thecapitol | Some, some, some I, some I murder. [open]

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Some, some, some I, some I murder. [open]

Who| Nick and oooopen
What| When you try your best but you don't succeed.
Where| D7, lobby bar.
When| Post-Arena, pre-Crowning
Warnings/Notes| Nick being a douche. Nbd.

Hell hath no fury like Nick when he wakes up in the Training Room. To get that close and lose by inches, inches of knife in you, it's soul crushing. The frustration takes some working through, but his methods have never let him down. Booze. Sex. More booze. Denial. If there's one thing he's willing to do, it's to absorb absolutely all of the luxury of the Capitol while he can. He thinks he deserves that much, but he's also pretty sure other people have different ideas.

He's a frequent at the Lobby Bar lately. He's perpetually rolling in, ordering rounds and glowering at the replays when he can. He can at least boast quite the featured face in the highlight reel, but it's a pretty miserable runner-up prize in his opinion. He can be found ranting at the bartender and denizens of the bar as well as trying to make bets with them long into the night.

Sometime in the night, he drags his sorry ass up to the District 7 suites. He can't rightly remember which bedroom is his, and he's not willing to chance it. He finds himself on the same couch he'd planted on when he'd first arrived here, and it's good enough for him. He sleeps the whole night there, half-heartedly smothering his face with a pillow as he snores into the morning. If nobody wakes him up, he'll wake himself up with a snort of disdain at the sun and a clumsy stalk into the kitchen to make coffee.

He'll stand there, looking incredibly disheveled, with a hand on the counter and a cup of coffee in his hand like he's an efficiently early riser and not red in the eye and dead in the soul. "Morning sunshine." He'll croak at anyone who happens by him, still just drunk enough to think his cover is foolproof.

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"Mornin' sugar," Hellfire, meet Southern Damnation.

Seeing Nick get so painfully close to the finish line made for one hell of an upset. Ellis was unabashedly cheering him on, hoping that he could pull through like they did in New Orleans. That finale had him at the edge of his seat...until he saw the knife. So yeah, the moment the gambler was back, the mechanic didn't waste a second in getting up there for unfinished business.

At least Nick would have the comfort in knowing his yapping dog of a friend was still alive. For better or for worse. And as much as El wanted to be all around support for his friend, more so now with Rochelle here, there were still things El had to confront Nick about.

"Nice to see you're on th' up an' up."

There aren't many people Nick is ever happy to see, but Ellis is just about at the top of the list. After hearing he hadn't made it from the last Arena he'd been in, Nick had been worried. Worried and a little guilty for not being there to help him when he died. It didn't sit right with him, but there's not a hell of a lot he can do about it now.

"Yeah, nothing says up and up like standing in a kitchen hungover to hell and damp because my Escort thinks he's an alarm clock." He pulls his mouth into a frown, raising his coffee upward to inhale some of that wake-up goodness before taking a long sip.

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine." He continues curtly, his reluctance to whine betraying the fact that he's not all that fine.

"It's better than Coach's way, though I gotta admit, seein' him drag your ass outta bed is a good way to start a run," Ellis dismissed the comment about the escort with a slight grin. He'd come here to give Nick a hug and a punch to the dick for having wasted so many bullets. Would've come in handy at the end. Also killing two kids, because what the fuck. But right now, just seeing the man back on his feet and alive was enough.

"No you're not. You know better than to hide shit from me or anyone who has kept your ass alive for the better part o' th' year," El's bluntness came with a quick tap to the gambler's back. "What's on your mind, Nick? You're broody but you're never polite to me."

Had the mechanic known about the guilt, he'd be the first one to assure Nick he went quick. A lie since he bled out, alone in a cave, but it was a lie he was quick to make until his friend saw the Arena replays. "Don'tchu start gettin' crazy on me, an' I don't think the Capitol does opposite day."

"It's not better than anything." It comes a little defensively, but it's because he's sore over missing Coach. He'd never had much respect for his profession, but after experiencing Jason as an Escort he's coming to respect people who can patiently coral idiots without throwing water in their faces.

He thinks he's done a good job, all in all. He knows Ellis won't approve, he knows a lot of people won't. It's hard not to have regrets when he got that down and dirty and didn't quite make it to the top, but he doesn't think changing his behavior is going to get him any closer. It's a game of chance, so it almost doesn't matter what he does for all the help it'll do.

"Hey, hey- hands off." He swats at Ellis for the tap, retreating into the corner to bristle like a pissed off cat. "I'm not crazy. There's just no point complaining about it when it ain't gonna change a damn thing- and you know it's pointless when even I'm not gonna bother." He makes a jab at himself, then takes a sip out of his coffee. "I didn't think I'd make it that far when you tapped out, I'll tell you that much."

"Coach would love to take the piss outta your Escort though. I'd pay good money for it." Coach would not stand for this sort of thing, such disrespect.

"For wha' it's worth to ya, an' probably not tha' much, you did what you had to," Ellis spoke in the same words he used with Rick and Daryl when he was exploring the cave for medical supplies. They were slowly becoming his go-to phrase for when tough choices came along and tested the young man and his group. He'd take the sneers, the threats, the spilled alcohol, if it would get his friends safe. Ellis couldn't hold that much against Nick, more so when he saw just how deeply his death affected his friend.

"I went quick, so don'tchu worry your head, Suit," the mechanic did his best to lie, having practiced it over and over, "What matters is tha' now we know how this shithole works an' we can do something about it."

"Coach'd like a lot of things here. They'd be fighting to keep his ass out of the kitchens, if he got his way." He says, not without an almost respectful tone rather than his usual cruel bullshit.

"I doubt everyone'll feel the same. Who would've thought people would take murder so personally? What a bunch of fucking babies." He rolls his eyes. The hardest anger to deal with is justifiable anger aimed directly at him, he swears.

"Yeah. Well. It could not be worse, but if you want to be an optimist, be my guest." Which is his way or agreeing but being too stubborn to say as much. "Next time is our time. I swear to god, I am not enduring this bullshit any longer."

"I'd let him, give th' guards here a run for their money. Man has a speed tha' I ain't seen on people half his age, yours truly included," El added to the respectful snark at their last missing friend.

Nick does get to see Ellis raise his eyebrows up to his hairline and the hem of his hat. "You know, it's times like these I forget you used to be a criminal," he sniped as he offered Nick something he swiped off the D4 fridge: a stuffed donut. Anyone missing one of these, sorry, it was needed to bridge a friendship.

But no pastry in the world could compete with the bright smile El got at that, "Up on th' fuckin' world, takin' a nice cushy job with th' other Tributes," somehow he figured Nick wouldn't be the most social Mentor, "An' no more Green Flu. Ugh, makes a grown man shed a tear."

"Not when it involved stairs." He says fondly, but he'll drop it now. Thinking about Coach being stuck back home made him feel physically ill, and he doesn't need that when he's as hung over as he is.

Nick takes the donut with a grunt, but he's glad for it. He hasn't even thought about getting food, this saves him the hassle. "Remind me to jog your memory sometime." He suggests, taking a bite out of the donut as Ellis speaks.

"If you start crying, I'm going to leave." He says around a mouthful of donut, pointing it at him accusingly. "You gotta get tough too. No bleeding heart bullshit."

"Figure o' speech, Nick, figure o' speech. I got everything outta my system after I drank myself to sleep, so there," Ellis raised an eyebrow at the grunt and the bleeding heart comment, "You're the type that don't believe in honey bein' a better trap for the flies, huh?"

That's coming from a man who befriended his killer in the Arena, so maybe Ellis' methods were deeply flawed.

If Nick is concerned by that, it doesn't show in his expression. He contemplates it for a moment, faintly worried that the ever present ray of sunshine known as Ellis is having downswings. He brushes off the feeling as best he can, because it's not his problem until he sees it happen.

"What are you going to do with your flies once you catch them, Ellis? You don't expect me to believe you're sweet talking just to stab them in the back, do you?" He gives him a flat look, his tone like a school teacher scolding a bratty kid.

"Well, uh," shit, he hadn't planned that one through, and Nick caught up to him and his drive to getting allies over self-preservation. He figured bigger numbers would mean better survival but nope, not in this world.

"Goddammit all right! I don't think things through," he huffed, yanking his hat on straight, "An' hell, I could end up bringin' someone horrible that kills us all in our sleep. An' as much as I know you complain, I...I dunno wha' I'd do if you an' Rochelle got killed because of me."

There was a high enough chance that he'd let the anger cloud his thinking and start landing kill shots. Which brought back some old guilt from losing the weapons bag in that helicopter crash.

"Yeah, didn't need to trap you to figure that one out, Ellis." Nick retorts blandly, but he can't help being the slightest bit disappointed over the fact that Ellis isn't using his miraculously winning personality to win over enemies. These good people will be the death of him, and he's not even joking when he says that.

"To be fair, I don't think either of us would be surprised." That's a lie, of course, because they all trust each other with their lives and they don't need to say it out loud to understand that. But maybe, just maybe, belittling him will comfort him. "If you can't make use of the fact that we're dying and coming back like Looney Tunes characters then you're just wasting an opportunity."

Ellis' personality had some limits but he'd at least have the decency to try and get them on his group's side for the while. That and the shot at his track record of being the harbinger of pretty much every horde or reckless endangerment, it may have brought back memories of their trip together.

"Dyin's a bitch, I'd like to not have it happen t' people I give a shit about. But if you're into that, be my guest. You're gonna fit right in with these folks," El let out, "But I hope ya don't. You're just tha' big a lovable dick."

The belittling worked in getting the mechanic to open up more.

"Of course it's a bitch. So are zombies and starvation, but guess what? It's part of our life now. We're gonna have to get used to it happening, because this might not be the last time." Bickering, as it turns out, is a great way to open up. Nick isn't being wry, he's fully serious. His brows are furrowed and he looks sincerely irritated rather than his usual, bitchy self.

"You can't save everyone, Ellis. Focus on yourself, that's the only way you're going to make it out of this."

"I know it is," the joy left Ellis for a moment, "I'm just glad we're not goin' through all this alone or I don't think you'd be half as sober as you are right now."

It felt like old times back at the swamps, hell it felt closer here now that there were no zombies hoping to tear them apart. This was Nick off the Arena, off the field and how really was. Turns out, El still liked and cared for the cranky gambler.

"I got tha' but I ain't lettin' you behind either. Call me stupid or whatever but these people, your escort, can wipe where the sun don't shine with splittin' our group."

Nick rubs a hand over his face when Ellis brings up the whole drinking thing. He's right, and that's why it pisses him off to hear it. If he didn't have anyone to care about, he wouldn't even pretend to keep it together.

"Nobody is splitting us up, Ellis. Just because we sleep in different rooms doesn't mean we aren't.. uh. Friends." He frowns at his inability to substitute in a better word, but it's the one that sticks when it comes to those two. "Is that what you're worried about?" He asks finally, leaning in a little curiously.

Ellis beamed a little at Nick calling him a friend, he would have accepted 'fellow survivor' too! But as he remembered what he told Rochelle, that title will only come back to them if they win, if they managed to survive again. He quickly shot the smile down and nodded, "Places can change people an' seein' ya so hurt, Nick, and this whole District thing...I mean, I wanna win but just so we keep our asses alive."

He then tried to cheer up again, "When we win, I'll bring ya some cheap beer an' pizza an' be catty bitches towards our kills or something. You sound like you'd enjoy that." He just had to keep his optimism and faith alive, no matter how many times he gets killed out there.

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Some, some, some I, some I murder. [open]

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