Jason Compson IV (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whatisay) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-03-10 09:48 pm
whatisay) wrote in thecapitol2015-03-10 09:48 pm
Flecks of the Heavens' Spat Out Spit [OPEN]
WHO| Jason Compson and Open; Jason and Swann; Jason, Rick and Daryl
WHAT| Jason gets a migraine and is helpless; Jason beats an Avox; Jason gives Swann a gift; Rick and Daryl get the shotguns.
WHEN| Week 6
WHERE| D7 Suites; Swann's place
WARNINGS/NOTES| Avox abuse, migraines, general Jason awfulness. If you're going to tag the second prompt, please PP or PM me first so we can figure out where it's going and how far to take it, because Jason won't hesitate to put someone in jail.
I. Open
He knew he was going to have one of his headaches from the beginning of the morning, when every light seemed to have a ring radiating off of it and everything seemed to smell like rainwater. The one upside to the curse of these migraines is that he usually gets a few hours head start on them, with the feeling of deadly premonition, and so he spends most of the day trying to finish up everything as quickly as he can and clock out early. The calls to Sponsors and thank you cards to donors becomes a race against time, one which he sees himself losing too late to actually prevent disaster.
First he can't see, and then he can't move. Even breathing seems to put too much strain on him, and the throbbing, tightening hammering in his head gets worse with every exhale. The inside of his body feels like a live wire, sparking away inside his skull at camera-shutter speed. Nausea roils inside his throat and stomach, furling and unfurling like the tide.
When he opens his eyes the light is too bright, speckled with floating spots and halos, and he feels like the universe itself is trying to cram itself through his eyesockets and that his bones have made the opening too small to fit. So he keeps them shut and rolls over on the District Seven couch until he's facedown in a pillow, sweating slightly, trying not to whimper.
He has no hope of driving himself home, and even the idea of getting up seems a cruel joke. He tries twice, and both times a surge of nausea and a thunderclap of pain force him back down. So he lies there, hoping to whatever powers that be that his Tributes stick to their schedules and don't come bother him.
II. Open (please read note)
What started off as a strong Arena quickly loses those good odds as the District Seven Tributes die in the field and the District Suite gets repopulated. The worse it looks, the worse Jason's temper gets, until he's liable to throw something at the slightest provocation, which the Games video updates seem eager to supply him with. At least twice this week he's broken a glass, and yesterday smacked a table so hard that he has a ring of bruising around his finger like a wedding band.
With only Nick left in the Arena, Jason and Emily's chances are getting desperate, and the worst blow comes to Jason's ego when he realizes that no amount of fawning and flattery and networking seems to be enough to get Nick more supplies in the Arena. It stings to feel powerlessness, and to make it worse the only person willing to spot Nick a fire-starting kit's funds will only do it on condition that Jason go drinking with him - no sobriety allowed. Jason turns it down, but doesn't leave with his head held high so much as rankled and humiliated, and every ungrateful glance from his Tributes reminds him of how his family used to practically own this damn country and yet here he is, exposing his belly to anyone with money, helpless and inept and so, so frustrated with his life. Dressed in a suit he got from someone else's charity and supporting a home full of ingrates and lonely and with a fury as endless as the sky.
Whatever it is that set Jason off this time, it isn't sated just by smashing a piece of kitchenware. This time he backhands the Avox who rushes in to try and clean up the coffee mug he throws against the floor, sending them into the couch.
III. Swann
For someone who usually agonizes over every half-assi that goes to a necessary cause, Jason doesn't seem to mind spending money on Swann. He complains about it, at times, but it's more to go through the motions of complaining than because it actually bothers him. He buys her coffee when he can and tells her to save her money when they get lunch, getting sulky and defensive when she insists on splitting the tab. Sometimes he buys her a pastry on his way to pick her up for carpooling, although he doesn't let her eat it in the vehicle, and he has yet to ask her to help pay for fuel.
Today he shows up at her place with a large carrier in the back of his car, covered by a blanket, with a towel underneath it to protect the seats. Something inside is making scratching sounds. Jason looks a little frazzled, and shows up a few minutes late from a different route than he usually takes. He presses a button inside the car and the door opens for Swann.
"You coming, Honeymead?"
IV. Daryl and Rick
The rumors spread quickly after the Crowning, and all of them rub Jason the wrong way. A few photographs of him and Beth at the Crowning, him whispering into her ear, have made the rounds on tabloids, some of them even frontpage for the publications hungry enough to fabricate a scandal for readership. Jason's certain that he wouldn't ever touch a Tribute like that, but the fact that people are so eager to believe it of him leaves his pride feeling excoriated.
For his part, Jason doesn't treat Beth any differently, except for being a bit more stiff and cranky with her than he might have been before. But whispers swarm around them like a plague of mosquitoes, making a to-do out of something as simple as him Escorting her to a photoshoot with horses (A PONY FOR A PRICE?, a headline questions; another goes even more outrageous and wonders if Beth will say 'neigh' to marriage). He can only imagine the explanations she's making to the passel of Southerners who seem so eager to protect her.
Right now he's in the District Seven kitchen, glasses parked precariously on the tip of his nose as he writes by hand some math for the District budget. He's taken to putting most of his notes on his phone lately; he used to be able to leave writing around, but that was when most Tributes were entirely illiterate. His suit jacket hangs over the back of a chair and his shirt sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. A cup of coffee, long-cooled, sits beside him, and he occasionally asks his phone to answer some percentages questions for him.
WHAT| Jason gets a migraine and is helpless; Jason beats an Avox; Jason gives Swann a gift; Rick and Daryl get the shotguns.
WHEN| Week 6
WHERE| D7 Suites; Swann's place
WARNINGS/NOTES| Avox abuse, migraines, general Jason awfulness. If you're going to tag the second prompt, please PP or PM me first so we can figure out where it's going and how far to take it, because Jason won't hesitate to put someone in jail.
I. Open
He knew he was going to have one of his headaches from the beginning of the morning, when every light seemed to have a ring radiating off of it and everything seemed to smell like rainwater. The one upside to the curse of these migraines is that he usually gets a few hours head start on them, with the feeling of deadly premonition, and so he spends most of the day trying to finish up everything as quickly as he can and clock out early. The calls to Sponsors and thank you cards to donors becomes a race against time, one which he sees himself losing too late to actually prevent disaster.
First he can't see, and then he can't move. Even breathing seems to put too much strain on him, and the throbbing, tightening hammering in his head gets worse with every exhale. The inside of his body feels like a live wire, sparking away inside his skull at camera-shutter speed. Nausea roils inside his throat and stomach, furling and unfurling like the tide.
When he opens his eyes the light is too bright, speckled with floating spots and halos, and he feels like the universe itself is trying to cram itself through his eyesockets and that his bones have made the opening too small to fit. So he keeps them shut and rolls over on the District Seven couch until he's facedown in a pillow, sweating slightly, trying not to whimper.
He has no hope of driving himself home, and even the idea of getting up seems a cruel joke. He tries twice, and both times a surge of nausea and a thunderclap of pain force him back down. So he lies there, hoping to whatever powers that be that his Tributes stick to their schedules and don't come bother him.
II. Open (please read note)
What started off as a strong Arena quickly loses those good odds as the District Seven Tributes die in the field and the District Suite gets repopulated. The worse it looks, the worse Jason's temper gets, until he's liable to throw something at the slightest provocation, which the Games video updates seem eager to supply him with. At least twice this week he's broken a glass, and yesterday smacked a table so hard that he has a ring of bruising around his finger like a wedding band.
With only Nick left in the Arena, Jason and Emily's chances are getting desperate, and the worst blow comes to Jason's ego when he realizes that no amount of fawning and flattery and networking seems to be enough to get Nick more supplies in the Arena. It stings to feel powerlessness, and to make it worse the only person willing to spot Nick a fire-starting kit's funds will only do it on condition that Jason go drinking with him - no sobriety allowed. Jason turns it down, but doesn't leave with his head held high so much as rankled and humiliated, and every ungrateful glance from his Tributes reminds him of how his family used to practically own this damn country and yet here he is, exposing his belly to anyone with money, helpless and inept and so, so frustrated with his life. Dressed in a suit he got from someone else's charity and supporting a home full of ingrates and lonely and with a fury as endless as the sky.
Whatever it is that set Jason off this time, it isn't sated just by smashing a piece of kitchenware. This time he backhands the Avox who rushes in to try and clean up the coffee mug he throws against the floor, sending them into the couch.
III. Swann
For someone who usually agonizes over every half-assi that goes to a necessary cause, Jason doesn't seem to mind spending money on Swann. He complains about it, at times, but it's more to go through the motions of complaining than because it actually bothers him. He buys her coffee when he can and tells her to save her money when they get lunch, getting sulky and defensive when she insists on splitting the tab. Sometimes he buys her a pastry on his way to pick her up for carpooling, although he doesn't let her eat it in the vehicle, and he has yet to ask her to help pay for fuel.
Today he shows up at her place with a large carrier in the back of his car, covered by a blanket, with a towel underneath it to protect the seats. Something inside is making scratching sounds. Jason looks a little frazzled, and shows up a few minutes late from a different route than he usually takes. He presses a button inside the car and the door opens for Swann.
"You coming, Honeymead?"
IV. Daryl and Rick
The rumors spread quickly after the Crowning, and all of them rub Jason the wrong way. A few photographs of him and Beth at the Crowning, him whispering into her ear, have made the rounds on tabloids, some of them even frontpage for the publications hungry enough to fabricate a scandal for readership. Jason's certain that he wouldn't ever touch a Tribute like that, but the fact that people are so eager to believe it of him leaves his pride feeling excoriated.
For his part, Jason doesn't treat Beth any differently, except for being a bit more stiff and cranky with her than he might have been before. But whispers swarm around them like a plague of mosquitoes, making a to-do out of something as simple as him Escorting her to a photoshoot with horses (A PONY FOR A PRICE?, a headline questions; another goes even more outrageous and wonders if Beth will say 'neigh' to marriage). He can only imagine the explanations she's making to the passel of Southerners who seem so eager to protect her.
Right now he's in the District Seven kitchen, glasses parked precariously on the tip of his nose as he writes by hand some math for the District budget. He's taken to putting most of his notes on his phone lately; he used to be able to leave writing around, but that was when most Tributes were entirely illiterate. His suit jacket hangs over the back of a chair and his shirt sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. A cup of coffee, long-cooled, sits beside him, and he occasionally asks his phone to answer some percentages questions for him.
no subject
He had tormented the Avoxes right along with the others. It had been for a number of reasons. The older kids were doing it, so of course Stephen did it, too. And then there was the fact that Avoxes were freaky. Stephen had actually been more kind to animals than he had been to Avoxes, because Avoxes were freaks. They made him uncomfortable, so he dealt with it by dealing with them just like everyone else and then laughing about it and not thinking about it too hard.
But somewhere along the way, Stephen had developed a line about the treatment of Avoxes, one he wasn't aware of until Jason crossed it. His eyes are hard, and there's a mocking, angry half-smile on his face. "Right," he says, "because nothing shows more class than hitting something that can't hit back."
no subject
Jason's lips go white, then red again, like an ambulance light flashing on and off, near in time to his heartbeat. He knows exactly what Stephen just insinuated, and it stings because the remark finds a fertile home in the two decades of insecurity and bitterness.
"Because nothing befits our station more than sympathizing with traitors, isn't that right, Stephen?" He folds his arms, lips pulled into something between a triumphant smile and a snarl, and tips his chin at Stephen's wrist.
no subject
He ignores the traitor accusation. That's what's seemed to work best, so far; protesting too much has the opposite effect. Fighting doesn't come naturally to him, just the opposite -- his heart is beating hard and his head is spinning as adrenaline flows through unfamiliar courses.
However, he does know people, and he does know what they care about.
"Have you lost your temper at Swann's dog yet?" he demands, and when his mouth closes, the lips are pulled tight. "How long until you kick it for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?"
no subject
To Jason, rage has all the familiarity of home and all of the pains of what that word means to him. His ears seem filled with rushing, his knuckles pulled into a sore clench. He takes one step to Stephen, two - the kind of stalking forward he would never try with Cyrus, but with Stephen, with the zit-skinned, baby faced tagalong he remembers from his youth, eternally puppyish, eternally naive and now self-righteous for it, he doesn't hold back that he walks moves breathes like a violent man.
"Are you really suggesting we go open season on who each of us has fucked? Is that how you want this to go?"
no subject
As he speaks, he's reading Jason's body language. Another time, it might have intimidated him. Stephen has lost some of the sense of invincibility he'd had two years ago, but he's too mad right now to be afraid. He holds his ground, his hands fists by his side. He doesn't know what he'll do if Jason takes a swing at him, and honestly, he doesn't really care.
no subject
He won't swing at Stephen. He knows better than to get into that kind of a scuffle, knows that that's just what he needs to add to the family reputation, a feud with the Reagans. But it doesn't stop him from getting in Stephen's face. His breath is hot, the muscles in his neck stiff, his voice near choked, as if the anger is too big to come out through his throat.
"Get out of my District Suite, Stephen, or god help me you'll wish you were anywhere but here."
no subject
"Or you'll do what?" he challenges. "Give me a black eye, too? Throw me out? Are you sure you want to go there, Compson?"
Stephen doesn't particularly want to stick around. But he also doesn't want to be the first to back down. He'll leave, but his gut is telling him to leave on his own terms. If he can make Jason hesitate, it'll be enough.
no subject
It takes every bit of self-control he has not to break Stephen's nose right now.
"I won't lay a finger on you and you know it, but you do not want me as your enemy, Stevie. I don't know what's gotten into you Reagans' heads but we aren't on different sides here. Pick which side you're on." If Stephen's going to throw his lot in with Avoxes and Tributes, well, Jason's had front-row seats to how that goes down in Capitol society. "Now get the hell out of my District Suite."
no subject
Stephen's face goes blank -- like the word enemy has just caught him by surprise and left him really, really confused.
"Whoa, whoa, hey, Compson. Calm the fuck down. That's one hell of a leap from show a little class to enemies." He treats it like it's normal, makes it sound like Jason's the one overreacting, the one that's crazy.
"Yeah, I think I'm going to go, before you get any of your crazy on my clothes."
And he turns and walks out.
no subject
"Make sure it's clean enough to walk barefoot on," he parts to one of the Avoxes, and then he storms out.