Hi friends! Welcome to day 4, part 1! Sorry about all the craziness last week; I tried to get the chapter finished in time, but life has been crazy, and that's taken a toll on me. But you don't want to hear about me. Let's see what our Tributes are up to. A TW for mentions of plague in the second POV.
Marquis Kennedy, 18, District One Male
Blade wakes him for his watch when the sky is just hinting at dawn. Marquis would not say he's a morning person—no, he prefers to stay out late dancing and partying, heedless of what the consequences might be come tomorrow. But today it's even worse, because, well... Marquis feels terrible, emotionally, and he has no idea how to deal with us. He isn't one to get bogged down by life, or anything in his way, but murder... that's so different. Luckily, he doesn't seem to be alone.
Alessio is leaning against the wall in the corner, his eyes trained to some far-off spot. He looks exhausted and hollow, like somebody sucked the life out of him and left a shell behind. As far as Marquis knows, he's not moved from that position since they got back yesterday.
He still can't help but be wary of Alessio, as though he's some kind of easily startled animal that could attack at any moment. Still, Marquis cannot handle this grief alone. Seeing two children die before his eyes, knowing that he might be partly guilty, could crush him if he's not careful. Perhaps it will either way.
"You're not gonna sleep?" he says softly, trying and failing to whisper.
Alessio's sleepless eyes are slow to meet his. His expression is sealed tight. His cold stare should be enough to scare Marquis away, but he meets his gaze.
He's never seen Alessio so broken as he had yesterday, his grief almost palpable. There's obviously something deeper there, something between him and Caldwell, and now Alessio's left behind, and he looks alone. And Marquis feels alone. So... they're kind of matching.
"You guys were, uh... you were friends?" he tries.
Alessio stares at the floor. "Why do you care?" he mumbles.
Marquis lifts his eyes to the ceiling. Why does he care? Why hasn't he left yet, if murder upsets him so much?
Yet he finds that he does care, half-formed and inarticulate as that feeling is.
Still, he tries his best to word it, because he's not sitting in silence anymore. "I care because... it hurts to lose someone. It hurts to feel like you're lost."
Alessio's defenses are fully up, and he doesn't answer for so long that Marquis expects them to fall into their uneasy truce of not talking once again.
"What do you know about being lost?" His voice is surprisingly bitter.
"I didn't know anything about it... until the Games. I'm not trying to say I get it, because you've obviously been through a lot more than me."
"How do you know?"
"I can just tell—let me finish. I'm just saying... you don't have to hide everything. You don't have to worry so much about what other people see when they look at you. Let yourself feel."
He feels like he's just jumped from a high place, feeling his gut plunge and the air race past; like he knows he's went over the edge and now all that's left to do is bear the impact. And for a moment, Alessio looks like he might yell, or punch him, or turn away. But instead, his composure wobbles, and he blinks like he's never heard anything close to what Marquis just said on a whim. But Marquis feels like he's bridged some kind of gap; like he's reached into open space and someone has met him in the middle. It helps, somehow, to know that somebody else is struggling, as selfish as that feels. It helps to be able to support them, however he can.
Naya wakes first, and rustling fill the building as Tremor, then Blade open their eyes. Naya lifts the weary corner of a smile.
"Good morning," she says brightly.
"Morning!" says Marquis, equally brightly because it feels like he's supposed to.
Tremor, Blade and Alessio are silent and stoic, as usual. Whatever vulnerability Marquis saw in Alessio is gone now, swept clean. It seems like they're back to normal now.
But Marquis's got this wild sort of feeling in his chest, like he wants to do something, change something. This can't just... keep happening, right? Like, the Capitol can't get away with killing twenty-three kids... and the kids can't just keep killing each other... there has to be some way to find sanity and footing in this surreal world. It's crazy to think that just a week ago, he was in drag on the stage, being cheered on by an audience that wasn't the Capitol. He was light, free as a bird, these serious things simply ignored and unknown. Life had been nice and navigateable then. And now here he is, among murderers.
How did he get here?
"Are we going hunting, then?" Tremor's gaze is hypnotic, lulling; it's a gaze that says everything is fine. But Marquis knows that it isn't now.
So he upsets the balance, and he speaks.
"Can we just... give it a rest, for one second? Three kids died yesterday." A cannon had split the sky at around midnight. "I think the Gamemakers would be fine with us taking a break."
Almost everyone speaks in protest.
"We didn't hunt on the second day," says Naya.
"We're down to thirteen, Marquis," comes Tremor's calm voice. "That's almost half of our enemies gone. Why would we slow down now?"
"I don't care what the Gamemakers think," signs Blade, with Alessio interpreting.
But Marquis's used to a little resistance; everyone seems to have problems with how he's living, whom he loves, what he does with his free time.
"I just thought that maybe we could let ourselves recover for a sec. Just this morning, and then we can hunt this afternoon. But I saw two kids die yesterday, and personally, I think we could all use a reprieve."
It feels like he's been waiting to speak since he first got into the Training Center, since he first heard that awful news at the orientation dinner. And now that he's opened the floodgates on his emotions, he isn't closing them now.
Naya looks into his eyes. She looks tired, beaten down. "Okay. We can take a breath, reassess. Look at the numbers we have left and plan our next move."
Marquis lets out a near-silent sigh of relief, feeling a great deal of his tension melt away. He doesn't ever want to be in that situation again; watching someone be killed, or even being involved in it. There's a question that's been lingering at the corner of his mind since he learned about all this, and now seems like as good a time as any to ask.
"Did you guys know about this? Like, that the Games were a death match? When you trained and Volunteered?"
A line of indignation puckers Tremor's brow, and Marquis quickly amends himself. "Or, I guess Tremor's different. But you were a Peacekeeper, so..."
Nobody answers him. They're all staring at him like he's some kind of amusing circus act—and he shouldn't care. He should just shake his head, brush it off, never mind, don't mind him, he's just a silly boy from One who doesn't know what he's doing.
But Marquis knows he's also brave. So he persists.
"You all willingly trained for a murder spree?"
Blade's mouth is tight. "It's not that simple, One."
Right. Everyone has a story, and all that. Normally Marquis isn't judgmental, normally he lets people do what they want to do, but this is so different.
"Well, it seems like that to me," he says hoarsely. They are all poking holes into him with their gazes, except Alessio, and soon Marquis finds his gaze falling to the floor. There really is nothing he can do, is there? The only thing to do is try to survive without becoming one of these monsters.
He just wishes he wasn't beginning to understand them.
...
Asa Trevino, 15, District Nine Male
He's trying so hard to stay awake. He hasn't slept since leaving Luz, but he's never been more tired. Leaning against a stall, slapping his cheeks to stay alert, he still feels that his mind is thin and scattered, his thoughts a collection of unrelated fragments. He only knows that he cannot let down his guard; he can't fall asleep, no matter how much his body is begging him to.
There's a figure approaching him. At first, he thinks it's Luz. But then he remembers... he left her, ran away, like he always does. She probably hates him. He remembers Linnet's gentle voice, advising him to love her while he still could, warning him not to let his need to save her get in the way of their love. Now it feels as if he's lost her forever. But she's safe, she's okay. At least, he hopes so; he has to believe that's true.
As the figure grows closer, he sees that it's a woman, her hair twirled into an elaborate crown. A pale blue dress hugs her figure, trailing in the dirt of the marketplace, and she stops at a stall just a few down from the place where he's partly concealed, squeezed between stalls and barely keeping his feet.
He's unaccustomed to feeling this wobbly, and it's a feeling he detests more than anything. What is Asa Trevino without his speed, his agility, his sharp-eyed vigilance? It's all he can do to keep the dizziness at bay, keep the world from blurring and his eyes from slipping closed.
He wants to give up. There's not really a reason for him to keep going—he's always doing things like this, making stupid decisions in the hopes that he can fix something, when he usually only breaks it more. Luz was the only thing keeping him above the surface; Luz always calmed him when he got like this, gently nursed him back to health and ushered him into the warmth of her family and their unconditional love.
Does Luz despise him? That thought is terrifying, but it pales in comparison to his need to keep her alive. He has to remind himself that this is necessary, no matter how much it hurts. He just doesn't know if he's being brave or stupid.
He doesn't feel brave. He feels scared and tired and alone and—
"Antidotes for the plague! Immunity against the Black Death!"
Asa flinches, his mind snapping back into focus. The woman is turned toward him now, her lips quirked in a smirk, though the expression looks eerie with the deadness of her eyes, like a doll. A Gamemaker's creation, maybe? Asa is unused to things like this, technological inventions that look too real. He isn't sure what to make of her, but he does know that she has something he wants, something that could change everything.
"What did you say?" he asks, unsure if she can hear him.
Her head swivels toward him. She looks like a mannequin, up close, with her perfectly sculpted face and her emotionless gaze. He probably looks a mess, his curls in his eyes, his body slumped against the stall for support—a little wild-eyed, a little broken.
Then again, why does he even care what a soulless merchant thinks?
"Are you looking for an antidote?" She holds up a vial. "You don't look too well, young one. This could be yours... for a price."
A tiny jewel of hope hardens in his heart. "I'll take two. Anything you want."
He's not thinking about the consequences. He's not thinking about the fact that this unnatural attempt at a person is from the Gamemakers. He's only thinking about Luz, and how much he misses her, and how awful he feels. If they both have an antidote, then they can be together again, and she can give him ointment for the spots spreading across his skin, and he can make her laugh. Maybe he doesn't have to brave the dark alone.
Maybe he can fix this.
The merchant smiles, but it looks more like a leer. "You'd pay any price? Well, my dear, I don't think you have much to give up."
Asa has nothing to lose, but he also has nothing to offer. He's never had anything but daisy chains and dreams for Luz, and he never had anyone to live for when he was trapped in his father's cage. He's never been rich.
"I'll give anything," he says again, firmer this time.
She keeps smiling. "Well, young one, what if I told you that I only have one antidote left? What would you say then?"
Only one... Asa or Luz. He'd have to chose. Does he save himself, drink the antidote and feel good as new, or does he give it to Luz so that she'll be immune?
It seems easy, at first. He could drink the vial, go back to Luz, and they'd continue as they were. His spots would go away and they'd fight together, try to make it out of this place.
The merchant is staring at him. "You have someone you're trying to save, don't you?"
Asa finds himself nodding.
"You know that the plague is everywhere. Your someone could still get the plague from another source. And I can't guarantee that it works as well once you're already sick. You could still die."
Asa feels the blood leave his face. How selfish is he, how stupid, to drink the vial and risk Luz dying because of him? If he drinks the antidote and returns to her, he could still be carrying the plague, or they'd simply be exposed to it again. Then it would be for nothing... wouldn't it?
"Why are you doing this?" he demands.
The merchant sighs. "I'm just selling my product. It's not as if I'm giving it for free."
He knows it's an illusion, but still... he can't help but be enthralled. Why wouldn't he take this vial, that could be the key to Luz's survival? But the merchant's right; there is a price. Either ensure Luz's safety and sacrifice his own life, or bring himself back to life at Luz's potential peril.
"If I give her this," he whispers, gesturing to the vial, "will she live longer?"
"The future is a web of possibilities, but I would say it's highly likely."
Luz is an apothecary; she can always fix him up when he comes to her broken. If she has this antidote, she'll be safe and immune, and Asa will be by her side. That's all he really wants, even if the decision hurts. What's that saying—two wrongs make a right? He just has to pray that he's doing the right thing. He wants to do the right thing.
And if he's being honest, he's so tired of struggling. He doesn't want to die alone. If Luz doesn't let him back into her sanctuary, he'll simply drink the antidote and try to save her some other way. But if Asa dies, he wants to die by her side, where he feels safe and sound. He just hopes that she can forgive him.
There really is no question in Asa's mind about this choice. He would rather die than put Luz in any sort of danger. And if there's ever a chance to sacrifice himself for her, he'll take it without a doubt.
So Asa takes the vial.
...
Dria Isatis, 13, District Six Tribute
A clattering from above sends a spike of adrenaline through Dria's tired body, and they bolt upright as much as possible in the close confines of the sloped stage. They try to peek through the cracks with no luck.
They'll have to move soon if they want to live another day. They're growing faint from lack of food and water, and they may be young, but they aren't stupid. If they don't find water soon, they won't be alive long enough to do anything but wither away beneath this stage. And Dria refuses to go out like that; alone, meaningless, all the fight leeched out of them by something so menial, so... docile. They plan to die fighting.
Though, if they're being honest, the loneliness might kill them first.
"I told you there was nobody here." A higher voice, calm but laced with irritation.
"No, there's someone here!" Another voice, much brighter, like a harsh fluorescent glare. Dria flattens themself against the floor. "I can just feel it."
A different person chuckles, low and nondescript.
"We'll just have to take on the Careers ourselves." The first voice.
"No, there's someone else we need, I can just feel it! The dream team isn't complete yet!"
"Who else would we need?"
A pause. "Someone with... finesse. Like a hardened street thief. We've got the brains, but now we need... more brains. But like, the crafty kind."
More laughter.
"That didn't come out right! But you get what I mean."
Dria crawls forward on their belly, peeks up over the side of the stage. Three girls are wandering across its surface, casting about for what Dria can only assume to be a partner in crime. A partner to... to take down the Careers.
They slip, unnoticed, from beneath the stage and skulk all the way around to the back, where they can see their faces but still, hopefully, remain unseen. The sun is glaring just right that they won't have to look too hard to find Dria, but... maybe they want to be found.
They haven't decided yet.
They draw up short. One of the girls is tall, muscular, with sad eyes shot through with kindness.
It's Ten.
She's still alive, and she's with two other girls now; but not the same ones she'd had before. They look almost identical, with their blonde hair, pale skin and short statures, though one is obviously more boisterous and bright-eyed than the other. This girl is throwing her arm around her companion, who smiles fondly in return.
A happy group. Cozy, even. Dria shies away. They don't think they belong here.
Still... they might have supplies. And it's unlikely that Dria can sneak out without their noticing anyway.
So they hop up onto the stage and stand tall, practically scowling at the trio.
Bright-eyed strawberry blonde yelps, then grins. "I told you, Cady!"
Her more soft-spoken companion gives her a warning look.
Ten gives a soft, "Oh."
Dria tries to tone down her scowl, for the sake of appearances. They don't offer a greeting. "So, I hear you're trying to take down the Careers?" they say.
Cady's friend nods emphatically.
"Well, you won't be able to do it without me."
Cady's brow furrows. "Bold statement."
The bright-eyed blonde steps closer to Dria, giving them an appraising stare. "I like you," she decides. "We could use another member. Wanna join?"
Dria scoffs. "This is a death match, not a club."
"I stand by my statement," she says loftily. She sticks out her hand, far too excitedly for Dria's liking. "Wren. Team leader. Welcome, new recruit."
Dria rolls their eyes to the sky for one brief moment. Then they pointedly ignore Wren's proffered handshake. "Dria. And I don't take orders from anybody."
They mean it seriously; they want to be brave, tough, unyielding. It seems to work on Wren, for her eyes widen and she chances a look at Cady like she's just won the lottery. But Cady's trying hard to keep a straight face.
They're already regretting this decision; they might have been better off hiding beneath the stage. But then Ten steps forward.
"I know you," she says, her voice soft and her eyes warm, though she looks even sadder than before. "I'm Jack. It's time we officially met."
Dria allows one segment of a smile; a peace offering of sorts. A flag of surrender. "Dria."
Wren smiles even wider, and a wicked sort of gleam lights up her eyes. Now she looks like an impish, slightly crazed goblin. "I think Phase One is complete. Now it's time for the real fun."
Dria allows themself to be led back through the town center, toward the church that looms over the entire city. They also allow a bit of light to shine through their skin, to the heart that lies beneath. Yes, they're in this to benefit themself, for a common goal, but... they wouldn't have made themself visible if they hadn't wanted to join their team, just a little, for less selfish reasons. Or, perhaps they're simply selfish in a different way.
It's just... Dria is lonely. And they know they probably won't make it out of this thing. So they may as well have decent company before the lights go down forever.
Although, it looks like they'll have a lot of work to do if this crew will have even half a chance at making a dent in the Careers' plans. If they don't even know how they're going to do this yet, they're almost certainly doomed.
Dria supposes it's a good thing they're around to help. Even if they're bound to betray or be betrayed in the end... it's nice to be walking side by side with another.
Especially Jack. The way they see it, Dria owes her a debt. And this might just be the way to pay it. Save her, make sure she makes it out of here alive.
Dria can't help but think that Jack has good judgment. So, if Jack thinks that these are good friends, maybe they are.
And maybe Dria won't have to be alone anymore.
...
Hello again! A shorter chapter this time... I'm not entirely happy with it, but I tried my best to polish and improve it a bit. No deaths this chapter?! Instead we have a bit of set-up. Marquis, Asa and Dria all made some decisions this chapter. Were they good decisions? Are you happy with them, or do you think that they should've done something else? Are you going to hunt me down for that second POV? All questions I'd love answers to. That said, thank you all so much for your reviews and your support; it means a lot to me. I hope you're all taking care of yourselves and doing something that makes you happy.
Much Love,
Miri