thecapitol | Worst Month Ever: CONTINUED

Entry tags:

Worst Month Ever: CONTINUED

Who | Cecil Palmer and Dave Strider
What | Carlos asked one thing of Dave before he died.
Where | The bottom of the Tribute Center, late evening, in the public spaces.
When | Shortly after Dave's Arena death.
Warnings | Possible discussion of Carlos' gruesome Arena death.

He shouldn't have come here on such short notice. He knows that. He should have waited a day between receiving Dave's message and showing up at the Tribute Center to see him. He should at least have waited for a reply to his reply, short though it was - that would have been the professional thing to do.

But he needs to see the person who was present for Carlos' last words. Even now, he has no way of knowing whether he will ever see Carlos again - whether the Capitol will choose to revive him. And, well, there was nothing professional about Carlos' death, nor the days leading up to it. Carlos had been a target, and that makes what this person (Dave? Dave... Rider? Something like that?) has to say more important than any words that have ever been spoken, quite possibly by anyone, ever.

He can do nothing from the bottom of the Tribute Center but send a courier up, and hope that Dave is in the District Nine (...Six? Eleven? Ugh) suites this evening, and willing to come downstairs. He can do nothing but wait in a tasteful and uncomfortable chair by the elevators, trying to look as though he is not in a state of some emotional distress, but picking cat hairs off of his shirt with the absent fixation of one who is trying not to imagine what he will do if he has to wait to come back until tomorrow.

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Dave had been expecting it. Well, something. He'd expected some sort of response once he'd finally worked up the cojones to send the email. He was never the best at these situations, but being socially awkward pales in comparison to the necessity of passing on the message. When the courier does come, even with his eternal expectations, he really isn't ready. He hasn't done much beyond lie around on the couch or in his bed and stagnate since his death in the arena, so slamming himself into clean crisp clothing and running a comb through his hair is cause for a little hold up.

He jogs out of his room and jabs at the elevator button impatiently. How dare anyone else use it, honestly. There's no way he'll consider taking the stairs after the... unfortunate incident. Eventually it pulls up and eventually he'll make it down to the bottom floor, smoothing out his shirt and stepping out of the godly metal box with a bland look on his face. It's only once he steps out that he realises he isn't entirely sure who Cecil is, but a quick scan of the room makes that pretty obvious. He sidles closer, trying to look both casual and purposeful but coming off more suspicious looking than anything when he approaches Cecil.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume you're Cecil." He sticks out a hand confidently, his voice faltering a little when he continues. "If you aren't then this is going to be really awkward."

Edited (i promise this isn't a PA edit I just left out a word) 2014-06-26 08:38 (UTC)

Normally, Cecil would be sporting some Arena-themed skin modification this many weeks into the new contest, but-- well, somehow he just hasn't been able to find the motivation. Even his fuchsia dye job conspires to look morose in the hard light of the lobby.

But he leaps to his feet when he sees Dave step out of the elevator - Dave might not know him, but he's had his eyes glued to the Arena more than long enough to recognize him, even without swirling mist and assorted bloodstains and the mid-Arena look of haunted exhaustion.

Cecil takes Dave's extended hand in both of his, less shaking it than clasping it. "Yes," he says. "Yes, I am Cecil Palmer. And you are Dave Ri-- Str--" Damn it. Emphatically: "...You are Dave." He moves swiftly past that, though he does not let go of Dave's hand. Like he's forgotten he's clutching it. "Thank you very much for meeting me on such short notice."

Edited (TENSE AGREEMENT) 2014-06-29 15:28 (UTC)

Well, if the leap up didn't clue Dave in as to who this guy is, the way he grabs his hand is a solid indicator. He thinks. He could still just be some random Capitolite who just happens to be a fan of Dave's ability to die whilst accomplishing fuck all. Of course, that theory is quickly put to pasture when he kindly introduces himself.

"Strider." He corrects faintly, getting swept along with the conversation as he nods at being called the correct first name. He glances at his hand, but it's hard to see through his shades, he just wonders if Cecil is trying to palm read because he can't possibly be that happy to see him.

"No problem. I have the social life of a gnat anyway. Actually that might be doing gnats a discredit, I dunno. I don't really know about the social workings of small flying insects. It's one of my short comings, I know." He rambles on and on before the importance of his news occurs to him as more crucial. "Should we talk here orrrr?"

It isn't that Cecil isn't interested in the social workings of small flying insects. He's sure they lead rich and fulfilling lives and that their social customs are varied and sophisticated. However, at this particular moment, his priorities lie elsewhere.

He looks over his shoulder at the lobby area. It's not particularly crowded at this time of evening, but nor can it be said to be in any way private. He frowns.

"...Well," he says. "There's this coffeeshop down here-- which is, perhaps, not ideal, considering the gravity of the situation, but, well-- they make a pretty good hazelnut mocha!" He shrugs, a little helplessly. "And, I don't know about you, but I've always found that things like life-altering tragedy and lasting trauma are best accompanied by things that are caffeinated and over-sweetened."

He still hasn't let go of Dave's hand. He does not appear to have noticed.

There's the small niggling concern of stranger-danger in the back of his mind. Like going somewhere with strange men in strange places is a bad idea, but his entire tour here hadn't exactly been an example of good and smart behavior. Regardless of how strange Cecil was, he had a nonthreatening air to him. Nonthreatening in the sense that he had no reason to be threatening, at least.

Dave nods agreeably, giving his hand a small pull backward in an attempt to free it. "Coffee is great, yep. Titan blood, couldn't live without it. You should taste the crap they call coffee in space." He shrugs, following it with another subtle pull. "The best thing about coffee is holding it with both hands. Keeping both hands warm. Or holding coffee and a donut. With your hands. I'm all for it, lead the way."

"Oh, I agree." Cecil nods emphatically as the hint soars cleanly over his head. "Hands are very important in the whole coffee-drinking process."

Thankfully, they will not make the walk holding hands - Cecil lets go as he turns away (with an almost surprised glance down at where their hands are still connected as he releases them).

The coffeeshop is inside the Tribute Center, only a few short turns from the elevators - Cecil had frequented it in less stressful times (like, last week), as it was a fantastic place to sit with a microphone and flag down passing Tributes with the promise of a free coffee, in exchange for a detailed description of some treasured memory and an accompanying personal reflection on the fleeting nature of happiness.

At this time of evening, it's mostly deserted, but that only means that they can take a table close to the counter and out of the way of what little foot traffic there is. Cecil orders hazelnut mochas for both of them without asking-- not out of malice, but because his attention is fixed on a very different part of the present from the one that involves buying over-sweetened caffeinated beverages. He likely will not notice if Dave orders something different.

"I hope it's better than what they have in space," he says as he sits down across from Dave, pushing a paper cup in his direction, with a smile that flickers like a candle.

Dave is about to get exasperated with Cecil for not getting the obvious hints he's dropping without doing something so blasé as outright saying it of course, but the problem solves itself. Good work, Dave, he always knew you had it in you. He'd been quietly dreading the idea of holding hands whilst walking, he doesn't want Curtis to think he's moving in on his turf. His strange, strange turf. Dave doesn't want to question his taste, but it's an odd match. One he wants to see in action- no ugh brain not like that don't make that connection stop.

He idly wonders how Bro would feel about him going to a coffee shop with a strange older man, but he cringes as he considers the fact that Bro would heavily suggest he propose a three way or something somehow worse than that. Dave seems incredibly focused on his free hands when they sit, deep in thought and unaware of what he's being ordered. When it arrives, he tries to discreetly sniff it, but he'll take it. He'll eat or drink most things, especially now that he's gone without for so long.

After a long sip, he sets the cup down and nods approvingly. "Much better than space coffee." He lets the enjoyment longer for a moment before he gets right down to business. "So, about why I wanted to talk.. It's about the guy with the hair, and the face. I, uh. Didn't think to ask his name, but he said your name."

Cecil's heart does something that feels anatomically improbable. He knows that it has probably not literally leaped, or twisted, or sunk, and that it only feels like it has done all of these things at the same time; but it makes his breath suddenly hard to catch, nonetheless.

"Carlos," Cecil says. It is more a sigh than a word. He leans forward; his voice is suddenly hushed and... kind of wavering. "Yes. Carlos. Carlos the Scientist. You were with him, in his last-- in-- on the stairs."

Dave's heart does nothing, unsurprisingly, but his mind zeroes in on the name. Carlos. What? "Are you sure it's Carlos? Not Curtis?" His brows knit together, but Cecil seems to know what he's talking about.

Dave realises that, as usual, he's ruining the moment. So he clears his throat and proceeds, not really sure what to say or how to go about it. "Well, he seemed pretty worried about himself. Like he might not come back? I dunno if the cameras got my best angle if you saw it, but he pretty much confessed his love to you, dude. Congrats." A smirk tugs at his lips briefly and he takes another sip of that coffee. "Am I express invited to the wedding? I look good in a suit, just saying."

For a long second, Cecil says nothing. He sits, with his hands around his coffee cup, and stares, and is silent. There is the possibility, he knows, that he misunderstood what Dave said. That this is a dream. That he is being lied to. There are infinite possibilities, honestly, and that's nothing new, but importantly-- vitally-- among those possibilities is the one that-- that he heard exactly right. That Dave is telling the truth. That this is real life (as real as life can be said to be under any circumstances), and that all of these possibilities have coincided and Carlos really did say that-- that he--

The distance between them is quite suddenly halved as Cecil leans in, his eyes wide, his fingers hooked over the edge of the table in front of Dave.

"Dave," he says, and by his tone (still hushed and wavering but wire-taut now), this might be the most important thing that he has ever said to anyone, ever. "I would like you. To tell me. Exactly. What he said."

The drop in conversation is making Dave increasingly nervous, like somehow going on on some sort of casual outing with a strange man was bad choice. Who knew? He wonders if the wedding comment was too soon, maybe Cecil is religious in another way. Thankfully, the lull in the conversation is put to a stop by Cecil's enthusiasm.

Dave tries not to lean too far away, he doesn't want to look rude, but this guy is getting a little intense. "I can do that." He nods, trying to recall the precise parts of the conversation. "First he grabbed my hand." He grabs his own hand to illustrate his point. "Then he said: Dave, darling- well, he didn't say darling, but in my head....Yeah. He said I need you to tell Cecil Palmer that I love him. Then he made this throaty, gurgling noise, like.." He tries to imitate it, but tact stops him from drawing it out. "Then he thanked me, he's a nice guy. Marriage material."

Cecil had seen it, of course. He'd seen the aftermath of Carlos' fall on the screen - they'd cut swiftly to his death, the moment it became interesting. He'd seen Dave hovering over him (camera angled so his body didn't block the view of Carlos and his broken-floorboard skewer), and seen them speak as the cameras panned slowly away. He hadn't heard it. No one had heard it. (And, well, he'd seen only what he could before he had to look away.)

"Oh," he said. He nodded. He swallowed. He looked down. He continued, with his eyes fixed on the coffee cup between his hands. "...You know, Dave-- our society has a historical tendency to associate the experience of strong emotion with changes in the physical function of the heart. Of course, we know now, because of advances in-- in science-- that the heart is not involved with emotion at all! And that all somatic responses to unexpected and conflicting emotions are the result of changes in our hormonal levels, and the accompanying reactions of the central nervous system."

Had Carlos said something like this to him once? Or did it just sound like something Carlos would say? "I say this because I am fully aware that my heart has not expanded to beat painfully against its cage of unaccommodating bone, and that the bottom has not dropped out of my stomach, and that all of my outermost extremities exist and are present, and have not disappeared, despite the fact that I cannot presently feel them. None of these things has literally happened, and I know that."

He picked up his coffee and sipped it. The cup trembled as he set it back down. "It. It only feels that way."

It was important to get that out of the way.

Currently, Dave feels like one might feel if they channel surfed their way into a particularly dramatic scene of a long running reality television scene. Only it's a little more complicated than that. It's like he was cast for a role without the foresight or opportunity to do any research and no script to reference. He's beginning to see why he might have played a tree for every play he's ever been in, but hell if he won't be the best damn tree he can be for these two people he knows absolutely nothing about.

Yet, when Cecil explains, he's really not sure what to say. It's all true, it's all interesting in a sense, but he's not sure he's felt it so intensely as Cecil seems to be. He can't quite relate on the same level, all he can do is nod agreeably.

"Sounds like the feeling is mutual." He observes, the barest and most fleeting of smiles forming. "I'm no love expert, but it kind of sounds like you guys have some "talking" to do." Yes, he absolutely did use air quotes to illustrate his point.

Under normal circumstances, Cecil would agree with Dave. Under normal circumstances - "normal" being here defined as "circumstances under which Cecil could expect to have an opportunity to speak with Carlos in the near future" - he would already be saying a hasty goodbye and walking at almost undignified speed back to his apartment to call Carlos.

These were not normal circumstances, however.

"I," he began, and halted. "I," he said again, and pushed onward to, "I am-- I'm not sure that we will have that opportunity. I'm not sure that-- that Carlos will be returning to the Capitol."

There was always that possibility, of course, with Tributes. But Cecil's tone carried very little hope.

Dave can play it cool as much he likes, he can't stop his heart from sinking at that response. Carlos had discussed the possibility of not returning, Dave doesn't know why he assumed he was full of crap, but he's been caught off guard now. He veils any genuine displeasure he feels for the situation by taking a long sip of his coffee. What do you even say to something like that? Where's the script for situations of great sadness and confusion.

"Do they do that often?" He asks, hoping that it doesn't seem callous to ask a question like that rather than being more openly comforting. "As in not returning people, why would they do that?"

"I don't know. They do it when they feel that they have reason to do it." Cecil is looking into his coffee, not at Dave. They do it when a Tribute is caught involved in subversive activity for which physical punishment is not sufficient and execution too cruel. They do it when they have spent weeks chasing a Tribute around the Arena, as though they cannot be otherwise sure that he will die.

He looks up, and shakes some of the misery out of his voice. Nails it into a better, brisker place. "Or so I must assume. So we all must assume." He clears his throat, hard. "It is perfectly likely that Carlos' return to the Capitol has simply been... delayed! Perhaps by the, er-- by the rather brutal circumstances of his death. Capitol technology is impressive, but I have to assume that resurrection takes longer when there are so many... um. Pieces. To reassemble."

Edited 2014-07-11 18:27 (UTC)

"If you don't know, I dunno who would." Seems like Cecil is the expert here. Really, it shouldn't just seem like that, he is the expert. Dave has absolutely no idea what he's doing or what his purpose is anymore, so really it's just like being back home.

"Right, that's right. He's got a lot of.." He gestures wildly to find the word. "Perfect, to fix. They probably take their time with him." He hopes that's as comforting as he thinks it is. "Makes me glad I just had a big ugly gash to fix, really." Ah, beautiful and appropriate coffee conversation.

Cecil has no idea how the Capitol's resurrection technology works. He's grasping at straws like they're the only available handholds on the edge of a highly metaphorical cliff, over whose proverbial edge he is seconds from falling.

"You're right, of course," he says, and takes a decisive sip of coffee. "His hair is-- is a marvel of nature in its own right. What comparable marvel of engineering could replicate it, right?" Ha ha. Not remotely funny. Another sip of coffee, to swallow the bad taste that joke left in his mouth. "...Your death was-- it was very good, by the way."

He's complimented people in exactly that way before, but for some reason, coming on the tail end of this conversation, that feels... like not the thing to say. "On-camera, I mean. When I say a good death I don't mean that the act of dying, was, in your case, a good thing for you, or anyone around you. I mean that it was well-filmed, and appropriately dramatic, and highly-- probably highly entertaining. For other people."

The way Cecil sips his coffee is a sign enough to Dave not to continue that train of thought. Let it coast gracefully off the tracks and burst into flames like the depressing and pointless thought it was. Let him start yet another awkward conversation that has Dave pushing down memories he didn't want to relive. He steels himself, because he's been told over and over again that he'll have to get used to it. It's immersion therapy with damaging side effects, he's ready to go the whole nine yards with it.

"I bet you say that to all the girls." He says coolly, for once. The answer comes much smoother and wittier than he expected. "It was entertaining for me too, I assure you. Do you guys do awards nominations, should I be preparing a speech? Or is this something I have to play out cool?" He lifts a brow, some genuine curiosity inspiring those questions before he realises how sarcastic he's probably coming off. "Sorry, I'm new."

"Well, you wouldn't want to steal the spotlight from our eventual Victor, would you?" Cecil asks, and laughs in a way that is bright and cheerful and only artificial around the very edges.

"You see, Dave," he goes on, because talking is easier than not talking, "Our newer Tributes-- for obvious reasons-- cannot appreciate the change in our situation that the Neverending Quell represents, here in the Capitol. I mean, for most of my life, congratulating my favorite Tributes on their dramatic and well-choreographed deaths was simply an impossibility!"

He would have meant this so genuinely, only a few months ago. There was a time - a very recent time - when he had been truly excited for the opportunities presented by the Neverending Quell. He realizes, uncomfortably, that he can't put his finger on the exact time that opinion changed. ...He realizes, uncomfortably, that that opinion has changed.

"...It was an impossibility because they were... they were dead," he adds. As though that hadn't been clear. As though that requires explanation.

He sips his coffee, and it tastes like foot.

"I might. Depends on who it is." Surely they couldn't be a good person if they made it all the way to the end of the world's most violent game of Cards Against Humanity. Of course, Dave has no idea who it will wind up to be, but there's still hope for it being Bro.

What Cecil says is morbid, but Dave doesn't find it particularly jarring. He's heard worse things in his short life, Cecil is giving him some major Aradia vibes. Secretly, he wonders if Cecil is a fairy too.

"Trust me, I sincerely and wholeheartedly appreciate the fact that I'm not dead right now." He assures with as much emphasis on the sincerity as he can. "Is there anything else I can ease your mind on?" He's asking for a friend. Literally.

"...Uh. No." Cecil doesn't find Dave terribly easy to read, but he has the distinct feeling that he's said something deeply stupid. "No, there's nothing else."

He isn't sure how much longer he can keep chatting about dead Tributes, if he's honest. He wants nothing more, in this moment, to go home, to his apartment and to his cat and to a more familiar darkness, where he can lie awake for several more hours trying and failing not to picture Carlos' final moments, and his final words, in mental cinemascope. So, he stands up, and picks up his remaining half-cup of coffee.

"Thank you!" he says, decisively and with formality. "Thank you very much, Dave, for meeting me here. Thank you for telling me what Carlos said, about-- about the way he felt. ...Feels. ...Felt."

Nope. He's giving up on that sentence. "Thank you," he says again, as though he can chase words out of the air with more words, and extends his hand to Dave to shake. "I have to go. I have to... I mean. It's a long train ride."

Cecil need not worry about his confusion, it seems to be a thrilling and consistent trend when it comes to Dave. Most people don't even know what to make of him, but he feels like he and Cecil might have that much in common.

Besides, a guy his age with his problems has better things to do than sit around in a coffee house with a kid. Dave has important things to do like absolutely fuck all, their schedules are mutually tight.

"No probs." He says, absolutely devoid of any attempt at eloquence. This is it, the final awkward hurdle. You shake that hand good, Dave Strider, you're a real man now. "Keep it real." He points a finger at him almost accusingly, as if not keeping it real would warrant a stern talking to. With that, he's pulling back from the table with his coffee too, nodding at Cecil as he turns to re-enter the tower.

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