"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

[orestes]

It was, perhaps, dangerous to be wandering around the new Arena at night. The hazards were still a relative unknown, though he doubted very much that the overtly pleasant-looking creatures and vegetation were entirely harmless. Still, Enjolras couldn't be bothered to care much for his own safety. To him, his death was an inevitability, and fighting back, delaying his return to the Capitol, would only give them their desired entertainment.

Apart from the Arena itself, there was the danger posed by his fellow Tributes who were more enthusiastically participating in their ritualized, serialized murder-suicide. Nevertheless, it was the light and warmth of the fire which drew him to the area just in time to see Damian doubled over. He's distracted by the small, distressed figure that he doesn't notice what the fire actually consists of focusing on it, moves to help.

"The food in the Arenas is sometimes toxic," he supplies in a grave, but helpful tone which he hopes will dissuade the child from any negative reaction. Tugging the back pack he found at the Cornucopia off, he opens it, rifling through some of its contents. "There is medicine in there, I think. Something which might ease your stomach."

So painfully late.

[celebrityskinned]

"Aw, shit, they put a kid out here?"

Venus has a sword now, tucked in to the side of the belt on her Catwoman costume. Her hood has been pulled back, allowing her hair to breathe, allowing the camera to take in that money-making face that's been set with grim, but not unattractive, determination all day.

She brings her elbow up over her nose as the wind brings some of that noxious smoke over her way. "Good God, kid, what are you burning, that stuff smells rank..."

Oh. It's a body.

Oh well. Venus walks over towards the flames and places herself between Damian and the pyre, as if he needs to be blocked from the vision of what he's created (and as if the sweat won't ruin her perfect makeup).

[acro_bat_ic]

Barbara was staring.

She couldn't help it. There was a burning body and a boy she barely knew burning it.

She barely knew either of them, actually, but that didn't make it any better.

"What are you doing?" the words slipped out without her quite meaning them to.