Aaaaaaaaand here we are with Day Six! I told myself that even calculus and physics homework could step aside for a couple hours, and thus I took my newly found spare time to finish a chapter!
Reviews!
Wolfie McCoy: Oh, I plan on keeping up with this SYOT, all 60+ chapters of it. Don't you worry; all these tributes will die. Or win. Whichever.
dreams and desperation: Thanks!
Sorry again for disappearing for a while last time, but you know how it goes.
Thanatos Rize, Age 15, District 9
District Nine Male, Sixth Quarter Quell
The rain has continued to grow miserable, turning the Arena into a sloppy mess of invisible holes and tree roots. I've been hiking most of the night, sure that the Gamemakers will push another tribute into my path, where I might be able to kill them and get more Sponsors. I'm banking on the idea that the Capitol would have wanted me to kill the One boy, and that their disappointment will force the Gamemakers' hand.
I can't believe nothing has happened since my run-in with the boys from One and Two. Since the One boy's face lit up the sky, no cannons have gone off, which leads me to believe that the rain is here to assist in getting someone killed. Hence the reason I've been wandering all night, slipping over the slick stone and winded as though I've hiked the tallest mountain in Panem. I almost look the part too, I'm sure, using my scythe as a walking stick. I either look terrifying or hilarious, though I hope it's the former.
The Games should be farther along by now. I mean, usually we're in the top half by this point, if not even farther. In a normal year, at least one tribute dies each day, up until the Top Thirteen, when the elite in the Capitol party over their bets and their potential Victors. Normally, everyone's safe the day the thirteenth tribute falls, save for the kid who took fourteenth, of course. Interesting fact, especially if you make it that far…
The ground has been constantly growing lighter, though it hasn't helped much in some ways. There are still long shadows, hiding divots and undergrowth, the water more than soaked through my boots by this point. The cold water is seeping into my bones, sapping my strength and energy. Everything is wet; my socks, boots, even my undershirt. The stupid poncho is useless at this point, though I don't dare ditch it quite yet. It may be useful.
I sigh as I find myself, once again, at the base of the volcano, easily the largest, and perhaps only, landmark seen from above the Arena. I could have trekked the entire Arena during my wanderings, but somehow I continuously find myself here. I look to the top, where steam is curling in thick clouds around the Cornucopia, a place where eight foolish tributes lied down their lives on the first day here. I wonder, for a moment, how my Partner died; surely, she wasn't as stupid as the rest of them?
I shake my head. No, she was foolish. If she wasn't, she wouldn't have died, and then I'd have another opponent to worry about. She matched my score in training, she must have had some kind of secret up her sleeve. She died here somewhere, likely before she managed to get a weapon. The Careers surely cut her down before she had the chance to do anything to maim them; she was brave. Stupid, but brave. At least I didn't have to kill her; it would be awkward if Wheat and I lived next to each other when I had killed his sister.
I look up the mountainside again, at the steam and the cooling rivers of lava that originally separated many of the tributes before the Games began. I wonder if any of the Careers threw or pushed the others into the flows, or it they preferred their weapons over the nature provided for them. Either way, lava is heat, and perhaps another tribute is thinking that way. I could ambush them.
I take a step forward, pushing against every instinct of run that screams its way through my body. The water layer is extremely thin here, though one misstep could still send me sliding down to the base. The wind and rain whip around me, and I try to pull my clothes tighter around me with my free hand, my scythe continuing to work as my walking assistant. I try to look ahead, to my destination, but the cold stings my eyes. It was so much easier in the shelter of the jungle, I realize, where the wind wasn't a problem, and the water was truly only an inconvenience. I turn to look back, realizing that I'm just past the pedestals.
I freeze as the dull thud of a cannon rings through the early morning air.
Before my mind can comprehend it, I'm hurtling toward the launch platforms, my weapon momentarily forgotten as my arms reach out, trying to protect or catch me before I slam in to something. I tumble head over feet, nearly crying out in pain as my ankles slam into one of the pads. I sit there for a moment, breathing, ice stinging my face as I stare up in to the sky. I sit up quickly, looking around in desperation. I hear the sound of metal sliding against stone through the howl of the wind, and I spot a flash of silver in the new morning light.
I take a deep breath, and lunge for my fallen weapon.
Jetta Carter, Age 17, District 6
District Six Female, Sixth Quarter Quell
Nobody should feel the amount of fear I have felt since I arrived here yesterday. It literally hadn't been much more than an hour when they showed up, declaring that this would be where they would set up camp. That they'd likely be sticking here for the remainder of the Games.
I haven't dared to leave the shelter of this cave, not with the everlasting threat of the Careers. I had thought only a couple days ago that I'd never feel such terror again, that that was the closest I'd ever get to death's door.
Clearly, I was wrong.
I've had plenty to drink, and I quickly became grateful for harvesting so many mangoes the moment I got over my euphoria. They're almost gone now, of course, but they've been a delicacy unlike any other. Only one of the Careers, the Two boy, I think, has come down here in search of anything interesting, but didn't seem at all fond of mangoes. If I wasn't petrified, I might have laughed as he made sure nobody was looking, then cut it clean in half, wild grin on his face. Like a child.
I haven't seen much of their physical camp. I saw them setting up, when I first realized they were here: a couple makeshift tents and a pile of silver weapons. I've only spotted three of them, so I've been forced to guess that the One girl was scouting or something. I quickly scrambled back to my place behind the waterfall, forced to stay put while listening to broken bits of conversation. I really don't have to worry about my noise level; the water cascading around me covers any noise I make quite nicely. Doesn't do anything to help with the fear of unknowing though.
I sigh as I look around the wall of water, to my beautiful sanctuary in the middle of the river. The rain has grown thicker since it first appeared yesterday, and I'm thankful again for not having to march through it. I honestly would be surprised if anybody were to get killed by the Careers today. They're probably sitting in their tents, staying warm.
I start suddenly as an idea begins to formulate in my head. If the Careers are all staying at camp, a wild, maybe reckless guess on my part, then I might- might- be able to escape from their cloud of terror and death. That is a very big if, however, and the likelihood of me being caught is very high. But the reward for getting away- I'll know the location of the Careers' camp, I'll know how to avoid it in the coming days. I'll have a chance.
I sit for a few minutes, fighting with myself over my options. The small voice, the hopeful one, urges me to go, while the logical and self-preserving part of my brain screams at me to stay. The sliver of hope wins out though, and it is with a flood of adrenaline and a pounding heart that I step beyond the safety of my new home, into the rain and my uncertain future.
I creep along the vine-covered wall of earth, the river to my back as I look for a place short enough for me to see over, to spot the Careers' camp. It only takes a few moments, before I find the same divot in the black stone that I first watched them from. I peek over, crouching slightly so my eyes and forehead are barely visible.
I almost panic when I see the Two girl walking toward me, but she ducks in to a tent and the pounding in my head slows. I almost groan as the rain increases tenfold, soaking my underclothes, which had been dry only minutes ago. The annoyance extends to the Two boy, who had been trying to start a fire, with no luck.
I'm forced to squint my eyes as I look around for the other two, the Two boy hurrying to another of the tents. I see no sign of the girls from One or Four, and I decide to wait until I am certain of their locations, when I can be sure no one's watching.
After watching for a while, I cock my neck to the side, trying hard to pop the now-stiff joint. The hood of my poncho makes this difficult, however, and I remove it so I might get a little more leverage. I try again, the cold rain pounding against the exposed skin. It feels, for only an instant, like there's something else there too, but…
Before I get the chance to figure out what it might have been, I feel an intense pain in the back of my head, and I cry out as I collapse to the ground. My right hand sinks into the river, up to my wrist, and even the blinding cold is numbed by the sensation of sheer terror that envelops me. A figure stands before me, a shadow in the rain, though when the hood is pulled back, revealing a grin of malice and a glint of silver, I realize that I'm looking in the face of my murderer.
"Fancy meeting you here, Six!" She has to shout over the rain, and I try to back away as the adrenaline returns, exponentially greater than before, but still I cannot move. The Four girl raises her foot, slamming it down on to my ankle. I scream again, and I think the older girl laughs. Lightning flashes overhead as she presses the long knife against her cheek, and I notice that she has her sword on her waist. Perhaps-
My thought process freezes again as she bends down, pressing the knife against my thigh. She drags the long blade down the length of my leg, until it rests on my ankle, the one she might have just broken. She watches it for a moment, before coming back up alongside me. I try desperately to move away, but she reaches out, crushing me painfully into the ground.
"That looks bad, dearie." She says in a sickly sweet voice. She leans in close, and I feel her lips graze my ear. "Let Mera help you with that." I shudder as the presence temporarily vanishes, before more weight drops upon my abdomen. I whip my fist forward, pummeling the back of the Four girl to no avail. I try to kick her in the face with my knees, but all that earns me is another tendril of pain. She holds down my bad ankle, tugging off my boot and rolling up my pant leg. She moves it slightly so that I can just crane my neck to see.
My ankle is swollen from the trauma, and Mera drives her knife into it like it's a small ball. I roll my head the opposite way and retch, before I realize what Mera's trying to do.
How sick can you be to cut another person's swelling off?
Esmeralda Dawn, Age 18, District 4
District Four Female, Sixth Quarter Quell
Until I saw what the Six girl's ankle was doing, I never dreamed of doing something like this. We never covered anything of the sort in training, though in Four we never really covered torture in general. We had always been told that it was the way that Ones or Twos got Sponsors. Fours fought with honor.
But the idea, in the moment of survival and bloodlust, is just so intoxicating. Her screams are like a symphony, relentless and encouraging against the pounding of the rain. Each cut of my knife sends another wave of crimson rolling into the black stone, a translucent yellow accompanying it. What should be perfect lines of skin are jagged from the Six girl's thrashing, an annoyance if there ever was one. I can feel her fists smashing desperately into my back, but I don't care. The Twos don't know what's going down; they won't be bothering me, arguing with me. I have time, and I very well plan on using it.
After a few minutes, a flash of lightning produces a glint of white from the girl's leg, and I find that I have made my way through the skin and muscle, all the way to the bones. The white structures are blotched with blood, though the rain has done its best to wash it into the river. I can tell the girl is growing weak from blood loss now, as she barely flinches when I touch her left leg and the dull pounding of her fists has become less frequent. She's fading fast, but I'm not done.
I dig the fingers of my left hand and the blade of my knife into the wound, and I'm reminded of those short training sessions of the gravest of wounds. I poke around a bit, searching for some kind of deformity that I had caused to the girl's fibula or tibia. I grow increasingly frustrated as my hunt proves fruitless, and I ignore another tug from my waist. I sit up straight, cocking my now-stiff neck, hearing a dozen small popping sounds, before bending forward again.
I jump up as I feel pain arc through my back, through my right shoulder, and I turn swiftly upon the girl as her sword- my sword- falls limp in her grasp. The sound of a cannon rings loudly, vibrating across the river and the Arena. I scream in anger as I see the weak stream of blood spraying out of the girl's neck, and I whip my head around, zeroing in on a figure a few feet away.
Mason Lepodolite lowers his crossbow, before turning and walking away.
Cordin Bolt, Age 16, District 3
District Three Male, Sixth Quarter Quell
It's been a few hours since the sun rose, since another of our number fell, and only now does the rain begin to slow. Good thing too, I suppose, as the river has swelled so much in the past day that it was about to overrun its own banks, at least in the area I've holed myself up in. Should the water have begun to flow back down toward me, I might have had to leave this place, the only source of familiarity I have in this Arena.
I've wondered who might have departed, and I have some few ideas. Of course, everybody save for me could have been the most recent victim, but as always, the odds bend in favor of some more than others.
The Careers, for instance. The One girl may not be with them; I never saw her the day the Careers set up camp under my tree, the day I robbed them. For her abandonment, she might be hunted, but then again, so would I for stealing. Then the Twos, who, if I'm correct, make up sixty-seven percent of the Careers, likely wouldn't have died without taking someone with them. I could say the same thing for the Four girl.
As much as the thought pains me, Infiniti could have joined the fallen. She's capable, but even on the train I could see her admittedly poor mental state. She lost her ally the first day. That much trauma could strengthen or kill someone in the Arena. Not that we're close, but she's from home.
The Four boy would have probably fallen with his ally, the boy from Eight, but I have no clue as to what dangers the Arena itself poses, so I can't count either of them in. Four might have killed Eight out of frustration.
The Fives, I suspect, are still alive. The girl, the mother, is a favorite in the Capitol, and I wouldn't be surprised if the Gamemakers bowed to their wishes and pushed her into the Final Six. The boy is strong, more skilled than most of us Outliers, and I wouldn't be surprised if he outlived me. And I'm still alive, so he must be.
The girl from Six is a likely prospect, as, like the Twelve girl- who fell the first day- she was extremely malnourished and weak, even before the Arena. The boy, however, likely won't leave the Arena for a while- Final Four at least- so I don't think it was him.
The boy from Seven seemed kind of mediocre to me, and while I don't think he'll win, I think he might worm his way to the Top Ten. I honestly don't remember much of him, which, come to think of it, might make him seem boring, and I know the Capitol hates boring.
The boy from Nine, like the Five male, seemed more capable. I could see the glimmer in his eyes. That look that told me his Nine in training wasn't a fluke. A dark past, despite his milky white skin. The desire to fight those who oppose him, to make something of himself. A fear of being cornered, out of options. I shudder as I remember that the boy is only fifteen.
The greatest chances lie in, of course, the younger girls, from Ten and Eleven. Both the youngest left in the Arena, and both equally insignificant in the eyes of the Careers, but adorable in the eyes of the Capitol. Especially the Ten girl, the one who seemed so capable and determined during her Reaping. I don't know how those girls can make it much farther, but hey, Sponsors can carry you far.
It's hard to believe that I've survived five days in the Arena. Already, eleven of us have died, and still my heart beats on. Even harder to believe, I survived taking supplies from the Careers, a feat that I had figured would get me Sponsors. Matrix has sent me nothing so far however, and whether he's saving up or testing me, I have no idea. All I have going for me is a hatchet, an awesome pair of night vision goggles, and a bottle, complete with drinkable river water. Surely I can't only survive on this?
Of course, I'm pretty set shelter-wise, in a grove of trees woven together so tightly that the only ways in or out are up or through a three-square-foot window-like opening on the east side, overlooking a cliff and the ocean a hundred feet below. I haven't dared look over, for fear of falling, but the constant crash of water hitting water tells me all I need to know.
But some matches would be nice. Or a better jacket. Heck, a granola bar would be incredible about now.
What the hay is Matrix doing?
Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3
District Three Female, Sixth Quarter Quell
I let out a shaky breath, tilting my head back and closing my eyes in bliss. I slowly remove my poncho, letting it fall to the ground as my arms seem to cry in relief. There's light beyond my eyelids, and I open them, stretching my arms out as if to embrace the ocean. The growing warmth seems to penetrate my skin, and I imagine steam curling out of my bones.
I flinch as an unwelcome presence of cold stings my back, and I quickly realize that my damp hair is the source of this nuisance. Suddenly, the newly-found, waning warmth is gone, and I shiver again, as I have for the past day. Why can't anything go right?
I reach back, grabbing the thick rope of brown, scowling slightly. I remember my mother, always telling me how lovely it looked. Now, tangled and soaked and covered in dirt, I'm certain it isn't exactly attractive.
I look at it distastefully, remembering all those times a massive tribute pulled the sniveling girl by her hair, laughing at her cries before slitting her throat. Many of those tributes were from Three. Those who couldn't fight and whose worst weakness had been exploited. I pull my hair a little bit, though I know the sting would be much worse if Mason were the one doing it.
I rifle through my supplies, an idea forming in my head. My whip, water, iodine, bandages. Nothing sharp. "Nothing useful." I mutter.
Defeated, I sling my pack over my shoulders and trudge through the sand to my camp, where I've been since the second day. My gaze wander over the fire pit, and I'm not surprised to see that what little embers I had are now a cold black. I heave a great sigh, before plopping my pack against a tree and depositing myself into my hand-made, yet surprisingly strong, hammock. I somehow managed to weave the vines so tightly the even water sometimes has a hard time getting through. That's when I jump up, remembering that water has a hard time getting through. I arch my back, my shirt now soaked from contact with the offending puddle of rain my bed collected today. I curse internally as my eyes rove over the white sand, quickly zeroing in on a spot of ugly yellow in the fading sunlight.
I run toward it, hoping desperately for any warmth I can receive from it. My ponytail bounces around my head, and I stumble, almost collapsing into the sea of white when it flies into my face. I turn away, but it soars into my mouth anyway. I gag, yanking it out and pulling on my head in my anger. I probably look ridiculous, I realize, but it's too late to care. I remove the shirt and pull the poncho from the ground. It's drier from its few minutes in the sun, but it's still damp. It'll have to do for now.
I turn, ready to head back, when a flash of silver catches my eye. I whirl back to the ocean, sure it couldn't be what I thought it was. Then I almost laugh in relief when I recognize the silver fabric of the parachute and the metal canister. On a desolate island like this, in an Arena such as this, help from the outside world is astronomically precious.
I snatch it out of the air, flashing a smile to the sky before sitting down to open it. I feel my grin widen as I twist off the lid, revealing a slip of crisp, white paper, and a long, double-edged dagger.
I quickly note the silver edges, one sharp and curved, for plunging into an enemy, the other straight and serrated, for cutting and slashing. I run my fingers over the leather hilt and handle as I fish the paper out of the container.
Win. –Ingrid
I smile, remembering my mentor, a girl a hundred years older than me.
I grab my ponytail near the band that holds it together, and get to work as long strands of brown drop to the sand.
Mason Lepodolite, Age 18, District 2
District Two Male, Sixth Quarter Quell
Mera's still fuming. It's hilarious, as long as you ignore the sword and the murderous glare in her eyes. She could be a toddler almost, fussing over a broken toy. That's how she was treating the Six girl: like a toy.
Don't get me wrong, I have no problems with what the recap will bring tonight. I'm here to kill these tributes, to bring glory to my District. It's not my fault the others are here. I'm here to win.
Mera and Cassia don't seem to understand that this is all a Game. Games are fun. If the Alliance is going to be this tense, we'll fall at the drop of an arrow. We almost did fall at the fall of an arrow, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid, if only for a moment, of course. That's why I missed the Nine boy after Marcus' death; I thought the Careers would explode, far too early in these Hunger Games.
Granted, I had figured we'd have at least a little more fun, but I got stuck with the grumps. So I sit here at the fire, fingering my crossbow as Mera swings her sword back and forth. I don't watch her, I refuse to let her think I was challenging her, but I watch her as she paces around the fire. At least she's not yelling at me, I suppose, though a thank you might have been nice. I saved her life, after all.
But that's not the way she sees it. All she cared was that I had stolen her kill. While that is technically true, the Six girl had ripped her sword from her side in sheer desperation and was about to swing it into Mera's neck when I cut her short. Her right shoulder is bandaged, though you can tell she's in a lot of pain. She continues to glare daggers at me though.
Finally, she stops, right across the fire from me. Her knees are about shoulder-width apart, so I imagine she's either looking down at me, or about to throw something at me. Putting my most ridiculous smile on, I look up.
"You done pouting, Four?" I ask sweetly. She snarls, and I pour malice into my expression. Half the Game is intimidation, my father had told me. "Because it's almost time for the recap."
"You shouldn't even get to watch, Two. You don't have the honor to see the dead for the last time." She raises her head, looking down her nose at me. If she had glasses, she'd be the perfect secretary.
"Because honor was on your mind when you flayed that girl like one of your pathetic fish. I was coming to look for you, Four, and I saved your life." I stand, staring across at her. Her knuckles glow white in the firelight, tense on the handle of her now-sheathed sword. I quickly realize what it is she wants, and I raise my crossbow slightly.
"Do you want to go there, Two?" She asks, narrowing her eyes. Yes, she'd make the perfect secretary. "Because you might get a shot off before I cut your hands off. I'd love to see that." I watch as her shoulders rise and fall more slowly as she attempts to fight back the adrenaline. I'm sorely tempted to kill her, of course, but I don't want to risk losing. Worse, I don't want Two to lose this year.
"Oh, I do, Four. But later, when there aren't a dozen outliers for you to fend off by yourself." I turn to my tent, ignoring the Panem anthem and the sudden blue-white light illuminating the jungle. I crawl into my tent, sliding a pair of daggers into my fists.
I'm going to be the one to kill her, I decide. And her District Partner. The Threes. The Fives. The Six and Eight boys. I'll have five full sets by the end of these Games, mark my words.
I will win.
Deaths!
16th Place: Jetta Carter, Age 17, District Six Female
Shot in the throat by Mason Lepodolite, District Two Male
Time in Arena: 4 Days, 19 Hours, 14 Minutes, 56 Seconds
I had so many ideas for Jetta. I got her, and I loved what her submitter suggested she do the first day. However, in order for this to happen, she needed allies. She might have lasted longer if someone had asked to be her ally, or if her submitter had asked for allies, but alas, neither happened. HufflePuffleJay, thanks for the tribute I could literally pick apart, and I'm sorry she had to go so soon.
Placings!
26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male
25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female
24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female
23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male
22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female
21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female
20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female
19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male
18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male
17th: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male
16th: Jetta Carter, Age 17, District Six Female
Kills!
Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)
Cassia Lyra Maurise: 2 (Thorn Ashbury, D11M; Sparky Montgomery, D13M)
Mason Lepodolite: 3 (Jetta Carter, D6F; Tulle Salane, D8F; Keola Foeba, D12F)
Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn: 2 (Soot Maloy, D12M; Rebelle Sunflower Rine, D13F)
Darius Line: 1 (Harvest Miller, D9F)
Other: 2 (Marcus Caelum, D1M (Sepsis); Denny Rico, D10M (Jaguar))
Alliances!
Careers: Mason (2), Cassia (2) and Esmeralda (4).
Malaran (Araya?): Malaya (1), and Aran (6)
Brains and Brawn: Blue (4), and Henry (8)
Loners!
Infiniti (3)
Cordin (3)
Devon (5)
Darius (5)
Logan (7)
Thanatos (9)
Cheyenne (10)
Willow (11)
Questions!
General thoughts?
Fav. POV?
Least fav?
Anything surprise you?
Out of the remaining 15, who do you think is best set to survive?
I'm considering starting a new SYOT. Your thoughts? (I'd do my best to continue with both, of course. I'd sooner finish this one than put in on hiatus)
Yours in fellowship,
Lord Z
