Nick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
streetsmarts) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-03-23 01:17 am
streetsmarts) wrote in thecapitol2015-03-23 01:17 am
Entry tags:
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.
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.
no subject
"Figures you'd be trying to steal my crap, then." He scoffs, this is too fucking much. Literal pirates trying to swindle him? Maybe he just went crazy and nobody has the heart to tell him. "Maybe the next Arena will have some more water for you to fuck around in. I have a question, though, do pirates literally search for buried treasure? Does that encompass most of what you do?"
no subject
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "It were more a matter of need, really, than it was being a pirate." Although it did help that Jack had no qualms whatsoever with taking other people's stuff if he wanted it. Even if he didn't need it.
"And mayhaps. Knowin' the Capitol, it'd be poisoned or full of some manner of nasty beastie more'n ready to make you its next meal." Case in point, the lake he'd found in the first Arena. He'd nearly been torn apart and crushed by the lake monsters in it, and that had been far from a pleasant experience. Not to mention that the water had been freezing cold.
"Takin' a ship's cargo for your own encompasses most of what a pirate does, mate. But aye, depending on the man and his inclinations, findin' treasure can be part of it. Though, it weren't always just men on the account that searched for their claim on hidden fortunes like that." Beckett had been one of those men; obsessed with finding a fabled island full of gold. "And, of course, most times, it was never a simple affair."
no subject
"Oh, undoubtedly. But you'd be in your element at least. I feel like I'd do better if the next one was a city." He gives his chin a thoughtful stroke, imagining anything they could do to a city would still beat slowly feeling your feet freeze into blocks.
"That's fair. Guess that stuff doesn't make much of a story compared to Blackbeard's lost loot." He gives his shoulders a lazy shrug, a smirk growing on his lips when he does. "Sounds like a lucrative business. Piracy, that is. Does anyone ever just retire to bask in their riches or do you pirate until you die?"
no subject
Jack chuckles. "True enough, it doesn't always hold a candle to the more excitin' and adventurous tales out there." He'd found that the duller details of a sailor's life were completely lost to people that lived centuries ahead of him, and most people tended to romanticize such a hard life to a strange degree. Eating weevil-infested hard tack and passing a boring night with drinking and songs wasn't too all together too interesting.
"Aye, a man could be set for life with what he's gained, provided he's able to live long enough to enjoy it. I imagine a few've retired with their fortune, but a pirate's life is a short an' brutal one."