Sun Breaks Over the Same Human Race By Whom You Were Erased [Open]

[celebrityskinned]

WHO| Venus and you!
WHAT| Venus catches her second wind.
WHEN| Week three and onward, until a little past the end of the Arena.
WHERE|
WARNINGS| None.

When she first wakes in her bed, she's afraid to touch her face. She knows, deep down, that they won't have taken away the brand. She knows when she looks in the mirror and catches sight of that sprawling spidery blight, she's going to feel her stomach drop beneath the bed. She knows that the instant she puts her fingertips to her face she'll feel that warped, wrinkled slickness of scar tissue. She knows it'll destroy her all over again.

It takes her nearly half an hour of staring at the ceiling, making a mental list of the people she needs to make sure survived the Arena, before she reaches up and strokes her unblemished cheek. She all but catapults out of bed and stumbles to her dresser, to the mirror on top, where she stares with an uncharacteristic slackjawedness at the way she looks. She looks as if nothing has happened to her besides an unfortunate asymmetrical haircut. No being tied to a chair and mutilated. No nightmares that didn't end just when she left that jail cell.

It's stupid, probably, to care so much about how she looks, but it's difficult for a woman who's traded on her beauty to find purchase in anything but her body when it's mauled and mutilated, when its every corporeal reminder is one of torture and interrogation. And for a moment, just for a moment, she can imagine herself back in a time before so many of the people she loved died.

She can imagine herself renewed.

She returns to the Capitol with fresh energy, no longer curled into herself even though the windows in her have still been blown out. Her architecture no longer sags and creaks. She sings to the coffeemaker, sits on the couch of the District Suite with sodas and milkshakes, practices at the gym as a way to stay strong rather than merely to forget. She's social again, greeting people not out of a defensive way to hide her own pain but out of genuine interest in their lives.

She mourns, but it doesn't reduce her to some barely-functioning binge-drinking tragedy like it has in the past. At some point she realized that she was in love with all of humanity, rather than a handful of people. For the moment, she tries to hold onto that feeling, that hope that she so previously denied herself. For this moment, she makes herself free.

Comments

forward dated to just after everyone dies in the arena

[tevintage]

Hers wasn't the first suite he'd burst into today. He had been on a mission, nearly from when he woke up, to find Cullen and Cole. The fact that this bizarre keep had machines that moved you between floors wasn't helping - though the buttons were labeled, it had taken him a few tries before he realised that you had to actually choose a floor, and it didn't always stop where you wanted it to go, since other people kept calling it, too. So rather than managing to make his way in a coherent fashion, he was just getting off the elevator wherever it stopped and getting off there.

Which was why a slightly wild-eyed, half dressed, dark-haired mage with a fabulous mustache and deep tan skin suddenly burst into the District Five common area.

The fact that nothing was on fire yet was due solely to the fact that he was magic-less again.

"Where is he? Cullen!" Less of a question, more of an exasperated exclamation upon finding yet another completely bizarre room with no sign of Cullen. He darted in further, catching sight of Venus on the couch, and making a beeline for her. "Blonde fellow, scar above his lip, dashingly handsome and apparently able to become invisible. Know him?"

[celebrityskinned]

Venus is hardly awake when Dorian bursts in, but his loud entrance rouses her with lightning speed. The magazine that had been resting on her stomach slaps off and onto the floor as she springs to her feet, muscle memory clicking into place before her mind does.

She finds herself face-to-face with someone wholly unfamiliar, practically yelling at her and talking about someone dastardly handsome, with a twirly mustache that would make Errol Flynn jealous.

"Oh. You're new." If he hadn't been, she'd be liable to start chewing him out for startling people like that. Her hands unclench, but her shoulders stay tense. Her voice is low and calm, warm, comforting, as if she's at the front desk of a hotel. "No, but we might be able to look up if he's here?"

[tevintage]

He gives her a bit of a look - most people tend to yell at him, after all, or roll their eyes.

"I -- yes. I'm new. Though that implies that there are those that aren't."

He looked around, as if for the first time, frowning at the common room. "I know he's here. I saw him, just before--" Just before they all went boom. He mimed it. "If I'm alive, he must be."

[celebrityskinned]

She meets his look with one of her own, one almost reproachful, as if reminding him that she's being nice right now and doesn't have to be.

"No, I'm-" She almost says 'old', but that's not right, that implies youth and it's a sad truth that most of the people who've been here longest are children. "I've been here a while."

So the last he saw of this Cullen was him dying. That means he's a Tribute and was brought at least for the last Arena, at least.

"If he's a Tribute he'll be easy enough to look up. Far as I know he's not on this floor, though."

let's say after she meets Dorian for the lulz?

[revocation]

It's been an overwhelming experience, the past several days. Being thrown into some strange metal thing and told to fight to the death - only to, well, be blown up, or near enough as to make no difference, and wake up again in this outrageous place, so different from anything he knows in Thedas -

Cullen is, frankly, still trying to process everything. Still trying to decide if he should even believe this is real. His grasp on reality has been known to be tenuous, in the past. And while he definitely has a headache, he's had worse in terms of pain. It doesn't seem to be the lyrium. Or the Fade. Or demons, if Cole is to be believed.

Cole, and Dorian. Not the Inquisitor, thank the Maker. That's all he can think as he wearily reaches the roof. Thank the Maker, the Inquisitor isn't here. If he could find a proper Chantry, he'd light a candle and say a prayer. As it is, he's here, on this rooftop, needing to get away from all the strange moving images flashing everywhere, and the brightly-lit rooms, and the noises.

He takes a deep breath, tries to imagine himself in Skyhold's garden as he wanders toward the edge. He's never seen buildings so tall before, or so... shiny.

[celebrityskinned]

Venus comes up to the roof with a magazine under her arm and coffee in a paper cup. Her sunglasses are pushed over her hair rather than hiding her face, and she's humming to herself. She settles into one of the chairs up there and drapes her ankle over her knee, ready to settle in for some suntanning and light reading about what colors are coming in next season.

She looks up when she notices another form drifting towards the edge, and seeing that she doesn't recognize them, assumes they're new. And assumes the worst intent from their wandering, given how many people panic upon arrival.

She clears her throat.

"Don't try and jump, there's a forcefield. It's like sticking your tongue in an electrical socket."

[revocation]

The sound of a voice brings him out of himself and he turns, eyebrows raised at the newcomer. She just threw a lot of strange words at him. Forcefield sounds like barrier, so all well and good. A socket, though?

"What? I mean - no, I wasn't planning to jump," he says, hastily reassuring her. "That seems an extreme way to deal with the situation." His voice is educated, probably sounds British to her ears, though that's not what he would call it. His posture is ramrod-straight, the posture of a soldier. "I was just admiring the view, I suppose. This city is like nothing I've ever seen before."

Christmas day

[gardienne]

It's quite early when footsteps come a-pattering and gentle knocks can be heard on Venus' door.

When Venus answers the door, Eponine won't be stood there - just in case. In case, because of that last argument over the Network with those stupid Capitol people that threaten both her and her friends. No, instead, she's crouched down near the couch, keen to see what Venus makes of the little present and the hand-written note that went with it.

It's not much, and what is there is wrapped in plain tissue paper, held together with string. When Venus opens it, she'll find a compact mirror and a necklace

The note wrapped about them reads,

'Theyr not stolen I swear. I think you shoud have pretty things to remember that you are thow. Happy Christmas Venus and thank you. '

She's not signed her name, just in case. From her place by the couch, she watches eagerly, hoping to see happiness on Venus' face. It will be something at least, to die and somebody remember her kindly.

Re: Christmas day

[celebrityskinned]

Usually, when someone knocks on the door, it's an Avox with her daily dose of medicine or her nightly sleeping pill, or it's Kankri checking up on her. When she opens the door and sees no one, it's enough of a surprise to bring her brow up into a tentative quirk.

She sees the gift, and without thinking about why someone would have abandoned it there looks to see if anyone's around. She cranes her neck and sees familiar slender fingers around the edge of the couch, sees a lock of hair as Eponine's face vanishes behind the upholstery again.

"What're you doing behind the couch, kiddo?"

Re: Christmas day

[gardienne]

Eponine sits up, though she doesn't move from her place, disgruntled at having been caught.

"It's not much, you know? Just a Christmas present. It's not stole - you won't get in trouble, I promise. Only, you might if I come close, so I thought if you just had it and didn't see me, you'd be safe. Oh, but I wanted to see if you liked it. It's the first present I've given, proper, all done up and the like."

Venus is too nice to be caught up in any more of Eponine's messes after all. But how nice gift giving feels. How exciting, waiting to see if they like the presents. How nice. Eponine's never imagined it should feel so, and she wants to cling onto these good feelings on what she thinks are her last few days alive.

forward dated to a few days after the arena

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Sam hasn't slept since he'd woken up in his bed, after - well, after the arena. Or at least, hasn't slept well, he's grabbed a few winks at a time when his body'd demanded them, but never for very long. He's stopped trying, really, to bother actually going to bed at night. It's not like he doesn't have more than enough things to do, and people to check on, now that the curfew's been lifted.

And with some of them, the curfew wouldn't even have mattered.

It's not too late when he knocks on Venus's door, but enough that he does worry a little bit about waking her. Still, he can't sleep, and he wants to see her, so here he is. "V? It's Sam."

[celebrityskinned]

Venus isn't asleep, not fully. She's laying in bed with her eyes closed, feeling own pulse in her upturned palms and her nightly sleeping pills settling in her stomach like stones in the river. With luck, slipping into dreams will be an uneventful process. There'll be no fluttering heartrate as memories of torture replay in her head, no loop of thoughts about all the ways Kankri and Joly and Jet and Albert and Sam could be taken away in their sleep.

Of course, the more she tries not to think about it, the easier it is to sink into the swamp. She counts her breaths, counts every animal in Noah's ark, two by two. She's on jackals (the letter J), heading to koalas (the letter K) when she hears a knock at the door. Her eyes snap open, her quickness getting back to being wide awake a testament to how far from sleep she really was.

"Hello?" She wraps a silk robe around herself, something too embroidered to truly be comfortable, and cracks open the door. Her face is bare, uncharacteristically so when she usually has at least some mascara and lip gloss on even before she gets breakfast. "Sam? What's up, handsome?"

[sizeofyourbaggage]

It's not really the first time he's seen her without the brand, but there's still a little flash of surprise, not quite used to it - he'd only ever known her with it. He feelts guilt settle a little bit in his chest, when she opens the door in a robe and no makeup.

"I woke up you," he says, but it's quiet, and he's talking to himself more than her, there. "I just-" -wanted to see you, but he doesn't feel like that's a good reason for waking her up.

"I couldn't sleep. I was thinking about putting on a movie or something, thought you might want to join me, if you weren't already out."

Christmas Eve

[metalicarus]

He almost didn't realize, he'd been keeping to himself for the most part and while Jet noticed almost everything, when he was actively keeping his head in the sand, he could pass a handful of decorations and take no notice. It was almost Christmas.

Over the last twenty-seven years back home, he'd spent Christmas alone, sending his adopted and abandoned family presents with no sender and no return address. It had been a harsh change from boisterous nights surrounded by them with plenty of laughter and light to make any other dark situation seem easy to overcome. They'd tried to invite him those first few years, but the invitations had tapered away until it had only been Francoise sending them and even those had stopped those last few years leading up to His Voice. He'd done it to himself, it wasn't like he hadn't known that, but it had still hurt.

And still, thinking of Christmas made him think of them and that happiness and when he realized it was nearly that time all over again, it was no different except in one respect: he had zero desire to spend the holidays with them if it was here. As long as his family wasn't stuck in this place, he could pretend they were safe somewhere, even if there was a part of him that knew that wasn't true. Pyunma and Joe had been here with them and they'd never been revived. As for the others...it got complicated and Jet refused to think about the possibilities considering the place he and Albert had been before Panem.

But Family was found in the most unlikely of places and that included here in the Capitol. Just because his team wasn't here and Albert was still in the Arena didn't mean he didn't have people who made the spirit of the holiday worth it.

He found her in the training center, brighter and more beautiful than he'd seen her in a long time and he paused at the entrance a moment just to watch her, a smile growing at the sight. Once she seemed to pause, he made his way over to her, leaning on whatever solid thing was close by.

"Hey there. You're looking good." 'Good' meant 'better than good' but his tone and smile were sincere even if his words fell a little short.

Re: Christmas Eve

[celebrityskinned]

"Jet." She leaps off the balance beam with toes pointed until the last moment, but the grace of her leap is nothing to watch compared to the smile on her face. It's freer now for the lack of brand, and the scar tissue in memory seems like ropes that tied not only her beauty up, but her ability to feel joy. She walks over to him and reaches for a hug she doesn't need to ask permission for.

She knew he was alive, of course - it had been a first order of business to find out whom of her allies would never rise again - but she hadn't come and said hi yet. She's learned through her years here that sometimes people need to sort themselves out after a death before allowing another person to waltz up and try to help them pick up the pieces.

"I'm feeling good." She gives him a tight squeeze. "Better than I have been in a long time. I mean, I know that's shallow, but-"

But it doesn't matter. It's true. This Arena she has yet to lose a loved one. She has her face back, so she can condemn those dark months to a part of her life she's stepped out of. She can go out in public to the usual wolf whistles and second-glances, not the scorn that rips up the stitches on her soul keeping the memories from spilling over.

She can make a new life instead of being tangled in the entrails of the old one.

"Happy Holidays, Jet."

[metalicarus]

He squeezed her tightly but gently in return, his smile only growing in the face of hers, though it had to be dim in comparison. Right now, Venus wasn't a black hole, she was the sun.

"Whatever the reason, I'm just glad to see you smiling. Happy Holidays yourself. You busy here, or d'you think you could find some time to hang around for the holidays? Unless you've already got plans, that is." He wanted to spend Christmas with her, but not to the detriment of her own plans. Even a little while would be good enough.

Training Center

[medecin]

The arena, this time, had nearly broken Joly. Proponent of science and the future though he was, he had never been a proponent of pain and causing agony, and he'd been forced to do both of those with Courfeyrac and his shattered leg. Simply because a thing is necessary, as it was then, it does not mean it is a good thing, and Joly hates himself a bit, for all the pain he had to cause. More than that, he hates the futility of this all, knowing that no matter what he tries to do, things like this, the pain, the suffering, are going to continue, and there will be little, if anything that he can do.

It's horrible, and he's been struck with that thought again and again since their return, the idea that he is powerless to aid anyone, really, that he himself must cause pain in order to help, and that there is no true relief for anything until death claims you. A terribly dark mood for him, especially, but Joly tries his best after Les amis return, to pretend that it is not consuming him.

Today, it's very hard to look like that. Joly's at a first aid station, yes, but instead of practicing his stitches or anything of the like, he's starring at a practice dummy with a simulated broken leg, trying his best to put the crushed thing back together with only the minimal help of bandaging and the generic first aid kit. So far, no good, and he's made four attempts already.

Instead, he curses loudly, overwhelmed by the failure and the idea that it could be his friends again, that Courfeyrac could have never walked again if this was any ordinary place, then sinks into a folding chair beside the dummy, burrying his head in his hands, his breathing rather deliberate, but still very shaky.

Perhaps he could use someone to talk to?

[celebrityskinned]

Venus was already on the gymnastic bars when Joly entered, and aside from hanging from her knees and waving for a moment when she sees him, she hasn't really acknowledged his presence. She's too busy flipping and twisting and catching herself, remembering things her agent said about how she could have gone Olympic-level if she'd started a little earlier and didn't have such a woman's body.

But then she hears him swear, and it doesn't matter that it's in the Training Center and not the Arena; her mind immediately interprets it as him needing her aid, as danger. All she can think about is his mannequin in the shopping mall Arena, finding it one day when she was expecting to meet him at the hair salon, holding the beads in her hair to her palm and staring at her own reflection in the storefront window.

Her chalked feet smack the mat and she walks over not in a rush, but faster than she might if this were a casual moment.

"Hey." She folds her arms and bites her lip, paused at his side, standing with too much weight on one leg to be straight up. She looks at the dummy. "What are you up to here?"

[medecin]

Well, it may not exactly be the traditional sort of danger, but Joly could certainly use her aid. He's glancing up as Venus approaches, trying for a smile, which ends as something of a grimace, before he's giving her a little nod.

"Ah hello, there." The words are quieter than usual, though he's nonetheless happy to see her. "I've just been trying a bit of first aiding, looking for some new ways to fix things. I was not able to do that last time." He added, voice catching a little, though he took a breath to force his way through it, or tried to.

"Stupid, really. I've had to deal with that before, being a doctor with not much to help me but this last time, it was different. I hated it." he added, running a hand over his eyes. "Whatever I can think of still causes pain. I wish...there has to be a better way, if only I can work it out."

Training Center, soon after Venus wakes up?

[a_minute_younger]

Gary already found some solace in going to the gym every once in a while, when the nervous energy became too much and he was in the area, but it's only after the most recent Arena that he realizes he's made a routine of it. Once a week, mid-afternoon on his way out the door. Gary doesn't consider himself a creature of habit, so it takes some thinking before he comes up with an excuse for this most unusual behavior; he did fine in the Arena once he was inside, and he's certain that he would have survived to the bitter end, if not for the Cornucopia and the injuries he sustained from it. He didn't have his abilities then--wasn't strong enough. He doesn't have a plan in mind for how he could have done better then, or how he could do better in the future, but if he spends just another hour more training, is just a little more fit than his competition, maybe he can outrun them next time. It's a good enough excuse for Gary to get behind.

This doesn't mean Gary is any more focused while he's here, of course. Venus passes him by on the treadmills--Gary is good at treadmills--keeping a fast pace to unidentifiable electronic music blasted through the earbuds he's wearing. Gary gives her a friendly wave from the machine and does not lose tempo. "Venus!" he yells, much louder than needed. Gary removes one of his earpieces and his voice becomes more reasonable (though the content does not). "Lookin' fine, sunshine!"

[celebrityskinned]

By this point, Venus has already changed into workout attire, with sleek pink shorts and a cropped tank-top that's clearly designed to be as fashionable as it is streamlined. Her Stylists have done her hair up in one of those short, asymmetrical undercuts, like Rihanna had back in the Good Girl Gone Whatever days, and Venus can't help but think that she looks better in it than a certain Barbadian singer.

Gary's catcall isn't the first compliment she's heard today, and rather than it making her feel like curdled milk with her awful brand, she embraces it.

"Hey there, sport." She stops by his treadmill and leans up against it, waggling her water bottle in her hand. "What are you listening to?"

[a_minute_younger]

Gary leans forward on his forearms to meet her--a position that only needs a little bit of adjustment on the treadmill's speed to accommodate. "I dunno," he shrugs, shuffling around in the pocket of his sweatpants for the music player he's connected to. "Some tracks I grabbed from a bin...uh. 'Panem Punk,' it says."

The device goes back in his pocket, as Gary doesn't find it particularly interesting. His gaze settles on Venus's face. It settles for maybe an inappropriate amount of time. There's no brand there, he realizes.

"You--" Wait, wait, he remembers what happened the last time he brought up the brand. No need to repeat that. For once, Gary's personal censor catches him. It doesn't provide him with a good save, though; he's left staring at where the mark used to be, looking more than a little baffled. "--look nice! Those clothes. They're cute."

[carnagecarnival]

District five gets more and less awkward in some ways. As the old faces check out and the dynamics shift, that steady undercurrent remains still, reminding where they're at and what strangers they all to really be, always scattering off elsewhere for other places to be. It's a background humming what goes so long, it ain't being perceived no more.

And yet when it changes, there's notice. In him at least. Its not his place to butt in, and Venus and he certainly aren't on no terms most motherfucking fond. He doesn't know why he does it, truth told. Maybe the singing inspired him on its return. Maybe it was being time to change yet one more part of his life.

He goes out and he gets a box. Simple motherfucking tupparware shit. Perfect size. He gets a lock and key, and he puts a hole in that container for the lock to be fitting in. The locked box is left with the key and a note on top. try for this, it says in indigo marker.

He heads off to read in the common room, wondering if won't see a container being thrown on out of the kitchen in three, two, one...

[celebrityskinned]

Given that the last words Venus exchanged with Initiate were laden with curses, she was not expecting Christmas gifts. She wasn't expecting anything but the continued animosity that seems to crackle the air between them, curdling it and twisting it up as if the distance between them were illusory, as if hostility were more powerful at getting two people to care about each other (not for, never for) than any friendship.

She regards the tupperware with suspicion, then takes a pen from her desk and pokes at it to see if she can hear a rattlesnake's maraca-tail or the skittering of a scorpion. Then she pops it open.

There's a pause palpable in the common area before she appears, holding the box in her arms like a priest may hold alms.

"Initiate!" she raises her voice with a mock anger.

[carnagecarnival]

His shoulders hike up. His hands go up to cover his face and into them he makes a strangled noise of frustration. Stupid, stupid, he should've fucking known. She probably took it as some sort of insult, or maybe he broke some ridiculous human cultural law he wasn't aware of again.

Finally, he sighs heavily and turns around, bracing for strife with the weary expression of one being told to clean an ablutions room. He looks from her face, to the box, then back again.

"Look, I didn't do nothing meaning as to whatever got fucked up, I swear on Messiahs..." A beat of pause follows. Then, "YOU AIN'T MAD?"

She doesn't look mad. But at this point he wonders if it might be too good to be true. He's still leaning back like he expects the box to be thrown at him