Time to die

[makeflowersgrow]

WHO | Eponine and Draco
WHAT | Eponine goes scavenging at the Cornucopia and meets a sticky end.
WHEN | About a week in.
WHERE | The Cornucopia
WARNINGS / NOTES Death. Blood, violence, gore. Maybe even tears from Eponine.



It's been a week now. It's been a long, cold week. Eponine's spent most of her time huddled in a tree, trying not to think about how hungry she was and how much she wanted a gulp of water. She risked it, just one trip a day to the nearest water source, grabbing bits of grass or berries as she ran. Or, as it came towards the week mark, staggered. She was hungry - as hungry as she had been in France. She knew that the bits of grass weren't adequate food substitutes. Her vision was already getting blurry. The world around her was wavering and spinning and she was beginning to see people that turned out only to be trees, and to hear the sounds of canon fire when all was still. She needed food.

She had no choice. If she didn't find something to eat, she was going to die. Slowly, she made her way back to the Cornucopia. There was food there, if the others had left anything. Maybe they were all dead? Eponine hadn't seen anybody since she had run into Thor on that first day.

It took her over two hours to stagger back to the Cornucopia. It was the longest, by far, that she had gone completely without food and with only a bit of water, she was constantly dizzy. But at last she made it. Baack to the stands that had propelled them upwards into this hell hole. Eponine was actually quite proud of herself. She had got all the way here and met nobody. Was that through her own stealth or because the others were dead?

She looked around the Cornucopia warily, hoping that nobody was inside. But then - what was that on the floor? Bread? A whole loaf! Eponine forgot her fear in her joy at finding food. She hadn't even had a whole loaf in France. She bent down to pick it up, and, leaning against the side of the Cornucopia, tore off a morsel and shoved it in her mouth, chewing slowly. Never, ever, had bread tasted so good.

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[makeflowersgrow]

Eponine whimpered again as he hissed. It hurt, hurtso much. She could feel blood beginning to trickle down her neck. Montparnasse had never cut her this much. Eponine tried to swallow, but she tasted blood and spat out.

"Come back?" Her whisper is gurgled. Tears began to form and spill down her cheeks. Don't mange moi. You aren't an atiguer."

She's urging him not to kill her. She's telling him he isn't a killer, but in her panic, her pain, only argot will come to her mind. But her words are hollow. She doesn't know Draco from Adam. How does she know he isn't a killer? Her instinct is to kick and she tries to again, though she keeps her neck as still as possible so the knife doesn't cut deeper. Tears are coming faster and faster, and somewhere, in the back of her mind, she's ashamed. "Don't kill me."

[mudbloodhater]

Only Draco really knew that he wasn't a killer, but that was when he was sane, when logic came to him a hell of a lot easier than it seemed to around these parts. All he knew was that he didn't have anyone to talk to, didn't have his magic, didn't have anything that made him who he was. What was one more little loss of self?

He grunted again when she kicked back, her foot catching him in the shin, sending shooting pains up through his leg. He stumbled a little, his grip barely faltering on her, the blade cutting a little deeper. The blond squeezed his eyes shut, and just tried to imagine how a death like this might be quickest. If it even could be. Magic was so much cleaner than this; he could already feel her blood on his hands.

He drew the knife back from her throat, not even listening to her any more as he drove the knife into her throat, imagining it would be a considerably faster death than if he were to try and find her internal organs. Inexplicably, a little whimper escaped his throat as he loosened his grip on her a little bit.

[makeflowersgrow]

Eponine made a funny noise as he plunged the knife in; a gasp and a yelp and a sort of hoarse squeal all at the same time. And that would be the last proper sound she made. At least for this arena. As Draco's grip loosened, Eponine slumped against him, too weak to stand up unsupported now. Blood cascaded from her neck and sprayed out onto the floor, splashing back into her face and obviously down her clothes. Draco, too, must be drenched in the sticky red liquid. At least it would make a good show for the Capitol citizens.

Eponine herself was in shock. The pain was unbearable; she could feel that she was dying. It was quick, too, coming fast. Her vision was blackening around the edges as she stared blindly into the gloom. She was dying. But damnit if she'd show how scared she was. By now, Draco would be supporting all of her weight or else she was crumpled on the ground in front of him. Eponine could barely recognise whether she was stood or not. Not that it made any difference. She was practically dead two seconds after he plunged the knife in.

[mudbloodhater]

Clearly unused to any kind of mess, Draco all but dropped her the moment the splatter of blood hit him, letting her crumple as he stumbled backwards again. Still, his head was no clearer, he still felt like he was burning up from head to toe, and now there was a dead girl; he could barely put two and two together, save the fact that he was very clearly covered in her blood. One cursory glance down told him all he needed to know, and he gagged, barely managing to stumble a few feet away, out of the Cornucopia's familiar shell before he threw up. Unsure of whether or not it was the illness or the murder he'd just committed, Draco found himself wobbling in place before falling to his knees, coughing until all he could taste was bile in the back of his throat. Hands shaking, he finally managed to pick himself up, stumbling in a daze back to her body so he could retrieve his knife, holding it out as he began to wobble somewhere he could wipe the drying blood off it and his hands alike. The costume - because that was indeed what it was - they'd provided him with was all but wasted now, splattered with Eponine's blood and dirt. At least it had been made to take some abuse.