XXV. So Casually Cruel
Carve me out, the faces blend together
One in the same with no identity
Occupying an empty space
Sentenced to purgatory, stuck in obscurity
Day IV
Cabin J • 1:27
Sapphira and Gremory were asleep when the sky broke the news — Belacaine's dead. Charon's far from a genius but even they can put two and two together. Lorian's yet to return so there's a fat chance he killed her. Honestly, they saw it coming. Charon always thought their "friendship" was on the rocks, but she never thought it'd turn into something murderous.
Then again, they're really not one to judge.
But they are at a crossroads now… It'd be easier and easy for Charon to just grab everybody's weapons and dip. That's probably what he would've done if you spoke to him a few weeks ago, but now something feels different. There's an annoyingly loud voice blaring in their head telling them it'd be a massive mistake if they let Sapphira stay here, alone with Gremory.
Again, Charon's not a genius, and again, it doesn't take one to figure out that there's something a bit wrong with Gremory. Charon just… kinda ignored it for a bit because there's something more than a bit wrong with themself, but that no longer seems wise.
Between his egocentrism, near aggression, and just overall piss poor attitude, Charon's got to get away from him. And she's got to take Sapphira with her because she more than anyone doesn't deserve to be there when he inevitably explodes.
(Does she really deserve to be with Charon either? Gremory's a mystery but Charon knows every fucked up act they've personally committed over the years. They wouldn't trust themself but it seems Sapphira somewhat does. The hell is Charon supposed to do about that?)
They tap the One girl when she starts to shake in her sleep. "Sapphira! Sapphira!" Their whispers fall on deaf ears, but Charon doesn't want to startle her.
They're a bit more firm with their taps, a bit louder when they whisper again, "Sapphira! Sapphira!"
She gasps, then jolts awake. "G-gremory?"
Across the cabin, the One boy starts stirring in his sleep, shit. Charon goes back to his calmer whispers and says, "Don't wake him up…"
"Oh… you're not Gremory," Sapphira responds. "I'm sorry! You just woke me up and I thought you were him… I was having a dream where he—"
"You can tell me later. For now, we need to get away from him."
"R-really?" She seems confused.
"Yes. Grab anything you think might be useful and then we'll bounce."
Charon watches as Sapphira scrambles around the room and grabs some of the leftover turkey, a water bottle, and most importantly her spear. His own pockets are laced with knives, not that he particularly wants to use them.
(He should. He needs to kill eventually. That's the only way they can get out of here. The only way they can return to… Charon's not sure anymore. But the people of Eight sent her here because she's a murderer. What good is she if she can't make good on that reputation?)
(They want to be better. They're done being the disgraced Tricky from the Circus of the Divine. They want to be somebody else.)
(But this is always what they were meant to be, wasn't it?)
"You ready?" Sapphira asks once she's got everything she needs.
Charon nods, and then they grab her by the wrist, and they both run from the cabin, into the unknown.
•••
It's just minutes without being away from Gremory but Sapphira already feels somewhat safe.
This whole time, she's been nervous — what's her District partner going to do when he finally has the chance to extinguish her stardom? What's it going to be like if she has to explode?
She's not sure if she can trust Charon but the fact she suggested leaving Gremory has to be a good thing. Even if she doesn't know all that he did to Sapphira, Charon knows that something's off. That's going to have to be good enough for now.
(Her intuition tells her not to trust Charon either. She hardly knows much about her after all. If District Eight's as sketchy as Charon says it is, surely he has done something to get here.)
"Where are Lorian and Belacaine?" Sapphira eventually asks her. "I didn't see them when we were leaving."
Charon loudly sighs. "I really was hoping you wouldn't ask."
"Why? Did you kill them?" Sapphira can't help but be aggressive. Charon's going to kill her next, isn't she? Is it too late for Sapphira to run back to the devil she knows? Would she feel safer as if she was as physically alone as she was in her head?
Calm down, she tells herself, or at least she tries to. Walking around with your tail beneath your legs like you're a scared animal isn't going to get you out of this place alive.
Because that's what she wants; Sapphira Starlett wants to live. No matter how selfish it makes her sound.
"Yes, Sapphira," Charon deadpans. "I killed them both."
"You didn't."
"You're right, I didn't. Makes me curious, what happened to them. Or rather, what happened to Belacaine."
"What do you mean?" Sapphira pauses for a moment. "She's dead, isn't she?"
Charon nods. "I wasn't the one who did it, swear on the sky."
(Sapphira wonders, why is Charon so eager to tell her when they don't kill somebody. Is there already blood on her hands from back in Eight? Again, Eight's apparently not a great place.)
"Well, I know they both ran off, but I figured they'd come back eventually. I don't see a reason why they wouldn't."
But Sapphira does, and that reason's name is Gremory Rossmani. He did antagonize Lorian a bit, but she didn't think it'd be enough to make him leave for good. Then again, that's exactly what she's doing, though she's almost a hundred percent certain she has far more reasons to loathe him than Lorian does.
(How is it that after two and a half years, or maybe even more, Sapphira can't fully wrap her head around what Gremory did to her? Or was it Glasya — Sapphira doesn't know.
She does know that the Rossmani twins saw her as something to conquer, something to fuck up beyond repair so she'd keep coming back in hopes they'd somehow fix her. Now she knows that was never their intention — damn freaks.)
(Gremory couldn't have done that all to Lorian. She wished he'd stayed so the bastard wouldn't be alone. Being alone is what makes him scariest.)
"Probably 'ol Gremmie being a weirdo," Charon suggests. "In case you haven't noticed, I really don't like that guy."
"I don't think anybody does," Sapphira says. "He just has this strange presence, and that's all I'll say for now…"
They need to get further away, far enough that it'd take Gremory ages to find them. It's harder to find her way through the trees at night, especially when there's so many of them. Maybe one of the towers could be helpful, of course provided nobody's lodged inside one.
Even if the time is soon to come where she has to, Sapphira is still too wary to play the offense.
•••
Charon's not too sure how long the two of them walk, crossing over rivers and weaving their way through trees but it's at least an hour or two before they come across a building that looks neither like a house or a tower. There's a sign on the front, but Charon can't read it — she's never had the time to learn how to read something besides her own name.
(Dice used to make fun of them for it, because of course he knew how to read. Probably the rich-ass family he came from, teaching their children how to read and shit. Even though Dice has told her the story of his past circumstances so many times, and how it led to him and Charon at the edge of a bridge at the same time, both so lost and confused, Charon will never fully understand.
Yeah, being broke wasn't Rachele Tricolette's biggest problem, but it sure would've made the rest of her fucked up actions a bit less fucked up. Maybe if she could afford to put her child in the spotlight they always wanted instead of gambling and drinking every dollar away, said child would feel less bad when he— Nevermind.)
Blessedly, Sapphira solves the "Charon-can't-read" problem before it becomes evident. "Look at that; it's an inn!"
"That's like a hotel but smaller, right?"
"Do they not have inns in District Eight?" Sapphira begins to fiddle with the large brass door.
Charon walks over to help her. "Have I not made it clear enough that District Eight has absolutely jack shit?"
"Right."
Even with Charon gripping the brass handle, it doesn't budge. Does this mean people are already inside? She can't hear them if that's the case, but maybe they're just purposely being quiet."
Sapphira steps back and examines the building. "It might not be very ladylike of me, but I'm afraid we're going to need to break a window."
That's not something Charon ever expected Sapphira to say, but there's a lot about her that he doesn't expect. Probably because he doesn't know her really, no matter how bad they want to.
(Does Sapphira even deserve to be known by a freak like them? For all Charon knows, Dice could be watching this from the sofa, begging Sapphira to run away as fast as she can. Granted, that implies Dice is watching, which would be a shock.)
The inn's draped in floral vines, most of which cover the windows. Outside of the arched entryway however, the ovular windows are more exposed. Charon presses his hands against one, expecting it to simply shatter, but that's an awfully stupid assumption.
"Let me try!" Sapphira flips her spear so the blade is facing behind her and rams the bottom into the glass. At first, nothing happens, but she continues to attack it, more and more until there's a small crack.
"We should be able to break it with our hands," Sapphira says, but she doesn't make an effort herself, as if she's waiting for Charon to—
"I've got it," they offer.
Even though throwing knives has left Charon with thick calluses, it still hurts when she pushes through the glass. The smaller pieces make their palms start to bleed, but Charon perseveres until there's a large enough hole for him to climb through.
(The irony of Charon having blood on their hands is not lost to him.)
They reach up and help Sapphira climb inside. Once they're both in, Charon closes two window shades and fully basks in the glory of the place he's now found himself in.
The Capitol was overly gaudy, but this place is more humble about the fact it's nice, still having plush red sofas in what seems to be the living room and a fancy brick fireplace. From the corner of their eye, Charon sees a kitchen with shining steel appliances. The walls have beautiful wood paneling, making the whole place rather cozy.
Even if it's meant to be a place where people temporarily stay, it feels like a home. And oh, how Charon has longed to have a home.
Cabin H • 6:02
The wooden tentacles continue to squeeze Melchior's neck. Tighter and tighter, until they can't hear their thoughts which is huge because they think a lot and—
"H-holy shit?"
How the fuck did Thana get a flamethrower?
RECORD SCRATCH
FREEZE FRAME
Melchior's eyes widen.
You're probably wondering how I got here.
•••
Things have been quiet for Melchior, too quiet, even.
Yesterday was spent with them and Thana forging micro-sized bombs that could easily be detonated and sticking them inside unsuspecting objects. Melchior's favorite was the apple they de-cored and stuck a bomb inside. It was great fun, as activities with Thana typically are.
But, judging by the sizing sound coming from outside the cabin, today will be far less fun.
"Melchior…" Thana peers outside the cabin's window, sniffling. "We didn't happen to set any of the trees in front of this place on fire, right?"
"What the fuck?" Melchior rushes to their bestest friend's side. Outside the window, there's a tree — perhaps the biggest tree they've seen in this place and in general — with flames dancing on its leaves — shit's sake.
"That tree wasn't even there yesterday," Thana says. Typical Thana — knowing all about the locations of trees. So intelligent.
"Well in that case, it appears we may have a problem on our hands."
Melchior digs into their vest's pockets as if the solution for this impending mess will somehow be found there. It would appear that the two of them are being attacked, and Melchior's never been attacked before, save for that one incident with the lighting oops.
Thana fidgets with the knobs on her lighter, a familiar grin on her face when she's able to make the flame taller than usual. Only problem is —
"I don't think a lighter is going to help destroy something already on fire!"
She wearily bounces her head. "Then what is going to destroy it?"
They're both in under their heads, aren't they?
By the way, the tree is decidedly not really a tree, the flames traveling down to reveal a complicated figure, wooden tentacles forged from branches, and two glowing cores that just might be eyes. It makes a hissing noise when Melchior stares too much, as if it's telling them that he and Thana are running out of time and before they know it, they'll both be as dead as the surrounding leaves.
"Grab all the supplies you'll need for the next few days," Thana commands, her voice trembling. "I can bring my lighter and…. um please tell me there's a can of hairspray with your stuff."
"Why would there be hairspray? I don't have hair."
(There was of course a time when Melchior did have hair, but now probably isn't the best time to explain that lore to Thana.)
"Just… an aerosol can of something, please."
"I've got nonstick oil cooking spray."
"That should be fine."
The fire continues to consume the not tree, creating a small dragon covered in ash. It's the kind of thing Melchior would like to imagine exists solely in Thana's drawings. The kind of thing Melchior has far better things to do than describe such as—
"Run!"
•••
Thana doesn't understand.
Fire was always supposed to be her friend. First the incident at the Tribute Hotel and now this creature…
The fire here isn't the inferno she'd once come home to every day. In this place, no longer can she indulge in the comfort that comes with her flames.
She bolts out the cabin, her Melchior following closely behind her. Thana's never had to be a fast runner or anything. Even when she'd be places where she wasn't supposed to be, she never had to worry about being chased, much less by a thing forged by something she loves most.
Worse, the creature is the kind of thing she wishes she could sit down and draw about. Yet another thing she loved, tainted by the Capitol and all their oddities.
(Has she somehow already been tainted too?)
(Is there anything about somebody as broken as her that's left to taint?)
Yesterday, Thana could've sworn she saw a new tree that was starting to grow in front of the cabin. Maybe if she further looked into it, she wouldn't be running for her life — a life she's never been too sure is worth living. But, the manic grin on her Melchior's face tells her not to give up.
The wretched beast that was once a tree stalks them through the woods until Thana feels something brush up against her leg. A branch surely— not not a branch, a tentacle. Even though it has a wooden texture there's something about it that's indistinguishably slimy.
"Holy…" Thana hears Melchior shout, exasperated.
No fresh air in Five, huh? She turns around to see one of the wooden tentacles wrapping itself around their ankle, trying to pull them to the ground.
"Melchior!" She shouts. She wants to do something to help — anything to help. But what is she meant to do?
(Fire and lighting don't always play nicely together.)
"Just run, Thana."
But their words just make her want to stay in one place.
"I'll be fine... Just run!"
But if Thana runs, she won't be fine.
The creature's eyes continue to glow as they further envelop her Melchior. She can't let this happen, no Thana refuses to let this happen.
"I'm staying here," she says with more certainty than anything she's ever said in her seventeen and a half years. "I'm staying with you."
Ideally, that means staying with Melchior still alive. If they die— no, she can't think about that. If she's without her fire and without her Melchior, who even is Thana Achillea.
(Not something anyone should wish to cross paths with.)
Melchior screams, sparks trickling down the tentacles and onto their skin, the scent of their burning flesh surely soon to draw near. But with that new problem, Thana finally has her solution.
The mutt is wood. Thana's fire can burn the wood until it's nothing but ashes and dust. She can burn this forest down if she so chooses to.
She rummages for her lighter, producing a flame. As expected, it's not high long enough to hit the creature without getting too close.
"Melchior, get the can of oil out of your pocket."
They roll the can across the dirt while the monster tries to pry their hands away from it. Thana didn't think she'd have to use this trick this soon.
(She found a can of hairspray once in Megaera's room. Megaera with her slicked back hair, way different than the curls Thana's peers mocked her for.
"Are you sure she's your real mother?" They'd jeer. At the time, Thana couldn't think of any other explanation.
So she stole Megaera's hairspray one night when she was thirteen, eager to look all prim and proper — maybe that'd make people want her, maybe that'd make people love her. She held her lighter too close to the spray and…
It might've been the most beautiful thing Thana ever saw.)
Hopefully it still works now.
Thana holds her lighter just a few inches away from the can then presses down. The result is just as pretty now.
•••
The wooden tentacles continue to squeeze Melchior's neck. ᵀᴵᴳᴴᵀᴱᴿ and ᵀᴵᴳᴴᵀᴱᴿ, until they can't hear their thoughts which is huge because they think a lot and—
"H-holy shit?"
How the fuck did Thana get a flamethrower?
A massive inferno unleashes itself from Thana's hands, a stoic expression on her face. As it gets closer to Melchior, they feel its warmth — it's almost nice.
But now's not the time for comfort.
ᵀᴵᴳᴴᵀᴱᴿ ᵀᴵᴳᴴᵀᴱᴿ ᵀᴵᴳᴴᵀᴱᴿ
They feel their elbows ₚₒₚ or maybe it was a ˢᶦᵐᵐᵉʳ.
Thana's still void of emotions. What the hell is she doing?
ᵀᴵᴳᴴᵀᴱᴿ ᵀᴵᴳᴴᵀᴱᴿ ᵀᴵᴳᴴᵀᴱᴿ
Melchior closes his eyes. He's not even sure what they feel anymore. Are they choking, are they burning. Is this… is this?
(This can't be what dying feels like.)
(At least this confirms death's something Melchior Kolmogorov is capable of…)
A fury of flames, ˢᶦᵐᵐᵉʳ ˢᶦᵐᵐᵉʳ ˢᶦᵐᵐᵉʳ on up their legs.
air — no air — air — air — no air
This isn't what it's like to die. This isn't what it's like to die. This isn't what it's like to die. This isn't what it's like to die.
But it smells like rot and gore and Melchior feels their tongue fall slack in their mouth and it's all because of this thing and—
"Melchior!"
Water splashes over their face. The tentacles seem to have let them go. They open their eyes to Thana's concerned face and all of the pain fades away.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I was just trying to set the mutt on fire, I didn't think it would spread to you so quickly. I should probably—" Thana starts to turn around. "I should go."
"Thana, please." Melchior tries to get up, but their body's physically incapable of doing so. Instead, they lay flat on the dirt and leaves, their head damp from what seems like a river. "Please don't go, Thana."
"But I hurt you," she whispers.
"No, Thana. You saved my life and you looked totally awesome doing it."
"Oh."
•••
Thana Achillea is not meant to save people. She is meant to burn, to destroy everything in her path but well… it seems she's met her match.
(How funny. Match like… never mind. She prefers to use a lighter anyway — more convenient.)
"I hurt you," she repeats, not knowing what else to say. "That's all I do. I hurt people, some way or another. Everything for me gets ruined and then I have no choice but to ruin everything back."
"You didn't do anything to me."
She crouches down to her Melchior's side. Their sleeves and pant legs have burnt and frayed a bit and their neck is marred by scratches and thorns. Already, blisters have formed on their hands and feet, but a specific part of their wrist remains untouched: their tattoo. Her tattoo.
And even though they're clearly in so much pain, they smile like they've been possessed by all the stars in the sky. "You didn't do anything, please stay."
(Is this the first time Thana's been asked to stay instead of sobbing because of the way people leave?)
"I'm staying." She nods. "You want me to stay, so I'm staying."
"I don't know what I'd do if you left."
Thana doesn't know what she'd do either.
"I'm here," she promises. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Thank you. It's an honor."
Melchior's clearly a mess. If they're not in the most excruciating pain of their entire life, they will be once the adrenaline kicks off. Which means that Thana's going to have to take care of them, and she's never taken care of anybody, not even herself.
But for Melchior, she's willing to learn.
Forest Surrounding the Windmill • 10:31
For an attack dog, Aleister isn't doing his job very well. A pity — Olathe thought he had chosen well with him. Perhaps he should've scoured the training center more carefully all those days ago. Maybe then he'd find a more useful pet…
Ah, but now's not the time to reminisce on what could've been. Especially when there are more pressing matters at the moment, the main one being Aleister walking in wide circles around the windmill, shouting "Where could he be?"
He's talking about Lucifer, of course. Admittedly, Olathe's hardly concerned about the brat's whereabouts. In fact, it's probably best if he's as far away as possible. If he comes across Olathe's path once more, he'll have no choice but to demand Aleister to kill him.
(Though that would make Aleister even more broken than he currently is, which Olathe doesn't particularly understand. Why be in shambles about an insufferable child when there's a Games he's supposed to want to win?)
"I don't think Lucy's near here," Olathe tells the Nine boy for what has to be the two-hundredth time. "It's been almost forty-eight hours since he ran away from us." Forty-eight hours where they could've been doing something productive and yet.
"He has to be somewhere. The more we look, the better a chance we find him eventually."
"I've told you several times now, we won't find him if we continue to walk around in circles."
"That's not true," Aleister huffs. "One way or another, the dark lord is going to show us a path."
Please, cry me a river. Speaking of rivers, they've traversed a few nice ones along this journey to nowhere. If it weren't for Aleister's moping, Olathe would think he's back home.
(But Seven's far from a home now. Seven told Olathe that he's unwelcome and they'd prefer him dead, and he definitely sees their point. So even if this arena isn't his beloved Hissing Woods, it'll have to make due for now.)
"You really still believe in that shit?" He mumbles, perhaps too loudly because it makes Aleister gasp.
"You don't?"
Sigh. With Lucifer out of the picture though, Olathe supposes there's no need for him to keep up with this act of his.
He rests his back against one of the taller trees and crosses his arms. "Aleister, can I tell you a secret?"
"W-what?" The other boy flinches, and is that a flush of red that Olathe sees on his cheeks? "Have you finally thought of something for the two of us to do?"
"I've got myriad plans, Aleister. You're the one who decided to look for Lucy without asking me of any of them."
"I already told you — the kid's a distraction. I don't care where he goes."
"But then what else are we supposed to do?"
"I don't know… try and win?"
•••
The thing is, the longer Aleister walks around in search of Lucy, the better he can put off accepting the truth: nothing he's believed was ever real.
Not the lord from heaven, not the devilish fiend from down below — none of that shit. And that means Aleister has nowhere to go in this lonely world. It means that truly, nobody wants him around. He can't accept that.
At the same time, nothing makes any sense to him anymore.
"I forget, you want to win this."
Olathe has a far better outlook on the loss of their lord, thankfully. Even if Aleister doesn't understand why, he still respects the Seven boy. Granted, with a face like that, it's hard not to respect him.
"And you don't?" the boy sneers.
Aleister sighs. "I don't know what I want anymore."
Mainly, just for the world to make sense to him. If no higher powers exist, why does the world exist in the state it does? Does that mean it's up to humankind to change it? How miserable — Aleister's just one person. He can't bear the weight of changing this dreadful world.
"Well personally, I plan on making it out of here alive. I've given you time to process the loss of our 'beloved' ally, but now it's time to work."
Right. Maybe that'll take Aleister's mind off things too. If Aleister truly is without a demonic lord to serve, the best he's got is Olathe, even if laying his life down for the guy feels a bit extreme.
(He doesn't have anything to live for. How can anything possibly be extreme in such a case?)
"You said you had a secret to tell me though," Aleister recalls. "Is that still the case?"
Olathe shrugs. "Right… that."
"You seem nervous. Is it a secret you think I'd dislike hearing?"
"It's not a secret per say, but rather a truth."
"And…"
"I know I made it seem like it a bit, but I never believed in any of the shit Lucy was talking about."
Is Aleister meant to be shocked? Has he for once, seen right through somebody?
(When will he ever be seen?)
"I did believe in it," Aleister confesses. "I don't know if I do anymore, though."
"Well, it'd be better if you didn't," Olathe pulls himself away from the tree. "There's only one thing worth believing in, and that's the present."
Aleister swears the Seven boy's staring straight into his soul. "Are you saying I should believe in you? What even about you is there to believe if you're not Lucy's father — which I never bought for the record."
"It's clear you don't know me," Olathe says, and he pulls back a strand of Aleister's hair, curling it with his finger before letting it fall. "And aside from your beliefs in Lucy's delusions, I don't think I know you either."
"Do you wish to know me then?"
"Isn't that obvious? Like I said a few days ago, we work well together."
"We do work well together, yes." Aleister nods.
Though Aleister still doesn't know what Olathe meant by that. Was it how they killed the Twelve girl or something else? What does Aleister even want it to mean?
(He misses when Olve talked to him like this. When he could actually feel important to somebody, and not like a wet cat, a delusional fool.
That's what Olathe sees him as, right?)
Again, Olathe plays with his hair. He steps closer and Aleister swears he's been possessed by some supernatural force. For a fraction of a moment, everything feels right in this world, and it is in that moment that Olathe presses his lips up against his.
(Or maybe Olathe actually sees him as something real…)
(Maybe this is what it's like to feel seen…)
Instinctively, Aleister kisses back, Olve no longer on his mind but instead something better. Olathe pulls Aleister close to his chest, so close he can hear the Seven boy's breaths and they sound like desire, like hunger.
Aleister deepens the kiss, lets Olathe touch him all over until he feels like he's whole. He kisses him like it's easy breathing, because it is.
And when they fall to the ground, leaves in both their hair and their bodies intertwined, whatever weight Aleister had is finally off his shoulders.
(Yes, he decides. This is what it's like to be seen.)
•••
At times, Olathe forgets just how captivating his looks truly are. Everything really is this easy when you look like him, huh?
Call him a slut — he really is one — but Olathe misses this feeling. This may be the first time Olathe's kissed somebody in ages without killing them immediately after, but it's still nice. Like any living being, he takes great pleasure in the small gesture of just being held.
Aleister works his hands down Olathe's body, but he jerks away before the Nine boy can take things any further.
"Now now," he chides. "What happened to us hardly knowing each other?"
"Right." Aleister sighs, rising to his feet and dragging Olathe with him. "I'm an open book, I think."
"I see…"
"And you?"
"I'd say I'm a half-closed book."
"Fair enough." The Nine boy brushes the leaves off his legs and out of his hair, prompting Olathe to do the same. "I will ask you though, why did you choose me to ally with. Lucy's presence really overcomplicated things for you."
Because you seemed easy. And kissing you confirmed it. But Olathe can't say that. "I saw something in you. Right away, I knew you could pull your own weight in the arena, and that you'd have no qualms in killing someone." Based on Aleister's actions two days ago, Olathe was right — as he typically is.
"I have, umm, killed people before."
"I had a feeling, yes."
"And you… you've also killed people, right?"
"I mean, I'd hardly call them people." Olathe smirks, but Aleister seems taken aback. "Peacekeepers, Aleister."
"Oh… good for you then."
"And who did you kill?"
Aleister's face turns red. "I'd prefer if we didn't talk about that, if that's okay."
"Got it." Of course, Olathe immediately wants to know more details on this. If he has it his way, he'll get them soon enough. "What's life in Nine like for you? Any family there?"
"Well, both of my parents are no longer with us," Aleister says, cautiously, which is another thing Olathe notes. "But I do have two younger siblings, and I'd say we get along well enough."
"I'm sorry about your parents," Olathe says, and really he is. He knows first hand that losing parents is akin to losing an anchor, something that grounds you. "Nice that you have siblings though."
"What about you?"
"No siblings and well… no parents either."
"Interesting. Is there anybody then? Somebody you look forward to returning to."
(Yes, of course. But that's a hopeless case. Olathe buried those feelings a long long time ago.)
"I just want to honor my parents memory," Olathe says. "Show them that their deaths weren't in vain and that I can overcome the oppressive forces that killed them."
(As if they'd be proud of him now.)
"So do you really plan on winning then?"
"Have you not figured that out by now?"
"I have, don't worry. I just also know that if you wins, it means you'd have to—"
"I'm not thinking of killing you if that's what you're worrying about. You make good company."
In a twisted way, Aleister actually does. There's no hoard of animals around here that Olathe can talk to or anything, and Lucifer of course was aggravating. But Aleister is fine, at least when he isn't going insane over the young boy. Hopefully Olathe kissed that right out of his system.
(Besides, Olathe has already been left alone twice in his life. The first time rendered him a wanderer and the second, a killer. He doesn't dare think of what would happen the third time.)
"Thank you," Aleister says. "You make good company too. I'm quite fond of you, actually."
"I can assure you the feeling's mutual." As if Olathe's ever felt anything for anybody since Larix.
(Ugh, even thinking of his name makes Olathe sick. No doing that again.)
"That is to say, I'm finally ready to work with you."
"That's great to hear." Olathe grins, raucous laughter filling his stomach that he doesn't dare verbalize. "I'll just ask you one question then…"
"Yes?"
"Have you ever been hunting before?"
Aleister nods, yet he doesn't know he's been the prey since the very beginning.
Cabin D • 12:47
This is getting damn embarrassing. It's been close to an entire day, yet Moxie hasn't moved from her spot in the cabin. The reason's equally embarrassing — fucking Gremory.
Whenever she tries to stand up, her stomach tells her to sit her ass back down through bursts of agony. Even though the initial pain is gone, everything feels so sore. Moxie can't bear to look at herself like this but she knows she'd see bruises and scars, pieces of herself fraying no matter how hard she tries to put herself together.
She should've had better reflexes. She should've acted more like this was a street fight in Six instead of a proper duel, even if everything about Gremory's style was so delicate and graceful. Shame on him for making it so Moxie can't even be glad she killed the Four girl when she really should be. That's one step closer to getting out of this mess.
(Moxie doesn't particularly know what she'll do once she gets back to Six. Getting chosen for the Games sort of ruined her blackmailing and extortion operations, and winning would probably make her too rich to need to do any of that shit anyway.
So what else is there for her to do? Maybe move to the Capitol and enjoy a life of luxury? Could get boring after a while, Moxie imagines. But good lord would boring be better than everything that's happened in Six.)
(Is boring even something worth fighting for?
Doesn't matter; she'll find something better as soon as she doesn't have to worry about being murdered. Hell, she'll have all the time in the world for that.)
But now, all she has is Ripley, at her side like Moxie's a gift from the stars from above and it's their job to take care of her.
"You're drinking enough water, right?" They ask.
Moxie knew Ripley's career as a nurse would make them useful eventually, though she wishes it wasn't so soon.
"Of course I'm drinking enough water. You think I like being in this state?"
Ripley blinks. "Not particularly, I'd imagine."
"I know you're doing the best you can but—"
"You wish I could do it quicker, huh? The human body does take quite a bit of time to heal, you know. One stabbed you pretty deep, not to mention the cut on your face."
Ripley stitched it back together with a needle and some thread, but it still doesn't feel great. None of the cuts and scratches she endured at home needed medical attention. Moxie wonders how it'll look once the Capitol is able to take out the stitches after she wins.
(Will she still be broken, marred, not like the person that District Six wishes never rose from her grave?)
Her stomach's an even worse story. Ripley did the best to stop the bleeding with tourniquets and ointments, but that doesn't fix the pain.
"How long will it be until it's gone?" Moxie grumbles.
"Usually it takes seven to ten days to heal injuries like these. If you're lucky, we could get it down to six and remember, it's already been a day."
"Not the response I was hoping for."
"Just take it easy for a while. You'll be fine."
But "taking it easy for a while" is nowhere in Moxie's vocabulary. Already, she's given too much of herself to Ripley, who will never be somebody she can fully trust, because who even can Moxie trust? That's right — nobody but herself.
"What even does taking it easy for a while mean?"
"Playing defense instead of offense. I don't think you should be going after people like this."
That's not going to get her anywhere, is the thing. Playing a sitting duck isn't the way to win the Hunger Games, they'll probably send something to kill her. People want to be entertained, and Moxie is far from entertaining at the present moment.
Because she doesn't want to be attended to by Dasani or lord-forbid Elio while she's in this state, the two of them have been making their way around the arena and they haven't been productive in any way, shape, or form. When the Two girl's face appeared in the sky last night — not that Moxie could even see it, Ripley had to tell her — she hoped that the two of them had gotten their acts together. But, they returned with their hands clean, not taking responsibility for the later cannon after.
As much as they act like a wet cat, Moxie thinks Ripley would at least try and kill somebody if she got out there. It just poses the threat of Ripley getting killed alone in return…
(And then Moxie Adegoke will be truly alone. She won't be able to pretend the junkies and fakes in Six bear any meaning to her, or that her stepfather ever truly cared. She'll be like she was when she went to work with her mother, unable to do anything to change what happens to the world around her.
She relies on attention. She relies on people's validation and fear, otherwise, what even is she? There's no such thing as a prowler without anybody to prey upon.)
•••
There's something unnerving about watching Moxie suffer — Ripley has long decided that. As much as she appreciates Moxie's attempt at saving their life yesterday, she wishes it didn't result in them ending up like this. The dynamic's all messed up now — what's the point of a moth without a lamp to follow?
She wishes that they could say something, anything to make Moxie satisfied, but no such thing exists. No matter how many times Ripley has wished things were different, the world truly is a terrible place at times and there's nothing they can do to fix it.
(In a way, aren't they a part of the reason that the world's so terrible?)
No. Ripley can fix this. She's been in the room with far worse patients before. They can make Moxie feel like herself again if they can get her to believe hard enough. But that's a tall order considering how stubborn the Six girl can be.
"I guess I can stay here for a while," Moxie says begrudgingly after several moments of silence. "We're kind of on borrowed time though. The longer I stay put, the more of a chance that someone here kills me."
A good point. "I mean, you could get up and go with the wound not completely healed, but that could complicate things if you get hurt again."
"Simple. I just won't get hurt again."
It's not so simple though, and Ripley has a feeling Moxie knows it too. They've gathered that resting has taken quite the mental toll on Moxie though. There's something in the way her eyes glint that's different now. She's always been confident, perhaps overly so, but said confidence seems to have morphed into anger somewhere along the line.
Even if Moxie seems fine now, Ripley reckons there's a storm coming, and she has no idea where she's meant to take shelter.
She didn't know with Jeneva and look where that got her. Even if their parents and their lies are partially to blame, Ripley knows that it was her own actions that cemented her as somebody people advocated to let die,
They know what they've done. They know they haven't been able to recognize themself in the mirror for months, and the new hair or lack thereof certainly hasn't helped in that regard.
(In a way, Jeneva's death marked Ripley's rebirth. They just don't know what they've been reborn as.)
(Monster.)
(Freak.)
(Traitor.)
(But none of those words seem fitting, not when Ripley just wanted Jeneva to be in less pain. They thought she was a hopeless case, that she was doing her a favor. But then the screaming started, and it hasn't really left.)
"I only want the best for you Moxie," Ripley says, but what they mean is I don't want to be your downfall. I don't want my care to be the reason you never recover. I don't want to have to take a—
(I can't do that again. I don't want to be scared.)
(Because isn't one's self the scariest thing?)
"I appreciate it, Rips. I promise I do." But with Moxie's tone, Ripley's not so sure. "It's just that sitting around makes me feel like I'm giving up. I don't want to give up, Ripley. I don't want to die."
"I never said you were going to die, just that things might be hard from here on out."
(That's what they said to patients yet their mothers poisoned them with their bullshit drugs anyway. Ripley made them seem like they had a chance when they were hopeless once they stepped through their mothers' doors.)
Just this once, Ripley wants to help instead of hurt.
"I don't want to die either," they confess, even if they don't quite know what living would entail, or who they'd have to become in order to break free.
(Jeneva would laugh at her, wouldn't she?)
(Good. Let her laugh.)
"So then we'll both just do our best to avoid dying," Moxie starts. "We can take it one day at a time and —"
But the screams from outside prevent her from finishing.
•••
He's been on so many walks with Dasani, but Elio doesn't see the point in any of them.
Moxie came into the cabin yesterday drenched in enough blood to make him want to puke, but he hasn't had time since him and Dasani have been on the move ever since. He doesn't understand — he just wants to go home even if he has a sinking feeling that he never will.
Life used to be so simple, just Elio and the cow-cows, no need to be afraid of anything, but there's so much to be afraid of now.
"I don't know how we're going to tell Moxie that hunting is once again a burst." Dasani described their walks as hunts, yet there hasn't been a whole lot of hunting. That's partially Elio's fault, he kept making stops to pet the animals he's come across — a diddly-deer, some chickie-chicks, and a turkey-lurkey — but if he didn't stop for said animals, maybe somebody else would come and kill them.
(Every time he wanted to stop, Dasani seemed a bit disappointed. Elio doesn't understand why.)
Maybe this "hunting" would be better if Elio saw Luna Moona Twoona again. Gosh, Elio wishes she'd come back to him. It's unfair that she's been gone for so long. Elio's starting to worry about her.
"I don't think Moxie will mind," Elio says, even though he knows their older ally will very much mind. But at the same time, she's the one who's injured — a direct punishment of inciting violence — so she can't do much herself.
Elio gets that allies are supposed to help each other, and he helps Dasani a lot for that exact reason, but helping Moxie seems wrong now. All of the blood… it couldn't have all been hers, right? How can he help somebody who hurt another?
Dasani's been holding a nice long walking stick, the leaves getting thicker the further away from the cabin they go. They claim that without the stick, they'd trip and fall into the leaves, but that's not a problem to Elio. He braided his shoelaces down the middle of his shoes so that he'll be ready for anything the arena may present him with.
(Okay, maybe not everything, but a good amount of things.)
When there's luls in their conversation, Elio's become fond of ripping the stick out of Dasani's hands and watching them fall into the leaves with a goofy grin. They do it again now, but this time they jump into the leaves, following their buddy.
"Evi—" Dasani's face turns red, like he's said something he's not supposed to say. "Elio! Knock it off."
But Elio knows they don't mean it, so they scoop up a pile of leaves and throw it at Dasani's face, mocking them. "Oh! Knock it off!"
Dasani throws leaves back and it makes Elio giggle. He's always wondered what life would be like with an older sibling, and this will probably be the closest he gets.
The two continue to play, until Elio hears a sound that doesn't quite seem like it's coming from Dasani. He asks, "What was that?"
"I'm not sure, little guy." Dasani suddenly seems afraid. "Maybe it's a sign that we should head back."
"Sounds good to me!"
It'd feel nice if Dasani could give Elio a piggy-back right about now. They've tried, but Elio's getting too tall and Dasani's not quite tall enough. It's nice that they can walk at each other's sides at least. Or more accurately, run—
Through the trees he goes, always making sure Dasani's by his side. The ruffling behind them continues, but Elio still can't figure out where it's coming from. This is the fastest he's ran in his entire life, yet it still doesn't feel fast enough.
There's still this sinking feeling of doom in Elio's stomach. The type that tells him that everything is going to change forever and he won't be able to stop it.
He sees the cabin in the distance, the ruffling sound still close behind him — means he's personally being chased, so he has to go faster than Dasani now. There's something scary about turning around, like it'd acknowledge the fact that something is so deeply wrong, but Elio doesn't even get that chance before he feels a cold hand wrap around his leg.
Elio screams, louder than he did when he learned what happened to Luna-Moona. But now he's the one in danger, and he feels a prick on his ankle and then blood trickling down his leg.
"Levine?" It's his District partner. The one he never liked because she was so mean to all the horseys.
She doesn't say anything, just continues to tear through Elio's skin with her knife, this twisted look all over her face.
Elio doesn't get it. What could he have ever done to warrant somebody hurting him? He's just a kid who loves cow-cows, not some prey to an unruly predator.
(Is this what he gets for not freeing enough cow-cows before he got caught? Is this what he gets for helping his father that one day when the original Luna died?)
He wants to fight back, but he doesn't even know what that'd entail. He doesn't want to hurt her — just to reason with her and maybe they can come to an understanding so that none of them have to die.
Elio tugs at her hair as she brings him down to the ground. "You don't have to kill me! We're both from the same place; we can just talk about it."
"What's there to talk about?"
"I don't know — just that you don't have to hurt me!"
She doesn't even respond , she just keeps poking Elio as he screams, "Somebody help me! Somebody help me!"
From the corner of his eye, he sees Dasani barreling toward him. Elio tries to get a good look at his face, just to see if it looks like he's going to help, but instead splatters of red block his vision.
It's surely blood, and the feeling of it is very icky, especially when more and more keeps hitting him. Even if he's not in pain, everything just feels so wrong, wrong, wrong. He hears tearing and screaming and falling and kicking. So wrong, wrong, wrong. A cannon fires and suddenly Elio is forced to wonder, was this his end?
Did all fifteen of his years suddenly not mean a thing, just in the blink of an eye?
But then Elio hears a familiar voice. "It's okay buddy. You're okay."
So he opens his eyes and sits up, the blood on his face dripping down on his shirt. Dasani's here though, so Elio's meant to be happy and relieved. Yet in this instance, he can't be.
Dasani's covered in blood, all over his face and his shirt and his pants, and he doesn't even seem upset about it. At his side lies what once was Levine, now just a mangled heap that Elio can hardly recognize.
"What did you do?" he hisses. "What did you do to her?"
"I did what I had to! Elio, she was going to kill you."
"I was trying to get her to talk about it." He was trying so so so so so hard because a part of him knew that this would be the outcome otherwise. "You didn't have to—"
"I did though. That could've been you like that—" the thought sends shivers down Elio's spine "— and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if that happened to you."
"It wouldn't have." Elio's not sure if he believes himself but agreeing with Dasani just feels so wrong. Dasani just killed somebody. She was only fifteen — Elio's age — and even if she did a lot of bad things, she didn't have to die. She didn't have to be turned into a crumbled sliver of space and time. There could've been another way. There should've been another way.
(Deep down, Elio knows that what Dasani did was right. He's known since the minute he opened his eyes, but that doesn't mean he likes it.)
"You're a horrible person," Elio screams, unable to even look Dasani in the eye. "Why did you do that? You didn't have to do that."
"But I—"
"You didn't have to!"
"I was just—"
"You didn't have to!"
"I already said, I was trying to save you."
"And doing it like that was the exact wrong way."
Something red washes over Elio's vision but it's not blood this time. It's anger, betrayal even. Every second he spends next to Dasani now feels sick and wrong.
They betrayed Elio. They knew he didn't like violence and that he didn't like killing and seeing people be hurt, yet he went and killed somebody anyway. He doesn't care for Dasani's reasoning — violence is violence and blood is blood.
Dasani Amato is no longer somebody that Elio can trust. He can explain himself as much as he wants, but that won't change the fact that he's been tainted with sin. Good people don't kill people — good people help each other. Dasani is a bad person. Elio can't stand to be with a bad person any longer.
"I'm sorry for what I'm about to do," Elio says.
He's not even sure what he has to be sorry about. All he's doing is protecting himself, just ensuring that he stays safe.
"Wait—"
"I hope you find something kinder in your heart, but I won't be here to see it."
And then Elio leaves Dasani right where they are, and runs into the unknown.
16th: Levine Hornsby, District Ten. Killed by Dasani Amato.
Second Skin - Currents
I'm going to just ignore the fact it's been like 5-6 months since I last posted.
Hey guys! Welcome to a new chapter! So speedy, as per usual.
Lots of exciting themes here. Even if there wasn't too much blood (relative to last chapter at least), I had a fun time writing and I am thankful that you have potentially have had a fun time reading.
I want to update again soon, but I'm in England for the year doing an abroad moment and we have to do essays over winter holiday. I have three! So we'll see when I update next. I feel happy w my writing atm so that's gotta be worth something.
Q: What is Eurovision?
Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds