thecapitol | (no subject)

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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...

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Don was once more in his nightwalking mood. After the crowning, he'd been up, pondering precisely what the breach of security meant. Sedition? Yes, but what level of it? Had such a hacking job been done before? Who was responsible? Who had been behind the voice heard on the-

-vomit. He just stepped in vomit. Donatello winced when he realized it; he'd been so deep and excited in his thoughts that he didn't even notice where he was walking. But the warm pile of...stuff brought him back very, very quickly.

Especially when he saw who it was doing the vomiting. His blood began to go cold, as sudden thoughts of poison ran through his brain.

"Eliot!"

Eliot flinched at the sound of his name. It looked too loud. And then he looked up to see some kind of monster. When had they taken him back to the Arena? He punched weakly at the thing's leg trying to buy enough time to get away. But that threw his balance off again and he fell on his side, trapping his other hand under him awkwardly. "Aria-ee," he slurred. "Don... Th'r's..." He trailed off as his stomach lurched again.

Oh. Oh dear, what happened to him. Eliot didn't even seem to recognize him and was trying to attack him. Though, said attack wasn't even hitting him. Not that that was any comfort.

"Eliot?" He spoke again, this time lowering his voice. "It's me, Don."

Asking what the shell happened was probably a bit too much for him to process at the moment. Especially since he was too busy throwing up.

She had been in her room, trying to keep quiet, trying to sort out the few personal items she had before she moved into one of the other rooms. That didn't really make sense to her, lugging her things across the common room and into a mentor room instead of a Tribute room, but it wasn't like she was going to complain, if it kept her from having to kill people again.

Her fingers wrapped around her totem when she found it, setting it on the bedside table and gently tipping it over. The soft clunk of the bishop hitting the table was muffled by the elevator, and someone apparently retching. She wondered for a moment if it wasn't one of the Morphlings, back from another night of ruining themselves, digging themselves into an early (perhaps desired) grave. Then she padded out quietly, peering out around the corner, and stopping.

"Eliot?" Ariadne quietly asked, wondering suddenly what had happened to drive him to this. If it was just the killing, the parties, the unanticipated excitement - if it could be called that - that was being forced upon them. She wouldn't know until she asked.

"Don'..." Eliot tried moving again. His stomach definitely didn't like that. He didn't want... Not again... But everything seemed to move both too slow and too fast. "Pleasss... Ari..."

He gagged again but nothing came out this time. He pulled away, trying to get anywhere but where the mutt was. If he was going to die or... or worse, he didn't want it to be like this. Although he wasn't sure whatever drugs he'd been given wouldn't kill him first. "L-Linnny?"

Eliot looked up at the sound, squinting at the sight of it. But the girl looked kind of familiar but there were too many colors to make out who she was. And they were so loud. He couldn't let the mutt kill her. "Go..." he murmured. "Mmmutt... Don' le' it... G-go..."

She hesitated, unsure of why he was there to begin with; he shouldn't have been on her floor like this, apparently stumbling drunk and-

Well, who even knew. Ariadne stepped closer, frowning down at him, keeping her distance from him primarily because of the smell. Somehow, she'd have to get him cleaned up; a tragedy that she had never been much for partying hard. At least she knew how to clean up the aftermath.

"Eliot, what are you doing here?"

He lifted a hand to his eyes, trying to block out how bright the sounds were. "G-go..."

He blinked behind his hands, forcing his eyes back open. He had to get back on his feet and get her out of here. And then he needed Lindsey, needed his big brother for this. "Nnno' s'fe're."

Ariadne merely blinked at that, glancing around. Certainly, she very much doubted that the Capitol was particularly safe, but if that really was what he said, then he was either deluded, or there was something wrong. She wasn't actually sure which. All she knew was that she didn't exactly have a mothering bone in her body, and without calling Derek out to help her, she very much doubted Eliot would be able to get himself back to his own floor.

She pursed her mouth thoughtfully, frowning at him before slowly crossing over, circling wide before trying to help him back to his feet, "Speak slower. Come on, there's a couch over here."

"Nnnooo..." He shook his head. He reached for the arm of an easy chair and pulled himself to his feet. He staggered toward her, somehow staying on his feet despite how the room swayed and swirled around him. "Ggg-gott-ta go..."

He gasped as he tripped and nearly fell. "'Ssnnnot sss'fe here... Gggo. Ddddonn' die..."

Well, shell. How was he going to do this? Generally, he'd have some kind of equipment to help pump his stomach of the drugs or food - because at this point its really one of two things - but of course, Tributes don't have access to life-saving equipment like that.

Which meant he'd need to find a doctor or medic or something. Which meant leaving Eliot--wait, "Linny"?

That sounded familiar.

"Nnno!" The word came out loud and harsh despite Eliot's slurred speech that even he could barely understand. But his tongue, his mouth weren't working right. "Nno' h'mm. W-won' lle' you."

He somehow managed to start crawling back toward the elevator despite complaints from his now nearly empty stomach. Lindsey. He couldn't let the mutt hurt his brother.

"The only reason you'll die in the common room is if you pass out," she told him wryly, gripping his arm a bit tighter to keep him upright, tugging him off towards the couch. One of the Morphlings would probably have words for her - assuming they were lucid enough, of course - but she didn't really care. "I'm trying to prevent that from happening. You're fine."

Oh no. In his condition, there is no way Don was going to let Eliot do that. He needed help; Eliot wasn't going to make it far if he tries to leave. Quickly, Don goes to give Eliot a gentle, but firm, shove. He intends to get Eliot off-balance, at least long enough to get into the elevator and prevent Eliot from getting on it.

"Nnno..." Damn it, how could he make her understand? He still couldn't make his mouth work right. "Y'g-go'a go... Linnnyy... 'Ssgonnn' kill 'inny..."

He tried to push forward to the Tribute rooms. He had to get him out of her but he stumbled against the girl.

Eliot kicked at the monster as he fell. Or at least he tried. He couldn't let it get to Lindsey. He couldn't just let his brother die like that. Damn it, what he'd give for a gun right then. He couldn't make anything else work. He needed to kill it somehow.

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.

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