XXI. God Help The Outcasts
We gladiate, but I guess we're really fighting ourselves
Roughing up our minds, so we're ready when the kill time comes
Wide awake in bed, words in my brain
"Secretly you love this, do you even wanna go free?"
Let me in the ring, I'll show you what that big word means
Day I
9:59
The first word that comes to her mind is "anti-climatic." The second is "baffling." However, neither of those words aptly describe how incredibly mind-boggling it is that after seven days of preparing for the fight of her life, Moxie's spawned into the arena with only five other people within eye shot. Additionally, the five just so happen to be her so called "allies," and the only thing that's giving her any clue of what she's supposed to do is a small cabin in front of her.
She turns around on her pedestal, somewhat hoping that she'll see the other Tributes behind her, all ready to race her to the supplies and fail terribly. Instead, all Moxie sees are golden-leafed trees that are too close together for her to discern what's past them.
The only thing she hears is a booming voice counting down like a clock, "35… 34… 33…" and Elio turning to Dasani and asking him, "Where's everybody else?" It's nice to know the Ten boy's competent enough to wonder the same thing Moxie is.
Dasani answers, "I'd tell you if I knew, buddy," which just makes Moxie roll her eyes. Wouldn't they all say something if they had an explanation as to why the "bloodbath" is just so… not? The only thing she can come up with is that the other Tributes are in cabins nearby, but if they were, she'd probably be able to hear them. She'd at least be able to hear the Twelve boy who's even more incapable of shutting up than Elio. But she doesn't.
"13… 12… 11…"
Moxie keeps her senses focused, because if something does happen before the clock strikes zero, she wants to be ready. Life's taught her time and time again that the best thing a person can be is prepared, yet it somehow failed to equip her for both last week's reaping and for now.
The only reason Moxie even made it to nineteen is because she always had a plan for whatever life put in front of her. Hell, she even had plans for if things in the bloodbath got too chaotic and some of her allies got screwed over. She never even thought to consider what she'd do if there didn't seem to be a bloodbath in the first place. Moxie figured that the Capitol's ever-growing bloodlust would mean they wanted to cut to the chase as soon as they could, yet the opposite is clearly true.
And for the first time in nineteen years, Moxie Adegoke is utterly stumped.
When the voice from the sky calls out, "Let the Twenty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games Begin!" Moxie doesn't even move at first. Neither do her allies — they too just stand on their platforms, confused. Finally, she takes one step in front of her, half expecting to blow-up even though she doesn't, and gestures for the others to do the same.
"Well then," she says as her allies rush to her side. "I can't say I was expecting this one."
Dasani smirks. "I don't think anybody was, your highness."
"Fair enough." Moxie sighs.
If there's been one consistent thing about this group it's that Moxie's always been one step ahead of them. She's always been their alpha, always with more knowledge than the rest of them, but for once, she doesn't know shit. But, what she does know is that she's still in the arena, these still are the Games, and she's still ready to fight like hell until she gets out of here alive.
(Ripley's never seen Moxie look so afraid before.
Whenever she herself was concerned over the past week, they could always rely on Moxie to explain what's going on and be ready with a plan for how to move forward. But now, the expression on the Six girl's face indicates that she's just about ready to jump out of her skin.
So what does that mean for Ripley? If they can't rely on Moxie to come to their rescue, who else do they have? If everybody important in their life has betrayed them, surely she's not strong enough to be herself and survive.)
Asherah walks toward the cabin and leans against the wall. "So, we're staying here then?"
"I'm not sure…" Edric says. "I think it's a bit odd that there's just an entire cabin in front of us and we're all magically together. It could just be a coincidence, or—"
"The Gamemakers know that we're friends so they put us together!" Elio cuts him off. "I mean, maybe friends is a strong word because I just met you and you'll never be like the cow-cows which are my ultimate most bestest friends. But, we're all a team and—"
"Buddy," Dasani interrupts, his voice stern. "The Gamemakers aren't exactly the sort of people that'd do us any favors. There's something off here."
Dasani's quickly rising past Ripley to hold the title of "Most Valuable Alliance Member." While Moxie wouldn't trust him to patch up her wounds or mix up some medicine, they're very good at keeping Elio on a leash and their training score did beat Moxie's. She may not know what the hell Dasani did to score a 10, but it does mean he's worth keeping a closer eye on.
"He's right," Moxie says. "Chances are, they're just trying to throw us off our game. We can't let them, especially if all the alliances are scattered in clumps like we are."
"W-what are we going t-to do?" Ripley asks, the first she's spoken since the Games began. The poor thing looked like a dog shivering in the rain as they stood on their platform and they somehow seem even more nervous now.
"That's sort of the million dollar question," Edric replies. "Sure, the cabin in front of us probably means something, but the only way for us to know for sure is to either wait for something to happen, or to go inside."
"And that'd be dangerous," Asherah clarifies.
Edric's been oddly competent as of late and it's been driving Moxie wild. Ever since his interview, he's had this fire in his eyes and she's not sure if or when she needs to put it out.
"So, what we could do is figure out something to do that's actually worthwhile," Moxie hmmphs, returning the focus back to herself. "Or, we can just stand around and ponder what this all means as we wait for people to jump us. Which would you prefer?"
"I know! I know!" Dasani enthusiastically raises his hand. "We should do the first option!"
"You're a genius," Moxie says, dryly.
Elio shakes Dasani from the side. "Did you hear that? You're a genius!" The Four boy simply nods.
"I think our first course of action should be gathering some supplies. My thought is we look in the forest for something, but that'd mean we'd risk seeing other Tributes who could already have weapons. We could also—"
Moxie finds she doesn't have anything else to add, which is new for her. She's supposed to be the one who always knows what to do. Up until now, that's exactly who she was.
Is, Moxie reminds herself. Nothing about me's changed besides my surroundings.
"We could snap off a few branches from the trees, turn them into bludgeoning devices, and go hunting."
"Hunting?" Elio gasps. "Like… you don't mean hunting for…"
"It's okay," Dasani tries to soothe him. "Everything's going to be okay."
"Of course it is," Moxie boasts. "I meant hunting for supplies, obviously."
She did not, in fact, mean hunting for supplies, but anything to keep the baby from completely flipping his shit this early on.
"Now riddle me this," Dasani crosses his arms. "Who the fuck says that they're 'hunting' for supplies? The term is 'looking' for supplies."
"Didn't ask — I say that I'm 'hunting,' just for future reference. Congratulations, now you know."
"Gee, thanks, Moxie," the Four boy dryly says. "You're a real gem!"
Forget what she said earlier about Dasani being nearly as valuable as Ripley. The Tribute from Five doesn't talk nearly as much, and whatever she says isn't ridiculously stupid and uncalled for. Four may be a good attack dog, but he hasn't proven that his bite is worth the bark.
Meanwhile, Asherah's been trying to look through one of the cabin's windows. Her height, or rather lack thereof, seems to have made that a bit of a challenge. The raised platform with a porch just makes things even more difficult. Though Edric's close to being able to look inside himself, he's also failing. Ripley, on the other hand, is just standing there in her six feet, four inch glory.
"Ripley," Moxie beckons them. "Go try and look through the window. Let us know if there's anything inside there."
"O-okay," they reply and then scurry off toward the cabin. Ripley doesn't even need to stand on her tiptoes to see inside. Less than a minute passes before they turn around and announce, "There's m-mainly j-just… household objects. I s-see c-couches and b-beds, and a kitchen. But m-most importantly, I see a large c-chest in the m-middle. It s-seems to h-have our names on it."
"Well, that's a start," Moxie enthuses. "I say we figure out a way inside. I don't think whatever's in the box is explosive — there's no way the Gamemakers would purposely kill this many people so early."
"M-maybe we try to b-break the window?" Ripley suggests.
Clearly ignoring her, Edric walks up the stairs and onto the porch then twists the door's knob. Immediately, it swings open and he takes a step inside. "Or we can just do this," he calls out.
Why didn't Moxie think of that herself? Is it because everything's just too simple, she's worried that just the slightest mistake will lead to everything falling apart? That's a counterproductive thought, and Moxie knows it. Even if this is the Hunger Games, she has no reason to be afraid as of now. Moxie's never had a reason to be afraid.
(She's on the ground, yet her mother —yet Kiira— refuses to look at her. There's fuckin' blood pooling from Moxie's forehead and onto her shirt, yet the woman just stands there facing away.
Cache's hands are on his hips and his face says that he's proud of himself for knocking Moxie over. And still, Kiira can't be bothered to do anything.)
(She walks away without saying a word, and that's when Moxie knows she has every right to be terrified.)
Moxie regains her composure and walks up the stairs and into the cabin, noting the letter D has been messily painted onto the door. Exactly like Ripley said, it's just furniture and cooking supplies, and then the big wooden box. Their names are in fact engraved into the lid which doesn't even seem securely fastened on.
"Alright, who wants to open it?" she asks, surveying the room. Of all of them, Elio seems the most willing, but in the odd event that the chest actually is explosive, Moxie doesn't want to risk him — not when his existence tethered so tightly to Dasani's sanity. That's fine, though. Moxie'll find her way to Gremory when the kid needs to go.
"Asherah," Moxie drawls. "How about you open the chest, since you were the person that suggested we go inside the cabin in the first place?"
She frantically shakes, but Edric gives her a look that immediately calms her down. "Sounds like a plan!"
The Seven girl carefully steps toward the chest and wraps her fingers around the two buckles at the chest's sides. Moxie leans against the kitchen counter and holds onto a cabinet's door tightly, just in case something goes wrong — which it won't. She winces as Asherah removes the lid but quickly relaxes once it's been made clear there's nothing harmful. "Brilliant."
Everybody scurries around the box to take a peek inside and Moxie's no exception. Amidst the sound of cheerful "oohs" and "ahhs," she's able to make out the chest's contents. On one side, there's about a dozen granola bars, the same amount of water bottles, and six large sandwiches. On the other, Moxie sees a large roll of gauze and an assortment of weapons.
Once Dasani recognizes it, he picks up the large harpoon and removes it from the box, clearly awestruck. "Man, this is just like the one I used to use on my dad's boat," he says under his breath. His enthusiasm prompts Elio to follow suit, so he peers over the box's edges, reaches his hands inside, and returns with a lasso. He nods his head gleefully and waves it in front of Dasani's face.
Moxie's next to look inside, so she reaches down and picks up a small knife. Much like the weapons in the training center, this one's far nicer than anything Moxie ever saw in Six, its blade sparkling from the sunlight peering through the window.
Ripley finds a box of small poking devices while Asherah grabs a pair of scissors. Edric is last to reach inside, grabbing a large baton. It immediately reminds Moxie of the ones the Peacekeepers carried, and judging by Edric's face, it reminds him too.
"This is good news," Moxie breaks the room's sudden silence. "I think we have some good places to go from here."
"Like where?" Dasani tilts their head to the side. "It's not like we know where anybody else is or what we're supposed to do here."
"That's fine for now," Moxie says.
While the others might not know what's going on, Moxie has a good feeling that she does. The fact this cabin has been labeled with an D implies there's at least three others. That's enough for the other alliances to have launched near here, and chances are they also immediately had access to supplies. So there probably isn't a Cornucopia at all. If there was, they'd put the two larger alliances near it so they could duke it out for supplies, but that's clearly not what the Gamemakers want, at least not now.
That also makes sense. The Quarter Quell is supposed to be some grand charade to "celebrate" the twenty-four Games that came before it. If this entire cast of pariahs and criminals are given the ability to fight their opposing parties, there's no way in hell these Games would last more than a few days. But, by scattering everybody and giving them the tools they need, there's more of a chance for the Tributes to draw things out and provide a longer show for the affluent pricks that'll cheer them on when they die. With two Tributes dead before the Games even started, things needed to be spread out even further.
But, Moxie knows she won't be somewhat distant from the other Tributes forever. This group of outcasts isn't the sort to stay inside and hide from one another. If she could figure out what's going on less than ten minutes in, chances are the other alliances will figure it out too.
And when they do, Moxie Adegoke will be ready to pounce.
Cabin A • 10:08
It's almost like his entire existence is some sort of a cruel joke. First he's forced to spend his entire childhood trapped underground with hardly anything to entertain him because his father's literally the Devil. Then he's sent to a murder contest after being voted in by his entire District at his father's request, just so he can prove himself a "worthy son." And then finally, after spending an entire week in what seemed like a never ending slow-burn of preparations, the murder contest officially starts and he's stuck in a forest without anybody but his two allies.
What the hell is Lucifer Deathrage supposed to do about it?
The past hour or two were at least somewhat soothing, purely because he knew once they were over, the real excitement would begin. But, there's very clearly no real excitement to be found other than the enlarged cabin he managed to worm his way inside of. Or… well… Lucy didn't do that all by himself. He stood on Aleister's shoulders, broke the glass with his fist, and tumbled onto the hardwood floors. And in hindsight, that was hardly entertaining considering Olathe was able to get inside the cabin by simply twisting the doorknob. So, yet again, Lucy looks like the moron.
It doesn't surprise him that Olathe was able to figure out the door himself. He is the Eternal Dark Lord himself, after all. What does surprise him is that the Seven boy — his father — didn't think to tell Lucy he was trying the door and just let him roll onto the ground and bonk his head.
But then again, why would he? This entire charade is the guy's version of a test for him. Even if Aleister refuses to admit it, that's the truth of this situation. Just like it's the truth that because Lucy set that guy on fire, this lack of a bloodbath, much like the zoo, is a punishment for him.
Maybe it's his fault for expecting things to suddenly be normal in the first place. His mothers always told Lucy that his father expected him to be able to "control his temper," and he can't even do that.
"This is stupid!" he shouts as he kicks over one of the chairs next to the cabin's kitchen table. "This whole thing is stupid!"
"There's no need for you to throw a fit." Aleister sighs. Surely he's tired of Lucy by now. Hell, he's probably cursing out the Devil for sending him to protect an absolute idiot. Chances are, he's wasting his time too.
When this whole thing ends, the odds are that Lucy would have hardly done anything to show his father why he's the perfect little antichrist and show his mothers that they raised him well. When this whole thing's over—
(He's going to die, isn't he?)
(He can't.)
It's just gotten to a point where Lucy has no idea what he's supposed to do if he wants to achieve whatever goals his father's set out for him. Apparently, asking Olathe isn't going to help him — that's what Aleister says, at least.
"I'm sorry!" Lucy crosses his arms. "I just wasn't expecting this to happen."
"Neither were we," Aleister chides. "This has got to be a—"
"Surprise," Olathe cuts him off. "From your father. Chances are, he wants to see what you're going to do with this wrench in your plans. He didn't tell me either, so I'm just as surprised as you are."
Yet the Seven boy's face doesn't indicate bewilderment — probably since he knew this was going to happen all along. Though Lucy's not sure how, Olathe probably talked to the Gamemakers and threatened to banish them straight to the Nether Realm if they didn't arrange for himself, Lucy, and Aleister to launch away from all the action.
"I'm sick of surprises," Lucy mumbles under his breath, hoping Olathe hears him and gets the clue to stop throwing all of this unexpected nonsense at him. "I just want to go out and win this thing."
Aleister slaps him on the back. "That's the spirit!"
Lucy shakes his head. It would be the spirit if any of them had any semblance of an idea regarding what the hell they're supposed to do.
"Now, how do we get a move on things?"
(For fucks sake, Olathe's life would be so much easier if he was able to get Aleister away from Lucy for even five minutes.
He heard what the young boy said last night — that he's actually deranged enough to believe that Olathe's his father, and he's been scheming ever since. Of course, Aleister isn't doing Olathe any favors by denying Lucy's claims. But, if he could get the Nine boy out of his hair for a second, he'd be able to have a conversation with Lucy and give him specific instructions on what he needs to do in order to "make him proud."
If somebody told Olathe last week he'd be doing less seduction and destruction and more machiavellian babysitting, he'd have laughed. He never would have thought the two things could go hand and hand, but alas. For now, they simply have to.)
"I've got a suggestion," Olathe says. He picks the two oddly bent knives laying flat on the table — something he found inside a chest bigger than Lucy, in this cabin, alongside various other helpful things. "I'm almost a hundred percent sure that they didn't give us these weapons for nothing."
Lucy glances at the three-pronged metal pitchfork he set by the sink. It's incredibly similar to the one his father's holding in the statue of him in Lucy's living room back in Twelve. It must have been Olathe's doing. When he was telling the Gamemakers to launch them away from the Cornucopia, he must've added that they should give Lucy a special pitchfork.
(That, or all pitchforks look mostly the same.)
And now, Lucy's expected to use this pitchfork to maim and slaughter. It's much more involved than the whole dousing somebody in oil and throwing a match at them thing from two nights ago — not that that's saying much. Regardless of how it's used, it's still a weapon. It's still something that's been given to Lucy so that he can hurt people and kill them. That is sort of the point of the Hunger Games, but Lucy's hardly thirteen — he can't be expected to have a lot of experience with killing people. His mothers never let him and it wasn't like he was going to just find some guy on the street and kill people for him out of sheer boredom.
"You're saying we should go out then?" Aleister asks for clarification.
Lucy shakes his head, hoping it'll make both him and Olathe think that he's excited. There's a small part of him that actually is. Going into the forest and potentially capturing other Tributes means Lucy will just be one step closer to proving to his father that he is worth something. The less people here in this arena, the more of a chance Lucifer Deathrage can finally reach salvation.
It doesn't change the fact he'll be covered in blood once it's over. Twenty-one more people have to die for it to be over — Aleister has to die. And, if his father isn't actually immortal, Olathe has to die too. Without a father, what is Lucy supposed to do? Does he just… become the new devil? Is that something he'd be ready for? Is there anything about Lucy that's actually special enough to justify him outliving twenty-three other kids who either grew up too fast or spent too much time under ignorance's veil?
(Does he even need to be special at all?)
His father. Right. But at the same time, there's a strong chance he has other kids besides Lucy. Why was he the one chosen to follow in his footsteps? Was he even chosen for such a thing, or is he just making things up inside his head?
(When will he make something up that tells him he's been wrong this entire time? When will his mind let Lucy free himself from the burdens both he and his mothers laid upon him?)
"We should, yes." Olathe says. "I don't know where we are in proximity to the Cornucopia or wherever everybody else is, but hopefully we'll find some stragglers regardless."
"That sounds wise." Aleister picks up his two-edged sword from the ground. "What are we supposed to do with all our extra stuff, though? Just leave it here?"
"I don't think that'd be the smartest idea," the Seven boy responds. "I assume all three of us are going out, and we don't want to leave valuable things here if somebody could take them."
Lucy reaches into the chest and grabs a sandwich and two granola bars. "I could probably put these in my pockets." He's able to get the two granola bars into the singular pocket on his vest, but the sandwich doesn't fit inside the ones on his pants.
"Yeah, I'm not sure that's going to work," Aleister says. "You could hold the sandwich in one hand and your pitchfork in another, but we still wouldn't have anywhere to keep our water."
Olathe puts the chest's lid on and silently inspects it. "Actually, there is a way."
"Oh?" Lucy and Aleister ask in unison, which makes Lucy laugh.
Olathe turns the chest upside down, revealing two leather straps with a buckle fastening them together. "We just throw everything important in here and then one of us wears it on their back."
Lucy rapidly blinks. It's embarrassing that Olathe has had to hold his hand throughout all of this, so far — just another sign that Lucy really won't ever be ready to take the lead.
He flips the chest back around and removes its lid so he can throw his granola bars and sandwich inside then fastens it back on. "Alright, so which of us is going to wear it?"
It's definitely too big for Lucy to carry considering at least two feet would dangle above his head if he put it on his back. But, the wooden material doesn't look too sturdy, and if there's just gauze, granola bars, and water bottles inside, it shouldn't be too heavy for somebody to lift. So maybe Lucy should be the one who puts it on his back. If he's expected to someday carry the weight of everything evil, surely he can carry less than what seems like forty pounds. Plus, Olathe and Aleister aren't as short as he is, which means they probably aren't as fast. If one of them wears it, they'd be bogged down.
Before either of his allies can answer his question, Lucy answers it himself. "I'm going to wear it!"
"Are you sure?" Aleister nods, clearly concerned.
Lucy nods. "I'm positive!"
"Very well then."
He rotates the chest onto its side and crouches so he can fit the straps through his arms. Wiggling, he attempts to return to his feet, but unlike how he predicted, he can hardly rise a foot off the ground without falling back down.
After five failed attempts, Olathe stares Lucy down and declares, "I'll carry it instead."
"Are you sure? I can try one or two more times. I don't want it to be so heavy for you!"
"I'm fine." Olathe crouches to pull the straps off Lucy, then lifts the box itself. Effortlessly, he moves the straps over his chest and stands tall and proud. "Yeah. This is fine."
Lucy does his best not to roll his eyes, but he can't help but turn red in shame. If he's to be the antichrist, why must his father still hold his hands through everything? When will he be capable of doing something other than being a complete and utter nuisance?
(Somebody unanimously agreed upon to be better off dead.)
"I take it we're off then?" Aleister points to the front door. Olathe simply smiles then walks in the direction of the door, Lucy grabbing his pitchfork and following suit.
Just like that, they're out in the wilderness with no telling what'll happen to them. The golden trees guide them on a path of adventure and excitement like they're living in a storybook .
If only Lucy knew whether or not there'd be a happy ending.
(If only he knew what he'd personally consider his happily ever after.)
Cabin H • 10:11
After all that, they're still together.
When the Peacekeeper first wrapped his arms around her, Thana's mind prepared her for an unfortunate truth — she'd never see Melchior again. And then as he pulled her away, his arms morphed into tentacles and the sound of his heavy breathing into the menacing grunts of a ravenous monster, ready to lay her out on a table and eat her alive.
All while she looked at Melchior — petrified, miserable Melchior, who looked like a stranger. Thana wondered, would things be better if they actually were a stranger? Would it hurt less to watch them leave if they'd never stayed at all? Was all their time together worthless if it was always going to end, and did she just screw herself over by thinking it wouldn't?
Thana couldn't come up with any answers. Her mind was held hostage by the most terrifying demons, each and every one of them screaming that she'd never see Melchior again.
Yet here they are, and here they've been for the past twelve minutes. It's almost too good to be true.
No, it has to be too good to be true.
Her Melchior would never say, "So, are we going to get a move on things?"
Or, maybe they would, but this can't be them. There's no way in hell the Gamemakers would actually bring the two of them together on purpose after they were just torn apart. She doesn't know who it is that's sitting across from her, hands digging through a crate of metal components and vials of chemicals, but it can't be Melchior.
(It could be them; Thana wants so badly for it to be them. It just… it wouldn't make sense because Melchior left her forever. When they were separated, they decided they wanted nothing to do with one Thana Achillea. They finally realized that when you play with fire, you're bound to get burned. It was only a matter of time before they did — Thana should've seen it coming.)
"Look, Thana," the figure continues. "You can't ignore me forever. I know why you would — that whole thing sort of sucked. But I'm here now! And there's no Peacekeepers in here that can change that."
She hasn't known what to say to them this whole time. Opening herself up to the real Melchior caused her enough misery. It'd only get worse if she let some clone wiggle their way inside of her heart.
So, Thana simply followed them into the cabin and watched as they began digging through a chest, eventually finding an assortment of objects that fit their scientific niche. The chest had a lighter in it too. Thana assumed it was for her and slid it in her pocket. If this really isn't the real Melchior, there could be a time where she has to take them out — not that she'd like seeing something that looks so close to the person who changed her for good burning down to the ground.
"Other people could," Thana whispers.
The pseudo-Melchior smirks. "Now, how do you know that for sure?"
"I don't," she admits. "But you're not even real, so why does it matter—"
"Woah, woah, woah there!" they interject. "What do you mean I'm not real? I mean… yeah, I'm incredibly cool and sort of a genius, but I do really exist. Unbelievable, I know."
"You exist, yes. But you're not Melchior."
The figure shrugs. "That's news to me. I'm pretty sure I've been Melchior my whole immortal life!"
Their mention of immortality is promising. But still, if the Capitol made them to be like Melchior, surely they'd know that aspect of their personality.
"Look, let me just ask you a question. Why wouldn't I be Melchior?"
"Because Melchior got ripped apart from me right before launch." Thana sighs and buries her face in her hands. "And now I'm never going to see them again."
"Yeah you're not," pseudo-Melchior responds. "Maybe if you turned your head up you'd see me, but to each their own."
She glances at them again. "You're not Melchior — I know you're not Melchior. Why would the Gamemakers put us together if you were Melchior."
"I'm wondering the exact same thing!"
"No you're not. You're not Melchior."
"Wait — I can prove that I am!" they roll up their left sleep and rest their wrist on the table. "If I'm not Melchior, how come I have the gorgeous, stunning, tattoo you gave me? You really think that the Gamemakers know about my prison tattoo and took it into consideration when they were cloning me? And they did all that in less than twelve hours?"
"Well—"
"Thana, my friend. Respectfully, you're acting delusional."
She inspects the tattoo which is, yes, just like the one she gave Melchior last night. The tip of the flame is just as wonky and the smiling face is just as awkward.
"You are Melchior."
And she's an idiot for thinking otherwise. She's a fool for immediately doubting the person in front of her — her best and only friend. They probably hate her now, and they should. Thana doesn't know much about friendship, but she does know that no friend would just up and decide their friend isn't real. So she must not be Melchior's friend.
"Yeah I am," Melchior beams. "And I missed you so much in those ten minutes where we were busy getting dressed and then the twelve minutes where you refused to talk to me!"
"I'm sorry for—"
"Don't you dare apologize!" They dramatically gasp. "Was I sad you thought I was some fake? Of course I was. But I understand why you'd think that."
"I'm sorry for making you sad."
"Did you not just hear me tell you not to apologize? C'mon, dude!"
"I'm s—" Thana bites her tongue before she can finish the forbidden sentence. "I'm so happy you're here with me."
(It fuckin' pains them to see Thana like this. Melchior knows they fucked up bad, but watching her question reality and whether or not they'd stick by her side is a fate worse than death.
They sure as hell don't blame her, either! Melchior failed her when it mattered most. They let her get hurt — the worst possible thing Melchior could ever do. And now, even though she's shaken the belief that he's some fucked up clone, she feels terrible.
They refuse to watch her feel terrible forever.)
"And I'm so happy you're here with me." Melchior says.
Truthfully, Thana doesn't know if "happy" is the right word. If this wasn't Melchior, she'd be able to cope with their absence a lot quicker than she would if they died later. But now, they're once again at death's doorstep together and she's once again afraid of what'll happen once the devil opens the door.
She does know for certain that if she is to die, she's grateful that her last memories will be with Melchior.
"Want to see something fun?" they propose. "I've been digging through everything they left for us in here, and I think we're about to do something really cool!"
Thana nods. She's been carefully observing the way Melchior examined the chemicals and the assortment of containers, incredibly curious as to what he's doing.
"Okay— so!" Melchior picks up a vile of a crumbly white powder. "This is something called ammonium nitrate. And then we're going to put some of it in—" they hold up a small clear container with two barrels to hold material, separated by a long grey twine. "This! And then we're going to mix it with some fuel oil — there's got to be some in here."
It's endearing to see them act like such a dork. Thana knows that Melchior's obsessed with chemistry, but super-serum aside, she's never seen them actually tinker around. But now, their eyes are bright with the fire of a thousand suns.
"Can I help you find it?" Thana offers.
"Oh, please do!"
She carefully inspects each vial in the container until she finds one filled with a thick, clear, yellow substance. "Is this it?"
Melchior takes one glance at it and shakes their head. "That's regular oil, actually! But— we need that too!"
Thana sets the vial aside and continues her search.
After less than a minute, Melchior shrieks. "I found it!" They hand her a vial of a deep black mixture.
"Isn't oil supposed to be yellow?" Thana asks.
"Most oil is," Melchior explains. "However..! Fuel oil — like for cars and shit — is jet black!"
"Well, I've never seen a car, so how was I supposed to know that?" If she had, Thana would've hopped inside of it and driven away from Eleven the moment she could. She'd drive until… well, wherever it is that she'd find Melchior.
"They're in tractors, I think. But you don't strike me as a tractor driver, so…"
"You're right — I've never driven a tractor."
"Neither have I!" Melchior reaches for the vial of regular oil Thana found and holds it up. "See, I told you this would be important!" They walk over to the kitchen, turn on the sink, and fill an empty vial with water. "Tell me Thana, do you know what an emulsion is?"
She shakes her head. "Why would I know that?"
"Honestly, I didn't think you would." Melchior sits back at the table and presses the water and oil vials together. "I don't know what's in the water, but it should have at least some of the right minerals so that when I mix it into the oil, pure water rises to the top but everything else stays in the oil, which makes it the perfect primer for what we're about to make."
"That doesn't tell me what an emulsion is."
"Ah, do you want to know?"
Thana smiles. "It seems important to you, so yes."
"It's just the process of mixing shit together for science!"
"Oh." She pauses for a second. "You also didn't tell me what we're making."
Truth be told, Thana has a pretty good idea anyway.
"Um… a bomb." Melchior rolls their eyes. "Obviously."
"That's what I assumed," she admits. "I'm just confused because explosives are supposed to be made of metal, no? All you're doing is mixing chemicals."
"Thana, please. Anything can be a bomb if you try hard enough."
She giggles louder than she intended to. "So how are we going to make it explode, then?"
"Easily! We'll mix the oil and water in one half of this container, and put the nitrate and fuel oil in another. Then when you light the string in the middle, which I assume you'll do, you throw it far away and once the string's become fully burned, the two mixtures mix with one another in the middle which triggers the explosion!"
This time, it's Thana's eyes that widen. "That's insane…"
"Sure is!" Melchior hands her a small dropper. "Now do me a favor and fill this up with a tiny bit of the fuel oil."
She does as instructed then watches as Melchior opens one side of the container and puts some of the powder — whatever it's called — inside. "Do I just drop the oil in myself?"
"You sure do!"
Thana closes her eyes as she releases the oil, afraid that it'll somehow all backfire and blow up in their faces. It in fact, does not.
"Now I'll mix the water and the normal oil." Melchior puts the cap back on the first side of the container, then does exactly that. He seals that too then practically ejects from their seat. "Get your lighter, Thana. This is going to be amazing!"
With her lighter already in her pocket, Thana wastes no time following Melchior as they bolt outside and down from the porch. "So, what now?"
"We pick where we throw it!" Melchior points their finger and spins in a circle. "Pick a side, any side!"
Thana glances around but every direction is the same, just golden trees. "I guess I pick the left."
"You guess, or do you know?"
"I know." Before Melchior can hand their homemade bomb to her, Thana asks. "What's the point of us using this?"
"I dunno." They chuckle. "I just thought it'd be fun."
Somehow, that's exactly what Thana needed to hear. Because it's nice how Melchior's the same even in this new environment, and the two of them can laugh the way they always do.
Thana gently holds the bomb and presses down on the lighter with her other hand. "So I just light this and throw?"
"Mmhmm."
She touches the flame just barely against the string then throws it high in the air. At one point, she swears it goes higher than the trees before landing back down far away.
Just a second later, tendrils of smoke float into the air from a distance, and the ground rumbles as Thana hears a visceral scream.
"We did it," Melchior says.
And again, Thana smiles. "We sure did."
It's then that she realizes any world can be hers so long as she's sharing it with Melchior.
Forest Surrounding Cabin J • 10:18
To call the current state of things a "shitshow" would be a vast understatement. Lorian had hoped that things would vaguely resemble normality once he entered the arena, but so far, it's been the exact opposite. He understands why there'd be a scattered launch — two people were dead before the Games even began — but that doesn't mean he likes it.
There's been a million and one situations in which Lorian didn't have the faintest clue of what he should be doing, but none have been this urgent. Even during training when Gremory declared him "leader," which is a fucking joke at this point, at least he could just tell people to spar and he'd be doing the right thing. Now, not only does he not know what to do, the people around him hardly have any suggestions.
Sure, the obvious answer would be to go out and hunt for the other Tributes, which they have been doing for the past fifteen or so minutes, but nobody's had any luck. And every failure just leads to his allies being angrier, both at Lorian and the Games themselves.
"I think we should just… go back to the cabin," Lorian says, realizing that he's been walking around in circles for at least five minutes now and it's getting him absolutely nowhere.
Belacaine furrows her brows. "Now why would we do that?"
When he was given the choice of splitting the alliance in half — some people hunting and the others watching the cabin— he chose Belacaine to be by his side for several reasons. For one, as much as she's been getting on his nerves as of late, she's unhinged enough that Lorian wouldn't have to worry about her chickening out when it comes time to kill something.
(Because Lorian's not sure he'd be able to kill somebody. Sure, he passed his kill-tests at Shindy's, but killing criminals is way different than killing, well… younger criminals. At least in Two, Lorian didn't have to worry about the whole country watching him. At least he didn't have to worry about his father watching. Lord knows he'd still come up with something Lorian did wrong if he did kill somebody.)
He chose Charon for the same reason. Besides, the Tribute from Eight seems too close to Sapphira to betray Lorian and Belacaine right off the bat. Considering he was so enthusiastic to kill Clarion when Gremory told him to, the guy's got to be at least a little bit bloodthirsty.
If either Belacaine or Charon get to another Tribute first, Lorian can't be faulted for not being the one who kills them. But at the same time, there's always the chance they run into Edric and Asherah. Unlike everybody else here, himself included, they at least have strong traces of actually being decent human beings. But, Lorian knew as soon as he left them that if he saw them, he'd have to kill them. As much as he did enjoy his time with them, they're still enemies. If Lorian doesn't kill them the moment he sees them, he'll just be more afraid of killing them later on. Still, he'd prefer to save that confrontation for later. The longer he spends outside, though, the higher Lorian's chance of running into them.
"We're clearly making absolutely zero progress out here," he replies to Belacaine. "I know it's only been fifteen minutes, but regrouping and figuring out something that ideally works better than just wandering around aimlessly seems like something we should do."
"You're such a good leader," Charon says, but Lorian can tell they're mocking him. "Thinking on your feet and coming up with such brilliant strategies." If Lorian wasn't so afraid of them, he'd bury his axe in their chest. But that could only end poorly at this point.
"I wouldn't call this brilliance," Belacaine teases. It's clear she missed the sarcasm in Charon's voice. That, or she just doesn't care. Either would make sense for her. "At least it's a plan, though — didn't realize he was capable of making those."
She makes fun of him a lot, more than the rest of their alliance, and he's grown to think it's her fucked way of showing affection. Does Lorian like it? Not particularly. But it's sort of nice to have somebody pay attention to him to the point where they can quickly come up with insults for him that aren't his sisters, his friend Kiah, or heavens forbid, his father.
"Oh, I'm sure he's plenty capable." Charon chuckles. "It's just that the jury's still out on what exactly he's capable of."
"I'm capable of lots of things," Lorian boasts, trying his best not to laugh at himself.
Belacaine laughs instead. "Except finding me someone to kill, huh?"
"You found Ethereality all by yourself."
Charon's eyes widen. "Is that another Tribute in here?"
"Nope! It's her girlfriend. Or… ex-girlfriend now."
She gives him a stare that says "please shut up right now," which makes Lorian realize perhaps it wasn't the wisest idea to share that with Charon. But, in his defense, she did just say that she wanted to kill somebody, and if anybody else would understand the feminine urge to kill somebody, it's Charon.
"Oh." The once-bright smile on Eight's face quickly fades. "That's interesting…"
"To be fair, she cheated on me," Belacaine scoffs. "With my own brother, none the less!"
"Cheating is bad," Charon replies, nodding his head.
The only thing he could contribute is that he's never been romantically cheated on. However, Kiah did emotionally cheat on him by deciding to drop out of Shindy's to pursue football. They had all these plans about going into the Games together when they were eighteen, no matter how unlikely that was, and she just up and left him. As much as he loathed her for it at the time, Lorian can't really fault her now. She's happy and successful and he's, well… permanently lonely and could possibly be dead within the next two weeks.
"Maybe we'll find somebody to kill if we head back," he interjects, eager to change the topic of conversation. "We won't know unless we make ourselves find out!"
"Sure we will." Belacaine rolls her eyes. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"I think you're the problem here," Charon says. "You seem a bit too eager to kill people…"
"Yeah, you heard him," Lorian sarcastically sneers. "You're too eager to kill somebody and it's probably giving him the heebie-jeebies! C'mon Belacaine, you silly silly girl."
"Fuck off," she replies.
Lorian interprets that as, "You're right. Let's get a move on," even though that's nothing close to what she said. He turns around and walks toward where he believes the cabin was, not even checking whether or not Belacaine or Charon are following him. He knows Belacaine will; she's, like, oddly adamant on not leaving his side. If they know what's good for them, Charon will follow suit.
He spends a good three minutes in silence, nothing but trees in sight. It's oddly peaceful. Two didn't really have widespread forests like this one. The only times Lorian really went out in nature was when his trainers would make everyone race up mountains in the snow. That was obviously the furthest thing from calming. A part of him wonders now, if everything would be different had he grown up somewhere where he could explore brilliant scenery whenever he so pleased. Maybe he'd be less… like this.
(He wouldn't. No matter where and when Lorian was born, he'd always be Aldric Naciri's son. He'd always have this weight on his shoulders that he's incapable of setting down. Misery has always been his destiny.)
The silence is interrupted by a guttural scream in the distance. Lorian's first instinct is to look around and see if Belacaine or Charon are the people screaming, but they're just standing behind him with the same shocked expression. He looks up toward the sky and notices there's smoke coming from his south,fairly close to him. That certainly doesn't bode well — if it's smoke from a fire, there's a chance it'll spread.
"Where do you think it's coming from?" Lorian asks. He knows it wasn't coming from the cabin — he's more than positive he's heading in the right direction, which is away from the screaming and the smoke. Still, maybe he should start running.
"Not a dead person," Belacaine says, also increasing her pace. "Or at least, they're not dead yet — there hasn't been a cannon."
There's still no cannon when the cabin is less than fifty feet away from them. Lorian can vaguely make out Sapphira, Talisa, and Gremory on the porch in the distance. When he gets even closer, he sees somebody else — a scrawny boy running from the left toward the cabin.
It seems that Charon and Belacaine haven't noticed him. If Lorian could have his way for once, they wouldn't see him until he's dead. Maybe it's selfish of him, but he doesn't want either of them to kill the boy, who Lorian can now tell is from Eleven. Belacaine and Charon see murder as a sport. Nobody would be surprised if either of them killed somebody. Lorian, on the other hand? All of Two would probably be shocked. If he was responsible for the first kill in the arena, maybe it'd make them regret underestimating him.
(Maybe it'd make his father regret cheating the system so he'd end up here.)
(It wouldn't.)
As he nears the boy and starts chasing after him, Belacaine screams "Where are you going?"
"It doesn't matter," Lorian shouts back, now close enough to the cabin that Gremory, Sapphira, and Talisa can see him.
"Why are you back so soon?" the Four girl shouts.
Lorian points at the boy from Eleven, now less than ten feet away from him. "Don't worry! I've got this."
Belacaine tries chasing after him too, so Lorian out-stretches his left arm, bonking her on the head. "I already said that I've got this."
"I thought you said you were finding somebody for me to kill!"
"Sure I did, but I never said that they'd be somebody I'd be able to kill first."
He tightens his grip around his axe and pushes himself for once final sprint. It brings Lorian close enough to Eleven that he can kick the boy just above his right kneecap.
"F-fuck!" the boy stammers, his stance unbalanced as he buckles his injured knee.
He digs into his pocket and pulls out a small pocket-knife. Lorian almost wants to laugh. Is that all he has? Is this even a fair fight?
Of course it isn't, but then again, life's never been fair, especially to him.
"Do you just want me to do it?" Belacaine asks, though Lorian was only still for maybe a second.
"I'm doing it!"
He lifts his axe behind him then swings it toward Eleven's right shoulder. The metallic blade instantly tears through the boy's shirt, his blood immediately cascading down the side of his arm. He clutches onto the wound with his left arm — as if that's going to do anything productive. No, the only thing Eleven's stupidity does is give Lorian an opportunity to swing at him again.
So he does — he thrusts his axe into the boy's left side, ripping through his skin as crimson fluid gushes out into a puddle on the ground. Eleven's eyes widen until they're cold and his jaw goes slack. His breaths go heavy as the flesh holding his waist to his hips strips away, a bright-yellow clump of his fat landing on the ground.
And then, Lorian withdraws his axe, and the first official cannon of the Twenty-Fifth Games finally fires.
Eleven's lifeless body falls to the ground, that shocked and pained expression now painted on his face for eternity.
As his allies rush toward him, Belacaine affectionately patting him on the back, Lorian wonders why he doesn't feel happy now that all is said and done. Perhaps it's because this was hardly a victory considering he didn't have to defend himself. Or, maybe it's because Eleven died the same way Lorian's always lived — pathetically.
At the same time, Lorian doesn't regret a single thing. This is the person he was supposed to be. If he wants to be anyone else, he'll just have to stay this way a little while longer.
It all happened too fast.
One minute she's sitting on the porch, patiently watching the trees in case anybody comes near; the next, she's standing at the back of a bunch of people clumped around a cadaver. Before Sapphira could even articulate that the boy from District Eleven was running toward the cabin, Lorian's axe was buried in his side and his blood was spewing onto the dirt.
And now she's horrified.
She shouldn't be — this is exactly what she signed herself up for. When she was younger, Sapphira watched whatever horror movies her father had lying around. Nothing in those films ever even fazed her. If anything, she was oddly fascinated with the way movie magic could make it seem like somebody was being ripped apart limb by limb while nobody actually got hurt. It was all just for show.
In previous years, watching people die in the Games didn't give her this sickening gut reaction, so why is it that it's present now? She saw so much more than this too — Sapphira watched as every inch of somebody's skin was peeled off their body just a few years back and she didn't bat an eye. Yet when it's this young boy laying lifeless, his face now petrified with misery, it's somehow more frightening than anything she's ever seen.
She keeps her hand bunched up in a fist, anxiously squeezing herself as she waits for a hovercraft to descend from the sky, yet it never comes. Does this mean that the boy's going to be here forever? Does his District hate him so much, they decided that he doesn't even get to return home to them in a casket?
(Is that what'll happen when Sapphira dies? Will One be so happy that she's gone, they don't even want to bury her remains? Will they just want her to rot the same way her dreams did?)
"You know, we don't have to just stand here forever," Talisa eventually says. "He's dead, yeah. We can't really change that now."
"I know." Lorian nods. Even though he's the one that killed Eleven, he's not nearly as enthusiastic as others are — if anything, he looks like he's straight-up haunted.
"I'm going back to the porch," Sapphira announces. When everybody stares at her with puzzled expressions, she realizes that she hadn't said a word since before Lorian killed the Eleven boy. "What? Talisa said it best — we don't have to stand around here forever."
"I didn't mean that we were just going to go back to the porch and do nothing, dear," the Four girl clarifies. "I was thinking we should try to figure out where anybody else is. Eleven had to have come from somewhere."
"We weren't doing anynothing!" Sapphira says. "We were playing defense — nothing wrong with that, right?"
It takes everything in her to not roll her eyes when Gremory tells her, "The Games aren't about sitting and waiting for the action to come to you."
"But that's exactly what just happened!"
"That it did. But, if it happens again, we won't get so lucky." His voice grates against her eardrums like he's a babysitter and Sapphira's five years old. "He was probably the weakest Tribute out there. Between his shit-show of an interview and his fucking two in training, not to mention the fact he has no allies, he probably wasn't making it to the end of the day regardless of who he ran into."
"He's right," Talisa says. "You know I hate not taking your side in things, but Eleven's death was a fluke. We're not going to get anything done if we don't act aggressively."
It's funny how she always says that she's on Sapphira's side but has never actually done something to prove it. All Talisa's done is kiss her when she's upset and then nod sympathetically. It's like she's Gremory's way to get to her without having to interact directly. Maybe Sapphira's the idiot for once again giving into a love interest that was proposed to her by Gremory Rossmani, but no matter what he wants, she isn't going to give it to him.
("Why did you ruin this for her?"
Sapphira knows she's not supposed to be here, listening in on the Rossmani twins' conversations behind closed doors, but she can't help herself.
She hardly remembers what came before her waking up on a sofa in the Viper's Nest with the clock saying it was four in the morning — just that she was with Glasya until she wasn't and at some point she fell. Whatever happened, it probably wasn't good considering how loud they're being. The twins have always been the more quiet type.
"You know damn well that I didn't ruin anything," Gremory's voice bellows. "I wasn't the one who decided to drug her, for fucks sake."
Glasya shouts "I didn't drug her!"
"Sure you didn't. She just… magically wound up on the floor like that."
"Or she just… willingly took drugs from somebody else."
Is it wrong that it took up until now for Sapphira to realize they're talking about her? She assumed they were just talking about the business, as they often do. Because honestly, Sapphira doesn't remember what she took or who she took it from. All she remembers are the stars.
"Now why would she do that if she had you?" Gremory asks, his tone like a predator who's hunting its prey. "I expected better from you, sister. I thought you'd do whatever it takes to avoid another Godf—"
"Don't say his name," Glasya hisses. "You played just as much of a part in that as I did!"
Sapphira backs away from the door. Perhaps whatever she's listening to isn't worth hearing.
If it is Glasya that led to this fever-dream of a wake-up, Sapphira needs to talk to her. More specifically, she needs to listen to her heart and tell Glasya that she's moving on.)
"I think this argument is sort of ridiculous," Belacaine declares. "You're just afraid of the body, aren't you? You're just a coward — I knew it!"
Sapphira tries to respond but Charon overpowers her by shouting, "Leave her alone!"
"I'm not bothering her," the Two girl says. "I'm just pointing out what I see. It's not that deep."
"You're insulting her!" Charon scoffs. "Look, not everybody's some sick freak who's insensitive to seeing fresh corpses."
"Rich of you to say, Eight, especially considering you—"
"Just stop talking!" Lorian interjects, then deeply sighs. "Both of you, please!"
"Wow, you are such a great leader," Belacaine mumbles under her breath.
What Belacaine said to Sapphira didn't particularly hurt her, but the fact it was her that said it definitely did. When Sapphira first met her, she was ecstatic. She thought that maybe this was her chance to have a friend that isn't Gremory, but that couldn't be further from the truth. She was excited to have somebody as bubbly and energetic as herself around, but with every passing day, it became more and more clear that all Belacaine was doing was mocking her. Lord forbid Sapphira Starlett actually finds her equal.
Charon's close though. Even though her personality is wildly different, she's a lot of fun. At the very least, she's a fellow performer so she knows what it's like to spend your whole life on a stage, clamoring for your big break. That alone is enough to make Sapphira think that she understands her.
"It's okay," Charon says, probably noticing the disgruntled expression on Sapphira's face. "I know that it's scary when you see things that you're unfamiliar with for the first time."
"I wasn't scared—"
"Belacaine, please just shut up!"
"Scary isn't the right word," Sapphira admits, but bites her tongue before she can say anything more. These people aren't really her friends — even Charon. She's like a distant planet that's orbiting around her. All Sapphira can hope is that they're someday face to face.
"If you need anybody to talk to, I'm here." With all due respect, which isn't much, Sapphira will not be taking Gremory up on that offer.
Talisa stands next to him and repeats, "I'm here for you."
Sapphira wants to get close to her face and scream, "You're always here for me, aren't you? You're only around when I'm down on my luck because you think you can somehow save me, isn't that right?" But, she can't say that. Because that'd just ruin things and even though Sapphira has no idea what "things" is, she doesn't want to ruin them.
(She's ruined everything else, hasn't she? Her own childhood, her own relationships, her own mind, her own body — the list goes on and on. All Sapphira has left is the fact she's alive. As selfish as it makes her, she intends not to ruin the only thing she can truthfully say is hers.)
"Thank you," she says flatly. "I'll let you know if I want to talk." The fact Talisa looks actively disappointed by this infuriates her. It also tells her that she's made the right choice in not wanting to talk to her about anything too significant.
Because, odds are, Sapphira's going to talk to her regardless of how she feels. If she doesn't, it'll just anger Gremory. She's only seen him angry twice — when he was fighting with Glasya and when he was reaped — and she doesn't want to see it again. Or at least, she doesn't want to until she can say with conviction that she has the upper hand and she's the reason he's going to crumble to the ground.
"I'm also here," Charon whispers, so softly Sapphira's not sure everybody else heard her.
She looks the Tribute from Eight dead in the eyes. "I'd like that."
When the two of them walk away from the others, Sapphira swears she hears Gremory audibly sigh. He did say yesterday that he wants to somehow get close to Charon, whatever that means. If it means him treating them the same way he did her, Sapphira simply won't allow it. She doesn't even know if she knows the full extent of what Gremory did to her and how he treated her, but she's not sure she wants to either.
(But then again, how much time can Sapphira spend inside her own mind before she's forced to remove her rose-tinted glasses? Seventeen's too old to live life like it's a movie where everything turns out alright in the end.)
"You're not okay, right?" Charon says as she and Sapphira sit down on the porch.
She nods. "It was just… a lot."
"And it happened quick, too."
"Yeah, it was all so fast."
"I take it you've never seen a dead body," Charon asks, a bit too earnestly. "I assume they don't have many of those just lying about in District One."
"They don't. I've only seen them in the movies," Sapphira says. "Does District Eight have bodies lying about? That doesn't sound very pleasant."
"District Eight isn't a pleasant place," they tell her.
"Neither is District One."
Whatever's going on in District Eight, Sapphira knows it's worse than late night gossip and designer drugs being sold like candy. But Charon looks so… not exactly desperate, but overly eager to have somebody relate to her. Hopefully, she thinks Sapphira's doing exactly that.
"They're not just lying around in Eight, by the way," she redirects the conversation to why she and Sapphira are having it in the first place. "But if you look in the alleyways, chances are you'll find somebody. It's desensitized me, for better or for worse."
(For worse, Charon tells themself.
Their life could've been so much easier if they never saw their first dead body and they never fantasized about making more of them.
Fucks sake, she fuckin' hates how little she felt when Lorian stood over the Eleven boy's corpse. Just business as usual. What they hate more is the fact Sapphira was so terrified in contrast. Is Charon an idiot for thinking he could form some sort of a friendship with her? Their entire body's been drenched in crimson — if he was Sapphira, he'd wring them out and make a red carpet to stomp on.
But Charon isn't Sapphira. That's the best part.)
"I thought the movies properly desensitized me," Sapphira says. "But everything is so different when it's real."
"That makes sense. Death's not an easy thing."
"It isn't. Everybody says that when you die, you're not fully dead until people stop thinking about you. Going by that, it probably won't be long until Eleven's fully dead."
And when I die, it'll take even less time.
(Even the brightest stars are eventually forgotten.)
"You never know," Charon says.
The rest of her allies start walking toward the two of them, so Sapphira shuts her mouth before she says something that'll make her want to cry. As they begin spacing out, she's able to see Eleven's body out of the corner of her eye.
It serves as a reminder that the world she lives in is no longer a movie. It's real, and there's no such thing as skipping through the credits.
24th: Clarion Bohr, District Three. Killed by Charon Tricolette.
23rd: Helen Rimmon, District Nine. Killed by the Capitol.
22nd: Xan Fruit, District Eleven. Killed by Lorian Naciri.
Glory and Gore - Lorde
* momo voice * Wow what a thrilling and intense bloodbath chapter!
S/o to Moxie for explaining this fuck shit for me. Love that girlie! I decided like… in april or may I want to say that it'd be funny as hell if Xan was the sole bloodbath. But then I wanted to do the zoo thing before I even started this story because knowing the concept of Lucifer Deathrage made me think "surely this will lead to a satanic ritual" and then was like okay slay, Gremory hates feeling like an animal and Elio loves cowcows. Surely, I must put everybody in the zoo. So congrats Xan on living slightly longer for round two.
Thank you to Erik for holding in this big secret that will tremendously help me in pacing and then beta'ing this so nobody else would find out except for Momo who I told because I felt silly. With the cat officially out of the bag, I can now show y'all the arena page on the blog so um… go check that out. I did lots of hard work!
Hopefully y'all still liked this chapter despite the underwhelming amount of bloodshed. I sorta am in love with all of you and hope your 2023 is cunt! (Why was that the only way of saying have a happy new year I could come up with, dear lord?)
Qotd: Because I posted this literally as close to midnight my time as I could, umm what's ur new years resolution? Wrong answers only.
Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds