thecapitol | so here's my hope, my tired soul. ( open )

She's been here for a day now, enough time to convince herself that this isn't some kind of awful dream. In a lot of ways, it's almost surreal. For one, she's clean for the first time in months - actually, truly clean. In part, thanks to the efforts of her prep team, who had tsked at the filthy and matted state of her when she'd been brought in.

So here she is, squeaky clean and sitting in the corner of the common area in front of one of the many television screens. Watching one of the programs that seem to run around the clock. This time, it's highlights from the last arena.

Beth's no stranger to violence. Her life has been full of it for the last two years, ever since the dead stopped staying dead. She's seen a lot of it. But this is a full highlight real of awful, grisly murder being narrated by people with chipper voices like some kind of sick sports event.

"I'm gonna be sick," she mumbles quietly, mostly to herself.

TRAINING CENTER RESTAURANT

They give her more food than she's ever seen in her life, and Beth looks down at it like it's an alien thing. Like it can't possibly be real. She's perched on the edge of the bar on a stool with a plate heaped high and for a moment, she doesn't make any move to eat it. Because even before everything went wrong, they never had food like this on a farm where they grew mostly everything they ate.

She sort of just looks at it, fork in hand, like she's in shock.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"We're survivin'. We'll make do," and it's a little hard to believe, and maybe there's a little bravado there because she wants to convince herself of that more than anyone else. She takes a deep breath and nods her head towards the door - it's not really the ice cream that she's excited about, though that's a bonus. It's also about getting away from the blaring sounds of people murdering each other. That'd be nice, too.

"Why don't you lead the way?"

"I'm sure you are," he says. Partly because that's what he figures he should say, and partly because, well, the tone of her voice suggests she knows. Even if she's unsure, she knows.

They're all unsure, sometimes. Even Joel.

"Sure," he says, waving her out of the commons area. "There's all the regular flavors, and probably some you've never even heard of. I know I hadn't heard of 'em."

She follows him out of the commons area and the building itself without much second thought as to how it might be a little weird to be following someone she met about five minutes ago around. And to be honest, she's probably been pretty malnourished for months now, so the ice cream will do her some good.

"I bet they're amazin'," Beth mentions, looking around when they walk because she's still a little blown away by the futuristic buildings after the decrepit landscapes she's used to. "And...after eatin' mud snakes, I think pretty much everythin's amazing," it's easier to poke a little fun at it now, in retrospect. At the time, it was sort of the worst.

"Some of 'em. Some of 'em are weird," he says with a faint twitch of his lips. Not really a smile, but could be the start of one. "But probably all better than mud snakes... Rats, too." He's not sure exactly what she means by 'mud snakes', but he's definitely had to eat some weird stuff to stay alive before. He gets it.

"I've never eaten a rat before," but to her credit, she manages not to cringe. Because at the point when she was taken, after living in the woods for so long, she'd eat pretty much anything without flinch. "Before all this...we found some chicken feet someone had stored away, I guess. My friend called it a redneck brunch," Beth half-laughs at the memory of it, even though it's kind of a bittersweet one, considering what had happened not long after.

She ambles along beside him at a comfortable pace, but people like them might recognize the way she carries herself. Shoulders set, a little tense. Looking around intently.

Because it's the first thing you learn in the apocalypse: you are never safe. No matter how secure a place might seem.

Joel is the same way, his shoulders set, his head down but clearly aware of his surroundings and ready to react if something should happen that shouldn't happen.

"Never heard of people eating chicken feet. Must be even more redneck than me," Joel says with a faint twitch of his lips.

She actually kind of laughs, and it's really nice. To find something to smile about, even if it's just for a split-second. Before it fades, like she's just remembered how terrible everything is underneath the Capitol's manufactured glamor.

"Y'know, I really don't recommend them."

The ice cream shop is about as ostentatious as the rest of the city, not at all like the tiny shops she remembers from her youth. She glances back at Joel to confirm this is the right place he wanted - with a city as big as this one, it's probably better to double check.

"Good to know," Joel says lightly, waving her inside the ice cream shop. "So what's your favorite flavor?"

Because talking about little things like that is much preferable to talking about, well. Anything that might be painful or bad.

so here's my hope, my tired soul. ( open )

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject