thecapitol | Let's have a toast for the assholes

Who| Murdoc (The disctrict 4 escort) and YOOOOooooUuuuuu
What| Murdoc is new to the whole escort thing, drinking sounds like a good idea.
Where| Wherever drinking can be done
When| Backdated prior to the crowning.
Warnings/Notes| None yet, but there's always the potential.

So, things hadn't gotten off to the blindingly brilliant start Murdoc had pictured. Sybille's district had emerged victorious and it was enough to break his spoilt heart. While he's certainly disappointed, he refuses to be dejected about it. Sulking isn't his style, he tells himself as he orders yet another drink. As usual, he's impeccably dressed for no real occasion. He's really not doing much other than babbling at the bartender about the endless possibilities and potential district 4 has.

Of course, the bartender could probably care less. Murdoc is eager to reel in surrounding patrons with the offer of a drink provided generously by him. On the condition that they are, of course, willing to discuss the finer details of the upcoming arena and the other tributes AND are open to suggestions as far as drinks go. In his good opinion, a drink tastes better when it's several years older than you, but it doesn't hurt to buy one that matches your outfit.

If you happen to have a colour coded drink sliding your way, don't be too surprised. At the very least, Murdoc is terrible at being nonchalant. He won't say anything, but he'll keep looking over to make sure it's been noticed. Praise him, damn it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The man who sits down next to Murdoc twenty minutes into the night is not a regular at any of the bars. He gets no familiar looks from the surrounding patrons, no nods of recognition from the bartender. This small, skinny man with hunched shoulders and black rings around his eyes is not a Tribute or a Mentor or an Escort. He has never been on television.

"I'd like a bloody mary," he tells the bartender, his hands shaking as he shuffles through his pockets and places a crumpled bill on the counter. Halfway through the process, his elbow accidentally jabs the well-dressed man next to him.

"I'm sorry," he says, a quiet murmur. He uses his body to shift his stool away.

Naturally, the man is entirely unfamiliar to Murdoc. He really doesn't know anyone who hasn't been on television, such is being a close minded and sheltered capitol citizen. He doesn't give him much acknowledgment beyond a casual, curious glance.

That is until he's jabbed with one of those skinny elbows, that's enough to inspire interest from Murdoc. He narrows his eyes at him, trying to search for some sign of familiarity before rolling his eyes and giving up.

"No harm done." He responds, taking a long swill of his scotch. "You certainly look like a man who could use a drink."

Murdoc isn't going to be alone for very long. He's not going to be praised, unfortunately, but Sybille is in a very good mood so he's not going to be insulted, either.

She slides up next to him, a glass in hand and a smirk on her face. She gives him a once-over, and in the middle of his rambling about District 4, places a hand on his arm. "You're going to embarrass yourself, Donoghue."

Sybille why. Why would you deny him praise when he's so earnest for it? Don't you think he at least deserves it for being so dapper and handsome, he thinks he does.

He gives her a side glance as she slides against him, smiling faintly at her despite being so terribly hurt by her words. He sighs over dramatically, taking a swig of his own drink.

"I don't see any reason to be embarrassed." No, he is not pouting.

Because denying Murdoc is her reason for being, even if he is very dapper.

She scoffs, tucking hair behind her ear. She can see that smile, and he just gets a small quirk of her lips right back.

"You mean the fact that you're talking and nobody's listening to you isn't embarrassing? I guess you're made of stronger stuff than I thought." Yes, good. Fuel her with your pouts.

Maybe it is, but making her stop denying him is his life goal and he won't quit until he's made that happen. And hey, if that just happens to end with her marrying him he guesses he could live with that too.

The quirk of a smile, for now, will have to suffice. Although it only encourages him to smile wider despite being thoroughly insulted in such a cold manner. He's waaaay too used it by now. Clearly she's jealous, even though her district had won.

"I'm not embarrassed." He answers curtly, swilling his drink before sipping it. "Are you disheartened to hear that?"

Your life goals are strange, Murdoc. They don't mesh well with her.

And clearly she needs to step up her game, if he's just going to smile at her.

"I'm never disheartened." Which is a lie, but she's a fan of fake it til you make it. "And I'm sure you'll truly embarrass yourself soon enough."

R gets shoved through the door by his other Escort, who's decided the new guy needs to get a crash course zombie babysitting. She, on the other hand, is going to take a nice, well-deserved break and possibly a quiet cocktail in a place that doesn't reek of perfume overlaying that faint smell of decomposition.

Here goes nothing. R puts his best shuffling foot forward, almost breaks his other one slamming it into the bar, fixes his steering, and bumps his way to the chair next to Murdoc. He stares for awhile at the chair before he tries to climb up onto it.

He doesn't realize the drink's for him. Not at first, anyway. R stares at it, then stares at the side of Murdoc's face, and then back at the drink. Eventually it occurs to him he needs to kick this off the only way he knows how:

"Hi," R groans. He decides to be polite, man up, and try the margarita, his mouth curling at it as he brings it closer. "New...Escort?"

Luckily for R, Murdoc isn't all doom and gloom over District 3's victory. It's just too hard to be too much of a grump when he has all of this booze and so many people to show off to.

It's hard not to notice R with an entrance like that, so the drink is quickly ordered. Honestly, he doesn't look like he needs a drink in his state, but Murdoc is sure it wouldn't hurt.

He watches, bemused with the zombie and can't resist giving him a brief round of applause for his efforts before answering his question.

"I most certainly am. You're R, I take it?" He half smiles, nodding at the drink. "That's for you, you know."

The applause jerks R's hand in surprise - the drink sloshes out over the glasses's edges, very expensive - and right across the counter. Some of it even hits R's lap. The zombie doesn't seem to notice, his head lolling around to stare without blinking at Murdoc. Was he surprised he can speak? Or did he make that much of an...impression in the Arena? The wrong kind? Mouthful of blood? R gives Murdoc the undead version of the deer-in-the-headlight look.

"Thank...you," R tries the drink out, rolls it around in his mouth as some of it drips down his chin, and it's ashes on his tongue like everything else. "You're...Murdoc? Helping...us?"

He's still trying to establish if Murdoc's a friend or not - if he can ask him to ask that other Escort to stop spraying him in the face with perfume. She might take it more seriously coming from someone like The New Guy.

Murdoc laments the waste of a drink, but the expense isn't much of a bother to him. It's almost worth it for the brief glimmer of amusement it gives him. He really shouldn't be laughing over spilt drink, but he's just tipsy enough to let a chuckle slip. If there's one thing Murdoc finds impressive about R, it's his seemingly natural ability to entertain. Whether it's intentional really isn't important to him.

He raises his glass at R as a silent appreciation for the thanks he's given, taking another sip as if he really needs to consider the answer to that. "Correct on both counts. You're as sharp as they say you are, R." And in that moment, he could have sworn he was a pirate. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He adds, almost as an after thought.

Really, R. If you want to make a request it's best to do so when Murdoc is situated in front of a drink.

Did he say something funny? R levels one of those stares at Murdoc, a desaturated silver that has a total lack of blinking. Whatever eye color he used to have, it's been drained to a gray that's the color of a polluted puddle, a mirror scuffed to the point of no return. He thinks he might even be flattered - he really thought he was sharp?

All he knows is it's not the drink that makes him chime up. It settles in his stomach where it'll sit there for who knows how long. R's mouth purses behind the muzzle as his eyes settle on a point around Murdoc's hairline, perfectly maintained, healthy. He licks his lips, eyes drooping back down to his face.

"Hope...you're...easier than...her," R hopes it's clear who She is. The District 4 escort who keeps dowsing him with perfume and setting him up on non-Julie dates. Her. R groans unhappily.

Let's have a toast for the assholes

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