be taken apart or put together or any manner of other thing.

There's way more puzzles here than he thought possible: when he thought puzzle, he kept thinking jigsaws, pictures split into hundreds of little pieces. It was like a law of nature that you were always one short. R remembers that much. The rest of it looks new, R looking at them already feeling lost.

"So...many," R grunts, at a loss. He reaches out, snags the first thing in front of him. The rings are looped together, jangling in his hands. Loud, but pleasant, because that's how the Capitol rolls. "You've...seen stuff...like this?"

R holds it out toward Wyatt. What were you even supposed to do with it? Wear it? It's supposed to be a puzzle (he guesses), but he can't figure out what to do with it. Sniffing it suspiciously didn't get him any answers.

"Huh."

Was Wyatt's curious response, the rings jangling noisily as he took them, swinging them lightly from side to side. The bright red bead on the center ring flashing beneath the lights.

"Well, not quite like this," he admitted. He slanted R a bemused look. "But I 'spose they would have changed a bit, over the years."

With everything else that had in those lost centuries, why should this one little thing be surprising?

Twisting the bundle around, he looked at the little tag on the end ring, humming again.

"Says yer supposed to get the bead off without takin' the rings apart."

He shot R another look.

It was up to him after all.

So he's not the only one feeling at a loss here. Good to know.

"...What." R stares at the ring set, almost accusingly, because look at it. It's impossible. They're linked together and that bead clearly isn't going anywhere. Staring at it, he's convinced if you gave a curious zombie one of these things, he could die of starvation trying to figure it out.

He realizes Wyatt's looking at him. Waiting. He should give a yay or nay here. R's eyes slide back to the puzzle, figures it'll probably work for someone he may or may not have met. He jerks his head up and down.

"Get...it. And...this?" R wobbles over to what looks like the puzzles he remembers: thousands of pieces, this one claiming you can make it 3D. Picking it off the shelf, R holds it to his chest. "Think...this good."

He tries a twitchy almost-smile at Wyatt. It's less creepy this time with the Cure.

The box boasts a picture of the palace. "A perfect replica!" Personally, Wyatt couldn't say he'd necessarily want a miniature copy of Snow's home as a gift, but then it wasn't for him.

And a puzzle was a puzzle. If it kept Sherlock occupied for a couple hours then he figured the job was likely done.

He nodded, holding the ring set out to the zombie to join his picture puzzle.

"Sounds like a plan me." His mouth twisted wryly. "Now, if I can jus' fine somethin' fit for a dragon, I'll be 'bout set."

The sad thing is these puzzles probably wouldn't keep Sherlock busy for even an hour. He's just that good.

"Dragon," R takes the rings, jangling after Wyatt. He wracks his brain for what he knows about dragons. R can't tell you where he was born or what his favorite movie was. Somehow he remembers the concept of a dragon. Big, mouth full of fangs. Wings, blows fire? "Shiny. Trea-sure...chest?"

Okay, so R's probably falling back on cliches here. It's all he has.

That earned R a chuckle, a small, but honest laugh as they started for the counter where R could pay for his gifts.

"Won't lie," he admitted, sending a mischievous look over his shoulder at the zombie. "That was my first thought too."

He paused, waiting for a tired looking man with a chattering away on either side on him to move past, then started forward again.

"But, as it turns out, not really somethin' ya can buy."

On a tribute's funds. Even if he had fought for them against the alien creatures.

R's own grin was concealed, mostly by his muzzle. Okay, whew, so it wasn't just him.

"So..." R strains something trying to come up with ideas. He thought he was onto something with the treasure one. Another word comes up out of the fog. "Give...prin-cess...?"

No clue where you'd get one of those, but maybe it's the gesture and not so much the authenticity. R troops after Wyatt, jangling the metal loops in one hand, the puzzle box in the crook of his elbow. Days ago this would've been a lot harder to manage. He would've had to ask Wyatt for help. Now he's able to walk and talk and hold stuff. It's awesome.

Wyatt's chuckle grew into a, a full bark of a sound, rumbling up from his chest. "Thought about that too."

At the counter he sidestepped, giving R room to get line while staying out of the fray himself. The thought of getting trampled by overly aggressive shoppers that particularly high on his Christmas wish list.

"But even if I could find one, I reckon that's somethin' else that'd be awful hard to buy."

Tribute salary or otherwise.

Despite the pushing and jostling, R didn't look like he was out of place in the crowd aside from his dead man's color. Ignoring that, he actually felt comfortable being lost in a group and bumping shoulders with strangers.

"So...other...store?" R groans over someone's head - well, hat. It's a big hat and even he can barely see over it - as the line slowly moves forward. All this talk of princesses is starting to dredge up that tickle he feels when he's on the verge of remembering something. Your princess is another ____. Another fragment without context. "Tough...presents."

He feels for Wyatt, he really does.

Wyatt moved along with the line, keeping R in sight as best he could while staying out of elbowing range. The muzzle helped, as the boy was squashed in between the woman with big hat and a man with the bushy green wig (festive), metal shining bright under the lights.

Reaching up, he lifted his hat away from his hairline and scratched idly, mouth twisting wryly.

"Faced a lot of challenges in my day, but never nothin' like this."

It was something out a strange dream. Buy a Christmas present for a mythical creature.

...That or the punchline to a joke. A dragon and a marshal walk into a saloon....

"But I ain't ready to roll over jus' yet." The hat returned to his head and he nodded, determined. "I'll find somethin."

The line reluctantly moves forward. R gets stabbed in the side of the head with the big hat and almost gets a mouthful of green wig. No wonder Death blocked this kind of thing from his memory. Jesus.

"Die of...old age...here," R moans. He think his mouth might be trying to smirk. He's not sure, though, because he's never smirked before and it feels a little twitchy.

His head lolls toward Wyatt.

"Keep an...eye out. Helping."

Wig man lurched back, a hand going to his perfect coif, patting flyaways back into the neat spiral curls. If R weren't already dead, the venomous look the man speared him with would likely have been enough to drop him on the spot.

Wyatt sniffed and tried not to laugh.

"We'll get'er done, R." He nodded, wrestling with his grin as the green man shifted the stare to him, as if R ungainly cage and slow shuffle were somehow his fault. "I ain't got any doubts'a that."

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Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue.

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Could end around here?

How's this?