XXVII. Misery Loves Company
Knives in the backs of martyrs
Lives in the burning fodder
Cauterized and atrophied
This is my unbecoming
Day V
Forest Surrounding Tower I • 7:56
This isn't working out at all.
Olathe's aware that it was his own idea to have Aleister be his little attack dog, but in his defense, he didn't think it would go so poorly. The fuck kind of attack dog can't even kill somebody? Yeah yeah, the boy from Four was dead before Aleister got to him, his head knocked off and flopped to the side, but it's still his fault somehow.
He should've never tried to get along with anybody in this playground of monsters, much less an idiot child and his even dumber friend. Olathe is always better off alone — he should know that better than anyone.
(His parents were the only time having company did him any favors and look where that's led him. It's unfair — the whole thing is so fucking unfair.)
(As if Olathe's done anything to try and make it fair in the past six years.)
"Sorry about Four…" Aleister's been apologizing like a sick fox with its tail between its legs non-stop, his voice like the styrofoam people would litter in Olathe's forest. "I didn't think he'd just randomly die like that."
"Of course you didn't," Olathe says, but his tone isn't anything close to comforting. "Have you done anything useful in the past five days?"
"Sheesh. You're in a lovely mood today, aren't you?"
He rolls his eyes. "Why would I be in a good mood in the fucking Hunger Games."
"I just thought—"
Right. All of the kissing between them is supposedly meant to make Olathe feel "better" isn't it? He can't even pretend to take any joy in that anymore. He did a great job at pretending back in the Hissing Woods, some would say too great a job. In a way, Olathe did feel something cradled in Peacekeepers' arms when he didn't have to think about how they were a part of the same faction that tore his parents away from them.
It's objectively nice to be touched, or so Olathe thought. The seduce and destroy thing only works if there's actually destruction in the end. Usually, the process would only last a few hours. Olathe can't keep up with this shit for days as it's now starting to become. Especially when he's just not into Aleister, not one bit.
(If Olathe were to reflect on one positive romantic encounter, it'd be that with Larix Calidus. They were both fifteen when they met and the other boy hardly had a care in the world. It was nice — they'd spend their time together frolicking in the woods, feeding the animals and singing songs to the wind.
Back then, Olathe wasn't so fixated on revenge or anything. He was just happy to finally have some human company. They kissed once or twice but it never became anything serious. Maybe it could've been if Larix's Head Peacekeeper father didn't pull the plug on their budding relationship and tell him it's dangerous to meet with strangers lurking in the woods.)
(Maybe then, Olathe wouldn't think that being peaceful like his parents wouldn't give him vengeance. He should've known that his love is like a knife and it's meant to cut people open and tear people apart.)
"I feel fine," he cuts the Nine boy off and wraps an arm around his back. They kiss and it feels like sandpaper against his lips. "Your presence makes everything better. Sorry for sounding so rude."
"No need to apologize when I'm the one who failed you."
Stars above, Olathe's really running out of patience for this guy. He looked a lot more capable when Olathe first met him and the freak from Eight was already swept up by the Careers. Olathe thought he could make something out of him, but it appears that Aleister Darski is absolutely nothing.
Olathe sits on the ground, fiddling with the mouse he successfully trapped and cooked this morning. "Aleister, please sit with me."
If he is going to succeed with his plans to dispatch Aleister, there's still a few questions he needs answers to.
•••
"Is there an issue?" Aleister sits at Olathe's side and crosses his legs. "Do I need to apologize to you again?"
"Please don't!"
Yet Aleister still feels that he has to. With Lucifer gone and all his beliefs in the gutter, he's left with nobody to serve. There's the option of him serving himself, but that feels preposterous. Time and time again it's been proven that he's not worth anything. He's meant to be a follower, not a leader.
How would he lead somebody that's left him lovesick like this anyway?
"Okay, then what's the purpose of our conversation?"
"Am I not allowed to just talk to you?"
Yes. Yes Olathe is, but the more he does, the more it complicates things for Aleister. This isn't the place for catching feelings yet he's done so anyway. How pathetic is that? He really is that desperate, huh — always craving something to believe in but never knowing what to do once he starts to believe.
"What did you want to talk about?"
"So formal." Olathe smirks and Aleister feels something inside of him burst. This isn't love — Aleister isn't sure he knows what love is since Olve turned out to be a scammer — but it's the sort of infatuation he wishes to hold onto for as long as possible.
(Without it, does Aleister have anything worth living for at all? He's the one who ruined his relationship with his siblings by killing his parents for reasons he understands less and less with every passing day. He's the one who believed an almost-teenager when he said his father was the very lord Aleister worshiped. Should somebody like him really be rewarded with the second chance of life a victory in these Games promises?)
(He once believed that everybody around him was a fool. Now he knows that he's the biggest fool of them all.)
Olathe continues, "I just wanted to try to get to know you better. I'm not the sort of guy who usually kisses strangers, much less ally with them in a killing game."
"Fair enough. I'll ask you again, what do you wish to know?"
"You said you have siblings. What are they like?"
Aleister sighs. No matter what he says, there's a chance Olathe will be displeased. He's worked so hard and doesn't wish for his new master to look down on him.
"Our relationship could be better," he says. "We sort of grew apart as we grew older. You could say that we had different interests. I was always the black sheep of the family, y'know."
"That doesn't surprise me." Aleister's unsure if he's meant to laugh at that or not. "Before your parents died, were they at least somewhat fond of you?"
"I'd say they cared for sure, but not in a way I understood at the time."
What even was there to understand? Aleister's parents just wanted what was best for him, even if that meant believing in something that doesn't exist. It's not their fault their son chose to believe in separate delusions, Aleister knows that now. That hardly changes anything. No matter how hard he tries, nothing can bring them back and nothing can fix the relationship he had with his siblings before then.
"I know that mine cared," Olathe says with the most sincerity Aleister's seen in him. "Mind if I ask how they died?"
Ah, the very question Aleister's been afraid of.
"Can I know how yours died first?"
"Peacekeepers."
Aleister takes a deep breath then yawns. He's never been the best liar — there's no way for him to get out of this one. Maybe he just needs to be convincing in his truth if he wishes to be set free.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
"Of course." And then Olathe kisses Aleister's hand for good measure. "It's not like I'd tell anybody — not very many people I can tell."
(Aleister doesn't see the knife in Olathe's other hand.)
"I should preface this by saying I thought they were horrible people. I thought they were abusing me even if they weren't really doing anything all too wrong." Aleister takes a deep breath. "I was in the wrong and I've grown to regret it, but I was the one who killed them. I—"
He feels something sharp in his chest before he can finish his statement.
•••
As per usual, Olathe was right — it's become exhausting.
He rips his blade from the Nine boy's chest and stands up, his feet on Aleister's so he can't run away.
"What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you," Olathe roars. "Why would you kill your own parents?"
Olathe never should've even given this bastard the time of day in the first place. His parents' sacrifice is what led him down his road to vengeance, left him hollow and afraid. Even if they could at times be strict, never in a million years did he even consider laying a hand on them.
Maybe Aleister's parents were cruel, but it doesn't sound like it based on the guilt he speaks with.
He grabs the Nine boy by the collar of his shirt and slices through his throat. "What were you thinking?"
"Have… I…" Aleister spits out his own blood on Olathe's shirt. "Not made it… clear? I was…" Ugh. So much blood — a shame Olathe won't be getting a new shirt anytime soon. "In the wrong."
"Of course you were!" Olathe tears through his skin, carving his way from Aleister's neck and down his chest. "I should've never even given you the time of day!"
He's kissed many morons before, but none have made his lips feel quite as rotten as they do now. "Do you know what I'd do for just one more minute with my parents? Do you know how many people I'd cut down just to see their faces again?"
(Parents that surely no longer want him now that he's become the very thing they'd hate.)
Aleister doesn't respond with words, instead just a gurgle of bile and blood pours out of his lips. Thank heavens he'll never speak again, forever reduced to a withering hunk of flesh, eyes white and rolling into the back of his head.
Olathe tears until there's a gaping hole in Aleister's stomach, then drops him to the ground and shoves his foot through the entrance. He hears the sound of crunching bones and agony — the kind of symphony he'd like to hear for eternity.
If it's true, he'll never see his parents again, this is the next best purpose Olathe has in life. Even if he was the one who basically had Aleister on a leash, Olathe's been the attack dog all this time.
(What even is a dog without somebody to come home to at the end of the day?)
He reaches down toward Aleister's chest, ready to grab the first organ he can find and chuck it at his face. He'll smile when he draws the Nine boy's crushed lung outside his body, relishing in the sound of his ligaments and muscles tearing at his disposal.
But then a cannon fires, and there's no point in Olathe doing anything else, so he falls to the ground and lays by Aleister's side. He did what he had to do, and now he's one step closer to going home.
So why does he feel like he's done something wrong?
Tower III • 10:30
The rest of yesterday was, to put it lightly, a fucking pain. Literally, Melchior felt like a sack of bones as he and Thana waltzed around the arena looking for someplace to stay that wasn't the cabin they'd burnt down. They don't know why they felt like a sack of bones considering their legs were perfectly functional, but feeling like a sack of bones is a metaphor anyway so it doesn't have to make sense.
What does make sense is that Thana's still by their side, even when she had every opportunity to ditch him. Of course Melchior didn't think their best friend would abandon them, but when they were in the womb, they probably didn't think their parents would abandon them either. But obviously Melchior trusts T-Achizzle also known as Thana Banana and Thanacondra more than their bitchass "parents."
She's also gotten pretty good at the whole taking care of people thing, even though she'd deny that. Don't get Melchior wrong, she's still completely in over her head, but she has the ability to make them feel comfortable in times like these, and that's worth more than anything Melchior could possibly quantify.
(Because it turns out, they're actually capable of dying, and now just the idea of death is enough to haunt them to their core. Melchior's never known what it's like to be afraid.)
"Do you feel alright?"
Truth be told, Melchior woke up feeling as if he'd been strangled all over again. That's what happened in their dreams anyway — the mutt's tentacles getting tighter and tighter, but this time Thana wasn't there to save them.
"I've felt better," they say. If any consolation, the view from the tower's window is at least somewhat scenic. It's nice knowing that this arena isn't just a shitload of trees. In fact, there's a village in close proximity and several buildings in between other towers. It'd actually be a fun place to explore if Melchior wasn't too concerned with the crushing weight of their mortality and the implications that come with it.
"Obviously you've felt better," Thana replies. "You almost died yesterday."
"I don't like when you word it like that."
"Sorry — but it's what happened."
Melchior yawns, stretching out on the cobblestone enclave that's become their "bed." It's still somehow more comfortable than the shitty excuses of beds at the orphanage. "I feel like I lied to you," they admit. "I told you early on in our friendship that I'm immortal, yet here I am."
"I said almost died," Thana corrects. "You didn't die, so therefore you didn't lie to me."
Shit — does Thana still believe in their "immortality?" If she does, is Melchior supposed to correct her? Yes, they decide.
"I don't think I'm actually immortal," Melchior confesses. Their face is red with shame, with disgust both at themself and at the entire situation. "My survival yesterday wasn't because of anything like that — it was because you saved me, remember? And the situation where I fought with death and won back home, that was just luck."
Her jaw goes slack and her eyes widen with panic. "No, you're immortal. You have to be."
"Thana, I don't think so."
"Then what are we supposed to do?"
•••
Thana's well aware of the rules of the Hunger Games. Twenty-four go in and only one comes out. The other twenty-three die, and for them it's terrible. Call her a lunatic, but she didn't think her Melchior was capable of such a thing. They said they were immortal and yesterday they proved it.
Even when fire burns out, it's born again as something new and that's what happened with Melchior. Even if Thana had never seen them look so afraid before, they came out of it alive, the same way her flames have. She knows that Melchior calls himself lightning, but by intersecting with Thana, they've become lightning as well.
Fire and lightning never die — right?
"I don't know." Melchior pouts. It's strange not seeing them smile when that's all Thana's known of them. They're supposed to be an unstoppable force, the perfect match to her insurmountable dread. The sunshine to their moon, the life to her death and all that.
When Thana did her best to nurse them back to health, she thought it'd just be quickening the process of Melchior's body tethering itself back together. She didn't think it was capable of falling right back apart.
Thana takes a deep breath and presses her lips into a perfectly straight line. "Why did you even say you were immortal in the first place?" She hopes she doesn't sound too accusatory, because that's not her intention at all. Her Melchior could never do anything wrong.
"It's kind of a stupid story in retrospect," they say.
"Nothing you say is stupid. It's very smart actually. Sometimes I don't understand it."
"Yeah, but that's when I'm talking about science. This is life, not science."
"Are they not the same thing?"
Thana's obviously no scientist, but she knows that no matter how hard people work to explain things, there will always be something irregular, some unknown variable that nobody can control.
•••
"In a way, you're sort of right." That's one of Melchior's favorite things about Thana. Even if she's sometimes insecure in her words, she's never wrong.
"Things in science are sometimes just as unpredictable as they are in life," she continues. "For example, science surely says that there's no way fire and lightning can combine into something beautiful, yet here we are."
"Here we are," Melchior repeats. "I wish we weren't here."
"So do I." Thana sighs. "You were going to tell me a story. Go on, tell it."
"Right… so…" They unroll their sleeves and slightly smile when reminded of Thana's tattoo. Now that Melchior's unsure of their mortality, it's a nice reminder that their friendship is eternal. "You see these scars?" They trace one jagged bolt up to their elbow.
"They were one of the first things I noticed about you," she says. "I also noticed that you're the slightest bit insufferable, might I add. At the same time, I was a bit intrigued.
"Here's the story of how I got them then. I grew up in an orphanage that was kind of terrible — the headmistress didn't give a shit about me and any of the other kids. Most of them were also kind of dicks, too. Didn't like me all that much."
Thana giggles. "I can't imagine why."
"They were assholes, okay!" Melchior can't help but crack a smile. "So I had this idea, right? During a storm, I'd lay out a bunch of chemicals, and then when lightning struck, the whole building would be blown to smithereens."
"I can definitely see how that could go wrong."
"It did. Lightning struck before I could make my way off the building and well..." They sigh. Everything about that day just seems so fucking dumb. "It hit me directly, and I saw basically my whole existence flash before my eyes, but then I woke up at the foot of the building. I was still a bit dazed, but other than that I was fine."
"That's incredible!" Thana's eyes light up, a glow so potent Melchior swears it's the lightning from that day all over again. "What happened to the building?"
"Nothing good," they confess. They don't know what else they should tell her, mainly about Kelvin and the way he was hurt and how they'd never let something like that happen to Thana or else they'd hate themself forever because as much as he cared for Kelvin, everything about them and Thana is so much stronger. "I did succeed in blowing up the building, that much I'll say."
"Anything else?"
"A lot of other buildings and well… I hurt my friend."
•••
Just a week ago, Thana would've panicked if Melchior said they'd hurt one of their friends. Now, she knows that she's different. There's something about him that goes beyond simply being a friend. There's a strange connection, one she feels would be replicated in any other universe so long as the two of them met.
"Is your friend okay?" she asks, mainly out of curiosity. She recognizes the guilt painted all over their face, it's an expression she's replicated far too many times.
"He's alive. That's worth something, no?"
"And you're alive too! Don't you get it? That's no luck or miracle, it means you're immortal."
(It means that they're going to outlive her no matter what. If the death Thana's named after embraces her in this arena, or any time after that, her Melchior will still be alive. They're destined to go on without her. All Thana can hope is that they'll never forget her once she falls.)
(She gets the feeling they won't.)
"Right." Melchior takes a deep breath. "But how immortal am I really if so many others died in order to make that happen?"
"The people in the orphanage?"
"No survivors besides me and Kelvin, yeah."
She's familiar with headlines reading "No Survivors." It was plastered all over the newspaper the day she danced with her flames in the vineyard. Strangely, she didn't mind. District Eleven was never the place for her — what did it matter if there were less of them for her to hate?
"You didn't like anybody there though. What's it matter that they're gone?"
"It's hard not to feel bad, I don't know."
"They didn't like you, Melchior. Even if death is tragic by nature, there's no rule that says it can't be beautiful at the same time. Besides, I assume that incident is what led you here. It's what led you to me."
How ironic, the tides of death are what led Melchior to her while the brightness of flames is what led her to him. They were always meant to be close like this, two sides of the same coin.
"It is, yes." The grief on Melchior's face washes away in the wind. "Maybe it's a good thing. You're right."
"I mean, I had my own trail of bodies that led me to you…"
"You burnt something, didn't you?"
"An entire vineyard, yes."
Melchior squints. "And what made you do that?"
"I'm an outsider," Thana says. "I'm just like you. The people in Eleven kept pushing my buttons and suddenly something came over me and fire was the only way I could set myself free. Even a worm will turn or something like that."
And then she does something that she can't really explain. She knows this is something she tried right before they went off to their launching areas five days ago and she knows how poorly it went. But she also knows that she's safe now, and even if that safety doesn't last forever, it's best she takes advantage of it now.
Gingerly, she grabs Melchior by the wrist and pulls at them until they're standing. She stares at them, stars in her eyes and asks, "Can I hug you?"
Melchior nods, and Thana swears she feels the light of a thousand flames envelop her body when she takes them in her arms and he takes her right back. It's hard to describe just how many feelings are rushing in her head, but she savors each and every one of them. She doesn't remember the last time she was hugged like this, much less hugged at all, and it's something she's been missing her entire life.
In this tower, entwined with her Melchior, Thana's the safest she's ever been. When she pulls away and stares them in the eyes, she can't help but wish to hug them all over again, listen to their heartbeat against her ear and the way it beats so steadily. There's no world where this would ever be romantic, but that doesn't matter in the end. Soulmates can be the best of friends, and that's exactly what Melchior is to her.
"Thank you," Thana says, her eyes watering.
Melchior chuckles "Anytime."
As secure as she feels, Thana can't help but recognize that this feeling won't last forever. She decides though, right then and there, that there's no point in living if it doesn't involve eternity with her Melchior.
Cabin D • 13:11
Moxie can't take it anymore. She's done with bedrest.
Every time she looks at Ripley, she feels more and more pathetic. If there's one thing about Moxie it's that she doesn't do "pathetic." Never has and never will.
There was at least a sliver of productivity yesterday when Dasani and Elio were out and about, but the former ate shit and the laters nowhere to be found. It doesn't matter though — not really. They were hardly any good for her, just wastes of space that Moxie never should've given the time of day to.
Playing sitting duck with Ripley's equally wasteful. They refuse to leave her side and while she'd normally appreciate such loyalty, it's become grating. She's great at what she does, a perfectly decent medic, but that doesn't change jack. She can't magically make Moxie feel better and sorcery is kind of what she needs right now.
So, despite the throbs of pain in her stomach, for the first time in two days, Moxie stands.
"Moxie!" Immediately, Ripley runs to her side from across the room. "You're not well. You're going to hurt yourself!"
"Better than outright dying," Moxie says.
The Gamemakers want a show from their victor, so that's what Moxie needs to give them. Sitting and whining is the exact opposite of one. There's no convincing her otherwise, she needs to be out and about.
Ripley frowns. "But if you walk around hurt, you could get hurt more. And then you could d-die and—" They catch a breath in their throat. "I don't know how I'd live with myself if that happens."
Cute that Ripley thinks she'd outlive Moxie in any timeline. No, Moxie doesn't particularly want to kill her, but if she goes down (which she won't), they're going down with her.
(Without Ripley, she'd be alone. Moxie doesn't do alone.)
"You realize Rips, if we don't do anything, the Gamemakers will find some way to kill us."
"I guess you're right, yeah."
Before Ripley can argue further, Moxie scrambles at the kitchen counter. She's already got one knife in her pocket, but it wouldn't hurt to have another. She lifts up her shirt, makes sure her bandages are still tightly wrapped, then heads toward the door. "I'm leaving in thirty seconds. You better be coming with me."
•••
"I can't," Ripley says, trying so hard for her voice not to shake. "It's not safe for you, Moxie. You're already a bit hunched over."
"Am not," Moxie straightens her posture, only to bend over on herself again. "It's fine. Nobody here is in perfect health anyway."
Not everybody has a nurse, Ripley says to herself. Her whole purpose is to help — that's what her mothers trained her to do. Even if they were a bit too willing to give up on a patient, Ripley doesn't have to be exactly like them. They gave her their foundations for sure, but Ripley's perfectly capable of filling in the gaps by herself. She knows what she's supposed to know, what she needs to know.
(But she cannot stop the urges that lie within her. She knows the way Jeneva walked all over her. She knows that before she was Ripley's patient, she was their bully. Maybe that's what influenced Ripley to do what they did and why she felt so responsible for her mothers' shortcomings.)
(When push comes to shove, she knows that she can be just like them if they need to be.)
"I worry that you're making a mistake." And if Moxie makes a mistake, it falls back on Ripley too. They should've been able to protect her. They should've been able to tame her raging storms, make her choose what's best for her own survival, and it practically kills her that she can't.
(That'll always be their problem. As much as Ripley claims to care for others, they can't help their uncontrollable desire to care for themself. That's not their job, never has been and never will.)
"I'm not, trust me."
But why should Ripley trust Moxie if she's treated them the same way Jeneva did?
Because maybe then I can fix what happened with her.
(Can you really? Jeneva mistreated you and you saw her illness as an opportunity. What's stopping you from doing the exact same with Moxie?)
I want to be good. I need to be good.
(Now isn't the place to be good, Ripley.)
Ripley isn't meant to be a killer. They're meant to be a helper. No matter what the voices say, she has no choice but to help.
So help she will, until she reaches her bitter end.
•••
Moxie never knows what to do when Ripley stands still with their head in the clouds. Helping is a foreign concept to her and it's not something she's about to acquaint herself when,
When Ripley doesn't say anything as she begins to open the door, Moxie finds herself making a noise she's never quite heard before. No, not a noise — a roar.
"Come with me! Stop standing there, please. Just come with me. Now!"
She knows there's something slightly pathetic in this, but Moxie refuses to let that inhibit her. She's not pathetic — she's incapable of being such. She's a lion, a prowler, not some yapping dog. And even if she doesn't know why she's begging Ripley of all people, she refuses to leave this damned cabin alone.
(Moxie doesn't recognize herself when she's alone and has nobody to control but herself. If the past years have taught her anything it's that she needs to be in control no matter what. She needs the people to bow down to her, to metaphorically kiss her feet — literally, that would be gross. Point is, she needs to be cherished, needs to be acclaimed.)
(If she isn't, who is Moxie Adegoke besides a straight-faced kid standing next to her mother in court, trying to absorb every last bit of information from the lady she doesn't know will betray her in the end. If Moxie's the traitor, she can't be betrayed.)
Luckily, Ripley follows her. Moxie hasn't explored this place enough to know where exactly she's going, but she knows that she has her eyes on one prize and one prize alone. Gremory tried to get in under her skin but Moxie's flesh is watertight. She may have lost their battle, but she won't lose their war.
She knows what it's like to face somebody like him. She used to flinch when she looked her stepfather in the eye, but she came out on top in the end. Moxie always comes out on top in the end.
"We're trying to find the guy from a few days ago," she says to Ripley, still seemingly in some sort of a trance. "He's not going to take me down."
"He did though," Ripley replies. "That's literally what happened."
Moxie's fist tightens, knuckles white with rage on the handle of her knife. Still, she refuses to strike. She needs to control herself, can't lash out until she's face to face with Gremory and able to consume him in her wrath, make him regret ever approaching him in the first place.
There was a while where Moxie would've ratted anybody out to him, but she can't do that anymore. He's hers to kill, no longer helpful though he wasn't in the long run if she thinks about it. Talking to him was her biggest mistake in the past two weeks. She can't afford any more mistakes.
"It won't happen again," Moxie barks and this time she's disgusted at how she's become so loud. "I'm going to kill him so hard he'll regret he ever looked in my direction."
Ripley grabs Moxie's wrist. "You can't go after him, not like this."
"Since when do you get to tell me what I do?"
"I want the best for you, I don't know how I can explain it any other way."
"Can't you see that this is the best for me? He maimed me Ripley. He's the reason I'm like this."
•••
"And who's to say he won't hurt you again? Just because you killed his little bodyguard doesn't mean he'll go any easier on you." Ripley feels a tear forming in the corner of their eye. "Please, Moxie. Just listen. You won't go far if you carry on like this."
She doesn't let go of Moxie — she constantly forgets how strong she is — until the Six girl has no choice but to directly face them. "If I can't kill him, what do you suggest I do?"
"Rest, Moxie. You're not acting like yourself."
She's not; she's acting like Jeneva. For the first time in a long time, Ripley Sabyn is terrified. She can't let this fear get to her — she has to help.
"Please, Moxie." They put their spare hand on Moxie's chest and takes a deep breath. "Breathe with me."
"Fine."
One two three. Three two one.
Deep breathing has helped many of Ripley's patients, making them calm down when she was worried they'd lash out. Nobody likes to be sick, Ripley understands. But if you can't be calm, you can't get better.
One two three. Three two one.
She feels Moxie's pulse get slower, more at ease. "Do you feel better?"
"Yes," she admits, somewhat in disgust. "That was embarrassing."
"It wasn't," Ripley lies between her teeth. "You're going to be fine. I know you're in pain, but it's going to be fine. You just need to control your temper for a bit."
"It's hard," Moxie confesses. "I just want to make him pay."
"I understand that."
Begrudgingly, Moxie makes her way back to the cabin. When she opens the door, she directly collapses on the couch in agony. "Can you change my bandages and apply some more of that ointment?"
"Of course."
Ripley gets supplies ready, but there's still dangerous thoughts lurking in the back of her mind. It'd be so easy — too easy.
But Ripley knows what happens when somebody like her tries to slay giants.
Town Square • 16:43
The night turns to morning turns to afternoon but Elio still feels stuck. It's still just him and Luna Moona Twoona and Lucy, but Elio finds that he tolerates the Twelve boy's presence the slightest bit more.
He never disliked Lucy; it's hard for Elio to dislike anybody that wants to be a friend. It was just weird, because he wasn't Dasani (who he knows he'll never understand) or the cowcow (that he knows will be there 'till the end). Even if he's two years younger, Lucy feels like he's far more grown. He has this solemn understanding of the world Elio's become increasingly aware he doesn't quite understand.
(A part of him fears he'll never understand this world, not when he's in the Hunger Games. This isn't the place for him. It's never been the place for him, and Elio would rather do so many things than accept that this place is his ending.)
(He can't end when he's hardly begun.)
"And then Mischief and Mayhem were secretly hiding in one of my mom's closets," Lucy says with raucous laughter. In the past few hours, Elio's learned a lot about the little guy. For example, he has two little kitty cats with silly names, and he also likes cowcows!
"They seem really cool!" Elio's never gotten to spend too much time with kitty cats. His dad always said that having several cowcows was enough for the two of them. Still, Elio wishes he could play with all of the animals and that includes the traditional pets of kitty cats and puppy dogs. "Do you think they'd get along with my cowcows?"
"They're kind of picky with who they spend time with, but maybe."
"I think my cowcows would like them!"
Elio wishes they were normal friends and not Hunger Games friends. Then he wouldn't hear this clock ticking down in the back of his mind whenever Lucy says anything. His time with Dasani was always going to be limited and there will be even less time with Lucy.
Life is so hard, even when there are people and things that are meant to make it better.
Earlier today, he and Lucy were splashing each other with water from this waterhole fountain thing, and Elio forgot this was the Hunger Games at all. The roar of a cannon was quick to remind him. Whenever cannon's sound, Elio's head gets filled to the brim with questions. Who was it and was there a chance they deserved it? He wishes he could say that nobody deserves to die, but the world isn't fair like that.
"I have to admit, Elio… Luna Moona—"
"Twoona. Her full name is Luna Moona Twoona."
"Right. She's the first cow I ever met!"
"Really?" Makes sense though. District Twelve probably doesn't have a lot of cowcows now that Elio thinks about it. "You're so nice to Luna Moona Twoona though. I'd think you've spent time with lots of cowcows."
"Thank you so—"
An incredibly loud "ᗰOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" from the cowcow in question cuts Lucy off.
"ᔕOᗰEᗷOᗪY'ᔕ ᑕOᗰIᑎG!" Luna Moona Twoona roars. "ᗯE ᑎEEᗪ TO ᗰᗩKE ᗩ ᑭᒪᗩᑎ!"
That's when Elio hears footsteps, and they get louder and louder, and then he hears a voice and it's practically screaming even louder than the cowcow!
•••
At first, Lucy thinks it's the voice he thought was his father's in his head that's coming toward him. It scares him, because he never told Elio about the whole "son of Satan but not really" thing because he didn't think Elio would like it very much.
The voice gets closer though, and Lucy can then make out what it's yelling.
"GODFREY! WHERE ARE YOU GODFREY!" Lucy hears over and over. He hunches in on himself and grabs Elio by the wrist.
"One of us needs to leave," Lucy says. "Or hide, or do something."
"Do you know who that is?" Elio asks. "Do you know what he's screaming about?"
Lucy has no idea, but he thinks that he's ready to face it. If it sounds like his "father," Lucy can pretend that it is. How grand would it be if he were to slay the thing that's kept him up night after night in torment? His mothers and their machinations can't control him if he does this.
"I don't, but you need to get out of here." Lucy pats Luna Moona Twoona on the back. "Have her take you somewhere far away from here. I'll find you soon, trust me."
"Are you sure?" Elio's voice shakes.
"GODFREY!"
"I'm sure. Just get on the cow, you're going to be fine."
"But are you going to be fine?"
"GODFREY!"
"I don't know, Elio. I have unfinished business here. Just leave while you still can. Let yourself be safe, please."
•••
There's very little that Elio understands.
Him and Lucy were just starting to bond. It was the wonderful start of what could be a wonderful friendship, but now Lucy's telling him to leave?
Is the voice shouting "GODFREY" somebody he secretly knows. What is he doing, and why does it seem like some kind of sacrifice.
Elio can't allow that. But at the same time, he doesn't want to die. He really really really doesn't want to die, and he's so so sure that he deserves to live. He's so so sure of it.
"I'm going to miss you," Elio says as Luna Moona Twoona starts picking up speed. "I'm really really really going to miss you."
But that doesn't matter. None of Elio's wishes matter here.
•••
Lucifer runs around the town, desperately in search of a heavy object. Maybe he should've taken the lasso off the cow's side, but he didn't, because what if there comes a time where Elio needs it?
He doesn't need to deal with this mysterious figure, somebody Lucy needs to kill if he wants to prove that the only person he ever needed to be worthy to was himself. He swore he wouldn't kill again, but something washed over him and it's impossible for him to control.
Elio doesn't need to see that. Worse, he doesn't need to be caught in the crossfire of whatever may happen in the coming seconds. Everything about Elio indicates that he's good — he's the best here, no ifs ands or buts. He deserves to be alive more than anybody, and Lucy doesn't know what he'd do if he let him somehow die.
As reformed as he may be, Lucy still killed Aleister's mentor a week ago. He still wreaked havoc on civilians in the Hob in the name of something that never even existed. It's wrong of him to say that he deserves to die, but compared to Elio, he definitely does.
(Lucy deserves so much more than death. He deserves to grow old and learn and right his wrongs back in Twelve and have his own kids and raise them better than his mothers raised him. He knows in his heart he'll never get any of those things.)
He finds a decent sized rock and picks it up. More footsteps, more of thevoice yelling "GODFREY" until the voice turns into a shadow and he can now see the Tribute that's running toward him.
Lucy squeezes his rock then smashes it against the other Tribute's temple once he comes close. Slightly defeated, he backs up and Lucy can fully take in who he is — the boy from one who did really well during training. His black hair is slick against his head with sweat, the bags under his eyes look like smudged makeup, and he doesn't even fully comprehend that he's beginning to bleed.
Again, Lucy strikes One with his rock, but this time he doesn't flinch at all.
Instead he growls, "Godfrey, I've finally come for you…"
It sounds like the sort of thing Lucy's once-father would've said, so menacing and callous. He refuses to let that get to his head — maybe if he takes out him, he'll be strong enough to take out Aleister and maybe Olathe. He doesn't want to, he knows he's not supposed to kill, but he wants to be safe.
"I don't know who Godfrey is but I'd appreciate if you shut the fuck up about him," Lucy says. He tries to hit One with the rock but this time he is grabbed by giant hands, all but crushing his wrists.
But, Lucy's still determined. He can be strong and brave. He knows that he can be strong and brave.
"It's going to be okay, Godfrey," One says. So much for listening to Lucy when he said to shut the fuck up. "It's just going to hurt a little, and then it's not going to hurt at all."
Lucy feels his feet be lifted off the ground so he starts kicking at the One boy's legs, only to feel a strong jolt and realize he's now on the ground.
His backside hurts, same with his legs, but Lucy tries to get up anyway. He'll slay the demons of this place, he knows he can do it.
"Godfrey, it's me. I'm your brother." One shoves Lucy down to the ground right as he's trying to get up. "I'll let you be free of this world. Just let you set me free."
"You're not setting me free of anything!" Lucy shouts.
He scrambles for his rock then strikes One right between the legs. Still, he doesn't move. Instead he lifts Lucy by the collar of his shirt and smiles a terrible smile.
"Let me go!" Lucy kicks him again and again and again.
One takes a sword strapped behind his back and points it between Lucy's eyes. He can feel the tiniest bit of blood pouring down his face and he starts feeling a bit lightheaded.
"Godfrey, please listen to me. Listen, and you'll be free."
The knife drags down Lucy's face as he kicks and then starts punching, mainly at One's hand so he can drop his sword and it won't hurt hurt hurt.
But no matter how much it does, Lucy can't let himself be afraid. If there's anything he's learned here it's that he's bigger than his demons.
•••
Elio collapses onto Luna Moona Twoona's back as soon as he hears the cannon as if he's the one who died. Shaking, he asks the animal, "Do you know who that was for?"
"ᗯᕼO ᗪO YOᑌ TᕼIᑎK IT ᗯᗩᔕ ᖴOᖇ?"
Deep inside, he already knows. If the person tracking him and Lucy down was just as violent as he sounded, his new almost-friend is probably done for. "I don't want to say it. Is there any way you can tell me? I know that you're not entirely a real cowcow so you probably have some sort of robot or something?"
"I TᕼIᑎK ᗯE ᗷOTᕼ KᑎOᗯ…" the cowcow responds. "I ᑕᗩᑎ'T ᔕᗩY ᗩᑎYTᕼIᑎG ᖴOᖇ ᔕᑌᖇE, ᗷᑌT YEᗩᕼ…"
Elio sighs and goes silent, letting the cowcow take him further away from the village and somewhere he doesn't quite recognize. With every passing minute, Elio wonders, why me? Why has he evaded death two days in a row now? Is there something that's protecting him and preventing him from being worse?
The cowcow eventually stops by a tower. "YOᑌ ᔕᕼOᑌᒪᗪ ᗷE ᔕᗩᖴE ᕼEᖇE."
"Why does it matter whether or not I'm safe?" He doesn't want to sound like he's complaining but he feels like he's repeating a cycle. First he makes a friend, then he's whisked away and the friend dies.
"ᗷEᑕᗩᑌᔕE, EᒪIO. YOᑌ'ᖇE TᕼE OᑎᒪY OᑎE ᕼEᖇE ᗯᕼO'ᔕ ᑕOᗰᑭᒪETEᒪY IᑎᑎOᑕEᑎT. YOᑌ'ᐯE ᗪOᑎE ᑎO ᕼᗩᖇᗰ, ᗩᑎᗪ IT'ᔕ ᑌᑎᖴᗩIᖇ ᖴOᖇ YOᑌ TO ᔕᑌᖴᖴEᖇ."
Elio sighs. Even if he's physically fine, why does it seem like he's still suffering? What does he need to do in order for this to end?
(He's so afraid of dying.)
Inn • 21:24
She hasn't been acting like much of a star lately. Really, Sapphira hasn't been acting like much of a star at all since these Games started. It's becoming embarrassing too, half the Tributes are dead and she hasn't killed a single one of them.
Well, two did die before she Games so she had no control in that, but still that's ten deaths she could've caused, but she didn't cause a single one.
(Sapphira's not supposed to have what she'd now consider bloodlust — that's not very ladylike of her. It's also just not a good thing to have in general. People aren't supposed to crave the murder of others.)
(But the Hunger Games don't count as "in general." If she wants to win, wants to be a star, a little bloodlust is kind of healthy.)
Alas, Charon does not seem to have been stricken by the same bug. In fact, she's been perfectly fine with lounging around this quaint little inn all day while Sapphira ran around like a rabid dog looking for something to do that'd prove she's worth keeping alive. Then again, this inn is really cute! It'd be the perfect movie set. Sapphira — can't blame Charon for wanting to enjoy it to their heart's content.
No. She needs to focus. She needs to do something. As nice as this place is, her mansion in Victors' Village will be ten times nicer. People will wait outside her door with cameras, demanding autographs, but first Sapphira needs to prove that she's somebody worth photographing.
"I'm going hunting," she announces, probably too enthusiastically.
She clicks her heels together, grabs her naginata, and smiles brighter than the stars she wishes to one day become. Charon on the other hand is incredibly occupied with the reclining massage chair in one of the rooms. Their whole day has been spent indulging in everything this place had to offer — she took a shower and painted her nails, all while Sapphira was up and moving.
Charon yawns. "Do we have to? This place is so nice and fancy. I could stay here forever!"
"I didn't say you have to," Sapphira clarifies. "But I personally will be going hunting and it's up to you to join me."
"This place is full of food though—" Charon bites their lip, cutting themself off. "You mean hunting for other Tributes, don't you?"
"When you say it like that, it sounds like a bad thing. I just fear that we're on borrowed time, darling."
"That's fair, yes." Charon cautiously nods, still refusing to get up from their chair. "I just… I don't know, Sapphira. I'm afraid of what'd happen if I went hunting with you."
"Hunting is scary, I totally understand. But, you did great in training. I know you can get a kill if I'm helping, or even without my help."
"I'm not interested…"
Oh that Charon; she can be so weird at times. The whole point of the Hunger Games is wanting to win, and the only way you win is by putting on a show. The only show you can put on here is one filled with blood and gore. Charon's a fellow performer, they should understand this better than anybody — at least the performance aspect. Sapphira keeps having to remind herself that Charon wasn't trained to kill people the way she was.
"Suit yourself then!"
Sapphira kicks one foot in the air and heads down the spiral staircase to the building's lobby. As she descends, she thinks about who's still alive, and who would be the best person to come across. For the most part, she likes her odds. The boys from Nine and Twelve died earlier today which means the remaining Tributes are the Eleven girl, the Ten boy, both from Seven, Six, and Five, Lorian, and Gremory.
He's probably who she should be most afraid of at this point. Even though they've never directly engaged in combat, he did well enough in training for Sapphira to have at least a few nerves. Not only that, he's quite literally the one person in this arena who's most concerned about her downfall in particular. So running into him would kind of be terrible, especially now that he's alone and he's always been scariest when there's nobody around.
Still, Sapphira tells herself she can't be afraid of him. Gremory's only as scary as Sapphira thinks he is, and she could always just… be less afraid of him. That's how fear works, right?
She just wishes there wasn't something stopping her from walking outside. Maybe if Charon was here, she'd feel more safe in the forest at night, but she already said she's not interested. Sapphira can't control other people no matter how badly she wishes she could be a puppet master.
When the door clicks open and she steps outside, immediately Sapphira thinks, I just made a horrible mistake. She tries to walk back inside but the handle won't budge. Right. The doors don't open from the outside at night. That's why her and Charon had to break in through the window. Of course, they patched up that window earlier today so nobody would get inside at night, which was kind of dumb in retrospect.
Sapphira didn't think she'd be going out at night though. She didn't think she'd feel this uncontrollable urge telling her, Do something! Be a star — do anything! If you want to win, prove it.
She has to be calm; there's no telling who could be nearby. She just… won't go too far from the inn to be safe.
But she doesn't have the chance to go far even a little bit before she comes face to face with what could only be considered a nightmare: Gremory Rossmani covered head to toe in blood, a gash in his head where one eye should be and bite marks all over his neck and arms.
"Sapphira. Fancy running into you here," he says, perfectly calm.
She raises her spear when Gremory twitches, struggling to pick up his sword with a hand Sapphira realizes has only four fingers.
Be a star, she reminds herself. If anybody can do this, it's her. She may have had some good times with Gremory, but they're long over now. Her future is dangling right in front of her and all she needs to do is reach out and grab it.
A large object on a parachute with the number '1' on it falls from the sky and hits Gremory in the head before she can make her first move.
14th: Aleister Darski, District Nine. Killed by Olathe Whitethorn.
13th: Lucifer Deathrage, District Twelve. Killed by Gremory Rossmani.
Unbecoming - STARSET
Yeah ummm… we're at the point in the SYOT where submitted Tributes die when they are killed. I am a bit distraught, as can be expected when I waited close to two years to kill these guys.
Void, thank you so much for Aleister. When I got his form, I instantly knew exactly what I was doing with him, more so than any kid in this fic. He was objectively a really bad person, as is the case with many people in this Quell, but he was so pathetic at times his crimes flew under the radar when I was writing him. That's not a bad thing at all, he was a super fun character to explore and I hope you're satisfied with his arc. Thank you to Lucy's submitter as well. He was an absolute darling (and there was never an iteration of this fic where he didn't come in 13th because it just makes sense for him) and I loved fixing him and turning him into a surprisingly normal kid. I got his voice immediately, and was really looking forward to writing his journey as he eventually decided to fight against his demons. As you can see, he did quite a number on Gremory and well, I didn't want to show Lucy's death completely on screen for reasons.
Next chapter is an interlude because there's several things that need to be discussed including, but not limited to, why Elio seems to have been given immunity from the Games, what the fuck happened to poor Lucy, what hit Gremory in the head, and can Coriolanus stop himself from killing his Head Gamemakers and himself.
Q: What was in your Spotify playlist in a bottle?
It feels really great to be back on a regular updating schedule so hopefully this streak of mine continues. Thanks as always for the love and support.
Linds. Laugh. Love.