XII.
Noelani Westmoreland, 16
Applicant #11
Despite all the drama, she knows she's going to miss this place.
Not in the same way she misses home. It'll be more of a distant missing, like a place she didn't even get to know before she was taken away from it. It doesn't feel like they were here for nearly long enough, like she could have done more. Maybe she wasn't the most serious person during training - she wasn't sure anyone was.
Well, anyone not by the name of Kidava Vaud. She had taken it plenty seriously.
She still hadn't even begun to nail down what Kidava's entire deal was, either. Maybe that was part of the problem with her reluctance to leave. Everyone else in the room, even preoccupied with packing, seemed obvious enough. Faye talked about herself, a lot. About a lot of other important things too, but her own self seemed to be the biggest one. Verity was sweet, sweet as could be. Sweet with a breaking point for the amount of nonsense she could room with.
Ria seldom spoke to her no matter how hard she tried, and tried she did. She had been talking to Tarquin this morning in the hall and hadn't looked like she wanted to run away. Maybe that was progress. Caiman was a bundle of things, but at least she felt like she knew them. Sometimes they would wake up and talk for an hour, chat for a breakfast. Sometimes Caiman would go off by herself with a million questions behind her eyes, and if eyes were a mirror to the soul than Noelani couldn't see through this one. Like it was one-way.
She had half a mind to ask, but sometimes, like with Ria, people didn't respond well to prying.
"I hope the dogs didn't miss me too much," Verity says. "Last time we went on vacation for a few days Scout wouldn't listen to me for like, a week."
Verity has kind of made Noelani want a dog. She doesn't think Topher would protest it. She files that away for later, something to pester her father about. Someone even opened up a shelter last year, near the Bluffs. Surely something there needs a home.
"I'm sure they'll forgive you," she answers, and Verity smiles. Dogs are forgiving, most of the time. People not so much.
She's seen Jay walk by a handful of times. He only looked in the first. He's probably doing the same to all the rooms as he passes through the hall, not just because she's in here. In an odd way, they're kind of similar in the respect that they haven't forged any real connections within only one room. She doesn't think he dislikes Tarquin, just his general proximity. Maybe he dislikes Topher. She can't really tell.
It doesn't matter now. She's going back to Four, and he's going back to... wherever it is that she lives. She never asked.
She feels really bad for never asking, but she's had a lot of things on her mind. Asking where someone lives was the least of her concern.
"Lani, do you have room in your bag?" Topher asks, carrying an armful of things through the door. "I can't fit them in mine."
"Everything fit in there when we got here."
"Yeah, because Mom helped me pack. I don't know how to organize it all like she did."
She sighs and takes the armful of clothes from him, cramming them into the corner of her suitcase. If they're wrinkly later, it's not her issue.
Topher's still there, bouncing on the balls of his feet. She wonders if he picked up that habit from her.
"What's up?"
"I just saw the hovercraft land. It's bigger than I thought it would be."
"They're all generally the same size, Toph."
"I know, but I've never been in one. You, either. You'll think the same thing. I'm done packing, now. I wish they'd let me go get a good seat."
A good seat for what, she wants to ask, but can't be bothered. She's too busy trying to jam the zipper shut with all of Topher's things crammed inside her bag. She doesn't think there will be many good views from the inside of a hovercraft, not unless you're the pilot, which Topher safely isn't.
"Go find Nyko, see if you can go outside then," she suggests, and he nods, zipping out of the room. She's almost shocked he's considering listening to such authority, let alone her...
"Don't just go outside! Ask him!" she shouts into the hallway after Topher's rapidly retreating form. She's not going to lie, she probably wouldn't ask either. The doors leading to the front of the building aren't far away, and if that's where the hovercraft is it wouldn't be hard to get there, unless someone's watching the doors.
Kidava makes a little noise, one that almost sounds like a scoff, and if Noelani was any other person she'd turn around and knock the little bag she had in her hands to the floor.
But she's not, she's here. She stays put.
Jay walks by again. At this point she's not sure what his goal is, because he doesn't so much as look at her despite how close to the door she is.
"Trouble in paradise?" Verity asks, and she sighs again. Far from Paradise. More like desert hell.
Why does she feel bad? Jay is the one that knifed her in the chest, no matter if it was an accident or not. Him killing Tarquin certainly wasn't an accident.
Maybe she'll sit next to him on the hovercraft. It's not like they're going to see each other after this anyway.
Yeah. Maybe she will.
Percius Marigold, 17
Applicant #2
"Are you going to miss it?" Nic asks.
"Miss seeing you everyday," he says instead of answering, because he's tired and not thinking straight and he means it. The wall of heat as they step outside together only makes matters worse - it's like walking into a tower of bricks.
Maybe the heat doesn't bug Nic, because it doesn't seem to. It's more likely that nothing at all bugs him. If he can deal with Percy he can deal with anything.
"Where the hell do you think we are?" he asks, muttered to avoid all the dust getting in his mouth. It doesn't help that the hovercraft is kicking up even more than there would be normally, and he hurries up the ramp, even if it means quite literally leaving Nicator in the dust behind him. He shelters safely behind the wall, eyeing the few rows of seats. Only a few people have chosen theirs, sitting almost in silence.
It's odd, compared to the last few days.
"Where the hell are we?" he asks Lincoln, still cowering behind the wall while he waits for Nicator. Even Lincoln is shielding his eyes, squinting at the glaring sun.
"Somewhere not far from Old Vegas, s'what I was told. Between there and Death Valley."
"I thought Death Valley was off-limits."
"It is. But we're far enough away that it's not dangerous. Besides, it's been a hundred and sixty-nine years; any leftover radiation from what they dumped there during the Dark Days wouldn't have any lasting effect. It's just inhabitable."
"What?" Nicator asks, nudging into his shoulder. "What's going on?"
"Oh, just the musings of someone who fucking hates the heat," he tells him. "Let's go."
He chooses a seat as far away from the door as he can manage to find and Nicator sits down beside him. Anyone who could bother eyeing them up isn't around yet, which he used to take for granted and now blesses. Anybody from Group B's room can mind their damn business. So what if they were sleeping in the same damn bed, it's not like anything happened.
Someone boards - he suspects the pilot, with their helmet and official looking jacket. A woman comes on behind and nods to Lincoln. She begins to pass out a few papers and pens, first to Topher, who practically extends his hands eagerly to them, and then to Ria and Verity. Eventually she makes her way over to them, offering up a similar load.
"What are these?" he asks, even as Nicator takes two sets with a smile full of teeth and no insincerity.
"An evaluation of the Program," she answers. "Although we can't force you, we'd prefer that you filled it out to help better prepare for next year."
Next year. Right. He can only assume they'll be using the same facilities. He has half a mind to warn anyone that applies next year that the heat just isn't worth it.
He takes the papers, even though he doesn't want to, and before he can stop himself wraps his hand around Nic's, holding onto it tightly enough that neither of them could pull away without it being tremendously awkward. He makes a show of studying the paper, not there's much on the front. Name, number, group they belonged to. He doesn't want to imagine what's inside it, all of the questions they could ask.
"I need that hand to write, you know," Nic says quietly, a full minute later.
"Write with your left."
"I can't."
"Don't fill it out, then." He shrugs, and writes his name down, balancing the bundle awkwardly on his knee. Some example he is.
"Perc, c'mon," he chides lightly, but he's smiling. "Give me my hand back or we won't go on a date when we get back."
"Was this not a date?" he asks mockingly, and Nic rolls his eyes. Some date this was.
But it moved things along, did it not? Made things easier. They could have tip-toed around each other for literal years before one of them ever made a move. He felt like he could throw up every time he looked at him, unable to understand the kindness and the good heart and everything in-between.
And for some reason, Nic still likes him.
That he hasn't figured out.
He still lets go though, with some reluctance, and watches Nicator fill out the basic information on the first page. Even his writing is gentle, the letters on the side of too small and sweeping across the lines in gentle curves. His just look like the haggard, spiky lines of a heart monitor. Worse than that, probably.
"We're going on a date," he says firmly, and Nicator doesn't look up, lasered in on his task, but he smiles. Nudges his shoulders into Percy's a little bit again, like down on the ramp, and he feels warm again inside all over again. He tends to have that stereotypical crush effect.
Or maybe that's just the suffocating heat.
"Look at the last page," Nic says quietly, so he does. Flips to it even though he doesn't particularly care. It's mostly blank, save for many, many lines and the little title dotted across the rank.
Rank your fellow applicants in order of deserved placement.
"Does that mean... how much we like them?" Nic asks slowly, tapping his pen on the arm of his seat. "That's a little bit messed up. Why do they need to know that?"
"Funny is what it is," he responds, and then writes down Icarus' name in the twenty-third row. Just you know, because.
But that raises a lot of questions. Who deserves to be first, if not Nicator? He's glad there's only twenty-three options here, and that he's not one of them. If he had to put himself on the list that may raise a few issues.
Messed up it is.
But what about this isn't?
Caiman Mangle, 15
Applicant #21
It takes her the entire time she spends there to work up the courage to talk to Jupiter.
Even then, it's too late.
She doesn't mean to stalk them all the way outside and up the ramp into the hovercraft, but it's the only way. She sits down next to them, doesn't even get an odd look for trying, and takes a deep breath.
Someone drops a sheaf of papers on the armrest of her chair along with a pen and she stares at them for too long. By the time she really settles in Jupiter is already leafing through the thing, murmuring quietly to Gideon on her other side.
She does the same. The woman who dropped off the papers comes around again to make sure they're securely strapped in, tightening the metal bracings around her legs. What if she needs to get up and pee? Is there even a bathroom on this thing?
She didn't think this through at all.
By the time she thinks to ask the woman is already headed away, presumably back towards the cockpit, and she never gets the chance to ask. She lays everything on her lap and forces herself to breathe. It's really not that big of a deal. They've got a few hours back to the Capitol, at least. She doesn't have to start up a conversation right away. She has time.
She scans through all of the pages, something else to focus on. Mostly generic questions. What was your favorite thing to learn and experience while at the Program? Is there anything you would suggest to add for next year?
Gideon is already half-enthusiastically filling out the last page, and every once in a while Jupiter will lean over, seemingly to chastise him for something. She can only imagine what's going on with that list. She leans over, trying to catch a glimpse of Jupiter's. Jupiter is nice, rational. Probably got to know most people here better than she did. Their list is most likely the fairest of them all.
She copies down most of it while Jupiter isn't looking and fills in the ones towards the bottom by herself with the leftover names; trust Jupiter not to fill those ones out. They probably don't even want to.
The hovercraft is rumbling, taking off. Most people are looking around at any sliver of light they can catch at all awkward angles of the hovercraft, trying to see the terrain as they soar higher and higher into the air. She keeps her eyes firmly fixed on her lap; she's never been good with heights.
"You okay?" Jupiter asks, while she's still looking down. It's almost enough to draw her eyes elsewhere. "You look sort of nervous."
She is. She's also sort of stupid, which explains a lot. For someone normally so outlandish and bold she feels like she's been reduced to a nervous little shell, a hermit crab fleeing back into the safety of the only thing it has.
"I'll manage," she says, and then, because it may be the only time she works up the nerve, "I know we haven't really talked much, but do you think I could have your number?"
She doesn't want to talk here, she's realized. Not in front of everyone else. Even Sabre is watching them, which must mean it's fairly obvious.
"Sure," they answer, smiling. "Our phones are in our bags, so..."
She nods and extends her arm, enough for Jupiter to scribble down a series of numbers on the inside of her arm, just below her elbow. It's legible enough. Will last until she gets home. She ignores the cold, awkward brush of the prosthetic against the soft skin of her forearm. It feels like the right thing to do.
"Thanks," she says quietly, and Jupiter nods. It's almost encouraging. It's also most definitely weird.
But it's a good step for her. If that's what she really thinks she is.
She notices it. She's not sure anyone else does. The woman pokes her head out of the cockpit and then slinks back towards the now-closed exit ramp, disappearing from view. Caiman only sees it because she thinks it's Harper, for a second. They don't really look alike, but it's the hair... red wouldn't normally stand out, not in the middle of this group, but for some reason it does.
The braces around her legs keeping her in place tighten. She looks down.
Jupiter doesn't notice, she wouldn't expect them to. But Gideon looks down for a second too, like the same thing happened. He looks around for a second and their eyes meet over the top of Jupiter's head.
"You too?" he asks, and she nods.
The whole hovercraft shakes.
Turbulence. That's what it is - turbulence. Jupiter says as much next to her, although everyone is looking around now, uneasy.
Uneasy, the same way she felt when they first arrived. But she hadn't felt it since then. Everything was fine. There was nothing to be concerned about, certainly nothing to be suspicious about.
But the whole thing shakes again. She stays firmly in place because of the bracings; she leans down to tug at them, but they don't budge an inch. They're solid metal, at least an inch thick. She's not going anywhere.
Why is she not allowed to go anywhere?
Up until the hovercraft had been moving smoothly, quicker than anything else in the world, even the bullet trains. There's another abrupt shudder and the thing stops moving entirely. She twists her head around, trying to see outside. Are they on the ground? They'd only been moving for a few minutes, definitely far away from the facility but nowhere close to the Capitol.
"What the hell?" Gideon murmurs. There's a sharp hiss and the back ramp starts to lower down again. It's too bright, practically white as the sunlight assaults the previously dark space, and she finds herself squinting again. Not in suspicion.
No, something like acceptance starts spilling into her veins. For once in her life, she'd oddly, terrifying calm.
There's a shape of nearly black in the light, wavering in the desert heat. A person.
Something jabs into her leg, and she yelps. Jupiter does the same next to her. Even Gideon's whole leg jerks as he tries to pull away from it. The pain only flashes for a second, like getting a shot. Like the prick of a needle.
Like a needle...
She's so serenely calm.
And then she's nothing at all.
Got my ass kicked by a baby shower today, among other things. Apologies for the delay.
Poll is up on my profile for anyone interested. Once again it has zero effect on the actual "bloodbath" because I've had it written for an approximate six centuries. I'm mostly just curious as to what you all think and it's a good way for me to gauge how many people I have actively reading.
The blog will be down until the next update while I figure out how to add something to it without completely fucking it up, so don't worry about it's untimely disappearance. All is well.
Until next time.