Chapter 16: Tough Love
"I can't believe this." Venatrix's lips curled into a sneer as her boots crunched through the dead twigs of the surrounding pines. "After I let her borrow my fucking sweater too."
"Let it go, Trix," Agate sighed. "She probably just feels more comfortable working alone."
Venatrix huffed in irritation, glancing at the rest of the pack spread out through the trees as if they were about to run off too. "We're supposed to be getting in practice for the real Games," she seethed. "Nice pick, Percy."
Percy returned her glare. "For all we know this could happen there too," he pointed out. "Your problem if you can't adapt."
Fuck, stop being right, goddammit. Venatrix didn't respond, her grip tightening around the handle of her sword in case someone thought it was a good idea to surprise them. Part of her hoped they would.
Returning her attention to the path in front of them, Venatrix kept her eyes peeled for any flash of movement through the mixture of naked trunks and towering pines. They'd taken off in the direction that Coquina had gone (or at least, the direction she assumed Coquina had gone, judging by where she'd last seen the girl at the Cornucopia), intent on a not-so-friendly reunion with their once-pack-member.
"Excellent start, guys," Iago said cheerfully, and Venatrix shot him a withering look. He and Percy had taken positions along the flanks of the pack, respective knives and arrows at the ready to eliminate any unwanted company before they got too close.
"Just wait 'til we find your district partner," Venatrix scowled.
Iago shrugged. "Could've been Thirteen, but you guys said no."
Above them, a thick layer of grey clouds coated the sky, hiding the sun's path, though it had to be approaching twilight by now. Venatrix watched Agate adjust her hat one-handedly to cover her ears, other hand tightly gripping her spear. "You guys think we'll get to see any of those mutts they were talking about last time?" the blonde girl asked, breath fogging in the bitter mountain air. "I almost kind of want to." Poppy and Lancelot shot her a disapproving look, though Agate paid them no mind.
"Well, now we will," Percy grumbled. "Way to jinx it."
"It's probably just my dad in a Sasquatch costume," Iago quipped, drawing a chuckle from everyone except the lone archer.
Venatrix held back a sigh of annoyance at Percy's childishness, adjusting her path to walk closer to her brother on the right flank. "Where do you think she went?" she asked, giving Iago a light nudge.
"Well..." Iago snorted nasally, adjusting an imaginary pair of glasses. "According to my calculations… I have no fucking clue."
Venatrix huffed, her lips curling into a half-smile. "You're a real Three, aren't you?"
"Maybe she'll come out if we call her," he offered, matching her grin before cupping his hands around his mouth. "Cuh-kee-na!"
The others glanced over at her brother's yell, amusement and annoyance laced in their features.
"Cuh-keeee-na! We're gonna fiiiind you!" Iago's too-loud sing-song voice echoed eerily through the forest. "Cuh-kee-kee-kee-kee—"
"She's not a dog," Agate cut him off, her brow furrowed.
Iago only grinned and began whistling a dog call. Agate's frown deepened, and Venatrix smacked him on the arm. "Knock it off, asshole."
"Kee-kee-kee-kee—"
"I said knock it off—"
"Cuuuuuh-quinoa!"
Venatrix couldn't help the snicker that slipped through her lips, and Iago grinned in victory. "Stop it," she hissed, though her tone lacked real bite.
"Cuuuh—"
"Shut the fuck up, or I will literally kill you."
"Keeeee—"
"I mean it, Yaggie."
Iago gasped in betrayal. "Trix, no!"
Venatrix grinned, a wave of sniggers passing around the rest of the pack at the childhood nickname. Back when Iago had been too young to correctly pronounce his name, that was the closest he could get; Bellara had taken to it too when she'd first begun speaking in toddler-babble. "Yaggie-Yaggie-Yaggie." Throwing an arm around his shoulders, Venatrix roughly tousled his curls with her free hand, ignoring his yelp of indignation. "How do you like it, huh?"
In response, Iago wrapped his arms around her waist, tackling her into the snow. They skidded across the ground, forcing Percy to leap backwards so he didn't get tangled in their shenanigans. More ripples of laughter radiated through their onlooking companions as Venatrix grappled with her brother, eventually flipping him on his back, though he wriggled like a worm to escape the position of disadvantage. The scuffle ended with Venatrix shoving Iago's face into a snowdrift, her knee digging into his back to mute his struggling.
Iago went limp, accepting defeat. "Triiiix let me uppp," he whined.
"Maybe I'll just kill you instead," she said, a wry smile at the corner of her mouth.
"How about we stop being fucking children and take this seriously?" Percy snapped, stepping around them with stiff movements.
Standing, Venatrix pulled her brother up with her, matching glowers on their faces as Iago shook the snow from his hair, but Percy had already gone ahead, Ilya and Lancelot on his tail. Agate only shrugged as they resumed their trek, Poppy mercifully keeping her nose out of it as well. Irritably, Venatrix let herself take up the rear, Iago sticking by her side.
"Hey," Iago said in a low voice, glancing around to make sure the others were out of earshot. "Y'know what would be really cool?" Venatrix raised an eyebrow. "If you let me kill Percy. Not yet, though," he said when Venatrix opened her mouth to argue. "When we get down to six or eight, or something."
"Is this about the Tournament still?"
"Totally not," Iago said blithely, though his expression said otherwise.
Venatrix shrugged. "Have at it."
He grinned, and they fell into silence as they walked, keeping the others visible ahead of them. The snow had thickened somewhat, enough to slip through the tree cover and grace the travelling pack with a bout of flurries. The quiet of their surroundings bled into her awareness, inflicting an odd sense of emptiness. Venatrix couldn't help but notice the void in her and Iago's duo, the place that used to be filled by Bellara tagging along with their antics, making up in presence what she'd lacked in size. She liked to think Bell would've taken her side in her and Iago's recent scuffle, but her younger sister had always been fickle in her allegiance when it came to their roughhousing.
Still, she'd take her siblings ganging up against her any day over the current situation.
Iago nudged her out of her thoughts. "What's up with you?" he asked, switching over to his Three impression. "You're looking a little… reticent."
Venatrix frowned. "What?"
"Like, sad and quiet."
"I know what reticent means," Venatrix said imperiously. "I was just… thinking about Bell."
Iago hummed thoughtfully, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets, her reticence migrating to his features.
"I just fucking miss her so much sometimes, it's—" She cut herself off, glancing away as her eyes began to prickle.
"Hard to breathe?" Iago offered quietly.
Venatrix bit her lip, resting her hand on the pommel of her sword. "Yeah."
He nudged her arm again, his face lighting up. "Remember that time I tried to do that thing with her that Dad used to do with us?"
"The ankle-spinny thing?"
"Yeah, and I accidentally let go and she flew straight into a tree—" he paused to let a laugh slip through his teeth— "her body looked like that ferret you found in the garage when you accidentally kicked it."
"Stop," Venatrix snickered, slapping him on the arm. "And then she started crying so you let her hit you so she wouldn't tell on you—"
"God that hurt like a bitch."
"—and then you told Mom that I slapped you, and she grounded me for a fucking week," Venatrix groaned, recalling her latent indignation at the memory.
Iago grinned. "Worth it, though."
"Even when neither of us could go to Agate's birthday party so Bell forced us to play Capitolopoly for five hours straight?"
He snorted, kicking a broken stick out of his path. "I still don't understand how she got so good at that game."
"The amount of times she genuinely crushed Dad," Venatrix shook her head in appreciation. "I've never seen him look so stunned—"
A shout cut through their conversation, and Venatrix's head shot up in time to see a flash of movement within the trees. "Ilya, wait—!" Percy's voice; ahead of him, Venatrix could barely make out the blur of projectiles that lit up their overeager ally's armor in a blinding red light, accompanied by a death horn.
Readying her sword, Venatrix caught sight of one whistling towards her and Iago; kicking her brother out of the knife's path, Venatrix dove in the opposite direction, sensing the hiss of air as it flew past her arm. At the sound of a startled yelp, she glanced upwards to see Percy almost lose grip of his bow as something yanked him skywards by the ankle, leaving him dangling upside-down from an overhead tree branch. "Trix!" he shouted in warning, and she whipped around to find a smirking Alystra charging from a couple meters away, a knife on the tip of her fingers. Venatrix lunged to meet her, regardless of the danger she posed, but the knife never left her hand, an arrow flying straight into her chest before Venatrix even got close enough to strike.
She toppled backwards from the impact, the horn sounding overhead, and Venatrix whirled over her shoulder to see Percy still poised from shooting, the rest of his arrows having fallen out of his quiver and onto the snow. "Hey!"
Around her, metal screeched as Agate and Lancelot traded blows with Olympia's dual katanas, though Venatrix hardly had time to blink before they got the upper hand; ahead of her, Poppy raced towards Arthur, who'd hurriedly plucked one of his throwing stars from Ilya's corpse, though Iago got him in the front with a well-placed throwing knife. Two more death horns echoed through the air as the red-haired girl skidded to a stop, looking around for more attackers
None appeared, the ambush apparently having been composed of the unlikely alliance between the two girls and the younger Arthur.
Thick clouds huffed in front of her face as Venatrix wound down from the excitement, her breath coming in pants. How did we walk straight into that? she thought in mounting frustration. We're supposed to be better than this, and yet… And yet Ilya had gone running straight for the bait, getting himself killed by their enemies. As the unsaid designated leader of the pack, that fell on her head. First Coquina, now this… She could only imagine the look of disappointment in her father's face at how poorly she was handling everything.
At this rate, all she'd be doing in the real arena was forcing her parents to watch another child get themselves killed.
An indignant call from Percy's direction shoved the thought away. At his insistence, Lancelot sliced through the rope anchoring him to the tree. He landed in a heap, the other boy helping him to his feet as he shook out his sore ankle.
Venatrix found herself moving towards him, irritation lacing her steps, and his eyes narrowed at her approach. "What was that?" she hissed, her voice cutting through the wind. "I had her!"
"I was just trying to help," Percy said, half-defensive, half-incredulous.
"If I wanted you to fight my battles for me, I'd ask," Venatrix shot back. "I don't need your help with Alystra, of all people."
The girl in question interrupted them. "I'm right fucking here, bitch."
They ignored her, Percy letting out a disapproving scoff before breaking her stare. "Forget I even fucking tried," he muttered.
Venatrix opened her mouth for a biting retort, but a groan from Alystra's direction cut her off again. Glancing over, she saw the girl attempt to stand up and fail miserably, pitching over to one side before catching herself on one knee. "Fuck," she hissed through gritted teeth.
Abandoning Percy to his disgruntled state, Venatrix jogged over to her side, Olympia rushing over from her fallen position as well. Venatrix got there first. "You okay?" she asked.
"M'fine," Alystra grunted. "Just— pain meds wearing off."
Grimacing, Venatrix reached out an awkward hand to help her, though Olympia butted in front of her with a dirty look, helping Alystra extract a bottle of medication from her bag. "Okay, well. The three of you, make sure she gets back alright," Venatrix said, nodding to Arthur and Ilya, ignoring Alystra's quiet chuckle.
"I love how guilty she feels," Alystra said aside to Olympia. "It's a good look on you, Pyke."
Venatrix rolled her eyes. "I'll stab you again," she said, though judging by Alystra's sardonic grin, the girl knew she didn't mean it.
Swiftly, Venatrix took stock of her surviving pack members; six left, including herself. Can't be that many outliers left, she mused. Just Coquina and… one other? With a nod, she beckoned the rest of her allies towards her position. "We should find somewhere to set up camp," she directed. "Get some sleep and then go after the others tomorrow." The unspoken promise of a split hung at the end of her words, though not as potent as it would be in a real arena.
"So soon?" Iago sounded disappointed.
"It'll be dark soon," Venatrix reminded him, and he shrugged in assent.
Agate tossed her spear absently from hand to hand. "How'd you guys find us, by the way?" she asked, the question directed at the still-kneeling Alystra.
The three ambushers pointed unanimously in Iago's direction, and he raised his hands in sheepish surrender. "That one," Alystra said drily, "doesn't shut up."
"My bad," Iago said, not sounding sorry at all despite being on the receiving end of numerous glares.
Turning to their dead companions, Venatrix watched Olympia and Ilya help Alystra to her feet. "You guys good to go?" They nodded and Venatrix felt relief wash through her, evident as the chill in the air and the waves of pinprick snowflakes biting at her exposed cheeks. "Alright, let's see if we can find somewhere out of this weather."
"I don't like this," Callithyia said from his right. Oberon glanced over to see his old mentor's eyes fixed on the storm-tracking screen, the swirling clouds of white and grey already overtaking a good portion of the district. Around them, Peacekeepers milled about in a different cloud of white as they assisted the Victors with monitoring duties, among other things; this was their home base, after all.
Oberon turned his attention back to the monitor displaying the positions of the tributes. "It'll be fine," he said stiffly, earning himself a look from both Callithyia and Dagmara, the latter appearing at his other side, arms folded. "They're almost done."
"They won't finish today," Dagmara commented, nodding to the stationary cluster of red dots indicating the pack's position.
They'd stopped a while ago, in tandem with the storm's increased intensity, the six — five now, as Oberon watched, exchanging an amused glance with his wife at the now-blinking dot indicating a dead tribute needing recovery — tributes having found shelter for the night. Antigona pressed a button from where she sat a couple stations away, and the death horn sounded, not as loud in the base as it would be outside.
The other two dots remained fixed as well, one having taken up what seemed to be a secure hiding spot hours ago and hadn't moved since.
Oberon frowned at it, the tracking number from the armor listed on a sidebar revealing the identity of the trainee; while Coquina Peckard's betrayal wasn't too surprising given her tense relationship with his daughter, it wasn't exactly appreciated.
Given that, Venatrix had been doing well so far. He'd watched carefully, fingers absently brushing the scratchy hairs on his chin as her pack had walked straight into the three-person outlier alliance. Whether she and Iago had hung back on purpose to let the others fall prey to the ambush or their position had been a coincidence, it had been a good move on their part, allowing their allies to take the brunt of the hit. It was a mock rendition of the Games after all; getting rid of both allies and enemies (the former requiring either subtlety, lucky accidents, or a combination of both) was part of the point.
The four 'dead' tributes had returned to the Nut only a few minutes ago courtesy of Cadmus and Antigona, the Drakos girl carried hissing and spitting up the mountain by the large man. He appeared now, back from escorting her to the infirmary housed in the base. Judging by his unperturbed expression, the girl was fine.
As the storm had picked up over the past couple of hours, the collective of Victors had decided not to risk shuttling the kids back to the Academy, the icy roads already treacherous enough without the added crosswind and poor visibility. They waited a couple floors below in the cafeteria; Flint hadn't minded providing them with free meals and bunks for the night. The Head Peacekeeper stood with them now as well, his boots clicking against the floor as he rounded another circuit of the monitors, his eyes (almost as watchful as Oberon's) hovering over the proceedings.
Currently, it was the most interesting thing going on in the district that required his attention, though Oberon knew the man liked keeping an eye on the training process. Part nostalgia, part Capitol instructions, he assumed.
"Everything good?" he asked with a raised brow, glancing over Oberon's shoulder. Flint didn't bother wearing his helmet with the rest of the armor, exposing the younger man's military-cropped hair and semi-permanent 5 o'clock shadow. No point in here, really. Even the armor was just for show, part of the uniform.
Oberon hummed in agreement. "They're in for the night, we think. Found a good enough shelter to weather the storm after the ambush."
"Your girl's doing well," Flint said appreciatively, and Dagmara graced him with a smile in acknowledgement. Of course she is, it said, and Oberon was inclined to agree.
"Naturally," Oberon said, his eyes flicking between the tribute screen and the weather screen.
Flint chuckled. "I've got my money on her, both here and in the real arena," he said, dropping his tone and casting a furtive glance at Morwenna standing a couple monitors down, arms folded and gnawing absently on her thumbnail. "But you already knew that."
Oberon lowered his voice. "About that," he said, jerking his chin to indicate that he wished to chat in private.
The Head Peacekeeper raised an eyebrow in curiosity, but he obliged, beckoning for Oberon to follow him outside of the monitoring room. At Dagmara's questioning glance, he threw her a reassuring smile, though it dropped as soon as Flint pulled him into one of the private offices. "What can I do for you, old friend?" he asked, his voice oddly chipper for the hour.
Perhaps this was a stupidly risky move, but it needed to be done. It's all for Trixie, he told himself. I need to get her out alive, because if I can't, I don't know what I'll do, and it's not just me, it's Dag and Iago, they need her alive, we need her alive, 'Makers know I can't do that again, it'll be on me if she doesn't make it out—
"Listen, Flint, I hate to ask this of you, but we've got a problem…" In a low, hushed voice, Oberon told him exactly what he'd told Percy, and exactly what he needed from the Head Peacekeeper.
To Flint's credit, he didn't interrupt, his eyes narrowing in disbelief as he let Oberon speak (or continue to dig himself into a hole, for all the Victor knew, but Oberon was smart — or stupid, willful, arrogant — enough not to believe that). Oberon kept his tone half-apologetic, half-authoritative, as if he weren't overstepping just about every rule in the book with his request. It didn't take long to outline, and when he finished, Flint was silent for a second, a dubious expression on his face. "'Makers, Pyke, that ain't funny."
"It isn't," Oberon agreed. "But I'm sure you understand, I'm just looking out for my daughter; I know you'd do the same for yours."
A look of uncertainty flashed across Flint's face, and he huffed a skeptical chuckle. "Sure, but I don't think I can do that for you, I mean... In fact, I might have to report that, I'm sorry, but—"
Oberon cut him off with an indifferent wave of his hand. The Head Peacekeeper's reluctance wasn't exactly unexpected, nor was his loyalty. "Eh, that's alright. I'll just get Venera and her guys on it if you're not up for it, but—" he didn't miss the way Flint's eyes bugged out when he mentioned the president, by name, no less— "there's a reason I'd prefer to use you, though, hm? I trust you and yours more than the Capitol to avoid any collateral damage."
It was hardly a secret that the sitting president had taken a liking to him, given that their respective 'victories' had occurred during the same year. He wouldn't exactly say that Venera Valorius had a soft spot for him (she'd merely laughed when he'd come to her last year pleading for Bellara's Victory on a silver platter), but being the first Victor she crowned had its merits (and it's drawbacks, he thought, a disinterested moue pressed over his gritted teeth. He could never escape her scrutiny even if he tried).
Flint's eyes narrowed, calculating, but he scoffed in agreement to Oberon's statement, his voice low. "Those Capitol bastards never do anything right. They're either friggin pansies or way too trigger-happy."
He'd dealt with enough Capitol recruits to know, Oberon figured. "I'd rather this not get more out-of-hand than it already is."
"Yeah…" Flint trailed off, shaking his head. "Look, we'll just keep this off the books and hope worse doesn't come to worst, alright?"
Oberon's smile was grim. "That's all I'm asking."
The other man opened his mouth to say something when the overhead lights suddenly flickered once, twice, and the room plunged into darkness.
He stiffened, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. That's not supposed to happen.
Ignoring Flint's muttered curse, Oberon made for where he remembered the door to be, choking down the rising sense of alarm for cold efficiency. The dim yellow lights of the backup generator kicked in by the time they'd stepped out into the hall, washing over the two men in an anxious haze. Their entrance to the monitoring room went practically unnoticed in the flurry of commotion already plaguing the occupants; Oberon immediately detached himself from the Head Peacekeeper's side to make a beeline for his wife, her nose inches from the tribute tracking screen.
"What happened?" he demanded, but when he saw what Dagmara was looking at, his heart plummeted.
"Had to be the storm," she muttered. "Power went out and… their sensors haven't reconnected." Her eyes were wide, but Oberon hardly noticed, his own locked on the screen in front of them, completely void of the telltale red dots indicating the kids' positions. "They're gone, Oberon."
Gone. "No, they can't be gone," he said out loud, reaching a hand to touch the screen where the gathering of six points had been. "They were here, around here somewhere. And the other two…" Dagmara's fingers pointed to their positions when he hesitated, unable to recall.
"We can't leave them out in the storm like this." Callithyia's voice; she shot him a sharp look. "Their safety comes first."
"Of course," Oberon agreed forcefully.
Safety was always a priority, but even given that ground rule, the nature of their occupation disagreed. Throw a bunch of over-competitive teenagers into a mock death match, and accidents were bound to happen, despite the clearly-stated rules. Antioch and Silverhorn proved that well enough last summer, but that was hardly worth noting compared to the incident ten years ago, still fresh in his mind.
Oberon had believed Eridan when he'd said it was an accident; they'd found him hunched over his classmate's body at the foot of a cliff, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, the other boy glassy-eyed and broken-necked. It wasn't until after the kid had won, after Oberon had pulled him aside months afterwards and he kept muttering, "I let him die. I let him die; I didn't mean to, but he wanted my spot," that Oberon had realized.
He'd initially thought Eri had been referencing his final fight, a battle between him and his district partner that ended with the two of them dangling over a precipice, Eri gripping onto the girl's hand tight enough to draw blood in some gut-instinct attempt at district solidarity.
In the end, he'd let her go, an apology on his lips and his hands clasped tightly over his ears as the trumpets announced his Victory; Oberon should've started worrying there.
His failures blurred together in his mind, ever-present — Eridan's sobbing, Bell's screaming, his allies, the stench of fire… But he still had Venatrix and Iago right here, and Dag too; he hadn't failed them yet. You failed all of them when you failed Bell, his brain supplied, but he couldn't afford to listen. Trixie needed him; he couldn't fail her, not in the arena and not now.
Dagmara was still looking at him like she knew he wasn't finished. "Sound the alarm," he ordered, meeting her concerned eyes, his own hardening with determination. "Come on, Dag. Let's go get our kids."
Together, the two of them headed out into the storm.
A/N: That nat 20 bluff tho.. (or was it?) Everyone's a mess in this house, except maybe Dagmara. ..Or maybe she's just better at hiding it lol.
Hm random life updates: I'm home for the summer and also I finally got my first vaccine dose so. Get vaxxed kids ahah !
Next update uhh soon hopefully? Ideally next week. Will attempt to finish off February/the mocks in one chapter but.. We'll See. Hm what else.. Oh, SYOT's ! Read A Common Defense by ladyqueerfoot :knife: I have a kid there - a D2M lmao - and he's Sad so Do It.. Stan ACD ;-; Okay that's all, see you next week !
- Nell