Freedom is within you

[libertin]

Who| Courfeyrac & Open
What| Post-Arena life adjustments and such. Basically, Max & Cindy are both gone and his world is a bit more dim.
Where| Training room, or elsewhere if you prefer.
When| Forwarded to after Max is killed by Kevin in the Arena, but before she's come back.
Warnings/Notes| Talk of character death? Tag in whatever format you like, just specify location!

Courfeyrac felt numb. Every ounce of emotion had been drained from him, every hope was gone. He'd been almost glued to the television once it got down to the final two. Max and Kevin. Vengeance would be hers and she would win and then he could go back into the Arena knowing that she was safe at least. But fate had other ideas, and as he watched the screen helplessly, his sister was turned to a bloody, lifeless mess.

It was enough to make him sick. It was enough to drain him of every human feeling, and once he felt empty, he was quickly overcome by a second wind of unstoppable rage.

He stalked out of the common area of the District 11 suite and toward his own room, literally knocking things over in his fury as he stormed passed. Furniture was kicked over, mahogany table flipped. If there had been china or glass around, he'd have thrown it to the ground. All he could see when he closed his eyes was her body, bloodied and mangled, with Kevin looming over her like a giant. Courfeyrac hadn't been so pissed off in a long time.

But that might've been it. It could have ended there. A day or two of rage over the injustice of watching Max die and he would have gotten over it. Except the hours continued to tick by and she had yet to return. He'd expected that she would come running to him, or bound up to him and scold him for fretting, at the very least. Instead, she was gone. Vanished. No more. Just like Cinderella.

He was so close to becoming morose over it all. That happy, jovial gent was ready to retire for good and let the sullen, mournful brat replace him forever. He didn't care about anything anymore. He had nothing left. His lover was gone. His language was gone. And now, the one bright spot that he'd cherished had disappeared too. Of course, there were friends and other company, but what good were they when he'd left his dear little Max all alone to die?

He couldn't stand the guilt. So instead, he took to beating the crap out of the available training dummies. He might not get the chance to kill Kevin with his bare hands, but he'd avenge his Max somehow.

Comments

[medecin]

One of the expressions Joly had learned lately was "clusterfuk" and it seemed like a reasonable way to explain just about everything that had occurred in the last week or so. Their language stripped, that horrible announcement that the capitol was holding their loved ones, that they were holding 'Chetta captive here, and District 3 to top it all off. Max's loss in the arena, and the fact that she had not come back was horrible too, and it just added to the whole messed up picture.

They had been thrown a lot of things to cope with, all at once, and frankly, Joly had no idea how one even started to handle that. So, when he spotted Courfeyrac, in the middle of murdering training dummies, he waited until there seemed to be a moment he could slip in to speak with him, left the knife he had been throwing in his dummy's eye, or where it would be if it'd had an eye, and made his way to his friend.

"I won't begin to ask how you are feeling now." He told him quietly. "But should you wish to talk about it, I am here."

[libertin]

He very much wanted to ignore Joly, but he was indeed able to recognize that his friend meant no harm in his innocent inquisition. Rather, he understood that the man had not a vicious bone in his body. That rational acceptance was there, but it didn't make him feel any less angry, nor did he ease up on the manual strangulation he was committing on the practice dummy.

"What's there to talk about?" He grunted, choking it for another second or too before finally relaxing and releasing the mannequin. He stumbled backwards toward Joly, catching his breath. If he had it in him to feel embarrassed, this is a moment when he'd have felt such an emotion. "My girls are gone. And I'm going mad. Good lord, what has become of me?"

[medecin]

Joly could understand why Courfeyrac was angry and did not let up, and so he did not bother trying to slip into his usual way of using humor to cajole a friend into a better mood. There were some moments humor was not only not enough, but was completely inappropriate. And then, he knew too, how he had felt, reading that Musichetta was probably somewhere being held prisoner, and how he would feel if she were killed. The thought alone was terrible, and, add in the girl Courfeyrac had made his little sister, and things grew even worse.

"What is there to talk about?" Joly echoed, reaching out an arm to steady his friend. "We might speak of them in happier times if thinking of that would please you. Most likely not today, I shouldn't think, but things are different for everyone. You might also share your griefs with me, my friend. That door is always open, so you know."

He ached with sympathy for his friend, and, while Joly had loved Max too, it was a different sort of love than Courfeyrac had. For Joly, she was an intelligent and brave girl who was becoming a valued friend, but for Courfeyrac, oh god, for him this must be terrible.

"I think that what's become of you is that you've opened your heart again, and it has been bruised, deeply bruised by this loss. You will feel it a while, likely. It will be sore and in need of rest like any other muscle that's been hurt. It IS all right, you know, to feel so much."

[libertin]

He didn't shirk away from Joly, though that instinct made itself known for a moment. Instead, he stood motionless, a look of pure agony knit into his exhausted features. Yes, his heart was broken. Yes, it was bruised so badly he thought it might stop beating. How much more could one soul take? To die for something precious, that had been his fate. It was a good death, noble, honorable. To die thrice more and watch those he loved suffer without or because of him? To known that they were gone while he lived on, miserably? There was nothing valiant in that. There was nothing beautiful in his life anymore. In this moment, nothing could convince him that the world was anything but black.

"I cannot stand it." His voice caught in his throat, just for a moment. Courfeyrac did not want to give too much away, not to Joly, not to the cameras, not to anyone. He'd been too liberal with his emotions and he was suffering the consequences now. He would be far more guarded with his affections from this day forward. However, he found that he was speaking before he could stop himself. "It cannot be alright to feel so much, Joly. The weight is so heavy, I fear I will collapse."

[medecin]

Noting the gesture, Joly decided, immediately, that this was not a time, at all, to let any of his puns slip through the cracks. Just the thought of any of them coming through right now, not that he had much material at hand, was just perversely wrong. Instead, he simply moved to listen for now, and to offer the comfort he could.

"Feeling so much is rather a problem for those who have such a capacity for love as you do, Courfeyrac. An unfortunate one in times like this, but so often, your love has been your strength, I hardly mind saying, and I think that it could be again. I...there is nothing wrong in your strong feelings then, and certainly nothing wrong in them now."

He wanted to reach over and hug Courfeyrac, but it seemed that right now, such would not be wanted. "I wish that I could tell you that there was an answer, recommend some treatment for the pain, but all that I can say, as cliched and generalized as it sounds, is that things do become able to bear in time. I could never insult you, or them, by saying they will be perfect, or even all right or better in that time, but the burst of grief tearing your chest apart? Those sorts of feelings do and will eventually fade a little, not completely, and they will still hurt but you will be able to breathe again, to face things with more of your ease, and you will not always be left with so sharp a pain as this. I wish..."

Joly sighed, wishing he could fix these wounds as easily as removing a ball or stitching a deep cut.

"I wish that I might be able to see you through this darkness, light the way for you, my friend, but I can stay by your side, much as you need, I will not judge what you may wish to tell me, if you should. I do think, when you are ready, not before, that I, that all of us, might aid you in the way of becoming alive again, hard as it obviously feels. For now, would it help you to feel lighter if you spoke more of your feelings on this, a bit? If you have something which brings even a temporary breath or two, I would suggest you use it."

[libertin]

It was good advice. It was doctorly advice. Courfeyrac knew that it would be wise to heed Joly's words and try to get himself back on the right path again, but it was such a monumental task, he almost worried that he lacked the strength to do it. How was it that the most festering of wounds seemed to be the ones of the heart?

"I have no love for this world. I only love the people in it." He swallowed hard, deliberating his words with every breath. "I have you, I have our friends. And I have no one but you anymore."

He loved his friends. He loved them as brothers and he would die for them all one thousand times over. But he had no direction now. He was lost at sea. At least when he'd had Max and Cindy his heart had been full. Even though he'd treaded water, he felt as though he could exist without a constant state of sorrow weighing him down and drowning him.

Finally, he seemed to succumb to the weight and he sank to the floor, head in hands. "I need a distraction, Joly. I cannot be left in my own head. I cannot be left to remain useless. I do not know what to do anymore. I cannot murder the mannequins all day."

[medecin]

It may have been doctorly, yes, but it was also advice which Joly directed to a friend, and therefore, though he was never without compassion with any patient, there was an added dose of it here, particularly as it concerned someone he cared for, a brother he loved deeply.

He did not doubt that Courfeyrac had the strength to go through this, but the journey itself would be a difficult climb for even Courfeyrac to go through. Joly wished that he might find a way to offer Courfeyrac something more than a hand to help him up, that he could extend a rope, or even a ladder instead. But Courfeyrac must never doubt his strength in that process, or what had gotten him through all of these horrors so far.

"I cannot say that I have love for more than the people I've met here either." Joly agreed with him. There were things in Joly's own situation that were tolerable for the moment, at least, even small amusements like the miniature figure of himself that came with a variety of miniature medical equipment and complained about various ailments when you pushed a button.

"You do have us, and you shall have us whatever happens. You have them still, though they are not with you now." Joly did not know if that thought would help, but he must try it all the same. "Those things they left you with, the person who you were with them, everything you remember are still there. No one can hold a memory." He added, a deep sigh escaping him at that, though he had not wanted to make this about himself. "I know that all too well, but one day, those will be a comfort, later."

Now, however, Joly dropped to his knees beside Courfeyrac, hoping his friend would not protest if he pulled him into a sort of backwards hug.

"Then let us find you a distraction. Come, shall we take to the streets, perhaps? Cliched as it is, some fresh air may make your body feel better at least.

[carnagecarnival]

He still paints. Everyday does he still paint. Visions, gods, worlds, carnival, loves lost, all in brilliant slaps of barely coherent color stretching higher and higher up the wall. But he slows down, stopping all together sometimes, and the places where he gives up are evident in how there's no image to be found, only a steady collage. In those moments he might give pause over a certain color and just stare through it, until he gets the mind to get up and walk for a bit.

He passes the others in training, the various weapons and set ups. He passes people and he catches bits off the general mood-- angry, fearful, tired. It's kind of fascinating to see everyone slowly come apart. He settles to sitting close by to where Courfeyrac buries himself in violence, just watching.

"HE DIDN'T THINK AS YOU WERE THE TYPE FOR ACTIONS ALL OF THE LIKE," He says. "But he supposes we all get there eventual with the right motherfucking time and happenstance. EVENING, BROTHER."

[libertin]

The voice catches him off guard and he jumps back, like he's ready to leap at whoever dares disturb him. The flash of anger passes quickly though as he recognizes the familiar and imposing form of Initiate watching him. His fists unclench and his arms lower, and slowly Courfeyrac seems to deflate.

"Good evening, my friend." The English words still sound so harsh coming from his lips. Yet another slight against him by the Capitol. One of so many, another knife in his bleeding little heart. "As a very wise man once said, there is a time to every purpose under heaven. Now is the time for rage to carry me forward. I cannot live here knowing that I did not do what was necessary."

[carnagecarnival]

It's such a trollish reaction, to react with a turn of anger, a readiness to and for attack, and then the slow sink after on realisation, for a second he can imagine Courfeyrac with horn upon him. What does it mean, that the humans here become more like his own kind with each passing calamity? He supposes he should think them stronger, it is what he would've believed before. For some reason, that's more difficult to reconcile now.

"Sounds as to be phrase what all to live by," He says, with a faint surprise. It almost sounds like the sort of thing he'd say, only with phrasing turned. "WONDER ALL UPON WHO THIS WISE MAN WAS LIKE AT TO BE."

He turns his attention briefly to the dummies, then back again to Courfeyrac. "And so a brother has found resolve for strife... and cull, he wonders?"

[libertin]

"That wise man was called King Solomon," Courfeyrac answers, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "He was a prophet to many humans, a leader, a man of great spiritual significance." He thinks briefly that Initiate might appreciate reading about Solomon, and he silently laments the absence of his writings in Panem. Lapsed as he may be in his own faith, some of the guiding principles of the old texts were worth reading and considering, he thought.

As for strife and culling, Courfeyrac finds that he's a little put off by the assessment... but only because the realization comes that that is in deed what he has resolved to do. He's been pushed to the point of violence before (his actions and death is June 1832 were but one instance of this streak in him) but that point had yet to resurface in this world. For a moment, he almost blanches at the thought. It passes quickly, however, and instantly he seems at peace with the silent choice he's made.

"The two women I love are gone. They were killed and they've not come back. I have been given every reason to fight and I've not taken the bait until now. This, my friend, this is the straw which has broken my back. Cindy. And more so than Cindy, Max. If they have died for nothing but bloodlust, I shall avenge them, and gladly."

[carnagecarnival]

"A king, a prophet, a leader, and one of spirit. MAKES HIM THINK OF GRAND HIGHBLOODS PAST, IT UP AND DOES. A human Grand Highblood, how strange." More and more does he find similarities in their kind. He does not ask if this Solomon was fully of such hero status. He's not sure what he might think, if it is otherwise. Disappointment, maybe.

"HE DOES NOT JUDGE THINE FURY, BROTHER. He does not hold it against a motherfucker, no, that ain't his way. HE HAS LOST SOME OF HIS OWN. A little sister, a moirail and best friend..." He says. He cannot make his voice quiet. The fluctuations he's been cursed with forbid it. But his tone is subdued, like he would be quiet if only he could be. "HE WILL NOT STOP A BROTHER. It is not in his nature, not in the nature of my kind, to oppose vengeance for loves lost. IF THERE IS ONE THING PROMISED IT IS THAT. But he wonders, idle only, do you blame they what marked color upon their hand, or some greater thing? OR LESSER."

[libertin]

This gives the man pause, not because he feels his fury may be unjustified or wrong, but because for the first time in a long time, he feels it may be entirely misplaced. Kevin had killed him. Kevin had killed Max, too. But while it was true that Kevin was a monster, it was the Capitol who had unleashed that beast onto him and his sister. The scorpion has no choice but to sting, for it is his nature. Kevin had no choice but to feed. It was what he'd been made for, by whichever smiling God he chose to believe. The Capitol knew this well. The Capitol had sent them all in with the scorpion.

"I blame him. But I also blame them all. They were complicit in this, the lot of them." Courfeyrac swallows hard, wiping the hair that is stuck by sweat from his brow. "No crime shall go unpunished for this."

[philosophe]

One good thing about being floor-mates was that he could quite easily hear the commotion Courfeyrac was making. That was never a good sign; so at an opportune moment, Etienne took the initiative and followed him down to the training rooms, leaning against a wall and watching in silence for a while.

"Is this a good enough distraction, or would you prefer something more?" He inquired after some time, during a pause in Courfeyrac's efforts. "I'm sure we could find something suitable."

[libertin]

He hadn't noticed Combeferre's approach and so was a bit sheepish when he found he'd been called out. It wasn't that he was embarrassed over his actions (or reaction, as it were) it was more that he felt as though perhaps Combeferre had been disappointed to find him in such a state of rage. He couldn't help what he felt, though, even though his head told him to do otherwise.

Ultimately though, in the presence of the calmer and wiser man, he would defer to Combeferre's judgement.

"Something suitable." Courfeyrac repeated, wiping the sweat from his brow onto the back of his hand. "Yes, I think that sounds acceptable. What shall we do, Combeferre? What have you in mind?"

[philosophe]

He was quite used to finding his friends in disarray -- at least, at home. Granted, things were somewhat different here, but he was not precisely disappointed. Perhaps the rage could better be channeled into other things.

"I was thinking perhaps discussion, somewhere private, but --" He gave a slightly wry smile, and a shrug. "You do not appear to be in the proper mindset for that sort of thing. There is always, I suppose, drinking, or writing may help."

[libertin]

Courfeyrac paused, giving the idea a bit of thought. "It is true. I'm in no state for any meaningful conversation. However..."

He trailed off, eyes drifting to the exit and whatever mysteries lied beyond the walls of the gymnasium. Yes, perhaps there was a better way to cope with himself, something besides pulverizing the practice dummies. And he had missed the old days of time spend beside Combeferre, punctuating his conversations with Enjolras with some much needed color commentary. Even if he was in a dour mood, a rehash of Paris sounded brilliant.

"However, I would be a fool to turn down a drink. The wine here is lousy, but we can make do."

[philosophe]

"We have before. It is probably still better than Corinthe." Certainly their little cafe had been like a home in many ways, but the wine was not one of the fondly remembered things. "You will have to lead the way, I am afraid I still do not know the Capitol nearly well enough."

And, hopefully, the wine would cheer Courfeyrac some. It was always troubling to see him in a bad mood.

[libertin]

He thought back briefly to the little cafe where he and Enjolras had exchanged words and blows, in the weeks before Combeferre himself had arrived to calm them all substantially. Unfortunately, they were all 86ed from that establishment... or whatever that peculiar phrase was. Coufeyrac would need to find a substitute for them, and quickly. Frowning, he scraped his memory for someplace worthwhile to patronize.

"I know a little place that will suffice," he declared, springing back into his normal, animated gate. "Come. I must fetch my hat, and then we shall dine on sausages."

sorry for being late sob | also D11, if that's ok!

[arrhenphobia]

Living in district suite was rather difficult for Mariko. Even though she loved the idea of people living together like this, sharing one big house as a flatmates, she didn't feel quite that comfortable with the living quarter she was assigned to. Simply because there were far too many men, who she did know (nor really didn't want get to know).

It was the little things that helped Mariko to feel at least somewhat content and collected. During her short stay at the suite, she had already formed a habit of peeking out of her room to make sure that none of the men were around when she intended to leave. Another habit she had picked was decorating the common area with her flower arrangements. Even though she didn't have the proper equipment or couldn't recognize all flowers at Capitol, she still managed to create rather beautiful decorations (she was sure that even Lady Miya would be impressed with her work).

Unfortunately for Mariko (or maybe for Courfeyrac), she had not noticed the man sitting in front of television as she left her room. She only noticed him as he suddenly stood up in a such angry manner that frightened Mariko. She pressed against the wall as he stormed through the room, knocking down the furniture with him. However, when the mahogany table, in which she had placed one of her arrangements, was flipped over Mariko let out a loud scream and lunged to save what was left of her work.

orz i am also late so forgive me too

[libertin]

The scream startled him, shook him enough to draw him out of his room and back into the common area. Truth be told, he'd paid very little mind to Mariko for the entire time she'd inhabited the shared suite. It was atypical for him to not notice a young lady, but his grief was so very deep that he could not fully extract himself in order to appreciate the loveliness all around him.

"Why do you scream so?" He demanded as he reentered the room, rushed and needlessly loud. Courfeyrac was capable of fine manners and charm, but neither was on display at present.

let's be late losers together

[arrhenphobia]

Mariko startled and stood up quickly when she heard the door being opened again. The crude manner in which Courfeyrac rushed to the room just scared her even more and made her feel uncomfortable. She had to take a step backwards when she was spoken to while keeping in mind his previous violent behavior, and actually fearing for a second that she might get hit.

However, even though Mariko's anxiety was very visible at the moment, she still tried to present herself as strong and brave. She held the ruined flowers tightly against her chest and lashed out;

"Why do you ruin everything?!"

(yea)

[libertin]

It was then that he at last noticed the flowers, wilting and diminished and utterly beyond repair. He felt a twinge of guilt, realizing immediately that he'd been the cause of such a calamity, though that wasn't what gave him pause just then. Rather, he found himself shocked by Mariko's apparent fear, the way she stepped away from him, the wide-eyed emotion in her eyes. Was he the cause of all of this chaos? Had he been the one to frighten this poor young girl so? Him? He was the defender of women, not the frightener of them!

"Was that my doing?" He asked her, a certain softness returning to his voice then. It was similar to the tone he used when he spoke to Max, gentle but firm. Not demeaning, but lacking the obvious affection he always reserved for the younger girl. "You must forgive my outburst. You see, they've killed my love and I've no idea what to do with myself. Your poor flowers were innocent victims along with my darling little sister."

He knew full well what he was doing, trying to play to Mariko's sense of pity. He was just a poor, simple man. He could not control himself. She ought to feel sorry for him. She ought to forgive him straight away.

[arrhenphobia]

Unfortunately Courfeyrac's efforts were all wasted as there wasn't even a smallest trace of pity or sympathy in Mariko's face. If anything, his sudden gentleness only made her more upset. She could clearly see what he was doing; he was simply playing nice to make her lower her defenses so that he could get her. Just how big of a fool did he think she was? In any other situation, she would've felt sad for those two girls Courfeyrac mentioned before, but now she was too devastated to think anything but herself.

"And? That gives you the right to run storm around like brute and destroy everything? Not caring about others!" She answered with harsh voice, staring straight at him furiously. And to make her statement clear, that she wouldn't be won over that easily, she threw the ruined flowers at the man before her.

[libertin]

"I have done nothing but care about others," he answered bitterly, watching as the flowers fell lifelessly to the floor. Normally, he would apologize, play the gentleman, try to make it up to Mariko for leaving such an uncouth impression on her, but now? Now he couldn't quite bring himself to want to try. "Why bother anymore? All this place is is destruction and brutishness. There is nothing civilized here, so why should I cling to my manners? Being kind has brought me nothing but sadness, so I won't be kind to anyone ever again."

Dejected and still angry, Courfeyrac turned to leave once more. "You will understand that soon enough, miss. Soon you will know what it is to feel your life fall down around you. Then, the fate of your pretty flowers will mean nothing."