pickledtribute: (Default)
pickledtribute ([personal profile] pickledtribute) wrote in [community profile] milliways_bar2012-04-05 08:20 pm

(no subject)

A man stumbles through the front door, more off-balance than anything.

Off-balance, and slightly tipsy.

He's waiting, you see. No one likes to bet on District Twelve early - odds really aren't in their favor, never have been, other than a couple damn miracles. But he's got the names of a couple people who could be swayed, if the tributes show promise.

One hasn't already. Thankfully a clean kill, he can send the girl home to her momma looking decent. But the boy, the boy's still in this thing. If he can survive two more tributes, he might be able to get a damn sponsor.

So until then, he can't get blinding drunk.


So right now, Haymitch Abernathy looks really confused.
real_or_notreal: (Rebl (Idealist))

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 04:20 am (UTC)(link)
It's far too late, the cruel grasp of morning closer than it should be again, and Peeta isn't looking up from wiping paint from his fingers with a turpentine rag. Not expecting this door anymore than the person who he runs straight into.
real_or_notreal: (Distrustful)

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 04:31 am (UTC)(link)
The first impulse is always to jerk away. Between the nightmare, and the painting, and the there being absolutely no reason someone -- no less, "Haymitch?" His voice scrounged together from the hellside of nowhere.

There are paint flecks all over him, but he blinked, focusing on the very unexpected and well-known face. As Milliways finally came into focus around him.
Edited 2012-04-06 04:32 (UTC)
real_or_notreal: (Victor Village's Prince)

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 04:43 am (UTC)(link)
Peeta stared at Haymitch, before reaching up and ruffling his sleep-mussed ash-blonde hair, with that same not quite confused, or pleased, expression, of deeper recognition at the sharp question. The whole of the world was coming back to his thoughts, his awareness, in a way that didn't involve paint.

Didn't involve the the sharp incisor's of dog's with human eyes.

"I didn't know you came here." Not that he'd given anyone here a reason to watch for anyone else. Those of them that came here, didn't really talk about The Games if they could help it.
Edited 2012-04-06 04:43 (UTC)
real_or_notreal: (Disbelieving)

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 04:52 am (UTC)(link)
Peeta's head tilted just barely.

Questioning two very real possibilities.

Horrifyingly vivid nightmares or Milliways, itself.

Both not being something he could plan for.

But that look of lacking recognition.

The one on Haymitch's face.

"Peeta Mellark."
real_or_notreal: (Talent: Likable (And Deadly))

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 05:09 am (UTC)(link)
He does. When he wants to. It's how he got his moniker.

But he doesn't really want to try that again.
(Doesn't want to think what happened then.)

Not really. Not when the bile in his stomach, would like to make a rise against the sense of it. Haymitch far more sober in the early hours of morning than Peeta would ever expect to find him. ....and nicer dressed. Keeping up appearance, not in District 12, nice.

Instead. Peeta raised his eyebrows, barely, before letting his gaze go to his hands, returning to taking the paint off the insides of his fingers. His voice evenly, no give or take. "They have three."
real_or_notreal: (Got a Facade)

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 05:22 am (UTC)(link)
From between his brothers? From before he was even born. The decades fall like weights against his chest, even when he made the extra effort to keep his hands from stopping. Focused on a blue smear on the back of the top of his pinky.

Something else then. "You haven't been here before." It's not a question. This conversation would be different if he had. Every conversation after his first, and especially, after Rue appeared here, was.

Looking up at the last second, flat blue eyes, almost daring him to deny.

real_or_notreal: (Will Figure You Out)

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 05:29 am (UTC)(link)
"This isn't The Capitol." It is an effort not to tack on his name at the end. Not to make it sound more familiar than it should. Not to feel a wave of both pity and annoyance. "This is Milliways."

Beat. "It's not even in Panem." Technically.
real_or_notreal: (Average Boy in His World)

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 05:40 am (UTC)(link)
You don't acknowledge in Panem that there might be a land outside Panem. That there was ever a time before Panem, either. Peeta can't say he loves this place. It wouldn't be true. But he doesn't hate it. And that ... says a lot these days.

"Nothing to buy. It's true." He raised a hand, yellow slash of paint across the curve of his thumb knuckle, as he hitched it back at the door. "Magical door, that no one can explain, that takes you from wherever it feels like it and brings you here."

Shifts for pulling the thumb into a curl of fingers, for pointing beyond them. "Even crazier window, that most people avoid, as though just seeing something could break them."

That last line is almost droll. But it's entirely honest, too.
And in large, between it and The Games, why it doesn't phase him.
real_or_notreal: (Doesn't Let On)

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 05:55 am (UTC)(link)
"It's not really picky." Is such a lie. At least about himself.

But it's also unassailable truth, too. Several people here are as ordinary as they come. Peeta stopped trying to find a common reasons for why they were here, to know why he was here, a while ago.

"I hadn't been aimed for here, when I walked through the door either."
The best lies were drown in a whole lot of truth, after all.
real_or_notreal: (A Brazen Beloved Boy)

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 11:40 am (UTC)(link)
"A bathroom," is blandly, obviously, put, as he lifted a hand, with the wiggle of fingers, showing the only half-cleaned mess of paint splatter. As those the rest of him isn't dotty with it.

He didn't really care about the rest as much as his hands. It all came off well enough either in a good scrubbing under blistering water, or in the wash.

But rather than wait for another question, he threw it back. "Where were you headed?"
Edited 2012-04-06 11:40 (UTC)
real_or_notreal: (Doesn't Miss Much)

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
It does the good job of distracting him. Which is what it was meant to.

Not that Haymitch doesn't have his own box somewhere buried inside Peeta, filled with a bitter fury that goes beyond understanding why he'd done what he'd done, but he takes no pleasure in lying to him here and now. Only a shallow relief, and a need to keep quickly figuring out what he will do with this turn of events.

Even when he wants to ask, who the person named is, which game this is, it's easier to keep directing away from anything that might direct back to him. At least until he decides. Tilting the conversation with little effort, by following Haymitch's own words.

"You have as long as you want for that." He tipped his head, slightly back toward the door. "Time here can stretch a very long time, even weeks and months, and on the other side of the door only seconds might have passed."
Edited 2012-04-06 23:33 (UTC)
real_or_notreal: (Average Boy in His World)

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-07 05:43 am (UTC)(link)
"It's incredibly unlikely?" Peeta said. "Put there are some people who've mentioned missing seconds or minutes. I usually end up back right at the time I left. A lot of people here do."

Though it had taken Peeta a while to figure that out for himself, given living in a gargantuan house all by himself where no was there to notice if he had been gone seconds or hours.

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real_or_notreal: (Quote: Katniss vs Rebellion)

[personal profile] real_or_notreal 2012-04-06 06:11 am (UTC)(link)
[OOC: As much as I am adoring this, and I am, quite a bit, because I should have gone to bed forty minutes ago, I must bow out gracefully for being able to wake up in five hours for work. I'm gone on a trip this weekend, but will try to tag in when I can, and will return in earnest Monday evening.]