Dancing through a dream
Underneath the stars
Laughing till the morning comes
Everyone that leaves has a heavy heart
Oooh, won-derland I love
Malory Black
District 11, She/Her, 17
(The Gardens)
[9.40 AM]
...
Looking out at the gardens from atop the sturdy oak tree, my breathing stops as I attempt to comprehend the world beyond. It's a vibrant picture of colour and life, a pure tapestry of beauty.
Birds soar across the sky, and squirrels jump from one tree to the next with courageous leaps of faith. It's everything and more compared to the desolation and emptiness of District Eleven; in fact, it's the complete opposite. Don't get me wrong, District Eleven holds some rare beauties, like the endless, rolling fields that stretch out as far as the eye can see.
Briana and James were always so enchanted by such untainted nature and the thought of the three of us spending the day running through them without a care in the world brings a seldom smile to my face. If they could see this now…
Well, I suppose they probably can. From their TV screens, that is. But in person? In person, it's an entirely different experience, with the gentle breeze brushing against me and pushing the heady scent of lavender and moist soil up my nose. It causes an entire release of tension, allowing my shoulders to drop for the first time in days.
"It's brilliant, isn't it?" Enver exclaims, a childish grin lighting up his face, captivated by the moment.
It's a relief to see him smiling. When Cybill's face appeared in the sky, I thought I'd lost him too. The intensity of the shock and terror that filled his eyes in that moment is enough to haunt me for a lifetime. That, paired with watching Odalis' insides spill out onto the ground.
I force down the vomit that's been threatening to surge up every time I think of his innocent and youthful face. To watch somebody so full of life become so still and empty is...
Well, it's horrifying, to say the least.
"It's beautiful." I finally say, still struggling to take it all in.
"It seems stable enough to stay here, too." Enver says, stomping down on the large branch beneath us, which doesn't wobble despite our weight.
"Yeah, I agree." I say, nodding in affirmation. "It might be a bit tough to sleep, though? Seeing as we could just roll off."
The very thought of sleep causes my body to ache, having spent the last couple of nights on the unforgiving ground. The slender blades of grass constantly tickled at my bare skin, and clouds of dirt blew relentlessly into my face. It's certainly not the worst place to sleep, but it's hardly ideal.
"Well, I have a solution for that!" Enver grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "There were some vines wrapped around some of the trees down there." He nods to the left of us. "We could use them to tie ourselves around the branches while we sleep."
"Enver, that's perfect!" I laugh.
Before the Games, part of me had seen him as less capable and someone I'd have to take care of in the arena. But so far? He's been quite the opposite, and his survival skills are easily superior to my own. Plus, he seems to have a solution to every problem. It's safe to say that the choice to take him on as an ally is one I'm grateful for, and it might just be the one decision that ensures my survival in here.
Descending takes a considerable amount of time for the both of us, although not as long as it did to get up. Enver said I'd grow used to climbing with practice, but the way he can so easily pull himself onto each branch using nothing but a knife is far from my current level of expertise.
Once we've reached the ground, we start heading in the direction that Enver nodded towards, and he begins to talk about home. It's something that he's started doing quite a bit, simply going on tangents about his father and the people in his district. It's fascinating to learn about a life so different from my own, but we both bond over the shared experience of same-sex parents.
"Nobody is quite sure how they conceived my brother and me." I say this in response to him asking if I was adopted. Most would probably find the question invasive, but I'm used to it, and, besides, Enver means well, even if his obliviousness can be grating at times. "It's not something I dwell on, though. They're my parents, and that is that."
"Totally!" He exclaims, his enthusiasm evident in his voice. "My dads are awesome; you guys would really get along."
"I'd love to meet them." I chuckle, but, straight away, I wish I could take it back. Enver's eyes avert to the ground at the comment, and the corners of his mouth stretch downward.
"I wish you could." He replies solemnly. An awkward silence takes over as we both grapple with the unspoken emotions that linger in the air. The prospect of Enver having to be taken from his parents forever for me to be able to go back to my own is terrifying and a curtain falls over my mind at the thought.
"Hey, we still have hope." I say, bumping into him in an attempt at reassurance. "They could always do things differently this year. The two of us just need to get to the end, and we'll figure the rest out from there."
"Okay." He replies, but the cheery mood from before has been stolen by the idea of what the future might hold for us. A few minutes later, we reach the tree that Enver spoke about and use the knife to cut the vines wrapped around it. They're thick and strong, which makes them hard to cut but also means they'll be able to keep us stable.
I can't help but feel a little hopeful at the thought of having a night's sleep free from the worry of others approaching us.
Even an extra hour of sleep could mean the difference between life and death.
Felix Quintus
District 2, He/Him, 18
(The Gardens)
[12.34 PM]
...
The palpable tension in the air is so thick that I could cut it with a swipe of my knife.
It's been this way since Quincy's outburst on the first day, which Weft tells me left handprints on my neck, and I've just about had enough. Quincy's brooding and Weft's fear of him snapping at any moment have caused quite the dysfunctional alliance.
Frustratingly, I've been thrust into the role of mediator, and it's no easy feat. Weft wants to ditch Quincy due to his impulsive and violent nature. Quincy wants to ditch Weft because he sees him as inferior and useless. There's no way for me to keep them both happy.
All I can do is keep them content, making sure both of them stay in the alliance with some slight discomfort. Nevertheless, I sense my grip on the reins beginning to loosen as Quincy swings his razor-sharp sword through the air. Weft stays a distance away, leaning against a tree in what looks like an attempt to gain some extra sleep. In truth, I reckon he doesn't want to watch as Quincy attempts to intimidate him with his intense glares.
The clearing we've settled in is enough to give us all our own space, and I cherish the moments of peace I have now as I feel the foundations of our group beginning to deteriorate. Quincy is growing restless. He hasn't mentioned going after Scylla since our conflict, but I can see the pure determination in his gaze, and it's enough for me to be mentally prepared for the sudden, uncontrollable outburst that erupts from him.
"Enough of this!" He cries, plunging his sword into the ground. "We're wasting time and making ourselves look weak."
"Quincy, like I told you last time, the three of us don't stand a chance against the three of them." I say, struggling to keep my voice calm and even as frustration bubbles within me. As expected, he doesn't respond well to this. However, after thinking it over, I found that he probably wouldn't respond to anything I said with reason. He's simply fuelled by anger, which is a volatile trait to have in an ally.
The more I think about it, the more I begin to think that Weft is right. Although Quincy will be useful for protection and strength in numbers, he'll never truly work with us. Because Quincy does what Quincy wants to do, he's a self-serving egotist, and that's all there is to it.
"Felix, like I told you last time, I'm not weak." He says it through gritted teeth. At least he's somewhat trying to control himself, even if he looks like a rabid animal frothing at the mouth in the process.
"No, you are not." I affirm. "But Weft has not trained his whole life for this like the three of them."
I look over to Weft, whose eyes are now open and flicking between the two of us. Since the bloodbath, he's been open with me about the memories that haunt him. He's mentioned more than once the pure excitement he saw in Aisling's eyes when they were going down for the kill.
There was no joy to be found in the knife that plunged itself into Aisling; it was simply survival. The idea of killing somebody has never been appealing to me. The honour of the victory? Sure. But the means to get to that victory are not ones I take pleasure in; they are simply a necessary evil to continue forward.
"Well, we should've picked somebody a little less worthless then." He sneers, his eyes turning to Weft, who flushes with shock and humiliation. Then, he's on his feet and approaching Quincy with his face turning a deep shade of scarlet.
"If you don't want to be allies, then just fuck right off, Quincy!" He spits, his voice filled with a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Neither Felix nor I have time to deal with you and your cocky arrogance." He's in Quincy's face now, and concern strikes me as Quincy pulls his sword from the ground.
Weft doesn't even hold a weapon, and even if he took the knife from his backpack into his hand, he wouldn't be able to stand his ground against such a force. Another part of me wants to see how this plays out, not wanting to ruin the moment of Weft standing up to Quincy. His frustration with him has been clear for days, but the fact that he's finally saying something makes me strangely proud.
"I knew you were weak. I didn't think you were an idiot." He chuckles before shoving Wells to the ground. Immediately, I'm standing over him with my spear pointed at Quincy's chest. My father always told me there's no honour in picking on those who are inferior, and I refuse to stand by as Quincy dishonours not only himself but our alliance.
"I think it's about time you leave." I say this through gritted teeth, pushing him back with the spear.
His smile doesn't falter; he simply backs away with his sword at his side.
"I could kill you right now if I wanted to." I mutter, an attempt at taking away the evident pride that gets under my skin.
"We both know you can't." He says.
For a second—only a second—I question myself. He's a lot bigger than I am, that's for sure, but I'm also a hell of a lot swifter.
As the point of my spear pokes his chest, the temptation to plunge it in and get rid of the nuisance he's become intensifies.
I have to remind myself that mercy is just as powerful as murder. If I let him go now, he'll wind up at the cornucopia eventually and get himself killed. There's a chance he'll be able to take out a couple of tributes for me on his way out.
So, with that in mind, I lift my spear from his chest.
"Good luck with Scylla." I say, and, for a moment, I think he's going to respond by sticking his sword through my heart.
Surprisingly, he turns and walks away without saying another word.
Quincy Abraham
District 4, He/Him, 18
(The Gardens)
[1.02 PM]
...
(It's my 13th birthday, and I can't help the grin that spreads across my face as my family sits around the table.
Everyone is gathering around, for once in my life, to celebrate me. I've always loved my birthday for that reason; it gives my parents a reason to look at me.
The cake is brought out and placed in front of me, the candles sparkling with the hope of a new beginning as I reach my teenage years.
Once the candles are blown out and we each have a slice of cake in front of us, I decide to share the good news.
"I got a B in my assessment at the academy!" I exclaim, my face beaming with pride.
"That's nice, Quincy." Mother says it with a polite smile. "And you, Mark, what did you get at, well, regular school?"
My heart drops at the question. Who cares what he gets? This is supposed to be about me!
"You know me, Mom." He giggles. "Straight As, as always."
"Ah, my boy!" Father laughs. "I truly have no idea why we were blessed with such a child."
My chest grows tight, suddenly feeling invisible. It's my birthday, and it still feels like my parents couldn't care less about me.
"I also bench-pressed 175 pounds! My trainer said, I'm making great progress." I say, desperate to redirect the conversation to me.
"There's no need to try and one-up your brother, Quincy." Father says it sternly. "We can appreciate each other's achievements without trying to overshadow one another."
Tears begin to prick at my eyes at his reprimanding, and, suddenly, the sponge cake coated in a sweet, vanilla frosting looks unappetizing as I take a slice onto my fork.
My parents continue to talk to Mark about his grades and the brilliant future he has ahead of him. All the while, I'm sinking lower and lower into my chair.
Eventually, it becomes too much. If they're pretending that I'm not here anyway, I might as well not be.
As I leave the table, a small part of me hopes that my parents will call out to ask me where I'm going.
My footsteps slow as I reach the stairs, but my parents never call out, and, inevitably, I lose all faith.)
The memory haunts me as I trail my sword across the dirt path that I follow.
The very first time I realised how utterly worthless I was to my parents. The rest of that day had been spent in my room, tears streaming down my face. A fact that I'm not proud of but one that I use to prove how far I've come. My parents can no longer ignore me, not after everything.
Who wouldn't want to watch their child on TV? Fighting for the glory of themselves and their family.
I'm certain they are watching me at this very moment as I approach the cornucopia, and the battle that is bound to ensue. I imagine pride bursting from their faces as I take down Scylla, Robert, and Ranger with ferocious determination and skillful ease. Then, the next time I'll see them, it will be me they are looking at. They will be ready to welcome me back into their arms, and my victory will outshine everything else in their lives.
Including Mark. Finally, after all these years, Mark will be able to experience everything that I did. He'll know how it feels to be so painfully alone every second of the day, every day of the year. My birthdays will be filled with love and pride as I recount how I won the games. Mark's birthdays will be filled with tears and isolation as he obsesses over the fact that I was the one who took everything away from him.
That is what this is all about. It's revenge.
The most powerful tool in all of the world.
As I reach the solitary tower that stands so incongruous with the rest of the garden, that very revenge is what is pushing me forward.
The door to the tower opens with a slam, as I don't bother being quiet. As soon as I enter, I watch Scylla rush out of the cornucopia with a look of alarm on her face, but it quickly transforms into a pleased smile.
"Quincy, we were just about to have lunch." She says it with a sly grin, as if she expected my dramatic entrance. "Please, come join us."
Robert and Ranger are behind her now, both with swords in hand.
Scylla's golden trident gleams in the dim light, marked with the blood of the boy from Three.
"Let's end this." I declare, my hand tightening around the hilt of my own weapon.
I'm as calm as I've ever been as I approach Scylla. I'm ready to finally be at the top. Once the three of them are gone, nobody will stand in my way. There will be no second place; there will be nobody for the Capitol to look at but me. Everyone will, at long last, realise who I am and what I can do.
As I stand a couple of steps in front of Scylla, Robert and Ranger move to approach me.
"No." Scylla states, not even turning to look at them. "He's mine."
The two glance at each other but don't make a sign of moving towards me. That'll make this even easier.
"Ready to die?" I smirk, holding my sword out in front of me.
"Don't speak to yourself, Quincy. It's strange."
With that, she's charging towards me with an unnatural speed. I narrowly dodge, but she's quick and spins to face me. She thrusts the trident forward, and I'm forced to swipe it away with my sword. If there's something I hate more than my brother, it's being on the defensive. I ignore her next attack and decide to charge forward myself, slamming into her body with my own.
She's on the floor in minutes, but before I can stick my sword through her, she's back on her feet and swinging her trident at me. I almost trip as I rapidly step backward, attempting to avoid the swings. Then, I parry one of them with my sword and push it to the side.
I see my chance; her side is completely unguarded. Without a second thought, I slice my sword towards it.
But I'm so focused on stabbing her side that I don't realise the three points of a trident that dig into my own until it's too late.
I fall to the floor with a scream. Not in pain, but in anger.
Everything in me fights to get back on my feet, but the blood continues to spill from me, causing me to slip as I attempt to pull myself up.
"Glad we could settle this." She says the hint of mockery in her tone causes another scream to echo through the tower.
She takes a step forward, her eyes locked into mine with unwavering confidence. I try to grab for my sword, which clattered to the floor with my fall, but it's too far, and my whole body seizes up, a sharp, excruciating pain shooting through every nerve.
As Scylla brings her trident down onto my chest, I'm reminded of that day so many years ago when Mark and I were jumped by that group of boys. I was beat and beat, my body limp and bloody on the ground. I would've been killed that day had Mark not saved me.
And as I watch the trident sink into me, part of me wishes that Mark would push Scylla out of the way and come to my rescue once more.
But, of course, that's impossible, and my vision blurs before fading to black.
Marya Linder
District 12, She/Her, 17
(Marmoreal)
[4.16 PM]
...
It's been hours since my last drink of water, and, as soon as we reach the crystal lake, I drop to my knees.
Immediately, I'm scooping the cool water into my hands and downing as much as I can. The beating sun and the sweat it causes mean that regular trips to the lake are essential in order for our alliance to stay healthy. The heavy sweat that sticks to my glistening skin is replaced with the water from the lake as I splash it all over me.
Yesterday, Smith and I decided to clean ourselves, but the lingering smell continues to hang onto me, and I can't help but flush with embarrassment as I take a whiff of my armpits. Smith doesn't seem to care, though, with his own body odour hanging in the air. Once we've cleaned our faces, we begin to fill the five water bottles we carried with us. When I inspect the one that I've claimed as mine, I grimace at the crack along the side.
It's down to my clumsiness from yesterday, and I've yet to get over how I humiliated myself with Smith. I'm lucky that he was kind enough to catch me.
"All filled?" He asks, and I turn to his charming smile and full lips paired with a set of brilliant, white teeth.
It's hard to not get lost in those clear blue eyes that radiate a certain kindness I don't often see in District Twelve.
"Marya?" He says this, causing me to jump as I'm thrown back into reality.
"Oh, yes." I stammer, blushing.
"Alright, we better head back then." He nods, climbing to his feet.
The walk back to the castle takes about fifteen minutes, which is tough in the sweltering heat, but I take the time to admire the scenery. The hills roll with a pale, white grass that is unfamiliar to anything back in Twelve, and I can't help but gently pick out a couple of delicate strands from the ground. The alien landscape reminds me of the fairytales I used to tell the Winchester children.
A memory of Bobby, Trixie, and Jacob sitting around me floods my mind as I walk. The warmth of their small bodies is a complete contrast from the heat that beats down on me, but one that provides me comfort as I link the foreign landscape to the life I always cherished back home. The sound of the Winchester children's laughter echoing through the air and their eyes widening as I told them stories of dragons and fairies causes a smile to tug at my lips.
With this reminder of being back home, I'm not only sparked with a sense of determination but also curiosity.
"What's life like for you back home?" I find myself asking, and Smith turns to me with an amused smile.
"You like to ask questions." He remarks, continuing to walk a couple of paces in front of me.
"I like to know things." I respond, forcing my legs to move a little faster in order to catch up. "So?"
"Well, it's better than most. My family operates a couple of the mines; you may know them: Fenway and Madison Caldera." He says it with a wry smile, slowing down to allow me to catch up. I can't say I do know his parents, as my only connection to the mines is my own, and by the time they got home late in the night, they had enough of thinking about the monotonous work.
"Any siblings?" I ask, desperate to find out more about his enigmatic life.
"One, Thea. She's always had the mind for numbers, unlike myself, so she'll be taking over from my parents someday." He smirks, a glint of mischief in his clear blue eyes.
"And you? What do you do?" I question further, wanting to uncover the lingering sense that there's more to his story than meets the eye.
With his charismatic demeanour and love for mischief, he can't simply be the son of some rich family with no responsibilities.
"Oh me? I suppose I just hang around." He says, but the nonchalant quality of his response causes me to raise my eyebrows. "Well, I have a couple of friends," he laughs. "We, you know, do the typical teenage things."
"I can't say I've had much time for typical teenage things." I reply, and he offers a sympathetic smile.
My family was far from poor, but even so, when my mother fell ill, I was forced to step up and do my part to provide for my family.
The rest of our walk is filled with content silence, and it's only a couple of minutes before we reach the imposing castle. Even now, after spending the last couple of days here, I marvel at the marble spires that seem to touch the sky. When I first saw it, I wished that Trixie was by my side to experience the fairy tale she's always dreamed of—putting on a shimmering ball gown and entering the castle for the Royal Ball. Then I realised what a stupid thought that was.
If it takes going into The Hunger Games for Trixie to see a castle, I should hope her dream never comes true.
As we reach the door, Smith turns briskly to face me.
"Do you think we could go in quietly?" He asks. "I'm curious to hear what they're talking about."
Immediately, something doesn't sit right with me. Spying on people has always been something I've viewed as a complete violation of privacy, and anything that someone doesn't want to tell you to your face should be kept that way. However, before I can make this clear to Smith, he's slipped into the castle without making a sound.
I rush inside to follow him, unable to match his slyness, and find him pressed against a wall.
He shushes me as I approach, holding a finger to his mouth, and that's when I hear the voices coming from the other side of the wall.
"It would be a lot easier to survive in a smaller group." Sky's voice trails off as I strain to listen. My mind battles with itself over the ethical dilemma. As much as I want to hear what Sky is saying, I also know that it's wrong. So, without another thought, I walk into the room and swipe away Smith's attempts to hold me back.
"We're home!"
Dahlia Lucretia
District 10, She/They, 17
(The Scarlet Desert)
[9.42 PM]
...
As the sun finally sets, Kaylee's eyelids droop with it.
It seems that pure exhaustion has triumphed over the violent conditions of the desert, and I can't help but be envious with the idea of sleep still feeling so out of reach. Adam is in a similar position, and the two of us decide to place the blanket over her before huddling together. Unfortunately, very little warmth radiates from Adam's body as the sense of cold death and mourning continues to linger.
"I think we should go back." I stammer through chattering teeth. The three of us awoke yesterday with the very last of our mental resilience, deciding that we'd keep going the rest of today in the hopes of finding whatever it is we've been heading toward. At first, it seemed to have been the best decision, with us finding an oasis this afternoon and a few cacti we were able to eat raw—I don't recommend it, by the way.
However, as the biting cold of the desert night settles in once again, the last of my determination begins to break down.
"There has to be something." Adam murmurs in response, his voice trembling.
"That's what you said yesterday." I sigh, burying my head in my hands and holding back the tears that threaten to spill out.
It's not like it was ever easy for me back home; my gifts always gave an excuse for others to ridicule me. It's unlikely that I'll ever forget the mocking laughter and accusations shouted at me when offering my services. 14-year-old Dahlia never understood when she'd ask the mourning if she could help, only to be shouted at for 'playing cruel jokes'. Then again, it's not like it got any better; I simply learned to push away the teasing.
Love yourself, Dahlia; there's nobody else you'd rather be.
The long nights when I'd repeat those very words haunt me now. As much as I tried to believe that my weirdness was something to be proud of, there was always that voice in the back of my head telling me that everything would be so much easier if I were simply normal. I doubt normal people get reaped for the Hunger Games or have to fend back a bunch of children from possessing their bodies.
There was always helping people, though. The one thing that showed my weirdness had a purpose.
Watching people break down in tears as they get to say goodbye to the loved ones that were taken from them too soon. Helping them begin to heal from the never-ending cycle of grief and mourning. It was always rewarding, and, as I'm starting to feel hopeless, I think that it might be the one thing that could push me forward.
"I can talk to her, you know." I say, breaking the heavy silence.
"What do you mean?" Adam asks, turning to me and narrowing his eyes.
"My...abilities." I say. "I can talk to Gena."
He stares at me for a long while, as if processing my words. I give him time, simply staring back into those dark eyes.
"How does it work?" He finally asks.
"It's easy, that is, if she wants to come." I reply.
"And if she doesn't?"
"Well, then I won't force her." I shrug. "Unless you want me to."
"No, don't force her." He interjects. "You can try, I guess. There's no harm in that."
I smile, excitement rushing through me. This is the longest I've gone without doing a communication, and it's hard to stay away from that which gives you joy.
"Outstretch your hands and close your eyes." I tell him, nodding my encouragement. He does, taking a deep breath without me having to tell him.
I close my own eyes and prepare for the shiver.
Gena, if you have anything to say to Adam, now is the time.
I have no idea if she can hear me, but it's worth a shot.
A couple of minutes pass by, and I begin to lose hope, but suddenly, it hits me. An icy cold is shooting down my back and it causes me to yell out in shock. It's unlikely for such a strong physical reaction to occur unless the person is desperate to get here. With that shiver, I feel the rope tie itself to me and begin to pull.
Keep going, Gena; you're almost here.
The final tug causes a wave of exhaustion, and I feel suddenly faint. I force it aside, though, as the figure of a child comes into view. I have a job to do.
"Gena Cooper?" I ask, staring into where her eyes should've been—an endless void in their place.
"Yes, that's me." She says this, crossing her arms. Then, she looks beside her at Adam and takes a deep breath. "He didn't."
"He didn't what?" I ask, cocking my head to the side.
"Volunteer."
"I'm afraid he did, Gena. I'm sorry." I respond, offering her a sympathetic smile.
"Why?" She chokes out, and I'm positive that if her eyes were still there, tears would be running out of them.
"He thought it's what you would've wanted." I say, gently.
"No." She says this, taking a step back. "Never."
"He misses you, Gena. Is there anything you want me to tell him?" I ask as her right arm begins to fade.
"I'm sorry we didn't get along." She says, her voice sounding much further. "I love him, and...I never wanted this. Tell him that he must know that."
I nod as she disappears, and the rope attached to us loosens before slipping away.
Adam's eyes snap open as soon as she leaves.
"Did you do it?" He asks, eyes wide.
"I did."
"What did she say?"
"Look, Adam, you might not want to hear this." I say, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Gena didn't want you to volunteer."
"What? But she told me, " His expression shifts from anticipation to confused anger, and I rest a hand on his shoulder. "What else?" He asks, shoving my hand off.
"That she loves you and that she never wanted this for you." I whisper. "She forgives you, Adam. She does."
"No..." He mutters. "No! You're lying!"
I jump back at this, cowering away as he stands up.
"You're a fucking liar." He growls at me before storming off.
As he leaves, a tear rolls down my cheek. It seems I can't even do what I'm best at anymore.
A/N: Well, here's Day 3! We have a death this time around.
Hope you're all happy with how I'm presenting your characters.
Reviews are, as always, appreciated but not expected!
Alliances:
Robert, Ranger and Scylla
Marcus and Nicole
Malory and Enver
Sky, Ephron, Saxony, Marya and Smith
Felix and Wells
Adam, Kaylee and Dahlia
THE FALLEN:
18th Place - Quincy Abraham (D4M). Stabbed through the chest with a trident by Scylla Minali (D4F). Submitted by Very New To This.
RIP Quincy. You were a fun character to explore with your clear jealousy and insecurities constantly clouding your judgement. I really enjoyed writing your feud with Scylla and you made a big impact on these Games by, along with Scylla, causing the Careers to split up. Your relationship with your family and your brother was such an interesting one that I tried to explore mostly during the Games and I really hope I did it justice. At the end of the day, your desperation to succeed at something brought your downfall and you finally realised that having a little help from your brother isn't such a bad thing. Thank you so much Very New To This for Quincy.
KILL COUNT:
Scylla - 2
Quincy - 1
Ranger - 2
Felix - 1
Robert - 1
- Neb