Marius Pontmercy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
saisamour) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-05-31 11:59 pm
saisamour) wrote in thecapitol2013-05-31 11:59 pm
Entry tags:
[open] 'cause you and i, we were born to die
Who| Marius Pontmercy and OPEN!
What| Marius in the Capitol being Marius. Everything happens so much.
Where| Training Center Central Commons and some random place in the Capitol
When| First couple of days after his arrival
Warnings/Notes| suicidal thoughts; far too much pining for Cosette
} Central Commons
It takes a couple of hours for Marius to push himself off his mattress, and several more to drag himself outside his lodgings. A dazed and befuddled look eclipses his face as he walks aimlessly throughout the Center, still reeling from the explanation provided to him about the Hunger Games, and the absurd notion that he has to participate in an event reminiscent of the ancient Gladiatorial matches.
Is this truly real? It seems far too impossible, to be pulled into this unknown space, this unfamiliar world that makes him feel all the more lost and abandoned, now that he has been forced further away from his Lark. Now that he may never be found again. Where is Cosette now, he wonders? Does she think of him, even for a moment, the way he thinks of her even when he's dream-lands away?
Perhaps this is what it is, though: A strange, bizarre dream. He must have fallen asleep while taking a rest at the barricades. When he opens his eyes, this scene will disappear, and he will be allowed to die fighting for the France that his father wielded his weapons for. To die so that he can be the gentle wind that caresses her face and teases out her kind, loving smile.
He soon enters the Common Room, wherein an offer of drink to him is only acknowledged with an absent-minded nod of thanks. He wanders the area, wine glass in hand, with a hazy and distant look in his eyes that hints at his inattentiveness to his surroundings.
It is this preoccupation that causes him to clumsily trip and spill his drink on you. It might have only dripped on your shoe and perhaps soaked your sock, if you're lucky; it stains your entire outfit in a splatter of red, if you are not.
} Somewhere in the Capitol
How strange, he thinks, that he has yet to awaken.
For he has come to the conclusion that this is simply a long, odd dream; it is folly to think otherwise. Or, at least, that is what he has decided at the moment. As he roams through the streets, before the entrances of shops and restaurants, and among the people that his imagination could not possibly conjure, his mind shifts continually between belief and disbelief, real and unreal, wakefulness and dreaming.
When he is caught staring a second too long at two ladies with powder-white faces and wigs that strangely resemble horns, his face turns red and he hurries his footsteps, overhearing their high-pitched giggling and assuming it is because they find him amusing, or funny, or too pitiful to be taken any seriously.
That is when he bumps into you and... Well, he simply stares, with a befuddled look on his face as if internally debating on whether or not you are actually real.
What| Marius in the Capitol being Marius. Everything happens so much.
Where| Training Center Central Commons and some random place in the Capitol
When| First couple of days after his arrival
Warnings/Notes| suicidal thoughts; far too much pining for Cosette
} Central Commons
It takes a couple of hours for Marius to push himself off his mattress, and several more to drag himself outside his lodgings. A dazed and befuddled look eclipses his face as he walks aimlessly throughout the Center, still reeling from the explanation provided to him about the Hunger Games, and the absurd notion that he has to participate in an event reminiscent of the ancient Gladiatorial matches.
Is this truly real? It seems far too impossible, to be pulled into this unknown space, this unfamiliar world that makes him feel all the more lost and abandoned, now that he has been forced further away from his Lark. Now that he may never be found again. Where is Cosette now, he wonders? Does she think of him, even for a moment, the way he thinks of her even when he's dream-lands away?
Perhaps this is what it is, though: A strange, bizarre dream. He must have fallen asleep while taking a rest at the barricades. When he opens his eyes, this scene will disappear, and he will be allowed to die fighting for the France that his father wielded his weapons for. To die so that he can be the gentle wind that caresses her face and teases out her kind, loving smile.
He soon enters the Common Room, wherein an offer of drink to him is only acknowledged with an absent-minded nod of thanks. He wanders the area, wine glass in hand, with a hazy and distant look in his eyes that hints at his inattentiveness to his surroundings.
It is this preoccupation that causes him to clumsily trip and spill his drink on you. It might have only dripped on your shoe and perhaps soaked your sock, if you're lucky; it stains your entire outfit in a splatter of red, if you are not.
} Somewhere in the Capitol
How strange, he thinks, that he has yet to awaken.
For he has come to the conclusion that this is simply a long, odd dream; it is folly to think otherwise. Or, at least, that is what he has decided at the moment. As he roams through the streets, before the entrances of shops and restaurants, and among the people that his imagination could not possibly conjure, his mind shifts continually between belief and disbelief, real and unreal, wakefulness and dreaming.
When he is caught staring a second too long at two ladies with powder-white faces and wigs that strangely resemble horns, his face turns red and he hurries his footsteps, overhearing their high-pitched giggling and assuming it is because they find him amusing, or funny, or too pitiful to be taken any seriously.
That is when he bumps into you and... Well, he simply stares, with a befuddled look on his face as if internally debating on whether or not you are actually real.
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"It do be being complicated."
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Finally, he said, "You are little, you do not know what you speak of." It appeared that he was trying to convince himself more than her, however.
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