Tomorrow I'll be stronger, running colorful, no longer just in black and white [Week 6, Open]

[dead_black_eyes]

Who| Linden Lockhearst and Open!
What| After this altercation, Linden had to spend the night in jail. Encounter him at any point during the 24 period during and after this less-than-glamorous ordeal.
Where| Jail, later on the District 6 suite.
When| Week 6
Warnings/Notes| The normal ones for Linden! References to drugs and death are likely.



I. Jail

Linden stares past the rigid plastic handcuffs at his black shoes on white tile. It was only a matter of time, perhaps... withdrawal and the ensuing hell that was sobriety has been rough on him. For the first time in over a decade, he's been forced to look at some of the experiences that have shaped the person he is without the haze of Morphling or alcohol influencing it, resulting in the emergence of a deeply sad and very angry man. Having numbed these emotions for so long means that his ability to deal with them isn't great; an already tense situation with an admittedly horrible District 7 Mentor had escalated and though he'd blacked out past a certain point, he's pretty sure that he hurt the guy. Possibly even enough to need stitches. At that point, it didn't matter who you were or what you'd been through; you at least had to spend a night in jail as a token punishment, and past that, even if you were lucky and the media didn't catch wind, it was inevitable that you'd have to deal with some kind of therapy or conflict-resolution seminar at some point.

There's a forcefield keeping Linden from walking out of his cell, but it's possible to hear through it, even smell through it. There's coffee brewing somewhere nearby, and he approaches the forcefield and tries to get the attention of the nearest Peacekeeper.

"Hey... hey, is that coffee? Can I have some, please?"

The Peacekeeper sighs. "Try to sleep. You can't leave until morning at the earliest, and it gets boring as hell in those cells. It's supposed to, this is a punishment."

"Then let me bum a cigarette."

He's left behind with a brisk, dismissive shake of the Peacekeeper's head.

II. The Next Morning- Bail Posted

"Rise and shine." the Peacekeeper in charge disables Linden's forcefield, and he sits up quickly, having not actually realized that he'd fallen asleep.

"What's going on?" he asks blearily, already reaching for the wastebasket he'd requested they leave in his cell with him. Since quitting Morphling, he's queasy in the mornings sometimes.

"Morning, and someone's posted your bail. Congratulations; 6 must really want their only Mentor back."

"Who was it?"

"Beats me. I'd suck up to them big time, though, they did you a hell of a favor."

III. The Next Morning- District 6 Suites

Linden probably shouldn't have been allowed to return to work so quickly after snapping so obviously and so badly, but he is 6's only Mentor right now, and he's therefore needed. A sweet-voiced woman in a nurse's uniform had stopped by his cell before his bail had been posted and given him a stack of pamphlets, commending him on his efforts to get clean but assuring him that there were more ways to quit than recklessly going cold turkey. She urged him to consider tapering off to avoid a situation like the one he'd ended up in, and explained that mood swings and aggression were common side effects of coming off of a persistent Morphling addiction, and he is broodingly considering it.

He's also considering how the fuck he is going to apologize to Jason Compson. A written apology was one of the conditions for his release, after all, and he takes a deep breath, trying not to clench his fist around his pen and staring at his attempt to write something acceptable.

Dear Mr. Compson,

I'm sorry you're a sadistic brat

Stupid

have the self-control of a rabid warthog in front of an all-you-can-eat truffle buffet


I'm sorry that I lashed out at you. It was entirely my fault to expect you to be as refined as your bloodline would suggest when you are clearly an Avox-hitting sow of a-------------

Fuck you, you spoiled


It's not going particularly well.

Comments

II

[capitolprivilege]

Someone is up and waiting for Linden outside, bright and -- well, bright. It's about ten o'clock.

"Goddammit, Linden," Stephen sighs, shaking his head as the Mentor in question is brought outside.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden squints in the fresh sunlight, massaging his newly-free wrists as he approaches his District's long-suffering Escort.

"Thanks for posting my bail," he says, seeming far more surprised than he should. "That's a hell of a solid and I won't forget it."

There's a brief and awkward silence. He really can't treat this casually or brush it off like nothing, can he?

"...I can explain, and I think that if you give me a chance to, you'll understand."

[capitolprivilege]

Linden will see, on closer inspection, that Stephen's clothes are....a little uncharacteristic, for when he's not at a themed party. Those shorts sure are short. That sure is a lot of necklaces. Those sure are boots.

He looks like a Jersey stripper. Or Molotov.

But he's given absolutely no acknowledgment to that fact.

"I'm listening."

[dead_black_eyes]

It's not unheard of for Stephen to dress this way, but as far as Linden knows or is concerned, there's always a reason for it. If it's 10 AM and he's glittering like a chunk of pyrite in the desert sun, something is definitely up.

He blinks and shakes his head, effectively derailed from his train of thought.

"Wait. Did you come to pick me up while a walk of shame is in progress? I could have waited a little while longer for you to go home and clean up," he says; though he knows he's in no place to judge, this demands explanation just as much as why he ended up in jail overnight.

[capitolprivilege]

"First, it's not a walk of shame, it's a stride of pride," says Stephen, refusing to be dislodged. "Second, I'm still waiting for your explanation."

[lionhearted_victor]

News like that doesn't stay hidden for long, especially when it has to do with District Seven's Queen of Mean. Though there wasn't much Leo could add to either side of the argument, Jason should've known better than to grab a Victor who was basically cutting all ties with his Morphling mistress in one relatively short blow. Avoxes were avoxes, and while the trainer was mostly undisturbed by the discipline methods, Compson apparently crossed a line.

So he simply offers coffee and a mild suggestion, "Comparing sows to Jason is a disservice to both sides."

[dead_black_eyes]

They'd tried to keep it on the down-low, given the situation's delicate nature and the precarious place Linden was in regarding his Morphling addiction. They hadn't succeeded to nearly the extent they'd intended, but isn't that always how things are in the Capitol?

He glances up at Leo's suggestion, with a twitchy, wry smile. His known affection for District 2 is enough to make him welcome the company from the coach as much as he would from anyone right now; Linden can be stiff and even vicious on a bad day, but he's never been ungrateful, and his senses are crying for coffee. He's quick to accept it, blowing gently across the surface before taking a sip.

"To the sows side," he says, meeting Leo halfway with a vindictive glint to his dark eyes. Though he's trying to write a convincing apology, he is very far from forgiveness himself.

[lionhearted_victor]

"Linden, it's very rude of you to put words in someone's mouth, even if they have some measure of truth. But again, off record. Next time, no pointy or sharp objects, or you'll have to deal with his mother, sober."

That would've been a fate worse than death.

"Though how you'll do the public apology, it'll be a wonder to behold."

[dead_black_eyes]

"Ah yes," Linden says quickly. "His mother, the sow. So sorry. While we're off-record," he's swift to amend, though the damage is done and he's semi-gleeful about it. Though he is literally just been bailed out of jail, he takes his highs where he can get them, and there's an inexplicable but undeniable thrill that comes with hating Jason and all of those connected to him.

"What? They're saying a public apology, now?" he asks, resting his cheek against his hand and leaning heavily on it. "That figures. I guess I can at least make it memorable. How about..."

He writes in his odd, spidery hand, so that Leo can see.

Dear Mr. Compson,

I am issuing this public apology not because I want to but because it is right. Even all the way out in District 6, we know the difference between right and wrong, and I would not want my actions to reflect badly on those I am associated with. It's a combination of self-awareness and honor that I wish I could share with you; perhaps when we are bosom friends in the coming decades you will understand these things, too.

Very Sincerely,

Linden Lockhearst

I

[bravelyplucked]

It's not long before Linden hears a few voices coming down the hall. "It will be fine, Algernon. It was only a stomach bug." This speaker should sound very familiar. "And he's locked up; what could possibly happen?" The door at the end of the hallway swings open, and Torin claps the Peacekeeper on the shoulder and gives him a nod as he shoos the man away. "You worry too much."

The door closes, leaving Linden and Torin alone. Torin turns to face the other man with a sigh. "What happened?" He sounds more concerned than accusatory.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden is actually dozing by the time he hears voices again, but he perks up quickly; one of those voices sounds familiar, and is admittedly belongs to someone he does not want to see him this way.

He rises quickly, glad that Torin's connections and social skills have given them time in private, going to the edge of the forcefield to face the other Victor proper. It helps that his tone carries worry, rather than anger or condemnation.

"Jason Compton was reassigned to District 7, and I hadn't been told. I was on my way to 9 when I heard something that sounded like Tributes fighting, so I got off on 7 in the hopes of breaking it up. That's really how it started," he affirms earnestly. "But Compton had hit an Avox and I guess that from there things just... escalated. I know it's kind of uncouth to think of them as people but they feel pain. I blacked out after a certain point, but what I hear is that I made him bleed."

[bravelyplucked]

Torin grimaces at that recitation. It matches up with what he'd heard on the way over, somewhat. "There's no need for that sort of unnecessary cruelty." He shakes his head. "No idea what made you black out?" His voice is gentle, more the concern of a friend than a neutral Mentor trying to get to the bottom of things. His brother-in-law the Peacekeeper seemed to believe that's what's going on here. Torin hadn't bothered to correct him--it had gotten him inside, hadn't it?

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden wouldn't lie about what he carries no shame over, and this altercation is something he is certainly not ashamed of. He's even more sure of it when Torin supports him by calling the attack on the Avox "unnecessary cruelty"; it helps that the compassionate former Victor isn't immediately writing him off as rabid and irrational.

The concern rather than admonishment in his voice helps a lot.

Linden bites his lip, then raises his left forearm, slowly wrapping the fingers of his right hand around it, staring at the arrangement intently as he squeezes.

"It's hard to explain."

III

[crabmunicator]

When your mentor ends up in jail for attacking a guy, it's a bit hard not to hear about it. He doesn't know everything - he usually tries to avoid Capitol gossip - but the base concept is enough to tell him he's not going to like the story, whatever the whole of it turns out to be. Hell, he doesn't even know the guy on the receiving end, but that doesn't matter. Linden might have seemed a strange guy before, and rumors have a way of passing by, but he never really expected him to do this.

So it's after Linden's been released and returned that Karkat sets to approaching about anything. Fuck jail, no way would he visit there--he didn't even want the chance to make them think he should stay there, too. He can see him writing... something as he comes in from the elevator, a bag from his favorite pastry shop clutched in hand, but what it is he doesn't know.

"Hey. What the hell happened?" he asks as he heads over. Not too close, though: he's sure to keep a respectful distance. You know. Because he attacked someone.

[dead_black_eyes]

It definitely wasn't one of Linden's finest moments. That being said, it's not his most shameful; he stood up for a creature that felt pain and made someone he considers a monster bleed, after all, and that counts for something, he believes. Of course, his Tributes stand to catch trouble for his actions; Sponsors might not be as eager to support them and the District as a whole's image is affected.

As he works on his note, growing more hopeless by the minute, he spots Karkat lurking in the corner of his vision. He eyes the pastry bag; he hasn't eaten since before he got locked in the slammer, and admittedly, it smells good. He notes the distance at which the young troll stops; he's skittish, is he?

"You've heard what happened, it looks like," he says pointedly, nodding toward the distance between them. "Don't worry. If you're not slapping around Avoxes or grabbing me without warning, we have no quarrel and I pose no threat to you. What did you bring back from the bakery?"

[crabmunicator]

Karkat's hesitance lingers, and he eyes Linden in turn for eying up his pastry bag. He clutches it closer to himself as he steps over closer, albeit with a respectable space between them still.

"I heard the rough outline," he says in a measured tone. "And so long as I'm a tribute, I'm not going to be slapping or grabbing anyone without seriously good reason." Especially not after that time the Initiate slammed him into a wall. If not for Nill...

He plunks the bag on the tabletop. "I got doughnuts, and they were for myself, but if you give me the full story of what happened I might be persuaded to share. You did get me sponsors last time, and I'm not a complete selfish bastard."

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden quirks a brow at the troll's obvious possessiveness in regards to the donuts as Karkat draws gradually closer.

"The rough outline... so it's probably not really representative of the actual sequence of events," he sighs. "Leave it to Jason to manipulate this to the best of his ability..." he continues eyeing the bag as Karkat sets it down nearby, almost within arm's reach.

"If you're not a complete selfish bastard, I guess I can tell you about it," he decides. "So I was on my way up to District 9 to visit my friend there, and when I was passing 7 I heard a commotion. I thought it was Tributes fighting and it was my intention to break it up, but it turned out that Compton, who is nasty piece of work, was slapping around one of the Avoxes over a broken mug. I'd been unaware that he was reassigned... he took a years-long hiatus after serving as an Escort for District 10, and what I remember of being a Tribute myself was that he was the Escort you didn't want. He did his job well enough, but he didn't see his Tributes as people. He dislikes me already because 10's boy came in 3rd in the 63rd Hunger Games, and he wasted a lot of money and resources getting him that far. Because 10 died, he couldn't take a vacation he wanted to, and I'm pretty sure he's held it against me ever since."

He gestures toward the bag of donuts. "One now, and one when the story's over?" he bargains. "I really am starving."

I

[reassures]

Though years of dealing with bullshit both in and out of her own world have made Nill paranoid in an unfortunate, irreparable way, that paranoia doesn't often extend to friends unless something has happened to damn well deserve it (which many of them manage to do one way or another regardless.). Linden for the most part was one of the few people that this particular brand of paranoia didn't often touch save for when more dire and harmful circumstances were obvious. One case was the space Arena, the first one Nill actually had to compete in, because she was terrified that even if she came back Linden might have hit his last overdose. There are other times where that concern is barely a factor; before the most recent Arena Linden not being around at night typically meant he was drunk or high or passed out, and while these things worried her they were consistent and predictable to a certain degree.

That kind of all went out the window when Nill came back to find Linden sober. His habits were considerably less predictable, and it was far rarer that she didn't have her smoking companion with her into the late hours of the night on the roof, despite the fact that it was pretty cold at times. She's not overly concerned when he doesn't show up, but she decides to head down to six to see if she can find him there, as it seems the most obvious choice.

She can't, and Stephen isn't around either, which does nothing to ease her fears. That's when the pit of dread finally settles in her gut. He was fine. He had to be fine, right? Of course. But he hasn't taken anything in weeks, and he probably weighs less than she does. What if he relapsed? What if he tried to take his normal dose and it was too much for him now?

It's concerns like these that have Nill wandering in and out of bars and parties for the next two hours before she ends up at the police station, and even then it's only because she can't think of anywhere else to go. She's not dumb enough to only be looking for one person, so she asks the peacekeeper at the front if he's seen anyone from District 6 tonight. The guy must either know that she has a near flawless reputation, or just be that annoyed with Linden, because he doesn't seem to have an issue with letting her go back to the cells, even if he's not inclined to lift the forcefield. Which is how Linden gets a very worried-looking Nill outside his cell. She raps her knuckles against the wall in case he doesn't actually look up at first, but her own eyes are preoccupied with trying to look him over and making sure he's not hurt or in the process of an overdose.

[dead_black_eyes]

When Nill arrives, Linden's in a restless place between sleep and waking. He'd been offered a sleeping pill when he'd told the medic that he was trying to beat a Morphling addiction and still coping with withdrawal, but he'd turned it down, preferring to just deal with his insomnia and use the time to think things through and plan his next move. Every time he tries to rationalize what happened, remember the details, convince himself that it wasn't that bad, he's slapped back in his place by a brutally honest inner voice.

No, it is that bad. You injured a staff member and even if you don't care about looking like an ass, this is going to come back to your District.

He has nothing to amuse himself with when thinking gets to be too much. There's no television, no objects to toy with, no chess board; Linden's intelligence is a liability, and in this type of situation, anything he could possibly use to escape has been put out of his reach. Though much of this is just a formality, a token punishment for a troubled Mentor who had reacted badly to a bad situation, even small things have to be taken into consideration, and the small round camera positioned above his head remind him that on top of everything else, he's under psychiatric observation tonight.

Bored out of his mind and frustrated that his normal methods of soothing and escape aren't options, he's almost ready to ask for that sleeping pill again. He sits up on his cot, and the corner of his eye catches a visitor. His heart plummets as quickly as it initially rises; on one hand, he's happy to see Nill, the way he's always happy to see Nill. On the other hand, what a way for her to see him, disheveled from his fight with a ripped sleeve, the palm of his right hand wrapped in gauze from where the ceramic had cut into his own skin.

He's stiff and tired, but his eyes are clear and undrugged, and other than his hand, there's no immediate sign of illness or injury on him. He's standing quickly, straighter than he normally does, suddenly very anxious to make this seem like it isn't such a big deal.

"Just for the night," he says quickly, trying to make it sound like a reassurance. "Kind of a token thing, to make a point..."

As he speaks, his mind races. How much does she already know about this latest disgrace?

[reassures]

Very little, truth be told. Unable to actually find much of anyone in the District 6 Suites, since most tributes were either asleep or out due to not fitting well with diurnal customs, most of her running around has been guess work with very little to actually go off of. She'd checked bars because most of Linden's temptations seemed to be in that sort of setting. Outside of that she's been running around largely blind, and though she knows Stephen was out as well she has no idea that she probably missed him at one of the bars. Part of her fears was inspired by them both being gone, because if something happened to Linden he would probably be around. She's surprised he's not here now actually, and whatever rumors there might be have not spread to her fast enough.

When Linden stands and it lets her look him over a little more closely Nill actually seems relieved. Some of the anxious tension leaks out of her shoulders, and she quickly flips to a new page in her notepad.

they won't let me pay your bail.
what happened?

Her reputation is, apparently, not quite good enough to make up for not residing in Panem for long. They told her she'd need to get an escort or mentor from either her district or his; her district didn't currently have an escort, and who knew where Harley was this time of day. Likewise she couldn't exactly do much if the only 6 mentor was the one behind the forcefield and the escort was awol.

[dead_black_eyes]

The rumor mill churns quickly in the Capitol, but the storm's gathering rather than broken at this point. What will be hot news tomorrow is still rumor and speculation tonight, and those are the circumstances under which Nill has found him locked up here. Her relief is palpable to have found him, even under these less-than-ideal circumstances, and he's squinting through the forcefield to read her writing.

"Don't worry about the bail," he's quick to tell her, shaking his head briskly. It aches, but that's beside the point. "As for what happened..."

There's got to be a way to make it sound less fractured, sad, and crazy than it is.

"I was on my way to 9. I wanted to see you, but while I was going upstairs I heard some commotion in 7 and stopped off. I thought maybe Tributes were fighting and I wanted to break it up. But Jason Compson was hitting one of the tower Avoxes, and we sort of got into a fight, and... I guess things escalated. He grabbed me and I blacked out, but apparently I sliced him badly enough to need stitches. On his face. With a piece of broken ceramic."

He runs a hand through his dark, disheveled hair.

"...They're keeping me here tonight. I have to talk to a psychiatrist. They're telling me that I shouldn't quit cold turkey, and that I have to write a letter and publish it publicly apologizing to Compson."

The idea sounds bitter and hateful to him; if he could, he'd spit it out of his mouth as soon as say it.

III

[pythianjudgment]

It wasn't difficult to hear about the drama that had gone down. Gossip had a way of traveling around, whether you wanted it to or not. Entertainment was entertainment, after all. It really wasn't the sort of acting out that she expected from Linden--despite knowing what a mess he usually was. She figured that he would be smart enough not to try cutting someone's face open with a piece of ceramic in the middle of broad daylight. Not that she can blame him.

Her curiosity gets the better of her when she decides to peek into the D6 Commons to find out if he was still in jail or not. Consider her delighted to find that he's not. It's not immediately apparent what he's doing until she walks up behind him and catches a whiff of the paper that he's trying to scribble on.

"I think you need an editor," she remarks form behind him. "You're going to end up in jail again."

[dead_black_eyes]

Gossip has a way of traveling around, and Linden's been as much a magnet for it as any Victor ever since his win years ago. Maybe moreso, given the chemical hurricane he's created for himself that makes for some very entertaining and bizarre mishaps. When he falls, it leaves marks on him or others, and last night, he was sitting in a jail cell because of it.

The grey-skinned girl behind him sniffing at the ink and paper he's grappling with startles him slightly; he hadn't expected to be visited so soon after his release, at least not by someone from a different District, but there could be worse visitors, and his expression starts tetchy and softens into something accepting and resigned.

"You're being generous," he comments listlessly. "I need a ghostwriter. There's no way I can make this 'apology' sound sincere."

[pythianjudgment]

It's probably not a good idea to be amused at Linden's expense, but Terezi really can't help the grin playing across her lips. She likes his attitude...and therefore, she's more than willing to dispense a little advice into his lap.

She comes around to Linden's side, taking a seat next to him where she can still smell what he's writing.

"Do you have to?" Terezi lifts a brow at the Mentor, leaning on the table conspiratorially. "The important part is to make the other guy think it's sincere. Other than that, you have pure literary freedom, don't you? If you're careful about it, you could write whatever you want."

[dead_black_eyes]

The situation is absurd and pathetic, and Linden can actually understand how it would be funny to an outside onlooker. He isn't quite so self-absorbed that he can't imagine how it would feel to witness his hapless plight, and he can even admit to himself that were anyone else in his place, he'd find it just as funny as Terezi seems to find this scenario.

He sighs resignedly as she takes a seat beside him, but his tired features spread in a slow smile as she speaks. Her implication is mischievous, but... certainly for someone as clever as he is, there's a way to be careful, to be cheeky, and most importantly, to be free.

"Yes..." he murmurs, tearing his current sheet away and starting fresh once more. "I really do think you're right about that. Contrary to popular opinion... I actually am capable of exercising caution and restraint. I wouldn't have won my Games if that wasn't true."