open rp post

[wunderkind]

an open rp post
(it is what it says it is)

-1-
pick a character

-2-
leave me a comment. maybe a scenario, maybe an AU scenario, maybe a picture, maybe a word,
maybe a request to resume old game canon, maybe just a comment.
i don't care. do your worst.

-2a-
helpful note: i am currently obsessed with the Hunger Games and Christmas. can you combine those into one tag?

-3-
let's get it on



disclaimer: we probably won't get it on
+ there are no promises i will take this seriously

Comments

i'm slowly going to drop a lot of things on your precious head, gird thy loins

[humanistic]

[It doesn't take much, to recognise weapons. What they have to teach you is how the recognise if the person holding the weapon is one that knows how to use it. What they have to teach you is how not to be afraid, and Mitchell isn't afraid, when he turns and looks at the man that's called him by name.

Somewhere in him, there is fear. Because this is it, isn't it. He's going to do it again. It wasn't the love of killing that made him kill in the first place, it was simple fear, defensiveness, kill-or-be-killed. That only lasted for a few moments. Then it was over, it was like waking up, there was blood on his hands and he liked it, he was good at it, and his horror began to fade out as everything else took over, instinct and pleasure and success. It was an easy wave to ride out; it rises in him now.

He doesn't want it. Somewhere in him, he knows that he doesn't want it, that he's tired of killing, but his instinct is too strong and it rises too sharply, so when he turns--it's the fucking Vampire Victor that turns, and his hands aren't limp at his sides. They're curled, ready.

He shows his teeth when he answers. It isn't a grin. George Sands might well not even be here. Everything has narrowed, all at once, to a grim coiled focus.]

Who's asking.

My head overflows with joy. It's a weird sight.

[nebbish]

[District Eleven, says one on the far right. And Nine, adds another. A third unifies their message: The Mockingjay is asking.

George doesn't know much of the rebellion. He keeps his nose clean, keeps away from all that. Never paid attention to the Games, didn't watch Katniss Everdeen standing up to the Capitol, just heard about it after; when he sees those spray-painted bird insignias, he just feels a swell of nervousness, not hope. But he knows enough about the rebellion, and knows enough from what he's just heard, to understand what's happening here: Katniss Everdeen must be going back into the Arena, just like Mitchell, and some of the rebels have got it into their heads to eliminate her most fearsome competition before he can get to her.

And this is...bad. George doesn't get into fights, because fights end with someone dragged off by Peacekeepers. But he's not about to break and run, is he - because he's helped Mitchell this far, and once you've helped someone you have an obligation to them, your duties are not discharged -

And he doesn't want Mitchell to die. And he doesn't want any of these angry, desperate people to die, either. But Mitchell suddenly looks so different. So - dangerous.]

We're -

[They all look at him, the group of them; George stammers - ]

We're not looking for, for trouble. He doesn't even want to go back in. He doesn't want to fight. So, it - there's no need for this. Really.

very pulpy, I imagine.

[humanistic]

[Mitchell laughs, a short barked sound. His eyes flick between these men, all of them, ready, and he doesn't know what the fuck they mean, but he doesn't have to, does he. He doesn't need to know anything, but that this is a threat, and threats have to be dealt with. That's the rules.

And for a second, it's like being back there again. The Careers, they didn't know what they were dealing with. They tried to take him down. They failed.

But that little flashback, that split second familiarity--it lasts just for that second, because he isn't alone here. It's not like it was then. Maybe it will have to be, maybe it's going to turn into some fucking kill or be killed showdown, but right now--

Right now, the tense, sensible voice of George Sands (whoever the hell he is) breaks through that. We're not looking for trouble. We. That's a team, that's more than one. Uncertainty crosses Mitchell's mind, even a second of uncertainty.

Is that right. And who the hell are you? one of the men asks, his eyes narrowed. He's not armed. He doesn't have to be.

His spokesman, someone says, his Mentor, and they laugh, a little, but it's tense, it's nervous, and Mitchell's guard goes up again. If they move, he moves. He's ready. He doesn't want to fight. He doesn't. He doesn't, not here, but he has to, doesn't he.]

Don't waste your time.

[That's to George, though he doesn't look at him.]

And runny.

[nebbish]

[George ignores Mitchell, because that's just a foolish thing to say, isn't it? Saving lives, avoiding killing - that's never a waste of time. And the thought that he'd duck out of this not because he's scared, but because he's too busy - it's ridiculous.

Instead, he speaks to the lot of them.]

Look - look. You're drunk. We're drunk. Everyone here is, is more than a bit drunk. So let's - let's just - all go home, all right?

[But none of them look like they're ready or willing to go home. They look keen on this fight.]

are these gross eggs now or brains

[humanistic]

[They're keen on this fight, and they don't need a skill at it to be able to do it. They're running on something else--Mockingjay, what the fuck does that mean, is that supposed to mean something--but it means something to them, that's what they need, and they're willing to fight for it. How far they'll fight--that's what they don't know. Men run off. It happens all the time. You get one or two brave ones, they pump the others up, but they don't last, when their leaders are gone.

And there is, in Mitchell, some part of him that is grateful for the sensibility of George Sands. Because he's trying, isn't he. He's trying, to keep this together, to talk them down. That never works. Has it ever worked for him? It must have, or else he wouldn't try it now, and the thought of that--well, it should, maybe, disgust him, in some way. At least inspire some grim amusement, that there are people in the world that still listen to reason, when so much of what he's lived is so bloody unreasonable.

Instead, Mitchell feels a little warmed by it. There are, somewhere in the world, still George Sandses. He doesn't remember what George Sandses are like. He doesn't know what to do with this one.

Their attackers do. They're thirsty for this fight, but not so thirsty that anyone is willing to just run up and attack Mitchell, straight out. But something has to happen, something has to break--and as the little group shifts closer, one of them darts forward, suddenly, making for George--because they don't know what to make of him, they don't know him, but he's not grinning like Mitchell was just grinning, he's an easier target. The man rushes for George with a snarl, but Mitchell is right behind him with an even louder snarl, heedless of the others--]

Eggs 'n' brains, classic dish

[nebbish]

[It's more accident than anything else. The man - who's got nothing but a stick - a branch, really, something ripped off a tree, a few leaves still clinging to it - runs towards George, and George steps backwards from instinct - but Mitchell's there, just behind him, and so George treads on his foot and then pitches backwards, right onto him, a tangle of ungainly limbs. He twists as he goes, frantically grabbing onto Mitchell, to try to keep him from hitting his head and injuring himself on the pavement -

It's a pure accident, of course, but to an outside view it looks like George is bearing the man down to protect him.]

Shit -

[He looks up to see - Well. He's robbed the man who's attacking of a bit of momentum, at least - he stares at George, baffled - And George tries to take advantage - ]

Just get away -

probably somewhere yes

[humanistic]

[This is the most cocked-up ambush ever. It's like a badly choreographed fight scene in some video--it never goes like it does in videos, but it usually happens more quickly than this, and when it goes to shit, it goes in Mitchell's favor. It isn't people tripping over their own feet and staring at one another. The whole rhythm of the thing is thrown off; the others are hanging back, still, uncertain--]

Oh, come on--

[Mitchell snarls the words out, and everyone takes a collective and wary step back. This is a fight that they want, but how badly do they want it? And George has confused it all--

But it would be better if it were just over with, done with--none of this hanging about staring at one another, just finished, and it's in the interest of that which has Mitchell move forward again, pushing past George, grabbing hold of the man with the branch--a cruel and savage grip, twisting his arm so he can shove him to the ground--and the instinct to finish this is so strong in him, a pressing, urging hunger, be done with it and finish and go--]

You know how this ends.

[They're backing off in earnest now, but he's still got this man pinned, his boot on his back, right at the base of his neck, his arm twisted up--]