Dᴏᴍɪɴɪǫᴜᴇ ᴅ̶ᴇ̶ Cᴏᴜʀғᴇʏʀᴀᴄ。 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
libertin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-03-23 07:36 pm
libertin) wrote in thecapitol2015-03-23 07:36 pm
Entry tags:
With the moon and the stars up above us
Who| Courfeyrac & You!
What| Back in the Capitol, his rebellious spirit has been renewed.
Where| Various locales.
When| After the Arena has ended, but before the Crowning.
Warnings/Notes| Choose your own option or create your own.
I. - District 11 Suites
He'd been back awhile and in that time he'd been much more visible than he had after the previous two arenas. Smiling, laughing, and in a good sort of mood, Courfeyrac seemed to have resumed his charming, libertine lifestyle. He indulged in the fine foods around him, chain smoked, engaged anyone who was willing in thoughtful conversation, and moreover, he'd taken to writing once again. This time, however, it was not the lovesick poetry that he'd assailed Cinderella with the year before. He wasn't so foolish as to repeat that failed nonsense. Instead, he was writing his own autobiography, beginning with his life in the southern French countryside. Pages of the manuscript, composed in longhand, could be sampled and read by anyone who happened to pass through the living area.
II. - Training Center Rooftop
When he wasn't composing his life story, Courfeyrac could sometimes be found up on the roof of the center. These moments of reflection were important to him. He was a man who prided himself on his ability to examine his life and his decisions. Sometimes the world seemed so cloudy, though. Sometimes he felt more in tune with the world when he observed from afar.
III. - A Local Nightspot
He wasn't simply a thinker, however. He was a man who loved life and all of the indulgences which came with it. No longer was he surrounded by the outgoing men from home who might accompany him into seedy places to partake in drinking with frivolous women. Instead, he ventured into these nightclubs alone, to drink and laugh and forget the creeping sense of duty which plagued him at all times. He knew in his soul what he would do when the time was right, but there was no need to fast until the time came. There were beautiful people to see in the Capitol, and Courfeyrac had every intention of seeing them.
IV. - For Max
There was one task which worried him above all others, and that was his need to reunite with Max and make things right with her. He had all of her possessions from before, locked away in the back of the closet of his bedroom. He'd kept it all, just in case she should come back to him, and now that she had, his heart was in shambles. He couldn't rectify his emotions for her, and that frightened him to the core. Being a man so fond of his freedom, the idea of a real and unshakeable affection for a woman scared the hell out of him. He was unused to being in love.
And he was unused to hurting anyone. He needed to square things with Darcy, too, for he liked her genuinely. She was pretty, charming, and so very sweet. He could easily pass many idle months away with her and feel no bitterness toward her in the least when it ended. But it wasn't supposed to end with him actually falling for someone else. He didn't do that. Not him, not Courfeyrac.
He had to resolve these pitiful feelings before it was too late and he'd gone past the point of saving. He decided the best way to do this was to visit Max in her new apartments on the second floor and bring her all of her old belongings. Ridding himself of her things would be his first step in purging these unnatural emotions from his system for once and for all.
When he arrived at the District Two suite, he knocked loudly and confidently and awaited an answer, box tucked under one arm.
What| Back in the Capitol, his rebellious spirit has been renewed.
Where| Various locales.
When| After the Arena has ended, but before the Crowning.
Warnings/Notes| Choose your own option or create your own.
I. - District 11 Suites
He'd been back awhile and in that time he'd been much more visible than he had after the previous two arenas. Smiling, laughing, and in a good sort of mood, Courfeyrac seemed to have resumed his charming, libertine lifestyle. He indulged in the fine foods around him, chain smoked, engaged anyone who was willing in thoughtful conversation, and moreover, he'd taken to writing once again. This time, however, it was not the lovesick poetry that he'd assailed Cinderella with the year before. He wasn't so foolish as to repeat that failed nonsense. Instead, he was writing his own autobiography, beginning with his life in the southern French countryside. Pages of the manuscript, composed in longhand, could be sampled and read by anyone who happened to pass through the living area.
II. - Training Center Rooftop
When he wasn't composing his life story, Courfeyrac could sometimes be found up on the roof of the center. These moments of reflection were important to him. He was a man who prided himself on his ability to examine his life and his decisions. Sometimes the world seemed so cloudy, though. Sometimes he felt more in tune with the world when he observed from afar.
III. - A Local Nightspot
He wasn't simply a thinker, however. He was a man who loved life and all of the indulgences which came with it. No longer was he surrounded by the outgoing men from home who might accompany him into seedy places to partake in drinking with frivolous women. Instead, he ventured into these nightclubs alone, to drink and laugh and forget the creeping sense of duty which plagued him at all times. He knew in his soul what he would do when the time was right, but there was no need to fast until the time came. There were beautiful people to see in the Capitol, and Courfeyrac had every intention of seeing them.
IV. - For Max
There was one task which worried him above all others, and that was his need to reunite with Max and make things right with her. He had all of her possessions from before, locked away in the back of the closet of his bedroom. He'd kept it all, just in case she should come back to him, and now that she had, his heart was in shambles. He couldn't rectify his emotions for her, and that frightened him to the core. Being a man so fond of his freedom, the idea of a real and unshakeable affection for a woman scared the hell out of him. He was unused to being in love.
And he was unused to hurting anyone. He needed to square things with Darcy, too, for he liked her genuinely. She was pretty, charming, and so very sweet. He could easily pass many idle months away with her and feel no bitterness toward her in the least when it ended. But it wasn't supposed to end with him actually falling for someone else. He didn't do that. Not him, not Courfeyrac.
He had to resolve these pitiful feelings before it was too late and he'd gone past the point of saving. He decided the best way to do this was to visit Max in her new apartments on the second floor and bring her all of her old belongings. Ridding himself of her things would be his first step in purging these unnatural emotions from his system for once and for all.
When he arrived at the District Two suite, he knocked loudly and confidently and awaited an answer, box tucked under one arm.
no subject
The knocking at her door was surprising since she didn't think anyone would really care to visit her. Making sure her robe, which was far too soft and warm to be good, Max opened the door and offered a bright smile at the familiar face waiting. "Hey stranger, figured you'd be off living it up or chatting up the hotties. Come in." She stood to the side so Courfeyrac could enter.
There wasn't anything personal in the room and for some odd reason that made her feel more uncomfortable than if she'd left her drawers tossed around. It was so detached from her own home and even her previous stay. She took a seat on a chair near the window and nodded to the bed and the chair opposite her. "Take your pick."
no subject
Moreover he was uncomfortable in deciding where to sit. The chair would be the correct choice. He was a gentleman, and while he could be charming, he did not wish to seem too forward by taking a seat on her bed. Still, it was her bed. He recalled how she'd greeted him upon her return from death the last time they'd been in the Capitol together. If only he'd been clever enough to pull that stunt on her as a payback.
Instead, he was standing there like a fool while she sat poised and ready to pounce in nothing but a robe. Or so he'd assumed. Truth be told, he was dying to know if she had anything on beneath it, but he forced that thought away, along with thoughts of just how beautiful she looked when she smiled. Oh, Max...
After waffling, he sat down on the bed, box in his lap. "I had this boxed tucked away in my room. It's your old things. The Avoxes were told to dispose of them, but I saved what I could." Courfeyrac realized then how odd and unnerving that must have sounded, and he instantly regretted coming altogether. But it was far too late now. He held the box out to her, eyes practically pleading with her, "I wanted to return them to you. I do hope you won't find this strange. You were... you are the dearest person to me here, Max. I could not stand to let them cast off the only things I had left of you."
no subject
Slowly, she pulled out a small, grey track jacket that had the emblem for District 11 on its chest. A remnant from a childhood that wasn't filled with fear. She wanted to smile and tease Courfeyrac, but instead she felt her face heat up and her vision become blurry.
"I-I used to dream of you." Her voice was barely above a whisper and sounded as far away as those untouchable memories. The jacket was placed to the side as she caught sight of a childishly made cockade. "I fought with you and called you brother." Tears fell from her eyes as she finally caught hold of those precious memories and looked up to meet the eyes of Courfeyrac. "I loved you."
no subject
"I dreamt of you all the time," he said somehow. How was his voice so clear and steady? It ought to have reflected the turmoil inside, yet somehow he managed to give off the appearance of strength. He at last had to tear his eyes from hers, uncharacteristic nerves setting in. He'd never been uncomfortable with her, never once in his life, and yet he felt as though he was exposing some deep, sacred part of himself. It was a liberation. It was also terrifying. "And I worried for your fate. I never doubted that you would be alright, on a rational level, but my heart ached for you, Max. More than anything, I wanted for you to be safe. I would build you some better, worthier world. All I had of you were my memories and the contents of this box. And hope, too, I suppose. I always had hope that you would have the chance to find peace someday, and that you would realize you are more than a mere soldier. You were what kept me going for all that time."
Slowly, he reached to touch the little cockade, rubbing the coarse fabric between his forefinger and thumb. "Tell me, can you remember when we were together? Do you recall the night we lie down together and prayed? Do you remember setting my nose when it was broken? You were so critical of me all the time. I used to take it personally, God help me I did. Even then, when you spoke, I listened. I was at your beck and call, Max. I loved you so."
He loved her still, pitiful as it was. He let go of the cockade and finally faced her again. This time he reached to cup her cheek. How beautiful she was, and how surreal it was to see the woman that that little girl had become. This was the same face he'd petted, the same girl he'd held and comforted. But everything was different now. The world had down backflips, it was all so strange and different. Courfeyrac didn't know what to say to her anymore. What could he say to ease her sorrow when he was the cause of it all. All he could offer was his truth. "Please don't cry, my love. You're breaking my heart. I fear I shall cry now too, and what sort of man would I be to make such a display?" He tried to smile, to show her what to do. "My darling, you are killing me. I can't bear to see you this way."
I.
"Ah," Gary grumbles, pouting his lips, and stoops down to pick it up. "Whoops. Hope you don't mind some company, Courf--my program's on!"
Fortunately, before he can sit on the couch and turn on the television like he threatened to do, Gary becomes distracted with the page.
"Hey, neat," he says after a few moments of quiet reading. "What'cha writing? A diary?"
no subject
"A diary? Oh, no, my friend. This is my memoir. I am composing the full story of my life, so that something of myself might live on in some incarnation even after I am gone. I wish for a legacy, and I hope to find that through the written word."
no subject
"...So it is a diary," he says. Gary reads more of the page and lets out a snort of his own. "Just, like, an edited one. Although this bit...you sure you want to publish this?"
Of course Gary's bluffing, but the expression on his face as he holds the piece of paper closer says he's found something very juicy.