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 puts his feet up on the table, paying about as much respect to his environment as he does to Vivi (not much).
"Anyway, that's none of your business. The point is that I want you to win, and so it's in your best interest to work with me. You understand?" He doesn't expect Vivi will, not out of any opinion about Vivi himself but out of a few weeks of working with this new breed of Tribute and finding them querulous and short-sighted.
no subject
He looks down at the floor, shifting his feet and unable to maintain eye contact with Jason because he isn't sure what to say next. The man seems only motivated by money, but he isn't sure. Either way, he can't bring himself to agree with Jason right then and there. He wants to leave in order to think about this but his legs won't move, knowing that he can't just run away and expect answers to come at him.
"...what happens if I do win?" He asks, already knowing all too well what happens if he loses. "Do I get to go home?"
no subject
But not actual citizenship. That's saved for native-borns like Jason.
"In the Arena, I get you supplies. When you're hungry, I send you food, when you're cold, I get you a blanket. And I get that by convincing other people that out of ninety-odd Tributes, you're the one they want to spend their money on. You see my dilemma?"
no subject
For all his searching for them since he got here, he's slowly come to realize that it's likely for the best that they're not here with him.
Still, it's lonely and it's a new life he's just not ready to accept. He wants to leave this room at least, but Jason mentioned things to do earlier, so he remains. He looks up to meet the man again, expression unreadable but it's not one of surrender either.
no subject
He squints, looking into those strange glowing eyes. "How are you with company?"
no subject
"U-um...I don't know." He's no performer if that's what Jason is asking and neither is he an adept fighter like his friends. Magic is one thing, jumping around and delivering physical blows is another matter entirely. There's a reason why spell casters like himself are told to keep a distance during battles. It's for people like Zidane or Steiner to lead and take charge at the front lines.
no subject
Holding eye contact with Vivi for too long gives Jason a bit of the creeps, like those eyes are boring through him. Jason fishes in his pocket for his pen and then realizes he's tucked it behind his ears, competing with the stem of his glasses.
"What I mean is, do people like you? Are you sociable at events? Do people want to spend time with you or at least talk about you when you aren't around?"
no subject
As for being social though...
"I...I think so. I have friends back home and they've been there for me." Not to mention how protective Zidane and the others are for him. And people go up and talk to him all the time, provided that they don't associate him with the other black mages that had been wired to be hostile.
The last question has him tilting his head a bit. "How do I know if they're talking about me if I'm not around?"
no subject
Jason thinks to himself that maybe he should learn to stop expecting basic competence from Tributes, that he should have learned that long ago, that maybe it's just a forgiving nature that, upon meeting a new charge, foresees anything other than disaster.
"This way." He gestures with two fingers towards the elevator. "I hope for my sake you aren't one of those Tributes who wets themselves at the moving stair-box."
I hope this is ok!
"Um, no. I'm not. Lindblum has elevators too but the ones here look different." A lot more buttons, for one. Still...hopefully Jason is exaggerating but Vivi feels bad for them all in the same...to be stuck in a world completely different from the one you know...
It's when they step into the elevator that Vivi speaks up, keeping his eyes towards the door and his voice surprisingly steady. "When other children saw me back at home, they would run away and avoid me. A whole family chased me away because they thought I was going to hurt them."
People had their reasons. They had only ever seen other Black Mages as mindless drones, manufactured for war that would attack them without mercy. Vivi looks just like one of them. Rather, he is one of them...he was just raised differently. Not by wolves, but by one who he eventually called his grandpa.
"...my friends are my friends but...that's how...other people think of me, I guess..."
Whatever Jason makes of it shouldn't concern him...it is what it is.
yep! it's good! sorry mine's short
Jason means psychologically as well as just practically - too many of his Tributes are pacifists who, in Jason's opinion, shake and cry at the idea of stepping on butterflies. And then he looks at Vivi's score again and sighs, knowing he's probably going to get a lecture about not judging a book by its cover and spiders being more scared of you than you are of them.
No worries! <3
"I... I've only hurt people that try to hurt me or my friends first." And most of them had been monsters, but there had been soldiers too. Those that haven't taken the opportunity to escape the fights have met their end by a blade or a thunderbolt. "But that's with my magic," he adds, probably disappointing Jason further as he continues to with the truth. "I've only fought others with my powers."
Re: No worries! <3
He sighs and runs his fingertips along the line of his nose. His nostrils flare. "And how did you hurt these people?"
no subject
"I can burn things, freeze them, or shock them...I can make them "stop" doing whatever it is they're doing...poison..." The latter is mostly spoken to a quiet whisper. He would sometimes call it simply as making someone "sick" but it really is straight up poisoning somebody.
"Um...what is the physical trainer going to make me do?"
no subject
"He's going to try and make you a little less worthless. What do you think a physical trainer does, make cupcakes?"