thecapitol | Tell Me I'm Gonna Be Alright [Open]

WHO| Howard and OPEN
WHAT| Binge-eating is a public sport.
WHERE| Below Timberline
WHEN| A few days after the rave.
WARNINGS| None yet.

It was a bad idea to give Howard a credit card. At least, unless the Gamemakers intended for him to get himself into ridiculous amounts of debt in record time eating out, which they probably did. As soon as he found a restaurant and the fact that the credit card apparently meant 'infinite money' to him, his mind was set on milking it for all it's worth.

Which is, at the moment, a few plates and some doggie boxes full of food to take home. It doesn't matter that there's foods in the suites. For the moment, he's living in the land of plenty, and he's going to take every opportunity he can to enjoy it. His stomach perpetually aches and cramps with the feeling of being too full, but after too many months of brutal starvation, he'll take that feeling over hunger. After two plates he's even managed to stop eating with his hands and go back to using silverware, although he still brings each plate close to him as if certain the other patrons are going to try and take it from him.

He just wishes people would stop staring at him. He knows it's inevitable, he's a tribute, and while he isn't one who did very well he did bash someone's head in. Every time they look at him, he's reminded of that. He tells himself that Lottie's alive and death isn't real in the arena, but just the idea of it makes the otherwise delicious food seem tasteless.

"There is a limit on this card, you know," someone says as they ring it up for another plate.

"Shut up," he says in return.

And when there's another full plate in front of him he starts on that, too, the taste on his tongue reminding him that here in the Capitol, he's safe. In this place, the bad things are temporary inconveniences until you come back to this life of luxury. He's going to be okay.

Another forkful, he's going to be okay.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

With her new sense of drive, the idea of actually winning be a possibility constantly in the back of her mind, Momoko was back to her original strategy of gathering attention and, as a result, Sponsors. Which meant more public appearances, ones that didn't involve begging and threats from her spineless escort.

The credit helped, giving her a reason to be out and about without making it too obvious that her demeanor had changed (it wouldn't do to bring attention to Ariadne's visit). So, the plan was to be sociable, and eating out just made sense, but the result was that Momoko was seated at a table, a barely touched plate of fruit and sweets before, as she stared wide-eyed and not a little disgusted at the boy gorging himself nearby.

It's not that Howard doesn't notice her staring at him. It's that, until this plate is done, he has more pressing concerns. That would be making sure the food's in the only place he knows its safe, stuffed inside him.

It's only once that plate is done and he's awaiting another that he turns attention to her, or rather, to the plate of mostly-uneaten fruits in front of her. She must be someone who's never really gone hungry. He meets her eyes with a sneer on his face. "You got a problem?"

"Many," says Momoko, wrinkling her nose. "This view is one of them."

"Then look at the wall, bitch." He wipes up some crumbs with his hand and licks them off his palm. It's all talk; even he feels disgusted with himself. But who's this well-dressed prissy woman to judge him?

She narrows her eyes at him. "You are aware you're in public, yes? Or is this some sort of show you're putting on for our amusement?"

He narrows his eyes back. "Look, if you're a sponsor you're obviously not going to back me, so just do yourself a favor and look away. I need to put weight on. I don't have to do it pretty."

"I am not a Sponsor," Momoko snaps, more insulted at that than his previous namecalling. "And you're not going to be gaining much weight when you just throw it all up later, you know that, don't you?"

"Oh, so you're not even a jackass with money. Awesome." He curls his upper lip. It's true he's nauseated, but he doesn't like conceding the point. "If I do, I'll aim at your shoes."

She recoils, she can't help it. "You're disgusting." The thought is distressing, even if it's, probably, an empty threat. She tries to regain her dignity by straightening. "Is that your Arena strategy? I can see how it might make others more hesitant to kill you, if meant getting near you."

When she recoils, he reaches over as if to take her plate of fruit. "Look, I came here to eat in peace, not to get some uptight skank lecturing me on table manners. You were the one eye-stabbing me."

Momoko bit back a shriek, brandishing her fork to keep his grabby hands at bay. "Eat in your rooms if you want to be undisturbed," she said, sneering at him. "Why would you eat in public if you didn't intend to be watched? That's the whole point!"

"Sorry, I didn't realized that people were paying ticket prices to see me go out and eat some food. I came out here to try the restaurant, not put on a show."

He's figured, by now, that she's one of the other Tributes. It creeps him out that she seems to have bought into the lack of privacy and boundaries the world has for them.

Momoko's been sulking and isolating herself for so long it's been quite a while since she's had a chance to espouse her opinions on the world. "You must be new. Everything you do in public, or not, is meant for the people watching, judging, waiting for you to do something endearing or entertaining. You're always putting on a show, you don't have a choice in the matter. That's your life now, and the sooner you realize that, the longer you'll last."

She tosses her head with a sniff and returns to her meal, adding quietly, almost to herself, Tate popping into her head, "In or out of the Arena."

Howard doesn't have a good response to that. She's right, he is new. He isn't sure how all this works and he sure as hell hasn't found himself a sponsor yet. The last few days have been spent almost entirely indulging in all the creature comforts here, and it's starting to strike him now that this will leave him horribly unprepared for the next round.

"What do you mean, out of the arena?"

Momoko considers for a moment just ignoring him, but really, she can't resist. It's not often nowadays that she gets to feel superior and knowledgeable, after all. She sighs theatrically and puts down her fork. "Have you done anything besides eat since you got out, hm? Looked up the other Tributes maybe? Noticed how some of them just stopped being mentioned?"

And then there's Tate, but she hasn't checked to see what the official record on his ... situation was, certain that it would never affect her. "They don't say why, but it's pretty obvious, considering why we're here in the first place. It doesn't matter how many people you kill or how long you last if nobody cares to watch."

"Yeah, I've showered and gotten clean clothes," he snaps, but he's listening. He's had his suspicions ever since he and Eponine discussed the idea of suiciding out of the arena each time, to get back to the fun times at the Capitol. Howard wasn't about to try it unless Eponine did it a few times and emerged unscathed.

"Then next time I'll put on a show. I don't have to do it out here." But his voice is hollow. He doesn't believe his own talk.

"Of course you have to put on a show out here," Momoko corrected scornfully. "If there are people around they're watching you," she waved a utensil around at the restaurant, "Judging you, seeing if you're worthy of being Sponsored. You do know what Sponsors are, don't you?"

"I know what a Sponsor is," he hisses, crossing his arms defensively. Truthfully, it just allows him to naturally hunch, which is good because he's nauseated.

"Well," Momoko sniffs, popping a strawberry in her mouth and finishing it demurely before she continues. "At least you're not entirely hopeless then."

Tell Me I'm Gonna Be Alright [Open]

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warning: language

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