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

Entry tags:

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

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

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."

"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."

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.

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?"

It gets harder. that much is so true it aches, even when there's nothing wrong physically with a Victor. Linden's always been just a little bit out of touch, and perhaps it's because his brain works faster and smoother in some ways. It's too sharply tuned to have good reception on every channel, and that's probably a big part of what Quintus saw that night.

Linden's shoulders curl instinctively as Quintus takes a step forward. His approach was to be good, easy, and get off as quickly and quietly as possible. When Quintus speaks, though, the color seeps from his yellow-tinged complexion.

"Well, that..."

He forces a laugh.

"That depends on who you ask, I guess..."

Sick in the head, Jason can attest...

"...I won't light any more fires. Like I said, I'm sorry."

"According to whatever doctor you're seeing." He tilts his head, not at all comfortable with Linden's current appearance. Part of him wants to leave this be, to not delve into the mess of issues he's just seeing the tip of, but he's nothing if not pragmatic and hates leaving things unaddressed.

And besides--having a mentor drop dead in the middle of the Training Center would result in one hell of a media circus.

"Look, if you need to go on medical leave--"

Linden is seeing a doctor, of course. How could he not, for something that is actually threatening his life and making dropping dead a very real possibility?

"Quintus, it's really nothing..."

Go ahead, add "telling an obvious lie to a Peacekeeper" to your long list of offenses.

"...OK, so I might need a new liver," he says, lowering his voice to protect the conversation from eavesdroppers. "But I was assured that it could wait until after the Arena and be taken care of quickly and quietly. The doctor said that I could pass it off as a spa day if anyone asked."

"Doesn't sound like 'nothing' to me." The statement is punctuated with a sort of disbelieving scoff--less from judgment that Linden's gotten himself into this position than the fact that he would pass off liver failure that way. "You and I both don't want the media jumping on that--I get that. But for something so serious, I think you should strongly consider going on leave, rather than trying to power through it and deal with a load of other junk."

He shifts his stance, making a hint of his discomfort apparent. "Are your parents still assigned to Nine's suites?"

Linden sets his jaw, looking anywhere but at Quintus' face. The absence of an answer is probably the most telling one the Peacekeeper could possibly receive; there's shame in needing this kind of help, of failing to keep it a complete secret, and in letting it get to this point at all. Pretending that it really is a minor problem is one of the last refuges available to the rundown Mentor.

He doesn't want to consider going on leave. He wants to continue living like nothing is too steep a demand for him until one morning, he just doesn't wake up. But the question about his Avoxed parents brings him back and gets his attention. The fact that Quintus called them "his parents" alone is dangerous; it means that the connection hasn't only been noticed, but it's been assumed that Linden thinks more of them than he would any pair of Avoxes. Avoiding that assumption was one very large reason he had them assigned to 9 instead of 6 once he managed to bribe Jason into giving them up.

When he speaks, his throat sounds slightly raw. "Yes. What does it matter?" he mumbles.

"I'm not directly responsible for the avoxes, but I do collaborate with C&C on ensuring that they're brought in for reconditioning on schedule and transferring out ones that end up being a recurring problem." His own gaze flickers away as he speaks, his words a bit hurried. "I don't see any reason why those two couldn't be, uh...considered one of those 'recurring problems.'"

"They're not a problem," Linden responds instantly in a hushed voice. "They're actually model workers, perfect for what they are, and they shouldn't be punished or reconditioned for reasons that simply don't exist."

He doesn't know if he can say it out loud, but the sentiment probably comes through clearly enough. I think they're safer in 9. I worry that it might be worse somewhere else.

"They are not an undue distraction for me," he insists. "If anything, I go out of my way to avoid them."

Quintus nods slowly, looking back at Linden, studying his face and his tone. He feels the weight of responsibility lift, replaced with the assurance that he'd done what was needed in extending the offer. There hadn't been anything wrong in doing so, he tells himself--if removing those avoxes would've kept Linden more together, kept a future PR disaster at bay. It wouldn't have been so much a personal favor as simply the practical solution.

"I'll take your word for that," he says. "But do let me know if the situation changes. I don't like to let stuff sit for too long."

There's nothing Linden likes more than others finding reasons not to meddle in his affairs, and a weight comes off his shoulders as well when Quintus agrees to let the matter rest.

I'm much the same, even if my bad reputation gives me a convenient cover when I'm not content to let private documents I have no business seeing sit for too long.

"That's understandable, of course..." Linden replies, edging toward the door. "If there's no other business to attend to and I'm not being apprehended, I'll be going, unless you have any objections...?"

"I'm not arresting you today," he assures him. "Though I might have to if today's bonfire ends up being a repeat offense. Don't force my hand."

He begins to turn away, pauses, then adds, "Try to take care of yourself."

Linden nods to indicate his comprehension, as well as his intention to behave more satisfactorily in the future. In a way, he can't believe that he's getting off so easily after being caught snooping around Tower records, but he can promise not to start fires easily enough.

"Thank you for your kind wishes," he says in parting before he pulls that vanishing act that was so helpful in winning his Arena.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

III

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject