~Pontifex: King of Spades~
I sit off, close to the beach, by myself. I haven't seen any action on my side of the Arena for days and days, but obviously there's been some kind of action going on that I didn't know about because there have been no gimmicks for a few days.
I gather berries, hunt, and start a fire, hoping that maybe Janie and/or Dream will notice and come find me. Have they found each other? I don't like to dwell on the possibilities of what could be happening. All I know is that I have to be on top of everything. It's the fourteenth day.
Two weeks, two weeks we've been here. It's been two weeks since we were thrown into this place, two weeks since we had Empress with us and we were all together. Two weeks. It feels like it's been an eternity, a whole nother life. The person I was before the Games, cold and strong and always manly without breaking… He's gone. I want him back, but after the trauma I've seen here I know that I'll never be that person again. Nobody really tells you how the Arena changes you. Sometimes it's for the worse, but sometimes it's for the better. I dunno which one it's been for me. Even if I win, I don't think I'll ever know for sure.
I suddenly realize that it's past the final eight, which means that our families and friends were interviewed. I wonder who they talked to on my behalf. My father? My brother? Sandor? Surely not Sandor. Hopefully not Thatcher. God, I'd rather kill myself than have Thatcher speak on my behalf. It's really hard to think about, so I try to avoid the topic.
It's hard to think about anything anymore. All of my memories either have ghosts, trauma, or involve people that have long-since left me behind. It seems that everyone's left me behind now, even my own allies.
I laugh a little bit, a spiteful, angry laugh. Laughing is all I can do to keep away the tears of a shattered, torn, broken man.
I walk to the spring closest to me and sit. I get some water and sip it, staring at my reflection in its clear surface. The face I see is one I don't want to recognize.
Pale, tired, exhausted, worn-down, done with this stupid thing called life. Done being abandoned, done putting trust into people he knows will only hurt him in the end. That's the person I see in the reflection of the water. That's the person I am, the person I'll always be. There may have been a time when I wasn't like this. There was a time when I put my undivided trust in my brothers, when I promised Thatcher we'd always be best friends, when I smiled and laughed and loved my father even though he hurt me sometimes. That person is long gone, now, though. Has been for years and years.
I dip my spearhead into the water, intentionally not looking at my reflection anymore. Even though the spearhead is clean from the blood of those that have died by my hand, I clean it again. Suddenly, my thoughts are broken by a loud, deep, booming cannon. My head snaps up and I jump.
I stare up at the sky, the clouds, the sun, as if expecting the face we see in the sky to appear just then. Suddenly, I realize that I have no idea who was taken, and I'll have no idea until tonight. I take my stuff and go, setting up camp under a tree. My mind wanders to the possibility of the cannon being for one for my allies. My heart sinks to my stomach. I immediately stop thinking about it.
I go out hunting for dinner and cook it over a fire, hoping that I can tempt Janie and/or Dream to just come find me already. And if some other tribute finds me, I can take them. I'm fairly sure of it.
I trace the injuries on my arms and stomach, trying to forget the traumatic experience that lead to them. Katherine Tracey forcing me into submission by using the places that hurt me the most. The sun sets, and I sit and watch, staring out at the beach as the ruby sun sinks slowly behind the water.
I try to let it be calming to me, but it only brings pain.
The sky goes dark and the stars come out, their gentle light bringing me back home.
The Capitol anthem plays, a song I once revered but now one that I would never like to hear again as long as I live. The face that appears in the sky is one I recognize well, smiling, laidback, calm, never-losing-his-cool.
District 1. Dream Bishop.
I give the news a second to sink in, staring at the sky as it goes silent, listening to my shaking breaths and my pounding heart. Dream is dead.
I make myself get up on my feet, picking up my spear with a shaking hand and throwing it at the nearest tree as hard as I can. A violent scream rips out of my throat. I want to know who killed him. I want to know who killed Dream Bishop so I can have my revenge! I may have thought I wouldn't feel a thing when he was gone, but I do. It's hard when it's someone you would say you knew pretty well. After all, I spent pretty much two weeks with the guy, from chariots and training to the Games themselves. He fought long and hard, but now it's all over. District 1 won't have a Victor this year.
I rip my spear out from the tree, teeth clenching, tears coming to my eyes. I throw the spear into the ground, letting out another scream of frustration. I don't think straight, my head is spinning, and I don't even care if another tribute were to find me because I can definitely take them! I scream some more, ripping branches off of trees, tearing them apart, throwing my spear at anything in my line of vision.
I don't know how much time passes for me like this, but I come down from the rush of anger and things become clearer, and I feel exhausted. I fall to my knees, punching the ground with what little energy I have left as the tears start to flow out of my eyes. I lay there, on my knees, forehead and fists on the ground, wondering why any of this has to happen.
Definitely not the Pontifex Gallivan that came into this god-forsaken place. I stay there for a while, not having the energy to do anything but stay there and cry. Cry at the pain of all that I've lose, the pain of everyone that I've lost, the people that have left me here, left me here to die… The tears stream down my face and I don't stop them anymore. Who do I have left to impress, anyways? I was never impressive to begin with.
Too much pain. Is living in hell even worth it anymore? Was it ever?
What do I even have to live for anymore?
Suddenly, I hear wild footsteps coming towards me. Fuck.
I grab my weapon, swiveling around as I'm caught by surprise and tackled harshly to the ground.
"Pontifex!"
Blonde hair hangs in my face as Janie throws herself down on me, burying her face in my shoulder, her body shaking with tears. "Pontifex…" she sobs quietly.
"Janie…" I can't even sound like I didn't want to find her. I'm just too exhausted. We've been through too much shit together for me to hate her anymore. She'll never know that, though, especially not now.
She sits up, and helps me up, sitting quietly with me, tears continuing to cover her cheeks. "I heard your screams," she says, sounding so deeply pained I wouldn't be able to tell this was the same person I had vowed to kill in the beginning of the Games. So far from the person she was when she overexcitedly raised her hand and shouted "I volunteer!" that I doubt her family and friends recognize this person who's sitting across from me. We're all so very different now that the Games are coming to a close.
And the worst is yet to come.
"Oh." I don't recognize my own voice anymore.
We sit in silence, neither of us wanting to sleep for fear that we might be separated again.
"I was w-with Dream," she says, looking up at the sky, her eyes glassy under the bright moon. "When it h-happened…" She avoids looking at me. "We'd found each other… We-"
"Who was it?" The severity of the question startles even me. "Who, Janie?"
Janie swallows, another choked cry coming from her lips before she says, "T-Tuesday."
I ball my fists. "We know who to get revenge on then, now don't we?" I ask, feeling absolutely malicious. Janie wipes her eyes with a knuckle, and her nose with the inside of her shirt. I never realized how ugly of a crier she is.
"I p-promised," she says quietly, "P-promised him that there'd be a Victor from 2 this year." She buries her face in her hands.
"Then there has to be," I say, a new fire behind my voice. To think, just seven more deaths and then the Victor will be crowned.
That certainly doesn't mean it's going to be easy, though.
"He got to say goodbye," Janie says. "He died peacefully." That doesn't make what Tuesday did any more forgivable, but I try to let that fact give me some kind of solace in a time of nothing but deep, painful grief.
"Janie."
"Hm?"
"When you were under, from the bees… Did you see Priam?" It's a random question, an abrupt change of the subject, to something just as painful. "Y'know… With what happened?"
"Shush." She looks stiff, and definitely doesn't want to talk about it. "Yes. I don't have a lot of painful memories but I saw that one. I haven't stopped seeing it."
It must be nice, not having a lot of painful memories. "Yeah. I figured that's the one that hurt the most."
"Amazing how many painful memories can come in such a short time," she says quietly, drying the last round of tears. I rub my temples as if that will take away the pain of my past, but of course it doesn't.
"You get used to it." It's meant to be some kind of comfort initially, but eventually I realize it didn't do much to make her feel better.
"I'm sorry you've had to, Ponty," she says quietly. We sit in a miserable, heavy, dark, mourning silence.
"Get some sleep," she says.
"You sure you don't want to?" It seems she's had such an incredibly long and painful day, it's the least I can offer her.
She shakes her head. "No thanks," she says, quietly and weakly.
"I can't close my eyes without watching him close his."
My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach at her words. I know they must be true. I wish I would've been there to finish off Tuesday and avenge our ally. I suppose that should happen later, though.
I lay down and close my eyes. Janie grazes a hand lightly over my shoulder, probably as a reminder that she's still here and that I'm not alone anymore. If I want to win, I have to see her dead.
Another tear pushes out of my eye, teeth clenched, fists balled up as tightly as they possibly can be. She has so much to go home to, and I have none of it. She has friends and family that are rooting for her and want her to come home, I have nobody waiting for me. If anything, I have people waiting back home to give me a hard time.
Can I even do this anymore?
I… I honestly don't know.
~.~.
Janie wakes me up in the middle of the night, asking me to take the watch. I agree, and she curls up, her back lightly touching my leg, probably for reassurance that somebody's still fighting on her side. For now.
The sun rises, but Janie is sleeping peacefully so I don't wake her. She needs all the rest she can get. I don't move, knowing that the moment I do she'll be up and ready to hunt. I sit with her, keeping watch, until I have to piss so fucking much I couldn't possibly sit with her for another second. I get up, she sits up and blinks awake, and I nod to her in greeting before I go back into the bushes.
After that, we collect our supplies (but only after Janie makes me use one of the alcohol wipes from her first-aid kit to wash my hands) and regroup as best as we can. Then, we go to the stream for water and I hunt our breakfast. I cook it over a fire and we eat, neither of us talking. The initiative for the day is pretty clear, really. Find Tuesday and get revenge.
We grab our stuff and keep walking. She tells me quietly about her encounter with Tristabelle (which makes me even more hungry for revenge), and about her encounter with the asshole from District 10 who I hate. I tell her about my fight with the mutts and the struggle Ori had with them. I tell her about the earthquake, about the boy from District 5 being trapped under a log and how he yelled at his ally from 11 to run away and I killed him as easily as possible. Janie looks like she could be sick at these stories, but listens anyways.
We walk until lunchtime, when I hunt another animal and we sit and eat meat and berries. Still no signs of any other tributes. I know that if Janie heard my screams, that means that it's possible any other tribute could've heard them, too. Which means that some tributes may have come closer to the noise, and others may have started to retreat from it. I suppose we'll just have to see what happens.
Janie and I walk together, silent but appreciative of each other's company. We walk until the evening, still having no luck. We stop and have dinner. We keep walking as the Arena gets dimmer until Janie stops me. She points up ahead to something that's kind of blurry to me because I'm not wearing my glasses. Shut up, nobody has to know I need glasses! I've been just fine until now anyways, it's just dark!
I put up my weapon as we get closer, and start to make out a shadow of a figure in the distance with Janie guiding me. When I can see the figure distinctly, I release the spear. I hear a piercing scream of surprise as Janie and I pick up the pace to come nearer. The sky seems to lighten up a bit as Janie and I find the girl from 11, struggling, gasping, and I realize my shot wasn't straight on because I couldn't see clearly. I rip my spear out of the body and am greeted with another high-pitched, loud cry.
Suddenly, I don't even want to look at what I've done. I turn to go but Janie shouts, "Ponty what are you doing!?" I turn around to look back at her, and she does something that is completely unheard of for a Career tribute to do: she kneels next to the dying girl.
I make myself go back, but I know it's a mistake to watch the light leaving her eyes.
"We can't just leave her," Janie says, wiping tears out of her eyes. This is totally unheard of.
"We have to." I have no idea what to say to her. Krissa chokes with sobs, trying to sit up as blood pours out of her wound and soaks her shirt. I take Janie's hand and pull her up, trying to ignore her tears.
"You fought well," I say quietly, as Krissa cries out, struggling to hold onto her life. "Your District will be proud of you."
She goes silent, quivering with sobs. "Thanks," she chokes out, gasping for air.
"Your ally. Dawson. He died quickly. It was fast and as easy as it could've been. He didn't suffer." It's all I can think to say to her.
Her life slowly saps out of her eyes as she bleeds out, gasping, trying to get in a breath, trying to keep living.
"I'm… Sorry… Maddie…" she says quietly, "And Don… And I'm sorry Mom and Dad…" she chokes out. "I'm sorry…." She inhales shakily, and exhales, and the light is gone from her eyes. It was a mistake to watch it go. A cannon booms, Janie wipes at her eyes to try and keep from crying. I kneel down next to the body, the body that looks so young and innocent, that had so much more to go back to than I ever did. With a shaking hand, I reach over her and gently close her hazel eyes before slowly standing up again.
"Come on, Janie," I say, just as the Capitol anthem begins to play and I hear a loud hovercraft coming to pick up the body. "Let's get out of here."
Krissa Osten's face flashes in the sky, and I'm already plagued by the memory of her quivering final breath, of that last hope of life fleeting from her eyes. I think of her family, sitting at home and realizing that they're going to have to try and keep going on without her. I know it has to happen if I want to win, but… It's still hard.
The night comes, the full moon shining brightly in the sky, the stars giving small dots of light. Almost calm, except for the fact that there are teenagers who are at the final straw wanting to get back to their friends and families and loved ones surrounding me. It unsettles me, the fact that I'm surrounded by so many people that are fighting for friends, family, loved ones, while I'm fighting for what? The title of Victor. To get away from my family. Tributes with everything have been lost, and more of them have to go for me to get home. They demonize the other tributes at the Academy, but the reality is that they're more than just obstacles or roadblocks.
They're people just like me, except for they have much more to get home to.
Stop thinking like this, Pontifex. Just five more have to die before you can be away from it forever.
…
But will I ever be truly away?
A/N: Aaaahhh this chapter hurt! Thanks so much for her Hope, I hope your feels were hurt just the right amount at her death! If you ever want to though you can come to the forum and we can RP some more with Krissa and Vardaman and that group!
We're really getting down to it and I have no idea who's going to die next! Final six! Next chapter prices will be going up again, and sponsor gifts are going to be more important than ever because they DO affect the tributes' fates!
So I started a new SYOT but unfortunately all the spots were eaten up, but if you want to read it to get more points (or submit mentors/escorts!), do it!
Chapter Question: From here, your preferred death order? The final six are Pontifex, Janie, Gio, Tuesday, Tristabelle, Atticus.
Scores:
Dreamer: 207
hopefuldreamer1991: 96
Sinfonian Legend: 255
Jess: 251
Kate: 193
magicharity: 163
xxPeppermintxx109: 26
xQueen-of-Applesx: 40
rising-balloons: 75
superneet1214: 6
elisa. anya: 5
Coolgal02: 61
epictomguy: 34
Medium-Indigo (Guest): 60
AbbyCorabby123: 10
falyn. oliver: 43
seaotter99: 22
ThisWorldWeHate: 17
Blonde4ever: 62
Beauty. Is. Strange: 61
Ibbonray: 35
dreams and desperation: 26
Rosemarie Benson: 12
CrissKenobie-the-Numenorean: 21
santiago. poncini20: 21
Emrys Holmes: 31
A-Bookworm-Named-Steph: 16
We're All Okay: 21
Kyoko Rose: 26
Lady Lysa Arryn: 77
W. R. Winters: 26
fat necrosis: 22
LokiThisIsMadness: 16
Josephm611: 22
nevergone4ever: 2
Jalen Kun: 2
Music Rules The World: 4
Xx-Katerina-xX: 16