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Entry tags:
(closed) I want you to know that chivalry isn't dead.
Who| Holiday and Hawkeye
What| Hawk's been doing a good job at avoiding Holiday so far! Aaand then he fails.
Where| Fourth floor -ish
When| Late Week 3/early Week 4
Warnings/Notes| we're winging it- will update if needed!
He didn't know why he decided he likes the dinosaur fossils so much all of a sudden, thought that Freud or even the crackpot Sidney (and oh, he kids- what he'd do to have the man by him now) would have a nice theory or two about why he felt most comfortable dwarfed by skeletons of the creature that had killed him last Arena. Hawkeye had hobbled along, up the floors from the death trap of a basement- had gotten a nice little note along the way, actually, written in a blocky sort of way he already recognized fondly. Along with the note had come a nice a little first aid kit, a far cry from even his worst packed medical bag, a little too late to have been of use from his last work, a little too tempting to waste all on himself.
His shoulder burned.
But if he read the note correctly, not even that was for him, really.
He found the Triceratops again, head lowered, horns polished, it's frill this great and beautiful fan and Hawkeye figured it was just a big charging bull. So he stood in front of it, raised his arms like a matador and-- and no, he couldn't go through with it. A huff, and he trudged dutifully to set himself down gingerly on the base of it, driven, like it'd been the once action on his mind in days. With the slow processing time his mind seemed to have picked up, if that had been the case, he wouldn't be surprised. Drawing his knees up- and screw decency, you know, his shorts were tight enough to cover anything scandalous his robe might think not to cover- Hawkeye thought maybe the light shudder, the stretch as he arched his back to rest his head against his knees was the single most blessed thing he'd felt in years.
An exaggeration, but let him live it.
He even fully yawns, powerless to mute it, leaning back this time so his head hits some bone he hopes doesn't bring the Triceratops crashing down on him, "What are you-" like he was trying to talk to himself, but he'd seen a face ahead he knew too well. And he didn't even bother to stand to greet it. If he had a rumpled paper by his side, he'd toss it.
What| Hawk's been doing a good job at avoiding Holiday so far! Aaand then he fails.
Where| Fourth floor -ish
When| Late Week 3/early Week 4
Warnings/Notes| we're winging it- will update if needed!
He didn't know why he decided he likes the dinosaur fossils so much all of a sudden, thought that Freud or even the crackpot Sidney (and oh, he kids- what he'd do to have the man by him now) would have a nice theory or two about why he felt most comfortable dwarfed by skeletons of the creature that had killed him last Arena. Hawkeye had hobbled along, up the floors from the death trap of a basement- had gotten a nice little note along the way, actually, written in a blocky sort of way he already recognized fondly. Along with the note had come a nice a little first aid kit, a far cry from even his worst packed medical bag, a little too late to have been of use from his last work, a little too tempting to waste all on himself.
His shoulder burned.
But if he read the note correctly, not even that was for him, really.
He found the Triceratops again, head lowered, horns polished, it's frill this great and beautiful fan and Hawkeye figured it was just a big charging bull. So he stood in front of it, raised his arms like a matador and-- and no, he couldn't go through with it. A huff, and he trudged dutifully to set himself down gingerly on the base of it, driven, like it'd been the once action on his mind in days. With the slow processing time his mind seemed to have picked up, if that had been the case, he wouldn't be surprised. Drawing his knees up- and screw decency, you know, his shorts were tight enough to cover anything scandalous his robe might think not to cover- Hawkeye thought maybe the light shudder, the stretch as he arched his back to rest his head against his knees was the single most blessed thing he'd felt in years.
An exaggeration, but let him live it.
He even fully yawns, powerless to mute it, leaning back this time so his head hits some bone he hopes doesn't bring the Triceratops crashing down on him, "What are you-" like he was trying to talk to himself, but he'd seen a face ahead he knew too well. And he didn't even bother to stand to greet it. If he had a rumpled paper by his side, he'd toss it.
no subject
But she can't help the smile spread over her face. "Don't be sorry," Holiday tells him, meaning that sincerely, but looking up to him as if she didn't. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to know how sincere she was. "I don't like the gown either. My stylists have horrible taste."
no subject
But like hell he'd let the moment escape him. Hawkeye rests an elbow on his knees, rests his chin against the palm of his hand, shifts gears on a dime because you can't get through any medical training without embracing the skill. "Oh yeah?" He teases. "What would you rather be wearing?"
no subject
Maybe next arena she'll just sit down on the pedestal at the Cornucopia and wait to go home.
For now, she just smiles back at Hawkeye, actually thinking. "I don't really. Something comfortable. Maybe just shorts, a t-shirt, and sandals. Casual, you know?" Casual. How long ago had she allowed herself to just be comfortable?
no subject