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thecapitol2014-06-02 03:30 pm
quiteliterally) wrote in thecapitol2014-06-02 03:30 pm
Entry tags:
[ OPEN ] we don't want to die alone; it could be lethal.
WHO| Chris Traeger, Champion & you.
WHAT| Chris is sick and delusional.
WHERE| The Tribute Center, around the Capitol, various beaurocratic buildings, the park, etc wherever you want.
WHEN| A TIME.
WARNINGS| Gross sickness and possible disturbing imagery. Death-phobia and stuff of that nature. Also I can't stay in one tense to save my life.
[ fangs on bats ]
Chris is stumbling around the city in his usual attire, but his face is pale and sunken in, and his clothes look like they need a good ironing; his tie askew. If you were so inclined, you might actually believe he was among the ranks of the undead. Shifting his clipboard under his arm, he pulls out a hankerchief and sneezes. He looks at the contents of his mucus and makes a horrified face before tucking the cloth away again. That isn't something anyone needs to see!! And it definitely cements the fact that he's dying. He can practically feel his organs shutting down, but maybe if he can just keep moving... he can leave this illness in his dust.
Just thinking about dust makes him make a grab for the tissue all over again. Champion barks, snapping him out of his reverie as he almost wanders right out into traffic. He's usually so careful about these things, but the fever is pressing on his brain, choking off any chance of a functional thought process.
"Bats," Chris mutters, almost unsure it was him who said it for a moment. "Why are there bats?" His voice raises enough so that everyone within a few feet can hear him. He doesn't remember bats ever swarming the streets in broad daylight before.
[ oooh we're in danger ]
Chris flops onto a park bench and groans, and Champion seems to take that as his cue to hop up next to him, dropping his head in his master's lap. The doctors had tried to convince him to stay in the hospital, but he's determined to at least do his job, even if he can't feel any of his extremeties enough to run. "How am I supposed to run to the moon, Champion... I've fallen so far behind."
When he looked up the statue of their President Snow had jumped forward a few feet - that couldn't be right. He tried to put it out of his mind, but when he looked up again it was that much closer and he screamed. Champion raised a furry brow at Chris like if he could he would shake his head in disbelief.
"He's going to kill us. Assume the positions." What positions? He's losing track of what he's even saying anymore.
[ building the robot ]
Entering town hall to turn in some paperwork, Chris gets turned around and o-oh so very alarmed when every wall turns to a dead end. His heart is beating fast and he isn't sure what to do. Does he call out for help? Does he lay here to die? Laying down would be nice actually...
Get a grip, Christopher! He's just here to pass over his clipboard and get home to bed. Except every time he thinks he knows exactly where the intake office is, he ends up down a completely different hallway. "What the..."
After doing this no less than half a dozen times, Chris puts his hand on the wall and scowls at it. A passer-by might think he is a mime because there's no wall actually there. And he's positive it wasn't there last week, so why can he feel and see a real wall where no wall ought to be.
"A little help," he ekes out, before falling to the ground, unconscious. His last thought is that the cold floor feels really nice against his pounding head.
WHAT| Chris is sick and delusional.
WHERE| The Tribute Center, around the Capitol, various beaurocratic buildings, the park, etc wherever you want.
WHEN| A TIME.
WARNINGS| Gross sickness and possible disturbing imagery. Death-phobia and stuff of that nature. Also I can't stay in one tense to save my life.
[ fangs on bats ]
Chris is stumbling around the city in his usual attire, but his face is pale and sunken in, and his clothes look like they need a good ironing; his tie askew. If you were so inclined, you might actually believe he was among the ranks of the undead. Shifting his clipboard under his arm, he pulls out a hankerchief and sneezes. He looks at the contents of his mucus and makes a horrified face before tucking the cloth away again. That isn't something anyone needs to see!! And it definitely cements the fact that he's dying. He can practically feel his organs shutting down, but maybe if he can just keep moving... he can leave this illness in his dust.
Just thinking about dust makes him make a grab for the tissue all over again. Champion barks, snapping him out of his reverie as he almost wanders right out into traffic. He's usually so careful about these things, but the fever is pressing on his brain, choking off any chance of a functional thought process.
"Bats," Chris mutters, almost unsure it was him who said it for a moment. "Why are there bats?" His voice raises enough so that everyone within a few feet can hear him. He doesn't remember bats ever swarming the streets in broad daylight before.
[ oooh we're in danger ]
Chris flops onto a park bench and groans, and Champion seems to take that as his cue to hop up next to him, dropping his head in his master's lap. The doctors had tried to convince him to stay in the hospital, but he's determined to at least do his job, even if he can't feel any of his extremeties enough to run. "How am I supposed to run to the moon, Champion... I've fallen so far behind."
When he looked up the statue of their President Snow had jumped forward a few feet - that couldn't be right. He tried to put it out of his mind, but when he looked up again it was that much closer and he screamed. Champion raised a furry brow at Chris like if he could he would shake his head in disbelief.
"He's going to kill us. Assume the positions." What positions? He's losing track of what he's even saying anymore.
[ building the robot ]
Entering town hall to turn in some paperwork, Chris gets turned around and o-oh so very alarmed when every wall turns to a dead end. His heart is beating fast and he isn't sure what to do. Does he call out for help? Does he lay here to die? Laying down would be nice actually...
Get a grip, Christopher! He's just here to pass over his clipboard and get home to bed. Except every time he thinks he knows exactly where the intake office is, he ends up down a completely different hallway. "What the..."
After doing this no less than half a dozen times, Chris puts his hand on the wall and scowls at it. A passer-by might think he is a mime because there's no wall actually there. And he's positive it wasn't there last week, so why can he feel and see a real wall where no wall ought to be.
"A little help," he ekes out, before falling to the ground, unconscious. His last thought is that the cold floor feels really nice against his pounding head.
Bats naturally
The word "Bats" catches her ear as she blasts past him and she's forced to grab onto a streetlamp to spin back around and come to a skidding stop in front of him.
"Wazzat about bats?" She greeted him informally.
naturally!!!!!!!!!
no subject
"As it just so happens, I'm an expert at pestering bats. Would you like to know my secret? I'll share it with you if you promise to return the favor some day?" She teased playfully. She wasn't sure what was making him see bats but one mans hallucination was a girls opportunity.
no subject
no subject
"Ya gotta laugh!" She whispered then straightened up and smiled normally.
"Ya know how they say laughter is the best medicine? Well it's alot like that. You gotta give the best most manic laughter you can manage. Square those hips! Thrust out that chest and cackle like you're being tickled by a thousand puppy dog tongues. Bark out those chortles till the batty bats have to fly back to District 12 just to get some peace and quiet!"