Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new chapter of Sheep Led to Slaughter, Chapter #25: Selling Their Souls. This is the official halfway point of the story, as we've reached 25 chapters, and there's only 26 more left to go. I am over the moon with this, you guys. The bloodbath has made you all cry, which was it's intent, and beyond that, amazingness has started to happen with our Capitol storyline. Make sure, if you haven't gotten your vote in so far for the tribute you wish to vote off, get that in, as it will be happening next chapter! Time for Night 1 of the arena, and we're going to delve further into this nightmare. Hope you guys enjoy Chapter #25: Selling Their Souls.
Annabellina Circuit: District 5 Female P.O.V (16)
Even if he is her district partner, Annabellina doesn't care, she's going to have Abe stab him in the back, piercing bones and breaking the blade through the flesh. There is nothing better to her right now than the look of terror on Edwin's face as he runs from her, Annabellina holding the blade that she sent into Lowelle's stomach down by her side, fresh blood still dripping off of the knife.
Annabellina's mind is stuck in limbo, broken in two where Abe is screaming at everyone and everything, and whenever she looks down at her own hands, they begin shaking. She's killed someone, yet she's unable to get herself off of the broken warpath. With the tributes scattering away from the Cornucopia, there aren't that many directions for them to go, as there isn't a forest around them to run into. All that surrounds her is concrete paths, stone buildings, and these steel structures that look menacing from the ground level, painted all beautifully. However, Annabellina is not focused right now on the beauty of the arena, her focus is directed solely on the guy in front of her.
Part of her remembers kissing him, kissing Edwin last night, but the look on his face when she retracts from him sets Abe off. Annabellina tosses and turns at night, screaming and hissing and holding her stomach in pain, yet her ever caring, supposedly seeming to worry about her well-being district partner does not ride to her rescue. When Anna tries to calm Abe down, it is the straw that broke the camel's back. Annabellina wakes up in a mood she is unable to describe beyond lament terms, and looking at her bedspread, she's lying on the mattress bare, no sheets, no comforter, and she's shifted by about a foot or so and at around fifty degrees or so.
"What did you do?" she whispers to herself, expecting Elli or Anna to pick up the helm and be calm like usual.
"I've helped us tremendously..." Abe responds and she lets out a petrifying scream.
This is what it feels like right now, for her, knowing that these actions she's performing aren't her own, the words that she is speaking aren't hers anymore - perhaps they've never been hers - but it is a thought that frightens her beyond a place of death, an ascendance she may never recover from. Edwin rounds a corner, daring to even look back at her, and Annabellina twists her face into a snarl. He's going to die for what he's done to her heart; he's going to die for what he's going to do to her heart, and if she wants to get out of the arena alive, he's going to have to lose his life regardless.
She lifts the knife up. The surge of strength that is in her body when the metal pierces Lowelle's body is one from another world. What can Abe grant her in terms of the throwing department? Annabellina growls, chucking her knife at him, globules of crimson following the free throw path, a morbidity in the toss, and it just barely, by a hair perhaps, misses Edwin's left shoulder, he disappearing out of sight.
Annabellina comes to a stop. She doesn't have any other weapons, and Abe is stomping around in her head, cussing, breaking things, throwing things, shaking Lina's corpse around and bashing her head into a wall. He got away. Truthfully, it doesn't matter, she'll be able to find him again no problem. She picks up the knife, shivering, nearly dropping it as her mind breaks the enclosed shell of horror around it.
Truth be told, she's out of breath. Whatever Abe is able to do in physical strength has fallen to the wayside in terms of stamina and cardiovascular endurance. Her heart pounds in her chest at a million miles per hour, and she collapses up against a side of a building. There is hardly any tree coverage, no shade to stand under unless she is to duck into one of the buildings. Benches mark the sidewalks, and amidst these towering structures of steel, Annabellina feels lonely. This isn't an arena constructed by the Gamemakers in the full sense of the word. This place has been here long before Annabellina Circuit is even a thought, and all the Gamemakers have done, which can either be brilliant or lazy, she doesn't quite know yet how to decide, is plop these twenty-four unfortunate souls in.
"Twenty-two at least," she corrects herself. Annabellina watches Deacon's neck get twisted in seconds, and the sound is nearly euphoric to her ears, and as she looks back down at her blade, bile threatens to appear in her throat. It is almost reflexive, her stabbing Corvus through his hand, slicing open one of his fingers when he tries to punch the lights out of her. The realization hits Annabellina like a wave crashing over the shore and wiping away a sand castle, and her body begins to shake again. What has Abe done? What has she done?
"I killed someone..." Annabellina whispers aloud, clutching her head, blood drying on her skin, blood mixing in with her hair. The air stinks rancid of copper and mildew, and when she places her hands down on the sidewalk, the ground feels a bit sloshy, nearly wet, as if it is freshly laid cement instead, which puzzles her, as she's clearly been running full out and not getting her shoes stuck. Her mind can now only be occupied with what has just transpired at the Cornucopia. "Oh my god... Lowelle is dead because of me."
"Good." A voice she never wants to hear again. A voice that is akin to her pouring sulfuric acid down the sides of her legs, ripping away tendrils of flesh that scatter like leaves to the wind. "One less obstacle to going home."
"I never would've done that to someone!"
"You were a coward before me!" Abe roars, and Annabellina jumps out of her own self for a moment, despite the fact it is her yelling it out loud, and that is most definitely a guaranteed way to get her killed if another tribute hears her screaming obscenities out into the atmosphere. "I've made you beautiful! I've made us beautiful!"
She wonders if she hits her head hard enough on the stone if it will crack her skull open, sending Abe to float around aimlessly without a host. A hum fills her ears, the same static breaking noise as the wire touches her skin and the world explodes in a sea of white, agony and euphoria at the same time, the smell of rotten eggs wafting in the air. It is her loud scream that breaks her father's attention, and there's even more white light as she's thrown unceremoniously onto a gurney with a hospital official on one side and her father on another.
How her father breaks down outside of the room with another gray haired doctor having a hand on his shoulder as his little baby girl will never be the same... How Annabellina recalls taking her top off in the mirror one day, her voice rising higher and higher until the name Belle appears in her mind. How her knuckles turn bloody when Abe raps them against a door handle because she loses an earring due to Belle's slutty side...
Look how far she's come, right? Annabellina cracks a weak smile, looking down at the blood stained knife. Whether she likes it or not, whether Abe forces her to or not, she is going to have to get out there and do some killing eventually; she cannot expect the rest of the tributes just to keep on eliminating each other one by one in that manner. No one is a bystander anymore.
She's sold her soul.
Annabellina cries into her hands, the rage in her veins receding, and the fresh image of Lowelle's horrified face as she dies now forever engraved in her memory. She sobs even harder at the possible thought of what her father must be feeling... to see his little darling, his Annabelle, his light brutally stab someone else. She's not his little girl anymore, and if she returns to District 5 from this arena...
She isn't going to be anyone's anything.
Colt Sheppard: District 12 Male P.O.V (18)
Gaia's scream in her last moments before Maisey lops her head clean off will forever stay with Colt no matter how long he lives. He and his newfound alliance or running, just plain running, no rhyme or reason to where they're going except to get out of the Cornucopia. Marissa is leading the pack, with Rochelle down behind him, he and Alexandra at the same speed. They've been running for probably ten minutes or so, and he already feels the need to upheaval his breakfast.
There is a consensus of disorderliness amongst the four of them, and he is technically the only one armed, he with the sword that should've been Corvus's had Annabellina not messed everything up, but Colt is grateful that he has the metal in his hands now, to defend himself when it comes time, and to cut ties when it is necessary. Marissa drops her rocks, which she never even throws, and Colt is about to chastise her when he realizes it is pointless, there are all sorts of these tree planters with rocks the size of his bicep around them; her weapons supply will never run out.
However, he isn't as focused on that as he should be right about now. A mix of emotions boils in him, ranging from sparing Corvus's life back at the bloodbath when he should've just sent the blade into his gut, and then to seeing his district partner die right in front of him. It is a wave of humiliation, sadness, shock, and regret, the latter perhaps being the largest of them all. What is everyone in District 12 thinking? He has a clear shot to go for Maisey, which would've given time for Gaia to recover, and yet all Colt can do is stand there and unleash a yell when his district partner slumps over headless. Perhaps it may have been all in vain, since Gaia broke her foot, and that Colt has no idea if Maisey is some skilled fighter or not.
"I'd pick Gaia..." he recalls himself saying, to Valencia, just last night before Interviews. This is where the regret seems to start, building up slow until it overwhelms his senses. Colt puts it clear that if it is between he and Gaia, he is going to save his district partner, he remembers vividly crossing his arms and interrupting the Career, and now the swallowing he has to force himself to do sickens him to the very core. "But I do value my life..." he mouths to himself, furrowing his eyebrows together in confusion, he no longer focused on how tired he is; that's irrelevant now, in the bigger picture.
They come to a stop eventually, hiding underneath a large storefront that is south from the Cornucopia, and Colt is drenched in sweat. He wipes his brow with one hand, throwing to the ground a backpack he snagged up before taking flight. However, something hits him, when he looks up, Marissa and Rochelle quite uncomfortable as well. That's right. It isn't just him that lost a district partner. Deacon and Blake are gone as well, and selfishly, oh so selfishly Colt is only thinking of himself.
However, it is Alexandra that he gravitates towards first, she looking more perturbed than any of them, and he's seen firsthand three people die.
"Hey," he asks, she jumping at the somber tone of his voice. It has been a long time since anyone has spoken, Colt imagines. At least twelve hours, which is a long time for someone to not hear another human's voice, let alone their own. "Are you okay?"
Alexandra lowers her shoulders, running a hand through her ponytail, before nodding, swallowing as she does. "Yeah... I think I'm fine," she looks down at her hands, turning them into fists and squeezing something imaginary. Colt assumes it must be Caiden's neck. "Caiden nearly killed me back there..." and her voice rasps at this, and to Colt this is the first, albeit brief, moment of weakness from her, where before there's been the summoning of God's wrath down upon any bystanders. "He gave me fifteen seconds to run. Like he was taunting me..." Alexandra rubs her arms innocuously. "I was so scared I didn't even grab a weapon or anything," she runs her hands over her face, sighing. "I am pretty sure he didn't even chase after me. He just wanted to get to me and he did..."
"I hope you kill him," pipes up Marissa, she leaning against a column, arms crossed, more annoyed than anything else if the look on her face is anything to go by. "I haven't spoken to him yet, but he sounds like a complete asshole."
Colt goes to reply, but he's cut off short by Rochelle who stands up, not having spoken a word, who turns as if she is going to wander away from the group. He knows that'd be absolutely an inane thing to do... she's unarmed, scored a three, and as far as Colt is concerned, not a fighter in any regard. "Rochelle?"
She looks back at him, and her eyes are bloodshot red, tears streaming down her cheek. A sledgehammer hits Colt in the heart. He is indeed selfish, spending all his time mourning Gaia and it is definitely clear that one of his own alliance members witnessed her district partner die, to a Career no less, just like Gaia. "I just..." her voice cracks, and so does Colt's heart. "I just need a minute..."
"Please don't wander far," he advises her. There's more that he wants to say, extra bits of advice he wants to add on, but it'd be simply rubbing salt in the wound at this point. When one is an emotional state, they are not thinking clearly. He's already suffered one alliance member loss already, he cannot stomach a second so soon. Always preventable, they'll always be preventable. Rochelle looks at him as if he's lost his mind, and he hastily bites down on his tongue to soothe the sharp retort that'll surely follow.
As Rochelle wanders off, Marissa slides herself down the column she is resting against, sitting next to a bush. She begins to pluck leaves off of it, discarding them to the side after she tears them up a bit. Alexandra moves over some so she is in the shade more, and she stays there, biting off the edges of her cuticles. Colt locks eyes with Marissa once or twice, but none of them are really up for talking. He's already heard the rumors passed around, as to what Gaia has told him this morning, when the alliance is officially announced. Here he is, picking allies in the arena who do not have practical weaponry skills, his mediocre at best, which Colt attributes himself, and they're all girls too.
Colt pictures his mother's face very clearly, his forehead touching hers in an embrace of kin, a warm fire passing between them. It has been his goal in life, in Colt's life, to respect women, to protect them, as his own, the woman that inspires him, proclaims it. A bit of this alliance is indeed that very mission, that he is saving them, but he knows it to be true. Even with Marissa's balk attitude, and Alexandra's angry fire that courses through her veins, none of these girls would last a day by themselves in the arena, and that's a hardline fact in which no one else wants to admit it. Admitting the truth hurts.
He looks back over at Marissa, and her face is riddled with disgust.
"What?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. She's been staring daggers at him for the last five minutes at least.
"I'm just thinking," she says, but it is in the normal tone that she does that gets underneath his skin the most. Marissa purses her lips, tearing another leaf in two. He watches her hands, the way her fingers twitch, the way her left arm bends downwards and how her then empty palm clenches... it almost looks like she is practicing a stabbing sort of motion. "You left Gaia to die, didn't you?"
Colt chokes on air. He sits up, and even this rouses Alexandra from her stasis of self containment, she frowning at the conjecture. "Excuse me?"
"You were right there, sword in hand, and you let Maisey behead her," Marissa tilts her head. "Does me explaining it further help?"
He crosses his arms. Colt is afraid that if he reaches for his sword, which is lying just right next to him, that'll be too threatening of an advance and everything will explode. The male from District 12 has to look over at Alexandra constantly, trying to keep her in the back of his mind as she'll become collateral if the fireworks go off too early. "Last I checked, you had a pile of stones in your arm you could've thrown. Why didn't you throw one? It would've hit Maisey far faster than me running and blocking the swipe." Saying that out loud rationalizes the fear. It rationalizes the situation.
Marissa shrugs her shoulders. "She wasn't my district partner," and that is perhaps the lowest blow she can inflict on him at this moment in time, Colt feeling that stab straight in between his eyes, on the bridge of his nose. She stands up. "Gaia wasn't my concern; she was yours. You vowed to protect her and when she needed you most, you weren't there for her. At least between Blake and I he knew that I severed ties because Blake didn't try reaching out to me."
Colt stands up as well, but he leaves the sword behind. "You're skating on thin ice, Marissa."
"And you're standing on thinner," she snips back. "Besides, how can Rochelle, Alexandra or I trust you now? You promised to keep Gaia safe and you couldn't even do that. What makes me think you'll protect me when it comes down to it?"
"You also aren't twelve years-old!"
"And you're eighteen; that automatically catapults you to a fighter!"
He's had it. She's spoken not even ten sentences to him and he already doesn't want to be in an alliance with her. Colt steps up to her, gritting his teeth. "That's it!" he shouts. "By tomorrow morning, I want you gone, away from Alexandra, Rochelle, and I. You're no longer in the alliance."
Marissa laughs, throwing her head back. "On what authority?"
"On mine," Colt juts his thumb back in his direction. "If you aren't away from us by dawn, I'm going to kill you."
She raises an eyebrow, and Alexandra audibly gasps. Colt licks his lips, hoping that the wavering flicker of doubt that crosses over his face isn't too noticeable, as he is actually, in all honesty, not planning on doing that, but since he's already uttered the words there is nowhere to go except forward. However, it looks as if Marissa can call the bluff, call a spade a spade. "You're going to kill me? The guy who had to have the president's wife scream at him to swing his sword at a plastic dummy? Colt, let's be honest here, you aren't killing anyone any time soon."
"Are you so sure about that?" Colt doesn't bat an eye.
"Guys," Alexandra intervenes, getting to her feet and pushing the two apart gently. Colt wants to combat the force, to stay still and not move, but he relents anyways. "Colt, I am pretty sure we're all just a bit high strung about the deaths and all," and she turns to the girl from District 9, "And Marissa, I don't think it is a good idea to provoke him. We're all allies, and if we want to have any chance at beating an eight team Career pack, we have to stick together."
Marissa shrugs her shoulders. "Colt said he wants me gone. If he wants me gone, I'll leave, don't worry about that."
"Marissa..." Alexandra complains, but it looks like there's nothing to change her mind. The District 11 girl looks back at Colt helplessly, but he shakes his head, biting down on his tongue. All of this, all of this is happening because he is unable to keep his mom's promise to protect, he is unable to do his duty to his district partner and rescue her from the devils in the dark, all because he values his own life more than Gaia's - Colt knows this to be the truth, he just doesn't want to say it - and now he's just pushed an alliance member not even an hour into the damn Games away out of spite.
He rests his head on a column, exhaling, and this time he definitely makes sure to wrap his right hand around the hilt of the sword. This weapon isn't leaving his sight.
Colt Sheppard seems to have sold his soul.
Linden Hazel: District 7 Male P.O.V (14)
He's been quiet the entire time ever since Peri tells him they need to leave the Cornucopia, as she assumes Marcus is hot on their trail. Linden only nods complacently, axe at his belt, a backpack slung over his shoulder, and the two race off together into the arena, ducking under tree branches and stopping at corners of shops. Linden knows that there were at least six that died, leaving eighteen out there. The Careers will be all bunched up together as a group of eight - his heart picks up a bit every time that thought crosses his mind - and then there's himself and Peri as a tag-team together. Colt with his group of female tributes is another four, and doing the math, Linden is sure that leaves four tributes running by themselves in the arena: Corvus, Annabellina, Edwin, and Caiden, all of them possible threats.
However, he isn't even thinking about threats at this moment and time, projecting power and strength onto other tributes. When he looks over at his district partner, over at Peri, she's the threat now. It is freezing cold where Calhoun leads them, not saying why he's deciding to help her, not saying why he's doing anything, or where they're going. He instinctually holds her hand the entire time on this walk with the president and a practical legion of Peacekeepers at their back. There isn't anything romantic to it, although there's been muddled confusion in terms of feelings the last couple of days; he's simply looking out for her.
Linden is left outside a room all by his lonesome, which has him sitting up against a wall while he literally twiddles his thumbs, bored. Terrified scenarios come and go in his mind. Peri is being brutally beaten with clubs, or getting shot at, or something violent has to be happening to her as the president has singled her out among everyone for some unknown reason. Hours seem to tick by when the large doors that she and Calhoun stepped through open, Linden leaping to his feet, and whatever semblances of weakness he's seen in Peri over the last week are undetectable. Her shoulders are set back, head high in confidence, and she's smiling, actually smiling. It doesn't matter what has brought this change on; Linden is grinning from ear to ear as well.
That is, until what comes next.
As the president puts it, which still has his mind swimming in scientific confusion, Peri's been injected with some sort of strength serum. To demonstrate this, Linden watches as his district partner, from what he's seen be incapable of even throwing a knife down the targeting range, pick up a chair high above her head and vault it halfway down the hall, a feat he is sure he is unable to do as well. From how he takes it, Peri has been now elevated to a fighting chance. Without this serum, he knows despite not saying it, he'd watch her die at the Cornucopia, unable to reach a weapon time before some Career kills her, most likely. She is not cured; Peri is legitimately still sick, and still technically dying, but now there's a drive to her now.
As Calhoun puts it, which sours Linden's mood dramatically, is that the president cannot cure her, he cannot interfere in the Games in that sort of manner, and despite that, he cannot cure cancer overnight either. He elevates her fighting chance so Peri can get out of the arena and be able to afford cancer treatment. Linden wants to know where the translation is lost, however, since the president looks at him directly.
In order for Peri to be cured of her cancer, in which Linden wants this to happen, don't get him wrong, he has to willingly die or let her kill him so she can get the care she needs. He also will not lie; he's entertained the thought before, but immediately everything is squashed after last night when she admits to him that he needs to fight for his own survival. It is an unspoken problem now, between he and her, where now he can actually kill her to survive, to live. He just hopes there never comes a time.
It bothers him, honestly, that people are assuming he is just going to willingly lay down his life. He wants to go make a home back in District 7. Living on the streets has not been the most swell of times, he is sure thousands will agree, and there's a future for him when he wins, instead of just being a corpse in a box that has all of its bodily fluids drained out. He has really come to appreciate his time with Peri, but there's an uncertainty that even if she does win, and even if she does receive the cancer treatment... she might end up dying anyways.
Hell, she could die tonight if the world is so cruel, but-
"Linden?" Peri interrupts his train of thought. He jolts out of his labyrinthian head space, shaking his head back and forth. "You alright?"
His throat has gone completely dry since they started running, and he doesn't really know what to say. Something has taken ahold of her, and it is Peri next to him now, but at the same time it isn't, and he's unsure if he'll be able to fall asleep at night with being worried about her stabbing him with the gladius at her belt. He has learned how to fight and scrap on the streets, with the boys bigger than him until he's spitting blood in the sewers. When he's being beaten by the boys and the gentleman in charge of the homeless shelter tells him to quit, yet Linden goes back anyways till he rises higher than them... that is where his strength arises from, staying on the streets and making his own way.
The woman's hands are claws tearing at his insides, her tongue a scaly black that slithers over his skin, and her face mirrors that of Peri and-
He shudders, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a shaky breath. His entire body feels like chipped porcelain. Peri runs over to him, hands unlatching from her sides, non-lethal, non combative. It is the person he meets on the train in front of him, fiery yet singular, wilting yet strong. Her skin is cold to the touch when she presses a hand up against his face, he looking up at her.
"What's wrong, Linden?"
Linden doesn't quite know. There's a thousand and one reasons in his head as to the problems he's been experiencing, all traumatic. He's seen people die, and he's having to entertain the notion of being the one to kill his district partner in the end if it comes down to it... could he do it? He'll have to, as if he doesn't even have a choice.
He swallows, his Adam's apple coarse as a rock as it shifts in his throat. There is a reflective fear looking back at her, one that has Peri part her lips slightly, and she recedes just for a split second, but it is long enough for Linden's heart to split in two. She's afraid, just as much as he is.
"I saw people die, Peri," he whispers, looking down. Rivets of shock still run through his body when he witness Gaia lose her head, or watch Galiant fall onto a spike grating on a gate, and as he thinks of this, the bile threatens to reappear out of his throat. As he says this, Peri's eyes sadden. He knows why. She nearly killed Marcus, in turn as the Career nearly killed him - a chill runs through him at the realization that he could be dead with an arrow in his liver right about now - so his district partner is already well versed in the realm of watching people die.
"I'm sorry," Peri says, and then she turns away from him. "We need to continue moving. Find a place before it gets too dark."
Linden looks up after her, watching as she starts to run again. He doesn't want to be left behind eating her dust, and he starts jogging after her again. However, another statement goes unsaid, and he'll never utter it until it is time to cross that bridge, to set it aflame and watch it burn. "I'm going to have to watch you die too..."
Above them, the sky begins to transition, and the world begins to darken.
Corvus Raynott: District 6 Male P.O.V (15)
He is already missing Lowelle. Corvus finds a crook underneath one of the rides, one of these large rollercoasters, a backpack slung over his shoulder, and in his right hand, a shovel that is lying on the ground in one of the empty buildings, trying to stem the pain and the tears from flowing together. His tears have dried long ago, but the fresh feeling of agony that washes over his left hand due to Annabellina sending a knife through his hand. He looks down at the gauze wrapped tightly around his fingers. It is stained a deep crimson, almost cherry black, and the stab wound isn't even all that deep. It merely slices the right side of his middle finger on his left hand, but he feels like he's been stabbed through the heart.
His district partner is dead, and he is unable to even fend off her killer before getting injured. He's lost the sword, the sword that would've surely been able to end Annabellina's pathetic life, and now the gentle giant from District 12, who clearly isn't as gentle as he comes across if he managed to take the sword away from him, has it, surrounded by his flock of hens somewhere else in this arena. Corvus clutches his chest every once in awhile now that he's by himself, taking a moment o catch his breath. He nearly died; he could've died alongside Lowelle at the bloodbath, yet Colt spares him when there's the absolute opportune moment to end his life.
Corvus closes his eyes, resting his head back on a cushion. The room he runs into, the room he is currently hiding under looks like a station of some kind, and inside it are these vehicles attached to the track in the center. The ride is called Gatekeeper, and Corvus thinks that sounds like one amazing name for something, but does it come alive is the question. The shovel is lying down near the entrance and he picks it up. It isn't a sword or a knife, something he knows he'll be able to use, but it's close enough. Inside his bag is a tarp he can sleep under, an empty canteen of water, and a flashlight. Corvus leaves the flashlight in the bag; turning it on would be a dead giveaway to his location.
With his closed eyes, he can see her clearly, Lowelle's smiling face, her dark hair curling over the side of her shoulder. Then everything shatters, scarlet splatters across the vision, and Corvus jars away from the thought. He shudders. It's been hours since the bloodbath now, the sun starting to sink beneath the sky in a rainbow of reds and blues, lights scattering along the horizon. Corvus looks down at his bandaged up hand. He should've been able to block her jab if he actually has a weapon, but then again... he knows where that went.
His mind wanders over the vote. He should vote for Annabellina after all, since she is the one who killed Lowelle, but part of him doesn't want to do that. Corvus wants to be the one to actually end the girl from District 5's life, he wants to look at her face of horror similar to Lowelle's so he can feel the joy flow through him at avenging his district partner. He'll take her own blade and use it to end her life. Fitting, right? He hopes so.
Corvus is about to close his eyes and take a slight nap, as it looks like he'll be left alone atop this building, stuck inside with the shovel next to him, but just as the veil of darkness slowly covers everything away, a loud and blaring trumpet fanfare causes him to jump out of his skin. Corvus whirls around wildly, the noise seeming to come from the sky. He rushes over to one of the edges of the station, peering out over the skyline. It is the Panem logo, the sun fully disappearing beneath the sky, and it is instead lit up by an illuminative blue halo. He looks out and sees a large body of water beyond the fence line, as if the arena they're on is an island. Corvus has a sudden desire to go swimming.
It is the anthem, he is pretty sure, where the Gamemakers display who died during the day. After he is stabbed through the hand, and unsuccessfully manages to take down one of the District 10 tributes, Corvus beats a hasty retreat, taking a backpack with him, and then the shovel, and now his current spot. The first face to shine in the sky is Deacon, at only thirteen. He didn't know the kid, but dying to a Career has to suck, and to make it even worst, he's the first to go.
However, it is no surprise to see that the Careers from One and Two are alive, as there's never been a single bloodbath when any of them have ever died. Lowelle's face briefly flickers across the projection next. She's gone, just as he is really starting to appreciate her company, just as he thinks they might actually be able to get somewhere... and now Lowelle is dead. Annabellina will pay for this, but not through his vote. She'll pay by dying at his hand.
Marina's face is next, and Corvus bites on the inside of his cheek. Another thirteen year-old with no promise to her name. Galiant follows, and he is somewhat saddened at the reminder. No one deserves to be beaten, by a parent no less. Corvus didn't see him die, but he's banking on it being a Career kill. It hits him then that District 8 is wiped out, neither one left. With Deacon, there's Rochelle to continue the fight, and he is trying to pick up the torch that Lowelle leaves behind. However, Galiant can no longer pick up the fight for Marina, nor she for him, and something about that sends ripples of shock through Corvus's body, where his limbs go numb.
He hears the cannons from a few hours ago at this point, he having counted six in total, and no others have been fired to signify any other deaths, and now with the anthem there's been four; all six have to be bloodbath related. The next face to come up is Blake, and Corvus tries to remember if he can even place the guy. He remembers the guy's interview, which is a bit more solemn than expected, and he had a great face to look at, but beyond that Corvus is unable to remember much else about him.
The last to appear is Gaia, and Corvus lowers his head. He saw her die, saw Maisey hesitate from taking the girl's skull clean off, and that means Colt is also without a district partner. As rude as it might be, as heartless as it might be, Corvus feels in part that it is bad luck on Colt's side since he took the sword, leaving Corvus defenseless, and now that means he's without his closest ally for the remainder of the games, but that's trying to link connections out of nothing.
Corvus is about to return to his first position and sleep when the Panem logo stays in the sky still, another blare of fanfare following it. He rolls his eyes peeking back over. There isn't a replaced image, but rather Lewlyn's voice, the voice of the Head Gamemaker coming out of this hole in the sky. Corvus gets cold again, he rubbing the sides of his arms complacently.
"Good evening tributes, this is Head Gamemaker Lewlyn Davis speaking. Starting in the next half hour, the very first tribute vote-off, one of four, will take place. Each of you will be given a piece of paper and a writing instrument," Corvus snorts at the fancy word choice; is pencil too arbitrary to use? "Within the hour after that you must write down the name of the tribute you wish to cast your vote for. You cannot look at what someone else is writing down or otherwise that'll be a vote cast for your name instead. There are eighteen of you left, all eighteen names are eligible, including your own if you wish to vote for yourself," he wonders why anyone would be stupid enough to do that. How dumb could some of these people be? "If you end up deciding not to vote, one will be thrown in for your name in its place. The tribute with the most votes will die. Who that is depends on you all. How they die will not be disclosed. That tribute death will be revealed at midnight come the end of the voting round, with a tally of the number of people who voted for which tributes," and he can almost feel the smirk on the woman's face. "Don't worry, those tallies will remain anonymous for your sake. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"
With another trumpet fanfare - Corvus has no idea why the Capitol loves that damn instrument so much - the holographic picture of the Panem logo and anthem disappears, Lewlyn's voice dissipating like warm constant notes over the water, which ripples in its lasting effect, and all that is left is the reflection of the moon on the azure sea, a sight that calms Corvus down.
He goes back to his cushion, resting his head back. A half hour should be a long enough time period to mull over who he wants to vote for. Annabellina, once again, all logical points seem to be pointing to her, but it is highly doubtful that the other tributes out there in this arena even want to go after someone like her, with all the personalities in her head and whatnot, to take pity on some helpless girl - as if she's helpless - and that leaves Corvus out of options.
Is he willing to sell his soul for his district partner, over Lowelle's dead body?
Corvus is bothered by the fact that he might not have an answer.
Valencia Shale: District 1 Female P.O.V (17)
She's been staring at him for the last fifteen minutes or so, not saying anything, but keeping an eye on him just to make sure nothing happens. Marcus is back in the group, his separation clearly not lasting long. The others are bit a wary, Milor and Carrion more than anyone else, about letting him waltz right in, but Valencia is absolutely okay with it. Her district partner saved her life, spared her life as well, and that is something she can never forget. It'll be hard to think about when she inevitably has to kill him.
They're stuck at the Cornucopia, deciding not to have gone very far branching outwards from their original destination. That is what tomorrow is going to be for, and she hopes that things don't already fall apart. Every pair seems to be broken off together, Maisey talking to Carrion about something, but their words are unintelligible. Whatever spark that is in Maisey's eyes from the countdown has been dimmed a bit, ever since she removes Gaia's head from the girl's shoulders, but that tiny aspect of craziness is still there. No one has seemed to yet acknowledge the elephant in the room about the two boys, Carrion and Milor sleeping together, clearly naked in the same room together after being unable to find them. Valencia laughs to herself about the memory, as it is rather endearing, the two falling into each other's arms. Occasionally Milor will look over at Carrion, and the latter will bite his lip, causing the other Career to blush, but nothing seems to have evolved past teasing.
Currently Milor and Persephone are gaffing about something deeper in the Cornucopia, going through the rest of the supplies that need to be sifted through. Hero and Victoria are even further away from the group, the two sitting on top of one of the planters and ripping leaves off of the trees, speaking in hushed voices. Only her and Marcus are apart, and he is over in the corner, wiping down a few of the arrows over and over again in his quiver, the bow behind him.
Valencia looks out into the arena darkness, and illuminated by a halo lamp is the spot where she retrieves her sword, the largest blade in the arena. The spot where Galiant falls and is impaled is just beneath that, and if she tilts her head to the left some, the light encompasses the gilded spike, it is still a fresh coat of cardinal, putrid scarlet, and she swallows after that. It is the Hunger Games, death is a key component, yet something in her feels dastard for even committing the deed.
It occurs to her, then, that Maisey is sitting right on the spot where she is just a little under ten hours ago, nearly about to be gutted by Blake's sword, her own discarded into the dirt, and she shivers, all of a sudden cold. She stands up, walking over to her district partner. Valencia has known Marcus for years, she knows about his entitlements and his ego, but at the end of the day, he's been a constant friend in all of this, and now he's killed someone, against the grain of his beliefs, of his hopes. She knows fifty seven ways - she's counted - on how to slice open a fish, or remove an eyeball out of someone's head, but now Valencia is standing in front of him, hands crossed in front of her, stuck still like one of the Stepford Wives, almost robotically swaying back and forth on her heels.
He looks up at her, then right back down at his arrows, swiping the one that is still speckled with Blake's blood up and down with the rag currently clenched in his hands. "Hey," he says, tone small, as if he is trying to push a blockage out of his throat.
Valencia crouches down to him, ignoring the burn. "Are you okay?" With the absolute disdain he has had towards injuring others, something clearly must've been switched inside his head for this to happen.
Marcus doesn't react to her question visibly, but she gets the feeling he's lying. "I'm fine," he pauses his hand motions, and then resumes cleaning the shaft of the arrow. It is a stain that'll never wash out, she is sure, a reminder of what he's done, of what he'll continue to do if he wishes to escape the arena alive. That'll only happen over Valencia's dead body, sure enough, as there is no way she'll just lay down on the train tracks and be run over by an oncoming beast of a machine.
"Thank you," she says. In the Hunger Games, it almost feels redundant to have to even express gratitude for being saved, as there can be fates worse than death that she may very well experience. There is no way she can truly repay Marcus for what he's done if the end result is death once the curtain falls, but her saying it to him relinquishes something in Valencia. A lack of compassion, perhaps, she isn't sure.
He shakes his head. "You don't have to thank me, Val."
"I mean it," and she sits down this time, physically, right next to him. "You saved my life, Marcus. I'd be dead had you not and I-" This single moment, that one solidarity frame of time where Blake's sword hovers above her neck, about to be brought down and cut the flesh clean, and then her opponent lets out a terrified scream, vaulting over, with an arrow in the back of his head. Only one person is using a bow and arrow that she knows of, and when Marcus collides with her in a hug, she has to bite down on her tongue to not cry, to not reveal such a sign of emotion. Not that crying is a weakness, but she isn't exactly sure if that moment is one that deserves the unleashing of an emotion such as tears. Something, however, is eating away at her, a thought that will not go away no matter how hard she tries to ignore it. It is something simple, purely simple yet hard to get out of her head. Valencia bites on her lower lip. "Why'd you do it?"
Marcus furrows his eyebrows together. "Why'd I do what?"
"Save me." Valencia is serious with this question. All the warning signs are pointing to the fact that she should be dead, and here she is, alive and well - perhaps not well, but Valencia is not going to think about that one too hard - and now Marcus has actually killed another tribute despite swearing that he wouldn't.
Her district partner hangs his head down low some, holding a hand to his mouth, and Valencia notices that he's shaking. He's absolutely shaking. "I couldn't watch you die. I don't think I would've been able to stomach it."
"Oh, Marcus..." she breathes out, eyes welling up with tears. She's never deserved him.
She reaches out for his hand, or maybe his neck if she wishes to be morbid, when Persephone emerges deep from the Cornucopia, Milor on her heels. Everyone stops talking, and Valencia's hand is frozen out in time, words that she'll never say hovering in midair, warming up the atmosphere, leaving everything else in its wake behind it. Victoria stands up, Hero moving behind her a bit more at bay.
"What is it?" she asks.
Persephone holds up eight separate pieces of paper, and in her other hand, pens. Valencia's mouth goes dry. The very first vote off. It is almost as if there is an unspoken rule that passes between them, the Careers all go up to Persephone and take a sheet of paper and a pen. Hero is about to start writing down some name when a light goes off in Valencia's head. Team leader after all. Her voice needs to be heard.
"Guys, wait," she interrupts the thought processes, and seven pairs of eyes all flock to her, startling her for a moment. "Even though we can't actually look at each other's vote, shouldn't we maybe agree on one or two names we could all write down? Like... other threats and stuff?" That would be the most logical explanation, she's pretty sure, but for some reason everyone else's facial expressions are telling her that they'd rather not go down her avenue. Confusing, but she isn't the one designing the rules.
Maisey frowns. "Didn't the Head Gamemaker say there'll be four of these total?" Everyone collectively nods for her assurance. "I'd say we hold off voting like one until the latter rounds; I imagine we'll all still be a group by then," Valencia bites hard on her tongue to say that she's absolutely in the wrong, but patience and kindness compels her to walk forward with hand gloves. Even beyond that, which surprises her as Persephone, Milor, and Marcus all seem like bright people, they nod to Maisey's beat instead.
"I'd rather do that," Milor admits, and Carrion shakes his head in agreement.
Valencia's heart sinks. So much for having the greater numbers. They all have their pens, their sheets of paper, and she scoots a bit away from Marcus. She looks around at her fellow Careers, and a stark, cold dagger of ice stabs her in the heart. Any single one of them is fair game in the entire arena. She's the highest scoring tribute out of all of them, and while that may make her the leader, the Alpha Career, it just makes the target on her back that much larger. Which of her so called allies would vote for her? Is Marcus going to save her life just to have the chance to vote her off?
How much of herself is she going to have to sell to stay alive? What will remain of her soul once she's finished giving it all away?
She shakes her head, clicks the end of the pen, and gets to writing.
Only time will tell if everyone else instead decided to jump on her back and kill her.
Tribute List (Boy - Girl)
District 1: Marcus Pharadane [Submitted by Tiger outsider] / Valencia Shale [Submitted by Audmirable]
District 2: Milor Drusus [Submitted by Alecxias] / Persephone Castor [Submitted by DefoNotAFanGirl]
District 3: Rochelle Pascal [Submitted by LongingForRomeo]
District 4: Carrion Bastion [Submitted by santiago poncini20] / Maisey Rovneay [Submitted by Tiger outsider]
District 5: Edwin Bishop [Submitted by IciclePower33] / Annabellina Circuit [Submitted by goldie031]
District 6: Corvus Raynott [Submitted by LKiraApple]
District 7: Linden Hazel [Submitted by Keadon] / Peri Florence [Submitted by LordShiro]
District 9: Marissa Herdier [Submitted by Reader Castellan]
District 10: Hero Slade [Submitted by curiousclove] / Victoria Armstrong [Submitted by curiousclove]
District 11: Caiden Grove [Submitted by LongingForRomeo] / Alexandra Quinn [Submitted by SparrowBirdEliza]
District 12: Colt Sheppard [Submitted by Mellissa rose]
There we are everyone, the next chapter of Sheep Led to Slaughter, #25: Selling Their Souls, and no one died this chapter, woohoo! Tensions are already ramping up, tributes are thinking about the next step, friendships have grown tighter, and I cannot wait for the next couple legs of the journey that we will be enduring.
If you haven't gotten your vote in for this first round, make sure you get it in as soon as you can. The vote off section of the next chapter, #26, will be written no later than on the fourteenth. If you do not have a vote in by then, I will be using RNG to determine your tribute vote, which may or may not end well in your favor. If you would like to change the tribute you have voted for between now and the 14th, notify me and I'll make the change for you, as long as it is in reason - I won't change your vote seven times because you are indecisive - and make sure, when you're voting for the tribute you want out, that you come to that conclusion on your own. Since I am operating this story as non-biased, I want you guys to do the same. I do not want a rigged SYOT ladies and gents, and that is all I will say on that matter.
Beyond it, I hope you guys have enjoyed the first half of the story - can't believe we're already there - and on the day I am writing this, February 9th, it is (or I suppose, was) this story's two month anniversary! Twenty-four chapters, 142k in two months... yeah, I might be a crazy writer, idk, I don't care haha. Please review, you guys, as those just fill my heart with joy and it is definitely fun reading what you all think. I shall see you all soon enough with Chapter #26: Temptation by an Angel, where we go back to the Capitol for another drama filled chapter. I hope you all have an amazing day! I love you all so much! Bye!
~ Paradigm