Day 2, Part 2:
Rusk huddled in the corner of his bedroom in his apartment on the 9th floor up in the Victor's Tower. Not a single light was on. His head rested against the side of his mattress; he pulled the blanket tighter, the one he'd torn off the bed. Noise from the television in the living room filtered through the open door; through the opening, he could see daylight from the living room window.
If only he could sleep.
To return to sleep, or to fall asleep for the first time? He couldn't tell if he'd slept at all last night, drifting from moment to moment, gripped with a sudden terror that set his bones like plaster. He knew he needed to move, to get out of his apartment and be an adult, but the thought of simply venturing outside his front door was swiftly followed by the terrifying image of a rope around his neck, the sudden sensation of asphyxiation, just like it'd happened to Faridah.
Was he really being paranoid, though? Acacio was on the loose. "You deserve so much more than this"—hadn't those been the deranged man's last words to him?
Oh, useless, pathetic Rusk! He hesitantly shifted himself out of the blanket wrapped around him; he shivered at the sudden blast of cool air. With great difficulty, he pulled himself up; he propped a hand on the bed to keep himself from stumbling. As he passed under the doorway, the television drew his attention.
"We're here today with Mr. Iridium, and my, is it an honor to be with you!"
At some point in the night—or had it been morning?—he'd heard a scream from the screen, though he'd been too dazed to check which tribute had died. As shallow as these interviews were, he'd take them over the killing any day. The Arena must've been getting boring if they'd resorted to interviewing sponsors.
The camera turned towards some wealthy man, one that looked vaguely familiar yet simultaneously entirely indistinct from the rest of the Capitol upper class, in their brilliant colors and showy outfits.
"Oh my," the man said—Mr. Iridium, Rusk assumed. "Let me tell you, it is instead my honor to speak with you about little Yggdrasil Kane from District Eleven."
"She truly is adorable. Have you been sending her gifts?"
"Of course—I am positively obsessed with Ms. Kane! Her silly mentor objected to the rubber ducky at first, but after I threatened to withhold all other funding, he had no choice…"
Rusk turned the television off. There was no longer any reason for him to watch Games coverage, now that Mati had died and he'd fulfilled his duty to the Capitol, a duty that crushed his soul a bit more with every iteration of death. In fact, with his duty complete, he could go back to Nine—and boy, did he miss Nine. Even if the people didn't like him too much, he'd at least be able to rest easy knowing that Acacio was about a thousand miles away. Van's reveal had been a bombshell, blasting the last shreds of Rusk's fragile sense of security.
How had Van and the other Nines found out about Acacio, anyway? Darah too—she'd been the first to find out, as far as he knew. Yet Avisa evidently had no clue, and she deserved to know more than anyone else.
Gosh, why had he chosen to stay and mentor at all? Everything would've been so much simpler if he'd stayed home this year. Of course, at the time, he'd forced himself to come in expectation of meeting Faridah, but… look how that turned out. It wasn't too late to run, was it?
He turned around, and then around again, looking around the room for things to pack up. His search returned empty; despite the decade since his victory, he'd never quite "moved in" to this place, instead preferring to spend his days in Victor's Village. Scrambling now, he poked his head back into his bedroom, where he swooped by his bedside table to grab his notebook and pen. Nothing else held him back from the safety of home.
Except it did. Everything did. Dismissing the questions didn't deal away with them; as he fell back onto his bed, they prodded at the back of his head like monsters at the door—and just like the monsters, they'd break through sooner or later, whether that was here in the Capitol or in some dark corner of his Victor's Mansion.
Once again, he'd have to face his monsters, just like he did back then. They somehow felt scarier this time. The first time, he'd already spent a week in the Arena, scared witless by the terrors around him; fighting had been a necessity forced on him. This time, he had to choose agency; to stand up to the overwhelming allure of dissociation.
Why? Because it was the right thing to do? Because he needed closure? If only he knew.
The phone rang. He stared at it from across the room, as if it would disappear on its own. That evidently was not how things worked. C'mon, Rusk, you can do it. He slowly approached the glowing screen. His fingers trembled as he picked up the call, whose first two digits marked it as coming directly from a governmental office.
"…H-Hello?"
"Is this Mr. Rusk Flanders?" The female voice on the other side was cold, almost robotic. He hadn't gotten himself in trouble, had he?
"Y-Yes… This is Rusk Flanders speaking."
"Perfect. I'm calling from the Sponsorship Office because there are funds remaining in the account of Mati Strye that must be resolved."
He stifled a groan; the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment was more Games business. But he wasn't about to unleash his annoyance on the secretary on the other end of the phone. "Of course… How long do I have?"
"After a week from the initial death, the funds will be automatically transferred to the account of Clarke Brioche, though I can do that for you right now if you'd like."
Considering Clarke and Mati's… tense relationship, Rusk figured that Mati would probably prefer the money to go elsewhere. Yet his district was bound to expect the opposite… and by Snow, this was all too much to think about right now.
"If it's alright, I'll think about it and get back later?"
"Of course, Mr. Flanders. I'll make a note and call back if we haven't received any further instructions. You can also submit your decision via the Mentor Portal if you'd like, at your convenience."
He nodded, though she obviously couldn't see him and heck—he was barely listening. "Thank you. Bye."
So his business here in the Capitol wasn't complete. As if the universe decided that he didn't have enough on his plate! He'd completely forgotten that Mati had accrued any sponsorship funds, though it couldn't have been much, which implied that it really wasn't a big deal and yet it felt like a big deal anyway and there he was overthinking and overfeeling everything again…
Too much happening. He grabbed his notebook and flipped it to the next blank leaf; he scrawled out a title—"Unresolved Business"—followed by a series of bullet points, freeing the thoughts from his head as they appeared on the page.
- Mati's Sponsorship Funds
Perhaps this was a good thing, that there was a responsibility tying him down, preventing him from fleeing his problems like he preferred to do. But compared to the other problems prodding at him, a few leftover sponsorship pennies were hardly the largest of his worries
- What do the other Nines know?
He stared at it, hesitant. Then he crossed it out. He didn't have to deal with that now—he'd have eternity to work things out with Van and Matza and Cia and the rest of them.
- Darah
- Avisa
He stared at the two names. The former knew more than she should; the latter knew less. As he looked over his list of three, his challenge suddenly seemed manageable, a mission possible. But one final obstacle loomed over his mind like a dark shadow, one that he barely dared to manifest onto the page, lest it become real.
- Acacio
Was that it? No. The man himself didn't matter to him; he couldn't care less whether Acacio LeRoux lived or died.
- Acacio: Justice for Faridah
There it was, his loftiest goal, one so out of reach he wondered if it'd ever come to pass. Yet there was one more objective that lingered in the atmosphere, one he instinctively knew but rarely verbalized for its terrifying implications. Considering Acacio's murderous tendencies, it was more than appropriate here.
- Stay Alive
Iggy first noticed the shadow over the sun in the late afternoon, while it prepared to set, when the harsh sunlight suddenly dimmed. She poked her head out of the dusty old closet she'd been searching—Ramb had told her to find food and water, after all. She hadn't needed to be outdoors to feel the way the air shifted, to perceive that the wayward rays that'd wandered into the closet now diminished in intensity.
She leapt to her feet, her skin tingling in excitement. Her foot caught on a broomstick; her hands hit the ground but it didn't matter because finally, the Arena was changing. Ma and Mother Tree had taught her that nature was a never-ending cycle of change, so this was the first bit of evidence that this place was natural at all.
After some difficulty, she tumbled out of the closet and bolted to the doorway, where she turned her face towards the sky, now a lumpy sheet of grey. A cloud had covered the late afternoon sun; they'd gathered overhead like matted wet cotton balls, blotting out the blue with every passing moment. Thunder rumbled through the Arena; its tremors rattled her core.
A cry of relief burst from her dry lungs as a humid wind picked up. Her skin tingled in anticipation; she clasped her hands together with the widest smile on her face. It suddenly struck her that in her rush to exit the closet, she likely looked less-than-presentable, and that Ma might correct her—but that could wait, just this once! After a week of dehydrated deprivation, Nature had finally come through for her.
She nestled herself beside the wall, just under an overhang, and closed her eyes, awaiting the advent of her beloved rain. It faintly registered that these were the Hunger Games, that she had to be more alert than this, but how could she turn down the very essence of Nature and life?
Wooden planks poked at her back, even through her vest. Clumps of dirt from the road beneath her crumbled between her fingertips. The humid wind brought relief to her dessicated skin.
Then, rain.
Its pitter patter elicited a happy sigh from her lungs, even if the parched and dead dirt here didn't send up the earthy smell of a rainy day back in Eleven—or any special smell at all, unless she counted that faint acidity that really could be anything. Nor was there the calming sound of rain dripping through the trees, or the fluttering and whirring of the rest of nature in response, or… or…
Her shoulders slumped. It wasn't the same. She couldn't deny the water falling from the sky before her very eyes, but it hit the ground with engineered regularity that didn't sing of the power of life and Her essence. The more it rang in her ears, the less she wanted to do with this "rain" and its terrible imitation of Nature!
If even the rain here wasn't from Nature… was she really alone?
The thought was childish; she knew. These were supposed to be the Hunger Games, and tributes in the Hunger Games thought about big, scary things like killing and survival.
Still, she didn't want to be alone.
A crack sounded from one of the buildings down the road. Her eyes flew wide open; she searched the street. No one. Jittery all over, she crept back indoors, clutching tightly to her backpack. It must've been the wind. These old-timey shacks clearly didn't stand up well to the weather.
Another crack, and then the screech of moving furniture. Not the next house, but the one after that. Without a doubt, someone—or something—was here with her.
She stiffened. What to do? She hadn't run into anyone so far in the Games; she had no prior experience, nor had anyone instructed her in what to do in this specific scenario. Well, she knew Scythe would tell her to run away, but Scythe had told her to stay away from everyone, even himself—and Iggy didn't like that. Things would be so much easier if she could talk to Ramb… but that was part of the challenge, she supposed. Only issue: if she made a mistake, she wouldn't get a second try.
The shuffling stopped, leaving her in silence. This didn't sound like the Careers, or another tribute that had decided to start hunting. This sounded more like another scared kid, just like her, trying to hide from whatever that "rain" outside was.
She really didn't want to be alone.
Her mind made up, she bit her lip and turned her feet towards the direction of the sound. She hoped this wasn't a bad decision. She hoped Ramb wouldn't be mad at her. Cautiously, she poked her head out of the doorway again. Through the sprinkling from the sky, all she saw was the desolate street, somehow even more depressing than it had been without the "rain."
Though she glanced up at the sky with distrust, she pressed her lips together in resolve and skipped into the "rain," dead set on the doorstep of the second shack down the street. The water dripped pleasantly on her skin; she decided it wasn't terrible, even if it wasn't the rain she knew and loved. With a final leap, she landed on the doorstep, momentum propelling her forward; she steadied herself with the doorframe, a tiny woah slipping her lips.
This shack looked to once be some kind of workshop, though the pegs in the walls hung bare and lonely. Her eyes ran over the dusty floorboards, upon which a spare layer of wood shavings hinted at the life that had once existed here. A cabinet sat in the far corner of the room, recently moved; the trail on the ground devoid of shavings and dust revealed its recent voyage, disturbed from its centuries-old rest.
Though she couldn't see behind the cabinet, though the "rain" still filled her ears, years of waiting and listening in silence had trained her ears to the slightest details—even the soft, restrained breathing—or was it crying?—coming from the other side of the cabinet.
"H-Hey." She spoke into the cold, dead silence that cloaked the room. She paused and listened. Without a doubt, it was restrained crying. Her lip curled up in a genuine smile. Its warmth would shift the atmosphere; she was sure of it. "Who's there?"
"I-Iggy?" The voice quavered; a sniffle followed. Ellis' face peeked out from behind the cabinet, streaked with tears. "Oh my goodness…"
Her jaw dropped. She dropped her bag and scrambled over to the boy from Eight, the kind boy that'd talked to her in training, that'd given her supplies at the Cornucopia—now crying!
"Ellis!" Without hesitation or question, she threw her arms around him, even as he collapsed into a new round of sobs. "Are you okay? What happened?"
He buried his face in her shoulder, words barely intelligible. "I-I was allied… Kiran… Sh-She killed him and…"
She felt a root of pain tug in her own heart as she remembered Mati, the way he died, how he'd screamed and then it was all red and just— "I'm sorry…" she whispered, tears flowing from her eyes too. "I'm… I'm so sorry…"
His sobs slowly subsided; she waited with him the entire time, arms held tight around his larger frame. His puffy eyes flickered up towards hers before quickly averting. He covered them. He wiped his face. All in silence, completely unlike his regular self. But she understood. How could anyone be their usual selves after seeing such violence? Perhaps that was why Nature had abandoned her; she'd become privy to too much darkness.
It still made her sad, though, to see the once sunny boy reduced to this somber shadow. So when she remembered the sponsor gift sitting in her backpack, she scurried over to bring it back, rummaging through it until she emerged triumphant with the little canister of candies in hand.
She beamed, shoving it into his hands. "Here!"
"What—"
"Just open it!"
He stared at her for a moment; he sighed. With unsteady fingers, he screwed the cap off, revealing the little pile of colorful individually wrapped candies. "Iggy—"
"It's for you! Take one!"
Though he hesitated, she could see a faint flicker of light in his eye once more as he twisted off a wrapper, picking up speed by the moment until he popped the sweet lozenge in his mouth. He made no sound, but the smile itself was worth it. He shut his eyes and leaned back against the wall, much to Iggy's pleasure.
"Is it good?"
He cracked his teary eyes open, nodding. They still weren't the same as before, with the dark sadness simmering below the brown surface. But he wasn't sobbing anymore. He was smiling now, or as much as a grieving person could smile. "Yeah… Thank you so, so much… "
Iggy grinned from ear to ear. She'd made the right decision to come and seek Ellis out. Maybe she couldn't help him much with survival here in the desert, but she'd done something at the very least. She didn't know what to say to him, yet the constant "rain" outside filled the silence with steady drumming, strangely soothing to the soul despite not being quite real.
Ellis' company made all the difference.
An itch broke out over her arm, ever so slightly. Not quite as intensely as a mosquito bite; more like an unsteadiness rumbling under her skin, just enough to plant itself front and center in her mind yet not bad enough to hurt. She scratched at it, only for the tingling to suddenly break out all over her head and hands.
Ellis frowned. "What's wrong?"
"It's itchy…"
Grimacing, she narrowed her eyes, running through the list of questions Ma might ask her regarding a physical ailment. She hadn't eaten anything strange, she hadn't touched any animals or plants, she hadn't drunk any water….
"I think it's the rain…" she said.
Forget anything good she ever thought about it; this "rain" was no good! She froze—would Ma or Mother Tree be displeased? Nope. This wasn't natural. This was some projection of the Gamemakers and their fancy technology that paled in comparison to the true breathtaking wonder of the natural world.
A little whisper in the back of her mind reminded her that anger was bad, that it disquieted the blood and limited one's ability to harmonize with nature. But not like that mattered right now! Nature had been ignoring her anyway, or she hadn't been a suitable channel for Nature's spirit, or a million other reasons that flashed through her mind—all she asked for was to hear a tiny whisper of Nature once more! Was that too much to ask?
"Does it hurt?" Ellis asked. The boy was fully sitting up now, staring at her.
She swallowed the angry lump in her throat and shook her head. She didn't have to let her own anger disturb Ellis' soul. "It's… not that bad. I didn't stay outside long."
"Then… What's wrong?"
The words caught in her throat. She knew exactly what was wrong; it'd been all she could think about ever since she arrived in this dead place. But voicing a doubt… that gave the doubt weight. It manifested the thought into reality, possibly shifting the atmosphere of life forces. Did she dare?
His eyes widened in concern. "Are you okay?"
"It's just… just…" She took a deep breath. "She won't speak to me. And I don't know why."
"Who's 'she'?"
She gave him a funny look. Did they not listen to Mother Tree in District Eight? Come to think of it, that was a silly thought. Mother Tree resided in Eleven; how could She be simultaneously in District Eight and Eleven? There was a time when Iggy would've been overjoyed to introduce Her to someone new. That "time" would've been most of her life. But now was not that time. After the past few days of total neglect, she wasn't sure how to explain Her to Ellis.
Iggy sighed. "I was talking about Nature, but it's complicated and you wouldn't understand…"
"I'm still sorry, though."
"Me too."
In the silence, the pouring rain was just as bad as the dry winds or the harsh sun of the day prior. Both were nothing but declarations of her abandonment, that She who had cradled Iggy all her life had thrown her far away, not a single tie remaining. A tear welled up in her eye. What about all the time she'd spent at Her roots, tending to them? What about all the moments she'd had, gazing into Her rafters in awestruck wonder? What about everything Ma had taught her regarding the tender respect for Her?
Did it all mean nothing?
As the tear slipped down her cheek, a gentle arm wrapped around her shoulders. Ellis' hand patted her arm. "Everything will be okay," he whispered. She clung to his words, though she knew deep down that they didn't mean anything real, that they couldn't mean anything real.
In the moment, her reality was that Ellis was with her. That was enough. Because it meant she was not alone.
It hadn't been long after it started raining, right before sunset, Eros estimated, when the hunters—Ili, Nevaeh, and Ven— returned to the courthouse, with Ili leading the way. Eros' eyes met hers as she crossed the threshold of the door; they seemed tired, little let down yet still resolute with that characteristic Ilithyia fire. He gave her a grin; this was good. For his own prospects, of course. If Eros wanted to be the last one standing, his odds would be much better with Ilithyia Aella on his side.
Though to see that unwavering fire… Eros felt his heart leap—was it relief? Joy? Something more than pure strategy and cost-benefit calculations?
Sostonio poked his head in from the hallway. "Welcome back!"
The Ten boy had gone off to prepare something for dinner with all the canned food they'd salvaged from the Cornucopia. Adair hadn't been around much either, occasionally popping back in for some chit-chat. It'd left Eros largely alone in the courtroom for much of the afternoon, a welcome respite from the strain of the Games—perhaps even some time for daydreaming. Now that the others had returned, he'd get back to work.
"How did it go?" he asked, hovering around Ili as she dropped her stuff back in the supply pile. "I didn't hear a cannon."
She shrugged. "Pretty good, though, even if it was just exploring." She spun an axe in her hand. "Oh well. We'll try again tomorrow."
He chuckled, nudging her arm. "Better make room for me tomorrow; I gotta get in on all the fun."
"Yeah, yeah." She sighed. "I guess I'll have to watch the supplies…"
"Hey, it's not that bad."
"It sounds so boring," she said, slipping öff her hiking vest onto the supply pile. What did you guys even do all day? Play marbles?"
"You took the marbles, remember?"
She cocked her head and dug around in her pocket; she emerged with said marbles in hand. "Gosh. That's even worse."
Eros nodded towards the hallway. "Sostonio set up a mini kitchen in one of the rooms down there. The wall's caved in; it has better ventilation."
Ilithyia laughed. "I'll give cooking a try, but don't be surprised if you come back and the entire building's burned down."
"Can't be worse than the explosions."
She froze, suddenly quiet. He'd messed up. She fixed a momentary glare at him before quickly averting her eyes.
He made a note to himself: Don't reference the Bloodbath explosions around Ilithyia. Something about it still clearly affected her, the same thing that'd prompted her outburst of rage against the girl from Three. Perhaps she wasn't as stable as he'd hoped; he needed to look into it himself.
In the time it took for him to blink; she'd already regained her composure. "I'll go check out the kitchen then."
After she disappeared down the hall, he turned his attention towards the other two in the room, both of whom had gone hunting with Ili. Ven sat by the door, watching the rain fall. Eros still had a hard time believing that the guy actually came from District One; Ven couldn't be any more different from the other One kids he saw on television or met during his travels to the Golden District—and that made Ven useless for information gathering.
So instead, he plopped down beside Nevaeh, who was busy cleaning her shoes from the dust that'd accumulated over the course of the day. "Howdy."
She gave him a funny look and burst out in laughter. " 'Howdy' to you too."
"Isn't that something people say in Ten?"
"Have you ever heard me or Sos say it?"
He blushed, just a little. The mistake was intentional. "Well…"
"Dale, you're not totally wrong. It's just more of a norteño—I mean, northerner—thing to say."
"I clearly know nothing…" Eros chuckled, throwing his hands up in the air. "So both of you guys are southerners?"
She nodded. "But I'm from the city and he's from the country."
"You mean District Ten isn't just miles and miles of wilderness? Shocking."
"Blah, blah, blah." She rolled her eyes. "Wait—is that what y'all really think of Ten?"
"Eh…"
"Ay, caramba; that's messed up."
"Speaking of messed up…" He let his face fall; he glanced at the hallway. No sign of Ili. Perfect.
She followed his glance. When she turned back to him, her expression mirrored his own concern. "What's wrong? Sos didn't do anything, did he?"
"Oh, no. I was just wondering how Ili's been today."
"Ili?" She scrunched up her face. "She's been fine. Why?"
He sighed. "How do I say this?" He lowered his voice. "Please don't take this the wrong way; I love her too and it's just—"
"Just what?"
"I'm concerned she might be losing her mind."
Nevaeh barely reacted at all, nothing more than a gulp and a firm press of the lips. So she'd been thinking the same thing. "I don't think so."
"Look, I don't want to believe it either. But… after the Three girl… really, ever since the Bloodbath… it's like she's not been herself."
"The Games change people. You're from District Two. You should know that."
"But if she's changed… Doesn't that mean she's lost herself? Lost her mind?" He pleaded with her. "I really don't want to say it like this, but what am I supposed to think?"
"So what if she's changed? What are we supposed to do? Kill her?" Her eyes flashed with accusation.
"Of course not! I would never!"
"Then—"
"I'm just concerned; that's all. She's my friend; she's your friend. And I really want her to be okay."
Nevaeh bit her lip; she looked away, now staring towards the hallway, where Ili might reappear at any moment. But that was fine. He'd said everything he needed to say. More than that, he'd received confirmation—his district partner really was acting strange.
Of course, he couldn't afford to feel concerned. This wasn't all that different from playing his cousins against each other—it didn't matter how they felt. Yet he still hoped that she was fine.
Chatter filtered in from the hallway; Sostonio and Ili had returned from the "kitchen," the Ten guy carrying a large metal platter of food.
"Sorry," Sos said, a little embarrassed. "We don't have plates or forks or spoons, so I improvised with the can lids. Be careful, though…"
Ilithyia rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You guys better eat; it actually tastes surprisingly good."
"You started without us?" Eros said, clutching his heart in mock betrayal.
She punched his shoulder. "Oh come on; Sos needed someone to test the food before he served it to everyone."
"Whatever you say…"
"That is what I say."
"Oh, shut up."
As they all gathered around, Eros could almost forget that these were the Hunger Games, where playing his pieces carefully was a requirement not an option. It'd be nice to just relax and let everything go, chat and laugh like the world would never end. Out in the real world, there were times for that. But not here. He eased his face into its comfortable smile, back and fully alert.
Sitting against the wall, Navarro leaned back until his head hit the wooden surface and he stared up at the half-collapsed ceiling of the first floor of the boarding house they'd lodged in. Though the gap, in the last fading bits of the day's diffused light, he could peer into some of the rooms on the second floor: old, dusty places. Maybe he'd explore them in a parallel universe, but it'd have to be one where he didn't get stabbed by some good-for-nothing on his way out of the Bloodbath.
By Snow, the wounds had sucked the life out of him—it was just so much easier to sit and do nothing than deal with the pain of physical movement, especially with that rain outside. He couldn't complain. The deluge meant no intruders to worry about; he and Azolla could rest in peace—perhaps they might both get a good night's sleep, though that was still doubtful with the hard floorboards that left him sore all over.
Yet Azolla showed no sign of rest. She paced the room, occasionally wandering into the side rooms only to return empty-handed, like she'd had no reason for entering in the first place. Gosh, her restlessness was making him restless, like he'd overlooked some crucial detail or something.
"Hey," he said. "You gonna sit?"
She blinked as if she'd barely heard him. "What?"
He sighed. "Sit down."
Though she stared at him in confusion, she sat in a nearby chair. It creaked; she shot back up and instead settled down on the floor. "Why?"
"No reason."
The rain continued its drumming. Azolla watched him, and then she absentmindedly played with the end of her sleeve. Before long, she rose to her feet again.
"Gosh," he said. "Can't you do nothing?"
She furrowed her brow. "Why would I want to do nothing?"
"I don't get you."
"I'm confused."
"It's like…" Navarro gestured with his unhurt hand; he waved it around; he couldn't come up with any words that could explain what he was trying to say—gosh, now he looked stupid. "It's like you're mad that you don't have more work."
Azolla frowned. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to look angry—"
"That's not what I meant. It's just like… like you're looking for more work."
"I'm not— Well, technically, but—"
"It's raining now. We can't do anything. You might as well enjoy it."
With a sigh, she rose to her feet. "What's to enjoy?"
Her footsteps resumed, back and forth, in and out. He sighed and knocked his head back again. She was still uneasy about something; he was sure of it now. He didn't like it. But he just looked stupid trying to talk to her, so he might as well forget it. Still, something told him he wouldn't forget it so quickly.
Clarke paced the length of the old hallway. She paused at one end to look out the window, where the world was awash with falling water, in stark contrast to what it'd been the day before. She stared down at the street, one full story below her. Puddles gathered in little gullies and depressions over the surface of the old road, though the ground had been dead dry merely twenty-four hours prior.
She figured she should be glad for the rain. Water meant life, after all. Yet she hated it. Hated how it locked her inside, blocking off the outdoors like a natural partition, forcing her and Virginia to wait indoors until the storm passed.
Gosh, she was tired of waiting. Never mind that she didn't have a weapon yet and that the last kill had therefore gone to Virginia; Clarke itched to get on the move. Every passing day meant further depletion of Virginia's painkiller supply, and once they ran out… Clarke didn't want to think about what might happen then. It just meant that they had to hunt, to eliminate their competition before the last pill wore off and she sank into inevitable pain. Waiting around only increased her odds of succumbing to it before she had a chance to eliminate her last opponent.
She sighed. She knew better than to wander outdoors right now. If the Arena was a desert, then there was no good reason for the Gamemakers to send unlimited water on merely the second day. They'd wait for much longer to send potable water, use it to draw tributes together and cause fights, not sprinkle it over everyone like stupid Capitol confetti at stupid Capitol parties.
Still, she was weakening, and she knew it. She lifted her wounded arm and watched her fingertips dangle unresponsively through the ends of the bandages like the limbs of a puppet, dead and floppy, useless and weak. How much time did she have left?
A faint sniffle came from the stairwell, where Virginia watched the lower entrances. Clarke bit her lip in annoyance; that girl had been nearly silent since they caught the Five boy early in the morning. Up until the rain had trapped them in this hovel, Virginia had merely followed Clarke around like a zombie, face devoid of any drive or emotion.
Clarke had half a mind to take the knife away from the girl since she evidently couldn't handle the demands of the Hunger Games. By Snow, if Virginia didn't keep the painkillers with her, Clarke would've long since left the girl. Virginia could waste her precious time mourning some random dead kid if she wanted to; Clarke didn't have that luxury.
Considering that this was the Hunger Games… she always had the option of killing Virginia and taking all her supplies. But Clarke refused, at least for now. After all, Virginia was the only reason she was still alive right now, the one that'd risked her own life to linger at the Cornucopia courtyard and free Clarke from that concrete block, and Clarke wasn't about to repay her kindness with killing.
That's what the Capitol did, forever take and never give. She refused to stoop that low, even if the girl had done nothing but grate on her nerves all day with her sniffling.
Even then, Virginia could keep her morals to herself. The rich Eight girl evidently hadn't ever truly known hardship, the reality of this dog-eat-dog world. Survival required some degree of meanness, some degree of strength, a strength Clarke knew she had. The irony put a smile on her face. The Capitol's brutality had trained her to survive, and she'd be the one to overthrow them someday, once she escaped their death trap.
Of course, escape required killing, but she'd steeled herself for this. She remembered the Six girl's taunting back in training—
Anything to win, huh? I'll believe it when I see it. You know she's your competition right? You'll have to cut 'er up.
—Well, look where the Six girl was now. Clarke had killed the girl herself, proving to her and all of Panem beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was strong enough, that she'd do whatever victory required. Anyone and everyone they came across, even if it was the small girl from District Eleven, would have to die, for she'd hate to ever prove the Six girl right, even beyond the grave.
As the rain dribbled down the side of the window frame, Clarke sighed and pressed her lips together, staring out into the distance. Defeat was not an option. Her family, her revenge, her destiny…
She had too much to lose.
Ven ran the platter under the dying spigot in the back room they used as the kitchen, rinsing it free of the last bits of canned beans or beef—or trying to, at least, as the water ran ever lower. On the far side, part of the wall had collapsed, allowing the heavy rain to pour in, now much harder than it had been merely hours before. Beyond the hole was pitch black, not a single light in the night, the moon and the stars hidden behind the dense rain.
Some might have found it creepy to be out in the dark backroom, washing the dishes alone under the unreliable light of a flashlight with the ever-slowing stream of water, one moment a tiny stream, the next a steady drip, drip, drip. But Ven didn't mind. In some ways, it was less scary here than it was back in the main room, where his other five allies chilled. If a mutt attacked him here, he was confident that he could take it down with the sword strapped to his side. He'd trained for years for this. But back in the courtroom, amidst the manipulation and half-truths…
No amount of training could ever properly prepare someone to deal with the evil machinations of the human heart.
The last of the "dishes" clean, he gave the platter a good shake, rested it in the corner with the rest of Sos' improvised supplies, and headed back for the courtroom, though he wished he could stay longer out here. Ili would undoubtedly come looking for him if he didn't return; it was a miracle she hadn't come for him yet.
He waited in the doorway, hiding in the shadows. This was complete comfort, to wait in the shadows, unnoticed, simply allowed to watch, free from the pressures and stresses of participating in whatever went on with the group. Adair seemed to be telling a story, though it was hard to tell with the constant interruptions and questions from Ili and Nevaeh. Sos, sitting in the back, just happened to glance over and make eye contact; the Ten guy gave Ven a warm smile, one that Ven readily returned.
Ven wondered if Sos ended up talking with Eros, like Sos had promised to do when they'd talked early in the morning. But he also remembered Eros' conversation with Nevaeh, the hushed one they'd had while Ili was helping Sos in the kitchen. Never mind that they were already talking about Ili behind her back—that was the least of his worries. He feared to even consider the implications if, in fact, Eros and Nevaeh had truly teamed up, for Nevaeh would never agree to a plan without Sos' agreement, and…
Ven hoped he could trust Sos. Every indication thus far had only confirmed that the Ten boy was trustworthy—which would imply that Nevaeh was trustworthy too, given how united the Tens were—but if Nevaeh had sided with Eros, then Sos would have as well—
No. Too many unknowns, not enough information. He'd have to check back in with Sos before making his own final judgment.
The conversation in the room had moved on. Ilithyia chatted with Adair by the front door; Eros sat with the Tens again—come to think of it, the three of them had spent their half-day in the Capitol together. That left him and Ilithyia—and what could two do against three?
He took a deep breath. Calm down. This was too early for that—both because there were still too many outlying tributes alive and because the group was still too friendly to split at a moment's notice.
"You know, that's actually a great idea," Ili said, in response to something Adair must've said. She stared out the double doors at the deluge outside. "Anyone want to go out there with me?"
"Hermana, you crazy!" Nevaeh said. "That just don't sound like a good idea."
Ili rolled her eyes. "It's just harmless fun."
Sos mumbled something under his breath about catching a cold; Nevaeh shrugged and turned back to the conversation she'd been having with Eros. With both Tens declining the offer, Ili looked at Ven, who only raised an eyebrow.
"C'mon," she said. "You know you want to."
"No, I don't," he said. "But your life, your decisions."
"Suit yourself."
He glanced at Adair. The Seven guy shrugged, a slight grin on his face. Ven hadn't caught anything the guy said to Ili, yet that grin left him uneasy. He didn't expect Adair to do anything outrageous—the guy wasn't stupid; the twinkle in his eye still spoke of hidden information and reserved plans. As Ven stared, Adair narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, as if trying to probe through Ven's own thoughts. Brr.
Someone shrieked right outside the double doors. Every head turned; Ven rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Then it hit him that it'd been Ilithyia's voice.
He sprang forward, right as Ilithyia burst back in, every inch of her skin bright red, panicked blabbering pouring from her mouth. Her hands shielded her eyes—What was in the rain? Immediately, he descended on the supply pile, digging through it until he found a towel.
As Ili pressed her face to the towel, still shaking, he looked around the room—what was there to do? That towel wouldn't be enough, but it wasn't like they had a second change of clothes!
"The kitchen." Sos jumped up with a start. "There's a spigot there."
Ven grabbed Ili and pulled her after him, following on Sos' heels as Eros shone a flashlight from behind. Sos twisted the spigot on. A few pathetic drops disappeared into the puddle beneath, left from washing the dishes.
"Dios mio…" Sos said. "Think, think, think…"
They needed water, something to dilute whatever terrible liquid the rain had actually been. But the only water left in the entire building was…
"The water bottles," Ven said. "Someone get some."
Nevaeh sighed and nodded; the Tens disappeared back into the hallway. Ven kept the towel pressed to Ilithyia's back; he gave her a gentle rub, hoping to calm her rapid breathing.
"It'll be okay," he whispered, right as Nevaeh reappeared in the doorway.
She tossed him a water bottle and then another. "Here's four—do we need more?"
"I think so." He screwed one open and handed it to Ili, who immediately dumped the entire bottle out on her face. The stream of clear water elicited from her a sigh of relief until the last drop disappeared onto the ground. "Definitely more."
"Watch it though," Nevaeh said, worry in her voice as she appraised the situation with disapproval in her face. "We're going to run out fast at this rate and we need this water."
Then she was gone. Ven opened the second bottle; he slowly poured it over her—and then the third, the fourth. But they were gone as swiftly as they'd come, and there was still so much to rinse, from her arms to her clothes soaked with the corrosive rain…
Nevaeh brought in three additional bottles. Ven sent her back for more; the simple volume that'd soaked into Ili's clothes simply required a greater volume of water to flush it out.
"Does it hurt?" Eros asked, still holding the flashlight.
Ili took a shaky breath. "Less, b-but..." Her voice faded into a groan; the third bottle was out.
Both Tens returned, Nevaeh holding two more water bottles. "This is it," she said, tossing them over. "We can't spare any more."
Ven bristled—wasn't Ili the priority here? "We'll see."
"Please." Ili looked up at Nevaeh. "Just a few more. I-It really hurts, and we just need a few…"
Yet the Ten girl's face showed no sign of softening.
Nevaeh stared down at Ilithyia; the girl was a mess on the floor. Seven empty water bottles—soon to be nine—laid discarded beside her. That was at least two day's worth of water, possibly four if everyone could just be smart about it and conserve their limited supply. Nearly half of what they had was suddenly gone, all because this chica had made the ridiculous decision to stand outside in a Capitol-manufactured deluge!
Nevaeh crossed her arms. "You gotta stretch these two last bottles; make it work."
"Come on," Ven said. "Just—"
"We can't afford to throw away our whole water supply right here and y'all know it."
Ilithyia frowned. "It d-doesn't have to be all… just a little more."
"And then a little more, and then a little more! Do you realize how much you've taken? Almost half. Six of us need this water to live!"
"We have sponsors; we'll manage," Ven said, slowly rising to his feet. A dangerous frustration underlaid his mild tone. "But at the moment, she needs the water more."
Of course Ilithyia needed water to flush out whatever the idiot soaked herself in; Nevaeh understood that. But to see these rich inner-district kids, throwing away supplies without a care to the entire alliance's future?
"She wouldn't need so much water if y'all weren't so wasteful," she said, voice low. "I'm sure y'all've never had to ration anything ever before, but it's time to wake up. These are the Hunger Games, not some lala fun foreverland."
Sos nudged her from behind. "Por favor—"
"You see those water bottles?" Nevaeh pointed to the pile of bottles discarded, without a second thought. "Sos collected every last one of them. Y'all didn't do a lick of work for it. So make do with these two; it's doable if you're smart."
Ven's face was a sheet of metal, entirely devoid of emotion. Ilithyia blinked at her, eyes glistening in the dim light. Oh, these idiots! She whirled around; she started for the courtroom.
"Hermana…" Ilithyia's weak voice stopped her. "I-I thought you were my friend."
Nevaeh swallowed. She'd never seen Ili so… weak, so vulnerable. But she'd never been one to acquiesce, and she wasn't about to start now.
"We'll talk later."
Instead of returning to the courtroom, she started towards the dark end of the corridor. She grit her teeth; just the thought of the Two girl set her blood roiling again. Sos' footsteps thudded behind her—couldn't he leave her alone? Flashes of dim yellow from his paraffin lamp behind her scattered before her in a dance of decaying light, too weak to illuminate the carpeted hall.
She sighed. "No me molestes."
"You can't just leave it like that."
"I can and I will. It ain't your business."
"It sure is." He stepped in front of her. She reached to push him out of the way; he caught her hand, his grip firm as a handcuff.
"Suéltame, Sos."
"No. I know you don't want to, but you gotta think about the alliance. You can't say stuff like that and expect no consequences!"
She glared at him; she'd stare him down. "I'll deal with them."
"Then think about me," he said. "I'm not gonna break the alliance with you because you don't know how to hold that tongue." His eyes matched hers in intensity, staring back with full force. But he wasn't angry. No, this was disappointment. "Besides, you know better than this."
Though she refused to break eye contact, she slowly lowered her shoulders. She retracted her hand, and he let go, kind gaze unwavering.
"What are you, my papá?"
"You don't need a papá to tell you how to behave; you're better than that."
A snicker escaped out the side of her mouth; ay, Sos was too much for her. Still, this wasn't unconditional surrender.
"I'll apologize to her tomorrow." She regained her composure, looking back up at Sos. "But you gotta go hunt."
He frowned. "I ain't doing nothin' of the sort."
"Ili has to stay back tomorrow, so Ven will stay too. Now if I'm gonna apologize…"
"We don't need three hunters." His face had paled. "Look, Nevaeh—"
"No, you look. Won't it be extraño if you never go hunting? They'll get suspicious."
"But—"
"Think about the alliance."
He sighed. His shoulders slumped, but he nodded. "Entiendo. I'll do it."
"Good."
"But things better be worked out when we return."
"Sí, sí."
Holding one side of the tarp up, Zirconia shivered, skin soaked in the rain. A million little creatures seemed to nibble at her skin, now sore and red, yet she grit her teeth and forced one foot in front of the other, even if her feet protested with every step out into the drowned-out world.
So there was nothing out in the desert. Even if there were anything of use; they wouldn't be able to reach it between the deep sand that threatened to drown them and the open wilderness that provided no shelter from the elements. Their only option was the city, yet her heart sank with every step back. Her hope for freedom: crushed.
Beside her, Zeph pulled the tarp a little too much towards his side; she yanked it back over herself. He cursed at her under his breath, but she paid it no mind. She'd take the curse over getting wet.
Though if it wasn't really water… could it really be considered getting wet?
A drop landed on her shoulder—the shoulder further inside the tarp. She fumbled against the plastic, only to find a weak spot where her finger broke through the tarp. She glared at the leak. Stupid, corrosive rain!
"Now look at what you've done," Zeph mumbled.
"It wasn't me! It was the rain."
"The rain ate a leak in it, but you turned it into a hole."
She huffed at him. "Does it matter at this point? Too late to fix it anyway."
Before he could shoot back, the rain suddenly stopped. Moonlight poured through a gap in the clouds, suddenly illuminating the now-soaked desert, as the anthem rumbled from the skies. Panem's seal flashed against black.
The Fallen. One had died early in the morning—was Clarke alive?
Without warning, Zeph grabbed her arm and took off. She sputtered but sprinted after his shadowy figure anyway—the rain would undoubtedly return immediately after, and there was no way in Panem she'd be out here for Rain Part Two: Corrosive Boogaloo. She whipped her head back; she barely caught a glimpse of the District Five Male before it faded—so Clarke was alive.
Then the anthem started to wind down, and her only thought was to get to the city before the rain returned.
Up ahead, Zeph had reached a shack just outside the city; he tugged at the handle, but it refused to budge. She caught up to him; they rammed into the door together—it cracked. A second shot forced it in and the pair tumbled onto a pile of crates. She thrashed, she cursed, she tried to steady herself only for Zeph's arm to whack her in the face and bring both of them down again.
Finally, she untangled herself and rose unsteadily, staring out at the desert. What'd once seemed like a grand opportunity now only held horror and disappointment. It was a lie! The whole of it—a fat lie. The illusion of choice, a vast open area to escape, in fact only a facade, designed to be nothing more than a background view for the cage of a city the Capitol had caught them in.
She gave it one last longing look before the returning downpour hid it once more and they settled in for a long night.
The Fallen:
15. Kiran Malhotra (D5M), throat slit by Virginia Bedford (D8F)
His form literally said, and I quote, "His vocabulary is like… 30% profanities?" Given my personal policy on profanity, you can guess what my initial reaction was. But the more time I spent in his head, trying to understand this boy and what made him tick, I found myself loving him with every passing POV, even if his headspace always took a long time for me to get into and I had to find clever ways of communicating his foul-mouthed nature without breaking my own policies. All in all, he was an incredibly iconic character that I loved dearly, one that grew on me so much faster than I ever could've anticipated. I'll miss you, Kiran.
Kill Counter:
Ilithyia Aella (D2F): II
Ace Invidia (D3M): II
Adair Ryder (D7M): II
Adora Noble (D1F): I
Eros Worshire (D2M): I
Virginia Bedford (D8F): I
Clarke Brioche (D9F): I
A/N Another one down, thirteen more to go. This update took two weeks, though I practically wrote all of it this week… let's hope the next one comes out sooner?
I'd love to know y'all's thoughts!
