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
She almost says something about how it keeps driving her nuts that her boys are so stubborn and refuse to be involved in proper hugs and make her do all the work. But, to the best of her knowledge, Dave's never met Alex (and that also means thinking about Alex and the fact that supposedly the Capitol's currently doing something to help him maintenance wise, so she hasn't seen him since a couple days before the mini-arena, and she doesn't want to think about that right now). Silly boys and their silly noodley armed reactions to hugs.
“Get yourself killed. Or try to pull some sort of heroic sacrifice thing like that.” She doesn't mean to, but her hug tightens just a little bit as she remembers watching him drop. “If you had just given me another minute, I could've saved you too,” she whispers into his hair, as if she's really convinced herself that, if he hadn't done that, she would've been able to keep him safe.
no subject
However, the way her hug tightens is like a little reminder that this isn't generally how hugs go. His arms raise and he isn't sure what to do with them, so they hover for a moment before draping over her back lightly.
"It doesn't work like that." He hopes he doesn't sound too cold when he said it. "If they wanted me off, it would have kept happening." He half shrugs into the hug. "And you don't need to do.. this. The worry thing. I'm sorry for surprising you, but its just kind of the way things are for me, here and back home."
no subject
While she doesn't release her hold on him, it loosens slightly as his arms go around her back. Apparently Dave does know how to hug people, who knew?
"I don't care if I don't have to, I'm going to anyway." And right now she's glad he can't see her face because she knows she's getting teary right now and that probably wouldn't help all that much right now. "You should've been the one to win, not me."
no subject
He gets the feeling that nothing he'll try to say will talk her out of it, so he grunts quietly to himself and lets his shoulders sag. "You do what you gotta do, I'll do what I gotta do." He offers as helpfully as he can. "It'll be easier with you guys out."
no subject
But she finally does drop her arms and gives him a small, sad smile. She knows that this is one of those things that they're going to continue to disagree on, and she'd rather not fight with him about it. "It'll happen someday. Hopefully sooner rather than later. And until it does, I'm going to keep fretting over you guys getting out, okay?"