Dave Strider (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shenunigans) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-07-28 01:45 am
shenunigans) wrote in thecapitol2014-07-28 01:45 am
Entry tags:
Mmm watcha say
Who| Dave and OPEN with some closed prompts
What| Dead one day, back tomorrow. Accepting that you're probably not okay is hard.
Where| D9, D6 and the roof top
When| Just after the mini-arena.
Warnings/Notes| N/A
It's no surprise that he wakes up with a jolt. He'd passed out the moment his body slammed against the water and he'd been colder than he's ever been in his whole life. He can still see Clara's face ingrained in his fucking memory like a broken Etch A Sketch and he doesn't understand why he would feel guilty. He did a good thing, a great thing, he's too nervous to find out if Clem and Clara made it without him, he thinks he'd do anything to avoid seeing their reactions.
Feeling around on the bedside table finds him his shades and he presses them on his face like it hurt to be without them. It's not even that he's self conscious, not anymore, it's just that having that little reminder of the present his best friend gave him is pretty damn important at this point in time. He feels more like himself with them, because he doesn't really want to remember who he was in the arena. He clung to his brother, threw a guy overboard, nearly drove himself to killing someone else and sacrificed himself for a girl he'd spoken to three or four times. The last part, he thinks, he probably wouldn't change, but he could do without hearing about it.
Despite the wide variety of viable and fashionable clothing, he's opting for a stylishly worn shirt and red pajama pants that no stylist would ever hope to see him in. His clock print boxers stick out the top because he's too cool to pull his damn pants up and he drags his feet out of his room in search for people to distract him from his pity party.
There's a letter taped to his door and he tweaks it off, wondering who else saw it before he tucks it into the waistband of his pants and makes his way to his first self appointed task of the day.
[District 9 Suites]
Once Dave is back from his morning trip, he descends upon the couch shamelessly and claims it as his own. He's sprawled across it with a game controller resting on his stomach, but he isn't playing anything. He'd just prefer to be out somewhere he can see people rather than holed up in his room feeling sorry for himself. He's dreading some of the conversations, but he's confident he can derail them into something inane.
[The Roof]
By the time Dave makes it up here, it's well and truly night but not too dark. The view is pretty good, and if you squint, it doesn't look too different from home. It's relaxing to sit out here alone, even if he feels something like a stoner and a loner doing it. He feels a little more zen than he did, but deep down there's a niggling feeling. It's the guilt of feeling settled here in some ways and the discomfort of being jerked around so much. There isn't really a middle ground for it, you either settle or you fight it so much that things will never be the same. It's a tough pill to swallow, but if you can't be deep the day after you were meant to die then when the hell can you?
What| Dead one day, back tomorrow. Accepting that you're probably not okay is hard.
Where| D9, D6 and the roof top
When| Just after the mini-arena.
Warnings/Notes| N/A
It's no surprise that he wakes up with a jolt. He'd passed out the moment his body slammed against the water and he'd been colder than he's ever been in his whole life. He can still see Clara's face ingrained in his fucking memory like a broken Etch A Sketch and he doesn't understand why he would feel guilty. He did a good thing, a great thing, he's too nervous to find out if Clem and Clara made it without him, he thinks he'd do anything to avoid seeing their reactions.
Feeling around on the bedside table finds him his shades and he presses them on his face like it hurt to be without them. It's not even that he's self conscious, not anymore, it's just that having that little reminder of the present his best friend gave him is pretty damn important at this point in time. He feels more like himself with them, because he doesn't really want to remember who he was in the arena. He clung to his brother, threw a guy overboard, nearly drove himself to killing someone else and sacrificed himself for a girl he'd spoken to three or four times. The last part, he thinks, he probably wouldn't change, but he could do without hearing about it.
Despite the wide variety of viable and fashionable clothing, he's opting for a stylishly worn shirt and red pajama pants that no stylist would ever hope to see him in. His clock print boxers stick out the top because he's too cool to pull his damn pants up and he drags his feet out of his room in search for people to distract him from his pity party.
There's a letter taped to his door and he tweaks it off, wondering who else saw it before he tucks it into the waistband of his pants and makes his way to his first self appointed task of the day.
[District 9 Suites]
Once Dave is back from his morning trip, he descends upon the couch shamelessly and claims it as his own. He's sprawled across it with a game controller resting on his stomach, but he isn't playing anything. He'd just prefer to be out somewhere he can see people rather than holed up in his room feeling sorry for himself. He's dreading some of the conversations, but he's confident he can derail them into something inane.
[The Roof]
By the time Dave makes it up here, it's well and truly night but not too dark. The view is pretty good, and if you squint, it doesn't look too different from home. It's relaxing to sit out here alone, even if he feels something like a stoner and a loner doing it. He feels a little more zen than he did, but deep down there's a niggling feeling. It's the guilt of feeling settled here in some ways and the discomfort of being jerked around so much. There isn't really a middle ground for it, you either settle or you fight it so much that things will never be the same. It's a tough pill to swallow, but if you can't be deep the day after you were meant to die then when the hell can you?
no subject
"Well Bruce went out like a champ. His son Tim...one of them anyway, fell into some water with a monster that was killing him. Bruce jumped in to save the kid but died in the process. The kid died later and neither came back."
A long sip from her drink before she continued.
"The other Tim, his girlfriend, and little Damian Wayne all croaked too. It's so rotten when they die in the arena and you don't know they aren't coming back till like...a week or two and no sign of em. I was waiting outside Wonder Woman's door every day for two weeks when she died. Then there was the first Eddie who died after helping me with some traps in the desert...and I can't forget Babs. Barbara Gordon was a real peach. I saved her life in my first arena, thought the look on her dads face would be priceless. Then they took Ivy from me..." Her voice caught there and she tried to hide it with another drink.
After this gloomy little stroll down the list of friends Harley had lost she perked up.
"Well I dunno about that. The new Eddie doesn't know me that well. I guess he hasn't gone full green bowler hat yet?"
no subject
"Shit." That's all he can think to say. "Guess I'll keep an eye on her in the arenas for you." He offers in what he hopes is a helpful manner, and he means it to.
And then a bland stare. "I have no idea what that means."
no subject
"Ya know? Green bowler hat? That's one of the riddlers things! He likes green, question marks, canes with question marks and his little green hat! So this guy hasn't gone full super villain yet but he's getting there!"
And it wouldn't take long if Harley had any say in the matter.
no subject
One that could probably kick his ass, but everyone could use an ally in the arena. One that advises them against teaming up with Loki despite doing it themselves.
"Ah, well, what better environment to flourish in than a murder arena built on the foundations of betrayal."
no subject
"Fact of the matter is it's anyone's game. I've seen pacifists win by luck...and being cowards. But discretion is the better part of valor or whatever." She waved the thought away dismissively.
"It's easier to win if you're smart and a little ruthless. It all depends on how many times you're ready to risk dying. Because you never know when the Capitol will decide they're bored with you and just not bring you back."
no subject
"I have my own plans." He says boredly, waving his hand right back, just as dismissively. "I know all about putting on a show, I know about getting voted off the island because you aren't pulling in the ratings." He shrugs his shoulders. "Apparently I have a market by the default of being one of the few teenage boys around here. Creepy, if you ask me, but I bring drama on my coat tails."
no subject
"Oh yeah because we haven't gone through a steady supply of teenage boys in the last year." She drown her giggles with another sip of her drink.
"Least you seem on the ball. Any way your beloved and wise mentor can help out with your plans that are your own?" She offered cheerfully. "Other then my usual activity of popping around to parties to score you some sweet supplies?"
no subject
He shrugs, he's under to preconceptions that his popularity is solely because he's sweet and endearing. He blames it entirely on the lack of variety amongst his age tier.
He gives the offer some careful consideration, but eventually he shrugs again. "Can't think of anything, but if you have any pointers for me by all means, point away."
no subject
At least back in the old days you were always guaranteed only 23 deaths each year. The way things had been around here in the last year so many people had died and not been brought back that Harley had lost count.
"Well you've already got the charm. So how's your combat skills?" Without waiting for an answer she palmed an orange and threw it at him.
no subject
A brow quirks when she calls him charming, but his reflexes don't fail him when the orange flies toward him and he smacks it out of the air before it can hit him. "I'm alright." That's an understatement.
no subject
"Well that'll come in handy later. How about your moral compass? How far are you willing to go to get things done? Because we've got all sorts around here but I won't lie...the heroic types have a much harder time getting out."
no subject
no subject
"The arena brings out the best and worst in people. You'll get your chance to make sure someone who deserves it gets a better chance at getting out. And you'll get your chance to make sure someone who's a total dick suffers for it. Even I've died for other people in the arena and I've gone on homicidal rampages before." She winked before taking a drink and letting him go.
"So I guess at the end of the day it's all about what I can do for you to help with all that."
no subject
"I'm starting to notice that." He says dryly, with a small smile. "I can't really predict how the next one is gonna go down, so I dunno what specifically I can ask for. Other than sponsors, I guess. I'll wink at the camera twice if I want water?" He suggests, not knowing what to ask for.
no subject
"They might edit that out." She peered closer "So are the shades indoors like a statement or do you just like girls not being able to tell when you're mentally undressing them?"
no subject
"They're a statement about how I like to mentally undress people." He says it like duh, but he pulls them forward a little so his red eyes peek over the top. "Are you saying you didn't see 'em on display in the mini Arena?"
no subject
"I was watchin' but no offense you weren't the most interesting part of that arena. There was alot going on in there and I can't have eyes on all the channels at the same time." She grinned sheepishly.
"I'm usually better at it though."
no subject
"I'll be the last one to complain about it. I'm just saying the running theory is that I wear them because I don't want people to think I'm some mutant vampire, but it'd be wrong." The correct answer is that he's light sensitive, but nobody needs to know.
"Did anyone from Nine win?"
no subject
Not to say it hadn't been fabulous.
"As for being a mutant vampire, that's hardly the weirdest tribute we've had. If anything you'd be MORE popular that way."
no subject
He can feel the sting for her, he can't imagine how much of a slap in the face it would have been. Deep down there's a stirring concern for the crap they might pull on Clem and Clara, but there are worse things than not getting a party.
"I'm not literally a mutant vampire. I just have dumb eyes, they can perpetuate any sort of rumor they want, if I never confirm it they'll talk forever."
no subject
Already she was thinking of how she could pimp him out to sponsors...not literally of course though if they paid enough money for a date with him she might consider it.
no subject
He would protest if he had idea. Alas, he's oblivious.
Annnd unless you have any other thoughts on where this should go we can fade to black on that line:)