(no subject)

[shambler]

Who| R/Eponine, R/Howard [CLOSED]
What| R is guilted into handing over what little food he has to Eponine. Later he then runs into Howard and sets off the gift shop alarm like a scrub.
Where| Level 1 – Eponine delivery. Level 2/gift shop and elevator area for Howard.
When| Very early Week 1,
Warnings/Notes| Nothing so far

Eponine

He guesses it’s almost night when he sneaks into the elevator. Before it hadn’t mattered much: he’d shuffled, looked up every now and then, and it didn’t mean a thing if the sun was out or the moon was cold in the sky. It was what it was. Un-life did its thing. Now it suddenly seemed to matter. The darkness meant more cover, meant maybe if he couldn’t see the other Tributes, they couldn’t see him either.

Hopefully Eponine’s still there.

The mezzanine at night is…creepy. Let’s just get it out of the way: it’s plain creepy. Shadows have grown even larger and maybe it’s because he used to be a zombie, but he keeps expecting to see them shift and groan and drip blood. The dust on the floor’s been disturbed, other people have been through here, and R catches himself wondering if she could’ve gotten caught by the other Tributes between now and then. It’s possible. He’s eaten Eponine: he knows she’s not much of a fighter. Praying he’s wrong, R creeps toward the row of posters and stands there. His hand dips into his pajama’s pocket where the donut sits, squished and a little stale, flakes of glazed sugar stuck against the cotton. Still there. At least he didn’t somehow lose it.

He turns on the spot, his other hand in his pocket because he’s not sure what to do with it. It’s still awkward like that, compared to when he’d been Dead. Back then it was either let them flop at your sides or you held them up to grab people. Now what? Clear his throat? Wait for an hour?

"Eponine?" He braves a whisper. It sounds too loud in the dark. "It's me, you there?"


Howard Bassem

It’s Day 2 and this time R’s counting compared to the last Arenas. He can’t read any of the signs or the maps but he can still do basic counting up to a certain point and he’s on Day 2 of his first Arena as human. His stomach flip-flops, aches for that donut he gave away, and his throat feels dry. Thirsty. He’s thirsty, R thinks, which is a new sensation that he had trouble identifying the first time it happened. This new body of his is downright demanding compared to his old one: it wants human food, water, sleep, has headaches for no reason he can tell. His arms and legs fell asleep when he curled up behind a display, trying to keep his feet from poking out and betraying his position.

Apparently marble tiles don’t make for a good night’s sleep.

They’re still tingly after R wakes up in the morning, gray light filtering through curtains drawn over the windows. He had a scare at first when he tried to uncurl, his spine corpse-stiff, and realized he couldn’t feel his hands. Jesus, did I die again? was his first panicked thought. Is the Cure rejecting me? Then the pain hit as blood circulated. No choice but to ride it out and wonder if that was normal for a Living boy.

Now he’s up and about, trying to figure out what he should do for today. Look for more food for Eponine, he guesses, and something for himself. Now that he’s alive, he can’t just coast for weeks on a bite of hot flesh here and there. So food first. Find the others. Try to stay alive. Hope he does better here than he did by that river that got him infected in the first place. Don’t make those mistakes again. Too bad he doesn’t remember what those mistakes were, but, you know. It’s the thought that counts.

He must’ve done something right between yesterday and today because the elevator dings and it opens with a present. A sponsor package sits there. No one steps out. R waits for someone to rush out and claim it, his heart doing a number in his chest all over again. Silence. Looking left and right, feeling oddly guilty, he hurries over to it and crouches, his fingers fumbling with the wrapping. A note in glitter pen flutters to the floor.

Howard can find R crouched over with his back to the rest of second floor, still wrestling with his sponsor gift.

Comments

[alonelyboy]

The relief blossoms out almost like blood, R staring at Eponine dumbly as he registers she’s screwing with him. That’s what she’s doing? His eyes dart from her face, barely visible in the dark, to the shard of glass in her hand catches what little light is there. It’s definitely a weapon. He’s seen zombies go down to smaller chunks right through the eye socket. You learned to respect glass as a weapon. He can believe it could slice open a jugular or three, easy. R’s banking on it not being his own jugular today.

Eponine pops out in a pink dress that’s got so many frills he imagines it could be its own set of armor. Or a trip hazard, but someone trying to jump her might have enough trouble with all the ruffles. Where’d she even get that?

"Uh, thanks. For the tip," I think. R's still trying to figure out if she'll take revenge on him right now or what. For some reason he keeps glancing at that glass shard, the worry plastered all over his face. "Thanks for not murdering me."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the donut. It's seen better days but it's still intact. Trying to keep his wince to himself, R holds out the donut to Eponine like a peace offering.

[gardienne]

"For me?" She pushes the knife into the wire holding her bodice close to her chest. Who had sent her wire is beyond Eponine - but she doesn't bother. She uses it to tighten the dress to her. And it makes a convenient storage for weapons.

She snatches the doughnut from R, and starts to munch straight away. "Oh - oh, it's good! Where did you find it?"

[alonelyboy]

R doesn't mean to jerk his hand back - it just happens, as if there's a part of him convinced she'll bite his fingers off in her hurry to get at the donut. "This guy called Hans gave it to me. Said there's hundreds of pastries around here."

He pauses to give Eponine time to chew without choking, staring in morbid fascination as she packs it away. Talk about impressive. It takes R a moment to remember he has a voice.

"Maybe it's vending machines. Or cafes?" R's thinking aloud, trying to distract himself from Eponine and also jog his memory of places like this. All the background stuff the new hunger (used to) file as unimportant, trivial. Now all of a sudden it's important again. "Food places. Like cafeterias..."

He trails off again to stare at Eponine.

[gardienne]

"What?" She had been licking her fingers for any crumbs or bits of chocolate that had stuck to them. But when she realises that he's staring, she moves her hands, almost instinctively, to her bit of glass.

"Why are you staring at me?"

His comments about cafes and Hans barely register - though in time to come, she'll remember the cafe idea and wonder if strange places like this always have cafes. But for now... well, she's cross. Again.

[alonelyboy]

She seems to spend a lot of time like that. R realizes he's been caught been rude, seeing her staring back. Awkward. Ducking his head, he clears his throat and shuffles his feet, feeling like this probably would've been easier if he'd been a zombie again: at least he would've had an excuse for staring.

"It's nothing," R lies. It doesn't come naturally to him. Things aren't good between Eponine and him, but she's still a girl and he'd like to be polite if possible. Telling her the way she packs away a donut is a little scary probably won't help matters. "You like the donut though, right? I should look for more like that?"

[gardienne]

"You're lying." She shrugs. "Fine. Do not tell me. I ought to expect that, no? Everyone lies to me. Next you shall tell me that I look beautiful." With another hoarse laugh, she lets go of the material clutched in her hand, and spins. In any other location, she'd be ridiculous. Here, in an arena of death, ludicrous.

"You know, at home, Montparnasse used to dress me up like this, sometimes, in the dresses he took from the ladies he killed. He liked to see me wear them so that he could laugh at me. He would say, 'Oh, you are so ugly. Look. A slut all tarted up to look like a lady. Can't hide those teeth of yours, can you, 'Ponine?'"

She advances on R. "But you wouldn't say it, would you, Monsieur? Think it, if you like. I don't care. You can say it, if you like. If you keep bringing me food. I like ice cream, Monsieur."

[alonelyboy]

So much for showing some tact: he seriously needs to work on his poker face. R's expression goes from a cringe at the critical levels of awkward to horrified as Eponine talks about this Montparnasse. The sad thing is he can believe it: survival turns people into...Others and they do awful things, things that make even zombies look good in comparison. R has the urge to reach out, take her hand as if that would help. The look in her eyes tells him he better keep his hands to himself.

"You're - we. We talked about this, didn't we?" R's not sure this is the best place to have this conversation but clearly he wasn't the best judge of time and place to begin with. His eyebrows knit together, a little line appearing between them as he frowns. "I don't think you're ugly, Eponine, I think you're - "

He cuts off. Not ugly, but not Julie. It's hard to explain. What he does know is she has major self-esteem problems that are even more glaring now that he's alive. Before that Dead fog had buffered him against her words, in a way. Now R's aware of their hard edges, that way her sentences rush together as if she's in a hurry to say all the hurtful things before anyone else can.

R sighs. It sounds a little like his old groaning. "I'll look for more stuff, okay? Where should I leave it if I can't find you under the benches?" He wants to keep her hands off his ankles. Next time his Cured heart might give out if she keeps pulling those stunts.

[gardienne]

He can't say it. He cannot tell her what she wants to hear. He cannot just lie to her and tell her that she's beautiful. He can't even think of something half complimentary to say to her.

She closes her eyes and takes a breath. There are no tears left. There's nothing to be upset about. In the long and short of things, her ugliness is nothing. She has bigger problems.

"Well, fine then." She spits out. She hopes her voice doesn't shake. "Fine. Bring food for me. I am staying on the sixth floor. You might find me there."

And that's a wrap?

[alonelyboy]

That hadn't gone well, had it? R can see something shift behind her eyes, realizes he probably did the wrong thing by not committing. Again. If he'd been faster on his feet, maybe he could've come up with a compliment, something to reassure her. R watches as Eponine closes herself off even more in front of him, her eyes hard.

"Okay, sure," R says. At this point, he's starting to hit the "flight" part of fight-or-flight. He doesn't even ask what's up there, or how he'll know if she's still there - still alive - just slowly edges around the Roosevelt statue back toward the elevators. Away from her judging stare. Anything at this point.

He needs to get out. Feels stuffy and weird in the room despite its size.

R turns and fast-walks back to the elevator, the fine hairs on the back of his neck raised. It's when he lurches inside and hits the button that R realizes he was unconsciously waiting for Eponine to stab him with her glass shard.