You're Still No Hero Diving in the Blue [Closed]

[celebrityskinned]

WHO| Venus and Wyatt, Venus and Guy, Venus and Courfeyrac, Venus and Enjolras
WHAT| Catchall for Venus meeting with her fellas again after the mini-Arena
WHEN| Before the Thicker Than Blood plot
WHERE| Tribute Center
WARNINGS| Mentions of death.

She sits up and laughs when she wakes. Not a long laugh, not even an especially humor-filled one, but it's a surprised sound that comes right out of her, because she had been told that she wouldn't be coming back and yet here she is. The Capitol's lied many times to her before, and yet she can't recall it ever being so blatant. So rarely have the contradictions come so soon after the original statements.

She lets living again flow through her. She examines it, sitting on the bed, feeling her heart beating away in the body the Capitol gave her, twisting a tiny braid in her fingers, letting herself feel the disappointment and anger and grief she felt while in the Arena have a smidgen of time in her right now. She breathes deep, in her nose and out her mouth, and counts, over and over again, to thirty-five. After some time, she opens her eyes and feels, while not clearly, somewhat less overcast.

She puts on a dress and socks and makeup and listens through Enjolras' door for a moment in the hallway, not wanting to interrupt if he's getting some much-needed sleep. She doesn't hear the typical rustling of pages or scratching of a pen, so she leaves him be for now. She slips one of her hair ribbons under his door, so he knows she's back and well. And she asks an Avox if Guy and Courfeyrac made it back, and sits down on the suite couch with relief when she gets news that they did.

An Avox gets her a cookie-dough milkshake and she watches Wyatt win on a rerun, and Hans, and Harley and Eliot. She replays it to relish that one of her team made it out relatively safe and sound. Since she's only been back a few hours, she leaves watching all the deaths for later. No need to see what happened to little Pruna when the day is so fresh. And when that's done, she puts her feet up, flicks off the TV and starts her way into Sartre.

Over the next few days, she goes and finds the people she owes celebrations and the people she owes apologies to. Guy, Courfeyrac, Wyatt. She finds them in the Tribute Center lobby and greets each of them with a hug.

Comments

[the_marshal]

Wyatt was mostly healed by the time he and Venus found one another, but while the Capitol's medicine's were an undeniable part of it, it was even more Max. Howard. Venus, breezing from the elevator in her gauzy dress, smiling brightly at him.

That was what really did him good. A balm like nothing the Capitol could concoct.

Rising out of his chair at the little table, coffee steaming in the fine, designer mug before him, he swept off his hat and returned her embrace.

"Welcome back, Sis," he rumbled roughly to her.

It wasn't what he really needed to say, but that needed working up to.

[celebrityskinned]

"Our Escorts are phonies, what else is new?" She gives him a squeeze and pulls back, a hand on each of his shoulders as she looks him over. Part of her wants to slap him upside the head for the time he wasted watching her fade away, and yet she can't deny that it let her ease rather than crash into death. That she appreciated it.

"Congratulations, Victor. I'm surprised Max hasn't found a Capitol surgeon to physically attach himself to you now." She grins and takes his hat, popping it onto her own head (her thick braids keep it from being too big on her smaller head).

[the_marshal]

He reached up to catch the edge of the brim, tugging it down gently to make sure it was straight across her dark eyebrows.

"Max ain't fond'a pants, an I ain't got the legs for those skirts'a his," he smiled easily, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. "Until the stylists can reach somethin' inbetween, we'll jus' have to contain ourselves."

[celebrityskinned]

"Well, that must be just awful for you guys." She grins up at him from under the brim of the hat, bobbing her head in a teasing manner, before she gets somber for just a moment.

"I'm glad you made it out. I'm glad one of us did - Courfeyrac and Guy at least came back, but..."

[the_marshal]

"It is a tax."

He started to turn, to reach for the other chair at his little table to offer her a seat, but paused and looked back as she spoke again.

"...Thanks to you," he said, filling in when she broke off. "You an' Guy an' Courfeyrac. Pruna. ...I wouldn't have made it without all of you."

[celebrityskinned]

She nods. "Just a shame I couldn't get them both out." She's finding it harder and harder to leave what happens in the Arena back there, and that includes the guilt about what happened to Guy and Courfeyrac.

She takes a dainty seat and takes the hat off, holding it over her lap. "Anyway, it's good to be back. You're looking better than you ever have, I have to say. Did you comb your mustache?"

[the_marshal]

She didn't have to explain to Wyatt. He understood guilt. Carried around in layers. Wore it like scars, fresh ones still stinging - Pruna had died for him - atop old ones. Phantom hurts that ached with the rain. With the quiet.

"Liar," he replied, taking his seat again across from her, happy to let the weight slip aside for now.

Now was a moment to focus on the good. She'd returned, Guy and Courfeyrac and Pruna too.

His mouth tipped again, the soft, handsome edges of a smile. "But I feel better. Better than I have in a long time."

[orestes]

The Tribute Center seems deserted while the Arena is in session. It's at once restless and comfortable, the silence a means to focus so long as one does not concentrate too much on the reason behind it. For that reason, and because of the inescapable television screens broadcasting the latest display of brutality, Enjolras has avoided the building for the most part. If one could ignore the stares of random passersby, the outdoors could offer the illusion of refuge from their all-too-luxurious prison.

She's moved onto Sartre by the time he returns from his walk. His understanding of the modern philosopher is limited, but he knows enough to recognize the name and a few key concepts. Existentialism, not to be confused with the far more optimistic Absurdism, Communism, which seems in some small ways to be a movement preceded by the republican institutions and labour initiatives to which Enjolras himself belonged, though further developed and changed into a distinctive ideology of its own.

Not wanting to disturb her, he unties his scarf, quietly placing it on the shared coat rack at the periphery of the common area. He settles next to her, reading over her shoulder in a way that is, perhaps, too casual, too familiar, but which he's almost entirely certain she won't mind. Finally, his instinct to question, to debate, gets the better of him. It has, after all, been a while since they have had the opportunity to do this. "People who live in society have learnt how to see themselves, in mirrors, as they appear to their friends. I have no friends: is that why my flesh is so naked? From whom, do you suppose, he borrowed that idea?"

[celebrityskinned]

She looks up when he approaches, but doesn't close the book. When he sits beside her they seem to settle together, a little too close for just friends, and she moves the open pages so he can read more easily.

"I don't know if this is what you're thinking, but I think it's got some interesting contradictions with Descartes. Since Descartes seems to base identity entirely on his, um, what's the word, self-perception and this implies that we are what we make out of other people's ideas of us."

She sits up and gives him a kiss. She holds it a little long; she was told she wouldn't make it back from the last Arena, and now she suspects that he wasn't told the same thing, as they're back in their settled routine as if she'd just gone for a run. And she would have missed this. She would have gone to her death with at least one less kiss than she would have wanted in her life.

"That didn't sound entirely stupid, did it?"

[orestes]

"No, it did not. And you must stop doubting yourself when saying such things." He frowns thoughtfully, not necessarily at her, but at the content of her words. "There is nothing wrong with being a student, and the synthesis of information is one of the more difficult elements of any sort of discipline. By which I mean, to take one type of thought and apply it to another."

They had been told about the the vague permanence of death, but Enjolras' ability to comprehend or deal with such things on any meaningful level had long since been compromised. Life and death are transient concepts now, abstracts rather than tangibles. Life is the ability to make choices, limited though they are. In a certain sense, it is also imprisonment, and death offers a certain value of freedom from that prison. If Venus could attain that freedom and do so without the moral ambiguity of suicide, Enjolras would-- Well, it's far easier to consider the question with her sitting beside him, tangibly warm against his shoulder, than with her in the Arena, and now he doesn't feel quite as uncertain in contemplating it. Except that such things, are, on yet another level, a waste. The fact is that they remain alive until the Capitol deems that they should not be, or until they can find such means as to remove them from their situation. The overarching threat, their general powerlessness, should be sufficient cause to strive toward that end.

"You are correct, however. I was referring to Descartes." They lean against each other, each supporting the other to the point where he feels as if they might simply melt comfortably into one entity. It's pleasant and easy, as if she hadn't just returned from the dead . Such things are commonplace to them now, and Enjolras is, at least, cognizant enough to understand what a problem that poses. "May I kiss you again?"

[celebrityskinned]

"I don't think there's anything wrong with being a student, I'm just not just a student." And so it matters at least a little bit that she doesn't fall below his expectations of her, she feels. Someday she may not feel outclassed, but until then she'll worry just a bit about keeping up. "I think Sartre - am I saying that right? - comes off as lonely, but I think the concept as a whole is a lot less isolated than Descartes'."

She cuts herself off before she adds another 'if that makes sense', realizing it's as much a qualifier as it is a verbal tic in these conversations.

She rests her head against his neck, feeling the beginning of stubble on his jaw against her temple, before she answers his question without words but with action. This kiss is deeper, not hungry so much as directed, as she explores his teeth with her tongue. It's made brave because of the death she just left behind, the idea that there may never be a chance to do this again.

It's part of the human condition, to marry enjoyment and desperation, to equate near-death with a desire for fulfillment. Venus is no different, sometimes.

(If Azula comes in and breaks this up, Venus might do worse than shove the woman into a refrigerator.)

[orestes]

Gradually, he's becoming accustomed to this. It's non-verbal communication almost at its most intimate. He yields where she directs, not for lack of interest or passion, but for inexperience. His greatest efforts have always been made through words, and his actions have usually been misinterpreted and later misrepresented. The lack of ability to clarify by all but physical means lends a certain uncertainty to the venture that's both crippling and inherently exciting.

He pulls her closer, almost into his lap so that when they break their lips are still only inches from each other's.

"How are you feeling?" Enjolras asks with all the directness of someone expecting a report, rather than the tenderness one might expect from a distraught boyfriend. "There were rumors that none of you would be returning. I did not know what to believe."

That admission, at least, puts a certain strain into his expression. It's as if he's torn by wanting to analyze his feelings, both personal and civic, regarding that hypothetical. At least it keeps his thoughts from Azula. The wretched woman isn't a factor to him at all in this, even if she remains on the periphery of Venus' thoughts.

[celebrityskinned]

"Alive."

That's the only way to describe it, really. Alive and filled with the possibilities that that offers, alive and weighed down by the burdens of existence. Alive and thrumming with the knowledge that a life is not more worthwhile because it's short, or because it's long, that its value is measured separately entirely from its length. Alive and ambivalent but not apathetic.

"They told us that we would die for good in there." She nods, keeping her eyes on his, wrapping her arm around his shoulder to anchor herself there in perfect balance on his lap. The books lies somewhere behind them on the couch, a corner digging into her thigh but otherwise forgotten. "And I- you know I'm not the kind of person who's afraid of death, and it doesn't have anything to do with whether it's temporary or not. But I was actually scared this time."

She curls her fingers around the cloth of his jacket, lowering her eyes. It would be diminishing to say it was because she wouldn't be able to share moments like this with him again, because it was more than that, but it also wouldn't be wholly dishonest - these pieces of time they share was an important factor, germane to the regret and the fear.

[acroodawakening]

"...You're not mad?" Guy asked cautiously as she hugged him. "I took your choice away."

But he hugged back, tightly.

He was still a little jittery from having just been revived. Very jittery, in fact.

[celebrityskinned]

Her hug's equally tight, and when she lets go she makes a little 'less than' sign with her hand. "A little bit mad. Mostly just glad that our Escorts were full of shit, you know?"

She wasn't ready to let him go. Somehow, somewhere between the crowning and the Arena, he wormed his way into her heart as it's expanded to let more people in.

[acroodawakening]

He seemed fine with the continued hugging. He, quite literally, couldn't get enough of them here. He'd grown too used to the physical affection of his family and after most of a life deprived, after making that adjustment, it was hard to go without again. Even before he'd met Eep and her family, now his family, he'd always had Belt, who was a very cuddly little guy.

And for some strange reason, it seemed like other cultures did the hugging and touching things only on special occasions rather than basically all the time.

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes. "One of us had to. I didn't want -" He pressed his lips together, trying to figure out what to say, before continuing, then seemed more sure of his words as he went on, "I didn't want you to have to hurt a friend and feel bad about it and I didn't want to have to betray you, either. It meant it wasn't real - me trying to hurt you wasn't real - and - and you hurting me was just a reaction, not a choice."

He thought it would hurt to make that choice.

[celebrityskinned]

"I understand. I should have thought of it myself, honestly." It seems to be that that she's kicking herself over more than actually killing Guy. Once he set the plan in motion, she had no choice but to go along. She doesn't blame herself for that. "But we got Wyatt out. That's something, right?"

Better if it had gotten Pruna and Courfeyrac too, but alas. Alas.

She finally lets him go, but she still wraps a hand around his skinny wrist, not to restrict him but to keep him with her, to remind him she's as much there as he is. "I have something to give you, by the way. I left it up in my District suite so no one would take it."

[acroodawakening]

That almost made him cry, because he'd watched the footage to see what happened to her, but he didn't know if it'd be brought back if it wasn't with him.

"Is it my bracelet? Did they send that back with you?"

[celebrityskinned]

She nods. "Yeah, I found it on my dresser when I woke up. I knew it was important to you..."

He had, after all, explained it in all its meaning to her. "I didn't mean to freak you out when you woke up without it. I was just trying to keep it safe."

orz

[libertin]

The only injuries Courfeyrac is still nursing are the ones to his pride. One the plus side, death and resurrection have solved the problem of his crocked nose entirely. One the negative, he's come to honestly appreciate what Max has been harping on him for. He isn't prepared for another arena, physically or mentally. It's something he needs to work on. But that will have to wait until after all their reunions.

"Do not look so sullen, my dear. This is a happy occasion." He smiles when he sees her, determined to be his dazzling self.

Re: orz

[celebrityskinned]

"I don't look sullen," she says, a tease in her voice and on her lips. "That just makes me sound so dour."

She gives him a squeeze, affirming to herself that he is, indeed, alive still. She can't help but be elated that he doesn't stink of charred flesh, that he's warm and his body doesn't have that elastic bend of death. "I'm surprised your mini-me hasn't monopolized you yet."

[libertin]

"My what?" He is unfamiliar with that precise term, though he has indeed heard others refer to Max that way. He preferred to consider her his sister still. "Max is rather protective, this is true, but I have found a way to maintain some privacy. It is a girlish attachment, I am sure."

[celebrityskinned]

"How, do you tell her there are some explosives that need disarming? The kid seems like she might be a bit hard to shake." She stands back and the grin disappears for a moment, but she bites her tongue.

[libertin]

"How can you be sure she is not watching us now, eh?" He laughs, though there is a simple truth to Venus' words. "All I have to do is threaten to write her a sonnet. She generally scampers away quite quickly after that."

But enough about his woman troubles. He is here to socialize with Venus. "You are ravishing as ever, Mademoiselle. I am certainly glad to see this."

[celebrityskinned]

"You sneaky bastard. Threatening to subject a kid to your poetry, tsk tsk." Venus says, grinning wholeheartedly. To tell the truth, she has no idea if Courfeyrac's poetry is any good. She recognized maybe three words out of the entire thing and at least one of them was 'le'.

"And you're looking pretty swell yourself." Better than the corpse she saw last time. "Can I buy you a coffee?"