[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]

Logically, Neffa knew Beck had no reason to hurt him - he remembered their conversation, back at Timaeus's party, the drinks they'd shared and the pleasant parting. But Cuthbert had told him a story under the stars and told him he you are a man who remembers the face of his father-- and it was Cuthbert's blow that had Neffa curled around his wound now, desperate and frightened. You couldn't trust anyone to have a reason not to kill you. That was clear to him now.

"Prove it." The bat twitched in Neffa's hands, defensive. "Make me-- make me an offer. Stand there and tell me what you want for my life. Come on."

His voice was hoarse, his sentences choppy, and his backward progress halting - he was seconds from stumbling, he was sure, but there was not enough distance. Not enough to be safe.

[amplifying]

It almost sounded like Neffa was delusional. For a moment, Beck was afraid that his friend had been poisoned. He knew that others were poisoned, but he couldn't put a name on who. He assumed that the poisoned would have taken its effect a long time ago, since they were far into the arena. But...maybe his was a little more lax. Maybe things were just starting to take a downturn, because the Gamemakers like to see him suffer.

Beck kept his hands up, taking another step forward. "I don't want anything, Neffa. It's me. Beck."

Another step. And another after that.

"Please, let me help you. I don't want to hurt you."

[lessthanelementary]

Neffa laughs, short and breathless and hysterical. "Like hell!" There's no one in this arena who doesn't want something. Assuming otherwise is stupid. Neffa's done being stupid.

For every step Beck takes forward, Neffa takes another halting step backward - and it works well until his back connects with something. A tree trunk? A gingerbread rock? He doesn't turn around to look, and he doesn't much care. Suddenly, there is no longer anywhere to retreat to. Suddenly, he feels trapped.

Panic swells in his stomach, burns through all his limbs like an electric shock. He registers Beck's final step forward, and moves on an instinct he didn't even know he had - the part of his mind still whimpering in pain goes suddenly dead quiet, and he lunges forward with a strangled cry, twisting to raise his bat over his shoulder and bring it around in a wild, panicked swing.

The leg. Go for the leg. Put him on the ground. He thinks he might have shouted something-- a plea, maybe Stop!, maybe Get away from me--! but he doesn't know. A stupid thing to say, anyway - the swing is anything but a warning blow.

[amplifying]

Beck honestly can't understand. Was this really how Neffa was in the Arena? Was everything that happened in the boat a joke? He couldn't understand any of this; Users weren't supposed to be this way.

...But with that logic, how could Programs be like this, and that be okay?

He sees Neffa swing the bat, and a delayed sense of alarm swarms through him. Whether it be that he was exhausted, or his head was still swarmy, or he was just a little surprised by one of his friends going after him like that, he didn't know. But he felt the bat collide with his knee, sending a horrible scream of pain up and down his leg. Beck heard himself cry out, a hand clutching at the point of impact as his leg collapsed, and he ended up falling onto the sugar floor hard.

This wasn't safe. He had to get out of here, and just leave Neffa to himself. Beck tried to get himself up to his feet...but ended up falling back down, right back in the position where he started. Any kind of movement made his knee flare up, making him gasp and shuffle backwards as quickly as he could. But even with him dealing with this, and being in the position he was in...he couldn't help but say this. "Neffa, wake up! What's wrong with you?!"