thearena | The agony of de-feet

Who | Cecil Palmer and Meg Mitarai
What | A dubiously voluntary team-up!
Where | The Athlete's Foot
Where | First week of the Arena, not terribly long after the Cornucopia
Warnings | Will update as needed!

There was nothing for Cecil at the Cornucopia. He'd taken one look around at the circle of pedestals - so many, more than a hundred - and calculated his chances of both making it out alive and with something in his hands to be less than zero. So, the instant the gong had gone off (after the explosions-- god, the explosions), he had stepped off of his pedestal and wobbled as fast as he could on his skates in the opposite direction. He'd made it to the rim and nearly injured himself flinging his skates off as quickly as he could-- they'd been abandoned, and he'd bolted for (relative) safety in his bare feet.

He was still wearing the clothes he'd been given as he moved among the rows of shoes in the Athlete's Foot. His costume was designed to look like his Avox uniform - white, unadorned, practical - though there was the faint glimmer of threads of copper at cuffs and hems, like twisted electrical wire, and it was substantially tighter. Still, it felt almost familiar, and so he'd run past the clothing store almost without glancing at it.

He was beginning to entertain the thought of staying there, as he frowned at a pair of white running shoes. He could hide here. Avoid anyone else. There were aisles enough to get lost in. ...And there, on the shelf beside him-- he picked up a high heel whose heel must have been seven inches long. Jeez. That was... almost a weapon, wasn't it?

Maybe, he allowed himself to think, as he contemplated the shoe in his hand, he wouldn't fare as badly in this Arena as he'd thought he would.

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At first, it seemed like a giant yawn-fest, especially with that one guy going on and on about peace and not fighting. Wishful thinking that just made her want to roll her eyes. It was always the pretty ones that were the most hopeless.

But then those explosions went off and she shrieked and fell to the ice, luckily landing on the most padded part of her. But now she was cold and there was some blood splatter on her outfit and she was wearing the most impractical shoes for fighting for her life. She skittered off the ice as soon as she could only to have the pleasant revelation of finding the clothing store. Thank everything for malls.

Once she'd changed into something more practical (a very tight pair of jeans and a revealing shirt) she inspected the rest of the store before deciding that while some of the shoes were cute, they weren't good enough, so she left and instead headed into the very conveniently placed shoe store.

Where she found a man inspecting a high heel. She placed her hands on her hips and inspected him. He wasn't much to look at, but he was all right, she supposed.

"You gonna wear that or just admire it all day? Either way, step aside, you're in my way."

Edited 2014-08-21 01:18 (UTC)

At the sound of her approach, Cecil very nearly dropped the heel. He jumped and flinched, all in the same movement, and ended up with his back to the rack of shoes and an expression of unadulterated terror on his face. He raised his hands up in front of his face in unconscious self-defense, his high-heeled weapon dangling useless from his fingers.

For a frantic second, he tried to decide what to do. She was probably going to try to kill him. They were in the Arena - that was the point. So: He could run. He could sprint down the aisle and try to make it back into the corridors of the mall before she came after him to kill him. Or: He could try to kill her first. He could leap at her with his high-heeled shoe and throw her to the ground, and try to beat her head in before... before she....

...No.

He faltered. And then he dropped his hands to his sides, ducked his head, and obeyed.

Just like she'd commanded: He stepped aside, and got out of her way, and waited, his hands trembling (the shoe still in his grip), for... for whatever happened next.

Huh. That was easy, no comment, no resistance, just easy compliance. If only everyone was like that.

"Uh...thanks..." She reached past him and snatched up the shoes she'd spotted before sitting down to slip them on. Still nothing from the guy. She gave him a second look from the ground.

"You're kinda quiet. What? You don't want to talk to me? Fine, whatever, could you at least be a gentleman and help me up?"

She stuck her hand out in expectation. Really, this guy could suddenly knife her out of the blue, but she got the feeling he wasn't really the violent type. Guys that looked at pumps usually weren't.

No, Cecil wasn't the violent type. He hadn't been even before they'd cut his tongue, and much less now. Also, she was right - he didn't want to talk to her, though he could hardly explain why that was.

The command, therefore, was a relief - something to do! Something concrete to accomplish. An order to follow. Even here in the Arena, where nothing was certain, he could fall back on the comforting familiarity of a direct order.

And so, he bent and extended his arm to her, head bowed. He wouldn't touch her, not without her explicit permission, but she was free to pull herself up on his hands, or lean on his shoulder as she stood-- he was at her disposal. Like a piece of furniture.

Not a gentleman! Just an Avox.

She reached for his hand and did in fact pull herself up with it, though she noticed he hadn't really reached for her. Some help!

Once she was up, she gave him a critical look as though sizing him up.

"You really not that talkative." More gazing.

Then something clicks. Maybe it was the white outfit, the muteness or something else. Either way, she snaps her fingers and points directly at him. No manners whatsoever.

"You're one of those Avox people, aren't you!? Why are you here? You're not a tribute!" Pause. "Why am I asking you, you can't even talk." She crossed her arms and looked thoroughly put out. At first, she'd thought they were useful, but then that Albert guy had gone and told her who or what Avoxes really were and it put a damper on the whole thing.

She was wrong. Cecil didn't know how to explain this. He was... it was complicated! He was an Avox, and also a Tribute of District 3, because he had done a terrible thing, and had required a particularly harsh punishment for it. This was the way of things in Panem, he wanted to explain. It was a just and correct system, that punished people who told forbidden truths exactly as they deserved.

He felt bad, that he couldn't explain, and unhappy that he couldn't be of more use to her. It was an unfortunate dilemma - it was his role as an Avox to be useful, but apparently, the fact that he was an Avox made him less useful to her. That wasn't a problem he had encountered before.

The solution, of course, was to be useful - in any way he could think of. And so he glanced over his shoulder at the shelves behind him, scanning them for something-- anything-- ah.

He'd noted the size shoe she'd slipped on, and reached for a pair of running shoes in the same size, proffering her the box without looking into her face. Good for the Arena, right? Useful to have around. The kind of thing that a good Avox thought of before it became a problem. The kind of action that rendered later commands unnecessary. He might have been just an Avox, but he could be useful to her! Right?

This was a real problem. What was she supposed to do now? She'd found the Avoxes useful before, but the truth about them was just so awful, she still couldn't believe something like that just went on without any kind of opposition. It made her mad.

At the same time, he seemed so eager to help her, if offering her the running shoes was any indication.

She looked at them and looked at the ones she'd picked out. Admittedly, his were more functional, considering the situation. And they were red.

"Yeah, okay. I guess those're better. They'll probably last longer, too."

She she went about putting them on. This time, when she was done, she didn't ask for his help standing, instead she considered him a moment before lightly tapping his arm.

"Come on, pretty boy, there's plenty of mall to explore. Stick with me a while." She phrased it as an order even though she said it like a suggestion, she suspected that was the key.

Though there was almost no change in Cecil's expression, it was clear this response came as something of a relief. He'd done something helpful! And she wasn't going to kill him! And she was going to tell him what to do. This was, in Cecil's estimation, as successful a beginning to this Arena as he could have hoped for.

And so he followed her - fell into step right behind her, like a dog at heel, his shoe-weapon still in his hand. There was no reluctance in the motion whatsoever - he was ready to be equal parts servant, ally, and bodyguard.

...He took the other shoebox with him, too-- the one with the shoes she'd discarded in favor of the ones he'd given her. Useful. Totally useful.

The agony of de-feet

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