thecapitol | (no subject)

WHO| Eliot Spencer, Ariadne, and anyone else he stumbles across
WHAT| The aftermath of a particularly bad "date"
WHEN| The night after Ariadne's crowning ceremony
WHERE| The District 6 suite at the Training Center
WARNING/NOTES| Aftermath of drug use, possible references to prostitution and dub-con, possible language

Eliot stumbled into the elevator and pushed a button. His head spun and he fell against the wall of the elevator. His stomach lurched in reaction. He jerked as he touched the wall, every sensation heightened to the point where he could barely make sense of anything. He had to get to his room. He needed to be somewhere away from prying eyes, and cameras, and people he might say the wrong thing to.

He saw more than heard the chime when the elevator arrived at the floor. He staggered out as the door opened, feeling oddly weak. The room spun around him. He reached for the back of chair to keep himself upright but he couldn't hold on and fell to the floor. At that point, his stomach decided it couldn't take anymore and he found himself retching, unable to stop as his body objected to everything that had been forced on it in the past few hours. He couldn't stop the tears that came with the vomiting. He hadn't wanted this. Not the drugs, not the sex, not any of it. He didn't do drugs. Ever. He couldn't. Not with his job. But his date hadn't listened. No, stop, no. He couldn't...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Very much doubting that any of her fellow Tributes - well, they were her fellow Tributes, now turned students, as though she had something to teach them beyond 'just kill everyone' - would appreciate being woken up or interrupted in whatever they happened to be doing by someone who looked to be leaning on the slightly deranged, Ariadne merely put her newfound strength into levering him back, pushing him back towards the couch with the same intensity that she had previously taken down people with. She might have been small, particularly compared to him, but that didn't mean she couldn't do anything.

"Sit down, Eliot," Ariadne told him, tone offering no argument in the matter.

Normally, he would have been able to dodge the shove. Normally, it would have taken more force than that to make him move a direction he didn't want to go. But his mind couldn't track her movements and he was barely staying upright as it was. He fell heavily onto the couch, hitting his head in the back. He looked up at her, wide-eyed and pleading. She shouldn't be the one doing this. He couldn't see her well enough to figure out which name to call her but he knew they'd worked together, they'd trusted each other. "Wai-," he whispered. "Le' mmme w'rn Lllinn firs'. Pl'se."

"I don't know what you're saying," she explained, taking up a seat beside him, glancing briefly over her shoulder to see if anyone else was coming. It was late; people were sleeping. Tentatively, she reached out, giving his shoulder a squeeze in hopes that it would ground him a little bit more. "You're on the wrong floor," Ariadne tried to explain, doubting very much she could get a straight answer out of him even if she bothered asking how he got so fucked up to begin with. This wasn't normal, even by Capitol standards; she'd never seen the Morphlings like this.