Nick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
streetsmarts) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-01-11 05:54 pm
streetsmarts) wrote in thecapitol2015-01-11 05:54 pm
Entry tags:
When you own the world, you're always home.
Who| Nick and OPEN
What| Fresh in from the zombie apocalypse.
Where| D7 suits, Commons bar, through the halls.
When| 11/01, ish.
Warnings| Sexual stuff in some of the threads.
It was over. Done. Done like dinner. After a goddamn marathon of bullshit, after continuous strife and disappointment, their asses were safe. That doesn't mean Nick isn't in a mild state of panic when he arrives. You spend a while attached at the hip with some mouthy assholes, you kind of notice the silence when they're gone. The fact that they'd come so far to be separated isn't as much of a relief as he'd thought it would be. He could use Rochelle to tell him to snap out of it right now, but instead he has weird looking guards devoid of emotional response regardless of his questions.
If they think he's bad, they should meet Ellis.
It becomes abundantly clear that this isn't some quarantine facility. This isn't the Thunderdome of the apocalypse, and somehow that makes it weirder. His chest is still tight with uncertainty and fear, but he hasn't really processed all of the information he's been spoon fed just yet.
D7 suites: It's hard to be angry when he's lead to the lavish suites and left the fuck alone. His grubby suit doesn't suit the fine decor, and that becomes abundantly clear as he catches his reflection in the reflective surface of a window. He visibly crinkles his nose, and he can't be looking anything but himself at this point.
"Rough.." He mutters, brushing off his front like it'll do him any good at this rate. Whatever. He's bone tired and the couch looks all too appealing, so he's sinking back onto it with his dirty shoes propped on the arm of it. He's already lounging around like he owns the place, but he couldn't care less about what anyone thinks. Hell, he hasn't seen anyone to be dismissive of yet. Not anyone who seems to care what he thinks, at least.
Lobby Bar: After lounging, Nick finds something to change into. He almost wants to keep his suit on for how little he wants to be caught dead in jeans and a button up, but the stink of months of fighting zombies is far more notable when you're removed from the situation.
He's had a shower, he's clean and he's ready to scope out what the Capitol has to offer. He's headed out to the streets when the bar catches the corner of his eye and well, one drink couldn't hurt, right? He makes his way to the bar and orders, and his desperation probably obvious from the way he slams the drink down. One drink becomes a couple and he's starting to become curious, he eyes people nearby and decides to approach them every so often.
"If you've been here longer than an hour, you could really put my mind at ease here." He says smoothly, trying to come off as someone in need of sympathy without compromising himself too much. "I'm having some technical difficulties here." He taps his head to demonstrate this. "Is it meant to come off like some weird fever dream? 'Cause I can't be sick. I use hand sanitizer religiously."
Through the halls: Now that he's had a few drinks, he figures he might leave wandering the Capitol for some other time. Instead, he'll work from the ground up. He pokes around the floors of the towers, but it's getting to be night and it's getting to be quiet. He's in his own head, mulling over how impossible all of this crap here, wondering where the other assholes got to and pretty much any sudden noise could have him lurching to the side. He reaches for a gun that isn't there before he forces himself to calm down, shoulders slumping a little when he does.
"I'm never gonna grow out of that." He groans mournfully, his heart still racing in his chest. He's going to be thinking about the Infected for a long, long time.
What| Fresh in from the zombie apocalypse.
Where| D7 suits, Commons bar, through the halls.
When| 11/01, ish.
Warnings| Sexual stuff in some of the threads.
It was over. Done. Done like dinner. After a goddamn marathon of bullshit, after continuous strife and disappointment, their asses were safe. That doesn't mean Nick isn't in a mild state of panic when he arrives. You spend a while attached at the hip with some mouthy assholes, you kind of notice the silence when they're gone. The fact that they'd come so far to be separated isn't as much of a relief as he'd thought it would be. He could use Rochelle to tell him to snap out of it right now, but instead he has weird looking guards devoid of emotional response regardless of his questions.
If they think he's bad, they should meet Ellis.
It becomes abundantly clear that this isn't some quarantine facility. This isn't the Thunderdome of the apocalypse, and somehow that makes it weirder. His chest is still tight with uncertainty and fear, but he hasn't really processed all of the information he's been spoon fed just yet.
D7 suites: It's hard to be angry when he's lead to the lavish suites and left the fuck alone. His grubby suit doesn't suit the fine decor, and that becomes abundantly clear as he catches his reflection in the reflective surface of a window. He visibly crinkles his nose, and he can't be looking anything but himself at this point.
"Rough.." He mutters, brushing off his front like it'll do him any good at this rate. Whatever. He's bone tired and the couch looks all too appealing, so he's sinking back onto it with his dirty shoes propped on the arm of it. He's already lounging around like he owns the place, but he couldn't care less about what anyone thinks. Hell, he hasn't seen anyone to be dismissive of yet. Not anyone who seems to care what he thinks, at least.
Lobby Bar: After lounging, Nick finds something to change into. He almost wants to keep his suit on for how little he wants to be caught dead in jeans and a button up, but the stink of months of fighting zombies is far more notable when you're removed from the situation.
He's had a shower, he's clean and he's ready to scope out what the Capitol has to offer. He's headed out to the streets when the bar catches the corner of his eye and well, one drink couldn't hurt, right? He makes his way to the bar and orders, and his desperation probably obvious from the way he slams the drink down. One drink becomes a couple and he's starting to become curious, he eyes people nearby and decides to approach them every so often.
"If you've been here longer than an hour, you could really put my mind at ease here." He says smoothly, trying to come off as someone in need of sympathy without compromising himself too much. "I'm having some technical difficulties here." He taps his head to demonstrate this. "Is it meant to come off like some weird fever dream? 'Cause I can't be sick. I use hand sanitizer religiously."
Through the halls: Now that he's had a few drinks, he figures he might leave wandering the Capitol for some other time. Instead, he'll work from the ground up. He pokes around the floors of the towers, but it's getting to be night and it's getting to be quiet. He's in his own head, mulling over how impossible all of this crap here, wondering where the other assholes got to and pretty much any sudden noise could have him lurching to the side. He reaches for a gun that isn't there before he forces himself to calm down, shoulders slumping a little when he does.
"I'm never gonna grow out of that." He groans mournfully, his heart still racing in his chest. He's going to be thinking about the Infected for a long, long time.
no subject
"I am a 'Tribute', as they say, which I believe I can rightly guess is a title you also have been given."
no subject
"Dragged off? You run errands in your spare time or something?" God, he hopes that doesn't apply to all Tributes. He hates doing stuff, especially for other people. "It's the fanciest word I ever heard for cage-fighter, that's for sure." He snorts to himself. "Guess that makes us roomies, then. Sure hope we aren't sharing bunks here." He pauses for a moment before adding, "No offense."
no subject
He raises an eyebrow to the last, and smirks. "I play much harder to get than that, I assure you. But no - we have our own separate quarters. The bathroom - the wonder of the 'modern age' that it is, is shared, but I'm sure you'll be able to find a time to secure it solely for yourself, as you so obviously require." He paused, then smiled. "No offense."
no subject
Dorian gets an unimpressed look for.. basically everything he just said. Still, somewhere under those frown lines he's pretty amused by the banter, he even huffs out a sound that could be a laugh.
"Last I heard, you thought I was goddamn beautiful." Not quite what he said, but Nick hears what he wants to hear. "Whatever, man. Did you just call a bathroom modern, Renaissance?" It's about time he let his curiosity get the better of him.
no subject
"A little polish never hurts anyone," he easily returns, a smile flickering over his lips. The word Renaissance means nothing to him - or, at least, not what it means to Nick - but the sentiment is familiar enough for him to understand it.
"The technology surrounding the lavatory was no where near as advanced in Thedas," He admitted. "I think if I ever manage to return, a shower is what I will miss from here the most." He said it with a wistful sigh.
no subject
Misunderstandings aside, he narrows his eyes at Dorian for the quip and fixates more heavily on what he says next. "Are you telling me these chimps have mastered time travel and they're wasting it bringing in sleazeballs to beat up on each other?" It's like this country is run by.. Well. Him. But also a bunch of moron teenagers. "Trust me, they aren't in abundance in the future. That's the only reason I look like this." He gestures over his filthy self again, like Dorian hasn't acknowledged the fact that he looks like crap several times already.
no subject
"If they've truly mastered time travel, I believe we have more to worry about than our resident sleazeballs," he murmurs wryly. I know you are but what am I? That last bit catches his interest, however. "You're from a future further from this one? From this world, or another?"
no subject
"Sure, but if I think too much about the bigger picture here I'm gonna need a drink and a cigarette." It's hard to imagine things were simpler back home, but the established dangers of this situation are harder to fight than the infected.
"Uh, no. My bad. I meant future from you. We have showers, but we sure as hell don't have half the fancy crap they got here. Then again, last I saw it was all going to shit anyway." He shrugs apathetically. "Guess it took a turn for the better." So much better.
no subject
He knew more than most about time travelling to distopias.
"I am fairly sure, however, that this world is in no future of mine, unless so distant as to no longer matter."
no subject
"Are you telling me they get people in from other worlds? Like space? I mean, you ain't no dollface, but you're not exactly E.T either. The last thing I wanna hear about is fucking aliens."
no subject
"Space?" Aliens? He could make very little sense of it - who was E.T? - so he just shook his head. "I could not tell you. All I know is that this is not Thedas, and most here haven't even heard of it, let alone lived there."
no subject
no subject
"I am quite human, I assure you," He said, his moustache twitching as he quirked a smile. "Not that I can say the same of all my companions, nor do I see why it should matter."
no subject
"Alright, so they make humans where you're from, but some of you. Aren't." That is the weirdest thing he's ever said. "I dunno. Never seen anything that wasn't a human or an infected." He pauses. "Other than animals, obviously. So when you say not human.." He trails off, shooting him a curious look.