you're not the prettiest girl in town ( open! )

[hashtagyolt]

Who| Jason Toad and whoever!
What| Two prompts. See below.
Where| Tribute Center.
When| Midday and midnight.
WARNINGS| Social media addiction, language possibly. Idk I'll edit as needed.



1 ) District 4 Suites ; Midnight-4am, Monday Night.

As curfew had been enforced that evening, Jason had gone quietly. His plan demanded the appearance of at least minimal cooperation. Earlier in the day, he'd procured a disc of the most annoying music Panem had to offer. Moreover, he'd planned ahead. He'd begged and pleaded his Escort for what amounted to a very fancy boom box, and bless his heart, the poor man had come through.

He retired early, totting a book with him. It was some bodice-ripper-esque romance, trashy but entertaining in a guilty pleasure sort of way. He'd napped in between reading chapters, occasionally curbing his enthusiasm to run out into the common area of the suite and share, with some wholly unsuspecting suite mate, an amusing moment or anecdote. Romance novels, not enough people appreciated them. It was truly a tragedy.

Eventually, however, midnight rolled around, and the hour to act was upon him. As he cued up the song, he couldn't help the smirk that crept across his face. It wasn't as if he was breaking rules, technically, and Panem's definitions of offensive nuisance left something to be desired anyway.

The song repeated once. He settled back on his bed with the book, popping in some cheap rubber earplugs.

The song repeated again. The only downside to this was, while the earplugs made it bearable, there was no way to avoid the music completely. He'd be whistling it for days. Oh well. You win some, you lose some.

The third repeat was mildly annoying, but by the fourth, he found himself tuning it out. It was like he had developed an immunity.

By the fifth, he was snoozing again, the bodice-ripper abandoned haphazardly, cast off the side of the bed.

((ooc: Okay, so Swagger Jagger will be blasting solidly from 12am-4am. It's audible (at various levels) on the entirety of the 4th floor. It will also be audible (annoyingly, but not overpoweringly) on floors 3 and 5. Feel free to be pissed at him. That was the point. Anyone in D4 is welcome to bang on his door and try and make him knock it off.))

2 ) Training Center ; the next day.

Jason Peter Todd is no slouch. Even if he hadn't been trained by the goddamn Batman, he's still a ninja, (goddammit,) and it shows. He goes through some basic yuddha kalā with a precision unmatched by most. The few mistakes he makes, he trots off quite nimbly, no matter how dramatic they seem. Either he's tougher stuff than the boy band hair would lead you to believe, or he's your typical 20-year old alpha male who can't stand the idea of being embarrassed in public. Maybe a little of both. Probably mostly both.

In any case, he finishes his second routine with a flourish. Even if he weren't a bit of an exhibitionist (anyone who willingly runs around in green tights at the age of 14 probably has that ingrained in them), Jason has a mind to game the system a bit. It looks good to be good. It, at the risk of quoting Kanye, gets the people going. He remembers going through an Arena with no sponsor support. It needs the people going.

Comments

1

[ka_sera_sera]

It isn't hard to trace the sound to its source. Well, hard on his ears, but simple. He's waited just long enough to be sure that this is intended to go on a while before making his way to the relevant door and knocking on it with his whole forearm, loud and quick enough that, hopefully, the noise doesn't blend in with the song.

If that gets the attention of whoever's staying in here Roland will be waiting, grimacing at the noise. He isn't angry. He isn't even more than a little bit frustrated. Mostly what he is is confused.

Swagger Jagger. What does that even mean.

Nevermind that.

Roland dismisses the thought and waits. If there's no answer he isn't going to break the door down or force it open - there are few worse ways to make a bad impression on a fellow tribute, especially one he has to live with - but maybe he'll think of something.

[hashtagyolt]

The thumping is what gets to him. It's a dull sound, probably the only kind of sound that could be perceived over the pulse of the music. He sets the book down on the bed beside him, and gingerly pops out one earplug, then another. The thump is definitely there, it isn't his imagination.

Jason is smiling by the time he actually answers the door. This is really the best way to make friends with his neighbors. Way better than baked goods or potted plants nobody likes.

"Evening. There something I can help you with, mister...?" Do not acknowledge the music. Pretend nothing is abnormal. The smile lapses into a lazy smirk, but otherwise his pokerface is doing pretty well.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland's first assumption is that this is done purely to be a prick, to get some reaction, because the whole picture - casual tone, polite question, seeming not to notice the incomprehensible nonsense destroying his hearing in the background - is something a couple of his old friends would have very much enjoyed doing. The thought irritates him, both the thought and the reminder of loved ones long gone, and maybe that shows some in his face.

"Just how much are you aiming to piss all of us off?" He leans forward, keeping his hands well back so it doesn't look like a threat, but not particularly wanting to shout. "Trying to goad someone into throwing the first punch? You know none of that'll do you any good here."

[hashtagyolt]

"Nah." Jason waves him off with all the privilege of a rich, twenty-something jet-setter. It's not directly rude, just airy enough to be dismissive. "What makes you think anybody here is the target?"

In a way, they are, presuming they're in the same building anyway. And that's a pretty big presumption, he realizes. Generally bigwigs of scary totalitarian governments don't just chill in the same area as their (probably pissed off) alternate universe captives. It's just not practical.

Still, on the off chance that anybody who matters can get wind of this, it'll be worth it. Maybe. And if not, it's still funny. He smiles broadly. It's all youthful blue eyes and white teeth. It'd be charming if it weren't for the obnoxious music still blaring in the background. "You all could just be collateral damage."

[ka_sera_sera]

It's as if the phrase was specifically tailored for Roland, carefully handcrafted for the set purpose of getting under his skin. He tries not to let it show, but doesn't entirely succeed - his eyes narrow, his shoulders tense. The resemblance to Eddie is only getting stronger, because it was ever so with him, too. Roland's control over his mood always tended to go right out the window once Eddie really got his mouth going.

Hopefully Roland can cut things off here before it gets to that point. Speak some reason, make the boy see sense. "Who then? The gamemakers?" Roland gives a quick shake of his head, making a dismissive noise that's probably lost under a particularly strident arc of notes from the woman's song. "You think they give a shit what we do to one another? When you catch their attention, boy, believe me when I say that you'll know it."

"Turn this off and try again. This time, with something that'll actually work."

[hashtagyolt]

"Whatever, bro." There's another dismissal, this one accompanied by a wave of his hand. Jason leans up against the door frame. Cher Lloyd ends and then, a moment later, begins again. He doesn't seem to notice.

"This is actually the song of my people. I think I'm gonna keep listening for a bit longer while I read." He takes a deep breath of pure, conditioned, recycled air. The bad part of being under curfew is not being able to go out and grab a smoke.

"Anyway, I was reading, so if there's nothing else..."

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland pulls back, grimacing. Clearly nothing's going to get done here. At least not with words, and this isn't worth taking any further than that. Now, if this should happen a second time... Well, they'll see then. For now he just gives a snort of disgust and turns away, reflecting on how far that had gone from where he'd wanted it to.

And, damn it, he still doesn't know what swagger jagger means.