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."
Oh my god how did this sdhjfgs SO SO SORRY I HAVE NO IDEA HOW THIS HAPPENED
Except people that don't look like they belong here. Most of the tributes stand out, which is funny, because some of them can be strange looking. But being normal, here? Meant you stuck out. And here, back home, Cindy had always prided herself on being able to blend into whatever surrounding she wanted.
This guy, though. Obviously one of them (gooble gobble gooble gobble), even with the coat. Cindy just pulled her own coat tighter against the wind; she'd been on her way into said shop before she saw this guy. And when he jumped at the screen change?
Who wouldn't laugh a little at that? "I think I could have pulled off the hair from back then." Cindy smirked, folding her arms across her chest. "The dress, too. I like that style, it's always beautiful in a reserved kind of way."
no subject
While Cinderella may have been able to distinguish little old him from the rest of the crowd easily enough, the art was new to him. He mimics her only by turning his body now to face her fully-- and the wall shifts advertisements again-- and by crossing his arms as she did. She had laughed, he was sore, the best way to do battle here was to fight fire with fire- laughter, as it were. Teasing. It was instinct by now and like heck he'd comment on beauty of reservedness, "If you had to pull anything off, I'd rather it be the dress than the hair."
Something something, respect, something something, slap to the face. Bring it.
no subject
"I hope that's not what you said to all the chicks from back then." Cindy grinned. "I don't even think a high priced hooker would put up with that kind of language from a guy." A guy like you, anyway. But she just looks back at him, one eyebrow raised in the perfect smug face of someone who's not going to take any shit from anyone.
no subject
Cindy grinned and Hawkeye swayed, he looked instantly scolded and sorry and like some part of his brain was still working on registering the fact that he hadn't been struck yet- or that he had been, but not in the physical sense. While the bravado leaked out of him, he caught wind of her air. And sounded more like he was attempting to excuse himself than to save face. "I wouldn't be talking like that to somebody I wanted to get to know," he said, because it beat saying that he knew just enough Korean to translate, or to argue that he wasn't given enough a month for both booze and broads. It was more boorish than he cared to be in any first encounter, and speaking of which, Hawkeye was maybe getting the idea that he had gone and rattled off what was on the tip of his tongue to the wrong person.
She couldn't be from the Capitol, and he's still just looking a touch bewildered and a pinch like he'd been sent to the schoolroom corner when he lets his arms fall and his posture relax to its neutral and asks, "Who are you?"
Because he has class, ya know. Any high priced hooker would love to have him.
no subject
He's adorable when he's confused. "I'm Cindy. They put me in District 11, but no one really seems to care much about that these days. So who are you?"
oy, I'm so sorry I've been terrible with this thread but I promise I'll pick up the pace!
"Eleven," he repeats, and steps forward if only to get away from the stupid chameleon wall. "The button's too low on the elevator for me to have ever bothered to press it," he admits. In the span of those seconds, he felt his voice turning almost amiable. It felt great not being on alert like an alley cat, and Hawkeye told himself he'd never feel cornered like one again for such a stupid reason. "I'm in 4 and that's why you've never seen me around-" which is an assumption, of course- "and indirectly the reason we're having this conversation in the first place, so I'd say the districts matter. I'm Hawkeye. And I'm sorry. The... wall. Scared me." Okay. He could tough that one out.