thecapitol | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who| R and Joan Watson, R and Shion, R and Maximus, R and Bert.
What| R searches for help for his eating problem. He also searches for help on his groaning. Throw in the awkwardness of post-Arena.
When| Before the aliens plot.
Where| About the Capitol. R has a surprisingly wide shuffling range given enough time.
Warnings| None yet.

Cuthbert

He hangs around the Training Center even after Maximus takes off for whatever it is Victors do when they’re not killing people. He probably should go back to the District Four suites. Go home. Get sprayed in the face with his Escort’s perfume. Listen to her setting up interviews for magazines where she’ll do most – try all – of the talking and he’ll sit there staring.

R drags his feet. Normally he’d be pretending he has a social life like everyone else out there. Go hang out with Howard, try to work up the nerve to ask Julie on a date. Sit there while Wyatt carves those shapes out of wood. Now he can’t. He thought it’d be easier going back to how things used to be, pre-Julie.

He’s groaning in frustration without even realizing it, standing there swaying before the archery range.

“Uggggh….!”

Yeah, he’s sulking. So?

Joan Watson

R gets nervous after the first day going cold turkey. No matter how much his Escort scolds him, he keeps his teeth clamped behind the muzzle until she gives up with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest while the plate of substitute flesh goes cold. It’s definitely not body-heart warm anymore. She leaves it on the bed. Hours tick by and R starts to think a little bite wouldn’t hurt. It’s not like he’s killing anyone this time…

He’s lucid enough to realize he needs to call in the cavalry. Maybe he’s supposed to do this all on his own but he chickens out – he wants to talk to someone, someone who he didn’t kill directly or indirectly. R catches himself before he starts automatically heading for Julie. No Julie today. The subject of eating is off the table with her. Someone else. Someone neutral who he feels like he can groan a thing or two with. R staggers away from Julie’s door with his head hanging down, trying to rack his mind for candidates and not walk into a wall while he’s thinking.

Joan Watson. The woman he chased up a boulder and she still had it in her to ask why. Question lady. Something about addicts. Counseling. R guesses he could use some counseling, whatever that is. Make it a two-pronged attack on the hunger from both Maximus and Joan.

R’s relieved when he finds her, bumping into the door frame as he groans and forgets all about creepy staring.

“You…free? Need…your…help…”

Shion

Day Two of his new diet.

R needs a distraction. Something to keep his mind off the daydreams he has. Sometimes he catches himself staring hungrily at someone – an Avox or an Escort in the elevator – and he pictures them on the floor, his teeth sunk into the meat of their arm. Other times he doesn’t even realizing he’s seeing red. That’s when he realizes he needs something to distract him.

It’s when he realizes he’s groaning again that he’s had enough. He’s tired of groaning and moaning and everything in between. If he’s going to try to fix his whole chewing up all his friends problem, he might as well try to do something about the speech thing.

R plants himself in front of Shion’s bedroom door and waits. He’s still staring at it creepily, fixed on some imaginary dirt spot, when it opens.

Maximus

Three days later and R’s really struggling to remember things like punctuality and battle plans. He can’t breathe, so he can’t “breathe-in, breathe-out and find his inner peace”. He remembers Maximus, the flash of his blade. Blood splashing red in the desert air. Maximus equals food and relief and remembering what it means to be something other than a walking set of teeth.

R staggers into the Training Center, bumping his way into a door-frame here, knocking over a weapons stand there as he sniffs nosily around. It smells of cold hard steel, the same cleanser that was in the closet. Underneath that all is human Life wafting along. Hopefully it’s Maximus. R’s already leery about his self-control with the hunger clawing away inside, telling him it’s a really good idea to stick some fingers through his muzzle and bite them off. The good news is he hasn’t figured out how to unclasp his muzzle.

Maybe the Escort’s onto his plan. She at least had the foresight to keep it on nice and tight – Eponine proofed it, even.

R waits for Maximus, looking like a miserable corpse of a boy until someone makes the mistake of getting grabbing distance close. At least he’s not drooling yet. Even hungry, R still wants to show Maximus he’s not like that dried out husk following him around the desert.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Getting strong rope wound up being surprisingly easy. Maybe the training room stocked it so Tributes could practice knots and such for survival purposes. Whatever the reason, Joan was able to procure some and bring it back to her room. Binding R was also easier that she expected. Sherlock had taught her a number of knots, and taught her which ones were easy to get out of and which would hold even the most aggressive suspect. She was pleased that she remembered those knots, and was able to secure R in a chair in her room.

Now all they have to do is wait.

Edited 2013-10-05 04:44 (UTC)

It takes about three days for R to start moaning. Another two before he starts to thrash against the chair, the ropes creaking. Lucky for Joan, it's good ropes and even better knots: R remains restrained, unable to worm himself out, the look on his face starting to look eerily similar to their first meeting even if he's not withered to leather like before.

The zombie struggles again, the rope twisting across his chest and arms and ruining the nice new clothes he'd been stuck in a few days ago. His Escort will pitch a fit when she sees it.

Joan spent most of that time with him, of course, talking. Much of it was about the Capitol, since she was still researching and it was easier to think about something when she could think aloud to someone. It's one of the reasons, among many, that she misses her Sherlock.

He's gotten to the point where he's struggling against his bonds and staring at her like she's dinner. Which, she supposes, is fairly accurate from his perspective.

"R?" She's sitting in front of him, close but out of his reach. "Can you take a deep breath for me?"

She knows he's dead and doesn't need to breathe. Work with her here.

The talking seems like a mixed bag. There's times when R seems happy to sit and stare open mouthed at R and then there's the other times; the words shiver across his skin and he starts lunging again with a second wind in him. If he wasn't stuck to this chair, he swears he could lurch forward and sink his teeth into her shoulder.

Joan catches him on one of the rarer calm moments where he stares and stares. It takes a few minutes for the words to connect. Breath. He doesn't need to breathe, but it's necessary to talk. He likes talking. Used to like talking.

After a long pause, R sucks in a shaky breath that rasps in and out, still staring at Joan's face expectantly. His fingers curl around the arm-rests.

"Good," she says. He's responding to her in a way that isn't looking like he'd like to tear a chunk of flesh out of her. Or, at least not just that.

"Close your eyes and do it again."

Another delay almost as long as the first before R's eyes drift closes. His chest rises and falls and out comes another breath rattling out. His fingers are still curled into claws against the chair, his shoulders straining forward toward Joan.

It's an odd situation, since she is simultaneously counselor and substance of choice. She had been hoping that by having him close his eyes she would be reducing that temptation, but he can still smell her, which is probably temptation enough.

"Tell me about Julie."

A low groan rumbles out of R.

"Ssshee's...." He's slurring badly. Normally he'd swallow, try again without the incoherency. He knows Julie just like he knows that voice nearby, so close he can almost taste her. "Sun....sshine. Hope."

Hope for who? All R has is the word "hope" wandering around with nowhere to go. His eyes start to drift open despite being told to keep them shut.

She sees that, and leans forward slightly. "Keep your eyes closed, okay? I want you to picture her. Tell me what she looks like."

With a rattling sigh, R manages to keep his eyes closed. It helps, a little. Joan still smells good enough to bite, but he's established these are damn good knots too.

"Sshe's...blue...eyes. Long...huh-hair," R gets out. It's like pulling nails to even get single syllable words out today.

"You said you wanted to protect her, not eat her. Why?"

Maybe if he could generalize that, see everyone as people to protect instead of food.

It's such a tough question R pauses in his miserable groaning, actually thinking it through.

"I...love. I think. She's...human," R grunts, the most coherent he's been. The idea of eating Julie makes his head droop as he remembers nearly eating her at the last Arena. Now R's moaning and groaning all over again, starting to get agitated.

She had suspected it was something like that.

"Love can be a powerful thing," she says. "You were able to keep from hurting Julie. It was motivated by your love for her, but it was still a choice. You can make that choice again."

The hunger gnashes its teeth. It doesn't want to listen. R does. It's not a good middle ground here as he fights the urge to open his eyes and try that whole lunging thing again. If Joan sees all this perspective, then it'd be a lot easier to nip her frontal lobe and soak it up like a sponge.

"Mggh," R mutters into his muzzle. "Can't. Didn't...stop...last..."

R dissolves into wordless groaning, the same kind that had wandered around and around Joan Watson's boulder her first night in the Arena.

"It's okay." She's keeping her voice quiet, but also sure. Firm. With a strength that he can hold onto. She can be his strength, even when he doubts his own. It's something she's done with other clients, something that was particularly vital in her work with Sherlock. "Just relax. You're not going to hurt me, no matter what happens. Just breathe. Think of Julie."

He's not sure what breathing has to do with anything. He can force air in and out of his lungs all he wants but it's all mechanical at this point. Any more relaxed and he'll really be dead. R sags into the chair anyway, thinking in the part of his mind that takes a backseat to the hunger that they should've cut off his nose or something.

"Uggggggh," R doesn't sound that relaxed. He struggles along, his mouth working fishlike behind the muzzle as he listens to Joan's voice. "Hurt....her. Hhhhghurt....you...?"

What if it's only a matter of time? What if she just got lucky with that boulder?

She doesn't doubt at all that she got lucky with that boulder, and the next time she sees R in the arena, well. Unless she's somehow absolutely sure he's not going to attack, she's going to run. She's sure he understands.

"You haven't hurt me yet," she answers. "Did you hurt Julie?"

If he did, then that complicates things.

R pauses, his silence stretching and pregnant with the answer he hesitates to groan. Yes. Almost did and then turned Howard and he - . R slumps deeper into his seat, unable to come up anything to groan, and thinks it'd be easier to be thrashing about instead of thinking of the cave.

The door opens then. Perfect timing on Julie's part.

There are a plethora of reasons this is probably a terrible idea. Julie's doing a great job of ignoring them, though it takes her a hell of a lot longer to gather herself and actually get moving to the training center than it should. It's an elevator ride away and it takes hours.

Hope wars with disbelief. It's a constant battle.

The scene she walks in on is about what she expected. It's better than, like, a corpse tied to a little post. Like a dog. Didn't people used to tie dogs like that? Keep them from snapping off the mailman's legs?

Julie's eyes catch on the zombie, secure in a chair, but drift away awkwardly. She wants to make a joke. Guess I missed some of the fun bondage, huh? But seeing him like this, the humor dies in her. Teaching a zombie to stop being cannibal doesn't seem so stupid or funny, staring her in the face.

"Hey," she greets, a little deflated herself. The door closes behind her as she moves towards the woman, holding out a hand. "You must be Joan, right? Julie." She makes a vague gesture. "How's, uh... this going?"

"Julie...yes, hi." Joan accepts her hand and shakes it, even though she looks a little taken aback. She didn't expect company, and certainly not the woman that R cares for.

"We were just talking about you."

R's face is frozen in shock as Julie waltzes in. For a stunned second he stares, forgetting he invited her here. Then it sinks in. Support. She's here as a friend(?), giving support to the zombie who more or less got her killed twice in the Arena. R wilts quietly in the chair, suddenly having second thoughts. The rope doesn't seem tight enough. He still has wriggle room. What if he gets free? The hunger strains toward Joan as she speaks, bouncing from Joan to Julie and back again. His fingers twitch and tighten around the armrests as he leans forward.

(He's started drooling behind the muzzle again. Really, R, really?)

A few black drops ooze out and down onto his shirt as he watches the conversation between the two humans. Just talking about Julie, she says. Is that helping? Thanks, Joan, he groans in his head.

"Try...ing," R says from the chair. He sounds miserable but coherent so far. "Still...feel...it."

Edited 2013-10-13 04:22 (UTC)

Yeah, she's pretty sure she could've figured that out. The kind of silence and guilty looks that makes her know she's been talked about. Like when she'd walked in on Grigio and Perry, knowing something was going on. The scheduling of the rounds, making sure Perry was always front and center. Always leading, even if Julie knew the route better.

"Sorry," she says automatically, catching Joan's look. "He asked if I'd come. Support."

Yeah, like she's real supportive. Guess it's enough she even showed up. She steps a little closer to him, just to get a look at him. He definitely sounds miserable. Part of the reason Julie likes him so much is everything's pretty clear on his face.

Mostly. He still has a little dead slack-jaw going on. Drool. Julie swallows her disgust.

"You look like a lion on the verge of pouncing." Not quite as bad as the Cornucopia, but she knows what the sting of hunger feels like when it snaps at your feet. She looks back at Joan with real curiousity. Where did R meet her? In the Arena? "Is there any way for me to help?"

"Thank you for coming. Support is an important part of any process like this."

As far as Joan can tell, Julie's appearance hasn't calmed R at all, which is not a great sign, but that doesn't mean she can't be a help to him.

"There are a couple things you can do, actually. First, you know him better than I do, obviously. Could you tell me things that he might like? That might catch and hold his attention?"

She glances at R with an apologetic look.

"I'd ask you directly, but this way is faster. She also might think of something you might not."

R shrugs as best he can while tied to a chair. Fair enough. It really is faster, as much as he longs to bleed words the way these two do. He appreciates Joan explaining her approach all the same. It's little things like that which make him feel slightly closer to human.

He spots Julie staring at him, her eyes taking in the whole rotting picture. Her eyes shift down to his shirt. It's then he realizes one, he's been drooling on himself and two, he can't even wipe it off too little too late. Not with the way his hands are trapped. Now that he's aware she's looking, he realizes with horror his corpse seems to be jump-starting its drool production. For all he knows, the hunger's acting like he's already got his teeth into the closest human. R clamps his mouth shut, glad the muzzle's hiding some of it at least.

R only nods at Julie's remark, watching as she comes closer. He can't help it: where she goes, he follows, his eyes tracking her.

Let them talk. He's busy trying to swallow back the black drool, forcing it down.

Edited 2013-10-13 11:51 (UTC)

Julie's never been to a counselor herself, but. Um. Wow. Joan pretty much talks like how she'd expect one to. It's kind of soothing, actually. And really straight to the point.

Though she's gotta admit, now she's curious about what, exactly, R was saying about her. She's not sure what Joan thinks their relationship is, but it sounds surprisingly close to bosom buddies. How is she supposed to explain she hasn't actually known him that long? (And that most of that time was spent trying to, you know, run away from him?)

Whatever. She has to try. Who knows? This might actually work. Ignoring the hunger apparently isn't going to anymore.

Something to hold his attention. Despite her wanting to insist she doesn't know him that well, it doesn't take much more than a second for her to come up with something. "He likes music. I told him he was a purist." She glances at him, and there's amusement despite the whole leaking-zombie thing going on here. It's not the worst she's seen. "He collected a shitload of vinyls. I don't even know where he found them all."

Time skip!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Going to leave an opening for Julie here!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

typo

no subject