thecapitol | sorrow waited, sorrow won

Who| Bilbo Baggins & You
What| Bilbo goes exploring.
Where| Various places
When| Post Mini Arena until the end of the week (Saturday 11-15).
Warnings/Notes| Talk of child death, language, talk of murder probably. Hobbit feelings and food too.

[A - Training Center]

[After witnessing his first arena Bilbo found a new motivation to send him to the training center. If he had any chance at surviving this... game or even saving Frodo from other, more determined tributes, he had to be stronger than what he was now. It was easier said than done of course; he had no idea where to start. His own knowledge on how to use a sword were limited if not laughable and up until this point he had survived through sheer luck and cleverness alone. Now without his magic ring and even Sting he really was at the bottom with nowhere to go but up.

He stuck to times when the training center would be mostly, if not completely, empty. He still found it hard to be around others knowing what was in store for them later and after seeing the mini-arena that was all but cemented in his mind.

His eyes were drawn to the bow and set of arrows sitting against the weapons wall and without really wondering why he picks them up. In the past Hobbits were decent archers, when things like war and battle were known to Hobbits... Maybe this could work for him.

Throughout the week he comes here to practice with the bow and arrow and more often than naught his practice is riddled with quiet curses and missed shots, but he perseveres. By the end of each private session he sits down next to the wall, tired and weary.]

[B - District 4 Kitchen, before the Curfew]

[It's been hard work trying to get his appetite back on track and even now he still has trouble washing the taste of ash from every bite of food or drink he takes. Still, even with his severely diminished hunger it does little to stop him from cooking too much food out of stress for himself or really anyone with a normal appetite.

So during the day, usually after he returns from his time in the training center, Bilbo bustles around District 4's kitchen and busies himself with making all sorts of food. The food can be smelled from beyond the kitchen and into the hallways, beckoning anyone to come along and take it off Bilbo's hands.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Bilbo is less of an athlete than Punchy. The quest did its job of wearing away the layers of softness gained from living his entire life in complete and utter peace, leaving him with the beginning muscles and callouses and a deep set weariness starting in his bones. Hobbits were not created for battle or war and this is something Bilbo has learned much before his arrival here, but he is stubborn if nothing else. As tired as he may be he still clings to weak optimism that not everything can truly be as bad as it seems.

After awhile, many attempts and failures later, Bilbo sets aside the bow with reddened fingers. He didn't expect to start off with any promising results, but the little progress makes it hard not to become frustrated. So he takes a break, knowing at some point he should eat (and the fact he must remind himself of such a thing disheartens him greatly, secretly) until he smells something familiar.

Well... not completely familiar. It isn't Old Toby by a long shot, smelling closer to the pipe weed Bofur carried with him up until the Goblin caves. He looks around trying to pinpoint the source, but what he'll do when he finds it he's unsure. Maybe if he asked nicely the fellow carrying may be inclined to share...

He doesn't see Punchy up in the booth until he finally looks up and sees the small wisps of smoke coming from him and hesitates. Those are the seats for the Gamemakers and he wonders briefly if it's even wise to engage the man at all.

Oh bother it. "H-Hello!" Bilbo waves up to him, voice carrying his uncertainty.

When Punchy was young, toking up in his dormroom at the Seminary, he had a lock on being able to shove a blunt into a hiding place and spray Febreze in the air in the short time period between hearing steps in the hallway and hearing an R.A. knock on his door. He feels no need for such vigilance in the Capitol, especially not around other Tributes. What does he care if they judge him for blazing it a bit? He's a fucking Victor; his autonomy is limited, and pleasures should be taken where they lie.

He just stays where he is with his feet up and his weed in between his index finger and his thumb.

"Yo, dawg." If this guy weren't, well, a guy, Punchy would call him 'shawty' and laugh at the wit of it. Punchy stands at about twice Bilbo's height and change, and even sitting down is above equal eye level. He supposes that could explain the stammer in the greeting. "I'm chill. I ain't gonna mollywop you or anything. You tired of like...?"

Punchy makes a gesture like he's shooting an arrow, including a muttered 'pyew!" sound.

Did... Did this man just call Bilbo a dog? Of all the things to call someone, especially a Hobbit, Bilbo has never been called that. In fact he's too surprised to really find insult - if that was Punchy's intention - and instead just blinks up at the man clouded in wispy smoke.

"I'm not- It's Bilbo and I just would like- Well- " He huffs, frowning at the odd choice in words that leave him with the feeling there is a little lost in translation. His eyes catch the pyew movement and he waves a hand quickly. "I only would like to know- Oh bother, what is that?" He motions to Punchy's blunt. "It doesn't smell familiar at all and I'm just... curious as to where you might have gotten it."

"This? This is just some green." He waves a hand in the air, then holds his blunt out to Bilbo. "You want? Shit's some mad cheech. I got chewed on the skunk weed last week so now I only buy from peeps with a good rep."

And now that he's a Victor, he has more money than he knows what to do with, and all the spending in the world doesn't seem to be able to make it feel okay.

"Have some. It'll help you mellow."

sorrow waited, sorrow won | open

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject