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thecapitol2015-04-24 12:20 am
dead_black_eyes) wrote in thecapitol2015-04-24 12:20 am
I Know Explosions Make Debris, and Catching it Kind of Suits You [Open]
Who| Linden and Stephen, Linden and OPEN
What| Linden and Stephen do another blindspot conversation about rebellion stuff. Also a catch-all for Linden
Where| Lots of places
When| Before (for Stephen) and after (for everyone else) the Binding!
Warnings/Notes| Bidding mentions/implications, profanity, descriptions of injuries and sad stuff.
[a]. [for Stephen]
Linden is a lot less recognizable than he usually is today. Despite the nice weather, he's bundled up in several sweaters, and doesn't appear to be perspiring. He's got a few books under his arm as he strolls down a busy Capitol street, getting a few glances and murmurs of "is that...?" from curious appreciators of reality television. He's not wearing anything around his neck and his scar gives him away to attentive fans of the Games, and who in this part of Panem isn't?
He's not planning to hang out on Main Street, though. Linden Lockhearst is going into the seedier parts of the Capitol, striding through streets he is seldom if ever seen and ignoring casual midday offers for scantily-clad companionship. Eventually, he makes his way to a dark, isolated and unbugged alley, turning past the rougher edges of an older building than is typical in the Capitol. It's clean enough, unremarkable and nondescript, and when he sees his District's Escort, he approaches. Since Cyrus began cleaning up Stephen's image, he's been wearing clothes that are more subdued than any he's likely ever worn in his entire life. Traces of glitter remain, but ultimately the aesthetic is reminiscent of Cyrus's, sharp, clean-cut and professional.
"It took me long enough to find this place," he says; even with the confidence that they won't be overheard, he keeps his voice low and the movement of his lips minimal.
[b]. [tribute center rooftop]
Linden is off Morphling, clean for weeks and counting. The world is sharper, brighter, and a lot more hateful than the one he remembers cultivating for himself after his Games; that being said, he's found other ways to stimulate and soothe himself when either of those effects are needed. One such method is hanging off the guard rails by the back of his knees, dangling his body over the edge of the tower and gazing down through the forcefield at the street many stories below as blood rushes and sings in his ears.
The Sun's setting soon. From Linden's current vantage point, it'll look like it's levitating and being absorbed into a strange, solid, silver skyline composed of jagged skyscraper teeth. He tries to focus on this instead of the depressing revelation that Panem and especially the Capitol are falling apart, and even if he has to do some pretty shitty things to contribute to a cause that has actually succeeded in lighting a fire under him, he's on thin ice. It would take so little to slip and fall, and the precision of a tightrope walker to succeed; it makes hanging off the edge of a building seem dull and unadventurous by comparison.
The building has a safety net, after all; the rebellion doesn't, and anyone willingly involving himself with it carries the welfare of everyone he cares about on that wire with him.
[c]. [upscale Capitol bar]
The Binding had shaken up a lot, and for good reason, many staff members or people who are otherwise closely affiliated with the Games have been extra careful not to arouse suspicion. In this classy, upscale establishment, Linden actually looks like he (or more likely, 6's stylists) have put some real effort into his appearance tonight. He looks like a caricature of himself, dressed in close-fitting black vinyl with silver accents. It covers every inch of him below the neck, but is skintight on his extremely thin frame. His hair looks artfully tousled rather than slept-in, and his dark makeup accentuates the hollowness in his eyes and cheeks rather than attempting to soften, conceal or apologize for it.
For as little as he really looks like himself, absolutely no one could mistake the strikingly larger-than-life Victor as he currently appears. Even his scar is exaggerated and accented with makeup, and it's not long before a tall Capitolite of indeterminate gender is slipping into the seat next to Linden, ordering a drink and wrapping the man's thin fingers around the frosted glass. They strike up a conversation, appearing to already know each other. From a distance, it appears that the Capitolite is getting close and cozy, and though Linden doesn't reciprocate, he isn't making an effort to distance himself from the situation, either. He sips at his drink as his companion's hand strays to the sharp blade of Linden's hip.
[d]. [d6 suites]
Linden comes in late assisted by two Avoxes, seeming to time it so he isn't seen by anyone. A long bath and approximately 12 hours of sleep later, he reluctantly emerges from his room, appearing... strange. He's had some help from stylists, clearly, but the swelling around his eye is still noticeable. Foundation light enough to match Linden's parchment-pale skin is hard to come by, so the result is a mismatched nightmare that clashes with the cool tones in his complexion and does very little to cover the mottled bruising. The same goes for his neck; what his higher-than-normal collar doesn't cover tells a disquieting story of someone breaking his rule about even touching his neck rather severely.
If he notices someone staring, either at the bruising or the ginger, painful way he moves, he'll offer a tight smile. The tone will vary depending on whether or not they're friendly, but the message is always more or less the same.
"You should see the other guy."
What| Linden and Stephen do another blindspot conversation about rebellion stuff. Also a catch-all for Linden
Where| Lots of places
When| Before (for Stephen) and after (for everyone else) the Binding!
Warnings/Notes| Bidding mentions/implications, profanity, descriptions of injuries and sad stuff.
[a]. [for Stephen]
Linden is a lot less recognizable than he usually is today. Despite the nice weather, he's bundled up in several sweaters, and doesn't appear to be perspiring. He's got a few books under his arm as he strolls down a busy Capitol street, getting a few glances and murmurs of "is that...?" from curious appreciators of reality television. He's not wearing anything around his neck and his scar gives him away to attentive fans of the Games, and who in this part of Panem isn't?
He's not planning to hang out on Main Street, though. Linden Lockhearst is going into the seedier parts of the Capitol, striding through streets he is seldom if ever seen and ignoring casual midday offers for scantily-clad companionship. Eventually, he makes his way to a dark, isolated and unbugged alley, turning past the rougher edges of an older building than is typical in the Capitol. It's clean enough, unremarkable and nondescript, and when he sees his District's Escort, he approaches. Since Cyrus began cleaning up Stephen's image, he's been wearing clothes that are more subdued than any he's likely ever worn in his entire life. Traces of glitter remain, but ultimately the aesthetic is reminiscent of Cyrus's, sharp, clean-cut and professional.
"It took me long enough to find this place," he says; even with the confidence that they won't be overheard, he keeps his voice low and the movement of his lips minimal.
[b]. [tribute center rooftop]
Linden is off Morphling, clean for weeks and counting. The world is sharper, brighter, and a lot more hateful than the one he remembers cultivating for himself after his Games; that being said, he's found other ways to stimulate and soothe himself when either of those effects are needed. One such method is hanging off the guard rails by the back of his knees, dangling his body over the edge of the tower and gazing down through the forcefield at the street many stories below as blood rushes and sings in his ears.
The Sun's setting soon. From Linden's current vantage point, it'll look like it's levitating and being absorbed into a strange, solid, silver skyline composed of jagged skyscraper teeth. He tries to focus on this instead of the depressing revelation that Panem and especially the Capitol are falling apart, and even if he has to do some pretty shitty things to contribute to a cause that has actually succeeded in lighting a fire under him, he's on thin ice. It would take so little to slip and fall, and the precision of a tightrope walker to succeed; it makes hanging off the edge of a building seem dull and unadventurous by comparison.
The building has a safety net, after all; the rebellion doesn't, and anyone willingly involving himself with it carries the welfare of everyone he cares about on that wire with him.
[c]. [upscale Capitol bar]
The Binding had shaken up a lot, and for good reason, many staff members or people who are otherwise closely affiliated with the Games have been extra careful not to arouse suspicion. In this classy, upscale establishment, Linden actually looks like he (or more likely, 6's stylists) have put some real effort into his appearance tonight. He looks like a caricature of himself, dressed in close-fitting black vinyl with silver accents. It covers every inch of him below the neck, but is skintight on his extremely thin frame. His hair looks artfully tousled rather than slept-in, and his dark makeup accentuates the hollowness in his eyes and cheeks rather than attempting to soften, conceal or apologize for it.
For as little as he really looks like himself, absolutely no one could mistake the strikingly larger-than-life Victor as he currently appears. Even his scar is exaggerated and accented with makeup, and it's not long before a tall Capitolite of indeterminate gender is slipping into the seat next to Linden, ordering a drink and wrapping the man's thin fingers around the frosted glass. They strike up a conversation, appearing to already know each other. From a distance, it appears that the Capitolite is getting close and cozy, and though Linden doesn't reciprocate, he isn't making an effort to distance himself from the situation, either. He sips at his drink as his companion's hand strays to the sharp blade of Linden's hip.
[d]. [d6 suites]
Linden comes in late assisted by two Avoxes, seeming to time it so he isn't seen by anyone. A long bath and approximately 12 hours of sleep later, he reluctantly emerges from his room, appearing... strange. He's had some help from stylists, clearly, but the swelling around his eye is still noticeable. Foundation light enough to match Linden's parchment-pale skin is hard to come by, so the result is a mismatched nightmare that clashes with the cool tones in his complexion and does very little to cover the mottled bruising. The same goes for his neck; what his higher-than-normal collar doesn't cover tells a disquieting story of someone breaking his rule about even touching his neck rather severely.
If he notices someone staring, either at the bruising or the ginger, painful way he moves, he'll offer a tight smile. The tone will vary depending on whether or not they're friendly, but the message is always more or less the same.
"You should see the other guy."
no subject
Thankfully Nill's tells are restricted to her wings this evening; though she can't possibly stop every little thing that would give her away, if she's conscious of it then she can at least make sure that most are only seen in the shift and bristling of feathers. There's a very obvious twitch when Claudius talks about watching then, and Nill needs to put a plastic and not as convincing smile on her face so as not to outright grimace. Maybe, maybe that could happen between them some day, if either of them lived long enough for at least one of them to get over all the trauma and misery that might prevent it, but the idea of this monstrosity watching is enough to make her feel ill.
It's nothing compared to the sudden, gaping hole in her chest when he says there's a revised contract, that it's no longer a rule, that he absolutely intends to touch Linden's neck later whether he wants it or not, maybe even because he doesn't, and her wings practically turn to stone against her back, tense and rigid.
Whether or not the confirmation from Linden makes it worse is of course unclear, but it is one of the only times during most of this entire thing that Nill completely turns her attention away from Claudius so she can look at Linden, expression remaining mostly neutral save for where the ice has been replaced by confusion and an at least partial lack of understanding.
What the fuck was Stephen doing?
She looks like she wants to ask, to do something, but she doesn't have the chance. It's around then that a woman from the group Nill had been in earlier finally makes it over to the bar, and immediately starts gushing about Nill's clothes, her drink, and Linden might recognize her, because it's the Capitolite that Stephen just broke up with recently that has come to fetch Nill again. That might also be why she doesn't seem intent on sticking around, because though Nill jumps slightly when Candi grabs her hand the young Capitolite woman seems not to have noticed, and is entirely intent on brining Nill back over to the people that have technically been given her time for the evening and who Nill has not been paying enough attention to.
Unless Linden or Claudius try to get them to stay she will probably succeed in dragging Nill away.
no subject
He won the Hunger Games. He can take it. Manifestations of panic, trauma, or otherwise lashing out are actually a selling point for this particular pervert...
Your eyes were so beautiful when you thought you were going to die
...but Linden is confident that he can weather, endure and survive, which is kind of what Victors are known for. No matter who one asks, it crops up in every definition.
Her confusion is almost worse than the ice. He wants to take her by the shoulders, hold her, reassure her somehow that everything is going to be all right and that he has to get close to strike at a tender underbelly. He wants to tell her that he insisted on using the in he has as a Victor popular in certain extreme niches, but he's limited with the bidder on his time and body so nearby. He tries to make the gesture look casual and absentminded and meaningless, but it's a sign meant for Nill's eyes, and it's all he can give her.
I'm sorry.
When Candi interrupts, Linden wonders if Stephen's given her instructions to not allow interference with this rendezvous. Her timing is just too perfect... if it is a coincidence, it's an incredibly lucky one. He wants desperately to thank her for her interruption, her compliments, and her insistence that Nill needs to come back to her party.
As Candi pulls Nill away, Claudius stands as if to follow and protest, but Linden moves quickly, taking the seat vacated by Nill and leaning in for a bitter kiss that's eagerly accepted.
For someone with "extreme tastes and developed appetites," you sure don't know when you're being poisoned, do you?
The whirlwind of boisterous energy Candi engulfs Nill in as she rejoins the group is nearly impossible to break away from, and if Nill does manage even within minutes, the two men at the bar will have vanished the next time she glances that way.