Howard Bassem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iselldrugstothecommunity) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-12-22 11:15 pm
iselldrugstothecommunity) wrote in thecapitol2013-12-22 11:15 pm
Entry tags:
It's the Season of Cold Making Warmth a Divine Intervention [Open]
WHO| Howard Bassem and open
WHAT| Howard celebrates Christmas. Desperately.
WHEN| A few weeks after the Crowning.
WHERE| District One Suite
WARNINGS| The R thread contains Howard teaching a now-Living zombie how and why to use the toilet.
The holidays usher in loneliness and cheer as a pair. Howard prefers to spend his attention on the latter if he can help it, and as such he's driven himself whole-heartedly into gussying up the District One suite.
The tree appears to have been outright attacked by decorations, which dangle on top of each other and hang from tinsel strands and overlap. The lounge TV has been set to play A Christmas Story on loop. Howard's set up a cheesy nativity scene for a religion he doesn't believe in out of action figures and silverware, with a little salt-shaker Jesus swaddled in toilet paper. As the rest of his suite was sleeping, Howard went full-tilt into packing the common areas with all the season's tidings of the Macy's parade and the Martha Stewart magazine December issue.
It's better than last Christmas, he tells himself. He can't even really remember much about last Christmas, except that he purposefully said "happy holidays" to Orc just to see if it would piss him off, and that it otherwise passed like any other hungry, desperate day in the FAYZ. And the one before that was the first Christmas without his parents.
And by contrasting this Christmas with the last two, he hopes he can pack up the hole he's cut out of the holiday cards where they said things like from our family to yours and to you and yours. The mutilated greetings sit atop a few meticulously-packed wrapped presents tucked under the tree. A refurbished record player for R, some of Wyatt's clothes fixed, jewelry for Julie and Eponine and Ellie, a watch for John and a wallet for Orc, a fancy cat dish for Sigma, some kind of weird scarf for his secret Santa - Howard spent barely any money on these things, but he did waste many hours digging through the garbage or pilfering from Capitol stores to accumulate them.
Each gift seems like some way to make solid that he's building a life here, that he's forming relationships he plans on keeping, like active resistance against the very real permanent death in his future. Whenever he thinks about it too hard it seems so obvious he's telling himself a lie, but he wants to keep holding onto it. Telling himself things he doesn't believe is probably one of the healthier coping mechanisms he has.
Having completed his holiday explosion, Howard sits at the counter in the kitchen, humming Christmas songs and lighting pine-scented candles.
WHAT| Howard celebrates Christmas. Desperately.
WHEN| A few weeks after the Crowning.
WHERE| District One Suite
WARNINGS| The R thread contains Howard teaching a now-Living zombie how and why to use the toilet.
The holidays usher in loneliness and cheer as a pair. Howard prefers to spend his attention on the latter if he can help it, and as such he's driven himself whole-heartedly into gussying up the District One suite.
The tree appears to have been outright attacked by decorations, which dangle on top of each other and hang from tinsel strands and overlap. The lounge TV has been set to play A Christmas Story on loop. Howard's set up a cheesy nativity scene for a religion he doesn't believe in out of action figures and silverware, with a little salt-shaker Jesus swaddled in toilet paper. As the rest of his suite was sleeping, Howard went full-tilt into packing the common areas with all the season's tidings of the Macy's parade and the Martha Stewart magazine December issue.
It's better than last Christmas, he tells himself. He can't even really remember much about last Christmas, except that he purposefully said "happy holidays" to Orc just to see if it would piss him off, and that it otherwise passed like any other hungry, desperate day in the FAYZ. And the one before that was the first Christmas without his parents.
And by contrasting this Christmas with the last two, he hopes he can pack up the hole he's cut out of the holiday cards where they said things like from our family to yours and to you and yours. The mutilated greetings sit atop a few meticulously-packed wrapped presents tucked under the tree. A refurbished record player for R, some of Wyatt's clothes fixed, jewelry for Julie and Eponine and Ellie, a watch for John and a wallet for Orc, a fancy cat dish for Sigma, some kind of weird scarf for his secret Santa - Howard spent barely any money on these things, but he did waste many hours digging through the garbage or pilfering from Capitol stores to accumulate them.
Each gift seems like some way to make solid that he's building a life here, that he's forming relationships he plans on keeping, like active resistance against the very real permanent death in his future. Whenever he thinks about it too hard it seems so obvious he's telling himself a lie, but he wants to keep holding onto it. Telling himself things he doesn't believe is probably one of the healthier coping mechanisms he has.
Having completed his holiday explosion, Howard sits at the counter in the kitchen, humming Christmas songs and lighting pine-scented candles.
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He got her a present? Why - why would he do that? He shouldn 't have done that , not when her's is so cruel. He's going to hate her. Not love her at all. But maybe he will. Maybe...
She can't do it. She has to leave. She heads for the door.
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"Okay, fine, be that way." Howard tosses the package out the door after her. It claps against the hallway wall and falls to the floor.
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She wants it.
She doesn't.
She stands up and walks back in. "Take it back. Take it back, Monsieur."
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"I'm not going to wear jewelry." He shrugs. "So you might as well take it."
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"I don't want it, Monsieur. I tell you, I want nothing from you. Nothing at all."
Just your love. Just your heart. Your arms about her body, holding her tight. Your voice in her ear whispering sweet nothings. The way it was, once upon a time.
"It is not right that you give me presents now, is it?"
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"Fine. I'll give it to some girl who's prettier than you."
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"That should not be too taxing a job for you, Sir."
She curtseyed and turned to go. But she made herself stop and turn back.
"Open my present to you. This is what you deserve , you horrid boy."
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He knows he's crossing lines, but at this point he's convinced she's given him peppermint bark laced with cyanide, and he just wants her to stop. Stop fighting back and just let him be angry and right for long enough to explain that he isn't the villain here. Stop escalating it so he can stop striking back.
As if this is entirely her fault.
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And it isn't her fault at all. It is his - it is all his fault. Why couldn't he just be quiet? Why could he not just swallow it down, like he did at the end of the arena. Why did he have to lie? Why can't he just love her like he used to? She's bitter, so bitter. She's worthless and ugly and dirty, and doesn't she know it? And here, the boy who used to love her... It's what Marius thinks, too. And probably everybody else.
"I hope next time you die, that the Capitol does not bring you back, Monsieur."
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Good. Fine. Chuck it all away. See if she cares. It's all rubbish anyway. Her voice grows louder and louder as her temper grows, and she clutches the doorway for support. But a couple of deep breaths later, she calms herself enough to spit out,
"Monsieur Aunamee is right about you. You deserve every bad thing you get. You are FAR the worst boy. Pretend to everyone that you are nice. Pretend so Monsieurs Wyatt and Maximus think you're nice and believe me horrid for it. I don't care!"
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