#day: two

[figsandfandoms]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: NCIS (TV 2003) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Abby Scuito & Leon Vance Characters: Leon Vance, Abby Sciuto Additional Tags: Fluff, Friendship, original dog character - Freeform Summary:

Of course Abby would agree to pet sit a dog even when she didn't have the time or the space.

Abby agrees to help a friend, but needs some assistance herself. Written for the flufftober day two prompt "pet sitting"

[ariadneah]

A silver parachute drifts slowly to the ground. A small container is attached with a note from Maverick Montana and Cain Gunn. Inside is antibiotic cream. The note reads: "Sending you two thumbs up. -M.M. & C.G."

From the ceiling of the Sand Dollar Cove, the parachute emerged. It made her emotional in the blink of an eye. The traditions of the Hunger Games were so close to her heart she both couldn’t believe this silvery box was hers and hers alone, and, at the same time, it was long overdue. The note was read first, with childish enthusiasm. She raised her thumbs up -- she still had both of them -- with a characteristic bittersweet smile, half upset, but imminently half grateful too. “I swear, if this isn’t some medicine, I’m going to win this just to scalp you, Maverick,” she spoke, so loudly that it echoed through the aquarium. 

She opened it and was pleased to find something she truly needed. Nodding along, Ariadne looked both sides, to make sure she was alone, before sitting down on the floor to take off her bandages and apply the miracle cream. She knew exactly what it was -- she’s seen it years in a row before, whenever a tribute got hurt -- but it was the first time she could smell it. Something about it made her want to cry.

Walking down the aquarium, she stopped at the most obvious reference to Cain’s arena. Brutus Gunn, a man she knew of well. A man she admired. A man she would always forget was Cain’s grandfather. As touched as she was before, now, at the sight of such a symbol for District Two’s glory, she broke down into big, warm tears. She touched the glass that held Cain’s final sword hit in it. Was it accidental that she grabbed a sword? Perhaps, but it suddenly had meaning. 

And she couldn’t stop crying, not right away. “Fuck!” she groaned, incapable of more than being angry at herself for crying. “Fuck, this is unfair,” she looked down at her injured hand and wondered if she let her district down just by the dumbness of the injury. Would she even win, the way the Gunns did? 

The next she knew, a lion was waiting for her exactly at the other end of the exhibition. A real, breathing, out of place lion. Her eyes almost popped out of her skull for a moment of sheer shock before turning on her heels and taking off, full speed, opening all doors and hoping to quickly outrun the feline. It had been clearly sent there to kill or move her. The first couldn’t happen. So she ran, with tears still streaming down her face.

At a point, she looked back, and the lion was immediately behind, even outside of the building. She ran more, breathless as she crossed different parts of the arena. First, she saw the train, just taking off. Then, she looked neither behind nor around and kept running, soles against the concrete with panic.

Ariadne was unsure how much she ran or where she was at the moment, but she knew she couldn’t keep it up anymore, with heavy breathing. So, before stopping into place, she pulled out her sword and turned around, to bravely finally face the giant cat. However, instead of attacking her, the lion rubbed its head against her thigh. It was waiting for her. It was soft and obedient. It was like Orpheus’ cat, except enormous. “What the fucking fuck?” she breathed out and reached for its head with her already bandaged hand. If anything should happen, it should happen to that hand. But nothing did.

[ariadneah]

She was still resting. The alarming feeling of being chased by a lion still hadn’t worn off, even with the lion obediently by her side. Ariadne made a point out of walking into the wild feline zone to see how this animal would behave seeing them. Oddly, she now felt protected and didn’t fear any other’s claws and teeth. As the District Two tribute chewed on a granola bar, the lion sat, cat-like and lazy, by her feet. She was sitting on one of the many seats at the back of the amphitheater, to have enough time to pick up her sword in case anyone else walked in. Unexpectedly, someone did. A familiar face, even. Ariadne raised the corners of her lips into a wicked smile and put down the half-eaten granola bar. “Nice pet,” she shouted, words echoing through the entire open building.

@persephoneleon​

[ariadneah]

self para / will all great neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?

Ariadne walked north, like on a school trip. She caught herself almost relieved as no one crossed her path. She wasn’t afraid of others per se, but it just wasn’t the moment. The morning feeling of being alone and free in a deadly arena was a pleasant surprise. It was one of the experiences she would never even deduced, back home, that would have any value. But it was a fresh breath of air. She couldn’t have forgiven any tribute for ruining her peace of mind, especially as unstable as it was.

She crossed the railway line and passed by an area so poignantly filled with insects that it had to be a trap. Ariadne moved faster, as if the bees and spiders couldn’t perceive her if she got quick enough. Holding her breath almost the entire time, fearing being poisoned more than anything else, she reached the obvious change of air as trees started showing up here and there, creating comforting shadow. 

For some reason, the sign announcing Monkey City gave her chills. Ariadne pulled out her sword, knowing that mutts never slept, even so early in the morning. Yet, all the monkeys in sight were separated from her by glowing water. The river looked more inviting than ever in sunlight and, after looking over her shoulder and in every direction (being out in the open had never been a huge concern, but now that she was actually in the Hunger Games, it wasn’t a risk she was willing to take), she figured it was safe to dive in. At first, she lowered her thumb into the water. It wasn’t acid. If it were acid, it wouldn’t have even been clever to lose another finger by testing it. Regardless and luckily, it wasn’t. 

She quickly stripped her blooded clothes. Nakedness was a strange feeling when she knew she was on camera, but the sensation was freeing. She psychologically needed a cleanse. Loosely covering her almost nonexistent breasts with a hand, she was careful to take one of the knives that have previously been in her sock with her. She stepped into the low river and stuck the knife between rocks. 

The sun was smiling down at her. For a moment, it didn’t all look like a death sentence. For a moment, she understood again why she was there. It just became less clear why two of her fingers were missing, but she couldn’t dwell on one loss. In the cold water -- both a relief and a slight discomfort -- she took off her bandage. The clean cut wasn’t going to close by itself. It was going to quietly bleed Ariadne out, no matter the amounts of water she would be drinking to replace it. Ariadne chose to dismiss the thought and moved her healthy finger over the wound. It looked disgusting and the slightest touch felt like salt. However, the cold water suppressed any sting, any numbness, any active pain temporarily.

She washed, matutinal and careful, touching the handle of the underwater knife a few times to make sure it was still there in case a monkey or a tribute bothered her ritual. If she were feeling any better, she would have hummed a happy song. Then, she sank her head. The freezing sensation woke her up like nothing else, though, by the time she had to leave the river, she was shaking.

For a couple of moments, she waited, curled on the green grass, for her skin to dry. The new clothes were larger than the ones initially received, sign that she hadn’t been checking measures. It didn’t matter. She made it work. The used fabrics, she left there. Maybe the blood would scare off or mislead others. However, she did pack them up and placed the bloodied bandages over them. Maybe they would all think she was weak, defeated. Maybe they would even imagine her death. It didn’t matter, since she felt reborn. The new bandages hurt more than the first against the injury, but Ariadne could stand a little pain. In fact, wasn’t that what she was here for, too? It was what she wanted all along. She had no right to complain now. 

This was the blood she wanted. Now she had to live with it.

[ariadneah]

self para / what are you going to war for today?

It’s not called morning when you never closed your eyes to begin with. The sun setting had nothing to do with her. It was irritant, artificial, a lie. Ariadne couldn’t help but glare, looking through the window of the souvenir shop, from the comfort of the conditioning air. She wasn’t even getting cold anymore. Ariadne knew she would be leaving the horned statue behind now. The arena was not wide enough for the Cornucopia to be a desirable island of supplies. The space was too limited to nail herself down to one space. Everybody would know how to find her if she stayed. 

She let Dexter know they would be parting ways. The Career pack she’s been dreaming of all her life was shattered, over before it even began. There was no point in weeping at the funeral of a concept. Since her clothes have been soaked in blood for a day now -- and it was in no way pleasant when most of that blood belonged to her -- she took a zookeeper uniform off the shelf. It looked just like the one she was wearing, except it was clean and unworn. Good.

She stuffed it in a large backpack she found in the Cornucopia. From there on, she took everything she could. Everything she needed. She took all the bandages she could find, because her injury would need bandaging, if not stitching, until the rest of the arena or, at least, until she would die in the arena.

There were plenty of stuff left. Ariadne wasn’t greedy. The Ibuprofen box she’s started, that she has been trying to take from with moderation, to remain fully functional. The bandages. Most granola bars. Three knives, out of which two in each of her socks and one in a backpack pocket. The sword, prettily tied to her backpack for easy access. And canteens of water. Nothing was more important to Ariadne than fresh water. She took big gulps out of the canteen she was leaving behind. The water she was greedy with. She thought to hide the rest of the canteens, but at this point, she knew it was bad luck.

Ariadne looked with longing at the rest of the weapons, brought back to the Cornucopia from the gift shop (where she’d moved them, fearing that other tributes would take a knife and pay her a visit, catching her off guard). Now that was no longer the case. 

Before taking off, she decided to climb the gazelle skull, through the eye. Her left hand hurt as soon as she applied pressure, but she didn’t jump off, instead trying to put emphasis on her right hand while getting as much help as possible from the injured one. The luscious surface wasn’t easy to climb, but she dragged her body. Now she was on top of the arena -- or so it felt. The fresh air of the morning was a victory in itself. All the other tributes were asleep (even if they weren’t, they were, to her, at that moment). It was just her and the Hunger Games, nothing else in sight. She jumped off the skull with precision, suddenly feeling stronger.

Now Ariadne was leaving, zipping up the backpack and hoping to survive with what she picked for herself. It felt like a big moment, that made her ears red with nervousness, but she had it under control. She had to remind herself she could still do this. She had to remind herself who was the person she used to be when she stepped into this arena. She had to remember what she was here for.

[ariadneah]

The only thing keeping her going was water. She had finished four canteens ever since the start of the Games, just to keep hydrated. And because she could. Hydration was the key for a competent Career, which she was starting to doubt she was after all. For some reason, her steps took her back to the petting zoo, which proved to be a refuge, even when she said she didn’t need any. However, she found it difficult to sleep with the air conditioning on, and even more improbable in full exposure, at the roots of the statue. She just couldn’t. At this point, she was certain that she would be leaving tomorrow. The arena was no longer a secret. Maybe she could go hunt. Except someone was now behind her. Calculating her odds -- the only proximity to death would be if they had a bow and arrows, but even then, she could dodge if she listened closely enough -- Ariadne kept herself turned towards the pigs, first talking. “If you take one more step, I will behead you.”

@lightfaraday​

[caroleyre]

the star of the tree / self para

It was almost morning, not that he would’ve known, when they found the secret part of the cave that seemed to be a hidden treasure, only offered to the luckiest and most worthy. Hungry, not used to starvation and spoiled enough to reach for whatever sweets were within his reach as if they belonged to him, Val didn’t hesitate before taking one bite - unlike Satine. And for that, he couldn’t sleep at all, haunted by the divine taste of the gingerbread, ready to ruin the whole village bite by bite. 

Though full, he just couldn’t have enough, and there was a deep feeling of emptiness that increased with every chewed bite and chased his every thought out of his mind. Soon, there was nothing other than the urge to eat, eating him alive. He forgot the fact that he was in the arena, he forgot who he was and what he was supposed to represent and he didn’t even care about the other silver parachute that came to his rescue, probably with the cure or something of a sort. Stronger than any drug, the gingerbread was fast taking over his life without hesitation. He swallowed, not even chewing anymore, ready to eat it all, but once the substances that made the sweet bread addicting reached his blood system and blended in with what he has popped and taken just before getting into the tunnels, just for a little bit of calming, he started feeling less fulfilled by the food and more and more nauseous. 

The overwhelming feeling that he had to take the gingerbread out, fighting the crazy urge to keep eating, as if he was breathing gingerbread instead of air, was exhausting to him, but he kept eating, ready to burst. He didn’t know and didn’t care anymore where Satine was. Not when such a complicated inner conflict based on food was taking up all his mental space and keeping him so busy. All that existed was him, in that secret cave section, and what he was eating continuously. 

Howsoever, the bad feelings didn’t get erased by the fact that gingerbread did, in fact, make him feel good - a shallow side-effect ready to be followed by worse. His chest felt stabbed, and he wondered for just a moment if he hadn’t been found and knifed, but it didn’t seem the case, as he looked down for a moment and saw no injury. Yet, the chest ache persisted, getting worse and worse by the moment. Eventually, he had to pause eating to press it, and see what was happening, but a fast dizziness that made him useless in a matter of seconds took over him. He couldn’t even reach for the remaining gingerbread. 

Not poisoned, but overdosing and mixing up dangerous substances without even meaning to, Val started burning inside, with a fever that didn’t explain how cold he has been feeling before. He could move nothing, and feel everything, and suddenly, his lucidity returned, in the blink of an eye, for nothing. He couldn’t voice any words and he couldn’t make any gestures, with eyes liquid on principle. He was dying, and there was no way to wave good-bye. Confused and weak, he could swear he’d heard a cannon noise, but he was still breathing, only seeing in the imminent future. All this time, he’s been so cynical that he forgot to at least hope he would succeed. And now that he was finally turning out to be right, as he always wanted to be, it was nothing he wanted. He wasn’t ready to die. He hadn’t talked to his parents in ages. He couldn’t leave his agent alone - and his agent couldn’t leave him alone in an improvised heaven. There was so much he hasn’t said and so much he hasn’t filmed. His potential wasn’t as over as his time, and that frustration alone allowed the tears to stream down his cheeks despite his inability to move anymore. 

He wasn’t ready to fade away. As he lost the consciousness he’s gained for one flashed moment, he started shaking rapidly, and it didn’t take long for the cannon to announce Val’s good-bye for him. There was nothing more mundane and simpler than that, and that death alone would have killed him as a concept. 

Soon, the pretty face, with his eyes watered by tears, almost artistically looking, as they’ve wiped off the vomit and drooling, was to be found on the top of the Christmas tree in the Cornucopia. A star, to the end. Like a tribute brought to the tribute who just died.