Stephanus "Stephen" Reagan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
capitolprivilege) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-07-25 07:56 pm
capitolprivilege) wrote in thecapitol2015-07-25 07:56 pm
Entry tags:
a last hurrah [OPEN]
Who| Stephen Reagan and anyone in D6
What| Stephen's been keeping food in the D6 rooms. It doesn't look like he's doing it on purpose -- it looks like leftovers he just forgot about -- but it's deliberate.
Where| Six's rooms
When| The weeks between the freezing of Tribute credit lines and Altair's attack just before the 4th wall event
Warnings/Notes| None yet!
Food just keeps showing up.
The Tributes of Six haven't seen their Escort nearly as often as they're used to. Cyrus Reagan can be thanked for that -- when Stephen is around, it's in pressed suits with understated, tasteful amounts of shine and sparkle, suits too fancy to wear every day around Six. Unless there's an event he's supposed to take one of his Tributes to, he's been rushing out or stumbling in -- not because he's drunk, but because he's tired.
But boxes with labels from Capitol restaurants keep appearing in the D6 fridge. The food in there looks anywhere from half eaten to barely touched, never messy, never gross. It's usually healthy, almost never just dessert. He never seems to notice if it disappears. After all, the roommate code clearly states that if it's not got someone's name on it, it's fair game, right? Stephen's probably just forgetting that he has it. That's perfectly normal.
About one or two nights a week, food is delivered to Six. Those evenings, Stephen is around at least for a little while to poke at what he ordered, before he invariably decides to abandon it in favor of sleep. For purposes of the log, he's still sitting at the table, looking thoughtfully at the hearty meal in front of him that's too big for one person to finish.
It smells amazing.
What| Stephen's been keeping food in the D6 rooms. It doesn't look like he's doing it on purpose -- it looks like leftovers he just forgot about -- but it's deliberate.
Where| Six's rooms
When| The weeks between the freezing of Tribute credit lines and Altair's attack just before the 4th wall event
Warnings/Notes| None yet!
Food just keeps showing up.
The Tributes of Six haven't seen their Escort nearly as often as they're used to. Cyrus Reagan can be thanked for that -- when Stephen is around, it's in pressed suits with understated, tasteful amounts of shine and sparkle, suits too fancy to wear every day around Six. Unless there's an event he's supposed to take one of his Tributes to, he's been rushing out or stumbling in -- not because he's drunk, but because he's tired.
But boxes with labels from Capitol restaurants keep appearing in the D6 fridge. The food in there looks anywhere from half eaten to barely touched, never messy, never gross. It's usually healthy, almost never just dessert. He never seems to notice if it disappears. After all, the roommate code clearly states that if it's not got someone's name on it, it's fair game, right? Stephen's probably just forgetting that he has it. That's perfectly normal.
About one or two nights a week, food is delivered to Six. Those evenings, Stephen is around at least for a little while to poke at what he ordered, before he invariably decides to abandon it in favor of sleep. For purposes of the log, he's still sitting at the table, looking thoughtfully at the hearty meal in front of him that's too big for one person to finish.
It smells amazing.
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He hesitates, then stares at Karkat for a moment, wide-eyed.
"Is this what it's like?"
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It's the question that has him pausing. He swallows his mouthful beneath a starting squint, then asks, "What what's like? Trolls don't have siblings, and the only micromanaging I get on clothes is from Trish."
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"Are you kidding me? It's a headache and a half, and after all the literal running around I have to do for training, school, sponsor junk, stylist shit, my hooves are ground down to bony stubs." He pauses, then amends, "Feet. I mean feet. Please don't take that literally; it's a troll term."
His fingers come up and rub along the bridge of his nose. "I feel like I have to sleep now or else I'll collapse from exhaustion. I used to go a week at a time without it if I felt like it, you know?" Felt like it being more or less code for too intimidated by the threat of traumatic nightmares. "And even then I don't get enough every night."