Eva Salazar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vissernone) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2013-11-07 04:25 pm
vissernone) wrote in thearena2013-11-07 04:25 pm
Entry tags:
The Peace of Mind and Seeds That We Sow [Closed]
Who| Eva Salazar, Marius Pontmercy and Cosette
What| Eva gets her first victim.
When| Week 3
Where| The jungle
Warnings| Death and violence
The juice she's used to poison her spear tip drips down the handle of the spear and covers her hand like blood. She lies in wait, hunkered down with her back to the trunk of a tree, resting on the balls of her feet so she can leap up when the opportune moment comes.
And the opportune moment is coming, to the sound of two sets of legs crushing leaves and sticks through the jungle. It's hard to hear in this Arena - the insects buzzing and the humidity make everything muffled, and the ground wears a suffocating fog like a warm hat - but listening carefully, Eva's rewarded by the occasional sound of quiet voices.
Eva tells herself she doesn't like killing. She never imagined herself a killer before she was reaped nearly forty year ago. But she's becoming more and more keenly aware how pathetic a lie that is. Doesn't her blood pound in her ears when she levies her spear at someone? Doesn't the hair on her arms and the nape of her neck prick with anticipation? She'd be a liar to call it fear. It's excitement.
It's revenge.
Her clothes, once the goldenrod color of her District, are muddy and stained with sweat. Her hair is tied in a knot to keep it out of her face, and a twig serves as something of a hairpin. Her breath is even, steadying not nerves but the sense of thrill that attempts to crawl up out of her.
She grips the spear close as the voices approach.
What| Eva gets her first victim.
When| Week 3
Where| The jungle
Warnings| Death and violence
The juice she's used to poison her spear tip drips down the handle of the spear and covers her hand like blood. She lies in wait, hunkered down with her back to the trunk of a tree, resting on the balls of her feet so she can leap up when the opportune moment comes.
And the opportune moment is coming, to the sound of two sets of legs crushing leaves and sticks through the jungle. It's hard to hear in this Arena - the insects buzzing and the humidity make everything muffled, and the ground wears a suffocating fog like a warm hat - but listening carefully, Eva's rewarded by the occasional sound of quiet voices.
Eva tells herself she doesn't like killing. She never imagined herself a killer before she was reaped nearly forty year ago. But she's becoming more and more keenly aware how pathetic a lie that is. Doesn't her blood pound in her ears when she levies her spear at someone? Doesn't the hair on her arms and the nape of her neck prick with anticipation? She'd be a liar to call it fear. It's excitement.
It's revenge.
Her clothes, once the goldenrod color of her District, are muddy and stained with sweat. Her hair is tied in a knot to keep it out of her face, and a twig serves as something of a hairpin. Her breath is even, steadying not nerves but the sense of thrill that attempts to crawl up out of her.
She grips the spear close as the voices approach.
no subject
She doesn't stop to grapple with the bow and arrow; it isn't worth taking the injury. Instead, she leaps back into the undergrowth, letting the net of branches, leaves and tree trunks serve as a barrier between her and Marius' arrowpoint. And she makes her escape, leaving the lovers and remorse far, far behind her.
no subject
So he hesitates, the hand that has nocked the arrow trembling slightly, the pause being enough for her to escape without difficulty.
"Madame Salazar?" It's soft and puzzled and hurt all at the same time, although it's said more to himself than anyone else.
But he has little time dwelling in his emotions of anger and betrayal for long. Immediately, he drops the bow and arrow, rushing towards Cosette and kneeling beside her. He reaches for her arm and inspects it, feeling the tears prick at his eyes when he witnesses the bright red blood seep through the horrid gash.
"I'm sorry." He hurriedly searches their belongings for some kind of cloth to wrap around the cut. Finding none, he uses the tip of an arrow to make an initial cut on the hem of his sweat-stained shirt, before tearing out a considerable enough piece. All the while he repeats, "Forgive me. I didn't—I should have seen her... I'm sorry, Cosette."
no subject
But the next thing she knew, he was at her side, apologizing to her and tearing some of his shirt to dress the wound. "It was not your fault, mon cher," she whispered breathlessly as her free hand smoothed over his arm. Tears sprang from the corners of her eyes, but for his sake, she had to stay strong.
no subject
And of course he was at fault, although he did not speak his guilt aloud. Instead, he took in deep breaths to further calm himself, then tried for a reassuring smile at her.
He wrapped his arms around her and shifted so that her weight rested against him. "I cannot guarantee that the pain will stop, but..." He reached out to gently brush away stray locks of gold from her face. "Can you walk, at least?"