Whoof, we made it y'all. I'll see you all at the bottom of the chapter once you've had a read of this mess!
33 - Bloodbath
Luvenia Nero, 15
"I can't believe they let us in," Selma whispers.
Luve grips her sister's hand tightly. She can't quite believe it either—that two fifteen-year-olds just got full access to the Games HQ, no Peacekeepers tailing them or anything. Luve's never seen even Lola go through the place without a guard to keep an eye on her. It's suspicious, but at the same time she can rationalise it with her bitterness very easily.
"Probably forgot we have access to her files," Luve mutters. Selma pales at the idea, but doesn't argue. It's not like Malvolia's been doing much in the realm of the motherly towards them. Not since Oz had started kindergarten, at least.
There's still fifteen minutes until the official arena launch, and so far Luve and Selma have found nothing noteworthy for their contacts outside of the Capitol. She knows their task is far from reconnaissance, but damn it, Luve wants to do more than just bug one Gamemaker's office and install a virtual backdoor in a computer. Who cares how dangerous and risky it is doing just those two tasks? Luve wants to feel a sense of accomplishment with this, physical proof that screams, I brought this ruin upon you.
She steadies her breathing as best she can once Selma comes to a halt outside Malvolia's office. It's a simple matter of unlocking the door with Malvolia's old key, and then they're sneaking inside the empty room. Malvolia always keeps things neat and organised—which makes the Nero sisters' job a whole lot easier. Selma scuttles over to Malvolia's desktop and wastes no time putting on the thin sanitary gloves she'd picked up on the way in. The little USB drive their insider had given them is inserted into the harddrive, and then it's only a matter of waiting.
Luve lingers by Malvolia's other screens in the room, where less sensitive things can be accessed. Tribute files, streams of Gamemaker HQ at work—anything Malvolia can look at if she's too busy to leave her office or something. Luve chews her lip. She looks at one screen, flicks it on. Footage of the tributes for the Quell, settled into their seats of the hovership, flickers to life.
Luve grew up loving the Games like any other child in the Capitol. Having this kind of behind the scenes access should've made her giddy and excited, the fact that Luve knows more than her classmates being a power trip once upon a time. But now… Now it's hard to look at this as anything other than the calm before the storm.
She wonders if her biological mother had looked like this, once upon a time. If, like Daphne Petharaph, she'd huddled in on herself and forced herself to quiet her sobs. If, like Adrianne Evans, she'd reached out for her closest ally and tried to be their rock during the agonising wait for arrival.
The thought makes her sick to her stomach. She focuses more on the sound of Selma tapping away at Malvolia's keyboard than the soft, silent conversations the District Eight pair are having. She needs something to take half of her attention away, to block out her disgust and desire to just run and attack Malvolia in the HQ.
Luve flicks on another screen. Lola is doing a recap of the reapings, hyping everyone up for the bloodbath. She watches as Jareth Vilna scorns his caretaker with a sweet smile. She finds herself cringing at the sight of Phyllis Hamilton being tased as she tries to run from the Peacekeepers in Seven. She feels her heart breaking into two when she sees Florence Fontana fight against her sister's grip and beg to go to the aviary.
"This is terrible," she mutters. Selma pauses her typing to look up at her.
"Do you…" She chews her lip, almost second-guessing her words. "Do you want to look for your mom while I do this?"
Luve stares at Selma with wide eyes. She hadn't thought to do that. The profiles and notes of all tributes in previous Games are archived in the Head Gamemaker's office. All Luve needs to look for is a surname—the same name their insider had revealed her grandparents to be.
The tapping fills the silence again as Luve flicks on the remaining screens. One shows the launch areas for the twelve District tributes. The other shows the twelve feeds of the Capitol tributes. The stylists inside each room pace and fidget with equal amounts of anxiety. She can't blame them, honestly.
The first few tributes are escorted to their launch areas while Luve pulls files out from a nearby desk drawer. She's not even entirely sure when her mother went into the Hunger Games, if Luve had been stolen from her District by Malvolia or if she'd been born shortly prior to the Games launch. She knows she has a fifteen year gap to work with, but it's too many tributes to sift through at a time.
Altan Knight shakes the hand of his stylist and is handed a small item that must be his family crest. Luve remembers reading that it's his token, but hasn't seen its design as of yet. Further down the screen, Octavia Faye chats briefly with her stylist as he helps her into her arena uniform—pants that look as though they're made from parachute fabric, a puffy vest that might be water resistant, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, shin-high rubber boots. Luve spots a breathing apparatus on the desk behind the stylist. She's quick to realise no one else has one in their prep station.
She looks over at the Capitolite screen, at Valentina Teagan. No mask to be seen as the girl gleefully zips up her puffer vest. Luve looks to the next one—Wystan Warwick, frowning at his uniform—and once again there's no apparatus. This is odd, Luve thinks. Why does Octavia…?
"Selma," Luve whispers. Selma pauses typing again. "I think Eunice is… Helping Octavia?"
Selma bursts out of the chair and scuttles over to Luve's side. "Oh," Selma wheezes upon seeing the apparatus. She points back to the computer and adds, "There's some notes about those being in the cornucopia, but not about them being part of the uniform."
Something leaps in Luve's chest—hope?—at the possibility of Eunice, their insider among the Gamemakers, helping Octavia with supplies. Selma returns to the computer while Luve resumes looking through files and glancing at the screens.
Simoleon Serif is pushed by the entire stylist team towards the tube leaving to the podiums, fear evident in the poor teen's expression. Quatra X shakes a Peacekeeper's hand—very odd, Luve thinks at first, but she quickly remembers that Quatra is from a spy family. Finnegan Styx is granted a cane to walk himself over to the tube, and he looks a lot better than the night before with his cast off and the morphling out of his system. Oryza Belfast hugs her stylist and writes something down on the notepad she's given every so often.
And then something unexpected catches her attention.
Morganite Gardierre stands patiently by her stylist as Peacekeepers wheel in shelf after shelf of weapons, each one more dangerous than the last. Luve slams her fist against the screen as Morganite looks through each option.
"That cheater!" Luve yells. Selma hisses at her to be quiet, but Luve just glares at the distorted image of Morganite in front of her. "They're letting her take a weapon in—who allowed this!?"
"Mom," Selma tries. "Mom allowed it, Luve. Please, we have to be quiet."
She turns her attention back to the District screens. She needs to keep her cool, needs to focus on someone who isn't about to play dirty off the bat.
Luve focuses on Cetronia Livius testing the strength of her vest and pants (the hem of her pants leg tears easily, the inside looking to be made of a thick mesh best suited for camping and hiking). Tooru Ikeda fixes his binder as best he can and nods along as his stylist—Lola's brother-in-law, of all people—gives instructions on safe binding habits in the arena. The scenes are calm and feel almost tender. At least Tooru's does.
She looks back over at the slightly cracked Capitol screen and gives it a cursory once-over. Nikostratos Farrington strapping a smartwatch to his wrist with an impassive expression. Gossamer Wormwood giving up a fountain pen nonchalantly, like he never even wanted to bring a token anyway. Epsilon Church kissing the symbol of his namesake on his necklace before backing into the tube with a solemn expression.
Attention jumps to Morganite again, but the girl has already entered the tube and begun rising. The weapon is difficult to see now, but something else of equal interest is made apparent to Luve as she looks to the next Capitol tribute. Cyber Tronovsky has his head bent as his stylist jams something into the back of his neck, as a few minutes of bated silence passes. And then Cyber begins screaming.
It's the most agonised scream Luve's ever heard. It's the scream of a parent watching their child being reaped. It's the scream of someone who's received the worst news of their life. It's the scream of someone who's pushed down emotions for so long, so long, that all they can do is unleash it all at once. Tears—real tears, something she thought the mostly-mechanical boy incapable of producing—stream down his face as he sags to the floor and wails uncontrollably.
As the stylist drags Cyber along the floor, visibly struggling with the grieving boy's weight, Luve turns to Selma.
"What did… What did they do to Cyber?"
Selma's already looked it up, apparently. Her face is sheet-white, a hand over her mouth while her eyes are blown wide.
After a moment, Selma lowers her hand and says, "They gave the Capitol kids sabotages. Cyber… Cyber asked for the harddrive with his emotions downloaded onto it. Asked for it to be reinstalled."
And then the feeds from the screens cut off, replaced by multiple images of Lola onstage and holding a microphone.
"Welcome, Panem, to the Fourth Quarter Quell of the Annual Hunger Games!" she bellows.
"So soon?" Selma whimpers. She looks back down at the screen, inhaling sharply through her nose. "I still need a few minutes."
"She won't leave until after the bloodbath concludes and the first placements are made," Luve reassures her sister. Selma chews her lip. "We've got time."
Selma wrings her hands through the gloves. "Okay," she says softly. "Okay. We've got time."
"I'm coming to you live from Hunger Games HQ, and it is an absolute honour to be your host this year! Are we excited, Panem?"
The grainy cheers of the crowd fills the room. Luve wants to throw up. She used to be like them.
Lola strides over to the screen behind her, gesturing wildly as it displays something to the audience. The view from Luve's screens shows what's televised, though—an immediate cut to the arena, a bird's eye view of the cornucopia as the tributes rise on their podiums. They look to be inside a large hall—like a town hall, she wonders?—but Luve knows that isn't the extent of the arena. Doors and windows lead to an unseen outside world, but the inside of the hall looks like it's been waterlogged for a decade. Wood is warped, windows are shattered, and algae, corals and mussels coat almost every corner of the building and every inch of the walls.
The sound within the arena is muted, but it's obvious that Cyber, who's now curled in on himself on the podium, defeated, is still grieving. From the opening of the cornucopia and going clockwise, she lists them off.
Chambray, looking left and right for her allies; Cyber and then Phyllis, the elder stunned at the despair radiating from the younger; Finnegan, swaying on his feet but otherwise holding himself steady; Oryza, shaking as she searches out Epsilon in the formation; Tooru, his head held high as he steels himself; Gossamer, a playful smirk on his face as though everything has just fallen into place.
"Our arena for this year's Games is a special case, discovered after the waters receded from our lovely pet project that was sadly lost to the elements little under two decades ago!" Lola explains.
Next to Gossamer is a very anxious Luxor, who flexes his hands open and shut to cool his nerves; Adrianne is next, shaking ever so subtly as she waits for the countdown; Florence stands idly by, waving to her alliance halfway across the cornucopia; Simoleon has a hand clamped over a pale face, the other at their stomach suggesting they're on the verge of throwing up out of stress; and then Quatra, calm and composed as she waits patiently for the Games to begin.
"The island was first discovered in 78A.D.D—that's 'after dark days' for kids learning history at school!—and President Snow I, rest his soul, sought to make the island a haven for Victors and Capitolites alike," Lola goes on. "It was to be called 'Elysium'."
Daphne is next, wiping her eyes with one hand while the other holds her glasses; then it's Epsilon, stoic and crouched into a fighting stance; next is Cole—"His file is updated to say 'Flare' now," Selma tells her—who fidgets on his feet and tries not to trigger the mines around his podium; after Cole is Avita, who wastes no time reaching for her poodle-shaped hair clip and removing it from her hair.
"Sadly this home away from home was lost to us in its third year of construction due to an earthquake and tsunami in 81A.D.D." Lola sighs wistfully. "But now it's emerged and ready for— OH MY WORD!"
An explosion of red and yellow and orange onscreen startles Luve. There's an instant replay cropped into the top corner of the screen, showing Avita throwing her hair clip at Wystan, completely unawares, with all her might. Before she can process what's been done, another explosion goes off—this time on Avita's other side. The next instant replay begins: Cole, startled by the explosion, physically jumps in the air and lands haphazardly on his podium. His foot slips. He slides down. The mines go off.
Avita is left wide-eyed and struggling to breathe. Blood from both the tributes beside her now coat her entire body, and Luve almost wishes she can hear what's being said as Avita shakes her head at a furious Altan Knight—who had been directly beside Wystan.
"Avita Clements-McMillan has just taken out Wystan Warwick before the Games have even started!" Lola drops all intentions of explaining Elysium further to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think this is the first time a tribute has ever done such a thing with their token before the bloodbath can begin. And it came from one of our own, no less!"
Next to the enraged Altan is Morganite, sheathed backsword clutched in her arms as she gags and retches at the sight of all the internal organs splattered across the ground; Valentina has her hands over her mouth, still as a statue as she stares down at the remains; Cetronia, despite all the chaos happening a dozen feet away from her, remains impervious.
"No point in waiting, then," Lola decides. "Gamemakers, how about we start that countdown?"
A deep voice booms over the speakers, the number sixty replacing the tile replaying Cole and Wystan's deaths.
Jareth's hands shake as he stares ahead, but Luve can see the spark of life in his eyes; Octavia—Luve's idol, the one person she genuinely wants to win—tugs the breathing apparatus over her mouth and nose as she prepares for the timer to reach zero; Nikostratos, smug and relaxed, doesn't even look as though he'll lift a finger in the bloodbath to come.
"Almost done," Selma updates. Luve jumps. She dives for the files she has yet to read, scooping them into her arms before grabbing more in the next drawer. They'll need to leave as soon as the bloodbath ends. With something as unexpected as this, they can't even afford to be distracted for one second.
The sound inside the arena has been turned up, and now Luve can hear what's being exchanged between Altan and Avita as the seconds tick by.
"I only wanted to help him!" Avita cries at Altan. Altan spits curses back at her, face red and fists clenched by his sides. "Please, I didn't mean to—!"
"Bullshit!" Altan bellows. "You planned it with that snake, Wormwood! Why else would an airhead like you pull such a cheap trick!?"
A wail sounds from further along the podiums, squeaks mixing in with Daphne's dismayed shouts. "Cole, no!"
"Cole!?" Florence echoes, and then it turns into a ripple effect as Cole's alliance collectively mourns him. All the while Altan keeps yelling at Avita.
Altan turns to Morganite. "Throw the sword to me!" he orders her. Morganite is still retching. "Morganite! Now!"
The countdown reaches fifteen. Half of the tributes are either panicking or mourning, shell shocked by Avita's actions. It's got to be one of the worst domino effects Luve's seen in a bloodbath.
All the while Gossamer and Croix smile to themselves.
Luve grabs for files that go as far back as the Eighty-Fifth Games. Every file that has "female tribute" written on the top next to their District, Luve stuffs them under her arms and bounces on her feet.
"Almost done?" she asks Selma. A hum in the affirmative comes from her sister. "Okay. Okay, we can do this." Five seconds remain on the countdown. "We're gonna make things right from today onwards."
The timer finishes, a loud alarm blaring in the hall, and all hell just breaks loose.
Avita tumbles from her podium with a screech, landing face-first in the remains of Cole and Wystan around her. The only thing on her that isn't blood is her tears, and they flow so freely that they almost clean her cheeks entirely. She sprints as fast as she can—not as fast as Epsilon Church, who practically flies off of his podium and careens in the direction of his ally, Oryza. Luve glances over at Oryza, at how she stands on her podium with her hands clamped firmly over her eyes. Why isn't she watching? Why isn't she moving?
Cetronia jumps off her podium and runs for the closest weapons rack while Jareth follows suit. Octavia tries run for a nearby bag, but it's quickly snatched away by Nikostratos as he slams his shoulder into her and plows his way over to Gossamer. Gossamer does the same to Luxor over where the they're launched, stealing a backpack and a nearby spear that he uses to part the sea of tributes between himself and Croix.
Luve watches, stunned, as Finnegan slides down his podium slowly and calls out to Chambray—no, she stops herself. He distinctly calls, "Callie!" Chambray—Callie?—whoever they are, they run in Finnegan's direction and grab blindly at the bags around them. A bow gets caught on the strap of the bag, and instead of stopping to untangle it (which would leave Finnegan a sitting duck) the Eight tribute just adds it to their inventory.
An arrow whizzes through the air as Gossamer and Croix get closer to a window. One of them trips—Gossamer's voice rings out, "Son of a bitch!" while he pulls the arrow from the back of his thigh. Luve looks back at the cornucopia as the duo smash the window and crawl through, Croix using their combined bags as shields. Luxor stands with his stance leveled and his bowstring still quivering from its release. He has a dozen arrows tucked under his arm as he begins to make his way over to Finnegan and his District partner. A short distance away, Epsilon and Tooru tug at a bag both had dived for. Tooru looks like he might be ready to abandon the bag in search of another, his gaze every so often flitting to his ally, Quatra, as she approaches with a bag of her own; Epsilon makes the decision for him, though, when he grabs for a hatchet and slams it down harshly on his forearm.
Tooru lets go and screeches. He doesn't even have time to continue screaming, let alone fight back, as Epsilon hits him once, twice, three times against the side of his head with the hatchet. He's still twitching on the ground, blood staining his clear skin, when Epsilon makes it to Oryza's side and carries her towards the large doors at the front of the hall.
There's more screams coming from the other tributes remaining, though. Luve looks back at Avita, a short distance away from Tooru's body; the poor girl is wailing and shaking her head as she grabs a small knife from the table right beside Tooru. Altan looks as though he's still pursuing her, but Avita screams even louder and throws a nearby backpack at him. She makes it to a door leading to a bathroom, and from there Luve watches another screen light up with footage of Avita climbing a toilet and dragging herself through the thin window just shy of the ceiling. It looks to be a tight fit, but she makes it out alive.
Over by the cornucopia's opening, Jareth charges at Octavia in an attempt to punch her, knock her out of the way so he can run, and he almost succeeds. Octavia is still off-balance from the collide with Nikostratos, after all. He manages to grab a bag and start fleeing—and then a morningstar knocks his feet out from under him. The poor boy from Eleven yowls as it becomes very, very apparent that one of his knees has been shattered, the other twisted in a way that will never let him get away from his assailant. Cetronia brings the morningstar down on the back of his head, and it takes her some time to pull it out from his smashed skull.
Octavia crawls over to a nearby bag, ready to escape and avoid Cetronia's wrath, but she's almost too late.
"Faye!" Cetronia shouts with authority. Octavia, still on the ground and clutching her bag tight, glares up at the statuesque teen. Cetronia advances with her morningstar raised.
As it swings down, a smaller body dives between the two. Luve can't see who it is—there's a shield strapped to their back and one positioned on their front, blocking the morningstar's path. The spikes on the weapon go through the shield, eliciting a pained grunt from the small body covering Octavia, but no one appears to have died. Cetronia yanks away the morningstar, removing the shield as well, and fumbles for a second with prying her weapon from the warped metal.
Phyllis, bleeding through her uniform on one side, grabs Octavia's hand and does her best to lead her to the front doors.
Cetronia gives up on the hunt. She watches with an almost unreadable expression as her prey escapes, moves on to her new target as though it's not even a big deal to her.
Another fight for supplies breaks out on the opposite end again. Luve is reeling, seeing all this fighting for backpacks that are practically in abundance around the cornucopia—why can't they just grab a different one instead of fight? Neither Florence nor Simoleon look to be giving up any time soon, both squeezing their eyes shut as they yell at the other to, "Please give it to me!"
The politeness brings a stab of pain to Luve's chest.
The struggle doesn't last for long. Simoleon's knight in shining armour, Adrianne, yells out, "Simi, duck!"
Simoleon does just that, a mere second before the blade of the war scythe swings into Florence's face. The tip goes through her eye, drags down her face, and Luve has to actually turn away once the sheer amount of blood and bone explodes from the poor girl's face and paints Simoleon red. Daphne, who'd been safely by Adrianne's side during the scuffle, throws up all over the front of her uniform.
Adrianne grabs Simoleon's hand, leading the teen to Daphne and relaying orders as calmly as she can. "Take them to the window while I get Cyber," she tells Daphne. Despite the youngest tribute being out of harm so far, even Luve knows it's a foolish plan. Cetronia is still haunting the area, meeting her new opponent halfway.
Daphne just shakes her head, sobbing and squeaking uncontrollably. She grabs Adrianne's other arm, still holding the scythe, and attempts to drag the older girl and Simoleon to a nearby window.
The level of pain in Adrianne's eyes as she crawls after Simoleon through the opening, searching for Cyber through the crowd, is indescribable.
Now no longer occupied by Avita, Altan runs past Valentina and Morganite, towards the front of the cornucopia. There's a fury in his eyes that Luve expects in a District One volunteer. His new target must be Cetronia, Luve thinks; the way the two careers stare each other down as they approach spells only trouble for anyone unlucky enough to try butt in.
Valentina and Morganite run to the cornucopia and collect things for themselves. All of the other tributes have either died or left, leaving their new base of operations for the taking. Well, Luve remembers with a pang of guilt, all but Cyber, who wails on his podium still without a care for any of the drama around him.
Altan readies his sword to fight Cetronia, who has yet to fully recover her morningstar from the shield. She doesn't look deterred, simply throwing the weapon and shield to the side, and Luve can see very quickly just why she's not bothered. Why she scored as high as an eleven is apparent when she effortlessly catches Altan's sword arm mid-swing and twists it behind his back. Altan drops the sword as, more than likely, every nerve in the entirety of his arm and shoulder cries out against the strain they've been put under. Morganite and Valentina begin jogging over, completely unaware of what's happening thus far, and it's the opening Cetronia needs to end the scuffle before it can even begin.
One arm snakes around Altan's neck, pulling him close to Cetronia's torso and lifting him a foot off the ground. The other hand releases his arm, letting it flop uselessly by his side, and then pulls Cetronia's arm further against Altan's neck. His face turns red, quickly darkening as the blood flow is blocked off. There's no way he can get a proper breath in like that.
Valentina and Morganite round the corner in time to see Altan struggle against the girl's grip, to see Cetronia flex as hard as she can. Altan's entire body stops moving as a loud snap rings out. Cetronia rests her muscles and drops him unceremoniously to the ground.
"What the fuck," Luve whispers. How is he dead? He didn't suffocate that quickly, did he?
The two younger girls stare at Cetronia in horror. Morganite looks up and down at Altan's body. Valentina's hands shake as she visibly debates attempting to attack Cetronia with her crossbow.
"You gonna try kill me?" Cetronia asks them, voice level.
Both girls immediately shake their heads.
"Good." With a half-hearted kick to Altan's body, as though pushing away something unsavoury touching her leg, Cetronia turns in the direction of Cyber. "You follow my lead now—no arguments. Hurry and gather the bags left behind."
She leaves no room for arguments. Cetronia strides over to the sobbing cyborg as though she's taking a walk through the park. There is no urgency. There is no malice. Cetronia is, like when Octavia escaped her, a blank mask.
Two dark brown hands hold tear-stained cheeks, almost tender if not for the situation. Cyber looks at her, still not quite able to focus on her, but he seems to know what kind of danger he's in at the very least. He reaches up with a shaking hand—a shaking robotic hand, Luve thinks grimly—and tugs at one of her wrists.
"Why are you crying?" Cetronia asks him. Cyber hiccups—hiccups, for crying out loud. Nothing he says, nothing he blubbers out, makes any sense to Luve. Even the Games team has given up trying to translate his words on the bottom of the screen. But Cetronia understands it enough.
The grip on his head tightens. A threat.
"I won't pretend to understand your situation," Cetronia says evenly. Cyber stares up at her with fear in his glowing eyes. "Instead, I will give you a choice. You either die here, let yourself rest and go back to your father's side. Or you live, and you remain by my side so we both leave the arena victorious."
Cyber looks almost offended, like the choice shouldn't even be on the table. Like he already wants to see his father again in the afterlife. But then Cetronia adds, "The wealth of a victor from the Capitol will no doubt help with finding your sister and convicting your uncle."
His hands drop limply to his side. Cyber's expression softens, slowly becomes resigned, and he lets out a shuddering breath.
"Okay," he says weakly. "Yeah. Okay…"
The bloodbath comes to a close as soon as the words leave his mouth. Lola's face flickers onto another screen, commentating about the past few minutes animatedly as the dead tributes so far appear on a leaderboard. Six greyed out faces, Six children who may never see their families again unless some higher power grants them mercy.
Luve almost doesn't notice Selma appearing by her side and tugging at her shirt.
"Luve," Selma whispers hurriedly. "We gotta go before Mom gets here."
She doesn't need to be told twice. With the files held tightly in her arms, disgust gripping her core over the attention she just gave the national pastime, Luve lets Selma lead her out of Malvolia's office.
Distantly, with the events of the last quarter-hour in the back of her mind, Luve wonders if she'll ask Eunice about Octavia's breathing apparatus.
Sponsorship has opened for Ad Mortem, and you can find the points totals at the top of my profile, while the sponsorship form is above the Mortem character list! The has/needs list as well as alliance locations can be found on the arena page of the blog, as well!
Eulogies:
24th Place: Wystan Warwick, C-District 2, 14 - Sent by ThatOtherAsian
Killed by podium mines set off by Avita
Ahh, Wystan, I'm so sorry you were the one who got caught in Gossamer's sights after the sabotages were established. If sabotages hadn't been included and Gossamer hadn't been given as much power as he was, Wystan definitely would've made it a lot further thanks to his skills and status as a Peacekeeper's son. But alas, he was seen as a threat and was taken out to cripple the careers :'( Thank you so much for sending him in, Will - it's fun to write characters with a sense of pride and honour they abide by as much as possible, especially when it comes to seeing how they conflict with others who follow the same ideals and others who are flexible with their actions.
23rd Place: Cole Aish (Flare), District 12, 12 - Sent by goldie031
Accidentally slipped off his podium
HGNNGN Cole was tough to kill for me because he'd become such a cinnamon roll? And so many things were looking up for him? HE GOT A DAD HE HAS A DAD NOW! But I knew from the moment I saw that he was easily startled and skittish, he'd probably jump in surprise if someone's podium blew up. Cole definitely helped bring in some of the more heartwarming moments in the pre-Games chapters, and I'm gonna miss writing him from here on out. Thanks for sending him, Goldie - fingers crossed for Quatra in the coming chapters!
22nd Place: Tooru Ikeda, District 5, 14 - Sent by CelticGames4
Killed with a hatchet by Church
Another cinnamon roll who was tough to kill. Had they just been a little closer, and had Tooru abandoned the bag sooner, he and Quatra would've been able to escape the bloodbath and make it at least a day in. Writing Tooru had been almost melancholic for me because his self-worth issues and people-pleasing default setting hit so close to home, so giving him the opportunity to flourish thanks to Quatra, Anari and Larius reassuring him and being by his side was something I was glad I could write for him before his death. You did your best, Tooru! Thank you for sending him in, Celtic; the little guy holds a special place in my heart now.
21st Place: Jareth Vilna, District 11, 14 - Sent by TheEngineeringGames
Killed with a morningstar by Cetronia
I think we both knew Jareth was one of your three to die in the bloodbath, Lauren, but it's still sad to see this little spitfire go! Telling Gossamer to piss off? Outing Constance's abuse on live TV? Trying to fight Octavia in the bloodbath? Iconic. When will your fave. But for real, all the stuff he's put up with in his life is heartbreaking, and I'm glad he got to eat apple pie before his death. Here's hoping his interview gives aid to the kids at the community centre and raises awareness in the Capitol just how rough the kids of 11 have it! Thanks for sending him in, Lauren.
20th Place: Florence Fontana, C-District 12, 15 - Sent by CelticGames4
Killed with a war scythe by Adrianne
Oof, another cinnamon roll slain in the bloodbath… Florence was an absolute hoot to write and her obsession with Lola and Luxor made for amazing trivia for both characters XD Every scene involving this precious girl made a chapter feel so much more relaxing, especially compared to the rest of the drama going on, and that enthusiasm and love of birds will be sorely missed. She didn't even get to see her owl sabotage! But the owl will live on as Florence's legacy, guarding the cornucopia, and until then I hope the little owlet is in a better, owl-ier place. Thank you for sending her last-minute, Celtic, I really appreciate it :)
19th Place: Altan Knight, District 1, 18 - Sent by Hoprocker
Killed by internal decapitation by Cetronia
Another proud character! Knight brought an interesting dynamic to the careers with his dislike of District 2, and it definitely made for a lot of drama with Cetronia being picked as a volunteer. He had a good plan that definitely had a chance of working, extorting the loophole about the amount of C-District tributes needed to win, but his downfall came with not only his rivalry with Cetronia, but also Croix and Gossamer helping Cetronia take over the career pack ;-; Great big thank you to Hoprocker for sending him in - he was one of the earliest submissions for Ad Mortem and it was very fun expanding on how the careers operate 26 years after Katniss and Peeta died.
And that's our bloodbath. Gosh, this was wild to write! Was it worth the wait? Hopefully we can keep up the momentum when it comes to the rest of the Games XD
I'm really not sure what to say now that we arrived at the bloodbath, so I'll jump into the QQ for now!
QQ #28: What about the bloodbath caught you off guard the most? (A specific death, alliances, moments of bravery, etc.)
See you guys in Day 1, and until then I'll be working on some Aeturnum intros!