@writeonvellum #dontkillmyvibe (vellu) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-04-05 21:46:00 |
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District 1's floor in the training center was oddly quiet when Marcus finally stepped out of the elevator and sauntered into the foyer, a bottle in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other, and a packet of white powder resting in his jacket pocket. Aeneas and Pompeia had done well, the Career pack was still a force (despite District 4), and thankfully, the point hadn't been reached when moving from floor to floor in the training center was awkward. The Avoxes, mute and useless, showed him into the sitting room. At first glance, it was empty. A moment later, he realized that the sole occupant of the opulent room was Vellum, typing away at his tablet in the semi darkness. Marcus paused, and then made a resigned huffing noise in the younger Career's direction. "I assume she's not here?" Vellum had told himself he could actually take a breath after the first day. There was nothing that could be done now, but sit back and watch his work. Still, he felt tense, unable to relax, on his guard, like all eyes were on him - even after he knew his job directly with the tributes was mostly over. While part of him felt confident and knew he probably wouldn’t have had anything to worry about, there was still that part of him that wondered if the odds would play a terrible trick on him his first year mentoring. Luckily, for now, it had not come to that. Hearing the soft footsteps, he didn’t look up until Marcus spoke. “Nobody’s here. Or they’re lurking. Wondering what else I’m going to say or do. That’s how this thing works, right? Bite your tongue, conceal, cooperate, ‘grow up,’ right?” He flung his arms out at his sides with a small, uneasy laugh. “Fuck, I need another drink,” the overgrown boy groaned, dramatically throwing himself back on the couch behind him, his long legs being the last thing that hit the cold, shiny leather. "That is how this thing works," Marcus agreed, entirely unsympathetic. "I would add to the list 'stick to your sponsor schedule' and 'try to avoid being spanked by your escort,' but well, it happens to the best of us." He stubbed out the cigarette in the silver ashtray perched on the table and lifted the liquor bottle up to read the label more clearly. "Well, I'm absolutely not offering you this…" he passed the bottle to the Avox waiting by the door ("Just leave it in her room") before turning back to Vellum. "But now, this is a viable option," he drawled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the clear bag of cocaine, pale eyes glittering with mirth. "Unless your deviated septum is going to pose too much of a problem." "It must be easier in Two then," Vellum murmured, bitterly biting his tongue. He wondered if they shared in the same… obstacles, so to speak, that he did this year. But maybe it was all in his own head. Maybe last year he had gotten too close, like Pecan said. Still, he didn't say anything else, not feeling as comfortable in the room as he used to. Vellum's eyes went a little wider at the sight of the bag, though he instantly looked around to every door and hallway he could see. He hated that he had to be careful, but soon enough he beat his conscience down in an alarmingly easy fight. "Shut the fuck up and line it up," he seemed to growl, waving his hand at the glass coffee table in front of them. "Little shit," Marcus commented boredly, and throwing Vellum a look that was part disdain and part amusement, proceeded to do just that. --- It was moments later, head still reeling, when Marcus reflected in a detached way on the distinct lack of dog hair on the furniture, and the absence of the disgustingly cheerful, slobbery corgi greeting that usually accompanied his visits to this floor. "Who's supposed to be handling That Rat now that you're mentoring?" Vellum sat back on the couch, wiping instinctively at his nose, wriggling his left leg to ignore the sting in his nostril. Waiting for the numbness to set in, he closed his eyes, trying to stop them from watering. "Huh? Which one," he laughed, running one hand through his hair, starting to feel the light-headed sensation finally. "Her corgi," Marcus said impatiently. "Lorcan the fourth. You should just thank fucking god it's no longer the pomeranian -- he was a little asshole -- or the maltese, or the french bulldog, or the goldfish, who was technically Lorcan the first-and-a-half..." "When I get a dog I'm getting a bulldog," Vellum babbled, unable to focus. "A French one. With the ears. I'm gonna' name it… Stanky Leg," he laughed out loud, arms wrapped around his stomach, bending forward and cracking himself up. Marcus scowled at him with disoriented irritation, pulling himself to his feet with a surprising amount of grace (but catching onto the back of a leather armchair for balance, nonetheless). "Spry. If you lost that fucking dog somehow, you may as well consider your arena experience a joke." "I didn't lose shit!" Vellum laughed, shaking his head and slowly getting to his feet. He shuffled for a moment, as if standing on a boat, his head spinning from the sudden altitude. "One, don't call me Spry, and two, it kiiiiiind of was," he said in a sing-song manner, walking out to the hallway. "Lorcan! Where are you, boy?!" He called out, cupping his hands over his mouth as he yelled into the hallway. "C'mere, baby!" After no response, and no sound of pitter-pattering paws, Vellum turned to glare at Marcus, red eyes narrowed into slits. "Did you leave the fucking door open?" "Don't be absurd, Vellum," Marcus snapped, but the faintest hint of worry was detectable as his eyes darted around the hall and foyer. The Avoxes were nowhere to be seen. Had the door been open? Had Lorcan escaped? The room was very bright and spinning slightly, and he really couldn't remember. "If the door was open, hypothetically, you should have stopped That Rat from running out." He began to sway dangerously, pressing a hand against the wall to steady himself. "We have to find him," Macus finally said, grinding his teeth furiously. "Move. Let's go." --- Vellum sprinted down the alleyway, under the neon signs lit up in pink and green. Even though he didn't like to be called by his last name, he still lived up to it, that was for sure. He moved quickly, barely making a sound as he ran down the street, light on his feet. He tried to think of the one place he took Lorcan to once - dogs had good memories, didn't they? Instinct or something? At least he hoped they did. "Who the fuck leaves a door open?!" Vellum groaned out loud. "That's like rule one of doors. CLOSE them," he sighed, slowing his run to a power-walk, wide eyes scanning the area strategically. "Leave it to a Two. They don't have doors. They roll boulders in front of caves." "That's what you have Avoxes for," Marcus grumbled, catching up. "And for the last time, I live in a villa, have never worked in a quarry, and we don't know that I left the door open. You might have left it open earlier in the day, and this wouldn't be a fucking issue if you kept a better eye on That Rat!" He stopped short in front of a vaguely familiar-looking storefront, pushing past Vellum inside, only to be assaulted by the smell of baking bread and pastries. "Haven't seen that dog tonight," the woman said inside, patting her blue perm and licking crumbs from her lips. "But is that Vellum Spry? He looks so different without those charming glasses he had on last year!" Vellum hissed in irritation, rounding on Marcus as he pushed in through the door. "ANYONE could have left the fucking door open, but YOU were the last one to DO SO!" As soon as he heard someone else's voice, though, he jumped skittishly and grinned, playing the part. "It is! Yeah, I prefer to leave my face with just one pair of eyes," he laughed, making his way to the counter. "Sayyyyyy, you don't happen to have any of those blue raspberry cookies, do you?" No reason not to get a snack for their hunt, right? --- "What about this club?" Marcus said as they turned down another narrow street, ignoring the curious crowds of Capitolites in a manner that was distinctly out of character. "Sometimes she takes him to clubs and restaurants in a purse. It's absolutely infuriating, because the sommeliers always -- never mind. But maybe he decided to come back!" He squinted at the glowing marquee. SCALES AND TAILS. "Nice theme." Vellum shaded his eyes and shook his head. "I doubt Pecan would take Lorcan here, purse or not." Still, he was a boy, and a young one at that, and his doubt didn't seem to stop him as he jogged right on in. He could at least get a glimpse, right? Right. "Oh, for fuck's sake, I meant the bar and club two streets over," Marcus groaned, taking in the surroundings and feeling a nasty headache creeping up the back of his neck. "No, Lorcan the fourth is not going to be at a fucking strip club. Vellum?" He raised his voice. "We're leaving. Vellum!" Not hearing him, Vellum wandered in, shooting a smile to the bouncer that knew him. The flashing lights and throbbing sound echoed in his head and left him just disoriented enough to not notice what he was immediately surrounded by. All he had to see was the green body art over the women, linked together like green, scaled armor. One woman walking by swiped at him with long black fingernails, those he'd seen claw at the headless corpse of his district partner. His heart beat hard and he tensed all over from fright and anxiety, seeing the performer on stage roll on the floor, whipping her costume tail against a paying customer. When his glazed eyes saw her legs open like jaws and clamp around the man, Vellum’s stomach jumped up into his heart as he turned and ran - no - sprinted back, running right into Marcus. "It's Scales night, he's not in there, we're NOT staying!" He yelped, running back into the street right on past him. It was fight or flight, and he didn’t want to remember any of that. Marcus, who had been shoved into the bar by the door, regained his balance, eyes watering with pain. "I don't want to talk about it," he snarled at the bouncer, massaging his ribs and stalking out after Vellum. --- Vellum’s mouth watered as he walked into the bright yellow storefront, eyes going directly to the golden, crispy chicken underneath the sizzling red heat lamps behind the counter. He had already forgotten why he was there in the first place, and was instead tilting his head up to gaze at the menu. “Two-piece and a biscuit, that’s all I want. You’re paying this time,” he announced, smiling back in Marcus’ direction. Marcus, who had slumped over in one of the plastic booths, looked up and sighed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes and wondering where the hell his jacket, tie, and remaining cigarettes had gone. The first rays of light were filtering in through the grimy windows. "Make it two, text the bill to the training center accounts," he called to the woman, waving his hand at her and smiling wearily as she insisted that no, it was really, really on the house. He frowned at Vellum, trying to ignore the pounding in his temples that had grown increasingly persistent and painful over the past few hours. "What were we -- oh, shit." He looked around, lips thinning. "Not here either, then." “I love Mother Clucking Chickennnn and Mother Clucking Chicken loves meeeee,” Vellum bounced on his heels and sang to himself, grinning to the woman behind the counter. “And I love you, chicken lady, whatever your name is, thank you,” he exclaimed, winking to her and walking on back to Marcus. “You look like shit. Do you need a cigarette?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the booth table and throwing him the pack before he could even answer. Cigarettes solved everything, he had begun to believe. Nerves, stress, anger, anxiety, coming down from a cocaine binge, everything but… and then he remembered why they were here. “Oh fuck. No, I guess not,” he said wearily, sliding down into the seat. “Maybe if we don’t find him we can buy another one.” Marcus lit a cigarette with a nod of thanks and pushed the pack back across the table towards Vellum. "She'll notice," he said gloomily. "She's pretty attached, if you haven't realized." He stared at the chicken uncomprehendingly for a second, and then suddenly looked down at his watch. "Fuck, we need to leave." He scrolled through his phone briefly, frowning. "Nothing's happened, but if you're not at the Training Center and one of your tributes pisses themselves or something, Camilla will disembowel me." --- "I assume we should handle this now," Marcus sighed as the Training Center elevator doors slid open on the first floor. "Move," he jabbed Vellum between the shoulder blades, adopting a (not entirely feigned) funerary expression as they stepped past the Avoxes into the foyer. “You should handle it now,” Vellum grumbled, holding two boxes of chicken and biscuits. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he spat, irritated and tired, hungry and looking less forward to coming back to Floor One. He made a dramatic show of shutting the door after them, scowling and plopping the boxes onto the coffee table. “You’ve handled her longer than I have, you can tell her,” he breathed, once again flinging himself to the couch… Right next to a fat, happy corgi tapping his paws on the couch for a bite of chicken. |