thecapitol | it's never ever too late [open]

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it's never ever too late [open]

WHO| Ariadne and whomever wants to visit her
WHAT| Ariadne is musing to herself on the various occurrences of the Arenas.
WHEN| the night of the closing ceremonies.
WHERE| the training centre rooftop.
WARNINGS/NOTES| none right now.

Ariadne still wasn't entirely sure about all of this. All of this...killing, and maiming, and the fact that they were all brought back. What was she supposed to think of that? About the fact that somewhere out there in the world, someone was more than likely concerned with where she had disappeared off to; about the fact that she had curb-stomped a man to death on the opening day of the second Arena.

It was like everything that the Games were was suddenly rolling up on her, crushing her with implications and accusations that she had changed; that if she hadn't already, she would. There was a lump in her throat as she stared out at the glittering abyss that was known as the Capitol, hot tears barely pricking her eyes and refusing to fall.

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Eliot walks through the roof garden, coffee mug in hand. He just needs to get away from everyone. Except the others. The ones who were there. They'll understand. At least the garden's peaceful.

He sees a familiar figure by the railing and smiles. "Ariadne," he greets, walking over to her. That's when he notices the look on her face. "Hey, are you all right?"

From off to one side came the sound of rustling and footsteps: Wyatt coming through the garden.

He was trying to avoid his stylist; apparently there was some big to-do and the clothes-maker was runnin' about like a headless chicken. That could only mean another night of being pranced around like a show pony and Wyatt, for as long as he could get away with it, was having none of it.

Spotting the woman last minute like, he stopped, surprised, and politely removed his hat.

"Sorry, Ma'am. Didn't mean to intrude."

It's the most human she's been able to be in a while. But even so, there are some things she doesn't want to broadcast. She knows there aren't any cameras facing her - there's one behind her, and she's probably be watched for the sheer novelty of not being out celebrating - and takes advantage of that to blink her eyes wide for a second, exhaling sharply as she hears Eliot's voice beside her.

"Eliot," she replies, making sure her voice is steady - even cheerful - when she speaks, glancing over towards him. "I was just...thinking."

She didn't really expect to be left entirely alone up on the rooftop; it's as public an area as any, and it's the only one that doesn't remind them of the Games themselves. She manages to steel her expression at the sound of footfalls, briefly rubbing one eye before looking up at her companion.

Before tensing, as she realised - even in the dark - exactly who it was.

"You weren't," Ariadne tried, keeping her voice quiet and unconfrontational, in case he held a grudge against her. In the back of her mind, she could easily justify why she did what she did, but that didn't really change the fact that the last time she had seen this man - barring the time his picture was on the upper screen - was when he was lying dead in the mud.

He knew she was another like himself - a tribute. He's seen her, like the others, on the inescapable screens, but other than that....

All he saw was a pale face and haunted eyes.

Good sense said she wanted to be alone and that he should leave her to it - she was a stranger after-all - but his up-bringing held him in place.

"Is... is everythin' alright?"

He walks over to stand beside her. "Yeah," he says quietly. "You're not the only one. It takes a lot out of you. Killing, that is."

At the very least, Ariadne is rather glad she hadn't broken down before he got there; it would have been a lot harder to hide, even if she didn't think it was that likely anyway. She just nods, glancing back out over the Capitol's skyline with a frown. "And being killed. Most people don't really have the chance to dwell on their own deaths, let alone more than once."

It was probably a good sign that he hadn't attacked her on sight; all she could think of was the vendetta so many had against Tate, all the opportunities they would try to make just to kill him in reality if it was possible. Ariadne relaxed somewhat, loosening her grip on the railing as she tried to think of what to say.

"I- Wanted to apologise."

Eliot's eyes widen. "This wasn't your first time in there," he breathes, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, Ariadne. I'm sorry."

Damn it. Until now, it hadn't seemed real that he'd be going back into the Arena. It had been easier when he thought he'd kill a few people, die, and his life would be over.

He blinked, and his brow slowly furrowed, neat little creases forming across his forehead.

His eyes twitched, glancing this way and that quickly, wondering if there was someone else here he hadn't spotted yet.

"I'm sorry?"

She looks at him, brows furrowed a little bit. "I thought you'd figured that out already," Ariadne says quietly, not flinching when he touches her. Though, in hindsight, perhaps it was only obvious to her. It wasn't as though she'd made an effort to tell anyone.

It's all irrelevant at this point; now he knows that they die, they come back, they go back in. It all repeats until they either opt out of the Games or win. And she's still not sure she wants to opt out: which is worse, the Arena or the Capitol?

"It doesn't matter. They changed the rules when they brought us all in here."

At this point, she wasn't sure if he was dumb, or if he just didn't remember. So she frowned a little, looking at him full-on, "I killed you at the Cornucopia. I could have saved you, and I didn't."

He shakes his head. "No. You didn't say anything in the Arena and I didn't watch any of the interviews."

He sighs quietly and looks her carefully in the eyes. "You ever thought about why they didn't change the rules until now?"

His head jerked back, eyes widening.

He'd only seen it the once, a replay that had caught him by surprise, and then he'd been more focused on the that he'd died - actually died - than the person who had caused it.

But now, the details came swimming back, both from those few terrible moments in the arena and the footage after: dark hair, small, female....

And it all matched up to the woman before him.

Then he blinked and his face hardened. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel.

Angry? Vengeful?

"Mighty big of you to admit it," he said finally.

Impressed? Embarrassed?

"I didn't know."

Well, that was a bit better, she decided. Still not entirely pleasant, and she wouldn't really blame him if he hated her; it wasn't exactly in line with how most people made their introductions, but he had the right to know, all the same.

"It's not like you stayed dead; you had a right to know," Ariadne stated, and for a moment, she might almost think that she actually sounded unaffected by the entire matter.

She nods a little, wondering if it even matters that she's been in the Arena twice now. It certainly helped her with Kaidan; she expects they'll have a slight advantage, but not much of one.

Never having been one to shy away from direct stares, she merely tips her head curiously at him. "Presumably because they couldn't get us in here before now. 74 years without a change, and suddenly all of this."

She pauses, running her fingertips thoughtfully over the railing. "Did you talk to that woman? The one representing the Capitol?"

"I did," he says quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "That's why I'm asking. Something changed last year. I don't know what yet. But, whatever it is, it has the Capitol scared. Basically, we're damage control."

The only real threat is the cameras, and they're too far away to be able to pick any of this up. The most it looks like is two Tributes chatting. Ariadne tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, mulling her words over. "The last closing ceremonies were interrupted by...tracker jackers. I think that's what they called them. That's why there isn't a big party this time around. Something's happening, and it's out of the Capitol's control."

He nods, taking another sip of his coffee. "It is. I don't know what happened, but something in the Arena last year lit the fuse. There's no disarming this bomb, even if I wanted to. This powder keg's gonna blow."

"Don't say that," she tells him, pursing her lips. She doesn't know if the people she hasn't seen are because of the lack of parties this round, or the fact that they're gone. It might be the former; the latter sounds too paranoid, but she knows that there has to be something happening that no one's telling them about.

"Have you asked your escort, or mentors?"

His head tipped, just a fraction, as his blue eyes looked her up and down - a quick, assessing measure.

"Did'ya want to kill me?" he asked bluntly, ignoring how very strange those words tasted.

"Why? Does it scare you?" He sighs quietly. "You realize what it'll mean if it works? We might still be stuck here, but we won't have to go back in the Arena again. We can work on finding out how to reverse whatever process they used to bring us here. On our own terms."

He frowns slightly. "I haven't actually met my mentors yet. And I don't exactly trust my escort or my stylist enough to bring it up with them. I'm not even sure my stylist would have any clue what I'm asking."

She just gives Eliot a sideways sort of stare, very much doubting that it would be that easy for them. "I don't think we'll get the chance. Tributes still left in the Capitol? We'll be treated no better than we ever are. We're expendable."

Ariadne nods slowly at that, folding her hands together against the rail as she stares out at the glittering lights. "The stylists don't know much beyond what they're meant to do. It's not their job. I'm surprised you haven't met your mentors yet. Unless you were dropped straight into the Arena."

"Not really," she replied simply, watching him for reactions, though it didn't prove to give her much. Not that it really mattered. "It just happened."

"You think we'd have to stay in the city if this works? I know getting there won't be easy. It never is. But it's worth the risk." He's quiet for a moment, looking out over the cityscape. "And we're not expendable. Not to each other, at least. Well, unless we're talkin' about Tate and whoever that guy is that killed me."

Eliot smirks wryly. "That last would about be the way of it. And I hear a lot of the mentors are missing now. Including mine, apparently."

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it's never ever too late [open]

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