"Some men just want to watch the world burn."

[bratwonder]

Who| Damian Wayne and anyone!
What| Burning a body turns out to be a less-than-awesome idea. Fire and sickness ensue, w h o o p s.
Where| Candy arena.
When| Middle of week two.
Warnings/Notes| Nothing in particular! I'll edit as necessary.

Nightfall was welcome. Damian reveled in it. It was about damn time that the bright, obnoxious colors of this world dimmed and the song of those stupid creatures faded away. As much as he enjoyed it, though, it was time to disrupt the night. He had a duty to at least one of those fallen tributes, regardless of how whiny and annoying said tribute happened to be.

Early on, Damian had made it a point to get that body somewhere a little less public. There were no battoys to be stolen or secret identities to be found out, but the fact that the bodies had been left strewn about, like old dolls that the gamemakers had grown tired of, disgusted Damian beyond belief. These people didn't deserve that. If he could do something about all of them, he would, but he couldn't. He could barely stand to be around them at this point, with how badly they'd deteriorated.

He held his breath as he struck the match and dropped it onto the rotting, sugar-covered body of some whiny guy named Tim Drake. He wasn't doing this for him, he told himself. It was for them. It was for the symbol that united them. He intended to honor it even if they weren't wearing it. It was also a "fuck you" to the gamemakers or whoever the hell thought it was acceptable to leave the bodies of (mostly) innocent people lying around like they were nothing.

Damian couldn't hold his breath forever, though. Eventually, he has to take in the awful smell of smoke and rot and something vaguely toxic, and if he wasn't feeling sick before, he's definitely feeling it now. So, you know, don't mind Damian. While the fire spreads (whoops...), he'll just be over here. Throwing up. No big deal.

He told Dick once that he wouldn't let the dead get to him anymore, but you know what? This really sucks.

Comments

[bratwonder]

"...hmm." It's not the wordiest response he could give, but there's understanding in it. The whole notion of not fighting at all seemed ridiculous before, but his explanation actually makes sense. They certainly weren't getting anything done here, that's for sure. Being in the arena was just a waste of time. And while Damian wouldn't dream of going down without a fight, he hated that even then, all of this was for some twisted person's entertainment. It was disgusting.

The new perspective isn't something that could change his own approach, but he gets it, and because he understands, he doesn't argue it. It's made him wonder about something else, though.

"Does it not concern you to be so honest?"

[orestes]

"Not at all." The reply isn't without consideration as much as it seems well worn and oft repeated. "I find myself to be an abysmal liar and I haven't the stomach to deceive people anyway. I could not tell you which of those things came before the other, but I've more or less always been that way."

There's a small, very wry smile that plays on his lips momentarily before disappearing again behind a calmly neutral expression. "I am aware it's a quality that can be off-putting, or even dangerous in a place like this. Such is life, I suppose."

Which was in itself something of a deception. Given an important enough goal, Enjolras had no trouble lying to just about anyone. Rather, in the Arena, he didn't see the point of it, or the cruelty which others tended to exhibit. Again, it wasn't that he couldn't fight, it was that he chose not to. "Do you suppose there's any reason to lie to people here? When we are all going to die no matter what we do?"

[bratwonder]

"No. It's pointless." He doesn't even have to think twice about his own answer. It wasn't that he disapproved of lying all together—lying and deception were often entirely necessary in his line of work, after all, and he had no problems doing it when he had to. But pretending to be okay with what they were being put through here, just because it might be 'safer'? No way. It was a matter of pride, and lying in this particular situation was beneath him. (Much to Tim's frustration, probably.) It wasn't something he wanted any part of. "Cowardly. It'll take more than feigned pleasantries to get us out of this mess. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool."

Was he making his own situation more troublesome than it needed to be? Possibly. But he had his pride, darn it.

[orestes]

"I agree. Though I would also argue that we Tributes owe it to one another to be kind when it is possible." What Damian characterized as pride, Enjolras would have referred to as dignity but it was all more or less the same thing when you got right down to it. They were both unwilling to betray their principles even in such a place.

He turns, looking through the crisp night air at the little bit of the candy-coated arena actually visible to them in the dwindling firelight. "Well, I hope you're feeling better, at any rate."

[bratwonder]

He's right, they probably do. The majority of them were in the same situation—brought here against their will, fighting not because they wanted to but because they felt like they had no other choice. There was no good reason to make things harder for themselves by not trying to help each other.

Damian couldn't afford to assume that people here would be kind until proven otherwise, but maybe it shouldn't be so surprising that people like that would exist here. Idly, he wonders how different this conversation would go if he had listened to his mother and stayed out of Gotham.

"I suppose I should thank you." By which he means that he is thanking him, of course. "What will you do now?"

The guy didn't seem to care if he lived or died here, so you know. He wonders.

[orestes]

Enjolras waves a hand, as if to physically indicate just how unnecessary those words are. He isn't doing this for the thanks, or to make Damian indebted to him in any way. Rather, this is just how he copes with the Arenas. It helps him to help others whenever possible. To make the whole ordeal a little less cruel, whenever possible.

"Survive, as best I can. Fight back when it becomes necessary, I suppose." A frown works its way across his face as he finishes that thought. It's not exactly a pleasant one. "Be well, my friend. I hope we meet again under better circumstances."