Matthew 'Punchy' O'Connor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nunpunching) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-06-08 11:35 pm
nunpunching) wrote in thearena2014-06-08 11:35 pm
Entry tags:
On My Knees, Saying Prayers in the Streetlight [Open]
WHO| Punchy and open.
WHAT| Punchy wanders around and finds a pharmacy, dissects a walker.
WHEN| Before Hellrena, week one.
WHERE| Near the town green.
WARNINGS| None.
Punchy hasn't eaten in nearly a week. His body, though used to somehow pulling nutrition out of a diet of nothing but gummi worms and sports drinks, is running on fumes. He feels his skin starting to get tight over his cheekbones and his lips starting to chap, and what's worse, he's feeling unfocused. It's a strange and unpleasant feeling for someone who can sit down and hammer out a computer program overnight; it's the way he felt back in class, as if nothing is interesting and nothing matters.
Of course, given that he's in a death Arena, feeling detached and listless isn't exactly a proper response to the circumstances.
He's set up his hideout inside an old pharmacy, one that would no longer be deemed fit to sell drugs due to the sheer amount of mildew sprawling out over every surface. He'd hoped to find candy, but the mints and lollipops he found practically crumbled to pastel-covered dust in his hands. He really only comes here to sleep during the day, catching quick catnaps and escaping from the more suffocating part of the heat.
At night, he goes out and kills these weird machinations the Capitol has put here, these walkers and insects. He has burns all over his hands from one of the giant spiders, but he's dragged a walker back to the pharmacy and is trying to take it apart, to see if there's a machine inside. How does it hunt with no eyes, no nose? If it has a sensor beacon, it could be used to find his allies.
He's hunched over this stinking, hideous corpse and so enraptured with his study that he wouldn't even notice someone coming in.
WHAT| Punchy wanders around and finds a pharmacy, dissects a walker.
WHEN| Before Hellrena, week one.
WHERE| Near the town green.
WARNINGS| None.
Punchy hasn't eaten in nearly a week. His body, though used to somehow pulling nutrition out of a diet of nothing but gummi worms and sports drinks, is running on fumes. He feels his skin starting to get tight over his cheekbones and his lips starting to chap, and what's worse, he's feeling unfocused. It's a strange and unpleasant feeling for someone who can sit down and hammer out a computer program overnight; it's the way he felt back in class, as if nothing is interesting and nothing matters.
Of course, given that he's in a death Arena, feeling detached and listless isn't exactly a proper response to the circumstances.
He's set up his hideout inside an old pharmacy, one that would no longer be deemed fit to sell drugs due to the sheer amount of mildew sprawling out over every surface. He'd hoped to find candy, but the mints and lollipops he found practically crumbled to pastel-covered dust in his hands. He really only comes here to sleep during the day, catching quick catnaps and escaping from the more suffocating part of the heat.
At night, he goes out and kills these weird machinations the Capitol has put here, these walkers and insects. He has burns all over his hands from one of the giant spiders, but he's dragged a walker back to the pharmacy and is trying to take it apart, to see if there's a machine inside. How does it hunt with no eyes, no nose? If it has a sensor beacon, it could be used to find his allies.
He's hunched over this stinking, hideous corpse and so enraptured with his study that he wouldn't even notice someone coming in.
no subject
"That'd be sweet, but I guess that means I can't let my girl hang with you. She's kind of the Ice Queen. Literally." He returns the smile, but it's a little fainter, the signs of someone used to keeping it more reserved.
no subject
"Shit, son, you be tapping that Elsa boo? She's like, a ten on a scale of one to fine. Five up, dawg!" He holds a hand up to be high-fived. "But ain't she like, got five years on you? She be cradle-robbing you hardcore."
Not that that should be coming out of Punchy's mouth, since he's been trying to get with Joan Watson since the day he met her.
no subject
"Yeahahaha.." He started off confident, but he couldn't hold back a laugh. He shakes his head and waves off the high five. "I'm not tapping that, get real bro. You believed me for like a second though." And it's the second that counts. "She's too classy for that shit." He shrugs his shoulders. "But we been chilling together. Literally. What with the whole ice thing going on."
no subject
He did believe it, though. For that whole second.
"I been tapping that Winchester shawty."
First thing on the order of teenage boys: establish the pecking order by who got the furthest with the hottest chick. No sexism here at all, no sir.
no subject
"Oh yeah?" He raises a brow, thinking for a moment. "I haven't met her. I haven't met half the hotties, yet. What's she look like?"
[cw: Punchy being gross]
Spoilers: Punchy's also a gigantic nerd. Throughout his childhood his home-built computer and his comic books were his only escape from a hellish existence of bullies and classrooms that never seemed to teach in a way he could learn from.
He waggles his eyebrows. He's never mastered doing one at a time, but it's a valiant effort. "Redhead, freckles, titties like nice slabs of chicken."