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
He sounds a little frantic. "So he was here before and now he's just.. Gone? Gone for good? Like he wasn't even here?" There's no way to confirm or deny that it was actually Ellis, but he's lost interest in the story of the mildly coherent zombie for now.
no subject
"He was here, cap and means on talking different as them of panem," He says, slow and placating, but still enough as the details is getting out. "HE GOT HIS ASS GONE, CAPITOL DON'T KEEP NO SIGNS OF MOTHERFUCKERS LOST. Our place of stay gets easy replacing. MIGHT BRING THE MOTHERFUCKER BACK BUT THEY MIGHT ALL NOT. It's all by whim and what they want at to do. BY WHAT GETS OF MEANING TO MOTHERFUCKING ENTERTAIN. Ain't no knowing yet if at our returns be marked of going back to our world or staying proper dead. SORRY."
no subject
So it's easy, in a way, to detach from it. Nick hisses a sigh out through his teeth, shaking his head as he does before simply shrugging. "It is what it is." And it's his problem, not something he's getting into with a stranger. "I bet you get used to it around here." It's phrased like a question, even if it's a statement, and he cocks a brow at Initiate.
no subject
But he can get sympathies up and on. Get work wicked respects and all. Especially if a brother's going to be taking it so well as he seems to be. And he can answer simple question as that.
"You do," He says." IN A WAY. Depends on who and how you is. BUT IF YOU GOT STRENGTH FOR BEARING YOU'LL GET ON THE MOTHERFUCK BY. Especially if you ain't got no attachments done too strong, though I'd not advise going without entire. CAPITOL WANTS DRAMATIC NOISE AS TO BE GETTING CLAMOR UP OVER. More you got, more you stay." No, not keeping for anyone so simple as 'nicety' or 'sanity'. He's not that naive for that working on others.
no subject
"Yeah, I heard they want a show. They want the whole damn sundae bar here." He shakes his head. "I got acting experience in spades. Guess the only other thing I got to worry about is guys your size." He offers Initiate a half-hearted smirk. He knows he said he's the tallest guy here, but he can't help making a joke. "You ain't so bad, pal. I run into you? I probably won't run you through with whatever pointy thing I get my hands on. Alright?" It's a risky claim to make, but he's so relieved to talk to someone who isn't full of shit that he's willing to grant him that much.
The way he talks annoys him, but what he's saying doesn't. He can respect that.
no subject
Motherfucker's a joker. He grins back and he can't help laughing over his so very merciful maybe-sparing.
"CALLED THE INITIATE," He says. "And yeah, sounds as like a deal good what I could be sticking by. THANKS UPON THE GENEROSITY BESTOWED, BROTHER. You work them acting skills of yours, you're gonna be fuckin set, you is."
no subject
He scoffs at the response and he nods, stepping back from Initiate as he talks. "You better hope you're right, buddy. Else I'm gonna be real pissed." He turns fully now, starting off down the hallway for any lone District Seven Escort to find him.