dead_black_eyes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dead_black_eyes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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
In that way, what she did the night before was a huge mistake. Stephen was someone that would do everything in his power to help Linden, and she knew that. It wasn't the same for her.
She hoped he wouldn't think of that.
The smile that lights up her face this time is still small, but it's a little on the happier side, if not reassuring. Her hand is still on his and she gives it a gentle squeeze, but has to let go to actually write. Whether he keeps it there is up to him.
I'll be careful. I promise.
You don't need to do anything dangerous is the general intent. It was an Escort's job to tell her who would be at what Capitol function if she asked, right? She'd know in advance if he was there and avoid him like the plague. There's a lot of room for error there, but there's not much else she can do.
no subject
He is much humbler nowadays.
Linden's hand remains, knowing the risk and what it must look like on camera. He won't get fired for a tender touch in a vulnerable moment following a hellish night; that would be ridiculous even the standards of those harsh new rules, even with the thin ice he's been skating on since lashing out at Jason. Those rules might be what make his hand linger, since what comes with it is the knowledge that he can't do more.
"You can be careful and still get hurt."
The fingers of his other hand go to the page, running over the words she wrote: everyone needs to be protected.
no subject
None of these decisions were good ones, and if Linden knew the full extent he might be significantly more worried about her ability to 'be careful.' Luckily for them both, at least instances like that only pop up every blue moon or so. Normally she's smarter; normally she's better.
Maybe Linden isn't the only one with poison under his skin.
It's not an easy thing for Nill to allow people to try to protect her. She's spent so much time trying not to be the kind of person who needed protecting that now it almost feels like an admittance to weakness, when she has so hard for so long to be strong. But it doesn't mean she doesn't need it.
For a moment she lifts the hand with the pencil to touch her fingers to Linden's arm, but it's a brief and fleeting gesture because she needs to go back to writing.
I'll be careful. I promise.I'll do what I can.
Higher up on the page, everyone needs to be protected has also been circled. There is little else she has to offer him in regard to this, and even if she made a point to avoid Claudius she would probably run into him eventually. They just had to hope the bidder didn't care.
no subject
If she means what she said about Linden being the strongest person she knows, then logic dictates that she should trust him to protect her, along with all that's important to her. Linden's already settled on that conclusion, despite the danger and the fear, and the fact that his wiry, brittle body isn't good for all the literal and dramatic applications of protecting (he couldn't stop a flurry of bullets or stop a train, no matter how much he wishes he could.) His wits are about him, though, and he's got the advantage of being considered relatively harmless by many in positions of power.
Hell, a man just spent a night abusing him because he was so certain there would be no consequences. He stiffens almost imperceptibly under her brief touch, lots of deep and hidden injuries responding in shrill, keening ways to the fleeting caress.
He gives several slight nods at her written words, wordlessly thanking her for a promise he knows must be difficult for her to make.
"Do you have Candi's contact information? I guess I can get it from Stephen, but I feel I should send her a token of appreciation. With any hope, she'll be inspired to look out for you in the near future."