thecapitol | We'll just march to some new place and somebody else will die

Who| Nick and OTA
What| Newly arrived Nick gathers his bearings...or tries to?
Where| Bar & rooftop of the Training Center
When| 10/21, afternoon?
Warnings/Notes| Spoilers for up to Amid the Ruins (episode 4).

Bar

[Nick didn't appreciate having rules imposed on him the moment he woke up here. The barrage of so much information was beyond overwhelming but never had he felt more frustrated at still feeling as if he had no idea what the hell was going on. The sight of a bed was comforting, but he couldn't bring himself to sleep despite knowing how deprived he had been.
He made a beeline for the bar as soon as he heard that such amenities were free. He had to see it to believe it because the world didn't work like that and it never had.

A serving of fries was all it took for him to remember how fucking hungry he initially was. Two burgers and two very free whiskeys later, he finds himself ready for a third helping. Knowing the fact that his freedom was more or less traded for all this makes him order another glass. It's stupid, but he needs to forget even for just a little while. Forget this place; forget the last moment he recalled being alive before he felt that lurker's teeth sink into his neck.

He downs the whiskey in one go, letting its warmth settle into him as he stares at the empty glass.]

Rooftop

[He hasn't seen a city, let alone any form of civilization, in a while. A very small part of him takes comfort in that he doesn't have to worry about the possibility of lurkers bursting in at any minute. But the rest of him knows that his experience of his place so far goes to show how much more dangerous the living are as opposed to the dead. In a way, this isn't much different from living under Carver's control; there's food, shelter - and while there aren't any lurkers, they're still fighting for their lives. There's some form of safety but their lives are still at risk. And this time, it's for the enjoyment of others like some seasonal baseball game.

There's always a catch with these things. That thought alone makes him tick.

He pulls his sleeve back to look at the watch Pete gave him and remembers his late uncle's words.

"...nobody in this world is ever gonna give a god damn whether you like something or not."]

Ain't that the truth... [He pauses, as if expecting a response.] Especially right now. [He leans back against his chair and looks over at the city, watch still ticking.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nick allows himself to smile a little at the familiarity. His accent is nowhere near as strong as Luke's, but it does sometimes come and go. Outside of moving to North Carolina from California when he was a kid, he never did much traveling otherwise. Running for your life from lurkers doesn't count either.

The scar gets his attention, but Nick doesn't want to potentially sour the mood that already seems to be lightened up.

"Been a while since I had a home." He doesn't say it to make it into a contest, but it's true. "Settling down never really was much of an option when you got dead things tailin' you all the time."

So much for keeping it light.

Whether or not he meant to make things dark, Venus laughs. It wasn't that long ago that she responded to similar idle conversations with an unintentional, deadpan "all my friends die". She understands the language of the bereaved and the terrorized. It's a kind laugh, one that papers over any awkwardness despite being laced with sympathy and, more importantly, understanding.

"True that." She wonders - zombies? The Capitol sure likes zombie survivors, or maybe the percentage of universe with an undead plague are higher than she imagined. "I been here two years and it still doesn't feel like home, so I can't guarantee that's going to change for you."

"If it doesn't, I'll take it as a good sign." So the fact that they're stuck is as good as it gets for now. Whether they end up escaping or not, it's hard for him to imagine having any sort of a normal life again. Nick doesn't laugh along but manages a half smile instead, though even that doesn't last.

"But...damn, two years?" Venus had been killing people for that long whether she wanted to or not. Even roughly within that same amount of time, Nick had never killed anyone that wasn't a lurker. That is, not until the more recent events in his life.

He looks down at his hands and for a split second he could've sworn he saw bloodstains. "Fuck," he mutters before burying his face in his hands to hide the images, but it only makes the face of his mom and the portrait of Walter and Matthew more apparent in his mind. That quickly makes him pull away, gray-blue eyes now looking at Venus rather helplessly.

"I can't do this. I know we don't got a choice but...fuck."

He can barely live with himself as it is.

Venus used to be better at hiding her bleeding heart, the one that just weeps for the better nature of humanity. She isn't anymore, and that's why she reaches out now and considers placing her hand on Nick's shoulder, then decides better of it and takes his hand. Her own eyes, darker than his, are warm and anything but helpless.

"I've seen people a lot worse off than you seem keep themselves together for a good few Arenas." Even if it seems like everyone breaks eventually. It took her two years but by the end of the last Arena she was the worst she's ever been. Her own suicidal end to that Arena has left a hole blown in her. She doesn't know if her concept of herself will ever recover, or if she's cut off her chances at self-esteem right at the knee.

"People are really good at adapting. Just take it a breath at a time. Trust me, I'm a pro." She isn't sure whether she's joking or not at that last bit, but it comes out wry anyway.

Nick tenses at the contact but doesn't pull away. For all his tough talk, he practically wears his heart on his sleeve. All the glares and back-talks are not much more than efforts to keep it from slipping and end up on the ground. His mind too, would slip into dark places sometimes. It wasn't just the alcohol talking at the time - he really wanted Clementine to leave him behind back at that distillery. Losing everyone he knew one by one and his uncle's death was the straw that broke the camel's back.

But as easily as he can fall into despair, there's always that glimmer of hope in him that's as small as it is stubborn. There's still a will to live in him and an even stronger one to protect those he cares about. He doesn't want to know how the Arenas will change him because he doubts it'll ever be for the better. Maybe the same can be said for the others when they were new, including Venus.

"It's just gonna be like this from here on out, huh?" He recalls asking Luke this too, when it became apparent that dealing with the dead was part of their lives now. "You ever thought about escaping somehow?" There's no tone to suggest such a thing and it's barely spoken as a whisper, but he just had to ask.

Venus opens her mouth but chokes on that sound, because the truth is, she hasn't. Her own escape is such a low priority on her list that is hardly even on her radar. Her efforts have all been focused on wrapping herself like protective coating around other people and making herself invisible in the process.

"Some people deserve to get out and some people deserve to clear the way," she decides on, saying it with a level of solemnity that surpasses just her voice and settles in her eyes and the sunrise of pink flesh on her lower lip. "Not that there are any options right now."

There are, but she can't tell Nick that here on the roof. Maybe if she finds him in a blind spot sometime she'll explain.

Nick had expected a simple yes or no answer. He's sure that there is one but for obvious reasons it appears to be difficult to say (he remembers that they're constantly monitored and her brand offered another possible hint). Nonetheless, he takes in the weight of the response given to him, looking at her apologetically for even asking.

"When I got here I thought this place was reserved for people that..." Murdered? Sinned?

"...fucked up. Royally." He decides firmly, as if to own up to all of his previous mistakes right at this moment. His tone soon deflates to that of uncertainty though. "But then I saw kids and a couple of my friends..." A sigh escapes him as he runs his free hand down his face. It would've been slightly easier for him to accept all this otherwise.

Venus' laugh is ugly and dry.

"It'd be a way easier place if it were just Hell, right?" She reaches over and takes that free hand, so she's holding both of his. She looks down at them, rubs her thumb over the pale lightly-veined backs. At this moment, she feels entitled to touch but not to meet his eyes. There's something too intimate about looking into someone's soul when they talk about damnation.

"It'd make it easier to kill people if our souls were all on the same footing, I mean." She exhales deep through her nose. "But there's no rhyme or reason here."

She came up here expecting to read a magazine, to relax. Instead she feels her soul upturned yet again.

Nick's been told several times in his life before that his eyes are probably his best feature. He doesn't believe it himself. They're as expressive as they've always been but lately have since been overwhelmed and tired by constant anger and pain. What's left behind is a gaze that has since been dulled by what he has experienced. There's no going back from it.

"Yeah, I guess." It'd still be a hard pill for him to swallow, but the reality is that he can't see himself winning. He doesn't want to win, not for something like this. Looking at their hands, he doesn't know what to make of the contact, though he figures it's meant to be comforting. Right now though, he just feels like he's wasting this woman's time with his weaknesses.

"Listen, Venus - I'm sorry for...well, sayin' that shit earlier." He apologized already but apologies never come out only once from Nick. "I don't wanna take up anymore of your time."

"I didn't come up here because I had things worth doing with my time, honey." She settles back into her seat, pulling her magazine out. "Only so long I can spend at the gym a day before my Stylist starts worrying about me getting man-shoulders."

She cracks open the trash rag to some bullshit about how celebrities are like everyone else because they eat muffins and wear shoes, intent to let Nick have his sunset or peace of mind or whatever he came to the roof for.

But she still needs the last word. "But again. Apology accepted."

We'll just march to some new place and somebody else will die

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[cw: suicide]

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wrap?