aunamee ❱❱ anomie (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marcato) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-02-19 03:27 pm
marcato) wrote in thecapitol2013-02-19 03:27 pm
open.
WHO| Aunamee and you.
WHAT| He likes the attention.
WHERE| Performing Arts Center OR any restaurant OR the tribute tower.
WHEN| Post Arena 05.
WARNINGS| Sadism.
Aunamee wore his fame well.
As a young boy, he had been taught to annunciate his syllables and look people in the eye. He had learned to remember faces. Names. He had learned humility and had he learned to smile, wide and bright, his lips choreographed dancers. Upon arriving in the Capitol, the transformation from murderer to celebrity was second nature (or perhaps first nature?) for Aunamee. He said yes to every sponsor. He said yes to every picture. He allowed citizens to stop him on the street and ask him questions, and when they did, he treated them with a gentle patience. He spent the majority of his kill credits buying Howard dinner, but the rest of it he spent on strangers. He gave them flowers. Meals. Drinks.
(He will erase those pictures of his dead face. He will erase those pictures of his rage.)
In the evenings, he would loiter outside the performing arts center until he could convince one of the Capitol families to buy him a ticket to the opera, the orchestra. He would wait near restaurants until someone asked him to be their special, mealtime guest.
In the nights -- the late nights -- he wandered the training center, memorizing faces of the people who were still awake. Memorizing names.
WHAT| He likes the attention.
WHERE| Performing Arts Center OR any restaurant OR the tribute tower.
WHEN| Post Arena 05.
WARNINGS| Sadism.
Aunamee wore his fame well.
As a young boy, he had been taught to annunciate his syllables and look people in the eye. He had learned to remember faces. Names. He had learned humility and had he learned to smile, wide and bright, his lips choreographed dancers. Upon arriving in the Capitol, the transformation from murderer to celebrity was second nature (or perhaps first nature?) for Aunamee. He said yes to every sponsor. He said yes to every picture. He allowed citizens to stop him on the street and ask him questions, and when they did, he treated them with a gentle patience. He spent the majority of his kill credits buying Howard dinner, but the rest of it he spent on strangers. He gave them flowers. Meals. Drinks.
(He will erase those pictures of his dead face. He will erase those pictures of his rage.)
In the evenings, he would loiter outside the performing arts center until he could convince one of the Capitol families to buy him a ticket to the opera, the orchestra. He would wait near restaurants until someone asked him to be their special, mealtime guest.
In the nights -- the late nights -- he wandered the training center, memorizing faces of the people who were still awake. Memorizing names.
no subject
During the day it was easy to keep up a front of sharp anger (and not too much, not to the wrong person, she'd gotten that figured out quickly enough) and flirting around, and being charming, or at least palatable, until she could figure out how the fuck to get out of here.
But at night it was harder to keep up any facade at all. At night she missed Sammy, missed shit a home she'd never thought twice about like the hum of pop machines and pattern the stripe made on the road at night. At night she wondered again and again if this wasn't actually hell after all.
The roof was cold, damn cold, but she would rather be cold up there tonight, bundles in many layers, where she could look up and see something at least a little familiar. The city lights drowned out many of them, but the stars over the Rockies were still the same ones she always knew.
no subject
Roofs. What better place to find the broken, the despairing?
"Good evening," he said, stepping out into the gardens. "I didn't think I would find anyone up here."
no subject
She glanced over, to measure up her new company. She recognized the man from the recaps, and a red flag went up in the little catalog of her mind. In there, she knew people had to be cracking, and she wouldn't judge anyone's character solely on just that...but his last fight had been brutal enough to make him of note.
"Better up here, than down there, though."
no subject
Had an attitude.
"The latter," he specified. "Not the former. I believe we've all suffered enough winter to last a lifetime."
no subject
"It's fake down there. It's plastic and phoney and...bullshit." She shrugged, staring out at the city.
"It's not that much better up here, but at least you can pretend."
Looking up from the city, she turned to study him again. "What about you?"
no subject
This one was craving rebellion. This one wouldn't go quietly.
"What about me?"
no subject
She tucked herself deeper into her coat, as if remembering how cold it was herself.
"Getting some peace and quiet?"
no subject
"I detest quiet," he said, opting for the truth. He mirrored her movements, tucking his head down into his jacket. "But I like views."
A beat. He brushed his hand against an intruding branch. He was gentle. He treated it like an animal.
"I suspect the flashiness is meant to distract us from our impending deaths."
no subject
Sam would be proud of the illusion. At least until she realized De had only a vague concept of where it was from.
She watched him with the plant, watched his body language. He wasn't easy to read.