Hey all! Pride month has come to a close and I hope you all had a good time! To those who didn't, I hope you get to experience the pride month you deserve sometime soon!
36 - Day 2
Avita Clements-McMillan, 15, C-District 11
Morning brings a whole new pain. It brings dryness to her throat, swelling to her eyes, throbbing to her nose. Avita groans as softly as she can while she pulls herself up into a sitting position. The couch she'd crashed on after splurging on coconut water is stiff and overall uncomfortable. But it gave her a full night of rest, and that's more than what Avita can ask for at this point. She's grateful to have survived till now. She's thankful she found the coconut water and had enough to settle her stomach.
Morning also brings opportunity for Avita, though—an opportunity she will never stop being thankful for, especially after the horrific first day she'd spent in the arena. It's a miraculous sight to wake to, bringing tears to her bruised eyes and clogging her broken nose all over again. Avita hobbles over to the porch door just outside of the living room and she wastes no time pulling it open, removing any remaining walls between her and her sponsorship gift. Avita honks down at it. She quickly shuts her mouth, embarrassed by the sound, but doesn't stop her journey to grab it. Stiff fingers grasp at the string connecting the parachute to the package—it says XI-F on top, it's really for her!—and Avita wastes no time in prying it open. She wastes no time thanking the empty space around her as she yanks out the note and the plastic bag of trail mix.
Avita tears into the plastic bag and shoves a handful of pretzel and raisin and walnut into her mouth. It tastes so good, like she's been sponsored the finest of snacks from the Capitol, and it brings her to tears once again since finding the coconut water.
The note just serves to make her more emotional, the plea she'd made the night before flashing through her mind.
Don't give up. Keep fighting. We believe in you, Baby Girl.
It's the first she's heard from her mothers since the reapings. That's almost a week, she thinks with dawning horror, and she never realised how much she needed their encouragement again until now. Varinia seeing her off by telling her she was going to do amazing feels so long ago, feels so far from the truth—but the simple reassurance she's been given today feels much, much more honest. Believable.
Avita's not sure where the cameras may be in the room, but she makes an attempt to face a likely location anyway. With her eyes glued to the ceiling, hovering near the corners, Avita wipes at her eyes while trying to keep from irritating her nose.
"Thank you," she honks up at the corner. She grips the bag tight and pushes the note into her pocket, nestled safely next to her knife. "I'll do my best. I'll come home, okay?"
There's no indication that a camera has noticed her, or that what she's said has even reached people's TVs, but Avita feels a weight removed from her shoulders just from saying it out loud. It feels good to know she's got people supporting her. It feels good to tell them she appreciates them.
With all that's happening right now, everything that has happened so far, Avita makes some pretty tough decisions to follow through on. The first is securing actual allies, bargain with District kids who might not have a Capitolite to get them out of the arena. The second is learn how to use her knife, actually defend herself if someone attacks her. She can't stomach seeing more blood, more death, but what choice does she have? She wants to go home—her mothers and brother want her home! How else can she get there without killing someone?
Every time she thinks back to how Barley had done it, she always remembers that horrifying tree that hung the career who'd chased him. Barley technically isn't free of death, and right now Avita isn't either. It hurts to have to add more to her count, but this might be the only way for her.
Avita seals the bag as best she can and sticks it in her pocket for later use, just in case she gets hungry again. She pulls out her knife, hands still shaking at the thought of actually using it, and she lets out a shaky breath. Things are going to be tough from here on out. It's going to push her to her limits—that much she knows for certain—and Avita has to remember what she has waiting at home for her.
She keeps her mothers' and brother's faces in the forefront of her mind as she navigates her way through the house. Avita tiptoes over the glass, around the front door, and she takes a few moments to breathe in the morning air. Day two in the arena, she thinks weakly. Lord knows how many are left.
She's so certain that things will prove to be challenging from here on out that she barely even registers the sight of another person in Foster Court. Avita had been convinced that no one else was in the area, but she sees the hobbling form all the same. She's stumped for what to do—this shouldn't happen so soon after actually deciding to make allies—and while she figures out her next step, the form continues hobbling in her direction. She's been noticed, and she's being sought out.
If she's being sought out, no weapon visible on the hobbling tribute, then that means this person is in the same boat as Avita. It's more than enough to convince her to call out a snuffly, "Hey!"
She hears a weak shout in response. The person continues hobbling over, visibly limping now, while Avita jogs painfully slowly over to meet them. She's not sure who she expects to see, nor does she know what to do once their identity sinks in. Avita just knows that Quatra X is in as much trouble as she is right now, perhaps even more once she sees the state of her head and the way her arm hangs limply by her side.
It breaks Avita's heart, seeing and knowing that someone hurt her like this and left her. She knows Quatra only had the kid she shared a District with for an ally, but there's no way she'd done this—the head injury, the shoulder injury, the limp in her leg and shallow breathing—to herself for the sake of it. So when she and Quatra are close enough to hear each other despite their injuries affecting their voices, Avita offers out a hand and says, "Lemme help you."
Grey eyes appraise her, one almost too swollen shut to do more than twitch, but Avita can see the debate going on in Quatra's head as she considers the offer. She can understand why she won't bite, why it'll be difficult to just blindly say yes. Avita did it, and look how that turned out. That's probably Quatra's whole counter argument right there.
Quatra continues to hobble, her backpack close to dragging along the ground. Avita's almost convinced she'll walk past, ignore her, but then Quatra chucks the bag at Avita's feet. It lands with a clutter, a few filters spilling out from an open compartment of her bag.
"Food…" Quatra wheezes. She has an audible deflation to her voice, like she's a balloon constantly trying to maintain its shape with a hole torn into its side. "In'th… bag…"
Avita picks up the bag, checking inside. Quatra's correct—a bag of rolled oats, nestled underneath a pot that's been hastily stuffed back inside. All of it waiting for something to make oatmeal with.
"I—I've got trail mix," Avita tells Quatra. The younger girl just looks at her blankly, like the words aren't quite registering. "Are you hungry?"
Quatra sways on her feet. She blinks, one eye at a time, and lets out a long, wheezy breath.
"Q—Quatra?"
"Hur'z," Quatra slurs. "'Ead."
She's not sure what she's trying to tell her, but Avita can make some pretty decent assumptions. The blood in her hair and along the side of her face, over the swelling, may be dry and caked over, but it had to come from somewhere. Avita stuffs her trail mix into the bag and sets it on the ground. She inches closer to Quatra, pacing herself, and keeps her hands where the younger can see them.
Quatra lets out the most childish whine she's ever heard when Avita carefully, carefully probes at her head for an injury. Her face contorts, her body sways backwards in an attempt to get away, and Avita has to shush her as soothingly as possible just to figure out where the injuries are. The reactions give her a vague idea of what's going on: Dislocated shoulder (that's what the limpness means, right?), a big injury to the same side of her head (don't concussions happen like that?), and some sort of injury to her torso (unless the wheezing is because of something else, or if she's suffering from sudden appendicitis?). It's pretty dire even if Avita can't figure out the delicate side of it all.
Dire enough that she shuffles to Quatra's side and pulls the girl's good arm over her shoulders.
"Ma'h," Quatra protests. Avita ignores the defiance, adamant to get her to a best so she can rest. Maybe she can find something in the house she slept in, or make some bandages out of some clothing stashed away somewhere. That works in real life, right? Not many tributes in previous Games have done it, but the movies always have people doing it! And movies have to be as realistic as the Hunger Games, right?
"C'mon," Avita mumbles. "Let's, uh… How about we get a soft bed for you?"
That gets a hum from Quatra. She sways some more, but thanks to Avita's grip she runs no risk of falling over. Avita's at a loss for what to do. She's never had or seen others with injuries this severe before, which means she most certainly doesn't know how to treat them.
It feels almost like a miracle that she hears the call from Mason Street, right where it merges with Foster Court. Avita looks over at her second human encounter for the day, relieved to see someone unarmed and rushing over in what looks to be concern. She urges Quatra to hobble along with her, earning a few complaints from the girl, and soon she finds herself meeting their new guest halfway. Almost right away she drops her backpack and flutters over to Quatra's other side, concern laced in her voice when she asks, "What happened?"
"I—I don't know!" Avita chokes out. She hadn't realised how emotional she'd get, seeing someone who might have some idea how to help. "She was limping over a—and there's a big wound on her head and I can't understand what she's—"
The girl's eyes go wide. "She might have a concussion," she says hurriedly. Avita mentally high-fives herself for getting that semi-right. "Were you resting anywhere? Was there somewhere she can sit down?"
Avita points over to the house that resembles her own. The girl nods and picks her bag back up. She motions for Quatra's bag on the ground, adding, "I'll carry your stuff over while you help her. Go slow—she doesn't sound too good with the breathing."
She tries to place which District this girl is from, having never really talked to her in training. But Avita struggles and struggles, not even certain of which District she's from in the first place. Is it because she lost all that blood last night? Is it because she's so worried about Quatra? She's not sure, but she knows this girl means them no harm as she begins attempting to move the front door, allowing Quatra access.
It takes all of ten minutes for this new development to take them into the living room again, and Avita eases Quatra down onto the couch while the girl looks through her bag frantically. Avita is scared, for sure; but she's also relieved, seeing her plan come to fruition so soon after making it. She has a chance to get home, she thinks. A chance.
Morganite Gardierre, 14, C-District 6
The first cannon going off brings them all to a standstill. Cyber has his hands firmly pressed to the trigger of the mine, doing his best to make sure it doesn't go off while he reworks it. Valentina is part way though gathering some bolts to use with her crossbow. Morganite keeps watch on the doors in front of them, knife held tightly in her hand as the possibilities for victims races through her mind. The first cannon is what has them cautious and curious all at once, but it's the second cannon that sends them into a panic as they all look to Cetronia for guidance.
The career is fast asleep in the cornucopia, unaware of the killings happening beyond their base of operations. The three Capitolites look back to each other, silent, as the seconds tick by.
"How long was the break?" Morganite asks. It's the best thing to figure out first, right?
Cyber turns back to his mine. He definitely needs to finish working on it before it kills them all. "About… fourteen point five-two seconds."
Almost a quarter of a minute. That's enough time to be plausible for two deaths in a scuffle. Not enough for the deaths to be just the two fighting, right? Not unless there's a spot that makes people die super fast or—
"Should we make sure someone's not coming here?" Valentina speaks up. Cyber and Morganite look to her, stunned that she'd suggested such a thing. "We can't fight if they break in—Cyber hasn't put down all the mines yet. And Cetronia…"
Cetronia's exhausted from staying up all night and going back to her old schedule. If someone attacks, the trio will truly be on their own in the fight. One or two of them would die for sure, at least until the ruckus roused Cetronia. But then there's the issue of whether or not she winds up outnumbered. And if Cetronia goes down, then where does that leave the last survivor of the career pack?
Morganite swallows a lump in her throat and rises to her feet. She's not the oldest and certainly not the leader, but she knows Val is still shaken from yesterday. Morganite either takes the lead today, or they do nothing and wait.
"Bring some supplies with us," Morganite tells her. She picks up a bag and stuffs a few spare knives inside, tucking them beside the small pile of bandages already inside. "We'll do a perimeter check and make sure no one's coming to the cornucopia. That'll give Cyber time to arm a few more mines and place them in the entrances."
"Come back in through the bathroom," Cyber says without looking at them. "One of you can climb up on the other's shoulders and then thread a rope through for the other. Window's too high for anyone else to do it, so I won't bother with setting a trap there."
Morganite nods. She watches as Valentina tucks a few more bolts in her bag, one already loaded on her crossbow for quick use. They shouldn't run into trouble so soon into the Games, but it can't hurt to be safe. She's glad Val is at least taking that precaution.
They cast an almost longing gaze back to the safety of the cornucopia when they leave. It'll be a quick lap around the building, no more than half an hour for the sake of being thorough. There's truly nothing to worry about, especially since anyone coming for them would've attacked already. Morganite keeps these thoughts in mind as she and Valentina close the doors behind them. Be rational. Worst comes to worst, she follows Barb's advice and uses Val as a shield.
They go left first, heading in the direction of Augustus Street. It's uneventful for the most part. No tributes, no threats. Their pet owl watches them keenly from atop the town hall, almost like a mother watching over its children, and it sends a shiver up Morganite's spine. She wonders if it truly considers them such a way—as children—or if it's biding its time until it can eat them. She has doubts that an owl requested by Florence would be capable of killing her, let alone her allies, but there's just no telling when she stares back into those wide, grey eyes.
Morganite checks around the corner, seeing Quanta Street just ahead, and she motions for Valentina to follow her. So far no one has jumped out, and they haven't heard any voices in the distance that may prove to be threats. It's safe for the moment, safe enough that Valentina decides to ask, "Who do you think it was?"
Finn, Morganite almost says out loud. It's expected that he'll die soon at this point, especially with his leg the way it is. There's a few others who might be injured, too, but not with such a disadvantage, and there's definitely a good number who survived the bloodbath thanks to luck. There's not much point throwing out guesses, but she does so anyway.
"That girl from Three," she says. "She's got asthma, doesn't she? I wouldn't be surprised if she had an attack or got targeted."
Valentina chews her lip. "I think the other one was Avita. I kinda… I hope it was her, actually," she admits. Morganite hums at her. It's understandable, wanting one of them to be Avita. Everything that was planned was just unravelled because she trusted the least trustworthy person in the Games. The careers were crippled because of Avita's trust in Gossamer. To hope she perishes early is more than understandable.
"Me, too," Morganite mumbles.
They're halfway through this side of the town hall, just a few paces from Quanta Street. The owl shifts slowly, keeping an eye on the girls, and Morganite and Valentina find themselves glancing warily back up at it. Don't eat us, Morganite begs silently. Don't eat us.
It feels like a lifetime before the owl stills again. Morganite lets out a heavy breath, tension easing from her shoulders. Finishing the perimeter check won't come fast enough.
At first she doesn't expect to find anything, believing the scouting of the back of town hall to wind up like its side. But Morganite soon finds herself needing a hefty lessons on not counting her chickens—especially when the group, just as alert as they are from the sound of cannons, makes direct eye contact from across the block. Adrianne's alliance must've been camping at the lake for the night, although Morganite can't say for sure if it was a good idea. The cold night air brought a mist from the lake, seen clearly from the bathroom at town hall, and even Cetronia had made a point of avoiding the area. She wants to hope that it's the lake that requires the masks, but hoping can only get her so far.
The tallest of them—the sole Capitolite, Simoleon—hurriedly begins trying to load a bolt to their crossbow. Morganite stiffens, tightens her grip on her knife, and looks to Valentina.
"Do we run?" Valentina asks as she takes aim. Morganite chews her lip. Adrianne is already getting ready to use her war scythe a second time, little Daphne scrambling for their bags and packing their supplies.
"We can cripple them," Morganite mutters. "You've got better aim than Simoleon. Try aim for Adrianne's legs or torso—she's gotta be what's keeping them afloat right now."
With a decisive hum, Valentina sprints over in the direction the fenceline and takes cover behind a large, broken terracotta garden box. Morganite pulls her second knife from her pocket, getting a feel for it in her non-dominant hand, and takes the lead once more. She knows she's just dedicated herself to using Val as a shield, but damn it, Morganite's not the one with long-range expertise! She'd be likely to shoot Val through the hand if she tried to!
But with Simoleon having a one in training, and with Valentina having the better use of a crossbow, Morganite can definitely rely on backtracking and abandoning her ally if Adrianne is too strong.
So she zigzags in the other alliance's direction, throwing Simoleon off-aim and making Adrianne focus on her rather than Val. She readies her knives, keeps her eyes on the long blade of the war scythe, and Morganite begs for this plan to work out. Adrianne gets into stance, Simoleon tries to follow Morganite's movements. Morganite can feel the soft beats of doubt in her chest.
Time slows. She watches Adrianne ready the war scythe. She feels the air near her arm shift.
Daphne lets out a screech so loud that Morganite actually stumbles and falls, rolling just out of Adrianne's strike zone and given enough time to collect her bearings. Morganite looks left and right, wondering why the girl had screamed—but then Simoleon calls out her name and drops the crossbow, panic evident in the teen's expression. Morganite backs away slowly, no longer in Adrianne's sights, and she glances back at Valentina to see what's happened. Valentina gestures frantically for her to run over, bolt missing from her crossbow. Morganite looks back just one more time, curiosity getting the better of her.
The bolt is sticking out from Daphne's back, but not somewhere lethal. She's slumped on the ground, her upper half still moving, but Morganite knows more than enough to know what the lack of movement in the girl's legs means. Despite missing Adrianne, Valentina had done the next best thing: Cripple another tribute and get Adrianne's attention off of Morganite.
Daphne sobs and reaches for Simoleon as the taller teen tries to help her. Adrianne stares in horror, eyes wide and war scythe slowly loosening in her grip. Morganite can do nothing but watch, astonished at the damage caused by one little bolt, until finally something pressing presents itself.
The scream Daphne had let out didn't just attract her allies' attention—it attracted a whole other alliance, as well as the owl at the town hall. Morganite looks over to where Val is hiding as Gossamer and Nikostratos enter the area, the bespectacled troublemaker holding their shared, small spear at the ready. Gossamer limps after him, their belongings strapped over his back, and then they all come to a standstill as the owl screeches at a deafening rate.
Things almost happen too fast for Morganite to process them, but she does know that she has an opportunity to wound Adrianne and further eliminate the alliance. Morganite holds her breath and lunges up at Adrianne with her knife. Adrianne backs away just in time for the injury to not be fatal, but the long, thin slashes Morganite leaves on her forearm and face are enough to distract her thanks to pain alone. The wind picks up just as Adrianne turns her attention back to her, and then suddenly they're being thrown off their feet by the sheer pressure of each gust that hits them.
Morganite drops one of her knives and shrieks at the force assaulting her. It hurts to keep her eyes open, to see what's happening and how much danger she's in. All she hears is Adrianne shriek just as loudly, and then her voice fading into the air as though she's being pulled away. The pressure of the air leaves for a time, the owl's screech overpowering Adrianne's, until finally it settles atop a row of buildings. Morganite can open her eyes fully now, and the sight she's met with makes her retch and wish she'd never looked in the first place.
Adrianne is clutched in one taloned foot, screaming and waving her war scythe around in an attempt to release herself from the owl's grip. The owl is undeterred, weighing her in its grip before finally hefting it talons up into the air. It's as though it's throwing Adrianne, and Morganite can only watch as the girl screams, flails in midair, while the owl lowers its head in an attempt to swallow her whole.
The beak opens wide, the eyes watch her descend. Adrianne can only let out a shrill, "NO!" before she's silenced by the owl. Morganite stares in horror at the way the owl visibly swallows her. Soon its attention turns to the others it doesn't deem its children—Nikostratos and Gossamer, Daphne and Simoleon.
Another bolt flies past Morganite, and she's stunned to see Valentina still attacking the remainder of Adrianne's alliance. The bolt sinks deep into Daphne's chest, just under her collarbone, and all Morganite can think is how painful dying will be for her. How slow it'll be. She wishes Daphne passes slowly, and she holds on to this wish as she picks up her knife again and sprints back in Val's direction.
The owl screeches again. The sudden shock of light assaulting their vision causes them to stumble once more. Before Morganite can so much as see past the stars in her eyes and black spots hiding the world from her, she hears yet another moving scream before the owl takes off once more.
Calico Hemingway, 17, District 8
Three cannons. Calico looks up from the cooking pot absently. Including the two he'd just dispatched, that's three deaths today. He blinks at the nearby window, at the fading red light outside. They're dropping like flies at this rate. Not leaving him much time to make his decision about Cham. He knows what he should do, what his gut reaction is to do, but when it comes down to the bottom line, Calico never sees Cham again in either scenario.
It's what makes this so difficult, he thinks with a scowl. If he dies, Cham might live and he never sees her again. If he wins, Cham is kept from him at all costs by the president. No matter what happens, Calico loses.
In most circumstances, where he doesn't choke up and falter in saying anything, Calico would give his life for Cham without hesitation. But the women he'd been called to meet two days ago exude so much distrust, so much malice—he can't trust their word alone that they won't punish Cham once he dies. That they haven't already! What would she think if he just gives up—just dies—while she's in the clutches of the Capitol and suffering? Calico won't be the brother who promised her she'd be fine. Calico would be the liar everyone else faces without realising.
He inhales deeply and shakes his head. Instead of panicking over some (very valid) concerns, he should plan his next move and figure out what to do now that the arena is down to fifteen tributes, now that time remaining between now and the final twelve twist slowly dwindles. Calico steps over the girl representing Eleven's body, careful not to get the foam leaking from her mouth on his boots. It's been roughly fifteen minutes since she'd passed, not much longer since Calico simply plunged Avita's knife into the concussed girl's throat. Of the two, the blond had taken longer to go down—Avita may have been fully trusting of Calico once he'd started cooking her bag of oats with his water, but Quatra was still coherent enough to refuse eating and try fighting back.
While Avita had laid choking, sobbing on the floor and writhing in pain, Calico pinned down Quatra and aimed for the jugular. Calico, the physically weakest of all tributes, had been able to pin down the spy and kill her while Avita began to lose warmth.
The blood on his hands feels almost worth it. Almost.
Calico pulls off his vest and begins the long process of wiping his hands clean of the blood. He can't afford to taint any of the food they'd had leftover with it, especially since he's just wasted a bag of rolled oats in order to poison the girls. Not that both of them ate it, he thinks bitterly as he looks back at Quatra. As pleased as he is that he finished the job personally, the effort she made him put into it was still too troublesome. At least a whole bottle of cyanide water wouldn't have been wasted, as well as a whole pot of poisoned oats. At least Avita ate a lot of it…
There's no point in dwelling on it now, though. Calico drops his vest to the floor and begins looting the girls' bags, stuffing what remains of their belongings into his own. At least he got back at Luxor's fool of a father by killing two of their precious Capitolites. If there's any takeaways from today's actions (outside of adding two to his kill count), it's that he let irony take its course.
Going out to survey the area hadn't been on his agenda today. He'd heard the yowling last night, sure, but all of the alliance was reluctant to investigate. They'd left obvious signs of coming to the suburbia, a trail for someone—or something—to follow. Luxor is their best bet of keeping defenses high. Calico can't just tell him to investigate the immediate area for danger. It's better if he does it himself, where everyone still thinks he's kind, meek Chambray.
It definitely paid off, he muses as he exits the house. The hovercraft that collects bodies is already well on its way to Elysium, a small dot in the sky that's slowly descending upon the island city. Calico purses his lips at the sight of it. It'll be better if he doesn't mention what he's done today, if only to keep Luxor and Finn's trust in him. Things are tense enough with Calico being on the fence with regards to keeping Finn in the alliance. Hell, he'd even admit he wanted to be the one to leave the suburbia to do a perimeter check so he wasn't left alone with the boy from Six.
He slips out the front door and goes on his merry way. There really is nothing else to do in the area, especially since any potential threats (if those two could even be considered such) are gone. Lingering will do him no good. Presenting his boon to his alliance will help keep things calm for the time being.
A big flash erupts in the sky. Calico stumbles, black spots in the corners of his vision. He looks up at the hovercraft, sees it pull away as though waiting for the light to pass. Calico can see the remnants of red, painting the sky and leaving behind confused shouts in its wake. His mind races with the possibilities of the light—a mid-Games twist? Someone's sabotage? He's certain they're not up to twelve people, and it's only been two days so far. On top of the faces in the sky yesterday, there's only been three cannon fires. Sixteen? It has to be just sixteen left right now.
As the light fades, he hears the wind pick up and the screech of that behemoth of an owl following suit. Screams follow, a deep voice spewing obscenities. Calico grips the straps of his backpack tight enough to make his knuckles turn white. He has to run. He has to make sure that owl doesn't fly in his direction, not while it's agitated.
Except it's easier said than done. The deep voice's shouts go silent, almost as though swallowed whole by the owl, and then the wind continues picking up. Calico steps further out into the yard, now searching frantically for the owl and ignoring the hovercraft waiting to collect today's bodies. He has more pressing matters than just some Gamemakers doing their jobs, a far cry from their colleagues who release these mutts and mid-Games twists. Calico holds his breath, feels his heart still in his chest. Where's it gone? Where's it going to emerge?
The owl swoops overhead, letting out a loud screech that leaves Calico's ears ringing. Down feathers rain down upon him, pulled loose my the fierce wind clipping its wings, and Calico takes that as his cue to find shelter. As far as he's concerned, someone else has just been eaten by the owl—a fate he isn't willing to share and create a solidarity from. Calico turns on his heel and sprints back inside the house, tripping over his feet as he does so. The owl doubles back, aware of his presence, and he just barely makes it past the threshold when the owl slams itself against the front of the house.
The house begins to concave, the weakness of its foundations giving way under the owl's weight. Calico skids past Avita and Quatra's bodies, doesn't look back as a hefty piece of debris crushes Avita's lower body. Calico keeps running, heading down the hall in search of somewhere secure to hide. The first room he makes it to before the owl's talons break through the ceiling in a bedroom, and Calico wastes no time throwing his back under the old, rusty bed frame and crawling under himself. He feels pain in his leg as he finally slides under, and soon that pain travels to his lungs as dust and plaster assault his nostrils. Calico coughs and hacks as the owl screeches and continues to attack the house.
By some form of miracle, a ringing sounds out in the arena. Calico clamps his hands over his mouth and nose harshly, still coughing into them rather violently. Ever so slowly the owl loses interest in him, the house no longer in its sights as the ringing continues. He's certain his coughing will pull its attention back to him, but the ringing continues to echo through the air and the owl never stops looking up into the sky for its origin.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of waiting and hacking up a lung as discreetly as possible, the owl's large shadow and overbearing presence leaves the destroyed home. Loose bits of debris are picked up, thrown around the room by the gusts of wind that follow.
And then silence.
Calico's entire body goes limp. He hands fall from his face to the floor and his forehead rests beside them. Too close, he thinks as he tries to catch his breath. Too close. His eyes slide shut for just a moment, just to give him some clarity and time to calm down.
"Hell," he wheezes, and his voice sounds more ragged than usual. The dust must be in his lungs, and Calico can only scowl at the idea of his breathing being impaired until it passes.
He somehow pities whoever's been devoured by that owl. God, it's so hard to remain indifferent when that much raw power comes at you all at once.
Adrianne Evans, 17, District 4
Every breath she inhales brings a threatening gag to her throat. Her midsection aches, her bones worn and bruised. The liquid that sloshes around her is warm and nips at her skin. She's not dead, she tells herself with each gaseous bubble that pops along the liquid's surface. She's very much alive, and she will continue to be if she acts fast enough.
Adrianne blinks and coughs, reaching for her vest pocket as best she can. This liquid—this stomach acid—reaches her waist even when it isn't bubbling up and spewing putrid air in her face. Anything inside her pockets will be ruined now, warm to the touch and covered in stuff she'd rather not ponder wading through for her life, let alone touching with her bare hands. Her fingers find her flashlight, and she grimaces as she clicks it to life and pulls it from her pocket. The stomach is no longer a dark, dank place—but she wishes it had stayed that way.
She's never seen the inside of a stomach before. She's gutted fish, sure, but the innards were always either intact, too mixed around to tell the difference, or given to other spearfishers who knew what to do with them. She's never dealt with stomachs, nor entertained what food would be met with every time it was consumed. Adrianne thinks she may have never wanted to, if even a mere glimpse of this place had been presented to her back then.
Fleshy and pink and wrinkly and sickening. Adrianne gags all over again, clamping a hand over her mouth. She's quick to remove it once she remembers that it's covered in the stuff, and instead she just resigns herself to whatever happens to her own stomach. Not like bile will be out of place in here, after all.
She moves over to the closest wall of flesh to her and reaches to and fro for her war scythe. She dropped it when she landed, but the stomach acid still isn't high enough to be out of her reach. She can still stand on her two feet, so naturally it should be easy to find without outright swimming for it. One foot kicks out, slides against the skin (she gags again), and then another follows it. Adrianne keeps this pace of moving every few seconds in search of her scythe, until finally she's crossed the entire stomach and feels something foreign bump her leg. She plunges her free hand beneath the surface and tilts her chin upwards. The lower she sinks into the bile to get to the scythe, the more of that putrid stent she gets shoved up her nose.
Her jawline just barely touches the surface when she gets a loose grip on the scythe. Adrianne lifts it triumphantly, shakes it clean as best she can, and regards the stomach lining once more.
Maybe if she's careful enough she can gut the owl from the inside and escape. It'll crash to the ground once she starts—the pain would be agonising, naturally—but she'll be in trouble if it lands on her stomach. Or if she drowns in the blood and bile before she can get through every inch of flesh between her and the outside world. It's a gamble, but between that and trying to make the owl throw her up, she's more confident in her ability to butcher its guts rather than tickle them.
With a new goal in mind and her war scythe in hand, Adrianne readies herself to puncture the stomach lining—
Everything lurches, vibrations of the owl's screech causing the stomach to quake. Adrianne loses her balance, falls into the bile completely. She chokes and sputters, clamps her eyes shut as quick as she can, and breaks the surface just as fast. Muffled yelling, closer to a human than an animal, enters the area. Adrianne shines the flashlight up at the opening of the stomach—it expands, pulsing, before a flash of blue and green rushes down and crashes into the bile beside her. Adrianne turns away and shields her face with her arms. She's lost her scythe again, but the presence of someone else in here might be the more pressing matter.
While Adrianne coughs and tries to wipe as much bile off of her as possible, the other person surfaces violently and screams. It's loud, louder than she'd like in the cramped space, and she rapidly flicks the flashlight on and off in their face. The screams die down, thankfully, but now their attention—and possibly anger—is on Adrianne.
She clicks it on a final time and holds its position over their face, and then it's all downhill from there. Nikostratos fucking Farrington got eaten alive, too. With his weapon and bag as well. Adrianne seriously wishes it'd been the little brat who'd paralysed Daphne with her crossbow in here instead.
Croix shades his face with his hand as he surveys the area. She can see every disgusted emotion she felt once the fact that she was still alive sank in, right there on his face. It's a little funny to witness in person, actually.
And then he opens his mouth: "Can't say I approve of your choice of decor."
Adrianne may want to throw up and never deal with this asshole, but she won't miss a chance to roast him back.
"Wanted to make you feel at home," she says with a sneer. "You Capitolites love the whole ipecac and purging thing, right?"
She gets a grimace mixed with a smirk in return, and it'll be the best she gets from him at this point. The owl moves again, the sudden shift in the stomach sending them off their feet. Adrianne deems it safe to assume they're flying back to the cornucopia now.
"Pleasantries aside," Adrianne continues, "we need to get out of here before we start losing layers."
"About six hours, give or take," Croix jumps in. His tone is amenable, less interested in a fight and more interested in survival. She's relieved for once that it's not another District tribute she's stuck with—they'd be fighting to the death first for sure. "The acid's probably already working through our shoes and pants. Maybe even our hands and face," he adds with a bland expression.
She shifts her feet around the immediate area as he says this. "Shouldn't take more than ten minutes if I can find my scythe. I was gonna gut my way out before you got eaten."
"Not a bad idea. If you can find it I'll hold the torch so you can see what you're doing."
The agreement is reached quickly and painlessly. Both of them want to survive, to get out of the owl and the arena—she's glad he recognises that this is no time to be enemies. Adrianne flips the torch in her hand and passes it over in his direction. Croix takes it with a nod, shines it down onto the pool of bile so Adrianne can search for her scythe. He keeps still outside of motioning for her to start looking.
Like earlier, Adrianne lowers herself until her hands brush her knees, and she angles her head up just enough to keep her face out of the water. She's vulnerable like this, light in her eyes and limbs under the surface. She has no time to properly react to the surprise that comes her way.
The light suddenly flickers away from her face and up towards the higher stomach wall. Adrianne blinks, freezes in place. So many thoughts race through her mind: Is someone else coming in? Is there something inside the owl they didn't account for? More food to crush them? It's a mystery even after the reality hits her, literally, in the face; Adrianne is so stunned that it doesn't register right away as Croix brings the flashlight down against her forehead with a grunt, sending her under the surface with a stabbing pain in her skull and a muffled ringing in her ears.
She surfaces just in time to see him raise the flashlight again. Despite the whole seven inches of difference between them, Adrianne throws her hands up and catches Croix's wrist with just enough strength to keep him from striking a second time.
"What the fuck!?" she screams. Croix kicks at her, forcing Adrianne's grip on his arm to waver, and he stumbles back against the wall of the stomach.
"Did you honestly think I'd ever let someone tell me what to do, let alone ally with me for the sole purpose of survival?" Croix shines the light in her face, blinding her for a moment, and then switches it off. Adrianne is left stumbling and retreating as she hears the bile slosh around Croix, his advance more than evident. "Being eaten by this mutt was insult enough, but hearing some bimbo career from the weakest career District think she's better than me? Fuck off."
The words would sting if literally any of them applied to her.
"We're being digested!" Adrianne yells back at him. Croix keeps advancing. "The only way out is to work together, you asshole!"
"My ass, it is!"
Adrianne takes a big gulp of putrid air and dives under the surface. Croix swings at her, missing and striking only bile; Adrianne glides over to his position, and she wastes no time surfacing with her fist clenched tight.
It hits his throat and sends him backwards with a choked screech. Croix doubles over and clasps his throat as delicately as he can. Adrianne plunges her hands into the bile and grabs for the torch. It's just barely in her hands when Croix gets some of his voice back, and once it's turned on Adrianne shoves the handle into her mouth and charges the Capitolite in front of her.
His hands flail about, his legs collapse under him. Adrianne straddles Croix as best she can and forces his head under the surface, all of her might going into holding him down just long enough. Her lungs are more powerful than most, she reminds herself. It won't take too long for him to drown if she keeps up her strength. Croix tries swiping at her and splashing bile in her face, but Adrianne takes it all in stride and continues to force him down. Soon enough Croix is well beneath the surface, closer to the scythe than he is to Adrianne.
His arms grow sluggish. One obviously intended punch turns into a pitiful smack, serving only to stroke Adrianne's cheek and fall back under the surface.
Just a little longer, she thinks as tears well up in her eyes. Just a little longer.
:)
For those with sharp eyes, you'll notice that the story title has changed. That's because of an in-joke between me and my gamemakers who knew this event was happening with the very beginning, and we began to jokingly call it the "vore chapter". We'll be back to our regular Mortem title next update, but for now I believe a little fun change is in order lmao
Here's our QQ, and remember that the deaths won't be acknowledged in the A/Ns until a night POV is shown for the day!
QQ #31: What surprised you most about this chapter's events?
I hope you all enjoyed, and I'll see you next time!