[open] I saw my old friend Gabriel down the perimeter ringing a bell

[samson]

Who| Brock Samson and YOU
What| Drinking and thinking (mostly drinking)
Where| Various bars, he is basically doing a bar crawl
When| RIGHT NOW I mean at night I guess
Warnings/Notes| alcohol...

This whole thing is kind of stupid. Annoying? Yeah, sure, but also stupid. It's more stupid than annoying, truth be told.

The way Brock dealt with most stupid things is generally by punching it in the face. He can't really do that to an idea and a concept though, much to his frustration, so he's just drinking instead. Sure. That's a decent enough compromise. If he can't punch shit, he'll just get loaded until he can better process everything.

Then he will punch shit.

He managed to find the least-dumb looking clothes available to him, ones that aren't decked out in sequins or feathers or holographic whatevers. Apparently plain T-shirts aren't befitting a Tribute, but like fuck he actually cares about that right now. He is anticipating not caring about it ever, to be honest, but one step at a time.

Most of the bars here are, like, stupid clubs with stupid names and stupid drinks with actual pounds of glitter poured into them. He can be found at any bar throughout the Capitol, getting progressively more drunk because that's how he do, but he doesn't spend much time at any of them.

Later in the night, he'll be at the Central Commons in the Tribute Center, and then when that gets too annoying, he goes up to the roof. Naturally, with a bottle of beer because whatever. Who's going to stop him? Seriously.

Though to be honest, maybe that would actually be helpful. He'd get to punch somebody, at least.

Comments

[samson]

By this point, Brock's face has contorted into an almost persistent skeptical look. Working a crowd sounds like it falls somewhere on the low end of the Things That Interest Brock Spectrum, and he's envisioning terrible pro wrestler talking about how super-cool he is and it's just about the dorkiest thing he could ever imagine.

"Ugh," he says instead of any of that, very articulately, and rubs at his face a little. But he sees this advice for what it is -- actual advice -- and he has a suspicion that being forgotten isn't something he really wants to encounter.

"I don't know about any of this stuff. What... color options... do I even have?"

[reallynow]

Oddly enough, Jolie is picturing a similar concept. If only because Brock has a certain..aesthetic. She's noting little things about him now, the fact that he has a very charming voice and nice eyes don't go amiss, she wonders if she could take the whole beefcake concept and flip it on it's head by making him seem more sensitive.

His response just earns him a snort before Jolie breezes past it and onto what he's saying next.

"That's what I'm here for, duh. I'm not just gonna throw you in the deep end entirely! That's someone else's job." She might have acknowledged that this is a bit fucked up. "Well, blue. Like I said. Maybe red? I doubt you want pastels, right? You in lavender? No thanks. Bold colours definitely." She starts to circle some, coming to a stop at his side. "The hair is gonna have to go."

[samson]

Seem more sensitive, nothing! Brock is a squishy ball of feelings on the inside, he just also happens to be a tremendous asshole. People like enigmas, right? Work with that.

Not that Brock is about to give her advice in that whole... realm.

Brock allows a flat little laugh at that, because yeah. Yeah, it is someone else's job. But okay, colors... fine... "Black," he adds, maybe helpfully? But maybe not. He likes to wear black. Bloodstains don't really show on black.

But then she gets to his hair, and he whips his head around at her. "No."

[reallynow]

So begins the long, treacherous road of a stylist. Jolie is going to have to try dig under the brusque attitude she's getting. Or. Or she could make up a bunch of shit. Marketing at it's finest, of course.

"Black isn't a colour." Her voice could not be more scathing. "Blah. Boring. You're dooming yourself, buddy." It's mostly an empty threat, because she won't dress him up so he's a walking joke, but that doesn't mean it won't be a little flamboyant.

The way he whips around has her pulling her hands well back into her own personal bubble. "You got a thing about it?" Duh. "Is it like a trademark or something?" She could use this.

[samson]

Brock would very much prefer she didn't just make shit up... because that could get embarrassing...

But it wasn't like he had much say in it, probably. Maybe Jolie wasn't as terrible as he originally thought, being part of the System and all that, but still. It's not like this isn't some weird police state.

"A tradem... no, I just like it. It's my thing," he says, squinting. Which means that it is basically a trademark, yes.

[reallynow]

If Brock doesn't want to be embarrassed he should help scheme his narrative! Or. Well. He's in the wrong place with the wrong not to be embarrassed, realistically speaking.

"That'd be what a trademark is, bub." She gives him a flat look, stepping back and clicking her tongue as she mentally takes measurements. "You're gonna be a badass in the Arenas, I can tell." Because he's buff, duh. "You ever do something like this before?" The way she says it makes it sound like it's a dance or a picnic.

[samson]

He will do that... later. Maybe. Possibly. First he would like to get fucking plastered so he can properly deal. Brock is good at improvisation, but sometimes things get a little too weird even for him.

He elects not to comment on her semantic lesson there, mostly because he doesn't feel like it, though to his credit, he doesn't really seem to mind the way she's eying him. It's her job. Apparently.

"Something like that," he says vaguely, squinting a little, not exactly sure how much to reveal. "I have a lot of, uh... combat experience."

[reallynow]

Getting into a semantics lesson with Jolie is like trying to convince a dog to eat the really nice food and not slobber all over everything willynilly, she's already honing in and she won't take distractions when they don't pertain to her interests.

"Good. That's good. Last thing I need is another useless, noodle armed spoglet with an attitude." A green one in particular comes to mind. "I figure all you gotta do is flex a bit and everyone'll melt, but you gotta make sure they know you need them. Alright? Vulnerability is like crack to people who want to throw their money at a cause."

[samson]

Oh. Oh, this is good advice. Brock is still squinting because he's trying to process it -- the idea of being vulnerable to anyone is extremely uncomfortable, much less a bunch of LA-type sycophants -- but he is listening.

"A cause," he repeats. "I don't have to, like... cry... right..."

[reallynow]

"Yeah, a cause. A big hill to die on. If you have to lose, do it with finesse. Make other people cry, not you." She puts her hands on her hips to give him a stern look, but inwardly she is glad to be listened to and not dismissed when she's helping. "It can't hurt, right? You'd have to be real classy about it though. Just a single tear, no blubbering. You're a big wall of man, ain't nobody want a soft wall."

[samson]

Well, there's no real problem there. Brock's go-to cause is, like, goodness. Or something. He's never really thought about it in any deep capacity; he just knows that he tries to be honorable and honest, and is often diametrically opposed to the opposite.

He's not super sure how far 'honesty' is going to get him in this world, though, where everybody seems to be as fake as Jolie's eyelashes.

"Yeah... got it," he says, rubbing at his cheek. "I'll have to think about it. Figure out what makes people tick here, I... guess."

This is not his area of expertise! But he's trying. "Anyway. I just got here, and I'm kinda..." He trails off, waving his hand vaguely in the air. "I'm kind of bugging out a little. So. Not to be rude, but..."

He would like to go get drunk. This is what he means.

[reallynow]

It seems like a lot of people are inspired by being good or whatever. It's a far cry from confused kids who are inspired by food and not dying, and Jolie graciously accepts all this shit she has to work with.

"Take your time." It's hard to tell if she's being sincere or passive aggressive, the smile doesn't help either. She quirks a brow as he awkwardly works on trying to, she assumes, get out of this conversation.

"Hm? Oh! It's fine, go! Fuck off." She says that affectionately, shooing at him when she does. "Go get a drink, see if you can't talk to some people. Drunk people like to yammer." Hint hint.

[samson]

"Yeah, they do," he agrees a little absently, still trying to figure her out. It's hard to get past all the... everything... all the glitter and whatever, so he's going to have to keep his guard up for the time being. Especially if she lives here.

"Uh, thanks for the advice," he says, turning to go get fuckin' plastered!!!! and adds over his shoulder, "but I mean it, don't make me look stupid."