thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who| Everyone, pretty much. Particularly Secret Santa people and those Creuntus is fucking with.
What| Holiday times!
Where| The Tribute Training center
When| The whole week, but Creuntus' gifts arrive today.
Warnings/Notes| none atm. Please add any in thread headers. Also, for secret santa, if you are the giver start a thread with your giftee's name (unless you two have worked something else out between you). You can use the District threads below, or choose a different setting of your own.

Every floor public space is dripping with holiday decorations.

The decorations are themed, ridiculously so. Every surface is covered, and a table sits proudly full of holiday treats and spirits, kept stocked constantly by the avoxes. Cheerful music plays softly throughout the whole building, though luckily for everyone the Capitol doesn't really know what Christmas carols are.

Those with secret santa's have a cheery, passive-aggressive note reminding them not to disappoint anyone and ruin their holiday.

Those that have expressed a want for some object from home will find a box on their bed sometime during the day, with a merry holiday greeting from Cruentus. Inside they will find the object of their desire, or something similar, crafted from their words.

In blown glass. Pretty, decorative, utterly useless.

Bert's guns, Punchy's goggles, Sigma's music box, Maximus' leg, Mindy's knife, Terezi's dragon cane...on and on, as many gifts as Creuntus could find out. Those that were with them when they were pulled are more perfect replicas, those that they have just described obviously have an artistic touch to them.

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Maximus let out a long sigh but slowly eased the horse down into a trot, then to a stop.

"Then we'd best let him relax and clean up," He murmured lowly as he turned the creature's head back around and headed into the stables. He let Wyatt dismount first, before slipping to the ground alongside him.

"Thank you, Wyatt. I'm afraid your gift far outstrips mine - I did not think deeply enough, I believe."

"Max, don't."

Wyatt reached out as Max slipped down beside him, a hand slipping around the back of Max's neck to pull him close.

"Don't say that. You've given me more than ya know." His thumb stroked over Max's jaw, rubbing across the rough dark hair. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Max's. A lingering kiss there in the relative privacy of the stall. "There's nothin' more that I want for than when I've got right here, right now."

He let out a low sound but took the kiss gladly, turning his head to do do so.

"Still." He said after their lips had parted. "Thank you."

He slowly set to work, removing the saddle and the blanket, brushing down the horse and giving it something to drink and a small snack. He was just finishing up when the voice came down the hall to yell at them that their time was up.

Wyatt gave the horse a pat goodbye, one last brush of his palm over the furred neck, then turned out of the stall, waiting for Max before he closed the gate and latched it once more.

He shook it once, to make it sure it had closed properly, then fell in beside Max as they started back down the hall.

"Back to the Tower then?" he asked softly, slanting Max a look, mustache twitching. "We can probably find some place on the way to get those candles'a yers."

Maximus looked back a little longingly into the stable as they left, and braced himself for the cold air as they stepped outside.

"No need, Wyatt. I will be warm enough, I think, somehow," he said with a small smile. "What need of candles could this place ever have?"

"Them, not at all," he chuckled, "but us? I can think of a use er two."

He looked back when Max did, guessing easily what Max was thinking.

"...We can see 'bout comin' back, Max. I don't expect they're goin' anywhere."

Not so long as they were there, not so long as the games continued.

Edited 2013-12-26 20:00 (UTC)

Maximus looked back at Wyatt and nodded - he was right, of course.

Finding candles proved to be a little difficult but not as much as one might expect, and they returned to the training center with bundles of them under their arms and a cheerful disposition.

He hit the button for his floor before thinking to ask Wyatt first, only realising it after he'd done it - and shot the man a quick questioning look.

He'd promised earlier that they'd come back and celebrate after Max had gotten his gift, but even if he hadn't, there was still no other way Wyatt would want to see out his Christmas. So he met Max's look with a smile and waited beside him as the elevator climbed up the tower without complaint.

The suite was still aglow, all the shimmer lights flashing brightly, but it was quiet. The other tributes already to bed or out celebrating themselves, enjoying the last few hours of the holiday.

"Should I see 'bout roundin' up some wine?" he asked as they crossed into the white wonderland, drifting toward the kitchen. (The suites were all set up the same, it should be hard to find the liquor cabinet.)

"You did say you wanted to celebrate properly, Maximus pointed out as he turned the opposite way and headed down the hall to his rooms, candles tucked under his arms.

He let himself in and left the door open for Wyatt to join him. He was about to start placing candles when he noticed the package at the end of his bed and he stepped over to retrieve it, raising a brow.

It took a few minutes, but before long, Wyatt was headed down the hall, whistling softly to himself, candles under one arm, a bottle of wine in under the other and box of matches in hand.

"Found it," he murmured happily, pushing the door closed behind him with his foot. "An' one of the Avoxes found a box'a matches for the--"

He'd set down the wine on the dresser and started to spread out the candles, but stopped when he noticed Max, standing oddly, stiff at the end of the bed.

"Max?" Brow furrowing, he set down the rest of the candles and stepped over to look at what he was staring at. "Everythin' alright?"

The box lay open in his hands, and Max himself was very still, his back to the door. Slowly he drew out the contents - two small carved wooden figurines, one of himself, and one of Wyatt.

Somewhere in a dark corner of his room lay another two little statues. A woman, and a boy.

Gathering dust.

Out of sight, and out of mind.

He could not quite bring himself to reply or turn around.

The only sound was a soft release of breath from Wyatt, a heavy exhale as he slowly put it together. Two figures, that he might have not have even placed as himself and Max if not for the little hat clearly carved atop the head of the one if Max's left hand.

A note had fluttered down to the bed as Max had drawn them out and he reached for it, guessing, even before he'd turned it over, what he'd find.

A gift, from a well-meaning sponsor.

"Max..." he said finally, low and quiet, reaching out to him. "They've always sent things. It doesn't mean anythin'--"

How long had it been, since he had whispered their names into the dark? How long since he had assured them that he would see them again soon? (How long since he had let his duty fade?)

He let out a hard breath and curled his fingers around them - could feel the shape clearly outlined against his palm, would know what they were even if he could not see.

Knew what this was, if he let himself look at it.

A betrayal.

He swallowed, roughly. "Doesn't mean anything." He repeated it lowly as he let them fall back to bounce slightly on the taut sheets.

Max didn't soothe and neither did Wyatt, his gut tightening as Max's face darkened.

"There's always been talk," he continued, trying to ease what he assumed was Max's worry. That this gift was proof that what they'd found for themselves had been discovered and now, at best, would be twisted for the crowd, played out for the cameras. That, at worst, it would be taken from them. "This doesn't mean they know anymore than they did before."

He swallowed and touched Max's shoulder, squeezing firmly.

"Nothin's changed."

He pulled from the grasp almost instantly, holding up an arm to hold Wyatt back as his eyes turned to meet his.

"They know enough to carve these," He said, his voice carefully restrained as he lowered his arm again, fingers pulling into fists at his side.

"They knew enough to- to mock, to deride their memory--"

The push was unexpected enough that Wyatt actually stumbled back. It was just a step, but it didn't need to be more than that. That was more than room enough for the sudden wall he felt go up between them. Invisible and cold

Their memory.

He looked at the bed, at the little figures again, a slow, painful realization growing inside him. The memory of two other little figures that he hadn't seen in some time.

That he hadn't wanted to see.

"...This ain't about them findin' out, is it?"

"They're exactly the same size, Wyatt." His voice was a low rumble of oncoming thunder, a storm brewing slowly.

"They may as well be made with my hand. If they-- If they mean to erase--"

"They don't mean anythin', Max," Wyatt said again, rougher, as he struggled to understand and accept Max's upset.

That this wasn't about the two of them, as the three of them. Max and his family. A husband and his wife, a father and his son.

Was is regret, that had Max pushing him away? Shame? Fear?

They all hurt. Especially knowing they were all deserved.

"It's jus' a gift from a sponsor who don't know any better. I'm sure they didn't mean--"

"It doesn't matter what they meant," Maximus snapped, just a little cold, just a little harsh, but he was still holding himself back.

"Regardless of what they meant, they still mean something. My family still means something!" Each sentence saw his voice grow a little louder, his throat a little rougher, and the edge in his eyes sharper.

Wyatt stiffened, shoulders and jaw tightening. Every sentence felt more like an accusation. Like blame. And he didn't know how to fight against it, wasn't even sure he should.

Even if the sponsor hadn't meant it, it wasn't like Wyatt had been sparing a lot of thought for them - those ghosts Max carried around with him. He'd been so happy, so blinded by what he'd been feeling.... He hadn't even put together why Max had been withdrawing, why he'd stopped speaking when they were together.

"Nobody's sayin' they don't." Max got louder, and Wyatt got softer, his drawl thicker. "I'm not sayin' they don't. I jus--"

"Just what?" Maximus snapped, "Just what, Wyatt? Not a soul in this world cares about them, or what happened to them. To everyone else they may as well be shadows and dust, and I--"

Here his throat nearly closed up, but the rage and the pain tore through it.

"And here I am, and I never -- I never even managed to avenge them and I am, doing everything in my power to dishonour their memory--"

A dishonor.

It echoed in the room, in Wyatt's ears. In his chest as everything in him seemed to suddenly drop away.

That's what it was to Max. What they were. What he was.

The truth of it hit him like sucker punch; a sharp, cold jab between the ribs, and he arched away in surprise, in hurt. His mouth dropped open, a fraction before he could catch it, before he snapped it closed again, hard and fast enough to click his teeth, to feel an ache in his molars.

He might have told him that it wasn't his fault, reminded him that he hadn't asked for the Capitol to take him, but he couldn't. Couldn't get the words out, couldn't drag them up from the depths of his gut where everything had settled.

Remembering to breath was challenge enough.

"I'm sorry, Max." The words were dull when they came. Rough and low, strangled as he forced them out. "I said I'd never hurt ya, an' I didn't realize I already was."

He looked away, blinking. His eyes landed on the scattered pair on the bed again and he leaned to pick himself up, that little miniature Wyatt. He stared at it for a moment, thumb rubbing over the tiny features, then he hid it away behind the curtain of his fingers. The wood hard in his fist as he swallowed thickly.

"Forget anythin' happened." He looked back, eyes closed off, cold and distant. "I'll do the same an'... I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

And he turned away, determined to see that through, almost clipping the dresser as he crossed for the door. Letting himself out.

Edited 2013-12-27 02:30 (UTC)

It was the look on Wyatt's face that hit him first, that caught the words in his throat and gave the silence necessary for the man to speak. The rage wasn't quelled, nor the despair - instead, they were only fed, because he watched himself destroy the only thing he had left and could do nothing.

"Wyatt--"

The door slammed closed.

"Wyatt!" He roared after him. But there was nothing but the ring of his own roar against the walls. Ferox, who had been curled up in a corner asleep, now woke with a start, his ears flattening back against his head.

He drew in his breath incredibly hard, his fist balled tightly enough at his sides that his short cropped nails drew blood in his palm. He reached out and grabbed for the lone figure at the bed and threw it at the door, causing it to smack loudly against it and go bouncing off across the floor.

Forget anythin' happened, Wyatt had said. As if Maximus' most potent problem was the fact that he was so unable to forget.

The ghosts in his mind didn't need to be solely made of the dead.

Edited 2013-12-27 06:08 (UTC)

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