Benjamin F. "Hawkeye" Pierce (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
swill) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-02-12 12:03 pm
swill) wrote in thecapitol2014-02-12 12:03 pm
Entry tags:
(closed) Keep right on lying to me.
Who| Cindy and Hawkeye
What| It's kind of like a Q&A session and babysitting a grown man, and talking about technology
Where| Up and about the city
When| backdated as all heck! After the district tours, pre-Arena
Warnings/Notes| none, I think?
Even after the tours, he wasn't sure if he should say Panem was advanced, or if he should keep any statements about the world specific to the Capitol itself. It had half seemed like a cheat- that as large as the city was, as much opportunity as there was for exploration to cure any bored mind, that that was all there was to do. Hawkeye thought he made perfect sense, grabbing a coat for the cold a stylist had laid out- and he'd come back with a tear in it somehow, he was determined- and heading out of the tribute center. He'd be trapped again soon enough and didn't want to waste time being more of a prisoner than he absolutely had to.
The air was cold. He didn't quite care- he'd seen colder. The crowds were large, or scarce, or loud depending on which shop he wandered into- he didn't care. He'd seen larger or scarcer or louder. He'd occasionally just want nothing more than to storm into an imposing building, sleek and high like he'd never known, and would only barely talk himself out of it. Offices would be a bore for a one-man army to conquer and lay siege to. The least he could do is quicken his step, shrug up the hood of his coat when a breeze blows by, try to keep his gaze on where he was walking instead of on the- the vehicles on the roads, you know. They were different, recognizable, something that like the occasional heavy truck and the trains were too hard to miss entirely. Like the people, skin dyed and with tattooed or pierced faces, eyes, Hawkeye of course knew what they were- he just figured the parts of them that he knew were all buried underneath the disguise of Progress and Evolution.
One shop advertises something that seems to him like the communicator he and every other Tribute had been given. Why not just use a phone, he didn't understand. If it was a face everyone wanted to see, why not just meet for a coffee when you send the kids away to the neighbor's? As for the letters, the type- that he could understand, the speed of it, but. But the advertising changed in a flash, the wall turning purple rather than the cool blue, a woman's clothing line suddenly there, no paper to pull back, no workers need for the change--. Hawkeye had jumped.
Someone behind him had snickered.
He'd flip them the bird if he wasn't trying to decide if poking the wall would trigger a change or only make him look more like a fool. Right, right, laugh, he sneered- "I'd have loved to see you in the '30s."
What| It's kind of like a Q&A session and babysitting a grown man, and talking about technology
Where| Up and about the city
When| backdated as all heck! After the district tours, pre-Arena
Warnings/Notes| none, I think?
Even after the tours, he wasn't sure if he should say Panem was advanced, or if he should keep any statements about the world specific to the Capitol itself. It had half seemed like a cheat- that as large as the city was, as much opportunity as there was for exploration to cure any bored mind, that that was all there was to do. Hawkeye thought he made perfect sense, grabbing a coat for the cold a stylist had laid out- and he'd come back with a tear in it somehow, he was determined- and heading out of the tribute center. He'd be trapped again soon enough and didn't want to waste time being more of a prisoner than he absolutely had to.
The air was cold. He didn't quite care- he'd seen colder. The crowds were large, or scarce, or loud depending on which shop he wandered into- he didn't care. He'd seen larger or scarcer or louder. He'd occasionally just want nothing more than to storm into an imposing building, sleek and high like he'd never known, and would only barely talk himself out of it. Offices would be a bore for a one-man army to conquer and lay siege to. The least he could do is quicken his step, shrug up the hood of his coat when a breeze blows by, try to keep his gaze on where he was walking instead of on the- the vehicles on the roads, you know. They were different, recognizable, something that like the occasional heavy truck and the trains were too hard to miss entirely. Like the people, skin dyed and with tattooed or pierced faces, eyes, Hawkeye of course knew what they were- he just figured the parts of them that he knew were all buried underneath the disguise of Progress and Evolution.
One shop advertises something that seems to him like the communicator he and every other Tribute had been given. Why not just use a phone, he didn't understand. If it was a face everyone wanted to see, why not just meet for a coffee when you send the kids away to the neighbor's? As for the letters, the type- that he could understand, the speed of it, but. But the advertising changed in a flash, the wall turning purple rather than the cool blue, a woman's clothing line suddenly there, no paper to pull back, no workers need for the change--. Hawkeye had jumped.
Someone behind him had snickered.
He'd flip them the bird if he wasn't trying to decide if poking the wall would trigger a change or only make him look more like a fool. Right, right, laugh, he sneered- "I'd have loved to see you in the '30s."