[i'm feelin' like a star, you can't stop my shine]

[lessthanelementary]

Who| Neffa, Enjolras, Beck, Julie, Venus, and anyone else who'd like to run into Neffa!
What| Neffa's gotten separated from Jay; doki-doki battles, minor skirmishes, and headlong sprints across sugar fields abound
Where| Arena 1, around
When| Week 2, even early week 3
Warnings| Just usual arena stuff (violence, etc.) for now!

"Stay here," he'd said. "I'll take a look around," he'd said. "I'll be back in an hour; keep quiet and we'll decide our direction when I come back," he'd said. Well-- it had been an hour, and then two hours, and every stupid chocolate tree and gumdrop meadow looked like every other stupid chocolate tree and gumdrop meadow, and he'd lost sight of the beacon of Jay's blue hair in the distance long ago.

Neffa was lost, stuck wandering in ever-widening circles with blue synthetic dreadlocks falling in his face and his bizarre, sparkling club held ready in sweaty hands. A pouch of food had come sailing down from the sky earlier, with a note from Timaeus; he'd slipped the note pointedly into his pocket, rather than throwing it away (Maybe he'll remember that), and walked tipped to one side now, the better to keep an arm clamped over the pouch slung around one shoulder. It made his gait more awkward, but he wasn't risking a sneak attack on it.

Everything was sticky. There was no avoiding it. Every inch of skin and clothing that had brushed any part of the blindingly bright landscape had come away sugary, and in the persistent sunlight had melted into a coating that he could feel without touching. He'd been ready to club some sense into Jay a few hours ago, but now he found himself wishing more and more desperately to see him again, still sitting beside their comfortingly heavy bag of supplies and looking worriedly out for him. If Jay managed to get their best means for survival stolen....

He readjusted his grip on the handle of the bat. Gods. Was it just him, or was the music getting louder?

Comments

[lessthanelementary]

Neffa was starting to get good at reading hostility on people. There hadn't been much cause to know the signs of it back home, and so he'd never had to bother - no matter how sour a deal went, the threat of physical violence was barely in the realm of possibility. There were other ways to make displeasure known, and none of them involved murder.

Here, hostility was fast becoming the first thing he looked for in other people - even before supplies, which had been his original standby. Supplies Enjolras had, that was clear from a distance, but Neffa couldn't see if it came with hostility. He wished he'd heard him coming soon enough to take off - but footsteps were masked by the damned singing, such that he caught sight of him only when slipping off unnoticed was already impossible.

He shifted his bat warily into two hands as Enjolras came closer, but it was more a warning than anything. Hostility, in his experience, didn't walk up to a person and start conversation, and it didn't usually look so disappointed to see him.

"As well as can be expected," he replied, equally terse. Lack of direct intent to kill didn't imply that he wanted Enjolras here. "My sponsors have been attentive." Makes one of us, he deliberately did not add aloud.

[orestes]

"So it seems." There was an edge to his voice which betrayed the lack of neutrality despite the words themselves. He didn't miss the shifting of the bat, or the terseness of the reply. These things were to be expected, he figured. From anyone in the Arena, but especially given their tenuous regard (or lack thereof) for one another. Perhaps he was risking too much by this conversation. There was absolutely no telling what this man would do, especially if he felt it might help him with his sponsors.

Enjolras shifted the weight of the pack on his back, leaning heavily on one foot and then the other, as if to say that he was equally prepared for the hardships ahead. "I was fortunate enough to find something useful at the Cornucopia."

Which also implied, perhaps less than subtly, that he would be making his way without the benefit of those sponsors.

[lessthanelementary]

"Not a weapon, though?" Neffa asked, raising an eyebrow. He spoke it casually enough, and made no hostile move; but he rather liked how much dialogue the bat added with its presence alone. No need to declare his advantage.

He wondered, briefly, how difficult it would be to kill Enjolras. He didn't like the thought overmuch - he had no real reason to, so far as he could see, and unlike what seemed like half the people in this arena, dislike on Neffa's part didn't translate into any kind of homicidal intent. The fact remained, though, that killing looked good - and as he had no intention of making Enjolras into an ally...

He talked, to cover his sudden queasiness. "I have to say, most people who approach me here don't come just to talk-- but then, it is you we're..."

He broke off. Speaking over the persistent singing had become second nature long before, but he realized suddenly that at some point in the last minute he had been forced to raise his voice. There were fewer than ten paces between himself and Enjolras. That meant the noise was getting louder. ...Closer.

Neffa dared to take a look over his shoulder. Nothing-- but the look he leveled back at Enjolras was equal parts suspicion and mild alarm. You hear it too, yes?

[orestes]

His brows furrowed in response to Neffa's silent question. Of course, he heard the singing, how could he not? it had been a dull murmur moments ago, an annoying hum mere seconds ago, but now it seemed like they could hardly speak, even at a reasonable distance, without having to shout and not even over one another. Enjolras fumbled for the dagger tucked into the sash under his waistcoat, posture shifting in an alert, but not specifically aggressive manner. He still wasn't looking for a fight, and besides, chances are whatever it was that was singing (Could it be called singing? Chanting?) at them was probably more of a threat to both.

"I did well at the Cornucopia," he stated simply, or attempted to, over the sounds of the voices which were becoming more distinct by the second. Enjolras too glanced around their clearing, looking for source of the noise. Finally, at the far edges, half hidden behind a brightly colored shrub he spotted it.

The Doki-Doki looked like some awful chimera, some terrible mix of a cat and a rabbit, with the features of both and neither and eyes too large for it's small oval-shaped head. He pointed to it with the knife, just as it ducked under another pink branch. "There!"