Wyatt Earp (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_marshal) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-04-09 06:24 pm
the_marshal) wrote in thecapitol2014-04-09 06:24 pm
Entry tags:
I wished to stay among my people
WHO| Wyatt and Maximus
WHAT| Wyatt's victorious return from the arena
WHERE| District Three
WHEN| After the mini-arena
Notes/Warnings| Probably some talk of the arena, general Wyatt and Max warnings (come on now), but nothing specific at the moment really.
They kept Wyatt for a time after the arena. Tending his wounds, cleaning him up - making him presentable again. He'd argued at first, especially after they ignored his requests to see Max and Howard, but relented and allowed them to work when they promised he could go as soon as they were done.
A stiff, unhappy surrendering, but still easier by far.
They slathered him in a lotion that soothed his burns. Made him breathe through a mask that made it easier to breathe. Dabbed medicine over the dozens of small cuts and bruises, the little hurts melting away in hours.
By the time he stepped off the elevator in District Three, one might not have even known he'd been in the arena if not for the weariness in his eyes. If not for the footage and the way the screens kept going on about his victory. How deserved it was, how happy his fans were, how they'd known it was only a matter of time.
(The speculation of what it would mean now. Wagging eyebrows and sly grins flashing in the corner of Wyatt's eyes as he passed through the common room.)
He didn't care. Not about the talking box, the silly people who thought they knew him. Not the fancy new clothes his stylist had pushed on him, not even the effort the doctors had put in to make him good as new. Victory meant only one thing to him.
There was only one thing he wanted for.
He rapped a knuckle on Max's door even as he opened it. Eyes already sweeping around the room.
WHAT| Wyatt's victorious return from the arena
WHERE| District Three
WHEN| After the mini-arena
Notes/Warnings| Probably some talk of the arena, general Wyatt and Max warnings (come on now), but nothing specific at the moment really.
They kept Wyatt for a time after the arena. Tending his wounds, cleaning him up - making him presentable again. He'd argued at first, especially after they ignored his requests to see Max and Howard, but relented and allowed them to work when they promised he could go as soon as they were done.
A stiff, unhappy surrendering, but still easier by far.
They slathered him in a lotion that soothed his burns. Made him breathe through a mask that made it easier to breathe. Dabbed medicine over the dozens of small cuts and bruises, the little hurts melting away in hours.
By the time he stepped off the elevator in District Three, one might not have even known he'd been in the arena if not for the weariness in his eyes. If not for the footage and the way the screens kept going on about his victory. How deserved it was, how happy his fans were, how they'd known it was only a matter of time.
(The speculation of what it would mean now. Wagging eyebrows and sly grins flashing in the corner of Wyatt's eyes as he passed through the common room.)
He didn't care. Not about the talking box, the silly people who thought they knew him. Not the fancy new clothes his stylist had pushed on him, not even the effort the doctors had put in to make him good as new. Victory meant only one thing to him.
There was only one thing he wanted for.
He rapped a knuckle on Max's door even as he opened it. Eyes already sweeping around the room.