thecapitol | [OPEN] The morning dove sings

Who| Alain and YOU
What| Alain's not-so-triumphant return to the Capitol
Where| Central commons; D4 suite (specifically seeking Roland, but open); D7 suite; anywhere else you'd like!
When| End of week 6, early week 7
Warnings/Notes| Death things, I guess?

Death is, somehow, easier than Alain expected. Embarrassing - of all the ways he expected to die, he didn't expect it to be at the hands of a child, and a girl-child at that - but easy. It's waking from it that's hard, pulling himself out of the darkness and fully expecting agony in its wake. But of course, there is no agony. He's whole again, and when first he awakes, he looks with wonder at the fully-formed callouses on his palms, which were so recently reduced to raw new skin and blisters. Wonder, and a kind of creeping disgust and horror. This is wrong. Even knowing it was coming, it's wrong. He spends several moments just checking himself over, flexing his hands and testing his weight on his no-longer-broken leg. That creeping horror doesn't fade. At last, unwilling to be left alone with the evidence of his own unnatural recovery, he heads out of the room into the Center proper.

i. Central commons
He makes for the stairs first, not sure what he hopes for, just knowing he doesn't want to stay sitting around in the aftermath. It doesn't hurt that the bars are down there; after everything, he could use a stiff drink. The crowds are a relief, after the echoing silence in his own head, although the numb lack of the Touch is nagging at him again, dragging at his attention like a loose tooth. He keeps his head lowered, though, not making eye contact until he's at the bar. Company is well and good, but he isn't interested in replaying his embarrassment in the Arena for Capitolite ears.

He settles down in the corner of the bar with a double whiskey, scanning the crowds, looking for a friendly face. Or at least one that shows something more than vulturous curiosity.

ii. D4 suite
After a couple of drinks, the noise and press of the place starts to get to him, as does the aching emptiness that's all that answers his Touch. He no longer craves busyness so much, and he has his own concerns to attend to. Some people don't come back. Has he really gone so long without making sure Roland isn't one of them? Sluicing down the last of his whiskey, he gets to his feet and starts back towards the stairs (the elevators are something he doesn't think he'll ever be comfortable with, trapping yourself in a tiny prison in the hands of a machine), but not back to his own suite. He stops at the fourth floor, takes a deep breath, and heads inside, going to knock on Roland's door.

iii. D7 suite
He can only stay out so long. Eventually, he ends up back on his own floor, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he curls on an armchair, leafing through his well-thumbed copy of Homilies & Meditations without really reading. He's tried to shake the heavy thoughts that have weighed on him since his awakening, but they won't leave him.

Death is a heavy thing. It isn't that he wishes for it to last - not for himself, not for Roland, not for anyone who's fallen that way - but he's a man who believes in things in their place, and death is, above all else, meant to be an end. It isn't just that this feels like a mockery. It feels dangerous, coming back time and again from things that ought to send you to the end of the path. He can't help how it makes his skin crawl to think of it.

He'll sit there for a very long time, even sleep there a night or two. He has a lot to think on, but nothing that seems fair to say out loud.

Threaded | Flat

It's not often people knock on Roland's door, for the simple reason that there aren't too many people who visit. Those who do tend to meet him in the common room, and the only person who tends to come straight for Roland's door is the Signless. His knock is different, though, and anyway Roland isn't expecting him, so when Roland opens the door it's with an expression of curiosity. That expression does not remain curious for long.

"Oh, Alain." The look that replaces that curiosity is one of deep and grateful relief. His left arm goes around Alain's back and his right, with its working arm and shining mechanical fingers, settles itself at the base of his old friend's skull. If the clear rubber covering on those two fingers catches a few of Alain's hairs, well. Roland will cry his pardon later. Or maybe he won't. Some prices are worth paying for a good hug.

He leans forward, his dark hair mixing in with Alain's light, and keeps close enough that the tears sliding down Roland's cheek might brush over Alain's as well. "It's a gift to see you again, dear. A gift," he says, and doesn't ask after anything at all because Alain is here and alive and warm against him. What else is there that's worth knowing?

Edited (typo) 2015-07-06 22:33 (UTC)

It's the smell that draws Emily's attention, from over in her corner where she's kneeling down attending to the small garden she's set up there, trimming away dead leaves and taking clippings of herbs to dry out. She's used to Jason's fancy scented vaporised cigarettes and turns to see who's there with curiosity that turns into relief when she sees that Alain has returned from the Arena, that the Capitol hadn't seen fit to kill him permanently. Her instinct is to offer a friendly smile, but she stops short when she sees just how deeply pensive he looks, recognising his expression all too well as one that's been reflected in her own face enough times.

"I'd ask if you're okay, but I won't patronise you like that. I know what it's like, coming back from the Arena."

Tiffany isn't... really a completely friendly face, and she is curious - but not for the reasons that other people are. Now that they're outside of the Arena and she isn't feeling like she's constantly about to be attacked, her suspicion and paranoia have ebbed considerably. She even gives Alain a cautious little grin as she sits down a couple seats away from him.

"Hey."

Jason doesn't give Alain long to sit and meditate on the nature of death. Despite the fact that most of Jason's Tributes are back and cluttering his schedule, as soon as he gets a notification that Alain's returned he clears up a slot and makes his way back to the Suites. He enters from the elevator, preceded as usual by his trademark puff of herbal vapor cigarettes.

Unlike when Alain last left, Jason looks as if something's off, some strange shadow clinging to the insides of his irises. He looks jumpy, unstable, and there's a mark on his lower lip where he's been biting it for the last few weeks. If he weren't wearing the usual Capitol makeup, dark circles would be showing under his eyes.

It's weakness, but he doesn't recognize it as he instead starts making coffee and tries to zero in on Alain's.

"Congratulations on getting killed by a little girl. That was impressive."