Howard Bassem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iselldrugstothecommunity) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-05-29 08:37 pm
iselldrugstothecommunity) wrote in thecapitol2013-05-29 08:37 pm
I'm Down Shouting Names at the Flickering Screen [Open]
WHO| Howard and anyone!
WHAT| Howard decides to get serious about the Games.
WHERE| Tribute Lounge
WHEN| Post-Arena
WARNINGS| Swearing.
There's been enough hiding. There's been enough moping. Howard knows that this feeling of motivation is fleeting, and that just means he has to cling to his productivity for as long as he can before it slips back into despair. Before he thinks about how he's going to die again. Before he wonders where Eponine is. Before he thinks about how she left him like his parents did. Before he cries.
So instead of feeling that, he's going to feel something else. He's going to feel entertained. And possibly, he'll learn something along the way; it's about time he forces himself to study. About time he moves past the squeamish feelings of seeing people he knows bleed and scream on the screen and actually starts taking notes on who to ally with and who to stab in the back, or, potentially, in the front.
He sits in a Tribute lounge with snacks, feet propped up on a glass coffee table, starving body covered in comfy clothes his stylists won't let him wear outside, a fluffy blue bathrobe and canvas cargo pants. His hand periodically moves from its path between bowl of snacks and his mouth to grab a cup of melted butter.
He doesn't care how tacky or unhealthy is it. He covers that bowl of popcorn in butter and plops down on the couch, munching away at it as he watches Wesker and Maximus attack each other.
WHAT| Howard decides to get serious about the Games.
WHERE| Tribute Lounge
WHEN| Post-Arena
WARNINGS| Swearing.
There's been enough hiding. There's been enough moping. Howard knows that this feeling of motivation is fleeting, and that just means he has to cling to his productivity for as long as he can before it slips back into despair. Before he thinks about how he's going to die again. Before he wonders where Eponine is. Before he thinks about how she left him like his parents did. Before he cries.
So instead of feeling that, he's going to feel something else. He's going to feel entertained. And possibly, he'll learn something along the way; it's about time he forces himself to study. About time he moves past the squeamish feelings of seeing people he knows bleed and scream on the screen and actually starts taking notes on who to ally with and who to stab in the back, or, potentially, in the front.
He sits in a Tribute lounge with snacks, feet propped up on a glass coffee table, starving body covered in comfy clothes his stylists won't let him wear outside, a fluffy blue bathrobe and canvas cargo pants. His hand periodically moves from its path between bowl of snacks and his mouth to grab a cup of melted butter.
He doesn't care how tacky or unhealthy is it. He covers that bowl of popcorn in butter and plops down on the couch, munching away at it as he watches Wesker and Maximus attack each other.
no subject
Well, she did! They were cute and fuzzy and really the only thing she had for companions. They didn't talk or anything, but there were always nice to be around.
"I think we do. The two of us combined might be over-snarkified, but those are really the best ones, right? I'm really liking this idea right now, I mean. Just think of the possibilities!"
no subject
In a sick way, the animals he caught and killed and devoured were temporary companions. Back in the other Arena, he cuddled a stray cat before he broke its neck, kept stroking its cooling body as it laid limp in his arms.
As he looks at Cinderella now, he wonders if she did the same. If she was ever that lost.
"I'm game if you're game." He holds a hand out for a fist-bump.
no subject
Couldn't lose one of your horses. But they were her friends, still. Not allowed to leave the house, cooking the meals, cleaning, mending, everything. She wouldn't kill friends. But she's not judging him for doing it. You resorted to anything to survive. She got it.
"I am one hundred percent game," Cindy said with a grin, leaning forward and bumping her fist against his lightly before sitting back again. "Just let me know when, and I'll be there." Thinking about the time, though, made her glance around for a clock.
"Shit. I gotta go, my escort is a real bitch, and I am not in the mood to deal with her passive aggressive sighs." She rolled her eyes, getting up from the couch and stretching with a yawn.
"Until next time, Howard?"
no subject
"Glad I didn't shank you, Cindy." He turns his attention back to the TV, then picks up the remote and switches to cartoons.
no subject