#c: chip

[artsy-sunny]

More Sheeztober pieces as well!

[olive-blackwell]

@chip-foster​

“I’m not saying your birthday will be miserable without me -” As planned, she’d ditched the ball early. Her heels were swapped out for sneakers, and her jewels dropped into the first garbage can she could find. (She figured security cams would alert her stylist to their location eventually.) “-only that it could be a lot more fun here.”

They were headed toward Chip’s car. She’d grab Sawbones from the garage the next morning. The nights were still a little too cold to be speeding around on her bike. Once they were at the car she added, “Let’s grab some burgers on the way.”

[sloane-cruise]

@chip-foster​

Meera pointed him out the first day of training, when they were both by the elevators. "The tattooed one. I overheard mom and dad say once that he really liked mushrooms. Maybe coke too, but that you can get anywhere."

Last year, in the middle of winter, Zeppelin had traded his trap royalties to his teacher for grade leniency. The idea that a gamemaker might be able to provide something of that like to Edie didn't seem far fetched. Especially not one that was a victor, one that Meera remembered from her years in the tower. So he took his lunch period to go up to the fifth floor. An avox that morning had retrieved him rabbit meat and mushrooms so he cooked it up, mixing in some fancy spices before arraying it on a gold plate. He brought it back down to the cafeteria, happy to spot the gamemaker and placed it in front of him. His smile was sweet, eyes narrowing as his cheeks pulled upward. "I made this for you, Mr. Foster."

[psizm]

the chiperr

[image description: bust drawing of black anthropomorphic canine with long snout and short pointy ears. It has a red patch on its face and white eyes. It is also sticking out its tongue. Around it is a white outline and behind it is the trans flag. The background is yellow. / end image description]

[olive-blackwell]

@chip-foster​

She spent only a handful of hours up on the roof and when she came down to the third floor the peacekeeper presence had doubled. She stood for a moment there, flanked by the elevators. A man was on his phone in the distance. "Clear here." In the chatter, the noise, she caught his eyes and she knew. Something had happened while she was busy with the launch. The Black Eagles were on the move.

After that is was just motion. She took the stairs four at a time, wincing at the impact on her bad leg. Long before she could even reach the doors to the gamemaker headquarters there were peacekeepers in front of her. No entrance. Just beyond their shoulder she could see a pair of men carrying the metal husk of what once was a peacekeeper. They'd breached the tower, they'd done it. And she felt nothing but fear. She paced like a caged animal along the line of security. How long did it take to see him? She couldn't have said. It felt like hours.

"Fuck me," she whispered to herself. When Chip was in arms length she tugged him close to her. She stood on her toes in order to wrap her arms around his shoulders. "Are you hurt?"

[olive-blackwell]

@chip-foster​

Three bullets, three bodies. On the ride to Chip's apartment, she punished the Pig. It was late, past sunset, but the city never went to sleep. The lights, the celebrations, the fun kept on turning itself over. The same way the president had turned over those execution orders, just the way the peacekeepers could turn over the clip on their guns, just the way these tributes would be turned over in six months.

She didn't want to be alone tonight. That would just be a recipe for broken glass and alcohol poisoning. She was playing with the ring on her middle finger when Chip let her in. "The last time I was at a public execution like that," she said, "I was in seven and it was brother on the other side of the gun."

[olive-blackwell]

@chip-foster​

There were two blocks between Chip's apartment and the bus stop. She walked back and forth three times before her nerve overtook her doubt. Snow fell about her in delicate clumps, building a fine layer on her beanie and overcoat. There were a million little excuses building up on why not to do this. Certainly Evie would be awake. Certainly he'd be busy with work. Certainly he wouldn't even want to see her. What kind of bullshit friend was she anyway? Six months to come up with two words? And in any case what good could she give him? He'd worked his way to sobriety and guardianship in the eight years since his victory. She wouldn't claim any assistance in those achievements. When he'd met her on the victory stage, passing the crown from him to her, they'd bonded over scar tissue, over mutual self-destruction. Consecutive fuck-ups. Except she didn't want to be that anymore. For once, she wanted to foster something good with the people she loved. At least what remained of them.

It was that last thought that brought her to his door. After knocking she stood way back, shoved her hands into her pockets, and waited. That aftenoon, after talking with Alder, she'd sent in her request. Madeleine's death had tipped the first domino. Her bruised knuckles would heal, and even that girl's face would fade, but she wouldn't forget this. When the door opened, when she saw Chip's face, her planning went out the window. All she could manage was a mess. "Hey. Can we - can we talk? Just talk. No fighting. No bullshit. I won't stay long. I know you've got Evie - I just - I -" Her eyes were stinging. "I’m tired of fighting with you.”

[olive-blackwell]

@chip-foster​

"I don't need an IV! Fuck off!"

She pushed herself up in the bed, despite the nurses urging her to lie down. Her body ached. Medical glue kept the gash on her forehead from bleeding. Her left arm was in a sling. Broken. She knew the pain well enough, understood the swelling. Six to eight weeks in a cast, at least two more to build back muscle. The medical staff fluttered about her trying to hook her up to machines, to get her shuffled off to x-ray, but she wasn't having it. Her concern right now rested with the Pig, the bent front wheel, the broken glass powdering the asphalt. Last night's ice storm had set the whole parking lot into a death trap, and she'd been too distracted to notice.

The medical staff eventually pulled away, huddled together in whispers, and exited the room. They left one nurse in the corner like a babysitter. She glared at him, waiting for the news she could leave and when the door opened again she turned ready for an argument with the doctor. Only to find herself face to face with Chip.

"What are you doing here?"