Dave Strider (
shenunigans) wrote in
thecapitol2015-01-09 01:41 pm
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Entry tags:
City never sleeps so I guess I never slept on.
Who| Dave and Feferi, Gary, Clara and Steve.
What| Punchy is "dead", Dave needs to deal with it.
Where| D9, D11
When| Spanning over the week after the Panem Nightly post.
Warnings/Notes| Talkin' about murder.
It's hard to process real death after being surrounded by fake death for so long. It's like switching from lite milk to full cream, because it's doing something to his stomach. But then, processing infers some level of understanding or acceptance. Dave didn't talk to anyone when the cheery presenters woefully announced that his friend was dead. It's not the first time he's disappeared, it's not the first time anyone's disappeared, but it's different this time.
They're just lying. They're probably lying. There's no reason to believe them, but there's no reason not to, either. Punchy is gone, he isn't in his room and he isn't staggering back into the commons no matter how long Dave sits around on the couches and pretends the News got it wrong.
It shouldn't be this hard anymore, but it feels like there's a vice around his chest when he thinks about it. There's sad irony in the fact that the guy reminded him so vividly of his Bro, then they got close, then he died. It's hilarious, really, that all of his foundations are starting to crumble slowly or very rapidly and he doesn't know how to handle it anymore.
Maybe he owes it to Punchy to feel something, or show something, but it's easier to be mindless and numb about all of this. He doesn't drink or party, he just deals with it. He's either sleeping all day or awake all hours and when anyone sees him, he's fronting. Trying too hard to be over it too fast.
What| Punchy is "dead", Dave needs to deal with it.
Where| D9, D11
When| Spanning over the week after the Panem Nightly post.
Warnings/Notes| Talkin' about murder.
It's hard to process real death after being surrounded by fake death for so long. It's like switching from lite milk to full cream, because it's doing something to his stomach. But then, processing infers some level of understanding or acceptance. Dave didn't talk to anyone when the cheery presenters woefully announced that his friend was dead. It's not the first time he's disappeared, it's not the first time anyone's disappeared, but it's different this time.
They're just lying. They're probably lying. There's no reason to believe them, but there's no reason not to, either. Punchy is gone, he isn't in his room and he isn't staggering back into the commons no matter how long Dave sits around on the couches and pretends the News got it wrong.
It shouldn't be this hard anymore, but it feels like there's a vice around his chest when he thinks about it. There's sad irony in the fact that the guy reminded him so vividly of his Bro, then they got close, then he died. It's hilarious, really, that all of his foundations are starting to crumble slowly or very rapidly and he doesn't know how to handle it anymore.
Maybe he owes it to Punchy to feel something, or show something, but it's easier to be mindless and numb about all of this. He doesn't drink or party, he just deals with it. He's either sleeping all day or awake all hours and when anyone sees him, he's fronting. Trying too hard to be over it too fast.
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He sits up suddenly, then slumps his shoulders in an effort to regain his casual air. It was not preceded by seconds of turtle like flailing as he struggled to pull himself up, he has no idea why anyone would think that.
"Anyone who wanted that box would have to follow you to the Aquarium every time you try it. So unless you want a herd of well meaning stalkers, you might want to try again, Free Willy." Of course, he has absolutely no idea that she's earnestly trying to break the ice here. There's no ice, he's just cool. Mellow cool. Like moo juice.
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She just doesn't know what. Was it losing the arena? Losing his powers again? Something else? Feferi can't even begin to guess, but she can be here to listen. He's only her fake boyfriend, but he's still her very real friend.
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"Not much. The ush. Guess it's all downhill once you hit sixteen." He props his elbows on his knees, leaning his face on his hand lazily. He knows this game gets old fast, but it's hard. Admitting shit. Feelings, etc.
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"Now I know it not just that." She shifts closer, within arm's reach, to reach out and fuss with his hair, trying to put some stray strands back in place, as much as he'll let her. "So you can either tell me what's bothering you, or you can let me hassle you for a while longer until you give up and tell me."
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His mouth tightens into a deeper frown when she pushes for information, but the annoyance is stupidly dampened when she fusses with his hair. It feels nice, and it would feel nice to open up, but there's something blocking the words from coming. He leans away from the hand, because it's threatening his ability to keep a tight lip on things.
"I dunno. Does it have to be one specific thing? Everything about being here sucks. People die, and you don't know if they'll come back, everyone says they do and then sometimes they don't. The inconsistency is fucking with me, that's all." He gives his shoulders a dramatic shrug. "I don't know what you want me to say. I'm always bothered."
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This would be so much better with a proper pile, but she has to make due. Sitting shoulder to shoulder will have to be enough. The more he pushes her though, the more worried it makes her.
"So who didn't come back this time?"
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"Woah, woah. Shooting straight for the crotch there, huh?" He takes the chance to act defensive, escaping from the hand by shifting himself to the side as if so floored by her completely obvious assumption that he needs space. "We are not playing Cluedo, Feferi. We are going to drop it, that's what I want to do." He waves that around like it's some sort of ace card, when he speaks up again his voice is softer. "Let's just go look at fish, alright?"
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"You don't really want to do that, do you?" She's not going to stop calling it how she sees it, and in truth, she's just a little bit hurt. Not because he won't talk to her, but that he doesn't just tell her straight. "I think I'm going to go back to my room. When you feel like talking, call me and I will come back up. Or you can come see me."
She's already crawling her way off the other side of the bed before she finishes talking. He's too upset, and when he's upset, she worries, and when she worries, she can't even think about showing him all her favorite aquarium fish. Maybe he just needs a little bit of time to cool off.
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"I would rather do anything than sit here than talk in circles about how crap everything is." He remarks bitterly, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip before he moves to grab at her wrist. He isn't normally so quick to get tactile, but words can't describe how much he doesn't want her to walk out right now.
"Don't." It's one word, but he manages to weigh a lot of desperation in it. He lets her go quickly, he doesn't want to be an asshole and jerk her around. He brings his hand to his neck to rub awkwardly. "Please?"
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Finally her face softens. "Let's start with something small. Why don't we take a walk downstairs. Have you had anything to eat lately?"
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The offer is nice, it's something to fixate on so he can pretend that didn't just happen. "Alright, awesome. Walking. I can do that." He says, not without a little sarcasm. In response to her question, he jerks a thumb at a crumpled corn chip packet and an empty juice bottle. "I just had breakfast." It is probably not breakfast time, nor is that breakfast.
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Just like that, it's like nothing happened at all, already on the rebound with a smile and some excessively perky fins. Alright, maybe the fins are a little over the top, but she is trying. And if nothing else comes from a trip downstairs, it certainly won't hurt being seen together, not when she's coddling him and fawning over him and trying to get him to stop being such a lump of human.
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"Sure. I think the internet is ready for a few hundred Florence Nightingale themed stories in lieu of Alternate Universes where I'm a troll and you're a magical conch." Not that Feferi probably understands the references, but she's probably for it. He lets her lead him downstairs, wrist hanging limp like he's a balloon on a string. "Any plans or are we finning it?"
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Or, her eye anyway. She leads the way with all her usual earnest energy, but she's still highly aware that he's hiding something from her. Even if she doesn't show it, it bothers her-- a lot. Very few things get to her like secrets do.
"Is there anything you are hankering for that is at least a little bit healthy? Potato chips and ice cream do not count!"
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He steps in a little closer, nudging his shoulder up against hers almost affectionately. It's as close to an appreciative hug as she'll get right now.
"Why don't I cut to the chase and say fish and make us both happy?" He raises a challenging brow at her.
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They like to graze, right? She was planning to take him to the aquarium, but now that she's decided to feed him, she still wants to get out of the training center, so she starts leading him in that direction. There's got to be something out in the Capitol at large that he will eat and that's somewhat healthy.
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Now he's hungry, really hungry, he doesn't want to admit as much but his stomach growls in anticipation while he reminds himself of everything he craves. "I want grease." He admits. "And cheese. And meat." He throws his head back so he can groan impatiently. "I'm weak, carry me." He doesn't mean it.
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She'll settle though. She can be amicable and make a compromise. Exercise, or healthy food. Asking both is clearly just too much, but she's smiling anyway, so she's clearly not as frustrated as she's pretending to be. He makes it very hard for her to be firm with him, a problem that she's rarely had in the past.
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"That is a cruel ultimatum." He says, but he didn't honestly intend for her to carry him even if he doesn't doubt that she could easily do it. Instead of bitching, he moves to take her wrist and tug her forward so they can move a little faster. "I think I know a place that does them thisaway."
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She has to jog a little to keep up with him-- tall people with their tall legs!-- so she lags behind by a bit, catching up in bursts. "Wait up for me! If I had known burgers were going to get you going like this, I would have tried them from the start."
Maybe she should have sugared him up with greasy food to begin with... something to consider for next time.
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"I think you really hit the nail on the head with the whole eating thing." He points out, reluctant to admit that the half bag of doritos is probably the most he's had to eat in a long time. "Anyway, you'll love it. They serve ffff..." Fish burgers. "Fffood. And fries."
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She's bad at keeping the joke going, because she laughs straight after, but he's not fooling anyone, especially not her. He was going to say something about fish, she just knows it. She's still following along though, thankful for the adjusted pace.
"I think next time we go out, I will just attach a cart to you and let you drive," she follows up, as her only acknowledgment of thanks. "That way I won't even have to worry about keeping up. What do you think about that, could that be like, our first real romantic date?"
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"Nothing says romance like turning your potential boyfriend into a cart mule." The word boyfriend rolls off his tongue a little too easily and it makes him a little uneasy. "Just put a burger on a string pole and hold it in front of me and we can go cross country." He pauses suddenly, swerving to the left and toward the door of a nice looking restaurant.
"Bam. We walk fast." Excuse him while he disregards any adoring fans and just beelines them both to a table. He flops into his chair and, like a gentleman, pushes her chair out with his foot.
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"A burger on a stick... I like that idea, thanks!" He thinks she's joking. She isn't joking. Well, maybe a little-- but not entirely.
As he pulls her through the door of the restaurant, she stops a moment to take a look around. She's never been here before, so she wants to get to know the place, but she doesn't want to lose him either. Following along, she slides into her seat, unawares of whatever breaches in human etiquette he might be making in the process. As soon as she's settled, she reaches her hands across the table, palms up, but doesn't say anything. She just... stares, expecting him to do something.
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"God, I'm hungry. How did you know I was hungry?" It was her idea to eat, after all. He's practically salivating at the mere concept of a burger and he turns to look at the specials on the board before looking back at Feferi and her outstretched hands. He raises a brow, not sure what she wants him to do at all.
He reaches for a menu and offers it to her sincerely. He isn't fronting, he's just confused.
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