into the wilds of us | {woodsmen}
Feb 11, 2020 23:38:46 GMT -5
Post by dars on Feb 11, 2020 23:38:46 GMT -5
He'd enjoyed the Capitol's attempts at making him look better. Sure, they'd scrubbed his nails and cut his hair and shaved him. But there were pieces of him that were irremovable: fundamental building blocks, proof of the places he'd been and the person he'd been. Scars and scratches and bruised knuckles and a crooked grin. They could put makeup on his dark circles, but his eyes and cheeks still looked hollow.
His fingers still trembled, just on the creepy side of long and slender, when they wrapped around the doorknob. Not because of fear, or excitement, or embarrassment. Because of something else. Something that set his teeth on edge, made his skin itch and his mouth dry. He kept his head down until he was on the elevator, pressing the home floor button. Either Mace and Saffron had hidden the alcohol from him, or the Capitol had forgotten to restock the bar, so he made his way to the lobby, taking a seat and pretending he didn't notice the peacekeepers stationed at every corner, or the avoxes waiting to be bossed around.
"Whiskey. And do you got a smoke?" he said, tapping his fingers onto the tile surface. Maybe it would be good enough. He knew it wouldn't be, but maybe it would be. Maybe, if he drank enough, it would at least numb the ticking in his head, the craving that addiction demanded of him.
He locked eyes with the person nearest to him, taking an unsteady breath in through his nose to calm himself.
"If it's gonna happen anyway, I choose to die shit-faced."
S I L A S M E R C H O F F