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WHO| Aunamee, Eponine, and Orc.
WHAT| Aunamee bumps into one of the many trainwreck couples. Hi guys.
WHERE| Sixth Floor (Wax Museum)
WHEN| Week 2
WARNINGS| Sadism and unhealthy relationships.
Aunamee doesn't like the wax sculptures on the sixth floor. They are too human without being human, too life-like without being alive. In this kind of darkness, it would be easy for a Tribute to hide amongst the statues, still and perfect, and attack unaware passerbys who expected only art.
(It would be easy for the statues themselves to move, too.)
Aunamee doesn't plan to linger in this chamber of non-living horrors. He sticks to the corners, the shadows. He does not stray far from the exit.
But then he sees him. Doctor Grey dressed as a prince.
His heart leaps once -- and then again because this is not the reaction he expected. Fear. What does he have to fear about this long dead madman? But this is the feeling in his chest, in his pounding heart, in his constricting veins. Fear. Dread. Desperation.
(Mortality.)
He approaches the statue with slow, even steps, his fingers clutching his crowbar at his side. The gamemakers intended for him to be here, to see this. He is playing right into their hands, and he knows he needs to stop, he must stop, but he doesn't care. He can't care.
He spits in the statue's face.
There, he thinks. That's proper.
(Without warning, he hears Wesker's voice, as loud and clear as the intercom: Remember your place, Aunamee. This is where you belong.)
His fists tremble. His shoulders tense. It takes all of his strength not to bring the crowbar down on that unmoving, lifeless head.
WHAT| Aunamee bumps into one of the many trainwreck couples. Hi guys.
WHERE| Sixth Floor (Wax Museum)
WHEN| Week 2
WARNINGS| Sadism and unhealthy relationships.
Aunamee doesn't like the wax sculptures on the sixth floor. They are too human without being human, too life-like without being alive. In this kind of darkness, it would be easy for a Tribute to hide amongst the statues, still and perfect, and attack unaware passerbys who expected only art.
(It would be easy for the statues themselves to move, too.)
Aunamee doesn't plan to linger in this chamber of non-living horrors. He sticks to the corners, the shadows. He does not stray far from the exit.
But then he sees him. Doctor Grey dressed as a prince.
His heart leaps once -- and then again because this is not the reaction he expected. Fear. What does he have to fear about this long dead madman? But this is the feeling in his chest, in his pounding heart, in his constricting veins. Fear. Dread. Desperation.
(Mortality.)
He approaches the statue with slow, even steps, his fingers clutching his crowbar at his side. The gamemakers intended for him to be here, to see this. He is playing right into their hands, and he knows he needs to stop, he must stop, but he doesn't care. He can't care.
He spits in the statue's face.
There, he thinks. That's proper.
(Without warning, he hears Wesker's voice, as loud and clear as the intercom: Remember your place, Aunamee. This is where you belong.)
His fists tremble. His shoulders tense. It takes all of his strength not to bring the crowbar down on that unmoving, lifeless head.
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He had gone looking for Howard but failing that was returning with some freshly picked raspberries he had found in one of the displays. He'd even eaten one (Or five) to make sure they weren't poisonous.
And so he came into the area holding the bottom of his shirt up like a basket to carry the berries hoping to please Eponine with them.
Unfortunately that's when he saw Aunamee glarring and spitting at a figure.
The berries fell from Orc's shirt as he found himself moving with a sense of urgency. He felt red hot rage boiling up inside him again making the world fade away until all he could see was his intended victim.
He would realize only after he took the first swing that he was holding a heavy pole. The kind they would hang velvet ropes from to keep people from touching the exhibits. And now he was hoping to break bones with it.
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He threw himself backwards and away from his attacker, the pole making a neat whoosh as it glided through the air, just barely missing his head. He scrambled, gasped, attempting to knock the wax figure down in front of Orc's path. He needed to build some distance. He needed to escape.
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He remembered the last time he saw stars, how shortly afterwords, he was beaten to death with Wyatt's fists.
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And then she had had enough. "STOP IT." She shouted out from her place in the line up. "Orc, stop right now, this instant. Don't you dare hurt him!"
She charged out of the line, tripping over Lottie's long gown, and towards where the men were. She knelt down immediately, pulling Aunamee's head to her, and stroking her finger down his face.
"Monsieur, are you okay?"
To Orc, she simply glared up and said, "You promised you would not hurt him again."
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He blinked looking confused, then startled, hurt and jealous, and then finally ashamed.
His fingers were so tight it was actually hard to let go and let the pool fall from his hand. He wouldn't say anything, what could he say? All he could do was alternate between loathing looks at Aunamee and ashamed guilt at Eponine and starring at his shoes.
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Aunamee's voice was distant and his eyes were wide. He felt maddeningly weak and yet so incredibly protected, and the contrast was enough to knock his world out of alignment. Fear and hatred bubbled up against relief and joy. Eponine was the key to ending his loneliness. Eponine saved him when no one else would.
He shuddered. In Eponine's arms, drowning in both anger and satisfaction, he was only a child.
"Did you make him promise that for me?"
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"I don't want him to hurt you, M'sieur. And you must promise the same, not to hurt him. He is my man, and I will not have either of you fighting. Do you hear?"
She looked up at Orc when she said that. It applied to him, too.
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...no Charles. He had to stop thinking like Orc. That's what had caused this mess.
Charles however felt sick to his stomach watching her fawn over him. It was a new kind of sick he was unfamiliar with. It twisted in his guts like the worms out in the cabbage fields he'd worked so hard in not a year ago.
When she looked up at him he looked away suddenly feeling ashamed ontop of sick. He suddenly wanted to leave the room but found himself rooted to the spot.
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Aunamee made the conscious effort to blink his eyes back into focus, settling his attention on Orc. His gaze was not angry so much as sharp. His pupils pealed at the boy like a thousand razors.
"Of course," he said. He was regaining himself, bit by bit. His voice was no longer so distant, no longer so lost. "I will not hurt him. I promise. Our score has been evened, after all."
He sat up, but not before taking Eponine's hand and giving it a single squeeze, a single thank you.
"Provided Orc agrees."
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She tried to ease Aunamee into a sitting position so that she could stand up, and put her arms right around Orc.
"Won't you, Charles? We are a team, are we not? We will work together to win the arena." She looked up at him, and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. And then she glanced back at Aunamee, secretly looking for more of his approval.
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But his body stiffened when she suggested they form a team.
There was no way Howard would agree to this thing. And saying no would surely upset Eponine. Why couldn't she see what a terrible person Aunamee is?
For a moment he considered trying to be clever, trying to lie and pretend to play along long enough to kill Aunamee, but that caused the knot in his stomach to turn to lead.
Curling the fingers in his good hand on the back of her shirt his indecision caused him to whimper softly.
"What about Howard?" He mumbled softly to her, unwilling to speak to Aunamee.
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He stands.
"I did promise Eponine that I would help her," he said. "And I am a man of my word."
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"He is a nasty boy, Charles. I wish you would forget him." She hugged Charles close as she spoke, but then she took a step away, and held her hand out to Aunamee.
"He's not a good man, but we are not good people. And he... he is strong. We need M'sieur Aunamee, Charles. Don't worry. I shall look after you. I will not let him touch you." She looked at Aunamee the entire time she spoke, well aware that she was playing with fire - more than aware that it would be her who was burned.
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"I'm worried about you and my best friend." He wouldn't take his eyes off Aunamee either but his look was full of a slow building determination. If he couldn't be angry then he would be determined to make up for his past.