thecapitol | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who| Alpha and OPEN
What| Alpha's pissy and drinking.
Where| A bar, quiet and focused on drinking.
When| Post Arena, Pre-Lockdown
Warnings/Notes| Standard Alpha warnings, in particular homicidal thoughts, otherwise none so far.

There was a part of Alpha, a few parts actually, that were starting to suspect that the Games were all some big plot to humiliate him for all to see. It would explain a lot. He pondered this possibility darkly, along with the problem of Ballard, not to mention the problem of Howard.

And, as always, the ever-present issue of not being where he needed to be. These problems and more, since multi-tasking was a necessary skill of Alpha's, he considered while he sat at the bar in the first dive he could find where nobody would bother him for autograph's or what have you, nursing a tumbler and glaring moodily at the rows of bottles on the wall.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Nope. Never met him before."

He eyed Alpha warily over his glass. "Um...what kind of gift?"

"Interesting," he said, putting aside the identical strangers (of different ages, now that he looked closer, even) mystery to be examined when he had less alcohol in his system. "The generous kind, obviously. Unique, each and every time. It'll keep people from making the same mistake I just did, anyway." He drew a finger across his face, where he remembered the knife cutting through Blaine's skin.

Atticus slid back from the touch with a grimace. "Um...no thanks?"

Alpha grinned at him. "That wasn't an offer," he pointed out, refraining from also pointing out that it wasn't the sort of gift people had the chance to refuse. "Anyway, already did it to the other one, assuming they let him keep it."

"Right. Um...do you do that often?" Atticus said, shifting a bit closer to the counter.

"I'm a generous person," said Alpha, affecting a modest tone.

"Something you...picked up here?" Atticus said, sliding a finger along his nose like he's pushing up a pair of glasses he doesn't actually wear.

"My generosity?" asked Alpha. "No, I've had that since--"

There's a flood of different, pithy and genuine, answers crowding into the space behind his eyes and he's silent for a long minute, his teeth gritted to keep any of them from escaping. Maybe the alcohol was a bad idea, considering his current troubles.

"--Before," he finished finally. "Since before. Did they fix your eyes when they brought you over?" he asked, to turn the attention away from his momentary lapse in concentration.

"Fix my eyes?"

He shifts his gaze away, like that might hide the color of his eyes, which is what he assumes Alpha is talking about. "Um...what do you mean?"

Alpha copied Atticus' gesture, finger sliding up the bridge of his nose. "You wear glasses, but not right. Did the Capitol fix that little defect for you?" He ran over what he saw of Atticus in the Arena in his head. "Along with turning you into a some sort of attempt at a werewolf? Or was that an existing condition?"

"Oh, um..."

He was still getting used to not being able to keep that a secret, and he hadn't quite figured out yet how to handle it.

"Um...yeah. It's...they're sort of related."

"Sort of related," Alpha repeated, mockingly. "And what does that mean, exactly?"

"Just...like, I used to wear glasses, and then the wolf thing, and...yeah..." He trailed off lamely, hoping he'd given enough information for Alpha to work it out.

"And then the wolf thing," Alpha sneered. "Yes, 'wolf things' are known for their optometry. Not your favorite conversational topic, is it?"

"I don't have much to say about it," Atticus answered, somewhat snappishly.

"Really? Wolfish issues common where you're from?" Alpha wasn't sure even if he was truly curious about Atticus' 'condition' or was just enjoying needling the man. Both, probably.

"I wouldn't know," Atticus growls, glaring at Alpha. "Not like people walk around turning into wolves all the time even if they can."

"Huh. And here you were just nearly interesting," he said, mocking disappointment in his voice.

"You know, somehow, I'm okay with that," Atticus said, still sounding angry.

"You're very touchy, aren't you?" he said, conveniently forgetting he was in the bar specifically to sulk. "I'd be careful with that, I'd imagine a temper isn't something a werewolf should have difficulty controlling."

"Comes with the package," he snapped. He really never had this much trouble with his temper before.

Alpha let out a low whistle. "Comes with all kinds of perks, does it? Do you have to wear gloves to handle silverware, have an irresistible urge to stick your head out of car window, along with everything else?"

Still glaring, Atticus drained his drink. "Fuck you."

"That your lovely temper problem flaring up again?" asked Alpha innocently.

"No, that's just a natural reaction to assholes."