Venus Dee Milo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
celebrityskinned) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-12-14 09:55 pm
celebrityskinned) wrote in thearena2014-12-14 09:55 pm
Entry tags:
I'm Just Trying to Take This New Skin for a Spin [Open]
WHO| Venus Dee Milo and open!
WHAT| Various Arena encounters.
WHEN| First week of the Arena.
WHERE| Anywhere you want!
WARNINGS| None yet.
She has a map now.
Over the last few days, making about one 'jump' an hour or so, Venus has cased out the ground floor of the space port and gathered supplies for herself, Jet and Albert. Some of it's food, some of it's water, some are just sharp pieces of metal or strange vials that she's certain could make for a decent weapon. A strip of spacesuit cloth, tied over the edges of the upturned helmet, has transformed it into a handy messenger bag, and she's sure that the design will be all the rage in the Capitol soon. She's filled it each time with whatever scraps might help them last the weeks and track down the people who most definitely won't be winning.
She can tell by the way her skin seems to hum when she's done teleporting that she's been pushing it lately, and because she's with people willing to call her out on it, she rests. She sleeps while Albert keeps watch, keeping the injured Jet company while he takes his turns. She eats from the little dehydrated packets and she doesn't do more than two 'jumps' in an hour if she can help it. She makes sure to clean the makeshift bandage on the stab wound in the side of her chest on the regular. After they figure out the pattern to the gravity failures, she makes sure that they're all strapped in to the ground for the twice-hourly jolt.
When she teleports, it's nearly painful to see, a trick of the eye as reality arranges itself in perverse ways to squeeze her out of the dimension and back into it. She seems shrouded in the afterglow of lights that clutter up an eye after a flash, and then disappears into a blind spot that vision should not have allowed. She emerges in the same way, silently but preceded with the colorful blots of the optic nerve going haywire. And when she's crawled out of the pocket dimension she travels through, she only sometimes remembers to apologize for startling anyone she comes upon.
She may just teleport right next to you.
WHAT| Various Arena encounters.
WHEN| First week of the Arena.
WHERE| Anywhere you want!
WARNINGS| None yet.
She has a map now.
Over the last few days, making about one 'jump' an hour or so, Venus has cased out the ground floor of the space port and gathered supplies for herself, Jet and Albert. Some of it's food, some of it's water, some are just sharp pieces of metal or strange vials that she's certain could make for a decent weapon. A strip of spacesuit cloth, tied over the edges of the upturned helmet, has transformed it into a handy messenger bag, and she's sure that the design will be all the rage in the Capitol soon. She's filled it each time with whatever scraps might help them last the weeks and track down the people who most definitely won't be winning.
She can tell by the way her skin seems to hum when she's done teleporting that she's been pushing it lately, and because she's with people willing to call her out on it, she rests. She sleeps while Albert keeps watch, keeping the injured Jet company while he takes his turns. She eats from the little dehydrated packets and she doesn't do more than two 'jumps' in an hour if she can help it. She makes sure to clean the makeshift bandage on the stab wound in the side of her chest on the regular. After they figure out the pattern to the gravity failures, she makes sure that they're all strapped in to the ground for the twice-hourly jolt.
When she teleports, it's nearly painful to see, a trick of the eye as reality arranges itself in perverse ways to squeeze her out of the dimension and back into it. She seems shrouded in the afterglow of lights that clutter up an eye after a flash, and then disappears into a blind spot that vision should not have allowed. She emerges in the same way, silently but preceded with the colorful blots of the optic nerve going haywire. And when she's crawled out of the pocket dimension she travels through, she only sometimes remembers to apologize for startling anyone she comes upon.
She may just teleport right next to you.
no subject
She gives Nill a tight nod. Don't go too deep, though, please. It's partially her own insecurities and embarrassments and partially because she had a few telepaths back in her days at the Institute try to rummage through her brain and find things they didn't want in their memories.
I'm- I'm going to switch to words. She has messy feelings here. She wants to be able to organize them, like scooping up wild flowers into a bouquet, or shattered glass into a tidy pile for the broom. "I'm so sorry about what happened to- to Nico."
no subject
The very few times Nill had actually pried into someone's mind had been rare, and almost always a necessity. The one and only time she did it with intent was a mistake, and she learned from it. Never act on what you hear. Never listen more than you need to. Respect the minds of others. They were easy enough rules to keep in mind when she could.
It feels like the floor drops out from under her. Like something slips from her hands, and Nill tilts her head down, as if to watch it shatter across the ground. Nico. The dark-haired boy that was angry at the world, but more than anything angry at himself.
Nill shuts her eyes tightly, and she exhales slowly. Her eyes burn. Her ears ring. Nico was gone, she'd seen his face in the sky, but she didn't know who killed him. Not this time.
"I hope he went home," the voice says quietly, and she really, really does.
But she watched bits and pieces of the last real Arena. She knows what happened. She knows who hurt Nico.
Some day, somewhere down the line, Black Tom was going to pay for killing him.
no subject
She didn't mean to make Nill cry, and for a moment she wonders if those tears will fall and reaches a hand forward. She pauses short, doesn't take a step forward to bridge the gap between them. What can she say? What can she do?
Can I hug you?
It's not just because Nill's in pain; it's because this is a shared pain. It's because Venus trails behind her a wake of broken bodies and hearts, all these people who never rose from each Arena. It's because each one has ripped a section out of her and replaced it with sorrow.
no subject
There's a trail of bodies behind Nill too, many gone from their own doings and decisions, but they drag on her nonetheless, and now Nico di Angelo is another number to the count.
"Yes," The voice says, though Nill still doesn't open her eyes, and she does her best not to let any tears fall.
no subject
There must be some way to do right by them.
no subject
But for this, she can make an exception. She can carry Nico's ghost with her too, another ball on the chain she insists on carrying.
Nill doesn't hug Venus back nearly as tightly, but she might hear Nill sniffle. Might feel it when she shifts one of her arms to wipe at her eyes.
"There is. We just need time."
Time enough to make sure that this place and the people who ran it came crashing down.
no subject
I'm staying with Albert and Jet in the Arena while I look for Kankri. You're welcome to join us.
no subject
She didn't know Venus very well, but if she was actively thinking of Kankri it shouldn't be difficult to find her in the jumbled mess of thoughts bouncing around this place.
"Be careful."
no subject
You too. She nods, reaches over, squeezes Nill's shoulder, and then vanished the same way she appeared.