Call Me, Doc, I Must Be Sick [The Games AU]

[dead_black_eyes]

Who: Linden Lockhearst and Dr. Caesar Salazar
When: After Linden's latest stint in rehab, between Arenas
Where: District 6's suite in the Tribute Tower
What: Some self-destructive Victors go through doctors faster than others.



It had felt like a sudden pain, a sudden weight, and then the floor rushing up in a punch-drunk smack of cold marble.

Usually, Linden knew his tolerance, until it got higher and he had to adapt to survive. But this time had been different; this time, he was at least two kilos thinner. They'd taken in his clothes before the party, pinched-lips and shaking heads he barely registered. Wherever the weight had gone, it had left him sparser, paler and more vulnerable, and as he did what he needed to in order to stay alive in the colorful sea of sick indulgence, the room had started spinning, too much, too fast, too LOUD.

The rest was related to him later after he woke up. He learned that he'd been dead for a few minutes after his heart stopped, and then that his rib cage had been cracked open like a Capitol child's birthday gift so they could restart it. All very desperate and dramatic, and under the hazy influence of the good drugs that weren't even usually accessible to Victors, he'd resented that they couldn't just leave him alone after what was probably a better run than he'd ever counted on having.

Rehab, as usual, was terrible. Nothing happened or changed there. Folding paper into fragile flowers, talking about feelings and productive ways to stave off cravings. Bullshit, in so many words. Linden saw it in the other addicts' eyes, met them, shared silent understanding and laughter. If those were truly alternatives, and life is so fine, why the hell would we run from it in the first place?

Counting down the days, the hours, the minutes has finally paid off. He's been released but not allowed to return to District 6 until after the next Arena when he'll presumably be stronger. They think that putting him here in the Capitol will keep his brittle, wasted body safer. They're wrong, of course, but it's a tired song and dance now, the futile cycle of keeping a man who wants to die present, painting roses in his cheeks and presenting him as a spokesman for a government he silently despises.

There's nothing to do for it, of course, but tie off his arm and examine his needle collection on the surface of a chessboard. Long-neglected pieces look on and silently judge him; the Bishops turn up their noses, the Knights gape hungrily. Linden looks for a vein that isn't collapsed, burst or otherwise destroyed. The suite, built for socializing with a large fireplace in the center of the room, is still and silent and crawling with anticipation. It almost doesn't matter that a doctor is on his way; what can he really do?

Comments

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden watches him, a flicker of life and interest in those glassy, cold eyes. Sadly, but also fairly true to form for such a notable addict, needles are one of the few things that can reliably grab Linden's attention and hold it. Admittedly, Cesar's choice is also darkly amusing to him, but he doesn't say as much, merely watches as Cesar counts them out.

"I have no objections. It's certainly true that I have enough of them to make for a pretty generous pot," he says. "Just be careful. You went to medical school, but I'm willing to bet that I have more experience handling them than you do."

[evowhisperer]

"Maybe so." He sits down and tips the pile off to one side, arranging them into roughly two piles. Specifics don't appear to concern him much, since he starts dealing without counting who gets how many.

Five cards to each of them, one by one. Cesar selects a single needle from the pile and slides it to the middle of the table, scooping up his cards in his other hand. "Ante of one to start?"

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden doesn't bother arguing that it is almost certainly so. He merely shrugs easily, settling into the chair at the edge of the table near one of the piles. They don't look precisely even, but he lets it slide; the odds are never really even to begin with, anyway, so it seems grimly appropriate in its way.

"That's a fine ante," Linden agrees, clearly on autopilot as he tosses one of the glinting silver needles toward the middle and glancing at his cards. He has three of a kind, sevens, and tosses two more needles into the pot alongside his ante.

[evowhisperer]

"Call," Cesar murmurs, sliding two more needles forward and glancing past his cards to his opponent. This is what he does with this kind of hand, he tells himself, noting the degree of his slouch, the lines of his eyebrows, and the places he glances. Lots of different things could be tells, and even though the deck is stacked against him Cesar is putting on the act he would show if it weren't. He's taking it seriously, just in case.

His eyes drop back to his cards, and he studies them one by one. He'd rather wait for Linden's decision before trading any cards of his own, but if the silence carries on for too long he'll just go and take a chance.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's poker face is fairly decent, all things considered, even when he glances up and notes the way that Cesar is subtly but thoroughly studying him. He rolls his eyes, but the gesture lasts for just a second before he's lifting out the cares that aren't his three of a kind, sliding them across the table to indicate that he wants to exchange them for a new deal.

[evowhisperer]

"By the way..." Cesar deals him two cards--a five and a three, different suits. "I noticed something in your files that I'd like to have confirmed. At least three doctors have prescribed supplements, but later tests show no improvement." He puts one of his own cards down and draws to replace it.

"You weren't taking any of those, were you?"

[dead_black_eyes]

The cards are worthless to him, but he keeps his features neutral and schooled into expressionless boredom, if anything. He rolls his eyes, though, at the question, tossing another needle into the pot.

"Not exactly. I did try them, but it turned out I couldn't get high that way. So, imagining for just a second that you were me, what was the point, do you think?"

[evowhisperer]

"Better health?" Cesar says dryly. He tosses a needle in after Linden's, resting his fingers on another. Then he leaves the bet as it is, looking past the cards.

"You do realize that it would make life between the highs more tolerable, don't you?"

[dead_black_eyes]

"We haven't known each other very long, Salazar, but if you can learn, I can't imagine you can be surprised at this point."

He's betting recklessly, probably too recklessly for his very poor hand. Not that Cesar should know that his hand is poor; he's got an admirable balance going, firm confidence and commitment to a hand that he wants Cesar to fold before its revelation. The same, of course, could be said for the treatment plan; it would be better and so much easier if he simply gave up and decided it would be more trouble than it was worth to see another ridiculous, childish, petulant Victor's raise.

"Is 'tolerable' what anyone aspires to, really?" Linden asks. "It's settling, at the heart of the matter. Victors, of anyone, have earned the right not to have to settle, wouldn't you say?"

[evowhisperer]

Cesar crooks an eyebrow, wondering privately if he would've been able to see through this act if he hadn't known the cards already. Where are the flaws? His gut tells him that they're there, but it's also telling him that it would've taken him several games before he'd spot them in a real game. He's reluctantly impressed.

"Perhaps," he says out loud, separating another card from his hand and placing it face down. "In a more perfect world it would be true. Unfortunately for you, the reality is that victors are as much at the mercy of their circumstances as the rest of us."

He deals himself a replacement to his card, resisting the urge to palm an extra. He doesn't need it; right now all he needs is to finish this game.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's played before. He knows and does enjoy the game, it being a contest that he can focus on for a little while without growing bored and feeling as if he's outgrowing the restless confines of his own skull. He needs stimulation, challenges, reasons to stay sharp and clear, and anything that grabs the attention of his cracked but brilliant mind tends to keep it.

He holds a hand up slightly, stay, indicating that he is satisfied with his hand. That isn't the case, but for one blind to the cards (as Cesar isn't), it it very convincing. It could be. It must be.

"I have heard words like that before. Not just from physicians," Linden says darkly. "Typically, it's not a way to endear yourself to a Victor, you know. Implying that we're just like everyone else. We're not. That's the point of having Victors."

It's not the point, and he realizes it, but the stubborn and petulant streak he has is a miles wide and highly volatile.

"You probably don't get invited to very many parties."

[evowhisperer]

"I get more invites than I attend. I usually decline." He remembers broadcasted interviews with victors at galas, ones where Linden is either glimpsed only in backgrounds or dragged forward for tellingly short interviews--he has an inkling as to what sort of control Linden has over his life. As petty as it is, the corners of his mouth twitch up.

"I call."

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden snorts, rolling his eyes as if to say like you have anything better to do than go to those overstuffed affairs? Being a doctor and a man of science, he was probably working to hedge in some of the overdoses and cases of alcohol poisoning more often than not.

In a lot of ways, choosing to be one of those people is Linden's way of exerting the control he can.

"You call?" Linden asks, lip curling slightly before he lays down his cards. It could be worse, after all. It's a good hand, certainly one that anyone would bet on.

"Three of a kind."

[evowhisperer]

"Hn," Cesar says noncommittally. "Full house." Only one card's difference between having that and three of a kind, but it was never really up to chance, was it? He lays his cards face up and draws the betting pool towards his side of the table.

Five more cards are dealt, one by one. "Best two out of three? I have another appointment in half an hour."

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden watches as the eight needles in the center of the table are drawn into Cesar's side of the table. Their assets are very uneven now; though Linden gave himself an extra needle, leaving him with seven even after losing four, Cesar's currently sitting at fourteen. He's sullen and silent, nearly to the point of sulking about it; he seems torn, as if wanting to ask whether or not the full house was a result of cheating, but he opts to say nothing as the next hand is dealt by the physician.

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you," he murmurs in clipped tones, picking up his cards and examining them.

Though his expression doesn't change, his cards are fortuitous indeed. Though they're low, they line up, and they're all spades. It's a straight flush, and he realizes that he can get on top if this if he bets appropriately.

"The ante's raised to two this time, as is the custom, given that this game will be a short one. I believe it's your turn to start," he drawls, twisting a strand of his hair idly as he slides his ante toward the center and waits for Cesar to bet.