The Cost of Survival
Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings
I just finished a general outline for Days 5-8 and feel physically drained at the prospect of what's to happen and how things are probably gonna end.
In other news, I decided I'm gonna include in the chapter headings, what day in the arena it is.
Also, brought up a valid question and coincidentally, I'd been thinking about it the other night and was already bent on discussing it in this note.
It's about Santana's unusually broken, weak behavior in the previous chapter/s. As a rule, Santana is tough. We all know that, right? But the thing is, she's been through a hell of a lot in the past couple of days. To start with, she's away from Brittany, and in any universe, Santana is a huge mess when there's no Brittany. At first, Santana was more or less capable of dealing with it. And then the whole thing about Quinn and Puck was a tough blow. Santana bounced back. Struggled, but still bounced back.
And then there were the hours and hours spent in that room with the pictures of Brittany and the recordings of her screams. That really unhinged Santana, and she's doing what she can to overcome that trauma, but it's tough. We all know she's crazy in love with Brittany, and it hurts to know what the Peacekeepers did. The final blow was Mr. Pierce's murder.
That's a lot more than most people can take without going completely batshit insane, and the Peacekeepers know that. So for now, Santana's really shaken up and trying to take it all in. And without Brittany to talk to, Santana has to deal with it on her own, and dealing with emotions on her own is something she is really bad at.
Still, as realistic as it might be to portray a broken, traumatized character, it gets boring if she stays that way for the majority of the story. (which is what ruined Mockingjay for me) Rest assured, Santana WILL toughen up sooner or later. She'll have to. I mean she's shaken up, she's struggling with guilt and pain, but she's going to have to accept that there simply isn't any time for that in the arena.
Badass!Santana will be back, don't worry. ;)
Chapter 18
Night 1
Arena. 72nd Hunger Games.
"This spot looks okay." It was a wider part of the tunnel, with just enough room for all of them to lie down. "Maybe we'll have better luck finding water in the morning." Her own voice came out dull and lifeless, and again, a part of Santana's mind wondered how disappointed the sponsors must be. As potentially bad as the idea sounded, it was still difficult for Santana to care enough to shape up.
"Sure." Lauren was the first to flop onto the floor and start going through the contents of the bag she'd grabbed in the middle of the blood bath.
Santana sat down and leaned her back against the rock wall before she started rifling through her own bag. Mike positioned himself next to Santana and did the same with his.
The bag was thankfully a dark blue, not too loud and easy enough to hide in the shadows. Mike was the one unlucky enough to have a bright green bag. In a forest arena, that would have been ideal, but in this dark, rocky one, where they seemed to be underground, that bag was pretty much a beacon.
Pushing aside thoughts of the color of Mike's bag, Santana took inventory of what she'd aquired from hers. There was a box of matches, a dagger, a blanket, a thermos and an apple. Putting the apple on her lap, Santana eagerly checked the thermos, only to be disappointed by its emptiness.
This was some sick joke.
"I got a bottle of iodine." Mike placed it on the floor. It would be great for purifying the water, but where the hell were they going to even find any water? Santana could figure out where to find water in the forest, but not in this underground cave thing whatever it was. "A sleeping bag…" Mike unrolled it and positioned it on what would be his spot for tonight. "A knife and some rope."
He grew excited and pulled out an identical thermos. "Aaand…" Mike removed the cover and his face fell as he inverted the thermos. "Empty."
"Mine too." Santana gestured towards hers.
Lauren brandished hers, and they all heard the distinct sound of swishing liquid. "Mine's got some!" She also pulled out a packet of dried beef. "And I've got some food, too."
After they announced what they all had, silence fell over the tunnel. It was awkward and tense with uncertainty. Lauren had water and food. Santana had food but no water. Mike had neither.
Santana rolled the apple between her hands and tried to break the silence. "So…" Still hearing her own voice coming out cold and dead, Santana glanced from Mike to Lauren, "We gonna pool our resources, or…?"
Rolling her eyes and looking like she was second-guessing this alliance, Lauren said, "Fine, we get one cup of water each for tonight." She took the covers of the three thermoses and turned them over to be used as cups. "But first thing tomorrow, we figure out finding a better source of water."
"Yeah, whatever." Rolling her eyes and trying not to get too peeved by the way Lauren sounded like she was trying to take command of the group, Santana worked on breaking the apple into three pieces they could each have. "And we get a bit of this apple each."
It was uneven and the proportions were far from equal, but it would have to do. Besides, even if she'd hardly eaten anything all day, she wasn't really feeling that hungry anyway. Lauren could have the biggest portion.
Mike awkwardly fiddled with his bag and looked from Lauren to Santana. "Thanks…"
"Hey, you want my dagger?" Not sure where the generosity was coming from, Santana offered the blade to Mike. The axe would be enough for Santana and she didn't quite need the dagger. Mike might do well with two daggers.
Mike shook his head. "Nah, I'm okay with what I've got." He just looked uncomfortable with having no food to offer. Santana considered insisting, then figured it wasn't worth making a fuss about and put aside the dagger.
That was when she noticed that he wasn't just looking uncomfortable, he actually looked pained. The hunched over posture, the furrowed brow, the way he kept his arms close to his body, with one hand pressed firmly against his shoulder. Wait, what was with that shoulder?
Narrowing her eyes and drawing closer, Santana squinted at Mike's shoulder, and in the dimming light, noticed splotches of red on his jacket and his hand. "Mike, what happened over there?"
"It's nothing." Mike's eyes widened and he tried to move away, but Santana stopped him by placing her hand on his knee. "I'm fine, Santana. Really."
Out of the corner of her eye, Santana noticed Lauren hiding away several of the beef strips. It was tempting to call her out on it, but this was a little more important than an ally being possessive about food. With Mike trying to downplay the injury, Santana couldn't be sure how serious it really was, and had to resort to physically tugging his hands away from it.
"It was Mack's knife, okay?" Mike tried to squirm away, but Santana maintained her grip on him.
The thick, padding of the jacket was ripped open and under it, the skin of Mike's shoulder was sliced through and coated in blood. Ignoring his protests and yanking him closer, Santana saw that majority of the blood was dried by now, but there were still a few fresh, shiny streaks.
"Yo blubberbelly, can I have some water to clean this?" The fact that Lauren was in command of the water was enough to ignite a few sparks of Santana's irritation. The monotone she'd been using recently was replaced by a more heated voice. "Even just a little?"
Lauren was in the middle of gnawing on her share of apple and glared at the two of them.
"It's cool," Mike was still trying to squirm away, "Don't have to-"
"Mike, shut up." She tightened her grip on Mike's wrists before glaring at Lauren. "Come on, just enough to clean this up a bit!"
Swallowing the bit of apple in her mouth, Lauren raised her eyebrow. "What're you planning to clean that with? Your hands?"
That was a good question, but Santana wasn't willing to admit it, and quickly scanned through their makeshift camp until she spotted the blanket she'd sloppily left in a clump next to her bag. Back home, Brittany would usually clean up wounds with a bit of cloth, and that blanket would be close enough.
Santana let go of Mike to grab for the blanket and pull it towards them. She held a corner of it, "I'mma use this. Got a problem with that?" Talking to Lauren was bringing back some of the fire Santana thought she'd lost. At the back of her mind, there were still images of death, blood and blue eyes, but talking to Lauren helped keep those at bay. Santana would never admit that out loud of course.
"Fine." Lauren growled through gritted teeth and handed over her filled thermos. "Don't fucking spill anything, twig."
"As long as you don't touch my food." Santana shot back before returning her focus to Mike, who still tried to squirm away and mumble about how it wasn't a big deal. "It's not that deep, yeah. But dammit, stop moving!"
Mike flinched at the raised voice, but complied. Santana didn't feel comfortable with letting out her frustrations by yelling at Mike, and hoped attending to his shoulder would at least make up for it. Her head was still plagued by thought after thought, image after image. Even if the skin was several shades darker than Brittany's, the sight of Mike's bloody shoulder still made Santana's stomach churn, reminding her of the hours she spent in that room.
Steeling her nerves and reminding herself to focus, Santana pushed aside the nagging thoughts and images to concentrate on her task.
Meanwhile, Lauren settled down onto her spot, one hand used as a pillow, the other tightly clasping her broadsword. "Are either of you cool with taking the first shift of standing watch?"
"I can do it." Mike volunteered while still making sure to keep still while Santana dabbed at the wound. The little winces and whimpers he tried to control showed that Santana just didn't have the careful gentleness that Brittany had when dealing with this kind of thing.
"You're not gonna try to kill us in our sleep when it's your turn, are you?" Santana bluntly said it while wiping away the last of the dried blood on Mike's skin. Though Lauren had proven herself to be of some worth when she kind of saved Santana, it was still difficult to nourish any sense of trust between the two of them.
Lauren tightened her grip on her sword and pulled it closer to herself. "I won't unless I have to. And if either of you try anything, there ain't nothing stopping me from chopping limbs off, got it?"
Santana felt Mike shiver. "Got it."
District 7. 72nd Hunger Games.
Opening her eyes, Brittany was first aware of how dark it was, and then of how disoriented she felt. Her head felt heavy, but not so much like there were bricks inside it, but instead more like a damp wooly blanket was inside it. The kind of heaviness one gets from taking a nap several hours longer than originally intended.
Flexing the usable fingers of her right hand, Brittany let it slowly wake up by opening and closing it. When her hand seemed more or less awake, she moved the feeling up her arm, all the way to the shoulder. The bandages around the slashes on her forearm felt new and dry, probably changed when she was out cold. The wounds themselves felt kind of sore, but it was a bearable level of pain. The same could be said for her shoulder.
It was dark and the television was off, but Brittany could just barely make out the whiteness of the fresh bandages around her left arm. It still felt like an unidentifiable mass of pain though, and she still had doubts about how much of it would still work the same way after…
The sound of the door opening and closing drew Brittany's attention away from herself. She turned her head in the direction of the door, and heard footsteps. "Tina?" It didn't sound like Tina though. "Mrs. Cohen-Chang?"
The distinct sound of boots couldn't be mistaken for anything else, and it caused a ripple of fear to rush through Brittany. Every muscle, however bruised or sore, was suddenly very tense.
Peacekeeper Sylvester walked into the room, standing tall with the default scowl on her face.
The mere sight of the uniform, the helmet and the rifle threatened Brittany. It mixed together into a distressing concoction of fear and anger, anxiety and hate. "What are you doing here?" There was more strength in Brittany's voice than anywhere else on her body.
"Calm down, I just want to-"
Brittany felt her right hand clench into an awkward fist with the splinted finger still sticking out on its own. She kept it at her side, ready to use it if she had to. "Just stay right there and don't move any closer!"
Peacekeeper Sylvester froze for a moment, then frowned and continued to move forward, drawing closer and closer to Brittany. "Would you just shut up and let me talk?"
Biting back a hiss at the way her skin was pulling at the welts across her back and the gashes at her sides, Brittany sat up and tried to use her right hand to push herself towards to the opposite edge of the bed, away from Peacekeeper Sylvester. "Get out! Your guns and fists aren't wanted here!"
"Shut up!" Growing agitated, Peacekeeper Sylvester brought herself even closer, until she was standing at Brittany's bedside, hand twitched towards the pistol.
The effort of moving around was starting to drain Brittany, but she drew strength from her combined fear and anger. Any other time, she wouldn't even think of talking to a Peacekeeper this way, but after that night, Brittany wasn't going to be making excuses for them in her head anymore. If there ever was a Peacekeeper with a heart, it was Dad. But he was a special case and the one and only, and for that he was taken away.
"Unless you're here to destroy what's left of me," Brittany gestured towards herself, "There's no damn need for you to be here."
That did it. Peacekeeper Sylvester's scowl darkened.
"Lopez insolence is rubbing off on you, is it?" The Peacekeeper moved fast, grabbing Brittany's wrist before she even knew what was happening. The grip was tight enough to hurt her wrist while her fingers twitched like they had minds of their own. Sylvester's other hand was raised to deliver a punishing blow and Brittany flinched despite herself.
But when the blow didn't come immediately, Brittany's initial fear was shoved aside by her anger and hatred. It gave her the strength to actually meet the Peacekeeper's eyes and return the glare with a kind of fierceness she wouldn't have even dared to imagine about a week ago.
Still, Peacekeeper Sylvester hesitated. She kept her hand raised, poised to strike, but still didn't follow through.
Save for their breathing, there was just silence between them as neither of them moved, eyes locked on each other.
It was broken by the sound of the door opening again, and Tina's voice drifting towards the room. "Britt? You awake?" Her footsteps grew nearer. "I hope I didn't leave you alone for too long, I just went to get…"
Tina's words were stopped short when she took in the scene. Worry took its place on her features, and the tray of food she held shook a little as her hands trembled. "G-good… good evening, Peacekeeper Sylvester!"
Without another word, Peacekeeper Sylvester lowered her hand, released Brittany, and left.
Not daring to move right away, Tina seemed to at first listen and make sure that the Peacekeeper was really gone. When she seemed to feel safer, Tina approached Brittany and placed the tray on the bedside table. "Are you okay? Did she hurt you? Should I run home and call mom?"
The worry and concern in Tina's voice sounded so close to panic, Brittany felt bad about the distress she was causing. But the encounter still left her feeling irritable and frustrated. Instead of a reassuring tone, a cold and cranky one was what came out instead. "I'm fine. It's okay."
Tina's eyes scanned Brittany from head to toe. "Are you?"
With the brief burst of adrenaline fading away, Brittany had to lie back down, but she still managed to respond with the same cranky tone. "Sylvester was just being a bitch."
"I…"
That obviously made Tina uncomfortable. No matter what she said about hating this life and Peacekeepers, she would still rather play it safe with them. Especially given what happened to Brittany, Tina probably wasn't going to run off to snatch fallen coins in the inn anytime soon.
Out of consideration for Tina's discomfort, Brittany changed the subject, again without really bothering with transitions. "Where's Amy?"
"She offered to stay over at my house tonight." The way Tina spoke in a slow, soft tone made it sound like she wasn't sure whether or not Brittany would be okay with the arrangement. "T-to… to help take care of Glenn and Vinnie."
That made sense. With all the work Mrs. Cohen-Chang was doing now, both to provide for her family and care for an invalid, she could use all the help she could get with taking care of her young sons. Amy was patient and calm for her age, she could handle it.
Still, Brittany kind of missed her little sister already.
"Are they still showing the Games?" Again, jumping from topic to topic without transitions. Brittany wondered if Tina would eventually get fed up or get used to it.
"They showed the anthem and fallen tributes just as I was leaving the house with the food Mom made." Tina nodded towards the tray, "I think it's done screening for the rest of the night."
"Santana and Mike…?" Brittany still couldn't quite ask the full question, but Tina got it.
She looked uncomfortable, but there was a little hint of relief in her voice. "They're still okay."
Arena. 72nd Hunger Games.
The anthem had bounced off the walls a while ago, and no matter how hard Mike thought about it, he couldn't figure out where the audio was coming from. What was just as puzzling was how they were able to project the shots of the fallen tributes. It showed up on the ceiling of rock just above their little group.
There must have been several projections throughout this labyrinth of caves if every single tribute still alive was able to see the screening. Where each projection was coming from was another question Mike tried to think up an answer to.
Unless… the ceiling was actually partially transparent?
Mike squinted up at the rock and remembered how some Capitol vehicles had tinted windows that kept people outside from seeing what was inside. That tint would suddenly seem almost useless if too many lights were turned on inside the vehicle. Maybe the ceiling worked under a similar principle.
Toying with his knife, Mike considered throwing it upwards, just to see what would happen.
Movement in his peripheral vision grabbed Mike's attention, and he tensed immediately, tightening his grip on the knife and scanning their makeshift camp.
It was just Santana shifting in her sleep.
Mike relaxed a little, but couldn't go back on board the same train of thought. Now, he was wandering towards the marked change in Santana's behavior. It wasn't as bad as when she first found out about Brittany's beating, but it still might lead to really big trouble really soon.
They couldn't afford to be weak. Mike told himself that to push away the twinges of pain in his shoulder and the ripples of fear in his gut. It also helped to remind himself of what they were fighting for.
Still, he did understand where Santana was coming from. He didn't completely know why she was now behaving the way she was, but it was probably a combination of the bloodbath and the Brittany issue that of course wasn't going to just go away. Thinking about it was agitating and distressing. And if that had been done to Tina? Mike was sure he would be a broken mess right now.
As for the bloodbath, Mike couldn't afford to dwell on it when they were in the middle of it, but now that he'd had time to rifle through his memories of the past several hours, he recalled seeing Sunshine going towards Santana, just before Mack's blade came slashing through his shoulder. And during the panicked search for which tunnel Santana was going to pass, Mike had run by Sunshine's body, with damage to her head that looked a lot like the work of an axe on a trunk.
The image of the memory was fuzzy, but he could definitely recall that there were little signs that pointed to Santana being the obvious culprit.
Scratching vague patterns onto the floor with the knife, Mike recalled the other fallen tributes shown on the projection, and who probably killed them. The odd and absentminded Brett of District 3 was killed by Azimio. The girl from 4… Sam's district partner, Webber. Run through by Rick's spear. Both tributes from District 9 were killed by the ones from District 1. Suzy was killed by the throwing knife meant for Mike, and Jacob was taken down by Sebastian. The District 10 girl was dead, too. And finally, the last image they had shown was of Sunshine. And that was when Santana's mood seemed to plummet further.
Six tributes were gone, and eighteen more remained. The Games had only just begun.
Mike returned his gaze to Santana and Lauren. They were allies for now, and probably for a few more days. Assuming he lived long enough to reach the point when there were down to just a handful of tributes, what would happen then?
With Lauren, the alliance was rocky at best. Even in her sleep, she was clutching her sword, not trusting them at all, despite the sort-of trust they'd extended towards each other when they agreed to sleep in shifts.
And then with Santana, it was complicated by how close they were to each other.
Aaand… she was waking up.
Mike tilted his head to one side and watched Santana get up and walk over. She looked too alert to be sleep walking. Maybe she was misjudging the time. "It's not yet time for your shift." She could still catch another couple of hours of sleep.
Instead of returning to her spot, Santana sat down next to Mike, and wrapped the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. "Can we talk?"
"Uh… sure." Though Mike smiled and nodded to encourage Santana to open up, the tone she used was worrying him. It reminded Mike too much of her tone when they talked about Quinn, or similar really serious issues. So even if he didn't really know for sure what to expect, Mike just hoped this discussion wasn't going to be deemed as anything more than a typical tribute conversation.
He didn't want any more people to get hurt.
"So…" Santan=a toyed with the corners of the blanket. "I… I sometimes think about stuff. Like how Brittany and I have a lot in common."
They did?
The initial reaction was to flash a look of confusion because as a rule, Mike saw Brittany and Santana as almost polar opposites. One of them was sweet and sensitive and always so open about talking. The other was irritable and aggressive and didn't talk that often about her emotions.
But… thinking about it… Mike recalled that in terms of the struggles they went through, there were some parallels in Brittany and Santana's lives.
"Er… yeah." Mike remembered to verbally respond because Santana was looking at him like she was expecting a specific reaction.
"Even our dads had a lot in common." There was a particular tone Santana used, accompanied by narrowed eyes and more eye contact than was normal from a person like her. Something about the random observation wasn't as random as it seemed.
"They did?" Thinking about what meaning might lie behind the words felt all too much like trying to keep up in a conversation with Brittany. Mike frowned and tried to think of the possible connections between Santana and Brittany's fathers.
Santana just nodded, but still –surprisingly- held the eye contact. "Yeah… they did."
They… did?
Since Mr. Pierce was taken away when they were just about nine years old, Mike had very few memories of what kind of person he was, and most were really murky. The only sure thing that Mike could recall was that he was a Peacekeeper, but a lot of people were fond of him. For most of the year, he was very warm and friendly towards everyone, and it was only around the time of Reaping Day that he would distance himself a little. The few memories of Mr. Pierce suggested that he was sort of like his daughter. A pleasant person.
Well… now, Mike couldn't be sure what Mr. Pierce was like. Being an Avox for eight years is bound to change a person.
As for Mr. Lopez... He wasn't that sociable, and generally kept to himself. Mike really didn't know him very well. Just that he worked hard to take care of Santana after Mrs. Lopez passed away, and that it was really surprising when he let Brittany and Amy move in.
"I…" Santana was still expecting a reaction, and Mike struggled to figure out what was going on. "I'm not sure I remember… I think… I guess…" What was there? Mr. Lopez and Mr. Pierce were even less alike than Santana and Brittany, and were they even friends? Mike couldn't remember at all if they were.
What did they have in common?
"They did, Mike." Santana nudged his shoulder. "They did."
They did. Mike noted the emphasis Santana put in that word, and considered the implication of it. Did meant used to. It was possible Santana chose to say it that way because her own father was dead and could no longer be properly compared to Mr. Pierce, who is still alive.
Or… was alive.
"They…" Mike frowned and stared at Santana as dread started creeping closer and closer. "They do." It couldn't be possible, could it?
Santana nodded, spoke so softly, Mike read her lips more than heard the words. "They do now."
This couldn't mean what he thought it meant. "You're sure?" Mike swallowed and added, just in case this conversation was being watched closely, "You remember it that way?"
"Nothing I can be more sure of than that." As if satisfied that she'd got her message across, and tired of the prolonged eye contact, Santana looked away and let her gaze fall on the random lines and curves scratched onto the rock floor. "I saw."
"Ohh…" Mike didn't know what to feel. After going through all kinds of possible ways to reunite father and daughter after all these years, after imagining the look on Brittany's face once she realized that her father wasn't dead after all… now what?
Glancing sideways at Santana, Mike realized that whatever he felt now must be doubled for Santana, considering how close she was to Brittany.
The Peacekeepers, the Capitol, Snow… Why would they do that? Was it punishment for last night's dangerous conversation? If that was what they had done to get under Santana's skin, was there still something in store for Mike?
Everything going on so far showed that the powerful people behind the Capitol had no qualms against killing anybody in their way. Or worse yet, anybody special to those in their way.
A shiver went up and down Mike's spine.
District 7. 62nd Hunger Games.
"This one's called a unicorn." Brittany held up the wooden figurine and pointed at the little horn protruding from the figure's forehead. "It's magical!"
"What can it do?" Skeptical of what it was capable of, but inwardly eager to believe in it, Santana crept closer and poked the figurine.
Brittany pressed it into Santana's hands. "Anything you believe it can do."
"Anything?" Santana looked down at it, and at first, all she saw was a piece of wood carved into the shape of a horse with a horn sticking out of its head. But next to her, Brittany was bouncing with excitement, giggling with joy, gaping in awe. Just the sight of her friend being so taken by this little thing made Santana try to look harder and see what her eyes couldn't.
With her mind, she thought she pictured a blurry image of a beast with a shimmering body covered in soft golden fur. Focusing on the image, Santana was able to see a silver mane blowing in the wind. Concentrating harder, she saw Brittany riding the unicorn's back, an expression of unparalleled glee on her face.
Looking down, Santana realized she was riding a unicorn of her own, this one with a bronze body and a dark mane.
"Do you see it?" Brittany asked.
"Yeah!" Santana grinned at Brittany, amazed by the experience of just imagining with her and seeing the wonder that only she had the creativity to dream up. Santana believed that there was nothing that Brittany couldn't do with the magic of her own imagination.
"See what?"
With barely any warning, a big arm snaked its way around Santana's waist and lifted her right off the floor. Her feet dangled while the same arm supported her weight. Santana looked up to see Mr. Pierce's face contorting slightly with the effort of carrying Santana, and in his other arm, Brittany, too. Still, he managed to maintain a smile.
And a box balanced precariously on his head.
"What's that, Daddy?" Brittany had one arm hugging her father while the other tried reaching upwards for the box.
Mr. Pierce chuckled and brought them towards the couch. "A surprise for two pretty little girls." The compliment made Brittany giggle while Santana felt her cheeks growing warm.
As he put them down, the box finally lost its balance and toppled downwards. Ever quick with his reflexes, Mr. Pierce caught it and handed it to them.
Eager and impatient, Brittany grabbed for the box and opened it to reveal chocolate chip cookies from Mrs. Rose's bakery. "This is unicorn magic!"
"Yes, it is!" Mr. Pierce chuckled and ruffled Brittany's hair, then did the same to Santana's. Then he crouched down in front of them and lowered his voice to a conspiring whisper, "Don't tell Mom, okay? She doesn't think you should be given any sugar before dinner."
"It's our secret." Santana promised.
It was so nice to be included in these things. When Mr. Pierce got like this, it was so easy for Santana to forget that he was a Peacekeeper and most of them usually aren't this friendly. In fact, while most of them always wore their helmets and carried their guns, Mr. Pierce never kept those with him when he was spending time with his daughters and Santana.
It felt really nice.
Arena. 72nd Hunger Games.
Santana didn't realize she'd drifted off to sleep until she felt a hand shaking her shoulder, rousing her from her sleep. With bleary eyes and a brief bout of disorientation, Santana sat up and realized she'd pretty much passed out on Mike's lap.
"Are you up for your turn?" It was clear that the question was only said out of politeness, because Mike looked exhausted and like he wanted nothing more than lie down and close his eyes.
Though she still wished she could have stayed out cold a little longer, spend a little more time with Brittany, back when things were happy and simple, Santana nodded in response to Mike. "Yeah. You should get some rest." She glanced at the rip in his jacket. "That needs some rest, too."
Mike nodded, and climbed into his sleeping bag. It wasn't long before the slow rise and fall of his still form meant his body finally got to shut itself off for a while.
And now, it was Santana's turn to stay up and look out for any sign of danger in the form of a charging tribute or a Gamemaker gimmick.
But just sitting by herself and looking around wasn't enough to keep Santana's mind occupied. Soon enough, it wandered back towards Sunshine, then towards what viewers might be thinking now. That moment could have been her moneymaking move, her way of showing how formidable she was by easily killing a fellow tribute in the blood bath. It could have been her ticket towards sponsor after sponsor.
Instead, her reaction had made her look like a very weak, emotionally unstable tribute. The little breakdown with Mike earlier this afternoon didn't help the situation, either.
But how could Santana be the heartless killer they wanted her to be when that was exactly what the Peacekeeepers were like? The way they could murder their own without even blinking was like how the tributes murdered each other without remorse or hesitation.
Santana couldn't bear to be like that. If Mr. Pierce could be that one Peacekeeper that showed compassion, couldn't Santana be that one tribute that didn't derive any pleasure from killing?
The absurd idea was so naïve and idiotic, Santana actually laughed out loud.
At herself.
An amazing tribute she was turning out to be.
Santana shuddered and rubbed at her temples the way Brittany usually did. And that just brought up more memories of her, put into sharp contrast against those damn pictures in that damn room with those damn audio records of pained screams.
Before the Peacekeepers unceremoniously dragged Mr. Pierce to the room where they knew they were going to kill him, did they try telling him anything about Brittany? Surely, they knew. Had Mr. Pierce known?
And if by some miracle, Santana actually made it out of this arena, was it still worth telling Brittany that her father had been alive all these years? That he had been living in the Capitol all this time, far away from his daughters but still very much alive. All those years Brittany grew up assuming her father was dead… those felt like so many years wasted on a false idea. On something of a lie.
But what about now? Now he was dead.
Because of Santana.
Would Brittany be forgiving?
In the span of just four days, Santana managed to cause immeasurable, irreparable damage. How could anyone forgive her? A small part of Santana felt like Brittany still would, but that part was trampled on by a voice in Santana's head that told her she didn't deserve it.
Again, the screams in Santana's head start up again, reminding her of the gravity of what she'd done.
As the screams gathered volume and morphed into another sound, Santana realized that there really was something going through the tunnel. It was making noise, yes, but definitely not screams in Brittany's voice. No, this was something else.
It was coming from behind the walls.
Scrambling to her feet, Santana brandished her axe and tried to figure out how to face the threat.
It was making a low grumbling, snarling sound, accompanied by scraping, and as it all got louder and louder, the tunnel started to tremble, growing in intensity until Santana struggled to maintain her balance or risk falling over.
The trembling increased.
Just a bit of a side note:
This chapter and the last one are unusually short, and some of the other recent ones, too. But it helps with updating more often instead of having long waits. I notice it also tends to make a chapter feel more coherent because it's written within a week. (actually, more like three or four days because thesis work takes up the majority of the week). When I write a long chapter with a lot of scenes, and I take two to three weeks writing it, sometimes it feels all over the place because I have to keep reorienting myself with what happened earlier in that chapter. At least with these shorter ones, it's all more fresh and easy to doublecheck.
While I already have an outline for the next six or seven chapters, not all of them look like they'll be this short. I might adjust the format of this fic's writing to lean more towards the short chapters and faster updates rather than long draining chapters with eternities in between. Or... what do you guys prefer?