we're hollow like the bottles that we drink

[schnapp]

Who| beth greene and you.
What| the arena's done and she's back from a traumatizing canon update. drinking? drinking.
Where| the tribute center bar.
When| post-arena
Warnings/Notes| mentions of alcohol, natch. more to be added.



All things considered, she's surprised that the Capitol kept her new scars. It didn't seem like they would have, since she can see the billboards spanning the city that promote perfection in every physical aspect - all possible by plastic surgery, they boast. These scars weren't there the last time she was in the city, but they are now. The healed-up versions of them, remnants of Dawn's temper - being pistol-whipped across the face isn't something that just goes away.

Beth doesn't care. She doesn't know what it says about her, if it supposedly tells the world that she's weak and not worth saving like the ones hidden by her sleeves. It doesn't matter, because she's in the Capitol now, and not Grady Memorial. And it's honestly hard to tell which she'd prefer more at this point.

She'd had her first drink only a few weeks ago. Her dad used to be an alcoholic, and she'd never wanted to disappoint him. But he isn't here, and -- well. She has the blood of three men on her hands now, even though she doesn't want to admit it. Beth makes her way down to the bar with the unease of someone who is not used to being there. Chin tipped up, ready to challenge anyone who tells her that she's too young to be here.

They ask her what she wants and she replies with the first thing that pops into her head - the only other alcoholic drink she really knows, other than moonshine.

Peach schnapps.

Doesn't matter that you're not supposed to drink peach schnapps by itself. That's what she does anyway.

Comments

[aintyourdad]

He sighs heavily.

"What's your favorite food to eat here?" he offers.

[schnapp]

"Everything," Beth replies emphatically, if only just to amuse herself. "It's really amazin' how good food tastes when it doesn't come from a can. Or wasn't cooked over a fire, because it all starts to taste like smoke after a while. But nothing here's as good as my mama's cooking used to be."

Past tense, of course. Way too many motherless children in a world like theirs.

[aintyourdad]

He nods a little. Makes sense, a girl misses her mother. She's lucky she got to know hers, really.

"What did she make?" he asks.

[schnapp]

"Um. She used to make apple pie --" it makes her smile a little just remembering it. "Yeah, I know. it's such a stereotype, right. Having a pie coolin' on the windowsill, it's like a movie. But she really did that."

She pauses for a moment, looking over at him. "You don't like talkin' about yourself much, do you?" He's asking her all these questions, but answers everything she asks him with brief, grudging responses. It's just an observation.

[aintyourdad]

"No, I don't," he says - no point pretending otherwise, right? It's self-evident. Ellie very quickly realized that his life was off-limits, and she'd instead peppered him with questions about the world, the world the way it was, general things he could talk about that didn't involve his own personal pain.

Even once she did start to learn about it, it was only in bits and pieces. He's not good at it.

"Nothin' like a good apple pie, though. A la mode."

[schnapp]

It's okay if he's not good at it. A lot of folks aren't good at it, and everyone seems to have their own personal tragedies these days. She's not going to press. If he just wants to talk about the superficial, then that's what she'll do.

"Right? It was great. Is it weird that I sorta miss doin' chores, lately? I'd do anything to do the dishes or brush the horses again. I never thought I'd miss that, to be honest. It's weird."

Honestly, she'd do pretty much anything for her dad to scold her on shirking her chores, or to argue with Maggie over whose turn it was. Dumb stuff like that.

[aintyourdad]

He appreciates her willingness to not push him, anyway.

"You miss the little mundane things the most, or at least I do," he agrees with a shrug. "The shit you used to worry about that doesn't matter anymore. Like laundry."

[schnapp]

"I always hated doin' laundry," though to be honest, it's probably a near-universally hated thing, so she's in good company. "And I guess I'll always be wondering what college is like. You ever go? I think it might've been nice. But maybe the world going to hell really just saved me from havin' to pay all those loans."

[aintyourdad]

"Never went to college," Joel says with a shrug. "Wasn't my thing."

More like - he was a single dad so he didn't have the time or the money.

"What would you have studied?" he asks.

[schnapp]

It's hard to think about what she would have studied, because she doesn't really know. She was only a sophomore when the outbreak happened and the schools began closing down. Too early to really think about colleges and the SAT and all of that. Beth considers it for a moment, over her drink.

"I think...maybe music? I think I would've wanted to be a music teacher. For little kids," she misses Judith. She misses Lizzie and Mika and the rest of the kids at the prison.

"Everyone tried to guess what other people did, in our group," she squints at him, like she's trying to concentrate on something. "I'm tryin' to make a guess for you."

[aintyourdad]

Music. It reminds him - just like so many things about this girl - of Sarah. She'd loved music, just like he did. He'd taught her chords on the guitar practically before she could talk.

"So what's your guess?" he asks after a thoughtful moment.

[schnapp]

She ponders it for a moment. "...Mechanic. Like, for cars and stuff. That's my guess. How'd I do?"

[aintyourdad]

"Not a bad guess," Joel says with a faint smile. "I used to be a carpenter, back in the day, but I knew how to change oil and replace tires if I needed to."