thecapitol | we fail to represent, we fail to be content.

Entry tags:

we fail to represent, we fail to be content.

Who; Dave and Oh God Another Open Post
What; Prompts in the comments- Mostly Dave being a Teenage Boy.
When; The days after Shit Hit the Fan but things got Sort of Better.
Where; Training Center, Out and About
Warnings/Notes; Swearing, mentions of death as usual.

Dave is starting to get what people mean when they talk about a Week From Hell. Only it hasn't been a week, it's been weekS. Month. Months? Hell if he knows. He's entirely lost his touch with time since they took his powers away, but his perceptions are screwed to hell and back anyway. In a lot of ways, this had been on the same level as his life back home. You never knew when you were gonna die, when your friends were gonna die, when things would fuck up and you'd all be scrambling to fix it. But it had always been a game. Now, people are dying. It's IRL action movies right here, but who the fuck is Nic Cage? He hasn't seen much incoherent screaming from anyone yet, but the reference isn't funny without his friend John here anyway. Not that he wants him here. Much. There's something to be said about your friends all being an elevator ride away, here. Not universes away, timelines away and possibly dead.

It's a downer to think about. It sucks to think anything could be better here. He has a wider social circle than his younger self would have given him credit for. Who knew dorm living brought out the social side in anyone? He can feel himself settling into his ways a little too much here, he's almost glad the Capitol gave them the old reach around several times to really get the point through. It fucking sucks here. It will always suck. They will take everything you love, shit on it and light it on fire. They made that point vividly with Bro, before he could even think twice about opening his big mouth and rebelling.

Instead, he channels his energy into other things. Distracting things. Things he doesn't have the means to do back on Ol' Space Rock.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There are always new horrors to be had. I'm just trying to stay current.

That's all that's current with me, then. Other than dying horribly and coming back to find out a bunch of people have been mass murdered, it's been pleasant.

You know, maybe you and me need to do something constructive. Or at least less depressing.

Constructive like what? Arts and crafts? We could make a hideous collage together and cover it in craft glue and glitter. Then we'd be picking it out of every crevice because it's the herpes of creative supplies.

Maybe not something quite like that. We're kids. We should be doing kid things. Lie breaking glass bottles or writing graffiti or something. Anything's better than staying here depressed all by ourselves.

You're a kid, I'm a man. [He gives her a look of mock defiance.] With how the Capitol has been blowing up over shit I doubt a little graffiti is gonna go down well. Shame, really, I've got schemes that'd make the Sistine Chapel jealous. [Ugly, ugly schemes.]

We could go to the arcade, I guess. [He gives his shoulders a suggestive shrug.]

Yeah, if you say so. [Kid]. That was a joke. I'm not going to be testing them anytime soon.

Shit, they HAVE those here?!

You bet they do. I've been marking my territory all over the first person shooters by changing all the high score names to dirty words. If you see an Ass in the ranks, it's mine. [He pushes himself out of his chair.] You in the mood to shoot some shit up?

I think the question is 'when am I NOT in the mood to shoot some shit up?' I need an outlet that doesn't leave me aching all day. I'll follow your lead.

Now I'm wondering what your usual outlet is. [He raises a brow at her as he slinks past, heading on his way out of the tribute tower.] Look at us, getting fresh air, a shame to our generations.

The training room. [She rolls her eyes]. Come on, I'm, like, twelve. Not young enough to care about that part of the internet yet. My dad would have preferred that, actually. Likes me to be alert.

Colour me not fucking surprised. [He snorts, ambling toward the arcade at a leisurely pace.] I knew about those parts of the internet when I was like, eight, cupcake. Perks of not having a Dad.

Makes my life simpler. No hormones working, less reason to be distracted. [And honestly, the less distractions the better].

So who was your parental then?

Life is distracting regardless of hormones. There's a lot of important outlets you've got to ration your time into. Like video games. [He smirks.]

My Bro. He was the one who ninja trained be since I was wearing handmade pony leather bibs. [He does some little chops in the air with his hands so she gets the picture.]

That's something that you and I can both agree on. [OK, little smirk there.]

Your bro huh? Hardcore. Good you had him around then.

Probably wouldn't be going to an Arcade if we didn't on some deep level. [He swears the damn thing was closer.]

Good thing you had your dad. Not that this place isn't rife with adults looking to get their parenting realness on.

Yeah, had. They even brought him here for a little while, the assholes, just to go and take him away. I'm still pretty fucking pissed about that.

[The dead should stay dead. No matter how much you miss them].

What's your poison, arcade-wise?

They did the same with my Bro, only they brought him back as a zombie, made us fight to the death and then brought him back and put him in the Arena. [Look he finally said why he was mad.] They're fucked up. Gonna hope they just sent your Dad home or whatever.

[He shrugs.] I'll play anything, but I like me some racing games.

[Mindy winced]. Man, that is a round about way to go just to fuck up someone. You figure they could afford to tone that shit down a little bit. If they send dad home...well, it won't change anything then. Dad wasn't, well, of the living, to coin a phrase.

[She'd liked Beetlejuice, ok?]

Now that I can do. I was in a race in this dump not too long ago and nabbed second place.

Neither was my Bro, if we cash that phrase in for five hundred. I'm pretty sure picking on bad-ass orphans is the name of the game here, and it's a lucrative market too.

[Hold up, he looks impressed.] They had a race? What kind? How many survivors?

You too? Man, what a bunch of bastards. At least we have something...fucked up in common. Man, we're cool.

[Cool to some people anyway].

It was a motorcycle race. Intermediate. I'd be better, but well, kind of hard to go riding these things in my world. All kind of illegal.

We're freaking awesome, bitches better recognise. [He scoffs.] The highpoint of a place like this is that the people in charge sure as hell don't care how young you are when it comes to shit like that. Then again, closes I ever came to riding a motorcycle is free falling my bike down a nasty steep hill.

There was a beginners course, actually. But yeah, trust me, I learned that with how easily I was able to drink the day my victory happened. Hell of a headache after though, so I've been wary about overdrinking again.

Point being, I don't think I'm compatible with motorbikes. Or booze, for that matter. Guess I'm a big kid even if you take me out of the play pen.

[He shrugs, looking upward into the distance as they approach the Arcade.] I hope you plan on winning me one of those big ol' stuffed bears.

Aw, that makes me your sempai, then."

[She actually had no real idea what that meant, but she read memes. Good enough].

Pfft, you're so needy for a girlfriend. I guess I could wrangle you up a few.

[By which she meant it was her personal mission to now].

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