Venus Dee Milo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thearena2015-06-07 12:38 am
celebrityskinned) wrote in thearena2015-06-07 12:38 am
Entry tags:
Pretending There's Nothing That You Aren't Prepared For [Open]
WHO| Venus Dee Milo and open!
WHAT| Venus teleports around the Arena setting off danger and distributing supplies.
WHEN| Week One
WHERE| Everywhere in the Arena
WARNINGS| Death, explosions. Venus having some suicidal thoughts.
Venus has been dying for far longer than the two days she's been in the Arena. Ever since she got herself banged up on that mission against the Capitol, she's been biding time with increasing difficulty, trying to make it to the Arena so she can cover up for the internal bleeding that's killing her from the inside out. It's gotten more difficult, but thankfully she's had Porrim on her side, who's been able to taper off the amount of in-person interviews Venus has had to do and cut semi-nude shoots down to zero.
To finally be able to die instead of fighting it is a strange form of release. Venus thinks to herself as she crawls through the wormholes she rips into the fabric of space and time that it probably says something about her that death always feels like a relief, like relaxing after a long day's labor, rather than as something to fear. Having to stay alive has always been such an inconvenience for her, and she became a superhero because it was a clear-cut path towards dramatic, beautiful, and permanent ruin. It's eased in the last two years, this dogged pursuit towards a final end, and yet it's always there with her.
And so she's strangely sort of happy as she teleports around the Arena, looking for worthy allies to disperse her Cornucopia supplies to. The Gamemakers are coming for her, with rats and fires and claps of lightning. She emerges from nowhere, literally pulling herself from places out of eyesight or earshot, like a migraine in quick-motion to anyone watching where she blips back into reality, with a wild, jagged, beautiful smile on her face and a bag over her shoulder.
"Hey! You!" she'll call.
WHAT| Venus teleports around the Arena setting off danger and distributing supplies.
WHEN| Week One
WHERE| Everywhere in the Arena
WARNINGS| Death, explosions. Venus having some suicidal thoughts.
Venus has been dying for far longer than the two days she's been in the Arena. Ever since she got herself banged up on that mission against the Capitol, she's been biding time with increasing difficulty, trying to make it to the Arena so she can cover up for the internal bleeding that's killing her from the inside out. It's gotten more difficult, but thankfully she's had Porrim on her side, who's been able to taper off the amount of in-person interviews Venus has had to do and cut semi-nude shoots down to zero.
To finally be able to die instead of fighting it is a strange form of release. Venus thinks to herself as she crawls through the wormholes she rips into the fabric of space and time that it probably says something about her that death always feels like a relief, like relaxing after a long day's labor, rather than as something to fear. Having to stay alive has always been such an inconvenience for her, and she became a superhero because it was a clear-cut path towards dramatic, beautiful, and permanent ruin. It's eased in the last two years, this dogged pursuit towards a final end, and yet it's always there with her.
And so she's strangely sort of happy as she teleports around the Arena, looking for worthy allies to disperse her Cornucopia supplies to. The Gamemakers are coming for her, with rats and fires and claps of lightning. She emerges from nowhere, literally pulling herself from places out of eyesight or earshot, like a migraine in quick-motion to anyone watching where she blips back into reality, with a wild, jagged, beautiful smile on her face and a bag over her shoulder.
"Hey! You!" she'll call.
no subject
"Uh... No I haven't," Earplugs? Something just happens to Venus in the Arena. She goes from simply being a bitch straight into bizarre moon-logic. Shepard decides it's better not to question it, "Thank... You?"
There is a pause.
"You look like shit."
no subject
"Look. I'm on my way out. I grabbed a bunch of those at the Cornucopia so I'd put money on them coming in handy for some Gamemaker shenanigans later." Her panting vainly tries to cope with the way her lungs are shutting down, as if her body can't decide between preventing itself from expiring or ripping itself apart from her power and is putting most of its energy into the latter. "You might want to step back. Any minute now I might go nuclear."
She grins. "Unless they hit me with lighting or something."
no subject
Burning and all, maybe she is. At the very least she looks like the way you feel the morning after a bottle of the stuff, a mud-smudged and scab-spattered dirt-goddess, in clothes tied on from scraps. Still, she's not quite starving to death just yet, so that's something for her.
Well, she's a short glass at least. Shepard's not winning any height contests.
"I think I'm at least as radioactive as you are, to be honest. I'll take my chances, for now."
no subject
"Hey, no blaming me if I explode and rip you to shreds. You saw my exposé. You know I don't exactly have great control over all this." She swallows and grits her teeth, forcing herself not to be ripped apart by the energy coursing in her veins. It's like trying to hold back the tide with a spoon, and she won't last much longer. "Seriously. Get the backpack and go. Go, Shep, let me explode in peace."