thearena | Find Somebody Else That We Can Blame [Closed]

Entry tags:

Find Somebody Else That We Can Blame [Closed]

WHO| Venus Dee Milo and Courfeyrac, Venus and Kankri, Venus and Sam and De Winchester
WHAT| Sam Winchester dies, Kankri and Venus hang out, and Venus gets a puzzling Sponsor gift
WHERE| Second floor, Fossil Hall
WHEN| Week 3, week 5
WARNINGS| Death, Venus and Courfeyrac getting drunk and giving back massages

Venus hasn't been hunting De. Venus hasn't cared enough about De to bother, and besides, she finds something distasteful about tracking people down. The few moments of peace that people get when they feel safe in the Arenas are sacred.

But she does start following De around the second floor when they nearly bump into each other - Venus avoids detection by ducking behind a display about cacti in North America - on the second floor, and after a little bit of 'reconnaissance', Venus sees Sam, too.

Sam's physically intimidating, and Venus bites her lip when she tries to estimate how tall he is. She takes note of his stride, of the way he holds his shoulders slightly forward. It isn't a warrior's stance. He has the hunch of a brainy college boy. Venus starts inventing a story for him where he works nights at a gas station to put himself through physics courses, where he has his roommates cut his hair.

The two of them look similar enough that Venus assumes they're siblings or unfortunately indiscrete lovers.

When Sam's in the bathroom, Venus appears before De like a genie from a bottle. The gash across her face should make her terrifying, but it's a drop in the bucket compared to the utter confidence with which she holds herself. "Remember me?"

-/-

Since rescuing Kankri, Venus has been doing a lot of sleeping. She tells him it's to pay back sleep debt, but the truth is that she can't seem to find the energy in herself to do anything else. When she isn't encased in a shell of slumber, tears are leaking from her very pores, she feels.

She hasn't apologized to him for storming out. The feeling is there, right there inside her mouth, but the words are never quite what she wants to say, never arranged in the right order to sound as honest as she feels.

She gets up to patrol twice a day, but other than that either keeps watch or rests with a towel from the gift shop over her head, like a corpse upon a slab at the mortuary.

-/-

They've finally gone through the food in the cafe. Between the passage of time rotting the vegetables faster than they could eat them and the fact that neither of them are quite heartless to turn away people seeking sustenance (although Venus at least keeps it to allies), they've come down to the unfortunate dietary habits of all stale pastries, all the time. Venus expects she'll be seeing cinnamon rolls in her nightmares.

When she hears the ding of the Sponsor gift in the elevator, and her fingers are crossed that it's edible.

Venus pauses in front of the elevator, too stunned even to grab her Sponsor gift for a second before she plucks the glitter-encrusted card off the top. It's signed with the signature from one of her Mentors that she's come to recognize, although the sight of it tends to fill her with mixed emotions.

"The fuck?"

She grabs the heart-shaped basket (filled with bath lotion, wine and chocolate, and decorated with two silver balloons) and takes off for the fossil hall. When she's there, she knocks on the wall in the Morse code that is, in her opinion, the only useful contribution Marius and Cosette have made to this encampment, in an attempt to draw someone out long enough to talk to.

If anyone's going to understand what the hell Enjolras is getting at with this bizarre gift, it would probably be Courfeyrac.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She lets the the air hang with that statement, lets it capture that sad confession.

"Alright." She reaches over and takes another drink of wine, another piece of cheese. "But at least come over when you need to sleep, so you aren't leaving yourself vulnerable."

She gestures with her head over at the baskets. "My Prince Charming's going to be so mad if I let his best friend get killed in his sleep."

"He would be even angrier if you died on my watch, Venus." His voice is quiet, with a hint of somber nostalgia, but it isn't harsh. Clearly, he's exhausted but he hasn't given up his friendliness. "It is strange. I've become accustomed to this place. I've been in this barricade longer than I was in the Capitol, you realize."

He's been there long enough that it almost feels like home. Not exactly, but in a sense. Shaking his head, he takes the wine bottle in hand and fidgets with it for several silent seconds before drinking.

"May I ask you something, my dear? I do not mean to overstep or intrude, but my curiosity has gotten the best of me." Courfeyrac drinks from the bottle, sets it down on the floor between them. "Does he know you love him? Have you told him?"

She has the bottle to her lips when she asks the question, and is in such a state of shock when she tips it back that she forgets to open her mouth, spilling the drink all down her chin and chest. "Oh!"

She quickly wipes up what she can, face flushing almost as dark as the wine.

"What, um." She takes a deep breath and sets the bottle aside. "What gave you that impression?"

Because to tell the truth, she doesn't even know she loves him. Initially, for some reason she now understands to be pure foolishness, she thought a few weeks in the Arena would give her time to figure it out, and instead it's just pulled the blood-soaked knot pumping away in her chest even tighter.

Immediately he regrets asking her. He was wrong to put her on the spot like that, he realizes, though he somehow manages not to wince when she spills the wine down her front. Helpfully, he offers her the corner of his sleeping bag to wipe herself with.

"You must forgive me, Venus. I've overstepped myself, I fear." His answer is, of course, a non-answer in itself. He doesn't have the heart to tell her that he's seen how she looks at Enjolras and recognizes that longing. He's seen that expression many times, directed at his friend and at other people. Sometimes that look has been cast his way. It's second nature to Courfeyrac to know it well. But if he knows it and she doesn't, then it is a problem. "Forget I said anything, my dear. Have some more cheese."

She wants to accept his gracious recall. She would love to just pass it off as Courfeyrac crossing boundaries that she has all her rights to deny. She would love to just not be flushing furiously at this moment, but she can feel the heat coming off her face, can feel the way she can't stop from blinking.

"Bit of an overstep." She holds up a hand in a 'little bit' gesture and then takes some more cheese. "But, ah. Enjolras is the person closest to me in this whole world, and he knows that. That's all I have to say about that."

She still has to play her part for the viewers. She can't just outright say that Enj has given her the 'not looking for a wife' rebuff, or that she's fine with being friends - not the least because she doesn't believe it herself anymore.

Edited 2014-02-28 06:40 (UTC)

Courfeyrac nods, though he isn't quite sure if he regrets asking or not. It was impolite to be so upfront about it, but he's certain that, in time, the truth will out. With Enjolras, it usually does.

"These circumstances make for strange bedfellows, do they not?" That is the expression, isn't it? "The pressure changes people. I should think it would put the world into a new perspective."

Maybe it's the wine in her throat, warming up the area beneath her collarbone. Maybe it's just wishful thinking that she could blame this on alcohol that's hardly had a chance to kick in yet. Regardless, she laughs.

"Careful with those puns, brother, you're going to turn into Joly on me." And she can only handle one Joly. Courfeyrac's competence has been a blessing in this Arena, a load off her mind when his companions are Captain Overbite and his sheltered wife and a young man who melts into a puddle of terror at the sound of thunder. She's quickly come to see why, in spite of their many divergent traits and interests, Courfeyrac was one of Enjolras' two right-hand men.

"It's like being born again, in a way? I mean, maybe not for you, but for most of us - we come into this world, Panem, whatever, with nothing. We don't know anyone and half of us don't speak the language. It's not just pressure, it's...forced adaptation, I guess." She pops open the top of the lotion. "Smells like roses. Of course."

Courfeyrac scoots closer to her, inhaling the potent fragrance of the lotion as he nears.

"I do not know, sister, that it is an advantage to have the people you already love and admire here in this world alongside you. Perhaps it is a comfort in the Capitol, but here in the Arena..." It was hard to watch his friends die, one by one. He'd felt to helpless. He still feels helpless.

"I'm not saying it's an advantage. I don't..." She bites her tongue, thinking, then splurts some lotion out on her hands. "Come here, you're tense. You ain't relaxed your shoulders in what, a month? Anyway, it's different. That doesn't mean it's easier or harder. And either way we all end up either watching the people we love die, or dying first."

He obeys without any attempt to justify why his back is so tense. In truth, he's felt pent up like this since before he died, since before they'd been cornered in back in Paris. It's not easy to relax, he's so used to being on edge, but he'll do his damnedest.

"So, in a sense, the Arena is life, is it not? We must all watch our loved ones die or know that we will die before they do." He looks over his shoulder at her.

"Life in fast-motion, maybe." She pauses, thinking that if that's a film word, Courfeyrac may not get her meaning. "Compressed. Lots of little lives instead of one long one. Or almost-long one."

She undoes the top two buttons on his pajama shirt and pulls the shoulders of the top down, so she can access his body more, and starts to slowly work her thumbs across the tight muscle around his upper spine.

"But I don't think Enjolras or I would have ever paid any attention to each other if we weren't forced into this."

He can't help it, he squirms under her touch. It's been ages since he's relaxed. Even sneaking around with Cindy had served to make him more frustrated and anxious than anything else.

"So that is how you two became close?" He asks, raising an eyebrow which she cannot see at the moment. "How odd."

"Just lean back. I got you." This is one of the things Venus is good at. She takes her hand from his neck and grabs the bottle of wine, swallowing another bitter mouthful, before she returns to her gentle but firm work.

"Oh, it gets odder. I killed him in my first Arena. I thought I was doing him a favor, getting him back to the Capitol, but obviously he didn't see it the same way."

He laughs, though it turns into a rather undignified groan a second later. "You killed him and he forgave you. Yes, I agree, that is quite odd."

This development only serves to intrigue him further. It isn't something he'd expected from his friend. Enjolras could be severe and unforgiving. Unrelenting, yes, that word works nicely. The idea of him not only forgiving Venus, but then becoming entangled with her is a new and novel one. It shows a great change in Courfeyrac's friend.

"And how long ago was that?"

She'd snort at the noises he's making, but she's been trying to do that less in this Arena, since her mangled sinuses have a tendency to spray blood when she breathes out them too hard. It's one of the less dignified elements of her injury.

"Eight months, maybe? Nine?" She frowns a bit, rolling her thumb. "And then we fought about it for so long I think we forgot what we were fighting about. I think emotions were running a teensy-bit high all around."

"Yes, well. I suppose one should expect that." He eases back against her hands, grateful beyond words for what she is doing. "It isn't easy to be here, nor is it easy to accept that you might feel an affinity toward someone." This time, however, he isn't even talking about Enjolras and Venus so much as he is speaking about himself.

She pauses to shove the rest of the cheese into her mouth, using the time spent chewing as an opportunity to think.

"Especially for you Frenchmen, I suppose? I swear you're the only one of your collective I've met so far who hasn't turned into a drooling idiot in some way or another around women."

His jaw sets and he swallows hard, unsure if Venus is being sarcastic or if she is actually holding fast to that sad little delusion of him. Either way, he feels rotten for having to disappoint her. And as they're still in the vicinity of the wretched device which broadcasts people's conversations, he's not fearful, but apprehensive of his privacy being exposed.

"I hope you would not think less of me if I did." Courfeyrac says, turning to face her, deciding to be brave.

She lets him go, a crinkle of concern working into her brow.

"Is this about to get really awkward?"

Her reaction puzzles him, as evidenced by the look on his face. She couldn't possibly think...

"I certainly hope not." He remains unsure in his expression. "I am not attempting to steal your affections away, if that is what is troubling you. I merely meant to comment on the fascinating and lovely ladies held as Tributes. Naturally, you are among that set, however I have my eyes on another."

"Oh! Oh, good. I just thought I might be bewitching you with my shoulder massages." Venus tries to just laugh off the awkwardness - as uncomfortable as it might have been were Courfeyrac interested in her, it's hardly a step up to have her ego checked like that.

"So who's the lucky lady?"

"You are plenty bewitching, Venus. You have bewitched every one of us." He offers her a gentle smile, scooting away just enough to indicate that she should give him one of her manky-toed feet for him to massage. "But I was referring to Mademoiselle Cindy."

"Cindy?"

And suddenly that discomfort comes flooding back, given that she kicked Cindy to death last Arena. Whoops. She offers Courfeyrac her foot, taking some more wine for herself and leaning back into as comfortable a pose she can get against the bone barricade.

"You boys have a thing for women who can kick your asses?"

"I cannot speak for anyone but myself. That said..." He presses his thumbs into her foot, massaging in a firm yet gentle manner. "I find her to be endlessly fascinating,"

"She's got a lot going on upstairs, it's true. Oh..." Venus closes her eyes and tries to relax as Courfeyrac starts his work on her feet. "Do you talk to her much?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject