Wednesday Addams (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thecapitol2015-07-12 08:56 pm
homicidium) wrote in thecapitol2015-07-12 08:56 pm
Entry tags:
Here comes a candle to light you to bed
Who| Wednesday Addams and you
What| Second place is just the first place loser. Also she kind of hates the Capitol.
Where| D7 Suites, Sublevel 1, the Roof
When| A day after the end of the Arena.
Warnings/Notes| Standard macabre Wednesday stuff.
I. Wednesday wakes up in her room, as everyone does, and takes a few moments to get her bearings. She throws away pretty bouquets, bright and beautiful, and figures out how to change her holographic window into a dark night scene with a full moon and bare tree branches swaying in the wind.
Then she can only do what feels natural. She goes to her bathroom and brushes her teeth and hair, braids it into her two sleek plaits. She scowls at her closet, at all the sparkle and embroidery and color, but then eventually settles on the least embellished dress in there -- it's black and simple, but there's still rhinestones on the white collar, and frilly ruffles along the hem.
She's equally as grumpy in the common area of the Suite, where she's forced to watch herself lose over and over again on the constantly-playing screen. She tries to find food, but it's all sweet and colorful, and none of it even moves or has eyes or occasionally emits a burst of flame.
Miserable, she finds a kitchen knife and sits at the table with her hand spread flat, sadly playing hand roulette to try and make herself feel better.
She misses the Arena.
II. She didn't really know what she'd find when she pressed the very bottom button on the elevator panel. It seemed worth it either way, since it couldn't be worse than the brightness and volume of the Lobby or anywhere else she'd seen so far.
It's not terribly surprising to find what looks like a large parking garage combined with a storage unit, but it's at least sort of dark and dank purely by virtue of being so far underground. It's the most comfortable place she's found in her time here, so she decides to stay a while.
Wednesday can be found here most of the day, sitting in a chariot by herself, curled up with her chin on her knees, quiet. She's sure that she probably shouldn't be here, but then they really shouldn't have given her access, should they?
III. The roof is only somewhere she dares venture after dark, once the sun is gone. The flowers disgust her, but if she sits in the right place and faces the right direction, she can see the mountain range in the distance, past all the city lights, and that's sort of comforting to look at, with the moon hanging low over the far off peaks.
Mother would like that, to go up that high and moonbathe.
Wednesday thinks about lost travelers and those crushed in avalanches, and she feels a little better, running her finger along the embroidery of the cushion she sits on, murmuring to herself.
"Who killed Cock Robin? I, said the Sparrow, with my bow and arrow..."
What| Second place is just the first place loser. Also she kind of hates the Capitol.
Where| D7 Suites, Sublevel 1, the Roof
When| A day after the end of the Arena.
Warnings/Notes| Standard macabre Wednesday stuff.
I. Wednesday wakes up in her room, as everyone does, and takes a few moments to get her bearings. She throws away pretty bouquets, bright and beautiful, and figures out how to change her holographic window into a dark night scene with a full moon and bare tree branches swaying in the wind.
Then she can only do what feels natural. She goes to her bathroom and brushes her teeth and hair, braids it into her two sleek plaits. She scowls at her closet, at all the sparkle and embroidery and color, but then eventually settles on the least embellished dress in there -- it's black and simple, but there's still rhinestones on the white collar, and frilly ruffles along the hem.
She's equally as grumpy in the common area of the Suite, where she's forced to watch herself lose over and over again on the constantly-playing screen. She tries to find food, but it's all sweet and colorful, and none of it even moves or has eyes or occasionally emits a burst of flame.
Miserable, she finds a kitchen knife and sits at the table with her hand spread flat, sadly playing hand roulette to try and make herself feel better.
She misses the Arena.
II. She didn't really know what she'd find when she pressed the very bottom button on the elevator panel. It seemed worth it either way, since it couldn't be worse than the brightness and volume of the Lobby or anywhere else she'd seen so far.
It's not terribly surprising to find what looks like a large parking garage combined with a storage unit, but it's at least sort of dark and dank purely by virtue of being so far underground. It's the most comfortable place she's found in her time here, so she decides to stay a while.
Wednesday can be found here most of the day, sitting in a chariot by herself, curled up with her chin on her knees, quiet. She's sure that she probably shouldn't be here, but then they really shouldn't have given her access, should they?
III. The roof is only somewhere she dares venture after dark, once the sun is gone. The flowers disgust her, but if she sits in the right place and faces the right direction, she can see the mountain range in the distance, past all the city lights, and that's sort of comforting to look at, with the moon hanging low over the far off peaks.
Mother would like that, to go up that high and moonbathe.
Wednesday thinks about lost travelers and those crushed in avalanches, and she feels a little better, running her finger along the embroidery of the cushion she sits on, murmuring to herself.
"Who killed Cock Robin? I, said the Sparrow, with my bow and arrow..."
no subject
He pulls his feet up and sits cross-legged on the ledge. For someone in the company of an open homicidal maniac, he feels very comfortable sitting on the ledge next to her. Having cat-like reflexes, as well as being roughly twice her size, helps considerably.
"We will keep trying to commune with our souls. We can hear them, but only just."
He looks her over, trying to listen to the advice one of his souls seems to be trying to scream at him. She's still just a child, and children need to be treated differently.
"...You seem tired."
Care for them. That's what it's trying to tell him. Children need to be looked after, at least a little bit.
"Perhaps you should get some sleep?"
Even his tone of voice conveys his discomfort with giving her this sort of advice.
no subject
At home, she'd have been tucked in and sleeping hours ago. At home, someone would have read her a story. And if she'd fallen asleep outside of her bed, as she well might have done without Ermac's presence, someone would have picked her up and taken her back inside.
Here, she has little doubt that she would have woken up in this same chair with the sun.
Wednesday slides from her seat to stand and brushes at her face again. She doesn't notice his discomfort, possibly just because she's so tired. "All right," she says. "It must be nice to never be alone. Good night, Ermac."
She paces away towards the elevator that can take her back to her Suite, and she does feel desperately lonely, moreso than any other time since she came to Panem. In the Arena, there wasn't as much time to think about it, not when she was occupied with watching out for herself. But in the Tower, it's just her.
No Mother. No Father. No Grandmama or Pugsley or Uncle Fester or Lurch. Not even Thing.
Addamses are many things, but apart is rarely one of them. Now Wednesday understands why.