passing the crown ♔ 93rd (a/t)
Apr 14, 2023 14:11:26 GMT -5
Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Apr 14, 2023 14:11:26 GMT -5
People like to come and go a lot for being in a damn hospital.
It's been three or four hours that I've spent hunched over the bathroom connected to my room. At this point, it's just dry heaving because I don't know what I could have left in my stomach. My body rejects the fluids that they offer- for some reason, it's all too much for it to allow.
Maybe my body is stuck trying to regurgitate whatever the fuck just happened to me. The last thing I remember seeing is Niko reach for a bag, and colors, and then a cannon.
And now I'm here, bent over marble bathroom tiles.
Whenever someone comes by, they must check in at the front desk. I'm some high-security case now as the newest Victor. They don't want anyone swooping in to kill or kidnap me, which is a very high showing of what batshit crazy people live in the Capitol. I already knew they were crazy. But damn, some of you motherfuckers gotta get a life outside of these Games. If someone checks in that's "approved" to come by and see me, a nurse will come in and pop their head. Within the past three hours of me being stuck in the bathroom, four people have come by. All four of them were some higher-class interviewers within the Capitol. They wanted to get my raw emotions fresh from the Games. As if that was any charming for them to hear, right? So, anyway, the nurse peers her head into the room after she knocks. She hardly gives more than two seconds between the knock and opening the door, which is stupid if she's knocking to offer privacy. After opening the door, she'd state who it was. So far, it was just weird names from whatever magazine. The names don't mean shit. I want to get cleared and going - get home to Woods.
Anyway, I'm still bent over this toilet, right? Here comes a fifth knock at the door, and I'm like come on, lady, because she has to know the answer will be no. What's going to change that?
The pause between the knock and her opening the door was longer. Maybe this person will matter. My heart skips a beat because maybe they thought if Woods was here, I'd open up some to the interviewers. "Mr. Horner," the colorful nurse would start, "there's someone here to see you." Well, no shit. You guys aren't making much of an effort to speak to me yourselves. I stop my wrenching to call out to her, my throat hoarse from the strain on it.
"I've already told you, lady! I'm not-" I cough, wiping my lips. "I'm not gonna fuckin' interview anyone. Just send them back down." Another loud yack comes from my body. What the hell were they putting in my body to make me react this badly? I expect to hear the door swing shut, clicking so I know I'm free to turn my body back to the toilet. But no, it still peers open, the LEDs from the hallway streaming in to create a painful glare.
"Sir, Mr. Searley is at the door." The lady responds, and a taller silhouette is behind her. Right. Searley. He won last year. He must be glad that I'm here to take the fucking weight off of his shoulders. What poor timing, though. What could he need from me?
"Alright, gah-" I force myself to stand up, moving to the sink to splash my face of any remaining gunk and wipe my hands off. "Um, you can send him in, I guess." I move out of the bathroom to the room they've cleared. I don't feel that terrible, except for my foot which still hurts to land on. But you can't make your joints feel better without usin' 'em. Otherwise, your body sits there and looks sad. Andal walks in, and finding the words for anything is weird. He's probably the first Victor to come by my door. "Hey, man." I reach out, offering formalities because I sure as hell don't want a hug from the guy. I gotta respect him for coming on up, though. This may have been the same room as his last year. Never really cared enough to ask. "Theo. You, uh," I shuffle awkwardly, not used to talking to anyone outside the nurse and a bunch of dead people. "You should know that, though."
It's been three or four hours that I've spent hunched over the bathroom connected to my room. At this point, it's just dry heaving because I don't know what I could have left in my stomach. My body rejects the fluids that they offer- for some reason, it's all too much for it to allow.
Maybe my body is stuck trying to regurgitate whatever the fuck just happened to me. The last thing I remember seeing is Niko reach for a bag, and colors, and then a cannon.
And now I'm here, bent over marble bathroom tiles.
Whenever someone comes by, they must check in at the front desk. I'm some high-security case now as the newest Victor. They don't want anyone swooping in to kill or kidnap me, which is a very high showing of what batshit crazy people live in the Capitol. I already knew they were crazy. But damn, some of you motherfuckers gotta get a life outside of these Games. If someone checks in that's "approved" to come by and see me, a nurse will come in and pop their head. Within the past three hours of me being stuck in the bathroom, four people have come by. All four of them were some higher-class interviewers within the Capitol. They wanted to get my raw emotions fresh from the Games. As if that was any charming for them to hear, right? So, anyway, the nurse peers her head into the room after she knocks. She hardly gives more than two seconds between the knock and opening the door, which is stupid if she's knocking to offer privacy. After opening the door, she'd state who it was. So far, it was just weird names from whatever magazine. The names don't mean shit. I want to get cleared and going - get home to Woods.
Anyway, I'm still bent over this toilet, right? Here comes a fifth knock at the door, and I'm like come on, lady, because she has to know the answer will be no. What's going to change that?
The pause between the knock and her opening the door was longer. Maybe this person will matter. My heart skips a beat because maybe they thought if Woods was here, I'd open up some to the interviewers. "Mr. Horner," the colorful nurse would start, "there's someone here to see you." Well, no shit. You guys aren't making much of an effort to speak to me yourselves. I stop my wrenching to call out to her, my throat hoarse from the strain on it.
"I've already told you, lady! I'm not-" I cough, wiping my lips. "I'm not gonna fuckin' interview anyone. Just send them back down." Another loud yack comes from my body. What the hell were they putting in my body to make me react this badly? I expect to hear the door swing shut, clicking so I know I'm free to turn my body back to the toilet. But no, it still peers open, the LEDs from the hallway streaming in to create a painful glare.
"Sir, Mr. Searley is at the door." The lady responds, and a taller silhouette is behind her. Right. Searley. He won last year. He must be glad that I'm here to take the fucking weight off of his shoulders. What poor timing, though. What could he need from me?
"Alright, gah-" I force myself to stand up, moving to the sink to splash my face of any remaining gunk and wipe my hands off. "Um, you can send him in, I guess." I move out of the bathroom to the room they've cleared. I don't feel that terrible, except for my foot which still hurts to land on. But you can't make your joints feel better without usin' 'em. Otherwise, your body sits there and looks sad. Andal walks in, and finding the words for anything is weird. He's probably the first Victor to come by my door. "Hey, man." I reach out, offering formalities because I sure as hell don't want a hug from the guy. I gotta respect him for coming on up, though. This may have been the same room as his last year. Never really cared enough to ask. "Theo. You, uh," I shuffle awkwardly, not used to talking to anyone outside the nurse and a bunch of dead people. "You should know that, though."
