Commander Jane Shepard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
earthborn) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-03-05 09:57 pm
earthborn) wrote in thecapitol2014-03-05 09:57 pm
When in doubt, act petty and childish [Open]
Who| Shepard, and probably Pruna, Sandy, Duck, and Pillow Fort, and OPEN
What| Pillow Fort!
Where| PILLOW FORT IN THE TRIBUTE CENTER LOBBY
When| Last week or so of the Arena
Warnings/Notes| Pillow Fort, harsh language, possible description of drug use and/or arena doings, Pillow Fort
It took an enterprising mind to understand the subtleties of this art-form. There had to be balance, and tension, or your structure would collapse. Even the most durable of available materials was squishy at best, and you always ended up wanting another inch of length on the roof, another few grams before supports collapsed, or bent. And nothing, nothing would just stand there and hold itself up.
In the end, they’d resorted to thumbtacks, hammered with a shoe or pressed in, to hold up the bedsheets against the walls. Even so, it was better not to lean too close to the stolen couch cushions on the opposite side, or the whole left wing might come down with a series of pops and pings. Well, it was probably fine, it wasn’t as if this were some kind of permanent arrangement, after all.
What? What is she doing? No, not doing, it’s all done.
Shepard has built, with a little help, a pillow fort.
Well, it’s more than just a fort, it’s a castle, an edifice! It took up nearly the whole of the Tribute Center Lobby with a riot of bedsheets, pillowcases, safety pins and couch cushions. Calling it a mere hidey-hole would not do justice to the thing. It’s art. It’s filled with pillows and snacks and safe dark places closed in away from prying eyes. Oh, and Shepard too. She’s an adult, after all, and this is what grown-ups do.
It’s got a door big enough for anyone to crawl right in, and a boldly written sign that reads “Abandon Hope All Who Enter Here” with “bring snacks” scribbled along a corner.
What| Pillow Fort!
Where| PILLOW FORT IN THE TRIBUTE CENTER LOBBY
When| Last week or so of the Arena
Warnings/Notes| Pillow Fort, harsh language, possible description of drug use and/or arena doings, Pillow Fort
It took an enterprising mind to understand the subtleties of this art-form. There had to be balance, and tension, or your structure would collapse. Even the most durable of available materials was squishy at best, and you always ended up wanting another inch of length on the roof, another few grams before supports collapsed, or bent. And nothing, nothing would just stand there and hold itself up.
In the end, they’d resorted to thumbtacks, hammered with a shoe or pressed in, to hold up the bedsheets against the walls. Even so, it was better not to lean too close to the stolen couch cushions on the opposite side, or the whole left wing might come down with a series of pops and pings. Well, it was probably fine, it wasn’t as if this were some kind of permanent arrangement, after all.
What? What is she doing? No, not doing, it’s all done.
Shepard has built, with a little help, a pillow fort.
Well, it’s more than just a fort, it’s a castle, an edifice! It took up nearly the whole of the Tribute Center Lobby with a riot of bedsheets, pillowcases, safety pins and couch cushions. Calling it a mere hidey-hole would not do justice to the thing. It’s art. It’s filled with pillows and snacks and safe dark places closed in away from prying eyes. Oh, and Shepard too. She’s an adult, after all, and this is what grown-ups do.
It’s got a door big enough for anyone to crawl right in, and a boldly written sign that reads “Abandon Hope All Who Enter Here” with “bring snacks” scribbled along a corner.
no subject
He catches the soda and immediately brings it around to snap the fuck up and open. That shit hisses like a beast and everything in the whole damn universe is miracles for a single moment. He swigs it back, satisfied.
He lifts a brow at her question and scoffs. "THEM THINGS AIN'T CARAMEL. Them all be a blasphemous motherfucking affront to the nature what all be of caramel. KINDA ALL LIKE YOU'RE A BLASPHEMOUS AFFRONT ALL ON YOUR OWN SELF."
no subject
"Besides, if you keep complimenting me, people are gonna make assumptions," She's checking the label on a bottle of beer, to be sure it's not Dextro-amino. Now is not the time to poison oneself to death, just halfway there if possible, "Did you just come in here to drink my soda and take the piss, because..."
no subject
"Blasphemy, impious utterance or action concerning the Messiahs and/or motherfucking sacred things." He recites, perfectly memorized. "MIRACLES ARE SACRED. Proper caramel and sweets make all to be a miracle. THAT," He says with scorn, "GIVES DECEPTION OF BEING A MIRACLE. It makes all to convince a motherfucker it's lies are truths before getting all to ensnaring the deceived in its trap. IT IS A FALSE PROPHET OF CONFECTIONERY SWEET DELICACIES. On Alternia the maker of such things would be culled for this. ERGO, MOTHERFUCKER, IT IS BLASPHEMY. Don't make to try and schoolfeed on that which what all I know more than you. IT'S EMBARRASSING."
The cap goes back off. He takes a long solid swig of soda. Once done his breath comes back out as a satisfied exhale. He gives her an even longer, unimpressed look, hhen he says, "Sure. I'M ALL FOR TAKING MORE OF YOUR SAD PALING IMITATIONS OF SODAS."