Bayard Sartoris II (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
yoknapatawpha) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-05-23 09:19 pm
yoknapatawpha) wrote in thecapitol2015-05-23 09:19 pm
We Pass from Death to Life Because We Love Each Other [Open]
WHO| Bayard Sartoris and anyone!
WHAT| Bayard's developed a sort of narcoleptic sleep pattern.
WHERE| Anywhere.
WHEN| A few days before the Arena.
WARNINGS| None.
Bayard knows what a bed is. Somehow, he just doesn't always manage to make it back there.
Without someone making sure he's in bed at a regular time or eating something besides pure sugar, Bayard's developed some unhealthy tendencies, one of which is roaming the Capitol all evening after school, getting lost, and only sometimes making it back to the District Twelve Suite before he needs to rest. Sometimes he makes it back to the Tribute Tower, but since he isn't confident using the elevator yet he'll go up as many floors as he can before finding a corner or a flat, unoccupied part of the common room to nap on.
He's slept outdoors often enough in the past that laying his head on his folded arms suits him well for a soft place to stretch out. He sleeps on his side, soft little sighs eking out from between half-parted lips, fingertips twitching slightly with dreams. When he wakes he misses Ringo; when he lies down he misses Granny. When he actually goes to bed in his room in District Twelve (its mattress stuffed with candy and little knick-knacks, wonders of the modern day, that he's squirreled away - toys that light up, a fob for a car, advertising pamphlets mass-printed in colors Bayard thought only existed by chance and in nature) he sometimes cries from loneliness, and so, in a way, it's a relief to simply become exhausted from exploring and shut down right where he is.
Underfoot, curled on that couch you wanted to sit on, tucked inside a cabinet while you look for breakfast, you can find him at some point just about everywhere.
WHAT| Bayard's developed a sort of narcoleptic sleep pattern.
WHERE| Anywhere.
WHEN| A few days before the Arena.
WARNINGS| None.
Bayard knows what a bed is. Somehow, he just doesn't always manage to make it back there.
Without someone making sure he's in bed at a regular time or eating something besides pure sugar, Bayard's developed some unhealthy tendencies, one of which is roaming the Capitol all evening after school, getting lost, and only sometimes making it back to the District Twelve Suite before he needs to rest. Sometimes he makes it back to the Tribute Tower, but since he isn't confident using the elevator yet he'll go up as many floors as he can before finding a corner or a flat, unoccupied part of the common room to nap on.
He's slept outdoors often enough in the past that laying his head on his folded arms suits him well for a soft place to stretch out. He sleeps on his side, soft little sighs eking out from between half-parted lips, fingertips twitching slightly with dreams. When he wakes he misses Ringo; when he lies down he misses Granny. When he actually goes to bed in his room in District Twelve (its mattress stuffed with candy and little knick-knacks, wonders of the modern day, that he's squirreled away - toys that light up, a fob for a car, advertising pamphlets mass-printed in colors Bayard thought only existed by chance and in nature) he sometimes cries from loneliness, and so, in a way, it's a relief to simply become exhausted from exploring and shut down right where he is.
Underfoot, curled on that couch you wanted to sit on, tucked inside a cabinet while you look for breakfast, you can find him at some point just about everywhere.
no subject
"I can show you." Bayard dips a hand into his pocket and pulls back out a single box of earth, a small, tight-sealed wooden one with a latch on the front. He holds it as if it were a frog liable to leap from his hands, or a candle he was shielding from the wind. He opens the latch and holds it to Swann when she returns, the little box of dirt. "This is Sartoris. This is the earth from my home."
Despite being nothing but dirt, it clearly means the entire world to Bayard.
"It's my token."
no subject
"It's lovely," she says, and she really means it, in the sense that he has a box of his home with him. She smiles and gently places her hands under his, steadying them. "Why is it called Sartoris? Isn't that your name?"
no subject
He settles on the bed and pulls down the blankets so he can crawl under them, then latches and tucks away his precious box. "There's Sartoris, Sutpen's Hundred, the Compson Place, Armstid, McCallum, the McCaslins' plantation, and then if you travel out of the city my Aunt Louisa lives on a plantation called Hawkhurst."
no subject
Swann pulls the blankets up over him, tucking him in, and snorts a little. "That's funny, that there are Compsons in your world. You know we have a Compson family here? They helped start the country, they're very important." Well, they used to be, anyway. "One of the Compsons is an Escort, downstairs. Things like that are just so funny."
She strokes his hair and smiles, bending over him. "Is there anything else you need, sweetheart?"
no subject
He pulls the blanket up in a fist under his chin, curling up slightly. "Nome. I'll show myself out and leave the room as I found it when I wake. Thank you."
no subject
"Don't worry yourself about that. You just get as much sleep as you like, and I'll see you when you wake up, all right?" Her fingers run through his hair again, and then she kisses her fingertips and presses them to his cheek, to spare him lipstick stains. There's a flick of a switch and she makes sure he won't be disturbed when the sun comes up in an hour or so, and then she leaves and turns off the overhead light.
"Sweet dreams, Bayard."
no subject