thecapitol | With a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit 'em right between the eyes [Closed]

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With a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit 'em right between the eyes [Closed]

Who| Linden and Phone Guy
What| Time for a Mentor to do his job and give the Tribute he kind of considers a kindred spirit some advice on how to survive.
Where| District 6 suite
When| A few days before Arena 14 starts
Warnings/Notes| When these two are in a room together, bottles of alcohol just appear. They are that mutually enabling.

The Arena's approaching quickly. Between taking last snatches and glances of people he will miss when they're pulled away to fight to the death, he's trying to actually do his job and Mentor 6's Tributes. While he doesn't think that someone as deadly as Molotov would appreciate or benefit from being approached by District 6's resident specter, he knows that a few of them would, and that's why he seeks out Phillip earlier than he's usually awake. He doesn't knock; this is disturbingly typical for him, just letting himself into rooms that aren't locked (or unlocking them without warning if he has a key; Linden's grasp of boundaries just isn't fantastic.)

"I hope you're not hungover," he says crisply. "If you are, grab a bucket and a bottle of water and follow me. We have to go down to the Training Center and work some things out before the Arena if you want a shot at surviving to the end."

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Phillip could go the morally correct route and say yes, yes it was the right thing to do...but he wanted to be with Venus so badly. He didn't feel like a ghost when she was around, he felt human and awkward with her. He felt alive with her.

"It's not, but I want her to be happy," he confessed as best he could, "I don't want to wreck whatever relationship she has because I know that it will sour things with people she's lived with for far longer. I'm a friend and I will..." he then offered Linden a small rueful smile, "I'll find someone else."

First loves are always the worst it would seem.

It's a feeling Linden knows and can relate to well; he doesn't pursue the dangerous habits and vices he enjoys because he wants to die. On the contrary, he wants to live fully and in ways thay still feel like more pleasure than pain. Being alive and feeling alive are actually very different things.

"Maybe she'd be happier with you," he suggests, twisting a strand of hair idly between his fingertips before taking another drink. "At the very least you should let her know your feelings, and then leave it to her to make the decision. You can accept it , whatever it is, when all the cards are on the table."

That suggestion was quickly shot down, "No she wouldn't. She needs someone strong and stable, not an insomniac with guilt issues. She's a superhero, she deserves a person that's as strong as her, not a crutch to hold her down." Phillip was no stranger to self deprecation, but this one was one of the harshest he's been towards himself. "I can handle myself."

That was a load of horse crap.

Linden gives him a level stare.

"So, which is it? Can you handle yourself, or are you too weak for her? You're not actually being very logical in your reasoning and I'll confess that even as tipsy as I am at present, it's messing with me."

"I can handle myself, but I'm not good enough for her," Phil clarified, "I don't deserve her. Call it a hunch." The man sighed out, "I know it's self defeating and I wish I could give you something more logical but it's me being honest about it. If I mess up, she deserves something better and I lose someone. If I stay away, she gets to be happy."

In other words, he's a coward about facing anything but his own demise.

Linden snorts through his nose, more loudly and derisively than he would if he was sober.

"Nice guys finish last. Is that a saying in your world, too? If you can have something by reaching out and taking it, you should at least try. If you don't, you're right, you don't deserve it."

He stares into his drink. "Then again, I'm probably not one to talk. She came onto me, the one I sleep with every now and again. She slipped a packet of pills in my pocket along with her room number and a time, and that was that, but you can't depend on every potential lover to be so very direct, even here."

By this point, Gray knows somewhat of what sort of advice and comments to expect from his Mentor, even if they're leaving the state of Tipsy and barreling towards Blissfully Drunk. And Linden doesn't fail to deliver on that, but these are words that he needs to hear. He had to shed away those fears and self-demeaning ways and do something about what he feels for Milo.

Though the way Lockhearst described this friend, it horrified Phil to see someone so blatant in their enabling. That lady knows how dangerous and possibly life-threatening it must be, mixing all that..."She brings you pills and sleeps with you? I think I understand your previous reaction but you probably think I'm a hypocrite." Nothing says Get off drugs like holding a third bottle of beer already halfway through

When it comes to being unapologetically blunt, Linden does have a talent. It's one that goes too frequently unappreciated in a city that values flattery over truth, but it finds a niche iota of respect in some of the offworlders.

"A hypocrite...? No, no it's very natural to see other people's problems more clearly than you see your own," Linden says, with more of that startling honesty. "I think that's probably true for both of us."

Phil thought about it, that he just rushed into things and well, here they were, "Maybe so but the only difference here is, you were clever enough to get through your Arena, brutal honesty and all." He wished he could have met Linden in an earlier time but he was truly thankful that the man was here now. In contrast, Gray was sure he'd have to die a few times before he got his chance to make right and give District 6 a victory, "I can only hope I'll get that close, you know? Or at least have a quick death. I, uh, I'm afraid of another choking death." Choking and then dismemberment...fun.

"Lucky enough," Linden corrects quietly, keeping his voice down. "I've thought about it a lot. More skilled Tributes than me died and they had no way to prevent their deaths. No amount of skill or intelligence could have saved them. I could have died a total of 23 times and I lived so... it was luck. I can't take credit for it."

He shakes his head, not quite dismissively, but the overall tone and impression the gesture gives is bound to be weariness. "A Victory seems so important to you. With everyone coming back the way they do, it really isn't as important. I'd rather you were good. Someone who can be good in spite of fear is the kind of person Panem should be holding up as a hero."

"This place...doesn't take to that lesson unless that good person is wearing a crown. A Victory carries more resources for the District, and more help. It's important to me because I don't want to fail again," Phil confessed somberly, he couldn't outright say that Panem enjoyed breaking good people and mold them in their image. But to hear his mentor say that, he simply raised his glass, "To staying the course then?"

"Don't buy into what they tell you about Victors having everything from money to fame to influence," Linden says, continuing to keep his voice down. "That's true to an extent, but not nearly the one that you'd think. Even Careers who dedicate their lives to winning the Hunger Games don't, not even nearly."

Even those who try to do something with their victories, instead of squander them, as I've been perceived to.

He raises his bottle before taking a deep drink, not repeating the toast but liking the excuse to swallow.

Edited 2015-08-05 19:37 (UTC)

Phillip catches this and he asks as soon as he finishes the possibly last bottle for the session, "As an offworlder who is curious...what can Victors do beyond guiding their Tributes? Do they have any say in the decisions of the government?" As it turns out, and from what he sees from Emily Finch and the others, there's nothing Victors can do other than be advertisement for the Capitol.

"I hope that's not disrespectful of me to ask. I wouldn't want to cause trouble."

Linden's gaze is bleary and unfocused, but fortunately his mind isn't yet. His tolerance is high for such an insubstantial wisp of a man, and though they might be stopping here, he's not managed to drink himself to the point where he doesn't even remember his own name. That's some kind of achievement, some kind of success.

The question gets two raised eyebrows, and then a harsh, loud bark of laughter that his hand flies up quickly to stifle.

"Say in the... no, no, that's... no," he says breathlessly. "That would be something, wouldn't it? People listen to us. We have influence over things like trends and general opinions but even those are... to an extent, regulated. If most of the Capitol knew what I really thought... let's just say it's better that they see me as a washed-up addict."

The harsh laughter was pretty much confirmation of something Phil suspected: Victors were trophies to be displayed and paraded until they broke too deeply and then tossed aside and ridiculed to no end. The Tribute then responded in a piecemeal answer, "So we all enjoy everything and agree for the good of the nation?"

It might be dancing on the edge of treason, but drunkenness is an excuse for a lot of things in the Capitol. Linden's fallen back on it more than once.

He raises his bottle.

"That takes a lot of bravery, you know. More than I think most people realize."

This might be the first time Phil uses the drunk excuse for his comment, "I'm not looking to stir the pot...I want to understand this world." And all this cruelty and beauty. "I'm ignorant and I just need to learn better. Like not to drink this much after training."

He raised his own, though empty, in a strange toast, "How does it go? Panem Now, Panem for Tomorrow?"

"Hey, Phillip? That's what we all want," Linden snickers. "And if you're trying to learn how not to drink so much after training you probably want to find a new Mentor, but you're probably figuring out that there aren't a lot of teetotalers among us."

He takes a moment longer than he should really have to to remember a motto that's been drilled into his head since he was an infant.

"Panem... today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever."

"All those Mentors but only one I'd trust my life with," drunk or not, this was a sincere statement, "I should try my best, for Panem, right?" He repeated the motto once more, the strange syllables sounding even more so with a slurring to his voice. "But I suppose I should start small. You're training your Tributes to win...and we're here to serve."

The earnestness of the statement gets Linden laughing again, and this time it's frost-touched.

"You'd trust me with your life? All the best intentions and devotion in the world don't change the fact that I'm about 110 pounds of limp-wristed chess player. Are you sure you want to lock that in?"

He waves a finger languidly, as if he's conducting Phillip's recitation of the motto.

"You are here to serve, but more and more you actually sound like you want to be. Definitely for an offworlder, but... even for someone born in Panem."

Edited 2015-08-23 16:30 (UTC)

"You know exactly why," Phil pointed out while he held his ground with the incoming numbness, "This place gave me a home, a way out of a gruesome death and now all I gotta do is try and get to the top...or die a few times to get there. It's a funny circle, you know?"

And every word was as true as the images that ran on endless loops in the television sets all over the country.

"Is it strange of me to think like that?"

If it's funny, it's not in a way that makes Linden laugh this time. Instead, he seems a little dizzy, and like he might actually regret drinking so much. Eventually, he usually reaches this point, a moment of bewildered what happened before he blacks out and ceases to be lucid. He's one of the most dangerous kinds of drunks, the ones that are far gone well before they seem like they are to others.

"Strange? No, not the word I'd use. But... shit, you know, I think I'm going to be sick..."

It's anyone's guess as to whether or not Phillip's words have anything to do with it.

Phil will assume that something went completely array in their conversation and he immediately runs over to get a can in case Linden decides to pull a Linda Blair and throw up on the floor. "I-I'm sorry about that, do you need anything?" Gray's concerns aren't dulled with alcohol, but they are a bit skewed when he talked. Not everyone is comfortable talking about death as he had just now.

There are a few reasons his stomach's turned sour, but the major one has less to do with death and more to do with the reality that there are offworlders who want to be here, who are grateful to be given the chance to die again and again for a country that is not theirs, and stakes that shouldn't matter to them.

He's also had a hell of a lot to drink for his insubstantial frame, and that's no small part of it.

"Don't be sorry, not your fault..." he says hoarsely, leaning over the can. "At any rate, I'd say it's probably enough for today..."

He sounds like he's referring to the drinking and the training.

Phil takes that as both, and nodded before he stands up and outstretched his hand to help his mentor up his chair. "I think so, Sir. And thanks, for the training a-and well, yeah, the drinks," he said, grateful to have a close enough workplace relationship with his Mentor that these actions were not out of the norm for the cameras.

"I'll sleep it off and head to a jog but you rest, okay?"

He wasn't aware of what would happen in the Arena but he was sure that things would be all right. It was nice to dream though.

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