thecapitol | [OPEN]

Who| John Watson and OPEN
What| John's been having a lot of trouble sleeping and settling since waking up in the Capitol, and so is doing a lot of wandering for wandering's sake, catching up with friends (or at least people who haven't murdered him) ~~and going on adorable coffee-dates with Effie~~ Basically this is here to catch all
Where| Wandering around the capitol
When| Any time after his death, just let me know when you want to set things in the title of your reply pls
Warnings/Notes| Possible mentions of PTSD?

Death, John decided, was something no-one should have to live through. Where being shot and being absolutely certain he was going to die had been terrible, and had taken months of physical and psychological rehabilitation, dying and being brought back in a perfectly functional body was much more of a disorientating disconnect. He felt detached from reality.

Before Sherlock had rejoined him in the Capitol, John had spent much of his time trying to prove to himself that he was actually here, not always consciously. He walked as far as he could along the streets, visited strange little cafes and bars and hauled himself back to his suite, exhausted and burned out, hoping he'd be too tired to dream. His mood lifted a little once his friend returned, and there were a few notable people whose company he not only enjoyed but looked forward to enjoying, but the itch to get out for the sake of getting out only intensified the longer the days dragged on. There was nothing comfortable about life here, no routine he could settle into and feel like he had a handle on. The long and short of it was, he was useless here in the Capitol, and it was eating away at him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

R thought "looking ill" was actually getting close to a compliment; it was almost like saying he looked borderline human instead of a rotting corpse.

"How...I always...look. Stuck...like this," R shrugged. "...Why?"

"Oh, right. You're- you're the zombie, right? Sherlock said-"

And it all slotted into place. Javert's strange injury, the skinny young man with the dark hair and the blue eyes he'd described. He'd been trying to treat a bloody zombie infection. His eyes widened.

"Christ. You bit someone, didn't you? In the arena."

Oh, jeez here it comes. R wanted to wince. "The zombie", yeah...that. Maybe he used to be an artist or at least something like Pizza Delivery Boy or anything better than "walking corpse", but here he was. Stuck and watching John fitting all the pieces in place.

R couldn't blush at the question. He tried to retreat into his shoulders, hunching them like that would do anything, wishing he could lie or at least deny it.

"Was...hun....gry," R stumbled over his words now, agitated. "Cuh...could-n't....think. Tried...to h-help....later, but..."

But Javert was back to regular dead and R had wandered off like he never existed. Yeah, really big pal he was.

John paused, wetting his lips. It was odd, but the zombie seemed strangely upset at his own behaviour- and now he thought about it, what was so strange about that? Most people were capable of regretting their actions, why not this one? It seemed to John that being dead would inspire endless introspection and self-loathing, running the same thing over and over, trying out all the what-ifs and so on. He wasn't so sure about the unDead, but for a reanimated corpse, putting that amount of energy into an apology couldn't be easy.

"I'd never seen anything like that wound," John agreed, quietly, his head tilted slightly as he considered it. "I don't think there was anything anyone could have done, at that point. Bet it was good viewing, though."

"In...fected," R grunted. "No cure. Not...yet."

At least he was hoping for a "yet" now. Maybe Wesker could think of something. For now, though, people like Air had a one-way ticket to zombie-central and a messy head shot to being dead, for real. R hunched his shoulders against the comment about it being "good viewing", his face twisting in a slow frown. He was being sarcastic, right? R was reading John right? R struggled to pin the guy down, his eyes on his faces, the lines, the short cropped hair.

"Was he...a friend?" R winced at it coming out like that, but at the same time, he wanted to know.

John sighed, shaking his head. He wasn't angry at R- what was the point? Anyone else could have killed Javert, it was after all what they were supposed to do, kill each other. At least R had an excuse, of sorts.
"I'd never met him before he asked for my help, but he seemed like a good man. An honourable man."

"He was?" R said. That seemed to make sense. Why he'd somehow had it in him to stop from attacking Maximus and then have the decency to ask for a mercy kill instead of trucking on. "That's...good to hear. I...mean..."

R trailed off. Whatever he said would come out stumbling or selfish and maybe it already had on accident. Why would it be good to hear someone used to be decent, used to be something a lot more impressive than a corpse who had this weird hobby of patrolling? R tried to think of something else to say to salvage it before he choked on that foot in his mouth.

"Sorry," R said weakly.

"He's probably better off," John told the zombie wryly, offering him a tentative smile, a pardon. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. If it hadn't been you it would have been someone else, and I think- well, maybe it's better. At least you did it because you were hungry, not just because you enjoy murdering people. That's the kind of motivation that's hard to ignore."

The sucky thing was R kinda agreed with John. He probably was, looking at it like that. Being a zombie was no way to live.

"I...guess...that's a good...point," R said. He couldn't think of many people who would agree with John - at least not back home. Most people didn't put themselves in a corpse's shoes, R realizing he was starting to give John a weird look and cutting it out. Good impressions. He wanted to make one, not creep John out. "I don't...get why someone...would. Bad crowd."

Said the zombie who hung out with Karis Needleteeth. R probably should warn John about her.

"Zombies, or us Tributes?" he asked with a wry, amused smile. He certainly wasn't particularly enamored with the undead, having been killed by one- and not even because she was hungry, come to think of it. "I meant- I don't know where they go, the people who don't wake up back here, but it's got to be better than the Arena, for most people."

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