Day One - June 15, 12:15
The Cornucopia
Something's wrong.
Zephyr's entire body goes cold as they hunch over Callum's fallen form, trying to process what happened. His eyes linger on Callum's panic-stricken features before skimming down to the knife planted in his back. This was the person they managed to get close to, managed to bond with, and now…
Now Zephyr is definitively the outlier in the alliance.
It doesn't quite make sense, but Zephyr knows they don't have all the pieces yet. That damn fog obscured so much of the bloodbath, and Zephyr himself got lost in it. The only tributes they ran into were the Nines, who were holding hands while fleeing. If Zephyr had gotten his hands on a weapon, maybe he could've done something about that, but instead, he had to let them pass by.
Useless. Without a direct tie to the Careers, and without a kill to prove his competence, what does Zephyr bring to the alliance at all? It hadn't occurred to them before that he'd need to do more than get a good score to stay in the alliance, but now, surrounded by allies that clearly have their hands bloody, it's all they can think about.
And… fuck. Zephyr can't quite say Callum was a friend, but maybe he was going to be. A whole realm of possibilities has been cut off, just like that. It's so jarring that Zephyr isn't sure the weight of Callum's death has sunk in yet, even though they heard the cannons a few moments ago.
He's also the only one that appears to be impacted by Callum's death at all. Nerissa and Saccharine are as impassive as ever, Theo is strangely impressed, and Thessaly just whistles and shakes her head. At least Ibai looks uncomfortable at the sight of a dead body. Zephyr can't exactly blame him, but while this is the one corpse whose identity they were all familiar with, there are certainly others that were more brutalized. Zephyr hopes Callum at least got off easy.
(Another look at Callum's face makes them doubt that's the case.)
"Wow," Theo marvels, tilting his head to the side as he surveys the scene. "A real murder mystery!"
"Someone's bold for killing him so early," Thessaly remarks. She drops into a crouch next to Zephyr and holds her fingers up like she's taking pictures of a crime scene. "But with all that fog, I'm guessing no one saw anything?"
One by one, the rest of the alliance shakes their heads. Zephyr digs his nails into his palms and pretends this is all fine, that they're okay with their allies being able to totally gloss over Callum's death like it doesn't matter. Like he didn't matter.
Nerissa's indifference is verging on boredom. "Well, let's narrow it down, then. Who all got a kill? Mine was Three."
"I got Lark - Twelve," Theo says.
Thessaly hums, looking at the bodies still scattered around the Cornucopia. She eventually points to one in a pink dress. "Mine's that one! What's pink? Ten?"
Nobody else speaks up. Evidently Ibai and Saccharine also went without a kill, which at least makes Zephyr feel better about his current status – though he doesn't like the way Saccharine clutches a bloodstained glove in one hand.
Theo taps his chin with a finger and begins pacing back and forth. "So that's half of them! If the other three kills don't belong to any of us, then we must figure out who among the outers is a threat. That'll give us enough direction to narrow down who could've killed Callum."
"The Eleven boy took down the Six girl," Nerissa says.
Theo blinks. "Why didn't you say that earlier?"
"We hadn't opened the discussion to kills outside our alliance yet."
"Very observant, Ner!" Thessaly sidles closer to the girl, who, for once, moves away from her advance. To her credit, Thessaly doesn't look as put out as Zephyr would've thought. "I couldn't see anything through that fog! It was hard enough to get my bearings."
Nodding sagely, Theo continues on. "In that case, we're down to two kills: Thyme and our very own Callum. No one saw anything?"
The resounding silence is answer enough.
"In that case, we'll move on to circumstantial evidence." Theo flicks his overcoat, and flecks of blood fly off. Zephyr isn't entirely sure what he's going on about until Theo points a finger at Saccharine. "If you didn't kill anyone, then where did the blood on your glove come from?"
Saccharine's eyes widen, as if surprised she's being addressed in the larger group. Come to think of it, Zephyr is also surprised – they're pretty sure he's hardly heard her speak at all.
"I get chronic nosebleeds," she explains, dabbing at her face with the glove again. Now that Zephyr squints at her, they do see blood still crusted on her face. "With the chaos of the bloodbath, I'm afraid it must've flared up again. I'm very sorry for my lack of usefulness at this time. I'll strive to make it up to you all in the future."
With that, she ducks her head and curtsies. Theo nods, pleased – by the explanation or the strange show of respect, Zephyr isn't sure.
"Ibai? Zephyr? Anything to contribute here?" Theo asks expectantly.
"No," Ibai mutters, avoiding eye contact with everyone. "I only made it to the Cornucopia as the bloodbath was ending."
"What held you up, then?" Theo grills, stepping closer.
Ibai's gaze flicks up to Theo's in surprise, and he backs away quickly. "Nothing, I just… got lost."
"The fog was very thick," Thessaly jumps in. "It was hard to navigate anywhere!"
The Four boy noticeably relaxes as Thessaly comes to his defense. Theo doesn't seem entirely sold on the idea, but with pushback from Thessaly, he backs off, turning instead to Zephyr.
"All I saw were the Nines." They sigh. "I hadn't gotten my hands on a viable weapon yet, so I couldn't do anything about it. From the looks of it, they didn't even get into a fight, much less kill anyone, so I doubt it's them."
For some reason, Theo takes offense to this explanation. He crosses his arms and glares off to the side. "Well, we should keep tabs on them anyway. I bet after all their antics in pregames, they have something up their sleeve."
Ibai looks thoroughly disturbed by this. "Besides kissing?"
"Something even worse," Theo insists.
Nerissa rolls her eyes. "So no one saw anything. What else do we have to go off of? Podium placements?"
"Aha!" Theo points another finger at Saccharine. "You were by him. Who else was?"
Right – there was time before the fog rolled in, when everyone was likely more focused on the Arena surrounding them than the tributes they'd seen for the past week. Zephyr themself was too caught up in the grandeur of the cityscape – or at least, what he could see from this distance.
"Well," Saccharine says slowly, "I remember being flanked by the girls from Seven and Eleven. Then it was the boy from Five, then Callum, and then… the boy from Eight?"
Theo snaps his fingers. "Svelte! He scored well; there's no way he didn't manage a kill. He's the perfect person to take out Callum."
Zephyr has to hold their tongue – Theo is right, in a sense, but he's jumping to conclusions. And it's not like Zephyr has any better ideas, but he can't voice them anyway. To loudly voice his disagreement with Theo might be the one move that damns him for good.
"There's still the matter of who killed Eleven," Nerissa reminds Theo, a shockingly helpful voice of reason. "And jumping to conclusions will narrow down your choices, yes, but it might not lead you to the answer you seek." She sighs and steps back. "I tire of this. I'm going to start digging through supplies."
She doesn't leave any room for argument. Theo frowns at her retreating form before getting back to business. "We need a place to start," he insists to the rest of them. And then he waits, like he wants them to agree.
And, well, if there's anyone Zephyr wants to stay on the good side of, it's Theo. The still-wet blood on his knuckles is proof of that.
"It's certainly better than nothing," Zephyr agrees. "Either way, he could be a strong contender, and taking him out early would serve us well in the long run."
"Makes enough sense to me," Thessaly chimes in.
Ibai, however, frowns. "I do not see the reasoning behind targeting any one individual. Isn't our goal to take out all of the other tributes?"
"Take out, yes, but we're also looking for answers. It's not like we have the time or reason to interrogate every tribute we come across," Theo argues.
Ibai nods sagely. "Thyme is no longer with us."
It takes a moment for the joke to sink in, but Thessaly starts giggling first. Saccharine politely hides her mouth behind her hand, which might mean that she's at least smiling. Theo laughs loudly and claps Ibai on the shoulder, which makes him jump.
Zephyr barely manages to look amused.
(It would be easier, they think, if Callum was still here. Then Zephyr wouldn't be so constantly aware of the stakes of these Games.)
As they turn to walk back to the Cornucopia, a silver parachute falls from the sky. Zephyr strains to read the number printed on the side, but Theo gets there first, snatching the package as soon as he can reach it. He gleefully rips it open, and Zephyr catches sight of a 2. Theo must've really put on an impressive show if he's got a sponsor gift for his efforts already.
But what Theo pulls out of the package doesn't exactly appear to be helpful. It's a weapon, yes, but the hilt is ornately laden with gems, and the blade itself is short and impossibly shiny. There's no way it could possibly be practical.
Theo is just as puzzled by the gift as the rest of them. He turns it between his hands, gently presses his finger against the blade, and holds it up to the light. None of these things reveal the secret to him.
"Nerissa!" he calls. When she looks over, he waves the knife in the air. "Is this meant for you?"
She approaches him and takes the knife before immediately making a face. "Certainly not. I think the only one flashy enough to match this weapon is you."
Strangely pleased by this, Theo accepts the knife back from her. He holds it up, but this time begins checking out his own reflection. He pays special attention to his eyebrow, and Zephyr is strangely relieved to see that most of the blood on his face is his own.
Zephyr sidles closer to Ibai and Thessaly. "I may be a novice, but I'm not sure that's the intended purpose of a knife."
Ibai blinks at them and then squints at Theo. "Not intended, but perhaps innovative. I am not sure he would be able to find such a properly reflective surface elsewhere."
"It definitely matches his whole vibe." Thessaly reaches up on her toes to rest her elbow on Ibai's shoulder. "Very chic."
"We should start looking through supplies," Ibai says. He actually looks over at Zephyr as he says 'we.' "I have not found a karambit yet."
"Is that the knife thing you use?" Zephyr inquires. "I've never seen anything like it."
A touch of pride flies across Ibai's face as he nods. "It was originally an agricultural tool, but I am fond of the weapon because it makes me near impossible to disarm."
"Professor Ibai is at it again," Thessaly teases. "Oh! You were going to teach me about port and starboard today."
Nodding, Ibai sets off for the side of the Cornucopia with the most unopened backpacks scattered around. Thessaly gleefully scampers after him, glued to his every word.
The sight makes him miss Callum. Sure, they weren't that close, not at all, but Zephyr wouldn't feel as isolated if Callum was still here.
(Now, all they can think about is the expression on Callum's face, and wonder what could've put it there.)
There's gotta be someone among his allies now that Zephyr can manage to form some sort of bond with. Or maybe he can make a kill to prove he's still worth keeping around.
Otherwise, their time might run out before the Games truly begin.
June 15, 12:48
Tree of Life
Sagan runs until she feels like she can't anymore. By the time she finally stops, her chest heaving from exhaustion, the Cornucopia is a faint pinprick in the distance.
It's not enough. Sagan knows it's not enough. But she's all alone, and her legs can't quite keep her up anymore, so she sinks to the ground behind a tree and hopes it'll be a decent hiding spot. She smooths her hands out on her terrible cream dress, hoping to get the sweat off, but nothing seems to work.
She hasn't left the park yet; it stretches on for longer than she originally thought. As her heart pounds rapidly in her chest, Sagan wonders when the Careers will come after her, when they'll spot her horrifically bright green corset from her poorly masked hiding spot and drag her out and turn her into one of the screaming tributes from the bloodbath.
Sagan can still hear them, their lost voices ringing in her ears. She's not sure if they'll ever go away.
In her haste to flee the Cornucopia, Sagan didn't grab a single item. It hits her now, when surely the chaos of the bloodbath is long over and the Careers have staked their claim on the cornucopia. Her boots might be comfy enough for her to run, but there's no chance of her getting her hands on even a single item and still managing to escape with her life.
Sniffling, Sagan tucks her knees into her chest. She misses her mother. She misses home. She misses the way things were. She'd give anything to have them back, to be far away from the cold reality of the Games. Every sound around Sagan feels amplified by a thousand, like a threat could be lurking behind each one. Wind rustles through the grass, a bird calls overhead, and in the distance she can hear something mechanic running – all of those things could merely be a distraction, hiding the footsteps of a tribute about to strike.
Sagan's overcome by the urge to turn and look, just to be safe, but she can't make herself. Living in ignorance is far better.
She tilts her head back and looks at the twisting branches of the tree above her. She's never seen one quite like this, so expansive and alive. Back in Three, most trees are on the smaller side, squashed between buildings, but this one is so big that the roots are creeping out of the ground. Moss drips from each branch, and the leaves are lively and green.
It's nothing like home, but it's… not awful. Sagan can almost forget about her circumstances, try to plan what she'd do if she really was home. Go to work, make dinner, wash the sheets- did she do that before she left? Will the task be far overdue by the time she returns?
(If she returns.)
"Sagan!"
She flinches at the sound of her own name, curling into herself even tighter. She'd just been starting to calm down, but now her breaths are coming faster again. The Games certainly aren't the sort of place where she wants to be recognized, much less called out.
"Sagan! Where are you?"
Oh. She recognizes this voice, actually. Though Sagan trembles as she looks around the trunk of the tree, she fully knows who will be on the other side.
Aleksei's face visibly brightens as he sees her. He's got two backpacks thrown over one shoulder, and he hardly seems out of breath at all. Sagan looks around him, trying to spot another tribute, but she sees nothing besides an endless expanse of green and the grey city beyond.
"We should go," she says abruptly, standing as soon as he arrives.
"Okay!" Aleksei's gaze flickers to the tree, and he places a hand against it, in awe. "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere you didn't start yelling in."
"Sorry! I didn't know how else to find you. That fog from the bloodbath was so confusing, but I met a very nice boy that let me grab these bags here, so it wasn't so bad! Until I realized I didn't know where you were, but I caught a glimpse of your corset after I left the fog, and then I just had to find your trail, and then when I lost it I still had to find you somehow, and this was the only way I knew! It wasn't that loud, and everyone else I saw headed a different way, so I think it'll be fine. We should still move, though."
Sagan blinks. She forgot how much he talks. "I'll take one of the bags," she says, extending her hand expectantly.
Aleksei happily passes one over, and they start moving. Sagan starts veering towards the cityscape, glad to leave the lovely park as long as the Careers are still in it. She didn't have much of a plan going into the Games except to meet the lofty goal of not dying, but getting as far away from the biggest threats as she can feels like a good place to start.
"Who was the nice boy?" Sagan asks, curious as to who would've just let Aleksei take supplies. Surely no one would do that without expecting something else in return.
"I dunno. I've seen him around, but I don't remember his name. I think he's from Four, because he was wearing a lot of blue!"
Sagan stops in her tracks. "You ran into a Career?"
Aleksei looks as if he hadn't thought about that before. "I mean, yeah, I guess! He was nice, though! He didn't even have a weapon. He just looked at me for a minute and then turned away."
Frowning to herself, Sagan wonders what that could possibly mean. Is this some sort of favor the Career intends to cash in later? Will he send his allies on their trail? Are they being led into some sort of trap?
"It'll be okay," Aleksei reassures her, his voice taking on a softer tone. "We got out, didn't we? And if we keep moving, we can find a really good place to hide! There's lots of buildings in the city!"
With a noncommittal hum, Sagan starts moving again. She doesn't like this, not at all, but Aleksei's right about one thing: they got out. They're still alive.
Sagan's just not sure how long that will last.
June 15, 13:12
Palm Court
"Shit," Bourbon gasps, when her ankle can't take it any longer. "Shit, Kodo, we have to stop here."
Kodo looks immensely grateful, considering the farther they've gone, the more she's had to lean on him for support. As soon as they stop moving, he backs away like he can't stand to touch her, and pretends it's because he's scouting the area for a place to hide.
Her teeth grind together. Fucker.
She's stopped them at the edge of some sort of courtyard between stupidly grandiose buildings. Bourbon can't even imagine what sort of rich ass loser paid for some poor architect to come up with this shit. Did they get a bonus for how many windows they put in the place? Or how much they could make it look like a castle? Or how many unnecessary covered walkways they could fit in?
The one part that soothes Bourbon's mind is the fact that it sort of looks like ass now. She can tell the buildings were certainly a sight to see at least a hundred years ago, but now half the windows are broken and most of the turrets are crumbling. Deep cracks run through every wall, the greenery has been overrun by twisting ivy, and the paved walkways are crumbling.
It's the sort of place that will, at the very least, make Kodo squirm. So Bourbon's actually pretty content.
Still, she's aware they're too out in the open. Her ankle twinges uncomfortably, and even though Bourbon manages to stand on it again, she hisses through her teeth from the pain.
Of course Kodo managed to do something to fuck everything up for her again. Everyone watching probably thinks she's some kind of imbecile that managed to hurt herself by doing literally nothing, but shit that little tussle with Kodo was biting her in the ass. And it's not like she can say anything about it or act on it, because Bourbon knows there's cameras everywhere and they sort of can't afford to ruin their little scheme now. Giavanna made that much clear.
"Find anything?" Bourbon calls over to him.
Kodo frowns at the closed door in front of him like it's got some sort of poor people disease that he could catch from it. "Not particularly."
With a huff, Bourbon limps over and throws the door open hard enough to make the doorframe shake. Dust falls from above, and Bourbon sneezes once before peering into the darkness.
Not bad, really. It's sort of dank, and Bourbon's sure Kodo will hate it, so it's good enough for her. She heads inside before he can put up any fight about the matter.
Once she's in, Bourbon comes to the unfortunate realization that this is some sort of school building. How mortifying would it be to die in a school of all places? She's at least comforted by the fact that it looks like shit, but the scraps of her dignity that remain need them to rest and then get out.
She leans against the wall and sinks down, grateful to be off her feet. Bourbon starts rubbing her left ankle, wincing as even the gentle pressure makes it ache.
"You hurt your ankle," Kodo points out astutely.
It takes everything in Bourbon to not be an absolute bitch back. Yeah, wonder how that happened, shitface? "Must've stepped on it wrong. Really wrong. Shit."
He's an irritatingly good actor when it counts. Kodo's eyebrows knit together in an expression of concern, and he reaches out to replace her hands with his own. Bourbon only lets it happen because she knows he's just as repulsed as she is.
God, this is fucking humiliating. Bourbon lets her head drop back against the wall. She hates that Bia and Scotch are at home watching this, watching the mockery Kodo has turned her into. And if she dies here, then this is all Panem will remember her by.
"Shit," Bourbon hisses again. His stupid cold hands are nowhere near as gentle as hers were, and she nearly yanks her foot away. "Be fucking careful."
"Sorry. I'll be more careful," he says, a half-assed apology if she ever heard one. He raises an eyebrow at her expectantly.
Right. Bourbon fights the urge to scowl at him and instead pulls her lips into an imitation of a smile. "Sorry. Guess the stress of the situation is getting to me."
"At least you didn't have a psycho Career try to murder you," Kodo mutters.
Bourbon laughs, and the sound surprises both of them. "What was his deal, anyway? He looked like you axe murdered his firstborn."
"Maybe I did. I hold a multitude of secrets that not even you know, my dearest Bonbon."
"I bet throwing that metal shit at his face didn't help matters. He might come after both of us now. Bet assholes like him hold one hell of a vendetta."
Kodo smirks. "Did you see his face, though?"
"How could I miss it? Glad I got to fuck it up for the next few days."
"Yeah." Kodo pauses for a moment, a strange silence that Bourbon isn't sure how to fill. It's clear he wants to say something, but for whatever reason, he can't make himself voice it aloud. And then, "Should we… wrap it or something?"
Bourbon blinks. She'd forgotten what they stopped for in the first place. "Yeah, yeah, we should- something to stabilize it. We should check our bags, see if there's anything helpful."
As Bourbon digs through her bag, the thought strikes her that Kodo is shockingly more tolerable like this, when he's forced to act like he likes her.
Funny how that works.
Her bag is full of nothing useful for this particular situation. She's got some granola bars and rations, a couple bottles of water, and a few more odds and ends that she'll have to pick over later, but nothing helpful. Classic. Of course Bourbon's the one starting the Games like some sort of pathetic damsel in distress, as if she's not the one that just saved Kodo's life.
(More than once, she's thought it would be easier if she let him die. She didn't have to try and find him. She could've pretended she didn't hear him call for her, or gone in the wrong direction, or missed her shot, and he'd be out of her hair by now.
But all of those thoughts would lead to questions from the Capitol, questions Bourbon can't afford, not if she wants to go home. And the only reason she's going along with Kodo's plan at all is because she'll do anything to get back home.)
(Even if it means kissing and making up with the son of the asshole who got her in this situation in the first place.)
Bourbon's just starting to think she could find a way to rip strips off the bottom of her dress when Kodo comes up with something useful – a first. He's got a roll of gauze, which will actually work way better than Bourbon's half-baked plan.
She reaches to take it from him, and Kodo shakes his head. "Let me," he tells her, and then just fucking goes for it, because when has Kodo Hotakim ever needed permission for something?
Nice to know nothing's ever gonna change with him. Bourbon just grits her teeth and hopes he gets it over with quick.
The end result is pretty sloppy, but Bourbon comes to the conclusion that it'll work well enough. When she stands, her ankle feels surprisingly supported, and even though it still twinges, it's nowhere near as bad as before.
"Not too shabby," Bourbon says, unable to keep the shock out of her voice. "There's hope for you yet."
"I had to pay you back somehow," Kodo explains. "For the bloodbath."
Bourbon's smile grows forced. Naturally. God forbid Kodo be nice out of the goodness of his own heart – if he even has one. He's just making sure he doesn't owe someone like her a favor.
"Yeah, well. I couldn't lose you so soon." Bourbon pulls him into a hug, noticing how his body stiffens. She puts her lips next to his ear and makes sure her hair is covering her mouth – she would hate for the Capitolites to hear this next part. "It would be pretty embarrassing for my fiancé to get himself killed on the first day. Daddy dearest didn't teach you failure, did he?"
Bourbon is still smiling when she pulls away. Kodo isn't. She swipes her lips against his cheek anyway, feeling more upbeat than she has in ages.
"We should get out of here," Bourbon says, heading towards the door. "Would hate to be found by Careers so soon. I want to keep your pretty face around for a while yet."
Before she leaves, she catches a glimpse of Kodo rubbing his jaw.
She wishes she could hit him again.
June 15, 13:49
St. Charles at Broadway
The blood on his knife is dry by the time Svelte stops.
He ducks behind a church at the corner of an intersection, an old brick building that looks like it's certainly seen better days. His forehead is slick with sweat, his hands slick with blood, and Svelte isn't entirely sure where to go from here.
If he can at least figure out how to get deeper into the city, maybe Svelte can make himself safe among rooftops, just like back home. Navigating rooftops has always been easy for him, and the ability to travel above the sightline of other tributes will certainly come in handy as the days pass.
The bloodied knife is still clutched tightly in his hands. Svelte has to force himself to drop it.
He's not even sure what made him act so quickly. Eleven didn't pose an imminent threat to him. She held a weapon, sure, but Svelte had no reason to believe she might've turned it on him.
(No reason except that this was the Hunger Games, and she surely had as much desire to go home as Svelte does.)
(Does any other reason even matter?)
He pulls out his bag and digs through it. Some water, food, rope… nothing terribly exciting, but it's enough for Svelte to start with. In a city like this, he'll hopefully be able to find something more interesting along the way.
Shoving everything back in the bag, Svelte starts thinking. Getting into the city will take a while, but getting away from the Careers is certainly his best chance to survive. The instant they start hunting like every Career pack before them, Svelte hopes to be nowhere near them.
If he's traveling on foot, then he'll have to account for the stretches where he can't hide behind buildings, or for when he gets too tired and has to stop. Those moments of weakness could allow for another tribute to stumble across him, and Svelte's only chance at freedom will be over before he can do anything more to save his own life. He wishes he had a map of the city, something where he could calculate the best route to get where he wants to go.
Not that he has any idea where he's going.
Svelte gets to his feet and squints up at the sun, which is starting to come out from behind a cloud. Part of him is tempted to hole up for the rest of the day, to make his move at night, but he can't risk the Careers finding him first.
Just as he's getting ready to set off into the unknown, Svelte hears a noise that makes him recoil, pressing back into the brick behind him. He's still moderately protected by the shadow of the church, so he'll see whoever is out there before they see him. That slight advantage could mean everything.
Except… it's not a who. Svelte watches as something moves in the middle of the road, slowly rattling towards him. It's not a car, not quite a train… Svelte doesn't exactly know what to call it, but he realizes that it's moving along a set of tracks. Sure, the paint is chipped so badly he can barely read the word "streetcar" on the front, and sure, the door is open, but Svelte hones in on the fact that it's enclosed. This streetcar could bring Svelte anywhere.
All he cares about is that it'll bring him far away from the other tributes.
The only thing is, the streetcar doesn't show any signs of stopping. If Svelte wants to catch it, he'll have to run.
It doesn't take any more convincing for his feet to start moving. Any bit of exhaustion he felt from the morning is long gone, and Svelte feels as light as he does when he's home, performing for the world.
(Even if, when Svelte sinks down inside one of the seats, making sure he can't be seen through the windows, he remembers that the cage is always waiting for him.)
June 15, 21:45
The Cornucopia
"So I'll take first watch with Thess here, Ibai and Zeph will take second shift, and Nerissa and Saccharine are last. Sound good to everyone? Great!"
Theo didn't wait for anyone to agree with him, but Thessaly doesn't mind. Despite Bastian's warning, she's perfectly content to remain friends with Theo, even if there are others in the alliance that she likes more. It's really a shame she can't be paired up with Ibai or Nerissa – though she remembers Bastian didn't want her hanging out with Ibai too much, either.
She's supposed to stick close to Nerissa, but Nerissa has hardly looked her way the entire day. Thessaly was able to ignore it earlier, when she was still high on her first kill – and her first step back home to Euna – but now Nerissa's distance is unavoidable.
As the evening wore on, Saccharine made everyone dinner, and the group started discussing hunting plans for the next few days. Thessaly tried to seat herself in between Nerissa and Ibai, but the moment she sat down, Nerissa found an excuse to get up. It's like she can't stand to be in Thessaly's presence at all.
Which, you know, is sort of a blow to the ego. Thessaly gets that she's not everyone's cup of tea all the time, but after everything she and Nerissa did? Some eye contact and basic respect might be nice.
It's just a matter of getting the girl to talk to her.
Thessaly sighs and stands up. Instead of heading straight for Nerissa, she heads over to where Ibai is laying out a sleeping bag for the night and crouches next to him.
"You'll be fine with Zeph?" she asks, despite Theo's instructions being a done deal. "I can always ask to switch."
Ibai glances around nervously. Something about today has made him jumpier than normal – probably all the dead bodies, actually. Thessaly hopes that doesn't prove to be too much of an issue as time goes on.
"I will be fine," Ibai says stiffly.
Thessaly can't say she's entirely sold, but since he isn't giving her an opening, there's nothing she can do about it. "Alright. Maybe we'll get paired together tomorrow night, then?"
A soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "That would be nice."
"You sure you don't mind Zeph?"
This time, Ibai looks over at them thoughtfully. It takes him a few moments to formulate what he has to say, but Thessaly waits patiently.
"I think they will be good company after today."
That, at least, sounds like Ibai isn't pulling out his own hair at the thought of spending time with Zeph. Thessaly can be satisfied with that.
"Sleep well, then!" she says cheerfully. "I'll be up for a bit, so you know where to find me."
Ibai pauses, as if registering who she's partnered with. "And you will be okay with… Theo?"
And, well, there's that warning from Bastian again. He's not the kind of guy you want as your enemy. Thessaly supposes that's true. He appears to be plenty strong. He's already made a kill, just like her. He tied her score for private sessions, even if she was ranked higher. Thessaly isn't stupid enough to believe he's not a threat. It's just, well…
Call her prideful, but she's not the kind of girl you'd want as an enemy, either.
Her smile comes to her far easier than Ibai's did. "Absolutely. We're friends, aren't we?"
That doesn't seem to reassure Ibai, but he doesn't argue, either. He takes this as a sign that the conversation is over. "Goodnight then, Thessaly."
"Thess," she reminds him.
"Goodnight, Thess."
"Goodnight, Ibai."
Thessaly stands up, fully intending to go set up for the first few hours with Theo. But then she spots platinum blonde hair, and she veers towards Nerissa instead.
The fierce crimson of Nerissa's dress is shocking against her pale skin and hair, but Thessaly has to admit she pulls it off well. On anyone else, the harsh contrast might wash them out, but it just manages to make Nerissa look otherworldly. The dress itself is pretty simple, with some basic black lacing up the front and a cream shirt under, the sleeves billowing and then cinched at the wrist. Parts of her hair have been braided back, and Thessaly's fingers itch to undo the braids, to get Nerissa unwound once again. She may be pretty like this, all stuck-up and holier than thou, but she's stunning when she lets her guard down.
And, you know, when she's got that cute little blush on her face. Embarrassment looks good on her.
"Ner!" she calls as she gets close. "Ner, wait up!"
Nerissa in fact does not wait up, but she does at least acknowledge Thessaly's existence, which is more than she's gotten all day. "Thessaly."
Except they're back on full-name terms. Thessaly would do anything to hear her nickname again.
She jogs the last few feet, easily falling into step with Nerissa. Strangely, the other girl doesn't even look over at her.
"Congrats on your kill today," Thessaly says. Really setting the mood, she knows.
"Thank you." Nerissa nods her head. "Congratulations on yours as well."
A stupidly formal response, but at least she got a response. "You even managed to keep your dress spotless."
"I do not believe in overly performative fighting. I find it takes away from the simplistic beauty of wielding a weapon. Besides, Three was only a child."
"How very kind of you," Thessaly teases. "I didn't know you were such a softie."
"I'm not," Nerissa responds coolly. "I just don't believe in drawing out torment for someone that doesn't deserve it."
"Who does deserve it, then?"
"Someone that has wronged me, I suppose. Maybe I'll discover the answer later on."
"I hope not," Thessaly says honestly. "I hope no one wrongs you."
"A very childish wish, and quite unrealistic given the circumstances."
Thessaly flinches. "Excuse me?"
"I think you heard me."
"What's your problem with me?" The word childish echoes in her mind as she asks.
"I don't have a problem with you."
"Bullshit. You won't even look at me."
"Do I need to?"
"I- god, what's gotten into you? Did a switch flip, and now you can't stand the sight of me? Or thought of me? I'm not going to beg for your attention, Nerissa, I just want you to acknowledge I even exi-"
"Listen." Nerissa turns to face her, and her expression is frigid. Thessaly can't stand the sight of it. "You were a very pretty distraction, but these are the Games now. I'm not letting you stand in the way of my Victory."
Thessaly scoffs. This is unreal of her. "A fucking distraction? Really?"
Nerissa merely quirks a brow. "That was our original agreement, was it not? Are you suddenly under the impression that we were more?"
Her face burns. "I was under the impression that you at least tolerated me," she forces out. "I guess I was wrong."
"I tolerate you just as much as our other allies," Nerissa says, keeping her temperament frustratingly even. "You were under the impression that you were special, then."
She says it like it's a fact, like she's already made up her mind. And maybe Nerissa is right, but Thessaly doesn't want to admit it.
"What, so we made it into the Games and you decided you can't deal with any more distractions?"
"Precisely. If I want to win, there's no room for error."
"And god forbid you be more than just allies with someone." Thessaly forces out a laugh, but it doesn't feel genuine. "If that's the case, why stick around at all?"
"A larger group dynamic can still prove to be beneficial to me. You're all excellent fighters."
"What the hell is your problem?" Thessaly hisses. "Just because we're in the Games, you're gonna keep to yourself like nothing happened at all? Like you're too good for us?"
(For me, she's saying.)
(Thessaly is pretty sure Nerissa understands anyway. )
"Now that the game is truly about life or death, yes, I find myself having different priorities. I thought you were clever enough to be the same. Maybe there is something waiting for you back home. Or maybe, considering your insistence on making friends instead of purely allies, you're in the Games as some miserable attempt to find worth in your own life."
Thessaly sees red. Her hand moves without thinking, striking Nerissa solidly across the cheek. Her skin instantly reddens, and there's a mark by the corner of her eye where Thessaly's nail dug in. A single drop of blood wells up.
It's one thing to insult her, it's another to indirectly insult Euna. Nerissa has no idea what her life is like, and it's pathetic of her to even try.
"Guess even you have a sore spot," Nerissa comments, completely unaffected. "Not so happy-go-lucky anymore, are you?"
"Don't act like you know me," Thessaly spits.
"No acting here. You're painfully easy to read."
Thessaly lunges towards Nerissa, but a vice-like grip on her arm holds her back. She's practically fuming with rage, wondering who has the audacity to stop her from ripping Nerissa's stupid face off.
"What's going on here?" Theo asks, disappointment marring his features. "Something you want to clue the rest of us into?"
Thessaly seethes, glaring daggers at Nerissa. She lifts her chin. "It's nothing," she insists. "Nothing at all."
Theo doesn't seem to believe her. He looks to Nerissa inquisitively.
The bright red of Nerissa's cheek speaks louder than any words they have to say. Nerissa simply shrugs. "You heard her."
Somehow, this makes Theo even more disappointed. He waits for a few long moments, as if expecting them to say something else, and then sighs heavily when they don't. "Get some rest, Nerissa. Ibai and Zeph know to wake you when they're done. Thessaly, you're coming with me."
Theo starts walking away, his grip still tight on her arm. Thessaly uses her other to send Nerissa a gesture of her current feelings, which Nerissa rolls her eyes at.
Fucking childish.
"Should I be worried about the two of you?" Theo asks once they're far enough away that Thessaly can safely assume they won't be overheard. "If so, you need to let me know."
Thessaly tastes bitterness. She smiles insincerely. "We're perfectly peachy. Just a minor spat."
Now Theo clearly doesn't believe her. And Thessaly can't blame him.
She doesn't believe herself, either.
[The following notes have been pieces together from the Mentor's Lounge, each on separate pieces of lined paper, the edges ragged as if torn from a notebook. Communication is initiated by someone wielding a dark pen with jagged handwriting, like they can't scrawl out their messages fast enough. The recipient responds in a loopy, girlish hand, perfectly proper — though the shimmery purple ink says plenty about her identity.]
sorry about alila
This one hit close to home for her, but she'll be okay. She's strong. She's good at picking herself back up.
sorry you can't go with her, then
This is where I belong. For better or worse.
for richer or poorer…
Ha ha.
I feel bad. I should've had her warn him somehow. I should've warned him myself.
did you know?
Know she had ill intentions towards her District Partner? No. But she's always been… confusing.
confusing?
One moment she's sweet as can be, the next she's cruel enough to leave your head spinning. It's hard to make sense of her. She makes lovely tea though.
better than yours, i'm sure
Hey, Alila loves my tea!
she loves anything you do. you're her mentor, she idolizes you
[…]
'stelle?
I wish she had someone that was better at this. Better for her. Someone that could've prevented this. I let Saccharine push me around and only told Alila about it on the last night. Someone else would've seen this coming.
i didn't
You weren't there.
the other tributes have no idea and they spent all day training with her
She's clever.
so are you
Ha ha.
seriously, 'stelle. alila won't hold this against you. she'll just be thrilled when you get to join her again
[…]
you okay?
Is it bad that i'm looking forward to that? I don't want her to die, but… I can't say I want her to win, either. Doesn't that make me awful?
i'm not sure you could ever be awful
I think it depends on who you ask.
kewl day 1 done with no meaningful drama at all
:)
the convo is bastian and estelle
hmm... yeah i don't have anything to say this time! catch ya next time with day 2
~de laney is out