How do you drink when there's blood in the water?

[burningdaylight]

Who| Luke and anyone ever!
What| Newcomer Luke is struggling to come to terms with this new way of life imposed on him and is feeling pretty overwhelmed.
Where| All over the Capitol. He's taking a particular interest in the shops because, holy shit, supplies!
When| October 20, at least a few hours before curfew.
Warnings/Notes| Spoilers for all of TWDG s2 appear here and there so I'm tucking this under a cut.

[Something’s wrong.

 

Luke doesn’t know when he first notices his chest rising and falling and senses his pulse, soft and quivering, in his throat. And there’s no raw, tearing pain of water flooding his lungs, no knifing gulps of air while struggling with busted ribs. He probes his side cautiously as he sits up, staring wide-eyed about the room. He’s okay. His leg’s okay too, he realizes, even though he sees the bloodied, ragged hole torn through his pant leg, he pokes his finger through it, and knows it’s impossible for him to have recovered so soon. Even if someone had dragged him out of the lake and patched him up with the best of supplies.

Then the rest of his memory catches up and it all comes crashing over him – Nick and Pete and Carlos and Sarah and Alvin and Rebecca – and it sucks the air out of him, his eyes stinging, the room spinning on its own axis. But before he’s had any time to sort out his thoughts strangers – peacekeepers - are crowding him, not caring for his questions and unmoved by the defiance in the set of his jaw. They speak of punishments and then of ritualistic slaughter like it’s an honour. They tell him of districts and a Capitol and a new life imposed on him, one shock leading to the next until a communicator and a map are suddenly being pressed into his hands and he’s being showed out, his head feeling thick and heavy and aching fiercely.

This can’t be real – this can’t be right. But here he is, alive and wandering the streets of the Capitol, staring helplessly through windows at the shops stocked with fresh food and clothes and reeling as he takes in the glitz and glamour of it all. The luxuries of a bygone era. It’s so bright and so clean and his hands are almost trembling when he’s able to snatch some fruit – something unrotten for the first time in months – and bite into it greedily. Juice dribbles down his chin and it’s good, it’s so mindlessly good a gaping pit in his stomach opens and he doesn’t – can’t - stop at one apple. All he can taste is the blessed sweetness and tanginess and he almost forgets that all this comes at the price of blood.

There’s almost always a catch.]

Comments

[burningdaylight]

Got it. [Tower. He shakes off the thought of people being herded like animals into a pen, Clementine among them, and nods once.]

Thank you.

[Without further delay Luke stuffs what little is left of his apple into his pocket and turns to leave.]

[aintyourdad]

[ Joel nods, and then after a moment calls after him: ]

You lay a finger on her, I'll end you.

[ It's not even a threat, really. The way Joel says it, he might as well be talking about the weather. But for all he knows, this guy wants to kill Clem - or worse. If not, great. But if so, well. ]

[burningdaylight]

[The remark slows his steps to a stop, just for a moment, lips pressed into a line and shoulders squared when he half-glances back. And then he's moving on.]