thecapitol | [open]

WHO| Glinda and whomever might come across her
WHAT| Glinda gets drunk off her bubble
WHERE| District 9 Suite and Capitol bar
WHEN| A couple days after valentines
WARNINGS| Drunkenness and reminiscing on the arena

She'd sat in her room for hours in the outfit she'd been put into that morning.

Glinda had spent the last few days in seclusion since making a fool of herself on her first outing out since leaving the Arena. But unfortunately every time she closed her eyes she had nightmares. It was of herself, a wicked witch, one who used dark magicks and killed people and took no kindness or joy in the world and sought only greed and evil.

She found her feet bringing her out of the tribute suite and into the Capitol's streets.

The witch didn't know where she was going but she knew that she needed something to make her forget lest she never sleep again. It wasn't long until she brought herself to the door of a tavern. Normally she wouldn't dare. She was too highborn a lady to go into a tavern. Something prompted her into pushing the door open and going inside though. Before long she was sat and staring at a neon coloured cocktail.

Hours passed and glasses came and went and now Glinda found herself slumped forward in her seat and leaning on the table, cheeks pink and room spinning uncomfortingly. She was also drinking the next concoction they'd brought her through a curly straw. Oh how the mighty had fallen, she bitterly thought to herself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Rudeness wasn't exactly a cardinal sin to Gabriel. She had real chutzpah and that really only added to her image as a generally ballsy lady, even if she was a little stiff. He could appreciate that.

He reached over for the little plastic menu. "Now, I'd usually opt for something sweet, but it's bar food, so something fried might be the only option. What do you want, Glinda?"

"Soup."

Glinda propped her head up with her hands, elbows on the table and trying her best not to let said head loll about. Soup was a good idea. Obviously.

"I'm just going to--" She put her head down on the table. It was far too spinny in this room for her tastes.

While Gabriel would normally be draping himself all over her and making a complete ass of himself, that would quickly moving into the territory of kicking someone when they're down. He could do that to some asshole who had it coming, sure, but she really didn't seem the type.

He went ahead and ordered a cup of soup and some onion rings.

After a moment of hesitance, he rested a hand on her arm. "Look, I'm not great at this whole comfort thing." He waved his other arm for emphasis. "And I have a feeling that you're in need of some, but other than offering to buy you a cake, I've got nothing."

He couldn't blame her, though, if the last few weeks had been as bad for her as they were for him. He'd meant what he'd said to Lucifer about fighting for people. Most of his interaction was punishing dicks, sure, but that didn't make him completely heartless and he had a soft spot for ballsy women. Sue him.

The touch on the arm and the words - while not quite what she expected and lacking in any real comfort - were somewhat touching. Glinda forced herself to sit up and behave like an adult.

An adult who was trying not to cry.

"That's the nicest thing anyone said to me since I've gotten here." She sniffled a little, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her palm and trying desperately to push down the lump that was swiftly rising in her throat. "Ozma bless me, this is the worst place I've ever been and I just want to go home."

Well, that wasn't great. Gabriel shouldn't be related to the nicest anything. He doesn't even hide the surprise on his face.

"Yeah, I'm not a fan of this place, myself. It's like being stuck in an episode of Survivor or Rock of Love." He wasn't sure which sounded worse, but he was pretty sure it was the one with Bret Michaels.

"We may as well at least enjoy ourselves while we're still alive, though, right?" Because he was still pretty happy to not be dead, even if this place was a little too ironically like being trapped in a TV show. "Step one is that alcohol is for celebrating. Cake is for depression."

"Until we die again in another arena." She miserably countered.

Oh. She was a morose drunked then. That was interesting. Fiyero had always been a sleepy drunk. Glinda could remember more than one instance where he'd appeared at her office door at an odd time of the morning whilst she was still working, slurred a couple of words and fallen asleep on the chaise lounge.

"And then it allllll starts again. Forever and ever."

He shook his head, voice lowering. "There's got to be a way out of here, sister. I just haven't found it yet." It would be easier if he had his powers back, though. He could just snap his fingers and get exactly what he wanted.

Not that he was really sure he wanted to go home. He'd thought that he'd been finished running away from his problems, but honestly? That had gotten him nothing but dead. More than once, he'd had to remind himself that Castiel had said they'd succeeded. That was worth it, right?

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