XXX. World Gone Blind
Kindness never looked good on me
Never been one to sit quietly
Too late now to see irony
In rivalry
Tower III • 13:33
The whole flaming tree monster situation from a few days ago suddenly doesn't seem so bad.
There were plenty of earthquakes back in Five, but none of them felt like the ground around them were tearing at the seams, none of them felt like this. Instinctively, Melchior grabs for Thana, wraps their fingers around her wrist like she's his lifeline, but it doesn't help.
Just thirty-seconds ago they were talking about their plans, leaving this tower so they can find other Tributes and delay the inevitable until the very end. Now Melchior fears the end is coming before they even got the chance to fully conceptualize it.
It's like they're in a suction cup, collapsing further and further down while they cover their face with their hands in hopes the rocks don't crush them into a pulp.
Again, Melchior is forced to wonder, is this what dying feels like? Again, they decide it can't be.
"Thana!" The shriek that escapes their throat is shrill, grating to even their ears.
They hear a muffled sound, sort of sounds like their name, but they're not sure how far away it is. The only thing they are sure of is that they're falling further and further and they can't see a thing nor do they know if there's a thing to see at all.
But Melchior's heart is still beating, they can hear it. For now, that's all that matters.
Forest Surrounding Tower I • 13:57
Life would be far more convenient for Olathe if the mutt he killed a few hours ago was actually dead. Alas, it is not.
He's sitting by the shallow pond still, his head resting on his hand, wondering what his next move should be in these Games when the thing comes back to life.
"The fuck," Olathe mumbles as it seems to stitch itself back together, clambering up from the ground. Hurriedly, he grabs one of the nice new swords and sighs. I guess I'm doing this again — when has he ever been able to catch a break.
He rises to his feet and bends his knees like an attack dog ready to pounce. Once the creature's fully reanimated, still with that stupid hole in its torso. Olathe tackles it to the ground.
This time, it's far more vicious. It's holding a knife Olathe left in the pond and it tries to tear through the back of his chest-plate, thrashing with jagged motions.
It's decidedly trying to kill him, which is terribly stupid considering Olathe's armor, but he supposes mutts have never been known for their intelligence.
This time, Olathe doesn't opt for a simple stab to the neck — that was clearly not affective the last time. Instead, he positions his sword sideways over the creature's throat, going back and forth with a sawing motion — still surprised when no blood spurts at his face — until wires expose themselves and he can tear the head from the body.
Of course it's a fucking robot. The Capitol's never been capable of creating life. It's never been capable of producing true beauty — so why start now?
He smashes on the thing for good measure, hopefully it's broken enough now that the Gamemakers can't bring it back on a whim, when he notices a throbbing pain beginning to consume him.
The creature might not have been able to stab Olathe in the back, but it still lodged a knife in the soft spot connecting his head to his neck.
•••
"You hear that?" The sound of a heavy objects hitting the ground cuts through the afternoon wind. Even if it's not another Tribute, it's something. The way Sapphira killed Gremory was hardly a show — it didn't last long enough to be one.
If Sapphira really wants to be a star, she needs to entertain with each of her actions, especially her kills. Even if the Capitolites were relieved to see Gremory gone, that's not the best she can give them.
Charon nods. "Another Tribute probably."
"I hope so." Sapphira smiles with all her teeth. She knows there's something about her that seems sinister — Gremory's blood still painting her face like she's a doll — but this is what people want to see. It has to be what people want to see.
"Don't diddly-daddle then," Sapphira says. "Let's go after them!"
Charon's the one who's holding their bag — she insisted on it — so naturally that slows her down. Sapphira on the other hand is quick on her feet, sprinting until she sees a boy with long hair perched on the ground near a pond. There's a small blood trail coming from his head, but beyond that he seems untouched. He mainly seems confused.
But he also looks ready to fight, as is apparent when Sapphira gets close enough that he can see her. He doesn't say a word to her — works for me — and just picks up two ornate swords.
Sapphira swirls her naginata with her left hand then grabs onto it with her right as the boy stands up. He attempts a swing with one of the swords, but Sapphira hops back and blocks it.
Sure, she could've used the giant hammer that killed Gremory for this — it's now strapped to Charon's back — but the Capitol's already seen her kill with that. Again, she needs to entertain.
Entertain she does when she lunges forward and spins her blade so that it collides with both the boy's swords. Still, he looks unfazed — a worthy opponent, huh?
But still, Sapphira's not going to let him win. He crosses the sword together and tries to hit Sapphira in the chest, the sound of clashing metal grating Sapphira's ears as the weapons collide with her armor.
He seems far too confident in his current attire which makes Sapphira laugh. If he really is wearing gold, it's malleable and not going to last long in a fight.
Realizing he can't push through her chest-plate, the boy tries to aim for her cheeks. Sapphira feels a blade cut through her cheek, but it hardly hurts. Actually it doesn't hurt at all, and she doesn't even think she's bleeding.
She twirls her spear so it lands underneath the boy's armpit. She uses another hand to add force and hears the fabric of his shirt start tearing.
This angers him s much as it pleases Sapphira. He's much taller than her, which he uses to his advantage when he aims his leg toward Sapphira's stomach. Even if it doesn't hurt because of the armor, it's enough force to send her backwards. She puts her hands to her sides in an attempt to brace her fall, but she doesn't even have to.
"You're okay." She hears Charon's voice as she falls back into their arms. "I'm here — are you having trouble?"
"Why would I be having trouble." Sapphira doesn't mean to sound like a bitch but doesn't mind that she does anyway. "You go and attack him too."
She can't help but wonder if what Gremory said about Charon was true, that she can kill and has done it time and time again. Sapphira's not sure if she wants him to be right either, allying with a serial killer is obviously not great for her safety, unless of course she can utilize her like another fancy weapon.
Charon hesitates a bit, then grabs one of the knives and throws it at the boy's head. It punctures through his cheek leaving a splatter of blood and Charon doesn't even seem surprised by this. Sapphira did watch as they threw knives during training, maybe she should've questioned how they got so good.
The boy scoffs at Charon's presence as he dislodges the knife from his cheek, a thick glob of blood splattering onto the ground. He then regains his footing and extends a sword in Charon's direction.
"You take his left and I'll get the right," Sapphira says.
Two against one should make this fight easier as long as Sapphira doesn't let Charon outshine her. Try as she might, she's not the real star here — Sapphira can't let her be.
As the boy tries to stab Charon though, they kneel to the ground and open her mouth wide. While the boy tries to jut a sword through his mouth, his other side is left completely open. Sapphira readies her weapon but still can't help but watch what Charon's doing.
The boy's sword furthers itself in Charon's mouth, but she doesn't seem injured or bothered at all. Instead, it appears as if she's swallowing the blade, and she doesn't mind it at all.
Ugh — but Sapphira knows she has better things to do then pay attention to somebody trying to steal her spotlight. Even if it's impractical, she spins her naginata under her head in a dramatic motion then lets it fly into the boy's cheek, right below where Charon hit him. His blood clots in thick globs and pours onto Sapphira's weapon, which admittedly feels a bit satisfactory.
The boy is obviously more concerned with Charon's feat and stumbles backward as she rips the sword from his hands then spits it back up her throat and bows like a ringmaster.
"What the hell was that," the boy asks, clearly shellshocked. Funny, because Sapphira's wondering the same thing.
Charon just smirks. "It's an old trick from the circus. You wouldn't get it."
Right. She belonged to a circus back in Eight. That's why she knows how to put on a show. Still, if she can't let Sapphira play the starring role, they're no good.
"You finish him," Charon says, extending his blade. "Ladies dine first."
As the boy hunches over to inspect his cheek, he juts his other sword at Charon's shoulder. A decent bit of blood starts to pour, but that would prevent Sapphira from being the star she knows she's meant to be — she can take care of her ally later.
She spins her naginata and thrashes it under the Boy's left armpit, twisting it inside him until he leaks with crimson. The boy uses his weapon to cut through Sapphira's thigh, leaving only a small tear in her pants.
He raises his hands, probably wanting to push her over again, but he crumples instead, bending over and applying pressure to his armpit.
Sapphira swings for his knee and slashes through the fabric. Stars once again are in her eyes as she kicks one of his knees and forces him to fall to the ground, his hair glazing the pond.
"A shame," Sapphira says as she again spins her spear above her head once more. "You really are a gorgeous one, aren't you."
The boy grabs for Sapphira's ankle, but she stabs it with her spear before he can even try.
"And I bet you put on a nice good show considering the armor." To that he growls.
"But there can only be one star in this arena and judging by the looks of things, it's clearly not you."
•••
He feels like a little kid again, like he's cowering in the corner and closing his eyes so he doesn't see the bullets hit his parents skulls.
This time though, Olathe can't close his eyes. Doing so would deny him of one last glimpse of the world around him, even if what he's seeing isn't particularly pleasant.
The girl — he thinks she's from One since she's with the Tribute from Eight — looks scarier than anything he's ever seen, blood dripping down her face and the furry of a thousand Peacekeepers in her eyes. A part of him wonders if this is what he deserves.
(The rest of him knows.)
As her blade cuts through his neck, Olathe cranes his head to the side. His last sight can still be beautiful and oh how it is. When he squints he can see the Hissing Woods of Seven, he can see his home.
It may have been his cage from time to time, but it sure was a pretty one. Even if Olathe was never truly beautiful himself, his soul stained by bloodlust and atrocities, his home was and always will be.
So when he closes his eyes, he pretends he's there, only this time his parents are by his side and he calls out to them, "Mother, Father… was it worth it? Did I do it?"
He reaches out his hand but his mother denies it and scowls while his father merely crosses his arms. Olathe feels himself sinking into some sort of abyss, the world around him getting darker and darker until there's just a red aura that consumes him whole.
A mirror appears and shows him the face of a disfigured boy, stripped of his skin and one eye permanently shut. This is who Olathe Whitethorn's always been.
In every universe he's ugly, and it's nobody's fault but his own.
Tower III • 16:43
It's been a few hours since the fall and even though she hasn't heard a word, Thana knows that her Melchior is still alive. Yes, there was a canon a bit over half an hour after the tower collapsed, but it wasn't for them, it can't be. After all, they're immortal.
Her own fall didn't treat her too kindly. She's been cradling her arm like it's a baby for the past however many hours but it still hurts more than a thousand flames. It's begun to bruise as well so it's probably broken.
But that's fine. It has to be fine so it will be fine.
Even through her pain, she shouts their name over and over again — "Melchior! Melchior!" — hoping he can somehow hear her. Every time she does, she sees some movement in the rocks so it has to be them. That, or Thana's just seeing things which wouldn't be too surprising.
Because she can't remember the last time she's been alone, especially now that she's realized she doesn't want to be alone. Being with Melchior is just as good as being alone, even when they aren't talking, his presence makes Thana feel safe.
(People always leave regardless of how she feels. First was her own mother, then everybody else at school, then Sage. Even if Melchior's immortal, something could still force him to leave.)
(If that happened, she wouldn't know what to do with herself.)
She remembers when fire used to make her feel safe instead of lightning. As much as Thana misses her beloved infernos, she finds that she doesn't need them so much when she's with him.
Carefully, she pushes rocks out of the way, hoping that one of them will uncover who she's looking for. Just because her arm hurts and she can feel more bruises all over with every slight movement, she needs to find them. She has no other choice.
As she gets toward the center of the pile, she hears the sound of breathing. Or again, she could be hallucinating it. Nothing seemed real without fire and now now even less feels real without Melchior.
But if Thana doesn't believe herself, who's going to believe her. Certainly not Melchior considering she has no idea where they are still.
(She can't help but wonder if he wasn't immortal after all. Even if Thana's head has always denied logic and replaced it with fantasies, she has to start rationalizing things eventually. As much as she wishes otherwise and as much as she tries to believe, immortality can't possibly be real in a country as screwed as Panem.)
Upon moving a heavier rock, Thana hears a noise that she knows she's not hallucinating. It's her name and it's coming from the lips that have always said it most passionately.
"Thana, oh Thana… Thana banana!"
Seriously, Thana would not hallucinate them calling her the stupid nickname that only feels right when it's coming from them.
She pushes more stones aside as the shouting gets louder and when she finally uncovers a hand with a fire tattoo, she can't help it but burst into tears.
Thana grabs the hand — if she has it her way she'll never let it go — and uncovers more of the rubble. The hand turns into an arm, turns into a torso, turns into the face that will always bring her comfort. Even if it's covered in cuts and bruises in addition to his signature scar, she'd recognize it anywhere.
"Dude…" Melchior says, their voice trembling. "That was so fucked up."
•••
Another brush with death, another seed of doubt in Melchior's mind.
How much longer until all of this ends? How much longer until they drop their guard and Thana sees them as the mortal they always were.
Even if she wouldn't be mad at them, she'd be mad at the situation. Every cannon is an indicator they're getting closer to the end. There's only seven left until it's just the two of them left. They could easily kill — cut down the numbers to bring them closer to the inevitable — but that won't help in the slightest. Even if them and Thana do nothing, the clock will continue to count down. Melchior can't possibly bend time.
But there is something else they can do…
They don't know much about the Games but they know just enough to know about arenas. A few years ago, a Tribute got close to the end of the arena where there was a forcefield. They only experienced a small shock, nothing deadly, and then the cameras quickly cut away. From that brief incident though, Melchior came to a conclusion, arenas have another exit besides the hovercraft when one becomes a victor.
He feels like an idiot for not thinking of this sooner. Granted a lot of it was because they were convinced they're immortal and that'd somehow make things easier in the end, that it'd somehow make it so Thana and them can both live. They should've considered this other way sooner, would've saved them a lot of grief.
The only question now is how they destroy the forcefield. Luckily them and Thana have always been good with destruction.
"I'm just glad you're okay," Thana says as she brushes the rubble of their face. "I was so worried."
"I'm sorry you were worried," they reply, and they can't even conceptualize how much more worried she'd be if she didn't entirely believe they're immortal. "You know that I never want to worry you."
"But sometimes things happen and we can't control them."
"Precisely, and I'm starting to think the Gamemakers wanted us out of that tower one way or another."
Thana shudders. "Do you think they want us dead?"
"Probably…" Melchior takes a deep breath and rises to their feet, every inch of them reeking with pain they didn't think was previously possible. "But what if I told you there's another way?"
"That has me intrigued." But they can tell she's still worried. They have a pretty accurate read on her emotions lately — must be a sign of how well they trust each other or something like that.
(Yet Thana didn't believe Melchior when they said they're not immortal, hence why he's currently in this state.)
(It's fine, Melchior tells themself. If things go right, she won't have to know at all.)
"So!" They clap their hands in enthusiasm, then whisper so the Gamemakers hopefully don't hear. "First order of business is we explore this rubble a bit more. I think there's something in here that could be of use for us."
Without hesitation, Thana pulls back some more of the rocks. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"A bomb," Melchior whispers, more quiet than ever before. "Not something homemade but like a real proper bomb."
"So we're killing somebody?"
"Even better."
One of the most fucked up things about Thana is how little she hesitates when faced with the prospect of murder. Yet at the same time, she doesn't have any real bloodlust — she sees killing as a means to an end and she's willing to fight for that end. It's also one of Melchior's favorite things about her.
"What are you planning then?"
Melchior sighs. If he tells her, there's no going back. At the same time, this is their only option. "You don't want to be in this arena anymore, right?"
"Absolutely not." Thana shakes like a scared little kid, nothing like the brave girl Melchior's known her as. That's how they know this is serious. "I just don't know what we can do. If your immortal that just means you'll have to win and I can't—"
They lean in for a hug as tears dwell in her eyes and she rests her head on their shoulder. It's nice. It's what life could be if their plan is successful.
"You don't have to worry about that," Melchior whispers in her ear. "I'm going to get both of us out of here, I promise."
She lets go and asks, "how?"
"That's what the bomb is for."
"I still don't get it."
"Have you ever watched the Games before?"
"No I can't say I've ever particularly given a fuck." Thana chuckles a bit. "My guardian always had them on but I just went in my room to do art and ignore her."
He's wanted to hear more about this guardian of hers for a while — she's always sad when she brings her up. Luckily they'll have decades upon decades of sharing stories once they're free.
"Okay well there's a forcefield at the end of the arena," Melchior tells her. "It's what separates it from the rest of the world."
"I think I'm following then…"
"Great. So what do you think I'm trying to do?"
"You're going to blow it up, aren't you?"
"No, Thana." He grabs her hand and places it over her chest. "We're going to blow it up."
One last act of destruction before the world becomes theirs, a swan song to all the havoc they've caused side by side.
And then they'll be free.
Town Square • 18:29
Sapphira seems way calmer now — Charon sees that as an absolute win.
In fact, she seems so calm, they wouldn't think that she was capable of shit-talking the boy from earlier while fighting him and ultimately leading to his demise. The only thing that indicates Sapphira's capability to inflict such cruel violence is the blood painting her face like she's a doll.
The two of them stumbled upon a town which was nice, and said town had a swanky tavern they've now found themselves nestled in. There's a working sink that Charon was expecting Sapphira to use to wash her face, but she's clearly unbothered by all the blood since she hasn't.
Charon on the other hand was quite bothered by the boy's slash to her shoulder. It doesn't necessarily hurt, but it's still bleeding a decent amount despite Sapphira's makeshift bandaging.
(They wish that was the only blood they were concerned with, but they're still hyperaware of their knife and how it flew toward the boy. Charon's distance might have meant they personally weren't sprayed with blood, but it's metaphorically on their hands regardless.)
(Charon promised he wouldn't fall down this rabbit hole again. They promised to themself — to Dice — that this wouldn't continue. They said Clarion was the last time and yet aiding in the boy's death was so so easy. Killing is an old lovers of theirs and it's terribly easy to come back for more when desperate.)
Sapphira has also been on the quieter side, even if Charon's terribly worried about what's going on behind her eyes. He doesn't particularly want to know either.
(The worst thing is, he has no reason to fault her for what she's done and he doesn't.)
"You good?" Charon finally asks, in part because they're really damn bored.
Sapphira blinks once, twice. "I'm fine dahling, why?"
"You've just been a very different person in the past twenty-four hours — that's all. Did something bother you?"
"I mean I'd consider the Hunger Games a bothersome yet worthwhile situation so yes."
"Beyond that," Charon pushes. "You kind of went bonkers on Gremory and then hardly showed remorse when you ran into the boy earlier."
"Again Charon, these are the Games. I'm just doing what I'm supposed to be doing."
They want to ask why? Why play games and opt for violence? But they'd be the biggest hypocrite in the world if they did.
"Yes, but something snapped in you earlier today. I don't want you to burn out, that's all."
"I won't." Sapphira crosses her arms and leans over the tavern bar. "I didn't realize you were worried for me."
"You're my ally!" Charon exclaims. "Of course I'm worried for you, I just want the best for you."
Just like that, Sapphira's face softens and she's more akin to the girl Charon's known these past two weeks. She mumbles, "you know, Gremory used to say the same thing."
"That he's worried?"
Sapphira nods. "And that he wants the best for me."
"You trusted him, didn't you?"
"Until I didn't, yes."
"It feels wrong of me to ask you this... but..."
"But what?"
Charon takes a deep breath, already regretting what they're going to say. "What even happened with the two of you? I know you knew him back in One and—"
"I'll tell you under one condition," Sapphira cuts her off. "Gremory told me that you've killed people."
He gulps. "That'd be true…"
"So tell me about that first. I'll try to refrain my judgement until the end, and then I'll tell you a bit more about Gremory."
What does Sapphira even mean by refraining her judgement? Charon already knows she's going to judge considering they sound like they're straight out of a horror movie. But she doesn't exactly have anything to lose so, inspire of herself, Charon shares anyway.
"You know how I was in a circus, right?"
"Was it a front for a mafia?" Sapphira guesses.
Charon shakes his head. "Don't ask any questions until the end… for both of our sakes."
"Alright then carry on." The way she looks at him is captivating. She looks at Charon like he's some sort of a star, and truth be told, they missed these sorts of looks of adoration.
"The Circus of the Divine… it was a lovely lovely place. The closest thing I've had to a family — no they were my family. There was Satara, she was in charge of the place, and then there was Dice—"
"You say his name a lot in your sleep," Sapphira interrupts.
Embarrassing yet expected. "Do I?"
She nods.
"I loved him and I didn't know what to do about it. We were cut from very different cloths. As you know, I was born with hardly a pot to piss in, and then Dice's family was really incredibly wealthy. They did something important for the government — I never understood it — but they were horrible people. So one day, Dice packed his shit in a bag and ran away. He told me that he wasn't sure where he was going, but that if he hadn't run into me, he probably would've thrown himself of a bridge or ran into traffic.
"But I took him home. I took him to the circus where he was cared for. He had a natural talent for aerial arts and that's part of the reason I loved him. Or maybe love is the wrong word, but I was infatuated. And then I didn't know what to do about it, so I ruined everything.
"I wasn't meant to be loved — my mother told me as such. I was meant to entertain, to be a spectacle, and being with Dice was hardly a performance. Especially not when fans of the circus worshipped me. They called me Trick — the amazing Trick — and I had a promise to uphold, a show to put on for them. But then I got greedy. All the love the audiences gave me was no longer enough. Dice and I felt stale to me. He loved me so much, and for all that I was, but it just wasn't enough. Because I didn't know what I did to deserve it. I didn't know there was a part of me that was worth loving like that. Hell, I don't even know what that part is now. After a life of overwhelming highs and lows, stability felt wrong.
"And then I cheated. And it's horrible of me, but I'd see the men in the audience and how much they loved Trick, and it made me want to go home with them. Again, Dice loved Charon, and I still don't know who "Charon" is. But I know exactly who Trick is. And when I slept with them, I got these horrible horrible urges that I couldn't keep at bay. I wanted power over them and that led me to kill them — I don't even know why I did it to them. Probably started with my mother actually. She treated me like shit and when I was a kid and then I killed her to set myself free.
"But I could never truly be free. My urges were too strong and I just had to keep the charade going. I wanted so badly just to be seen. It was only a matter of time before Dice found out. And then he tried to kill him too, but I panicked and he tried to kill me instead yet he couldn't, because despite everything, there was still a part of him who loved me. Still, he called me out on the all the murders, sent me to prison, and everyone who knew voted me into this place.
So now here I am, sitting on a barstool with a fucked up shoulder, praying to the universe that the starlet in front of me doesn't finish Dice's dirty work."
Sapphira's brows furrow and Charon braces for impact. Any reasonable person would kill him, and lord knows Charon would deserve it. He's had enough of the world, enough of the suffering that they've inflicted on the world and ready to suffer themself. Hell knows they already have, and that's more than fine.
But Sapphira doesn't raise her weapon. She doesn't attack. Instead, her eyes widen and her expression softens. She rests her head on the countertop and sighs.
"Isn't it incredible how much people will do just to be seen."
And then she walks around the counter and wraps Charon in a hug because she understands.
Cabin D • 20:23
Gremory's face in the sky was her final breaking point.
For so long, Moxie had kept parts of herself contained, played it safe so she wouldn't get herself hurt, but that all ends now. She was supposed to be the person who killed him. He messed with her, wounded her, and she was supposed to deliver his retribution.
She would've too if not for Ripley keeping her at bay. Moxie wanted to get his ass yesterday and even if she was still in a bit of pain, she knew she could power through. Some nurse Ripley is for taking so long to fix her and then not even letting her do as she so pleases.
This whole thing is pathetic and Moxie Adegoke doesn't do pathetic. She's a prowler, a lion, a predator, and she never should've let that side of her rest. Gremory was supposed to be her prey, and she doesn't take lightly to others taking what's hers.
Moxie never needed Ripley — she's always been able to take care of herself. She never needed her mother, never needed Cache.
(How dare he try to restrain her? How dare he push her to the ground and leave a crack in her skull? How dare her fucking mother take his side when all was said and done?)
(Only one Adegoke can be the crown that ascends to the mountain and fucks sake is it going to be her.)
If only she'd come to her senses sooner.
She snaps forward from the cabin's patio prompting Ripley to jump like a wet chihuahua.
"M-moxie?" They yap.
Dear lord are they pathetic. Moxie told herself she'd use them until the time was right and the time certainly is right now.
So, she grabs a knife from her pocket, slides over to where Ripley's sitting, and stabs them right in the heart.
She wasn't expecting them to have their own knife and sink it into her shoulder.
•••
Ripley saw this coming from a mile away. Just this morning she finally came to her senses — there's only one way out of this and it's by killing Moxie while she's already injured. They wish they did it sooner.
They jerk back before Moxie's knife punctures them too deep, applying more pressure with their own weapon on her shoulder. Naturally, Moxie also jerks away, then rises to her feet.
Ripley does the same. She would've preferred if this didn't result in a fight, but she still knew there was a chance of one. As tall as Ripley is, she lacks Moxie's strength. She was never going to go down easy.
"Really?" Moxie grunts. "Are you actually trying to do this right now?" She swings at Ripley with her free hand, reaches for the throat but misses it by a centimeter. "Do you have any idea how dumb you're being?"
"I'm not dumb—" Ripley raises her leg and thrusts it at Moxie's kneecap. "I'm trying to win."
"By allying with me, you already lost days ago."
Maybe that's so, but Ripley can hardly blame herself. Even with the gnarly scar on Moxie's forehead and her resting bitch face, Ripley saw potential in her. They saw an opportunity to help.
They should've realized sooner — the only one they need to help is herself.
Ripley stays silent, vaguely curious how much arrogant nonsense Moxie is capable of spitting out before she contradicts every last bit of her personality.
They try for the other knee this time but they're not strong enough. That's not going to make them give up, they can still be smart about this somehow. So she lunges forward with her knife again, licking her lips in satisfaction when she hits the spot in Moxie's stomach that was previously injured.
Moxie curls into herself and for a second Ripley thinks she has her beat. Then Moxie raises her head and stares directly into Ripley's soul. No longer does she have the eyes of a living breathing human. She has the eyes of a beast and Ripley's on the verge of becoming her prey.
Still, they won't allow it.
•••
Honestly, good on Ripley for fighting back. Moxie didn't think they had it in them. Also a smart move for them to go for where Moxie was already injured.
Unfortunately for them though, smart moves can't defeat the prowler herself.
With Ripley focus on Moxie's stomach, she uses it as a chance to jab her knife at their left ribs. They murmur, "…fucks sake" as if that'll somehow help them feel better.
It won't, and neither will screaming when Moxie twists her weapon deep into Ripley's flesh, a manic grin forming on her face when blood begins to seep from the wound.
"I'm sure you think I'm shocked by this betrayal," she says, continuing to force Ripley's bleeding. "I always knew there was something fucked up about you."
Ripley twists her free hand on Moxies blade and dislodges it, her eyes wide, but not necessarily out of shock.
"You think I have a problem?" Ripley screams, her face turning red. "It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair."
She reaches for Moxie's neck and drags her nails down her throat.
"It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair."
Moxie backs away. "What do you even mean?"
"It's not fair." This time Ripley roars. "It's not fair that I'm here. It's not fair. Not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair."
"The Hunger Games aren't fair, yes."
Moxie finds another place to stab her, this time going for her right shoulder.
"That's not fair. Not fair not fair not fair. What did I do wrong? Tell me, what did I do wrong?
•••
This isn't fair.
Not fair. Not fair. Notfairnotfairnotfair.
Ripley shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be here.
Shouldn't be here shouldn't be here shouldn't be here.
It's not fair.
Jeneva didn't deserve it but it's fine. It's fine she killed her — that bitch deserved to die. Die for what she did and how she used Ripley. Now Moxie deserves to die.
Everyone here deserves to die.
(Somebody forgive her. Somebody forgive her.)
It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair not fair not fair.
What did she do wrong? Is there a problem?
If there's a problem, Ripley's a nurse.
A nurse solves problems. Ripley can solve any problems, unless it involves dying.
Notfairnotfairnotfair.
She thrashes at Moxie, screams in her face, but none of her words make any sense. And Moxie looks the slightest bit afraid which is good because Ripley is going to kill her.
It's not fair.
Not fair.
But who cares? Who cares about it? Nobody cares.
She jabs her knife into Moxie's stomach again. She bleeds, good good good good good. Good. Good. Red blood is good. good.
Moxie hisses. Good.
Good good.
It's not fair.
Everything hurts.
There's blood and it's all over Ripley which isn't fair. It's not fair — none of it is fair.
•••
At this point, Ripley's more annoying than scary.
The more Moxie stabs her, the louder she gets and the less sense she makes. Yeah, Moxie's bleeding a bit herself, but it's nothing compared to the bloodstained sycophant in front of her with wounds by her temples, down her arms, in her stomach, down her legs.
She looks like she's been hunted like an animal. Is that what Ripley was this entire time?
Yes, Moxie decides.
"Notfairnotfairnotfair." For somebody drenched head to toe in her own blood, Ripley sure can talk a lot. In fact, this is probably the most Moxie's heard her speak these whole two weeks.
She was right, this bitch is truly fucked in the head.
(Maybe Moxie is also fucked in the head. She's the one who killed her step-father at the age of fourteen and didn't look back. She's the one who fought and manipulated and lied and cheated. And she never gave a fuck about any of it since it meant winning, and oh how Moxie loves to win.)
Fucks sake, everything would be easier if Ripley just laid down and died — she's wasting Moxie's stamina at this point, though maybe that's her goal. At the same time, Moxie doesn't think Ripley is capable of reasoning in her current wretched state.
Their stabs are also getting stronger, tearing through Moxie's thighs and her chest even though she refuses to let this hurt. She's not going to die, she knows that for a fact, so she just needs to finish this.
Trying her best not to slip on the bloodied wooden planks, Moxie reaches for the stairway on the patio. She kicks at the arm rail until a chunk of wood loosens itself. Firmly, she grips it in her hands.
She turns around and as expected, Ripley is right behind her, still bleeding and trying to fight and scream regardless.
Using all her strength, Moxie swings the makeshift bat backwards, then straight into Ripley's temple. They fall to the ground, yet their eyes still seem so alive and full of fear. Moxie doesn't even know what Ripley's scared of at this point — Moxie or themself.
But it doesn't matter.
Moxie swings at their temple again and again until a canon fires and she can finally breathe.
Her stomach hurts again, maybe even a bit more than it did last time, but that can't matter. She has a Games to win.
Based on the two parachutes that falls from the sky, other people agree.
The larger package has a thick wooden bat — way thicker than what she just made— with a spiked metal ball at the end. She unwraps the smaller one to reveal a plethora of bandages, some protein bars, and palm-sized drawstring pouch.
Inside is a tiny syringe, and Moxie knows exactly what it is.
She's seen its effects on people in Six. She's seen the lives that were ruined by it and the violence it's caused. Hell, Moxie's even bought it herself and given it to people in exchange for their secrets. Morphling is a dangerous dangerous thing.
But everything hurts and she's worried that if she sits down, she won't be able to get back up again. If she doesn't get up, she won't be able to win and Moxie wants more than anything to win. She fiddles with the syringe in between her fingers as if she didn't immediately make up her mind when she saw it.
Moxie uncaps the needle and pushes back her shirt to reveal a gnarly wound. All of Ripley's stitches and bandages have been cut through leaving only shredded skin and clumps of blood and pus.
With a sigh, she sinks the needle into her stomach and presses down on the syringe.
10th: Olathe Whitethorn, District Seven. Killed by Sapphira Starlett.
9th: Ripley Sabyn, District Five. Killed by Moxie Adegoke.
Vendetta – UNSECRET
youtu . be / y5PyIrdvPqI?si=20Mt71IsV-WH3ICJ
So I wasn't pleased with the pacing of this chapter and wound up rewriting a lot of it hence the delay but I still have the next two written. After this chapter there's only 3 until the finale so hopefully my goal of finishing everything May 25th is feasible. Will be traveling a lot in April but I always have a way of making things work, now don't I?
Now onto the fallen…
When I first saw Olathe's face claim my body had a visceral reaction and that stays the same when I look at him now, sue me. I love that he was aware of how hot he was as well, like yeah so true king. Him being the straight man to Aleister and Lucy during pre-Games was a blast and I had great fun writing him in that context but I knew that come arena I would need to explore some of his innate hypocrisies and it was really quite fun to strip things away until we could see that side of him. Genuinely though, I had a blast writing him. Dyl, thank you so much for Olathe – you know I'm always obsessed with your spawn and he was no exception. QOM, I am so fucking sorry.
In a lot of ways, Ripley grew on me. I obviously loved her from the beginning hence why I accepted her in the first place but like that love only intensified with every chapter. She truly just wanted to help since her parents were actually dogshit but at the same time they'd made a few mistakes all by herself and it was only a matter of time before they caught up with her, same goes with her paranoia. I know Moxie always called her a kicked puppy and honestly she was so right. But yeah, I loved watching them become more aware with every chapter. Phobie, thank you so much for her. What a lovely chew toy.
And then there were eight… which is still over half the POV cast. But as I said, only 4 Games chapters remain so lets just say there's blood on my hands. Thanks as always for the support, y'all are bussin.
Q: Turn your favorite character from your least favorite piece of media into a Tribute and tell me about them.
Linds. Laugh. Love.