(no subject)

[polyturtle]

Who| Don and OPEN
What| Handling everything that's happened.
Where| Throughout the Capitol
When| Throughout the weeks in between Arenas
Warnings/Notes| Possible violence. Definite confusion and angst.

She was out. Thank shell. Momoko was all right now. At least, for now. At least until they decided to cut her tongue out.

And maggots crawling on her body, her mouth forever open in a scream.

Don sat in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He pushed the disturbing thoughts of Momoko out of his mind, of the others as well. He hated the flashbacks. At least, he was pretty sure they were flashbacks. But he wasn't so sure anymore. Something was too vivid about them. Something was off about them, somehow, from what he recalled of the Arena before his transformation. Or even the few parts afterwards that he was able to bring himself to watch. He couldn't figure out what.

But...perhaps. Perhaps if they could alter people's bodies, what prevented them from altering people's minds? What if they were doing this to warn him? What if the Capitol was onto his and Eliot's strategy? Or...or what if it was the drugs that Bartlett laced the food with? Could they still be messing with his mind? Or...what if it was both?

The turtle rubbed his head and sighed. He really hated not knowing the answers. Or having them just out of reach where he couldn't grab them and gain that eureka moment he so enjoyed back home. Now all he felt was frustration, and fear, and worry.

Comments

[buildingreality]

Sometimes, Ariadne wondered if she wouldn't have been able to start a legitimate business there in the Capitol. An architecture business, where she worked alongside Capitol citizens and potentially the Gamemakers, designing and building all manner of things. Arenas, maybe.

Then it occurred to her for not the first time that maybe the Capitol was her idea of Limbo.

Caught in her own thoughts, Ariadne almost didn't realise she was all but following Don around, his shell familiar; she jogged ahead, catching up to him, tipping her head to one side a little. "Don," she greeted mildly, reaching out to touch his arm, "Are you all right?"

[polyturtle]

Don nearly jumped at the touch, or at least would have had Ariadne not spoken before touching him. It was just that kind of atmosphere. An atmosphere of paranoia that the Capitol created for them.

"Hey." Don shook his head. "I've been better. Though I guess everyone has."

It was pretty obvious that 'not winning' was not the reason for Don's melancholy. Never was.

[buildingreality]

She couldn't really blame him for the paranoia; she was just glad that she hadn't hit that point. Not in the same jumpy sort of way, at least.

Ariadne didn't even bother trying to force a smile as she studied him, tipping her head to one side. "Probably. I don't think that makes anyone's individual problems any less important. What is it?"

[polyturtle]

Don is guarded, generally, about the things that were truly and well bothering him. Despite his own inherent naivety, which he knew he possessed, there were just some things he would generally never share. Not with anyone, not even his father.

Like his fear that killing is becoming too easy for him. That his family, if they saw him, would be ashamed and horrified at all of the blood on his hands over the years, including that shed here. That he was slowly turning into a wreck. That one day he'll somehow become that thing again. That those visions of the past(?) were becoming a bit more frequent every day.

Speaking of.

"You know...you know how last Arena-" Ok, she knew. "They're getting worse. The images in my head...flashbacks. More vivid and not like what they showed on the broadcast."

[buildingreality]

She couldn't blame him for any of that - the Arenas were practically set up now to cause as much psychological damage as possible, especially for those who did end up killing their way out. Or to the top, at least. Studying him carefully, a small frown creasing between her eyes, Ariadne listened, wrapping her head around it before she replied, "What do you mean? How could you be having flashbacks to things that weren't shown on the broadcast? Like things they would have cut?"

[polyturtle]

"That's...something I'd like to know myself," Don sighed. "I somehow...I keep seeing dead Tributes, the ones I killed. But...they don't look like they did when they died. They look...different. Distorted. Like they're in pain even though they've been dead for some time..."

[buildingreality]

Her frown only deepened as she regarded him. "Are you sure you're okay? I'd suggest you talk to one of the Capitol doctors, but-" She pauses, dropping her voice a little. "I don't think they'd be that helpful, to be honest. Not with something like this.

"Tell me more about the distortions?" She prompted.

[polyturtle]

"Don't exactly trust them as far as I can throw them."

Which...Don could probably throw them a decent distance in the literal sense too.

"They...I keep seeing a lot of the dead Tributes. But they don't look...right. They look more mangled than they should. They have bugs and things crawling on them. And-"

Sigh. Sigh.

"I keep eating them. I see myself eating them."

[buildingreality]

"I don't blame you there. I don't either."

Her hand remained on his arm, grip tightening a little bit in what she hoped was more reassuring than it felt. To her, it felt like pure nerves. Mainly because there was no way that could be good. Remembering things that hadn't happened was a bad enough sign in and of itself; remembering things like that was worse.

"But all the dead Tributes came back. They are back. Most of them, at least," Ariadne mused, largely to herself, puzzling through it. The Capitol brought everyone back after they died; that's how this worked.

[needsaprince]

"Don!"

Lottie was sing song, standing on her toes and waving, before rushing to catch up with her rather greenish friend.

"Hello darling!" She hadn't had much time to catch up with anyone outside of the arena just yet. And she was putting and end to that now.

[polyturtle]

"Hey Lottie." Ok, Don has to admit. When anyone is that happy, he can't help but smile. Hopefully her good mood is not merely because of the chocolates. "Long time no see, huh? How are you?"

[needsaprince]

"Good, good!"

She held out her arms for a hug, having missed her big, green friend. The space between arenas always seemed so long. Time slowed with in those places.

[polyturtle]

...Oh, shell, who is he to deny a hug? Especially since they both really, really needed it. And...truthfully, he'd missed her as well.

That was when he remembered.

"Hey...Do you, uh, have any time to talk, Lottie?"

[needsaprince]

"I always have time for you."

She gave him another wide smile.

"Is here enough, or should we find some place...a little quieter?"

She knew he had been having a rough time since the radiation. The term still stuck in her mind, like even thinking it was dangerous.

[polyturtle]

"...Quieter might be better." Don nodded thoughtfully. "How does to rooftop sound to you?"

[needsaprince]

"Good." She offered out her arm, for the green gentleman to lead her up to the roof.

[polyturtle]

Thus Donatello crooked his arm into hers, leading her to the roof. He didn't come up to the rooftop often, but he knew it was a place where not many people would be, at least not at that time of the day. Night was the more preferred time to go up, and nighttime it wasn't.

Omg, sorry for the book.

[the_marshal]

On the best nights, Wyatt would find a way to work himself into exhaustion and would fall into bed and sleep dreamlessly. His memory of the hours black and empty. Other nights, he would dream deeply and vividly of home. Of clear blue skies and endless horizons, of the smell of his horse beneath him, the sound of Bat's laugh, the feel of Dora's skin so soft and warm against his own, and he would wake with his heart so heavy it was wonder it didn't crush him. On the worst nights - most nights - there were nightmares of the arena. Of things that had happened (Grey's knife in his gut, the burning fangs of a snake, Howard's flat and glassy stare) and things that hadn't (breathless laughter in his ears as he was stabbed, his lungs burning as waves closed over him, teeth ripping into his flesh)....

Last night had been one of the bad ones and he woke in the wee hours with a strangled gasp, the sheets twisted around his sweat soaked body like snake. He struggled into his clothes and escaped the training center just as soon they'd let him, the chill morning air a balm against his skin.

He didn't know where he was going, didn't care neither. He just let his feet carry him while he tried shake off the feeling of fingers wrapped around his throat.

Its ok :D

[polyturtle]

A floor down, during Wyatt's sojourn, is the turtle. Unlike Wyatt, though, he's not having a nightmare. At least not now. He's actually reading a book. As to what, well, that was up to Wyatt to discover. If he...was really up to it. It was a morbid book.

[the_marshal]

When he looked up, finally realized where he was, Wyatt couldn't quite figure what the hell had possessed him to visit the District 9 suites... until he saw Don. The how's of it melted away.

Yes. This was what he wanted. He wanted to talk to the turtle.

Don had been the one at the end of the island arena. Don would understand.

Pulling his hat off, running the worn brim against his palms, he cleared his throat softly and hoped Don wouldn't mind the interruption.

[polyturtle]

"Hm?" Quickly, Don looked up, a small smile on his face when he realized who it was. "Oh...hey there. A bit late to be up, isn't it?"

Look who's talking.

[the_marshal]

"Probably," Wyatt admitted. "But I wasn't exactly gettin' much sleep done anyway."

He paused, and gestured to Don's book with his hat. "Am I interruptin'?"

[polyturtle]

"Oh, not at all." Quickly Don closed the book. He remembered the page anyhow. "So, uh, what brings you here to the District 9 suites, Wyatt?"

[the_marshal]

"Well, to be honest," his head dipped, suddenly interested in his dirty, old boots. "I hadn't exactly planned on comin' here,... but now that I am, I wonder-" his palm tapped against the brim of his hat as he looked up again, "-I wonder if you'd open to a talk."

[polyturtle]

A...talk?

"Sure." Quietly Don moved the book aside. Surely a talk is less depressing than what he was reading at least, that was what he was hoping. "You want anything to drink? I can make some coffee or tea..."