Black Tom Cassidy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pimpcanes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-10-03 06:00 pm
pimpcanes) wrote in thecapitol2014-10-03 06:00 pm
Among the Garbage and the Flowers [OPEN]
WHO| Black Tom Cassidy and open!
WHAT| Black Tom's back from the Arena and is talking to plants and stuff.
WHEN| A few days after the end of the Arena.
WHERE| District Ten Suites and in the Tribute Center garden.
WARNINGS| None yet, except for rampant douchebaggery.
OPTION A
Tom's been making himself quite at home in the District Suite. Compared to the mall, the Suites are a sort of resort, all steaming hot showers and fine clothing and disgustingly luxurious meals. He finds that the hand-and-foot service of the Avoxes, while somewhat disconcerting at first, is quite palatable to his moods at times, and convenient when it comes to getting the lay of the land - the mute slaves can't talk, but they can point him in the right direction more often than not.
Unfortunately, Molotov hadn't warned him that he was going to be rooming with the people he tried to kill. Tom spends nearly five minutes trying to decide how to play this, considering whether he should blame the poisoned water or feign atonement, then decides that he doesn't really care enough about Carlos and Clara's opinions to debase himself for nothing like that.
After not-very-much deliberation this morning, he puts on the sole t-shirt that the Avoxes have stocked in his closet, a plain white one with the words I KILLED THOR in bold print. He goes to the kitchen, using his cane because he just woke up and his leg is stiffer in the morning, and finds that his Districtmates have been kind enough to leave half a pot of coffee. He pours some for himself.
One of the Avoxes prepares him breakfast as he sits back in one of the lounge chairs. He whistles while he begins scrolling through the network device for interesting news.
OPTION B
The garden at the Tribute Center isn't entirely to Tom's liking, though he appreciates that the Capitol provided one. It's too sterile, for one, too many clean lines and white walls of the same plastic and metal of most of the other buildings here. The flowers, genetically-engineered and visually stunning, have been tended by slaves and automatic sprinkler systems. They feel lonely, sad hands of the earth reaching up for a loving touch.
Tom's always had a way with plants. When he was a child, while Sean kicked a football around, Tom liked to work in the dirt, feeling almost at one with the silent, gentle life around him. His power manifested first as raging, inexplicable fevers that would last for days on end, and he might have thought himself cursed had he not eventually realized that the upside to the mutation that caused him so much suffering was that he could feel the energy coursing through plants. As he went through puberty this new world opened up to him, the currents that ran through roots and wood and leaves standing out like the strings of a violin, one only he could see and play.
He gets down on his knees and gingerly touches an orchid the size of a dinner plate. Despite its resplendence, he can see that it needs water, that it's being slowly choked by the growth around it.
"Someone hasn't been giving you the attention you deserve, have they? No matter. Black Tom Cassidy's here for you."
And he begins to work.
WHAT| Black Tom's back from the Arena and is talking to plants and stuff.
WHEN| A few days after the end of the Arena.
WHERE| District Ten Suites and in the Tribute Center garden.
WARNINGS| None yet, except for rampant douchebaggery.
OPTION A
Tom's been making himself quite at home in the District Suite. Compared to the mall, the Suites are a sort of resort, all steaming hot showers and fine clothing and disgustingly luxurious meals. He finds that the hand-and-foot service of the Avoxes, while somewhat disconcerting at first, is quite palatable to his moods at times, and convenient when it comes to getting the lay of the land - the mute slaves can't talk, but they can point him in the right direction more often than not.
Unfortunately, Molotov hadn't warned him that he was going to be rooming with the people he tried to kill. Tom spends nearly five minutes trying to decide how to play this, considering whether he should blame the poisoned water or feign atonement, then decides that he doesn't really care enough about Carlos and Clara's opinions to debase himself for nothing like that.
After not-very-much deliberation this morning, he puts on the sole t-shirt that the Avoxes have stocked in his closet, a plain white one with the words I KILLED THOR in bold print. He goes to the kitchen, using his cane because he just woke up and his leg is stiffer in the morning, and finds that his Districtmates have been kind enough to leave half a pot of coffee. He pours some for himself.
One of the Avoxes prepares him breakfast as he sits back in one of the lounge chairs. He whistles while he begins scrolling through the network device for interesting news.
OPTION B
The garden at the Tribute Center isn't entirely to Tom's liking, though he appreciates that the Capitol provided one. It's too sterile, for one, too many clean lines and white walls of the same plastic and metal of most of the other buildings here. The flowers, genetically-engineered and visually stunning, have been tended by slaves and automatic sprinkler systems. They feel lonely, sad hands of the earth reaching up for a loving touch.
Tom's always had a way with plants. When he was a child, while Sean kicked a football around, Tom liked to work in the dirt, feeling almost at one with the silent, gentle life around him. His power manifested first as raging, inexplicable fevers that would last for days on end, and he might have thought himself cursed had he not eventually realized that the upside to the mutation that caused him so much suffering was that he could feel the energy coursing through plants. As he went through puberty this new world opened up to him, the currents that ran through roots and wood and leaves standing out like the strings of a violin, one only he could see and play.
He gets down on his knees and gingerly touches an orchid the size of a dinner plate. Despite its resplendence, he can see that it needs water, that it's being slowly choked by the growth around it.
"Someone hasn't been giving you the attention you deserve, have they? No matter. Black Tom Cassidy's here for you."
And he begins to work.
Re: B
She appreciates the normal conversation. "What do you want in return, though? I'm not going to pay you. I'm saving Eva's money until I really have to use it." And that will be when the Capitol falls and she wants to buy a little house next to Eva's all for her. "Nothing of Eva's. But I'll promise you anything of mine."
Re: B
"I don't need your money." And although he'd be happy to fleece Eponine, there's something off-putting about how desperate she is to give it to him. It's not suspicious so much as unseemly. There's a reason cats don't bother to eat dead mice. "But I think this garden will benefit from someone knowledgeable who spends less time in the Arena than I do."
Eponine doesn't have the appearance of someone who makes it very long.
Re: B
"I am sent to the arena as well. I have been in more than near anybody here. I hate it. Always, horrible deaths. I wish I could kill that woman."
Re: B
'That woman', the one Tom is hoping to bed tonight.
"Still, you'll probably come back before I do, won't you? That's still a few weeks where you can tend to these beauties."
Re: B
Eponine shrugs, her expression darkening. "It were only one bottle. I needed a drink. I wanted to sleep drunk so I did not see my Orc. She kills me so cruel instead. But yes - I have too many Tributes who hate me to last long."
Re: B
"Don't be vulgar about Ms. Cocktease. It doesn't suit you or her." He frowns. "And for what it's worth, had you taken my gin, I'd have done worse to you. Now, do you want me to teach you or not?"
Re: B
But she kneels down next to Tom. She's not at all afraid of him, not in the slightest. In fact, she quite likes his coldness, his apathy, his... that strange aura of danger. It attracts her all the more. In a perverse way, it sort of makes her feel safe, though she knows it shouldn't. It makes her feel like she knows how to deal with such a man. She knows where she stands. She appreciates that.
"Will you teach me? Please? Sir."
Re: B
Still, the basic motions of kindness don't hurt anyone.
"Since you asked politely, and if you don't continue badmouthing Ms. Cocktease." He gestures to the base of the orchid. "You see these roots coming into her territory, the orchid's? They belong to weeds that'll choke her out."
Re: B
"I won't breathe a bad word, Sir." She promises. It's not worth it. And she does want Orc's little garden to be perfect. And if she knows properly how to grow flowers, then she can keep Eva's grave beautiful.
"What can I do? Pull them away? I am scared to hurt the orchid."
Re: B
He shows her, ghosting his fingers over the ground as if sensing the plants beneath supernaturally. The truth is he just has a good eye for it, and feels blinded now that that's all he has. No more mutant powers for him.
Re: B
"So here?" She points, checking before she digs.
Re: B
Honestly, he'd be surprised if she ever didn't have dirt under her nails.
Re: B
Re: B
Re: B
"And you?" She drags her gaze away from the stone, and wipes the tear that threatens to fall from her right eye away with her muddy hand.
Re: B
Re: B
She pushes her fingers down into the dirt again, concentrating hard on the weeds.
Re: B
Re: B
Eponine looks back at the dirt. She doesn't want to go back to feeling so guilty over his death.
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"Stupid and impulsive. I haven't met Mr. Reagan yet, but dear God, lass, did you not think that he's one of the leading politicians here? Are you looking to die?"
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"For your sake, I'd advise you not do that again. Otherwise you might be attending many more funerals."
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Or, she's trying to be good at least.
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