OPEN

[likewhatilike]

Who| Mickey Milkovich, OPEN
What| Oh god is someone not happy about being here
Where| Lounge, Training Center
When| Sunday evening
Warnings/Notes| swearing and anger issues


Lounge
Mickey is cleaner now than he probably has been in months. The anger from being grabbed and scrubbed clean still hasn't abated and, really, he's driving himself crazy. This all seems way too complicated to be something his father cooked up for punishment and Mickey thinks he's been punished enough but who knows when Terry will leave him be, if ever. But this place is driving him mad, everything is too shiny and new and clean. He doesn't need to look out the window to figure out that he's not in Chicago anymore, not even Northside, this is some place much nicer. He hates it.

He automatically cases the place, locating doors and windows, figuring out exit strategies or what piece of furniture would be best to duck behind if a gun fight broke out. And damn does he feel naked without a gun and knife somewhere on his person. He's not defenseless, god no, he fight just as well with his hands but it's nothing like the security of a gun.

The best he can do is find something heavy to hold on to, blunt force trauma would work just as well as a gunshot when everything was said and done. He doesn't know what it is he picked up, some stone thing probably worth more than his life, but it'll do.

He makes his way out of the room slowly and finds himself in some sort of lounge. There are other people mulling around and instead of jumping in and causing a scene like he would usually do he decides to side step in, lean against the wall, and watch.

He wipes his thumb against his bottom lip, a cigarette would be great right about now.


Training Center
Eventually he makes his way to the training center. After a quick look around where he realizes there are no guns around for him to nick he heads towards the knives. He picks one up and feels its weight in his hand, it's not the type of knife he usually keeps on him but it'll do just fine. As a test he throws the knife at one of the set targets, it doesn't hit where he wants it to. With that placement it would slow down and enemy but not kill, the target wasn't even fucking moving. That wouldn't do.

He picks up another knife and tries again.

Comments

lounge

[wantsajetpack]

Pepper's walking in nursing a sore shoulder. She gets one of the fruity soda drinks and has it open before she realizes she's not the only one in the room.

"Oh... hm, hi?" Hey it's the lounge it's supposed to be a safe area right?

[likewhatilike]

He scowls at her when he realizes that it's him she's talking to. Really, what about him says that he wants to talk to anyone? She obviously lacks any sense of self preservation. He crosses his arms as his fingers twitch, yeah he really wants to smoke something right now.

"The fuck are you lookin at?"

[wantsajetpack]

She wasn't staring... okay maybe a little but...

"I was just saying hi you don't have to curse." Yes she's giving a small glare because really how rude!

[likewhatilike]

It's not her fault really, just a glance is enough to set him off at times. So he doesn't like being looked at, big deal.

"What, you gonna try and clean my mouth out with soap? Try it and see what happens to you," he readjusts his grip on the stone thing he grabbed earlier. He figures he could take her out easy.

[amourtician]

Jay's just entering the lounge when he spots Mickey. Aha. An unfamiliar face. A rather unpleasant one, too. Jay's in a bad mood, having spent the previous night trying to find a comfortable place to fall asleep in, once his bed proved to be inadequate for such purposes, and he feels like taking it out on someone. Someone he doesn't know, preferably, so he doesn't accidentally blow up at the Initiate and end up with a horn through a sensitive and life-critical part of his anatomy.

"Lost someone, darling?" he calls out to Mickey and sneers.

[likewhatilike]

Mickey immediately stiffens.

"What the fuck did you just call me," has asks angrily as he grits his teeth. Because seriously, fuck you, who are you to call him anything let alone darling? You're lucky he doesn't just attack first and ask questions later never.

[amourtician]

Jay smiles, faux-coquettishly.

"Darling," he purrs. "It's just a verbal tic, no need to take it so personally."

He looks Mickey once over and pulls an exaggeratedly disgusted face. "I mean, forgive me, but if you think I was implying anything, you've got a bigger head than I can help you with."

[likewhatilike]

"Call me that again and see what happens to your face," he sneers at Jay ignoring anything about implications.

Man, if Jay ever stepped foot near where Mickey lived he would be attacked. He's lucky that Mickey doesn't just jump him right now and get it over with.

lounge

[mediumdrip]

"Are you new?" Blaine asked curiously when he came in and saw a man leaning against the wall. He had never seen this face before and assumed that the guy might be new.

[likewhatilike]

Blaine's assumptions are correct! What he's not correct in though is assuming that Mickey wants to talk to anyone. He spares a glance at Blaine and just grunts in reply.

Mickey Milkovich: master of communication.

[mediumdrip]

Blaine was quiet for a moment and then adds, "Do you have any questions? I know they don't really explain things when you arrive."

[likewhatilike]

"Fine," he snaps at him, "you want to play fucking tour guide? Where the hell am I and how can I get back to Chicago?"

Jesus, why do people insist on talking to him?

[knifewithnoname]

"You do be holding it wrong." A voice came from above, from the practice climbing apparatus to be exact. Pruna had been practicing, because she was not planning for any trees to make her fail this time, when she had spotted the new person.

She had only had a couple of lessons from Hyperion but she was a quick study and her vantage point let her see what she wouldn't have from the ground.

"You will no be killing anyone like that."

[likewhatilike]

Mickey immediately looks up and points the knife he was holding in her direction. Internally he curses himself for not looking around the room before he entered, but it's too late to do anything about that now. He doesn't let his guard down just because she's a small girl, if anything that's what living with Mandy taught him. No, he won't relax until he can prove that she's not a threat or that he is the bigger threat. This is what Mickey's come to, trying to intimidate little girls.

He scoffs at her, "you do be? What kind of fucked up grammar is that? Shit even I can tell how retarded that sounds." He throws the knife at the target again before picking up a new one, "if I wanted to fucking kill someone I wouldn't be throwing it at a target."

[knifewithnoname]

This little girls not intimidated, it's far from the first time she's had a knife pointed at her. "It do be my grammar and you can be fucking shutting up." Getting the new curse words she's learned into Gauigen grammar structures is a little tricky but she's doing her best.

"And you do be still holding it wrong. Asshole."

[likewhatilike]

If Mickey were one to find little girls cute, he'd definitely like Pruna. Her weird grammar coupled with the curse words she's spewing out is enough to make a lesser man smile. But unfortunately he's Mickey fucking Milkovich and he doesn't smile at little girls.

"You tryin' to say you know more about knives than me? What are you like five? Bitch."

training center

[orestes]

There's a sense of apprehension to this boy which is all too familiar to Enjolras. It's as if he's expressing for the world to see everything that he himself (and no doubt, his fellow Tributes) have each experienced upon arriving here. The display of emotion is both troubling and compelling and Enjolras finds it hard to keep away. In the end, he gives up fighting the impulse entirely and quietly makes his way over, careful to avoid the path of any stray knives. Aunamee's stabbing is still vivid in his mind, and he figures one bloody mess is quite enough for the week.

"They're not properly balanced for that, or so I have been told." Regardless, he selects one of the smaller and least intimidating looking, holding it by the blade and sending it hilt over blade toward the target with what amounts to a very small flick of the wrist. It's lands near the center, but not on it. Not bad for an amateur, but no great display of skill either. "I would prefer a sword, naturally, but knives are more common in the Arena. It's a good skill to cultivate."

[likewhatilike]

If anything Mickey would hate that someone approached him because they empathized with his feelings. He doesn't do feelings, he doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve (except when he does) because he's not Ian or even Mandy. Emotions can be played and emotions can get you killed, he knows that better than anyone.

And one bloody mess is enough for the week? That's like every other day in the life of Mickey Milkovich. You get used to it.

Mickey swings around and points the knife at Enjolras because, really, what about him says he wants to talk with someone now? Who in their right mind is smart enough to approach him when he was a rack full of blades at his disposal? But fine, if he wants to talk shop, he can do that.

"Butterfly knives are better," he grunts while examining the knife in his hands. A butterfly knife he could handle expertly, throwing knives are much different.

"Rather have a gun but I doubt I'm going to get one in this shithole," he motions to the training center, ignoring the fact it's probably the nicest building he's ever been in.

[orestes]

Enjolras' gaze is unflinching as the blade is leveled at him. Quite frankly, he has seen and experienced worse. Moreover, if this boy did decide to attack he's confident in the Avoxes and Peacekeepers that swarm in the periphery of the training center. There's an elegant sort of defiance in his set jaw and pursed lips, and the vague hint of disdain in his eyes. Only the ineloquent resorted so quickly to swearing.

"An ally found a musket in the last Arena, but it was too damaged to work properly. There's also the matter of powder and cartridges, even if you were to stumble on a gun in perfect working order. Blades are messier, but far more practical and can be used for things other than killing." And that's why he prefers them, honestly. Surviving the Arena is just as much contingent on your ability to defend yourself against nature as is on other people.

training center

[xanthous]

When the knife hits, there's a snort. The Psiioniic is watching him from where he sits in a bundle of ropes, practicing his knots. He works the rope with thin fingers, and he can tie and untie them without even looking. He looks horrible - he's impossibly thin and there are deep yellow bags under his eyes. He didn't have a very good sleep, so he's making up for that by laughing at the other tributes.

It's one of the few things about this place that's legitimately entertaining.

"Better work on your aim if you want the thponthorth to like you."

[likewhatilike]

Mickey picks up another knife, not bothering to spare a look at the person who just insulted him. He throws it at the same target, his aim is better but still it wouldn't do enough damage to kill. If anything it would slow down his enemy but give them a weapon, and that's exactly why he hates throwing knives. If a bullet just grazes your leg you can't throw it back and kill your attacker.

He licks his lips, "you better work on your fucking lisp if you don't want to be beaten up." Because really, he's beaten up kids for much less.

[xanthous]

"Fighting ithn't allowed in the Capitol," he says with a chirp. An actual chirp, too. He waves a hand, wrapping rope around it as he unties his knots. "And I've already killed mythelf, tho violenthe ithn't much of a threat."

He's also pretty sure the human can't hurt him that badly anyways. The species seems much weaker than trolls.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

If there's one thing Howard can spot from a mile away, it's a smoker. Aside from booze, nicotine was Howard's bread and butter back in the FAYZ, back when drug-dealing was the only way to get food (if you could call it that) on the table. Fourteen months of preying on anxious, lonely kids only about his age, only in middle school too, has given him a keen eye for which people can be wooed with a pack.

So, sitting in the corner of the lounge, reading a guide to edible plants and people watching, he notices the way the new guy's fingers seem to be missing something, the way they seem, perpetually, to move towards Mickey's mouth, even just to wipe away spit or pick at stray skin.

For his part, Howard's done well for himself since the last Arena. He's put weight back onto his starving frame, bringing him up to a grand total of eighty-six pounds. He no longer has to wear clothing that his stylists pad so he doesn't look like he'll collapse if he's patted on the back, so he's curled up on his chair in an oversized sweater and a pair of size 2 jeans. He chews at his lip as he reads, then, after a while, tucks the book into a messenger bag he's been carrying with him. Like all things in the Capitol, it's a little too gaudy, with rhinestones and shiny gold print spelling some shit out in latin. Howard hasn't bothered to ask anyone what it means.

He gets up and walks over to Mickey, leans against the wall a few feet from him, and says "no smoke detectors on the third floor balcony." He taps the pack-of-cards-sized bulge in his pocket.

[Let me know if this is too infomoddy!]

[likewhatilike]

Mickey has lived on a steady diet of smokes, alcohol, and frozen foods for years and to go without any of those actually makes his skin crawl. It doesn't matter how nice a place it is, he'd rather go back to the Southside (even if he hates himself for thinking that). Although, he'd rather go back with pockets full of cash from all the stuff he could pawn. Seriously, who brings a criminal into a room full of nice stuff?

He pauses with his thumb on his lip, ready to wipe at it again. Shit was it that obvious that he needed a smoke? It must be if that's what this stranger chose to address first.

"Yeah? You gonna bum me a smoke then?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Sure am." He flicks his eyes up. "No smoke detectors on the roof, either. Come on, I'll show you."

Howard, for his part, is trying to make those small connections again, the little ones with people where he doesn't have to feel close to them but that might make them pause in the Arena when they have the chance to kill him. This kid gave me cigarettes. This kid showed me around the place. Sentimentality with no strings attached, and no sense of betrayal if he gets killed anyway.

He gestures with his hand to the elevators, the other hand in his pocket folding around some stolen jewelry just to make sure it's there. He really doesn't know yet how many similarities he and the new guy have.