The exit signs are flashing [closed]

[burningdaylight]

Who | Luke & the CR who'd like to visit him soon after his expose's run + ONE OPEN SLOT for anyone else who might want to talk to him.
What | That expose is out, painting Luke as a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad person. Who will believe it? What friendships will be tested? Find out on the next exciting episode of Panemball Z
Where | Luke's room. If you'd like another scenario/prompt/location, just let me know!
When | Kind of a catch-all here... your character can swing by in periods of wakefulness during the  Dream Event, or catch him after said event.
Warnings | References to drowning, probably reference to violence.

Secrets don't sleep forever and he had sensed, with a cold, creeping dread, that his hand would be forced someday. But not like this. Never like this.
 
The expose isn't just his life peeled back and laid bare. It's a twisted interpretation of it, the things he's said and seen and done gleefully sifted and cherry-picked through by shameless drama-mongerers. Chewed up and regurgitated. It's not their past to share but the Capitol has made it theirs, as much for entertainment as in a bid to shake trust in him and tear down the alliances he's tried to make. He's sure of it.
 
He’s been sitting on the edge of his bed for a while, his communicator forgotten on the nightstand. Too drained in that soul-deep way to make for the training centre but too wired to rest, his mind chasing its tail. As Tributes they've all grudgingly accepted the Capitol's intrusive, helicoptering presence in every aspect of their lives, but this new violation of privacy leaves him cold and shaken inside. They know more than he could have ever imagined and now there's nothing of the world he left behind – and the world that lives on inside him - left to hide.
 
There could've been some bitter sense of relief in all this, no longer burdened by secrets. But his heart's as heavy as it has ever been, and as the numb, buzzing fog around his mind begins to clear all he can feel is a furious powerlessness he can’t do anything about, the same he had felt while struggling to resist the injection. Not just anger at the Capitol for the slander but for Nick having to find out this way. It's a small, fucked up blessing that there're too few of his friends left here to upset.

Hard to remember that, though, when a knock jars him from his thoughts. His pulse jumps in his throat. A beat passes, the another, but he doesn't keep his would-be visitor waiting long. One rustling chain and a deadbolt later, he opens the door and finally shows his face.

Comments

[burningdaylight]

He blinks, feeling a trembly, electric flutter in his gut. It’s hard not to when he had prepared himself for and committed to the possibility of their visit to the park having been a happy accident, never intended as anything more than a fluke. But her fingers still lacing around his even as she steps away suggests otherwise. It tells him this is neither an interrogation or for shits and giggles. It tells him she's ever-pragmatic, gauging a leap of faith before she took it. He can't fault her for that. It means something, that he has been offered the luxury of explaining himself and clearing the air of any assumptions.

"No, I --" A pause. He tries again, simpler, surer. "No."

A beat passes.

“Nick an’ I’ve known each other for twenty years. He’s family." He continues, frowning, but there's no heat to his answer. She's not hunting for a reaction, only trying to understand. "An' Jane, well...”

Sighing softly. “We had a moment back home an’… things got complicated, for a li’l while.”

He never stopped believing that there was someone inside her, hidden away under a thick chrysalis of scar tissue. Someone who knows there’s more to life than scraping by and thinks herself worthy of it. She'd take that risk, when she were ready. And one day, someone else would see more than flickers of the parts of Jane untouched by pain and cynicism. He’s lost hope of being a part of that, in the way he had wanted to be. He can’t fix that pain. Can’t begin to change what isn’t ready and comfortable enough to change. But it doesn’t mean he’d stop caring. That’s not how it works.

“But me, I, I ain’t her type.” He rubs at the back of his neck. There isn't much more to be said of the present.

[somegrimshit]

And Rochelle listens as he speaks, eyes focused on his face, trying to read expression as well as the words he spoke. Nick seemed simple enough, she had suspected that that was the situation--Both from what Nick had said himself, and the way that he had been suspiciously close to Ellis as of late. It wasn't the kind of action that she would pin on someone who still had some kind of romantic attachment to another. At least, it better not be, because if he broke Ellis' heart, she was going to have to beat his face in, and that would just stir up all kinds of unnecessary drama.

Jane was a different story. Jane was complicated, and it was hardly surprising that the situation was complicated. She has to resist telling Luke that this was why you didn't have 'moments' with teammats, with people that you needed to survive. Because complicated was bad, and it got you into trouble. But that's past now, and he doesn't need her to nag him for situations long gone.

Though...she can't help but note that his opinion on Jane isn't included in the explanation. He isn't her type.

But pettiness isn't like her. Rochelle would just have to have a little bit of faith. Believe that if he pursues anything with her, it's because he's interested in her, and any other feelings for any other people won't be...pursued instead.

Besides, all things considered, she didn't have a lot of room to talk. She knew that she wouldn't have much better answers if he was the one grilling her on her own personal affairs.

"So, there's nothing going on between you and anyone else, currently?" She was straddling the edge here, looking over it and hoping that if she took the leap, there would be someone--him. That he would be there for her. It's a test that she isn't entirely comfortable with. It's a risk, and Rochelle wasn't one for taking them. But sometimes, the possible prize at the end was worth it. So she looks up at him, and steps off that edge, words measured and careful. "What I'm trying to ask is...are you, ah. Available."

There are a few other things on the back of her mind. Those images of Luke floating down in the water, that expression of pure horror on his face. It chilled her as much as the icy water must have chilled him. But those questions could wait until she could rely on him to warm her up, just as much as she could for him.

[burningdaylight]

"What m'tryin' to say is, Jane an' I--" He blinks, breaking off with a faint shake of his head. But the words don't leave a bitter taste in his mouth. It's not lost on him that he might've given Rochelle the wrong idea, suggesting he might still yearn for something that couldn't be -- but he doesn't get the chance to finish his thought. For a moment he just looks back at her, his heart juddering rabbit-fast against his ribs like he's in highschool all over again, asking the prettiest girl to the dance.

Except they've already hit the dance floor.

"Door's open." There's a soft, sheepish huff of laugh and he shifts his weight, his hand finding the back of his neck before long. It's one thing to guess at someone's intent but another to have it laid out with more than pride on the line. There's no hint or nudge, no coquettish edging around the truth, and he figures he owes it to her to be just as direct.

"S'been for a long time, if I'm bein' honest."

A detail he'd be inclined to omit otherwise, but she needs to know that she won't be in anyone's shadow, won't be their substitute.

[somegrimshit]

"Well, I hate to point out the obvious, but I just closed the door." Rochelle replies, a teasing smile flitting across her face as she made the silly little joke, with its double meaning. "Locked it and everything." Then she takes that hand in hers, eyes locked on his. She tells herself that she shouldn't be nervous, that Luke would have given some kind of hint if he wasn't interested at this point. But she's put herself out there, and it's hard to not worry. With that in mind, she raised their hands up, so she can kiss his hand softly.

"Unless you don't want that," Her voice is careful, testing. She doesn't want to pressure him, doesn't want him to feel any obligations. If he wants this all to stay where it left off in the park, she wants him to be able to say so without feeling like she might react poorly. "If that's the case, you just need to tell me, and I'll unlock it, and go."

And if he did, she'd be fine, she tells herself. It'd sting, but she'd move on. She was a grown woman, she's been going through a lot of bullshit lately. Being politely refused for such an offer was far from the worst thing that she could go through, and she's survived everything else up to that point. So she'd just...move on. Go drown her sorrows a little, then keep going.

But she doesn't want that, and if she's going to be honest with herself, she has to admit that. She liked how his hand felt with hers, how his lips felt with hers. It was something relaxing, a reminder of a time before everything went terrible. And a way to feel a little bit better about everything that was going on. The world may be going to hell, but having someone there by her side at the end of the day...

Well, she had said her piece. It wasn't up to her any more.

[burningdaylight]

If there's something Luke appreciates - and he can appreciate a number of things about her being here - it's the way she can take his words and put a humorous twist on them. He didn't expect a laugh to be dragged out of him and so soon with the expose fresh and raw like an open wound, but life has always been full of surprises. It's only that the pleasant ones are few and far between.

He watches as she kisses his knuckles the way he had other people once upon a time, her eyes on his through her lashes, lips soft and wet. A flush crawls up his neck. It's devastatingly suave, no doubt about it. But it's sweet, too, the way she treats his hand as something more than a tool roughened up from work around the farm and guitar-playing. Heat stirs in his belly and he nearly forgets his dull, gnawing dread at what trouble the expose might bring to his doorstep.

"If it's up to me," He flexes his hand slightly in hers, skin prickling for more. She's offering an out just as he had -- something he deeply appreciates even if it isn't one he'll take. "I'd like you much better on this side a' the door."

There's no uncertainty to it, even if his smile is pale and drained. Joy is a hard thing for a dead man to muster.

[somegrimshit]

Her body, her face relaxes when she finally got the confirmation she was waiting, hoping for. He wants her to stay. Whatever this thing is, he wants it to continue. That's good. Her smile reflects her relief, and she gives his hand a little squeeze. That particularly awkward moment of wonder was over, then.

There's more questions, there's more things pressing on her, but they can wait. None of them are really important, anyway. The way that Luke died...or almost died wasn't something she wanted to touch on right now. Instead, she takes that step forward again, and reaches up to cup his face. "I'm glad to hear that."

A quick tug of his shirt to pull him down to her level, and she's kissing him again. It was nice to know that the haze of alcohol hadn't made this act seem better than it was, because she enjoyed it as much as she had on that first night. With that knowledge, she stepped away, but kept that hold on his shirt, and his hand. Gently pulling him along as she took a few careful steps backwards--right for his bed.

"Well, then. I guess I'll stay on this side of the door for a while." She let the implication settle. Let him decide what to make of it.

[burningdaylight]

Her hand trails down his cheek, his neck, to clutch a soft fistful of his shirt, guiding him where he's wanted, where he's needed. And they kiss. It's as warm and giddily breathless as he remembers, starbursts of light flashing behind his eyelids. Seems he's never too old for butterflies. Pulling back too soon, he considers her in silence, his gaze following her as she tugs him towards the bed. There's no explanation needed. His pulse quickens, an eager, anxious heat curling low in his belly.

He's been here before. Faced with a choice when life seemed at its bleakest, only for his selfishness to come at a terrible cost. But it's hard to think he can do any worse today after recognizing the sad futility of trying to protect Nick from the truth, only cutting him deeper than he ever could have had he confided in him from the start. Had he not left it to the Capitol to carelessly make a spectacle of his life and the lives of others who they had lost along the way.

The next deathmatch is just around the corner and he needs to encourage Nick to petition for his freedom, needs to keep at building his strength and endurance in the training centre. He needs to refresh his knowledge of traps and edible and toxic plant-life.

But he needs this more. The world can wait.

"We can stop anytime," He says, looking into her face. Squeezing her hand back as he follows, surrenders. "Jus' tell me if we need to. Last thing I want is to be somethin' you regret."

[somegrimshit]

He keeps checking, keeps making sure this is what she wants, and she appreciates that. But she knows that it is what she wants, what she needs to feel a little sliver of normalcy. To feel a connection with another person. She nods to his words, though, letting him know that she hears, and understands. But she doesn't stop backing up until her legs bump against the bed.

"I'll let you know," Rochelle promises, voice quiet. "But this isn't something I'm going to regret, Luke. This is something I want." She gives him a warm smile, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. She has always been careful, always cautious. She doesn't throw caution to the wind, and she takes everything in careful measure.

Even here and now, if there had been a chance it could prove truly dangerous, she might have second thoughts. But a few moments of peace were well deserved, for both of them, and this was hardly a dangerous environment. It was safe enough for them to take those moments of peace, and make them their own.

[burningdaylight]

The light in her smile kills what doubt is left in his mind as she continues to lead him, to offer him a distraction a world away from guilt-ridden thoughts. She pulls him closer, arms slung around his neck, the heat of her skin felt through his shirt. It's the sort of thing he's dreamt about those cold nights curled up in Carver's pen. Not just the mindless pleasure of sex and the instant gratification, but human company. Quiet acknowledgement of his existence with a lingering touch, a kiss.

There wouldn't always be a later and he won't sit and wait in the hopes that better days will come. This is what they have now, a chance to try and break the pattern of senseless loss and take back some measure of their lives for a moment. so he pushes the Capitol and his awareness of its ever watchful, ever looming presence into a far corner of his mind and gives in, kissing her with all the hunger and frustration and need he's been forced to pack down for the good of the group or for lack of a choice. He mouths her jaw, her neck, all tongue and teeth and hot breath, a hand curving to the small of her back to ease her down.