Whoop! Day 1 of the arena! It's a whopper of a chapter, and I hope I can keep up the length for future ones :D As usual, QQ is at the bottom and a quick note regarding placement announcements!
34 - Day 1
Adrianne Evans, 17, District 4
Despite how violently her hands shake, how desperate she is to turn back time and make everything right, Adrianne keeps it together. "Together" being a very generous word for how she's coping compared to her allies. But it's an effort nonetheless.
It's all she can do as she sits Simi and Daphne down at the edge of the lake. She drops their supplies softly to the ground, hushing Daphne as she continues to sob. She's not sure how she'll begin to console Daphne, who'd made the tough choice for Adrianne to leave Cyber behind and saw firsthand Cole's death; for now, Adrianne decides, it might be best to try get her clean. Her and Simi.
"It's okay," Adrianne says softly. "You're okay, Daph. You're okay."
Daphne shakes her head. She doesn't even open her eyes as Adrianne picks up the shield the younger had grabbed in the bloodbath, doesn't even question why Adrianne carries it to the edge of the water. Simi takes note, though, and they quietly call out, "Adrianne?"
"Just need to check something, okay?" She kneels down at the lake, careful not to get any part of her wet. She doesn't know if it's safe water, if it won't hurt them upon contact. Simi understands this, too, and jogs over.
"Flashlight," they insist. Adrianne doesn't follow for a time, but Simi takes the initiative for her. They pull one of their three flashlights from the bag, and wastes no time dunking the larger end into the water. "Don't waste our shield. We can live without a flashlight, but not a shield."
"Right," Adrianne wheezes. What was she thinking, about to waste their shield proving a theory? At least Simi caught on before she did any damage, she thinks.
Minute pass, the flashlight staying submerged the whole time. Daphne slowly starts to calm down, her sobs turning into infrequent hiccups and squeaks. Simi looks to Adrianne eagerly before they remove the flashlight from the lake with extra care.
Nothing is wrong with it. It's not even rusting or stained—the water is clean both visually and on a chemical level. Both teens let out relieved sighs. Tension she hadn't even noticed build up in her shoulders melts away in an instant. It's safe. The three of them are safe.
Adrianne dips the shield into the water and scoops the liquid out. "Daphne, over here," she says. Daphne inches closer, sniffles, and finally sets herself down by Adrianne's side.
Washing the vomit off of her shirt and vest is easy. It's all a matter of Adrianne scrubbing at fabric and replacing the water every so often, until finally Daphne isn't as caked in her own breakfast. Adrianne's rather proud of her work, and her confidence is boosted just a little more when she turns for Simi. They shrug off their vest to have it cleaned separately, wasting no time working on the blood on their face and shirt while Adrianne scrubs their vest. The material is water resistant, thankfully, and they're done within minutes of starting their task.
The silence that comes afterwards is hard to sit through. Daphne doesn't sob anymore, worn out from her hysterics at the bloodbath, and neither Simi nor Adrianne can think of what to do next. Adrianne's never felt so out of control before, never felt so out of her depth. For crying out loud, she killed a girl today! She just slaughtered Florence—Florence, who never meant her any ill will and was always so polite and happy to talk to her—when the situation could've been resolved so much differently. No one else was a danger around them. Adrianne could've grabbed a bag and called Simi over, ended the conflict instead of…
Instead of giving the Capitol what they wanted. Instead of throwing away the last of her morals like all of her other friends had. Instead of becoming a murderer.
She doesn't even notice her hands are shaking until Simi's close around them. Adrianne's muscles spasm, caught between relaxing in the familiar touch of a friend and tensing at the danger she now poses to her allies. She had to protect her friends, she tries to tell herself. She failed to protect them all, she thinks at the mere thought of Cole and Cyber.
"Adrianne," Simi whispers. She flinches. Her hands don't move from theirs, though. Simi chews their lip and tears up ever so slightly, like what they want to say is almost too hard for them to stomach. She's so scared that they won't feel safe with her anymore. Adrianne worked so hard this week to be a rock for them, to be a support for them in the arena. "I… I'm sorry you had to kill her… All because of me…"
Adrianne shakes her head, opens her mouth to object—it wasn't their fault!—but Simi stops her.
They smile softly, face scrunching up in both relief and anguish. "Thank you for helping me," they croak. "I was too stubborn to give up the bag and—and you helped me anyway. It means a lot."
Adrianne's stunned silent by the back-to-back apology and thanks. It's hard to process just how much her actions apparently mean to Simi, and it only gets more difficult when Daphne squeaks and adds her own piece.
"Thanks for—" She squeaks. "—listening to me earlier. I didn't want to—" Her hands twitch, and then it travels up her arm until finally Daphne chews her lip and forces her tics to stop. Adrianne learned how painful that can be for her, and it breaks her heart to see Daphne do it now. "I'm sorry I made us leave Cyber. I was scared."
Before she can stop herself, Adrianne blurts out, "Both of you, c'mere."
With her two remaining allies right in front of her, shaking and waiting for the other shoe to drop, Adrianne pulls them into a tight group hug and lets out a trembling breath. She killed someone today, but she did it to help Simi. She left behind Cyber, but doing so kept the rest of her alliance alive and protected Daphne from further harm. Cole was not her fault, she keeps reminding herself. Cole was an accident caused by Avita's sabotage. Just an accident.
Just an accident.
Distantly, she wonders if this is what Shell had to tell herself on the first day. If this is what all of her friends had told themselves before they'd died. It feels cruel, the way the Capitol is forcing children to think on a survival-driven level. Adrianne already misses the carefree nature of life back in Four.
The trio pulls apart after a solid minute of embracing. Breathing feels just a tad easier for Adrianne. Daphne doesn't look to be suffering from as many movement tics as before. Simi is the calmest she's seen them in days. And it only gets better as the sound of little parachutes popping open hits their ears, drawing their gazes up to the sky—to the two little packages descending in their direction.
Adrianne jumps to her feet immediately, catching one of them as she leaps into the air eagerly. The other is bumped off of her arm, but lands safely near Daphne nonetheless. Two sponsorship packages. Two sponsorship packages for them.
They're all holding their breaths as Adrianne and Daphne compare the weights of the packages. It's hard to tell what's inside with how heavy the packages' outer shell is, but they're so dumbfounded that they can't help ignoring the little road block.
"Who first?" Adrianne asks softly. "I— This one is addressed to Four-F, I think."
Simi leans over her shoulder. The little crest engraved atop the package is in Roman numerals, a way of writing Adrianne doesn't see very often in her daily life. But Simi nods in agreement, running their finger along the little V and I next to the blocky F.
"Yeah," they say. "The V is a five and the I before it means it's a four. Like, 'one before five' and such. Daphne, can I see yours?"
Daphne holds up her package, and lo and behold a crest following the same pattern is engraved on top: III-F.
"Lucky," Simi says with a smile. "Daphne and I got supplies, and you two got sponsored. Maybe things will get better."
And Adrianne smiles at the thought, reminded that they're surviving despite their troubles. "Maybe," she agrees. She sets down her package and nods to Daphne. "Why don't you go first? Chronological order, yeah?"
Daphne nods, beaming at her. She's careful to open the package, almost as though scared to break whatever's inside. One hand dips inside to paw at the contents, and then Daphne pulls out her gift with furrowed brows.
It's some kind of breathing apparatus, like people wear when bad chemicals are in the air. Daphne sets it on her lap and pulls out a few more items—three of them, actually, all the same shape and size and seeming to be a perfect fit with the mask's empty filter slot.
All three of them stare in amazement down at the setup. A mask and three filters, so simple yet so complicated. Why the mask? Is there something bad in the air? How long have they been breathing it in? Is it from the water or the buildings? Why the mask and filters? And why to—
Oh. Oh, she knows why one was given to Daphne so soon. Adrianne feels the colour drain from her face as she immediately demands, "Daph, set up the mask and put it on. There might be something in the air—you'll get the worst of it with your asthma if there is."
Daphne nods, setting to work unwrapping the plastic around one of the filters and clipping it in place on the mask. Simi helps her with securing the mask as Adrianne chews at her nail, anxious about what the gift could mean for all of them in the long run. God, how long will the filters even last? Days? Hours? It fits snugly over Daphne's mouth and nose once they're done adjusting the straps, and although slightly muffled Adrianne can still hear Daphne ask, "All good?"
Adrianne nods. With the mask set up and Daphne's lungs no longer in mortal danger, attention moves to the innocent little package labelled, IV-F.
The first thing she sees inside is a note, folded in half and addressed to Adrianne by nickname. It feels like forever since someone addressed her as Chinook last, and it makes her heart leap into her throat at the possibility of it coming from home. Someone from home is holding out hope for her. Someone from home is helping as much as they can, despite the absurd prices the Capitol lists for sponsorship.
She sets down the package and unfolds the note first. Despite how much she wants to know what else they can all glean about the arena from their gifts, she just wants to see who from Four is giving her that extra push to stay in the game.
Had to dig quite a bit into company profits to get these. By the time you get this, I'll be sending some of our freshest catch to Cole's father.
Hang in there, baby girl.
- Jack.
And God, it makes her curl in on herself and whine so loud, floodgates she wasn't even aware she was holding back bursting open at such a simple note, at the four little letters that make up her adoptive father's name. The note is crumpled and balled up in her hands as her shoulders shake, but it's still in one piece and still a reassurance she didn't know she needed.
The note is passed around the group, and smiles are exchanged all around. Even though Cole's gone he's still being honoured, still being missed. Adrianne can think of no better way for Jack to support Mr. Flare, especially with how great the fish they catch are.
"Another mask," Adrianne lists once the note is back in her hands. "And a filter. Got some bandages underneath, too. I think that puts us somewhere steady on all fronts, yeah?"
"Small bag of food," Simi adds idly. "We can snack at it until we get more."
"And there's bound to be an ecosystem here," Daphne agrees. She points to the lake. "We know it's safe to touch the water, so something might be alive inside. And the buildings used to be underwater, right? Maybe we can survive on the moss gathered on them if the lake doesn't have any fish in it."
"People can eat that?"
Adrianne and Daphne both nod eagerly.
"We're alright with water, too," Adrianne goes on. "It's a pretty large supply, should be easy to dole out equally. Flashlights'll be good for if we want to move at night. And we've got weapons and a shield."
"But not weapons we know how to use." Simi pulls the crossbow from their bag with their nose scrunched up. "I dunno how well you can use a war scythe or how similar it is to a spear, but I don't have the strength to use one of these. Hell, not even the aim. I saw how much Valentina struggled practicing loading one of these in training—they're not easy to use."
Alright, so maybe they're not entirely set on all fronts. But Adrianne can still somewhat wield the war scythe and the shield will more than likely come in handy if they ever get into a scuffle. Like Daphne said, there should be an ecosystem or moss once they run out of food, and water is easy to split between them. Flashlights will help them move at night, avoid other alliances and even explore the buildings for a proper place to sleep.
She looks at the mask and nods. She attaches the filter and announces, "Out of the three of us, I think I have the strongest lungs. I can hold my breath a good five minutes without trying, so I think I'll have the best chances braving whatever is in the air until another mask falls into our hands. Simi."
Adrianne takes their hands and makes sure they firmly wrap their fingers around the mask.
"Let's do our best with what we have. You guys with me?"
Luxor Aricunai, 17, C-District 8
"How's the leg?"
"I'm fine," Finn grunts. "Just— Hold on a sec, please."
He can hear the annoyed click of Calico's tongue up ahead. Luxor shakes it off, sure that it's a reaction to their situation and the supplies they'd grabbed. He helps Finn over to the gates leading to the sealed suburbia of Mason Street, and ever so slowly he lowers his ally to the ground.
They've managed well so far, Luxor thinks as he looks up and down the area. No one chased after them, Luxor managed to shoot Gossamer in the leg in the bloodbath, and so far none of them have died. Luxor would dare to say that his alliance is the only one to not suffer any injuries or losses in the bloodbath, even.
He sets himself down next to Finn and lets out a heavy breath. All that's left is to keep up their momentum and survive.
Luxor looks over at Calico. Ever since they'd joined up at the bloodbath, fled the town hall, he's been distant from them. Not like usual, either—he knows Calico is emotionally distant because emotions make him uncomfortable, but physically. Calico remains at a noticeable arm's length from them and barely looks at them now that they've stopped.
It's kind of like those couples who skirt around an issue and just ignore each other. It's really not how he wants to go about keeping the alliance alive.
He hands Finn the bow and a few arrows, softly telling him, "Just in case. I'm gonna go see if Callie's okay."
Finn nods. He looks worried, too, glancing past Luxor to check on Calico. He must've noticed the distance Calico holds them at too.
Calico's kept roughly six paces ahead of them this whole time, and even when taking a break he doesn't close that distance. Luxor feels uneasy leaving Finn on his own instead of just calling Callie over, but he can't risk giving themselves away. Luxor was barely paying attention to where everyone else went once the weapons and blood started flying; the odds of someone following them this far are too great for him to take any risks.
He doesn't get a greeting when he stops by Calico's side. No, Calico ignores him and just continues unzipping his bag, looting through its contents and taking inventory. Luxor watches him pull out a hatchet, then a small blanket, then a basic medicine kit. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops short at the wicked smile on Calico's face when he pulls out the final item in the bag: A chemistry kit.
"I can work with this," Calico mutters to himself. He pops open one of the latches, only to pause and look up at Luxor. The smile is gone, replaced by a simple mask of indifference. "You need something?"
And Luxor is at a loss for what to ask. He knows what he means to say, but the words just don't come out. It's frustrating.
"You, ah…" He rubs the back of his neck. "You've been…"
Calico raises a brow.
Fuck it. "What's in the kit?" he asks instead. Like a coward.
"The… Chemistry or medicine kit?"
"Either-or."
"Well…" Calico pops the other latch of the chemistry kit and lifts the lid. Inside is a collection of glass jars, each one held in place by material meant to keep them from breaking. Some of the jars have liquids in them, but the vast majority are powders. Calico pulls one of the powders out and gives it a soft shake. "We've got sodium. Don't handle it without gloves unless you wanna severely burn your hands. Actually—don't even eat it. Do not eat any of these. They will not kill you quickly."
He doesn't like knowing that Calico knows these things. This is what he gets for chickening out and avoiding the problem. Like he'd wanted to prevent in the first place.
Like a dumbass, though, he asks, "How can we use sodium?"
Calico shrugs. "Throw it in someone's face, I guess. Blind 'em."
Dumb idea. Ask something else.
"What about that silver stuff? The one that looks like water?"
And Calico beams at the question. "Mercury!" he cheers. "That'll come in handy if we trick someone into drinking it or even just lace our weapons with it. Doesn't kill right away but it does enough nerve damage to make it a little easier."
"Is… Is there anything non-lethal that might help with Finn's leg?"
As quickly as he'd become elated over the mercury, Calico's smile drops and turns into a scowl. It doesn't answer any of Luxor's questions, but it definitely gives him a little bit of a hint to what's going on: The distance is because of Finn.
Calico's finger brushes another jar of liquid, this one pale pink and clear. "Don't waste the penicillin," he says softly. "The Capitol probably got rid of all the bacteria that could make his leg worse. Save it for when we actually need it."
That's what does it for Luxor. He drops to the ground next to Callie, stone-faced, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Calico shrinks away, shoulders hunching and head dropping until all he can see through his hair is the chemistry kit. He knows he's about to be confronted over this.
Luxor has every right to do the whole "tough guy" act, but he really doesn't want to. He wants to be trusted and he wants Calico to know this. But most important of all, he wants this alliance to work.
So he keeps his voice soft, level, and says, "Did Finn upset you?"
Calico bristles. He doesn't immediately reply, distracting himself with packing away some of the jars he pulled out, but when that's all done he has no choice but to respond.
"He called out my name," Calico mumbles. "He called out my name in the bloodbath. No one is supposed to know I'm not Cham."
Ah. So that's the issue. "Do you remember who was right next to him? When he called out, I mean?"
"Does it matter?" He scrunches up his face and shakes his head. "It's televised and unedited. Panem heard it. Now they're probably going to arrest her and hurt her and I should've just thrown myself at Cetronia—"
"Whoa, hey! Why would you do that? Your plan was really good—we all got out alive, and I even shot Gossamer in the leg. And the chemistry kit got you really excited!"
"But he called my name." Calico actually looks at Luxor then. He looks so hurt, so betrayed; most of all, he looks lost. Like he doesn't know what he should do now with the conflicting emotions. "He exposed me to the country."
There's a lot of things he could say. He could try reason that Finn did it by accident. He could try reason that Finn wasn't thinking. He could try reason that Finn was too high on painkillers last night to remember all the details regarding Calico's stunt. But they'd all sound like excuses, and Calico won't trust an excuse.
Luxor sighs and uncrosses his arms. He leans back until his palms support him, allowing him to watch the morning sky and think.
"I don't know what to say," he admits. Calico nods. At least honesty is a good path to follow with him. "But I wanna help you. Help both of you. So I'll talk to Finn, and who knows? He'll probably be mortified that he said it out loud and apologise nonstop. You know how nice he is."
Calico sends him a dry glare. He laughs, a hand clamping over his mouth in a futile attempt to stifle the sound. Calico, to his surprise, softens his glare.
After he calms himself down, he says, "Come sit with us. I'm thinking we might break into the suburbia and crash in one of the nice homes. You guys gotta get a taste of how the other side lives, after all."
"I dunno," Calico says lightly. He nods to the water-damaged, moss-covered buildings. "Looks pretty close to the dump I used to call my secret hideout."
But he packs the chemistry kit back away, and the rest of his loot soon follows. Luxor climbs to his feet, groaning at the ache in his knees, and makes his way back to Finn. The brunette hasn't moved, nor has he looked to need the bow and arrows. When he spots them making their ways back over to him, all of their gear in tow, he smiles at them and offers a hesitant wave.
Calico sits himself down right next to the gate leading to the suburbia, and he wastes no time opening the medicine kit and asking, "How's the leg feeling?"
Finn shrugs. "Aches, but that's not a problem."
Like before, Calico clicks his tongue in annoyance. "It is a problem. You'll irritate it to the point of not being able to move it and exhaust yourself sooner." He fishes through the kit and pulls out a small pill box, which he chucks unceremoniously at Finn's chest. "Aspirin. You're lucky they include those in the basic kits."
It's not a comfortable silence that follows, but it's far from the tense distance they'd had before. Calico spends his time sorting through the medicine kit, shoving the more immediately needed medicines into the front pocket of his bag and leaving the others—like the anti-rash creams and cough medicine—in the kit. Luxor helps Finn decide how many pills to take, and he holds on to the packet for him once they determine how long he'll need to wait for the next batch. Despite Calico's curt tone, he's helped a ton today.
"Thanks," Finn says after a time. Calico looks over at him, already slinging his backpack over his shoulder while his other hand holds the hatchet. "For not leaving me behind back there. I'm just… I'm sorry if I slow you guys down."
Calico's grip tightens on the hatchet. The gap between Finn's statement and Calico's response is just a tad concerning. "It's no problem," he says eventually. "Just don't do anything stupid."
As much as he wishes this wonderful conversation could keep going, Luxor can't help the relieved exhale when he looks up and spots the first lot of sponsorship packages descend upon the arena. Some fall back as far as the cornucopia, while others head near the lake they'd passed. Only two fall in their direction, and Luxor's heart leaps into his throat when the parachutes deploy.
He points up, forcing Finn and Calico's attention to the sky, and he stands ready to grab one of the packages. He jumps, barely drags one down, and announces who it's for once he sees the little VIII-F on the top.
Calico's brows rise to the top of his head when Luxor announces it. The other package lands just a foot away from him, bearing the same designation, and all three of them are at a loss for words. Calico—or rather, Chambray—must be popular back in the Capitol. Luxor's honestly a little surprised nothing came for him yet.
"Eenie-meenie?" Luxor tries, pointing between both packages. Calico just blinks at him tiredly and picks up the one at his feet.
He pops open the lid, and a wave of panic rushes through Luxor at the sight of the first thing Calico pulls out. It should be harmless. Why would a water bottle be harmful, after all? But it wasn't sponsored to Luxor, and he can only imagine the countless ways Calico will be hurt if he pops it open and takes an experimental sip.
Luxor snatches the bottle from Calico. Calico drops the package in surprise, and for the first time today he raises his voice. "What the hell!?" he demands.
"Don't drink it," Luxor gasps. His hands shake, gripping the bottle so tight that he wonder if it'll burst. "I'm begging you, don't drink it."
"What's going on?" Finn asks. He crawls over to them, peeking around both boys to try and find out what's happening. "Why can't he drink it?"
Calico's eyes never leave Luxor's face. Not even as he bends down and reaches into the package for the accompanying note. Not even when he stands back up and unfolds it. It's only when he begins to read it out loud that Luxor starts drowning in his dread.
"It's all your fault," Calico reads aloud. "You know what to do."
His mind goes into overdrive. Who sent the note? Did they know about the sabotage? It had to be a mentor or an escort or… A Gamemaker? Luxor hears the bottle bend and lose its shape in his grip. Which Gamemaker? Did they send it to Calico with the intention of killing him? Who would hate him enough to do that? Who would call Calico's situation his fault?
Who would waste Luxor's sabotage for a personal grudge?
Calico folds the note in half and walks over to Luxor. Without warning, he shoves the note against Luxor's chest and leans in close, whispering just low enough for only the two of them to hear, "Signed by Darios Aricunai."
His heart sinks. His lungs constrict. His legs give out.
His dad basically told Calico to kill himself. His dad. His Gamemaker dad. One of the few people outside of his allies and Morganite who know his sabotage—cyanide in the first sponsored water outside of his own. And he wasted it on a grudge.
"Hold on to the water," Calico says, voice flat. He's back to the closed-off, distant Calico from before. All the effort put into making him feel comfortable… wasted… "Maybe we can trick someone else into drinking it."
Calico picks up the package Luxor had dropped in favour of stealing the water. He pops it open and pulls out the goodies—a mask, plus three filters—and then takes a moment to read over the note. His scowl only grows, and he kicks open the gate to the suburbia while muttering, "More shit gone wrong for us."
Luxor looks over his shoulder in time to see Calico toss the note behind him, its crumpled state landing a few feet away from Finn. The two boys outside the gate huddle close, wondering what other harmful things had been sent to Calico, but instead they find a note from Charlotte.
A reassuring note, but it's not her reassurance that concerns them.
You're determined, so I won't sugar-coat my words like I did for Luxor's. Follow the same instructions his gift has. They'll pay off.
- Charlotte
"What gift?" Luxor wheezes. He looks back up at the sky. All of the packages have landed already, safe with their respective owners. All but his apparent own. "What gift?"
Through the gates he can hear Calico kick open the door of a nearby home. The groaning of the wood and amount of dust that flies up into the air is tremendous.
"Someone stole your stuff," Calico calls out. He doesn't sound upset over it. He doesn't even sound empathetic over the possibility, over the salt rubbed into the wound. "That's all there is to it."
Valentina Teagan, 16, C-District 1
She's used to things changing in a heartbeat. It's how she likes to live life, always jumping from one thing to another without time to catch her breath. Always on the move. Always in search of her next adventure.
But for the first time in her life, Valentina thinks she might have gone through too quick a change. It's… Well. "Scary" feels too weak a word for her situation right now.
The cornucopia has a lot of things for them to use and consume over the next few days, more weapons than they'll probably ever need. Their alliance is only one person smaller than before, but it's missing three core members all the same. The uneasy way Morganite looks from Cetronia and Cyber, then to Valentina, shows just how much her faith in their survival has waned after the bloodbath. Back with the original group there was a sort of carefreeness to their interactions. Knight let them do what they want and Wystan offered tips for the weapons they chose to wield, and Florence would talk animatedly about owls to fill the silence between training sessions.
Cetronia inspires fear. She doesn't emote as easily as Knight, doesn't anger or become smug as easily. The most she's seen is mercy, and even that was directed at Cyber more than the girls she'd hijacked the alliance of. Speaking of Cyber—well, it's jarring to see the emotionless child become hysterical and withdrawn, looking more bitter than Valentina thought possible.
So she keeps her distance. She sticks to Morganite's side, crossbow held in her hands and waiting for any stragglers to try and take the cornucopia from them. And Valentina just finds herself waiting for the day to pass.
"This blows," Morganite mumbles. They're behind the cornucopia, keeping watch of the windows in case someone dares to sneak back in. Cetronia and Cyber hold the fort out the front, but Valentina doubts anyone will be stupid enough to try the front door.
"Yeah…" She shifts on her feet and heaves a sigh. "Feels like all our sabotages just got wasted after all that. Knight barely even used the sword."
"Should've used my sabotage to arm you with a crossbow when we launched," Morganite agrees. She kicks at a knife someone had dropped during the scuffle. It splashes barely-drying blood over the floor. "Would've gotten more use than that dumb sword."
"We would've done it if we didn't lose everyone before the end. Wystan and Knight were going to be the close-quarters, the rest of us just kept the others away. Just Knight on his own wasn't enough."
"Yeah."
Their whole plan really just went up in smoke before the countdown had even ended. Valentina can't help holding it against Avita. Can't help blaming Avita. Everyone else knew that Gossamer and Croix were bad news during training. How was she the only one to completely overlook the fact? How was she the only one to trust them so willingly?
It's unfair. It's unfair that she got away so easily, without facing any punishment for her foolishness. Now Morganite and Valentina suffer thanks to her mistake. Now they don't know how long they'll live, if they'll even see their families again.
"At least we have yours," Morganite adds. "I mean… Unless you hijacked a dead kid's sponsorships…"
"No," Valentina says quickly. She's absolutely certain her sabotage will get some use at least one day into the Games. Before other people pick up on it, at least. But even then her sabotage acts as a double-edged sword for her target: They never get their goodies, and once people realise they won't, they cease to be in the public eye. They fizzle out in silence, unarmed and starved. "He's still alive. Can't believe I forgot we still had that on our side."
For the first time since the bloodbath ended, Morganite smiles. "Not so lost after all."
"Not yet."
"Hey!"
They both look to each other at the new voice joining the conversation, distant and lacking the accent they've come to associate with Cetronia. Morganite leans around the corner of the cornucopia for a moment, then pulls back and sighs, "Cyber."
He meets them halfway as he gathers a few bags of food along his trek. He doesn't look as distraught as he had earlier, when things were still fresh in their minds—but he still doesn't look relaxed or even at ease with his situation. He looks stressed, and it's not an expression Valentina's used to seeing on a twelve-year-old's face.
"Cetronia wants to talk about your sabotages and how we'll operate," he says curtly. It's a shocking tone to hear from the once monotonous and polite boy. "She said… You're allowed to bring weapons if you don't feel safe."
Morganite scoffs. "How kind of her."
"At least you know how to use some of these things," he grumbles back at her.
"Oh, like you'd need a weapon. You're a walking tank or whatever." She gestures to his whole body, more than likely referring to his metal skeleton. Valentina can't disagree with the point being raised. Cyber's basically indestructible compared to the rest of them. Just how much of him still counts as organic—as a person?
But arguing is going to get them nowhere. The last thing Morganite and Valentina need is to be kicked out of the alliance—or worse, killed for crossing Cetronia. "We're all still in the same alliance," Val tries. "Who knows—maybe we can make it all work in each others' favour? A—And Cetronia might be reasonable!"
Cyber looks at her dubiously. "I'd call her logical," he corrects her. He picks up a small karambit from one of the overturned knife racks. He doesn't look too certain about the weapon, but he takes it all the same on his way back to Cetronia.
The conversation is over, and the girls are left with two very simple choices. The first is to comply with Cetronia's demands, see what kind of plan she has in mind to utilise all four of their skill sets. The second, risker by a mile, is to simply climb out the windows with as many supplies as they can hold and survive together, the last of the original career pack. Morganite and Valentina look at each other, equally dismayed at their options.
Morganite bends down and picks up a bowie knife from the floor. She weighs it in her hand and tucks it into the pocket of her pants, before finally she looks back over at Val.
"Wanna get it over with," she says. She sounds so certain and ready to face Cetronia that Valentina has to compose herself just to even think of doing the same. Just confronting someone feels so harrowing now. Can she kill? Can she defend herself? She's not even sure if she'll be able to do any of the fighting she'd trained and prepared for.
She follows close behind Morganite as she ponders this. She can't just abandon her last ally, least of all if something goes wrong.
Cetronia is deep within the cornucopia when they arrive at the entrance, already setting up a sleeping area with all of the supplies left behind. A mound of blankets and pillows, sleeping bags opened wide and connected together and draped over the top like a comforter. A perfect little nest for them to sleep in, while still having enough space to feel as though they're in separate beds through the night.
It's the last thing she expects to see Cetronia constructing—right after Cetronia actually tucking herself into the pile, stifling a yawn as she lays eyes on everyone. If not for the small lantern she'd strung along the slowly dipping ceiling, they'd never see her in the darkness to begin with.
Cyber sits by the entrance with his karambit and keeps to himself for the most part. Valentina does the same, only moving further inside when Morganite does.
"You had a plan in mind?" Morganite starts. Cetronia nods. She lays back down on a small pile of pillows, propped up just enough to stop herself from dozing off during their talk.
"I've no idea how similar it is to your original plan," she says, "but I'd still like to go over it, all the same."
"Then shoot."
"I'm at my best when the sun goes down. I was trained to hunt in the cover of night, where I'm best camouflaged by the environment, and considering the colour schemes of the buildings and arena uniforms it'll be especially effective here." She nods to the town hall outside, where light flows freely through the windows and illuminates the building's interior. "I propose you three stand guard during the day, allowing me time to sleep and hunt from dusk until dawn for other tributes. You've seen how strong I am without a weapon, and you no doubt saw what I did with one. It would be child's play for me to catch other alliances unaware and kill them once the sun goes down."
Cyber doesn't look over at her. "What if they attack during the day? I don't have experience with weapons and the best I can do is rearm the mines under the podiums. Valentina works best at a long range, and Morganite only knows how to use knives."
"How would you know all that?" Morganite snaps.
"I pay attention," Cyber hisses. "Do you think I had anything better to do in training other than watch everyone else and talk to my allies? Seriously?"
"No one will be stupid enough," Cetronia cuts in loudly. "If it would make you feel more at ease, be my guest and rearm the mines. Scatter them under the windowsills to stop someone sneaking in. I doubt anyone will risk attacking us during the day, though, when they aren't aware of how we'll operate. They'll assume we're going to be every run of the mill career pack, and they'll stay away."
The argument dies down with her explanation. Why would it continue? Cetronia has a very valid point, and she's done nothing in training to hint at this talent of hers. All anyone knows is that she's strong and took over the biggest alliance in the bloodbath. She is, as far as Valentina is concerned, the biggest wildcard in the arena.
"Now," the older girl goes on, "tell me about your sabotages. And if there are any other sabotages you're aware of, let's look at those as well."
Morganite is quick to say, "Mine was the sword I launched with. The one Knight came at you with."
Cetronia hums once. "Unfortunate."
"Mine was my emotions," Cyber sighs. "They gave it to me—the harddrive—for a token, but they didn't give me a way to reinstall them. So I used the sabotage to feel… Human, I guess." He chews his lip. "I almost used it to help Ham, but I wasn't sure if she'd survive the bloodbath."
Before Val can say her own, Morganite jumps back in. "Oh, Luxor. I logged my sabotage at the same time as him—don't drink any of the water that gets sponsored to us. He poisoned the first batch sent unless it was sponsored to him."
"So he got the clean water on day one," Cetronia notes. She shrugs and snuggles deeper into her blanket pile. "Not bad. Didn't expect something like that from him."
Neither did Val. Three sets of eyes go to her next, and she debates telling the three sabotages she knows of—her own, Florence's, and Simoleon's. They'll find out eventually that she hijacked another person's sponsorship goodies, as well as Florence's owl, but they'd never know about Simoleon unless they targeted that specific alliance. And if they never knew, and went on to target Simoleon specifically…
Valentina sucks in a shaky breath.
"I only know my own and Florence's," she lies. "Florence requested a large owl mutt that guards the cornucopia. I asked to hijack a specific tribute's sponsorships. Whatever they get, it's sent my way and not theirs. You'll know it was meant for them because it'll still be labelled with their District."
Cetronia bolts upright, a small smile on her face. "Oh?"
"It's, ah… I hijacked Luxor Aricunai's sponsorships. We might only get things from the first day, and everyone stops sponsoring him to avoid buffing us, but one day of it is enough, right?"
"More than enough." Cetronia grins broadly at her then, more than likely elated at the news. "Luxor was a threat to sponsorships. You've basically forced him to rely on his alliance's sponsorships from here on out. Excellent thinking, Valentina," she adds.
As if on cue, a dull thud come from outside the cornucopia. It sounds like metal hitting the wood floor of the town hall, and Valentina's heart leaps into her chest. Cyber, who has the best vantage point for the outside world, lets out a small sound of surprise.
"Sponsorship," he simply says.
Morganite sprints out to gather the package. The silence as they wait for her is unbearable. Valentina can't even look at Cetronia—proud and eager—while Cyber taps his foot against the ground impatiently. She thought she'd be excited over receiving gifts from fans (even if it's not technically meant for her right now), but all she feels is a knot in her stomach that only gets tighter by the second.
She just wants this to be over now.
Morganite comes back inside with a package in her arms. On the top of it, engraved it the metal casing of the lid, is the number Val had suspected upon hearing its arrival: VIII-M.
Luxor's sponsorship.
It's handed to Valentina without hesitation. She jolts at the offering, eyes bulging wide, and Morganite has to clarify, "It's technically your sabotage. Makes sense for you to open it."
And that knot just grows in size, doubling and then tripling and then quadrupling and is that even a word—
Her hands are on the package without her even realising. Fingers dig into the lid, pop it open, and she can almost smell the difference in air being released from the package. Cleaner. More like home. More familiar and safe.
Away from here.
Her hands shake as she pulls out a single air mask. Underneath it are three packaged filters, much like the ones they'd found among the backpacks left out the front of the cornucopia. She can't figure out why something like this is needed. She's not sure she even wants to know why.
"There's a note," Morganite reminds her. She's peeking over Val's shoulder, curious. "Want me to read it?"
She manages a jerky nod as she sets down the mask and filters. They face her directly, almost as though judging her. Valentina has to look away and recompose herself again. They're inanimate objects. They're not capable of judging. They're not even alive.
(Just like she thought Cyber to be.)
Her gaze shifts to him warily as the thought strikes her. How much of him even still is human? Just a few organs? A damn fingernail? Was he even a real child to begin with? How can any of them be sure his "father" didn't come up with an elaborate AI and give it a child's body and memories?
Morganite unfolds the paper. Val looks jerkily back at her, shoving the thoughts from her mind. No, speculating all this won't do her good. In the end Cyber was reaped, and he's still a tribute like the rest of them. The extent of his humanity doesn't matter when he's been listed as one of twenty-four tributes.
"Okay, uh. 'Don't stop picturing the person you would give everything to be with. Make sure you get out of the arena for their sake.' It's from…" Morganite blanches at the name at the bottom of the note. "Oh. It's from his mentor."
That's… It's oddly intimate advice. Atticus never gave Valentina encouragement like that—never gave her a motivation outside of sponsorships for inside the arena. Even Morganite looks a little surprised.
"Sentiment," Cetronia notes. Everyone looks to her then, only to see her close her eyes and snuggle under the covers again. "Everyone has different mentoring methods, I guess. Wake me when it's dusk," she adds blearily.
And they're left in silence. The girls don't immediately leave the cornucopia. Cyber doesn't immediately head for another area to sit by himself. They all just look at each other, at a loss for not only words, but what to do from here.
Phyllis Hamilton, 18, District 7
"Octavia, I swear to God—"
"Shut up! I'm moving!"
"I wasn't built for stairs! I wasn't built for stairs with a chunk of my stomach missing! I wasn't—"
"I get it, Ham! You weren't built for stairs! You're tiny!"
She lets out an offended, indignant groan. She knows she's being a pain in the ass right now, but fucking Christ she's in so much pain right now! She didn't think Cetronia would break the shield when she hit it! She didn't think it'd go through her clothes! She didn't think she'd actually be bleeding from her side like a fool—
"I'm too bitter for this shit—"
"Ham, shut the fuck up!"
They stop on the top floor of the clothing store, finally free of the dreaded stairs, and Ham can only collapse to the carpeted floor with a whine. There were a million better ways to handle that bloodbath. One of them being just stacking two shields and jumping in the middle.
She wants to believe she's overreacting, but she knows the difference between a knick and a gash. What she has under her shirt is, quite possibly, beyond a gash.
Octavia is wheezing and doubled over, hands on her knees while her mask hangs loosely around her neck. Ham can't even figure out why the hell Octavia even launched with one, let alone what it's for, but it's not really in the forefront of her mind right now. No, that goes to the INJURY ON HER GUT FROM CETRONIA.
"I'm being as calm as possible," Ham wheezes slowly, "and I'm going to ask right now: Can you please check the bag for medicine or something?"
"Are we talking now?" Octavia croaks.
And Ham takes a special kind of offense to that. She may be, as Ewan calls her, a "useless lesbian" at times, but she's not the one who started the avoidant silence last night. She's the one who ended it with her agonised screaming, if anything.
"I don't know," she snaps, "are we? Or are you going to clam up and avoid me again? Because I'd like a heads up if I'm being left to bleed out on a perfectly fine carpet."
Octavia throws the bag at her. It bounces off of her head, obscuring her view. Octavia sucks in an audible breath and quickly picks it back up. "Sorry," she mumbles.
Ham squeezes her eyes shut and chews her lip. They're disasters. How many other alliances would be yelling at each other and fighting over not talking while one of them's injured? Definitely not Gossamer and Croix—no, they're too fancy and refined and smartassy for basic teenage bullshit. She's not sure how someone had managed to shoot Gossamer in the thigh today, either, but she can imagine it was through dumb luck. Dumb good luck. Definitely a different calibre to Ham's dumb bad luck.
"It's fine," she sighs. She starts trying to wedge her arm under her torso, hoping to push herself onto her side. Fingers get snagged in the torn fabric. Her nails brush against the wound. "Shit—"
"Stop squirming," Octavia orders her. A pair of hands grips her by the shield on her back and toss her unceremoniously to her side. Ham groans (she definitely felt a little skin tear at the movement) and limply drops onto her back once Octavia gives her a final push.
It's a little easier to ignore the pain now that she's on her back. Ham brings a hand up to her face and rubs at her eyes. "Thank you."
"Thank me when we find out if I grabbed a decent bag." She hears a zipper being undone, followed by some rustling. And then Octavia lets out a disappointed grunt.
"What."
"Only bandages. No disinfectant or stitches or staples or anything. I mean, there's a knife." Ham opens her eyes in time to see Octavia pull a knife, suited for cooking more than hunting, from the depths of the bag. "If you want me to mercy kill you, I mean."
"Fuck off."
"Didn't think so," she sighs.
Ham reaches down for her vest and unzips it. "Can you at least take a look at it? We might be able to get away with just bandages."
Without any objections, Octavia sets down the bag and carefully reaches for the hem of Ham's shirt. She knows they're supposed to be thermal and all that junk, but the way it clings to the injury and the surrounding skin is agonising in Ham's opinion. At least Octavia removes it inch by inch, rolling it as she goes along. Ham can't see the extent of the wound while she's on her back, but the air hitting it undisturbed gives her a good estimate.
Cetronia really went all out with that swing at Octavia. The kid from Eleven would've been PG compared to how Octavia could've wound up.
And Ham went and took it through a shield like a champ. A stupid, petty little champ.
She hears Octavia click her tongue. It's probably not a good sign.
"Probably get, like, one use out of them? It's not too big, but it is deep," she explains. Ham scoffs. One extreme for the other. She may as well have been stabbed, for all the damage Cetronia did. "If I cut the bandages in half we might get two days' worth? But it'll be thin."
"How bad's the bleeding?" Halving it won't do any good if she's bleeding through them too much.
"One of scale of one to five, I'd rank it a—" Octavia pauses abruptly. She doesn't continue her rating, her attention slowly turning away from Ham's wound. Ham goes stock still. Did someone follow them here? Who else came to the plaza? Are the careers already hunting them down?
Octavia crawls a foot away from Ham and whispers, "Hang on a second."
She does her best to track her movements without making her wound worse. Ham cranes her neck at impossible angles, watching the taller girl crawl along the floor and in the direction of one of the windows. There's too many possibilities for what might be going wrong right now. Did Octavia see someone enter the plaza? Did something move past the window? No, that's dumb. They're on the second floor of a clothing store. Who would be dumb enough to climb a building instead of take the stairs?
Octavia's almost flush against the wall next to the window now. Ham's never seen her move so slowly, with so much purpose. It's almost torturous waiting for Octavia to say something, do something, but she soon takes notice of what Octavia had spotted before. Hooked on the sign next to the window appears to be a parachute, and when the wind blows particularly hard Ham sees the outline out a package dangling from the parachute's string.
"Holy shit," Ham whispers. Octavia hums in agreement. Certain no one is outside, she stands up and works on untangling the parachute from the sign.
Ham doesn't expect her to return with two packages. Hell, the fact they even got one is a surprise.
One of them is labelled with X-F, while the other is labelled VII-F. One of Octavia, one for Ham. It seems both of them have someone supporting from afar.
Ham pushes herself into a sitting position, and it's the biggest mistake of her entire life—but she keeps going, because she wants to open her own damned sponsorship. Someone might have seen her get hurt helping Octavia. Someone might have sent something better than bandages.
"Careful," Octavia says. She doesn't tell Ham to stop, only nods to the chair in the far corner of the room. She sets down the packages and grabs the chair, and leaves Ham's pride intact enough to hoist herself up onto it. "You good?"
She's really not. "Yeah," she wheezes.
"I'll open yours first. It might have medicine for you."
And then Ham glares at her. She makes grabby hands at the package, her face scrunching up in her best attempt at a snarl. "I'm a big girl," she growls. "Gimmie my stuff."
Octavia rolls her eyes. She sets it down on Ham's lap, and Ham wastes no time prying it open to see what kind of goodies she got. She hopes it's a sewing kit. It'll hurt like hell, but DIY stitches are a thing she thinks Octavia could do. Probably.
Okay. Probably not. Ham will admit that she has no idea what goes on in a butcher shop. It's probably less putting meat together and more hacking it apart. She hopes it's not a sewing kit.
She pulls out the note first, too scared to see what horror of a medical tool she's been given. The first thing that she notices is who it's signed by, recognising one of the names but ultimately at a loss for the other.
"From Maggie and someone named Dianne?" she tells Octavia. She ignores whatever reaction Octavia has, choosing to at least read what Maggie has to say to her tribute.
Honey has healing properties.
She scrunches up the paper and throws it across the room with all her strength. "Oh my God," she groans. "What kind of cryptic bullshit—"
"What'd it say?" Octavia presses.
"Honey has healing properties—what the fuck does that even mean—"
And then Octavia snatches her package. Ham complains loudly, but it doesn't have any effect. No, Octavia just ignores her and pulls out the small jar of honey from the package, eyes widening with each passing thought.
"Ham," Octavia says flatly. It really doesn't match the hopeful look in her eyes. "Honey has healing properties."
Fuck's sake.
"And that means what?"
"It means you're gonna be a glazed ham for the day."
Ham hopes she hallucinated that response.
Octavia pops open the lid of the jar.
Oh. She didn't hallucinate that response.
"I don't think I appreciate the food pun," Ham starts. Octavia sets down her package and reaches for the backpack. The bandages are pulled out, and she quickly unravels a good half-foot of the gauze. With her knife, she cuts off the six-inch gauze and shoves it into the jar of honey. "But I think I appreciate your idea a lot less."
"Stiff," Octavia grunts. She motions for Ham to lean forward a bit, to give her access to her torso so she can wrap the bandage. It takes surprisingly little time for the honey to soak into the gauze. Ham can't even bring herself to look when Octavia pulls it out and smacks the gauze against Ham's wound.
She does, however, let out a very uncomfortable sound. She's not sure how she expected honey to feel on an open wound, but it's definitely not this.
Octavia wraps the rest of the bandage around Ham's stomach afterwards. It makes about six loops around Ham, a light layer covering her wound and holding the honey in place.
"This is very weird," Ham complains. Octavia ignores her. "The hell did you even know to do this?"
"I'm poor and from a District that specialises in food originating from animals. Did you seriously expect honey to come from anywhere other than the livestock District?" Octavia clicks her tongue. "For shame, Phyllis."
Ham just grunts at her. "And this'll…?"
"It works best to fight infection," she explains. "I used to hurt myself back when I started working at my dad's shop, and the knives weren't always clean—like, they'd had raw meat on them when it happened. And Dad would put honey over the wounds so they didn't get infected. They stop it from getting inflamed, and the scarring once it heals isn't as severe."
As though showing off an example, Octavia holds out her hands. Ham can only see faint scars, the most prominent one peeking from under her right sleeve.
"All of these except for the one on my arm had honey put on them. Unless you know they're there, you don't notice them."
It's… It's reassuring to hear. The morningstar had already been bloodied, and there's no doubt something on it could've infected her wound. If she can rely on the honey to eliminate that problem… Well, maybe she'll give it a try.
"Kinda also clots the wound," Octavia goes on. "But the sheer density of it makes that obvious."
"Alright. Enough about my miracle honey and your fancy bee farms in Ten." Ham gestures to Octavia's package. "What'd you get?"
The look on her face makes Ham wonder if she'd forgotten her own package so soon. Octavia scoots back over to it, pops the lid open without so much as a second glance, and sticks the hand with less honey on it inside.
There's a mask identical to the one Octavia launched with, free of a filter and looking ready for use. Ham leans forward, curious about why another mask was sent to Octavia, but quickly recoils when she feels the honey-gauze shift. God, that's uncomfortable as hell…
Octavia sets the mask on her lap and pulls out one packaged filter—then another, and another. Octavia eyes them suspiciously as she reaches in one last time. All that remains is a note addressed to her.
"The fuck?" Octavia mutters. "Isn't that the Head Gamemaker's surname?"
"Who sent it?"
"Someone named 'Luve Nero'. Lemme just—" She wipes her hands and unfolds the note properly, ready to read it out loud. "'Please stay safe with Ham for as long as you can. Split the masks and filters between you. The air—' Holy shit."
"What?"
Octavia scrunches up the paper and throws it in the same direction Ham had thrown hers. Unlike Ham's anger, though, Octavia does it out of horror.
"Can't even get away from it in the Games," Octavia mutters quickly. "Where'd they come from? How the hell did they even get the approval for this? I made it so clear—"
"What's wrong with the air!?" Ham screeches.
Her shrill demand seems to break Octavia from her panic. Octavia hurries to fix her mask, to put it back on and over her mouth and nose. Then she's frantically tearing at the plastic packaging around one of the filters and clipping it onto the other mask.
Ham barely has time to fight back as Octavia shoves it on her face and tightens it, effectively filtering her air for her.
"What the fuck, Octavia?" Ham yells. Octavia sinks to the ground next to Ham's chair. She shakes her head, and eventually cradles it in her hands.
"I hate that I have to know this," Octavia growls out. "I hate having this association. The air's poisonous, Ham. The longer we breathe it, the more damage it causes our lungs. And my fucking stylist was in on it—"
She cuts herself off with a snarl. Octavia reaches haphazardly for the package her note had come in. It almost rolls out of her grasp, but she dives for it and pulls it back to her spot.
Only to hurl it at the window with a roar. It breaks off a few jagged shards of glass on its way out, and even Ham can hear it bounce against the pavement in Flanagan Plaza. This is, without a doubt, the most angry she's seen Octavia.
And Ham was literally right next to her last night when she broke a glass with her bare hand, unflinching.
So she knows it'll be futile to try to calm Octavia down. At best she can reassure her and tell her it'll be okay, that whatever's going on may be a one-time thing. It's hard to believe herself, though, when things only serve to get worse.
At first it's a faint sound. A distant bird's cry. But then it gets closer. The light shining from outside is blocked out by a passing form. A deep, guttural screech that sounds more like a dog whimpering than any kind of bird Ham knows of. She looks past Octavia, who freezes in place, just in time to see the wings flapping through the air. She sees brown feathers mixing with grey. She sees an impossible size for an impossible bird, but it's right there—right there, flying in the direction of the cornucopia and sweeping up loose debris in its gusty path.
"Shit," Ham says. Because really, what the hell else is there to say to that?
A relatively peaceful day with plenty of angst and yelling! How's that for a nice break?
Alright, with regards to the placements in following chapters, I won't be writing them if they happen during the day. The placements will be announced during the night chapters, where they'll be acknowledged by the Gamemakers in-universe. Bit out of the way, but it fits with some events I have planned and keeps us on our toes over whether or not someone actually dies in a scenario!
QQ #29: Which alliance in this chapter do you think has their shit together the most?
Till next chapter!