thecapitol | My Business Card Says You're In Luck [Closed]

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My Business Card Says You're In Luck [Closed]

WHO| Punchy, Dave, Gary and Initiate
WHAT| Fly homies throwing a mini-rager.
WHEN| Before the reaping.
WHERE| D6, Punchy's room
WARNINGS| Swearing, mentions of mild drug use.

The curfew, admittedly, has put a bit of a damper on partying. Punchy's found this a particularly harsh buzzkill, given that getting drunk and sleeping with groupies is the best part of the Capitol. Without his entourage of teenagers that treat him as their favorite celebrity and get tattoos of 'Punchyisms' on their wrists, it's too easy for him to remember he's just one very small player in a very large game, one in which he can only aspire to being a pawn, much less a knight.

As such, most of his evenings have been spent smoking pot in his room while imagining how to code a virus that would scramble everyone's location addresses on the network. He doesn't dare actually work on it, or write anything down, and the weed makes him think through things more slowly, but he thinks he's making progress on it.

The scent is still hanging in the room when he has his 'flyest homies' come over the next afternoon. He's put in ample effort into his version of cleaning up his room. The hologram wall is all set up to play any sort of console, and his mattress on the floor is only crowded by bowls of gummi worms, chips and various things colored with artificial cheese. There are even hot pockets in the microwave when they come in.

"You ready to shake it down, dawgs?"

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There's something a little dorky about a party during the day, makes the whole thing seem a little more grade school than it really is. Of course, nothing about anything here is really comparable to childhood experiences, so Dave can safely say that this is dope. Hella dope. Everyone attending this damn party is pretty fly. Well. Except maybe Gary, but who knows.

Being the glorious knight of time that he is, it's hard for him to be anywhere fashionably late. He's always either early or right on time, but he feels like the few minutes he spent standing outside will make him seem cooler when he finally strides in like he just arrived.

"Shake it, bake it and booty quake it." He quips back, throwing a packet of doritos haphazardly at Punchy before pulling up out of his lazy teen posture so he can put his hands on his hips and inspect Punchy's room. "This is an orderly crib you've got here, homie." He compliments, eventually moving to the mattress so he can sit cross legged surrounded by the candy bounty. "Hope y'all prefer your asses deep fried."

Gary should not be far behind. It's not by choice--Gary gets where he wants to be precisely when he wants to be there and when external circumstances don't dictate otherwise. Given how dull the Capitol has gotten since the curfew started, Gary's choice here is obvious. He's on his way to the Training Center well before he's required and spends the intervening time deciding what he needs to bring. No doubt that Punchy can throw an awesome party on his own terms, but there's no harm in bringing some surprises, right?

In the end Gary makes a grand entrance, popping open the door to Punchy's room with a shove of his hip and a casual slide to the center of things. Under one arm is a case of video games that he hasn't played yet; under the other is what Gary can only guess is the Capitol's version of Cards Against Humanity. He's interested to find out, anyways.

"Only if you chumps can keep up." Rasputin the tribble coos from its perch on Gary's back as he struts in, skipping over Dave for the moment to drop his things on the mattress and offer Punchy a more official greeting. He has not decided on the complicated handshake and/or bro hug he's going for on approach, but figures it doesn't matter. These things are best done spontaneously. "Dude, these hors d'oeuvres are classy as shit. Good thing someone in this dull-ass place knows what a party needs!"

Homie wants to be about bringing his party on, well, he ain't going to turn it down. Far be it from him to comment on what such things shouldn't be going down on daytime. He'd say just about everything but sleeping.

He's the last what to arrive, but only barely. He recognizes Dave and Punchy, but the last kid, he's got no idea on. A new one, probably not even in arena yet. As his eyes flick to the screen, and what gaming controllers lay about, he can't say he recognizes them neither.

He's down for banter otherwise, but not if he ain't knowing what as it's being up over. In the meantime, he's eyeing them gummi worms. Praise the laughing lauded if they be real worms sugarcoated too.

"YO!" He calls as the singular warning before he tosses a soda bottle. One for favor, one for him.

Edited 2014-11-04 19:53 (UTC)

Punchy catches the chips back with deft ease and grabs Gary into a bro hug in almost the same motion. He's all about being touchy-feely without actually dealing with crap like emotions. "Feast up, crew. We the baddest motherfuckers in this joint. Even the losers will be supping up a victory brew."

He grabs the soda bottle out of the air, too. He bought real bugs just for you, Initiate. There's a crude doodle of Initiate's clown faces on a strip of tape on a tupperware of them next to the Cheetos.

"Not that I got plans to be the loser." He flops down next to Dave hard enough that the bowls of chips jostle on the mattress. "So what's we got here?"

To his credit, Dave only spares Gary a brow twitch when Gary enters. He'll save being a tittybaby for times that warrant it, but everything is chill right now. He wonders who else Punchy might have invited, because the guy seems like a butterfly of the social variety. He isn't disappointed when Initiate comes in and Punchy seems to clarify that this is it.

"Sup, Big Top." He calls out to Initiate with a bromatic flare to his voice, like he's so damn excited to see this motherfucker. He pops a gummi worm in his mouth just in time for Punchy to flop onto the mattress. He's jostled by it, but he refuses to allow that to show in his face.

"It appears to be some form of technology." He observes, giving his chin a stroke as he does. "Hope I'm not rusty, coach." He links his fingers in front of him to stretch his arms, quietly setting up to sound like he's not as good as he is.

"Damn straight." Gary follows Punchy and flops down on the mattress opposite to him, more or less sandwiching Dave in the middle. Initiate (another person with the horns? Must be some kind of fad) he recognizes from the container of suspicious candy next to the bag of Cheetos that he's already starting to root through. He is sorely tempted to open that box up and try a couple. Maybe he'll sneak one in once Initiate gets into them first.

"Let's take a look, yeah?" As the person who brought the box of games, Gary leans over Dave's shoulder to start pawing through the cartridges with one hand, shoving Cheetos into his mouth with the other. He speaks in puffs of neon orange powder. "Stop me if you've heard of any of these. 'Arena 52,' 'Immortal Combat,' uh...'Capitol Party 7'..."

Gary gets bored of the linear method pretty quickly, so at this point he shrugs, closes his eyes and picks one out at random. He doesn't even check to see what it is before he's crawling forward to stick it in the game console Punchy has set up.

Edited (okay okay I think that's all the typos accounted for) 2014-11-19 20:51 (UTC)

It's like being in on a joke what he ain't all know the context of, but what's being too funny not to play all the fuck along with. "Sup shades," He says with a nod back to Dave.

He doesn't miss them clown faces. At first he's just amused, but as he settles down, he picks it up to properly peer at. Holy shit. Real insects. Motherfucker may damn well be his new best friend. All at once, he solidly regrets ever having fought with Punchy.

He pops that sucker open, just enough to grab one and close it back up (You never is knowing if one of them's ain't being all dead yet). He tosses it back on his tongue and looks about as satisfied as a formerly-miserable capitolite woman with a box of gourmet chocolate. That's the fucking spot it up and is.

He almost misses the calling out of... well he's not actually sure what all them names is being about. He leans in close to squint at the cartridges and console both. "SO WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK IS THIS BEING?" He asks, the three of them simultaneous.

"We play Capitol Party Seven and ain't no motherfucker walking outta here alive. That game ends friendships and overthrows governments." Seriously, Punchy's heard stories about that game. Punchy sits up to see what Gary's just put in the console and nods with approval. Soul Capitol. Very good.

"This, my homeboy, is the greatest invention peeps been making since the 808. This be videogames." Never one to shy away from a little interpersonal contact, Punchy flops back again and shoves another round of Cheetos in his mouth, inadvertently snuggling up a bit with Gary and Dave's thigh. He shoots Initiate a smile like he's the most pleased person alive to have done right by the big troll.

"A'ight, get ready to cry." He picks up a controller.

Edited (hurr durr typo) 2014-11-21 20:48 (UTC)

Being sandwiched between all these dudes is not something Dave ever signed up for. No siree. He's never been the affectionate type, but he endures silently because he's not uncomfortable so much as an unearthly level of awkward about it.

He lets out a low whistle as he reaches his thin fingers forward to grapple at grabbing a controller and bringing it toward himself. He spares it a quick glance over before letting it rest on his knee, ducking his hand into the cheetos and hoping to god they don't have any handbrush action going on.

"I dunno about your universe, but the Alternians I knew played video games. Just an F-Y-I, we don't bludgeon each other no matter how many dirty, underhanded shells are getting pitched like track and field day." He rambles, then purses his lips as he pauses and lets that sink in. "It's intuitive. You'll pick it up."

Dave avoids contact with Gary's hand only because he's discretely trying to pop open that container of bugs without anyone noticing. Rasputin has provided a convenient distraction by crawling over Gary's shoulder and towards Initiate's head, as his mop of hair looks like an excellent place to nest. Gary's other hand has snapped up a controller, and his attention remains firmly on the television screen.

"Helps that it's a button-masher," he nods, rolling his thumb over the control pad as an example. "So if anyone's winning too much, they're a tryhard and they should be bludgeoned. Don't let Dave tell you anything different."

Video games, the Punch calls it. A dangerous thing what incites rage apparent and yet is played at for the fun all of it. He can dig. But like fuck is he gonna cry.

"I'm being a thousand sweeps before them fucker's times, I ain't know what things them is all being at to do," He says to Dave. "GETTIN' ALL CHRONOLOGICALLY INFUCKINGSENSITIVE YOU UP AND IS, NOT BEING TO MIND US PAST BASED MOTHERFUCKERS. Shame upon you, brother."

He hasn't a clue what the fuck Dave is meaning by shells but if it's something what is to be being picked, he guesses that's up and being that. He peers at the way the others hold the controller and makes to mirror. He's totally being ready for whatever the fuck a button masher is all about being to be.

"WAIT," He says, frowning. "So are we supposed to get our cull on of each other or not? THOUGHT WE WAS GETTING TO CHILL, NOT BE RAINING SWEET HELLMIRTH OF THE CORPSE COLORINGS." One of them has to be joking. "You motherfuckers gotta make clear on what shit's custom. WOULD BE A SORRY SIGHT IF AS I TOOK THAT ON SERIOUS."

Man, Punchy don't even try to keep track of all that troll/Alternian time travel nonsense. Screw that - there's a reason he opted out of Time Paradoxes 201 and instead took Civilian Containment classes back at the Seminary. He reaches over and smacks Gary's hand away from the tupperware of bugs.

"I don't want that shit up in my bed, a'ight? You wanna pump some invertebrate protein, best be asking the tall one up ins." He jerks his thumb at Initiate.

"And you, homes, I'mma make you cry but ain't no one going to be laying it phat and ugly on anyone physically. We above that. Gamer code says grudges stay electronic." He nods and settles in, selecting his racer and choosing the most garish colors imaginable for the vehicle. "Like I said. I'mma be ballin' while y'all's bawlin'."

"I am the opposite of chronologically insensitive. If anything, I am too chronologically sensitive. Also sensitive to bludgeoning, so we're just not going to do that either." Because he would not put that past Initiate if he happened to lose horribly.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones but if you throw a shell at my car I will emotionally wreck all of you." He points an accusatory finger at all of them before he picks the birdiest looking driver and a typically red car. "If you win it's because you're gonna blind us all, dog."

Initiate seems like a fantastic candidate to continue this bluff with, but Punchy and Dave's discouraging looks are enough to get him to back off. "Spoil-sport," Gary pouts, outwardly at the fact that he's been denied bugs. The tribble takes the path to Initiate's shoulder and lounges there, happily purring. "Don't get me started on emotional wreckage. Ya'll don't wanna know what I know about yo mammas."

Gary's racer is probably what anyone would have expected from him: a tiny, flashy sports car, with whatever the game's equivalent of a busty woman is driving it and painted pure fluorescent yellow.

"Invertebrates for this here invertebrother mine ownself, homie," The Initiate laughs, happily taking those bugs back up for himself and grinning all the while. "AY PUNCH, LAY IT ON MY WHERE YOU GOT THESE HERE AFTERWAYS, YO."

Dave on the other hand gets none more than an eyeroll. Ain't no bludgeoning's happening here. Definitely some scritches though for that little fuzzy motherfucker what's getting roost up on his shoulder, even if that don't last too long when he's gotta figure out how the fuck this controlling technological shitbit up and works. Ever so slowly, all done up with focus intenselike, he tries to get himself settle on the most indigo looking thing what he can.

Edited 2014-12-18 23:57 (UTC)

"Shells are for pussies," Punchy declares, nodding as grimly as if he were deciding to send troops to war. "Real gangstas use the lightning bolt."

Punchy decides on no handicaps for anyone and sets the speed to 150 cc. Digital carnage is the only thing on the table.

"Dawg, we was Avoxes, you know we know where all the good shit is." As if it's no big deal, that awkward shared experience. Hey, we were both tongueless, tortured slaves - but we know where to get the loot! "The kitchen's got some of these mofos up in the top cupboard of the pantry for when we's got peeps crashing who want these homies covered in chocolate."

The little traffic light at the top of the screen begins its countdown.

"A'ight. Let's roll."

Dave gives Gary an incredulous look when he pouts. Is this seriously where he has vested his rivalry interests? Maybe he should vest them elsewhere... He casts a glance to Initiate, then shakes his head and looks away as if deciding something he isn't verbalizing. Just no.

He rests his chin on his knee, glancing at Punchy when he admits he was an Avox. He had no idea, actually. He continuously forgets that shit has been going down on a 24/7 basis here even before he arrived. Long before he arrived, even.

Instead of all that, he focuses on the race, he hunches his shoulders even if he doesn't raise his head, slamming his hands into position the moment the race begins. He's off to a solid start, zipping around NPCs in his fancy little car.

If there was any 'vested interest' in anything, Gary no longer holds it by the time the countdown starts. Current conversation, as usual, has his attention. "Oh yeah?" he starts, eagerly drumming his fingers on the shoulders of his controller. "What's a--"

Gary stops himself before the question comes out. He knows what an Avox is. Typical of Gary's way of dealing with things he doesn't like, however, the details of the Avox group were repressed and don't occur to him until half a second into asking. He had no idea. What would Punchy and the Initiate have done to deserve becoming silent butlers?

...It was probably understandable, whatever it was. And hey, they're not Avoxes anymore, so everything's fine! Gary shrugs those thoughts off and focuses on the race instead. Which he is already losing, thanks to a conveniently-placed banana peel. "--Hey! Oh you sonofabitch..."

As the game is underway, and the participants are all squished together on the mattress, Rasputin decides that now would be a good time to do a bit of exploring while Initiate has stopped petting them. Hopefully no one minds a tribble crawling over their shoulders and attempting to nest in the crook of their necks.

"They robbed me the best part, yo! NEVER GOT AS SEEING WHAT THINGS WAS BEING ABOUT, STRAIGHT TO THE ARENA WAS ME." The best part, a.k.a the single good speck on a terrible thing. But Punchy speaks his language as to laugh and pretend like it ain't no thing (and save all other thoughts for laterways on).

"Chocolate covered too. GOD DAMN." He shakes his head. "You're a motherfucking miracle, bro. I'M GONNA GET YOU MADE A SAINT UP IN THE CHURCH FOR SUCH DIVULGENCIES LEGIT."

Gary gets the most fleeting glance, but none more. The game is on.

The screen's light rolls onto its being time to fuckin go. But there ain't much going going the fuck on. He's leaning, trying to get the car on the screen to do the same, futilely mashing as what buttons is being available, sometimes without no intention.

Everything is run into. Everything is thrown. And then, everything thrown is immediately run into. The Initiate may not know what this at is being proper up and about but he's certain right the fuck off that he's doing disastrously. It shows on his face. Even more so when his claws accidentally pop one of the buttons off and it makes a laughable 'ping' off the screen.

"Dawg, you got straight gypped if they ain't let you get a case on the kitchen!" Not like Punchy was allowed to eat any of it, not like he could have even if he wanted to with the swollen, bloody, rotting stump in his mouth, but knowing where all of it is now has definitely made his return more tolerable.

"Don't be getting all sacrilegious on me, my scarecrow homes. I ain't be no saint unless I get repped and canonized by the big dawg with the hat." Sure, the Catholic Church says it only recognizes rather than creates saints, but what's the point without someone to pay you the dues?

Punchy's not really trying to win this game, and so his strategy is less to go fast and more to cause absolute chaos. He slams into Gary's car with a bomb and sends a blue shell chasing after Dave, grinning like a loon throughout.

He even takes a moment to actually point and laugh at Initiate. It's the happiest he's looked since any of them have met him.

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My Business Card Says You're In Luck [Closed]

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