rager teenager! || teddy & beck blitz!
Aug 28, 2020 21:26:24 GMT -5
Post by maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte] on Aug 28, 2020 21:26:24 GMT -5
BECK HAILSHAM
YOU'RE HERE FOR A REASON BUT YOU DON'T KNOW WHY
He's drunk drunk. Wading through a sea of warm bodies and blinding lights, grasping onto threads of conversations that are little more nonsense beating against tired eardrums. It occurs to him he's lost Nico somewhere along the twisting hallways of this cursed building but he can't find it in him to worry right now. He's sure he'll find him. Things have a way of working out.
He almost chokes on laughter at that thought.
Beck tries to lean against a wall and catch his bearings but finds he's missed the doorway by about a foot. His feet weave knots in front of him as he narrowly avoids bashing his face into the fireplace by scraping his palms on its red brick. Is that his laughter? It sounds dry and dead as the logs burning next to him.
Drinks had never made things bearable for Beck, but they sure made it interesting. His thoughts flow freely, unrestricted by those annoying bits of him still trying to protect his shattered innocence. Blood stained memories and poisonous thoughts fill his brain, leak out his ears, run down his throat. They taste vile but it feels real.
Human decency and the last bits of his sanity should have stopped him from stumbling to his feet upon catching sight of Teddy Ursa so it's lucky they've taken the night off. He usually can't bear to meet the Victors eyes, not unless he wants to drive himself mad searching for hatred hidden within them. Teddy hides it well, he's one of the good ones. His smiles are all pretty and soft and it's got this charming little curve. The Capitol didn't have to go making him handsome, he'd merely had a goodness in him that leaked from the inside out.
Beck doesn't trust it. Beck doesn't trust Teddy. There's no way he could have watched that finale and thought him anything other than a bloodthirsty career.
(He's heard the whispers. He knows that's what they say.)
"Teeeeeeddddy!" The word comes out in one long slur as he tries, and fails, to gracefully pick his way around the furniture and toward his destination. In the end he gives up, slumping backwards over the back of a loveseat and kicking his legs up in the air. "I know you hate me! You don't gotta pretend you don't!"
He's grinning, genuinely grinning, it feels kind of nice. "C'mon you can punch me!! For Walter! I deeeeserve it!"
Drinking has never helped him numb the pain, but at least it gives him an excuse to be honest.
He almost chokes on laughter at that thought.
Beck tries to lean against a wall and catch his bearings but finds he's missed the doorway by about a foot. His feet weave knots in front of him as he narrowly avoids bashing his face into the fireplace by scraping his palms on its red brick. Is that his laughter? It sounds dry and dead as the logs burning next to him.
Drinks had never made things bearable for Beck, but they sure made it interesting. His thoughts flow freely, unrestricted by those annoying bits of him still trying to protect his shattered innocence. Blood stained memories and poisonous thoughts fill his brain, leak out his ears, run down his throat. They taste vile but it feels real.
Human decency and the last bits of his sanity should have stopped him from stumbling to his feet upon catching sight of Teddy Ursa so it's lucky they've taken the night off. He usually can't bear to meet the Victors eyes, not unless he wants to drive himself mad searching for hatred hidden within them. Teddy hides it well, he's one of the good ones. His smiles are all pretty and soft and it's got this charming little curve. The Capitol didn't have to go making him handsome, he'd merely had a goodness in him that leaked from the inside out.
Beck doesn't trust it. Beck doesn't trust Teddy. There's no way he could have watched that finale and thought him anything other than a bloodthirsty career.
(He's heard the whispers. He knows that's what they say.)
"Teeeeeeddddy!" The word comes out in one long slur as he tries, and fails, to gracefully pick his way around the furniture and toward his destination. In the end he gives up, slumping backwards over the back of a loveseat and kicking his legs up in the air. "I know you hate me! You don't gotta pretend you don't!"
He's grinning, genuinely grinning, it feels kind of nice. "C'mon you can punch me!! For Walter! I deeeeserve it!"
Drinking has never helped him numb the pain, but at least it gives him an excuse to be honest.
YOU'RE SPLIT AND UNEVEN, YOUR HANDS TO THE SKY
[presto]
SURRENDER YOURSELF
[/presto]elegant