day three, part three: ruin
Hear the voices screaming out, demanding echoes from yesterday;
I am so mesmerized by these demons of my own design.
"Extra creepy for a mutt, aren't you?" Ardelis says, sizing up the creature as it finally turns to look in her direction, a shadowy hood obscuring its face, its fingers akin to burnished bones wrapped about the hilt of it's flaming sword. It's so tall that looking up at it from where she stands on the ground nearly leaves her breathless - caught somewhere between awe and horror, fascinated by its external artistry. The shroud, the chains hanging from its thick robes, rattling each time it shifts, the heavy golden scales balanced on its hunched shoulders…
Ardelis wouldn't call it monstrous. Phantomish, maybe. Illusory, even. Dreamlike, but twisted in some of the most visually appalling ways, a creature of horror without actively being horrifying.
She's intrigued. For all of a minute, at least, because it's mere seconds after her insult's given that she finds herself with a sword leveled at her chest, the tip prodding gently into her sternum.
"Do you challenge my sentencing… Ardelis Nerolia?"
It knows my name?
Ardelis shudders, but opts to raise her chin and stare the thing in the eyes - or, well, soulless shadowy face-space - rather than shy away from its address. No mutt's gonna leave me pissing myself out of fear. Just gonna treat it like a person.
"I think your sentencing," she says, trying to make her voice seem less haughty and more impassioned. (The haughtiness comes through anyway. Eh, screw it.) "Is challenge-able, you feel? I mean, what if I wanted to kill her?"
"Impudence," the mutt growls, "is unbecoming."
The blade presses a little harder into her sternum. Ardelis' lip quivers as her eyes fall to examine the fiery blade that's probably seconds away from skewering her, her knees feeling rather weak.
She steps back. The mutt watches her as she retreats, never once lowering its sword, never once twitching.
Ardelis swallows. There's fury building inside her, setting her body on edge. She wants to lunge at the damn thing, lash out, rip it apart with her bare hands, her teeth even, destroy it, take it apart and use the pieces to make a sculpture, how dare it judge me, how dare a mutt judge me, it's just like everyone else, just like Two, I'm done with this shit, I'm -
"I'll show you impudent!" Ardelis screams, shaking off the… hand? on her arm, trying to hold her back. Dammit Aitana, this is my fight…
Mine, and I won't let you hold me back again.
"Guess we're doing this," she hears someone say, but not before she's already on the thing, flanking it from the side, her dagger ripping through the thick black cloth of the mutt's robe, catching in the tangle of threads when she tries to pull it back. She barely has time to drop to the floor before the sword's whizzing over her head, slicing through the air as Ardelis drops to her knees, her kneecaps smacking against cement. She shouts, pain searing through her legs white-hot, momentarily blinded by the ache of her joints.
"Get up," one of the Fours is saying, and then an arm's affixing itself to her collar, pulling her back.
"... boytoy?"
"Aw, come on, don't sound so shocked."
Aitana's spear plunges through the mutt's back as Lazaro helps Ardelis back onto her feet, stumbling backwards when she practically elbows him off. Still, she's not beyond gratitude… at least this time.
"Thanks for the save."
"This mean you don't hate me anymore?"
"Don't push it." She grips her other dagger tightly, gaze flitting to the other one still wedged into the mutt's side.
Lazaro dives past her, throwing himself headfirst into the fray, his feet barely keeping him upright as he dives low, slashing at the mutt's legs. Aitana twirls her spear, using the metal shaft to deflect the mutt's sword as it drives her back toward the wall, only to falter mid-step as Lazaro's sword finds its mark in the thing's shin.
They've almost got it. Ardelis grits her teeth. Almost. Time for somethin' crazy.
"How's this for a challenge!" She screams, charging at the mutt full-force and leaping into the air, her arms clinging to the scales around it's shoulders, one hand pushing into the mess of darkness that constitutes as its face. Swinging her legs up to wrap them around the thing's waist, she lets go of the scales, plunger her dagger into the mutt's back repeatedly, over and over again, again again again, just die already, die, fucking die, DIE -
A slick black substance gushes from the puncture wounds as Ardelis' dagger strikes home one time after another. It's slicking her fingers, leaking onto the floor beneath them as the mutt starts to topple and she's on her back, still clutching at it with her blade wedged into its spine, screeching in pain as the entirety of its weight bears down on her torso.
She lets go.
The mutt's spindly-skeletal hand finds her arm, and it's freezing, she can feel her skin dropping in temperature, freezing to the sleeve of her uniform, so cold, sososo cold. Ardelis' teeth begin to chatter as she tries to crawl away, wanting as much space between her and the mutt as possible, but it's still half on top of her, still crushing her and -
A sword rips through the Executioner's neck, its own fiery blade swinging true. The mutt falls as its head is sheared from its shoulders, the remainder of its body pitching sideways to reveal the half-crazed-but-still-somehow-composed face of Aitana Cavine.
Ardelis breaks out into a smile… and then immediately scowls as she realizes she's still not in the clear.
"A little help maybe?"
"Gotcha," Aitana replies as she and Lazaro each take one of the dead Executioner's arms and bodily throw the mutt's headless body off of her. Ardelis scrambles backward, dagger still in hand as she clutches at her frostbitten shoulder, her left foot kicking out at the decapitated head lying near it for good measure.
"What the shit," Lazaro says, echoing her own thoughts. "We took down a mutt. Like, the three of us? Took down a mutt. With a giant flaming sword."
"And speaking of the 'giant flaming sword,'" Aitana holds the blade up, shooting Lazaro a wink. "Spoils of war for the victors."
He claps his hands together excitedly. "Hell yes! Legendary status achieved." He beams at his District partner, seeming totally awestruck. Ardelis doesn't blame him. Aitana just wracked up a whole boatload of badass points.
But she doesn't try to gloat, and even though she eyes the sword appreciatively, she doesn't seem all that taken with it. Instead, after a moment, she turns to Lazaro, turning the blade to the side, then holds it out to him in offering.
Lazaro's eyes nearly bug out.
"Wait… me?"
Aitana nods.
"Are you serious?" Lazaro asks. This time she just shrugs.
"Of course. I prefer a spear anyway."
The Four boy's jaw drops as he reaches out, curling fingers around the sword's hilt, slipping his other palm under the least dangerous part of the blade itself, blinking in surprise as he does so.
"Huh. It's not hot."
"Yeah, I noticed that too." Aitana answers, taking a seat on the floor. "Weird."
"No kidding. Feels like it's gonna freeze me, actually." Lazaro pulls his hand away making his way over to Aitana, dropping down beside her and laying the sword out on the floor. "How d'you think they come up with this st-"
There's a pained groan. A muffled whimper. Then the room falls silent again.
Ardelis' eyes wander to the tribute lying in the corner, near the open doorway. With all the chaos caused by fighting the mutt, she'd nearly forgotten about Seven. Which was wild, given her presence was the very thing that had drawn Ardelis in.
So much blood… such a lovely red… and it's mine for the taking, mine, all mine.
She stands up, all too aware of the Fours' eyes trained on her back, and begins to half-hobble across the room to the Seven girl. Ardelis nudges her arm with one foot, prodding to make sure she's still alive.
"We still kicking?"
Seven moans. Ardelis feels a smile beginning to stretch across her cheeks.
"Take that as a yes," she leans down. "Don't worry, pretty thing, I'm gonna keep you that way for a bit. You're just such a lovely muse I can't help myself."
"Ardelis, she's been through a lot already." Aitana tries to reason with her ally. "Do you really need to draw this out an-"
"Shut up!" Ardelis snaps, whirling on her heel. slamming her fist against the wall. "You and Lazzy get the Death Sword, and I get the girl, okay? This is my spoil. I need her."
"... why?" Lazaro asks, his voice meeker than Ardelis has ever heard it. She cackles.
"Only a moron would have to ask! Her blood, Four, I need her blood. She's gonna help me make my first masterpiece."
"Masterpiece?" Aitana repeats, her tone unsettled. Ardelis shakes her head in disgust.
"You don't get it. None of you get it."
She gets to her knees by Seven's side, pausing to look over her body. Even with her uniform as rumpled and ripped as it is, Ardelis knows she's not seeing the extent of the damage done on the girl's body. Her face is a mask of pain, her breathing so shallow it's practically nonexistent.
Humans are truly amazing creatures, she thinks. So much pain. So much suffering. Alec must've known it, before he died. Bet Sylvain knew it too. And me, I know… I do, I understand. It's not fair. None of this is fair.
She smooths fingers over Seven's head, pushing her hair away from her face.
"I'm gonna make art from your suffering. I know how much it hurts… really, I do. And I see you. Your pain is mine, reflected externally, made physical. But we can share this moment, you and I. Muse and artist. I'll make sure nobody ever forgets you."
She leans down, touching her forehead to Seven's, dagger clasped tightly in her palm as she reaches for Seven's hand.
"I promise."
And then she brings the blade down, driving it through her muse's arm.
Honestly, Scrim didn't think Cal was gonna stick around.
It's a pleasant surprise when they wake up to find the Five boy puttering around in the cells, minding his own business just like he'd done through most of training. No stolen supplies, no attempted murders, absolutely no worrying behavior whatsoever… and Scrim's admittedly a little concerned. Not for themselves - they're a light sleeper, and if Cal pulled any funny business while they were out they're like ninety percent sure they would've known (well, maybe not so high, but using numbers makes everything sound better and they're still on a Smarty Scrim kick after spending two days in a book room, so it makes sense, okay?!) - but they're concerned for Cal.
I mean, really, kid. You're smart and well-behaved and totally, impossibly, undeniably a sheep. How do you live?
"Why didn't you steal shit?" Scrim asks him. Cal raises an eyebrow, absolutely befuddled.
"What?"
"You heard me, Calvin Kelvin," Scrim calls his name out in a singsong, swinging their legs up off of the bunk and touching their feet down on the ground, springing up from the cell bed with a big grin. "Why didn'tcha steal somethin'? Or run away into the night, spare yourself the trouble of dealing with this absolute flaming hunk of trash?" They gesture to themselves, tugging their beanie back on and heading over to their supply pile. "You had plenty of time. I just don't get it."
"You literally threatened to kill me if I took off." Cal reiterates, his tone irritatingly stoic. Scrim moans dramatically.
"Fuuuuck, you're killing me here. Why are you so boring?"
"Sorry," Cal shrugs. "Can't all be flaming hunks of trash like you."
"... hi, Madigan," Scrim jokes. "Here I thought he'd ditched you in the bloodbath."
"Haha, very funny." The Five boy doesn't laugh, but he is smiling when Scrim turns around. They strike a pose, one arm leaning against the cell bars, the other at their side, hand in their pocket.
"See you're already falling for my roguish charms, hmm?"
"Whatever you say."
"The smile doesn't lie." Scrim grins. "Uh-huh, see? I caught that laugh. You can't play coy with me, Five, my eyes see all."
"Actually? I believe that." Cal uncaps his newfound water bottle, taking a drink. Scrim shrugs, straightening up as they snatch an apple from the supply corner and make their way back to their bunk, biting into it as they go.
"Precious, precious food." They say, sitting back down and getting comfy on the thin mattress. "Precious, precious sleep. Don't get me wrong, I'm psyched to not be waking up with a slit throat, but like? I just don't get you. You're so fuckin' weird. Like, thirteen and they've already sucked the life outta you! Is it a Five thing? Nah, I met Henri-girl in training so that's so not true. I dunno, tell me your life story or somethin'. I'm curious."
Cal shrugs. "Isn't much to tell. Lost my mom, my dad works at the plant and my sister's pretty much superhuman. Me, I'm just ordinary. Decent grades, have a few friends, try to work hard and keep my head down."
"And that's Calvin Kelvin?"
"Calvin Kelvin the Third, technically," Cal reiterates, but nods nonetheless, sipping at his water again. "But yeah, it is."
"Huh." Scrim's not sure if they're more perturbed at the fact there's apparently three generations of people with the name Calvin Kelvin or at the fact that he's got literally the most mundane and lowkey backstory of anybody in this arena.
(Except maybe the One boy. Oh wait, that's too meta for me to know. Anywho.)
"Hey, how'd you get down to the jail?" They ask, pulling their mind back out of it's reverie and away from the groundbreaking train of thought it's trying to pursue. Calvin watches them as he recaps his water bottle and sets it on the ground, then flops over onto his bunk, lying down on his side.
"Same way you did, probably. Through the courtroom."
Um, what?
"Wait. Just wait. What the shit. Okay, sorry. I thought for a moment you said through the courtroom? Like, the courtroom where they stuffed us after that terrible excuse for a launch courtroom? That courtroom?"
"You're pretty shocked for somebody who's seen more of this arena than I have," Cal says, blinking. "But yes, that courtroom."
"You mean the courtroom where the cornucopia is?" Scrim says again, and Cal starts to nod, then pauses, his eyes widening.
"Wait, you aren't actually thinking about -"
"Making off with all of the Careers' supplies while they're gone? Yes, actually, I am."
Cal sits up so quickly that Scrim thinks the kid's gonna fall off the bunk and crack his head open. That'd be a shitty way to go. No overarching plot at all. Yikes!
"Okay, fine," Cal starts. "I see your point. But question: how do we even know when the Careers are going to be gone? And how do we make sure they don't come back while we're rummaging through their stuff? Sure, the Two boy is dead, but -"
"Exactly. The Two boy's dead." Scrim nods excitedly. "So what's the conclusion we're gonna pull? Either something wild happened, or the pack split. And while breaking up is just so hard sometimes, there's always advantages for someone."
"Presuming the Pack even did splinter," Cal counters, "how do you plan to carry all of the supplies from the cornucopia by yourself -"
"Well, obviously it wouldn't be by myself. You're coming with me."
Cal stares at him, eyes narrowed to a squint. Scrim stares back. Cal keeps staring. Cal blinks.
"Absolutely not."
"What? But we're allies!"
"Allies under duress!" Cal retorts. Scrim crosses their arm, dropping the apple core on the floor and kicking it away with one foot.
"Under dur… okay, first, I dunno what that means. Secondly, it still counts." They huff. "Alright, we only take half the supplies. You can play lookout while I do what I do best and get to stealing."
"And if they come back and attack us? How do I know you won't just take off and leave me?"
"Oh, dear, imagine abandoning your ally in the midst of a dangerous and possibly fatal situation. Who would ever, possibly do such a thing?"
Cal's squint is now a glare. But he's relenting. Scrim's got him thinking about it. And the guilt trip's gotta help too. Guilt trips always help. They'd know.
"... alright, fine." Cal concedes. "But only because you shared your supplies with me yesterday."
"And let you live," Scrim adds, and Cal nods.
"Yes, and let me live." He pauses. "I don't want to owe you anything."
… well, hells.
Scrim almost feels bad for doing the kid like they had. Key word: almost. They'd been lonely, Cal wasn't in a position to fight them, and admittedly, it wasn't like he'd gotten a raw deal at all. They'd been true to their word about letting him have food and water.
"So, bet." They say instead. "You help me, no IOUs. 'sall squared away. And you can leave after… if you want…"
Cal's face does something weird. Softens, maybe, if that's an apt descriptor. Scrim blinks, and it's back to normal. They wonder if they imagined it.
"... we'll see what happens." He just says, solemnly. "When are we doing this?"
Scrim pushes themselves back up. "No time like the present, Calculator! Let's get moving."
They make their way to the door, barely acknowledging the gripe of "Call me Calculator again and all deals are off," from at their back.
It's way more fun to have friends that hate you, anyhow.
After the first hour, the screaming became too much to bear. After three, it was downright impossible, blood-curdling and gut-wrenching and so… so awful that Lazaro felt sick to his stomach.
He doesn't know what's worse - that Ardelis is torturing Elowyn, or that Aitana's letting it happen, sitting outside in the hallway next to him with her brow pinched tight in pain and her face marred by dried tear tracks, entirely silent. She hasn't said anything. Hasn't tried to step in. She's just taking it, letting Ardelis do whatever she wants, not speaking up and not protesting.
You aren't either, Lazaro reminds himself, ashamed to admit that it's true. He's ashamed, because he could do something, should do something, this isn't right, you know it isn't, it's sick and it's inhuman and…
"I'm sorry," Aitana says. Lazaro looks up at her in shock, his own eyes welling with fresh tears when he sees crystalline droplets rolling down Aitana's cheeks once more.
"Tana," Lazaro says, shifting closer to her and reaching for her hand, not sure what comfort he can really give, but determined to at least do something.
"I failed as a leader," Aitana tells him, raising a hand when Lazaro opens his mouth, keeping him from speaking. "And now I've failed as an ally. As a human. Can I even call myself a good person, when I've killed two people? When I allow someone like her to just… act on her whims and… and torture…"
Aitana's voice catches as she sits forward, legs pulled up toward her chest and arms wrapped tight around them as she rests her head against her knees.
"I'm sorry for everything." She looks to Lazaro. "And I'm sorry for dragging you into this. You were right, with what you told me yesterday. I made the call I judged to be the most logical decision. The pragmatic decision. But this is…"
Aitana shakes her head.
"It's too much."
Lazaro runs his tongue along the inside of his teeth, turning his head to stare at the cement floor of the courthouse's basement, the thin layer of dust that coats the cold stone.
"Yeah," he agrees. "It is. But Aitana, you couldn't have known."
"I could have. I should have." Aitana shakes her head. "Fuck, it's just like my sixteens year all over again, Laz. I don't know what to do."
"Hey, hey," Lazaro shifts closer to his district partner, wrapping an arm about her shoulders, tugging his own knees up toward his chest. "We'll figure it out, right? That's what you told me, back in the Capitol… honestly, you said it so many times I thought I was having an aneurysm." He chuckles. "But I mean it, Aitana. I trust you. District Four-ever. You're my buddy. And if you're feeling outta sorts, you know I've got your back." He pauses, a sudden surge of insecurity causing his mind to short out for a second. "Or… I hope you know that. Maybe you don't. This has all just been so…"
"Intense?" Aitana offers.
"Yeah, intense. And painful."
He closes his eyes.
"I still see her, you know. The girl from Five… Henrietta. Every time I've tried to sleep in here, she's been there. Crying, screaming at me, asking me why I did it. And the worst part is that I don't know, Tana. Dunno why I volunteered. Dunno why I killed her. Dunno why I'm sitting out here letting Ardelis make mincemeat out of an innocent girl who, yeah, maybe was a rebel, but doesn't deserve any of this. Nobody deserves that, and it's just… I just…"
A sob breaks free from his lips. "I just want to go home."
He pulls his arm away, stretching his legs out on the floor as he rubs at his eyes. The Games are too much for me. They were always gonna be too much for me. Don't even recognize myself anymore, I just… I don't…
The door slams open beside them. Ardelis Nerolia steps out into the hallway, her arms coated in blood, the sleeves of her uniform rolled up to her elbows.
Aitana gets to her feet, Lazaro following right behind her, his hand finding hers and snatching it up, needing the comfort.
"Is she dead?" Aitana asks.
Ardelis smiles, dreamily. "No, not yet… she's so beautiful and so, so real, Aitana. So real, and I… I feel it. I feel her pain, her life, her… her everything. We really connected, when I was painting her. I can feel her in here."
Ardelis clasps her hands together and pulls them to her chest, one finger lifting slightly to tap at the left side.
"Like Alec and Sylvain. I made her immortal."
She's insane, Lazaro thinks, unintentionally taking a step back. Had a few screws loose to begin with, but now she's totally lost it.
(Sorta like me.)
He looks at Aitana.
She nods.
"Ardelis," Aitana says calmly. "Maybe we should sit down for a few minutes. Eat something, drink some water, get a little rest. Is that alright? You'll need energy for your… project."
"I'm not tired." Ardelis mumbles, but as Aitana steps from Lazaro's side and slides an arm around her back, ushering her over to their supplies, she doesn't protest.
Lazaro watches them shuffle away from the room where the Elowyn's body lays on the floor, entirely visible inside the open door.
He doesn't want to see her. Doesn't know if he can bring himself to see her, cut up and unrecognizable as she's sure to be, now that Ardelis has gotten her claws in her.
But I'll have to, because somebody has to do it. Somebody has to end it for her. And it has to be me. Now. That's what Aitana meant, right? It has to be, she's got Ardelis busy, Seven's right there, and I…
Lazaro makes sure Ardelis has her head turned. Once he's positive she's not going to spring up and attack him, he turns to the door and steps through into the room.
It reeks. Of blood, sure, but not just blood - urine and rot and something like bile, the acrid aftertaste that the smell's left in his throat enough to make Lazaro gag. But even that's nothing compared to Elowyn, whose arm can't even be called an arm anymore. It's a mess of muscle and sinew, flesh sheared back away from everything underneath, and stab wounds littering the mess that's left, bone showing through some of the gaping holes made through the mess of gore. Her mouth's covered in blood, and Lazaro doesn't have to look to know that something's been done to the inside - her tongue cut or her teeth pulled, stifling her ability to speak or scream. Would explain why it got so quiet awhile ago, he thinks, then wants to smack himself for just how callous the observation is. Man, that's fucked. She's a person, she's a person and she's dying, and you're trying to what, ogle her injuries? No. No, that's just sick. It's all just sick.
Ardelis' daggers are lying on the floor, a short distance from Elowyn's body, next to a pool of blood and a heap of what has to be human skin. Lazaro shudders, but steps closer to it, reaching down to lift one of the blades out from the bloody pool, kneeling at Elowyn's side.
"Um, hey…" he whispers. "I don't know if you can hear me… you probably don't want to. And I get that. I'm part of this. Not because I did it but cause I let her do it. And I don't expect anything… don't expect you to say anything, I don't, I just…"
He smacks himself. "I'm rambling. Okay. Right. I just…"
He inhales, barely able to keep his own bile from flooding into his throat as he opens his eyes fully and looks at her.
"I'm so sorry."
He shoves the dagger into her throat. It's a quick motion - in and out, so fast that Lazaro hardly feels himself do it, and for a moment he worries that he didn't, that he wasn't fast enough, that he only made it worse…
But then the cannon fires.
His eyes close. He's shaking as he tosses the dagger away from his body, curling in on himself, more guilty than he thinks he's ever been. I killed her. I let her suffer, and then I killed her. Me. It's not merciful, it's just as messed up as everything else. I'm messed up. I am, and Lazarus… Lazarus knew it was gonna happen like this, he told me it would, I don't know why I thought…
"What have you done?!"
Ardelis. She's screaming, fighting off Aitana as the Four girl tries to hold her back, arms around her chest as Ardelis thrashes and fires off curse after curse after curse. Ardelis rears her head back, smacking Aitana in the face, and Lazaro barely has a chance to process the fact that she's free before she's tackling him, snatching up the dagger he'd thrown aside, looming over him with her knees on either side of his waist as she slams the blade down into his chest.
"You ruined her! You ruined everything, you son of a bitch, how could you, how could you…!"
She's sobbing openly, her eyes still glassy and distant but overwhelmed by a storm of emotion that Lazaro can't discern. He just realizes. It's not personal. Elowyn wasn't personal. Ardelis is just gone. Totally gone. Like he's about to be.
He reaches for Ardelis's hand, her knife still buried inside his body, hilted deep in one of his lungs. He can't even breathe properly, but he has the strength to speak, just barely, just enough to croak out something, anything, something to make her see, to tell Aitana…
"Always knew it'd be you," he laughs. "But it's okay… I get it. You're not..."
You're not a bad person. Just messed up. Like the Arena's messed up. Like the Games are. Like my volunteering…
I'm sorry, bro. Mom, Dad. Everybody. Not gonna be bouncing back from this one.
Bang!
A second cannon fires.
Madigan braces a hand across her younger ally's body, halting Kellie in her tracks as she scans the darkness before them for signs of conflict.
… nothing.
Good. Another stroke of luck. Too bad it's gotta be wearing thin now; less than half of us left.
"What d'you think's goin' on?" Kellie asks, blinking up at Madigan. She can't help but smile, faint though it may be. They're caught up in dire circumstances with the Games, but she's thinking about home - her brothers and Ford, even her classmates. Madigan had gotten used to being one of the shortest people in a room at any given time; having Kellie tilt her chin upward to address her's almost funny, if only because it's such a rarity.
"What's so funny?" Kellie asks, picking up Madigan's smile and mirroring it. She doesn't seem all that bothered that they're standing out in the middle of a dark hallway, easy prey for an ambush if one were to suddenly come. But to be fair, Madigan's not exactly nervous herself; a little uneasy, but she's felt that way since the bloodbath. Just a hallmark of being in the arena.
"Nothing, just…" Madigan shakes her head. "Think it's funny that you're shorter than me."
"Well duh, I'm thirteen," Kellie grins. "Gimme a few months and I'll probably have an inch on ya."
"It's good to have goals," Madigan teases her. "Even if they're unrealistic."
"Hey!" Kellie exclaims in indignation, socking Madigan in the arm. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to pick on kids?"
"You're the one who punched me," Madigan retorts. "That's basically elder abuse."
"You're eighteen!"
"Still counts!"
Kellie sticks her tongue out. Madigan ruffles her hair, then frowns, looking around the hallway yet again.
"So," Kellie pipes up once more. "How much longer we gotta stay in the tunnel of death? Cuz I'm gettin' the jeebies."
"Sure you aren't just cold?"
"Cold and maybe a lil bit on edge because of the fact two cannons just went off, yeah!"
Madigan shrugs one shoulder in acquiescence. Pretty fair, yeah.
"If we don't hit the end in a couple minutes, we double back to that book room we saw earlier," she says decisively. "Or the clerk's office. Seemed comfy enough for a camp."
"No cushy office, though." Kellie's words carry a twinge of disheartened gloom. "Miss that place."
"You just miss the writing desk."
"Can't blame me, it was glitzy. Nice and smooth, fixed up all good. Don't see shit like that back home. Even Mrs. Koehler ain't got a fancy desk."
The Three girl scuffs her shoes on the floor, almost twirling a little as she shifts from side to side, barely-contained energy apparent in each of her movements. Restlessness. Hard break.
"Let's talk and walk," Madigan suggests. "Said you wanted to get outta here, right?"
"Right." Kellie says, stepping forward at the same time that her ally does, their synced-up footsteps reverberating through the tunnel, the noise of each press from their boots onto the stone carrying into the walls.
"Anyways," she starts again, waving her hand in a broad gesture to the space around them. "Felt real weird for me when I hit the Capitol. 'Snot any different here, just seein' all the stuff they got, like, the tech junkies from home woulda been losing their minds. And me, I'm not even a techie, but it's soooo much. The walls in the suites, and the training sims and stuff? Then here, like, it's not anything wicked cool but it feels rich, y'know what I mean? The chairs and desks and statues and all that stuff. Ritzy-glitzy. And I dunno if it's just the norm for Capitolites but it ain't normal to me… I kinda…"
"Kinda what?" Madigan prompts. Kellie looks at her feet.
"Nevermind. 'S dumb."
"It's not dumb," Madigan tries to encourage her, before mulling it over in the silence as Kellie continues to hesitate. "Right, maybe it is. I can't say if you don't tell me. But regardless, even if it is dumb, what's got you holding your tongue? There's no reason to hold back in here. Or with me."
"Cuz we're in the arena and if I make a stupid comment you're gonna tell me to my face?" Kellie asks, then nods. "I like that about you, Mads. No B.S. You say things like they are. Kinda like me. Or... usual me, dunno. I don't feel right here."
"Gee, can't imagine why. The mood's so positive." Madigan deadpans. Kellie giggles, covering her mouth with her arm.
"Yeah, and that. You're funny." She turns around to look at Madigan, expression an open book with her glossy eyes and the tiny smile lines creasing her cheeks. "I told ya I think 'bout my Mama a lot, right?"
"You did," Madigan affirms. Kellie nods.
"Well… never much thought about siblings. Got the kids at the home, and that's pretty much enough I think, but like… if I had a sister."
She pauses, biting her lip.
"I think you'd make a good sister, Mads."
An uncomfortable tightness seems to take hold of Madigan's chest when she draws her next breath. She doesn't cry - of course she doesn't, she's not a crier, none of the Millets really are - but she thinks that she might be, if she weren't so used to being steely. The tension, the hitch in her breath, the way her eyes prickle painfully as she stuffs her hands back into her pockets and tries not to let her feelings come out - the pain of losing Shirin, even though she isn't dead, all the lies she's had to tell to her brothers the last few months when she was making the morphling runs, all the times she's questioned herself and her actions and why'd you have to start using, Shi, why couldn't you just talk to me, why'd you cut me out, why'd you have to lie to Mom and Dad, I want you to come home, I want my sister back, give me my sister back, none of this is fair, you're suffering and I'm just making it worse, it's like I'm dealing with a stranger and the warmth is all gone, but I've got these memories of a girl who has your face and they're full of love and why can't you just be her again, why can't you be my sister?
Madigan blinks, shaking her head. "I dunno about that."
"I do." Kellie says, and when Madigan blinks open the eyes she doesn't remember shutting, her little ally's still standing there, smiling at her, all too sweet to be a tribute, all too guileless to have experienced the loss and pain and hurt that Madigan can tell she has. Kellie never seems to let it get her down - or at least, she doesn't for long, from everything Madigan's seen - but her vivaciousness isn't always genuine. Sometimes it seems like a facade. Not a malicious facade by any means, but a facade made for her own protection, something to help her pull herself together and brush aside the things that hurt.
"For what it's worth," Madigan murmurs. "I think you'd make a good sister too, Kellie. You sort of remind me of mine… before we grew up. Used to be thick as thieves."
I wonder if she misses me.
She nudges Kellie. "Come on, let's keep moving. Think I see a door up ahead."
"A door of death," Kellie mumbles, unenthused, but does as Madigan requested, falling back into step at her side. "Do we really wanna go in there?"
"No, not really." Madigan says honestly, seeing no reason not to admit it. "We'll check it out and leave if it seems sketchy."
"Ugh." Kellie vocalizes, scowling, crossing her arms over her chest. "Fine. Few minutes won't kill us… 'least they better not…"
The door in question is made of solid metal, with a small window shielded by a series of bars the only means of really seeing into the room beyond. Madigan moves in close to it and stands on her tiptoes, trying to peer through the gaps into the room beyond. But she can't quite manage the height. She huffs, relaxing her feet and withdrawing, a little growl exiting her throat.
"Want me to try?" Kellie offers. Madigan looks her over skeptically.
"I'd need to lift you."
"Just get on the ground and I'll stand on your knee," Kellie shrugs. Madigan's skepticism doesn't disappear. Kellie throws her hands up. "'M serious! Used to pull it all the time back at the home."
"... if you break my leg I'm gonna be pissed," Madigan tells her, but gets on one knee in front of the door anyway, motioning her ally over. "Right, up you go then."
"I'll be quick," Kellie promises, slipping off her shoes and then raising her leg to place her right foot on Madigan's knee, grabbing for the edge of the little window as she brings her other foot up, now standing a good six inches or so above the ground.
Madigan's wincing, screwing her eyes shut as her hands steady on Kellie's legs, holding her feet in place. Hurts like a bitch, she thinks. My thigh wasn't meant to carry that much weight at once.
Her calf wobbles a bit, but she keeps Kellie still, waiting for some insight to be given.
"Looks like a jail," Kellie says softly, peering through the window with both her hands gripping the bars now. "Got a bunch of little cells and a big old metal desk. Oh, there's some papers and keys on it! And uhh… it's lit. Lotta lamps inside. Smells awful though. Real dank stuff. Reminds me when Mrs. Bright made some of us scrub toilets as a chore. Big ew."
Kellie hops down and Madigan breathes a sigh of relief as she straightens up, stretching her leg out and lifting her knee a couple times to try and flex the sore muscles.
"Ah…" she shakes her head. "No tributes?"
"No tributes." Kellie affirms.
"No mutts?" Madigan asks. Kellie shrugs.
"How'd I know?"
Madigan sighs. "I dunno, Kellie. But if you didn't see anything, my vote's set. Jail?"
"... jail." Kellie agrees, with only a hint of apprehension.
She reaches for the handle and pulls open the door.
13: Elowyn Eiken, District 7. Kill credited to Lazaro Lazarre.
12: Lazaro Lazarre, District 4. Killed by Ardelis Nerolia.
A/N: Chapter title from Ruin by Fear of Domination.
Thanks again to my lovely beta Firedawn'd. :)
I seriously HATED writing this chapter; it sucks having to let these two go so soon, and even after a few no-death days before saying goodbye, I'm unsure of how to feel… I can only hope that I did them justice in the time that I wrote them, and that their development was substantial enough for the submitters to feel alright with the way I've chosen to end their stories. Thank you so much to Silver and Sophia for submitting two of the most dynamic and fun characters in Lex Talionis! They will be deeply missed.
There is a eulogies page that is now live on the blog. This will be updated with full eulogies each time a tribute dies, written from me as author to the character themselves. Check it out if you have the time.
Additionally, I've now posted the second SYOT in this series, LT's sequel, titled "Centrifuge." I hope you all will consider submitting to me. Again, hope everyone's staying safe and healthy. Til the next!