Bickle "Billy" Livius (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bangbangkerpooow) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-04-29 02:39 pm
bangbangkerpooow) wrote in thecapitol2013-04-29 02:39 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
WHO | Billy and Marty (closed)
WHAT | Bro reunion.
WHEN | Week 6.
WHERE | Training center lounge.
WARNINGS / NOTES | --
The scar on Billy's right hand is fresher than the ones he earned in the arena, but you would never know it from the way Capitol medicine works. Billy wishes he had something to pick at, something raw and exposed that he could run his fingers across just like people used to do in the old days, but the skin is already so soft, so protected, so healed. The Tributes on the television are more to his style, their bodies slick with dirt and blood. They crouch more than they walk, their shoulders tense, their eyes darting, their footsteps quiet and secret.
Billy watches the Games with his feet kicked up over the arms of his chair and a milkshake resting between the crook of his arm and his chest. He sips from a long straw without bothering to look at the glass. You could stick a fly in there and he'd sip that right up.
"Boo," he says when the commentators rehash the footage of Blaine letting himself die. He throws his straw wrapper at the television set, but being that it's paper, it doesn't go very far before it flutters uselessly to the ground.
WHAT | Bro reunion.
WHEN | Week 6.
WHERE | Training center lounge.
WARNINGS / NOTES | --
The scar on Billy's right hand is fresher than the ones he earned in the arena, but you would never know it from the way Capitol medicine works. Billy wishes he had something to pick at, something raw and exposed that he could run his fingers across just like people used to do in the old days, but the skin is already so soft, so protected, so healed. The Tributes on the television are more to his style, their bodies slick with dirt and blood. They crouch more than they walk, their shoulders tense, their eyes darting, their footsteps quiet and secret.
Billy watches the Games with his feet kicked up over the arms of his chair and a milkshake resting between the crook of his arm and his chest. He sips from a long straw without bothering to look at the glass. You could stick a fly in there and he'd sip that right up.
"Boo," he says when the commentators rehash the footage of Blaine letting himself die. He throws his straw wrapper at the television set, but being that it's paper, it doesn't go very far before it flutters uselessly to the ground.
no subject
He put the straw in his mouth and spoke through the plastic.
"For you, anyway. For me, it's parties filled with people I couldn't give two shits about." It was another subtle, passive-aggressive jab. You left him alone. You were not there.