thearena | I Rise, I Move On [Closed]

WHO| Venus Dee Milo and Molotov Cocktease
WHAT| Molotov takes righteous revenge on Venus for sleeping with her...not-boyfriend. And being prettier.
WHERE| Near the lake.
WHEN| Week 3
WARNINGS| Divafight and death!

By dint of will, Venus is up and walking three days after her incident with the smilodons. It's not an easy process, and in all likelihood a doctor would tell her that she needs to rest, but laying in a tree with Albert and Jet tending to her like a newborn kitten doesn't sit well with her. She doesn't like having to ask for one of them to carry her down to the ground so she can drag herself off to a bush and pee. She doesn't like only hearing from their reports to her how the landscape is changing, or waiting for Sam and Phil to visit each day to check up on her. As such, she throws herself wholeheartedly into, if not recovery, then forward motion.

By the sixth day, she's walking with barely a limp, bandages wrapped so tight around her abdomen that they might seem to be keeping her insides in. She jokingly refers to them as her 'Spanx', and over Jet and Albert's protests, she goes out to find food and collect water. She carries herself with the sort of battered dignity of a statue that's survived a natural disaster.

She hears Molotov coming. Most people wouldn't have, because Molotov has stealth that most people wouldn't be able to pick up in their entire lives, but Venus is a professional. And Molotov, knowing that, hasn't put much effort into sneaking.

"Should have expected you to show up eventually. You got a moment or am I keeping you from killing more teenagers?"

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It's not the first time Venus has lost an arm in a fight, and Venus will probably reflect later that it's a little fucked up to respond by thinking well at least she didn't rip the damn thing off rather than with panic as her elbow collapses backwards. But she isn't focusing on the pain or even on protecting herself from that blow, instead throwing a hand like claws to Molotov's one eye and biting Molotov's bicep as they fall.

When they break apart again, Venus doesn't bother to pretend her arm isn't limp and unresponsive, crooked inside the flesh and weight like a battery inside an old sock. She doesn't give a break for any longer than it takes to get a single long breath into her lungs.

With that arm broken, Molotov throws a punch hard at Venus's face, more to deflect that hand at her eye than anything else. She comes away with scratches across her eyelid, but her eye isn't totally out of commission. Luckily, her thin jacket, the original one she was sent in with, takes the brunt of the bite, but Molotov can feel the throbbing of bruises to come, possibly swelling.

Venus comes back and it's the broken arm that Molotov reaches for, trying to grab it and fling the girl onto her back, open her up and reveal all the most vulnerable spots. But failing that, Molotov is ready to go after Venus's other limbs, knife in hand and ready to slash at her legs, let her calf muscles roll up like window shades.

Venus manages to protect her stomach, but not her legs. It's not a matter of will or pain tolerance now to keep standing up; she becomes anatomically incapable as she's hamstringed. She topples to the ground, grabbing at Molotov, blood streaming from her face where Molotov hit her.

On her back, helpless as a fish in a net, she continues to thrash with her one good hand, her knees, her teeth, unwilling to go down without every shred of energy funneling into doing as much damage to Molotov as she can. She's never really had a nemesis in the Arena, but now she at least has a grudge.

Now that she has Venus down for good, Molotov backs away a step and takes a breath, hands on her thighs as she watches Venus flail so wildly, so desperately.

She starts to laugh, cruel and hard and vicious.

"I could let you bleed to death," she murmurs, pacing a little. "But that's boring isn't it. No no, I think I have a better idea now. Don't you want to go out with a bang?"

Molotov moves away a bit, picks up a large rock and then comes back. She smirks down at Venus, rock still in her arms.

"Anything you'd like to say?"

Venus stops when Molotov walks away. She knows she's beaten. The numbness is starting to recede and leave her with racking waves of pain that twist her brain up like a wet rag. She breathes deep and it doesn't seem to get into her lungs.

She meets Molotov's eyes; her own are entirely free of tears, because she can handle pain and death and she doesn't even feel fear these days. She bats her lashes, knowing that back home viewers are gobbling this up (and probably making amateur porn knock-off videos).

"Rock my world, bitch."

"God, what a fucking stupid thing to say," Molotov sighs, rolling her eye as she drops the rock on Venus's head, crushing her skull with a gut-churning crunch and a slight spray of blood over the ground and Molotov's boots.

Raking one hand through her hair, she goes and takes a seat on a rock at the lake's edge, peering out over the water. She'd kill for a cigarette right now.

Well. Kill again.

I Rise, I Move On [Closed]

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