milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[OOM: The tradition of a lifetime takes on a whole new meaning.]

Darius is very much subdued when he comes into the bar today, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he ends up here rather than in the Hob. He can't stand walking into another room where every single inhabitant hates him on sight.

He walks up to the bar, not sure immediately what it is that he wants.

Eventually, though, he asks, "Could I get some white liquor?"

He could stand to kill a few brain cells. He's drinking to forget today.

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"Those thing do never happen in your time?" Poins asks.

"Not that I've heard of."

A pause and then he adds, "I guess we've never really been at war?"

"Peace, but what a price?" Poins says. "A graveyard peace that only short, hot war may rouse you from."

"There isn't anyone to be at war with," Darius clarifies. "It's just Panem."

"Civil war," Poins says. "Insurrection. But 'Panem'? What kind of name is that? It means just 'bread', in the accusative."

"Rebellion. They tried that. Didn't stick," Darius says, thinking for only a moment before ordering himself another drink. That rebellion led to his current situation, after all.

"Don't know why it's called that."

"The next one will, or the one after," Poins says. "Our own good king came by the throne through a rebellion, and has been working his hands unto the bones, ever since."

Pause.

"He's overly stern and earnest, I must say, but just, and never bad."

"Capitol destroyed a district over it. Wiped it out. Now they get tributes. Don't want to know what they'd do if't happened again."

"It seems you live in a dark, dreadful world," Poins says, "devoid of any hope, that you can but wish to flee from."

~~As to say, crapsack.~~

He shrugs. "Some days are good."

Not today. Very much not today.

"But not today, hence the strong drink," Poins guesses.

"Today's the Reaping," Darius mutters.

"That's what they call it," Poins says, "when children are put to death?"

He shakes his head. That there are worlds that will confound even cynical Ned Poins!

"No," Darius says, shaking his head. "'ts when the tributes're chosen."

"Those are the children destined to die?" Poins says.

"All but one, yeah."

"The one that wins, is it?" Poins says. "What shall be done to him?"

"Gets to be Victor. Never has to work again. 'Cept they have to train the other tributes," Darius explains.

"There must be a word," Poins says, "that justly condemns how truly bad your world is, how devoid of grace; alas, I know it not, so cannot utter it in sympathy."

Darius shrugs. He's known no other world, so he has nothing to compare it to.

"But it is very bad," Poins adds, a bit helplessly.

He's not normally so sympathetic or so earnest; but that man's world seems rotten beyond compare!

"Nothing's perfect," Darius says, frowning.

He hardly needs the reminder.

"But often, things seem perfectly messed-up," Poins says, shaking his head.

"Yeah, we've got a bit of that," Darius admits.

"Not just a bit," Poins says, "such a great heap of it, it seems, that it is near perfection."