Home, It's Become a Killing Field [OPEN]

[dead_black_eyes]

Who| Linden and YOU
Where| Catch-all around the Capitol
When| Week 3
Warnings/Notes| What usually comes with Linden; drugs and alcohol references and profanity likely, I'll update this if anything else comes up.



I. Capitol Viewing Party- Any Bar

Linden's here tonight out of obligation more than any true desire to mingle with the gaudy imbeciles who gamble and sponsor and genuinely enjoy watching people murder each other in a gladiatorial free-for-all. District 6 still has five Tributes alive, meaning that by the third week, they're actually doing very well, and he's being congratulated almost constantly. Tonight, the sponsors are gathering themselves; they're practically flocking to the thin Mentor's side, wanting to discuss gift options and asking him about his personal favorites and informed hunches.

Yes, Phillip truly does care that much. No, I have no idea what Nux's issue is and I sincerely hope he doesn't accidentally murder someone from our District. Clementine's doing well as is typical for her.

That's not all that comes up, though. With the latest issue of Celebrus on the racks, a fair number of people have read the spotlight on 6 and are immensely curious about Linden's private life. Linden has always preferred to keep such details strictly personal, but due to the potentially scandalous nature of the rumors if they are true, he finds himself deflecting far more than he'd like to.

No... it's against the rules. My relationship with Nill is nothing inappropriate. We're friends and she shares her cigarettes with me sometimes. You heard...? No, no that couldn't be more wrong.

He's exhausted fairly quickly, and slinks into corners at every opportunity to refill his drink and either nurse or slay it. So many in, he's not feeling well, and not in the usual way; he's tired, disoriented and his stomach is bothering him.

"Excuse me. I don't suppose you remember the Avox with the shots... he had blonde hair, sort of dark makeup? I really need to find him. Not to alarm you, but I think I might have been poisoned."

II. En Route to a Liquor Store from a Health Clinic

The next day, Linden's first order of business is something he dreads as a rule: seeing the doctor. He has a list of concerns and complaints ready, but the medical professional waves it aside, telling him to sit down for bloodwork, not seeming particularly worried. She only speaks to express annoyance that his veins are so terrible, collapsed and weak and difficult to find purchase in. It takes her ages and many pricks to get enough vials to test.

When they're back, Linden voices his suspicion again, louder. "I think I was poisoned."

The doctor snorts. "You were, in a manner of speaking. Your liver's failing, Lockhearst."

"...I see."

"If you were anyone else, I'd tell you to get your affairs in order. You're a long-time substance abuser, you weigh 110 pounds after gaining weight, and you don't have any family to live for."

"It sounds like it's grim," Linden says, wondering why the gravity of the situation isn't hitting him harder.

"Well, it would be, but you're a Victor. Snow isn't going to let you die," the doctor shrugs, writing extensively on her clipboard. "We can get you a new one, like we did with your heart when you wrecked that, and have you on your feet again so fast everyone will think it was a spa day."

On the way back to the tower, Linden takes a slight detour. Strangely, even after hearing news that should have been life-changing, all he wants to do is get drunk, and he leaves the liquor store with a bottom-shelf liquor wrapped in a paper bag. He finds a curb to sit on, near a sewer drain in case he exceeds his limits, and starts swallowing mouthfuls. Occasionally, he glances down at his hand, where a handkerchief with embroidered linden flowers and a scarlet ibis rests.

III. Tribute Tower- Around the Comfort and Care Office

Linden's in trouble. Not bad trouble, at least not by his standards, but even for good reason, starting trashcan fires in the lobby tends to be frowned-upon. Unfortunately for Linden, "I was tired of looking at this month's stupid issue of Celebrus" isn't considered a very good reason, and the result is a period of time where he's sitting and waiting for the annoyed administrators to deal with the paperwork that comes with an unstable and unpredictable Mentor's expected but nevertheless frustrating antics.

There's no rule against it.

That's because most people don't need to be told not to set trash cans on fire indoors!

He rests his cheek against his palm; he's been told that a Peacekeeper will probably be along shortly to give him a slap on the wrist, but as long as it's something like this getting him negative attention and not proof of involvement with Nill, he has no problem dealing with it. He's had plenty of practice with misdemeanors and their fallout; the only real inconvenience is that he'll be here for awhile.

The administrator steps out for a second, and Linden cranes his head around, pausing before standing from his chair in the hallway and strolling over to the vacated and somewhat messy desk. His fingertip slides aside a paper, and he starts glancing over a few various lists and records, wondering what he can commit to memory before anyone comes by.

Comments

II - Oh God this can't be good

[talltaleteller]

Felicity is no stranger to the concept of vagrants and bums. Now certainly, her family has always been on the well-off side, and have gone to lengths to keep themselves at a good distance from the undesirables of the world. But back in District 2, the luxury was a little less widespread and not everyone was living high on the proverbial hog. She has been taught to make no eye contact and to not give change and to just leave them to their sad, short, miserable lives. But this is different because one, this is the Capitol and such things are probably swept out of sight quicker than they accumulate and two, that is totally Linden Lockhearst. Who she totally knows. Kind of knows. Knows enough to be profoundly alarmed by this situation, at least.

"Linden!" So over she scoots, still in her school uniform, bookbag bulging, not even trying to be subtle about her concern. "What're you... how're you... why're you.... are you alright?!"

[dead_black_eyes]

He glances up, the alcohol already starting to blur his vision and dull his senses. Which, incidentally, is exactly what it was supposed to do, but he hadn't expected or wanted it to happen in front of kids. And on top of everything else, this is a kid he knows, isn't she?

He scrabbles to push the bottle down at his side, the liquor sloshing over slightly and leaving a trail down his chin and the front of his shirt. Lovely. He hastily wipes it away from his face.

"I'm fine!" He answers abruptly. Fuck, how long has it been since he was a kid? What do normal kids (he never was one) believe? "Just... I was walking home and got tired so I sat down for a second so I could rehydrate. There's nothing to worry about."

He also quickly pockets the embroidered handkerchief. Yes, it's beautiful, but he'd rather not talk about why it comforts him just now.

[talltaleteller]

That's liquor, isn't it? It sure smells like it. Felicity may not be an adult but she is 16 and is not completely sheltered against the realities of the world. So Linden gets a long look and a slow nod, the sort of thing that silently implies 'you go on believing that, pal.' "Uh... huh."

And then quite abruptly she is leaning in and lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. "You are getting drunk on a street corner!" Okay it's not actually a corner but it sounds better to say it that way. "You should at least be doing it inside!"

She's a Games fangirl, Linden. She knows your shtick. It is substance abuse and pining for things long gone. This is totally the former. Maybe a bit of the latter, too, but she's not gonna judge that one.

[dead_black_eyes]

She's not buying it. Linden's heart (not his, whose? Artificial? What the hell did they replace his heart with after it stopped for good?) sinks in his chest when that becomes clear.

"Yeah, I... guess I am, but I have a good reason, OK? It's been a rough 24 hours, I got some bad news today and it couldn't actually wait until getting inside."

[talltaleteller]

It's a good thing that Felicity is an intensely empathetic person. Or, okay, well, failing that, she's a soft touch for a good sob story. Or even a bad sob story. Her face falls and lets out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a whimper. "Aww, well... well still, I'll help you get inside, okay? Okay?" And she straightens up and starts fishing around for her phone. They're pretty far from anywhere she recognizes, but getting a cab here ought to help in getting things sorted out.

III

[lex_paciferat]

Quintus ordinarily leaves the disciplining to his men unless the offense is serious--he'll make stabbings his concern; property damage, less so. It's only because he's already walking in this direction that he volunteers to have a few words with Linden, only to find that the mentor's no longer seated where the administrator said they left him.

He stands in the doorway, watching Linden silently for a moment, then remarks, "Might've been a good idea to close the door before you started doing that."

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden glances up, surprised that Quintus is the one on the scene instead of someone newer, greener and more likely for a Panem Victor to be able to star-strike and manipulate. He tries to let that be the extent of his surprise, straightening as someone who's been interrupted, and not as one who's been caught.

"Might've, if I was was trying to hide anything," he reasons with a scrawny-shouldered shrug. "I'll be straight with you... my District distills a liquor I really like and since no one will tell me any details about when there's another shipment coming in, I was hoping to find out for myself. I'm not proud, but... I mean it's probably not worth a night in jail."

[lex_paciferat]

"Uh-huh. Step back out into the hall, please."

Once Linden's out of the room, he shuts the administrator's door and glances over the scanner hooked up to it to make sure it hasn't been tampered with. He's always telling colleagues to shut their doors and lock up any hard copies of paperwork when they step out, regardless of whether they plan on being away for two minutes or thirty. He'll have to automate some of these office entrances too, he supposes--yet another thing to put on his list.

"You know, I've had some run-ins with Celebrus reporters," he says, his authoritative tone giving way to something more casual. "Had one try to bug an avox about a month ago. It's the little things like that that just make my job harder."

He crosses his arms with a light sigh. "Do I care if you do some kind of protest-burning out on a city street? No. Do I care if you do it indoors on private property? Well, you shouldn't, but it's not my problem if you do. It becomes my problem when you create that kind of hazard in the Training Center. And while I halfway share the sentiment I can't have that sort of thing going on here."

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's easy and compliant when it comes to Quintus' order. He's straightening and shuffling quickly back out into the hall; some days, he might push his luck, saunter or move more slowly than he absolutely has to. Maybe that would have been a better idea, though; he's not in good shape, recently, and his hand is against his rib cage and his breaths quick and shallow even though he's trying really, really hard not to let it be noticeable to the peacekeeper.

Quintus has helped him out before, after all. He can afford not to be a pain in the ass right now, not when he has more pains that are a lot more serious and a lot more humiliating.

I need a new liver because I fucked mine up. I want this life to mean something before that's it and I'm gone. That means not going to jail tonight.

"Seriously?" he asks, eyes wide and interested as though Quintus specifically sought him out for small talk just so he could complain a little bit about the reporters. "Bugging an Avox? That's deplorable..."

Oh. OK, they have business to get through. He keeps his tongue behind his teeth and just listens to what Quintus has to say to him.

"...yeah, I understand. I'm sorry. I'm under a lot of stress lately, and I guess it found a weird outlet. That happens sometimes, you... maybe you can see where I'm coming from."

Linden might as well be an offworlder, sometimes, for how well he fits into the structure of Panem and keeps from drowning in its various rules and customs. Even as a child in 6, he didn't quite fit in.

[lex_paciferat]

Quintus, unfortunately for Linden, doesn't miss the body language cues--especially because that position is one he finds himself in from time to time, struggling to quite catch his breath against the poor elasticity of his repaired lung. He thinks back to that incident at the bar, recalls Linden's deer-in-the-headlights stare, the taut panic in his frame. So different from this pathetic posturing, this begging for sympathy.

(It gets harder as time passes, Emily had told Quintus when he'd asked. The endless media parade, the deaths of Tributes, the nightmares. There are so many ways to break a person, especially one already damaged.)

"I know," he says, and after a moment's hesitation he finds himself taking a step closer and lowering his voice. "How sick are you, Mr. Lockhearst?"

I

[bravelyplucked]

Torin's not the biggest fan of going out and mingling when the Games are on, but it's a necessary evil. Just another part of the job...not like there's much about this job that he actually enjoys. So he's at first glad to see someone he knows and likes, thinking that maybe he'll at least get to have a nice conversation for once at one of these things, but Linden quickly dashes those hopes.

"What do you mean, poisoned?" Torin glances around the room. He doesn't see the Avox.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden doesn't look well, and not just in the way he always looks unwell. His eyes scan the room before he's looking for a place to sit, pushing his dark hair away from his face.

"My drink just now. I need to find out where it came from," he says softly, as if the words are causing him pain to speak. The way he holds his side, they might actually be.

[bravelyplucked]

"And you need to get to a doctor then," Torin says insistently, taking ahold of Linden with his good arm. He can offer support...and he could probably even carry the other man, given how scrawny Linden is. "Which way did he go?"

[dead_black_eyes]

"No, no doctor," he pleads hastily, tensing under Torin's touch even as he doesn't pull away from it. "If I can figure out where it came from I'm sure I can do something about this. I think he went back toward the kitchens...?"

He's not sure. His vision is swimming, because he's been drinking a lot tonight, and it's been hitting him even harder than usual.

[bravelyplucked]

"I only know so much about poisons," Torin points out, even if he's gently guiding Linden back towards the kitchens. At least in the kitchens, they're likely to have a first aid kit of some sort, as well as a back entrance he can call an ambulance to. "And I don't think I'm qualified to administer any sort of antidote."

II

[andrastian]

Sebastian knows the feeling of needing to hit bottom and pursuing it, best as he can. He's been fighting it off, himself, since his return from the Arena. So far, he's actually picked up a bottle of his own, and been searching for somewhere private to drown his own doubts for a moment, when he spots the mentor, one he's not familiar with to know more than that, and raises an eyebrow at his state. Well, that certainly is bad.

"Ser...Linden?" He tries, thinking he has the man's name right, and overcome by an urge not to join the man in drink, but to try helping him in some way. "Forgive me but...could I help you, somehow?"

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden glances up at the correct name, gaze unfocused and wary. It's late in the day with a sun steadily setting, and he's not as conspicuous as he could be, but it's still not a particularly impressive or reassuring sight, doubtless.

"Help?" he asks blankly. "Who are you? One of the New Tributes, I know that much, but not from 6..."

There are so many, coming and going all the time. Even someone with Linden steel-trap memory can't keep them all straight.

[andrastian]

"Sebastian Vael, from 4." He answers, though he's not concerned about whose district is whose at the moment. It's like what he spoke about with China, when he first arrived. He'd like to help people here, dealing with this reality, even if it's reduced to things like trying to give them faith in themselves without overly criticizing anything. It's still something anyway.

"I was a brother in...a priest," he changes the definition, in case that makes more sense. "For a long time. If there is anything that I can do, it's listen. Presumptuous though it is...it felt wrong not to help, if I can."

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden stares hard at the man.

"A brother, in a priest?" he repeats uncertainly. "That's... probably a little more information than I needed, though the stamina you're implying is probably congratulation-worthy. Somehow I don't doubt it... regardless, what you do on your own time is your business and I won't judge,"

He clears his throat, hoping that he'll be afforded the same grace in this less than dignified moment.

"You want to help? What are you holding, there?"

[andrastian]

"I..." Sebastian flushed a deep scarlet at the implication he had accidentally put out there, ducking his head a moment and scratching at the back of his neck, which had suddenly gone hot. "I ought to clarify. We're called brothers there, but anywhere else...I would be called a priest, I believe. It..." Yeah, the good little choir boy, who'd played at being wild in turns, couldn't quite handle THIS level of conversation without sputtering, funny as it occurred to him it was.

He needed to pray. And badly.

"Ah, this." he nodded towards the bottle. "I'd thought to chase some of my own..." He wasn't sure how to phrase it. "Darkness, maybe, to chase some of my own darkness away. But, so far" He shrugged, "It doesnae seem tae be doin' much good." The accent, usually kidden behind the tones he'd learnt in Kirkwall, slipped away, given the caught off guard nature of what the moment had turned into now.

II

[crabmunicator]

Another day, another trip out for sponsors or reporters or fans or whatever the hell it was: after a while it all blends together into one smeary, false persona of pretending he isn't loathing it all. It gets tiresome having to bare his hurts and feelings in order to be likeable, compelling, and sympathetic. Behold, under the prickly exterior lies a heart soft and tender. It goes against every instinct he has, but he knows he'll win nothing if he tries to pretend to be a proper troll.

It's with this on his mind (and the sighing gladness that he's done for the day, bar another impromptu autograph session on the street), that he almost walks past Linden entirely. He's not looking for him, and he's not expecting him, but it's as the man lifts his bottle for a swallow that Karkat catches his face.

"Linden?" His voice is slow as he approaches, like he's not sure he's seeing things right. He doesn't know the stereotype of the paper bag, but surely his Mentor sitting by the gutter isn't how this is supposed to be. "What are you doing here?"

[dead_black_eyes]

It's getting dim outside, and with his face turned away and the bottle tipped high, it's easy to miss the bag of rag and bone huddled on the curb with his bottle and his tragic, sentimental handkerchief. The embroidery feels like it's holding him together right now as much as the image it conveys.

"Taking a break," he responds brusquely and breathlessly after gulping back an amount that won't settle well on a queasy stomach and an inadequate liver. It strikes him that this is probably why he's been getting drunker faster and worse than he used to. "Walking back to the Tower was a... long walk so I'm resting."

Legit excuse, right? He starts to tip the bottle back again. He's angry at his organ for failing and right now, he actually kind of does want to kill it in his quiet, brooding way.

[crabmunicator]

"A break," he repeats, like it might be a joke he's waiting for the punchline on. It doesn't come.

It sounds stupid, is what it does. Linden's just gulping shit back on the side of the road, drinking it down like he did that day a couple weeks back in his office. He half expects him to pull out a little bottle of pills next.

"You know there's the... what do you call them, the Earth things that carry you around for a fee? Taxes? Is that what taxes are?" He's pretty sure now. It makes sense. He knows taxes are a thing you pay. "And what part of gulping that down so quick is going to help you get on your feet again? I did live with someone who drank that stuff enough to see the way she wobbled when she had enough."

[dead_black_eyes]

There's no punchline, here. Linden is the saddest joke ever to live in the Capitol, and he knows it too well to make light of it even when everything has come full and totally expected circle.

"Taxes?" he repeats blandly. "I'm a Victor. A lot of those taxes go to me and when I have to pay them, I don't exactly have a problem ponying up the cash." Then it dawns on him, what Karkat's actually saying. "Tax... taxis. No, I don't want a taxi."

He rubs at his forehead. He aches. He's having a rough time keeping up and it shows.

"Who did you live with like that? You didn't tell me before."

[crabmunicator]

"No, no--" he starts, but Linden catches his meaning before he can get into explaining he means the human version of scuttle buggies. Taxis? What a weird word.

In any case, it's clear how out of it Linden is. Between that and his negative answer, Karkat's opinion of the situation is rapidly dwindling to nothing, easily measured in the hardening of his features.

"Yes, Linden, I did. Back at Tony's Crowning, I mentioned her briefly. You were explaining that shit you're drinking, you know, how you use it to cover up the cracks?" Ones that are creaking wide open and gaping, at this rate.

He steps over closer and half-crouches, arm held out in an offer of support. "Here, let me haul your inebriated ass up before you lose all semblance of balance you have left."