Tim Drake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brentwood) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-06-14 07:21 pm
brentwood) wrote in thecapitol2013-06-14 07:21 pm
Entry tags:
01 (mingling can't be avoided - open
Who| The littlest Tim and whoever's around!
What| Arrival and curiosity.
Where| District 12 Suites, Central Commons.
When| The day of his arrival.
Warnings/Notes| Nope, none that I can think of!
It's one thing to be kidnapped-- another thing entirely to be told what he had. What an honor, what a privilege, isn't this exciting? And no, no it wasn't a bit. It had taken an immense effort to keep from decking anyone at all who was too peppy, too clean, too bubbly. Too helpful. Now herded into his suite (and whoa, not going to lie, it's a pretty sweet room), Tim finds himself pining for Alfred instead of these silent people who offer sweets and luxuries. Then he corrects himself- tells himself that even thinking such a thing might jinx this entire situation somehow and actually bring Alfred to this city. This world. Because there's no way an operation like this could go undetected by the heavy hitters back home.
There's a heavy crease in his brow, looking a little silly on a 15 year old boy. It's not until Tim steps into the bathroom (even that's way high class) that he spots himself on a mirror and notices he's downright scowling. He splashes water on his face. Tells himself to calm down, to do what he's been trained to do. Sleuth. As much as he'd like to hit something, there'd just be no point when he doesn't know how heavy the consequences will be. If everything's been running so smoothly for 70-something rounds of Death Match... it's for a reason.
Besides.
This might all be a bad dream.
He sits on the bed. Gets to work with familiarizing himself with the communication device he was so generously given. He'll bet anything in the world it's bugged.
(Floor 12)
Every adventure draws to an end, even one that had taken so little movement as his assessment of the communicator had. There's an unease with being cooped up in a strange room. A stirring that came from disorientation. Now, the sane thing would be to let the nerves settle before stepping out. He's sure he remembers how to access the concrete den he had been in before, but there's no need for that now. Turning the knob and opening the door to peek his head out, Tim makes sure to don the face of some lost kid rather than an angry one. He's even meticulously quiet about making sure the click of the closing door behind him doesn't sound louder than it needs to, and he cringes a little when he hears it anyway.
Not that he's playing a spy game with himself or anything but. But he's being obviously sneaky. He has to remind himself he's just a schoolboy, and as much as he has an urge to venture down the elevators, it's best to familiarize himself with the most immediate surroundings. It's just a very lavish hotel. That makes his skin crawl. Rounding the corners is particularly suspenseful.
(Central Commons)
Now, if the suites were eerie, the common room is just bizarre. There's the architecture and commodities just screaming for an atmosphere of relaxation. The televisions and lighting are spectacular. The chairs and couches look comfortable and inviting. The whole... mood of the place whispers playground, not slaughter. And Tim supposes that's what has him standing there, just freshly off the elevator, with a shiver running down his spine. Either he's being fantastically duped, or he really doesn't know what he's gotten himself into.
And that's terrifying all on its own.
So should he be expecting a bear to burst out of the elevator doors behind him? --Tim takes no time to step away. He even looks over his shoulder once or twice once he's moved himself more towards the center of the place without quite realizing it. Okay, Drake. Focus. It's time to make some friends. Step One: Find someone who doesn't look like they want to kill you. Should be easy, right?
What| Arrival and curiosity.
Where| District 12 Suites, Central Commons.
When| The day of his arrival.
Warnings/Notes| Nope, none that I can think of!
It's one thing to be kidnapped-- another thing entirely to be told what he had. What an honor, what a privilege, isn't this exciting? And no, no it wasn't a bit. It had taken an immense effort to keep from decking anyone at all who was too peppy, too clean, too bubbly. Too helpful. Now herded into his suite (and whoa, not going to lie, it's a pretty sweet room), Tim finds himself pining for Alfred instead of these silent people who offer sweets and luxuries. Then he corrects himself- tells himself that even thinking such a thing might jinx this entire situation somehow and actually bring Alfred to this city. This world. Because there's no way an operation like this could go undetected by the heavy hitters back home.
There's a heavy crease in his brow, looking a little silly on a 15 year old boy. It's not until Tim steps into the bathroom (even that's way high class) that he spots himself on a mirror and notices he's downright scowling. He splashes water on his face. Tells himself to calm down, to do what he's been trained to do. Sleuth. As much as he'd like to hit something, there'd just be no point when he doesn't know how heavy the consequences will be. If everything's been running so smoothly for 70-something rounds of Death Match... it's for a reason.
Besides.
This might all be a bad dream.
He sits on the bed. Gets to work with familiarizing himself with the communication device he was so generously given. He'll bet anything in the world it's bugged.
(Floor 12)
Every adventure draws to an end, even one that had taken so little movement as his assessment of the communicator had. There's an unease with being cooped up in a strange room. A stirring that came from disorientation. Now, the sane thing would be to let the nerves settle before stepping out. He's sure he remembers how to access the concrete den he had been in before, but there's no need for that now. Turning the knob and opening the door to peek his head out, Tim makes sure to don the face of some lost kid rather than an angry one. He's even meticulously quiet about making sure the click of the closing door behind him doesn't sound louder than it needs to, and he cringes a little when he hears it anyway.
Not that he's playing a spy game with himself or anything but. But he's being obviously sneaky. He has to remind himself he's just a schoolboy, and as much as he has an urge to venture down the elevators, it's best to familiarize himself with the most immediate surroundings. It's just a very lavish hotel. That makes his skin crawl. Rounding the corners is particularly suspenseful.
(Central Commons)
Now, if the suites were eerie, the common room is just bizarre. There's the architecture and commodities just screaming for an atmosphere of relaxation. The televisions and lighting are spectacular. The chairs and couches look comfortable and inviting. The whole... mood of the place whispers playground, not slaughter. And Tim supposes that's what has him standing there, just freshly off the elevator, with a shiver running down his spine. Either he's being fantastically duped, or he really doesn't know what he's gotten himself into.
And that's terrifying all on its own.
So should he be expecting a bear to burst out of the elevator doors behind him? --Tim takes no time to step away. He even looks over his shoulder once or twice once he's moved himself more towards the center of the place without quite realizing it. Okay, Drake. Focus. It's time to make some friends. Step One: Find someone who doesn't look like they want to kill you. Should be easy, right?
no subject
"It's good to meet you, too. I'm sorry about the mix-up, this is," He paused before giving a laugh. "This is really weird. Weirder then usual, I mean." Not that it was funny, but a laugh that allowed him to let go of some anxiety. This was weird.
"But please, call me Peeta. We're going to be getting to know each other really well, and we're not really that formal, here, when it's just the tributes and their mentors. I'm sorry that this happened to you, but it's really not that bad, here. It'll just take some getting used to."
no subject
"Sorry, Peeta. I'm being a little slow on the uptake today. I already, uh, met Katniss." He really doesn't know what else to say. He already blurt his battle plan out to Katniss: I'm not doing anything.
no subject
"That's good that you've met her already. We'll both be working with you... or trying for both of us to work with you, but if you find that you only want to work with one of us, just let us know, okay? I promise, neither of us will take offense about it." There were a lot of Tributes, after all, and while they would only work with one, that wasn't an option anymore. But they tried having both of them work with them all. Like a big group.
A big death group. "Have you been around the tower yet? You've seen the suites, obviously, but how about the lounge? Or the roof is a really nice place to go to when you need some peace and quiet."
no subject
He's sick of it before it even began and honestly? He's just tuned out half of what Peeta said. Uh oh. His interest comes back with a quick shake of his head and some raised brows and a lopsided half-grin. "I could go for some peace and quiet right about now."
no subject
It was staggering. "Follow me, then." He started walking, leading him out of the suites and to the door near the elevators. "So, how old are you? What do you do back home?"
no subject
Everyone was hush-hush. Grin and bear it.
"I'm 15, a sophomore at Brentwood." He recites almost automatically, then adds, "I'm a student, I mean. There's not really much else you can do when you're 15." He had a special permit for driving, sure, but you can't even get a job until you're what, 16? Yeah, it's boring to be a student and he can't run his mouth about the nightlife.
no subject
He shrugged. "Anyway, what do you do when you're not being a student? I don't really know how some things work for a lot of the new people, here. If you guys can have jobs, or if you travel, or hobbies. I learned how to play football from one of the guys here! I'd never heard of that game before he told me about it."
no subject
He's quick to trot through the doors, giving Peeta a quick nod of thanks.
And then he just, uh. You know. Stuff. Hates talking about himself, really, it's awkward. His scapegoat? Football! "Really?" And god, does he sound incredulous. It's a game. Didn't everybody know how those work?
"American football, or...? I mean, I'm coming from a school that's really big on soccer and I bet I could take you."
no subject
"I... I guess it was American football? I didn't know there's two kinds. This one used this oval shaped ball, and you had to run up and down the fields with it. Soccer..." That was a word he'd heard before. Maybe it was from school, or some past arena where it had been brought up?
"Soccer is where you kick a ball around, right? We have that. I'm more of a wrestling guy."