Tramps Like Us [Hootenanny Thread; Open]

i went and burned my bridges at the weekend
and now there's nothing left but another week to end
and a sick and sunken soul in a drunken body like mine
from the bridge i swim east along the tide

In my own layer of smoke I stay concealed, wrapping it around me like a blanket inside this wooden haven for all that wish to enjoy the little moments of bliss that life hands to us. My face remains still, like it is a part of the wall that I lean on, part of this little corner where I am almost invisible. Still, without movement I scan the entire room, its dimensions become fixated in my head, every little detail. The soft glow of my joint is all that illuminates my face in the shadows, catching the outline of my face and that unmistakable mustache. I take a drag, adding more smoke to this already thick layer that shrouds my dark clothing. Patiently I wait, staring at the Poers boy.

Only a fool would put himself about like this. Advertising himself to everyone. A person of such power and authority would never be stupid enough to draw attention to himself without deeper intentions, and I think I know Elias well enough to know that there’s more than meets the eye here. He knows something that I don’t, and that unnerves me a little. I play it safe, not drawing too much attention to myself as I lean in this nook, waiting patiently and observing. I scan the farmhand, noting every detail of his body. He’s younger than me, but considerably bigger. He is well fed and well build, whilst I am skinny and underfed from my years of pain in the Capitol. I wouldn’t fancy my chances in a fist fight right now, especially when Elias is this full of liquid confidence.

Oh, how easy it was to find the elusive Elias Poers. That stupid kid at the bar, the one who looked to get on anything that had a heartbeat, she told me all I needed to know about the farmhand - A boy, just a boy with a big ego. In the end, I didn’t even need Swallow-Anne to find my target, he pretty much jumped on top of the tallest building in a flashing suit and shouted for me to come get him. Too easy to track down, the fact that he hosted a party in his own name was enough to go on. Oh, and getting in was easy too, when you consider that I am one with the shadows, and the fact that they let just about anyone into the Bloody Bucket this late. I don’t usually drink here, I much prefer the Badger’s Arms, where I reside above the bar in my little shithole of an apartment. Here is somewhat alien to me.

Elias’ territory? I would think so, but that doesn’t scare me. I play better away from home anyway, so much less expectation than a home crowd. What to do with Elias Poers? I heard of him, researched him, hunted him down and now I have him. No, I don’t have him yet. I need to know what all of this is really about, what his intentions are. Something in the air doesn’t taste quite right, and a dark smile plagues my face. I would expect nothing less from him. A trap? For me? I dare not flatter myself, Poers has probably never heard of me. I suppose he knows of Che, my former partner, how he tried to buy the farm whilst I was rotting in that hell hole of a prison. I very much doubt he knows who, or what I am. Maybe that’s for the best.

The man who I refuse to take my eyes off wanders over to another corner, where he puts his face up to that of another boy’s, probably the same age. He says some vicious words from the expression on his face, to which the depressed looking kid in a shoddy tuxedo does not respond, but keeps his glum expression. (“He’s a younger version of you“) were the words of Che Wickham not more than a month ago. I see it, the pure manipulation and how he has even the most ordinary of people wrapped around his little finger. I could teach him a trick or two, if I weren’t trying to take everything close to him for myself. He even walks like me, like he owns the room. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be my bastard child, or something. Impossible, I would have been eleven. Well…

“This is cheer, another year, another year!” He chants. Those years are long gone for me, but I remember celebrating once a year, every time I could breathe a sigh of relief. Sure, this is a celebration of life, but I know that it’s not all as it seems. The rancher is full of confidence, standing high above the rest of us - so very high indeed - and making a speech to his noblemen.
“Don’t weep for them- Don’t weep…” He says, and I zone out of what he’s blabbering on about. He talks of previous tributes, of Noreen. I was able to watch the Games whilst in the Detention Center, I was rooting for Noreen. Her own ally fell on her, the blade of the District Eight boy finished her - But she was dying anyway. She was a mother too - where are the babies now? Crying out with no response, no comfort of a birthmother to guide them through the waves of childhood. I can see why people pushed back.

He finishes his speech, allowing free drinks for all, which gets a slurred cheer from everyone except me. He walks among his subjects, so high and mighty. He owns this room, this bar, these people… It’s all his, and he’s worked for it. What’s worse is that I know the feeling he has, that monarchy that buzzes through you when you know you have everything in life. Like a parallel world, he has the Bloody Bucket to my Badger’s Arms. There is one thing different between us - He’s too brash and open, making loud statements. I send messages with my actions, not with such frivolous parties and drunken reminiscence. It works for him though, he clearly has everything he needs.

Hold on, your highness, you’re soon to be dethroned.

A direct approach is suicide. I want to threaten him, get inside his head and snake my way into his mind. I need to get closer to him, not physically but mentally. Oh, and I think I have just the place to start. A base to work with, to grow from. An excuse to talk to Elias Poers, because I very much doubt he’s expecting me.

The smooth skin of the young teenager is stroked by the smoke that is exhaled from my nose. So close that I can see the pores of his skin, the young cheeks and clean-shaven face. He has been prepared, groomed. Is he trying to impress? Not with that expression. Is he hiding something? Everyone is these days. Like an eel, I weave my way to an uncomfortable closeness to the younger boy, the one who seemed to be getting a little too close to Elias. I grin, my mustache twitches slightly.
“You really shouldn’t pout so much, anyone would think you were upset…“

[/b] I say, not hostile but not really in a friendly way either, “Way I see it, you’re the only one in this room wearing a frown…” I frown contradictorily.

I assess him from inside his personal space, the hair, the expression of concentration, the isolated position. It’s like he’s not even a part of this party. Ah. That’s probably it. I remain silent for a while, staring at him. I hear a gaggle of laughter and turn to the main gathering of people by the bar, drinking away at their lives. At least they’re enjoying themselves. At least they don’t have work to do. My eyes trail to Elias, he confident demeanor beaming through the desaturated colors of the dull party. Maybe it’s me, because everything I’ve seen since I got home has been gray, and nothing else.
“I don’t know how you’re involved with him, Junior, but here’s a word of advice: Poers is not someone you want to know long-term, because the longer you’re associated with him, the tighter his grip gets on you…” I say genuinely, knowing this because I know Elias as well as I know myself. He is me. I am him. Now I place a firm, but non-threatening hand on his shoulder.
“Get out whilst you still can, kid…”

Else he’ll make a slab out of you.



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theme:[/b] "London Bridge" - Dogs.

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