Tesla Nichols, District Five
"Carlotta!" Tesla yelled as loud as she could, her dry throat cracking at the final syllable. She had been calling out for their ally for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, though it felt like far longer. The arid conditions stole all of the moisture from her, leaving a dusty feeling in her mouth. She knew from the beginning there would be no answer, but a desperate hope inside forced her to keep trying.
"I'm sorry, Tesla. She's gone." Anthracite said from behind her, slinging a small bag full of their remaining supplies over her shoulder. Tesla wanted to stay in their cave and wait for Carlotta to come back, but Anthracite said it was too dangerous. She was probably right. But that didn't mean it was fair.
"Why though?" Tesla would have been in tears if not for the heat, "She said she wanted me to stay alive. She said she cared."
Anthracite shrugged, "It's hard to figure out just what's going on in that girl's head. On the bright side, if she wanted to hurt us, she would have killed us before she left. Which means she might not be our ally any more, but she's not our enemy either."
"I don't want to look on the bright side." Tesla grumbled.
"Oh I understand, sweetie." Anthracite said, "More than most. I was quite the cynical worrywart before the games."
"Really?"
The girl from Twelve nodded, "Mattock was always telling me I was being overdramatic. He was the optimistic one, the one who was always calming me down. Now… Well I guess I just have to be cheerful for him."
At some point they had left the cave and started walking, though she hadn't seemed to notice, and Tesla took the chance to hold on to the other girl's hand. "Did you love him?" she asked quietly.
Anthracite smiled sadly. "You know what? I think I did."
High above the two girls, Tesla noticed a glint of gold, and heard the familiar beep gently riding the wind to them. She watched it float down towards them and plucked the sponsorship tube out of the air with expert timing. If the Hunger Games could be won on catching gifts alone, Tesla wouldn't be nearly so much of an underdog as she was.
She unscrewed the tube, and gold paint stuck to her hands and clothes as usual. When she tipped it to one side, a large water bottle fell into her outstretched hand.
"Useful." Anthracite said, "Carlotta took all of ours. Is there water in it?"
Tesla gave the bottle a shake. Although obviously sturdy, made of some kind of metal alloy, she could tell by the weight that there was nothing inside. She shook her head.
"Shame. A water bottle isn't worth much without water." Anthracite sighed. Being optimistic was clearly getting to her.
"I...I know where to get some water."
She hardly wanted to bring the idea up in conversation in the first place, much less go through with it. But sometimes, she could see a conversation in the gifts people gave her, a set of instructions laid out through presents instead of words. The water was gone, but Carlotta had left the spile behind. The water bottle was merely a reminder of how to use it.
If gifts could talk, this one would be screaming to go back to the forest.
Tesla knew that she had been relatively lucky in the arena. She had an ally, sponsor gifts, and her time in the Games remained relatively calm thus far. Only one thing noteworthy happened to her at all, yet it still terrified her. Visions of translucent fangs, and water sloshing into contorted shapes it was never meant to hold filled her mind. She was sure that the Rainfall Hydra had almost killed her. Now she was going to have to return to where it lived, where it hunted, or run out of water in a matter of hours.
Dehydrate, drown, or worse. There was nothing pleasant about the choice facing the two of them. Facing her.
"Are you ok?" Anthracite asked. Tesla had never been good at concealing her emotions. Some of her worry must have shown through.
Tesla tried shrugging off her fears. What was wrong with her? Anthracite watched her district partner die right in front of her. Someone she loved. She kept smiling, finding ways to be positive despite her situation, yet all Tesla had done this entire time was cry.
She thought back to her reaping, trying to stay by her father's side. Back then, she considered herself to very nearly be an adult. Allying with Anthracite made Tesla realize how far from that she truly was. She was a child still. But children never made it through the Games. She had to grow up, and quickly.
"That way." she said, pointing, "There's a forest of dark trees with water inside them. But there's also a mutt there, so we shouldn't stay long."
"Is that what you were running from when we found you?"
Tesla nodded, her mouth going dry once again. Whether it was from thirst, yelling or fear, she couldn't tell. Maybe it was all three.
"I can't guarantee it will be safe." Anthracite replied, putting her hand on the younger girl's shoulder, "But I can promise that I'll be there for you. No matter what."
Tesla laid both of her hands over top the one on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and together they pushed forward deeper into the forest.
Elixane Marcus, District Three
Elixane's group returned from an early morning hunt that proved disappointingly uneventful.
Using the map, she had identified a quick route in and out of the Oasis, making use of the cave system. Using it, at first, made her nervous as all hell. Running into a hungry sand worm in its natural habitat dwelling underground would almost certainly spell their doom.
She needn't have worried. They did find the worm, in a spacious underground cavern linked to multiple other cave systems. It curled in on itself, a subtle rise and fall of its skin the only proof it was sleeping and not some sort of statue. Rust actually ran his hand against it, thinking it was merely another wall at some point. But not even the touch woke the creature. They hurried from the cavern quickly, but all three of them realized that the Sand Worm only truly posed a threat to those above ground.
If they had found any tributes during their trek, Elixane would have been in a better mood. But none of them could find a single thing, tribute or otherwise, in the wide open dunes. With fewer tributes in the arena now, those who were left became harder to track. But that didn't mean she or her alliance could give up on hunting.
Her allies, however, seemed much less dedicated to the activity than her. She could understand why that was true of Rust, but Ashlar's behavior frustrated and baffled her. The stakes were high for him too. Elixane had never met anyone more full of raw patriotism than her district partner. She never quite understood his way of thinking, well aware that the political state of Panem was more than a little flawed. But that patriotism drove him to bring District Three the honor he believed it deserved. They both knew that they were playing for future generations.
Yet the way he sighed in relief, rather than disappointment, when they finished the hunt without finding anyone else... that filled Elixane with doubts about her district partner for the first time.
Back at their campsite, she examined her supplies, trying to occupy her mind with weapon maintenance to pass the time. No matter what she did, though, her nagging doubts continued to be a bother. Sighing, she set down her weapon and stood, finally giving in and deciding that she needed to confront Ashlar.
She was only about ten feet away from him when a high pitched squeal ripped through her eardrums. The sound was familiar to Elixane; she was no stranger to the telltale crackle of electrical feedback. For some reason she couldn't determine its origin. It echoed around the oasis, seemingly coming from all directions.
"Sorry about that." Screeching gave way to a voice. Though tinny and hard to make out, it was distinctly feminine, "Though... I don't know if there's anyone to apologize to, actually. Hard to tell if this is working on my end. But if you can hear me, then well, hi. I'm Astra Porter."
The name didn't mean anything to Elixane. She exchanged an inquisitive look with Ashlar, but he only shrugged, as the voice went on.
"I guess that might not mean anything to you." Astra continued, eerily seeming to read Elixane's mind, "You probably know me as the girl from Six. A face and a number, that's it. Have you ever thought about how weird that is? We've all had our favorites, watching the Games at home, over the years. But if they didn't win, do you even know their names? Do you remember who you cheered for?"
What was this girl thinking? Elixane wondered how the gamemakers were handling this. Probably, they had cut the broadcast feed already, or drowned out Six's speech with music over a highlight reel. There was no way a speech this inflammatory was going to make it to the Capitol. Rebellions had started over much less than this.
Then again, maybe it was too much. Astra was pointing out how implicit everyone was in the Games, how beyond being forced to watch, the districts would cheer for favorites. And like the Capitol, they would forget. This was an uncomfortable truth, one Elixane believed most people would like to forget. The Capitol directly and obviously blocking her would change that, and might be enough to shake the Districts out of complicitness. Perhaps the gamemakers would merely let things play out, hoping the problem would resolve itself.
Perhaps Elixane was overthinking it.
"I had an ally. No, not an ally. A partner. If circumstances had been different, I think we would have been friends. His name was Tanner Kelly. I suppose I just want you all to know that. His name. That he had two brothers and no filter and that he deserved better. We all deserved better."
One final burst of static signalled the end of the broadcast, though whether Astra had purposefully been disconnected, or was cut off by the Capitol, was difficult to tell.
"How did she even do that?" Ashlar asked.
"There's arena space above and underground, so there has to be a sound system hidden everywhere. And microphones on the cameras of course." Rust answered, "It wouldn't be an easy thing to do. But the tools she'd need for it are all over the arena."
Elixane already knew that Rust was clever, but she was beginning to recognize a familiar self-assurance in the way he spoke, reminding her of particularly smart kids in District Three. If growing up there had taught her anything, it was how to spot raw intelligence. An idea occurred to her then.
"Could you track the signal?" She asked him.
Rust =contemplated that for a few moments, "Maybe. I would have to find either a speaker or a camera, though, both of which are pretty well hidden. It would probably be easier underground, after a cannon goes off, or during the anthem. Probably somewhere in the walls…" Blinking, the boy seemed to wake from his problem-solving trance, and looked at Elixane with wide eyes. "Wait. Do you want me to find her so you can kill her?"
"There's only eleven of us left." she answered, "That means seven people between one of us and victory. It's not enough to just sit here, and this girl is probably alone."
"I'm not a killer, Elixane." Rust said.
"I know."
There was no way, she thought, that anyone didn't know by now. Elixane was sure that Rust's breakdown would be a highlight of the games, stuck on loop across the screens of Panem for at least another five years. She was proud of him, really. The realization clearly brought him some closure, and he seemed more comfortable in his skin than when they had first met. But this was the Hunger Games. Killing was the whole point.
"I don't think you are either." He insisted.
Elixane laughed, "Of course I am."
"Really? How many people have you killed?"
She didn't even need to count, it was something she knew in her gut. "One person."
"Same as me then." Rust practically glowed with the kind of confidence only a thirteen year old could have.
"It's enough to know, isn't it?" She shot back, and Rust chewed his lip, uncertain.
"Fine. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you're a killer, then I'll believe you."
Elixane opened her mouth to brush him off for being ridiculous, but there was an earnestness in the boy's eyes. They looked just like the boy from Five's eyes, who she had killed, tossing her token onto the mines and triggering them to explode. There was no honor in it, the kill had been underhanded and dirty, she could admit that. But would murdering him with a sword really have been any better? His face would haunt her dreams either way.
"I'm a career." She said finally, "Careers kill."
"But you're a career from Three! That can mean whatever you want it to mean."
Although it was naive, there was some truth to Rust's point. Some things were set in stone. A Career went with the pack. A Career didn't run from danger. A Career killed. But the tributes from One, Two, and Four each filled a unique archetype of their own. One produced glamorous killers, Careers from Two were efficient and militaristic, and no one mastered combat in different terrains quite like a Four.
Despite not being a traditional career district, Three had a reputation of their own, too. They were the smart district, who built things and outsmarted their opponents. Coming into the Games, Elixane wanted to believe that she could expand people's expectations of her home. She wanted where she came from to be more than just 'smart.'
That wasn't all there was to it, though. Her sister, Amaia, came to mind, along with all the times they had argued over the years. Amaia always accused her of going in for selfish reasons, for glory and adventure. Elixane could admit to herself now that her sister hadn't been completely wrong. There was something exciting about being able to forge a legacy. What she did in the arena would affect the tributes of District Three for as long as the Hunger Games existed.
And what had her legacy been so far? Blowing up a podium, breaking from the Pack, and now she was thinking about tracking down a desperate girl to ambush her. She realized that her actions pushed beyond smart, yes, but they were devious. If she kept up like this, Careers from Three would be seen as manipulative, disloyal, tributes who fought dirty and played the games without honor.
That was not what she wanted her legacy to be.
"Rust, I am a killer." She said, meeting his eyes. She could almost see his heart break, and knew that back home, her sister's broke as well. "But you're right. I shouldn't play this how I think I'm 'supposed to.' We do this how I want. And I don't want to go after a girl who's clearly been through a lot. The top eight is approaching. No more easy targets."
Rust looked relieved, then confused. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean that tomorrow, we take back the Pit."
Diamond Stark, District One
Water surrounded Diamond.
He tried to swim out of it, but there was no apparent up or down. The current didn't seem to have any particular pattern, switching at random, hurling and sloshing him back and forth from one moment to the next. And, although he couldn't say where, Diamond had the gut feeling that he was actually moving.
Looking back, he should have seen it coming. Walking through a dense forest of bare, black trees, he suddenly found the foliage itself seeming to spray water in every direction. It was similar to the way the wind started to pick up just before the boneyard gryphon made an appearance. Diamond should have realized that he was about to face another mutt. Just like the wind had acted before the appearance of the Boneyard Gryphon, the water in the forest behaved unnaturally.
But Diamond ignored all the signs. Even when the flood began to take the shape of a many-headed serpent, he wasn't very concerned. What could a glorified puddle possibly do to him?
Then the creature swallowed him whole.
Now he was running out of air. Despite the coolness of the water all around him, Diamond felt as though his body was burning, lungs struggling for air that refused to come. A deep, fuzzy black crept into the edges of his vision, threatening to completely overtake him. He flailed his limbs in every direction, desperate for something to grab hold of, but there was nothing. He knew then that this was how he would die: helpless, gasping, and alone.
Suddenly the water cleared and he was breathing again. He coughed, spitting up water, as air returned to his lungs. Breathing again hurt more than Diamond ever could have imagined it would. But it was a welcome pain. He was alive, on land, and the Rainfall Hydra was nowhere to be seen.
He was alive.
The elation was brief. Safely out of the jaws of death, Diamond's survival instincts receded and his conscious, analytical mind began to regain control. As it did, his sense of primal euphoria faded, replaced by concern and confusion.
Why was he alive? There wasn't any reason that he could see for the mutt to spit him up and disappear without first letting him drown or killing him in his weakened state. Diamond would never have been able to stop it. And the woods looked different than they had when he was swallowed whole, thinner and closer to the dunes of the rest of the arena. He had been right that the Hydra was moving. Perhaps...
"How did you know how to do this?"
"I saw it on a highlights reel once. Katniss did it during the 75th."
Diamond heard two voices a short distance away, confirming his theory. The Rainfall Hydra was no more than a sheepdog to herd tributes from one place to another. No one had died since very early this morning. The Capitol was probably hungry for violence. For his part, Diamond just wanted to live. Before now, death had been an abstract concept, something unwanted yet distant. But feeling his body fight to keep awake as it was robbed of precious oxygen gave him new understanding. Death was ugly and painful and terrifying. Diamond would do anything in his power to avoid death, and the only way he could was to grant it to someone else.
Rummaging through his pack, he checked to see what weapons were still at his disposal. Most of his supplies were destroyed, too waterlogged to be useful. But his darts weren't submerged long enough to rust, which made them usable, even if they were slightly damp. He also found a sealed bottle at the bottom of his pack: a vial of poison given to him by a sponsor. It felt almost like fate, although Diamond knew that it was probably a more human intervention. Ultimately it didn't matter.
"Why were you watching the 75th Games?"
"Everyone in Five has to watch it. As a reminder. Do they really not do that in Twelve?"
They were close, maybe even within striking distance, if Diamond had been at full strength. But water still clogged his eyes and his head still spun. He knew his aim wouldn't be as true as it could have been. One of the figures moved, and their clothes glinted in the sunlight. Diamond didn't know how, but the smaller tribute was somehow completely covered in gold. A bright shimmering outline formed wherever they went, making it easier to track whoever it was between the dark trees. It helped, but he would need more if his dart was to strike true.
Closing his eyes, Diamond focused on the voices. With his eyes closed, he almost felt like he was at home training.
He was taken back to the morning of the reaping, when he had thrown his dart at Titania after she woke him up. The principle was the same, even if there were more variables this time.
Two voices. One older, one younger. He deduced that his target was the younger tribute, since the shimmering outline was smaller than the other, and so he set his focus on the softer, brighter voice. He felt the air on his skin, using it to judge how hard the wind was blowing and in what direction. There was only a slight breeze and he counted himself lucky for that. Though perhaps that, too, was Gamemaker meddling. Either way, his dart would meet minimal resistance on the path through the air and into his target.
Opening his eyes, he concentrated on the glittering outline. When she giggled softly, it was just enough noise for him to feel confident, and Diamond threw his dart.
The older voice screamed, but was drowned out by the sound of the cannon.
AN: Hello hello. Still writing, still loving this story. Unfortunately I don't have much to say this time around so let's just get to the eulogies.
11th, Tesla Nichols by AProudBibliophile- Tesla was actually submitted to me as my one and only bloodbath. We can see how well I take direction. The moment I read her I knew she was going to be important to my story, and when Anthracite and Mattock came in all of the pieces fell into place. Tesla was a sweetheart and an absolute joy to write. She will be missed.
And the kill count.
Diamond Stark- Two kills, Tanner and Tesla
Dash Grester- Two kills, Raleigh and Lucien
Elixane Marcus- One kill, Demetri
Demetri Donovan- One kill, Zella
Titania Topaz- One kill, Issa
Carlotta Pierce- One and a half kills, Arachne
Seaward Waters- One kill, Mattock
Cordelia Korver- One kill, Seaward
Violet Beckingridge- One kill, Ruben
Ashlar Granodum- One kill, Nettie Sue
Astra Porter- One Kill, Dash
Rust Waxy- One Kill, Cordelia
That's it for today. Thank you for reading!
