XXIV. Illusion Of Choice
I would ask if you could help me out
It's hard to understand
'Cause when you're running by yourself
It's hard to find someone to hold your hand
Day III
Town Square • 7:48
There's something nice about walking down a cobbled-stone path and knowing the only footsteps you hear are your own. Lucy's checked this place three times over and can say with utmost certainty that he's the only one here. Even though the golden trees of the forest have been replaced with shoddy wooden buildings, this quaint little town feels a hundred times more alive.
That, or maybe Lucy's a hundred times more alive.
Here's sort of like if he was back in Twelve but everything was way nicer. For one, it was never this peaceful back home. Whenever Lucy was let outside, he'd be greeted by the sounds of bickering families and canaries in the sky. If he got too close to people, they'd stare at him and run. But, this place Lucy has all to himself, and he doesn't have to worry about people screaming at him for looking their way.
He can't believe he used to think just a week and a half ago that it was an accomplishment when people trembled in fear at his arrival. If only Lucy had asked them why they were afraid of him. Maybe then he wouldn't be stuck in the arena, trying to tie together the strings of his upbringing in a way that makes sense.
Madrasa's words still ring heavy in his ears — "They lied!" Even on the brink of death, she sounded so confident. Since getting on the train back in Twelve, Madrasa looked like she desperately had something to say to Lucy. He never asked, but maybe this was it.
His mothers were liars?
The more Lucy repeats it to himself, the more sense it makes. The more sense it makes, the more Lucy feels like a stupid little kid for believing them in the first place. At the same time, what else would he believe? Nobody ever told Lucy he was anything but the son of the Devil, the great harbinger of District Twelve ready to bring Panem to its knees.
He doesn't get it. His mothers loved him — they still do. When you love somebody, you're not supposed to lie to them, because lying to people hurts them. They always told Lucy that hurting somebody with a knife is far better than using words. So, if they wanted to hurt him, he'd be covered in stitches and scars. He wouldn't be marching in some death parade without anything to fend for himself with. They can't have wanted to hurt him, so why is it that he stings?
He sits down on a ledge sticking out from a building and sighs. Every question he has leads directly to another. Will he ever know the answer to even one of them? Or, is Lucy destined to die the same way he lived, all oblivious and naive with not a care in the world? That can't be the case — he refuses.
(It's far from the first time Lucy's heard his moms yelling and he knows it won't be the last.
He stands high on his tip-toes, inching through the hallway , en route to their bedroom. He's gotten caught for staying up too late before — his moms forced him to stay inside for a week, claiming it'd allow him to "channel a more meaningful relationship" with his dad.
Lucy thought that he'd finally be able to do. He's been alive almost nine whole years and the guy's never once shown his face. He keeps asking his moms questions 'bout him but their answers aren't very helpful. They just say, "Lucifer, darling, you'll know when the time is right," or "Lucifer, sweetie, your father is a very powerful man and he's very busy."
He's not sure if he's supposed to love his dad or be terribly afraid of him…
"They're going to burn this place to the ground if you're not more careful!" Lucy pushes himself against the wall just in time to hear one of his moms shout.
"So what?" His other mom says. "We'll just blame the kid again!"
Blame who? Lucy begins to shake — they can't possibly be talking about him, right? He's going to be double digits next year. He hardly counts as a kid.
"We can't use him as our excuse forever…"
It's a good thing they don't have anything to be excused from. Lucy's moms are the best! Just because they're mean sometimes doesn't mean they're bad people. Lucy knows they want the best for him, and that's why they're raising him to be the man his father will be so lucky to know.
Or at least, that's what Lucy's supposed to think. It's all he's allowed, even if he can't shake the feeling something's so terribly wrong.)
Why is living so damn hard? Why would death be twelve times more exhausting? Living out of spite is hardly a reason to live, but what other reason does Lucy even have?
It seems he'll just have to come up with one.
(Does it even matter what Lucy decides? He made enemies of the two tyrants who forced him to burn somebody alive. Who's to say he won't be next?)
(More than anything, Lucifer Deathrage just wants to be a normal kid. He wants to run through the streets without a care in the world, playing tag with the kids his age and hiding in corners so he can't get caught. He wants to go to school and sigh loudly as the hours pass by, bored out of his mind, but smiling 'cause at least the kids around him are just as exhausted. All he wants is his boyhood back, and that's the one thing he'll never get.)
Out of the corner of his eye, Lucy spots something in the distance, almost like it's the answer to all his prayers to some unknown entity that sure ain't his father. It doesn't look like another Tribute, which is extremely reassuring, but Lucy gets off his ledge regardless — it may be time to run.
Yet Lucy doesn't as the thing gets closer. Because he now knows with certainty that it's not another Tribute. It's walking on four legs with bright glowing eyes. Its face should probably be intimidating, same goes for its horns, but Lucy isn't scared.
It's a mutt — there's no beating around that bush. But, it's not running toward Lucy even though they're making direct eye contact. If it wanted to attack him, it would've done so by now, right? At least that's how Lucy thinks mutts are supposed to work. That means this one must be peaceful.
(Or maybe it isn't and Lucy's making the worst mistake of his entire existence. Somehow, he doesn't think that's the case.)
He raises his left hand as the creature — it's gotta be a bull or a cow or something like that — halts in front of him. Lucy's never been around a cow-bull-thing before, but maybe he can talk to it like he did with his cats? Lucy smiles at it then whispers, "Sit."
Shockingly, the creature does exactly that. So Lucy's almost at ease, but then it opens its mouth and—
"YOᑌ'ᖇE ᒪᑌᑕY, ᖇIGᕼT?"
He jumps back and begins to turn around. He was right the first time — he has to run.
"ᑎO ᑎEEᗪ TO ᖇᑌᑎ ᗩᗯᗩY!"
The mutt's voice is deep and low as Lucy picks up his pace.
"I'ᗰ ᑎOT GOIᑎG TO ᕼᑌᖇT YOᑌ!"
"Sure you're not," Lucy spits back. "You're a bull that can talk. Literally, you're bullshit!"
"ᗷᑌT I ᑕᗩᑎ ᗷE YOᑌᖇ ᖴᖇIEᑎᗪ!"
And why should he believe that? Aleister and Olathe claimed to be his friends, but they wanted to use him the same way his mothers did. They could pretend all they wanted but they never truly cared. Why in Panem would a talking mutt in an arena designed to kill him be any different?
He turns his head back, hoping the cow-bull hasn't gotten too close to him, but it's still sitting in the spot Lucy left it at. He growls, "If you're going to chase me to my death, I'd prefer you get on with it so I can best come up with a way to ensure that doesn't happen!"
"I'ᗰ ᑎOT GOIᑎG TO ᑕᕼᗩᔕE ᗩᑎᗪ KIᒪᒪ YOᑌ."
"Are you afraid?" Part of Lucy's embarrassed. Is he too broken and weak for even a home-grown killing machine? Is he really not worth its time? "I thought you were a cow-bull, not a chicken!"
"I ᔕᗩIᗪ ᗩᒪᖇEᗩᗪY TᕼᗩT I ᗯᗩᑎT TO ᗷE YOᑌᖇ ᖴᖇIEᑎᗪ!" The mutt bellows. ""ᖴᖇIEᑎᗪᔕ ᗪOᑎ'T ᕼᑌᑎT ᗩᑎᗪ ᑕᕼᗩᔕE TᕼEIᖇ ᖴᖇIEᑎᗪᔕ!"
"You're not my friend!"
"TᕼEᑎ ᗯᕼO Iᔕ?"
Fuck's sake, the demon cow-bulls right, Lucy doesn't have any. Begrudgingly, he walks back to the mutt. "Happy now?"
"Oᖴ ᑕOᑌᖇᔕE I'ᗰ ᕼᗩᑭᑭY! I ᗯᗩᔕ ᒪOᑎEᒪY TOO."
"Well then I guess we can be lonely together."
The fact this isn't even the weirdest thing Lucy's done since arriving to the Capitol really says a lot. At least this time, Lucy's aware of it. Maybe this unlikely companion will be nice, at least for a little bit.
He sits down in front of the mutt and yawns. Why is it that this is the most he's felt like a normal kid in all his life?
Forest Surrounding Cabin D • 10:31
Ever since seeing her the other night, Elio's missed Luna-Moona with all his lil' heart. Everything was happy and safe for just a few minutes, but then in the blink of an eye, that cow-cow was gone. It was almost like Elio was seeing something that wasn't there, but he knows he saw the second version of his Luna-Moona. He'd recognize her anywhere, even here.
It doesn't help that this is probably his most awkward walk with Moxie to date. There's something about that Six girl that just doesn't feel great at all. From her snappy way at giving directions to the way she acts like she's above everything else, there's got to be something going on with her! He doesn't get why Moxie's trying to find Lucy either — there's no saying that he and his friends were the ones who took Edric and Asherah. It'd be unfair to fault them for it with no real proof! Elio does miss them though, even if they were never that close.
(Or maybe once again, there's something going on with Elio. The other kids said he was weird and his teachers said he was weird and his dad never said it but he probably thought he was weird. If he's such a weird little guy, normal must look unsettling to him. So maybe Moxie's normal!)
(Elio sorta doubts that.)
"Why are we going back now?" About twenty minutes ago, Moxie turned around and gestured for Elio to follow. He didn't question it initially 'cause all the leaves were so pretty and shiny and it was hard to not smile as he galloped on by. He also didn't think Moxie'd be taking him right back to the cabin, especially when he was right in the middle of telling her an incredible story about the first Luna-Moona.
"I don't see us doing anything productive," Moxie says, her tone stern the way it always is. "You don't want to contribute to my goals for the morning, so I'm better off without you."
Of course Elio doesn't want to contribute! Once it became clear that he had no idea where the Twelve boy could be, he and Moxie passed at least twenty tweety-tweet-birds and every time she looked at them like she wanted to cut off their cute little heads. Whenever she got too close to them, Elio swung his lasso then looped it over her head and told her to knock it off. Were the berries and the leaves he'd so generously collected not enough for her?
He gets the whole Hunger Games survival of the fittest thing but since when do the fittest have to kill innocent birdies who aren't bothering anybody?
"You're going to kill the tweety-tweets once you drop me off, aren't you?"
"What's it matter to you?"
"They're my friends!" Elio's probably said that a hundred times this morning. "Birdies are in my top ten favorite animals of all time ever! You can't just kill them and eat them!"
He's on the verge of tears, which he probably shouldn't be. Once again, he's about to make a fool out of himself. At the same time, it'd be worth it if it meant making sure the tweety-tweets can fly as long as they'd like.
"Then tell me, Elio. What am I supposed to eat?"
"The berries and the leaves!"
Moxie waves her hands in exasperation. "That's not a sustainable diet!"
"The Hunger Games aren't supposed to be a place for sustainable diets!"
She goes quiet after that. Even if Moxie didn't admit it, Elio knew he had a point. If this was chess, he just scored a checkmate… or whatever that means — he's never played chess before.
"Just go inside," Moxie says once they arrive at the cabin. "Talk to your little friend and take some deep breaths. I can't deal with this right now."
Good. Elio can't deal with this either!
•••
If Moxie didn't know better, she'd be jealous of the kid's optimism. Death's got it's arms around his throat, vying for the right moment to choke him out, yet Elio's still talking about fucking cows. At first, Moxie used his age to excuse his attitude, for lack of a better word, but considering where she was three years ago, that's hardly an excuse — he's just plain weird.
If she were back in Six, Moxie would try to figure out what the hell's going on with him. His nativity means he's probably from a wealthy family, so they'd pay a pretty penny to keep those secrets under lock and key. But, this isn't Six and Moxie doesn't have the time to investigate a fifteen-year-old, not when her own life is on the line. That doesn't mean she can't be curious.
"Do me a favor and tell Ripley to come outside," Moxie shouts at the kid. Maybe she's trading useless for useless, but at least the Tribute from Five won't annoy the living shit out of her.
Not even a minute after Elio steps into the cabin, Ripley clambers outside — perfect. But, she doesn't look as unassuming as she usually does. Maybe Moxie's reading into it too much but Ripley almost seems confident? It takes everything in her to not roll her eyes.
Once they're close by, Moxie drawls, "I missed you, Rips!"
"Y-you did?"
"Of course!" Moxie grabs Ripley's wrist — why did they flinch? — then leads them away from the cabin. "Elio and I didn't get along too well, but I was hoping you'd be able to help me with something."
"Oh?" Ripley's brow quirks up.
"Mmmhmm… now that we're without two of our dearest allies, we're in danger." In all truth, Moxie stopped giving a fuck about Edric and Asherah a few hours ago. Either they're on their own or they were actually preyed upon by the Twelve boy and his little bodyguards. They'll be dead in a few days regardless. If they're not, Moxie will take care of it.
"D-dangers n-not good!" Yeah, no shit.
"So, we're going to go on a little hunt, you and I."
"Hunt?"
"Our alliance needs to have some skin in the game. The Careers are probably responsible for one or two of the previous deaths and we're at zero."
"Y-you think w-we should k-kill someone?"
Please. They're not just killing someone.
"I know, it sounds crazy." Moxie swings her arm around Ripley's shoulder. "But, chances are whoever we find will want to kill us, and that's why we'll strike first."
She sized Gremory up the moment she saw him. Sure he's tall, but so is Ripley and that doesn't mean shit. It may have been a while since the last time Moxie got her hands dirty but she still knows what she's supposed to do.
(How could she possibly forget?)
•••
Ripley wishes she could be more surprised that Moxie's geared up to kill somebody, but it makes all too much sense. Her type always jumps to extremities. It doesn't help that the Games are the perfect place for doing as such.
"S-sounds good to me."
They wish they didn't feel so warm underneath the Six girl's embrace. Ripley knows it isn't real — it never is real — but their mind is occasionally convinced otherwise. She's lived her whole life with butterflies in her stomach. All they do is spread their wings then crash and burn then restart the cycle Ripley already knows won't end well.
But, this might. It's disappointing that Moxie dropped the bait about the boys from Seven, Nine, and Twelve so easily, but Ripley refuses to see this as an absolute failure. If they do come across people and they do engage in a fight, there's a high chance Moxie gets injured. If that happens, Ripley gets to tend to her wounds and act like she's some hero.
If Moxie feels some sort of debt toward them, it buys Ripley a bit of time. At this point, time's all she needs.
It's just that too much of it might turn them into something they no longer recognize.
Forest Surrounding Tower I • 13:22
It's been hours since he last left the cabin in search of Moxie, but Gremory refuses to give up now. For all he knows, he's traversed this arena several times since yesterday morning, so it's getting to the point where it'd be logically absurd if he doesn't run into her soon.
He can feel himself going mad the longer he stares at the same array of trees repeating over and over, but he refuses to give into those urges. Gremory Rossmani's no pig — he can't afford to think with such depravity.
(It's only a matter of time before his indulgences catch up to him. He won't let it come so soon.)
"Is Moxie's information really so important to you?" Talisa asks, voice exasperated and dry. "She already told you something's up with the Ten boy. Wouldn't it be more valuable if you looked for him instead?"
"That's what you think," Gremory scoffs. "In our arrangement, we decided we'd reconvene. I'm unsure if she'll have any new information for me, but it's best we touch base to establish a sense of trust."
"So you trust her?"
"Of course I do." Gremory doesn't one bit but Talisa doesn't need to know that.
With every lie he feeds to the Four girl, Gremory wonders if it'll be the last. He knows from experience that people can snap in an instant. But, there's no need for paranoia — surely Gremory can swing her in the right direction when her time does come.
It'll be an all-star lineup. Belacaine then Talisa then Sapphira — victims of their own hedonistic tendencies, all of them damned before they even set foot in this arena. Everyone else will fall around them and it'll be abundantly clear that Gremory's their king. He's better than them; he always has been. The sooner the world recognizes that, the better they'll be in the long run.
(The sooner Glasya recognizes that, the better Gremory will be in the long run.)
"What are you going to do if Moxie asks you for information?"
"I can talk about the Twos again."
Seriously, the two of them have been at one another's throats like dogs. He doesn't want to be there when one of them finally kicks it, but he knows it'll make the other ten times more pliable. The alliance will split and Gremory will have yet another pawn. Another person to destroy Sapphira Starlett from the inside out.
(What's that going to do?
The longer Gremory lives the more he wonders. What's he supposed to do with no Sapphira? What is it about Sapphira that makes Gremory want to end her so badly?)
(She shouldn't be here. If Gremory rots, he should do it alongside the person he sees when he looks at the mirror too long).
The loud rustle of tree branches nearly makes Gremory flinch. It's not the afraid sort of flinch, for the record — Gremory Rossmani doesn't experience fear. It's the sort that makes him suddenly aware of something that wasn't there before.
It doesn't take long for Gremory to recognize who it is. The person beside her is a bit too tall to be good at hiding.
•••
To think, after all her walking, the bastard has the audacity to stand in a clearing with the most obnoxious smile Moxie's ever seen. It's kind of hideous.
Clearly Gremory wants to talk to her, but Moxie almost doesn't want to give him that. If it weren't for Ripley and the fact they'd probably grow too suspicious of her, Moxie'd take out her knife and run straight at his chest. Efficient and clean — that scumbag piece of shit doesn't deserve further effort.
"Ah," the One boy hisses. "You're just the person I was looking for…"
"Wha–" Ripley jumps. Without hesitation, Moxie holds her back.
"Don't act so excited to see me."
"Why shouldn't I?" It's unbelievable how fucking fake he is. "I missed you yesterday!"
"Y-yesterday?"
Moxie was hoping Gremory would be eager to fight and she wouldn't have to explain the situation to Ripley. It'd make everything a hundred times easier, but Moxie has a failsafe plan regardless.
"He wanted me to rat people from our alliance out in exchange for information about him," she explains. "I wasn't going to give him that so easily."
"Makes sense!" Why was Ripley so quick to understand? They can't possibly—
"That's not what happened!"
"Does that even matter?" Moxie scoffs. "Whatever partnership you think we're going on, it doesn't exist."
"But we—"
"We what? Just because you encroached upon my space a few nights ago doesn't mean we're suddenly confidants."
"I thought —" Gremory puts his hand over the girl standing next to him's mouth. Is he trying to play games with her the same way Moxie is with Ripley? Based on how she trembles, Moxie's clearly playing them better.
•••
"I wouldn't expect you to understand!"
Ripley watches in horror as the boy from One talks down to the girl from Four beside him. They know they can't let their fear show, but it's hard.
"You sound just as ridiculous now as you did then," Moxie tuts.
They feel a great wave of fear wash over them. Were they wrong when they thought him and Moxie had some sort of a deal together? Ripley knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that One was in Moxie's apartment that night before she was, but maybe it was a hostile encounter.
Why did she assume the worst in Moxie?
(They assumed the best in Jeneva and look where it got them.)
(And here Ripley thought they'd come so far.)
"What are you even trying to accomplish, Six?" The boy asks.
He doesn't give her time to answer before his first strike.
•••
With a grunt, Gremory grabs ahold of Moxie's shoulder and pushes her aside. "You know… I thought we'd actually get along, the two of us." He reaches for his sword, strapped against his left hip, then flourishes it in the air. "I thought we'd work together in the long run… just two—"
"Two what?"
He feels a dull pain in his jaw — Moxie's fist. Of course she's the type to fight back. Gremory wasn't expecting anything different.
"Business people!"
He grinds his teeth together then slices his blade through the air in the Six girl's direction. If he has it his way, he won't have to actually break her skin. He'll wind her up for a bit and then dip once he can tell that she's capable of madness the way he expected.
"What are you doing?"
"Talisa, make yourself useful. Take out the tall one."
She scowls at him, eyes red with rage. Maybe he's being a bit brusque with her, but he's got no other choice. Until Moxie backs down, he'll keep on riling her up.
"Ripley!"
She rips herself away from Gremory, diving toward her ally from Five. As Talisa nears them, Moxie tackles Five to the ground then tells her, "Stay down. I won't let you get hurt for my mistakes."
And why not? Would it really be so horrible if something were to happen to her?
The Six girl brandishes her knife — isn't that fun — and charges at Talisa. She blocks Moxie with her elbow and spits.
Gremory twirls his sword while he sprints toward the two of them, the blade slightly grazing against Moxie's thigh. Unfazed, she grips her hands tightly around Talisa's wrist and knocks her to the side.
He wonders what it'll take for Moxie to give into her depravity. Whatever it is, he'll do it.
•••
Even though her heart is racing a thousand miles an hour, Moxie refuses to let it show. This will be fine — she's already covered all her bases. Gremory and the Four girl are at a weak spot and Ripley still thinks she's a saint.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Before Four can completely fall over, Moxie juts her knee at her abdomen. The girl hisses as she flies backward, a manic look in her eyes that Moxie's seen a million times over.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Moxie grasps the front of Four's vest, lifting her up and pulling her close. Like a baby bird, Four spits at Moxie for what's now the second time. From behind, Gremory pushes Four over. Moxie has no idea what he was trying to accomplish, but suddenly Four's even closer to her.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
She pretends she's back in Six again and some brat in an alleyway tried to mess with her. This is almost like that, except now she has a knife and it's perfectly legal for her to plunge it into her assailant's hip.
Four starts bleeding but Gremory doesn't seem to care. Instead, he positions himself behind her and fucking yawns.
What the fuck?
Is she supposed to be his meat-shield or something?
Regardless of Four's purpose, it's too late for Moxie to back down. She stabs her again, this time aiming for her chest. The girl whimpers, fear in her eyes, yet Gremory is still standing around like a goddamn coward.
Blood sprays on Moxie's face when she stabs Four the third time. By the sixth time, she's painted red. A cannon fires and Moxie lets her drop to the floor.
Gremory takes two steps backward. "Oh."
"What?"
Moxie reaches for his wrist. She points her knife toward his eye but he pushes her away. In the brief moment where she's hunched over, he brandishes his sword and thrusts it into her abdomen.
Fuck's sake. It hurts more than she was expecting. She's been struck near her belly button before, but never by a blade — her insides are screaming as they rip apart, every millisecond worse than the last.
But she curls her hand into a fist, knuckles white-hot. Any pain is temporary; her life is permanent.
Moxie tears herself away from the weapon with all her might. In return, her stomach sears in agony, her blood warm as it gushes against her skin. She flashes her teeth like a lion hunting prey, then drags her knife down Gremory's collarbone.
He looks down and wipes away his blood with a blank look on his face — infuriating. There's a quiet scoff and then he tries to strike once more.
Moxie raises an arm in front of herself. She'd rather him cut her there instead of her abdomen again. If she didn't know better she'd think she was burning alive.
Out of the corner of her eye, she see's Gremory's sword. Carefully, Moxie ducks away, but she's not entirely successful. Her face lights up with a scratching sensation as the blade carves through her cheek, tears falling from her eyes and mixing with her blood.
Still, Moxie refuses to let this go on any longer.
But, before she can attack again, Gremory's shoe flies toward her chest and she's falling
falling
falling.
•••
With a thud, Moxie collapses on the floor next to Ripley. Her face is covered in blood, both the Four girl's and her own, and her eyes are so wide they're practically popping out of her skull.
Ripley pries the knife out of her hand, ignoring Four's limpid body on the ground, and trying to get to the One boy.
(A knife in their hand yet again. It feels much lighter this time.)
Grinding their teeth, Ripley lunges toward him. He catches her wrist, then lightly shoves her aside.
"That's enough," One scoffs.
Before Ripley can regain her footing, he runs off, disappearing into the trees.
Instead of following him, Ripley turns around to Moxie's beaten body. Crouching over, press their hands against her stomach, applying pressure to stop the bleeding,
Moxie grunts, "I'm fine."
"Y-your bleeding!"
Maybe Ripley should've helped Moxie in the fight. One used Four as a form of protection — Ripley could've been that for Moxie. If they did, maybe then—
No. Moxie didn't want their help. It wasn't Ripley's responsibility to assist her anyway. Nothing she could've done would've been productive in the long run. But now, they do get to help, even if they're not sure Moxie deserves it.
"He's so… fucking weird…"
Ripley was thinking similarly. It makes absolutely no sense that One would just… rough Moxie up and then turn away. Then again, nothing makes sense these days.
"I'm just g-glad you're not dead." It's true. It'd feel somewhat anticlimactic if Moxie died without Ripley figuring out who she truly is.
"I'm glad I'm not dead too."
Her voice is softer than Ripley's ever heard it. For the first time, Moxie doesn't seem like the unshakable iron-bull they've come to know. As Ripley wipes the blood off Moxie's cheek, the look in her eyes is almost human. It's enough to make their heart somewhat melt.
How could they possibly conspire against the woman who now lays so delicately in her arms?
"It's g-going to b-be okay," Ripley assures her.
Healing is what she does best. They'll fix Moxie up until she's good as new.
(And then what?
For once, Ripley doesn't want to think about it.)
Cabin J • 15:49
It seems Gremory was expecting a larger reaction out of Sapphira when he announced, "I'm terribly sorry but Talisa was unfortunately killed" upon returning to the cabin.
Yes, death is an upsetting thing, and it's unfortunate that it's now touched somebody Sapphira knew somewhat well, but she's not able to think much else of it. Maybe a part of her is still wrapped up in the delusion that she's living in a movie and she'll someday walk off set to see Talisa in a greenroom, but Sapphira doubts that.
She swore to herself that she'd someday touch the stars. Talisa was getting too close to her light.
And really, the Four girl was never hers. Yes, they had their fun when they kissed and more-than-kissed, but she was no different from the girls in One Sapphira'd visit when she got bored or was on a delirious high.
(The girls in One don't think Sapphira's different, so why should she think they're special? She lived for the rush and for a while she was willing to die for it, but none of it ever meant anything.
Sapphira Starlett has never meant anything.)
Everybody in the cabin's silent, the tension so thick that Sapphira could cut it with a knife. Gremory stares as if he's expecting a response from somebody, but it seems everybody is afraid to be the first to speak.
It doesn't exactly surprise her when Charon's the one who gives in.
"You just let that happen?" She sneers. "Maybe I'm crazy, but when somebody kills your ally, aren't you supposed to… y'know… kill them back."
Lorian adds in, "I only heard one cannon, Rossmani. What's that about?"
"An error on my part. Trust me, I did my best to fend off the insolent pig who shamelessly slaughtered our dearest ally, but I wasn't so lucky."
"Yet whoever-the-fuck didn't kill you as well?" Charon's brows furrow.
"That's where I was lucky."
Everything Gremory says sounds so incredibly rehearsed — typical for him. Sapphira can only hope that the others aren't falling for it.
(She should've told Charon about him yesterday. Why was she so afraid?)
(Was it really Gremory who she was afraid of and not the stranger who's somehow managed to slip into her life?)
"That's bullshit!" Belacaine shouts.
The Two girl's been suspiciously quiet the past thirty-six hours or so. In the Capitol, she was the exact opposite, so something must've changed. Sapphira's watched enough horror movies to know that when a character has a sudden shift in temperament, they're up to something sinister. She's grown to learn that people can be just the same.
Then again, Belcaine's never been the most consistent. Sapphira swears she's cycled through five different personalities since she first met her. She's been bubbly and grumpy and boisterous and rowdy and now she's hardly drawing attention to her presence. Does the Two girl even know who she is?
(As much as Sapphira hates to admit it, she knows exactly who she is herself.
Slut. Addict. Moron. Narcissist. Lunatic.)
"I don't know why everybody's so upset with me?"
(Or maybe Gremory's all the words Sapphira hates herself for being.)
"Why wouldn't we be?" Lorian scowls. "You let one of our allies die and you didn't even take out the person who did it. You know, Gremory, you talk a lot of smack for somebody that did possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard of."
"About time you finally decide to start talking like you're actually the leader of this alliance," Gremory says, his face red. "Believe me, you wouldn't be able to take the girl who did it. District Six — she's a fucking menace. Really, I've never seen somebody go insane like that."
Lie.
"What's your definition of insanity? Personally, mine includes people who run away from random-ass Outer District kids because suddenly they're so scary."
"Hey!" Charon interrupts. "We're not all that bad!"
"Wasn't talking about you, bozo!"
"She wasn't just an Outer District kid, Lorian. She had a bodyguard that was almost as tall as me and they were also vicious."
"Then you could've killed the bodyguard!"
"What do you not understand about how these nuisances were absolutely terrifying? Would you prefer I fight back and we then have two dead allies. You know, if I died, I wouldn't be able to warn you about them."
"I don't need a fucking warning. Everybody outside of this cabin is an enemy. If I need to take them out, I'll take them out."
"But I'm saying you wouldn't have been able to take her out if I couldn't."
"Of course you couldn't! You're not the one who's been training for over a decade to be here."
"And how'd that go for you, mister four?"
Lorian growls then leaps out of his seat. Swiftly, Belacaine runs over to him and blocks him from moving further. Gremory looks equally tense and it makes Sapphira wonder if she should be holding him back too.
She knows her District partner better than that. He's not going to strike in a situation where it'd be so obvious. Perhaps that's the thing about him that Sapphira's most afraid of.
"You're forgetting I'm the only person in this room who's killed somebody," Lorian grunts.
Belacaine laughs… why did she laugh? A part of Sapphira knows she's better off without context, but she can't stop herself from wondering.
(Why is Charon also laughing?)
"So that makes you qualified to be our all-mighty leader?"
"Better than somebody who acts like a coward."
"I was not being a coward. I know my limits and I was evaluating her limits at the same time."
"What does that even mean?"
Lorian brushes Belcaine off of him then steps toward Gremory. This time, the Two girl has to yank his arms to get him to stay away.
"You wouldn't get it. I've said so many times today that you wouldn't get it!"
"Maybe there's nothing for me to get!"
"Lorian," Belacaine chides him. "Don't you think you're getting a bit too worked up?"
If anything, Gremory's the one getting worked up. Never did Sapphira think she'd be taking sides with the Two boy of all people — it's nothing personal, they're just very different people — yet here she is.
"Would you not get worked up over this?" Lorian rips himself away from his District partner.
Again, Belacaine grabs him, "What exactly are you trying to accomplish right now?"
"Whatever Rossmani's trying to accomplish but better!"
That's it. This is getting nowhere. Sapphira didn't want to get involved with this nonsense yet she's got no other choice. She just needs to be careful — can't have Gremory thinking she's on to him.
"Personally, I think you should both just hush down and take a break."
"Thank you Sapphira for such a valuable contribution," Belacaine says, voice laced with vitriol and venom. "No need for you to worry your pretty little head about us though. This is just a little scuffle — it'll all work out!"
"It seems like more than a little scuffle to me," Charon chimes in. "If neither of you can work this out, I'll just fuck around and declare myself our leader."
"Shut up," the boys say in unison.
"Oh, so you can agree about something — I knew you could! Now, go and play nice with each other or else a big scary Outer District Tribute will be put in charge."
"You'd put yourself in charge before me?" Belacaine crosses her arms.
Charon simply laughs.
"What?"
"If the boys don't work out their issues, I'd put Sapphira in charge."
"Since when do you have the authority to put her in charge?"
And why does this actually matter? There's never been a leader in this boiling pot of an alliance regardless of what anybody says. Yes, Sapphira would love to play the starring role, but these people make her feel like she's just a background actress.
"Does it fucking matter?"
"It doesn't," Gremory shouts. "Which is why it confuses me to see Lorian making such a big deal out of this."
"You said that I was the leader on the first day of training!"
"I never said how long that'd last."
One more, Lorian tries to size Gremory up only for Belacaine to prevent him from doing so. Oddly, Gremory has been getting more and more calm as this conversation has progressed. He doesn't seem even the slightest bit upset now.
Lorian puts his hands over his mouth and unleashes a guttural scream. Before Sapphira can see if he's crying, he buries his head into his lap.
"Really?" Charon glances over at him. "You're going to cry over this? I guess trained brats really don't know what to do when they can't call their mommy and daddy and have them solve all their problems."
The Two boy lifts his head then glares daggers at them. He takes a deep breath and stands up. When Belacaine tries to stop him, Lorian tears himself away and scoffs. Even though his face is bright red, he looks as though he's trying to hold himself together.
It's dead silent once more as he walks outside the cabin, axe in hand, and shuts the door behind him. A minute later, Belacaine does the same.
Forest Surrounding Cabin K • 17:05
It's getting harder and harder for Lorian to ignore the person who's trailing behind him. He knows exactly who it is — he figured it out an hour ago without even looking at her. She may not be making much noise, but her shadow's more-than-betrayed her.
Belacaine's just about the last person he wants to deal with right now. He knows that she's treated him kindly these past couple days, but the more he spends time with her, the faker it feels. For a while, Lorian even forgot that his District partner is the same person who bashed her ex's skull in for dating her twin brother without bothering to hide the evidence.
He's lucky that her increasingly tense disposition has reminded him. That, or his mind's playing tricks on him. Sleeping less than six hours since the Games started for sure isn't helping him.
(Whenever Lorian closes his eyes, the Eleven boy's disfigured remnants haunt him. Yes, he knows damn well the Games are about killing, Shindy's made that abundantly clear for years. Hell, he's even taken out a few of Two's prisoners as a part of his "yearly evaluations," but seeing them die never really affected him.
There shouldn't be too much of a difference between them and the Eleven boy. They were turned into dummies for Shindy's because they committed unforgivable crimes. Eleven sent the boy to die because whatever he did, they couldn't forgive him either.)
(If only it were that simple. Lorian's living proof that there's no guarantee people end up in here because of their own actions solely. Okay, yes it was his own idea to mess around with a few of the slips, but he wouldn't be here if his father hadn't taken it to such an extreme.)
(What did he even do to his father that made him unforgivable?)
Part of the reason he doesn't want to talk to Belacaine is because she's so gung-ho about killing people, which in hindsight does make sense considering the reason she's here. It irks him regardless.
(And to think, Lorian almost thought that she was his friend.)
If she were the one leading the conversation in the cabin, Lorian has no doubts that Belacaine would've lost her temper and tried to kill somebody. That'd only lead to more of a mess which — well, it's still a fucking mess. Still, it could've been worse and Belacaine would've made it so.
He thought he was fine until Charon fucking Tricolette joked about his parents. There's no way the clown would've known about Lorian's home life, but it still wasn't something he was particularly thrilled to hear — the straw that broke the camel's back.
Why the fuck am I comparing myself to a fucking camel?
With every step, Lorian feels the branches and leaves crumble underneath his feet. He's been trying to walk in one direction so he can find his way back to the cabin with everyone, but a part of him doesn't think he'll return there. No. Lorian has to turn around eventually, otherwise he's a coward. It's just that turning around means acknowledging —
"Are you just going to brood around and ignore me forever?"
•••
Fucks sake, Lorian really doesn't know the extent to which he's an idiot at times.
Deadass, he killed exactly one person and now he's practically a husk of himself and honestly a major dick. Maybe murdering Ethereality wasn't Belacaine's best idea considering her current predicament, but at least she didn't pussyfoot around it like Lorian would've. She decided the bitch had to go and thus she went. If her idiot District partner wanted somebody dead that badly, he'd probably dance around it for a few days only to get slightly provoked once and use it as an excuse to full send on committing a murder.
Even then, he had that whole braindead episode in the cabin after Gremory had already been annoying the living shit out of him for days and he just up and left.
He's fucking ridiculous. If Belacaine were in his shoes, she'd take her hammer to the side of Gremory's skull then watch as he trembles and fall – simple as that. People would cheer for her too. They'd honored to witness Belacaine Beaufort back on her blood-coated stage and they'd decorate her with admiration and praise.
(Even if that's not what happened the first time. No, people called her every name in the book, oblivious to the fact Belacaine absorbed each and every one of them into her soul. If District Two decided she was a bloodthirsty freak, that was exactly who she'd become.)
(What else could she be? The girl crying herself to sleep because her own brother no longer wants anything to do with her? The girl who screams in his face because she doesn't want anything to do with him either? Hell no, that all sounds fucking lame.
That's not Belacaine, right?)
Even though she was being so fucking generous and accompanying him on his walk so he didn't reach another all-time-low, the bitchboy never even acknowledged her. She could've been killing everybody in that cabin right now yet out of the kindness of her heart, she followed him instead.
Why has that gotten her exactly nowhere?
(Why does she want to kill somebody else instead?)
"I'll take that as a yes then. You really are going to brood around and ignore me forever. I guess it's on me for expecting more from a guy with a small—"
"What the fuck do you want with me?" Lorian snaps his head around to face her.
"I was worried for you! You haven't been doing well these days and I didn't want you to make a mistake you'd regret forever."
"I don't make mistakes that I'd regret forever. I'm not Gremory."
"He's made it abundantly clear that he doesn't really regret what he did."
"Yeah, and I fucking hate him. Your point is?"
"Now now, Lorian," Belacaine drawls. "Hate's an awfully strong word."
"Hence why I'm using it."
Every time he talks, Belacaine can't help but imagine him dead. In her mind, Lorian's crippled on the floor, his skull caved in and her hands sticky from his blood.
(Or… it's not Lorian she sees. It never was Lorian. It was always Ronin – stupid fucking Ronin who ruined… Belacaine doesn't even know what it is that he ruined anymore, just that it was something and now she's a mess because of it.)
If she did something, it's not like he'd even fight back. The District Two pride stick is shoved so high up his ass, it's carving into his stomach.
Ethereality didn't fight back either, but maybe that was from the shock value. Looking back, that did make the kill rather unsatisfactory. Beggars can't be choosers or whatever, but Belacaine no longer wishes to beg. She just needs to rile Lorian up…
"I think it's really funny that it was what Eight said that did you in for good." Really, it's fucking obvious that Lorian has some bullshit going on with his parents — I mean, just look at him — so it's about damn time that got brought to light.
"How's that funny?"
"Family matters cut deep, don't they?"
"Can't the same be said for you?"
(Ronin's existence will always hurt far beyond the sharpest blades imaginable. Belacaine doesn't get it — he was supposed to be her built-in best friend. He wasn't supposed to adhere to the trainee role their father cast them in. He wasn't supposed to grow stubborn and prideful. It was supposed to be him and Belacaine against the world but the only thing Ronin was against was her ex-girlfriend's stomach under the covers.
He's the one who turned Belacaine into this mess. It's his fault that she's turned into this gobsmacking catastrophe, an array of mirrors shattered on the ground. Belacaine wants to watch the world burn and if she had it her way, he'd be forced to watch the entire time, knowing he could've done something to stop it.)
(Or maybe Belacaine doesn't mean any of that. Maybe she's become as diluted and fake and the fucking energy drinks her father sells.)
Belacaine scoffs. "At least I have the guts to explain my familial nonsense."
"I didn't really think you were actually curious."
"Of course I am, Lorian. I'm your friend."
"You can't just yell at me and then switch up and say we're friends." The tips of his ears turn red — he's almost ready to go. "I don't get it Belacaine. You act perfectly normal one moment but the next you're completely scatterbrained."
"I have no idea what you're talking about!"
"It's fucking weird! Sometimes I think that you're a completely different person whenever I talk to you — I bet that's what your ex thought when she decided she was done with you."
"You don't get to tell me what happened leading up to my breakup!" Her hands growing warm, Belacaine steadies her grip around her hammers. "It didn't have anything to do with me. It was because of the family business!"
"Yet she was willing to date somebody else in your family?"
(Ethereality endlessly exhausted her. She was always trying to outsource gossip about the Super Serum like it was a joke to her. Belacaine's livelihood was no fucking joke.)
(She ran to Ronin once they were through — was he just another way for her to take and take and take?)
(Is Belacaine any fucking better?)
Now's not the time for introspection. Belacaine shan't let Lorian get in her head — that's what he's trying to do, right? It doesn't really matter. When push comes to shove, only one of them will make it out of this place alive, and it won't be him.
She takes a deep breath, lifts one of the weights on her meteor hammer, and throws it directly at Lorian's chest.
•••
He's not sure if he feels the heavy blow to his chest or the psychic jolt to his mind harder, but the world around him starts to spin.
Lorian sees her — Belacaine — standing in front of him, her weapon spinning above her head, and a sinister grin plastered on her face. It doesn't take long for him to put two-and-two together.
"You…"
He tightens his grip on his axe. If this is going where Lorian thinks it's going—
It can't! Belacaine can't be doing this. She can't be…
"What?" Belacaine swings her meteor hammer once more, Lorian ducking to avoid it. "You seem a bit worked up!"
"Fuck off."
There's fire in Lorian's eyes and the world around him is painted red. His axe is somehow light and heavy at the exact same time. As he slowly lifts the weapon, every muscle in his body tells him to put it back down.
"What are you doing, Lorian? You can't seriously be thinking of—"
"I'm not!"
Oh, but he is. He doesn't want to but he is.
"Good," Belacaine drawls. Again, she throws her weapon and again Lorian darts away. "I knew you wouldn't dare to wound your own District Partner."
He can't — Belacaine's all he has of District Two. His loyalty to her shows his loyalty to everybody back home. Even if he hates her guts, he'd hate the repercussions of hurting her more.
Because he wants District Two to want him. Lorian chose to be here to prove that he's worthy of it. If he lays his hands on her, he throws all of that down the drain.
(If he doesn't, he throws away what matters.)
The people back home won't care that Belacaine hit him first. They won't care if she never gave a fuck about them in the first place. All they'll see is that Lorian killed her and he's not the golden warrior he's trying to become. They'll see that he never had a chance in the first place.
Belacaine swings again, but this time she makes contact with Lorian's stomach. He hunches over with the pain of all the times his father threatened to hit him in the exact same fault.
The same father Lorian could never make happy.
The same father that he constantly wished he was.
The same father that sent him to die.
(Lorian can't let him win.)
Biting down on his tongue to prevent himself from saying something stupid, Lorian raises his axe, then plummets the blade toward Belacaine's left shoulder. She dodges it — maybe that's a good thing.
"Oh, so you don't care about District Two then?"
"I do care," he mutters, but that doesn't explain why he lifts the axe again and aims for Belacaine's abdomen this time.
It doesn't explain the satisfaction he feels when the slightest bit of blood soaks through her vest.
"I care so much!" Tears in his eyes, he strikes once more.
"That doesn't explain this!" Belacaine begins to hunch over. "Notice how I'm not even fighting back anymore and you're still—"
He swings again. "Just shut up!"
"Why?" Even as she falls to the ground, Belacaine's laughing. Why the fuck is she laughing? "Afraid you won't be able to cheat yourself out of this one?"
It doesn't matter whether or not he cheated — it never has. He'd be here regardless and oh, how he hates that.
Belacaine flails after Lorian's next blow. The material on her vest's been completely torn and the wound on her stomach is guzzling blood. Even when it splashes onto Lorian's hands, he doesn't let go of the axe. He can't let go of the axe.
"It's okay if you didn't cheat," Belacaine groans, her voice coarse and slow. "I didn't think your father would really let you into his office so—"
With a single, fluid movement, he sends his heel straight into her jaw. Belacaine's cheeks puff up and she opens her lips to reveal blood dripping from her mouth. "So he didn't let you, huh?"
Lorian swings for her stomach again. He smiles when her wound starts bleeding again, but it's not even a happy smile or a relieved smile. It's a smile that stops him from letting his tears turn into full-blown hysterics.
(When was the last time he smiled before this and actually meant it?)
"Oh, I think I know what happened. Your father was the one who—"
"Don't."
Lorian lifts the axe close to Belacaine's neck.
"Talk."
As sweat drips down his face, he steadies himself on the ground beneath him.
"About."
He pulls the axe back—
"My."
and swings it toward her.
"Father."
The blade cuts through Belacaine's throat and her head snaps to the side. She falls flat on her back and a cannon fires.
Lorian looks down at his hands, they feel more his than they ever have in all his seventeen years. But, they're not the hands of who he's supposed to be. They're not the hands of a beloved son or a valiant warrior. They're not the hands that District Two would be proud to hold and cherish.
But they're his. They may be covered in the blood of somebody he shouldn't have killed, but they're his.
(They're his and they're covered in tears. Tears as Lorian mourns the person he never had a chance at becoming, tears as he mourns the expectations he knew he'd never meet.)
He looks up at the sky and falls to his knees. There's so much for Lorian to wonder about but one question prevails amongst the rest, where is he supposed to go from here?
Tower II • 21:17
Edric can't tell where the footsteps are coming from anymore.
He's circled around the tower for what feels like hours, keeping an eye out for danger just as Asherah told him to. The past twenty-four hours were a safe haven, but they were never meant to last. The two of them couldn't stay there forever, not when food and water is so terribly sparse.
The sound of his shoes crunching twigs and leaves has devolved into white noise. Every time Edric thinks he hears an animal heading in his direction, it's just his feet tripping over themselves.
Asherah's less than fifty feet away, but Edric somehow feels alone. That's partially his fault — he told her to stay with the meager belongings they do have while he sought out food. She went searching for berries earlier today while Edric was asleep, he's just returning the favor.
(Besides, he could afford getting used to surviving on his own. If he wants to leave this place alive, there'll come a time where he has to.)
The first non leaf-crunching noise Edric hears quickly sets him on edge. It's a familiar sound, but not one he's previously thought much of — ruffling feathers. Back in Six, the only birds he really saw around were pigeons. This nearby bird's feathers sound far more full.
Edric walks closer to the sound, still keeping track of the tower behind him and readying the metal baton in his hands.
(His mother used to make him carry one around when he went on runs for her. Edric never had to hit somebody with it, though. Its presence was enough to prevent people from messing with him.)
After a few more steps, he can tell the bird's a chicken. He's seen people cook and eat them before — seems simple enough. It looks like it'll be enough to last him and Asherah a good few days, which is assuring.
Edric continues to track it down when he hears a second set of footsteps which he knows aren't his own. Immediately, he gulps. He wishes he could say that as long as this mystery figure isn't Moxie, Asherah's District Partner, or a Career, everything will be fine, but Edric knows that's not so.
If whoever it is also wants the chicken, they might not be willing to let Edric take it. The Games are built to turn people selfish — who's to say they haven't already given in?
(And is it really a problem if they did? Every Tribute acts selfish so that a victor can turn selfless in the long run.)
Edric's first glance at the other Tribute reveals long blonde hair. A second reveals a feminine figure and the number '8' stitched onto her vest. He has no idea who she is. There's a good chance he'll never learn.
"What's your problem?"
He looks up to see the Eight girl standing beside the bird, her arms crossed. Under one of her armpits is a small metal blade Edric hopes to never see the rest of.
"I was going to hunt that." He points to the bird. As expected, the girl's expression reveals she was thinking the same thing. "If you want, we can split it."
It'll mean he has to go hunting again earlier but it also means not being on the wrong end of Eight's knife. Granted, he didn't expect her to not be armed if she was hunting, but there's something about the way her blade gleams in the moonlight that makes Edric's stomach turn.
She doesn't even address him before plunging her knife into the chicken's throat. It gasps for air once, then immediately falls over. Eight looks down at the chicken, then up at Edric, and smiles.
"If you don't get the fuck out of here in three seconds, you'll end up the same way."
Edric wills himself to run but his feet remain firmly planted to the ground. The baton grows lighter and lighter in his hands while Eight gets closer and closer.
(He recalls what a trainer said earlier in the week, just one strike to the temple and it'll knock somebody out. Do it a few more times and they'll be dead.)
"Suit yourself." The Eight girl withdraws her knife from the bird and points it right between Edric's eyes.
(His entire life flashes beneath his eyes, and it's incredibly boring. The entire time, he sits complaisant to his parents, fulfilling their whims and then returning home only to be hated. There are the good times where it's just him, his bike, and Car, but they're incredibly rare.
He's spent eighteen years living through a monotonous cycle. If he dies now, that'll be all he gets to know.)
(Edric Grendel never thought there'd be a time where he wanted more.)
Before Eight can make a move, the baton seems to leap out of Edric's hands. He watches the end collide against her forehead.
Even if his hands are moving, they don't feel like they're his. He feels like his palms are shaking with nerves, but they're not. They're smashing the baton in Eight's skull again, this time even harder.
The first time she screams, Edric wants to put it down and run away, but his body refuses to let him. Like he's a puppet, the only thing his body allows him to do is hit her again and again, blood dripping from her skull and sticking to her hair.
I don't want to do this anymore!
(But then Edric thinks of what his life could be on the other side and he does it anyway.)
Stop hurting her!
(If he doesn't, he'll be the one who gets hurt.)
"STOP IT!"
He can no longer discern the sound of his thoughts from the sound of his voice. Edric feels his brain shrinking in on him, compounding him over and over again with pressure as he continues to batter Eight's head.
She collapses to the ground and twitches, still bleeding but showing no sign of completely dying. Edric can't leave her like this. He got rid of that possibility the moment he heard her footsteps the first time.
Even when he drops the baton, his hands aren't his. They're the hands of the tyrant District Six pretended he was, the hands of the son his parents would've happily embraced.
They pinch Eight's nose and cover her lips until she stops shaking and a cannon fires.
When he looks at her next to the bird, he can't help it but cry.
(He doesn't solely cry because he feels bad for her. He also cries because he's glad he's not the one in her condition.)
He looks up at the sky and falls to his knees. There's so much for Edric to wonder about but one question prevails amongst the rest, where is he supposed to go from here?
19th: Talisa Azoles, District Four. Killed by Moxie Adegoke.
18th: Belacaine Beaufort, District Two. Killed by Lorian Naciri.
17th: Lycra Draper, District Eight. Killed by Edric Grendel
Oblivion - Grimes
Yeah yeah yeah, it's been three months since I last updated. Fun fact: the FFN word count inflates word counts hella but I've been keeping track and we hit 200k words this chapter yippee!
To QOM/any other mysterious lurking readers who I don't talk to every day on Discord, I'm sorry about that. The TD;LR that is school, work, and a weird creative slump that I'm now too sexy to exist in tried to nerf me but I slayed eventually.
As I teased in my previous AN, I did sort of switch up the formatting so there's no strict POVs and people are going back and forth, as you've probably noticed.
Thank you to everybody who's sticking around and reading this story still – hopefully this chapter was well worth the wait. As you can see, we've finally gotten to the good stuff.
This does unfortunately mean it's time to start saying goodbye to our best friends, as evidenced today. Belacaine was a real treat to write — her natural snark and penchant for drama really resonated with me. Thanks so much to her submitter for sending her in.
Ideally, I'll be picking up the pace from here on out. Next week, I begin the 2023 SYOT Verses Victor Exchange but fingers crossed I don't go overboard the way I did with Nim last year. Speaking of her, you'll be hearing from her next week because she decided her story needs one more chapter. Hopefully you'll get a chapter or two of WTP2 in July, but I lack the credibility to make promises at this point.
August and beyond though… oh y'all are so terribly fucked. There's lots of nasty clown things that have been brewing in my nasty clown brain for over a year now and I'm excited to share.
Question: If you had a harmless animal turn into a talking and scary-looking but still harmless mutt, what would it be and what would you name it?
Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds