Day Five:

Move.

Paris looked up to the sky once more, and forced himself to roll over. The movement sent pain shooting through his stomach. Still, Paris worked through it. I've had worse. Mark had given him much, much worse. He got onto his hands and knees, and though his eyes were watering with pain, Paris refused to cry. There. Mobility. Isn't that nice?

He needed to get out of this plain, and into a more sheltered place. He was exposed out here, not just to other Tributes, but to the biting wind. It hadn't started snowing today, and the sun was bright overhead, but Paris was shaking from the cold and his hands were raw and red. The least that his former allies could have done was give him more shelter! It was like they expected—

Well, of course. Their whole mentality behind leaving him here must have been that someone else would take him out. Paris understood the decision, but that didn't stop him from feeling bitterly about it. And he had the right, didn't he? He had the right to be angry that he had been betrayed! He could have easily turned down this alliance, but no, he had sacrificed himself to fight with the Careers! And now they had just left him—

Fuck!

He collapsed onto his stomach, a strangled yell escaping from his throat despite his efforts to keep it in. Pain. Pain. So much pain. The last time that Paris had looked at his own stomach, he had nearly thrown up, due to the strange purple color that it was. But he had a feeling that he couldn't avoid looking at it. He had to treat his wounds.

How? He bleakly asked himself. There was no help left. There were no gifts on their way. Adalicia—she was still alive, right? The funds were probably all being directed towards her. Paris felt guilty for hating her as much as he did in that moment. But he deserved to feel that way, right? He was still alive! He deserved just a little bit of help!

He got back to his knees, crawling towards the forest, feeling utter humiliation mixed with his pain. This is what Mark had always said he would end up like: just another loser, another dead body. Mark would have been in utter glee to see Paris like this.

Well, good thing he can't. Paris felt a moment of shock (or perhaps it was just the feeling of his left leg giving out) at the fact that for the first time, he had been truly glad that his older brother was dead.

He retched slightly, and blood came out. He choked back a sob and forced himself to continue. I have to get to the woods. But the hard soil was filled with sticks and stones and they poked at his hands. His entire core felt like it was on fire, and his shoulders ached with bruises. Okay. Maybe a little break.

He let himself collapse, and stared up at the blue sky. He wondered what Luca was doing right now. Was he watching? Or working? Was he disappointed in Paris? Had he already given up on him?

Get up! Move! Paris tried to push himself up. He wasn't going to die here! His arms ached and his legs felt like they were full of pins and needles, but he pushed himself up. He locked his elbows as he did so. It was the only thing he could do to keep himself up. But it made it hard to move—why does this hurt so much?

His father had experienced a muscle deficiency for years now. Paris wondered if this was what if felt like to be him. It didn't quite make him look on his father any more favorably. His parents had never helped him very much. They had tried their best to love him, Paris could admit that. But they had never protected him from Mark. They had never protected him from the world.

Maybe he had expected too much. No one had an obligation to protect him. Paris had to take care of himself. He kept his arms straight out, unable to unlock his elbows, and tried to move forward on his hands and knees. Something wet trickled down his face, and it took Paris a moment to realize that it was a tear. He coughed again, disgusted at the wet sound that it made. Why was his body betraying him? Why was he so weak?! Why couldn't he handle this? Keep moving, Paris Sapphire!

But he couldn't. In an instant, his arms gave out, and he collapse to the ground, slamming his jaw into the freezing, hard-packed earth. His stomach screamed in agony, and he knew that he was upsetting his bruises. But he didn't even have the strength to roll over.

Stop! Get up! Don't wallow!

But there was nothing that he could do. He was weak. He had collapsed. There was nothing that could stop him from feeling the self-hatred washing over him. I'm useless. Weak. No wonder I was chosen. No wonder I can't win.

The waters had finally receded, and Hector could barely keep his eyes open.

Meri, he weakly thought. Meri. His ally. His friend. They had to find each other. That was the only way that they could win.

But he felt too weak to ever move again.

Minor mutts, rain that had finally ended, and still Adalicia and Ash hadn't come across another Tribute. Adalicia was getting jumpy, constantly looking over her shoulder as if she would finally see another one of their competitors. It couldn't be long, right? Someone needed to die. The Capitol would be thirsting for blood. There was only a light flurry of snow drifting down from the sky; the Gamemakers wanted it to be easy for someone to track them down. Adalicia went bright red at the memories of herself and her friends, watching the Games together when they were younger. Back then, things had really seemed like a game. They had eagerly waited for the next instalment. But they weren't seven anymore, and this was all too real.

Ash cleared his throat. "You okay?" He felt stupid asking the question. He wasn't Adalicia's babysitter. If she wanted to survive, she'd have to be strong enough to make it on her own. And anyway, he had always been horrible with children. And yet...Ash thought he would be a bit too horrible if he didn't at least ask her how she was doing. She was...young. Too young.

"Fine." Adalicia hated that there was the sound of tears in her throat.

"Okay." Ash sighed. "I feel like we should be doing something interesting."

Adalicia lowered her voice. "It should only be an hour before some more mutts attack." The attacks had been fairly regular, maybe once every five hours. Nothing too serious, just some warnings that they should get out and kill someone. They hadn't heeded the advice of the Gamemakers. Adalicia knew it was stupid. Midas's death yesterday had been a clear reminder that no one was safe. Still, Ash was standing like a rock against the idea of killing anyone, and Adalicia wasn't too happy with the idea, either.

"I wish we had a deck of cards," Ash said.

Adalicia snorted.

"What?"

"It's just that—well, after five days, a deck of cards should be the last thing that you're thinking about."

"I'm serious. When I ask myself, what's worse, being hungry or the danger of being killed, all I can thing is that the worst thing is being bored and that if we just had something to do, we could take our minds off of it."

"And your solution is a deck of cards."

"Yes."

"You know, there's other things—"

"No."

Ash's dark eyes were suddenly angry, and Adalicia knew that she needed to drop the subject.

Ash looked at his ally, wondering just what the hell she was thinking. She was thirteen. She shouldn't have been the one considering how to murder people! If anything, he should be dragging her into fights! Ash knew they weren't safe. But being unsafe was still better than being a murderer. If someone attacked them? Fine. Ash wasn't against hurting someone in self-defense. But there was no fucking way that he was going to actively hunt someone down. He wasn't a Career!

"Have you ever gambled?" Ash asked her, trying to change the subject.

"Do I look like I've gambled?"

"I don't know. Robin says that you should always fear the cute ones." A pang went through him at the thought of Robin, who was probably shaking his head and groaning at every decision that Ash made.

"Unfortunately, I'm not as cool as you are. You probably run a gambling hall or something. Every minute, I just have a stunning epiphany about you."

Ash appreciated the deep sarcasm in her voice, and took on an equally scathing tone. "Yeah, you're way out of your league, little girl. Be careful around me. In addition to running this gambling hall, I may or may not have a series of speakeasies hidden everywhere, and on weekends, you know what I do?"

"What?"

"I steal horses and dress them up as unicorns and then trick people into paying me money for seeing them."

Ash could only keep up the stern facade for a moment, and then they both burst out laughing. It was brief, only lasting a few seconds, but it was enough. At least with Adalicia, he hadn't gone too far, hadn't crossed any lines. He wondered if there were any jokes that would actually offend her and decided not to find out.

"We should probably move camps," Adalicia suggested. The smoke from their small fire was going into the sky, and while they needed it to keep warm, someone could probably spot it.

"Fair enough." At least it would give them something to do.

"...I don't suppose you can summon any unicorns."

Ash looked at her for a moment. "Fuck, you're one of those little kids that loves unicorns!"

"I don't! And I'm not a kid!"

"Sure thing, kiddo."

"Ash!"

Not two miles away, Zoe and Khol were preparing their trap. Zoe had found a light set of footprints, and while the footprints disappeared at times, the trail always picked up a bit later. For all of her talents, Mist hadn't covered her tracks very well.

"She's probably not worried about it," Khol pointed out.

"Better for us," Zoe replied.

Khol didn't ask what would happen if they caught someone that wasn't Mist. He knew the answer. His stomach churned as he realized that it would probably be better for him. The more people they killed, the easier it would be to win, and the longer it took to catch Mist, the longer his alliance with Zoe would last. Khol hadn't had much of an opinion of her, other than blind fear, but now he decided that he was ready to hate her. Maybe she was just a girl thrust into a bad situation, but she was cold and callous and Khol wasn't ready to excuse that.

Zoe kept watch as Khol set up the traps. She was glad to learn that Khol's talent lay in trap-making. It was a good complement to her own combat skills. And if they could severely hinder Mist, or catch her in a trap, then it would be much easier to dispatch her. The forest around them was full of noises: birds, wind, little creatures scurrying through the undergrowth. But there were no snapping branches, there was nothing that indicated something larger. She wondered, not for the first time, if Mist was tracking them even as they thought they were tracking her. The fact that Mist hadn't covered her tracks was unnerving. With the Skull, Zoe had learned to always make sure no one could follow her. But maybe District 11 was different, maybe Mist never needed to cover her tracks or never figured out how. Or maybe she just assumed that no one would follow her.

Zoe tried to muster up some hatred towards the girl from 11, but there was only a dull sense of pity, maybe irritation. Maybe Mist had been a bad person, but hadn't they all? Mist was just playing the game. There was no reason to hate her for playing it better than the rest of them. There was only the need to take her out before she got any stronger. Zoe drew her knife as something shifted in a bush near them, but it was nothing, and she sheathed it again. "How's it going?" she asked her ill-gotten ally.

"Fine," Khol muttered, tying a turkey-knot. He didn't know what it was actually called, only that his father had always used it to catch turkeys that wandered out of the woods and into the residential area (the Res Seam, people called it). When the target stepped into a loop of rope and dragged it forward, the rope would tighten around their leg. Khol finished tying the knot and then scrambled up the tree he had tied it too. "Pass me the log," he told Zoe.

They had gotten a small boulder from the stream and rolled it up to the trees. Zoe groaned as she saw it. "You've got to be kidding me."

"It could have been a rock, okay?"

Stop it with the complaining, Zara added. We're doing all of the work here, District 6.

I'm doing the work, Khol reminded Zara's voice.

And I'm helping. I'm giving moral support.

Zoe hoisted the log up to him, and Khol grabbed it. His arms weren't very strong, and he wasn't cut out for heavy lifting. Still, he forced himself to loop ropes around the ends of the log and then tie that rope to the rope that would hopefully trap Mist. The log was now carefully balanced on the tree branch, and if someone stepped in the trap, it would fall onto them. Or fall in the wrong direction, but Khol was keeping his fingers crossed.

He looked back at the woods behind them. It was really lucky that it hadn't been snowing much. Khol had been forced to keep his hands out in the open, of course, and now his skin was scraped up and cracking from the biting cold. His nose, too, was burning. But rather than snow, the woods were now strewn with traps, all well-disguised. Deadfalls, snares, loops of rope...Zoe's mentor had kept them well-supplied with materials, and Khol had used things from the woods as well. If they could just lead Mist into their field of traps, she would be at their mercy.

Khol was slightly sick at the thought.

Zara's voice was in agreement with him, not that Khol was surprised. Her family's beliefs—her beliefs—were all against killing.

Zoe wondered how long it would be before Mist came across them and chased them back into the traps. She was carefully keeping track of where everything was. She didn't plan on falling into her own traps. She had no idea whether Khol was keeping track, or if Khol was instead depending on her to help. She didn't plan on helping Khol very much. After Mist was dead, Khol was just another loose end.

How to deal with Khol? She would have to kill the Tribute from 12, that was for sure. There was simply no way around it. She would make it quick. But everyone would have to die if Zoe was going to make it home. Mist, Khol, Fiori...they were all going to have to fall at some point.

"Should we move on?" Zoe asked.

"Yeah. This one's done."

"Great. This makes seven?"

"Yeah."

They had been up since dawn, and barely spoken a hundred words to each other. Zoe was fine with it. She didn't want to bond with anyone or act like friends. This was purely a professional relationship.

She bitterly smiled at that. Professional relationship. Nathan had been a professional relationship, too. He had worked for the Skull. That was how Zoe had met him. He had been several years older than her, and they had been sent on some missions together. She had tried to ignore him. He was less than her, he was just an employee, dumb muscle, someone to be thrown away when they got to be too much, and Zoe was a Winter. Besides, she knew all about men and what they did, what they wanted to do.

Nathan, though...he had been nice. Kind to her. Funny. And he had the most beautiful brown eyes, and they had sparkled when he looked at Angelica, and Zoe had known how much he loved his little sister. For the first time, she had been jealous. And he had treated her like a real person, like she deserved to be happy and be treated with care, like she was so much more than just a daughter of Richard Winter. And when he complimented her, it was on her laugh or the things that she said or the way that she was nice to Angelica, not how pretty she was or how much he wanted her. The only thing he ever said about her appearance was that he loved her smile. Zoe could remember the first time that his eyes had sparkled at her.

No. Stop it.

Without realizing it, Zoe's eyes had started to tear up. Nathan was absolutely off-limits. She was not going to cry, not here, not now, not ever! She wasn't going to let anyone see her cry. And she was never, never going to tell anyone why she was crying. Nathan was hers and hers alone. No one got to know about their relationship. No one got to know how it felt when he died, how Zoe felt like she was being ripped apart and set on fire over and over.

Luckily, Khol hadn't noticed anything. Zoe quickened her pace, following Khol into the woods until Khol stopped at an especially thick shrub. "We can make a deadfall here."

"Okay." They could make a deadfall out of things that they found in the woods, which was why Zoe was surprised to see a parachute falling from the sky. She immediately drew her knives, checking around them for another Tribute.

"It's for you," Khol said in a flat voice.

Sure enough, the parachute had a "6" on it. Zoe let it sink to the ground and then dropped to her knees, pulling open the black box. She heard Khol inhale sharply behind her, and gingerly touched the device. It had two semicircles bolted together with springs, and one of the semicircles was adorned with spikes. "Watch it," Khol warned.

"I wasn't planning on touching it," Zoe said. "Do you recognize what it is?"

Khol had only seen a few before in his life, in the fancy shops or in the hands of Peacekeepers. "It's a bear trap," he said. He had never been in possession of one before. They were too expensive, and he didn't have a license to own one. He was afraid to touch it, both because it was dangerous, and because it was a fancy, professional trap. Were they expected to use it on Mist?
Zoe didn't seem to have any qualms. "Can you set it?"

"Maybe. Probably."

"Will this cut off her leg?"

"It'll damage it. Maybe beyond repair." Khol felt a little sick.

It's all for my safety, right? We have to get rid of Mist.

Keep telling yourself that, Zara said. Killing is always immoral.

Mist, though—she's—

Different? A killer herself? Imaginary Zara never laughed, but there was a beat of silence where Khol knew Real Zara would have let out a bitter snort. Maybe it's you or her. But don't pretend that what you're doing is justified.

Khol forced himself to ignore Zara's voice and instead think about what to do after Mist was dead. He needed to split up with Zoe. He didn't think that he could kill her, nor did he want to. He didn't want to kill anyone else.

Zoe carefully recorded where Khol lay the trap, and watched as Khol began to set a deadfall a few feet away from it. It wouldn't be too long before she could be on her own again. Zoe didn't know how to feel about that.

Meri prematurely winced, and a moment later, her fist hit her stomach. She forced herself to let out a hacking cough. She punched herself again, and a few moments later, she was able to vomit up a bit of water. Groaning in pain, she pushed herself away from that spot. She felt disgusted with herself. She was freezing and disgusting and covered in river water and she wanted a warm bath, a friendly face—she wanted Hector.

"Just had to be winter," she muttered. Hector would have had a joke for this, but Meri thought that freezing to death might have been a possibility, and Meri wasn't in a joking mood. She had to get up and start moving, at least until night fell. She had to get warmed up. Her clothes were soaked through. Meri wiggled her toes, and was relieved that she could feel them. She didn't know anything about surviving in the cold, but she knew from watching previous Games that if you could feel all of your appendages, you were probably safe. Still, her fingers and toes were burning uncomfortably, and the feeling made Meri sick to her stomach.

Great. The last thing I need right now is to throw up. Meri was fairly certain that she had swallowed or inhaled enough water for it to be worrisome, and she had been trying to expel it from her body. Water on the lungs could be disastrous. When Meri was younger, she had seen a young Cliffie dragged out to sea by a riptide. He had been brought in by a small trawler, and everyone had rejoiced at the fact he hadn't drowned, but the next morning his mother had found him dead. He had drowned in his own bed that night, choked on the water he had inhaled. Meri shuddered at the thought. This is why I don't go in the water! Of course the stupid Gamemakers had managed to take advantage of it! They couldn't just give her one thing, could they?!

Wow. Now I'm acting like an entitled little Townie. Focus, Sutherland! What's the next step?!

Hector. Meri had to find Hector. They were still allies, and somewhere in this Arena, he was looking for her too.

Meri was past feeling embarrassed for wanting Hector. They were friends. They were allies. She could trust him.

Alright. Let's go find my District partner.

Fiori gripped the tree tighter, knowing that her hands would be bleeding after this. The winter had dried out her skin. Fiori almost wished that it was snowing, rather than this ridiculous cold. Her breath seemed almost solid when she exhaled, and she was bundled deep into her parka, trying not to shiver so hard that she'd fall out of the tree.

Under her, the Careers were walking.

Fiori tried to make her breathing quieter than it already was and wished that her heart would stop it with the telltale thumping. Her heartbeats might as well have been cannons, for how loud they were being.

There were only three of them now—Faustia, Kaede, and the boy from 5 whose name Fiori couldn't remember. What had happened to Paris? There hadn't been any cannons recently. Paris must have been guarding the camp. Fiori's stomach grumbled. Shut up! she told it. She was in enough danger as it was.

Better to get stabbed then to starve, a little voice in Fiori's head said, but Fiori shut it down. She had gone hungry before. Being stabbed, however...Fiori wasn't prepared for that.

It had been almost eighteen hours since Fiori had last eaten. She had dealt with much worse in the past. She hugged the tree tighter as the Careers kept walking. Landon was looking around suspiciously, but he wasn't looking high enough to see her. I am a statue, Fiori told herself. Fuck, I'm a statue!

The Careers passed out of sight, but Fiori stayed frozen for another few minutes. She wondered if it was cold enough for her to actually freeze to the tree. She had heard stories about people getting their tongues stuck to metal in the cold, and wondered if metal was the only material that tongues stuck to. Someone in the Arena probably knew the answer. The idea was unpleasant to her, both because it forced her to admit that she wasn't the smartest person in the Arena, or in general, and because it meant that the people in the Arena probably had the combined knowledge to answer every question she'd ever had, and she'd never know, because they were all trying to kill each other.

Her stomach grumbled again, and she shivered, carefully making her way down the tree. She felt a bit light-headed, and didn't want to risk falling out. Her thoughts went to Paris for some reason. He was the only one guarding the Cornucopia. There would be food there, food that Fiori could take, food that could save her life. These woods had food in them, to be sure, but it was unfamiliar and Fiori didn't want to poison herself.

I'll just see how well Paris is guarding, Fiori promised herself. If he's alert, if he's ready to kill—then I'll come back to the woods and eat some mushrooms.

She made her way in the general direction that she remembered the Cornucopia being in. It took her a while to make it there, the bright white sun traveling overhead in the glass-blue sky. But eventually, the hard earth of the forest turned into small grasses that were white with frost, and Fiori knew that it wouldn't be long before she was on the plain.

That was when she had spotted the body.

As soon as she had seen the human body on the ground, she had frozen, quickly backing up to the cover of the trees. She stayed silent and as motionless as she could manage. Shit. Are they...dead? Or just sleeping? There had been no cannons. They must have been sleeping or injured. Or maybe the fucking Gamemakers fucked up! But Fiori knew that wasn't a possibility. She looked above the body (it was hard to ignore it!) across the plain, to where the Cornucopia was. There seemed to be no one guarding it. Fiori made a half-circle around the plain until she reached the point where the woods met the prairie. No one was there. The Cornucopia plain was bare and empty of any person but her. Fiori made her way through the woods a few more times, walking several miles. Each time, no one was there.

The knowledge of the body was itching at her mind. Fiori forced it down. She didn't want to know that there was someone dying not a mile away! She didn't want to remember it! She wanted to be innocent of any wrongdoing. She just wanted some food!

It's been a long time since I was innocent, Fiori was forced to admit. She felt sick. She knew that she should go back and kill whoever the body was—Paris, most likely. Either out of mercy, or because it would make things easier for her. Fiori had thought that she was prepared to kill someone. If someone had attacked her, Fiori would have fought back. She would have killed them. But to make the first move…

Stop being weak! Stop being an idiot! You're going to get some food, Fiori Hart, and then you're going to march right back to whoever that is and put them out of their misery! Fiori hated the Gamemakers for doing this to her. She hated herself for putting herself in this situation.

And then she made a made dash to the Cornucopia. She didn't stop sprinting until she had entered the mouth of the horn. It seemed slightly uphill, but Fiori didn't think much of it until she was sliding on the ice-covered floor and crashing into the wall.

Fiori couldn't stop herself from letting out a soft scream in anger and pain. She tried to stand up, using spear-racks on the walls as leverage. It was dark in the Cornucopia, much too dark, and for some reason when she stood up her head hit the ceiling.

She looked down at the ground.

Then she screamed in frustration again. Don't be an idiot! she told herself. Don't give away your position! But she couldn't help it! After making it to the Cornucopia, it was flooded with frozen fucking mud!

You have got to be kidding me! Fiori dropped to her knees. The mud was still soft near the center. There were supplies buried in it. Humiliated, Fiori grabbed a blunt spear from the wall and started digging in the mud.

She stayed in that position for a few minutes, digging through the mud with a spear and her hands. Her cheeks were bright red, and tears were threatening to fall. She felt humiliated. She couldn't believe that she was digging through the mud so that she could eat mud-covered food. But more than anything, she was hungry. Fiori knew that her pride would take hits in these Games, but she couldn't help but feel that the Gamemakers had utterly, truly scored a victory over her. They had lowered her. They were proving to the Capitol what pigs District kids were.

Fuck! Fuck this, fuck them, and fuck me too! I'm such an idiot!

But when she came across a backpack and managed to pull it out, she couldn't stop hereslf from grinning, even as tears rolled down her cheeks in burning paths. She yanked it open, and felt mud-covered bags of dried fruit inside of it. They should have been fine to eat. Fiori couldn't stand being here for another moment. She balanced her way to the outside of the Cornucopia and sprinted back to the woods.

Now...for Paris. Nausea rose in her. She didn't want to kill him. She wanted to run away, back to her mother maybe, and hear that everything was going to be okay.

Don't be weak.

Fiori walked along the edge of the woods until she came across Paris again, steeling herself for what would happen with every step that she took. She drew her knife even before she saw him.

He hadn't moved. There was red-brown stuff around him, and Fiori realized that he was lying in his own blood. She felt sick. This is the kindest thing, she told herself, and advanced.

I'm sorry, she told him, knowing that no one would hear her and that no one would bother listening, anyway.

Then she brought the knife down.

The cannon fired immediately, and Fiori let out a breath. A sigh of relief. An apology. A scream of pain. It didn't really matter which. She stood up, and tried to wipe the blood off of her knife as she made her way back into the woods. She thought that her tears might be freezing onto her face, and forced herself to stop crying. No. You don't show weakness. You don't let anyone know how much they're hurting you.

She wanted to burn this damn Arena down. She wanted to tear it apart and burn it to the ground. She wanted to burn the Capitol and wanted to go back home and be safe with her mother and sister just one last time.

Well, you don't get to. Now shut up and eat.

She took the packet of fruit out of the backpack. The food inside was fairly clean. Fiori gnawed on it until it had defrosted enough for her to swallow it. The feeling of having food was the best thing that Fiori had ever felt.

D1: Adalicia Corona (13)
D2: Ash Gabbro (16); Faustia Graston (18)
D4: Hector Hardy (18); Meri Sutherland (16)
D5: Landon Mercer (17)
D6: Zoe Winter (18)
D7: Kaede Mitchell (18)
D9: Kronos Malakai (16); Florence Channing (17)
D10: Fiori Hart (17)
D11: Mist Orchard (18)
D12: Khol Thomas (16)

Alliances:

Faustia, Landon, Kaede
Ash, Adalicia
Florence, Kronos
Zoe, Khol

Eulogies:

Paris: Paris was one of the first submissions we received, which made him very close to my heart. A lot about him was very average: he was an average fighter, average at making friends and being charismatic, and I don't think the reason he was chosen was ever explained very well. Still, he was another fairly nice person in a Game meant for mean people. If he hadn't joined the Careers, he might have made it farther. In the end, he tried his best, and that simply wasn't enough. I hope that he will be remembered as a fairly strong-willed person who didn't deserve what he got. RIP, Paris.

Notes:

And so we see another death. Kind of boring this time, but I hope that the chapter as a whole wasn't horrible to read. Honestly, the main focus of this chapter was to set up plot points, but I think it'll pay off in the end. Thoughts? Questions? I'd love it if y'all could review.

QotW: Do you like swimming?