capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

WHO: Hobros (

mutelunatic)
WHERE: Central ... Park.
WHEN: Sometime after nightfall
WARNINGS: Probably yelling and bluntness.
SUMMARY: Just some 'bros hanging out.
FORMAT: Prose to start!

It could be argued that Haymitch Abernathy should have nothing to fear from a building supposedly not provided by the Capitol. The fact was, though, that he had never been very good at large groups of people, and the Games had only served to worsen that. His dreams and habits made him a poor tenant indeed, and he had little desire to take care of himself. Taking care of Katniss was one of the few things he'd been able to focus on lately, especially since arriving here, so staying in the park with her had been an easy decision.

Running into Chell (or tripping over and then vomiting on Chell) hadn't been part of the plan, but she'd proved mute and harmless as far as he was concerned. With Katniss nowhere to be seen, he'd sought out the only other familiar companion he had in the city so far -- with a fair-sized stick in tow.

He tossed it at Chell's feet unceremoniously. "There. Communicator's too small." More accurately, the communicator was too small when he'd had his usual night's supply of drink.

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Chell had been leaning against a tree, eyes closed, half asleep by the time Haymitch found her. That raven of hers who took a liking to her was nowhere to be seen, probably gone for another few days.

She had been hoping tonight would be a night that she could spend it alone, without having either of her new "friends" (they weren't friends but there was a lack of a better term for it ~~besides hobros~~) bothering her. That Katniss girl seemed fine enough. But the blonde man...

Speaking of, he just dropped a stick at her feet, which startled her awake. She jerked forward, wide-eyed, before calming down when she noticed it was just Haymitch.

And that there was now a stick on the ground in front of her.

She looked up at him, frowning, eyebrows stitched together in a confused manner. What one earth was he talking about.

"Now, I'm used to looking like the crazy drunk man in the room, but talking to you is almost as boring as talking to Katniss." That was a complete lie, actually, because talking to Katniss lately was less boring and more extremely guilt-inducing.

"So pick up that stick, and let's have us a conversation." He dropped down on the ground next to Chell and shifted until he was leaned against his own tree.

As he sat himself next to her, Chell scooted over. Not to give him room, but more in an attempt to reestablish her personal bubble.

She remained looking at him, face still in the same expression as her eyes go from the stick, back to him.

Why should she?

"You're aware, of course, that if you actually respond to me, you can steer the conversation." Or try to.

"Or you could listen to me blather on again while I finish my flask." He holds the flask up with a raised eyebrow. Remember how that ended last time, Chell?

It ended up with vomit on your pants.

She frowned harder. Yes, yes she remembered that well. It was the first time anyone has ever done that to her, so congrats on making a great first impression on the silent female protagonist of a now-not-so-obscure video game.

She shook her head.

There. 'No'. That was enough, and she didn't even need a stick to answer him.

"Then spill, princess." He tapped his fingers against the edge of his flask with a frown. At least he wasn't moving to immediately occupy her personal space again.

People had already confused Katniss for his girlfriend. That was an association he just didn't need.

Chell wasn't one to humour anyone. Robot, person, you name it. She was stubborn as an ox, and that was pretty much her main defining trait. Her frown remained, and while she did take the stick in her hands, she still didn't do anything with it.

Her eyebrow raised into near obscurity in her hairline...or, at least as far as she could raise her eyebrow as humanely possible. Almost as though to ask why?

"You weren't raised to talk, were you?" He smirked, shaking his head.

"It's funny, that's the one thing I got really good at really quickly after I won the Games. Talking to the right people, telling people the right story -- that's what helps you keep people alive." Not that it had worked until Peet and Katniss, but -- still.

She shrugged. She knew how to talk, at least...she assumed she could. She's sometimes cough and sneeze and then she'd find some resemblance of a voice but it never exactly occurred to her that speaking could be useful.

The circumstances Chell had always found herself in, talking would not have benefited her at all.

She found that not talking was part of the reason why she was still alive, so she disagrees with Haymitch...by finally writing something for him in the dirt with her stick.

'IT DOESN'T'

"Not unless you're dealing with people." He wasn't about to argue that shouting at the trees could make them obey you when you needed them to bend to you, after all.

She was using the stick, though, so that was an improvement.

"So, what did you find useful?"

She shook her head at that. She never exactly had to deal with people before. Just robots, AIs. At his question though she finally looked considering, as though she were mulling the question over in her head.

Using a bare foot (she had removed her long-fall boots an hour or so ago in favour of feeling the earth between her toes) she wiped away what she wrote in the dirt, replacing it with something else.

'TENACITY'

It made sense to her, at least.

Haymitch, probably more than some of the others, knew exactly what she meant. Long-term survival after the Games was something that Katniss and Peeta hadn't had to deal with directly.

And Peeta -- he'd won the Games the first time because of Katniss and Haymitch. He'd known that, but that just meant he was just as unprepared the second time around.

"Right. Got that. Maybe with a good side of ingenuity." Like figuring out how to use the forcefield of the Game against the other tributes.

She nodded in agreement, absentmindedly drawing a line under the word she had just written.

Ingenuity, quick thinking...and a Portal Gun of course. Without all that plus her tenacity she would have been dead just like the rest of the test subjects in Aperture.

That made them different in some ways, then. The other tributes had certainly had more than the measly knife that he'd managed to get his hands on, but they'd been too stupid and arrogant using their weapons to do anything worthwhile.

It had to do with strategy, just like it had after the games.

"You don't talk because you can't, or you don't talk because you don't see the point?" The more they -- communicated, the less it seemed to be the former. Haymitch really did pay more attention to things than they gave him credit for. He took a slow swig of his drink.

Again, she wiped the dirt with her foot in order to start anew. She was on a roll now, why stop? And it wasn't like he knew either GLaDOS or Wheatley, so him knowing wouldn't hurt her in the end.

So she'd expect. She still wasn't sure what she'd get out of interacting with fellow humans.

'NO POINT'

There never was a point to talking. Just a waste of time, a waste of air, and she knew it was one of the things that had kept her alive and sane in Aperture. Talking to an AI as mad as either of the two she had known would not have gotten her anywhere.

Ha. Some part of Haymitch was extremely pleased to hear that he had been right about that much. He grinned again, waving a hand over toward her.

"Listen, sweetheart. I like you," probably because she reminded him of Katniss in that way that stoic survivors did, "So I'm going to give you a tip. You're living around a whole mess of people now, so talking might not be as useless as it used to be."

Chell simply gave him a rather incredulous stare. He liked her...that was something entirely new. She wasn't exactly someone who had friends, nor people who liked her. Most of the relationships she had (the like, two closest relationships being between two murderous AIs) were built around hatred.

But despite stating a fact, and despite the fact that she no longer had a reason not to talk, well...she shook her head, underlining the phrase pointedly.

Really, there was still no point in talking.

Then she was definitely more like Katniss than she was aware, even if Katniss had never had the excuse of being around murderous AIs. He cocked his head to the side as she underlined the phrase.

"Right. Well, then it's going to be an awfully one-sided conversation." He tapped the ground with one hand.

She shrugged and nodded.

Well yeah, what were you expecting?

"That being the case, do you have questions for me?"

Not that he'll be much help with most things here, but still.

There was a considering pause on her part, and she bit her lower lip, wriggling her toes thoughtfully as she again stamped out what she had written in the dirt.

She wasn't a woman of may words even when given the opportunity to write.

'WHY?'

It was rather vague. She wanted to know why he even bothered hanging around the same tree as she. It wasn't as though she had anything to offer him.

"I think we've got more in common than you can imagine." Besides -- Katniss seemed to at least tolerate her, and that was good enough for him in most cases. He pursed his lips again, trying to quell his nausea again.

She was interesting anyway, even if getting anything out of her was a challenge. That was half the fun.

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