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

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

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.

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"I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Worthington?" Again, he couldn't help the confusion from creeping across his face. The few pamphlets he had published with Cinderella, while not insignificant for what they were, were also hardly enough to be considered a book, even collectively. Beyond that, they were, if they had not erred terribly, completely anonymous. Thanks to his associate's better judgment, they were also relatively far from his general writing style. They could hardly be called his, or at least not his alone.

"Have I published something of which I was unaware? I was under the impression my views were generally unappreciated by the state. With their control of the press, I suspect a publisher would be hard pressed to print anything I have to say."

"No, sir. It is nothing I've read in this state. I read the book back home." She could not help but smile. It wasn't one of her charming, purposefully engaging smiles either. It was instead a wicked grin of triumph. If she were to consider this matter more seriously, she might not have felt to proud of herself in the moment, but as it was, she was pleased to be the one to bring this all to his attention. It was fitting, since he pretended that he could read her that instead it was she who had read him. "You were not the author of the book. Rather, you were the subject of one. Though, the is rather a generous term. It is more accurate to say you were one subject amongst many."

If his eyebrows could have lifted higher onto his forehead, they would have. Instead, Enjolras maintained his perplexed expression, studying her for any chance of humor. He had never been particularly adept at recognizing jokes, and perhaps this queer predicament was simply a complication of that deficiency.

"In what capacity?" He asked finally, though he somewhat dreaded to know the reply. A failed rebellion, perhaps. The woman may very well have read an account of late French republicans in his decade. While he didn't consider himself particularly prominent and even his failure had been more unfortunate and benign than tragic, there was a chance. Still, he didn't really need to be presented with his flaws in such a way.

"In the capacity of literature." She very nearly said fiction, but decided at the last second on the substitute. Presenting him with his flaws was one thing. Presenting him with his imaginary status was quite another. "You're quite famous in my time, Monsieur. I must admit, however, that I expected you to be prettier in person. You were described as being exceedingly delicate."

"Literature," he repeated, features contorting to reveal skepticism rather than straight confusion. Her next comments took him by surprise, however. Panem's fixation on appearances had made him accustomed to comments on his own, but usually they were not so... Overtly negative.

"I am sorry I do not measure up to my literary descriptions." There was a flatness, a disingenuous quality, to the rebuff. He had wanted to know the girl who had attacked two of his friends in so short a time in the Arena, now Enjolras suspected he did not have proper time for this woman and her games. "Death takes its toll on each of us. Perhaps if you had known me a year ago I might have better suited you."

"You would not suit me regardless, Monsieur." Felicity sounded very definitive in her declaration, but not necessarily unkind. It was a simple fact that no matter what charms or beauty he possessed, Enjolras would never especially strike her fancy. Besides that, his appearance was really the least interesting thing about him.

"I'm afraid I am not at liberty to delve into the details of the literature, though I hope you'll satisfy my curiosity. Besides Marius and that whore Eponine, are there any others here?"

"Eponine is not a whore." The clarity of the response was more for his own benefit than for hers. He didn't like what he'd seen of the girl in the Arena, much less what he had seen of her through it. Such instances made it all the more difficult to defend her when Enjolras suspected that her short comings, obvious and numerous though they were, were not entirely her fault.

"My friends, Courfeyrac and Joly," If she knew of him for his political enterprises, then she probably knew at least a little bit about the other members of Les Amis de l'ABC as well. "And Marius' wife, Cosette. If your concern is that I will be unwilling to face my death, mademoiselle, you needn't worry. Each of us knew the risks when we began our society."

Edited 2014-02-20 01:26 (UTC)

Felicity's laugh was sharp as a knife. All traces of respectability were vanquished in that instant. "You are right, of course. A whore collects a wage from it, isn't that correct?"

Not that Fee especially mattered. She'd hit pay dirt. There were so many things she could ask him, so much she longed to know. For example, did it hurt terribly when he realized Paris would not rise? How on Earth was he living with himself now, knowing how he had failed before? It was all so intriguing.

"That is a few members short of a full roster, isn't it."

"I would not wish them here even if it were in my power." That was a lie. With Courfeyrac and Joly around, Enjolras found himself missing the others more often. He longed for Combeferre's calming influence, and Feuilly's intrinsic practicality, Prouvaire's eloquence and ability to find the beauty in all, and the good naturedness of Bahorel and Bossuet. The only member of their party he pointedly did not miss was Grantaire and that was for reasons entirely selfish.

He frowned back at her, eyes narrowing. "I will thank you not to speak of my friend that way again. Eponine has her problems, but she hardly needs you exacerbating them.

"No, of course not. You are no sadist. It would be cruel to wish anyone into this place." She pursed her lips in contemplation, unconvinced by his words. She would not wish for Gemma to be subjected to the hideous nature of Panem, but more than anything, Felicity longed for the company of her dearest friend.

She considered defending her condemnation of Eponine, as it was all plainly true and Enjolras was clearly blind if he could not see that the girl was a slut. But Fee didn't want to waste anymore time on her. She was a useless nothing. There was another living, breathing, fictional being in the flesh before her, and this one actually had a brain.

"I still can hardly believe it is you before me. No one would ever believe me if I said I had met you. I'd be locked away forever."

"I would be locked away for speaking of a great many of the things I have seen here." He countered with a somewhat derisive snort. As far as Enjolras was concerned, his existence was one of the least unusual things about Panem. "Wait until you encounter one of the Trolls, or perhaps Monsieur Maximus. If you think me a man out of time, he is truly a sight to behold."

The idea that she'd referred to his existence at all rather than his existence here escaped him entirely, just as her confession had moments ago. "Enough of me. To which District do you belong? Have they told you that much since you have woken up again?"

Felicity let out a soft laugh which sounded more like a put upon sigh. She very much wanted to continue their quarrel, but seeing that her prey had given up, she called off the hounds. It was a disappointment, but she let it slide, for the time being.

"I belong to no one. However, I am to represent District Two. And as of yet, I've done my best to avoid anyone associated with their wicked process."

"No one belongs to anything here but they are less familiar with the ideas of personal sovereignty than you English. We are neither citizens nor subjects. At best they consider us to be entertaining pets and at worst, slaves, though they can be crueler still if we fall out of their favor." Enjolras couldn't help but let trace amounts of his passion and frustration over the months of inaction escape in the small tirade. His frown was small and mildly disapproving but not out and out dismissive. It was too dangerous for his friends still in the Arena to freely express his feelings on her strategy but they were not altogether nonexistent.

"You should make a plan for when you are forced to deal with them, Mademoiselle. Inaction is still a deliberative choice here and you may find your morals still compromised."

He thought she had morals left to be compromised? How odd.

"This is a situation familiar to those of my sex, monsieur. I am certain I will adjust to these circumstances." She had a resolute look in her eyes, unwilling to accept his dismissive demeanor. That said, there was something in his voice which caught her attention. It was the trace of democratic passion which suddenly rang true. She knew that tone and at once she was inspired by it. "But surely you are not content to be kept as their slave."

What exactly her sex had to do with anything, Enjolras couldn't fathom, though less out of some progressive inclinations, and more out of a lack of consideration. Though unconsciously, over the many months in Panem he had taken to dealing with the female Tributes simply as men, ignoring the differences between them entirely. It was more convenient than trying to reason through a responsibility to chivalry, even if every so often he found himself prey to his upbringing. Besides, there was hardly a difference between men and a woman like, say, Shepard, anyway.

"No, I am not content to be kept as their slave. Nor will I be content with my freedom at the expense of that of others. Panem is sick and if we are destined to remain here, we must find a cure for its illness." He'd used the same analogy with Joly due to the man's profession, but it was appropriate enough. Rampant inequality and the normalization and institutionalization of oppression had rendered the people unable to even see that there was a problem. To fix anything would require not a revolution of force, but a revolution of thought. They could attack forever, fight forever, but until the people themselves saw the problem, nothing would come of it. It was a difficult shift in his thought process, but one that was intrinsically important to their success.

"And where do you stand, mademoiselle? Adjusting is hardly the same thing as adapting."

"I've been kept as a slave to men my entire life. I was abducted to this place on the eve of my emancipation. I will never forgive them for that, and I will not have my freedom detained." Felicity's voice was ripe with a force she knew she possessed but was pleasantly surprised to hear again. She was not about to bow down and suffer in silence. However, she would gladly participate in the games so long as it gave her a cover, and a chance to remain in top condition.

Quite suddenly, she ceased Enjolras by both wrists, not caring that is was scandalous to do such a thing. Presently, she thought him less a man and more a plot device in this strange drama of her life. "I am my own weapon, sir. I can wield myself in any number of ways. But I need a bloody target. Do you understand?" Her grip was firm, but not unbreakable by any means. She held him for emphasis. "I am a scorpion. I cannot help but strike. But I want to make my strike a good one."

He'd been about to comment on her dramatics when she grabbed him. Though he could easily break her hold, Enjolras was, plainly, stunned by the audacity of the contact. The months in the Capitol had wrenched from him concerns over whether or not it was appropriate from a sexual standpoint. Women here were simply more forward than anything he'd ever dealt with in Paris. Nevertheless, there were still limits, even to their indiscretions. As such, the gesture was not taken as an advance, but rather, coupled with her words, it seemed the desperate move of a madwoman cornered.

She had seemed fine a moment ago. How had things shifted so quickly?

"You should aspire to be something of more substance, mademoiselle. Tigers make short work of their prey as well, and are not so low to the ground." His eyes, which had widened when she had grabbed him, narrowed again this time in an expression of admonishment. He didn't move to disentangle himself, but rather hoped she would take the hint and recover her dignity herself.

There was no dignity to recover, didn't he understand that? Nevermore would she be the society lady, nevermore would she be the debutante. Her entire world was gone, and her understanding of everything along with it. If she could not behave freely here, even in this stifled manner, then what was the point.

Either way, she did not release him. Not yet.

"Clearly you've never seen a tiger before. When they hunt they are very low to the ground."

"A means to an end, mademoiselle." Were they seriously to argue the particulars of tigers in so odd a position? He tugged back from her experimentally, less to free himself and more to grab her attention. "Tigers disguise their intentions before they strike, but they truly hide or pretend to be less than what they are. Your scorpions are so small. One can admire their venom while still mourning the difficulties which no doubt imbued them with it."

The metaphor was beginning to lose its lusted, but by no fault of his own. It hadn't been Enjolras' manner of speaking in the first place. He couldn't be blamed for its failures. "Who do you suppose are your enemies here?"

Edited (Spelling is hard on a phone. ) 2014-03-09 16:14 (UTC)

Felicity could have gone on to argue the merits of being a scorpion further, but she acquiesced to him, at last releasing his arms.

"That I cannot say. I do not even know who my captives are, if they are men or monsters." In her experience, it was likely a combination of the two. She met Enjolras' gaze again, blue eyes going colder. "I suppose the men who invented the means by which I was brought to this place should be near the top of my list."

"Men usually create their own monsters," he replied passively, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket again where they had been covered by her palms.

"And though I would not wish to speak ill of our generous hosts, I do not imagine that would be a terrible place to start." Hopefully that was a vague to keep them from immediately honing in on her, but encouraging enough that she would follow the instinct. Even the Capitol had to accept that, at least on a certain level, anger was the natural reaction to an abduction.

Satisfied with his readjusted jacket, he eyed her, remembering what had first prompted him to seek her out. "The Games are a distraction. Playing in them is only giving our keepers what they want. You can choose to work within their system and embrace its cruelty for however it might be of benefit to you, or you can choose to recognize its futility and work for something better. I do not pretend that either path is necessarily easier than the other, but those are the options available to us."

"And you insist that is it?" Her blue eyes met his for a long enough period that it was nearly uncomfortable. "One cannot strive for victory while working to undermine the system?"

That seamed at odds to Felicity, not just because she despised being corrected or led by a man, but because she was sure there would be a way for her to win the Games while working against the Capitol. Perhaps Enjolras could not understand. He hadn't been through the things she had. She knew he knew nothing of the oppression of the female sex, nor the hideous evils a man could commit against his daughter, nor the wicked subjugation she'd been threatened with both in the Realms and in her real life. He was a man. He could be disobedient and not have everything taken away from him. She and her sisters did not have that luxury.

"This has not been a wasted recruitment speech, if that is what you are attempting. Whereas Paris did not rise with you, know that I will, when it is time." She cast her gaze aside then, tugging at the lace on her wrists. "Does that satisfy you?"

That caught him off guard. Despite her assertion that he was a player in some sort of history book, he couldn't help but be annoyed by how much she knew of him. The last person he'd told of his failed rebellion had been Diana and she'd disappeared months ago, long before it had ever had the chance to be relevant.

"Not particularly." He frowned back at her critically. The sentiment was appreciated, even if its speaker was less than satisfactory. "Insurgencies must have their discipline, and you, mademoiselle, seem ill-acquainted with the notion."

"You must forgive me for speaking bluntly, Enjolras, but you are ill-acquainted with me entirely." Felicity rose from her seat then, taking the limited opportunity to loom over him. "And if I recall my history correctly- and I do- your attempt at insurgency ended in a bloody massacre."

His expression had been far from pleasant before, but that earned her an outright snarl. "Recorded history is all too often the luxury of the victorious, mademoiselle. We failed and we suffered the consequences for it, but we failed in the pursuit of something in which we truly believed. Moreover, none of us acted in any capacity that did not serve virtue."

With the exception of one man, but Enjolras had made short work of that himself. The consequences for that, both real and imagined, he would endure alone.

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

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you still spelled things wrong but i forgive you

the struggle is real sometimes

preach

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