like staring into the sun ☼ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thecapitol2014-04-21 11:59 pm
quiteliterally) wrote in thecapitol2014-04-21 11:59 pm
Entry tags:
[ OPEN ] everything i need to know i learned from sam seaborn.
WHO| Chris Traeger & YOU!
WHAT| That ball of sunshine you all know and love sinking into a pit of despair.
WHEN| The week of the visitors, and after.
WHERE| All over the city.
WARNINGS| Chris being an uncharacteristic sad sac.
Chris hasn't had any visitors, not that he'd been expecting any of course. He was from Panem but despite that fact he didn't see his family very often at all. They didn't even speak much. As much as it warmed the cockles of his heart, it was also devastating to watch all of the reunions rage on around him. It made it hard for him to get a grip - to keep moving like a shark so he didn't have to slow down or worse: stop. Stopping meant certain death, Chris only knew how to keep swimming.
He takes Champion to the aquarium, the park, the museum, the zoo... Out to lunch and around town. Nothing helps - it all just leaves him feeling empty. He hasn't been running in two whole days and he's pretty sure people die from that. Or maybe that really is just sharks. Between the natural history museum and the aquarium he knows more about their physiology than he can remember about his own. He feels hazy, off his game. He knows he's making mistakes at work.
And it's because he's alone. Well and truly without a companion in the world. There had been Victory, but that was one passing night, and the tributes he spoke to hated him, or used his clout in the Capitol to try to get themselves ejected from the games. He had been played, and used, and he's sick and tired of being sick and lonely (and tired).
Sitting on a park bench, or at the edge of a booth, or standing by the wildcat exhibit - none of it matters. Not when his own life means so little. Not when he can't even muster up a smile for a pudgy kid with a balloon. Champion sets his chin on Chris' knee and looks up at him like Stop being pathetic, Dad and for the first time in too long he's letting out a dry little chuckle as he strokes the dog's nose.
"You're right, boy. It's time for pre-natal yoga. Those classes aren't just for women, you know." Though maybe they were only for pregnant people. But it still makes Chris get up.
Feel free to run into him anywhere in the city, and wherever he goes Champion probably isn't far behind, even for a three-legged guy he's used to keeping up with a guy who could pump rocketfuel through his heart.
WHAT| That ball of sunshine you all know and love sinking into a pit of despair.
WHEN| The week of the visitors, and after.
WHERE| All over the city.
WARNINGS| Chris being an uncharacteristic sad sac.
Chris hasn't had any visitors, not that he'd been expecting any of course. He was from Panem but despite that fact he didn't see his family very often at all. They didn't even speak much. As much as it warmed the cockles of his heart, it was also devastating to watch all of the reunions rage on around him. It made it hard for him to get a grip - to keep moving like a shark so he didn't have to slow down or worse: stop. Stopping meant certain death, Chris only knew how to keep swimming.
He takes Champion to the aquarium, the park, the museum, the zoo... Out to lunch and around town. Nothing helps - it all just leaves him feeling empty. He hasn't been running in two whole days and he's pretty sure people die from that. Or maybe that really is just sharks. Between the natural history museum and the aquarium he knows more about their physiology than he can remember about his own. He feels hazy, off his game. He knows he's making mistakes at work.
And it's because he's alone. Well and truly without a companion in the world. There had been Victory, but that was one passing night, and the tributes he spoke to hated him, or used his clout in the Capitol to try to get themselves ejected from the games. He had been played, and used, and he's sick and tired of being sick and lonely (and tired).
Sitting on a park bench, or at the edge of a booth, or standing by the wildcat exhibit - none of it matters. Not when his own life means so little. Not when he can't even muster up a smile for a pudgy kid with a balloon. Champion sets his chin on Chris' knee and looks up at him like Stop being pathetic, Dad and for the first time in too long he's letting out a dry little chuckle as he strokes the dog's nose.
"You're right, boy. It's time for pre-natal yoga. Those classes aren't just for women, you know." Though maybe they were only for pregnant people. But it still makes Chris get up.
Feel free to run into him anywhere in the city, and wherever he goes Champion probably isn't far behind, even for a three-legged guy he's used to keeping up with a guy who could pump rocketfuel through his heart.
no subject
He glances down from the sun again to look at Chris - customs here just got stranger every day. No prayers? But daily affirmations were important, too, so he figured that was okay.
"Praying is really easy. The Smiling God will listen, even if we're far away from Desert Bluffs...maybe he'll have some advice about what's going on. If you pray really hard, and you look into the light...sometimes, you can hear his beautiful, rumbling, archaic voice."
no subject
Sorry Kev that kind of trumped your weird desert god speech.
no subject
"...Yes? Gosh, I was even trying for a light snack. Bad idea?"
Point completely missed, Chris.
no subject
"I'm not hungry either. Maybe Mr. Mouse can just, hang with us for now."
no subject
The grimace was completely lost on him.
"All right. I just can't seem to work up an appetite! Gosh, it's just...really disconcerting."