I've been walkin' the streets at night

[fuckitall]

Who| Nick, Grantaire, Nill, castmates and anyone else!
What| Nick's still pretty bitter about the arena. There are lots of ways to cope!
Where| Training Center, rooftop, bar, here and there
When| Sometime after Arena 12, day/evening varies
Warnings| Mentions of violence that occurred in the arena



Training Center, castmates and anyone else

He never cared about going to the gym much back when his world was still normal. And when it became a living hell, running away from lurkers had been the best form of fear driven exercise.

Getting into shape isn't exactly the first thing on his mind as to why he's here though. Despite the talks and moments of catching up with those he could after the arena, his emotions still feel raw. He's still angry at himself for not being able to do more, still angry that he's brought back only to see people suffer fates they don't deserve.

And they all have to do it again and again. There will probably never be a point in his life now where he can stop and think life ain't so bad. Life ain't fair, he gets it. If only everything in the god damn universe would quit reminding him so much in the worse ways possible.

He only just realizes how white his knuckles are and unclenches his fist, making his way towards the training dummies with a steel baton in his other hand. He can hone his skills with ranged weapons later. Right now, he just needs to let out all this pent up frustration and disappointment in himself in the healthiest way he can think of: beating the ever living shit out of this dummy.

"Fuck you," he huffs after a hard swing before following up with one after each uttered word. "Fuckin'. Piece. Of. Shit."

Useless.

Luke

Lying in a soft bed has been a comfort Nick learns to never take for granted, but lately he hasn't been able to pull the blanket over himself without imagining lurkers or aliens popping out of nowhere in front of him the second he pulls the covers off. Needless to say, sleep isn't going to come to him easily any time soon. He's still stuck in this nightmare after all.

He hasn't seen Luke since the end of the arena. He doesn't know what to say. Maybe Luke's feeling something similar along the likes, since he hasn't heard from him either. Knowing Luke, he's probably keeping to himself just as Nick is doing right now. But he's been feeling this distance between them for a while. This distance that only closes in moments where Luke isn't acting like a leader whether the circumstances permit him or not.

One thing he does know is that Luke can't shoulder all this burden himself. Is Luke worried that Nick would think less of him if he tells him that? Does Luke think he blames him for what happened?

He slowly sits up from the bed, running one hand down his face while fumbling with the communicator with the other. If Luke's blaming himself for any of this, Nick needs to let him know that it isn't his fault. He sends Luke a ping, feeling the anxiety creeping along his throat.

"...Luke?"

The park, open

Spending hours beating the shit out of things at the Training Center certainly helps, but it can only do so much for the moment and not much else when the moment's over. And for some reason, he doesn't feel the slightest tired. Even if he was, he can't bring himself to sleep for no more than an hour.

For now he'll make do with his guitar. It calms him down, keeping him grounded. Even if he played angrily, which he has done more than a few occasions, he can do it without the shame if it's through music.

He spends a little time wandering around for a while before finally finding a bench that faces away from most of the foot traffic. He plucks the strings and tunes the guitar accordingly. It takes a couple of random strums before he lets his fingers finally decide on a song. He doesn't sing the lyrics despite knowing them. Instead, he whistles an accompaniment to the tune. Eventually the whistling dies down and he just lets his fingers glide along, for once not caring about screwing up a note or missing it entirely. He's too busy staring ahead at the trees ahead of him, reminiscent of days at the park back home or exploring the woods.

Grantaire

The bartender working practically knows Nick's face by now. At least, from what he can tell anyway from the look he gets and the following head shake. As usual, Nick responds to that with his order along with a flippant eye roll. He takes his seat at a corner stool, his preferred place to sit mostly so he could lean against the wall or some sense of bullshit security he can't explain while sober. Drinking with Beth earlier was nice, but tonight is the night where he intends to go all out.

He's not even halfway done with his glass of whiskey, but he's already ordered another.

Nightmares aren't coming to him tonight.

Nill

Nick had only seen Nill in the arena as a portrait painted by the stars. Before that, they only had what Nick recalls as one of the first decent conversations he had since his arrival here. They've only spoken that one time but in the end he decided that Nill's good in his book. It's not often he feels safe enough to talk without feeling like he's being judged for it. He hasn't forgotten that and deeply regrets not trying harder to seek her out in the arena.

The guilt just keeps growing the more he thinks about it. Even if he does find her on the rooftop, he's not even sure if she wants to see anyone. He'd understand if she doesn't, but he wants to let her know that her patience and willingness to listen isn't going to be overlooked.

These two packs of cigarettes he bought might not cut it, he thinks.

Comments

[burningdaylight]

The message awaits Luke when he returns from a long walk through the park to shake off the cobwebs in his head, mildly surprising him. He isn't much in the habit of using his communicator but he recognizes its usefulness for touching base with others -- particularly when face-to-face conversations are inconvenient for one reason or another. Just like owning a smartphone all over again. And just like with his smartphone, his responses via the communicator aren't the most prompt. Not so bad as to leave Nick hanging for days, though; there aren't any distractions of the romantic sort sucking his attention into a vacuum. And times have changed and changed them with it, shifting their priorities.

Luke shakes and hangs his bomber jacket on the back of a chair and claws off his equally wet, snow-crusted hat and scarf before sitting on the edge of his bed with his device, idly scrolling down screens and delaying the inevitable for a half-minute longer. Then he readies his answer and sends it off.

"Hey Nick. Sorry for the hold up." He's flushed, his skin prickling as it thaws. His combs his fingers through hat-mussed hair as if self-conscious, brows lifting a touch at the screen and a measure of concerned curiosity edging into his voice. "What's goin' on?" The elephant in the room aside, of course.

[fuckitall]

Nick runs a towel through his hair, no longer greasy after the proper shower he just had. Waiting for a response from Luke isn't anything new, but the anxiety is still there. He never thought he'd miss those moments with him sitting at home, sending Luke a text only to wait hours later to get a response that he was with a date. He'd rather have that than the reality they're facing now, but life is never that kind.

When the communicator beeps, he slings the towel around his broad shoulders to answer. "Nothin' much." His eyes land on the scar on his neck in the mirror and he move the towel over to cover it like a scarf. He wonders if Luke saw. "Just sittin' here and all."

So much to ask, but everything's too sensitive to say over a monitored call. Luke's better at playing an act than he is too, so he tells himself to better get to the point before blurting out something dumb.

"Think we could...well, you look like you just came from somewhere so - "

Fuck. He should've thought this through.

"...can we meet up? I can head over to your place." And he could use a walk himself.

[burningdaylight]

There'd have been no dancing around it much longer -- a meet-up was bound to happen. And despite the cameras tucked into nearly every corner of the Capitol, he has to admit that it feels marginally more uncomfortable dredging up and airing matters out entirely over the communicator instead of engaging each other in person.

All in his mind, he muses.

It doesn't take a friendship of twenty years to sense the great restraint Nick is exercising and all Luke can do is try to swallow back the sigh gathering in his chest, convinced it'd be analyzed to death otherwise. They didn't need an argument before they had even breached the subject of the arena and the damage it has wrought.

"Sure, man." He takes a moment to scrub tiredly at his face instead. Remembering after the fact, with a twinge in his gut, that the gesture is caught on-screen. "If you want a beer, though, you're gonna have to bring your own." It's an attempt at levity accompanied by the beginnings of a smile ghosting the edges of his lips. How successful it is is to be determined -- but either way it's something. And it takes more out of him than he imagined it would. So much more than he'd readily admit.

God -- he just wants to be normal again. He just wants to push on.

[fuckitall]

They all learned the hard way that nothing is normal anymore. Nick had accepted that a long time ago as much as it killed him on the inside to do so. Now here, they're pressured to put up an act for the sake of amusement. If it weren't for the risk of getting the others into trouble, Nick would flip off all the cameras he has come across so far.

He's had more than enough practice with keeping himself together living under Carver's regime at least. But this world is just different enough for him to be worried that one of them might lose it one day, and as much as he wants to believe otherwise, he's afraid that Luke may reach that point soon.

"Sure thing." He hasn't done his liver much favors lately, though Luke probably could use something anyway. "You brought some last time, after all. See ya."

He lets out a sigh of his own as he ends the call, getting up to grab his coat.

About fifteen minutes later, he shows up outside Luke's door and knocks. Time to cut the silence.

[burningdaylight]

To say that Luke has been doing his homework is an understatement. Since the arena’s end he has thrown himself that much more into planning and research, viewing and reviewing a wealth of footage on Jennifer’s recommendation and penning down notes and relevant time-stamps, sometimes well into the small hours of the morning. Whatever it took to quiet the chatter in his mind enough to sleep.

They all had their ways of coping.

Luke is hunched at his desk over his communicator and an open notepad again when the knock snaps him into awareness, his gut clenching at the sound. He scribbles down the rest of his thought before clicking his pen and tossing it between the pages. And his insides only wind tighter as he pads to the door and unlocks it, drawing it open carefully as if he isn’t sure what he’ll find.

In all fairness, he doesn’t know. They’re looking at each other – taking each other in – for the first time since the xenomutt had wrenched Nick away from him and he feels his ribcage shrink around his lungs, squeezing. His mouth opens but it’s a moment before he can work his voice from the tangle in his throat.

“Hey,” He tries, lamely. It hangs heavy in the air. And he stands there a half-beat too long in the awkwardness it leaves behind - head dipping slightly and an uneasy thinning of his lips - before stepping aside, mutely welcoming him inside. There isn’t much to see right away other than the steady accumulation of crumpled cans littering his desk. But further off, on the nightstand, are a gently-creased family photo and origami crane. The only personal touches to a place much too large and lavish for his tastes.

[weaintashes]

Daryl has ulterior motives for haunting the Training Center. It's where all the good weapons are — not that he hasn't already improvised some perfectly functional, makeshift ones by this point, but if he can ever figure out a safe way to pilfer some of these, needless to say, he'll do it. Until then, there's no harm in actually making use of the place while familiarising himself with the layout of the room, the security. The other Tributes who frequent it.

There's just something about having a crossbow in his hands again that makes him feel more at ease. He'd prefer his own, but beggars can't be choosers. In truth, he's barely paying much mind to his targets after a while, more concerned about the increasingly violent breakdown that's occurring over yonder. Probably best to steer clear of it, but...

The choice had already been made back in the arena, when he hadn't been able to turn a blind eye to someone in need. Someone who had repaid him by helping to preserve that fragment of his humanity that would've been lost, had he succeeded in killing Luke. They have unfinished business.

He waits until Nick's expended a fair amount of energy and pent up aggression before drawing a little closer to him. He's approaching from the side, so he'll be in range of Nick's peripheral vision and ideally not startle him.

"Nick." His voice is low, but not so quiet that it can be easily ignored.

[fuckitall]

Nick swings and swings, one for every flash of regret from moments where he wished he never hesitated and others where he wished he had stopped to think. The thought of whether or not he could repeat this same level of brutality on an actual person, like what Kenny did to Bill, isn't on his mind right now. There are no faces on his target, just bad bad memories.

Hearing Daryl say his name slows him to a stop. The muscles in his arms feel tight and his breathing is deep. He's nowhere near tired.

But the look he gives Daryl is one of exhaustion, not too different from when they met each other the second time in the arena.

"What?"

[weaintashes]

There's no sense in wasting either of their time with pointless small talk or skirting around the issue at hand; Daryl's too pragmatic for it. So without any preamble, he says, "What I did to you in that arena — weren't right. And 'm sorry for it."

Of all the times he could've approached Nick about this, doing so when the other man's blood is already up may not have been the wisest decision, but it is what it is. He doesn't know what Nick's usual habits are or even his district, which would make tracking him down a bit difficult. And he'd rather keep Beth out of this, so asking her wouldn't have been an option.

"I also ain't keen to be lookin' over my shoulder here any more than I need to," he continues after a moment of thought. The offer he's about to make is one he'd decided on before running into Nick, but the words accompanying it are unpractised. He's winging it. "You want blood for what I did to you, you can take it. Then we're even."

The crossbow has already been set aside. He doesn't know Nick's true character, and he's fully prepared to make good on his offer, here and now. Best to get the matter settled before it has a chance to create any trouble for Beth or Rick down the line, which it undoubtedly would if anyone gets it in their head to seek vengeance against Daryl for his mistake in the arena.

[fuckitall]

Most of the time, crazy makes things crazier. But what Daryl just suggested as a way to make up for what happened sounds so nuts in Nick's mind that it grounds him back to reality. Usually his outbursts are met with a lecture or some sort, telling him how he ought to act instead of being the imperfect human being he is.

But instead of a lecture, he gets Daryl offering himself to be a target just like that? It makes no sense to him at all. He wonders why Daryl doesn't try going to Luke instead if he hasn't already. Nick knows that Luke wouldn't be for that at all. What makes Daryl think Nick would want to? Kenny was able to beat Bill's face in with a crowbar and walk out like it didn't bother him. How long would it take for him and Luke to end up in such a dark place in their minds where they could do something like that with a straight face?

He looks down at the baton in his hands and suddenly develops the urge to chuck the thing across the room. The whole idea of "an eye for eye" can be such utter bullshit sometimes and this moment is one of those times. "And then we'd both get in trouble with the peacekeepers. I ain't gonna make things worse for all of us just 'cause you said it's fine."

Beating the crap out of Daryl won't do anyone good, just as his assault on Luke in the arena didn't benefit anyone but the Capitol audience.

"And yeah," bringing them back to the first thing he said. "It wasn't right, but I get it." He's not going to forget that Daryl's capable of killing someone whether he's doing it out of grief or something else. He'll definitely never forget that the horrifying alternative of Luke ending up dead by Daryl's hands could've been a possibility. Clementine could've died because of him when they all thought she was bitten. And she forgave him, showed him an understanding he hadn't seen much from anyone else. The circumstances are different, but the lines blur enough for him to understand where Daryl came from.

He's still angry at himself and the Capitol for putting them all through this. The baton has lost its appeal though.

"'Sides, Beth wouldn't want that." Neither does he.

[permets_tu]

Grantaire has developed a distrust for whiskey. Ah, but that is inaccurate, and unfair to the drink. He has developed a distrust for whiskey drinkers and he makes a point of regarding the stranger at the bar with a healthy amount of suspicion. This does not stop him from taking a seat beside him and after a moment of internal debate he elects an ale, wraps his lips around the bottle, and looks at the man beside him as he drink.

He does not drink the whiskey with the same control that Tom had. This man throws himself into it like someone who needs it, this is not drinking done as a pleasurable past time. Grantaire relaxes.

"Save yourself some time and demand the whole bottle."

[fuckitall]

Grantaire's presence is noted, with Nick in the middle of downing the entire glass before speaking. "Hey man, don't tell me what to do."

That would be the smart thing to do...to just buy a bottle or two and drink himself silly in the privacy of his room. He's too sober to admit it out loud to anyone, much less a stranger, but drinking here? It feels a lot less lonely, even if he never intended to speak to anyone around.

It's contradictory and dumb and he feels even dumber when he recognizes the guy. He had seen his face a projection in the sky and when the image becomes clearer in his head, he looks down at his empty glass.

"Sorry." Best to apologize now before he loses himself to booze. "Everything's just been shitty, you know?"

[permets_tu]

Grantaire's lips twitched though his eyes remained tired. He laughed softly a moment later when the stranger unexpectedly apologized. He has been told to mind his own business before in the past, plenty of times in fact, and though some of those retorts had been genuinely meant others had been like this one, a moment of lashing out giving way to a desire to commiserate miserably with whomever might humor them.

Grantaire was adept at playing both roles, when the mood suited, though he was by no means a silent drinking partner.

"It is worthy of a bottle," he said. "Or two. Enough to forget our sorry circumstance. I like your method of managing, I share the inclination." The moment he had woken again in the Capitol, alive and unnaturally well, he had drowned himself in the nearest bottle he could find, waking hours later with an unbearable pounding in his head, a suitable distraction from the memories of his most recent death.

"To your health," he said, raising his bottle, his smile thin.

[fuckitall]

Maybe it's the booze settling in but Nick realizes that he sort of has to pay attention to the guy in order to understand him properly. There's no guarantee because he's still looking to get smashed, but maybe he'll go for a beer next.

"Hah, sure." If only he knew about Nick's condition. Or maybe he does and is trying to make a joke about being infected. From the look on his face, it doesn't seem that way though. "You too," he says while raising his glass with a nod before finishing it.

He lets out a satisfied sigh at the warmth, setting the glass down. "Come to think of it, I think I've seen you around." Nick's been a regular here, but he almost never goes out of his way to make conversation.

Park

[on_fire]

The guitar pulled her in. It reminded her of home, a simpler sound moving among the trees. This was where Katniss went when she was restless, too, and she found herself glad that others had discovered it.

Usually, she was fiercely defensive of places she considered "hers" but this was something she liked finding other people in. Sharing this area seems right, some how.

Plus she's just not sure how she feels about the idea of claiming any part of the Capitol as hers. It was bad enough feeling relief to be 'home' in the tribute center.

"It's beautiful." She said softly.

[fuckitall]

The trees make it feel like a gilded cage of anything, but it's is a nice change from the rooftop, Nick thinks. It's still tough to shake off the old habit of darting his eyes around to make sure there aren't any lurkers in the distance. But if there's anything Nick's first arena experience has taught him, it's that there are worse things out there than flesh eating dead things.

That thought brings back the experience of claws digging through his legs and pulling him back as he tries to yell for Luke to run but he could only scream instead before it all went black for him.

He fumbles with the strings then, eyes blinking when he realizes there's another person with him. So much for keeping his eyes forward.

He nearly asks her 'what is?' before remembering just what he was doing while running auto-pilot. "Oh, uh. Thanks," he takes the chance to run a hand down his face, as if to do away with the nightmare. "Kinda fucked up a few times, but it's a nice song."

The girl's face is familiar, though not one he recognizes from the arena.

[on_fire]

"What's the song called?"

She was already turning the melody over in her head, trying it out. Hearing it in her father's gentle voice. It was how melodies settled into her brain.

"You're a tribute, right?"

His face looked familiar, but more than that, he didn't look like he belonged in this city. Nobody held themselves like that without having been afraid.

[fuckitall]

"Patience by Guns n' Roses." It's not exactly something to play to hype a crowd, but it works for when he wants time alone. Company is fine too, if it's good. He's not sure where this conversation could go the moment she asks about him being a tribute, he can't help but let his face fall.

"...yeah." He tries not to scowl, at least, not before finding out where she could be getting at. "So what?"

lord I am late, sorry about that

[reassures]

Luckily for Nill in this regard, she died near the end of week two. It's a far cry from surviving to the end, and in a way that may have been better for her. She hadn't spent her time in the best ways since she woke up outside the Arena, but as more people died and came back, it gave her the time she needed, and the motivation to drag herself out more. Other people needed help, and she needed to not linger on the Arena more. Not her time in it, anyway.

But being so intent to watch most of the Arena, she'd nearly run out of cigarettes, and hadn't gone out to get more for worry she'd miss something important. She's down to her last pack, but it's not often that she smokes in the daylight hours anyway. This time of day Nill tries to look after the plants, even if she doesn't need to, and when Nick wanders up to the roof she's busy trying to pull a stubborn weed out ground that has gotten cold enough to make the task difficult.

Not at all! It's all good. c:

[fuckitall]

It doesn't take long for him to spot her and it's good that she's here. Nick doesn't consider himself much of a smoker but if he hadn't found her, he might have just sat up here and use up a whole box himself. (Their bodies apparently "reset" after every arena anyway. So who cares, right?)

"Hey, Nill. I brought somethin' for you." He says as he arrives at her side, feeling too awkward to smile. He's glad he's got his coat on because it's been cold out. Out of his pocket, he pulls out the two boxes of cigarettes and holds them to her along with a lighter.

"For last time."

[reassures]

Nill only really spoke to Nick once before the Arena, but she'd certainly enjoyed his company enough at the time. Even having enjoyed it, she never actually expected anything from him. Why would she?

A small smile spreads across her face when he comes up beside her, though it morphs into something more politely confused. He had something to give her? Why? Nill blinks, her wings fluttering against her back, and her expression shifts again into surprise. He'd actually brought her cigarettes?

The smile returns, and Nill takes a moment to brush some of the dirt off her hands before grabbing her notebook.

thank you.
would you like one?

She takes the boxes then, tucking one into a pocket on her coat, before taking the wrapping off the other so she can pull one out and offer it to him. she's gonna have one too, of course.

[fuckitall]

Nick knows it's weird, he's just hoping that it doesn't come off as weird. He's been used to living with so little that he's grown to not take the small things for granted. He remembers being back at the warehouse, where Sarah would approach him every now and then to ask if he was all right. Others have asked him but usually with another motive, as if to also ask if he was going to blow up or something. Sarah was one of the last few people he knew who asked because she cared to know.

So the little gestures do matter to him a great deal, even if it probably doesn't to someone else, he can at least let them know. For a moment he appears uncertain, but the smile from Nill leaves him feeling relieved.

"I'm good, thanks. It's all yours." He got them for her after all, and she might need them more than he does. He's less of a smoker compared to his uncle. Hell, he's barely a smoker himself. "I'm pretty sure I haven't been doin' my body any favors lately anyway."

Not that it matters, all things considered but even he's reached the point of drinking where he knows when to slow down. He goes over to take a seat at one of the nearby benches, figuring to give her some time to smoke the first one.

... I'm sorry. I am the latest ever.

[rictator]

It was a fluke that he'd ended up there at all; the gym had never exactly been Rick's ideal hangout. It had always been Shane who'd dragged him there, from high school right on through their years in the academy. There'd been those odd few evenings, left with nowhere else, he'd taken refuge there when things were on the rocks with Lori. Working out was usually pretty far from his mind, and with how things had been since the turn, that wasn't likely to change. Living life, surviving day to day, he was as fit as he'd ever need to be.

In the end, the draw had been the assortment of weaponry, for as much use as it would prove within the bounds of the city. The Peacekeepers weren't fool enough to leave them anything that might tip the scales - for however many Rick managed to take down, he'd wind up dead and their forces would be none the worse for it. Still, it was something to mentally file away as he continued his exploration of the tower, as it shouldn't be too hard to slip out something small.

He'd been considering the smaller blades when the noise of the baton had become too much to ignore.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Nick, though Rick couldn't really claim to know him. The arena wasn't the place to get to know anyone, and given the events leading up to their brief encounter, they were lucky things had ended on a peaceful note at all; whether Daryl had been right, wrong, or completely out of line in attacking Luke, Rick would have had his back had they tried to escalate things.

He knew he ought to let it go. Involving himself with the other tributes would just complicate matters; at one point in his life, there wasn't a force on earth that would have held him back, ever one to charge in to help those in need, even at the cost of himself and his own group. It had been a lesson hard learned, the way paved with loss and betrayal. Randall, Andrew, Axel and Oscar. Now, with the Capitol pitting them against one another, the odds of things getting twisted were higher than ever.

"Might want to ease up a bit." He'd given him a fairly wide berth, if only so he didn't get caught in the crossfire.

Perhaps it was because he'd been down that road. He had an intimate understanding of what it could do when you bottled your aggression, and how lethal it could prove when you broke that seal. When he'd first arrived, he'd barely contained his own ineffective rage, torn yet again from his family and thrown into another new world. If anyone could understand that sort of violent frustration, it was Rick.

"You alright?"

No need to apologize <3

[fuckitall]

Rick's presence is noted, but Nick doesn't respond until after he delivers another swipe to the mannequin's neck.

"Probably not," he answers with a mumble, knuckles white from grasping the baton for too long and hard.

His body may be intact again, but nobody should go through having their flesh torn apart twice in their lives and still be living. He still has the scars on his neck from his first experience with death while his abdomen shows no evidence of having been eviscerated in the arena. He feels nothing more like a husk with the sole purpose to entertain sick folks who enjoy watching people die over and over. It would be a slight easier of a pill to swallow if this place had been for people who have done shitty things in their lives, but there are those here who deserve far better than this. He remembers his talk about that with Venus within the first week of his arrival here.

He's just going to have to deal, just like with everything else. He doesn't know Rick past his name and his association with Daryl and Beth. Things still had been too tense for them to exactly work together without feeling uncertain in trusting one another. He tries not to think about that too much as he continues with his answer.

"But I got stitched up for a second time." Like a rag doll. He chuckles at that as he loosens his grip on the baton, looking at it instead of at Rick. He's far from wanting to smile. "So I guess I am "alright" for someone who should've been dead a long time ago."

[rictator]

"Yeah."

He didn't have to know Nick that well to know that physically alright didn't mean a whole hell of a lot anymore. Rick could safely say that this had been the first time he'd died, but temporary as it was, he still wasn't eager for the inevitable encore. Surviving physical hardship undoubtedly took strength, but the scars left by the emotional trauma... it took its toll. He'd borne the weight of both, and in the end, it was always the mental wounds that took the longest to heal.

Footage from the previous arena had been everywhere, but outside of that first brief scene he'd caught with Daryl, Rick had chosen to ignore it. Watching people, watching friends be murdered for entertainment was not something he needed, regardless of the 'edge' it might have given him in the next round. Beth had been one of those people. Nick's friend, Luke. It might have even helped him to understand the specifics of what Nick was going through now, but in the end, that wasn't his business to know. They weren't toys, no matter what the Capitol thought.

"Alive doesn't have to mean alright. All things considered, pretty sure most of us aren't."

He wasn't. He'd just become so used to bottling it up and shoving it away, it was all he could do anymore.

He shifted his weight back to his other hip, considering for a long moment. It wasn't his place to step in here, and in the end, he wouldn't have been all that effective anyway. They were barely an inch from strangers, and what they did know of each other only added to the tension - but that sort of rage... It wouldn't take him anywhere good. Not here, and not back home.

"Look, I'm not gonna pretend to know you, but it seems like you got friends who care. You're better off talkin' to them than dealing with it this way."

i hope this is ok fnsjdknfa

[fuckitall]

"Then what the hell are you doin' here?"

The smartass retort comes fast with a scowl that clearly has been used more often than he means to. His bark is transparent at best, having been so used to enduring the lectures on how to deal with his emotions from Pete and even Luke. It's different for Nick, different enough for him to feel doubtful that Rick will understand. You don't forget the feeling of being bit the first time. And unfortunately, the one friend that Nick has so many things left to say to is too preoccupied with finding his own distractions. Knowing Luke too, he's probably working on some way or plan to better their situation in some way, or maybe even find a way out of this place. Nick wishes he could do the same, to have that drive to just keep moving.

On the other hand, Luke's probably not faring that much better. He's always been better at keeping his feelings under the carpet, unlike Nick.
"Y'know what...I take back what I said earlier. Bein' alive was somethin' we used to be before the world went to shit." Nick doesn't feel the need to clarify to Rick what he's referring to there. He whirls around to give the training dummy another hit to the side. The more he thinks about it, the harder it is for him to keep the words in, so he just keeps talking, delivering slow but hard hits to the dummy.

"When it did, we were just 'surviving.' That was all we've been doin'. Just 'getting by' ain't the same as feelin' alive."

He finally stops beating the thing as he lets out a defeated sigh, shoulders hunched over and still not facing Rick. He had said something similar to Clementine a while ago, but this time he doesn't have the alcohol to numb it out. Bottling up all the frustration and anger works for him only so, so long. He doesn't feel alive, let alone 'alright' and this barely applies to what happened in the arena. That's another can of worms he doesn't want opened.