day three, part two: joyride

Didn't like none of these new regrets - catching hell, evidence, chase you down...
(Late night, and this heart is pumping! Joyride, oh, infamous lies!)

Sometimes, he can still feel the hands around his neck. Fingernails, cracked and coated with layers of filth, biting into his skin - his windpipe forced to bend, the pressure of a body heavy atop his own enough to smother his breathing, wear him to his very bones.

No matter how Velezen fights, the dream always ends the same.

Choking.

Struggling.

Pressure.

Too hot, too heavy, too blunt, too invasive. Too strong, he can feel the grip, can feel the man leaning over him, biting at his neck, tearing at his clothes like a feral animal. He swallows, teary-eyed, tries to scream but something catches. The sound won't come out. The… air… won't come…

He's thought about dying before. Attempted death with his own hands, a bottle of pills with an alcohol chaser, washed down his parched-and-sore throat as he cried over Theia's picture.

(He only had the one of them, sitting together on a crumbling brick wall, her arm around his shoulders and his clothes so bright they'd made him feel disquieted, his child-self a misshapen ball of clay, moulded by the hands of a binary society. It was a prize that Velezen oft felt he didn't deserve, but he'd carried her with him when he took to the streets, let the phantom of her loving memory linger in his heart, all the while knowing she would hate what she found there, his growing callousness and want for violence, his selfishness, his pain, his lust-wrath-greed. Yet still, he had kept it - he couldn't be parted from her, not after the accident. After he'd come to terms and realized—)

Dying. He was… dying.

Maybe it hadn't been right the first time; after all, why would death be taken as bliss, only for his efforts to result in failure? Why would he feel peace only to be ripped from it, left to wake to the sound of rage, shouting parents and an overwhelming nausea that had his stomach curdling upon itself? No, the peace that he had felt as the pills drained his energy and the liquor his strength was nothing but an illusion, made and left to taunt him in his unabashed guilt. This time, it felt right.

Pain. Fear. Hatred over what his life had come to, being used and assaulted and abandoned like garbage, left to rot in the backstreets of a slum, his flesh scalding with each press of fingers, each mark laid on his skin. His vision spotted over with black as grubby fingers hooked into his pants, tugging them away, tearing them down and -

And Aurelio.

… Aurelio. Saving him. Killing him. Breaking him even when the assault fractured, because when you love and lose, the memories linger for an eternity. Betrayal. Heartbreak.

Sometimes, Velezen wishes he hadn't fought it. If he'd let go - died like Aurelio wanted him to, like he was supposed to -

No. No, he doesn't want that. Except…

"Hey, Zenzen," Maevyn's voice perks up from across the room, her feet dancing across the blood-stained floor as she twirls back over to his side. Velezen raises his head from the table, crushing his palms into his eyes and running them down over his face. He's doing it again. Dozing off, or - something else.

His mind hasn't been right since the bloodbath. What happened with One and Aurelio's shadow. Hallucinations he can't force away. Memories of the worst time in his life resurfacing when they've been quiet for several months. Assault, suicide, murder, guilt. He doesn't have room for guilt. Certainly not for Aurelio; maybe he saved Velezen's ass once, but that doesn't mean he owes his memory anything.

Lay the dead to rest and bury their heads in the earth. Silence their thoughts, silence your own…

Everything was simpler back then.

He doesn't miss the cult. Doesn't miss Five either, that gods-be-damned shithole, even if he thinks about it far more than he'd like. It's just that things were easier there; all the hurdles were ones that he'd learned, most of which he'd grown to expect. Nothing about the District was a mystery to Velezen, not after eighteen years of residence.

The arena's a different playing field. Not familiar. Not his. Perhaps that's why he's been so unsettled. If so, the irony isn't lost on him.

He sighs, looking over to the doorway. Argenta and Cordura should be back soon enough; once they are, they'll need to make plans greater than sitting around in a circle. If the audience gets bored with them, there's nothing to stop the Gamemakers from pulling the plug - fuck knows they're probably eager to do it already, given the message he and Argenta have sent.

"Zenzen? Hellooo? Earth to Velezen Vilarys?" Maevyn tries again, leaning down and waving a hand over his face. Velezen tilts his head back slightly, looking up at her with a quirked eyebrow.

"That's me," he replies, semi-sarcastic. "What's new, Gigglegirl?"

True to character, Vyn giggles at the nickname, plopping down on the bench next to him and throwing an arm around his back.

"Nothin'," she says, mischievous enough that Velezen can't help but give her a look, already suspicious.

"Yeah, because that totally sounded believable." He says, the frown that had overtaken his face evening out as his lips quirk upward. He rests one elbow on the table, palm cupping his chin as he turns to the Four girl, his head propped up by his arm. "Come on, Maevyn. You can tell me."

"I did!" Vyn says, though her smile only seems to grow as he speaks, reaching over with his free hand to poke her in the abdomen. "It's nothin'! I just -"

"Needed attention?" Velezen teases, poking her again as she tries to swat his hand away, the giggling overtaking the otherwise quiet lodge. "Novelty? Fun?"

Vyn shakes her head as he tries to jab her again, pulling back out of his reach. "No, I wanted to thank ya!" She says. Velezen's brow furrows as he pulls back, sitting up once more as he looks at her. "And… okay, maybe I was gettin' a l'il bored! Bite me."

"Pretty sure that's Cordura's job," Velezen teases, though the humorous jab comes across as more serious than he intended. He watches Maevyn, her blue eyes big and wide, hair a disheveled mess around her face, loose and wild like her raucous grin. "What are you thanking me for? If anything, I should be thanking you."

Maevyn blinks. "For what?"

"For– what? You know for what." Zen replies, confused by her seeming naivete. Maevyn just blinks again. He sighs. "The bloodbath? Fixing my nose? Stuffing painkillers down my throat so I'm relaxed enough to actually sleep? Any of that ring a bell?"

Vyn blinks once more before her eyes seem to light in realization. "Oh! Sure, but'cha already said thanks for that, Zenzen. Ya don't need to keep repeatin' it."

Now it's Velezen's turn to blink. "Okay?"

"I was thinkin' about what ya said on the skymobile," Maevyn continues, grinning and bobbing her head. "Y'know, about the thing that I said when I was sad, and y'all were just sittin' there, and ya let me put my head on your shoulder 'cuz I was sad about Mads, and you told me that it was okay to be sad, but also somethin' about how she's not gonna judge me for moving forward and, like. Livin' life?"

… he has no idea what she's talking about. But…

"It's hard to move on from the past," Velezen says with a nod. "Grief, especially. When you lose somebody, it's hard not to be consumed by it - to ponder the possibilities of a life that was taken, to wonder if there was more you could have done, more you should have said. But we're in the Hunger Games - life is fleeting here."

"Exactly!" Maevyn exclaims, nodding at him. "And so like, Mads wouldn't get mad if I tried t'make the most of my time, right? Like. It's hard, but she'll understand, 'cuz she knows I love her and I always will, but also, I don't got much time left in me. So if I wanna be happy, it's okay. With Cordy, I mean…"

She trails off, her eyes darting over to the supply pile, brow pinched tight as she falls into thought. "It's not betraying her, right? Even though it makes me feel weird?"

Zen sighs.

"Maevyn," he says, reaching over to place a hand on top of the one that she's left resting on the table. His thumb smoothes over her knuckles as she starts to fidget, a subtle but meaningful attempt at reassurance.

(If he's being honest, he needs this just as much as Vyn. Reassurance. Acceptance. Validation, in whatever form it may take. He hasn't had this - this real, genuine sense of camaraderie - since before Aurelio conducted their ritual. A part of him has missed it.)

"I get what it's like to lose," he tells her. "And losing the person who has placed faith in you… it's a different kind of hurt that such a loss instills. I can't tell you how sorry I am that you lost… Mads."

He pauses. Maevyn's hand turns beneath his own, palm facing up so she can curl fingers around his own.

"You're the first person who's told me that," she says, sounding more melancholic than he's ever heard. Her hand squeezes his, tighter and tighter still, imprinting its mark upon his flesh with the force of her desperate grip.

Zen doesn't point it out, and nor does he tell her to stop. Instead, he squeezes back.

"I had someone like that too," he tells her. "Someone I lost, but also loved very deeply. I wonder about her every day - if she'd be proud of what I'm doing, encourage me despite the path I took. I know this isn't what she'd have wanted for me…"

He pauses. Exhales, and loosens his grip, but doesn't retract his hand.

"But I think she'd be glad to know I'm making the most of the path I've taken - living the life that I've been given in my own way, on my own terms. And I think that Mads would feel the same if she could see you. Perhaps she might wish things had been different, but if she cared for you, she'd support you on the road you've chosen. That's what love is, isn't it? Unconditional acceptance?"

"Unconditional acceptance," Maevyn repeats, smiling sadly. "It sounds nice. I wanna believe…"

Her words trail into nothing as tears start to spill from her eyes, leaving tracks down the soft expanse of her cheeks.

"Thank you," she says again. "You told me exactly what I needed to hear."

They've been walking for hours.

Literally, hours. Or at least it seems that way. Tati's not actually sure how long it's been, but it's enough that her legs feel halfway to giving out, her side halfway to stitching and her gut growling in bellicose fury.

Why couldn't I stay back at camp while Patron went out scouting for once? She thinks, shoving her hands into the pockets on her mud-stained pants, unable to keep the sulk off of her face. Like, seriously. He's got legs. He's fucking athletic. Not to like, praise the guy, or anything, but it's pretty obvious he takes care of his body. Unlike me. So, you know. He can walk.

A twig snaps under her shoe as she continues to trudge through the brush, tree branches scraping over her skin and little pine needles tickling at her bare arms. It's not entirely unpleasant out here - Tati's never seen so much green in her life, given Six is so fucking industrialized it's covered up by roads, rails and smog - but there's still a billion places that she'd rather be. Like in her flat, with her bong and her blaring music, surrounded by dozens of bottles and vials and writhing bodies intent on worship. Or out by the railyards, cradling a bottle of booze, her knees knocking against metal piping on one side and flesh-with-bone on the other, Taji's weed-scented jacket wrapped tight around her shoulders –

Okay, maybe not there. Not in the past, with a conscience, and a sellout boyfriend who deserves less than the dirt under her shoes. Taji's the one that should be in this hellwoods, bumbling about and crying like a pitiful worm, forced by circumstance to realize that Tati had been right all along when it came to their position.

(You can't succeed in Six if you've got a moral compass, bitch, she remembers sneering at him after they'd both gotten busted by the Peacekeepers, his haunted eyes tearing scars into her spirit. He was the one that fucked up - the one that abandoned her, went on the straight-and-narrow, started spewing nonsense about getting clean and shutting down - so why did she feel guilty? Why did his rejection hurt?)

(You're out of control, he'd told her, time and time again, and she'd called him delusional. It wasn't her fault that Taji was too weak to handle the pressures that came with dealing, too pathetic to enterprise in her business, taking money from the undeserving, the ones who would spend and beg and cycle into relapse, over and over and over again. Their reverence fed her ego, and their money bulked out her pockets. She'd been loved for what she provided, escapism in its purest form, evidence that Six's lowest could succeed with the right push, be more than just corpses in the streets, more than just castoffs, wasting their lives in the Lowtown ditches! She was a fucking victor - an entrepreneur, infamous, the Yellow Haze whose name was synonymous with happiness, she'd had a life, she'd had everything and he —)

Six. Her flat. The warehouses where she held parties, drenched herself with body shots and let mellow-yellow dissolve on her tongue, the beat and thud of dancing feet reverberating through her core as she ached. Even the fucking Career camp would beat this place, because at least there she'd have a chance to get off her feet! But nooo, we can't possibly have that.

Tati pulls her hands from her pockets, this time crossing her arms over her chest. Her shoulders slump as she follows along behind Ailith, a perfect little soldier standing in a line, just like her allies want.

Fucking Elysia. Fucking Kellen. Bitchboy gets to sit around on his ass and play house while I'm stuck out here running around in circles! Ugh!

She misses Venice. Sort of. Maybe. Things are a lot different here without him; there's friction and tension and everything's messier than it really should be. Patron's hardly talking to her. Elysia's stomping around barking out orders, and Tati doesn't have a shield to help her out if she lets her tongue run.

It's shit. The arena's shit. The whole alliance is fucking shit. The Capitol and Alvina and Lethe and all of fucking fucktown Six is just a pile of shit.

Not that she cares. Please. As if.

Her stomach grumbles yet again, and Tati stops in her tracks, Elysia's footsteps halting right behind her. She doesn't speak, but Tati can practically feel the One girl's glare burning a hole into the spot between her shoulders. Bitch. She's probably fantasizing about all the ways she could kill her - fuck's sake, Elysia's wanted her dead since they met, and at this point the vibe's not even subtle.

"What?" Tati snaps out before the other girl can say anything, her voice bringing Ailith to a halt just ahead. "I need a fucking break, okay? My legs feel like rubber."

"If they're rubber, you should be able to bounce back," Elysia retorts, sounding less venomous than normal. Tati turns, arms still crossed, to find the One girl mirroring her pose, albeit with her jaw set in a firm line. She smiles with intentional malice.

"C'mon, Elysia," she teases. "A little break-time never hurt nobody."

"Oh, really?" Elysia laughs, the echo of it cold. "Is that a fact?"

"Is for me. 'Sides, Miss Priss, you're looking awful ragged," Tati says, unfolding her arms and reaching a hand out, trailing fingers gently across Elysia's arm. "We can take a few minutes. Sit down, catch a breather. Maybe I could even help you unwind -"

"I'd rather choke on my own vomit," Elysia says, pulling back and all but throwing Tati's hand away from her, disgust coloring her features. Tati forces herself not to scowl, drawing her arm back to her side and stepping back, hands up.

"Hey, can't blame a girl for trying," she says, doing her best to appear sincere. Somewhere behind her, Ailith clears her throat, and Elysia rolls her eyes, turning away.

"Five minutes," she grumbles. Tati gives a whoop of excitement and claps her on the back, unabashed in her delight.

"Leader of the year award, right here! Elysia, seriously. I could fucking kiss you."

"Can you please shut up?" Elysia asks as the Six girl flops down in the dirt, feeling oddly satisfied. "You're so loud I can't even hear myself losing the will to live."

"Aw, that's the spirit," Tati enthuses, propping her hands behind her head as she leans back to rest against a broad-trunked tree.

Elysia stays standing, her back still turned, posture as rigid and unyielding as the ice she embodies. Her composure is almost daunting to Tati - strange because it's something she can't comprehend, so robotic and shut-off that its like she's a zombie. For all the anger that's inhibiting her, when she's calm she seems practically lifeless - not unlike Tati's parents, worn down by Six's strain and pains of labor, or her sister, forced to handle responsibilities far more than she could carry before she or Tati had even hit their teens.

There's something about it that's almost sad, but Tati isn't going to dwell. Elysia's life isn't hers to unpack, and Tamara - she's gone. Gone, so what do her feelings matter?

Ailith approaches her side, the grass crinkling under her shoes as she moves. Tati cocks her chin up in greeting as the Two girl settles onto a nearby rock, her face a mask of utter stoicism.

"Sup?" She asks, almost playful, grinning when Ailith deigns to look at her, the other girl's eyes rimmed by dark circles. Wow, she looks like shit, Tati thinks, unable to help herself from criticizing despite knowing that she's likely to look even worse. She'd slept last night, sure, but the moments of rest she got were far from blissful. Bitchy allies, annoying bugs, a ground so hard she felt like she was lying on bricks… but I guess that's the Hunger Games for you. Utter bullshit.

"Tired," Ailith answers bleakly. Tati lets out a ghost of a laugh, nodding along amicably.

"You don't say?" She teases, the implication of her words clear. Ailith's lips twitch, just a touch, but instead of agreeing she averts her eyes, apparently not big on the idea of small talk.

Because of course the rebel has to be just as dull as the control freak. What fucking luck.

"Listen, I'm really bad at this," Tati says after a couple minutes have passed, once again in an overwhelming silence, the clearing so quiet that her thoughts have gotten louder than ever.

"Define 'this?'" Elysia asks from behind her. Tato grits her teeth, deciding for once to be the bigger person and not turn around to shoot her a death glare.

"Oh, hardy-har," she spits, her visage unamused. "Look, we're stuck together, right? I don't like it, you don't like it, but I'm sick of all the bitchy infighting. Can we at least, I don't know, pretend to act like allies?"

"You want… a fresh start?" Ailith asks, more inquisitive than judgmental. Tati shrugs, flippant, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair back from her face.

"Well, it sounds stupid when you put it like that."

"By the Capitol." Elysia laughs. "I think I actually hate you."

"Says the megabitch," Tati replies on instinct, close to outright sulking. "Come on, One, can't you pull the stick out of your ass long enough to accept an apology?"

"Maybe if you actually gave me an apology."

Who the fuck does she think she is? Tati snarls.

"You know what? This is bullshit. I don't owe anything to you -"

"Couldn't agree more. Now, can we get back to business?"

"Go to hell, Elysia!"

"I don't have time for this." The One girl turns on her heel, adjusting the pack on her shoulder and getting back on the path, clearly ready to move on.

"Wait," Tati says as Ailith also rises to her feet, offering her an (unneeded) hand. "Where are you going?"

"To hell, apparently," Elysia snarks back, already on the move. Tati takes Ailith's hand, scoffing at the Two girl's sympathetic look once she gets to her feet.

"Oh, don't give me that," she says, entirely too touchy. "Does it look like I need your help?"

"Do you want me to answer that, or would you rather I maintain plausible deniability for later?"

Tati groans, but assents to the assistance, not bothering to protest when Ailith steers her back toward the footpath, this time behind their bitter-ass leader.

"I am way too sober for this."

They're going to spill some blood.

Argenta doesn't see any reason to hide her excitement - she'd been practically bouncing when they left the camp, spinning a knife in one hand as mania coursed through her nerves. Cordura had tried to steady her, but she hadn't wanted to listen - she's been full-to-bursting with anticipation, ever since the cannons fired and wound down the bloodbath, and all the dullness from yesterday didn't help. She wants to lose it. To laugh and dance atop a pile of bodies, poke holes into rotting corpses and stain her whole body red, 'cuz death remains the name of the game and she wants to fuckin' win, even if victory might be a long shot.

Five doesn't want her back, but she knows Bruin does. She's his daughter - his wrath, his weapon. She's the one that's made for this; bringing down punishment with the strike of a blade, rip-rip stab-stab, kill 'em all and smite the disrespectful, spit on the ashes of the weakness they stand for and bring the world to heel. Argenta's meant for greater things, and she has always known it - it's the reason she'd never fit, always felt like some puzzle piece jammed into the wrong hole, her spirit compressing as society wore it down, day after day after day…

Even when she was little, she was easily bored. The house she was raised in felt like a trap, had never been home even when her parents were there, trying to assuage her urges with toys and books and all sorts of irrelevant shit. The only time she'd felt free was in the evenings, gazing out her window through her father's binoculars, watching her neighbors go about their lives. Most of them were sad, and even pitiful, but occasionally they'd do something to give her an eyeful. Like the girl across the street with the addict boyfriend, who forgot to close the blinds once while they were fucking, and went all-in utterly oblivious to Argenta's curiosity. Or the older couple down the street, who had this one argument that led the woman to plates at the wall and then pour a bottle open over her husband's head, her voice inaudible, but her anger potent. Argenta made up the conversation in her head - filled it up with cursing and venom to make it even more exciting.

There was a kid at the end of the lane who drowned his cat. She'd watched that too, saw how he cried when he put the thing's head underwater, the rain muffling his mad-sad screams, his father looking on with crossed arms and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was a peacekeeper and hard to please, so she wasn't shocked to hear him going on about how attachment is stupid and you fucked up, bringing home another mouth to feed when money's already scarce. The son had been distraught.

(Sometimes Argenta felt a little bad for him, but she never dwelled on it. People who watch don't get to judge. She was smart enough to figure that out on her own.)

The neighborhood had its moments, but her favorite actor was always Bruin. He was the only one that remained consistently fascinating - the one with quirks that she couldn't explain, who wandered off for hours at a time, sharpened knives in his kitchen and buried a stack of crates under the boards of his back porch. She'd never planned to actually talk to him - never planned for The Ring, because that was something her brain wouldn't have managed to dream up before she became his kid - but one thing had led to another, and when she saw him coming home with a busted face, she couldn't resist the allure of intrigue. She'd followed him to the warehouse. Watched him talk to the guy she called Porky, because of his fat belly, and saw him pull out a knife when Porky turned his back. She watched him stab it in through his flesh, pull it out like he was parting butter, and then do it all over again. The blood had gone everywhere, like something out of the Games themselves,and fuck if it wasn't worth skipping school to see!

(She'd never enjoyed being a Brandt. Her parents tried to keep her on the straight-and-narrow, encouraged her to spend every free hour she had with her nose stuck in a book, because Five's expectations were strict and they'd just wanted to mold her.)

(In Five, if you don't conform, you might as well be worthless. Argenta's parents never believed in her, but she thinks they wanted to - wanted to believe she was a normal kid, that she'd live up to their expectations, play by the rules, turn eighteen and assimilate into the hivemind. They didn't care what she felt, because a child in Five's not human so much as a fucking drone, born and raised to be an extension of their birthers.)

How many lives had she seen spiral out of control? How often had she watched people through their windows, marvelling at their flaws, their vices and misfortunes, taking pleasure in the endless stream of negativity that they had all embodied?

She'd been lost before Bruin took her in. No, not simply lost, but broken - a pathetic, scum-guzzling rat not unlike the ones she'd killed, born to die under the watchful eyes of Five's all-seeing man. Her District would have forced her to be less than what she is, but the the Ring had helped her uncover her true potential, fracturing the drone-Argenta into pieces and tossing out all her unwanted parts. It was their hands that shaped her, their voices that guided her to become her truest self.

(At Bruin's side, she was a god. Not a rat, skittering about aimlessly and clawing at the walls of Five's gilded fucking cage. Unlike her family and the government flunkies, she'd gotten out. She was free!)

(Free. That's a word with weight to it; Velezen can attest. He's seen as much shit as she has, broke as much as she did, and maybe that's why Argenta likes him. He's a guy that can see the bigger picture. An outcast, a wretch, unwanted, unstable…

He's like the brother she never had.)

(She's not sure how the others fit into their plans yet. Vyn's a bimbo and probably has a head full of bubbles, but she's been nice to Argenta since they met back in training, and she's never tried to discourage her from causing chaos. Maybe they'd be friends somewhere - in a different life, where they weren't set up for competition, and where their own lots weren't dependent on killing each other. Who's to say, really? Argenta likes her, but she doesn't like her more than herself. Obviously.)

She crosses her arms, throwing a glance toward the figure walking beside her.

(Cordura's the one she's still questioning; she's not like the others, but Argenta sort of fancies her, even though she's got the resting bitch face from bloody hells. It's something to do with the way Cordura holds herself - how she tilts her chin up when she talks, all confident like she knows people will listen. Argenta's met people like that in the past - Bruin's clearly among 'em - and she's learned from watching that they're the sort who not only mean business, but have enough guts to follow through on their threats. She wouldn't exactly call the Eight girl a role model, but she's cool. Cooler than Vyn, cooler than Zen. Not to the level of Bruin, but maybe someday, if she had a future…)

(Key word being if. Because if Argenta wants to win, Cordura can't. Nevermind if she winds up liking her. She's just another fleshbag in the lineup standing between her and personal success. And no matter how tough she is, Argenta's tougher. Her father made sure of that.)

"Hey, Cordy, what are we doing?" Argenta pipes up suddenly, swinging her sword through the air with no purpose. The Eight girl glances down and gives her a look, which Argenta ignores because she's not in the mood for a staring contest yet. Maybe in a few hours, though.

"Walking," Cordura replies, folding her arms over her chest. Argenta rolls her eyes.

"Duh. I got that much. I just wanna know why."

"Because we are," Cordura responds again, this answer just as unhelpful as the last. "You got a problem, demonling?"

"I dunno," Argenta huffs. "I mean, doesn't it feel kind of boring? We should go find a stopping point and throw knives at trees or something. You know, fun stuff. This is fucking stupid."

"You'd rather stab a tree than stab a person?" Cordura challenges, raising an eyebrow, her smirk sharp as usual. "Don't tell me you're mellowing out."

"I'm not mellow, I'm fucking deadly!" Argenta snaps back, slashing her sword down against the dirt. The blade leaves little trail as she starts to drag it over the path, zig-zagging along next to her footprints. "I just don't get the point of all this looping. Like, it'd be one thing if we were actually hunting people, but we haven't seen a single tribute all day! I just wanna hit something!"

"You'll get your chance," the older girl says, sounding oddly certain. Argenta tilts her head up and squints her eyes.

"How do you know?"

"Powers of omniscience," Cordura replies, placing a hand on her head and patting it, the motion halting Argenta in her tracks. "Well, that and I actually pay attention. You should try it sometime, kid - making use of that shared braincell could do you and Velezen a world of good."

"I pay attention!" Argenta retorts, baring her teeth.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Don't think I didn't see you and Vyn giving each other moony-eyes all morning."

Cordura draws her hand back, a slight tinge of color flooding her cheeks. "I wasn't -"

"You so were." Argenta says smugly, watching her ally for a moment before picking up her pace again, marching forward with her sword swinging.

"Cordy and Mae-vyn, sittin' in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N–"

In the brush, there's a giggle. Cordura's hand comes down on her shoulder, only to retract as the sound fades out, the woods growing quiet and stiller than before. Argenta can feel the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, a sensation of unease mingling with the sudden euphoria playing on her nerves.

"Hey, Eleven!" Cordura shouts, Argenta whirling on her with her face drawn in a mix of skepticism and disbelief. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

What the fuck? Argenta thinks, her lips parting in preparation to fire off a question. But the words never leave her mouth. There's a rustle of leaves from in the forest grove, the sound of a body dropping into the dirt and footsteps rushing in the opposite direction, desperate and frantic.

Argenta grins up at Cordy, ignoring the "I told you so" that leaves the older girl's mouth, her smirk a sign that she's feeling awfully pleased with herself. She grabs the machete she'd selected from their cache and pulls it down from her back, the gleam of sunlight across the metal flashy enough to make Argenta giddy.

She can't wait to see that thing get painted red.

"Oh, it's on," she says, devilish as always. "Last one to fuck up Eleven's a rotten egg!"

Without waiting for a reply, she dashes off into the trees, Cordura hot on her heels.

This is what she's been waiting for - something fun, something nasty, something worth enjoying!

It's time to make some heads roll.

She can feel the tension growing.

In fact, from where Jade is standing, her allies' rivalry is nearly palpable, thick enough to turn the summer air cold around their bodies. Tati's seething, her hands balled into spiteful fists as she trails along behind Elysia, muttering curses beneath her breath. Elysia is aloof - intentionally aloof, her back straight and her shoulders squared, unwilling to give an inch in regard to the Six girl's frustration.

As always, Jade is stuck in the middle - trapped between a paradigm of oppositional ideals, forced to try and discern her own loyalties amidst a fracturing alliance… no, a fracturing family.

She can see bits of her siblings here; Ailith, Pallas, Emric and his band of rebels. It's part of the reason she can hardly sleep, dead voices wailing inside her head, berating her for her flaws and faults and mistakes, their words cutting deeper than Jade can rightly describe. She knows, logically, that she's not responsible for killing them, and yet she's haunted all the same… tormented by her own inaction, her passive words.

Ailith, this doesn't feel right, this isn't -

What if it goes badly, what if you're in over your head –

There's just too many unknowns, alright? I don't think you should go. It isn't safe. Even if Emric's there —

Will you get off your high horse and just listen to me for one second? I'm trying to help you, sis!

(Sometimes, you have to play by the rules in order to win –)

(No, Ailith rebuttals, shaking her head. Sometimes you have to break them.)

(Had she been right?)

She can't stop thinking about what happened yesterday - her discussion with Patron, when they were both set around their firepit, quiet until the spirit of conversation dared to reveal itself. Something about what he said… those half-veiled taunts that she'd tried to deflect, his doubt in her ability to be a maverick, so similar to the disdain expressed by her sister whenever she'd tried to keep the status quo.

(You're better than this, Jade, I know you are. How can you just sit by and let them step on us?)

It's been over sixteen hours, and she can still hear him. Patron, calling her a dog like she was no different than the loyalists she'd spent years bowing to. Patron, dismissing her for her willingness to assent, with no understanding of the guilt and grief that Jade's acquiescence has bred.

She'd told him last night that it was recklessness which had led her to lose her brothers - recklessness that got them killed, and because of that she refused to indulge it. Chaos is the cause of many problems, and impetuosity was the cause of Ailith's. But Jade is different.

Her sin is caution. Her torment stems from the inability to act, because for years she's been too scared of repercussions to even think about getting her hands dirty. The last time she'd tried to act like Ailith, the Peacekeepers had dragged her off to the justice building and tossed her in a cell, lashed her back for disturbing the peace, and left her out to dry in the square. She'd gotten off easy - far easier than most - but those five lashes had left scars on her body that in eight years have yet to fade.

Perhaps Ailith didn't see a problem with being pugnacious, but Jade knew the perils of capital punishment. Since she was ten, she hasn't set a toe out of line, not even when Ailith was screaming in her ear to fight back.

(She is trapped within a cycle of constructive self-destruction, bending her spirit to protect her body and mind. Eventually, something will have to give - and she suspects it will happen soon. She can't play nice with the allies she's chosen; can't run, can't hide, can't avoid the impending violence that everything is pointing to. When push comes to shove, she'll have to fight, regardless of how little she wants to.)

There's no appeasing people like Tati, Kellen or Elysia. You can give them an inch, you can give them a mile, but no matter how much you concede they will always ask for more. Perhaps in a different world, Jade would be able to meet their ever-changing expectations, but in the arena, she cannot afford to indulge their desires.

She's never enjoyed the game of matching and reciprocating society's whims. Being held to standards like those that Two passes on its citizens has not simply frustrated her, but worn her thin. Her relationship with her siblings had been an extension of that - competitive symbiosis, where their presence helped her to grow, but also pushed her to achieve in a way that was unhealthy. How often had she compared herself to them, or reprimanded herself for being unable to surpass her family's milestones?

(Ailith shone brighter than her, always had, but so did Pallas and Emric, so did Stelios and Kenna and her classmates and her peers. In a District revered for producing gems, Jade Echeverry was a rock - sturdy, reliable, useful, but ultimately insignificant.)

She's here because she doesn't matter. She's here because her worth can be replaced.

Perhaps that's why she's so keen to indulge the path that Elysia is setting. Before the argument, she'd led their trail, but now she has fallen to the rear - just as she always does. It's her job to be the stable one; her job to mind the behavior of those around her, to watch and observe and assent to following.

Following is the only thing she's ever been good at.

Following is what's kept her alive. And yet…

"Stop," Jade says, her voice firm enough to sound commanding, but too quiet to leave an impression. Elysia and Tati continue onward, oblivious to her direction, and so she raises her pitch the way Ailith so often did, projecting as much warning as she can into her words. "I said stop!"

The girls from One and Six come to an abrupt halt, both rounding on her with questions on her lips. Jade doesn't let them speak, just points toward a line drawn over the trail, a thin length of wire glinting with each sunlight flicker.

"It's a trap," she says, as Elysia looks down, then crouches to examine the tripwire, pulling the smaller of her swords from her belt.

"Then whoever set it must be close," she says, nodding once to herself before looking back at Jade, an odd tint of warmth to her eyes. "Good work."

"You're welcome," Jade replies, smiling a touch as the One girl stands, Tati still between them and shifting back and forth on her feet.

"Hooray, we found a tribute," she deadpans, looking far more antsy than she had before. "So what's next?"

"What do you think?" Elysia asks, almost scoffing. She passes the Six girl by on her way to Jade, holding out the second sword as a seeming peace offering. "Here, take this. We'll scout the area - you go right, I go left, and we meet back here once we're done."

"You're giving me a weapon?" Jade asks, surprised. Elysia shrugs.

"If you hadn't spotted the wire, I'd have stepped on it," she says. "In my book, that's a gesture worth rewarding. Take it."

The One girl holds Jade's gaze as she takes hold of the hilt, their fingers brushing as the weapon passes hands. Jade looks down at it reverently, an odd spark of… something… running through her, and she gives Elysia a nod, the gesture saying all that needs to be said.

"You know, I really love being a third wheel," Tati pipes up suddenly, always one for a grand interruption. "It's always so much fun. And that's totally not sarcasm, by the way. Definitely not."

Elysia's eye twitches at the Six girl's voice, and she turns, unsheathing her other sword and nodding toward the left side of the trail. "You're with me, Six. Come on."

"Waiting for a chance to get me alone, I see how it is," Tati replies, grinning wickedly. Elysia rolls her eyes, then grabs hold of her arm and pulls her off into the brush.

Within a second, they're both gone - vanished into a haze of branches and tall grass, the rustling of the brush the only thing to show either of them had been present at all.

For the first time in three days, Jade finds herself alone.

She looks down at the sword, turns it in her hand. It's dull - scraped up and jagged along one side, hardly a blade that anyone from Two would prize - but sturdy enough to be useful, and isn't that what really matters?

She takes a page from Elysia's book and slides the blade through one of her belt loops, tucking the hilt against her waist in a place where it's out of the way, but easy enough to reach. Slowly, she starts to turn, and ventures into the woods to the right of the path, her steps slowing as she begins to walk on an unmarked path.

Leaves and pine needles crunch beneath her shoes, the wind sweeping past and tousling her hair around her face. Jade steps lightly around plants and over rocks, trying to remain on edge as best she can.

If the trapmaker is still lurking about, she can't afford to let her guard down. Unlike Elysia, she isn't trained - and she doesn't have anyone to back her if she makes a mistake. Being alone here, when there are so many things that have been primed for lethality, is dangerous.

Elysia's trust may have been genuine, but she's still been given the short end of the stick. Not for the first time, Jade finds herself feeling caught in a net of deceit, left more vulnerable than she has any desire to be.

(Ailith would revel in the independence. Chances are, if she were here, she wouldn't think twice about leaping into danger, any consequences be damned. It's something Jade both loves and loathes of her… how lionhearted she is, so full of bravery even when it comes with risk. She doesn't have any inhibitions, not the way that Jade still does. She's free.)

(Jade envies that.)

She tries her best to silence her mind. Focuses instead on the rustling branches and the sap-coated bark on the trees, keeping her eyes as sharp as her ears. This isn't a good time to be caught up in her feelings. She's been left to fend for herself, and that's easier to do if she keeps her wits about her. No Ailith. No Elysia. No Kellen, sitting back at camp and stewing in his own bitterness, so closed off that she no longer knows what to make of him. Before the arena, she thought they might make good partners, but now that the bodies have started to pile up, he's become a stranger.

It's probably for the best. Easier to do what needs to be done when you haven't allowed yourself a chance to get close. Still, Jade can't help but feel a sense of loss when she thinks about her partner. They were never going to be friends, but they'd established something close to camaraderie, back when they were training. She'd have liked to hold onto that. She'd have liked…

"I got her!" Someone calls, and a body barrels through a patch of pine trees a scant few meters from her, crashing down upon the ground with a pained shout. Even with the proximity, Jade can hardly make them out - all she sees is a blur of dark skin and beige clothes, struggling to pull themselves through the dirt with their hands. Immediately, she ducks back out of sight, spinning behind a tree as her heart rate spikes. She can hear the thud of her pulse filling her ears, keeping time with the other tribute's frenzied hyperventilation, the sound of their breath drawing closer… closer…

"Please," a voice gasps, and it's so close that Jade flinches. "Please, don't do this - you don't have to do this, I don't want to fight, I'm sorry -"

"You know, I really hate to be the bearer of bad news," another voice filters in, this one striking a chord. The girl from Eight. Jade tenses. "But we're in the Hunger Games. It's fight or die here, sweetheart, and I'm not keen on dying."

There's a pained shriek, coupled with the sound of something snapping. Jade takes advantage of the noise to slide her body down the trunk and put it nearer to the ground, hoping the added cover will save her from Eight's notice. Leaves tickle at her face and arms, the shrubbery beside her giving her an additional shield, but not one without gaps.

Gaps…

Jade bites down on her tongue, bending sideways. She needs to know what she's up against. She needs to -

A high-pitched laugh sounds as the Five girl bounces into view, clapping her hands when she catches sight of Eight, standing over the prone shape of a girl Jade thinks is from District Eleven. Her hand slips down to her belt, unsheathing Elysia's sword as quietly as she can.

She's fought Five before. Even weaponless, she hadn't stood a chance. And now with Eight here as well…

Fuck. She needs to get out of here.

"Stab her, Cordy," Five cackles, egging her ally on. "Come on, you know you wanna! Blood and guts are the whole point of a hunt."

"Hey now, to the victor go the spoils," Eight says, throwing a look back at her partner before drawing herself up. And by the stone, she's tall - taller than Jade remembers, certainly tall enough not to make for a fair match, and she needs to get out of here, she needs to go -

No. You can't go, not yet.

Stop and think about it.

She sinks her teeth further into her tongue, pulling blood from the sullen muscle. What would Ailith do?

"- bored of just standing here!"

"My win, my kill. Don't be salty just because you have shorter legs."

The Eight girl's got Eleven by the hair, is holding her up from the ground by it, black curls tangled around her fist. There's a machete pressed against her throat, and Eleven's eyes are blown wide, so wide that her fear feels visceral. Jade watches, unblinking, as the girl's eyes meet her own, her lips mouthing pleas that she knows will go unanswered.

Please, Eleven mouths, you can stop them, you can help! I'll repay you, I promise I'll repay you, just do something, please -

"You know, I can't tell if I'm coping better, or I just don't give a shit anymore," Eight says, bending slightly to speak into Eleven's ear. "But I gotta admit, killing gets easier every time I do it."

She digs the edge of the machete into Eleven's neck, just enough to draw a thin line of blood to the surface of her flesh.

"You're fucked," Eleven says, tears spilling from her eyes, jet-black orbs still focused on Jade. "You're all fucked!"

"I'm sorry it's gotta be this way, darlin' - but if you wanted to live, you should've run faster."

Eight pushes the blade deep and drags it through her throat, a sluice of flesh and muscle ripping clean through as blood gushes free from the now-gaping wound. Rivers of red spill down Eleven's front before Eight lets go of her hair, her body toppling forward like a sack of flour.

The cannon sounds less than a minute later. Eight wipes the machete off on her pants and turns back to Five, arms flung out.

"I win," she says, pride bleeding out in her words. Five pouts, re-sheathing her sword and crossing her arms.

"Only because you're a fucking giant."

"Don't be a sore loser, demonling. It's not a good look on you."

The girl from Eight secures the machete on her back, stuck between a tightly-tied rope and the bulk of her backpack, seemingly preparing to head out. Five grumbles something that causes her to let out a laugh, tilting her head back as the noise spills out of her mouth, far too gleeful in light of the murder she's just committed. Jade pulls back from the brush, maneuvering back from the other pair on her hands and knees, sword still unsheathed and pressing against the ground. She makes it back behind the tree, then starts easing herself up, back into a crouch so she can backpedal faster.

Then, suddenly, she freezes.

The blade of the sword is caught in a bush. Not enough that she can't tug it free, but enough that any movement will make the shrubbery rustle - though rustle, it already has. Eight perks up, her hand hovering just over Five's back, and leans down to the girl, whispering something that Jade's too far away to hear. She can see Five nod, moving over toward Eleven while Eight gazes out at the woodland grove, suspicion rolling off her in waves.

"Don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop?" She asks. "I think you owe us an apology…"

She starts to move past Eleven, into the fray of branches and twigs that Jade's tried to use for camouflage. Her footsteps are loud - louder than they should be, and there's a bird trapped inside Jade's chest, fluttering, fluttering, fluttering…

What would Ailith do, what would Ailith do…?

"We can do this the easy way," Eight says, reaching up for the blade that she'd only just stowed, "or the hard way. Though if you choose the latter - "

Jade springs up from her hiding spot, lunging at Eight before she can grab her weapon. Her sword plunges forward and strikes deep into Eight's shoulder, sliding through flesh and muscle to poke out the other side, blood spurting free of the newly-made hole. Eight screams - "MOTHERFUCKER!" - and reaches out, grabbing for Jade with her good arm, other hand clamped around the sword, trying to keep it inside her shoulder. Jade dodges, pulling back as Five charges her - but the damage is done.

She's smart enough not to stick around when the fight's two-on-one.

She lets go of the sword and stumbles away, her back hitting a tree as Five draws closer. In the nick of time, she ducks, shoving the girl hard in the chest before she pivots, slipping around the pine and darting back toward the original path while she still has the chance. She can hear Eight shouting after her, Five's steps echoing off the ground behind her as she hurls objects toward Jade's retreating back.

"I'm gonna get you!" Five cackles, so demented in her excitement she hardly sounds human. "I'm gonna get you, I'm gonna get you!"

She starts to laugh, maniacal in her entirety, and one of the rocks in her hand strikes true, hitting the back of Jade's leg and sending her stumbling. She turns, and suddenly Five is on top of her, wide-eyed and grinning like an imp, little hands smacking at her head, her chest, her face, her eyes.

"I'm gonna carve you into a husk and then I'll make pottery with your bones," the girl says, her fist striking Jade's mouth dead-on, knocking something loose and - oh.

She spits at her, one pearly tooth flying into Five's face along with a mouthful of blood, and grabs hold of her head, looking her dead in the eyes.

"I wasn't looking for a rematch," Jade says. "But if it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get."

She slams her head upward, knocking her skull against Five's, at the same time Five's sword comes down into her leg. Jade lets go of the girl's head to push fingers into her eye, jamming them deep around the squishy mass and pushing inward, further and further and further until she feels something pop, and there's blood all over her - viscera on her hand, it's sticky and wet and Five's crying, but Jade doesn't care, can't care, can't afford to, not now -

She shoves the girl off, and Five's sword rips out of her, swinging back and forth as she topples sideways, free hand clutching to her half-severed eye, still clinging to its socket by the remnants of a cord.

"You're dead meat, Two!" She shrieks. "Me and Cordy are gonna find you, and we're gonna eat you alive, you fuckin' sack of pigs!"

"Try it, Eyeless Wonder," Jade retorts, Ailith's fire filling her up as she struggles to right herself, leaning against a tree.

"Ailith!" Elysia calls from somewhere in the distance, and Five's dark complexion pales considerably, her sword arm going limp. "Ailith, where are you?"

"Here!" She calls back, watching Five closely. "It's two on five," she bluffs. "Think you can handle a full group of Careers?"

"You're full of shit," Five says, but she's already backing away, still clutching at her face. Jade raises an eyebrow.

"Am I?"

Five doesn't reply. Instead, she spins around, breaking into a sprint after her older ally, apparently smart enough not to risk making things any worse. Jade's hand presses into her leg, trying to stem the blood that's leaking out of her thigh, drenching her pants crimson from the wound down.

Her vision's starting to blur. She knows she's losing blood - more than she wants to be - and unlike Eight, she doesn't have the weapon to stem the wound. She can hear Elysia and Tati closing in, but her eyes are heavy, heavy enough she's having trouble keeping them open. She slumps sideways against the tree, sliding down the bark to the hard, cool ground.

She's tired.

"Ailith," she hears, as something bright and yellow enters her vision, Tati standing just out of reach, before Elysia's face appears before hers. "Ailith, come on, take deep breaths. You're okay, just stay with us."

"Shit, I think I'm gonna be sick," Tati says. Elysia keeps talking, pressing a hand atop Jade's own to hold it in place over the wound, the sound of her speech oddly soothing. If it wasn't for the fact that she'd hurt her… that… Jade hurt her…

I'm a fraud, she thinks. I'm going to die, die as a fraud.

"No," she mumbles, barely audible over the sound of Tati puking into a nearby bush, her prediction having proven true. Jade's eyelids start to droop and she shakes her head, back and forth, back and forth, I'm-not-Ailith-I'm-not-anyone. "No… no, no…"

The last thing she feels is a pair of arms lifting her up from the ground, caressing her against a warm body.

"You're not dying yet," Elysia commands.

Her eyes close, and she slips into unconsciousness with a smile.

17: District Eleven Female, killed by Cordura Faux.

A/N: Joyride by Chevelle.

:)