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
Shinobu raises her brows at Rukia's choice of entrance. "What, I don't get a hello?" She asks with a sniff, mouth turning down into a frown. She even pouts, a little. "I'm hurt," She adds, a statement she punctuates by leaning over and flicking Rukia's sad little ponytail.
She spares a glance over at the boys' side, and immediately has to try very hard not to laugh. "What happened to him? He fall down a hill or something?"
no subject
Rukia leans around her and Issui to yank one of Shinobu's looped pigtails. "Good morning, your majesty." She reaches for Issui's hair on her way back, but can't quite reach without attracting too much attention. "Dammit Yanagi, you're still too tall," Rukia grumbles.
"Nah, you're just tiny," Caro says absentmindedly. While all the hair pulling was going on, she also glanced over at the boys. Renji definitely looks like he rolled down a hill. She rolls her eyes at Ichigo and shrugs a little before turning back to Rukia. "Did he fall down a hill?"
"Probably, that idiot," Rukia whispers back, shaking her head. "As far as I can tell, that's all he did this morning, too."
"While you slept in, I bet." Caro knows how this works by now.
Poor Issui is so much taller than the other girls-- not just Shinobu, Rukia, and Caro, but all the girls-- that she can't really do or say anything without attracting a lot of attention. So she closes her eyes, sighs, and shakes her head slightly.
"I know, right? Disgusting layabouts," Caro says, leaning around Issui to give Shinobu a meaningful look. She sleeps in too.
"Clearly she was deeply moved by this brilliant piece of cinema," Rukia murmurs in a passable Capitol accent. She sounds a lot like the weirdo they had before Trinket.