ALWAYS OPEN RP POST- 2013 EDITION

[accidentalrebellion]

Are you ready, dudes? ARE YOU EXCITED? It's time for.....--

THE 2013 PARTY OPEN RP POST



SO HERE'S WHAT YOU DO:

One: Comment here with one of your own characters! Any character in the world; I literally do not fucking care who it is. Go nuts and follow your heart's desire :'). After all, here at randomshit, that's exactly what we are all about... RANDOM SHIT.

Two: For the comment itself, you can either request a character of mine, or leave it up to me. In addition, you can either leave a prompt, or just leave a blank comment and I'll come up with a scenario.

Three: Have fun! This post is meant for chill, relaxed, low-pressure RP c: I'll probably hit these tags slower than game tags, but this post is always open. ♥

Comments

[sweetride]

[This little girl is hanging upside-down from a tree branch, watching Katniss. She's rather small, and, strangely, has candy stuck in her hair.]

Hi.

[accidentalrebellion]

[Whoever this is, however she got there, it doesn't matter. There's only one thing that does.

She's scared away the game.

As the little girl's voice sounds from a nearby tree, the squirrel that Katniss has her arrow locked on scampers away. A perfect shot, wasted. In her frustration, the arrow flies from the string and hits nothing, and her head whips around in an angry flourish.]

[sweetride]

[Watches the arrow fly and then looks back at the girl innocently.]

You missed.

[accidentalrebellion]

[Wow. R U D E. That was not her fault, and you know it B|

The look on her face is definitely enough to convey the general sentiment that she's not amused.]

It ran away. [Accusatory? Probably. Indignant? Definitely.]

[sweetride]

You're kinda grumpy-looking. Like a grumpy bear, RAWRAWRAWR LOOK AT ME WITH MY ANGRY BOW, ANGRILY SHOOTING CUTE FLUFFY CREATURES RAWR.

[accidentalrebellion]

[Someone, clearly, can't take the heat. that's why it's peeta who stays in the kitchen don't you know Because those grumpy eyes are now elsewhere, furiously scanning her surroundings, and her voice is even shorter.]

I needed that squirrel.

[sweetride]

How come?

[accidentalrebellion]

I'd get a good price for its pelt.

[Yep, just going to skin that cute fluffy creature nbd]

[sweetride]

[Annoying little kid with all the questions evar]

What's a pelt?

[accidentalrebellion]

[For all intents and purposes, one might wonder why Katniss is still talking to her, considering how annoying she is. (And how positively butthurt she still is about losing that perfectly good squirrel.) But it's the way that kids around this age, with their boundless enthusiasm and curiosity about the world, tend to remind her of Prim that somehow keeps her around.

Alas.]

Skin. Hair. People use it sometimes.

[sweetride]

Ewww for what? Barfing on?

[She'd follow you if you left anyway, Katniss :3]

[accidentalrebellion]

[Maybe if you're Haymitch is something close to what her first thought is in response to that, but she doesn't voice it. Somehow, it just doesn't seem right to talk about Haymitch in front of small children.]

No.

Peeta

[axplicitly]

[If she had to watch Peeta mope for one more day she was going to pull her hair out.

Or deck him.

Whichever came first.

Johanna leans against the wall, a few feet away from where he is sulking. Everyone better appreciate what she's about to do.]

Alright, Lover Boy. You're making me sick.


[ooc: Whatever canonpoint works for you, or AU if you like.]

Post-Mockingjay because I like pain? sob

[facund]

[Sometimes, Katniss has her bad days. Sometimes, she has a whole string of them. Days upon days when she's lost in her own world of pain and sadness, when she'll barely even leave the bed, when he has no choice but to wait for her to eventually come back to him.

This time, though, she hasn't.

Nothing his memory can provide sheds light on anything this bad. By the sixth or seventh day, he'd started to lose track of them; time is inconsequential in the oblivion of worry. Distraction, temporary relief can only be found in mindless things he can do with his hands. When baking had hit its limit, he'd found a new project: their fledgling garden, in the same spot where he'd once planted the primroses. Katniss's idea originally, but he'd work on it in her stead, make it as perfect as he could for her, even if it meant repeated sunburns, cuts, and aches he felt like he'd never get rid of.

Something pulls him back to the present. Johanna's voice. "Lover Boy." It's almost laughable; he can hardly be called a boy anymore. Maybe that many years haven't passed, chronologically speaking, but in terms of experience, it's been a million. He's an old man at least twenty times over, with an artificial leg that will always slow him down, with joints in his hands that already constantly creak from the effort it takes to grip the back of a chair and fight an incoming flashback.

Ancient. That's what they all are. Ancient and weary beyond anything quantifiable. And he's never felt like that more than he does right now.

He lets out a breath, setting his hand trowel gently on the ground. Even the pretense of distraction is useless.]

I just don't know what to do. [But he sounds like a boy, doesn't he? Lost. Scared. Vulnerable.]

sob hideous

[axplicitly]

[Johanna doesn’t know what possessed her to visit District 12. There’s nothing there for her, nothing there for anyone, really.

She doesn’t need anyone or anything, and hasn't allowed herself otherwise.

But…

There is a sort of camaraderie, for lack of a better word, among the surviving Victors on the rebellion’s side. No one could possibly hope to understand what they’ve been through, and the very few who try only make her want to violently hurt them. She has no use for shrinks or other well-meaning fools. There is no place for pity in what is left of a Victor’s life.

It’s why she bothers, really. It’s why she’s here in District 12, watching Katniss and Peeta fall apart even as the entirety of Panem expends all efforts in rebuilding. Johanna doesn’t have it in her to dredge up any sort of feeling like caring anymore, but she is here, just like she makes an effort to talk to Annie on the phone and to occasionally visit.

So it ticks her off to see the sorry state of the Mockingjay and her Lover Boy. It doesn’t surprise her, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying.

She doesn't move from where she is, eyeing the trowel with disinterest as she idly picks at her fingernails, though nothing escapes her sharp gaze.]

Well, for starters, stop moping. I’m really gonna hurl you know, and I’m not gonna be picky about aiming.

[Which means those primroses will be the first to go.]