A/N: A WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS KIND OF GROSS. Anyways, hello hello hello and welcome back to Mirror, Mirror! I don't have a lot to say this time around, because normally I'm horrifically late and have to trip over myself excusing my general terrible-osity. But hey, this time I'm on time! Kind of. Today we'll be visiting a neglected female alliance, yet another psychopath, and Chablis, who I imagine has a lot to catch up on. Without any further ado, onto the show!
Crystaille Alexander, District 10 Female
I'm never going to find my allies.
Those words hit me with much less force than I would expect. Something like that, you'd imagine, would slam into you with the vengeance of a truck. However, to me it seems much less threatening, less terrifying, less of a curse on me and more of the natural result of a hellish place like this. What other outcome could there possibly be? What could this even potentially result in, except my death and destruction and complete annihilation of spirit and soul and motivation to move forwards and yadda yadda yadda. At this point I've grown tired of my own rumination. I have nothing to live for, nothing to believe in, so why should I waste my time circlejerk wallowing in self-pity when I could be remembering times I want to hold onto up until the moment I die? My family, my horses, my farm, even my grandmother despite everything, all of these are memories I'd rather cherish than spit on in a petty fit of melancholy.
As I stumble through the arena, bouncing off mirrors and no doubt cultivating the wound in my foot I sustained during the bloodbath (thanks Venie) I try and bring to mind some more reassuring memories. Riding Gingersnap. Being flung from Gingersnap, breaking my arm, and convincing Russen to feed me for a whole month after my arm had fully healed. Doing the laundry and getting my allowance afterwords, which I, of course, would lord over Russen. Dressing up in the skimpiest clothes imaginably and going out to dinner with Grandma and her female friends in them, giggling to myself about the looks on their faces when I showed up in a "get smoked" hat. Cycling through these memories allow me some comfort. Sure, the fact that I'm going to die puts a bit of a damper on the mood, but if I don't hold my head up high here, when will I ever? This is just another challenge to overcome, like successfully dismounting a horse taller than two of me or standing up to Grandma.
Of course, not that I have any faith whatsoever that I'll overcome these games. But I do know that I'll be overcoming past and present misery, because despite the knowledge that I have that I'll never find my allies, never talk to my family again, never be able to recreate these memories I cling to for any and all potential solace, I'm still going to live like I have many days ahead of me. There's no point in being miserable when death comes.
I think on this as I round the corner. Obviously it's a good philosophy, it just… something about it unnerves me, to the extent that the hairs on my arm are standing up.
Or maybe that's not my thoughts.
The place I've accidentally stumbled into is nothing like the rest of the winding, labyrinthian arena. It's a huge, cavernous space, a wide circle with mirrors paneling the walls and an unbroken sheet of mirror covering the dome-shaped ceiling, with a small hole in the top, one that sends a single solitary sliver of light down as a sharp contrast to the rest of the huge, dark, circular room. I rush over to the center and to the light, and stare directly up. The sky is blue up there, lazy, serene, and undisturbed. I can feel my heart slam against my ribcage, an arrow pointing directly up to that pinprick of open air, a taunting hole in this cage, beckoning me but knowing there's no way I'll get up there.
I've nearly forgotten about the ominous feeling that gave me goosebumps up until something eclipses that shining light.
It's the underbelly of a helicopter, the seal of Panem painted on the bottom. I stare up at it, open-mouthed and open-eyed. A hatch on the bottom opens up and I reflexively take a step back at the amount of bugfuck nuts my nerves are going, away from the hole into the outside world. A round capsule hits the ground from the hole, and it closes.
The capsule looks like an oversized pill, but black and shiny like the side of one of those fancy Capitolite cars. The manufactured, unnatural look it has is sending off signals in my brain I didn't know existed. Warning signs too urgent to believe. I've gotten three steps away from the thing when it explodes. For a quick, shining second my skin is screaming with pain and the next moment everything goes black.
I slowly return to consciousness a minute or so later. Everything around me is unbearably blurry, and my entire body is throbbing with scorching pain. The air in my throat is hot, and the ground underneath me is weirdly malleable and… sticky.
I try to push myself off the floor but my limbs don't want to cooperate and I end up flopping all over the ground like boneless spaghetti. The spit on my tongue is boiling, and I do mean boiling. Desperate for air, I spit out the blood and mucus gathering in my throat, but as I crawl from the center of the room on my hands alone, a feeling of futility rises within me at about the same thing something long and… furry wraps itself around my leg and sends me flying backwards towards the source of the explosion.
I hit the ground with a thud, still in the clutches of something furry, muscular, and wet. Panic and dizziness hit me like nothing I've ever felt before, and I retch at the smell of the crispy, slime-soaked room as I twist around to stare whatever it is that reeled me in- like a lamb to the slaughter, like a horse to the euthanasia, like an, uh, fuck, person to their inevitable death- and view it for myself.
It doesn't take me very long to wish I hadn't.
The thing towering above me is massive. It's covered in reflective plates, my scared and bruised face shining in each and every one. Beneath the clumsy, chitinous outer layer of plating, fur sprouts, pushing it's way up from the cracks. All eight legs are covered with fur and open wounds, leaking a metallic silver liquid. The eyes are round and empty, surrounded by long eyelashes, each eyelash sharp and a coppery color. The maw of the thing is gigantic, with fangs long enough to slice me in half- vertically. Every inch of that gaping mouth is stuffed full of blood, reflective teeth, and the tiny slivers of space that aren't are clogged with spit. It is, without a doubt, the most horrifying thing I have ever seen.
It stares at me. I stare at it.
Then, without the slightest hint of warning, the ground another me disappears as the thing bites into me and flings me into the air.
For a split second, I'm floating, my blood and viscera hanging in the air with me, too shocked to scream or shit my pants or do anything. My leg is numb, but I know it's been obliterated. I can barely breathe. I can barely think. All I can do as I fall back down is hold on to the memories that have fueled me for my last living days, and remember that everything was better, and when I die, that's one step forwards towards making everything better for someone else. I didn't find my allies. But because I didn't, they'll have a better chance.
Then the thing's tooth enters my head, and it's lights out.
Cajsa Varis, District 8 Female
BOOM!
The sound reverberates through the arena. Futura and I flinch. I know I should be happy, happy that another obstacle preventing me from winning was removed, but… I can't think of humans as obstacles. That could've been Crystaille. That could've been- no, probably was, an innocent child.
Futura stares emptily into the distance. "Fourteen left… she whispers to herself, eyes glassy and distant. There's something in that expression… she's just so far away. And I'm not sure of how to reach her. Her thoughts are separated from mine, I know that. Our brains work so differently, each chugging along to a different tune, with a different blueprint, a different way of seeing the world. When something enters Futura's mind, it goes through a long and complicated process of reasoning, through a machine of clinical logic. I know she's been trying to shut these machines down, but although I'd never admit it, there's an undeniable allure in just letting your mind be sterilized. My head, meanwhile, is less of a factory and more of a funhouse, except no one is having fun and everyone is screaming. When I have an idea, it also undergoes a complex procedure, except that procedure has to do less with how this will make everything work out, and more about how it makes me feel something in the moment.
It's this process that's leading me to impulsively give Futura a hug.
She stiffens under my touch, tense, like a wound-up doll that hasn't been let go frolic. I deepen my grip, hoping even if she doesn't reciprocate, she'll at the very least loosen up. But she doesn't. She just stands there, still and rimrod-straight, up until her shoulders begin to shake.
Concern burrows within me, harsh and sharp, maternal. I pull back, and see that she's crying.
Tears pour from her eyes, running down her pale, ashen face. It's not a silent thing- it only takes a few seconds for her to start ugly crying, snot dripping down her face, her eyes forced shut with the force of her sobs. I lunge forwards and encapsulate her in a hug again. She shouldn't be crying. I know this better than anyone. She hasn't done anything to deserve this, she never should have been here. We're the same age, but it's so easy to consider her younger than me. Because that's what she really is, isn't she? She's like a little kid. Futura wants to be so smart and so strong and so over friends, allies, so distanced from that plebian bullshit… internalized just like a very small kid would internalize that. She doesn't want anyone to play with her toys, but, being the older woman she is, those toys are her heart, something more vulnerable.
I have no idea where I've gotten this understanding from, but it's a fierce and hungry comprehension, the truth that won't leave me alone, the facts of the matter that want me to know they exist. As long as she keeps crying like a baby I'll continue to comfort her, because, I realize, that's what I'm here to do. And if that's my duty, I'm willing to perform it. I'm not a mother, but I do have the compassion necessary to help her in a way that maybe nobody else could.
It takes a few minutes, but we finally fall apart, Futura's loud tears slowly growing less ferocious. "I'm… sorry." The whispers, and I can almost hear the flinch. "I didn't mean to get emotional over you. I just haven't been… hugged in a while, is all."
Or ever, I refrain from adding.
She stands up, clothes wrinkled and face wet with tears that haven't quite dried yet. "I need to um. Think." She exhales. "I can't, ah-"
Her face goes paper-white. I wonder for a split second what cut her off when I feel the coldest of touches on my back, and, for some reason, collapse to the ground. I fall in front of Futura, mouth open against the carpeted floor, when I feel my own blood on my outstretched hands and realize.
Oh fuck.
Rodrick Olivier, District 9 Male
The red fish chases the blue fish in a circle on the blue fish's making. The red fish is crying. The blue fish is dying. Now the blue fish is the red fish. Who can say when fish becomes fish?
"Damn brat! I'll fucking kill you, I will. Worthless piece of trash! You'll be out on the streets forever… unless…"
The red fish has an open mouth. It's a gaping fish. The blue fish, then the red fish, was a dead fish. Meanwhile, the red fish, then the blue fish, is soon to be deader.
"That hurts, doesn't it? Now you know how it feels! Now you know how you're fucking going to be, the ways you're shaped for the rest of your life! When people meet you in the streets and you wring their chickenshit necks, remember who made you this way! Remember who carved you and harnessed you and reinvented you after you were abandoned like sewage on the side of the road! I'm not your father, pipsqueak, but you better believe you exist because of me! I am the beginning. Always remember that. All roads lead back to me, in your head, in your heart, and in this terrible world."
Remember, remember why you sang the song. Remember who your mother loves. Forget your compulsions and live forever.
The blue fish is screaming with an open maw. Fishy eyes bug outwards, fishy rage warps the mirrors. In the real world they're a fish, you know that, you're a sane man. In the mirror you see a girl. Could your head be lying to you? Could the world be lying to you? Or is it the fish that's lying to you?
They made your head, not you. You know it's a perfect head, designed for combat. Designed to kill.
This world is too big to lie for one person. It must tell the truth. You know this.
"The world won't lie to you! The people in it will! But this world is indifferent to you, and that's fucking worse."
The fish is lying to you. You figure it's time to do some modest cutting and gutting.
You charge towards the fish with the sun in your lungs. You can't lose, you're euphoric. Blood soaks you, light dances around you. Heavy rain drips into your mouth. You cut once. Salt! Twice. Sinew. Three times. Ink. Memory. Touch and scent, a delectable cocktail, a kill of anticipation. She screams and lunges forwards- she?- her face, her human face, contorted with animalistic rage and tears.
Animals. Tears. Humanity. Human? Human? Human? Is she alive?
Is she okay?
"Get up. Hit me again. I'm glad to have the honor of the first person you savage, you little monster."
Your name is Rodrick Olivier. You have very little knowledge about who you are or what the hell you're doing. You're covered in blood. There's a girl in front of you, and a girl slumped on the ground behind you. Her skin is under your fingernails. In your right nails you're holding a sword, and a liver is impaled on it. The girl in front of you is screaming. She's backing away from you and running. When you rasped your sharp nails down her eyelids, you got close enough to get her tears on her face and her eyelashes in your teeth. You feel vaguely nauseous. You feel more than vaguely nauseous. You're going to be sick.
What have I done?
One fish, two fish. Red fish, blue fish. Hit me again. Remember what you're here to do.
Chablis Brochetto, District 1 Female
"I have to say, I wasn't expecting to come to tied up like a pig."
"Shut up." The 7 boy grumbles. He's shorter than I am, and skinnier. (Somehow. God damnit waist, why won't you just collapse on yourself?) I could overpower him easily. If I wasn't completely swaddled in a cocoon of ropes. "So, are you going to cook me over a bonfire or what? Come on, I don't have all day. Roast me or release me." He exhales, fingernails visibly biting into his thigh. That'll leave a mark- and I'll exploit it if it's possible. There'll be more give there when I inevitably have to stick a knife in him. "I said shut up!" "Ignore her," says the hot one from 8. "I can't!" Hisses the less-hot one. "Her voice is incredibly grating." The hot one pulls out a package of crackers from his knapsack. My stomach growls audibly. "If you don't want to deal with the noise, you shouldn't have kidnapped her." The hot one intones. His voice is light and cheerful, but I can sense a note of tension there, almost like… remorse? That's interesting. And valuable. Probably
Hot acid blooms in my stomach. God, I'm so hungry, I can feel my stomach absorbing itself with vigor. Must be why my observations are less lurid. I try and pull together information, but my head is fuzzy and the uncomfortable conditions I am aren't helping me pull myself together. This is completely humiliating.
"Can you at least feed me?" I croak. I hope they don't see how red my cheeks are. I don't want to anyone to be under the impression that groveling embarrasses me- I might have driven my façade into the ground out of delirious hunger, but god damn it if I'm not going to try and salvage something from the burning wreckage that's my plans for escaping this reflective hellhole alive. I'm a slut. Sluts don't get flustered at begging. That's like, Being A Hoe For Dummies level shit. You aren't unprepared or humiliated by anything, except when it's sexy, and despite the fact that I'm tied up, this is really, really not sexy.
The less hot boy's face flashes and contorts with sudden, extreme guilt, an emotion that might make sense in any other context where you've tied up a starving girl and forgotten to feed her, but not when that girl is an outstanding bitch from One who refuses to learn your name. He quickly grabs an apple from the knapsack and runs over, the gesture reflected a thousand times in a thousand mirrors. He holds it out to me expectantly. I match his idiotic look with a deadpan stare. "My hands are tied."
He flushes with surprise and quickly moves to untie my hands. I marvel for a moment at the rope burns on my bare, caramel flesh, taking the opportunity to draw out his embarrassment. After a few loaded seconds of dabbing at the red streaks dashing across my hands, I take the apple and attempt to disguise my intense, ravenous hunger. I'm not entirely sure why. It's hardly a trump card- maybe I'm simply holding onto the remaining miserable scraps of dignity.
Ha. As if I had any.
Despite my faux-reluctance, I finish the apple before the minute is up, scarfing it down to the core. I am nowhere near full. But it's not like I can afford anything else.
I change the topic from food. "So, why am I tied up exactly?"
The gentle, near-protective look in his face with a matronly cherry on top is quickly replaced with a dark scowl. Looks like he'll tolerate me, even take care of me until I open my mouth. I'm pretty sure this is supposed to be incentive to get me to shut my mouth more often, but that's most assuredly not happening. "We- Ajax and I- didn't want you to hurt anyone." He exhales. He's lying. I have no idea why, or what he's covering up, but I take the bait anyways. "What makes you think I would hurt anyone?" I pout, lips plush and gutting, eyes watering with false tears like minnows in a pond. The shtick usually works pretty well, but not on people who've had the misfortune of dealing with my… wit. He simply frowns even more. "It's obvious you've been faking it. You're nowhere near timid, as your previous demeanor suggests. If you've been faking that, what else could you potentially be faking? Considering you're from One… we don't want to risk setting you loose."
I pull myself up from the ground where I've been eating my apple in a come hither pose, maneuvering despite the absurdly tight ropes. Where did they even get these? And why haven't they been using them for nooses? "Setting me loose? What am I, a guard dog? Geez, boy from 7, you really know how to treat a woman." He hisses and his pupils look like slits. "It's! Gareth! Barkely! And! He's! Ajax! Walker! Why is it so hard for you to remember our names?!"
I hum thoughtfully. "Ajax… I'll remember that. It's integral to know the hot one's name, after all."
"God damn it!"
This is… surprisingly entertaining. As Gareth rages and Ajax giggles in the background through a mouthful of cracker, I decide to wait a few days before sabotaging their asses.
Really, who am I to deny myself some fun before I need to get serious?
Eulogies
15th: Crystaille Alexander, District 10 Female- Eaten by Mirror Arachnids
Crystailllle! I highkey lowkey loved you. There was an incredible air of joy about you, a childlike wonder that in no way decreased your intelligence or increased your naivete- you were purely content. In truth, it was because of this lovely, enthusiastic spirit that I felt I needed to kill you so early- You were the only tribute that didn't have any potential to grow in a positive way because you were already completely satisfied with yourself. And while this is an admirable and unusual trait to have irl, it didn't make you a victor. Breaking your spirit and reducing you to a husk of a person would be interesting… but it would require taking a lot of liberties with you (LMAO, not like I haven't already ;P) and I didn't want to do that to you. This is honestly the best outcome for you- well, as "best" as being devoured by horrible mutant fear-spiders can be. Thank you [tba] for a wonderful, outgoing, and easy to write tribute!
14th: Cajsa Varis, District 8 Female- Murderized by Rodrick [D9]
CAJSA OMG. Killing you physically hurt, I swear to god. You were just so real and umami in so many gorgeous little ways. Your maternal protectiveness, your status as the mediator, how you secretly seemed to revel in arguments, your intelligence and tendency to state the obvious- all of these little quirks combined made you a spicy and realistic tribute. I've likened you to Kanaya Maryam more than once in my head, believe me. But you aren't my victor. You give up too easily, you tend to blame things on yourself that weren't technically your fault, and you were willing to die for your allies- all of those things combined meant you hadn't a snowball's chance in hell without going through the same character progression Crystaille could've potentially gone through that I outlined in her eulogy. I think you've got a tendency to blend in and remain subtle, which was why it was sort of hard to differentiate you from Crystaille and Futura, but in the end you were a clear person of your own and NOT one I'd want to fuck with. And then I killed you anyways. ;D. Thank you FrlBarth for this amazing tribute!
A/N: After a dry spell when it comes to death, I bring you a chapter completely saturated with blood! How do you feel about Crystaille and Cajsa's deaths? How do you feel about my metaphorical death trying to finish this today while also watching Gilmore Girls? What do you think is going to result of Chablis, Gareth, and Ajax's makeshift, shaky alliance? She sure seems more reluctant to betray them now, doesn't she? Or maybe she really is looking to squeeze some more entertainment out of that mess? On a scale of 10 to 10 how batshit nuts would you rate Rodrick as? (There are no other options.) Worried about Futura? I know I am. Please, if you have any answers to this questions, drop a review! And even if you don't, drop a review anyway! They drive me like I'm a taxi. Anyways, thank you for reading (and reviewing, as I know you're going to ;D), and I'll see you next time for DAY 5!
9