Benjamin F. "Hawkeye" Pierce (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
swill) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-10-04 09:31 pm
swill) wrote in thecapitol2014-10-04 09:31 pm
(open) Please remember to say "please" and "thank you". Thank you.
Who| A captain called Hawkeye and whoever happens to be in the way
What| Arrival and readjustment
Where| D4 for starters, then the Training Center Bar and Commons
When| Today. Hideously early in the morning. Let's do this.
Warnings/Notes| None, I think, but of course I'll edit this if something comes up.
Was this different than last time? No. Not really. Exhibit A: Hawkeye is still in olive drab and mud caked boots, still with the same old two dog tags hanging around his neck, still with untidy hair and a touch of stubble and he's, you know, fully aware. Aware that waking up in some strange new place that's all razzle-dazzle and big guns isn't normal, aware that he might have shrieked a little that first moment he knew he wasn't lying on a flea infested old cot, aware of who he is and how much he can't do. Like make sense of anything. At least not until the memories flood in the way the bright lights flood the room and the big burly guys in equally bulky armor seem to flood the halls outside.
Things were exactly as they'd been last time, because Exhibit B: Hawkeye's a white knuckled mess now, and he'd been a white knuckled mess then.
Things were exactly as they'd been last time, because as Hawkeye's led from that one chamber to the other, more spacious and colorful and comfortable chamber, he still kind of feels like he's either dead or about to die.
Which, knowing the place, wasn't his gut telling him a lie.
Blah, blah, said some man with a helmet. Die, die, he explained.
Don't mess up, because someone was going to die.
So, okay.
So, okay, Hawkeye was led easily up to the district suites this time around and he honest to God couldn't remember if he'd put up a fight at all before. He remembers the number and remembers the theme- and so, okay. He didn't feel like running his mouth or squirming like an oiled piglet under the iron grip of the Capitol this time- so he didn't feel like cracking wise about something smelling fishy. And then he remembered, no, something was wrong and more than in the usual sense of the word. He nearly wished he'd been chucked into a pod and lifted into a jungle instead of the nice room. Naturally, the wish didn't last.
[District 4 Suites]
Something was wrong and it was up to him to find out what. He marched through the suite like he owned the place- boots stomping and leaving traces of dirt and God only knew what else where he stepped. Hawkeye had only the courtesy to peer into his assigned room for a minute- three tops- and survey what was there for him. A bed, a projector-window-flip-the-channel-thingy, a dresser, a lamp and other nonsense stuff. He flung his jacket into the bed and slammed the door shut- slammed it not in the I'm-sorry-let-me-be-quieter-next-time sort of way, more in the I'm-a-moody-adolescent sort of way. He tucked those stupid cowbell dog tags into his green shirt out of newfound habit.
And went knocking on whatever other shut door he could find. The bathroom, the bedrooms, the kitchen cabinets that looked suspiciously spacious enough to hide a body. "Oi! Hey! Anybody in here? Hey-"
Something wasn't right, see, the Capitol's Darling would have shut him up by now-
"Finnick!"
Like he's a kid. Just like he was a kid wailing for his sitter.
Or what, was he not supposed to say that name?
[Commons and Bar]
Hawkeye had, some way or another or through good old black magic, calmed down. The initial freak out-- oh good Lord, who was he kidding, the initial freak out had only just begun. And it was, what 10 am? At the latest? Too late, as far as he was concerned and gee, wouldn't he rather just lie down in his new comfy emperor-sized bed and sleep this over? Well, he would, but the cynical part of him tittered that he'd sleep when he was dead. Oh, the time's he had muttered that in the O.R.- oh, to be in that O.R. again! The elevators were always a riot to get into and out of- Hawkeye squeaked the whole way down and told himself he was a rat. The commons gets a scan- the fashion of the Capitol citizens is given a grimace. And then Hawkeye catches sight, or whiff, of the bar- of that glorious nectar that would pull his brain awake and would shock his system into that great defeat. He all but makes a beeline. Busy or not as the bar may be, Hawkeye snags himself a prime seat and a hearty round of drinks. The threats and scares of the day are thrown aside- more like forcibly pushed. Hawkeye stands, feels like he's got those good ol' jelly legs, raises a half-empty glass and announces, "Drinks on me!" in that voice that plainly told he had forgotten the drinks were free, that plainly told he was so convinced he'd fix something by the act. The surgeon sits his ass down and looks around and grins-
"Go wild, boys!" No, wait, no no no no-
"Mild- I sai-" Guns and threats, yeah? "I said mild! Gee, cut the greenhorn a break around here!"
But wouldn't you know it, literally nobody had given a damn. Those stinkin' hypocrites.
[ooc: Give me prose or brackets, I'll follow your lead!]
What| Arrival and readjustment
Where| D4 for starters, then the Training Center Bar and Commons
When| Today. Hideously early in the morning. Let's do this.
Warnings/Notes| None, I think, but of course I'll edit this if something comes up.
Was this different than last time? No. Not really. Exhibit A: Hawkeye is still in olive drab and mud caked boots, still with the same old two dog tags hanging around his neck, still with untidy hair and a touch of stubble and he's, you know, fully aware. Aware that waking up in some strange new place that's all razzle-dazzle and big guns isn't normal, aware that he might have shrieked a little that first moment he knew he wasn't lying on a flea infested old cot, aware of who he is and how much he can't do. Like make sense of anything. At least not until the memories flood in the way the bright lights flood the room and the big burly guys in equally bulky armor seem to flood the halls outside.
Things were exactly as they'd been last time, because Exhibit B: Hawkeye's a white knuckled mess now, and he'd been a white knuckled mess then.
Things were exactly as they'd been last time, because as Hawkeye's led from that one chamber to the other, more spacious and colorful and comfortable chamber, he still kind of feels like he's either dead or about to die.
Which, knowing the place, wasn't his gut telling him a lie.
Blah, blah, said some man with a helmet. Die, die, he explained.
Don't mess up, because someone was going to die.
So, okay.
So, okay, Hawkeye was led easily up to the district suites this time around and he honest to God couldn't remember if he'd put up a fight at all before. He remembers the number and remembers the theme- and so, okay. He didn't feel like running his mouth or squirming like an oiled piglet under the iron grip of the Capitol this time- so he didn't feel like cracking wise about something smelling fishy. And then he remembered, no, something was wrong and more than in the usual sense of the word. He nearly wished he'd been chucked into a pod and lifted into a jungle instead of the nice room. Naturally, the wish didn't last.
[District 4 Suites]
Something was wrong and it was up to him to find out what. He marched through the suite like he owned the place- boots stomping and leaving traces of dirt and God only knew what else where he stepped. Hawkeye had only the courtesy to peer into his assigned room for a minute- three tops- and survey what was there for him. A bed, a projector-window-flip-the-channel-thingy, a dresser, a lamp and other nonsense stuff. He flung his jacket into the bed and slammed the door shut- slammed it not in the I'm-sorry-let-me-be-quieter-next-time sort of way, more in the I'm-a-moody-adolescent sort of way. He tucked those stupid cowbell dog tags into his green shirt out of newfound habit.
And went knocking on whatever other shut door he could find. The bathroom, the bedrooms, the kitchen cabinets that looked suspiciously spacious enough to hide a body. "Oi! Hey! Anybody in here? Hey-"
Something wasn't right, see, the Capitol's Darling would have shut him up by now-
"Finnick!"
Like he's a kid. Just like he was a kid wailing for his sitter.
Or what, was he not supposed to say that name?
[Commons and Bar]
Hawkeye had, some way or another or through good old black magic, calmed down. The initial freak out-- oh good Lord, who was he kidding, the initial freak out had only just begun. And it was, what 10 am? At the latest? Too late, as far as he was concerned and gee, wouldn't he rather just lie down in his new comfy emperor-sized bed and sleep this over? Well, he would, but the cynical part of him tittered that he'd sleep when he was dead. Oh, the time's he had muttered that in the O.R.- oh, to be in that O.R. again! The elevators were always a riot to get into and out of- Hawkeye squeaked the whole way down and told himself he was a rat. The commons gets a scan- the fashion of the Capitol citizens is given a grimace. And then Hawkeye catches sight, or whiff, of the bar- of that glorious nectar that would pull his brain awake and would shock his system into that great defeat. He all but makes a beeline. Busy or not as the bar may be, Hawkeye snags himself a prime seat and a hearty round of drinks. The threats and scares of the day are thrown aside- more like forcibly pushed. Hawkeye stands, feels like he's got those good ol' jelly legs, raises a half-empty glass and announces, "Drinks on me!" in that voice that plainly told he had forgotten the drinks were free, that plainly told he was so convinced he'd fix something by the act. The surgeon sits his ass down and looks around and grins-
"Go wild, boys!" No, wait, no no no no-
"Mild- I sai-" Guns and threats, yeah? "I said mild! Gee, cut the greenhorn a break around here!"
But wouldn't you know it, literally nobody had given a damn. Those stinkin' hypocrites.
[ooc: Give me prose or brackets, I'll follow your lead!]
[Commons and bar]
"One orange juicy, frothy and pulpy," she said, dressed in tanks and sweatpants. Yes, she looked like one of those health assholes, but comfort was comfort.
She stopped though. That voice. No way. NO WAY.
"Hawkeye?!"
no subject
Oh my God, Hawkeye thinks, he must be plastered or else drugged, or else his shitty day's only going to get a heck of a lot worse in T-minutes four seconds. In those four seconds, there's him pulling that innocent face, him glancing to one side, behind his shoulder, leaning a ways in his seat to peer behind Mindy, and, finally, Hawkeye points a finger at himself- pokes himself right square on the chest. Me? he means.
Four seconds of glancing this way and that and downright staring at the girl and Hawkeye's sure of it, he had known her and forgotten her and now he knew her all over again and it wasn't fair that he had to look at her here.
But while he's still poking himself with one finger and still holding onto his glass of rot with his other hand, he had thought such a jumble of things that all he could spit out was, "What are you wearing? You look like a nut."
Belatedly, he realizes he should stand- and grin again, wide and welcoming and warmly, because that was his job.
no subject
Yes, she's actually hugging him. Considering the guy had actually patched her up in the arena she actually won, and that she really liked him, she could afford to do something unlike her. Granted, he'll notice little changes in the girl: she looks more muscled now, and the ugly branding on her cheek would attract anyone's attention. It was already noticed by several patrons, who were looking at her like she was scum.
"Drinking your troubles already? I know they say its five o clock somewhere, but shit, there's time for that after you learn how horrible everything is. That way, you can ignore it for a little bit, you know?"
no subject
If he noticed the mark or the looks that followed Mindy as if she was carrion, he didn't let on. But how could he not? "I'm not drowning them if that's what you mean," he says, clearly playful despite the attempts to serious him up. Please, kid, let him have this. "Just taking them for a swim. Besides, it's my breakfast. You wouldn't want me to go around getting lectured without anything in my stomach, would you?"
He figured, maybe, Mindy hadn't quite ever realized how great he was at ignoring the terrible things.
no subject
But Mindy would prevail. Had to. In any case, the break of the hug was fine. "Hey, its tanks and sweatpants, I'm not out to impress anyone. You should SEE me when I actually get dolled up. We actually have a decent stylist now."
Panem: now with fifty percent more drag queens. You know the fashion had to be halfway decent.
"Hey, fine, I know how you old guys need to have a stupor in the morning. Me, I'd save it for later, when I have more things to bitch about, and properly. Just can't do that so early in the morning, it ruins the whole damn day."
D4!
The princess pops her head up over the back of one of the sofas. "Sorry, I, um. I don't think there's anyone here by that name." Or, at least, she's never heard of anybody named Finnick, not around here.
no subject
honestly embarrassing, now that he saw the head wasn't... disembodied or
"What do you mean, he's not here?" He asks, and it's out quickly and he almost trips on his own tongue. His brows furrow and his shoulders stoop, and okay, no, he didn't remember this face. "He lives here. Finnick O-" Oh, dear. "O'dair. Well, I don't know if he always lives here- he didn't always live here. He's the mentor-"
not our mentor, never that. Hawkeye gets the feeling he should start taking things seriously. He makes a swimming motion- puts his arms in front of himself and acts like he parts the water. "He's half mermaid, how can you not know him?" No? Nothing? Maybe he should stop. "Everyone loved the guy." Sinking feeling is a go.
no subject
"Nnnno, I'm sorry, it doesn't ring a bell! Maybe he quit, or something, before I got here." The rest of the princess's shoulders follow after her head, and she rests her arms across the back of the sofa.
"Wait, have you been here before? I mean, assuming you're just now coming here, and haven't been here the whole time I have, which, whew, embarrassing!"
no subject
"Quit? He-" he's loud again, but it's the conversational sort of loud, "he probably did. The fink."
It just wasn't that easy. Hawkeye still pulled a face, scratched the top of his head some more either for good measure or because it just felt good, okay. And he lifts his blue eyes to look the girl over when she spoke again, and he'll huff out a chuckle. "I was apparently too much for them to handle the first time they brought me in," he explains. He remembered wanting to throw a shoe at a television and that bird-woman talking him out of it. "The floor downstairs had to hand out ear plugs because they kept complaining about all the wild parties up here." It's a lie, Anna, save yourself while you can. "There used to be Sinatra blaring from the third room every day, every night, and-"
speaking of which, the floor didn't smell like rotting flesh anymore, either.
Hawkeye takes a pause, crosses his arms. Shrugs nonchalantly. "Honestly, I think I deserve a bigger room for my second time checking in. I could have chosen any other hotel in the area, you know, but no- my sense of customer loyalty got to me." Oh, right and- "I'm Hawkeye. How do you do?"
no subject
She's polite enough to cover her mouth when she giggles, imagining all these wild parties he's describing.
"Gosh, sounds like a good time to me," she enthuses. "Well, at any rate, welcome back." She holds out a dainty hand to shake his. "My name's Anna. My room's that one--" She points down the hall and to the right --"that one, right over there. With the snowman hung on the door." It's a construction paper cut-out, decorated with glitter. Can't miss it.
commons bar, let's do this
Case in point: "I think," he adds, taking a swig of beer.
no subject
Being loud with a strange buff guy next to him, drinking way too early in the day, was just like life had been back at Rosie's.
Ah, the good old days. Let him reminisce and don't you dare say anything about it barely being day 1 of God-knows how many more. Anyway, Hawk's got his voice up. It's story time and there's no rule against just being boisterous, right? There damn well shouldn't. "Two A.M. Unless you're just getting into bed, then it's late. But for drinking- and this stuff's tame, you see the specialties that emerge from the Swamp- now's not early. Huh. It's- it's preparedness is what it is." Brock took a swig and Hawkeye followed suit, and added, "I just couldn't find the little cereal boxes- you know the ones. The kid size ones. Otherwise I would have asked for a bowl instead of salt and lime. Name's Hawkeye, by the way. And now that I've introduced myself can I just say-"
and he lowers his voice here just enough so he's drier than his old martinis, and leans forward a little
"you look wasted."
Like it's a compliment.
It probably is.
no subject
Not that he particularly minds. As taciturn as he is, it doesn't mean that he always needs to be surrounded by the same. Brock's used to being around the more chatty sort of person -- Doc, Shoreleave, Hunter -- and it balances out, usually. Somebody to do the talking for him so he doesn't have to.
There are a few things in that diatribe that he could pick up on (what is the Swamp? What about cereal boxes? Exactly how long has this guy been drinking exactly?), and maybe he will, but later. If Brock Samson is good at anything, it's the immediate.
"Yeah. Real observant," he says a touch dryly, which is maybe rude considering this dude is being so friendly, but what can you do. Maybe follow it up with something else, which is what Brock does. "Don't tell me that's not the usual response to Murder City."
The bar, natch
No, Joel has no plans for the bar this morning, but as he's walking by, and hears that voice, it's like - well, he hates it, for one thing, he finds that voice grating as shit, as far as he's concerned it's like nails on a chalkboard.
But - and here's a great big but - Ellie has been having a really hard time lately. Between one thing and another, people getting hurt, the Capitol cracking down, and a bunch of her friends up and disappearing, it's been shitty all over. And nothing Joel can really do about it except try and distract her when they're in the Capitol and do his best to keep her alive in the arenas.
So he shoves his hands in his pockets, stalks into the bar and gives Hawkeye a scowl. "You'd better not be drunk when you go see Ellie. She's missed you."
no subject
He might be asked to bathe.
And good Lord, it was too early for that nonsense.
Another long drink, and Hawkeye gets that feeling he's being watched. You know the one, the one that comes after you actually catch sight of someone watching you, only you can't be entirely sure if the other person's just staring in your general direction. Hawk turns in his seat to face Joel fully, and oh god it's that scowl that still made him kind of want to up and go, and good Lord, it's too early for this nonsense. Hawkeye has his mouth open to deliver a rebuttal for whatever's about to tumble out of the Texan, and then, almost instantly, Hawkeye decides to just let it slide instead. He shuts his mouth, he raises his glass, kind of gives it a little swirl to show how much liquid is or isn't in it. "Relax, Cowboy, this is breakfast, not me drinking." And he sets the glass down and rests his chin on his hand, propped up by his elbow. "Ya know, I'm getting really tired of all these bad news today." What do you know, children in danger of death was always going to be bad news.
no subject
On that, they can actually agree. Kids dying is shitty.
"You'll have to take that complaint to management. I'm just tellin' you now, so you don't throw up on her when she tackles you."
barrrr
He leans on the bar and lazily until someone approaches and makes his order of "Scotch on the rocks, my good man." And adds "Only hold the scotch." And just when the guy thought he could get away. "Heavy on the rocks. Really heavy. Do you have a bucket back there?" The guy just gives him a gormless sort of look before turning to attend to Dave's order, giving Dave time to glance around at the guy yelling enthusiastically.
After a long stare through his shades, he can't help speaking up. "You are way too chipper for someone awake at dawn in a place like this." Ten in the morning is only dawn to you, Dave.
no subject
Because in a world where they're all pitted against each other on a regular basis, it made sense to keep children from drinking. No, seriously, it did.
Dave's stare is met with Hawk's own, the man's expression flat but not cold- kind of like that beer he's been sipping for the past while. "What are you going to do with so many rocks?" And no, no, Dave's absolutely right. By any cool person's standards, it's practically dawn. And clearly, if Dave wore shades indoors, he was a very cool person.
no subject
There's a momentary stare off as Dave considers not telling him, but he decides he might as well. What the hell! It's a good day to be sharing schemes. "Well, I don't know if you know about these places, being a fine gentleman such as yourself. But rocks are actually ice." He gives Hawkeye a sage nod. "That aside, I thought I might take it onto my shoulders to give someone a refreshing wake up call." He thinks on that for a moment. "And then I can use what's left to make slurpies. Why are you drinking this early? Did you start last night and never stop?"
no subject
"I'd even more careful than before though, if the warning makes any difference to you. Things have gone even worse to Hell." He knows he and Hawkeye hadn't exactly been close before the other man had up and vanished, but Albert can't help but have a fondness for put-upon doctors who really only want to help people.
no subject
"No kidding?" Hawkeye asks, dull but without a hint of criticism. This fella he remembered being proper, or something like that, or at least one of the decent ones around, and so Hawk has the courtesy to lower his voice to what's considered normal. "I come here and the first thing they do is remind me they've got a hold of everyone I know- as if dragging me back wasn't proof enough of that. I see guns out everywhere and it's a good thing I'm used to parading through metal heaps or else I'd be a little fidgety right now." Complete with the one shouldered shrug that admitted, yeah, the doctor wasn't comfortable in his skin quite yet. He motions to nothing with his free hand. "I'm telling ya, it's a good thing I'm used to this." Though a charge of mutiny here versus a charge of mutiny courtesy of Burns would be, Hawk figured, drastically different levels of serious. Not that he'd been fond of the first one to begin with.
"Now here's an odd question- humor me, will ya- how've you been? We'll get back to Panem one-oh-one after that."
no subject
"I'm surprisingly good." True, though there's a great deal of voluntary repression in that, but can he really be blamed for not wanting to think about how he had to murder his fiance and then get unsuccessfully water boarded into drowning by a 12 year old who he could have overpowered in a heartbeat, even given is injuries? No thanks. Let's focus on other things. Forever. And never talk about that. "Getting married sometime after the crowning."
Which brings some levels of guilt with it, why he should be allowed that happiness when there's so much awful to go around. And the worry that the Capitol will somehow undermine the whole thing.
"Not much else to tell that isn't par for the course." Which is utterly false, but they're too exposed here, he can't tell Hawkeye anything about the rebellion, about what they found during the blackout, it's all too sensitive of information. Even if he could without fear of being overheard, Pierce seems a bit too twitchy right at the moment to be given anything clandestine in nature anyway. It might be too heavy a weight.
no subject
Generally speaking, Ellie wasn't allowed in them much - or, perhaps, she simply avoided them. A load of drunken people who liked to gape over her on TV was not a crowd she generally wanted to partake in, but this time she was shoving through them like a small, determined bulldozer.
"Hawkeye!" She called out as she pushed through the crowd. "Haw-- Pierce, where the fuck are you? Hawkeye!"
Finally she managed to get through them, and spotted him - sitting at the bar. Something welled up, tight in her chest, and she launched herself the last few feet, arms immediately going around his waist and nearly pulling him off the stool into a tight, fierce hug.
no subject
Ellie's still here is what Joel had said, and that'd been a hard blow to an already miserable day. Truth be told, Hawkeye hadn't budged because he dreaded slinking back to hard reality with his tail tucked between his legs. Usually he had a quip or a cut to save his pride or his usefulness, but what could he do here? It wasn't the military he knew how to con, it wasn't the shores of Maine where he could laze his days aways. Here, he just wanted to hide. Anyway, he spots Ellie alright after she belts out his last name and it sounds like a gunshot to the surgeon.
He scrambles and doesn't quite manage to get up from his seat before he has a little heavy tick attached to his hips and he barks out a laugh, just a second of it. And somehow he manages to ease off the stool so he can get his lanky arms around the girl and suck in a breath to show she was cutting off the supply of air or something, she was hugging so tight. "Major! Easy on the- Major, you'll bruise me." It's all just noise, no meaning to it. "Shucks, if your namesake would love me half as much, I'd be a lucky-- gee, I'd have showered or something if I knew I'd see you today. Now I'll just rub stink on you." And he's just not going to let go.
no subject
"I don't give a shit if you stink," Ellie said, though to be fair the whole bar kind of stank so she couldn't exactly tell. "I can't fucking believe you're back. I thought you were dead for good."
Commons and Bar
...yeah, okay, sure. Why not?
"I'm pretty sure the drinks are free?" Pretty sure. 99% sure. He's fairly new, after all. But he hasn't had to pay for a single cup of all this coffee yet, which gives him the feeling that he's the one who knows what's happening.
no subject
Then another to seem a little pensive, before he careful drawls out, "Nnno, I don't think so. Aren't you being charged? Your first day ordering anything from the tower services, you get asked for your card, right?" He had no idea what he was talking about, but kept talking anyway. Hawkeye emphasizes certain words with hand gestures. He's educating, okay? Or pretending to. He should at least look serious. "And unless the fella took your info down wrong, you're being billed. See, the system's here so you can work an odd job or two and pay off what you're mooching- that's how I know this, I spent so much time with buddies around these tables that they had me jotting down names and numbers and keeping track of the tabs. --unless you skipped the card reading, then your District's gettin' billed. What are you in- Seven? You look like a Seven. Maybe a Ten. Well, your District's getting billed." Here, Hawkeye takes a sip of his neglected drink. He's all sympathy. "Good luck when your escorts look through the expenses, they'll draw up a memo and have you wearing pink head-to-toe before you can say 'I swear this isn't how it works'. Because trust me, it is."
no subject
"Hey, hey. You're the one who wants to buy everyone drinks." And then he finally takes a long swig of his coffee. "And if they think I'm going to work a job at the same time that they expect me to go in that arena? They have another thing coming."