thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who|| R and [Semi-Open] – PM me if you want to bump into him so I can write a prompt.
What|| R wakes up to realize he’s a zombie all over again and the Cure, in fact, wasn’t a cure after all. He’ll be in a funk. Mostly he’ll be blocking traffic (cue finding him in the District 4 shower, creepy-staring, or else where). Basically R needs cheering up, pep-talks, even the awkward ones telling him he’s better off as a zombie.
Where|| Around the Tribute Tower and Training Center. Also District 4’s suite.
When|| After reviving in the Capitol from Howard mercy-killing him and before the next Arena. Basically a catch-all.
Warnings| Zombie references, depressed zombies.

Prompts in the comments for each character. Heads up I may be slow posting, so a post per day or every other day (so backtag central?).

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It’s been a few days – weeks, maybe? – for R to get used to un-life. It’s not a welcome adjustment. It’s one thing to go into the Arena a corpse, spend a few weeks rotting, and come back a slightly-fresher corpse. It’s another thing entirely to be living and breathing and able to move and speak like everyone else…then have that taken away. He’s chafed against his rotting status before, at the airport. It feels downright claustrophobic now, R spending most of his time in his room, shuffling into dark corners or drooling quietly into the trash can.

There was a time he didn’t have to worry about that. When he could open his mouth and out came words, full sentences.

He’s still dripping into the trash can when there’s a knock on his door, too loud to be his Escort. She’s mastered the feminine knock, R’s head lolling to the side as he grunts something at the door. It might be “come in”, but it mostly sounds like an unhappy moan.

"Gan, friend, you sound worse than I feel."

Cuthbert just let himself in, as he didn't think there was a reason not to. He was definitely concerned to see R in such terrible condition. Or at least, what looked to him like terrible condition.

"Are you aright?" He leaned down by R's side, genuinely worried about him now that he can see what kind of shape the zombie was in.

R was hunched over even more than usual, his shoulders drooping, spine bent as if he wanted to curl into a dead boy's fetal position. His grey eyes shifted over to Bert as he reached up and tried to wipe black drool from the muzzle.

"Ad...just...ing," R mumbled, relieved he didn't start dripping on Bert. "To...this. Dead...again."

Bert sat down so R didn't have to unfold himself to look at him or talk to him. The drool bucket was... odd, but manageable. He patted R's leg.

"Aye, so am I, so to speak. I made it so far I hardly expected to die in the end. I suppose you have it even worse. Every time you're brought back, it gets worse, I wot."

He doesn't really wait for R to answer, he knows how hard it is for him to get ideas across.

"But you needn't say anything. I can see it in your face, and in the face reflected in your drool bucket. I would ask how I can help, but we could be here all day. Would you like get out and see the Capitol a bit?"

Patting R's leg was one of those things you didn't want to actively repeat if you could help it - it was cold, stiff and the give of his thigh muscle was all wrong. He appreciated the thought, anyway.

"Not worse..." R struggled to put the concept into something he can slur. "No...change."

And that's the worst thing about being a corpse, aside from the stuff like decomposition and maggots and flies and everything else. Feeling hemmed. Knowing he can't plan for the future or second-guess a life he can't remember heaving. R wheezed out a sigh, glancing at Bert.

"Get...out?" R sounded a little shaky at the prospect. Getting out meant people. Living people. Temptation on two legs and too much perfume. He wondered if Bert ever got stabbed in the eye by those deathtraps they call hats out there. "Where...?

Bert made a mental note to be careful patting R. He doesn't want to do him any harm, and excessive touching seemed like a good way to do just that.

"Anyplace at all you want to go. But the park might work well. 'Tis at least a sunnier place to sit and drool."

He wast trying to cheer R up, because all he could think of was that this was too sad a fate for even a dead boy. No one deserved to be stuck in like this.

R stands there thinking about it for awhile until he finally nods, several long seconds later. "Not...near...people. Puh-please."

Usually he liked to people watch. But R thought about the Capitol citizens walking across the street to get away from the smell, staring at his stumbling walk. When he shot a wobbly look at Bert, he was going to go out on a limb here and say he doubted Bert had to worry about that, with his smile and his hat tricks and that charm no corpse could match.

"Sorry not...good...company," R shrugged helplessly.

"Nonsense! You are the greatest friend a man like me could ever ask for. You listen well, you show genuine interest in me, you enjoy a good joke and best of all you have a good heart, even if it never ever beats. Why, there could be much worse things coming out of thee and I would still enjoy every moment of your company."

After what happened trying to pat R on the leg, Bert doesn't try to pat his shoulder either. But he does offer him a hand, in a friendly gesture, and so he can help R stand up.

"And as far as empty places, I might know of one or two. There's not like to be many people on the roof this time of day, would you ride up with me?"

R hadn't thought of it that way before, staring at Bert and his high praise in surprise, startled he could think so highly of him despite the rotting and the general state of corpsehood. He ducked his head, a little embarrassed, thinking that Bert might've thought differently if he'd actually bitten him that one Arena. "Thank...you. Bert."

He peered at the hand, tan, warm, and then looked back up at Bert. He reached out, took the hand, squeezed a little as he stood up. R was lighter than he looked - probably all that moisture lost, the absent muscle tone from being a zombie for so long.

"Yes...please. You're..." R hesitated, gray eyes with a far away look. "Good. With...Dead."

He meant it both as a compliment and a remark on the fact that Bert was oddly accepting of zombies. Most people wouldn't be so willing to cater to someone like R.

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