#be it on a random solo blog i don't stick to or ye olde mythvoiced NOT LETTING GO OF THIS VERSE!!!!!

[mythvoiced]

Van is a foreigner in the land of exploitation. He's witnessed his fair share of pain, but... he's only ever witnessed it. Even loss pales in comparison to loss experienced as Victors do, the blood coating their hands against their will, the hands coating their bodies against their will.

Perhaps it's that outsider's perspective that keeps pushing him into trying to help in a way that could so easily be misconstrued or doubted, as the gentleman before him seems to do.

Van has given him nothing to work with, beyond a general attitude and a few smiles, and someone he wouldn't be surprised to discover said attitude, said smiles, were part of the reason he was being looked at like that.

But there's... well... what else can he do? He's just a ridiculously privileged person in a ridiculously privileged position. Even acknowledging that in such a mental tone feels like self-pity he does not deserve, not when he's sat before someone who's experienced too many of the worst life has to offer first-hand.

He's just a foreigner in the land of exploitation, trying to reach out to its native inhabitants with next to none of the resources required to open proper communication.

How do you approach someone like Patrick? The gentleman, yet so distant and put-together, his demeanour is almost enough to hide his intelligence... almost. You'd have to be mundane and arrogant, too self-absorbed to truly observe, to not notice the person behind the service they're forced to provide, the person behind the victor.

Van can't possibly know Patrick, can't possibly know him beyond the stories that surround him, his victory, the fire, a small act of defiance as he tried to save a life in an environment designed for him to kill in.

But even those few details are so readily ignored... by those worse than him.

And isn't that the simplest truth here? That he's simply... slightly better than his peers?

Van didn't know what brand Patrick might enjoy, the cigarettes he offers, pointed out with an attempt at a casual gesture, are expensive... and mundane, depending entirely on whether you read their label from a District or the Capitol's point of view.

He doesn't hand them offer. He's particular about touch. He can't imagine Patrick has an easier relationship to it than him.

"You think highly of me if you do not think me a fool, and while I do thank you for that... I can only appreciate it with... copious amounts of guilt," it's a quip, in a way, but Van never manages to add the sharpness into it. His sharper tones is reserved for those he wants off his back. The sides his tongue always seem to dull when he's talking to someone he doesn't want to scare off. Makes his voice soft, without the needed warmth to make it maternal, just someone... subconsciously trying to appear non-threatening.

He moves his gaze back to lock with Patrick's eyes, having slid away momentarily while gathering his thoughts. Van looks... apologetic.

"You'll probably think less of me if I were to admit that this is the only way I've found efficient enough... to not... at least add to a Victor's plight... Do you understand?"

mister hrodvitnir. / @mythvoiced ➜ Clients can usually be divided into two camps. The first fall in line with Snow- those who know the power they wield, the power and advantages that comes with being born in the Capitol. They are unafraid to use it, flaunt it even. Those clients are drowning in hedonism, selling their souls to stay at the top of the pyramid. 

And then there’s the second camp of clients. These people tend to be on the younger side, still unaware of the power they hold. They take for granted ( whether unwittingly or purposefully ) the luxuries their position affords them, nevermind the foundation of bones and blood and corpses it was built upon to begin with.

It’s hard to see which camp this one falls into. Well, at least that’s what Patrick thought during the first two visits. He actually thought Mister Hrodvitnir would have leaned into the first camp- he hardly buys into the fashion trends, the frivolity it demands, that so many of the Capitol Citizens follow like a religion. He dressed austerely which perhaps in the districts would allow him to blend in, but here only makes him stick out like a sore thumb. 

So at this point, Mister Hrodvitnir must be hiding something.

Or, with the way he just smiled and nodded along, he’s actually an idiot.

Patrick can’t even tell anymore.

“...An expensive pastime then. I suppose it’s within your right.” Or wallet. He’s tempted to add, but doesn’t. His fingers twitch though. He’s been restless these past few days from trying not to smoke- he promised Hyuk he’d try to quit again, but it’s been…hard. And fuck, what he wouldn’t do for a cigarette now more than ever, with the next Games coming up soon. His lungs feel congested without the smoke. “...I’ll take a cigarette then.” And then adds, rather foolishly when he looks back.

“If you tell me what your intentions are. Unless you’re actually a fool, which I highly doubt you are, you gain NOTHING out of these visits.”