platonic burglary ₊⊹ gunner &. isolde
Jan 31, 2024 19:01:12 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jan 31, 2024 19:01:12 GMT -5
Soft bed, warm sheets, clean clothes.
He liked it until the novelty wore off. Breakfast at the ready and room service, soaks in the tub and wearing velour, it all started to feel a little like class betrayal. The Capitol was turning him into a snotty scab. The horror, really. But on his third day of silky eggs and fresh orange juice, he began yearning back for the grit of District Nine.
And nothing said District Nine like breaking and entering.
It was amateur work to swipe the key, especially when there were some staff here who hang it on their hips. Truly begging to be pickpocketed. Some sort of kink, perhaps?
But Gunner spun the key badge from its pink strap as he entered the elevator, whistling, as inconspicuous as he can be, which wasn’t much. Luckily no one was inside. He went in, pressed a button, and was nearly off the leash until someone barged in at the last second, narrowly missing the crush of the metal doors.
He gave a blank stare at the girl who entered.
A tribute – must be. She was dressed too plainly to be a Capitol freak, simple colors instead of the neon vomit palette the people here loved. Himself in all black from head to toe, he appreciated the unspoken solidarity.
He whistled a little out of tune with the elevator music.
It went one floor, two floors, three floors before he cast a sidelong glance at the other and said, “you look smart, in a know-it-all sort of way.” His lips loaded up a smile and split like broken glass. “Remind me again who, uh,” he peeked down at the stolen key badge, “Andal Searley is?”
He liked it until the novelty wore off. Breakfast at the ready and room service, soaks in the tub and wearing velour, it all started to feel a little like class betrayal. The Capitol was turning him into a snotty scab. The horror, really. But on his third day of silky eggs and fresh orange juice, he began yearning back for the grit of District Nine.
And nothing said District Nine like breaking and entering.
It was amateur work to swipe the key, especially when there were some staff here who hang it on their hips. Truly begging to be pickpocketed. Some sort of kink, perhaps?
But Gunner spun the key badge from its pink strap as he entered the elevator, whistling, as inconspicuous as he can be, which wasn’t much. Luckily no one was inside. He went in, pressed a button, and was nearly off the leash until someone barged in at the last second, narrowly missing the crush of the metal doors.
He gave a blank stare at the girl who entered.
A tribute – must be. She was dressed too plainly to be a Capitol freak, simple colors instead of the neon vomit palette the people here loved. Himself in all black from head to toe, he appreciated the unspoken solidarity.
He whistled a little out of tune with the elevator music.
It went one floor, two floors, three floors before he cast a sidelong glance at the other and said, “you look smart, in a know-it-all sort of way.” His lips loaded up a smile and split like broken glass. “Remind me again who, uh,” he peeked down at the stolen key badge, “Andal Searley is?”
