[Closed] When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars

[saisamour]

Who| Marius and R
What| Goodnight, goodnight
Where| Desert Arena
When| Near the end of Week 6
Warnings/Notes| Blanket death and gore warning; also Marius being Marius


It's impressive, really, how stubbornly resolute Marius is in avoiding the death announcements, even if a cold shiver runs though his spine, without fail, every time he hears cannon fire.

But when he spots Enjolras's image in the night sky his blood goes cold and he stays frozen to the spot, eyes fixed to the heavens even long after the vision fades. And he finds the cutting intensity of his horror and dismay as somewhat strange, because he almost expected it: that death will come to the resolute leader just like Marius assumes it will in Paris, that every person on the barricade has turned up to die atop a grave of gunpowder and blood.

Besides, those who have fallen in the arena all return to the Capitol, do they not? Alive and without as much as a scar to hint that they had ever fought and died at all. And yet that knowledge hardly reassures him as he shakes off his nausea, and he stumbles when he forces himself to move onward, always onward, even if he wants nothing more than for the hooded man to come for him as well, take him and never return to a world with nothing for him, of a lifetime without Cosette.

He tells himself he needs to survive for as long as he is able to protect Ian. His arms keep his cape wrapped around himself—and he thinks that Mlle. Rushlit had been right, after all, when she said that the extra clothing will serve him well, and he makes a note to thank her when, if he returns—as he walks at a considerable distance away from his companion. His breath fogs in front of him as he uses this time alone to convince himself that living for a moment longer will be worth something. Anything.

And that's when he hears it.

"Marius!"

He thinks his heart has ceased to beat as the shrill scream pierces through the air. He knows that voice. He knows it, and he feels his hands begin to tremble and a lump forms on his throat and he feels the tears prick at his eyes because he realizes that she's in agony, she needs him and she's crying for him and he has to save her, oh God, why is she here and what have they done to her?

"Cosette!" Without regard for the dangers of the nighttime desert, with the safety of the younger boy with him completely forgotten, he runs like hell is after him, a Romeo in his muddied, blue silks dashing to the call of his beloved.

But when he gets to the source of the voice all he sees is a strange creature. A... rabbit, perhaps? And yet with antlers on its head. His brow furrows as he stares at it in bewilderment, though his heart still races in his chest and his breath comes in quick beats. The animal opens its mouth again and he shudders as Cosette's voice escapes from it, an earsplitting scream of unimaginable torment that shakes him to his very bones.

With the confusion and horror paralyzing him it will be difficult for him to notice anything else, such as the shuffling of feet, perhaps, or the groaning of a hungry beast nearby.

Comments

[shambler]

The sad thing is this wasn't even the first time R falls for that siren call. That pained shriek, so human it sends a hungry shiver blooming across R's corpse, drags him to it without even pausing to go hey, look, there's something fishy about this. He even settles into that hunched over Dead lope, the closest thing he can manage to a run when Julie's not here to give him that extra kick, and takes off toward that "Marius!".

R gets there to find out it's another one of those damn rabbits.

He's also not the only one tricked by it. At least there's that. R crests the slight slope and stops as he sways there, the moon casting just enough light for him to make out a shadow of someone else staring at the rabbit. Another Living Tribute. Distracted. Back to him. Perfect target for the hunger, which had zero problems taking cheap shots where it could because there's no such thing as fair play to a corpse. R would've said he struck gold if he felt like talking today. He instead staggers his way toward that blur, his dust-scratched eyes almost as white as that moon peeping overhead through the clouds. He follows the smell of the Tribute, thinking in the back of his head something about him seems familiar.

Oh well. It's not Julie, Howard, Wyatt or his buddy. That's what counts, R lurching up as that rabbit shrieks away. It's still screaming away as R barrels into the man with a gurgling groan.

[saisamour]

There's only the fraction of a second between the scampering of the antlered rabbit and the barreling of R towards Marius that his senses snap into overdrive and he hurls himself to one side. It's almost a little too late, and his shoulder collides against R. The force causes him to fall onto the ground with a startled cry.

He scrambles onto his back and supports himself up with his elbows, and he, at least, identifies his attacker as the same one by the waterhole when he glimpses at him. His eyes widen, first in recognition and then in panic. His first instinct is to run back to where he had left his crossbow and fight. This creature is a danger to the other tributes and if it is he who must deal the deathblow, then so be it.

But where he left his crossbow is also where his companion is, and in doing so he might only draw the danger to the boy. So he scurries back, still on the ground, the sand on his feet cresting into tiny waves as he kicks at it with his boots. In his mind a plan is hastily formulated.

Keep him distracted. Distance him away from Gallagher. And then let him take you.

[shambler]

The cry lets R know exactly where the man is. It, too, sounds familiar. Maybe he attacked him before. Let him get away. (It's a growing list of failures and blurs of faces. For all he knows this time could be different. If R gets any points for anything, it's definitely dumb persistence and he goes for broke with food only feet away.

"Ghggh!" R's croak gets ugly with hunger as he claws after the man, who's leaving a nice trail that he can follow between the sound of feet scrabbling against the sand, that panted breath and can he really hear all that blood, that Life pulsing through him? Could be imagining it.

Either way, R follows his prey eagerly. His jaw drops down as he lunges forward, this jerky, uneven motion that gets him close enough to start grabbing at clothes, arms, legs. Whatever gets him a good enough handhold to do his business.

[saisamour]

Marius gasps when the creature makes another lunge. One rotten hand manages to clamp on his arm, and despite wanting to die he finds that a cracked, horrified cry has escaped his throat. Involuntarily, he raises his fear-filled eyes to meet the monster's. (Is he indeed a monster? He looks as if he had been human, once.)

At the back of his mind he wonders, has he drawn this abomination far enough from Ian? But there is no time to ponder—he jerks his arm back, and a foot kicks at R. Just a little more, he tells himself, just a little farther. He needs to make sure the monster will not go back for his companion.

[shambler]

His plan works because R has a serious case of tunnel vision. Why waste all that effort shambling for someone far away when he's got perfectly good food right here?

R's hand slaps down on the man's arm, closing around it with his fingers curled into stiff claws and pulling himself closer. That's about when he gets a foot kicked right in his shoulder, his arm popping out of his socket with a dry rasp. It throws him back a few inches, not enough to make him let go. Or talk this out. Or think this is another one of those life choices he'll regret once it's over.

The zombie jerks at his prey again, trying to drag his arm up so he can take a bite out of it.

[saisamour]

And this is indeed a very terrible life choice, isn't it.

The sound of the pop is enough to make him sick, and he forces down the bile that's threatening to escape up his throat just as R's teeth sink into his arm and oh God, he had been expecting agony but not like this, not when he's still so hyper-aware of everything going on around him, when his senses are still on overdrive, and he screams, loud and strangled and terrified.

He forgets everything as his vision grows white, the base instinct of self-preservation overshadowing all attempts to be brave, valiant, self-sacrificing. Even his desire to die evaporates. He struggles, likely in vain, against the monster, kicking and dealing blows that don't land, or that are too weakened by the pain that courses through him.

And then he hears it. Cosette's lovely voice ringing in his ears. It's likely a simple trick of the senses, but still he stops fighting back abruptly. His bleary eyes land on nowhere in particular, and suddenly the ache seems to dissipate.

Obligatory zombie cannibalism warning

[shambler]

Maybe if this guy was armed, R would be in trouble.

The blows flail at him, bouncing off his bony chest, glancing off arms that used to have stiff, cold flesh and muscle attached. Now R’s just a withered husk of himself, browned from sun exposure, his teeth exposed as he drools out Marius’s blood.

He goes in for the kill.

It’s surprisingly easy to latch onto the man’s neck. Home in on the jugular. Feel it pulse and bleat for life while he has his mouth pressed up against the man’s throat, still hot, right up until he clenches his jaw, his teeth sink in and he rips out the artery. Blood sprays out. He’s still never figured out why that’s a zombie’s number one go-to spot for a kill. The path of least resistance. It’s also smart, not exactly a zombie’s usual MO. Still, most zombies he knows personally will go for the throat if they can – they even teach it at Dead school. It’s the only curriculum left. It’s kinda depressing when you look at it that way.

R gnaws away, oblivious to the man flopping underneath him. They’re more like convulsions than struggles. He’s never liked those. The quick deaths he could deal with; he didn’t like killing people, period, but if he had to, he’d at least like it to be quick and (relatively) painless. Hopefully this guy dies fast. R’s still chewing away for awhile before he realizes the struggles have gone silent. Dead as a doornail. Smoke if you got 'em.

He’s already clawing his way up the man’s chest so he can help himself to the real reason he’s here. It’s bad enough he’s a cannibal. Telling Wyatt and Max and Howard about what’s coming next? No thanks. He’d rather do this in private.

R grabs the man’s head. For once he’s glad he’s got claws now where his fingers used to be – it makes it so much easier to get to the brain. He’d sob in relief if he could. Finally. His chance to feel Alive. For a few seconds he can piggyback on this guy, this total stranger, and feel like he gets it. Favorite foods. First loves. Crushing disappointments. He bends his head and begins to feed…

[saisamour]

It had been easier once Marius had shut himself off from the world, and once back in the Capitol he will be rather surprised at how effortless it had been for him to simply accept the inevitable after the initial struggle, although he will never watch the details of his gruesome death unless forced to.

As for his mind, well. At first R will see only hazy silhouettes running through a thick, black smoke. The world smells like gunpowder, and the screams of men ring in his ears, demanding either liberty, equality, or mercy.

And then there is a barricade made out of furniture and wood and coffins. At the peak lies an old, greying man in a black coat, hanging upside down. Blood flows in rivulets down his coat, his face, his open mouth, forming puddles of red on the sooty pavement.

As the image blurs there will be a sound of a boy crying—it is the sobbing of a younger Marius, should R be able to tell—followed by a vision of a black gravestone.

Voices will start to rise as the gravestone disappears: sounds of boisterous laughter, heated and passionate debates, talks of a thousand topics (women, flowers, poetry), but the words liberté, egalité, fraternité are most often heard. A man whom is addressed as Courfeyrac approaches R and calls him his dearest friend.

A sound of cannon fire, and the vision of the barricades returns, now breached and broken and riddled with corpses of men who are mostly too young to fight. Courfeyrac's body is among those who have fallen.

There is a child shot to death mid-song. A lifeless body dressed in male clothing, who looks very much like Eponine. A kiss to her cold and sweaty forehead. Arms from a faceless and unnamed man grabbing at R before the world turns dark.

And then there is the light of the moon, round and bright against the night time sky that is peppered with stars. R will suddenly find himself in a garden, wild and dilapidated and oddly beautiful, a gentle mist floating close to the ground and casting dewdrops on the uneven blades of grass. The cool and gentle breeze brings with it the scent of honeysuckle. There are two old statues covered in mildew next to a bench encircled with white butterflies.

The bench is occupied by a smiling, young girl, no more than 18. Even if no one mentions it, it seems obvious that her name is Cosette. She is dressed in a white nightgown that seems to glow when it catches the moonlight. When she spots R, her smile widens and her eyes grow large, and she stands up and straightens her gown. The last image R will see is of her running towards him with the unmistakeable look of love in her eyes.

Warning that I am totally Les Mis canon-blind, lemme know if I should change anything :|a

[shambler]

He scoops out the first chunk of brain, still warm and wet, and shovels it into his mouth. R's still moaning softly to himself when it starts, quivering through the roof of his mouth and spreading. It blooms outward like a flower, warm, the first memory coming at R while he sits there in a puddle of the man's blood staining the sand.

His name is Marius Pontmercy.

He looks out of Marius's eyes. Liberté and Courfeyrac, jumping between alive and dead. Marius is in love. He's loved. R basks in what it feels like to be a young man again, the ups and the downs (and there are a lot of downs. A lot of death, so sharp and clear he can almost taste it). The gunpowder stings his nostrils. Bodies. Real bodies. Not corpses. Dead men. Dead boys. Courfeyrac, who can't make up his mind if he's dead or alive.

Arms come up to drag him down. Black. Maybe he's dead, too.

The moon says not yet. Marius opens his eyes and there She is, sitting on the bench as the mist rises off the overgrown garden. The statues, old and pocked with mildew, loom overhead like guardians.

Marius opens his mouth. Something in his chest surges. It dances and leaps and feels like if he's not careful, it'll bleed right out his throat. Cosette!

Cosette!

Next thing R knows, he's still mouthing that name to himself as reality fades back in. His vision slips back into soup. Time jitters and slows to a crawl. He's not Marius with hopes and dreams: he's just one more corpse baking in the desert, his mouth coated with Marius's blood as he grunts and swallows. Marius had a good brain, loaded with experiences that weren't just the Top 10 Best Ways to Kill Zombies. It's a shame, a waste, to only take a bite. R reaches down, cradles what's left almost reverently in his withered claws, and staggers to his feet.

He'll work through the rest later. Take his time learning about the stranger he just murdered. It's too good a brain to pass up. With Marius's help, he'll last a little longer around Wyatt and Max.