{ s q u i r m } // geebs
Jun 7, 2014 22:22:31 GMT -5
Post by aya on Jun 7, 2014 22:22:31 GMT -5
karen put me in a chair
fuck me and make me a drink
ive lost direction and im past my peak
Arbor Halt —
He was so hungover that the seasoned alcoholic had nearly puked from the effort of sitting up. Or from the way the room seemed to swoop and dive around him. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in an ill-conceived attempt to stop the spinning, but it was to no avail – rather, the lack of visual input made his dizziness even worse. The only thing Arbor could do to mitigate the feeling of being dive-bombed by gravity was to keep as still as possible – and that didn't even seem to help.
The fuck did I do? he mused, but the answer was never far from his mind. He collapsed back on the plush mattress, reaching a clumsy hand up to paw at his eyes. The thin white scar that crossed his palm in place of a lifeline caught his eye, his daily reminder to hate himself, just in case he hadn't given himself other reasons. On a morning (afternoon?) like this, however, a glimpse of his twelve-year-old sins did not hold a candle to whatever vice he'd partaken in the previous night.
Part of him didn't want to feel as guilty as he did — after all, the night after his last tribute's face played in the anthem, Arbor ritualistically went out to get shitfaced. It was fair, wasn't it? Year after year, it got no easier to send his pair of new charges off to the slaughter. And every time it felt like it did, every time he thought he might have settled into contentment, they'd go and throw a Brendon-shaped wrench into the works. People seriously wondered why he was an alcoholic?
As usual, his tributes were out of the running by early Day Two. It had actually been the first time that District Twelve was the first district entirely eliminated since before Arbor had won — if only because of District Eleven's tendency to implode during the actual bloodbath. Arbor had seen Eleven get wiped out first four times in the twelve years he'd been seeing anything at all. It was for the better that they were, he supposed — better to die early if you're going to die anyhow. (He grimaced, recalling the way his recent top-contender had dragged around a bloodied stump instead of a foot for three days before Saffron had caved her chest in with that flail of hers.) Besides, while Arbor didn't mind working to keep up with his tributes as long as they needed him, given the choice, he'd rather have the extra week to enjoy the Capitol before shipping back to Twelve.
The only problem was, it turned out to be a lot harder to find a babysitter when all of his friends were busy wrangling tributes and toddlers of their own. Cedar had been passed off onto the much-too-bubbly Gingerbread Krumms — just for the evening, he'd promised. The escort had protested at first; after all, she was more suited to wrangling sullen teenagers on the way to their deaths than she was at managing toddlers, but, being Arbor's son, Cedar was half a celebrity, and Gingerbread always loved showing off her famous connections. Somehow he didn't expect that the mild-mannered child minded being the district escort's show-and-tell for the evening any more than she would mind being the center of attention, yet neither would take kindly to how long Arbor had stayed out.
There was always something he needed to chastise himself for. Or someone.
With a great groan, he rolled out of the bed and began roaming around to hunt for his latest drunken conquest — or to collect his belongings and dash before he stirred. Seldom did the victor get so blackout drunk that he couldn't recall anything about whom he'd slept with the previous night, but there were exceptions to every rule. He recalled bits and pieces of a party, but no names or faces. The only distinguishing feature (which could hardly be considered distinguishing in the Capitol, the way current trends were) was a shock of vivid red hair. And a silver back tattoo, throwing reflections in the dim light. Other than that... well, he'd find out.
He stepped into his pants and out into the hallway and his jaw hit the floor. "I...?"
ooc - sorry i know it's a bad time with the reaping and all but i finished it and it's a thing? kind of? sorry sorry
