The sixteenth day
-Remus La Rocque, 18, District 2 Male-
Perhaps it was because he fell asleep thinking about the final eight interviews, but he dreamed of Valerie that night. It had been so long since Remus had a dream quite as pleasant. Nothing strange, only holding her in his arms, watching a sunrise as they sometimes liked to do together.
When he awakened from it, he only wanted to fall back asleep, trying to hold onto that moment with his beloved for just one more moment…
But as much as he wanted to, there was no way he could right now. He just had to keep telling himself that someday, it wouldn't be a dream anymore, it would be real once again. He hadn't been away from her for this long before, and every single day he missed her more. Every day he thought it was impossible to miss her more, which was always proven wrong by the next dawn.
Remus felt slightly light-headed upon sitting up. Despite the sweet dream, he didn't sleep very well. He was used to having a bed to sleep on, and hadn't made the adjustment to sleeping on a floor yet. It was definitely one of those un-glamorous things about the Arena that nobody told him about before getting here.
There were so many un-glamorous things about this situation, though. Remus had never felt so disgusting in his life. He tried not to linger on it, but he was reminded of his sorry state at every moment. It permeated every inch of his body.
He had never been the brutish type to recklessly seek out kills, but someone had to move this along so that he could get back to Valerie. He hadn't brushed his teeth in so long: what if they remained yellow for the rest of his life now!? Come to think of it, he'd never seen Victors with yellow teeth, so they probably had something to fix that at the Capitol once he won. That was relieving. He couldn't help but feel like this would last forever, though, with how grody and disgusting his mouth felt. Ugh!
Not to mention body odor. He was reassured when he used deodorant before coming into the Games, but he'd never smelled this bad before in his life. And he was sure that as hard as he tried to keep his hair tidy by having it kept up in a ponytail, he couldn't help but feel like it was frizzy as sin. It was not a good look for him. Thankfully, Valerie wasn't superficial, but it didn't make Remus feel any less disgusting.
Luckily for him, he now had a way to start moving it forward.
Yesterday evening, he had received a particularly valuable present from Pluto. He was glad that Pluto was coming through for him: he was a little bit worried that he'd scared his mentor based on how they acted towards him, but luckily it just took a little bit of time for Pluto to warm up.
The note that was attached to it was certainly odd, though.
Remus the French boi.
What is inside is not French.
Alea iacta est.
For one thing, whoever had sent it couldn't spell the word boy correctly. Secondly, it had some sort of weird epithet on it that Remus couldn't understand. He knew enough to guess that it was Latin: not something he knew much of anything about, but he had seen the language before on some Academy signs and plaques. He couldn't tell what it said…
How Remus would have loved to study another language. Even if he wanted to, there were no resources anywhere in District Two about the subject: all they wanted to teach was how to fight. Even the idea, the concept of speaking another language, blew Remus's mind. It was like speaking with an accent, like the Capitolites had, but… How much better it would be! Perhaps if he won, he could start some sort of program in District Two… He hadn't considered a career as a teacher, but if it were to inspire others (and he was still rich)…
He tried to ground himself. His wild whimsy often took advantage of him, but in a place like this, that would be his biggest weakness.
However, he wanted to get out of here for the sole purpose of teaching the ignorant people of his District how to spell words like boy and write poetry that didn't read like it was put together on a total whim. How District Two needed some fine culture like poetry and foreign languages. How much classier of a place would it be?
The tracker he'd received with that weird note started to beep just then. Right.
He had the right tools, now all he had to do was act on it.
But… What if they were interviewing the friends and family right now? Remus wasn't about to cause a stir by hunting someone down while their family was being filmed… That would just be cruel.
Surely the smart thing to have done would be to have the interviews filmed at night, while the tributes were sleeping. After all, none of them had a single idea what time it was in the real world. It was possible that it was midnight out there, despite the lights being fully up for the tributes. It was impossible to know, but if he was blocked from following the tracker, maybe he would know then.
Remus knew he couldn't put it off any longer. Killing like this wasn't what he wanted to do, but it was what he signed up for now. He was trained in all sorts of skills, so he would be fine. Especially if it led to his supplies as he suspected. After all, he was the only one of the Careers that didn't manage to get his own supplies, which meant that whoever had them wouldn't be as much competition as someone that was trained.
Remus collected his things, and then set off towards the tracker arrow.
Ah, this was convenient, the tracker led him to the proper staircase. It would have been pointless if it didn't indicate how to get to his target.
And, it was once again Remus versus a staircase. He wondered if he should just take the elevator, but he didn't want his tracker to lose the trail, so he kept going. Halfway up the first staircase, Remus rubbed his palm on his knees as he felt like something was stinging him. There were no signs of anything though, so he just kept on walking.
Halfway down the winding staircase was when Remus started to feel a little bit woozy.
He stopped for a moment, wondering if the lack of sleep was catching up to him. He took a sip of water, but even sitting on the ledge for a few minutes wasn't helping this headache. This was… Odd…
Remus incredulously continued on his way, glad the tracker glowed faintly in the dark to indicate where he should be going.
He heard a crash.
What was that?
A bang.
Who is coming for me?
Footsteps, as if someone was climbing the stairs. Remus couldn't explain the panic that was building in his chest at every noise he heard. He was a trained fighter, there should be nothing wrong with him fighting another tribute at this point.
"Remus!" he heard a voice. Whose voice even was that? Didn't sound like any of the tributes he knew… The tributes… Who could that have been?
Remus continued to stumble forward. Every time he looked back, he saw a shadow of movement over his shadow. His hand started to hurt again, but he could barely feel it as his heart was beating so fast, pumping the adrenaline through his veins. He saw a blurry halo of light up ahead, and quickly scrambled towards it. Looking behind him again, the shadow took shape into a figure. Remus swung his rapier at the figure, but wasn't making any hits. He stumbled into the light, away from the darkness, and when the doors shut, the sounds were all gone.
Remus didn't remember falling, but his ass was on the ground. He took a couple of deep, ragged breaths as his stomach started to churn. No, he didn't want to vomit… the world kept spinning and making him dizzy. The curved walls of the circle room were blurring and seemed to fade together.
He knew he couldn't sit there forever… He had to keep going. When the world stopped shaking around him, Remus got back on his feet. His stomach settled at least… He took another deep breath, still not trusting that he wasn't going to throw up all of the peanut butter in his system.
Ugh… Just the thought made him want to vomit.
No, I'm going to keep going… But his body kept reacting like it was hearing something, or sensing something that Remus couldn't.
Suddenly, a figure in the distance snapped him out of his thoughts. He saw… Something in the distance. It looked asleep, almost dead. When Remus approached, it looked like… A bear. What the hell, a bear?! Remus heard sounds of whispers with words he couldn't discern. They sounded Latin. He could almost pick out Alea iacta est from the voices, but not quite. When he got too close to the bear, it suddenly woke up and let out a great roar.
Nothing I can't handle… Was Remus holding his weapon? His hands felt numb. He felt a little like he was floating. But he had to try and cut through because of this bear. Remember your training, Uncle Stef said in his ear. Why was Uncle Stef here? And Valerie? Oh, they were all cheering for him. Cheering against the bear. Remus felt like he was in a dream, but for some reason the sounds of their cheers made him smile and turn towards his hair foe.
The bear struck him… Wait a moment, that wasn't the mark of claws or teeth…
Remus didn't know what he was fighting, but he only knew he had to win. He could only feel warmth on his arm, he couldn't even feel the blood that was dripping to the ground. The bear was unrelenting, the whole time releasing a terrible, horrible wailing cry and attacking again and again. Remus couldn't for the life of him put together what was going on, but then again, there was a bear so how could he?
The bear was relentless, but so was Remus. Metal hit metal as his instincts took over him. He subdued the bulky, hairy bear, pushed it to the ground, and stabbed it over and over again, just waiting for it to be dead. The bear snarled and gnashed at Remus, so he stabbed it again. Its paws still flailed about, so he stabbed again. He couldn't feel, see, or care about the blood that was soaking his clothes, his neck, his face… He just wanted it to be dead…
Remus stabbed at the bear until his arms became as heavy as lead, his eyes heavy, and a cannon boomed.
Somehow he ended up back on his ass, taking deep breaths and slowly, ever-so-slowly, the world came back into focus. Remus drank some more water, but wasn't trusting enough to eat yet. He took deep breaths, trying to clear his mind of… Whatever the hell just happened to him.
When he could see straight, he stared at his hands. Not only were they stained crimson… He just then noticed the tiny hold in the bottom of his palm, where he'd been holding the tracker… Shit. It was a trick. He should have known…
He held his temple, suddenly aware of the droplets of blood that were dried onto his face. He blinked, looking back at his hands, which were stained red… His shirt… The entire front of his body…
He looked over to the ground below him, all of which was stained.
This wasn't what he did… He was… He was disgusting! He looked like one of the fools from his District, those that he hated so much… He reached up to his face, rubbing his cheeks hard to try and lift the blood, but only making it worse as it wasn't fully dry…
What have I done?
Whatever it was, it wasn't the clean kill that Remus made. It was dirty. Remus wasn't a dirty person…
But he was starting to realize that the clean victory he so fervently idolized wasn't ever a possibility.
And if the only way to get home was the dirty route, then…
That would be the road he followed.
~.~.
-Coda Fukai, 14, District 8 Male-
It had been days since he'd been lubed up, and he was still feeling it: just in a much more disgusting way than before. Whereas before he was just wet and cold, now the lube had dried onto his skin. He was actually grateful for the toilet paper he'd received yesterday. It was surely meant to be another gag- what else kind of shit luck would Coda have?- but the joke was on the fucking evil monsters that demised such a cruel gag as showering a fourteen-year-old in flowery fucking lube. He was going to use it. It was even the two-ply kind, not that shit in the Training Center bathrooms.
Using sparing amounts of water in his thermoses, he was able to get the lube off of his hands, neck, and face at least. It still stuck his clothes to his arms, but at least his thighs didn't stick together anymore. He gave himself the best wipe-down he could manage, but his hair was surely still a mess, and he wasn't about to waste any more water than necessary trying to tame it. He was pretty impressed with his work, though, and made sure to give the assholes at the Capitol a nice thank you for their oh-so-generous gift.
But ultimately, it didn't help a ton. What he needed was a goddamn shower.
It would be foolish to waste any more the water Henley had died for after all.
Ugh! Where the hell was the Coda that never mourned!? Back before the stupid fucking Games, he was basically entirely alone, by his own choice. Now that he was in this hellhole for however many days (he'd lost count), he was suddenly a big fucking softie. The type to cry on television. God, it was disgusting to him. What the hell had he become?
It had been days and fucking days since Henley died, and Coda just couldn't forget about her. He just couldn't seem to shake these stupid damn feelings that he was having. It was about time he moved on now. Especially considering the number of tributes left in the Arena was slowly ticking down and down. This was his ultimate goal, right? Get out of here and punch the shit out of Tartan?
…Even his rage at his mentor wasn't burning anymore. And that was the most unusual thing of all, as Coda was notorious for holding a grudge. It was unsettling to have his rage dissolve so quickly. Sometimes he would go as far as to provoke himself: after all, Tartan was the one that sent that note telling Henley to die… Trying, trying so desperately to feel something again. To feel that same fiery rage, determination, and certainty that he was going to be the one returning home alive. But now, after sixteen days, and however many tributes dying (what, you expected him to keep track!?), he just couldn't be sure.
Days and days had passed without Coda seeing any action. He was a lubed sitting duck: not providing anything to the people that were watching, just hiding well while they all offed themselves. And while that was certainly nothing new, he knew that as the numbers counted down, he would have to face competition that was much older, stronger, and more trained than himself. How was he supposed to hold his own against some of these powerhouses?
At least I could take downt the blind one… Which one was he again? Wait, dammit, he was already dead. He was just about the only one keeping Coda from being the weakest one of them. What the hell were even his odds now? And did the odds even matter.
Memories of the lamp, toilet paper, and the fucking yarn in his backpack made him worry even more than the fact that he was young and inexperienced. Obviously, he had the shittiest luck out of everyone there, and that was going to be the death of him. He just had a feeling. It wasn't fucking fair, though. After everything he'd been through, to just be offed by something as simple as a bad spin…
It wouldn't be the spin itself, he thought. So far, he'd gotten a lot of shit: a lot of shit: but none of it was lethal shit. It was mostly tame: meant to mess with him, meant to make him uncomfortable, or keep him from supplies that he'd needed. It would be unspeakably cruel to kill a tribute based on a spin without giving them a fair chance. That was what Coda had learned about Lux throughout this time. Even the wheels that were made unlucky on the day from hell didn't have death sentences on them. No, unless there was an incentive of sorts like Henley, there wouldn't be an insta-death. That would simply cause an uproar.
Not that Coda thought there was anything wrong with it. But the buttwad sitting in the Complex certainly wouldn't want that.
And even though being covered in lube fucking sucked ass, it certainly wasn't the worst of the options on that wheel. Any of them could have made Coda a target, or made him susceptible to being hunted down. He got one of the more tame (BUT still fucking EVIL) options. And, he had gotten rid of some of the shit when he had to spin for it. Sometimes, he wondered if his luck was looking up…
The roll of toilet paper that stared him down convinced him otherwise, though.
Coda groaned to himself in rage. Stupid fucking toilet paper. Keeping him from getting anything actually useful.
A cannon boomed just then, snapping Coda out of his thoughts. Who was that? He looked around, as if that was going to give him any indication. He supposed he would have to wait to see. That brought them down one more notch. If he was lucky, another one would go off soon…
Coda waited in tense silence. If you're going to go, just fucking die already. He wouldn't be so lucky. He waited with bated breath, but no second cannon came. Finally, he released the breath he was holding, knowing that whoever it was would live to kill another day. Dammit.
But a different problem persisted over that. Those are some fucked up thoughts to have.
He was just so goddamn desperate to get out of here. But was it really worth wishing upon other people's lives like this? If Henley were still here, would he be wishing on her life? Was her life really worth him getting away from here? What did he even have waiting for him back home?
A mentor to beat the shit out of… he thought to himself, but he couldn't rile himself up at the thought.
It was dangerous. If Coda wasn't mad at Tartan anymore, it could mean one of two terrible things.
Number one: it could mean that he wasn't angry about Henley's death because he didn't care about her anymore. He wondered if she was here, if he would have killed her already, just desperate to get one step closer to coming home. They were friends… But how desperate was he? Just the thought that he would do something so terrible made him shudder.
He couldn't imagine killing his ally. Just the thought made his hands shake, his eyes stinging with tears that never fell.
If that wasn't true… Then here's what was.
Coda's anger had dissolved because Henley's death wasn't actually Tartan's fault. And if really wasn't Tartan's fault, which Coda was realizing quickly it wasn't… Then that…. That meant…
It was his.
No. It couldn't be true… Tartan was the one that told her to die, n-not Coda! Coda was trying everything he could to save her, he couldn't have possibly caused her to die…
How feeble she was when he came back with nothing but a stupid goddamn hairbrush… He couldn't get water for them. He couldn't do it, and she'd given out from it. Coda realized quickly that at that point, it was too dire. Tartan was simply pulling the trigger. But even before Tartan sent that fucking note, she was already dead.
Because of me.
He could run from the truth as much as he wanted… And trust him, it was a talent of his. But just as it always did, reality came around and bit him in the ass. He could pretend that he was going to beat the shit out of Tartan: and there were plenty of reasons to: but this wasn't one of them.
"Dammit." He kicked his other shin, his face contorting for just a moment in pain. He wanted to yell, but knew that he couldn't. Not here, not now.
It wasn't like he didn't try… But what if he could have tried harder? What if he could have done something to get her the water she needed sooner? What if… What if…
He squeezed his eyes shut, surprised when water came out from them. Dammit, not again. Not here. Not after so much time has passed.
What could I have done? He might have been fucking stupid, but Coda wasn't dumb. He knew that Henley had so much more to live for than he did. He knew that she had people that loved her at home. She was so diplomatic, friendly, and polite.
What was Coda? Brash, loud, rude… As much as he tried to be more like her, there was only so much he could do. He wasn't equipped to be likable. He fell with the wrong crowd, he lost his leg, could have gotten Kousuke killed… Now he had nothing. His brother wouldn't even talk to him… Blaise would take one look at his leg and know that Coda let him down, that he could never be as good as his brother, he would never fill those shoes, and he only had himself to blame for all of it. He'd lost all of his friends, he'd lost his family, and even after everything she did for him, he failed Henley too.
Fucking shit. He was a fucking idiot for thinking he even had a chance at winning this thing. Who was he to do it? Some unimpressive boy from District Eight who hid away the entire time. He couldn't even sustain his ally for more than, what was it, four days?
What a fucking loser.
His jaw ached from how tightly he was clenching his teeth. He tried to relax his body, but he couldn't relax. It had been so long, he had been through so much, but the truth was that it was all false hope, it was all adrenaline that made him believe he could live. He could apologize all he wanted, but it was too fucking late for all of it. Henley was dead, and he was pretty sure being followed around by twenty-three ghosts wasn't a good look.
Coda nervously cracked his knuckles as the floor opened up below him and from it rose a cannister.
"Fucking piece of shit," Coda would have kicked the damn thing if he hadn't seen movement on the floor earlier in the day. He took the lid off aggressively, though, and dropped it on the carpet carelessly. He did a double-take at what was inside.
"So now I fucking get water," he mumbled bitterly, pulling out the small full canteen. "Where was this when we actually needed it?" He almost left it, but he didn't want anyone else to have it. He put it in his backpack, but he couldn't help but feel bitter that now, after he had let her down, after she was dead and gone, he was actually getting somewhere.
Six more, kid. Go get 'em.
Love, Tartan
Wait, six?! When the hell did it become six?! Coda blinked at the note in disbelief, wondering if Tartan was lying to him. But what reason did he have to lie anymore?
They'd interviewed Coda's friends, his family… All eyes were on him, and the six others that still breathed…
Oh God. What had he done to deserve this?
He didn't have much time to think about it, still overwhelmed by the shock of knowing he was that close to getting home, when an announcement came over the loudspeakers.
"Attention tributes, this is your dealer speaking." Coda gagged. "I want to congratulate you, the final seven! And in celebration of your efforts, we are holding a mandatory feast. The feast will take place at dusk. Please arrive at the ground floor before then. All of the stairs will lead you down there now, so getting lost is no longer an excuse. We look forward to seeing you there, when the lights dim in two hours. Come prepared to fight for your spoils."
The announcement clicked off, and Coda wanted to punch that bastard Lux in the face for all the toying he's done with them.
It wasn't fair.
Nothing about this Arena was fair.
And now, the most unfair thing about it?
There were only seven left, and Coda was one of them.
~.~.
The tributes were variously unsure about their internal clocks. To some, it felt like at least five hours: to some, like it had been less than one. No matter how they felt, though, they arrived to the ground floor, each of them knowing the consequences for not coming would be dire.
The first to arrive was nervous Owen, who arrived as soon as he started to think the lights were dimming. When he arrived, he found the room completely empty. All of the 24 pedestals that had been here once were gone… Except for eight.
Owen quickly found the pedestal with the cyan-colored rim. It was just as it had been on the first day. He stepped on the pedestal and heard a click.
"The first of you has arrived at the feast. Please be aware that as he has taken his place, the surrounding area has been equipped with mines. Anyone trying to approach: or run away: will be detonated. You have half an hour to arrive."
The announcement clicked off. Lux's voice sounded so confident… It was easy for him to sound like that when Camellia was left so confused. She was the second to arrive, not too long after Owen did. It didn't take her long to find her pedestal with a lavender rim, and step onto it with another click.
She looked over to where Owen was standing, nervously fidgeting with his hands. Elliot had stood between them once. How could she possibly do anything to hurt someone good and innocent like Owen…? She hoped she wouldn't have to find out.
The third to arrive came not too long after Camellia. Harleigh had seen better days: a tired look on her face, swollen welts from poisonous spiders dotted her skin and throbbed with each step. Her pedestal was opposite from Camellia and Owen's, but she couldn't help but notice how there were three of them straight in a row. She knew who had once stood on those spots. Would they have imagined someone like Harleigh standing next to them during the final eight feast?
Would standing next to them become her demise?
Next to arrive was Ceru. His face was riddled with concern as he had read the announcement about mines. He found the purple-rimmed pedestal and took his place back on it. He accidentally locked eyes with his District partner, who quickly looked away from him. Across from him was his ex-ally. Owen wasn't even looking at him, which made Ceru frown. He knew that he hadn't done anything wrong, but he couldn't help but wonder if they would have been able to take down Lonan together.
Remus made sure he had plenty of time to spare upon arriving to the ground floor. He was feeling far better after having the afternoon to recover from the poison. When he realized that many others had beaten him there, Remus nervously looked around, unsure who he killed.
At the sight of the blood-covered tribute, there were a few winces. Ceru was practically paralyzed again, this time from fear…
Coda wasn't about to take any chances. He realized that the lights were starting to dim later than the rest of the tributes, so he practically flew down the stairs, which seemed far less than when he'd climbed them a couple days ago. He arrived, and it was easy even Coda to see the pedestal that had a lime green ring around it. He stepped on, felt it click into the ground, and may have uttered a curse word.
The rest of the tributes looked up at him in surprise, to which he blushed and looked away from them, not ready to be judged by the people that were going to be out to kill him soon.
The room was silent as the last tribute remaining arrived.
Lonan arrived soon after Ceru, and stood on his pedestal. The empty red-rimmed pedestal was the only thing between him and Harleigh, who tried to keep her hands from shaking at the sight of him. At the bloodbath he was only someone that she would need to fight for supplies: now he could be her killer.
The tributes silently stared at each other as the lights continued to dim. Camellia waited until Ceru caught her eye again, to which she said, ever so quietly, "I'm sorry."
The light was just bright enough that he could read her lips. Ceru shook his head at his District partner. "I'm sorry too."
"Now isn't a place for remorse," Remus told himself, holding tightly to his rapier. The others heard him say this, many of them looking at him incredulously. Remus steeled himself.
Before their eyes, without an anthem, Celestia's image lit up the now completely dark room. After a few seconds, it quickly disappeared.
Then, spotlights turned on, all of them hitting the center of the room. And from the ground rose the largest wheel they had seen yet.
"Welcome, Final 7, to a celebratory feast."
The tributes gaped in shock at the size of the wheel, colored with sixteen red and black panels. Nobody can see text on them as hard as they try to see what's in store.
"I don't have any fucking tokens, can I go?" Coda muttered under his breath, causing Harleigh to snicker nervously nearby. Lonan didn't laugh at the joke as he was still trying to get into the right mindset for whatever the hell was about to happen to them.
"Each of you will be escorted up on your pedestal to give this very special wheel a spin. As you can see, half of the panels are red, the other half black. If you spin red, you will be greatly rewarded. However, if you spin a black… You may come to regret it." As he was saying them, the words appeared on a screen in front of Ceru, who nervously kept up with reading them.
The spotlights suddenly turned orange, and Remus felt like he would have fallen over on his pedestal if not for some kind of stabilizing technology that kept him upright. Perhaps the same that they use in the ladders that save tributes from the Arena to keep them from falling.
"Remus La Rocque of District Two. Please, take your spin."
Remus took a bated breath before he reached up to the giant wheel and thrust it down with all his might. The wheel thundered and clicked, seemingly going on for entire minutes even if that wasn't the case… The wheel slowed, click clack, black red, and landed.
The lights flashed red for a moment.
"From this moment on, all of Remus La Rocque's competitors will lose their water supply. All water on their person will be… inadvisable to drink."
"Fucking piece of shit!" Coda screamed, the pain evident in his voice as Remus's pedestal put him back in his place.
The spotlights didn't delay, even over Coda's yelling, they flickered back on in a bright, almost blinding cyan blue as Owen's pedestal started to move. The boy tried to stand tall, and keep the fear off of his face. He couldn't see either of his allies around the great wheel, which made it only a little bit easier for him to spin.
"Owen O'Connor of District Five. Please, take your spin."
Owen got on his tip-toes and pulled the wheel, which was sent shaking the ground with a great roar. Owen bit his bottom lip so hard it was practically bleeding as the wheel stopped.
The spotlights cast an eerie, muted light in the room as Owen tried to keep the tears from his eyes, bracing himself.
"From this moment on, Owen O'Connor is susceptible to one hit without any sort of defense."
How were they going to do that? Owen was paralyzed with fear as his pedestal moved back into its place.
The spotlights illuminated the room in a rich, indigo light as Harleigh's pedestal started moving. She could feel the eyes of her competition resting on her as she swallowed a nervous lump in her throat.
"Harleigh Noheg of District Six. Please, take your spin."
Her arms shook as she grabbed the top of the wheel and thrust it down. She took deep breaths, determined to not let her competition see her fear as the wheel slowed to a stop.
The room was once again hugged by an eerie, dark light as Harleigh realized in horror what her spin was.
"From the moment of the mines' deactivation until sunrise tomorrow, Harleigh Noheg will be injected with a sleep-inducing anesthetic. Side effects may vary."
"No…" Harleigh said, her face still stuck with horror as her pedestal retreated back to its spot. This couldn't be happening to her…
The lights were brighter again as the soft kiss of lavender touched the room and Camellia's pedestal started to move. She was balling her fists, trying to look brave, as she was put in front of the towering wheel.
"Camellia Gallen of District Seven. Please, take your spin."
Camellia took a deep breath and pulled downward on the wheel, which was again sent into a frenzy, a blur of red and black, practically taunting her.
The room was encompassed in a bright red light that felt so warm to Camellia, who breathed a sigh of relief.
"Waiting for Camellia will be a reel of final eight interviews from the families of herself and her competitors."
Final eight interviews? As glad as she was that she didn't have anything bad happening to her, she had to wonder if there was another reason for this. Regardless, she teared up at just the simple thought of seeing Jo's face after so long…
The room was cast in a deep purple light as Ceru's pedestal started moving. On the wall across from him, he saw the words: Cerulean Elpharae of District Seven. Please, take your spin.
He could feel the ground under the pedestal rumbling beneath him as the wheel in front of him vibrated and exuded energy. The wheel continued until it clicked one final time. The room was cast into darkness as the text on a screen directly across from Ceru read, Upon release of the tributes, Cerulean Elpharae will receive a thirty-second handicap upon his pedestal.
Thirty second handicap? Cerulean's stomach turned as his pedestal returned to its spot. His eyes nervously reached the boy on the pedestal next to him, who now wasn't even looking at him as his pedestal started to move forward.
The room was cast in a lime green light, and Coda was too damn afraid to even acknowledge how damn ugly that color was.
"Coda Fukai of District Eight. Please, take your spin."
His heart jumped up to his throat as he reached up, grabbed one of the spokes of the wheel, and pulled down on it. He felt so small compared to the wheel, practically a beast of its own, which could very well hold his fate in its hands…
The room lit up red and Coda resisted jumping for joy (he did pump his fist though).
"Waiting for Coda Fukai will be a map of the Arena which includes the location of his competitors."
Holy shit, that's fucking awesome! He could feel his competitors staring at him warily, which quickly deflated his joy and dissolved it into worry.
The spotlights lit up brown, and Lonan's pedestal was summoned forward.
"Lonan Fodor of District Ten. Please, take your spin."
Lonan didn't hesitate or even stop to prepare himself. He wanted to show the people watching at home just how damn ready he was to take this on, and how confident he was in himself. He grabbed the top of the wheel and pulled down on it. With a great thunder, the wheel continued, before stopping… Lonan held his breath, and released it when the room was shrouded suddenly into darkness.
Fuck.
Camellia resisted the urge to laugh.
"From this moment forward, Lonan Fodor will lose all of his supplies. No… Not all of his food! Not his weapons… Suddenly, the backpack on his back was torn off of his shoulders by a drone, the weapon in his hand also taken, and he felt almost naked.
The tributes waited for further instructions, but instead, the red platform that would have been Celestia's started to move. It moved until it was in front of the wheel.
"There were supposed to be eight of you remaining, to spin this wheel of fate. However, in the absence of Celestia, we decided to give a free spin." Suddenly a figure was raised up from under the pedestal. She was vaguely familiar to some of the tributes (read: not Coda). She wore a low-cut leather dress with netting, elbow-length leather gloves, netted stockings, and shiny black heels. Her eyes had black frames around them with points, and her lips were dark as night. Covering her slick gray hair was a giant floppy black hat, decorated with playing cards that stuck out of a yellow rose.
She didn't address the tributes before she pulled the wheel down and sent it flying. The tributes watched in shock as the room was illuminated with a red light that suddenly felt eerie to many of them rather than lucky.
"Up for grabs on the table will be the supply that you tributes need most. At this point, it appears that is collectively water. So it is done." The woman who spun the wheel descended back into the ground as lux continued, his words displayed on screens for the tributes to see.
"So it appears that half of you have had good luck, the other half… Not so much. However, this is the time for you to take fate into your own hands. The spoils will be waiting…" they could hear a female voice laughing in the background of Lux's message.
"In thirty seconds, the mines surrounding your pedestals will be deactivated and you will all be released." Various degrees of shock and indignation spread across the tributes' faces as Lux concluded his announcement.
"It is up to each of you now to take control the odds."
~.~.
A/N: Cliffhanger! Surprise! I never do those! Well, I do now. Hope you enjoyed the intensity of this chapter and I'm here to tell you that it's only going to get worse from here. Next chapter we'll see the continuation of the feast where things really start to get interesting!
So, I'm going to let you all know that I plan for Chapter 50 of this story to be the finale, so it's obviously going to go fast from here.
And, after the next chapter is posted, sponsoring will officially be CLOSED. Gifts will be received on Day 17, and then that's it for that. Last chance to send what you want to, and prices will be jacked up some more as well.
Slow burn is over everyone! Now all that's left for you to do is buckle up and enjoy it!
CQ: Which of these handicaps would you least like to have and why?
Eulogy:
8th Place: Celestia Romilly, District 1- Stabbed repeatedly by Remus La Rocque, D2
Each of these decisions is more akin to murder for me. I had an amazing final 8 and I honestly agonized over each and every placement from here until the very bitter end. Celestia was such a unique and interesting character, I really enjoyed writing this autistic nonbinary (if you didn't get the signs, that's what they were pointing to) kiddo, and it's not often that you see them in SYOTs which makes her really special to me. I felt like I really grew into writing her from her first intro up until now. Ultimately, after what happened to Kelwyn, I knew that there was no way for her to be able to cope with it. I wanted to wait until after the feast, but I realized there was no way she would have been able to make herself get up and go to the feast so she would have gone then anyways. Anyways, Celestia was so great to use and writing this chapter was a complete challenge to me because it meant it would be a goodbye to her. Thank you so much for her Huntress!
See you soon for the continuation of the feast!