thearena | I'm too beautiful for this shit [OPEN]

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I'm too beautiful for this shit [OPEN]

Who| Aurelia and YOU?
What| A catch all log of Aurelia in the arena thus far, suffering.
Where| All over Arena 15
When| Starting Week 1 and going through Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Capitolite whining. Will update as needed.

Week 1: The Crumbling City

Aurelia had already felt a wider spectrum of emotion in the week leading up to the arena than she had her entire life. A vicious anger, numbing fear, indignation. She'd been advised not to run for the Cornucopia--After all, what chance did she have of fighting for supplies? Aurelia didn't like not being good at anything, but one look at the mess of the cornucopia, and she knew that she had no hope. So she turned, and she ran. And she kept running. The ugly, ugly boots that she had been given were good for something, at least. None of her footwear from home would have survived the race from the bunker.

And she just kept running. At first, she found the city, and went there. Cities she knew. Cities were familiar. But what wasn't familiar were the monsters lurking in the city. It was incredibly luck that the first thing she ran into was a mere zombie, a slow, shambling creature that managed to trap her in an alley. The terrified girl wanted to scream, wanted to shout for help, please, somebody help her. But she'd seen these zombies before, in other arenas. Noises would just attract more, wouldn't it? And for a few brief moments, she thinks that this is it. This is her, dying. She wouldn't even last the first day, and no one would be surprised. They'd laugh at the Capitolite dying so soon, and move on to the real tributes.

Oddly enough, it was indignation rather than fear that fueled her. She was not going to be mocked! Adrenaline greeted her, the new sensation of survival instincts reared up, and Aurelia grabbed a broken piece of plank from the pile of rubble nearby. She turned to the zombie, gripping the plank tightly, feeling--odd. Feeling angry. Feeling like she was about to fight for her life. The feeling, it turned out, was not dissimilar to when she had to shut down Tulia at her last birthday party for trying to pretend that paisley was an appropriate fall pattern. She brought the plank up, and swung it, like she had practiced in the training room. The feeling of it connecting with flesh and bone elicited a yelp, and a little jump in the air. But the zombie fared worse, stumbling back from the sudden attack.

Aurelia blinked once, twice, then realized that she had just hit something. Successfully. Then she set her face, and tried it again. And again. Little noises of her gasping with effort combined with the noise of wood cracking against bone in the dark alley, until the zombie fell over with a final groan. The victorious girl took two steps back, gasping as she looked down as the creature. It was dead. She had killed it. She'd...killed something.

She takes a long, shuddering breath, then begins to run again.

Week Two: Arendelle

She's alive. It's hard to believe that she's survived this long. She's hungry and she's tired and she needs a bottle of shampoo so badly that it hurts, but she's alive. She's never been so thankful to be alive. She's never been quite so pissed off to be thankful.

The jumpsuit has received alterations. With the help of a knife, the jumpsuit's legs are now shorts, and she's unzipped the jumpsuit, tying the arms around her waist. It's still ugly as sin, but one of the lesser sins, perhaps. And while it's not perfect, it turns out that the charred remnants of logs from fire can make at least a form of eyeliner, if you're careful. At least there's enough water that she's been able to bathe, but dear god, did she miss her hair products. Some of the cut up bits of her jumpsuit turn her hair into a bun, and she figures that it's the best that she can do in the circumstances. She's also sure that she's still the best looking person in the arena.

And, of course, as the best looking person in the arena, it only makes sense that she deserves the best place. A castle fit for a princess will do just fine. She moves in and after a quick inspection, it looks safe enough. Night, however, proves otherwise. That's when the winter storm kicks in, and Aurelia learns what it means to freeze. At this point, she's really beginning to regret losing the pants.

A fire is made inside the main hall, a beacon for anyone to see, but a risk she has to take to stay warm. As the winds howl, and only get worse and worse, Aurelia shivers and tries to get closer to the fire. Is this how she's going to die? Freezing to death, boring and mundane. It figures. It's worse than the zombie, because now she has time to think. To reflect on how death really is a thing, and she's going to die, and how she'll never see her family, never see her friends, or her Pomeranian ever again. She thinks about what death really, actually means.

And she sniffles a little. Not from crying, or anything dumb like that, of course. It's just the cold.

Week Three: Air Temple

At this point, she's starting to realize that there's a chance she may actually make this. She's survived three weeks. That's a respectable amount, she thinks. And people seem to be generally unwilling to kill her.

If only the wildlife felt the same.

Or at least, that's what she thought, until she met...the bison.

For a while, she just watched it snuffle around looking for food. It didn't seem angry, nor like it wanted to attack her. In fact, it was...adorable. Slowly, she approached the strange creature, until it turned to look at her. She froze, looked around, than plucked the leaf of one of the trees, and held it out to the bison. To both her delight and alarm, the creature took a few steps forward to sniff at it, before ultimately turning away. Disappointing, but now the creature was with rang...to pet.

Tentatively, she held out a hand, slowly reaching to place it on the bison's head. The bison snorted, nearly startling her out of her skin, but didn't do anything else. After a few moments to make sure that she wasn't going to be eaten, Aurelia relaxed, and slowly began to pet the bison's head. "I'm going to name you Noodles Jr." She announced. "After my dog."

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It's the light that draws Alain's attention. Caught in the storm himself, he fully understands why someone would light a fire, and damn the risk. What he should do, on the other hand, is less clear. Leave his meagre shelter and seek out whoever is inside, find fire and food there? Or take the safe route, and stay put, shivering himself to sleep?

What makes up his mind is the promise he made, both to Rotor and to Emily, to protect the children. If he stays safe and cosy, he reminds himself, it will be at the expense of finding them. Besides, the gun he took from Altair seems remarkably well-adapted to the cold, so he isn't entirely exposed.

So he ventures out into the storm, bowed almost double against the wind, and at last up to Arendelle. Inside, he hefts his gun, shakes snow out of his hair, and moves with the stealth of a trained guerilla through the empty halls.

That stealth drops to the wayside when he enters the room and sees Aurelia by the fire. Letting the door bang shut behind him (although keeping his back to the wall, in case she's not alone), he shoulders his weapon and clears his throat. "I saw your fire," he says, visibly awkward. "May I share it?"

He cuts an odd figure. Like her, he's adapted his outfit, though his adaptations are more practical than stylish; a blanket scavenged from the city is serving as a long poncho, with other blankets wrapped ungracefully around his legs, and his cowboy hat is tied on with a long scrap of fabric, the brim turned down to protect his ears. The backpack he carries under his blanket-poncho gives him a hunchbacked appearance, and there's a hunting knife bound up against his waist, on a belt made from rope. Capitol high fashion, it ain't, but he's willing to bet he's a lot warmer than she is.

The figure is indeed odd, and rather alarming at first. A loud gasp escapes the teenager when she sees him, and she reaches for one of the logs waiting to be pitched in the fire, holding it out like a sword as she scoots away. Her eyes are wide, scared and feeling helpless, because a log won't do much to help against a gun. If he is here for more than a fire, than she'll die, and that will be it.

The awkwardness is what sets her more at ease, and she squints, peering to look under the hat at his face. Awkwardness she can work with. A young man's face greets her, and she can work with that, too. At the least, she can hope that he'd be opposed to killing a pretty young girl. She can try to make sure of that.

"Alright," She replies, voice chattering, huddling into her jacket. "If you let me borrow one of your blankets while you're here. I promise I'll give it back when you leave." She pauses for a moment, debating. It's a tactic that's worked for other people before, in the arena. She's seen it. And she was prettier than any of those people. "Or we can share the blankets. That way you'll still have them, too." And she shoots a small smile to Alain, still tinged with nervousness that was easy to believe because it was very, very real. This man could still kill her. Still shoot her and leave her dead.

But at least she could try to make sure he didn't want her dead.

"You can have one, and gladly." Alain brushes half-melted snow off his shoulders, coming closer. He moves slowly and carefully, as if she were a fractious animal, until he's close enough to the fire to hunker down beside it. Putting the gun down (on the opposite side to where she sits; he's not planning to shoot her but nor does he want her to take the gun from him, because if she does, he'll have to kill her), he rubs his hands together until the life comes back into his fingers, then starts untying one of the blankets from his leg.

"Keep it," he suggests, holding it out to her. "No sense in my hoarding them. I can cut the other in half, have leg wrappings plenty warm enough." Pushing his hat back a little from his head, he looks her up and down and gives her a little smile. "As for sharing, I thank you for the offer, but there's no need of it."

She appreciates him being careful, moving slowly and trying to make sure that she's not frightened by him. It eases her. She's still worried, mind, but at least if he's going to kill her, he's going to be polite about it. And she doesn't have to flirt with him, either, which is a relief. Either he's not interested, or he's dense. Either way, that tactic is out the window.

She accepts the blanket, bringing her legs up to her chest and wrapping the blanket around her body. It helped. She scooted a little closer to the fire, making sure that she doesn't move towards the gun, because the last thing she needs is for him to think she's going for it. Like she even knew how to shoot a gun.

"I know you." She said after a few moments. "You're Alain. You're District 7. My cousin's district." She made a face at that. God damn it, Cassian. She's going to beat your ass if she ever gets out of this. Which she knows she won't, but still.

Alain snaps his fingers, nodding. "That'll be why you seemed a touch familiar. You've got something of the same jaw, and around the mouth." Although how much that can mean in a place where people alter themselves with such impunity, he wouldn't swear to. It doesn't precisely warm him to her, either - Cassian seems harmless enough, but Alain would be lying if he called the Capitolite a friend - but nor does it turn him against her. It simply is as it is, to borrow a phrase from Roland.

For now, he slips the backpack out from under his blanket-poncho and opens it. "When did you last eat?" he asks, looking up at her, as he digs through the full backpack. "I have rabbit jerky, if you need it, and even a little venison. Nothing to the rich food you'll be used to, but it fills your stomach and keeps without spoiling."

"I'm sure more would look familiar if Cassian didn't stop getting his face rearranged every time it suited his whims." Aurelia replied airily, a hand self consciously gliding over her face, as if she could somehow feel the resemblance he had mentioned. Not that plastic surgery was a big deal to the Capitol. But for little tweaks, tucks and hiding imperfections, it was always best to pretend that you were born perfect. And anyone who knew otherwise would always take pleasure in ruining that. "Or maybe he'll be more familiar, if he doesn't stop making himself look like a girl."

Changing the subject to food was much more interesting to Aurelia--particularly, the prospect of gaining it. "I've gotten some food in the parachutes. But not a lot." Hunger is a new feeling, and one she doesn't enjoy. It hurts in a way she's never experienced, an ache that never leaves. Alain was right, in the Capitol, it would have been food for poor people. Districter food. But with that new pain of hunger, she's more than willing to accept it.

"I would appreciate some jerky, if that's okay." Politeness, she had to remember. Even in the face of hunger, she has to remain composed. She has to keep up appearances. That's also why, when she turns to glance at Alain rummaging around, she doesn't look at him like some wild, starved animal. Her face is calm, she is calm, because the cameras are always rolling.

"They rarely give us enough. It's dull to see us satisfied." Again, there's no rancour in Alain's voice, only a cool sense of this is how it is. He's used to shortages. It doesn't bother him. "Here. Don't eat all of it at once. It's not the easiest to digest, and it's best to save a little over. Tuck it away for when you need it next. It won't rot, it's well-cured." Making jerky is one of the first things he learnt about surviving, long before the Capitol ever took him here.

He holds out a large handful of jerky strips (mixed rabbit and venison, although they all look much the same) to her with a little nod. "I can hunt down more, and in any case, back home I'm used to eating only once a day. You need it a damn sight more than I do. You'll want some water with it, though. Dries your mouth out."

Aang waits too long to go back to the island, so he's stuck in the mountains. He walks with his hands pressed under his arms to preserve feeling in them as long as possible, and he can see the fire burning through the windows of the castle he comes upon. That means there's someone in there already, which can be good or bad.

He walks inside because he needs shelter. The risk of hypothermia is much higher than the risk of encountering one of the few Tributes who has both the will and the capability to kill him.

He has a bag found in the city. In it, he carries the basic necessities. He has padded his jumpsuit with fur the bison shed in the Air Temple. He walks towards the source of fire, padding silently into the room behind a girl huddled in front of the fire, sniffling softly with bright pink hair.

He knows that hair. He committed it to memory.

"Aurelia?" he asks softly.

The girl nearly jumps out of her skin when her name is called out of the darkness. She spins around, already starting to get up to try to run, when she sees who it is. Aang is, at least, a very distinctive person--and she would've known him, even if he weren't. She's here because he had managed, through convolution, to drag her idiot cousin into his rebellious mess. She was going to die because of him.

The fear is quickly replaced with irritation. He won't kill her, so there's little point in straying from the fire. She sinks back down, quickly scrubbing her face with the sleeve of her jacket.

"I'm Aurelia. Nice to meet you, Aang." The tone of her voice is not particularly welcoming, though she makes no moves to try to actively dissuade him from coming over. All Aang receives is a sullen look, while she curls back up. Cold and getting colder, at least they'd take her body before the cold made it gross looking. Just a pretty pink popsicle.

Of course she knows him. He knows he's distinctive, especially for someone who is probably going to die because of him, so he's not surprised when she scowls at him and sits back down after an initial start. He's more surprised to see her bare legs. Surely, not even a Capitolite would be so silly as to cut their pants legs in mountains?

She's cold. Even if he couldn't feel the temperature, he can see the way she curls and turns towards the fire. "Nice to meet you too."

He puts his bag on the ground. His first instinct is to offer his jumpsuit to her, but she's sixteen. Technically, he should look fourteen now, and if he did, they might be closer in size, but the Capitol has kept him in the body of a twelve-year-old and she won't be able to fit in his clothing. Instead, he glances around the room, frowning. "Have you tried grabbing curtains?" Or tablecloths? Spare blankets? Even if they're threadbare, they could be useful. He'll have to check the kitchen to see if there are any stoves that he could set a fire in. There are too many ways for the heat to dissipate in a big stone hall like this--a fire in a smaller space with more cloth to keep warm would make it toasty.

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I'm too beautiful for this shit [OPEN]

Week 2

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