thecapitol | (no subject)

Who| Cuthbert and Open
What| Extremely mature pouting and moping
Where| District 3 Suites, mostly
When| After his death and return to the Capitol
Warnings/Notes| none so far

Cuthbert Allgood is not taking his latest death well. It doesn't help that his fight with Sherlock is making the rounds in the highlight reel, and he's taking it harder than he has in the past. He hasn't talked to anyone so far, not even the avoxes who he will carry on half conversations with most of the time.

For someone who spends a lot of his time training normally he hasn't been further out of the District 3 Suites than to ride the elevator down to District 1 and back up. He hasn't even been able to get off the elevator to see someone he really wants to see.

Most people will find him wrapped up under a blanket from his room in the main District 3 eating area watching and (surprisingly) not commenting on their activities. All of this is abnormal behavior for him, not that he would notice or care at this point.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Fine, if that's what they're for, he throws one at Psii.

"It doesn't help."

He goes back to curling in his makeshift cocoon and not looking at the troll.

Wow. He grimaces, dodging just in time to miss getting hit in the face.

"Maybe you're throwing it at the wrong perthon," he mutters, bending over to snatch the tribble from where it landed on the floor and stroking its fur.

"I don't want to throw them at myself, it won't help either. And I've no one else to blame for my current situation."

He huffs and sinks down until he's just a pair of eyes over the top of his blanket.

Sigh. This is going to be more difficult than he thought. He shuffles over to Cuthbert, tugging at his blanket.

"Are you thure there'th nobody you can throw thingth at? Nobody who detherveth a fathe full of fluff?"

"I've made my own misery. You're welcome to throw as many of them at me as you can. I would deserve it and a thousand times worse."

He lets the blanket go enough to partially de-cocoon. He's dressed in pants and a loose fitting shirt, but they haven't been washed or taken off since he got back some time ago. He probably doesn't smell too great either, once his blanket barrier is broken.

That is enough to make him pause with his hands still holding onto Cuthbert's blanket, and it's a long, long moment of him just staring at the younger man. He's probably too close, squinting at him and trying to read him. He smells terrible, but...

There is a bigger problem here. He sighs, slowly shuffling back and crossing his arms. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I've no stomach to deny myself the truth at this time. I was the fool who got myself stabbed by a man who could barely swat a fly in most circumstances."

He pulls back, like he doesn't want to show himself to Psii anymore. He hates himself and he wants everyone else to hate him too.

The Psiioniic doesn't move from where he stands, the look on his face growing incredulous. This...this is why he's upset.

"You're upset because you died while being forced into a situation that makes sure that all but one person dies."