thecapitol | The only thing that's certain

Entry tags:

The only thing that's certain | Closed/Open

Who| Meulin & you!
What| Settling into the house and then heading out on the town
Where| D4 House; Speakeasy
When| Second week of the Arena
Warnings/Notes| Talk of arena deaths possibly

A. Closed to D4 House; Meulin's Room
Her room has been quietly set up to her satisfaction with her own two hands. There's a brand new corkboard hanging over the desk courtesy of Taria. It's hand painted like the ocean, but from underneath, with fish swimming along and the dappled rings of sunlight playing over the water above. Half of it is obscured in pictures of them together. Taria had insisted she take that scrap of paper from Celebrus that had her name and picture on it and that, too, is pinned up in the corner. The room shone with light, the shimmering white walls reflecting what comes from the windows that take up half the room. It's bright, just like she likes it.

The door to her room is open but on it hangs a whiteboard for messages to her with her name written prettily at the top. If they catch her inside, she's probably balanced on her desk chair or bed or some unreliable surface to hang a string of shells from some fixture or a picture on the wall. Sometimes, she even climbs her bookshelf to place something on top. Being short leads to innovation and possible injury.

"Aha!" She notices them almost right away and waves them in, "A little help?"

B. Closed to D4 House; Living Room
But later, they'd find her on the couch in front of the television she's not watching with a book in hand. Her attention is utterly captivated, so much so that she wouldn't notice the television channels changing or a person nearby unless they dropped down on the couch beside her. When she's suddenly aware of someone nearby, the book snaps shut and her eyes flick upwards.

"Oh--hi!"

OPEN; Speakeasy

This isn't really a working evening. She's here to watch, drink a little, and try to catch up on the gossip. If things come to her, she won't ignore them, but it's nice to just relax a little. It's even harder to keep up appearances at the new house, surrounded by people engrossed in the games and distancing themselves from the rebellion. She settles in at the bar and beams at the bartender. She's a regular who tips well, of course she's welcome. She greets anyone nearby with a smile and a soft hello.

Later, she steps out into the night, pleasantly buzzed, and pulls a blunt from her purse. Her friends are really awful influences. There's a moment of fumbling for her lighter and a noise of dismay. Her gaze darts around until it rests on the nearest figure.

"Excuse me, do you have a light?"

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Derek hasn't really decorated his and Chuck's room, aside from lining it with bookcases and having a couple of science projects strewn around. Decorating is sort of lost to him, and he'll leave that up to Chuck if he wants - though he has carefully transferred all eight of the colorful Betta fish in their tiny aquariums that used to adorn the common around of District Four's suite to their new living room, strategically placed so none of the fish are within sight of another one.

It kind of matches Meulin's room, but that's unintentional, and definitely not the first thing he notices when he walks by and hears her calling. What the hell is she doing, she's going to crack her head open.

He drops the books he'd been carrying on the floor of her bedroom as he darts in, reaching up to steady her.

"Stupid," he informs her with a growl. "Could've asked me or Chuck."

"Ah, thank you!"

Completely ignoring his growling and possible worrying, mostly because she can't hear it, she uses the fact that he's there to hold her up to slip the end of her string of shells around a little hook on a wall sconce. Success! She tries to move the chair a little without getting off, because the other end needs to go on this hook over there. This proves slightly more daunting than anticipated. The chair wobbles and she puts a hand on the wall to balance.

"A little to the left, Derek?"

Never said she wouldn't give up on goals. Even if they are small and hampered by height.

There's another growl when she just ignores him, even though he knows she can't hear it, but it doesn't surprise him at all that she just keeps doing what she's doing.

It's maybe a little strange, that she isn't afraid of him, that she doesn't shift away from his touch, but - Meulin is strange. It's different with her and Kurloz.

After a moment's debate, Derek just gently picks her up and shifts her over to the left. It's not often that he considers himself safer than anything, especially when it comes to touching other people, but he at least trusts himself not to drop her more than he trusts the chair.

You'd think he wouldn't be so surprised that she's perfectly fine with physical contact when she'd hugged him of her own volition. As it is, she hums, waiting for the chair to move. It does not. In fact, the exact opposite happens. The chair remains utterly stationary and she moves.

There's a squeak at the sudden lifting and movement and especially at who is doing the picking up. Here she thought he wouldn't actually pick her up. Yet, she's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Unconventional but this works!" She hooks the string of shells quite easily at least. Teamwork solves all problems.

That's different. That's - okay, maybe he's not completely sure why that's different, but it just is. He's not used to touching people, not without violence involved.

He grumbles at her as he hangs the strings up, but doesn't respond just yet, not until he can set her back down.

Once she's back on the ground, he reaches over to grab one of the books he'd dropped on the ground. He flips it open to write Ask me or Chuck next time on one of the pages before he holds it up at her.

And is pretty much completely unconcerned with the fact that it's a book on sex positions, but that's beside the point. This is the Capitol.

"I hope you own that book," flies out of her lips as soon as he starts writing. It takes her even longer to parse what he wrote when she notices the content of the book. She smothers a giggle and nods.

"And okay, fine fine, I know. I'm surrounded by tall people. You know I'm used to doing things on my own, right? Big strong adult," she soldiers on before he can point out how she lacks two of those attributes, "Besides, you'd be in here forever."

He can't help but give a vaguely amused snort at her comment - of course he owns the book.

Derek narrows his brows at her when she says she's used to doing things on her own. That's stupid, why wouldn't you take advantage of someone willing to help when you obviously need it? Never mind that Derek never asks for help and doesn't generally accept it when it's given. That's different. Derek's never really had to do anything on his own, anyway, he's always had Chuck.

But she does have a point about him being him in there forever.

I'll get you a stepladder.

He gets only wide innocent blinks in return. He knows exactly why was used to doing things by herself. She certainly wasn't going to get an avox to do it and bothering her housemates seemed rude. His suggestion has merit, at least. She hums, shrugging and tilting her head.

"If you want. I'm telling you, it's fine though," and like the master of distraction she is, she starts reading aloud from the book, "Press a fork firmly into parts of his body, such as his butt, pecs, thigh--Derek, what are you reading?"

It's not rude if it means she's not balancing precariously on unsteady chairs. Besides, if Derek's home - and not locked in his and Chuck's room - it probably means he doesn't have anything better to do at the moment, and he might as well help.

He grunts his disagreement when she says it's fine, but there's no point arguing further. He already knows he's going to get it for her.

Besides, he's much more distracted when she starts reading from the book, and he scowls a little.

"Don't know. Doesn't seem helpful so far."

Oh Derek. Oh poor sweet Derek. Meulin smiles and shakes her head at his scowl, even if his words are a little muddle to lipread. What is she thinking, she's hardly any better than him. But he must be worried or at least struggling a little with certain parts of his relationship if he's reading Capitol sex advice books.

"No no no. You need something better. I have just the thing..."

She stands on tiptoe, nearly climbing on her bookshelf to reach the top. Tucked up there, all innocent among the rest of her collection, is a steamy novel. Well, there are several steamy novels. She has a small collection of those. But she doesn't just pull out the novel, she grabs a different book, with several helpful diagrams and positions. She drops both in his hands.

"I've done some research."

He's not worried. Or struggling. He's extremely happy in his relationship, thank you.

...all right, maybe he's a little bit worried. It's just - Derek's never done this before, and he can't help but treat it the same way that he treats everything else he doesn't know anything about but wants to learn. It's a devotion to knowing everything he can that's only strengthened by the fact that Chuck is so much more experienced than him, and that all he wants is to be everything Chuck needs.

His brows furrow when she starts practically climbing on her bookshelf, but they smooth out when she clambors down. And then his expression lights up, just the smallest bit, when she drops books into his hands.

"You too?"

The two words are simple to catch and bring a flare of heat to her cheeks. Embarrassment, maybe, but it settles when she reconciles the 'You' with the 'too'. He's worried too. Hah--how did she never think of that. He has a more experience boyfriend too. The flustered expression fades and shifts into a determined one that is at odds with her shrug of a reply.

But because it's Derek and he understands, she explains beyond that.

"I work for a gossip column and I don't know how much of what was said about Kurloz is true but if like, a quarter of it is, he's done...a lot. And it's fine, I mean, he doesn't anymore. Not with me. But I've never done anything beyond the very basics and never all the way--so... I wanted to be ready. For when we do."

Such a determined look, like she's daring him to make fun of her for it.

There's a moment where he reaches out, like he's going to try to soothe away the embarrassment somehow, but then he realizes what he's doing and drops his hand before he touches her, unsettled. Fortunately, she seems to get over it on her own, even if he's unsure of what to make of the determined expression on her face.

Then she explains, and far from making fun of her, Derek nods. He opens up his book again, writing in it instead of replying verbally.

'Me too. Wasn't lying when I said I wasn't interested, before. He always was.' There's a pause, then - because it's Meulin and she understands - he adds, 'Just want to make it good.'

If he's unsure of what to make of her expression than she's not sure what to make of that stalled reaching. If he was trying to help, he stops before it even happens. Meulin doesn't stop to muse over it though, too worried--then suddenly relieved.

He gets it. He really does. And if that nod wasn't enough, he writes down exactly what she needed to hear. Someone else gets it.

"Exactly," She pulls her hands close to her chest, nodding in earnest, "I mean, we have different situations, but it's like that. I just want to be--want to make it good. For him."

Something in Derek's chest eases when she says I just want to be, even though she cuts it off and finishes with a repeat of what he'd said. She doesn't have to finish it, because he knows exactly what she'd been going to say.

I just want to be good for him.

Derek feels the same. Chuck was his first, but he wasn't Chuck's, and he just wants to be enough for him. So Chuck won't regret that he settled on Derek, instead of continuing with the variety he got before.

He underlines me too where he'd written it in his book, then takes a closer look at the books she'd given him before something occurs to him and he starts writing again.

Want the ones I have that were useful?

Meulin is used to wordless understanding from others. Her sister, Kurloz, sometimes friends from home. It's different when Derek looks at her with understanding. Different. Nice.

She smiles through her embarrassment, nodding at his underlining, though she didn't need it. Me too has been the theme of their whole conversation. But she nods again, more enthusiastic, when he offers an exchange.

"Oh--Did you have useful ones? Are they..." She gestures uselessly, not even with innuendo, "Would they be useful for my relationship? Different needs meowbe. Though I guess not that different sometimes."

There's a small smile as he nods in response to her question. Different, yeah, but close enough sometimes - especially when all of Chuck's experience is with girls. Derek's interested in learning everything.

They can at least give ideas. Maybe not perfect but something so you're not going in blind.

Which is the worst thing, for him. Experimentation is fun, yeah, but not having a basis for it, something to springboard off of? That's what he hates.

"Nothing in these books is purrfect. Written for general things and we don't have general relationships--but yes. I'd love some useful books."

Could she just learn as she's going? Yes. Would she giggle at her mistakes and would Kurloz would be fine with them anyways? Of course. But they both share a desire to know things ahead of time, especially from books.

Derek smiles at her - a real smile, tiny and almost hesitant, but genuine. It reminds him of when they were young, when they would read stories together and she would scoff at the endings and change them to better suit her preferences. Usually he'd go along with them, but every once in a while he'd add his own opinions.

He'd be lying if he said that the reminder was why he suggested it - but he'd also be lying if he said it wasn't nice.

I'll bring them to you. We can exchange notes, if you want.

Her smile mirrors and magnifies his own. Hesitant yet genuine but it's not small at all. It lights up her face and brings some energy back with it. Sharing notes, helping each other out, that was friendships right? It might be awkward but she's sure there's no one else she'd trust with this.

"Sounds like a plan. I have more books if you want something different later. Novels too, though I'm really unsure of how much you can put into practice. Fiction and all."

He comes, first, to examine. He's halved in how part of him walks like he owns this, all of it, the only Capitolite in the house, and of course it is in his right to know the goings on about him. But then there's the part that's out of place, curious, wondering and wanting to see what Meulin calls home. To perhaps see it with his very own eyes.

The message board brings a smile. He'll be making use of that for certain. Perhaps a little note every morn, or every so often as he passes.

He hears her within in and dares a peak, if only because the door is open. He spots the board, all beautiful it is with she and the ocean. Then come the shells. Finally, he sees her, balanced precariously and his heart seizes. He rushes in, heels clicking, without second thought. He reaches to steady her, hand going to the small of her back.

The desk isn't particular precarious but probably not the recommended surface for kneeling on when trying to hang a picture. The gentle touch on her back makes her turn and smile--which distracts her enough to make everything wobble a little. Carefully, she sets down the painting, more worried about the possible damage to it than herself.

"One second," she begins as she crawls down to solid ground. The desk wobbles a little more, not made for such exertions, and she returns to solid ground without a scratch.

"Don't look so worried. I was fine."

He hovers on standby, waiting and waiting until he's sure she's properly secure on her feet. Only to scold him. A fake pout appears, a slight huff along with it, but he's quick to roll her eyes.

He's lost the energy of his youth, or at least hidden it away enough he seems to feel he can pass judgements now. He reaches up to pat the top of her head, shaking his own at her. Still, it remains playful.

He steps back then to take a look around, nodding. He likes what she's done so far.

She sticks her tongue out but it pulls back into a bright smile. Whatever she lacks in privacy here, it's made up for in the presence of those she cares about. His pretense of a pout and a condescending little pat are just that, pretense, and she shakes her head.

"Oh don't be so silly. I'll get a nice carpet and then hang all my things, how about that. So if I fall, I fall on something soft."

Never mind the fact that he probably doesn't want her to fall at all. Details. He looks around and finds it pleasing. So does she, of course, but it's nice to see the confirmation in his eyes.

"I love it too, especially the windows. All the light coming in is so nice. But I'm thinking about curtains, maybe something that doesn't block too much, like lace?" She gives the windows a contemplative look. It's lovely but she's not sure she wants to be exposed to the outside worldquite that much. Her eyes move back to him but find yet another distraction in the twisting of a shell above her. She taps at a sand dollar suspended from the main light fixture. The poor innocent light probably never expected to be bedecked in the things. They hang at different heights, like a windchime lacking only the actual chime.

"Take the girl out of the District but..."

...Cannot thieve the District as lies within the girl. Church. He nods his head with a fond smile, showing his agreement. He knows some in the Capitol would use that for slander. But none in Capitol would wonder what that makes of them, like he wonders if it holds true for him also. And whether he prefers that.

If thinks too long on that though, his thoughts fray at the ends, fuzzing into tv static and floating into dust, and not the kind what glitters in the light like is the case in here, the windows wide and lovely.

He touches his chin and considers that too. Then he touches on the first black thing in the room he sees, and the first white. He does a gesture of weighing between the two. He'll need to know what she wants before he can make an order, naturally. He may even have some around.

As for her recklessness, he lets it slide. For now. He'll be watching close though.

Black then white, a balance. Light and dark. The question in his actions is obvious and one that requires some thoughts. She steps up to the window and taps the glass as if it will tell her the things she wonders.

"It's not really about blocking the light, I suppawse. Just keeping people from seeing in? Maybe lace curtains with a backing or some sort. Like a lining? And hooks to hold them back during the day maybe?"

She sighs softly at the prospect of yet more shopping. She'd done more than enough in the last week with her sister. It was only fun for the first hour.

"I'll have to see what they have at the store. Unless you have a better idea?" A look is thrown over her shoulder, curious what the actually stylish one of them makes. Even if room decor isn't his chosen field, he must have a thought.

Lace with lining. Yes, it's lovely. He already knows what to do. A nice shimmery sheer white and a second layer of black lace. He does designs for District four, he can find the one he ordered with the patterns of shell and sea and all things like it.

He puts a hand over his collar then waves it off. OF course he has a better idea. No need for her to make any further and unnecessary trips. Even if there's not enough, he can get it all delivered. He gestures a, one moment, then darts off to drab the fabrics he's got in mind.

With one in each hand, her presents them to her, one each hand. He layers them and holds them separate equally. And then he's all eyes on her, watching her reactions.

Of course he has an idea--and of course he's running off to go find it. She waits, amused by his enthusiasm. It was just curtains after all. The ones at home had been cast off sheets hemmed all prettily by her mother. It's him though. It would be the same if they were in the District. He'd want something lovely.

And something lovely is what he brings her. She's unsure of what she expected; something floral probably since that seems to be all they make here. How silly of her, when he sews for their District. Sea and shells and beauty is what he offers, spread over something sheer and light. Her eyes light up and already she's contemplating trying to find a bedspread to match. She doubts such exists, but wouldn't that be beautiful.

"Ohhh, that's purrfect! Did you get that special--you don't need it fur your tributes right? I don't want to take from them."

She says that even as she runs her fingers over the lace, tracing the patterns. It'd be possible to sway her from this fabric but it'd be difficult.

It's just as he'd hoped. She lights up, green eyes full up with wonder. She runs her hands over the fabric and speaks just a touch too loud, but it's good. He's beaming at her right up until she begins to doubt.

He waves a hand, shaking his head all the while. Those Tributes won't be wearing this. If he truly needs more, he can get plenty. Disgrace to the lot or not, he is still a Capitolite. But moreover, there is no Tribute more deserving than the girl truly from the District.

No need to sway. They're hers. And he proves so by putting it all into her hands. She can think of it as a homecoming gift. Welcome to you new abode.

He bows his head a little, folding his hands too to express this. Go. See how they look.

Arms full of fabric, she can't hug him so she settles for a kiss on his cheek. It lands closer to his chin with him in heels and her barefoot and she bursts into giggles, nuzzling up under his jaw.

"Thank you, love. It's not really Anna's thing is it? And I think Derek and Chuck would throw it back at you before they agreed to black lace."

That brings up an interesting image, really, that she considers and then puts aside. More important is to see if the vision matches reality. She whirls to the window, settling the excess of the fabric on a chair and holding the two layers up to the window. The light shines through, casting interesting blurred shadows on the floor. She looks back over her shoulder for his approval.

He blinks and brightens, the kiss she gives somehow bringing his smile to life where it's often times just a show. Her sweet laughter fills him, and he brings his hand up to hold her there, at least long enough for him to nuzzle her back.

Of course, she is most mother fucking welcome. He chuckles at her reasoning, as of course it is true. He believes he would win any fight with any of them but his Meulin would do with it much better.

He watches her flit off, watching her for pretty form, for joyous delight. It's a wonder her doesn't forget to look at the shadows that are cast. He nods decisively and gives to certain thumbs up at her in response.

With his seal of approval, she carefully folds the fabric for now. It'll have to be made into curtains, of course, and she'll need curtain rods and things. She hasn't really gotten rid of the shopping trip, just changed the objective, but the curtains she gets now are far nicer than anything she'd have found in the store.

"I shouldn't be surprised you have all sorts of things in your fabric collection. It's a wonders there's room for you at all in that room," she quips, setting the fabric down gently and throwing him a grin over her shoulder, "I frankly suspect to find you sleeping on the stuff some day. Bed forgotten."

She returns to his side, slipping her fingers through his just to have the touch. It's still a thrill to be so close, to call him what he is, to know he feels the same way. She can hardly help it.

He laughs. It comes sudden, and it's got barely a sound, but it shows in the way his head goes back. His features are full mirth and his shoulders shake. Even after he's stopped, that mirth lingers in his smile and in his eyes. A helpless shrug tells that it may just be possible.

He'll have to tell her one day of what it was like through Stylist school. And then of all the Capitol parties where he woke up with no idea how he got to where he was. There was many a tale to write for her. Perhaps they could exchange stories if he manages not to bring up too many a bad memory.

Suddenly, her hands are in his. His girl, his sister, his darling ship kitten. She's here. They're theirs, belonging to each other. Suddenly, none of those bad memories even mother fuckin matter. He leans down to kiss the top of her head.

She'd be delighted to read all about it, to get every detail where they still exist and scold him where they lack. Every detail of the time between his departure and her appearance is important, something to know. She wants to fill in the spaces between until it's one long stretch. Of course, there are places she wants to leave blank, spots she doesn't want filled in, but they must be so far and few between as to barely matter.

He dips down, kisses the top of her head with such fondness. A giggle slips from her, as if she can't help it and though she can't know what he's thinking, she's all fond too. All over thrilled with her choice to come here, be so close and near to him. Not a train away, a city away, years away, just down the hallway. Her smile lifts to meet him, catches his lips before he's moved too far away.

He might agree on the gaps. How many could there be? How wide could the distance be between them when they were both right here? When they were both happy...

The giggle warms him, cause him all the brighter a smile. She kisses him then, despite his stitches, despite himself, and so he stays low with her, pressing against her lips, cupping her jaw in one hand and running the other through her hair. He loves her. So desperately much does he love.

How could that be wrong?

And she loves him. She loves him especially in this moment, kissing her, touching her, smiling with her. It's the little things that feel right. They feel easy, easier with him than anyone else she's tried. She doesn't say that, doesn't want to bring up crass things like comparisons and things.

There's too many things to try to pay attention to, to memorize. The feel of his hand on her hair, his fingertips on her skin, stitches rough against her lips but soft between. He's cute when he leans down to kiss her, actually has to when she's not in heels of her own. There's simply too much she wants to hold on to, wants to keep fresh in her mind. There's too much she wants to cling to, like it might be taken away.

Meulin smiles against his lips, pulling back a breath to kiss his nose and his cheeks.

Chuck couldn't ever be called the most considerate of people, but in this new home, with people he calls friends -- as novel a term as that is -- he tries a bit harder. Usually, it's easier, since aside from Anna they've all known each other since they were children.

But sometimes Chuck forgets, especially when the other person is utterly absorbed in their work.

So he flops onto the couch, sprawling out easily, long legs nudging up against Meulin in a faint greeting. The TV gets a spared glance, they're between Arena shots, another commercial for something or another that he could not care less about splashed across the screen. But Meulin jolting like that, startled like a cat with it's tail stepped on, makes him snort with laughter.

"Hey," he replies, easy humor glittering in his green eyes, mouth curved, the tumble of the sea in his voice. "You workin'?"

Flustered, she tucks her legs up against herself. Perhaps getting absorbed in a book was something best done where people can't startle her. Yet if such a place exists, she's yet to find it. His words get a squint as she tries to watch his lips to words. It's harder with his accent, given how she's been mostly practicing on the exaggerated words of the Capitolites. Work maybe. Or doing. She does what she does best. She guesses.

"I was reading." She waves the book around, which from the embracing couple on the front cover, is clearly a romance novel. No one said the Capitol was subtle.

"And what are you doing, hmmn? Besides trying to give me a heart attack."

Perhaps, but that'll be hard to do with all the people they have living under one roof. It's a nice sized house, but still. Chuck notices her squinting, and his brow furrows for a second, easing out as he realizes its probably the accent. You'd think she'd know D4 accents easier, but he's got a whole lot of D2 coloring his words. So he eases back, scrubbing most of the sea from his voice.

The book gets an amused huff, mouth curved with grin. "What, there not enough romance for you already?"

A tease, but an easygoing one. He's mostly forgiven her for the fiasco in Celebrus -- she was hardly the worst of it all. And he has Derek now, so, it all worked out. Still, he looks mock thoughtful, tapping his mouth with forefinger.

"Nothing else, really."

It's a recent acquired skill to be fair. At home, most knew her well enough to write or mime at her or she pretended. It matters more with some people, to get it right, to get the words, and it takes forever to explain to every new person. It does get easier when his words even out though. She catches every other word at least. Usually.

"There's nefur enough romance. I thought we knew that about me. That and my affinity for cats, my two main points." She wiggles two fingers and then pops him gently on the arm. She'd aim for forehead but that would mean abandoning her oh so comfortable position.

"You could read my book. It's full of longing looks and sighs and all that cheesy lovely romance stuff."

She is grinning with anticipation of his no.

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