JASON TODD :: ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴅ ʜᴏᴏᴅ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hashtagyolt) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-11-19 12:37 am
hashtagyolt) wrote in thecapitol2014-11-19 12:37 am
Entry tags:
you're not the prettiest girl in town ( open! )
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.
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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..."
no subject
And, damn it, he still doesn't know what swagger jagger means.