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

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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.

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"Son of a bitch."

Clearly, De did remember her.

You always remember your first.

Although De had beat her the first time, she knew it was just as much luck as skill. The woman was tough. And she didn't seem to be in anyway compromised by their situation. De took a step back, reaching for her weapons.

Of course this had to happen when Sam had walked away. Of course.

"Most people just go with 'bitch', honestly. I must be getting really frazzled if I'm getting 'son'." Venus smiles, one corner of her mouth twitching up and forming a dimple.

She nods her head at the bathroom door that Sam went through. Odds are he'll be out any second now, and the more time she wastes the more likely she'll have to take two on one.

She decides to cut it short by charging De now.

A morose sort of fog has come over little barricade. Once a place of relative optimism, it is now shrouded in sadness. One by one the inhabitants had been killed, first Joly, then Marius and Cosette, then little X5-452. The only one left in the barricade is Courfeyrac, alone with his tent and his sleeping bag and the remnants of supplies. Alone with his .38 pistol. He is on high alert now, though he isn't sure if his heart is in the fight anymore. The idea that he should be left by himself with nothing but a gun for company chills him to the core.

The only distraction he's had from his loneliness has been the arrival of his own gift basket from Marius. Chocolates, wine, a small wheel of fancy cheese, strawberry-kiwi scented massage oil, and a stuffed pink Shiba Inu plushie with a red bandana. It was useless and ridiculous and Courfeyrac couldn't help but feel disgusted and exasperated every time he looked at it. Why couldn't he have sent something useful? Like more bullets. More bullets would definitely be beneficial.

His sorrow is interrupted by the sound of steady knocking in the distance. He recognizes the pattern but is still on edge, just in case some enemy has figured out the old code. With his pistol shoved into the waist of his pants, he pokes his head out of the barricade to look.

"... Venus? Is that you, my dear?"

"The one and only."

She knows by now that Courfeyrac is alone here, and the temptation is high to just invite him back to the cafe that she and Kankri have occupied. She'll have to ask Kankri, but she's worried about Courfeyrac. Even if he's more rounded than Enjolras, survivor's guilt, fatigue, loneliness or just flat-out stress can break a man down.

She waddles over, laden down not so much by the limp but by the extravagant basket, and as she approaches snickers at the sight of similar silver balloons popping over Courfeyrac's own basket.

"Tell me that's not from the same person."

Kankri keeps a vigilant watch for both of them. Changes his bandages, changes hers when she'll let him. He doesn't try to talk about what made her so angry in the first place, even though he knows it must have stung her badly.

There's nowhere to go scavenging for food or most other things now, so mostly they stay where they are or patrol the floor. So much of their time is spent in awkward silence now, both of them unwilling to say much of anything for fear of breaking this thing they have apart again.

It's hard, for him. He wants so badly to help Venus, to look after her, to make things better for her. But for now, while she sleeps, he contents himself with keeping an eye on the fever that's come with her infection, replacing the towels with fresh, damp ones while she sleeps.

Without her medicine, Venus doesn't dream. Sleep is a blank grey blur, an overcast sky, wet paper stretching through her mind for hours until she wakes. And in many ways, that's a relief, because when she wakes up her world is a ball of twine inside her head, tangled and spiky and awkward.

She wakes up with a bit of a squint, some subconscious attempt to escape the sweat on her brow from her fever. She wipes it away with the towel she's been using to cover her face from the lights like some parrot in a cage, and looks over at Kankri's back as he keeps vigil. She finds a fresh towel under her head.

She reaches up and her cheeks are wet.

There's no time like the present. "Hey," she says to Kankri, and the apology is in her voice if not her words. It's a tentative, shy sound.

"That all depends," he answers, indicating with his hands that Venus should make herself right at home at the tent. After removing the pistol he tucks it aside carefully, but within arm's length, then settles down himself. "Is yours from the married idiot or from the unattached one?"

Of course he can make assumptions about her basket. There's no way on Hell that Enjolras would neglect her in the arena. Courfeyrac recognizes this fact and finds it both admirable and exceedingly pathetic in turn. Part of him feels mildly abandoned. Part of him feels enraged that both Enjolras and Marius would send them baskets filled with chocolates but lacking an actual meal. The soft cheese spread in his basket certainly doesn't count.

"Mine is from Marius. As you can plainly see, he included a highly inspirational note." He narrows his eyes and points to the attached paper. It reads: 'May morta evade you, or hand you a valiant death.' Courfeyrac stares at it again. "It's all very Shakespearean, wouldn't you agree?"

"Mine's from you-know-who." She clambers into the barricade and sits down, eager to rest her injured leg. Her cheeks are flush with a fever she hasn't been able to kick. "And that's just morbid. Anyway, you should get a laugh out of this."

She hands him the note that came with it. I know of only one duty, and that is to love. -Enjolras

As much as she is presenting it as a joke, there's also a clear question on her face, an uncertainty in her eyes. How is she to take this? What is she supposed to divine from any of this?

Courfeyrac wrinkles his nose in mock disgust. It isn't the contents of the note which trouble him so much as the author and the lack of clarity in his intentions. Courfeyrac has been in love more times than he can remember, but never has he been so needlessly or cruelly opaque in his pursuits. As Enjolras' friend (and the man who knew him best out of everyone in the Capitol) he's horrified at that behavior, and he doesn't intend for Venus to suffer heartache on behalf of his idiot compatriot.

"That doesn't even sound like him," he announces, tossing the note over his shoulder in a dramatic show. Indeed, he's never known Enjolras (not even a lovesick Enjolras) to say anything so overtly romantic. "And besides that, he's a fool if he thinks you can survive off of bonbons and sugary wine. If he were properly doing his duty and truly loving you, would he not supply you with more substantive food? And why not send a basket to me as well? Have I not been a loyal and faithful lieutenant to him? Did I not fight and die at his side?"

That is likely of little solace to Venus, he realizes. In fact, it's likely to be more troubling than anything else. So he decides to offer a distraction of sorts. He smiles and roots around in his basket to pull out the wheel of cheese. "Here we are. We should eat our dinner before we move ahead to dessert. We do not want the wine to go straight to us, do we?"

It would be a nice break from their misery. An evening of wine and chocolate and cheese. It doesn't matter that it is cheap and can't hold a candle to the inexpensive delicacies of Paris. What matters is forgetting about the death all around them and the stupidity of their friends, if only for the evening.

"It's a Camus quote. He hasn't sent you anything this Arena? I thought you were at least getting...you know, nevermind." She takes the note, back, a sad little frown sneaking into the corners of her mouth. And she sighs, not the heavy sigh of exasperation but the little mew of air that she can't quite keep inside her. "He makes me feel so...used up, sometimes."

She stretches her legs and starts to pull things out of her basket. She's brought too easily to tears the last few days, probably a side-effect of not having her medication, and she isn't going to waste precious water on Enjolras right now. She'll thank him to the cameras later, and then more importantly, ask for clarification when she's revived again.

"I think there are worse things we could do than have wine go straight to our heads. Here, let's do the chocolate too." She pulls a caramel out of her box and tosses it over onto Courfeyrac's lap, then pulls a bottle out of the basket. "Bubble bath? Where the hell does he think we'll get bubble bath?"

Sam emerges just in time to see someone rushing De, and he flies into action on instinct. Never mind they're all there to kill each other. Never mind he'd almost taken care of De when they'd first met. He knows her, for some limited value of "know" that's relative but there just the same. It's the brotherhood of wartime, he tells himself. Strange bedfellows, and all that. Whatever it is, De's not this woman's to kill. So Sam yells and runs towards them, forgetting that he's left his machete with De for her own safety.

He hadn't the slightest idea as to who this Camus person was, but he resolved that he would ask Enjolras about it once he was dead. Such a depressing thought.

"He sent something, in the beginning. I have been unfair in my description of him." It was inaccurate to claim he'd been abandoned by his friend. He had the sleeping bag and the knife thanks to Enjolras. He and Marius and Cosette had eaten well in the first few weeks thanks to Enjolras' generosity. That said, it had been four weeks since he'd received anything at all, not even a note of encouragement. However, the more Courfeyrac thought of it, the more it made sense. Enjolras was not sentimental by nature. His passions existed in another realm. He dealt with life and loss and love and death in a way that Courfeyrac sought to understand but never really could. And if he, who had known and studied with Enjolras for years could not fully master his nature, how could Venus be expected to understand him innately?

"Our friend's favor always come with a tax. We each must decide if we are willing to pay in order to welcome him into our sphere. He is more intense than anyone I have ever known and I love him for that. And one cannot burn with such heat or light without engulfing their surroundings. If you choose closeness, you implicitly accept that he may light a fire in you as well."

Catching the caramel easily, he popped the confection into his mouth, savoring the sweetness. It wasn't like the candies from home, but it would do.

"Perhaps he is sending a message that you should make use of it before you return to him." It was smart and a little cruel, but he was certain Venus would not think him too rude in the moment. "It is alright. Marius felt I could benefit from strawberry massage oils."

"It might just be a Valentine's Day discount thing. Doesn't explain the note, though." In a way, it's comforting that Enj hasn't been lavishing attention on her at Courfeyrac's expense. It makes it easier to think it's just about friendship and not whatever else this might be.

"I'm used to intense personalities." Just not ones with depth, Venus is realizing. The intensity is all on the surface, a vivacious desperation that everyone in her line of work has, a willful self-delusion to believe that drowning themselves in glory and attention to cover up the lack of solid conscience at their core. "And I don't burn out easy."

No one who cares about anything that matters makes it to the top of Hollywood.

She waves a hand at Courfeyrac, snorting (although that has the unfortunate effect of a weird whistle as some of the air from her nose escapes the slash across her face instead of her nostrils). "Massage oils? And here you are without a girl to apply them. Whatever will you do?"

She reaches over to examine his cheeses.

De's moving into action before Sam burst out, scrambling backwards around a display to avoid Venus, and she's glad he's there to fight with her.

But they haven't exactly perfected their tandem fighting skills yet. And she's a little bit rusty at fighting in pairs as of late.

"Watch it Sam!" She calls, scrambling for his weapon and trying to figure out how to get it to him, without just making the whole thing worse.

Now there's two, and as far as Venus can tell Sam's in fine shape. She breaks away from De just in time to avoid a sock to the side of the head, instead aiming a punch for Sam's groin.

Her best option is to wound one and then escape. Her bad leg twinges as she throws another kick at De, this time axing downwards to try and break her arm before she grabs the machete. Get a weapon in this fray and someone's going to end up either demolishing everyone or accidentally killing themselves.

"Ah, but this could be easily remedied, yes? After all, I have a lovely lady joining me for a delicious cheese dinner." Nothing skeevy, he promises. "Perhaps she could like a nice foot massage to take her mind off of... everything."

It isn't as if they can save this stuff and bring it back to the Capitol with them once the Arena is over. Which is a shame, really. The stuff may not be especially nice, but it would be a pity to see it go to waste.

As Venus examines the cheese, Courfeyrac uses his folding knife to pry the cork out of one of the bottles of wine. He doesn't even pause before taking a long swig of it.

"Not bad. I've had worse." He offers the bottle to her.

"Only if the gentleman would be up for a back massage, so I don't have to feel indebted. And only if the gentleman doesn't mind my gross manky toes." All the polish is peeling off, because apparently giftshop 'Rapunzel gold' nail art isn't high quality.

She takes the bottle from him and takes a swig. She winces a little at the bitterness - tastebuds are still something she's getting used to - and passes it back, nodding that it's not absolutely terrible.

"Have you been holding up okay back here?"

"I would never turn down a free back massage," he answers cheerfully, and while he isn't familiar with the term 'manky' and assumes it cannot be good, he has already made the offer and will not renege. However, his expression becomes a bit more melancholy then. "I do not know if Enjolras ever mentioned me to you before I arrived, but if he had, I am certain he would have explained to you that I am a social creature. I crave the company of others. I live for it. And these last several days alone... well..."

They've been torture for him. Still, he can't find it in him to leave the barricade just yet.

"He did explain that."

Venus wets her lips, both out of concern and to wipe the taste of the wine off her tongue before she loads more into her palate. The cheese doesn't go with it at all.

She decides right then that Kankri will have to just learn to deal. She doubts he'll have too much of a problem with it anyway.

"We have room in the cafe, you know. It'd let you get some good sleep, at the very least."

Courfeyrac closes his eyes, gnawing his lower lip. He isn't sure he's ready to give up the barricade just yet. Part of his feels as if that would be too close to surrendering. Marius and the others had helped him build the damn thing. He feels, on some level, that he owed it to them to stay and protect it, foolish as that was.

"I do not know..." His voice trails off, going a little hoarse. "I am not ready to leave yet."

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)

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Find Somebody Else That We Can Blame [Closed]

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