thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who| Papa Hansthriller and Hans
What| Starkiller and Hans do things
Where| Probably out in the Capitol
When| Present day
Warnings/Notes| N/A

Another day, another training session with Hans.

You would think someone like Starkiller would get tired of someone like Hans, but so far it hasn't happened yet. Somehow, and Starkiller honestly isn't even sure how, the two of them get along pretty well. Yes, Hans annoys him sometimes but there isn't anyone else in this place that Starkiller considers an ally quite like he does Hans. He trusts the man, in a place where trust isn't easily obtained.

Occasionally he gets the feeling that he pushes the other man too hard, but he can't help it. Training hard is in his nature. Being the best he can possibly be is in his nature. Failing isn't. He refuses to let the two of them enter the next arena without being prepared and he refuses to go down as quickly this time and he won't let Hans go down quickly, either. Yes, in the end someone is going to have to die, but team work is going to get them farther than going it alone ever will.

So that's why, once again, he's up at a frustratingly early time in the morning, making his way to Hans' room. He gives a couple of curt knocks on the door. "It's me," he calls, as if it's actually any question as to who it could be. He's expecting Han to already be awake and ready to go.

Because the sky is awake, so you better be awake, bitch.

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Generally Hans is an early riser. He doesn't want to give a lazy impression, after all. He's been trying to emulate the schedules of everyone around him, so it means he needs to be up and ready to go quite early. Particularly when,yet again, he's made plans to train early with Starkiller. He should have slept earlier, but his District mates don't always follow the same sleeping patterns. He'd been up late listening to them bicker and clomp around, then wasted far too much time perusing the network. To be fair, between Azula, Starkiller and Elsa, Hans is pretty worn out for training. Add being Anna's fiance in and all the strain of being in the public eye constantly and you get one tired man.

The knocks just aren't enough to rouse him from his sleep when he's this sleepy. Not even remotely. He's still teetering on deep sleep and the kind of light sleep where you can understand what's going on. All it has him do is pull is blankets up tighter around him so he's partly curled in on himself, burying his face further into his pillow as if that will protect him from any further interruptions.

Starkiller has gotten used to Hans rising early. Usually the man is up and ready to go by now, meeting him at the door so they can get on with their training for the day. He really has no idea the man's schedule has become so hectic and tiring- though whether that would mean he'd lighten up remains to be seen.

When he receives no answer for a few moments, Starkiller lets out an impatient sigh. This is a first, so he's really not sure how to react. Does he go in? He doubts the man is injured or something, but given the track record, he expects Hans to be up by now. Is he already at the training center? They agreed to meet here, so why would he have gone there by now?

In the end, he figures he has no choice but to go in and see what's going on. He opens the door, tensed and ready for some sort of danger given the fact that Hans hasn't answered. What he isn't prepared for as he makes his way into the room is seeing the all too clear sign that Hans' bed is still occupied. Starkiller gives the bed a very unimpressed look.

"You've got to be kidding me." It's a grumble under his breath, before he rolls his eyes and make his way closer. He stops beside the bed raising his eyebrows expectantly as if waiting for his very presence to wake Hans up. When it doesn't, he reached out and gives Hans a swift and rough pat. "Wake up."

What an imposing man you are, Starkiller. To assume that everyone must abide by the same schedule as you! Granted, Hans had been more than happy to be obliging, but that was before he hadn't managed to get more than a few hours sleep. He can barely hear the muffled sounds of manly annoyance as Starkiller enters, it's all just white noise to him right now.

At the grumble, he's coiling himself up tighter so that his nest of auburn hair is slowly disappearing under the warmth of the covers where he can be safe from the judgement of strange and all too demanding spacemen. The pat is more than enough to wake him, but it's not enough to inspire him to do more than groan for a long moment and bury his face further into the safe haven of his pillow. The whine he lets out sounds something like 'alriiiiight' before it fades into eventual silence and...snoring.

Well that is certainly not the response he expected from the other man. He'd been fully expecting Hans to jump up and start the day cheerfully. Who wouldn't, after such a pat? This is so unlike Hans that he can't help but furrow his eyebrows in confusion. What happened to the chipper early riser he's come to know and not really like but tolerate?

"Hans..." he says, a bit exasperated, not quite sure what to even do now. You've completely blown his expectations away. It's almost like a glass shattering moment. The chipper, regal prince is actually a massive idiot. Wait, is he really surprised by that?

With a sigh, he moves to the front of the bed, leaning in so that he can grab the blanket with both hands. He gives it a hard tug and pulls the blanket clean off the bed, away from Hans. He dumps it unceremoniously onto the floor. "You've slept enough, wake up. Idiot."

It's only logical that all that pep wears a man down after a while. This facade drains Hans faster than screen brightness drains an iphone. Beauty sleep is very, very important. He doesn't wake up perfect on under six hours sleep.

A snore is the most eloquent response he can manage in his state. If he were more aware of the situation, maybe he'd care a little more, but there's really no harm in Starkiller knowing that he sleeps sometime. Big surprise, he's sure.

Starkiller's presence is becoming more and more apparent as he leans in. Y'know, Hans never really stops to admire what a big, imposing boulder of a man he can be until he's grabbing at his precious blanket and casting it off, exposing Hans and his poor, pale, freckled body to the harsh cold of the morning. Oh the humanity. "Why do you do these things to me? Why? What did I everrr do to you!?" That's probably the closest thing to aggression that Starkiller will ever see from Hans. He beats his fists on the mattress and kicks his legs for what feels like forever before going limp and taking a deep breath.

"I'm cold. Can we reschedule?"

Ah, snores. The most eloquent way of communication. If Starkiller were an eloquent person, he might snore back in response.

Starkiller's mouth falls open slightly at the reaction he gets from pulling the covers away. He's never been around children, but he imagines this is exactly what one would look like if they were having a tantrum over not getting something they want. He truly doesn't know how to react, so he's a little stunned. He expected better out of you, Hans. He really did.

"Absolutely not," he says, his voice full of annoyance and exasperation. "You're only cold because I took away your blanket. You'll warm up in the training center, once you've worked up a sweat."

Starkiller gives a shake of his head, rolling his eyes. "You should learn to ignore minor discomforts anyway. You won't always have a blanket when you're cold."

Where there would normally be shame for such childish behavior, Hans just feels oddly relieved. The brief flailing managed to wake him up a considerable amount, overall he's just beyond putting on many airs for Starkiller, the man tends to tolerate him as he is.

He could not roll his eyes harder as he pulls himself up, yawning long and loud and stretching his arms and arching backward so Starkiller knows just how much he cares about working out right now.

"Don't tell me you sleep without a blanket? I bet you sleep on the floor, don't you?" He pushes himself off the bed, poking Starkiller on the stomach as he breezes past to his drawers to find something suitable to wear. In his mind, he's already decided he's not interested in training this morning, he just needs to figure out how to trick Starkiller out of it. He tosses what he intends to wear on the bed, stepping back toward the bigger man to make shooing motions at him.

"Wait outside, I'll be ready in a moment."

"I've done so before," he says with a small shrug. "But here? Of course not. If I have a bed, naturally I'm going to sleep on it." He ignores the poke as he continues speaking, idly watching as Hans digs in his dresser for something to wear. "And yes, I've slept without a blanket before. I've gotten to the point I can ignore the temperature easily, for the most part- barring extremes, anyway."

He's really just musing by that point, as Hans tells him to wait outside. "Fine. I didn't realize you were so modest." Starkiller hadn't even really been paying attention to him, so it's not as if he would have noticed if Hans had started changing right there. "But fine."

Starkiller moves over to the door and pushes it back open. "It better be a quick moment. We've wasted enough time already." And with that, he's out of the door, closing it behind him.

"You are the lord of self imposed suffering." He scoffs over his shoulder at Starkiller, just so he can see him roll his eyes. Necessary. "I'm not going to go without a blanket just because I know I'll be having a miserable time in a few weeks, I'd rather appreciate luxuries while I can."

Again, he finds himself scoffing at the comment, following him to the door so he can nag him all the way there. "It's improper, don't think too much into it." Not that it'll ever stop him from doing just that. He won't even reply as he's nagged in return, once the door shuts he's stripping out of his PJs and into street clothes that barely pass for something you'd wear to a gym. He doesn't want to get called out as soon as he walks out the door.

He purposefully lingers in his room, checking his communicator idly and pacing around before popping his head out the door and letting his body follow. "Alright, I'm ready!" He'll smile warmly at Starkiller before seeming to have an idea. "Would you object to letting me buy you breakfast? Working out on an empty stomach has been making me light headed."

Starkiller ought to have expected Hans to try and find some way to get out of it. Maybe in a way he has expected it, which is why he isn't entirely surprised when Hans comes out and asks him that. What he is surprised about is Hans offering to buy it. He's never had anyone buy him anything- anything he's ever gotten has been hard earned, and he hasn't done anything to earn this.

"That's not necessary, I'm more than capable of paying for it on my own." Thinking further on it, he supposes he is hungry. "I've always found hunger helps me focus," he muses, though he supposes he can understand why Hans wouldn't feel the same way. He's privileged, he hasn't had to want for anything in his entire life.

He breathes a sigh. "I suppose we've already wasted this much time, a few more minutes isn't going to hurt. But keep it quick and keep it light. If you're full to bursting, it's going to be just as bad as if you were hungry."

You saw it coming and did nothing to stop it, Starkiller. Other than very nearly flipping Hans out of bed and bullying him into facing the day. This is as much your fault as it is his. In fact, it's almost entirely your fault. Let's leave it at that.

"The point of allowing me to pay for something on your behalf is that you don't have to spend your money." He gives him a 'duh' look. "Consider it a thank you for all your help training." He'll coax him with an almost adoring smile, bumping his shoulder against Starkiller's arm.

"The training center will be there when we're ready for it. C'mon, I'll die if I don't eat something soon!" Clearly we aren't in a dramatic mood today. Hans is quick to march toward wherever breakfast may be, not bothering to look behind to see if Starkiller is even following him.

Ew, shoulder bumps. Starkiller still isn't quite used to them, but he at least doesn't shy away this time. He shakes his head, as he continues forward. "It was never anything you have to thank me for, it's helped me as well." He wouldn't be Starkiller if he didn't argue, at least a little. "But fine. Do what you want."

Considering his thighs, Starkiller is quite sure that Hans isn't lacking enough food that he'll die, but he doesn't say anything. Mostly because that would require admitting he's looked at Hans' thighs, which might put them both in an awkward position. It's not as if he's admired them or anything. No, it's mostly just noting that he's probably indulged in a few two many desserts here.

"I'm sure everyone would hate for that to happen," he says idly, almost subtly slowing his pace just to prove a point.

Slowly but surely Hans intends to make Starkiller so used to shoulder bumps that he enjoys them and craves the friendly comradery that they’re intended to express. He only hopes he doesn’t start returning the favour with too much gusto, he could bruise Hans if he wanted to. He just barely rolls his eyes at being rebuffed, shaking his head at the bigger man. “Didn’t anyone teach you that it’s rude to question appreciation? There’s no need to be so modest!”

If Starkiller were to go so far as to mention that, Hans would simply have to point out that Starkiller is bigger and heavier than he’ll ever be. It might be muscle, but it takes nutrition to maintain bulk. Besides, he’s perfectly slender where it counts, his waistcoats sit perfectly.

“Yes, I’m absolutely certain they would.” He nods knowingly, just tilting his nose upward in response, ignoring the fact that he’s probably being teased. "Do crepes count as light?"

No, Hans. No one taught him anything like that. Mostly because no one ever gave him appreciation in the first place, so it was never an issue. But he's not even going to mention that. Arguing is growing tiresome, he really just wants to get breakfast over with so that the two of them can go and train, though he's getting the feeling that Hans intends to draw this out a while.

"I doubt it," he says. "I'm pretty sure everything the Capitol feeds us counts as heavy."

He pauses to consider that for a moment. "It makes sense, if you think about it. The Games were originally intended for those in the districts, and we saw how bad off they are out there. They probably needed to fatten them up. They didn't really adjust the food they feed us accordingly."

He scoffs. "That, and they probably just enjoy over indulging themselves anyway."

Hans absolutely does intend to draw it out, but you wouldn’t tell from the quick pace in which he’s traveling. They’re downstairs and out the door in no time, it’s almost as if he’s eager to get the other man out of the centre, but he does his best to seem entirely inspired by food. As usual, Stark makes that difficult. How can he enjoy food when the other man is making him feel guilty about starving people?

“I’d say it’s at least a little bit because they want to make us comfortable. Too comfortable, even. I know people who’ve arrived here from situations just as dire- maybe even more so!” When he admits that he looks sad, worried even. Clearly he’s getting attached to quite a few hopeless cases, and people in need are kind of a hot button issue for him. He likes helping as much as he likes breathing when it gets them the respect he wants.

“All the more reason to win, I suppose. I’d hate for our districts to resent us when we’re here to help them.”

It's not as if Starkiller had meant to make Hans feel bad! Geez. If anything, he got caught up in his own thoughts and had wanted to voice them. Whether they were depressing or not, he didn't care much. His tone is casual enough, so at least it doesn't sound like he's guilting Hans on purpose.

"Perhaps," he says with a nod, enjoying for once the ability to talk about something that interests him. Without having to focus on killing people, he finds it... interesting, to think about how they work. How they feel. It's freeing. More and more, he's finding ways in which he's free to think. To act. To be... himself. "Maybe it's their way of justifying these games. If they keep us comfortable, then that makes it okay."

He takes a moment to consider the last part. "I can see why they would. I don't think they're really in a position to see us as "helpers", do you?"

As he says this, they arrive at the place they intend to eat, and something in his subconscious makes him reach for the door and hold it open for Hans. Maybe he's picking up some manners from the other man? Who even knew. It's obvious he isn't even really thinking about it.

Hans sort of senses this is a topic Starkiller is interested in, even if he'd rather think about something else before breakfast. It's a little early for politics, but it's something Starkiller wants to get into and he's always willing to accommodate him when it means distracting him.

"I don't think they feel like they have to justify themselves, really. They've already made it clear that their will is iron, I think more than anything they want to tempt us into being one of them. With all the benefits and more, of course." He gives his shoulders a light shrug, as if that isn't something he's been mulling over and more like a flippant observation.

"But we are helping them, aren't we? We're fighting in place of their children- and winning means they're fed and rewarded for our efforts. That seems helpful enough, I just think it could easily lead to resentment if we don't win for them." Again, a small shrug as he crosses past Stark when he opens the door, smiling up at him in appreciation. "It smells nice in here."

"If they wanted to tempt us into being one of them, you would think they would offer something a little more substantial than food and a comfortable place to sleep," he said, a little unimpressed at the idea, though able to see where Hans was coming from. People in power rarely made sensible decisions, it seemed. "For one, they could explain themselves and why this is apparently so important. Then again, I guess power tends to go to your head, so you don't really feel the need to."

He comes to that conclusion by putting himself in a position of power- back home, if somehow he had become Emperor of the galaxy. Would he take the time to explain himself and his motivations? Probably not. He could see why it would be easier to offer comforts rather than discussion.

"You're right, though. I hadn't really thought of it like that. Saving their children is plenty enough reason for them to be grateful." He hadn't thought of that part, but it's true. They die every day so their children can live. He gives a small nod of acknowledgement as Hans passes him and follows behind him. "It's a little overpowering," he says, not wanting to admit that he finds the smell pleasant.

Not long after, they're lead to a table by a waiter and seated. Starkiller orders a water, and looks down at the menu. "Is it really necessary to have so much to choose from?" It's obvious he doesn't do restaurants very often. "I'll make it simple and have what you have."

"For some people, that's far more valuable than you might imagine. Our worlds aren't perfect, I'm sure. But there are people here who have come from widespread famine and disease, some of them are children, even. It's not a desirable outcome, I'm sure, but the amount you value it varies from person to person. Which was my initial point, I believe." He finishes his rambles with a curt nod, looking just a little too satisfied with himself.

"I suppose they like to encourage us to do a little research. Perhaps we ought to find a library instead of training all day." He gives his shoulders a small shrug, looking forward to that idea more than running around for hours.

When the waiter looks to him, he'll smile politely and say "Thanks, a latte." Quickly burying his face into his menu to chuckle at his own pun before peering over at Stark. "What I want?" His mind is still on crepes. "Are you sure?" He cocks his head to the side, but when the waiter brings their drinks over and begins to gush over their beautiful friendship through the Arena, Hans doesn't have the heart to interrupt him to hear whether Stark is game for his order. As such, they'll both be getting fancy as hell crepes stuffed with far too much cheese, bacon and chicken to be light.. but they come with a salad.

As the waiter finally turns away to leave, Hans will smile sheepishly over at the other man.

Starkiller can't stop a small scoff at the idea of spending time in a library. He isn't against reading, but it doesn't seem quite as useful as actual training. Still, Hans might be onto something. He won't voice it, but perhaps it would be possible to find something that would help them get home, or at the very least bring down the Capitol. It's something he would ideally like to do, but he isn't vocal in his distaste. It would only cause trouble he isn't ready to handle at the moment.

He falls quiet at the thought, giving Hans a shrug to indicate that yes, he's sure. Lost in thought, he barely registers the conversation between Hans and the waiter, often tuning Hans out when he starts talking to other people. Mostly, he's thinking about Hans' suggestion of the library- a part of him wonders if Hans really wants a break that badly, or if he really thinks it might help.

Considering his reaction this morning, Starkiller thinks the man really just wants a break. Has he been too hard on him? Too pushy? Hans is the first friend of sorts he's made. He doesn't particularly want to alienate him or anything. But all his life, he's been taught to push himself as hard as possible. Still, that line of thinking might not get him anywhere here.

He's brought out of his thoughts as the food is brought in, and he nearly starts when he sees the plate. So much for a light breakfast. He gives Hans an unimpressed look, shaking his head. "I should have expected this," he says in a tone that suggests he has no one to blame but himself. "Anyway. So is that what you would rather do? Go to a library? Because I was thinking that you might be onto something." Because he doesn't want to admit that he's doing it to give Hans a break.

The scoff isn't very reassuring, but Hans isn't easily deterred. A scoff is as good as a hug or a very long and intricate agreement where Starkiller is concerned. He speaks a language Hans is painfully familiar with- gruff man. Why articulate thoughts when you can scoff and grunt? No wonder he gets along so well with Guy, it certainly isn't because they happen to share a brow line.

He'd be glad to know the subtle waves of guilt are taking effect, even if he's a little sheepish about the reaction to the delicious looking food. He can't feel too bad, even after being chided for it. Blocking our Starkiller's nagging is becoming easier and easier the more time they spend together. He'll just offer him an innocent smile and dig in as enthusiastically as good manners will allow. After a few bites and listening to Starkiller talk, he sits up excitedly, hand over his mouth as he quickly chews and swallows his mouthful. "Really?" He tries so hard not to sound too excited. "Of course I would. I've never really been before." Which isn't a total lie, he hasn't had enough time to cover all of his research bases. "Are you sure, though? I'd hate to ruin your routine." But he really doesn't care.

Hans might be trying to not sound excited, but Starkiller picks up on it well enough- mostly because he's looking for it. He wants to know how eager Hans really is to get out of training. His suspicions are confirmed by the reaction, and he has to suppress a sigh. It looks like they're not going to be doing any real training today. Still, maybe the library will prove useful. Maybe they'll find something that will maybe it worth it. Mostly he's sure it'll be bound to prove a waste of a day, but at least he's trying to be optimistic.

"I'm sure," he says with a shrug. He forks a bit of food into his mouth and tries not to look impressed by how delicious it is. Goddamn you, introducing him to delicious food. It's really making him realize how much he missed out on his entire life, so maybe he should explore food on his own one of these days. Maybe he should try something new every day. "We're working extra hard tomorrow to get rid of this fat," he says firmly. "Just know that."

With that said, he feels better about eating all this junk.

There's no reason to hide it too much. He doesn't want to give Starkiller the false impression that he enjoys the daily toiling that is training. He doesn't mind the edge it gives him, but there's so much more he could be doing. Like this! Research. So important.

"Hey, exercising the mind is important as training the body." He points out, any defensiveness in his tone being played off as a joke. "If we spend all our time preparing for Arenas, we're just playing into what they have set up for us, aren't we?" He's probably so easy to take seriously with a mouthful of quiche, but he's polite enough to cover his mouth with his hand as he chews.

"Besides, it might give us an edge." He just wants to be right. The rightest. Righter than Starkiller.

"Alright, alright, you've made your point." Starkiller shook his head lightly, looking exasperated. The truth was, he was actually relieved to see that Hans was so eager. It meant he'd done right by allowing them to take a day off and go to the library. Any alienation he might've caused by all the training was clearly negated by this one simple gesture, right? In his mind, at least.

Hans would notice that he had a quick way of eating. Starkiller obviously didn't stop to savor his food much- he usually wanted to get meals over with as quickly as possible. So within a few moments, he'd eaten most of the food on his plate.

"I hope you're nearly finished, because we're wasting a lot of time," he comments, shoving his plate forward. He'd gone his entire life without eating a whole lot, that he really couldn't stomach the entire plate. He leans back in the chair, a hand idly placed on his stomach as he surveys Hans and the progress he's made on his food.

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