I Swear I Could See Your Raring Fear [Closed]

[celebrityskinned]

WHO| Venus and Dave
WHAT| Sorry about your bad life decisions, girl.
WHEN| Between Arenas.
WHERE| A café in the Capitol.
WARNINGS| Mentions of torture, mentions of mental illness.


Venus has made her peace with Clara.

She can tell Clara still resents her for losing her eye. It isn't because Clara really lets on, but Venus knows how to read a pregnant pause, a slight downtick in vocal inflections. More important, Venus would probably resent her in Clara's place. Projecting herself onto other people's inner worlds proves her right more often than not.

But, well-veiled bitterness or not, they've reached friendly terms. A week after the Arena, Venus slipped a thank-you card under Clara's door. They've passed each other in the hallway, ridden the same elevators together with an amiableness that extends to nearly chatty. And so when Venus sleeps at night, she is lighter half a sin - not a whole crime, but part of one.

She has not made her peace with Dave, and to be entirely honest she's been avoiding him (and Loki even more so). When they cross her mind when she rests, it isn't the weight of her crimes against them that hold her paralyzed in her sheets. Their little prank in the Arena sewed them into a seam of fear and foulness that runs through her. There's a ravine inside her, a canyon-shaped garbage dump filled with memories of the Panem jail, and its stink has contaminated them, too.

The few times they've passed in the hallways, Venus has made an excuse to quickly leave for elsewhere, or to ignore him in the least pointed way possible. It's not Dave's fault she can't take a joke. That's what she tells herself.

That doesn't stop her from flinching a bit when she sees it's him entering the same cafe as her, where she's bundled up in a stylish coat and nursing a hot apple cider.

Comments

[celebrityskinned]

"Nah, now we just got new shitty tropes. God, can you imagine if someone was writing this shitshow? They'd get totally called out for cheapening death with all the resurrections." She's fine with shit getting meta. It's a language she speaks, has spoken ever since she wormed her way into Hollywood by dint and grit. "More just like...ferrying people through the worst of it, I think."

Which is ironic, given that they're hear because she smashed his surrogate mom's eye out.

"I would fucking kill for like, Captain Underpants or something super ridiculous like that." She grins, trying to place if Mr. Darcy is a Bronte character or an Austen character and unable to remember any of that. Regardless, Victorian romance literature, right? She thinks. "Johnny Bravo. My kingdom for the Gamemakers to send me a Johnny Bravo."

[shenunigans]

"True, too true. Not to mention the fact that half of the tropes we get assigned are baseless as hell. People are still acting like I'm little orphan Annie even though my legal guardian is here and spoken for." He shrugs his shoulders and scoffs. "It's like Fox got a free reign on the world. No consistency, no legitimacy and all shock value." He twirls his hands thoughtfully before folding them in front of him on the table. He's already figured out that she's particular with who she puts in that ferry of hers and that on occasion she fends off just about anyone to protect the people in her boat. It's admirable, even if there will always be that part of him that objects.

"He'd be a hit with the Sponsors. They'd probably buy every damn thing he said." He knows that for a fact, what with being a shade-wearing, blond bro with a desperate need to be cool. "They might start claiming he's my real dad, though." He points out with a small but insincere scowl. "What about sitcom characters? This would be an episode formula like nothing they've ever seen before. Imagine them trying to fit their whack catch phrases into everything? Like, what's the deal with sponsor gifts." His Seinfeld impression could use some work, but it's recognisable.

[celebrityskinned]

"Seriously? You don't even have red curls. It must be the big doe eyes that I'm presuming you got hidden behind those glasses." She raises her eyebrows and cranes her neck at the barista behind the counter, wondering if she'll take table orders, but it seems Tribute celebrity doesn't extend that far, especially to a girl with a brand. "Don't be dissing Fox. Fox bought me a yacht just to show up at a few of their awards shows."

It's that awareness of where everything comes from that makes Venus an easy Tribute to Escort. If Porrim were to ask, Venus could list which company sponsored every single outfit she'd been given, every accessory. She could name the photographer for every shoot and the coffee bitch. She knows who works for whom and what subsidiaries they have, and before she leaves the house every day she makes sure she isn't wearing anything from rival brands - unless she wants to milk one for a better deal.

With so many people teaching each other combat, she wonders if maybe she should start teaching people media savvy. Maybe she could find a use in that, where she can't find it anywhere else. Now that she's got a traitor mark, all that skill doesn't get her much.

She laughs. "Eight Simple Rules for Killing My Teenage Tributes. All in the District. Murder Days. We could totally do a sitcom."

And with that she leans in a bit. "I'm actually not kidding. You ever considered petitioning out? I know one kid got out on petitioning to be a stand-up comedian back in the day."

[shenunigans]

Dave doesn't offer much more than a hopeless shrug to begin with, because that's how little he comprehends the logic of Capitol gossip. He has even less to say about Fox, but he smirks anyway. Venus has, in many ways, proven herself to be someone who knows the game well and Dave can respect that. It's just that some networks are shit and the fact that they deal in yachts and lies is symbolic of that.

"We have a whole range of diverse and interesting potential cast members. Acting skills need not apply." Most of them could get away with playing themselves. Like some awkward and desperate spin off show desperately piggy backing off the success of something that has been running for far too long. Here's looking at you, Joey.

A brow raises as Venus leans in and he feels compelled to lean in, remaining curious when she speaks. He seems to turn the thought around like he's swilling a drink in his mind, but he pulls the plug on it with a single word. "Nah." He pulls back, shaking his head. "If someone gets out, it's not going to be me. I don't think I could. Actually. It's like watching everyone run track while you're kicking back watching, I guess." Even if he's exactly the kind of kid who would revel in that sort of thing at school, it's a little different here.

Suddenly, with that thought, a kind of self awareness dawns on him and he realises how long they've been sitting here talking. "I'm not holding you up or anything, am I? Man. I was just in here for a drink." A drink that is long gone by now, obviously.

[celebrityskinned]

"Acting skills better not apply. Half our competitors here are hopeless." She chooses the word 'competitors' carefully, because they may well be monitored and she's gotten in trouble enough for sedition. 'Comrades' or even 'peers' holds a lilt of community, and the torture that wrecked so much hell across her mind lingers in her language too.

She nods in a strange sort of sad understanding to Dave's answer - the same answer she has for herself, almost, except for her it's less that she doesn't want to so much as that she can't envision herself anywhere but the Arena. If there's a life where she isn't in it, it's behind something opaque, in some future she can't see. It only breaks her heart to see it in a kid she isn't even sure could qualify for a driver's license.

"I was too. You're not holding me up, but I should probably get going if I want to run a few laps before it gets too cold tonight. It was too cold this morning." She's dedicated to a run at least once a day, not just because endurance is possibly the most valuable asset in the Arena but because it clears her head. Her brain falls out through her slapping heels and her skull gets filled with the music from her headphones and the cold air in her sinuses as she breathes in through her nose, out through her mouth.

She gets up, pausing for a moment, uncharacteristically at a loss for words, before she just smiles and takes her empty cup. "Thanks. For coming over."

[shenunigans]

There's a lack of finesse and discipline in Dave's fighting and in his approach to life that probably leads a lot of people to believe he's pretty normal. The fact is he's been training to fight since he was old enough to hold a sword, he's been on his toes since then and he's been going through worse than sparring since he was thirteen. Normal is challenging, normal means you need goals and need to do shit like laundry and visiting the doctor. More importantly, he could never do it while he's still looking in from the outside, watching his friends die and suffer with no power to do anything but laundry.

"Here's hoping the next Arena is a tropical paradise." He retorts, unaware of the irony that would slap him in the face for that suggestion in the coming months. He's glad, even if this has been pleasant, that she has somewhere to be. It gives him time to step back and think as well as a friendly escape from the strain it can take to be sociable when you're as awkward as he is.

"Thanks for listening." His tone is earnest and he follows it with a nod, giving her time to properly leave before he makes his way out himself. All things considered, it's a weight off his chest. There'll be an elephant there forever so long as he's stuck here, but at least it's losing some pounds.