thecapitol | come morning light

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come morning light

It was one thing to hear about how most people came back to life after dying in the Arena, but another thing altogether to experience it for yourself. It wasn't one he was eager to go through again, and that meant he was going to have to step up his game. But for the moment, Zelos was content to stay on Floor 6 and take some much-needed rest and relaxation.

After a month spent in that godforsaken Arena, where he had to scrounge for all the food he could get, it was too much to see it just laid out in the dining room like a banquet. All that food, and mere days ago, he was always just a sponsor gift away from starving to death.

So instead of sitting down and taking his breakfast as usual, under the creepy watch of the Avoxes, Zelos marches into the Floor 6 kitchen, and starts banging away in there.

His district mates might find themselves waking up to the unusual stench of something burning and Zelos getting more and more annoyed with all these modern utensils.

It was an enlightening experience to stroll out in the Capitol and see how different it was during the Arena, versus during the in-between period that he'd arrived in. Everyone was noticeably more fired up and it seemed like all the talk was of the remaining Tributes and bets being placed on who the Victor this time around would be.

Zelos sat on one of the benches, watching the current live feed from within the Arena on the big screen outside.

His attention was only half on the Game though. The other half was on the people in the bustling square and anyone who tried to approach him. Whenever someone came close within earshot, he called out to them, "What do you think?"

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Ian smelled burning and frowned, usually he stayed away from the kitchen. He could cook of course but here he just felt like he got in the way, so he just ate whatever was available, or went out.

He peeked his head in the kitchen, since it wasn't like any of the avoxes could call out if there was a problem. He frowned as he saw Zelos. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Zelos didn't even turn to acknowledge Ian as he tossed the burnt toast into the garbage. Ian might catch a glimpse of some previous attempts starting to pile up in the bin before the lid closes with a bang. Why the hell were there so many buttons on something meant to make bread?

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Wasting food." He told him, pulling a face at the smell. They had a lot of food here, but still Zelos should probably give up before he burned the kitchen down.

"Ha ha," he pulled a face as he sat down at the kitchen table, with nothing to show for his efforts. A guy could only handle failure so many times... time for a break. "If you want to talk wasting food, I'd go look out there."

He gestures carelessly towards the dining room, where the massive spread of food was laid out for breakfast.

Ian followed his gesture and shrugged, "And what's wrong with it? Not up to your standards?"

Because with all that food why would he be in here cooking when he was obviously shit at it.

Zelos was in no mood to mess around, so Ian only received a flat stare. "All that food, for what, five people? There's never any leftovers either, so use your brain, moron."

Where did all the perfectly edible, excess food go? The answer: into the garbage. When there were people starving in the Arena, and people starving in the districts. It was disgusting.

"That's not what I'm asking. I'm asking why you are making yet more food when there is so much through there."

Ian raised an eyebrow.

"Can't look at it," Zelos said flatly.

He didn't even know why he thought it'd be a good idea to go into the kitchen and try to make food himself. He'd never really had to before, and the end result was a lingering, burning smell in the air that only made his stomach feel even more nauseous. Even just the sight of the Avoxes that he managed to normally block out of his vision were like a neon sign in his face, almost like they were taunting him.

"Doesn't it make you sick?" he asked abruptly, leaning on the table with his elbow and chin in hand.

"Depends how hungover I am." Ian said, but he sensed that Zelos was being serious, and he might not exactly like the guy but... they were all in this shit together.

"This a new thing?"

"What is?" he raised an eyebrow, wanting to see where Ian was going with this.

"The whole feeling sick thing." He raised an eyebrow back. And waved an arm to the other room with the food.

New? Maybe the fact that it was affecting him personally. It wasn't like he hadn't been to poor villages, or seen the extravagance of some while others went hungry in the slums. But knowing and seeing was different from actually experiencing, something he was coming to appreciate in his current circumstances.

"Just got out of the Arena," he said as an answer, lightly waving his arm as if in explanation. "You wouldn't even believe it was the same world if you look at the difference between this, and in there."

Ian had grown up knowing that some people had loads of stuff whilst others barely had enough to survive. He'd like to say that being on the other side, now being one of those who had everything made him sick as well.

But he wasn't sure he was that selfless and it wasn't like all this stuff didn't come with a price.

"Yeah, it's petty weird, just like the districts. You wouldn't think that place was in the same world as here."

"Maybe that's the point," Zelos said after a pause, before abruptly laughing. It wouldn't do to get too in depth about a topic like that with Ian. Districtmates or not, he still had yet to find anyone he could trust. "Ah- nevermind, I just sound dumb now."

He stood up from the table and put a hand on his waist as he appraised the tools in the kitchen. "You know how to use any of these?"

Ian shrugged, it didn't sound dumb, it was probably what most people were thinking.

He looked around, "Yeah, do you need help?" Not sure how people couldn't use basic kitchen appliances, but he was trying to not be an ass.

"I don't need help," he insisted. "...but I wouldn't mind some!"

Yeah, he was about six slices of burnt toast past any dignity.

Ian just raised an eyebrow and nodded looking round, "What were you trying to make?" Toast was it? It smelled like burned toast anyways.

"Toast," he said with a sigh, waving towards the loaf of bread still sitting out on the counter next to the fancy multi-button, multi-function toaster oven. It was still somewhat of an enlightenment when he discovered pre-sliced bread. "Where I'm from, we have ovens to warm bread up, not... whatever that is."

Toast... "It's called a toaster." He said, voice neutral. "You can still use the oven but these ones are fucking weird even to me."

Really he wouldn't have thought there was a way to make a hob complicated but the capitol had found one.

He took two slices of bread and popped them in the toaster, turning it down to about mid way and making sure the other dial was just on the toaster function.

It was a few days now, since Harley had paraded Eponine through the Capitol, and she had barely been back to the Tribute Tower since. She had been back, just to find some clothes that weren't made out of tatters of bedding and carpet, and shoes that she could walk in. But beyond that, she had been living in the park. She was never going back.

She was a sight now: what was left of her tangled, brown hair was matted with glue: bits of orange wig were still stuck in it, along with the odd bit of grass and leaf. Her face was streaked with dirt and bits of white and blue makeup she hadn't bothered to remove. And she was dressed in a dirty grey dress, over a pair of black leggings, and her feet were jammed into a pair of scruffy trainers. She didn't look like a tribute at all.

She had been sat in the square for a while now, watching the man on the bench curiously. He stood out as a Tribute: she could practically smell the Towers on him. But perhaps he would not know her? She edged closer over time. When he asked her the question, though, she simply stared.

"What is there to think about?" She had to stop herself from saying 'Monsieur' - it had given her away far too easily with Harley.

The woman didn't look much like a tribute, and by the ridiculousness of her appearance, he could only assume that she was a Capitol citizen. Which could be an interesting insight into how to better get their attention and adoration in the Arena.

"The Arena, naturally," he answered, putting on a cheerful smile. "You were watching it from out here, weren't you?"

"Not really, Sir." She replied, still coming closer, still hovering as if she were about to take flight. She WAS about to run, honestly, if he showed even the slightest sign of recognising her.

"Did you die in it? The Arena? How?"

A Capitol woman who didn't watch the Arena? It wasn't like it was impossible, but it was a little unexpected, given her appearance and all. Still, that made him even more curious about what she had to say about it, but it looked like the first order of business was to get her to relax.

"Ah, well, I'm sure you can search it up later," Zelos answered with a dismissive chuckle, brushing it off in spite of the queasy feeling in his stomach every time he remembered the way that woman slashed his throat so easily. "I'm way more interested in a beautiful lady like yourself. But I haven't even introduced myself yet!"

He reached out to take her hand and went the full nine yards with pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Zelos Wilder, at your service."

She simply stared at him. Was he laughing at her, this man, calling her beautiful? Eponine knew she was not beautiful: there were bald patches on her head where the glue with which Harley had attached the wig, had pulled her real hair out. There were bruises on her face from where Harley had hit her, and about her neck, from the collar. She must be filthy from sleeping rough. Was he really laughing at her?

Her hand trembled, just a little, as he took it, and she averted her eyes as he kissed her hand.

"'Ponine, Monsieur. Eponine Jondrette..." She glanced back at him. "Why do you watch? Is it not enough to live it?"

"Well, my sweet Eponine, isn't the whole point of the Games to be a show?" he asked in response.

If she wanted to keep talking about the Games, he'd go along with it. But that was a pretty odd way for a Capitol woman to be talking about their biggest source of entertainment. That, and as she came closer, his eyes started to pick up on some less savoury parts of her appearance that he couldn't quit chalk up to Capitol freakishness. "Besides, I'm curious about who the winner will be. Aren't you?"

"I would not be bothered if I never saw another, Sir. Having a Victor will make little difference to me! Or to you: they will still send you in, you know. You 'll still die again."

It was horrid when they were new, breaking down the realities of the arena .

" I am sorry you are here , Sir ."

That nagging feeling grew into a strong suspicion with every word she spoke, but that only led to more questions. If her appearance wasn't because of her Capitol origins, then why in the world did she look like that? His expression tightens minutely at the thought before it smooths out again.

"Why, that's sweet of you, hunny," Zelos said mildly. "But no need to worry, I can take care of myself."

He paused and a concerned look grew on his face. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." Eponine replied, quickly, fiercely. She hugged her arms about her, and looked down at her feet, taking a few seconds to collect herself. She shouldn't have snapped: she didn't mean to snap. But after everything... no, Eponine was a long way away from 'alright'. She was sinking in a quagmire and quite unable to escape. But she could not, would not ask a stranger, especially, for help.

"I mean, yes Sir." Her voice was more gentle then. "Yes... you speak of my appearance, no?" Eponine shook her head. "It is nothing... it is what happens to wicked people, I think. My hair will grow, I think, or I could ask them for some... I do not want to ask for anything from them again though."

Her quick, fierce answer surprised him, when she seemed so timid a moment ago. Well, well, looked like there was some spirit in her after all. Of course, anyone could see that she was as far from 'all right' as could be, but if she wanted to act strong, then who was he to dissuade her?

"I've met wicked people and you, my sweet lady, look nothing like them," he said, shaking his head.

"No?"

She laughed. Perhaps she ought not to mention her thieving... and her manipulation... kidnap... murder.

"Well, perhaps Harley has made me look terrible - but perhaps terrible makes me look sweet. Do you feel sorry for me, Sir? Is that it?" He better not be laughing at her.

That was a dangerous question... If he said he didn't, she might think he was an inconsiderate jerk. If he said he did, she might think he was just pitying her. So he went for the safer route.

"It's just not right for a pretty lady to look so down," he answered with a slight frown, before taking her hand again with a smile. "Tell you what, if you're free right now, why don't we take a stroll through the markets?"

"You don't mind being seen with me?" She ducked her head, rubbing her dirty nose self consciously at his compliments.

"I am not the best company, Sir, if you wish to gain sponsors for the arenas. I do not think I have many people who like me very much any more."

"Ouch, is that really what you think of me?" Zelos feigned a slightly hurt look.

She had no idea how close she was, but for the moment, he had nothing to gain in the sponsors aspect. But he did take note of her words, especially the part about the fact that she wasn't very popular. It wouldn't be the first time he ended up joining with the underdog.

Eponine shrugged.

"I do not know you, Sir." Now it was awkward, and she bit her lip. As much as Eponine liked to pretend that she was a social butterfly, the truth was that she had very little skill talking to anyone who was not a member of the underworld. It showed now, her awkwardness, and she curtseyed quickly, and began to speak so fast that her words seemed to trip over one another for her hurry.

"When I was in Paris, Sir, men like you would not be seen with me. Well, perhaps at night, Sir, or in the privacy of their houses. But Sir, even then, I was brought by the back stairs and bundled out of the coal cellar. But I didn't mind - whilst they were busy looking for the door, I would stuff my pockets of coal so that we could have some warmth in the room. We would have a real fire and perhaps a sausage - I do like sausage, you know? But... but no. It is just the way of the world, Monsieur. It is only horrible men who want to know me."

Well, she definitely seemed to be trying to get to a point, and it was probably a good thing he wasn't easily offended by intentionally or unintentionally callous comments.

"Call me Zelos," he said, still holding her hand lightly in his, but giving it a gentle squeeze. "It sounds like you've had a hard life, but I promise, I'll show you what a not horrible guy I am."

It wasn't completely true, but at the very least, he had to be an improvement over the kinds of men she was describing.

"Yeah?" She tightened her grip on his hand. If this man was going to show her a good time, despite everything, then who was she to say no? She was hardly in a position to be picky about her friends.

"Well then, Sir, if you please, will you lead the way? I am happy to do as you wish, whenever you like. Zelos, I mean. I am sorry. It is a bad habit I have, to say 'Monsieur' instead of a name. Even after - it is two years now, Sir - even after two years, I still say it. It is still a habit. You must excuse my stupidity."

"I've been hearing that word around," Zelos said, offering his arm to her for her to loop hers through. Once she does, he'll set them off towards the markets.

Compliments and gifts, his successful and proven equation for the way to a woman's heart. "I sure hope it's nothing bad."

"Monsieur?' She asked, as she took his proffered arm. My my my - Eponine felt like a properly grand lady, hanging on to a man's arm in such a way, and she positively beamed.

"Ah, but of course. Some of my compatriots from France are here in Panem as well, Sir. It is a habit with all of us to say 'Monsieur' - it is nothing bad, that I promise. It means 'Sir', that is all. Only - the others that you will see, who say similar words to me - they are gentlemen, Sir, proper, true gentlemen. They say it when they address someone they do not know. Me - I must use it for everybody."

Perry just had no idea what to do, now that he was back. He'd been blown up. He hadn't just died, he'd died after being blown up. There were bits of him everywhere. How the fuck did they fix him up, after all that? It was no wonder that he hadn't come out of his room for a few days. He spent a lot of time just running his hands over his body.

Checking to make sure all of the pieces of his chest, stomach, legs, whatever, were still there. And when he came out? He didn't do much either. Following the smell, he went to the kitchen, saw who it was, and sat at a table.

It was awhile before he spoke. "Do you even know how to cook?"

Perry was lucky he'd been a bro in the Arena, because Zelos was tired, sick of extravagance and people just getting on his nerves in general. Instead of snapping at him, he just sat down across the table, looking put out with his own efforts. "I would if I could figure out how to use these machines."

Yeah, because all the blame went to the fancy machinery and not his own lack of cooking skills.

"They don't seem that hard." Perry gave a little smile at that. Though, Zelos did have a point, with the machines. All of the stuff here was very extravagant, and maybe even Perry didn't know what some of them do. But the ones he did know where the ones that everyone could use.

Except Zelos, apparently. "What are you even trying to make? Can't you just order it from a speaker in your room?"

"Ah, but that defeats the purpose of learning to cook," he countered with a smug smile. "After all, you can't order food from a speaker when you're in the Arena."

"You can't cook food using a stove and an oven in the arena, either." Perry pointed out. "Maybe you should make a fire in the lounge, and see if you can cook anything on that, first." He smirked in response.

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come morning light

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