Wyatt Earp (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_marshal) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-08-19 06:53 am
the_marshal) wrote in thecapitol2013-08-19 06:53 am
Entry tags:
Someday I will ask you if I was a disapointment.
WHO| Wyatt and Open
WHAT| Enjoying a frosty, adult beverage (or ten)
WHERE| The Speakeasy
WHEN| A few days prior to Maximus' crowning
Notes/Warnings|No warnings at this time, will add any as they become appropriate. Epic levels of bromance. If anyone's been hoping to chat with Wyatt, this will probably be your last open chance prior to the new arena.
Max's crowning was all Wyatt's stylists could talk about, the whole District Ten team - including his escort - in a tizzy and growing ever more frazzled as it approached. It was at once both amusing, and disconcerting.
He didn't hold any particular ill will against the lot of them anymore - he'd come to accept them as more a nuisance than anything sinister - but he didn't much care for the way they eyed him speculatively when they passed in the halls or common room, whispering to each other and making strange gestures with their hands.
And, of course, whatever they were planning aside, the crowning also meant that the new arena wasn't far off.
He was happy to celebrate Max's victory for what it was, and for what it meant, but he couldn't stop that niggling concern from rooting around in the back of his mind, especially as he was spending so more time alone this round. Just him and his own thoughts, worrying over the possibilities like a hound at a bone.
He hadn't spoken to Howard, unsure there were even words enough to apologize - to earn forgiveness - for what he'd done in the arena, and he didn't want to speak to R. He could feel the lingering heat of that still burning bridge. Max was busy, of course. Everyone and their second-cousin wanting a few minutes with the new victor.
Even numbing his troubles at The Speakeasy was an undertaking anymore, the pub, like so many other places, turned off by the cuff shackled around his wrist. They hadn't thrown him out yet, but it was clear the attention he brought them was now of the unwanted variety and he'd cut his visits down accordingly.
He wasn't here to cause trouble.
He just sat his table toward the back, taking the insults that did come his way silently. Drinking alone as he toyed with the necklace he'd worn to the auction. He'd cut the cord and was now in the process of adding a few, more unusual charms, to either side of the little golden eagle.
WHAT| Enjoying a frosty, adult beverage (or ten)
WHERE| The Speakeasy
WHEN| A few days prior to Maximus' crowning
Notes/Warnings|
Max's crowning was all Wyatt's stylists could talk about, the whole District Ten team - including his escort - in a tizzy and growing ever more frazzled as it approached. It was at once both amusing, and disconcerting.
He didn't hold any particular ill will against the lot of them anymore - he'd come to accept them as more a nuisance than anything sinister - but he didn't much care for the way they eyed him speculatively when they passed in the halls or common room, whispering to each other and making strange gestures with their hands.
And, of course, whatever they were planning aside, the crowning also meant that the new arena wasn't far off.
He was happy to celebrate Max's victory for what it was, and for what it meant, but he couldn't stop that niggling concern from rooting around in the back of his mind, especially as he was spending so more time alone this round. Just him and his own thoughts, worrying over the possibilities like a hound at a bone.
He hadn't spoken to Howard, unsure there were even words enough to apologize - to earn forgiveness - for what he'd done in the arena, and he didn't want to speak to R. He could feel the lingering heat of that still burning bridge. Max was busy, of course. Everyone and their second-cousin wanting a few minutes with the new victor.
Even numbing his troubles at The Speakeasy was an undertaking anymore, the pub, like so many other places, turned off by the cuff shackled around his wrist. They hadn't thrown him out yet, but it was clear the attention he brought them was now of the unwanted variety and he'd cut his visits down accordingly.
He wasn't here to cause trouble.
He just sat his table toward the back, taking the insults that did come his way silently. Drinking alone as he toyed with the necklace he'd worn to the auction. He'd cut the cord and was now in the process of adding a few, more unusual charms, to either side of the little golden eagle.