Walter Sullivan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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neverinyourfavor2014-10-22 10:48 am
illdrinktothat) wrote in neverinyourfavor2014-10-22 10:48 am
Entry tags:
[district 12]
The day of the Reaping has come as it always does, and District 12's sole victor, Walter Sullivan, is ringing in the event in the manner with which he is accustomed to. That is, of course, by getting blackout drunk the night before and being utterly unresponsive on the morning of.
He doesn't hear the Capitol escort knock at his door. Likewise, he doesn't hear the same Capitol escort come in the house, call out, or stomp his way up the stairs, back down the stairs, and through the house. He doesn't hear Weyoun's reaction to him being passed out in the hallway. He's not aware of anything and then suddenly he's very acutely aware he's very cold and very wet, and there is an incredibly annoyed Trinket standing over him, holding an empty bucket.
Walter sputters cursewords, hefting himself up onto his elbows and shaking his head vigorously - he regrets that very quickly. The room spins, and neither the hangover haze or the cold water are moved any. "The hell is your problem?" He snarls once he gains some amount of coherency again.
"We're going to be late, Mr. Sullivan," Weyoun tuts, frowning, as if there is truly no offense worse than that. Late. How very dare. "Get yourself prepared, please. And no drinking. I expect you to be composed. This is a very important day."
Walter's not to pleased with the authority Trinket apparently thinks he's wielding here. No drinking? Like hell. Still, he clumsily pushes himself up more. "Fine, fine. Just get the fuck out of my house." He blinks blearily at the icecubes on his clothes, the floor. Did that shithead actually dump ice on his head? That's just cruel.
"Very well," Weyoun answers primly, tucking the bucket delicately under his arm. He stares down his nose at the victor for a long moment before turning and making his way back down the hall. "I'll see you at the justice building, Mr. Sullivan."
Walter stubbornly sits in the puddle of cold water and melting ice until he hears the front door shut behind Weyoun. Getting up is a lot more difficult than he'd like to admit; stiff, achey limbs from his choice of bed, the ever increasing hangover... and the puddle. He slips and nearly falls a few times before making it to his feet properly. Goddamn Trinket. Goddamn Capitol. Goddamn Hunger Games.
The prep team and getting ready can wait. Right now, he makes a beeline down the hall for the nearest room, and the nearest bottle of booze. No drinking, sure.
He doesn't hear the Capitol escort knock at his door. Likewise, he doesn't hear the same Capitol escort come in the house, call out, or stomp his way up the stairs, back down the stairs, and through the house. He doesn't hear Weyoun's reaction to him being passed out in the hallway. He's not aware of anything and then suddenly he's very acutely aware he's very cold and very wet, and there is an incredibly annoyed Trinket standing over him, holding an empty bucket.
Walter sputters cursewords, hefting himself up onto his elbows and shaking his head vigorously - he regrets that very quickly. The room spins, and neither the hangover haze or the cold water are moved any. "The hell is your problem?" He snarls once he gains some amount of coherency again.
"We're going to be late, Mr. Sullivan," Weyoun tuts, frowning, as if there is truly no offense worse than that. Late. How very dare. "Get yourself prepared, please. And no drinking. I expect you to be composed. This is a very important day."
Walter's not to pleased with the authority Trinket apparently thinks he's wielding here. No drinking? Like hell. Still, he clumsily pushes himself up more. "Fine, fine. Just get the fuck out of my house." He blinks blearily at the icecubes on his clothes, the floor. Did that shithead actually dump ice on his head? That's just cruel.
"Very well," Weyoun answers primly, tucking the bucket delicately under his arm. He stares down his nose at the victor for a long moment before turning and making his way back down the hall. "I'll see you at the justice building, Mr. Sullivan."
Walter stubbornly sits in the puddle of cold water and melting ice until he hears the front door shut behind Weyoun. Getting up is a lot more difficult than he'd like to admit; stiff, achey limbs from his choice of bed, the ever increasing hangover... and the puddle. He slips and nearly falls a few times before making it to his feet properly. Goddamn Trinket. Goddamn Capitol. Goddamn Hunger Games.
The prep team and getting ready can wait. Right now, he makes a beeline down the hall for the nearest room, and the nearest bottle of booze. No drinking, sure.
no subject
Her Reaping Day outfit is as boring and itchy as ever, if a tiny bit shorter then it had been the year previous. When she gets a look at Issui's, however, Shinobu struggles to not laugh a little. "Flashing a little knee this year, huh? Scandalous."
Before Shinobu can tease Issui any more, Nana shuffles in almost on cue, shooing them both out. "Don't bring home a boy," Nana calls out to Issui while ushering them out of the house, as some kind of encouragement, apparently. Shinobu's smart enought o not start laughing until after they're out of earshot.
no subject
"I think I might burn this stupid thing after all," she says after a long moment. She's been going back and forth on this for years. To sell it after her last Reaping like most do, or to destroy it so that no girl need suffer again. A dilemma for the ages.
no subject
She amuses herself further by kicking at the dirt of the road as they go. "What, when you could sell it to some poor soul?" She snorts quietly. "Besides, I dunno, I bet Renji will appreciate all that leg." Issui will probably make her regret all the teasing... someday. But Shinobu's not worried.
no subject
She deliberately stops that train of thought for now. Right now, it's war. "And what about your guy?" Issui asks slyly, drawing up to her full height so she can look down her nose at Shinobu. "I hope you didn't wear him out like you did last year. Watching him snore and drool on stage was a little embarrassing."
Before Shinobu can do anything other than screech her name in agitation, Issui speeds ahead of her and makes for a few familiar figures in the distance. Sado's easy to spot for obvious reasons-- there aren't very many people in the area taller than her-- and the contrasting very short figure will be Caro, with Ichigo in between. Issui slows down just slightly once she's in range to wave at them.