thearena | Give Me One Reason to Be Beautiful [Open]

Entry tags:

Give Me One Reason to Be Beautiful [Open]

Who| Venus and Open, Venus and Enjolras
What| Venus disposes of some extra weapons.
When| Anytime between week 3 and week 6.
Where| Candy Arena, near the milkshake river.
Warnings/Notes| Mental illness, death.

Venus' brain is a windshield after impact. She's still in one piece - she can feel she's still in one piece - but electrical impulses send icy cracks throughout her landscape like a glittering spiderweb radiating from a center. She's on the high now; hopefully she can just die or win before the end of that and skip the whole crash landing entirely.

Her last few kills have left her in quite the position. She's armed with a single short-sword now, despite having gotten two. She knows full well she can't effectively dual-wield and that taking more than necessary into a fight just increases her chances of having her weapons used against her. She's ditched the archery equipment too, having decided that it's just more to haul around that she isn't very good at using. All the unused weapons will go to the bottom of the milkshake river, hidden from sight so no one else can scavenge them.

Having finally eaten a full meal, she feels her confidence expanding inside her like a soap bubble. She's a warrior woman. Her charcoal, which she'd previously used to give herself a smoky eye, is now daubed in horizontal streaks across her cheeks like war paint. There's an accidental smudge of powdered sugar on the tip of her nose, two intentional ones above her eyebrows. The sword rests in her belt, and her broken shoes have been discarded, leaving her walking barefoot on toes painted cotton-candy pink.

She takes the extra sword and flings it over her shoulder into the river, grinning as it lands not with a splash, but with a slop. At some point, if she keeps this up, the audience will come through for her. Until then, she can make do.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The theme park arena was difficult, of course, but this one must have been the hardest one yet. Not only was she mortally wounded and low on supplies, but the Capitol was using psychology tactics as well. The candy, the random deaths at the start, the day and night cycle, those freakish little munchkin things.

Well, the munchkin things weren't all bad. While Holiday still had some foodstuffs left over from her sponsors, hunting for them wasn't a bad idea while she avoided the other tributes and... those strange earthquakes. After all, she would have more food to trade, if anyone was willing to trade and not just steal her things, that is.

Holiday was on her way back to Milkshake Lake with three more cooked (via rainbow power) doki-doki's strapped to her belt. The small makeshift bag on her back, made from the sponsors parachute, held the rest of her supplies. Idly, she thought every now and then that coming back to the same spot was a pretty bad idea and this was one of the times that she was proven right.

At seeing the other woman, Holiday hissed through her teeth at the memory of being pinned to the ground. By the looks of this woman, she looked every bit as ruthless as she seemed back then. Except... Holiday was still alive and Venus had a more than clear shot of her at the Cornucopia. Confusing, yes, but Holiday didn't plan on risking it. She tried to take a step back.

Venus pauses, listening. At first she isn't sure she heard something over the singing, and she's already not sure that the singing isn't just in her head, and before she knows it her hands are over her ears and-

She turns.

Venus recognizes the glitter of the silver parachute over Holiday's...stump, really. Holiday's silhouette reminds Venus of Gumby's head, all tilted awkward at one side what with the missing arm. Holiday's gestures aren't much more coordinated than stop-motion, either, but Venus can't hold that against her - after all, they're all staggering and jerking around in here like a bunch of gassed roaches.

She's sure that back home, back on the screens, they had twenty different angles of that Sponsor gift coming down. She's sure it was the lead-in to a commercial, that they zoomed way up close on Holiday's face as relief washed over it, that the probably dubbed an elated sigh into the sound mixing. Venus knows showbiz, and more than that, she knows reality TV.

Maybe it was a good thing she didn't kill this woman the Cornucopia. Holiday, armless or not, seems to be doing well for herself, with dead animals hanging around her waist like a skirt of reeds.

"I remember you," she calls out, not in a threatening voice but as if she's greeting an acquaintance from summer camp.

Well, nothing much she could do now. If Venus decided to get hostile, Holiday would only be able to fight back for a short time before being overcome. This arena was such hell.

"A little hard to forget you, I have to admit." Her voice remained calm, her breathing even. Fear hadn't really taken her since she went into shock and it probably had to do with blood loss and trauma, but Holiday appreciated it anyway.

"Hey, I wasn't the one who ripped your arm off. I must've made a hell of an impression if you remember me over that." She smiles, not a predatory expression but an open one, although she feels as if her chest is tight, as if her throat is fluttering like a butterfly.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I like a little diversity in my storylines."

Holiday wasn't entirely convinced, but she wasn't about to try getting the upper hand either. That was literally inviting death.

"I guess you just caught me at a bad time." The pain she had from the loss of her arm in that moment was certainly memorable and Venus took the center of that stage... next to Lin, of course. Then again, she had only been pinned down once in these arenas and thinking back on that moment wasn't exactly fun either.

Holiday pocketed her little throwing star. "Thanks... I think. I won't try anything funny either." In case she was actually worried about that, which the doctor doubted.

"I'll say." Venus pauses and puts her hands to her temples for just a moment, making sure her head is on right, literally. The world doesn't seem to be lining up to where her feet are going.

She glances back at the river, a little crinkle of worry crossing her face. "Look, uh, I'm up for a trade if you are."

Holiday had been having a lot of the same problems as well, which mostly included seeing figures in the corners of her vision that weren't there. This didn't help with her growing paranoia.

At the prospect of a trade, Holiday perked up a bit. "I have a little extra food and medical experience under my belt, but that's about it. I could use a weapon..." She glanced to the river. "If you still have a spare, that is."

"Medical experience? What kind of medical experience?" Venus isn't evidently injured, but the idea of being able to talk to someone - anyone - with some knowledge is too much to pass over.

She reaches down and picks up an arrow, then snaps it in half and tosses the head to Holiday's feet. "It's a shank, for now. And a deal. And maybe we can keep watch while each other sleep, too. I keep worrying if I close my eyes too long the animals are going to swarm me."

"A lot of it. I was the lead researcher in an organization that dealt with extremely mutated living organisms. I have to admit, there are parts of that job I don't miss."

Holiday eyed the shank and looked back to Venus before picking it up. Sleeping while this woman watched over her didn't sound like a very smart plan. Then again, Holiday could be taken down just as easily while awake and if she was killed in her sleep, at least she would wake up in a bed with two arms again... maybe.

"That sounds like a deal to me. Though, I have to say. Those munchkin things have found my stub of an arm really fascinating. So much so that I use myself for bait when hunting them."

"Are they organisms that go in your brain?" Venus doesn't sound all that perturbed by extreme mutations, given that she was one herself - a being of dark energy that required a suit to keep her together long enough to form a thought.

She nods and approaches with a hand extended.

"Yeah, they like blood. I got a blister that popped and they keep eying me like I'm the new rack at 5th. Thankfully they really hate pop music, right? I sing a Britney Spears song and they run for the hills." Her grin, while lopsided, is nevertheless calculated to be endearing. "I guess they're telling me not to quit my day job."

Holiday actually gave a little laugh at that question. "If only." She reaches out to shake the other woman's hand. At least she still had her right arm for that much.

"Thankfully is right. The only bad thing is that I don't remember a lot of songs well enough to sing the whole things. I look pretty strange walking with like this and singing mismatched music while I'm at it."

Not that it was a beauty contest out here. Holiday was finding that she liked this other woman, yet still didn't trust her that well.

Venus' shake is polite, friendly on the outside but somehow reserved. It's a handshake she uses for crowds of fans; she has to be amiable and personable, but there's no forgetting that she usually has a body guard. There's no forgetting the tension of knowing someone in the crowd could have a sniper rifle.

In that way, it's just the perfect sort of handshake for this kind of place.

"You could always do 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. You know that one, right?" Venus gestures for a ridge they should head towards. "Or blaaaaack socks, they never get dirty, the longer you wear them the blacker they get...or the Song That Never Ends...or the Wheels On the Bus..."

Venus' mode of speech speeds up a little, and then jerks to a stop as she pauses, having forgotten any other songs that repeat so frequently.

Holiday gives a halfhearted chuckle, a bit put off by Venus' strange attitude. She figured she'd get used to it out here.

"I think I can remember those."

"They're pretty simple, although if you want an earworm, there's always, um, that one song." Venus' eyes drift slightly, unfocused, and then she catches herself. "Sorry, I think all the singing's getting to me. Can we find a place to sit? I'm getting serious blisters from all the pop rocks digging into my toes around here."

Holiday was honestly a little worried about whatever was bothering Venus. Going a little off kilter wasn't good and the arena.

"Sure." She looked around and nodded to a shady patch of candy grass beneath a giant lollipop looking tree, starting to move over to it.

Venus plops herself down and rubs her hands over her ankles, making a little 'ooh' shape with her lips.

"So, they go over like, brain stuff in medical school though, right?"

"I took a few courses in brain stuff, yeah," Holiday answered as she sat down none to elegantly. With her balance off center because of the stupid arm, some things just weren't working out right.

She rubbed her shoulder and looked curiously to Venus. "Why do you ask?"

Venus arches her neck back, face to the strange artificial sun above them.

"I don't have my meds. I mean, they send it, occasionally, the Sponsors do, but not as much as I was hoping." She turns to Holiday and makes a sheepish expression. "Don't worry, it's just bipolar, not like, split personalities where half of me is a psycho killer or anything."

She's already got the killer part down.

Holiday frowned and nodded. She hadn't thought of that happening to someone here. Being uneven with medications like that could have serious consequences. Considering their environment, there was no way to find any sort of herbs that could help calm someone's mood. Even if she did, Holiday wasn't sure she would trust it to have the same effects.

"Do you go through any therapy in the Capitol?"

"I wasn't there for very long, and they gave me a booster shot of my meds when I arrived, so I didn't figure I needed it." She pats a spot for them to sit. "Come on, let's have dinner. Anyone tries to sneak up on us, I'll kick their ass. Believe me, I can."

Holiday figured after the first hand demonstration of the woman's strength. "Thank you," she smiled before going back to the original topic.

"So, you've been in here for so long that you think the shot has worn off?"

"Definitely. I mean, I know what withdrawal feels like. You'd think it'd just be the side effects going away but nooooo, you feel like you've been hit by a train." She shakes her head. "I was lucky, I was with this woman who took care of me. I hope she's okay."

Or, rather, Venus hopes she dies before Venus has to do the dirty work.

Holiday nodded, not really commenting on rather or not Venus' friend was okay. There were a lot of different versions of 'okay' in the arenas.

"We could always stick together for the time being, if you'd like, though I'm sure I'll slow you down if we stay together too long."

"Long enough for both of us to rest. We don't need anything more." She smiles slightly. "I'm a bit of a lone wolf, and staying with you past this'd be charity, and not the fun philanthropist kind."

Holiday smiles, too. "That works out for me. I never wanted to be a charity case, anyway."

Venus slaps her hands together and leans back against the ground. "Alright, well. Get some rest, then. Promise I won't kill you, Sponsors don't like a sneak anyway."

"Don't say that too much, I might start getting paranoid."

She said it with a smile and fell to the ground anyway. Wasn't like she was going to win like this and, honestly, she would rather die in her sleep if she had to. Not that she didn't trust Venus...

Venus hums a little to herself, knowing that music scares those wretched animals off, and braids locks of her hair as she watches over Holiday sleeping. The thought of betrayal doesn't really cross her mind at all; for now, she is at peace.

It's the unnatural slopping sound that awakens him. The days and nights are confusing in this Arena, and never last long enough for Enjolras to feel rightly rested. That, in combination with the heady sweetness of the food (or lack of it, really) here, and he was left alternating between a false feeling of elation and a deep hunger with headaches that reminded him of the poor drinking water in certain districts of Paris. The sound, however, snaps him out of his light sleep and makes him jump slightly, immediately alert and peering out from the cotton candy bushes in which he'd been hiding.

It's not hard to recognize Venus, even under the charcoal and bright pink and he feels himself relax slightly as he pulls up and away from his nest. It's good to know that she's still alive and in far better condition, it seems, than him.

"Some might consider that wasteful, Mademoiselle," he calls out to her, even as he knows full well the logic behind it. No sense in carrying anything you can't use, and no sense leaving it around for it to be used against you. If Enjolras had it his way, he'd burn every weapon in the Arena, or drop them into the river as well. He wonders, idly, distractedly, just how much of the fighting would stop if people were forced to use their bare hands to kill one another. It's doubtful to him that many would have the stomach for it.

Venus stops, wondering at first if the voice she heard was some figment of her imagination. People are all walking on the edge of sanity here, and given her psychiatric history, she knows she's particularly vulnerable. But as she tilts her head, shading her eyes with her hands, she sees a familiar halo of curly blonde-ish hair.

"Enj!" The nickname is in no way phonically reminiscent of his actual name, but Venus isn't great with French. A grin - a genuine grin - splashes across her face like the tide. She starts to walk over, taking care that her hands are away from her sword, that she isn't rushing or looking like a threat.

"I thought for sure you'd be dead by now. I figured, there's no way he hasn't ended up sugar-crusted roadkill. No offense." Her tongue moves around in her mouth even when she's not talking, some kind of reflexive, hypomanic impulse. She has a tic in the side of her mouth that's visible only up close.

She's thriving, but not for long. The impending descent scares her.

"None taken." He shakes his head in equal parts modesty and admonishment. Enjolras considered himself tougher than that, thank you very much, but given the subject matter of their last few conversations and his own almost purposefully reserved nature, he can definitely see how she might have drawn that conclusion. Months ago, the nickname might have earned some sort of reaction from him, but by now he's heard worse diminutives. Enj, frankly, is less offensive than some, for all its mispronunciation.

Even upon closer inspection, the tick at her mouth is easily dismissed as the byproduct of malnutrition. The Arenas seemed decent enough at providing them food that would keep them alive and going, but nothing that was outright intended to sustain an adult for any length of time. She could be missing any number of vitamins. From the headache that threatened to incapacitate him every few hours, Enjolras could tell he was.

"How have you liked living through the Games?" He wasn't trying to start a debate so much as giving way to habit. In his opinion, she'd idealized the concept to a somewhat ridiculous degree. It would be interested to see how she considered it now that the reality must have surely begun to set in. Absently, he ran a candy-stickied hand through those blondish curls, pointedly ignoring where it threatened to catch and tangle. "Is it as exhilarating as you had hoped?"

Her brain feels like it's buzzing, like all her thoughts are fighting through a thick bramble of humming and white noise to reach the forefront of her mind. She can tell there's activity back there, but sorting it out, pulling it from the depths - it's bordering on impossible. And how's she supposed to explain any of that to a man who thinks flip-flops and short-shorts are obscene?

"Oh, definitely. I mean, I'm more a sprinter than a marathoner, so the whole weeks and weeks thing is a bit new to me, but I live for this."

Her mouth jerks again and she bites down on her lower lip, glancing over at a lump in the distance that could only be a rotting corpse. She takes a deep breath as she approaches, hands swinging at her thighs and then tensing, for just a second, the fingers not ribbons but rods. "I'm scared, though. I'll give you that. I thought part of the point was, you know. To get rid of those."

It's not that Venus is afraid of dying - she's no more afraid than Enjolras, if that. Nor is it that she's afraid of killing. It's simply the permanence of it, the idea that maybe these aren't people who deserve to die. She doesn't know anyone here well enough to see that they're the ones still fighting on the other side.

"It is human to be afraid," he says impassively. Everyone had been afraid on the barricade, he wasn't idealistic enough to think that they weren't, and everyone should be afraid here. The only people he found himself genuinely disliking among the Tributes were those who actually claimed to be unafraid either because they seemed to look positively upon the idea of a death match, or because they had become so jaded and regarded death within the Arenas with such flippancy. It's nothing personal, he'd heard them say, just part of the game. That philosophy was all well and good in the Capitol, but it became significantly less comfortable the second one was actually fending off an attack.

It's with an equally blank expression that he follows her eyes over to the corpse, now glistening with some doubtlessly unnatural sugary substance. It had been less traumatic when the dead had simply vanished.

"Have you had occasion to kill anyone, Mademoiselle?" The inquiry is polite, and he raises an eyebrow as if to accentuate the question, but there's very little, if any, judgment in his tone. Those who harmed their fellow man would answer before God, whether their crimes were committed in or out of the Arena. It wasn't his place to make her feel guilty over it, so long as it didn't break an established order. And honestly, how could something break order when there truly was none?

"I'm only mostly human." She makes a beckoning gesture with one hand, indicating that they should head towards a grove of mint trees. The smell of the leaves helps counteract the sickliness of the Arena, helps block out the stench of rot from the corpses that are decaying much too quickly. "But I'm glad I kept the fear part. I'd worry I'm still a ghost if I didn't."

She isn't about to say 'living dark matter' to him. He probably would need it explained, and besides, the distinction doesn't really matter. He's caught her on a downswing, slipping into a mixed state without her medicine, and that's the hazy middle ground where she forgets what she is and has to tether herself to human emotions to remind herself.

Her fear. Her tiredness and uncertainty. That she hopes when she wakes up from death there'll be a hot shower with soap that smells like cherries, and that she hopes she doesn't wake at all. That she wants more than his body, but also his approval, in some way. These things keep her grounded.

She runs her tongue over her dry lips, bites the lower one so it keeps an attractive blush.

"A handful of people. I made it fast." She doesn't know if that matters to him, but it matters to her. No one likes a torturer, not really. People revile them, fear them, idolize them, but no ones loves them. Every other offering from the audience is moot to Venus if she doesn't have their love. "And merciful. You're still keeping to your pacifist ways?"

He nods, following her lead to the mint grove without hesitation. Conversing with an actual person is making him feel more like himself. For all Enjolras claimed to enjoy solitude (and genuinely, he does), he feels most at home while talking to people and when they weren't actively screaming at each other, he could appreciate Venus' thoughts. Moreover, if she did have to kill in the Arena, and he was very aware of its kill-or-be-killed nature, he could appreciate that she'd taken the effort to be merciful about it. It perhaps isn't the overt approval she's hoping for, but there's an acquiescence to his nod. She's right to omit the bit about living dark matter, however, he'd only find it distracting.

"I am. The people I meet find it an odd perspective, but I won't willingly give the pigs running this show the satisfaction of my participation." The words are fiery, if only because it's about the only form of protest he's got other than killing himself and, as a Catholic, Enjolras can't actually fathom doing that even if it were entirely fake. "It is more lonely than it is difficult. I've become very good at avoiding people."

"Shh," Venus says, holding a finger up to pouted lips. "Pissing them off isn't going to win you any favors. For a guy who cares about politics, you're a really lousy politician."

She sits down at the base of a mint tree, stretching her legs and wiggling her toes, head lolling to the side.

"Who says lonely isn't difficult? I mean, what's a life worth, if you spend it solitary?" She pulls her knees up and wraps her arms around them, perching her chin on them.

It isn't actually politics he cares about as much as the deliverance of humanity and Enjolras opens his mouth to state as much, but her next words stop him short. They so closely resemble those of Combeferre or Courfeyrac that it catches him by surprise. His friends would understand his stance, of course. They would probably disagree, especially Courfeyrac, but they'd understand, but doubtlessly with the same chiding.

Lifting his eyebrows and pursing his lips, he joins her, sitting with his legs bent, propped up on another nearby stump. The silk breeches which were so ornate at the beginning of the Arena are now threadbare at the knee and the position makes it especially noticeable. "Truly? I have always found solitude easier. It's less distracting, if nothing else. I suppose that itself is the mark of a poor politician."

"I don't know about that." Venus has schmoozed with her share of politicians in her time. She hasn't been terribly impressed by what she's seen. She stares at the tattered edge of his pants around the knee, then down at the sliced cuffs of her own leggings, at the fact that both their legs have cuts and bruises.

"I mean, I guess for me, it's not so much the actually physically being around people part. It's something about connecting. Plenty of politicians seem really lonely when they're surrounded by like, their trophy wives and yes-men." She reaches up and starts braiding a stray lock of her hair. "Are you sure you're not just scared of getting attached to people?"

There's a small frown that works its way across his face. Combeferre had, at times, expressed similar thoughts and for his part, Enjolras can't exactly say that such isn't an accurate assessment of him.

"Not at all," he lies all the same, looking away from her, as if that will help him ignore the guilty sensation building in his gut. When he turns back, there's a blush rising on his cheeks all the same. There's something about the sunlight in this Arena that doesn't agree with him, truly. "My friends mean the world to me. And even if they didn't, one cannot fight for a people he doesn't know. I'd like to think my attachment to the people of France was obvious and, perhaps if I had a reason to be attached to the people of District 5, I would be less of a pacifist here."

"You don't think your friends are distracting?" Venus giggles, mouth jerking to one side to reveal those perfect teeth she's been brushing with a piece of rag from one of her victims. She's still playing up her good looks in the Arena, and her resourceful method of self-care does show in the rosiness of her cheeks (pinched), the stylishness of the braids in her hair. There is, unfortunately, nothing she can do about the bruises, but she figures no one's coming off this looking like they walked off the set of LOST.

"Anyway, you didn't know all of France. But you know some of us from District Five."

"I knew enough of Paris, if not of the rest of France." Enough to find it a vile place filled with people who had become depraved and degraded and abased, but also people who were deserving of so much more than what their society had allotted them. In some ways, that thought reminds him eerily of his general sentiments toward Panem. They were both missed opportunities of a kind. "We are not from District 5, Venus. I should like to know its people. The ones who live there."

While she's obviously carefully maintained her appearance, Enjolras has done nothing of the kind and so although his words are still spirited and contain a certain energy and conviction which only those of a true believer could possess, there's a tiredness lurking behind his eyes and spreading across his features. The weeks in the Arena had definitely gotten to him and could be read clearly even on his excessively youthful features. "When I know them, perhaps I shall change my mind about all of this. I can't say."

"I'd like to go, someday. That's what I used to do, you know. I went all over the world. I saw everywhere." Took her team all over the place, and she appreciated every second of it. Fame and glamor are seductive to her, but they aren't something she becomes complacent with; when she wakes up in the night, she's at first a scared little girl before she remembers that she's famous and beautiful and successful.

To some extent, she's always a scared little girl.

The more she watches Enjolras, the more her mind's made up. He isn't made for this sort of place. He's sentiment and ideology in a world that has no place for it; depth when the pool can't help but be shallow. He'll be sucked dry by this Arena, and then the next, the next, until all that makes him what he is is eroded out; the weariness is already stamped onto his face.

"You think there are people so bad they aren't worth defending? You'd be an awful lawyer, too."

"There may very well be a reason I have never practiced," he answers lightly, brushing back a stray curl that's fallen onto his forehead. It's hard not to take the bait and wax poetic on Paris and France and everything he loved so much about his home, but from previous conversations on the subject, Enjolras is perfectly aware of where it all leads. Venus had prompted a near breakdown before with her casual mention of the year, and he doesn't need a repeat performance now, not here. There is, however, only so much of momento mori one can take.

"Well then, Mademoiselle," his voice is still pointed light as he pulls is thoughts away from her, and his consciousness together for another round of wandering. "We shouldn't stay together for very long. There is both safety and unwanted attention in numbers."

It isn't that he dislikes her presence, really, it's just that she has a tendency to remind him of the worst parts of himself, and the best parts of everything he's lost by being here. He doesn't need that, particularly now. Perhaps he'll make up for his lack of courtesy sometime after the Arena.

"Ooh, fancy," she says, batting her lashes in a way calculated for makeup commercials. It doesn't matter that she didn't used to have eyelashes at all - she studied all the gestures from the media long before she employed them, and even the useless ones sunk in by osmosis.

She stands and offers a hand to help him to his feet. "Any attention is good attention, but hey, if you've got sulking to do, I won't stand in your way. All pretty guys need a good sulk sometimes."

A frown works its way across his face, but he accepts the hand all the same. There's no need to be rude, even if he suspects her remark is at best idle teasing, and at worst an inaccurate and unflattering judgment of his character.

"Is that what you think of me?" He asks, tone academic (or perhaps just tired) enough to not betray his investment in the question itself. "That I spend the Arenas sulking?"

"Half of what I think of you isn't fit for the airwaves, mister." She beams, and a little girlishness peeks through the Arena's grime. "But don't take it as judgment. A sulk's a sulk, doesn't matter if you have good or worldly reasons for it. I just think you do a lot more outside this place than in it."

She gives his hand a squeeze and lets it go. She's trying to convince herself as much as him, trying to justify the action she can already see herself taking - her palm to his cheek, the other to the base of his jaw, twisting.

Edited (Phone's autocorrect) 2013-08-22 17:13 (UTC)

He doesn't dwell on her words. Their meaning wasn't missed, of course, but that is a conversation for another day. There's no reason to risk upsetting anyone's fragile mental state here and more than it needed to be. Moreover, doesn't personally think he has the patience or eloquence to deal with it right now, he's just too damn exhausted from trekking around the Arena avoiding people.

"I suppose you leave me little room for argument, Mademoiselle." His tone is calm, amicable even, despite her teasing. There's a slight incline of his head, and he waves weakly. "Adieu, Venus. May we meet again other better circumstances."

And with that pleasantry, he turns to leave.

She sighs as he turns his back. To anyone else's ears, it might sound like disappointment that he's leaving. Then she takes one quick, silent step behind him and grabs him, one hand on his chin and one over his forehead like she's taking his temperature, and in a single fluid motion twists.

The crack of Enjolras' neck seems to cut through even the interminable music of this Arena. He falls limp back into her, and her arms loop under his; she holds him like a gentleman catching a fainting damsel as his head slumps forward at some chaotic angle. His hair, matted from the Arena, falls over his forehead and his mouth, still slightly open with surprise.

She lays him down and closes his eyes for him.

"I'm doing you a favor, honey," she says, tipping his head back so his slack jaw closes. His teeth make the slightest clicking sound as gravity brings them together. She brushes locks of hair from his face and folds his hands over his chest, then plants a kiss on his still-warm forehead. "You're too good for this place."

After a moment, she adds "get some good sleep in those plush beds for me."

She cuts cloth from his costume to cover his face, and then she walks away.

Edited 2013-08-24 05:14 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Give Me One Reason to Be Beautiful [Open]

tl;dr, sorry

give me all your teal deers

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