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

[streetsmarts]

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.

Comments

[streetsmarts]

Nick opens his mouth briefly, about to question the logic behind that sort of approach, but it dies before he can verbalise it. Instead, he lets out a disgruntled huff and moves easily onto the praise. "Makes it pretty easy when the other Tributes are crap." He says that with an air that sounds so smug despite the fact that he seems to be brushing off the compliment. He's not sure he likes how that makes him feel. Like a paid goon or something similarly beneath him, but it's something slightly better than being human garbage.

"Or, maybe. Just maybe. He was around a really long time because he's crap." He shrugs. "If it was a spin in his direction, they're going to regret it. The guy is about as compelling as a sack of shit, he's going to be a godawful Victor." I would have been better, is the general message here.

[cigne]

Swann can't fully suppress the little smile that crops up on her face, to hear Nick talk that way and with that inflection. "Or maybe he likes you because you're a bit like him," she suggests casually, taking another drink from her teacup. Their tones, the way they talk about people, the directness and efficiency. A certain air of "me-and-mine" attitude radiating off of them.

Of course, Nick doesn't have Jason's breeding and upbringing, important things in Capitolite eyes, and Jason will never lack for a certain aura of restrained fury. But it doesn't take away from the similarities.

"Well, like I said, it was a joke. The Gamemakers don't rig the Games." They absolutely do, and while it's never been a certainty among the public, they're not always the most discreet about it. "Besides, all the better to have him out of the running. He's part of that group that always protects each other."

[streetsmarts]

The smile is immediately confusing to Nick, but he brushes it off in favor of sipping his coffee. The observation, however, nearly has him choking on it. He's not sure whether to laugh or be disgusted, but he opts to be as casual as possible. He smirks back, just barely rolling his eyes. "Don't let him hear you say that, eh?" Haha, it's funny because Tributes are sub-human.

"I like to think there's a sliver of truth in every joke, you know? They have to come from somewhere." He's taking on a less defensive tone, increasingly aware of the fact that Swann doesn't entirely piss him off and it isn't just because she's pretty fine. "Oh, gross. I swear, it's like people have no idea why we're here and expect us all to adhere to their bullshit morals. Like, excuse me? Some of us don't want to be losers. Christ."

[cigne]

"He'd get over it." She's still smiling that little bit as she takes another sip of tea, and it's true. Jason gets angry at her, but he doesn't stay angry, and that's the important part. "Besides, if he's going to get compared to one of you..." She waves her hand vaguely, leaving the better you than someone else left unsaid.

One of the Avoxes swings by to refill her teacup, and Swann is vaguely disappointed that they only have sugar cubes here, not the rosettes she's had put in District 8's kitchen. She drops three into the tea and stirs it daintily.

"It's all well and good to have alliances at the beginning -- it's practically expected between Districtmates, and it can sometimes be a good idea to ally up with other Tributes. But the point is to build your alliances so that your group can whittle the number down before you all break apart and go at each other. Before the Never-Ending Quell, at the 74th Games, I remember how clever everyone thought Peeta Mellark was for allying with the Careers before turning on them to help Katniss kill them. Oh, that's... Peeta and Katniss are from 12, they won jointly? But with you off-worlders, it's gotten insane. Two Arenas ago, the mall theme, the second place finisher sacrificed himself for the Victor. That's absurd, completely defeats the purpose of the Games. But they were from the same District, so."

She shrugs. It's clear that she finds the act crazy, but in the end, it doesn't make much difference.

[streetsmarts]

The way Nick shrugs in response is almost agreeable. Like he can't really argue what she's saying so he'll roll with it. She's probably right, but that doesn't really bode well for him because he's well aware that he's an awful person.

"Most of them don't really seem like they have the end game in mind. It's like they just expect to buddy up and exist forever without anything happening." He sidles a little closer, pleased both in that she seems to approve of his bitching and that she's offering him information he probably wouldn't have thought to seek out. "You know, an interesting play would be to pretend you had some magical, lasting friendship and take it that far and then kill the other guy." He mimes firing a bullet with his fingers, then his shoulders slump. "It's probably been done, though."

[cigne]

"Oh sure, lots of times. Before you all got here, that was always the plan: stick with your Districtmate as long as possible, then kill them when it's time. But that doesn't mean people get tired of seeing it, or that it hasn't been a bit different every time. Sometimes it's a love angle, sometimes brother and sister, sometimes friends who've known each other their whole lives. There's always a way to make it new and exciting. Haven't you ever heard that there are only seven stories in the world?"

Swann takes another sip of tea, slow and almost calculated, and lets her foot bob a little under the table.

"I used to have a television show. In ten seasons, the only theme I ever directly repeated was Districter makeovers, we did them once a season. But a rags to riches story? I can tell it a thousand different ways."