rager teenager! || teddy & beck blitz!

[[nyte]]

BECK HAILSHAM

YOU'RE HERE FOR A REASON BUT YOU DON'T KNOW WHY

He's drunk drunk. Wading through a sea of warm bodies and blinding lights, grasping onto threads of conversations that are little more nonsense beating against tired eardrums. It occurs to him he's lost Nico somewhere along the twisting hallways of this cursed building but he can't find it in him to worry right now. He's sure he'll find him. Things have a way of working out.

He almost chokes on laughter at that thought.

Beck tries to lean against a wall and catch his bearings but finds he's missed the doorway by about a foot. His feet weave knots in front of him as he narrowly avoids bashing his face into the fireplace by scraping his palms on its red brick. Is that his laughter? It sounds dry and dead as the logs burning next to him.

Drinks had never made things bearable for Beck, but they sure made it interesting. His thoughts flow freely, unrestricted by those annoying bits of him still trying to protect his shattered innocence. Blood stained memories and poisonous thoughts fill his brain, leak out his ears, run down his throat. They taste vile but it feels real.

Human decency and the last bits of his sanity should have stopped him from stumbling to his feet upon catching sight of Teddy Ursa so it's lucky they've taken the night off. He usually can't bear to meet the Victors eyes, not unless he wants to drive himself mad searching for hatred hidden within them. Teddy hides it well, he's one of the good ones. His smiles are all pretty and soft and it's got this charming little curve. The Capitol didn't have to go making him handsome, he'd merely had a goodness in him that leaked from the inside out.

Beck doesn't trust it. Beck doesn't trust Teddy. There's no way he could have watched that finale and thought him anything other than a bloodthirsty career.

(He's heard the whispers. He knows that's what they say.)

"Teeeeeeddddy!" The word comes out in one long slur as he tries, and fails, to gracefully pick his way around the furniture and toward his destination. In the end he gives up, slumping backwards over the back of a loveseat and kicking his legs up in the air. "I know you hate me! You don't gotta pretend you don't!"

He's grinning, genuinely grinning, it feels kind of nice. "C'mon you can punch me!! For Walter! I deeeeserve it!"

Drinking has never helped him numb the pain, but at least it gives him an excuse to be honest.

YOU'RE SPLIT AND UNEVEN, YOUR HANDS TO THE SKY

[presto]

SURRENDER YOURSELF

[/presto]

elegant

[Tom]

Teddy Ursa was used to these events.

Glittery outfits on people who were the most important capitol officials; playing a game of fake smiles and exhaustion over a pile of dead bodies. Drunken people trying to talk to him, giving him those eyes that always make him feel uncomfortable. Fingers wrapped around a glass of champagne that he's certain some capitolite gave him trying to get on his good side. Setting it down on a table to be consumed by some capitolite later who'll believe Theodore Ursa had sipped from it. A sigh falls from his lips as he pushes quietly through a crowd of people, sober and tired of having to deal with the frustrations of his own failures. Another two graves to be dug up upon arrival; families to tell that he did all that he could for them. His own fingers pulling at the edge of his pocket, letting his mind wander just like his feet through bodies and rooms, until he finds somewhere quiet to sit for a moment.

"Teeeeeeddddy!"

Beck Hailsham's voice reaches him with a certain tone that makes his stomach sink. Teddy Ursa should hate Beck Hailsham like the capitol expected him to. He's sure there's whispers of capitolites who try to stir the pot; create a narrative that's not real. If there's one thing he's learned from people like Glamour Kinkade or Ex Oh, the capitol loved victor drama. Teddy should hate Beck Hailsham for killing Walter Blake, but he can't. He can't hate a boy who wanted to live just as badly as he had when he put his spear through Luxa Pelotte. He can't blame a boy who wanted to live just as badly as himself, even if they were a career like Luxa Pelotte. Even careers have hearts.

Saffron Lowe taught him long ago about forgiveness. Some days, he still doesn't think he deserves Saffron's forgiveness. Emberly Lowe's blood still coats his hands on days like this where he can still remember waiting until the sun crawls down over the horizon. Luxa Pelotte had died by his hands; four didn't like him. He was sure of that, but Beck Hailsham was someone he respected, even if he did kill Walter Blake.

"I know you hate me! You don't gotta pretend you don't!"

Feet in the air, reminding him that Beck Hailsham was drunk. A grin that makes Teddy's stomach churn in sickness at the idea of someone thinking he hates them. There was no pretending when it came to this. Hatred was something he never stepped into long; only people who deserved to be hated got it. People like his mother and father who have committed unforgivable things. Beck Hailsham did what he had to do in order to live; just like all of them did. The grin bleeds into his mind; an image that'll reside there with the fist of Saffron Lowe.

"C'mon you can punch me!! For Walter! I deeeeserve it!"

He wants to shout. He wants to cry. He wants to break down and hide away, but the conversation has been a long time coming. A deep breath as Teddy fiddles with his collar, unbuttoning the button and loosening his tie; letting the blue and black slip down further. Eyes glancing to beck as Teddy stands up; ignoring Beck's presence for a moment, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows and steps back to stand in front of the loveseat. Silently, he stands there for a moment knowing that he's picking apart the image he carries. No smile upon his lips, but a frown to a victor who thinks Teddy hates him.

"No."

His voice feels hoarse from use, but he ignores the feeling.

"I can't hate you for doing what you had to do, Beck." Eyes glancing down to Beck Hailsham before Teddy sits down on the arm of the loveseat, ignoring the social exhaustion of the night. "I know what it's like to be in the arena. I can remember the desperation of wanting to go home. I can't blame you for being here." His hands feel shaky as he closes his eyes, letting the memory Emberly's weapon cutting into him fill his body. "I won't punch you for living Beck."

The room feels warm; trapped in the tension of his shoulders. Picking apart the pieces of his own emotions; piece by piece of frustration over the years, but knowing the guilt that resides in ever victor. Even victors like Cricket Antoinette; all of them had something to regret. Survivor's guilt in all of them; creating their own ways of coping in the way victors do. Self indulgence that they carry in every form of their fiber; building up a legacy of their own away from the blood coated hands and the dead bodies beneath their feet.

"I-I get it y'know. I still think Saffron hates me sometimes."

Teddy Ursa forgave Beck Hailsham a year ago when a crown was placed upon his head.

"You deserve to be forgiven, Beck. All of us do."

table by zoe