Tim Drake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_hit_list) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-05-04 09:32 am
the_hit_list) wrote in thecapitol2013-05-04 09:32 am
Entry tags:
Now, you shall deal with me, O Prince, and all the powers of Hell.
Who| Tim Drake-Wayne and OPEN
What| The dragon attack on the tributes is shown live at a party. Tim is forced to eventually witness Stephanie Brown's death. He is not happy.
Where| A random Capitol party. Feel free to claim it as something your character threw together, or make up details as you go.
When| Late evening. When the freaking dragon shows up.
Warnings/Notes| Probable extreme violence. The dragon nightmare will be on the viewing screens at the party. Characters may mention the Tributes getting burned, maimed, eaten, etc, as the dragon log itself unfolds. ALSO: If you want to use this thread to have two other characters watch and discuss what's going on, just let me know and I won't bring Tim into it.
Tim had begged to go to this one, as the gold-leafed invitation had proclaimed it to be an exclusive viewing party. He had hoped that there would be enough televisions that he would be able to keep a consistent eye on the games, and he was right. The ballroom - and it was a ballroom, albeit a small one, had televisions everywhere. All of the tvs were the same soft, buttery yellow that draws the eye without detracting from the beauty of the rest of the room. On the buffet tables, tiny screens sit amongst the serving platters and dessert towers, all of which hold skillfully crafted bite-sized portions. Custom-sized televisions were fit periodically into the paneling along the walls. Huge, 70" inch displays hung from the ceiling on chains that had been interwoven with ribbons and roses.
In front of these, there were U-shaped collections of comfortable chairs and loveseats gathered around round tables. This was not a party that has a focus on a large dinner, Tim surmised from the small size of the plates and tables. The party planner meant for each guest to regularly return to the buffet, perhaps meeting new people along the way, and find a different seat when they returned. By Capitol standards, the party was tame, with only quiet ambient music and no performers or dancers. A chance to celebrate on a Friday night without missing any of the late arena action while chatting about the Games, and that was the draw for the addicted attendees. The invitation had promised that all Tributes and Victors were invited, and, from the crowd, it appeared that not many had declined.
Tim had arrived an hour ago, not long after the party began, and had wandered around the room, waving occasionally at a stranger who caught him looking at them. He wanted to get the lay of the place and an estimation of the sort of Citizens who were in attendance. Wealthy was assumed, but he'd met plenty of rich at home who owed everything to the cleverness and connections of forefathers. Eventually, he had drifted to the food and then the tables, armed with two glasses of sparkling wine for the conversation.
When the dragon first broke the surface of the water, a woman screamed in shock and delight. Tim, returning to the viewing area with another glass of wine, didn't understand at first, until he looked directly at the television. A giant, black dragon was rising out of the river, water sluicing off its body. "Steph."
The flute cracked in his hand, and glass shards and wine hit the floor audibly, the room had gone quiet in awe of this show of Gamemaker ingenuity. Tim, who was slightly tipsy even if he had pretended to be worse, started to apologize profusely and was waved away from cleaning up the mess by a silent servant.
He can't stay here and watch this. It's worse than having them murder each other. That was violence that he'd seen before. That dragon would be ripping people apart in short order, Tim was sure of it. He didn't want to see it. He had to leave, now, and go anywhere that didn't have a television. Tim started edging away from everyone, towards the wall, in hopes of a discreet exit.
What| The dragon attack on the tributes is shown live at a party. Tim is forced to eventually witness Stephanie Brown's death. He is not happy.
Where| A random Capitol party. Feel free to claim it as something your character threw together, or make up details as you go.
When| Late evening. When the freaking dragon shows up.
Warnings/Notes| Probable extreme violence. The dragon nightmare will be on the viewing screens at the party. Characters may mention the Tributes getting burned, maimed, eaten, etc, as the dragon log itself unfolds. ALSO: If you want to use this thread to have two other characters watch and discuss what's going on, just let me know and I won't bring Tim into it.
Tim had begged to go to this one, as the gold-leafed invitation had proclaimed it to be an exclusive viewing party. He had hoped that there would be enough televisions that he would be able to keep a consistent eye on the games, and he was right. The ballroom - and it was a ballroom, albeit a small one, had televisions everywhere. All of the tvs were the same soft, buttery yellow that draws the eye without detracting from the beauty of the rest of the room. On the buffet tables, tiny screens sit amongst the serving platters and dessert towers, all of which hold skillfully crafted bite-sized portions. Custom-sized televisions were fit periodically into the paneling along the walls. Huge, 70" inch displays hung from the ceiling on chains that had been interwoven with ribbons and roses.
In front of these, there were U-shaped collections of comfortable chairs and loveseats gathered around round tables. This was not a party that has a focus on a large dinner, Tim surmised from the small size of the plates and tables. The party planner meant for each guest to regularly return to the buffet, perhaps meeting new people along the way, and find a different seat when they returned. By Capitol standards, the party was tame, with only quiet ambient music and no performers or dancers. A chance to celebrate on a Friday night without missing any of the late arena action while chatting about the Games, and that was the draw for the addicted attendees. The invitation had promised that all Tributes and Victors were invited, and, from the crowd, it appeared that not many had declined.
Tim had arrived an hour ago, not long after the party began, and had wandered around the room, waving occasionally at a stranger who caught him looking at them. He wanted to get the lay of the place and an estimation of the sort of Citizens who were in attendance. Wealthy was assumed, but he'd met plenty of rich at home who owed everything to the cleverness and connections of forefathers. Eventually, he had drifted to the food and then the tables, armed with two glasses of sparkling wine for the conversation.
When the dragon first broke the surface of the water, a woman screamed in shock and delight. Tim, returning to the viewing area with another glass of wine, didn't understand at first, until he looked directly at the television. A giant, black dragon was rising out of the river, water sluicing off its body. "Steph."
The flute cracked in his hand, and glass shards and wine hit the floor audibly, the room had gone quiet in awe of this show of Gamemaker ingenuity. Tim, who was slightly tipsy even if he had pretended to be worse, started to apologize profusely and was waved away from cleaning up the mess by a silent servant.
He can't stay here and watch this. It's worse than having them murder each other. That was violence that he'd seen before. That dragon would be ripping people apart in short order, Tim was sure of it. He didn't want to see it. He had to leave, now, and go anywhere that didn't have a television. Tim started edging away from everyone, towards the wall, in hopes of a discreet exit.
no subject
There's a kid in a shallow ditch somewhere, some unnamed little boy with tousled blonde hair and blood all over his face, with snot dried around his nostrils and a tooth missing, maybe six or seven years old. With some of Howard's blood on his wrists, where Howard cupped his hands over his broken nose and then dragged the corpse. Murdered. Howard buried him because sometimes you have to do these things for your friends.
And he doesn't know what to say to Tim's assertion that he won't walk away. There's no use arguing it. Howard just feels that sometime, down the line - either when times get hard or when unsavory elements of Howard's past come up - Howard will be proven right. No one comes back for him.
Except Wyatt, and Howard doesn't know what to make of that. He glances up at the screen again, but it's just showing Barbara Gordon.
"More people attracts attention. I'm sticking with Wyatt and Eponine, though. I'm not letting Epsy Daisy die again on my watch."
no subject
The corner of his mouth drops back down. The smile had been a little forced anyway; he had been trying to diffuse the situation and, maybe, distract himself from thinking about hero memorials. Just because they came back didn't do anything to assuage the pain of the memories. There's a few years of his life where it's better not to linger on the personal relationships.
But here, he's going to have to get over that. His personal relationships are probably all going to have death feature. He's going to have to work with it, in a way that somehow doesn't make him numb to it. He doesn't want to accept senseless death, but Tim would hate himself if he stopped being affected by it.
And Howard's been through multiple arenas, and he's still affected by it. That's something - it really is a difficult thing to hold onto your humanity in times of extreme violence. But here he is, swearing that he won't let his girlfriend die again. Good for him.
"Okay. Wyatt's the lawman, right?" Tim knows damn well that Howard said that Wyatt was a sheriff, but he also knows that it irritates people when they find out that you've got a mind like a steel trap. "I'm hoping Steph wins, but, if not, I'll be sticking with her and Bruce."
no subject
Maybe it's true that he and Tim can have something of a truce, for all the yelling they've done at each other tonight. Howard realizes he's said some pretty nasty things and not once did Tim make a sudden move, raise a hand, lurch forward - no anger management issues. Tim's not looking for an excuse to hurt someone.
"Yeah. Wyatt's the sheriff, but I mean, he's cool. Not like some assholes with a badge." But Howard feels the guilt churning up in his stomach, because the truth is, he doesn't want Wyatt to win. He doesn't want to think that it'll be him and Eponine alone in the Arena after this, maybe with R trying to tame his instinct to devour them both.
Wyatt's the closest thing he has to as protector, someone he can be scared around and not feel like he's letting them down. Wyatt's seen him vulnerable, wounded and lost in nightmares and panicky. He's been quiet and patient where Eponine chastised him, where R didn't know how to respond.
One hand trembles. Howard covers his mouth with the tips of his fingers and hiccups. "Think I drank too much. Sorry." He shoves past Tim and disappears around a corner.