I Know Explosions Make Debris, and Catching it Kind of Suits You [Open]

[dead_black_eyes]

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."

Comments

D

[voiceinthephone]

If there was one true manifestation of Phillip's insomnia and his past drinking habits, is the fact that he is frequently asleep during the day and awake at night. He tried getting more done, like reading or watching TV, anything to get him knocked out but he was restless without at least a glass or two. For now, he'd nodded off on the nearest table, head down and nestled between his arms as a letter and corresponding envelope underneath.

When Gray heard the faint sound of someone coming in, he sat up straight, "Sorry, I just had mail and-" he rattled off to allow his eyes to focus. He didn't expect to see his Mentor as he was: bruised to hell and back.

"I don't care about the other guy, sir," the Phone Guy was blunt about that much, "What happened to you?" Maybe mugged? Assaulted? Should he call in Officer Falxvale?

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's having some difficulty staying upright. He's dizzy and isn't seeing so straight from getting socked so hard in the eye; already, the beginnings of nasty bruises are blossoming vibrantly on the pale skin of his face and neck alike, fist and finger-shaped respectively. He winces when he notices Phillip, seeming to debate leaving the way he came, but without the support and guidance of the Avoxes that flanked him back here, he's not sure where he'd even go.

A big part of the bidding process is, in Linden's experience, discretion. Even if some brutality is par for the course and well-known among some with specific and eccentric tastes, the illusion of civilization is still something that those who partake want to maintain. There are a lot of "clumsy" Victors for that reason... but the second he opens his mouth with the intention to lie about a bar fight or a nasty fall, he's closing it again. Even if he can't flat-out say what happened, he can come pretty close, and that feels much better than lying to the Tribute in his District he relates to the most strongly.

"Do you remember our conversation on the night of the Crowning?" he asks hoarsely, feeling his way along the couch cushions until he locates a bottle and a small box.

[voiceinthephone]

Phil got up his chair and went over to the couch, daze gone for that moment. He was slightly relieved that Linden didn't lie to him, and immediately asked an Avox to please get them some water. While not completely accustomed to the concept, Gray started to see Avoxes as the cruel mercies they really were, but manners were manners, they were still people.

"Yeah, I do," he nodded torn between anger, fear, and worry for his Mentor. So Lockhearst had been bid on and this was the end result. "Do you need anything?" Though he hoped it wasn't of a more explicit nature, the fact that someone still treated Victors as property... sickened the Phone Guy to no end.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden uncaps the bottle, which probably looks pretty familiar to Phillip; it's that heavy, acrid District 6 liquor Linden prefers to throw back. He shakes two pill capsules out of the box; clearly, he premeditated this to at least an extent, knowing there was a chance he'd need to feel a little number at a later point this evening.

"Ice," he says, hissing the word as he gingerly reaches up to touch the angry, swollen skin near his eye. "Probably a bath before the sleeping pills kick in, but I can take care of that myself."

A pale attempt at a joke to lighten the mood; he already has the feeling that people won't be reacting well to this, whether or not they're from Panem. Stephen is going to be furious, Nill might cry, and Linden himself will feel it smash into him like a runaway train once he's actually absorbed the incident. Like many Victors, he's pretty good in a crisis, soft-spoken and calm throughout, saving the breakdown for a private moment or a sudden and very public one.

[voiceinthephone]

"Oh ha ha, sir," Phillip shot back, taking in the full extent of the injuries his Mentor suffered in the wake of the bidding. Getting the ice was no problem and he'd been refining his first aid skills, applying pressure and cold in specific points to make the feverish skin reduce in siz. He'd been making sure that he would never be caught off guard as he'd been with Venus or anyone. "You're barely walking, are you sure you can't nap first before bathing? That, that make-up's caked on pretty good." Especially around the Victor's neck scar, "May I at least clean that off?"

To have it so hidden, Gray figured he would get a no for an answer; this wasn't something to be proud of. Though there is a lingering sense of secrecy in Lockhearst's behavior, he still asks, "Meeting didn't go so well, right?" The truth would have the former guard now Tribute reeling: that Linden agreed to do something so self-destructive.

[dead_black_eyes]

The ice was an errand to benefit both of them; Linden could get a cold compress, and Phillip could feel helpful and through action alleviate some of the awkwardness that comes with seeing a District Mentor return in tatters. Linden holds off on swallowing his pills but downs about a shot of liquor in a hurry, setting aside the bottle just in time to glance up in surprise as Phillip starts helping him out a little more directly, even offering to help him take off some of the makeup. It's caked on and gruesome, almost clownish, and even though touching a skittish Victor carries a lot of risks, Linden gives a slow nod, leaning back against the couch cushion, the black vinyl of his garments squeaking against the leather cushions.

"The meeting could have gone better," he answers dully, taking a deep breath, knowing that it'll probably hurt like a bitch to have his face cleaned around those tender areas. "This one is a... give an inch, take a mile sort of guy. Does it look bad?" he asks suddenly. "Like something I can say I did on the stairs, or...?"

Given the distinctly finger-shaped nature of the bruises on his neck, it's doubtful.

[voiceinthephone]

Gray didn't expect a yes but he accepted the invitation, his wipes reduced to dabs around the scar. Unlike Jason's manhandling, Phil understands what post-traumatic stress looks like, he experiences it as panic attacks. The more foundation and concealer he takes away, the more natural colors emerge from Linden's pallor. As soon as he's done with the neck, he hurries up his pace and sighs,

"Unless those stairs are from a B-horror movie, with finger steps, no one's gonna buy it, sir," Phil stated outright, doing his best to use soft wipes around the bruising. "Anywhere else you need ice?"

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's tense under Phillip's efforts to clean away the makeup, but he doesn't protest or react poorly. After everything else that's happened tonight, the helping hand of a friend scarcely registers on the panic-scale, and as the makeup gradually comes away, those bruises just get more livid and visible.

"Thanks for your honesty," he says quietly. "I suppose that's to be expected. "And... I'm sure, but I'll take care of it once I'm out of these clothes again."

They're not as straight and put-together as they were when Linden left. His stylists had dressed him then, but his current appearance is the rumpled and clumsy result of Linden dressing himself.

"...Stephen's going to be pissed. This wasn't supposed to happen, at least it wasn't supposed to go this far."

[voiceinthephone]

"No problem, sir," It spoke volumes as to how much the Tribute trusted his Mentor when he simply backed off and cleaned the messes he'd made. He was very happy to help out in what he could. But Jesus Christ, the bidder was brutal in his assault, in his actions to a man who was probably 100 pounds soaking wet. Phillip would have dropped the question as soon as the last of the foundation disappeared, but then Linden spoke about "going too far."

"I-I'd say he'd be more worried than pissed, you went into a dangerous situation without back-up...even if it's a bid," Phil tried to hold off his own bias at that moment, to be a neutral point of view. "Or was this all on a need to know basis?"

[dead_black_eyes]

Phillip's uncomplaining and compliant response gets a slow glance from Linden. He's surprised by just how diligently helpful the offworld Tribute is about this; it doesn't seem like sucking up and it's an impressively unflinching response to the aftermath of violence. He supposes he should expect it, given what he knows of Phillip's past, but it's still jarring and definitely humbling to see it in action.

"Need to know?" he echoes, swallowing and shaking his head. "If I can't blame it on stairs, most people will guess well enough. At that point, why lie? It is what it is."

He stares at the ceiling.

"Stephen's going to be pissed," he repeats dully.

[voiceinthephone]

"You keep saying that and you'll believe it. Stephen's your coworker, of course he's going to be concerned more than anything. U-Unless this was something down a less than healthy path, then I-I'd have to give Reagan some reason." There were probably things that Stephen could only see in second hand, never experience up front. Phil had to remember he was a Tribute, nothing more to this world and maybe not leave a lasting impression on those he served. Linden put it best, there was a high turnover rate.

As soon as he set the first kit aside and makes sure the bruises aren't as bad as when Linden came in, Gray nodded slightly, "Well, that's as good as it's going to get." When a person has to clean up what's left of what was a parade of death and mechanical mishaps, blunt-force trauma seems tame to very tired eyes.

[dead_black_eyes]

"I keep saying that because I've worked with him for years, and I know pretty well by now what sets him off. This is exactly the kind of thing he was worried about."

He seems confused about the "less than healthy" part of Stephen's discourse, since there's really no other way to describe any part of this.

He sits up, wincing, and it's clear that there's not really a square inch of him that isn't in some measure of pain. "Thanks for helping. I'm... going to go take a bath. I need one more than I ever have in my life."

[voiceinthephone]

"N-No problem, Linden," Phil concluded with a slight bow to his head. The signs were all pointing" to a very bright and disturbing conclusion that the man didn't dare put in actual words. The bruising and the implications all spoke for them both. As human as it was to try and reach out, the Tribute would be crossing the line and breach tradition.

"Here's hoping Stephen won't lash out too badly," Gray sighed and quietly asked the nearest Avox to help the Mentor up, "I-If you need to vent, y-you know my door is open." This last one was almost inaudible, "Don't let the drain take you down."

[dead_black_eyes]

The bruises are like neon signs in the red light district; no matter what they actually say, they all really only mean one thing. Linden seems determined to take it in stride, though, downing his sleeping pills in one smooth motion and walking as straight and steady as possible on his way back to his room. He makes it several steps before his dizziness wins out he accepts the Avox's assistance.

"Thanks for offering," he says, the way someone who has no intention of accepting does, "but the details are all so tedious and I'd hate to bore or burden you. Maybe things will look different in the light of day but for now, I'd really rather be alone."

It's not a dismissal, so much as legitimately vulnerable honesty.

[voiceinthephone]

"I understand," Gray took the statement as it was and nodded, "Good night sir and take care." Taking the letter and envelop, Phillip gave one last salute and headed off to his suite. The respect never left him, never once did he misinterpret what was a moment of deep hurt as anything else. Linden may have a drinking buddy but Gray's a support first. Or at least try to be. All he hoped is that the pain would be less tomorrow, and his Mentor wouldn't have lasting effects.