Quench like a flame ‘cause the very last light is gone

[iphigeneia]

Who| Felicity & Open
What| Wallowing in self pity
Where| Tribute Center
When| Week 04
Warnings/Notes| N/A

Waking up had been humiliating in ways Felicity never knew existed. It was one thing to die, to be murdered. It was quite another to have her death mean nothing and go unavenged. She felt positively appalled thinking about it. And worse than that, she felt disgusted at recalling the details of her own demise. To die by Cinderella's hand was fitting and fine. To linger and whimper in the arms of Marius Pontmercy was another matter entirely. It was revolting.

Now she was saddled with that hideous burden of shame, at showing weakness and intimacy to an undeserving public. She swore she'd never stoop so low, and if this were truly her new reality (as it indeed appeared to be) she promised herself and whatever powers were at her disposal that she would never she that kind of weakness again. She was Lady Strength. She would return to that form soon.

But not before wallowing in her self pity awhile longer. She'd made her way into a common area at last, dead set on feeling sorry for herself and her fallen state before daring to explore her new surroundings or the strange people in it. A girl had a right to sulk, and dammit, she was going to exercise that right if it killed her.

Comments

[orestes]

He recognized her only vaguely, cleaned and showed as she was. The filth of the Arena was a disguising measure and one could appear complete different between it and the real world, especially after several weeks. Still, Enjolras made it his business to keep up with his friends and their trials and tribulations. The girl was notable therefore only in relation to Marius.

She looked upset and he couldn't blame her. Mortality was a difficult thing to face, immortality even more so.

"It will never get easier," the statement hung heavily between them in lieu of a greeting. In ways Enjolras felt he already knew this girl. There was an intimacy, he suddenly realized, to watching someone die. Perhaps that was what was so attractive about the Games. "You have the option to sit there in your misery, or you have the option to be angry about it, but death will never become easier."

[iphigeneia]

She had no inkling of who the idiot was, but she thought her could use a solid pop in the mouth. It wasn't his fault he caught her on a bad day, but what right did he have to come in all blustering, as if he knew what was in her heart? He'd never been to the other side as she had. He couldn't know what was meant to happen to the spirits of the dead, what had failed to happen to her. And he could never understand the tumble she had just taken on her way to the grave and back.

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Why would anyone want it to be easy? If it were easy, failure would become acceptable."

[orestes]

"If you look at them as a matter of success or failure, you fundamentally misunderstand the Games. It will be harder for you still." The reply came easily enough. For all his impatience for social graces, Enjolras knew well enough when someone wanted to be left alone publicly. It seemed a childish thing, to him. She had a perfectly good room she could hide in. Goodness knows he did that often enough still.

He met her gaze, his eyebrows raised in a sort of Socratic innocence. "Is that why you attacked my friend in the Arena? Because you thought there was a chance of your success?"

[iphigeneia]

"I would ask what you mean by that, but in all honesty, I do not care." The last thing Felicity wanted was unsolicited advice on how to win at anything from a Frenchman. Worse than that option though was the possibility that he did not wish to give her advice but instead desired to patronize her. The nerve of some men.

She didn't know which of the fools in the Arena he'd been referring to, since Marius was not the only person to get in her way. She didn't care to play along with Enjolras' foolishness either. "Are you referring to the girl or to the other one?" She had nearly said whore instead of girl, Eponine had made her so furious. But Felicity was still a respectable woman. She might think vicious things, but she saved saying them for when they could really do some damage.

[orestes]

He'd actually forgotten about her altercation with Eponine. That mess had been overshadowed by the revelation of her entanglement with Marius and that other man. He probably should have felt more guilty about any of that than he did. It was foolish of his friends to think they could keep any secrets. A frown drew itself across his features, ruining any attempt at impartiality he had made a moment earlier.

"Both, actually. However, I was referring to Marius specifically. Goodness knows Eponine can bring these things upon herself." Which wasn't to say that he blamed her, just that the girl rarely did herself any favors. It was a combination of being raised in a terrible place and not knowing how or when to ask for help, he assumed, but while he could pity her, he couldn't do anything for the unwilling. There was a serenity to that understanding. "He would have helped you, you know. He does not have it within him to harm anyone, especially a woman."

[iphigeneia]

Felicity let out a sharp scoff, as if Enjolras' testimony as to Marius' character had damned him instead of redeeming him. "You saw what happened, sir. You know as well as I that there was no saving my life after my throat was slit."

She settled back into the chair she'd claimed as her own, looking more like a queen now than a weak or troubled little girl. It was an air she had perfected and one she would draw upon whenever she felt challenged. "And if your friend would not harm me because of my sex, he is an idiot and he will find himself bleeding again and again."

[orestes]

"His fault is that he is too kind-hearted." His reply came quickly and held the tone of something half-rehearsed. In actuality, Enjolras quite agreed with her. Marius' kindness would be his undoing again and again, but that didn't necessarily make it a weakness of character. Quite to the contrary.

He bit his lip, moving to sit down across from her in one of the plush armchairs of the lounge. Posture ever stiff and militaristic, Enjolras seemed remarkably unnatural in such a place. "Yours, I suspect, is that you do not know when to let go. We may very well be alike in that and so again, I say, it will not get easier for you."

[iphigeneia]

She watched him settle in, cold eyes glinting as she stared him down. He seemed so awkward and out of place despite his grace and obvious beauty, and for a brief second, Felicity pitied him. What a shame it was, so be so beautiful and yet so uncomfortable at the same time. At once, she was glad that her beauty could be ignored in favor of her mind. She supposed he must struggle against himself all the time.

"You hardly know me. How could you possibly make such a conjecture?" She met his gaze and held it for several seconds before her eyes fell to her lap and to the ornate gown she'd been forced into. At least in the Arena she'd been given trousers. "You do not even know my name. You have no place to tell me I have any faults."

[orestes]

"Mademoiselle Felicity Worthington." He studied her hands as well, though not for any specific reason. It was more that it seemed natural to follow her gaze as it had fallen. "They like those of us who live in the Capitol to stay informed about the Tributes active within a given Arena," he offered as clarification, lest he seem somehow unduly omniscient.

"I suppose, however, that you are right. I do not truly know you. I only know that you attacked at least two of my friends, and I did not watch very often. You seem brave, but out of your element, which is probably better for you. No one should be in their element in Panem, or at least no one who claims to be honorable. I can assign faults to you because I have seen you in a difficult situation and I know what it means to be in that situation." With only a minimal effort, he turned his gaze away. There were television screens in the corners of the room, streaming highlights from that day's goings on in the Arena. It was easy to focus on that, and he felt in many ways desensitized to just how violent much of it was. "My name is Enjolras, and so now you know something about me."

[quiteliterally]

Chris could not endorse sulking, whatever the reason. Many people came back to the Capitol in poor spirits, of course, but he made it his personal mission to seek out those individuals who had died or, seen their Tributes perish, and try to cheer them up. In the old games, there wasn't this unique and wonderful opportunity for a clean slate, and Chris fully intended to use that to his advantage.

"Hello, there. Felicity? Chris Traeger." His smile is gentle as he approaches, a bit toned down from usual even as he lifts his hand to gesture to himself before stretching it out to point her way instead. "You were, absolutely amazing."

[iphigeneia]

She almost jumped at the intrusion, having found herself ripped from her moment of solace and morose contemplation. There was the briefest look of spite in her eyes as she turned to look his way, but somehow she found she could not maintain it when she was met by his pleasant, smiling face.

"I was what?" Felicity found herself nearly coughing out the words. She had been many things in the arena. Amazing was certainly not one of the adjectives she'd have used.

[quiteliterally]

"Amazing and incredible and amazingly brave. You were a joy to watch." Was that creepy? He hoped it wasn't creepy. No, actually, it didn't even occur to him that it could be. "Welcome back to the Capitol."

[iphigeneia]

Felicity was rather disturbed by his enthusiasm, and by the implication and confirmation that her privacy was now truly and utterly gone. She stared at Chris, taking that moment to pull herself together and assume her regal visage again. She may not have felt like a queen, but she could indeed play the part.

"I was an utter failure, Mister Traeger." She pursed her lips, trying to discern his interest in her. "But I will do better next time."

[quiteliterally]

"I believe you, and I look forward to bearing witness to such a spectacular display of femininity." Yeah, no, this is definitely creepy. "Can I get you a drink? A kelp smoothie, perhaps? Sea vegetation is amazing for the pores. Also surprisingly innocuous when blended with mango."

[iphigeneia]

That assessment of her left Felicity feeling on edge. She certainly wasn't a man, but she had never seen herself as especially feminine. Women were soft and beautiful and weak, and Felicity saw herself as none of those things. She was a warrior and she had the visage of a statue.

Unfortunately, his next comment left her so baffled, she couldn't even fathom a decent response to the previous one. "Kelp? I must confess, we aren't especially fond of that back in England."

[quiteliterally]

"Yes, of course, kelp. I'll admit it takes some getting used to, but it is literally a superfood. England can't be against something that makes you feel as good as it is good for you."

Not that he had any idea what or where 'England' was. But hey, he could get to that.

[iphigeneia]

"But it is seaweed." She couldn't help but wrinkle her nose. "And I've had no trouble with my pores before..."

Felicity was perplexed. And mildly vexed. His sudden appearance had torn her out of her happy state of melancholy and introspection and she felt out of sorts.

"Forgive me, but is there something I can do for you?" Was he lost? Was that why he was distracting her with offerings of kelp?

[nunpunching]

Punchy has, accurately, predicted that Felicity isn't feeling too peppy after having died. Unfortunately, he's also rather inaccurately decided that the cure for that is company.

His company.

"Shawty," he drawls as he swaggers up, dressed to the nines by Capitol standards with a blue mohawk and more blingy jewelry than Zales, "I see you be flossing up the sweatbox. Stoked to see you back."

[iphigeneia]

The very last thing she wanted to deal with was a hormonal and idiotic man child. Felicity audibly groaned at the sight of him, having hoped to dismiss his existence as something from a terrible nightmare. She bristled as he approached, sitting up properly as if to rebuff him immediately. Unfortunately this had the side effect of having her sit upright and tall, with her chest out.

"Do not call me that. Ever."

[nunpunching]

"What, shawty? It's a term of endearment, reserved for only the finest love honeys."

He walks on up to a set of weights, pushing up a pair of sunglasses into a sort of dweeby headband. "Anyway, I hope you don't mind if I pump some iron."

Hey, at least he's warning her before he takes his shirt off and starts lifting weights in the Training Center. That lowers the creep factor by...a little? He's fully planning on using this mostly as an excuse to show off his abs.

[iphigeneia]

If looks could kill, Punchy would have been lifeless in a puddle of his own spittle and urine and Felicity would have been carted off to face trial somewhere. Abruptly, she rose to her feet and made a beeline toward the nearest exit. As she walked, she enunciated quite clearly.

"You are never to speak to me in that manner again. And you are to remain clothed in my presence. Is that clear?"

[nunpunching]

Punchy's got no salt on his game. He looks totally unfazed. "I'mma need a causal nexus for that, shawty."

And he flexes.

[iphigeneia]

She turned back to face him, marching toward him in a most imposing manner. Staring him squarely in the eye, nearly growling as she spoke. "The only nexus that will be occurring between us is the one between your mouth and my fist."

[nunpunching]

Punchy rears his head back, the lecherous smirk replaced by a downright impressed one.

"Ah, shawty, I like that. You's spicy."

[iphigeneia]

That's more than Felicity can take. Eyes flashing, she drew back her fist to hit him. "There is nothing spicy about me. I'm English."