A. T. Menelikov (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
amourtician) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-05-16 06:50 am
amourtician) wrote in thecapitol2013-05-16 06:50 am
Entry tags:
[002] i wonder when the night will reach its end [OPEN]
Who| Jay and YOU! Special invitation extended to Insomniacs Anonymous
What| Jay has insomnia and is stargazing. Feel free to bug him.
Where| the park
When| now-ish, at night
Warnings/Notes| Jay's been drinking again, so things to do with alcohol. Other warnings will come if needed.
Jays lost track of how long he's been awake and he's just now starting to feel tiredness nibbling on the edges of his brain. He thinks he might be approaching twenty hours awake, but he can't be sure -- he never got into the habit of carrying a pocketwatch, back home, and he hasn't had a chance to find one he likes in the Capitol (he's as picky as he is vain, which is inhumanly so). He's more than a little drunk, too, but it doesn't seem to be making him sleepy at all (because, unknown to him, the last think he drank was the Capitol equivalent of a vodka with Red Bull and the caffeine's doing its job).
Right now, he's back in the park, somewhere towards the heart of it. He's lying on his back in the middle of a rosebush -- one mercifully genetically modified to be free of thorns. He thinks it's an awful waste of a perfectly good and deeply metaphoric plant. He also thinks the roses -- neon pink with black leopard spots -- are the tackiest thing he's seen in the Capitol, which is saying something, especially given the amount of mirrors he passes every day.
He's stargazing, trying idly to find familiar patterns in the unfamiliar sky above. He found a distorted version of the Fiery Eye and something that looks like an upsidedown Cradle of Rivers and he feels almost comforted, in an absurd way. The alcohol and the hours spent with his stylist, buried in fabric samples and haute couture magazines and the endless lure of the televisions have buried homesickness, but not very well or very deep. It's starting to claw its way back to the surface. He misses Mara. He misses the bookshop. He misses Raimut, though he'd never admit how much relief he feels upon being away from him.
Absurdly, he misses his twin most of all. She always was everything he never could be and he admits, grudgingly and only to himself, that being athletic and brutal would be far more useful here than being beautiful and clever.
While Jay's trying to prevent his mood from swinging to "maudlin", what are you doing?
What| Jay has insomnia and is stargazing. Feel free to bug him.
Where| the park
When| now-ish, at night
Warnings/Notes| Jay's been drinking again, so things to do with alcohol. Other warnings will come if needed.
Jays lost track of how long he's been awake and he's just now starting to feel tiredness nibbling on the edges of his brain. He thinks he might be approaching twenty hours awake, but he can't be sure -- he never got into the habit of carrying a pocketwatch, back home, and he hasn't had a chance to find one he likes in the Capitol (he's as picky as he is vain, which is inhumanly so). He's more than a little drunk, too, but it doesn't seem to be making him sleepy at all (because, unknown to him, the last think he drank was the Capitol equivalent of a vodka with Red Bull and the caffeine's doing its job).
Right now, he's back in the park, somewhere towards the heart of it. He's lying on his back in the middle of a rosebush -- one mercifully genetically modified to be free of thorns. He thinks it's an awful waste of a perfectly good and deeply metaphoric plant. He also thinks the roses -- neon pink with black leopard spots -- are the tackiest thing he's seen in the Capitol, which is saying something, especially given the amount of mirrors he passes every day.
He's stargazing, trying idly to find familiar patterns in the unfamiliar sky above. He found a distorted version of the Fiery Eye and something that looks like an upsidedown Cradle of Rivers and he feels almost comforted, in an absurd way. The alcohol and the hours spent with his stylist, buried in fabric samples and haute couture magazines and the endless lure of the televisions have buried homesickness, but not very well or very deep. It's starting to claw its way back to the surface. He misses Mara. He misses the bookshop. He misses Raimut, though he'd never admit how much relief he feels upon being away from him.
Absurdly, he misses his twin most of all. She always was everything he never could be and he admits, grudgingly and only to himself, that being athletic and brutal would be far more useful here than being beautiful and clever.
While Jay's trying to prevent his mood from swinging to "maudlin", what are you doing?
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She tosses the flower aside. "I'll be sure to send a letter of apology to the gardener."
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He looks up at Eva, his smile lopsided and drunk. "Who are you, anyway, darling? I've seen you around the Training Centre, but you look like neither a Stylist nor an Escort."
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"Ahhhh, sorry, Sudara Victor, I'm ... ahhh. A trifle tipsy," he smiles at Eva, as winningly as he can manage. "It's a relief to know the Arenas would not be worse than the Victors!"
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"I graciously accept your compliment."
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"You remind me of my mother," he says, cheerily. "I'm glad you're not my mentor, frankly. It'd be far, far too weird."
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"All right, now you don't remind me of her, anymore. And ... ah. I don't actually ... remember."
There was the funny red cocktail that really perked him up, but there was some stuff before that, too. His memory's fuzzy.
At least some of it was beer, which he'd never had before. For good reason.