thecapitol | Come away little loss, come away to the water [open]

Entry tags:

Come away little loss, come away to the water [open]

Who| Clementine and OTA
What| Catch-all for Clementine things since the end of the arena, Clementine dealing with her canon-updated memories
Where| The Tribute Center and out in the Capitol, choose from the prompts or make your own
When| Anytime between the end of Arena 12 and now
Warnings/Notes| Talk of violence and children in harmful situations probably.

It's been a strange few weeks for Clementine, how do you describe the sensation of waking up with a whole new bunch of memories in your head? It made the usual disorientation in coming back from the arena pale in comparison.

The memories were... good, bad. A lot of bad. The good was Kenny, alive, really alive. The bad was everything that had happened after that discovery, Carver and his camp, the things Clementine had done and witnessed in the span of just a couple of days. Things she now had to reconcile and fit in with her memories of Panem, ending with everyone surrounded by Walkers and Sarita...

So it's not all surprising that Clementine has been a little reclusive since coming back. She hasn't actively avoided people, far from it, but she has taken a little more time to herself and her thoughts.

Prompt A: District 6

There's nine people living in the District 6 suite (not counting their support staff) and only one big television to share between them in the big lounge area. That can lead to some squabbles over what to watch and a general first-come, first-serve attitude to grabbing the remote whenever it was spied outside of someone's hand.

Clementine takes advantage to temporarily being on her own to set up the gaming system she'd asked for after spending hours at the arcade downtown, putting in a rather bright and colourful racing game which has nothing to with violence or horror. She'll settle for racing against the computer controlled characters for now but if anyone else wants to join in she probably won't say no.

Prompt b: The park

It's extra cold out in the Capitol today and despite that Clementine still ventures outside of the Tribute Center.

She's wrapped herself up in a thick coat and scarf, got a cup of hot chocolate from one of the many, many coffee shops dotted around the Capitol and come to the park with a bag of bread in hand. The ducks here are probably pretty spoiled already by visitors, looking well-fed despite the season, but they still come swimming over the moment Clementine crouches by the bank and sets down her drink on the frozen ground.

"Alright, hang on." she mutters at their insistent quacking, opening up the bag of bread to start tearing off small pieces and throwing them into the water where the ducks immediately set in on squabbling for the food.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

If he got deep enough into the trees, and if he closed his eyes, for a few moments standing there in the chill wind, just him and the even beat of his heart, Maxwell could almost believe he was back at Skyhold. Traveling through the mountains on his way to or from the keep, or maybe, just standing on his balcony, watching the sun set, the peaks slowly changing color around him.

It wasn't much, but it gave him a few moments peace from the noise and the sights and his own worrisome thoughts. Except... quacking, didn't really fit.

One eye opened, followed by the other, and slowly he turned, seeking the source. Moving further down the trail he came upon the pond, and the noisy bunch and despite the interruption, his mouth curled in a gentle smile.

"It seems you've made some friends."

Joel doesn't care much for the cold - but when it's chilly like this, it means he can get outside and fewer people bother him. It's certainly better than being cooped up in the crowded district suites, anyway.

He, too, has a cup of something hot - his is coffee, though, strong and black. He leaves most people alone, but Clementine - the last time they really talked, he wasn't in a good way. He's still not, but at least now he's sober.

She shouldn't have seen him like that. He doesn't care about many people here, but the kids - the kids deserve as much protection as he can manage.

"Hey. You don't think they're already so fat they're about to burst?" he offers up, waving vaguely at the ducks as they fight over the bread scraps. Shockingly like people, as a matter of fact.

They’ve all had a lot weighing heavily in their minds. It’s why Luke hasn’t made any great effort to seek out his friends beyond shooting a quick message on his seldom-used communicator. A sign that he was still there and alive – physically, at least. After half a beer in an effort to slow his mind down, to dullen that razor-sharp edge of sobriety, he heads out for some air on a whim. There’s still so much mental mapping of the Capitol he has left to do, after all.

The raw chill bites through his fleece-lined bomber jacket and he can feel his lashes freeze into stiff, sharp spears, a beard of sweat forming under his scarf. Still, it’s nothing compared to toughing out the cold in just his hole-ridden sweater from home.

God, does he ever miss spring. The smell of fresh-mowed grass, the shivery heat of the sun on his back when he’d go tearing down the dock and plunge gleefully into the lake. He misses the farm. Misses mom and dad, misses Dixie whacking him with her madly-wagging tail and licking him half to death whenever he’d swing in to visit. Less often than he should have with college papers and parties and short-lived relationships keeping him busy.

He sees Clem crouched at the water’s edge scattering bread to the ducks and stops along the path, his chest hurting as he looks on at a moment of hard-earned peace. Something he’s so reluctant to intrude on. But time is precious. Clem’s precious. And he couldn’t make the same mistake of losing too much time he could spend with the people he cared about while they were still with him. No one could live forever.

Luke tugs his scarf down from over his mouth, approaching her from the side. “Here...” He considers her steaming cup of hot chocolate a moment before crouching to take it and looking for a place to set it down. The bench a little ways off is not all that warmer but wood is better than ice. “That drink’s gonna freeze up an’ I’m willin’ to bet you ain’t in the mood for a fudgesicle.”

Of course, it's going to get cold wherever it ends up. But the drink isn't what really matters in the end.

Feeding the ducks is a novelty, from back before the days of the Walkers, it's nice to be able to do it again. "Hey, don't fight over it." she complains to one duck who shoves another out of the way in his quest for food. "I've got plenty more."

Being clued into the fact she's not alone has an embarrassed flush rising to Clementine's cheeks at being caught talking to the ducks. She throws another piece of bread at them to buy a moment to collect herself over it before looking up and seeing someone she's never met before.

There seems to be a lot of that going on lately.

"Um, yeah. They repeat themselves a lot but they're okay." When in doubt, make a joke.

Edited 2015-01-12 21:20 (UTC)

It's a novelty to actually have food enough to consider feeding it to the ducks, rather than hoarding it all for herself.

"I think they'd sink before they burst." Clementine says smartly as she looks up at Joel, "And they haven't done that yet."

Her gaze softens looking up at Joel who she hasn't seen for a good while despite her best efforts. Not since Ellie didn't come back. She hadn't even seen him in the arena at all, it had worried her but she knew Joel could take care of himself a lot better than most people. "Hi Joel."

"Luke!"

Clementine's up on her feet, duck's forgotten for the moment as soon as registers he's there. Her first compulsion is to hug him but this time something holds her back, aborts the movement before it really starts.

His presence brings those new memories flooding back, fleeing the cabin, Carver's camp... The last time she remembers seeing him was when they fled from the xenomutt's but also watching him run through a herd of Walkers, chasing after Sarah. The double-vision is super confusing to have to think through.

"Hi... yeah. I was going to drink it soon. It's freezing out here now."

Clem bites her lip a little, "Are you okay?"

Sandy also was out for a walk if only to clear her head. She'd been feeling stuffy in the Tribute Center and thought maybe the winter chill might help. It made her eyes sting and she liked watching the steam rising from her nose when she exhaled.

Seeing a crowd of ducks, hearing them quacking made her think of the duck back in her own District Suite. Pruna had taken good care of duck for a first time pet owner. He was an adolescent now starting to develop some color in his feathers. Sandy wouldn't dare bring him down to socialize with these ducks though for fear Pruna might have actually taught him how to attack and assert dominance over others.

Seeing Clementine she hesitated. They had a rocky relationship at best. Sometimes they were friends chatting idly, sometimes horrible things were happening to them like Clem infecting Sandy with zombie plague or Pruna shoving Clem into churning gears of death.

Deciding that she needed to keep some kind of connection to others in her age group she approached letting her boots scrape the pavement to warn her arrival so she wasn't a surprise.

"Hey Clem." she greeted with a polite smile.

She was wearing a thick sweater with flowers sewn onto it that matched a knitted cap she wore on her head. The cap only had a single flower on it but it matched nicely. A scarf was wrapped around her neck with a number twelve on the end of it.

Edited 2015-01-12 21:58 (UTC)

Maxwell only smiles. It's nice, something as simple as a few ducks and stale crusts of bread.

"True," he chuckles as they nudge and push and crowd around the girl's feet for the best pieces. "But it's still a sound better than some things."

The strange horseless carriages that screeched and roared. The nasal whine of the TV boxes, incessant wherever one turned. The escorts and the stylists and the sponsors... and his own heart, a whisper in the quiet.

Glancing at her, he gestured to her bag. "May I?"

"I dunno, ducks are pretty floaty," Joel comments, his lips twitching faintly.

"How've you been, kiddo?"

There are only a few people Bruce will really try to keep track of. One of those people? Clementine.

So when the arena is over, he checks to see if she's in her district. She is. He catches her playing a video game.

He doesn't immediately try to catch her attention. He crosses his arms and leans against the doorway, watching her play and allowing her a moment to enjoy herself. God knows she deserves it.

Venus radiates now, compared to the last few months. She never stopped dressing fashionably, but now she makes no effort to hide her face, so rescued from its mutilation by her recent resurrection. Her boots tower high, her jacket cutting across her waist to give her a flawless hourglass, her faux-fur parka hood framing the stylish new haircut and the complicated silk embroidery of her scarf.

She didn't even have to buy herself her own hot cider, or the muffin, for that matter. Someone at the cafe did it for her, and she had forgotten the privileges she received back when she was beautiful and famous, instead of scarred and infamous. She finds herself not wanting most of the muffin, as the fact that she has so reveled in her beauty recently makes her feel sick with herself.

She should not hinge so much of her life on what she sees in the mirror, and yet to move past what rebelling did to her doesn't mean she isn't still dedicated to rebellion at all. When she sees her face unmarked, she can pretend things will be okay in the end.

For her and the others.

She takes a look at the kid who beat her to the punch at fattening up the ducks. She knows the face but hasn't spoken to her yet, but Beth had told her something, something about this kid with such spunk and bravery as to become something of an urban legend among Tributes. Clementine's from Savannah.

"Hey, kiddo. Want to see if they like blueberry muffins as much as bread?"

It’s the question he’s been dreading – a knife-twist in the gut - and after a beat too long he remembers to try for a reassuring smile. It ends up pressing thin, pinching slightly, when he finds himself fighting to keep it from crumpling.

Clem had died. She had died scared and alone and she had every right to scream and pound his fists against him for trusting in him to keep her safe and being failed when he had made that split-second decision to send her down one of the forks in the hall.

But, predictably, she does nothing of these things. She’s too patient, too understanding. As if the regularity and impermanence of death here somehow takes the hurt and the meaning out of it and makes fuck-ups more permissible. He doesn’t know if having the chance to physically face the ones he let down is harder than knowing that so many of the people he did never had the luxury of coming back and being alive.

“I’m fine.” His voice cracks softly and he just nods as his throat thickens and aches, looking off to the side as if he’s expecting someone. Looking for a long time. Snow is beginning to fall gently. Life goes on.

“I jus’--” He huffs a soft laugh despite himself and shakes his head, not knowing what he’s trying to tell her. “M’glad you’re—“

He feels something suddenly crack inside him. Something heavy, as everything he has carried with him from the day he escaped the farm without his parents --

somethin's wrong with dad

-- things he's forced down for weeks, months, years, push back. He’s so tired. Too tired as they pull at him every which way and as his chest begins to tremble and heave and for a moment he can’t tell if his body is trying to laugh or to cry.

her head resting over his knee and his hand smoothing over her heaving side, tracing the jut of her ribs through thin, matted fur

it's okay, girl, shh, shh, it's okay
it's okay

But it’s suddenly harder to breathe and he can’t, he can’t look Clem in the eye anymore, can’t face the pity he’s sure he’ll find. He opens his mouth, tries to say something, his throat bobbing uselessly. And all he can do is make a little shuddering noise in his throat between a moan and a whimper before he turns away and around. He leans heavily against the nearest tree. Rests his head as the world spins round and round and closes his eyes, gasping, shaking. His teeth jammed together as he finally crumbles under the weight of it all.

Edited (I promise I'll leave this alone /runs ) 2015-01-14 06:09 (UTC)

It was cold. Cold, and yet in the few days Thorin had spent in the city, he has already managed to acquire a thick coat, lined with fur, much like the one he had lost in the battle against the dragon. His breath makes little clouds form in the cold air, and yet it is hardly any colder than winters would be, in the Blue Mountains.

The trip outside the Tribute Center, however, may have been a mistake. Not because of the weather, but rather everything else. The sheer difference of everything, starting from the buildings, the roads, even the people - it's stark, and it makes Thorin uneasy.

The park is different. There, at least, there is some familiarity in the growing things, the water, the sound of ducks... it is what makes Thorin turn, to watch the girl crouch down and feed the ducks that gather to her.

"That will only make them fat and unwilling to find their own food." It may seem like a kindness, to feed animals that are in the nature, and yet he thinks it isn't so.

Clementine hasn't really talked much to Sandy since the last Lonestar post went up on the network, because she couldn't stand by and see the girl she had once unwillingly killed and still, in some ways, wanted to be the friend of throw herself out to the wolves without support. It was hard though what with Pruna around, the girl had killed Clementine in the name of her own and Sandy's survival, she was someone Clem knew Sandy would stand by no matter what and there was still a core of anger she herself felt over the entire incident.

It wasn't directed at Sandy but it made her self-conscious of catching the other girl in the crossfire, that Clem might snap and direct that anger at her by association rather than the one it was meant for.

Well there was no avoiding it now.

"Hey Sandy." She replied, flicking another piece of bread at the ducks before looking up at Sandy from where she was crouched. Clementine's eyes flicked over her and she offered a small smile back, "Nice hat."

"Oh come on!" she grumbles as her kart is knocked spinning by some blue shell thing one of the computer characters fired. "I was winning, that's totally unfair."

Clementine pouts as three of the other racers pass her by before she manages to recover and get back into the race. It's the last lap and she quickly realises she's not going to recover first place before the finish line but at least she manages second. Still, she drops her controller in her lap and flops back against the sofa cushions with a dramatic groan -- which is when she catches sight of her visitor.

"Bruce!" in a second Clementine's scrambled up onto her feet, leaving the sofa to go meet him at the door. "Hi."

Her fingers are cold even through her little gloves as she works her way through the bread, grinning as the ducks squabble and one dunks itself in the icey water. She thinks she can see why Kenny and Katjaa had given Duck his nickname. It's hard to ever see a duck without thinking of the cheerful boy who'd been her friend for those first few months of the dead rising.

She really misses him sometimes, especially with the memory of Kenny fresh in her head.

It's good someone comes along before Clem can follow that thought too deeply to its depressing end. She looks up and, after a moment, politely smiles, recognising the lady in that same vague way she recognises a lot of Tributes that she's never spoken to before. "If they're anything like me, they will. Hi."

"You better tell that to all the other people who feed them too." Clementine replies before she looks up, tossing another piece of bread at the ducks as she does. It's a duckpond in a city, there's no way these ducks aren't getting fed all the time by humans, that's the privilege of being a city duck.

She looks up then, a smile playing on her lips to see her visitor and it's replaced by surprise because while she doesn't recognise him personally, she thinks she recognises what he is.

Once, many months back when Clementine first came to the Capitol, she met someone called Fili who looked just like this man did. He'd started to teach her how to throw knives and tell her about his brother and his people, then he hadn't come back after the arena. "Uh, hi."

The weather isn't so bad, Daryl thinks. After recent events within the arena, he's able to find a new appreciation in things as simple as the invigorating chill of the air surrounding him, stinging his skin as he steps out into it, a subtle reminder of still being alive and capable of feeling. Old habits die hard, and he's opted for layers of lighter clothing to keep warm — flannel shirt, his winged leather vest, a light coat buttoned up over top of everything — in a way that would undoubtedly make his district stylist cry. But that's the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

He's carrying an excited, wiggling puppy, and sets him down to try and wrestle a harness and leash onto him. The puppy has a sweet face with expressive eyes, floppy ears, a tail that's constantly in motion, and oversized paws hinting at what his adult size will be — a big dog better suited to loping around a farm chasing chickens rather than life in an apartment suite, and that's what makes him perfect for Beth. Daryl doesn't know whether the Greene farm ever did have any dogs, but that doesn't matter. The youngest Greene daughter is going to get one.

The puppy, however, has other thoughts. Upon spotting the nearby ducks waddling around the park, he's off like a shot, yipping and chasing them for all he's worth, dragging the leash behind him. Daryl easily catches up and steps on the end of the leash to keep the puppy from running too far off or hurting the birds, and that's when he notices Clementine with the bag of bread— oh. She must have been feeding the ducks.

"Sorry 'bout that," he says and directs a fond look toward the puppy, who's still bouncing around and trying his damnedest to reach the scattered, annoyed ducks. "Guess he thinks he's a huntin' dog."

"Some things like what?" Clementine decides to stand up, both to give herself a little more height on the noisy duck horde and see the stranger better. She drops a few more crumbs to keep the birds occupied. "Are you a Tribute?"

He looks a little more subdued than your average Capitolite did.

With a nod she holds out the bag to him, open so it would be easier for the man to grab himself a handful of bread. "Sure."

"Pretty tasty too, but I don't think anyone would be happy if we ate these ones." though these ducks were fat enough to feed a good few people. Maybe this was where all the Capitol restaurants got their supply of duck meat from.

"I've been okay." the reply is out of her mouth before she even thinks about it, an automatic response. A few seconds later and she knows it's a lie but doesn't correct herself, not yet anyway. "How have you been?"

It has happened to her before and it will probably happen again. Death has no permanence in this place, in a far healthier way than that meant back home. Clementine's died three times, come back three times and while she hates it so, so much, it's something she's adapted to the way people must if they're going to stay sane.

"... Luke? Luke?" she says his name, repeats it as she watches him. Clementine's eyes go a little wide with sudden worry, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she drops her bag of bread (immediately beset on by the ducks) and closes the distance that was left between them. "Luke! Hey, hey it's okay... it's..."

It's a lie, it's not okay, none of it is. It isn't natural what they go through, it's cruel and unfair. If they ever escaped their world it should be to go to one better, not one that is more or less just as bad in different ways.

Her throat tightens to see Luke this way, to know he's going to cry and break down in a way she'd never seen or imagined she would ever see from him. Not even when Carver had him at his mercy did Luke break.

The new memory stings a bit.

Instinct guides her actions, compulsive need to act as she darts forwards and throws her arms around Luke the best she can from his side. They wrap round his waist so Clem's face is pressed against his chest in an attempt to offer comfort.

The sound of a barking dog has Clementine freezing up a second, a painful twinge echoing through her left arm of an injury that the Capitol always takes care of everytime they bring her back. She likes dogs, she really does, but it was hard to forget the memory of one savaging her arm over an old can of beans.

These barks are far smaller than that of a dog Sam's size and when it comes haring into the herd of ducks, sending them scattering back to the safety of the water, she see's it's just a puppy and manages to swallow down the fear in her throat. It's just a puppy. She even smiles as it stops at the waters edge, barking in frustration at the ducks rudely swimming to the deeper water.

"Hey..." Clem starts to say to the dog as she stands up, but then she see's Daryl and there's a moment of surprise before she smiles at him. "He's your dog?"

"Yeah, they're pretty well-fed," he says lightly. "That's what happens when there's plenty of food to go around."

Well, relatively speaking. He gets the feeling things are different in the districts, though he's never seen for himself.

"I'm fine," he says automatically. Of course no one is really fine - how could they be? But what else is he supposed to tell this girl?

"That's what they tell me," he replied, smile turning a bit wry as he reached out to dip a hand into the bag and ripped off a few crusts. "Personally though, I like to call myself Maxwell."

A few of the more observant ducks noticed the exchange and quickly waddled over, feathered tails waving as they scrabbled about before him. One nibbled impatiently at a shiny stud on his boot.

He wagged it off gently and tossed a small piece of bread.

"This place is very different from where I'm from. A lot of what they have here I don't recognize by sight or sound..." The ducks piled on the crust and a victor emerged, swallowing it quickly while the rest of troop marched expectantly back to him. "But my mother kept doves. It's not quite the same, but still a bit more familiar."

Half-hiding behind a hand, Luke ducks his head, silent for as long as he can hold out until a sob punches its way out of his lungs, hot wetness finding the spaces between his fingers. The crunch of snow underfoot is a distant sound and he’s only dimly aware of when she edges closer, too focused on fighting to wrench back control of his body. Too busy trying to force the breath shivering in his throat to steady out while his chest jerks violently like something's kicking at him from the inside.

The weight of her head leaning lightly against his side and her arms carefully wrapping around him brings the park back into his awareness. Brings her back into his awareness, little by little, and he feels a fresh stab of self-consciousness.

buck up, man -- everyone's got problems

“Fuck –“ He croaks softly, shaking his head. His throat moves. “I'm sorry…”

He doesn't want to be anyone's burden. He doesn't want to be another one of hers. So he gives himself a moment longer to try and quietly piece himself back together, convinced he can do this on his own.

And all he can think about is the little crane she had folded for him the day he arrived – the one still on his nightstand beside the family photo that had found its way into his suite - when he decides to sink into a crouch and gently pull her close if she'll let him. Hugging her like she has deserved to be hugged for a long time.

Edited 2015-01-17 08:07 (UTC)

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 9

Come away little loss, come away to the water [open]

Park

park!

park

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

D6

Park

sorry, editing bug [cw: dying animal (not graphic)]

park

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

quack quack

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject