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thecapitol2015-08-03 09:41 pm
dead_black_eyes) wrote in thecapitol2015-08-03 09:41 pm
Entry tags:
Our Lives Between... [Open]
Who| Linden Lockhearst and OPEN
What| Encounters and conversations post parental death, Stephen-firing, and partly during his Victor Reel. These last few weeks, man.
Where| D6 suite, a bar, camera stalking in the streets
When| August 3rd, afternoon and into the night
Warnings/Notes| Creepy and potentially disturbing funeral rites, mentions of alcohol and drug use. ALSO the third prompt involves some rebellion-related activity, so PM me if you want to do something with that aside from just bumping into him and talking to him so we can figure out where to go with it!
a. D6 suite
Linden used to know how to spend his time in his District suite. Usually, it wasn't with any greater point or purpose in mind, just the general aim of getting as far away from the world as possible and leaving his tired, numb body behind in bed or on the floor, when even that was simply too much effort. Now, he feels and sees everything in sharp relief and focus. He hadn't felt any hesitation or regret at personally emptying and dumping every one of his stashes, watching his old escape methods slipping and trickling away where they can't do his new liver any harm. If he couldn't protect his mother, he can at least protect the second chance she gave him, whether or not he would have asked for it had he known where the organ was coming from in advance.
His first thought is to talk to Stephen, but Stephen is no longer there. Something turns sour in his stomach at the thought, and he tries to put it from his mind and focus on more productive things.
He could go out, check on the locations of the existing or changed blind spots again and begin the process of relying that information to District 13. Maybe he will once night's fallen proper and he can rely on at least a little cover. For now, though, he sits by the coffee table, and instead of poring over a bottle or pills, he's carefully shaping and pressing cream-colored clay into the rough shape of something that looks like a knuckle bone. He has four real ones strung together with twine beside him for reference, their yellowed, weathered color showing through the paint covering them, with names written in a cramped, spidery black hand.
Shawford, Karem, Arta, Scorpii.
He never learned his mother's name, but at least stand-ins for the real thing are not so uncommon in District 6. Factory accidents can be horrific and frequently mangle hands, sometimes entire bodies. Usually it's left to the oldest surviving member of a family to take this uncomfortable step, one who's too old to work anyway and doesn't need the use of their fingers, but Linden's the only one left in his who can, and he's sure that his mother deserves this much for her sacrifice. Before he can go further with crafting the fascimile, he reaches to open the coffee table's drawer, aware that he needs to make it at least appear to be an accident. He slips the smallest finger in the gap, taking a deep breath and exhaling as he presses the drawer shut with his knee until he hears a soft crunch.
He withdraws his trembling hand, breathing and gritting his teeth through the pain until the endorphins temporarily dull it. As the knuckle swells and turns vibrant, he continues to work on the details, more slowly and clumsily. It's another ache he can't run from, and another nagging reminder that his days of trying are at an end. If he can't live in a cage and he can't anesthetize himself until it no longer feels like a cage, there are only two options left: escape, or die trapped.
b. The Tower Bar, During his Victor's Reel
Many Victors avoid their recaps, revisitations and reels. Linden knows better not to, because to do so would make events like this even more painful to relive. The televisions in the bar are lit up with a wide-eyed face that's his, if younger and fresher, going through the recorded motions of what much of Panem would call his finest moments. Even if the narration states with regret that he is not one of the "shining star" Victors, not one of the "best", he has his fans, and everyone in the Capitol loves a trainwreck. What better place to export them from District 6, cradle of mechanical wonders and addiction alike?
The shabby creature at the bar is not larger-than-life as he watches the footage from the background; these are images he's seen hundreds of times, intentionally growing callous to them while nursing his obsession with Scorpii, and he's glad for it. This most recent set of reels, for every Victor, seems tailored to get reactions and punch holes hard and deep in the leftover human husks, and Linden can't afford many more hard punches. If there's anything at all he's relatively immune to, he's grateful. He holds up a hand when he's offered a drink for the third time, insisting that he'll stick with tea as the reel continues to blare throughout the bar.
He blows softly across the surface of the hot, herbal water, moving his swollen, bruised knuckle away from the heat and adjusting his grip to accommodate it. The reel makes him out to be weak, washed-up and likely not someone the odds will favor much longer. The Capitol sees a different Linden than his contacts in the Rebellion, and he's never been more glad of it.
c. In the City Streets After Dark
Linden doesn't look like himself with the hood of his dark jacket pulled close over his face, and he doesn't want to. He's on his usual rounds, and he hasn't been caught or questioned yet. There's a small signal disrupter he carries with him, painstakingly and secretly built over weeks in other blind spots, strapped to one of his ankles and hidden by a sturdy, soft-soled. If all goes well, the nearby cameras will wind up jammed and scrambled, and there will be a few new blind spots to report to the rebellion.
It's treason, plain and simple, and things will go badly for him if he's identified and his passage is associated with cameras going on the fritz. Things will go worse if he's questioned and searched, but he moves softly and quickly without looking overly suspicious. He moves with enough purpose that he seems to be going somewhere, and he's not loitering or lingering, but that might change depending on who (if anyone) hails him.
What| Encounters and conversations post parental death, Stephen-firing, and partly during his Victor Reel. These last few weeks, man.
Where| D6 suite, a bar, camera stalking in the streets
When| August 3rd, afternoon and into the night
Warnings/Notes| Creepy and potentially disturbing funeral rites, mentions of alcohol and drug use. ALSO the third prompt involves some rebellion-related activity, so PM me if you want to do something with that aside from just bumping into him and talking to him so we can figure out where to go with it!
a. D6 suite
Linden used to know how to spend his time in his District suite. Usually, it wasn't with any greater point or purpose in mind, just the general aim of getting as far away from the world as possible and leaving his tired, numb body behind in bed or on the floor, when even that was simply too much effort. Now, he feels and sees everything in sharp relief and focus. He hadn't felt any hesitation or regret at personally emptying and dumping every one of his stashes, watching his old escape methods slipping and trickling away where they can't do his new liver any harm. If he couldn't protect his mother, he can at least protect the second chance she gave him, whether or not he would have asked for it had he known where the organ was coming from in advance.
His first thought is to talk to Stephen, but Stephen is no longer there. Something turns sour in his stomach at the thought, and he tries to put it from his mind and focus on more productive things.
He could go out, check on the locations of the existing or changed blind spots again and begin the process of relying that information to District 13. Maybe he will once night's fallen proper and he can rely on at least a little cover. For now, though, he sits by the coffee table, and instead of poring over a bottle or pills, he's carefully shaping and pressing cream-colored clay into the rough shape of something that looks like a knuckle bone. He has four real ones strung together with twine beside him for reference, their yellowed, weathered color showing through the paint covering them, with names written in a cramped, spidery black hand.
Shawford, Karem, Arta, Scorpii.
He never learned his mother's name, but at least stand-ins for the real thing are not so uncommon in District 6. Factory accidents can be horrific and frequently mangle hands, sometimes entire bodies. Usually it's left to the oldest surviving member of a family to take this uncomfortable step, one who's too old to work anyway and doesn't need the use of their fingers, but Linden's the only one left in his who can, and he's sure that his mother deserves this much for her sacrifice. Before he can go further with crafting the fascimile, he reaches to open the coffee table's drawer, aware that he needs to make it at least appear to be an accident. He slips the smallest finger in the gap, taking a deep breath and exhaling as he presses the drawer shut with his knee until he hears a soft crunch.
He withdraws his trembling hand, breathing and gritting his teeth through the pain until the endorphins temporarily dull it. As the knuckle swells and turns vibrant, he continues to work on the details, more slowly and clumsily. It's another ache he can't run from, and another nagging reminder that his days of trying are at an end. If he can't live in a cage and he can't anesthetize himself until it no longer feels like a cage, there are only two options left: escape, or die trapped.
b. The Tower Bar, During his Victor's Reel
Many Victors avoid their recaps, revisitations and reels. Linden knows better not to, because to do so would make events like this even more painful to relive. The televisions in the bar are lit up with a wide-eyed face that's his, if younger and fresher, going through the recorded motions of what much of Panem would call his finest moments. Even if the narration states with regret that he is not one of the "shining star" Victors, not one of the "best", he has his fans, and everyone in the Capitol loves a trainwreck. What better place to export them from District 6, cradle of mechanical wonders and addiction alike?
The shabby creature at the bar is not larger-than-life as he watches the footage from the background; these are images he's seen hundreds of times, intentionally growing callous to them while nursing his obsession with Scorpii, and he's glad for it. This most recent set of reels, for every Victor, seems tailored to get reactions and punch holes hard and deep in the leftover human husks, and Linden can't afford many more hard punches. If there's anything at all he's relatively immune to, he's grateful. He holds up a hand when he's offered a drink for the third time, insisting that he'll stick with tea as the reel continues to blare throughout the bar.
He blows softly across the surface of the hot, herbal water, moving his swollen, bruised knuckle away from the heat and adjusting his grip to accommodate it. The reel makes him out to be weak, washed-up and likely not someone the odds will favor much longer. The Capitol sees a different Linden than his contacts in the Rebellion, and he's never been more glad of it.
c. In the City Streets After Dark
Linden doesn't look like himself with the hood of his dark jacket pulled close over his face, and he doesn't want to. He's on his usual rounds, and he hasn't been caught or questioned yet. There's a small signal disrupter he carries with him, painstakingly and secretly built over weeks in other blind spots, strapped to one of his ankles and hidden by a sturdy, soft-soled. If all goes well, the nearby cameras will wind up jammed and scrambled, and there will be a few new blind spots to report to the rebellion.
It's treason, plain and simple, and things will go badly for him if he's identified and his passage is associated with cameras going on the fritz. Things will go worse if he's questioned and searched, but he moves softly and quickly without looking overly suspicious. He moves with enough purpose that he seems to be going somewhere, and he's not loitering or lingering, but that might change depending on who (if anyone) hails him.
no subject
"Temple's a good mother," he says quietly. "She does her best and whatever her judgment is at other times, she puts him first. He's her last living child... her infant youngest is recently deceased, and she's taking it a lot harder than she lets on."
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"I-I'm so sorry for her loss..." He's not going to question Temple's ability as a mother, Gray prefers to give people the benefit of doubt, especially when it came to bereavement. "Was the child sick?"
no subject
The subject change is a painful one, but the pain is focused through a different lens, making it less raw and tender to speak of it even as the topic is no less tragic.
"Congenital heart defect," Linden says with a slow shrug. "Apparently it runs in her husband's family. He still found a reason to blame her for it, which is why she's back now."
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“Either way, that’s rather crappy of him, of Mr. Stevens to blame her. She has enough pain going on, a child’s death shouldn’t be one of them.” Spoken like a man who saw and tended to families but never had one of his own. “He’s not here with her, is he?”
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"Yeah, something like that. But congenital heart defects don't work that way, any doctor could tell you. He's not here... between us, she probably came back primarily to put distance between them."
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"Would you ever? Have children, I mean, if that's not too forward to ask. Do you think that the world is kind enough?"
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"Yes I would have a child." Gray always wanted to be a father, to hold the mother close as they both enjoyed that first breath of their baby. To see them grow, fall down and get up with every step they learn. He smiled a little, his happiness at the thought softened by the reality of being a Tribute. That child would be reaped..."Even if the world isn't kind enough, I'd try to make it so, keep that kid safe and give them what they needed. You know what I think of kids, they're here to feel joy and grow up."
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"I don't know why, but I actually find that tremendously comforting," he says quietly. "For what it's worth, you'd make a great dad and I hope that you get the chance to become one."
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"Given my luck with romance? I'm better off adopting...and even then," he closed his eyes, "Even then I'd give them the same love as if they were my own flesh and blood. I don't think Tributes are allowed to have children, or at least children with someone born in Panem. I think Cyrus Reagan's laws made that quite clear." No touching Capitolites and Districters, or else.
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If something happened to Temple, Linden thinks that he's want Bailey to be raised by someone like Phillip, rather than someone like Gowan, but it feels like too much to ask for from anyone even tenuously involved.
"Well... not all of us, but you know what I mean."
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If Linden were to voice his plans to Phil, the man would agree to it on one condition: Gowan would not shirk off his responsibility to Bailey to visit and care for the boy. Phone Guy's a big believer in parents doting on their children...just not Temple's brand of doting as he'll later learn.
"I'd take those odds if I had the chance."
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Hell, it's impossible for him to feel like he can have legitimate children of his own, ever. And it wouldn't even occur to him to think of Phillip in relation to Bailey if he had any faith in Gowan's ability to be a good parent, but... there, he really doesn't.
"You're young, still. You might get your chance yet."
no subject
For a moment, he put his hand on his chin then shook his head, "No way. I thought for a second I could have a kid back home but I made sure not to. Workplace security was a joke. May I ask why you're asking this? I know I want to settle..."
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His eyes closed, as the memory came back, "Though I...I'm very sorry I didn't keep Clementine safe." That death haunted Phil the most because she didn't come back from the Arena.
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The talk shifts to Clementine, and the already somber Mentor gets even more serious.
"I liked her," he says softly. "I was extremely fond of Clementine, but... it was not your fault. You can never blame yourself for the death of another Tribute. It can literally drive you insane if you dwell to that extent, and... even if it might make me sound a little hypocritical, given that's what I'm basically famous for, trust me when I say that no good can come of it."
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Was it seditious to think like that? To remember those who had fallen while the Capitol swept them under the rug as soon as it wasn't fashionable to mourn them?
"Well, not like break another knuckle, but, you know, something like a picture and a few flowers."
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You know, like the one the cad actually had to the whole situation.
"No, I'm not breaking another knuckle..." he says. "Not everyone in 6 does that and when they do, it's typically the oldest clan member who doesn't have to work with their hands anymore. But is that what you do where you're from? Pictures, flowers...?"
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"If they're not present, a memorial can be made, with the picture and flowers in the home. The point of it is being able to say goodbye and keep the person alive in your memories, and I think Clem deserves that as well as anyone you miss," Gray tried to ease in that point: that no matter where they came from, people deserved to be remembered.
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"If you want to make one, I'd be happy to help get you whatever you need," Linden offers. "Flowers are easy, but as a Mentor I could probably even get a physical picture, not just a hologram, if you've something more concrete in mind."
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Phil then offered, "And a moment of silence for your donor, if possible." Avox or not, that was a sacrifice made and that parent deserved to be remembered.
no subject
The second offer gets a very different reaction. His face turns somber, with maybe just a trace of revulsion.
"Anything except silence, maybe..." he says quietly. She was, after all, an Avox, muted against her will and forced into silence for the last and longest years of her life. "Don't you sing for the dead, in the world you're from...?"
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As morbid as it was, Gray was curious about how his District interacted with death, especially of those that happened in the workplace. How did they celebrate life when at any moment, their own livelihoods could get them killed? In part, Phil asked because of the similarities to his old work
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