thecapitol | Here comes a candle to light you to bed

Who| Wednesday Addams and you
What| Second place is just the first place loser. Also she kind of hates the Capitol.
Where| D7 Suites, Sublevel 1, the Roof
When| A day after the end of the Arena.
Warnings/Notes| Standard macabre Wednesday stuff.

I. Wednesday wakes up in her room, as everyone does, and takes a few moments to get her bearings. She throws away pretty bouquets, bright and beautiful, and figures out how to change her holographic window into a dark night scene with a full moon and bare tree branches swaying in the wind.

Then she can only do what feels natural. She goes to her bathroom and brushes her teeth and hair, braids it into her two sleek plaits. She scowls at her closet, at all the sparkle and embroidery and color, but then eventually settles on the least embellished dress in there -- it's black and simple, but there's still rhinestones on the white collar, and frilly ruffles along the hem.

She's equally as grumpy in the common area of the Suite, where she's forced to watch herself lose over and over again on the constantly-playing screen. She tries to find food, but it's all sweet and colorful, and none of it even moves or has eyes or occasionally emits a burst of flame.

Miserable, she finds a kitchen knife and sits at the table with her hand spread flat, sadly playing hand roulette to try and make herself feel better.

She misses the Arena.

II. She didn't really know what she'd find when she pressed the very bottom button on the elevator panel. It seemed worth it either way, since it couldn't be worse than the brightness and volume of the Lobby or anywhere else she'd seen so far.

It's not terribly surprising to find what looks like a large parking garage combined with a storage unit, but it's at least sort of dark and dank purely by virtue of being so far underground. It's the most comfortable place she's found in her time here, so she decides to stay a while.

Wednesday can be found here most of the day, sitting in a chariot by herself, curled up with her chin on her knees, quiet. She's sure that she probably shouldn't be here, but then they really shouldn't have given her access, should they?

III. The roof is only somewhere she dares venture after dark, once the sun is gone. The flowers disgust her, but if she sits in the right place and faces the right direction, she can see the mountain range in the distance, past all the city lights, and that's sort of comforting to look at, with the moon hanging low over the far off peaks.

Mother would like that, to go up that high and moonbathe.

Wednesday thinks about lost travelers and those crushed in avalanches, and she feels a little better, running her finger along the embroidery of the cushion she sits on, murmuring to herself.

"Who killed Cock Robin? I, said the Sparrow, with my bow and arrow..."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Have you ever had oyster? The Outworld species has suckers."

Of course, it had to be eaten alive; it would spoil too quickly, otherwise. The flavour and potency of the creature outweighed the risk of choking on a very angry mollusc.

"You said you're familiar with magic? Perhaps you could inform us of any magic you come across here."

"Yes! But ours doesn't have suckers, it's just slimy and slippery. It's the octopus that tries to fight on the way down, especially if you salt it first." It's always fun to put salt on living creatures and watch them writhe, and Wednesday's heard that it can work with soy sauce too.

She nods, braids bobbing a little. "I will. But they told me that no one can do magic except in the Arena, and not always then, either. They said that the Capitol can somehow control any powers or magic that people have."

"Snake hatchlings often fight as well."

Admittedly, they probably didn't need to be alive, but who could wait to cook them? It was better to just slice open the egg and suck out everything inside in one delicious gulp.

"There may be other ways. Perhaps some device, or folk magic."

"You would like my Grandmama's cooking. No one can cook like she does." It had been terrible in the motel, with no kitchen and all they could get was from the convenience store. But even that was better than this place. She'd still had Mother, even if Father was temporarily losing his mind.

Wednesday thinks about it, raising one hand to hide a yawn behind her fist. "The way they described it sounded more like the things people were doing in the Arena. I think if Mother and Grandmama were here, they would still be able to conduct seances and cast curses. We don't shoot fire from our hands or turn into trees or the things I saw. Witchcraft is knowledge, so it's different, right? That's what I think."

"You said she is a witch, yes? We would be very interested in trying her cooking."

Magic had a tendency to bleed out in unexpected ways. His own telekinesis was a prime example of that; he was made to harness the skills and strengths of ten thousand dead warriors, but the concentration of their souls had produced excess energy that he could manipulate.

"Are you suggesting that only overt powers are being suppressed?"

"All the Frump women are, once they finish their training. But Grandmama is especially good. Her curses are inescapable."

She shrugs, because it's really just a guess. Wednesday herself certainly doesn't feel any difference, and she assumes she would if her witchcraft were taken away. "Maybe. I don't really know, and I don't know how to test it. I doubt they have the right tools to try and cast a spell."

"As any good curse should be."

He pulls his feet up and sits cross-legged on the ledge. For someone in the company of an open homicidal maniac, he feels very comfortable sitting on the ledge next to her. Having cat-like reflexes, as well as being roughly twice her size, helps considerably.

"We will keep trying to commune with our souls. We can hear them, but only just."

He looks her over, trying to listen to the advice one of his souls seems to be trying to scream at him. She's still just a child, and children need to be treated differently.

"...You seem tired."

Care for them. That's what it's trying to tell him. Children need to be looked after, at least a little bit.

"Perhaps you should get some sleep?"

Even his tone of voice conveys his discomfort with giving her this sort of advice.

"Maybe they just need some time to get louder again," she suggests with another yawn, and nods, swiping at her eyes. She's only been here a day, but it's already struck her that no one seems to care what she does, what any of the children do.

At home, she'd have been tucked in and sleeping hours ago. At home, someone would have read her a story. And if she'd fallen asleep outside of her bed, as she well might have done without Ermac's presence, someone would have picked her up and taken her back inside.

Here, she has little doubt that she would have woken up in this same chair with the sun.

Wednesday slides from her seat to stand and brushes at her face again. She doesn't notice his discomfort, possibly just because she's so tired. "All right," she says. "It must be nice to never be alone. Good night, Ermac."

She paces away towards the elevator that can take her back to her Suite, and she does feel desperately lonely, moreso than any other time since she came to Panem. In the Arena, there wasn't as much time to think about it, not when she was occupied with watching out for herself. But in the Tower, it's just her.

No Mother. No Father. No Grandmama or Pugsley or Uncle Fester or Lurch. Not even Thing.

Addamses are many things, but apart is rarely one of them. Now Wednesday understands why.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed

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