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)
thecapitol2014-06-05 06:59 am
the_marshal) wrote in thecapitol2014-06-05 06:59 am
Entry tags:
Since it fell unto my lot, that I should rise and you should not
WHO| Wyatt and OTA
WHAT| Missing the peeps that haven't come back, side-eyeing the hell out of the clinic
WHERE| Tribute lounge
WHEN| After the clinic opens
Warnings/Notes| Probably some PG-13 language.
He'd known it would be hard, being outside. He wasn't fool enough to think it would be easy to watch the games, to see people he knew suffering - to watch them struggle and fight and die.... But he hadn't realized just how hard it would be to wait. To realize slowly those same people - his friends, people he cared about - weren't coming back.
It had always been immediate for Wyatt. He'd always woken up to find them gone. It had always been someone else - an escort, a stylist, another tribute - to break the news.
Now he was the one doing the telling.
Holliday and Pruna hadn't come back. Neither had Hawkeye.
It made him angry. It made him sad.
It had guilt churning bitterly in his guts.
Pruna had helped him win the last arena, had saved his life, at the expense of her own. Hawkeye had saved both his and Howard's the arena before.
And now they were gone. No good deed left unpunished by the Capitol.
Being dragged down to the clinic by his escort had been a blessing in disguise really. Arguing about whether he was sick (he wasn't) and whether they'd be sticking him with anything (they weren't), made him feel a little better. (Reminded him that there were things he still could do. He wasn't helpless. It wasn't hopeless.)
Slipping onto a stool at the lounge bar, he ordered himself a stiff coffee and rubbed idly at his throat, trying to work away the unpleasant feel of that big blond bastard's hands on him.
WHAT| Missing the peeps that haven't come back, side-eyeing the hell out of the clinic
WHERE| Tribute lounge
WHEN| After the clinic opens
Warnings/Notes| Probably some PG-13 language.
He'd known it would be hard, being outside. He wasn't fool enough to think it would be easy to watch the games, to see people he knew suffering - to watch them struggle and fight and die.... But he hadn't realized just how hard it would be to wait. To realize slowly those same people - his friends, people he cared about - weren't coming back.
It had always been immediate for Wyatt. He'd always woken up to find them gone. It had always been someone else - an escort, a stylist, another tribute - to break the news.
Now he was the one doing the telling.
Holliday and Pruna hadn't come back. Neither had Hawkeye.
It made him angry. It made him sad.
It had guilt churning bitterly in his guts.
Pruna had helped him win the last arena, had saved his life, at the expense of her own. Hawkeye had saved both his and Howard's the arena before.
And now they were gone. No good deed left unpunished by the Capitol.
Being dragged down to the clinic by his escort had been a blessing in disguise really. Arguing about whether he was sick (he wasn't) and whether they'd be sticking him with anything (they weren't), made him feel a little better. (Reminded him that there were things he still could do. He wasn't helpless. It wasn't hopeless.)
Slipping onto a stool at the lounge bar, he ordered himself a stiff coffee and rubbed idly at his throat, trying to work away the unpleasant feel of that big blond bastard's hands on him.