Buddy Glass (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
parenthetically) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-08-18 05:21 pm
parenthetically) wrote in thecapitol2014-08-18 05:21 pm
Entry tags:
some fool tries to challenge the throne (semi-open)
Who| Buddy Glass and anyone presently incarcerated.
What| Touring the prisoners to make sure everything's on the up and up and none of that nasty torture business is going down anymore. Even if it actually is.
Where| Central holding where ever that might be.
When| Idk guys. Anytime post-attempted jailbreaks through to the day before the Arena.
Warnings/Notes| Mentions of past torture/mutilation, gore, possible swearing, general unpleasantness.
It was roughly half past some utterly desolate, irredeemable hour in the afternoon when Buddy Glass felt that he was plucked, quite unceremoniously and with as little pomp and circumstances as was possible for a society built on such things, from the criminally disinteresting stark white of his cubical. He was dragged, metaphorically and not literally it should be noted, up several floors to have his security clearance verified once, twice, and a third time, before being hauled (again, metaphorically) back downward to the dank areas in which he usually was loath to tread. To clarify the point, edify for both his own benefit and that of the reader, Buddy was not afraid of the jail cells or their inhabitants. Even if he had a healthy regard for the emotional compartmentalization necessary to make a habit out of killing people on national TV every few weeks, they were harmless enough now. And besides, the same grunts who had so taciturnly scaled the building with him were still around and more impressively armed. There was no danger the jail could present to any of them, particularly not with the others ordered to stick around come hell or high water.
No, his avoidance of the jail was more practical than that. It was, after all, much easier to invent living conditions than it was to actively lie about them. There was something nasty about lying. Inventing presumably but not verifiably false information didn't carry the same weight. He sniffed, the air itself seemed to cling to them and it was noticeably darker here. It made him miss the sterile, white, windowlessness of his cubical. Not that there was sunlight down here either, but all the same. The only decent light came from a forcefield glowing eerily at the entrance to each individual cell.
Buddy was pulled from his distraction by the gruff voice of a member of his escort. The man was reading off information, he realize after slightly too lingering a moment of confusion. Names, dates of arrest, why each individual had been arrested (suspicion of murder, and aiding and abetting seemed to be the common theme, which he had known and so he felt a little annoyed to hear it repeated again), District association, and any personal notes the Peacekeeper in question felt like adding. He wondered vaguely how it felt to have the misfortunes of your life rattled off in front of you to someone else completely in earshot. It had to be difficult to hear, but at least Buddy would wager, not as difficult as it would be to tactfully respond to any questions from here on out. Ignorance had its benefits. To know anything effectively one had to learn as little as possible about it. He was almost entirely sure he'd read a proverb to that end somewhere.
What| Touring the prisoners to make sure everything's on the up and up and none of that nasty torture business is going down anymore. Even if it actually is.
Where| Central holding where ever that might be.
When| Idk guys. Anytime post-attempted jailbreaks through to the day before the Arena.
Warnings/Notes| Mentions of past torture/mutilation, gore, possible swearing, general unpleasantness.
It was roughly half past some utterly desolate, irredeemable hour in the afternoon when Buddy Glass felt that he was plucked, quite unceremoniously and with as little pomp and circumstances as was possible for a society built on such things, from the criminally disinteresting stark white of his cubical. He was dragged, metaphorically and not literally it should be noted, up several floors to have his security clearance verified once, twice, and a third time, before being hauled (again, metaphorically) back downward to the dank areas in which he usually was loath to tread. To clarify the point, edify for both his own benefit and that of the reader, Buddy was not afraid of the jail cells or their inhabitants. Even if he had a healthy regard for the emotional compartmentalization necessary to make a habit out of killing people on national TV every few weeks, they were harmless enough now. And besides, the same grunts who had so taciturnly scaled the building with him were still around and more impressively armed. There was no danger the jail could present to any of them, particularly not with the others ordered to stick around come hell or high water.
No, his avoidance of the jail was more practical than that. It was, after all, much easier to invent living conditions than it was to actively lie about them. There was something nasty about lying. Inventing presumably but not verifiably false information didn't carry the same weight. He sniffed, the air itself seemed to cling to them and it was noticeably darker here. It made him miss the sterile, white, windowlessness of his cubical. Not that there was sunlight down here either, but all the same. The only decent light came from a forcefield glowing eerily at the entrance to each individual cell.
Buddy was pulled from his distraction by the gruff voice of a member of his escort. The man was reading off information, he realize after slightly too lingering a moment of confusion. Names, dates of arrest, why each individual had been arrested (suspicion of murder, and aiding and abetting seemed to be the common theme, which he had known and so he felt a little annoyed to hear it repeated again), District association, and any personal notes the Peacekeeper in question felt like adding. He wondered vaguely how it felt to have the misfortunes of your life rattled off in front of you to someone else completely in earshot. It had to be difficult to hear, but at least Buddy would wager, not as difficult as it would be to tactfully respond to any questions from here on out. Ignorance had its benefits. To know anything effectively one had to learn as little as possible about it. He was almost entirely sure he'd read a proverb to that end somewhere.
no subject
"And I'd actually like to talk about how you're all holding up, if that's alright. You can wax rhapsodical to me about the state of the government, too, but in fair warning, I'm lousy with really political writing. And, anyhow, I don't have the power to fix any of it for you." He sighed, the gesture drew itself from him wearily. At least that much had been true. "But I might be able to stir some sympathy for you all with an editorial or two."
Or he could turn it even more in the opposite direction. That was, after all, probably why he was there at all. "The people aren't too fond of you right now."
no subject
Well, and being part of the rebellion, but she wasn't going to mention that.
no subject
"No one liked Penny did they? She was a creep even by my standards. Heck I was probably one of the only people who was nice to her and even I didn't like her that much. I mean sure some of that was because of her job but she fed on that fear. It was like a drug to her and she indulged as often as possible." Here she pouted her lips at Mr. Glass.
"Did you know she used to go to the park on her days off and poison the little critters?"