drinks and drenched dressing / day one
Feb 20, 2024 17:07:43 GMT -5
Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Feb 20, 2024 17:07:43 GMT -5
Well, they’re not dead. Which is a good start for him.
Listen, it’s only been one hour of the Games so far. Or it feels like it for him, as his focus mostly followed his tributes. Marceline knocked some girl from Five out cold - the only death of the Bloodbath - which is also a good start. It gives her much more publicity to speak to sponsors with. Not only is she the youngest, but so far, the only one that’ll kill someone. That’s one hell of a good start. District Eight tends to burn out fast, though. Theo’s an outlier during a strong history of consistent failure.
There’s also Garnet, who has somehow wedged a vulnerable spot into his heart. It’s not often that Theo feels good about winning the Games. Sure, when he sees the old BASE fuckers struggling on the streets, he feels some ounce of spite toward them. Struggle, bitch. Regardless, not many people have ever shown him appreciation. That his victory mattered. Garnet’s letter to him quickly made its way to the trash, but the gesture is something he hasn’t forgotten.
Somehow, he’s the only one there. Or it feels like it. He’s not looking out for any other victors in the lounge, but it’d be nice to have someone else present. In the sides of the viewing party held a buffet of food. It neighbors a bar rail. He excuses himself from the couch momentarily to peruse the options. Different from his mother, who still cooks as if they live on rags, the food here has much more to offer. It makes coming to the Capitol much less uncomfortable. A drink never left his hand, an open-topped glass of vodka and some energy drink that isn’t set to knock him out. He wanted something, even if it’s by the suggestion of the tiny gay kid eye-hawking the door for every guy that enters the facility. At least he’s got a goal.
Theo’s eyes refuse to leave the screen, even as he’s walking. He’s the first to claim that everything in the arena isn’t to harm the tributes—even the living things. There’s a vulnerability, a life that lives inside the genetically incomprehensible creatures. He remembers the day that he stumbled upon a chatty, excitable fox in the arena. It bore it’s stomach to him, and he pet it, which is an odd memory to have so heavily scorched into his head. You’d think he’d remember the eyes. Losing his teammates. Every memory in the arena should count, though, even the ones that don’t require action. It’s the one place that he built himself from, shouldn’t he be happy when he looks back at it?
The grandeur of the winterlike arena distracted him so much in fact that his drink ended up on the body in front of him. No law of physics could stop the dude as he milled around the VIP bar. ”Oh, shit-” he looks up, frantically trying to find something to dry the now wet viewer. ”I am, so sorry, dude-” naturally, there’s no extra clothes in the area for him to get for them. ”I have a hotel room a few floors down? I can go grab a spare shirt, or something-” as if he had lost his keys, he starts pawing at his pockets. It hasn’t fully registered who the other person is, but he’ll accept his own idiocy when the time comes.
Listen, it’s only been one hour of the Games so far. Or it feels like it for him, as his focus mostly followed his tributes. Marceline knocked some girl from Five out cold - the only death of the Bloodbath - which is also a good start. It gives her much more publicity to speak to sponsors with. Not only is she the youngest, but so far, the only one that’ll kill someone. That’s one hell of a good start. District Eight tends to burn out fast, though. Theo’s an outlier during a strong history of consistent failure.
There’s also Garnet, who has somehow wedged a vulnerable spot into his heart. It’s not often that Theo feels good about winning the Games. Sure, when he sees the old BASE fuckers struggling on the streets, he feels some ounce of spite toward them. Struggle, bitch. Regardless, not many people have ever shown him appreciation. That his victory mattered. Garnet’s letter to him quickly made its way to the trash, but the gesture is something he hasn’t forgotten.
Somehow, he’s the only one there. Or it feels like it. He’s not looking out for any other victors in the lounge, but it’d be nice to have someone else present. In the sides of the viewing party held a buffet of food. It neighbors a bar rail. He excuses himself from the couch momentarily to peruse the options. Different from his mother, who still cooks as if they live on rags, the food here has much more to offer. It makes coming to the Capitol much less uncomfortable. A drink never left his hand, an open-topped glass of vodka and some energy drink that isn’t set to knock him out. He wanted something, even if it’s by the suggestion of the tiny gay kid eye-hawking the door for every guy that enters the facility. At least he’s got a goal.
Theo’s eyes refuse to leave the screen, even as he’s walking. He’s the first to claim that everything in the arena isn’t to harm the tributes—even the living things. There’s a vulnerability, a life that lives inside the genetically incomprehensible creatures. He remembers the day that he stumbled upon a chatty, excitable fox in the arena. It bore it’s stomach to him, and he pet it, which is an odd memory to have so heavily scorched into his head. You’d think he’d remember the eyes. Losing his teammates. Every memory in the arena should count, though, even the ones that don’t require action. It’s the one place that he built himself from, shouldn’t he be happy when he looks back at it?
The grandeur of the winterlike arena distracted him so much in fact that his drink ended up on the body in front of him. No law of physics could stop the dude as he milled around the VIP bar. ”Oh, shit-” he looks up, frantically trying to find something to dry the now wet viewer. ”I am, so sorry, dude-” naturally, there’s no extra clothes in the area for him to get for them. ”I have a hotel room a few floors down? I can go grab a spare shirt, or something-” as if he had lost his keys, he starts pawing at his pockets. It hasn’t fully registered who the other person is, but he’ll accept his own idiocy when the time comes.
just a cute little viewing party thread! open to anyone to join 
