Day Two – June 16, 04:35
The Cornucopia
Her cheek stopped stinging hours ago, but Nerissa can still feel the imprint of Thessaly's hand on her face.
She got some rest during that time, obviously, but the instant Ibai woke her up for watch, that interaction was all she could think about. And now, as the hours creep on, it's still the only thing lingering on her mind.
So stupid. Nerissa knew getting involved with her allies was a terrible idea. Thessaly can be pretty persuasive, but Nerissa's always been good at standing her ground. What made that night any different?
Nerissa has known for a long while that there's no room for error in the Games. She's watched every year she could get her hands on time and time again, analyzing common mistakes of the Games – both to ensure she'd never fall into that trap herself, and to make sure others around her did.
Barring a few exceptions, the deadliest thing you could do in the Games is get attached.
It's never been a hard and fast rule. Nerissa saw a few Victors make friends and still hear their name called at the end. But if you got attached, you had to be willing to sever the connection. Nerissa has seen it happen time and time again: Alila with Justus, Callan with his District Partner, Ariadne with her short-lived allies – hell, even the thirteen-year-old from Seven managed to kill two of her friends.
Ending her connection to Thessaly was purely strategic. Nerissa is only disappointed that it had to happen so soon. With time, she might've been able to use it to her advantage. But considering how fast the circumstances changed, Nerissa had to cut it off, and fast.
She had to, if she wants these next few days to go as smoothly as she envisioned.
The park is lovely now that Nerissa can finally see it. The full moon hovers high in the sky, illuminating the greenery down below. Most of the wildlife has quieted, though Nerissa's seen a few insects still lingering around. One of the butterflies has taken a liking to Saccharine and continuously tries to nest in her hair. Nerissa isn't sure if the other girl has noticed or not.
She's been paying a tragic amount of attention to the other girl. Getting paired with Saccharine for watch was the best possible outcome for Nerissa – well, except maybe Ibai. Neither of them would try to drag her into a conversation she has no interest in.
It's been at least an hour since Zephyr and Ibai headed to bed, and it will be several more before Nerissa and Saccharine are expected to wake up the rest of the group. By now, everyone should be asleep, which is exactly what Nerissa has been waiting for. She doesn't want anyone to hear something they shouldn't – not while she's trying to explore a theory.
At this point, it's more than a theory. That sponsor gift earlier told Nerissa enough. Even if the physical object was meant for Theo, the meaning behind it was for Nerissa.
She's been around weapons her whole life. While the completely average tribute would look at the dagger and see an unpractical weapon, Nerissa sees that it's ornamental. Something to be hung over a fireplace, used as decor. Sure, the blade is sharp enough to hurt if it's wielded in a last-ditch effort, but it's impossible to use effectively due to the sheer amount of jewels embedded in the handle. It's disgustingly unbalanced. It's the sort of thing Nerissa would've been proud of when she was eight, but would look at now as a disgrace.
And, well… pretty but deadly is a familiar sentiment.
For the first time since they started their watch together, Nerissa actually approaches the other girl, sitting a few feet away. Even though Saccharine doesn't outwardly react, Nerissa knows she's aware of her new company.
"Chronic nosebleeds," Nerissa says. "I didn't know you got those."
Saccharine runs a hand along the delicate petals of a flower. The butterfly flits around her hair. "Ever since I was a child."
"You never got one while you were here."
"They're primarily caused by stress. It was terribly embarrassing to have one flare up in the bloodbath."
"Not as embarrassing as dying."
Saccharine hums. "Fair point."
"I'm sorry about Callum, by the way," Nerissa says, studying Saccharine carefully. "He was your District Partner, after all."
"His failure does not reflect back on me."
"Certainly not, but you likely knew him best."
"Not particularly."
"Not even from training?"
Saccharine finally looks up at Nerissa. "You're terribly curious tonight. Taking after Thessaly, are we?"
"Just making conversation," Nerissa insists, "to help the next couple of hours pass."
"I didn't realize you were so talkative."
It's true. Nerissa's not talkative. But she wants answers, and she's determined to get them.
Saccharine's good at blending into the background, that much is clear. But if Nerissa intends to survive this alliance, to continue using it for her benefit, then she needs Saccharine to know that she's not as invisible as she thinks she is.
The only thing is, Nerissa needs to be able to keep her plausible deniability. If Saccharine took out her own District Partner, then there's no reason she wouldn't do the same to Nerissa. The only time she'll have the chance to pry is now, on watch, when their allies sleep peacefully nearby.
Saccharine may be bold when it counts, but she's no fool; no one else could possibly kill Nerissa besides Saccharine. Nerissa just has to hope that her judgment of Saccharine's character holds true.
Nerissa smiles blandly. "Surprise."
The other girl presses her lips together as if thinking. She doesn't have room to make a mistake. Nerissa is fixated on her every word, ready to latch onto even the barest hint of reason to fully buy into her own theory that Saccharine is more than just a pretty face hiding in the background.
"We did not run in similar circles. I was not familiar with him in the slightest before getting on the train. He was younger than me; I had no reason to concern myself with him."
Ah, that's right. Callum was only seventeen, certainly not old enough to volunteer under normal circumstances. It would've made more sense if he was like Phaedra, brimming with talent and prophesied to win it all, but for a One, he was… lackluster at best. Nerissa had seen him with a sword; his abilities were passable, certainly, but he didn't wield his weapon as a casual extension of his body the way others with his training could.
And that didn't even scratch the surface of the way he acted. Callum largely kept to himself from what Nerissa could tell – granted, she didn't exactly encourage him to talk in her presence – but the only person he opened up to was Zephyr. He was so skittish around the rest of them, almost like he knew there was something different about him, something that set him apart.
Nerissa is almost certain Callum wasn't supposed to volunteer. It would account for his general inadequacy, and she supposes the foolishness would also make sense. But it's odd that Saccharine doesn't lead with that piece of information. Nerissa tucks that tidbit away for later.
"Still tragically disappointing, especially after last year's success. I imagine it's quite the disappointment for Estelle and Alila. And you must have more pressure than ever to succeed where he couldn't."
Throughout their whole conversation, Saccharine maintains the same light, breezy tone. "It was Alila's first year. I'm sure she'll get over the heartache soon enough."
"A shame that he met the fate she barely escaped."
"Ironic, I suppose."
"But it must be reassuring for you to have the mentor with the most recent success. That bodes well for you."
"In theory, I suppose."
"Only in theory?"
Saccharine mulls over her response for several long moments. "Ultimately, Estelle Duvont cannot control what I do in these Games. I don't see why her recent 'success' should inspire me."
"She must've done something right last year."
"She got lucky enough to mentor the right tribute the right year. I see no reason why that success should be attributed to her in any way."
Though her tone has never darkened, Nerissa can tell Saccharine doesn't like her mentor in the slightest. It reminds her of that game of truth or dare, when Saccharine jumped on the chance to scare Estelle and then never returned. Nerissa was right to keep an eye out for that animosity.
"Is it my turn to ask a question now?"
Nerissa blinks. "Sure."
"What's the status of your current relations with Thessaly?"
Nerissa grits her teeth, though she's sure it's noticeable. If there's one thing she doesn't want to get into, it's her… relationship with Thessaly. This particular line of questioning is one where she must tread carefully. The wrong answer could lead to unintended consequences that Nerissa isn't prepared to face.
"Surely you saw her slap me earlier. I'm sure that says enough."
"About her feelings, yes, but not yours."
"My feelings are what provoked hers. I simply told her the truth: these are the Games, and past the bloodbath, she is no more than an ally to me. I'm here to win, not to make friends. She must've been under a different impression."
There's no point in denying the existence of a relationship at all. It's more than likely Saccharine only knows, and trying to deny the truth will only reveal that there's something worth hiding. The only thing Nerissa can do is be as honest as possible and hope that's enough to get Saccharine back to minding her own business.
"How terribly tragic!" Saccharine's hand flies to her mouth in what Nerissa can only assume is mock sympathy. "Do you intend to reconcile?"
"Not in the slightest."
(She can't afford to, after all. For either of their sakes.)
"What a shame."
A cool breeze blows through the Arena, and Nerissa shudders. "I'm willing to face any casualty as long as it guarantees my Victory."
The butterfly finally stops orbiting Saccharine, choosing instead to land on her finger. She tilts her head, scrutinizing it carefully. "Aren't we all? Victory is a noble goal. Do you seek District honor? Personal gain?"
"Fulfilling a legacy."
"Ah." Saccharine looks back up at her, her eyes nearly black in the darkness. "And you're the only one that can?"
"At the moment, yes."
"Then I wish you all the best. Dawn will break soon, and I would like to watch."
Saccharine is too polite to say alone, but Nerissa gets the message anyway. She gets to her feet, brushing grass off her skirt. She's more certain than ever that Saccharine is the most formidable foe among her allies.
All she needs to do now is keep her distance.
"And Nerissa?"
Nerissa whips her head around - and the butterfly is gone. Somehow, Nerissa is certain that if she looked down, she would see its wings crushed against the grass. Before Saccharine can say anything, Nerissa already knows she made a grave misstep somewhere along the way.
This time when Saccharine smiles, the sight is anything but sweet.
"Don't play stupid. It's terribly unbecoming."
June 16, 08:16
McAlister Auditorium
Jasmine's been acting strangely for days now.
Nolan isn't stupid; of course he noticed. She's been more distant than those first two days of training, more scattered, more… on edge. It's starting to make Nolan feel paranoid that she knows something.
The most logical explanation is that the Games are just getting to her. And if that's the case, Nolan really can't blame her. Yesterday, he…
He clenches his hands into fists. Despite all that talk about change, about freedom, it looks like nothing Nolan does will ever change who he is.
And this time, it was so… easy. Nolan hardly thought about it. He saw Jasmine getting attacked, and his body just moved. One second he was several feet away, the next he had a sword planted through the girl's back.
(He didn't even know her name. He still doesn't.)
And god, what sort of monster does that make him? Jasmine acts like his touch is pure poison, and he can't blame her. If he was really different now, really insistent on changing, he could've found another way.
But lingering on hypotheticals isn't going to help anyone, not now. With more Games on the horizon, if Nolan wants to go home, he has to be willing to do whatever it takes to survive. No matter what those choices turn him into.
Allying with Jasmine should've been a fresh start. Instead, he's back where he started.
Just like he used to back in Eleven, Nolan rises with the dawn of the second day. Habit makes it impossible to go back to sleep, even though they spent the night in some old auditorium, without any sunlight to wake him directly. So instead he stretches and heads outside, muscles aching to get to work. He misses the isolated farm he used to work on, misses the potential of a future with no one's eyes on him.
Nolan sits on the stairs leading to the auditorium and watches the sun rise on a new day. He's morbidly fascinated by the fact that it might be his last one.
(Whether he lives or dies here, Nolan will be remembered as a murderer. There's nothing he can do to change that.
He can't possibly rewrite the past.)
(Maybe Ryker will still be waiting for him on the other side.)
A couple hours drag by before Nolan hears the door open behind him. He doesn't turn and look. He's surprised to see Jasmine sit down next to him, having clearly just woken up.
"You're up early," Jasmine says sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "Any idea what time it is?"
Nolan squints up at the sky, shielding his eyes with a hand. "I'd guess about eight. Sun's been up for a bit."
"Has it?" Jasmine follows his gaze to where the sun hovers in the sky, a fair ways above the horizon. "Oh."
"Mmm."
"You must be an early riser, then. Any particular reason why?"
Strange of her to be so curious about him all of a sudden. Nolan takes a minute to respond. "You have to be up early in Eleven if you're going to get any work done in the fields. Wasting time isn't an option, not if you're hoping for a good harvest come fall."
"What's it like?" Jasmine inquires. "I've seen plenty of plants around Twelve, obviously, but never on a large scale."
He sighs and tries to remember the parts of Eleven that were good, the ones that weren't grey walls and iron bars. "Flat. Endless, sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
"Fields of corn, orchards of fruit… it all gets monotonous after a certain point. Most larger farms focus on one thing, aiming for a sort of monopoly. It's only the smaller, self-sufficient farms that have variety going for them."
"Which kind do you like better?"
Nolan thinks about it for a moment. He likes the way you can get lost on a larger farm, blend in with everyone else and fade away entirely, but… "Smaller. It's nice to not have to rely on anyone else."
"Ever?"
"Maybe when there's a hard year, but those are… different. People sorta band together when that happens."
"That sounds nice," Jasmine whispers.
This is… strange. It's almost nice, though, and she's not asking anything too personal, so Nolan figures he might as well keep the conversation going. He's pretty sure this is the point in a conversation where he's supposed to ask Jasmine something now.
"So, uh," he says slowly, "Twelve?"
"Huh?"
"What's it like?"
"Oh, um… not flat at all, really. There's mountains, and lots of forest areas, and lively valleys. And then… you know. The mines. Not that I've ever been near one."
"Why not?"
"You gotta age out of the reaping before they'll hire you on at the mines. I think it's just because they can't afford to waste time training someone that could die within a couple years, but maybe I'm wrong and they really do care about preventing child labor."
Nolan snorts. "Likely."
She grins. "Exactly. And it's not like I mind, anyway. I definitely prefer doing my own work. I'm not sure I could stand to be trapped down in those mines all day."
"Can't blame you."
"I much prefer my research." Jasmine looks over at him, eyes slightly narrowed as she contemplates what to say next. It's a little too calculating for Nolan's liking, and he has the sinking suspicion she's trying to pry and find an answer he's not willing to give.
In an attempt to avoid any line of questioning, Nolan gets to his feet, and Jasmine blinks up at him in surprise. "What's our plan for today?"
"Oh! Uh, right. Find a home base, hopefully. A park would be nice. Surely the Careers don't have a monopoly on the only park around."
"We're not backtracking."
"I don't particularly want to die painfully, so I agree. There's gotta be some kind of alternative."
Nolan gestures vaguely at the buildings surrounding them. "Odds aren't looking good right now. Can't you plead to some sponsors or something?"
Jasmine expectantly looks up at the sky. Nolan follows her gaze. Neither of them is exactly surprised when a parcel doesn't show up.
Sighing, Jasmine heads back to the auditorium door. "Guess we've gotta go on the hunt then, huh? Try to find something good."
His only response is a noncommittal noise. Jasmine doesn't seem to notice, though, and heads inside, presumably to gather her things.
Instead of following immediately, Nolan lingers on the steps for several moments. He sucks in a breath of fresh air, listens to the silence of a forgotten city, and marvels at the sun creeping higher into the sky.
This is a taste of freedom. Nolan knows what the cost is to keep it.
From here on out, he can't afford to make any mistakes.
June 16, 10:17
The Fly
Xander hasn't stopped shaking.
When he attempted to go to sleep last night, alone in the park, surrounded by nothing but dirt and grass and filth, all he could think about were the piercing eyes of the One girl. They were a warning, a sign that one wrong move and she'd kill him too, but… why didn't she just do it then? Why let him go at all?
Hours later, Xander hasn't figured out the answer.
He needs to leave the park. Xander should've gone towards any of the buildings on all sides of this expanse of greenery, but he could hardly think. They were all so run-down and filthy, and Xander was all alone.
He still is, actually. He never managed to find Marri.
And it's… lonely out here. Xander didn't realize that before. He ran until he reached a body of water so large had no hope of crossing it, and now he's just… here. Alone. Curled up on the riverbank and hoping he doesn't get swept away by the water - or found by the Careers.
His stupid bright yellow shirt is practically a beacon for whoever might be in the area. Though the thought disgusts him, Xander has half a mind to rub some dirt on it, as with every passing moment, he grows more certain that One will find him again, will make him scream just like her District Partner did as Xander ran away.
(Xander had to be told to run for his life. How pathetic is it to stare death in the face and just wait for it to take you?)
(If the same thing happened now, would he be able to do anything different?)
He's hardly eaten anything since the bloodbath, either. Somehow he had enough forethought to snag a bag off the ground, and the crackers inside were enough to keep him from totally losing his mind.
It's embarrassing to admit, but Xander really does miss home. Home is… well, it's not a comfort, but at least he isn't at risk of dying at every turn. That's about as optimistic as it can get for Xander. The monotony of Five might've slowly killed him, but at least that wouldn't have been as painful as whatever awaits Xander now.
He sniffles, and then flushes hot. His embarrassment is neverending, it seems.
His father will be so disappointed.
Trembling, Xander slowly gets to his feet. He brushes off his pants, trying in vain to regain his composure. He lifts his chin, clenches his jaw. The Hunger Games is no place for him to go soft like this. Weakness is not allowed. All it will do is cement his death sooner rather than later.
The only thing he can do now is leave the park, find some place where he can hide away, and… wait. Again. Xander isn't the kind of boy who wins the Games, after all.
Xander's eyes trace the river that extends beside him. The park is big, and he can relatively safely guess that the Careers are still up at the front, so if he continues following the river, he can move away from them. This Arena provides no particular sense of safety, but if this is as close as he can get, Xander will embrace it.
At least the waterfront is pretty.
Hefting the backpack over his shoulder, Xander sets out towards the distant buildings, ready to say farewell to the trees and greenery. The city itself will certainly be easier to hide in, and maybe Xander will be lucky enough to stumble across a bed, even if he already knows it won't be as comfortable as the one he has back home.
Ahead of him, Xander hears a branch snap. In an instant, he's hidden himself away behind a tree, and his breathing turns ragged from fear. He doesn't have a single weapon, no way to protect himself. If the Careers have found him already, he's doomed.
Slowly, Xander peeks out from behind the tree. If he can just find an opening to escape, he can run, even if that means sacrificing the few supplies he has.
But the person he sees is just as alone as him. And more than that, she looks familiar.
"Marri?" he says aloud, mystified.
Her forest green dress flares out as she spins to look at him. The smile that crosses her face is the brightest thing Xander has ever seen.
She takes off running towards him, and Xander instinctually braces himself for the worst. His entire body freezes up, just like it did when he saw One, and his arms come up to protect himself.
Did something change in the past day? Is she going to kill him here and now? Will it be over fast? Is death just as painful as Xander fears?
To his immense surprise, Xander gets tackled in a hug. One of his outstretched arms manages to somewhat break their fall, and the other makes sure Marri doesn't tumble into the river behind them.
Somehow, Marri is entirely unfazed by their fall. When she finally pulls away, her smile has softened to something sadder, and fresh tears linger in her eyes. "I'm glad I was able to find you."
"Yeah," Xander says, still breathless. "How did you…?"
"I saw you leave, but you were too fast. I followed you this way, and I just… hoped I would run across you before you went anywhere else. I guess I was lucky this time. Your shirt's like the sun."
Xander frowns. "Yeah, I know. It'll get me killed one of these days."
"I think it's pretty. And besides, it's how I found you."
"Small victory," he mutters. "We should go."
"Right, right."
Marri finally gets off of him, and Xander carefully sits up. From the looks of it, their tumble didn't hurt anything. He even feels strangely lighter.
She lifts the hem of her skirt to wipe at her eyes, and the sight doesn't even make Xander cringe. He does hesitate, figuring there's something people are supposed to say when others are crying, but the right words don't come to him. They never do.
"You're… okay?" Xander asks, a little too late.
"Huh? Oh! Yes, quite alright. I am still alive, and now I'm with you! I didn't realize you were worried."
That smile of hers is back, and it makes looking at her harder. "I wasn't worried," he mutters unconvincingly.
Gently, Marri links their arms together, and Xander can't bring himself to pull away. "That's okay, too. I won't tell anyone."
June 16, 14:49
Magnolia Street at Jefferson
This place is perfect for Akira.
It's hard for her to have any complaints. The city reminds her of Five, which means it's big and grey and old and full of helpful objects. She's already picked up more than a few trinkets and shoved them in her already-overflowing backpack. At least Gwenny dearest is willing to help out a little, even though she's super nosy and keeps asking Akira what they're up to.
(Which is a secret, obviously. Akira wants to be able to help, and people don't usually like her help, so they have to be able to do it all on their own.)
(Akira isn't very good at doing things alone.)
The city is surprising in a few ways – for one, no one lives in it. Which Akira expected, considering it's the Arena and all, but it's still strange to wander the streets and see nothing but poorly paved roads and trees extending their branches far above Akira's head. She sort of wants to climb one, but Gwenny hasn't let her yet. Which is fine – Akira is certain there will be something even better waiting ahead.
Plus it's not quite like Five. There's more color than Akira expected. The house she and Gwenny spent the night in last night was pink, and when Akira looked down the street, they saw a house in nearly every color she could think of.
The house really was nice, but Gwenny made them leave in the morning. She thought it was pretty weird that the TV only ever showed footage of the two of them, no matter what channel you tried to turn it to. Which, yeah sure, kinda strange, but Akira liked seeing themself onscreen. It was kinda like being a celebrity.
Besides, it's not like going to a new location would change the fact that they're being watched. Akira was used to having eyes on her anyway. It's been a while since she's seen them, but the voices are probably still there, just out of sight. It's not often they decide to be on their best behavior.
Akira peers at all the houses surrounding them, trying to see if one looks like it has any good loot. Several feet away, Gwenny tries to contemplate their next move.
"I wish we had a map," Gwenny says aloud, after spinning in a circle and still coming up with nothing. Akira has heard this complaint before. They don't agree, but only because Akira is fundamentally opposed to maps. It's far more fun to figure out where you're going all on your own.
"We should go that way!" Akira points in a random direction.
Rubbing her temples, Gwenny sighs. "That's the way we just came from."
"Oh." Akira squints and recognizes the pink house. "We should go the other way, then! I wanna see somewhere new. And big. And explosive."
"I don't know about explosive, but I certainly agree with you when it comes to finding a new location."
"And I wanna go that way," Akira insists.
"Okay, okay," Gwenny relents. She hesitates, and then adds, "I just don't want to go anywhere by the river."
"River? That's cool!"
"I have a bad feeling about it."
Akira doesn't feel anything in particular about rivers. Maybe they're nice! She's never seen much of one before. But if Gwenny doesn't like it, then Akira doesn't, either. That's how allies work.
Even if Akira kind of wants to go swimming.
(They have no idea how to swim.)
"Okay!" she chirps. "Onward, then!"
"A little quieter, maybe," Gwenny cautions. She jogs a few steps to catch up to Akira, who is already making her way north. Or south. Akira doesn't really know directions, either.
"There's no one around to hear us!" Just to prove their point, Akira kicks a rock in the middle of the road and pumps a fist in the air as it hits the side of a house. The resounding clatter echoes in the street.
"There are still sixteen tributes left – besides the two of us, of course. I do not particularly want to draw any of their attention."
"What about Svelte?" Akira asks innocently.
Gwenny pauses. Her expression remains carefully neutral, but it's clear she's thinking hard about something. "Even Svelte."
"He's soft on you."
"I wouldn't say that."
"He didn't kill you even though he could've! I saw! That's nice."
"I… don't think that qualifies as nice. All he did was take a blade away from my throat. A neutral move at best."
"He killed someone else, but not you. I thought you said he wasn't coming back."
"And he hasn't."
"But-"
Gwenny puts a hand to her temple and sucks in a sharp breath. "It's complicated, Akira. Just… not now, please?"
Even though Gwenny's voice is as patient as ever, Akira hears the scolding and ducks their head. She kicks another rock off to the side, and this one quietly skitters across the ground.
(She feels eyes on her. Akira makes herself continue staring at the ground. If they look up, there won't be anyone around but Gwenny.)
(They're not crazy. They're not crazy.)
"I miss the paint in the training center," Akira says, trying to drown out the voices. "And they had lots of wire. None of these houses have had wire."
The corner of Gwenny's mouth turns up into an amused smile. "Paint and wire? What kind of arts and crafts project are you working on?"
"The paint is for fun. I like spray paint especially. The wire is for my secret project."
"What's the project?"
Akira mimes zipping their lips. "It's not a secret anymore if I tell you."
"Is it important?"
"Very."
"Alright." Gwenny nods. "I trust you, then."
Warmth flutters in Akira's stomach. She can't remember the last time they heard those words – if they ever did.
For once, she can't come up with anything to say. No words could possibly encapsulate everything Akira is feeling. Trust isn't a word that people often associate with Akira.
(i'm sorry i'm such a fuckup of a sister and i'm sorry i can never do anything right for you and i'm sorry i'll never be good enough for you to love i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry)
More yelling fills their head, and Akira can't do anything but clamp her hands over her ears and crouch low to the ground. As always, this does nothing to get rid of the voices, or the memories, or the hurt, but it at least helps them stop feeling like they have to cry.
(i wanted to watch you die i hoped it would happen it's what you deserved for leaving me but you're still here and now you'll get to watch me die and you'll be happy about it because that's what i deserve)
"Akira!"
One voice pierces through the rest. Akira opens her eyes – when did they close them? – and sees that Gwenny's face is white and frighteningly close. When Akira flinches away, the other girl raises her hands in response like she's trying to calm a wild animal.
(that's right, wild, a freak, uncontrollable-)
"I'm sorry," Gwenny says carefully, and no one ever tells Akira that. It's a phrase Akira is only used to saying. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I'm sorry if I did something, or said something. I didn't mean to."
They sink further into the ground, sitting in the middle of the street. Gwenny glances around them before following suit. It's sort of nice to have someone that doesn't just give Akira a strange look. Gwenny is strange too. She almost gets it.
(Akira wishes they had a sister like Gwenny.)
"I'm okay," Akira insists after a couple minutes of quiet. "I like it here. Better than Five."
Gwenny makes a face like she isn't sure how to react to that. "I'd take you back to Eight with me."
"Really?"
"Really. We'll find room for you. You could make something for our shop if you wanted."
Akira allows themself a small smile. "I would like that."
Movement catches their attention from above. They both stiffen, ready to make a run for it if necessary. It's a surprise when a silver parachute falls from the sky. Akira's eyes light up at the sight of it – a sponsor gift. They never thought they'd receive one of those. This one is clearly for Gwenny, but it'll still be nice to benefit.
Gwenny catches it from the sky and looks at the number. Her mouth twists and Akira can't tell why until the other girl holds out the package. "It's for you."
That's strange. Sponsor gifts are sent by mentors and Akira doesn't know why Madoka would send her anything, not after that last night, not after all the things they've said.
"I'll open it if you'd rather," Gwenny says cautiously.
Akira snatches the gift and tears off the wrapping as viciously as she can manage. They dump the shreds in the street, and the littering brings them the smallest of comforts. When they open the lid, even that isn't enough to keep her stomach from twisting with something like discomfort.
Carefully nestled in the box are two cans of spray paint and a spool of wire. To the side is a note with Akira's name on it.
"Wow," Gwenny marvels, picking up one of the cans. "It's exactly what you wanted."
Akira frowns and takes the other can and the wire out of the box. She holds it up, strangely grateful and still unsure of how to feel. "I know. Is there room in your backpack?"
"We'll make it work."
(The note is left behind with the wrapping, never opened. Somehow, Akira doesn't have it in them to shred it.)
June 16, 23:24
The Cornucopia
Ibai can't say he finds himself to be a fan of hunting.
On the bright side, it's not as if they found anything. This frustrated Pantheon, who is clearly the most invested in securing another kill, but Ibai noticed that Zephyr was just as enthused as he was.
(As in: not at all.)
Ibai has enjoyed exploring the Arena, though. He got a notepad earlier and has begun mapping things out to the best of his abilities. The park they're currently in is expansive, and then there's two different schools to the north and residential areas to the east. The city itself is even further north, at least a few miles away – Ibai wonders if they'll eventually have to pack things up and find a new place to set up camp.
But for now, he's glad to be back at the Cornucopia. There have been zero cannons for the day, and Ibai is secretly relieved. Seventeen more still have to die before the Victor is crowned, but Ibai and his allies live another day unscathed.
(Mostly.)
Ibai and Zephyr are taking first watch tonight. Everyone else went to bed an hour ago, and there's nothing to do to pass the time. Nothing except talk, that is. But that's never exactly been one of Ibai's strong points.
That doesn't mean Zephyr isn't perfectly content to continue trying, though. He's incredibly stubborn, Ibai has gathered, and particularly enjoys teasing, so Ibai shouldn't take anything they say too seriously. Thessaly told him that part. Ibai can usually trust her when it comes to social situations.
For a time, Ibai is able to entertain himself with knife tricks. He was lucky enough to find a pair of karambits in the Cornucopia. It's a little unsettling to think that the gamemakers likely put those in there specifically for him, but Ibai is trying to ignore that possibility. He doesn't exactly want to use them.
Next to him, Zephyr has also been playing around with a pair of knives. Theirs are smaller, more suited for throwing, but Ibai imagines Zephyr intends to use them in close combat situations. They're particularly fast, after all, and rather stealthy. The untrained tribute might have issues trying to keep up with him.
"Is it bad that I'm sort of hoping for something to happen?" Zephyr asks, tired of the silence. "Just to make the time pass."
"If you are hoping for a tribute to stumble upon us, or an Arena event to take place, then yes that is bad." Ibai pauses. "If you are hoping for Pantheon to wake up and start putting on an elaborate show for us, then I'll admit I would also find that entertaining."
Zephyr snickers. "What sort of show? I think he'd make a riveting opera singer."
"Do you think he can sing?"
"It would sorta fit. He's all theatrical like that. I bet he could come up with a dramatic monologue off the top of his head."
"Maybe he has already rehearsed them," Ibai muses aloud. "Thessaly would also make for excellent entertainment. She's almost like a gymnast."
"Almost?"
"To my knowledge, that is not a field of expertise she has ever studied."
They whistle lowly. "Damn. She's pretty good, though."
"She has many talents."
"Clearly." Zephyr sighs. "I just wish watch wasn't quite so boring."
"Boredom is something of a luxury within the confines of the Games."
"I'm not sure I want to spend my last few days bored out of my mind. If I'm gonna die, I want to find a way to have some fun."
Zephyr waggles their brows at Ibai. He's not really sure what that's supposed to mean.
Still, Zephyr has a point. Ibai isn't really sure what they're supposed to be doing on watch to keep their minds alert. It's not like he brought any books with him, and Pantheon wouldn't let him explore the library earlier, and it's dark enough out that Ibai can't really read anyway.
A few minutes pass, and their savior comes in the form of a sponsor gift. Ibai's surprised to see the silver parachute floating down from the sky. He's not surprised to see the 7 printed on the side, considering it's largely been Zephyr complaining about boredom. Ibai sits back and watches as Zephyr curiously looks inside.
Zephyr laughs brightly and pulls something out of the package. It fits neatly in the palm of his hand, and Ibai has to squint in the darkness to see what the object even is.
"Know any good card games?" Zephyr asks. They take the cards out of the box and begin shuffling, his fingers moving swiftly with expertise.
"Solitaire."
"Ah, well that's no good if there's two of us. Mind if I teach you something, then?"
Well, when they put it like that… Ibai can't resist a good chance to learn. Even if it's something as inconsequential as a card game.
"I could find that to be agreeable."
"Or," Zephyr says, flashing him a wink, "I could show you a couple tricks."
Ibai raises an eyebrow dubiously. "Tricks?"
"My specialty is coin tricks, but we don't exactly have any of those here. But I've been working on a few card tricks, and if those don't pan out well, you have to promise not to laugh at me."
Ibai has no idea what Zephyr is talking about. "I promise not to laugh at you."
"Great!" Zephyr fans out the cards in front of Ibai and waggles his brows. "Pick a card, any card."
He carefully scrutinizes the deck. No card in particular stands out to Ibai, so he ends up picking one at random from the right side. Holding it up, Ibai realizes this must be a specialty deck – the queen of hearts features a familiar face on it. Her bloodied white tracksuit and signature braid would be recognizable in an instant to anyone who saw last year's Games.
As soon as Ibai opens his mouth, Zephyr holds up a hand. "Don't say it out loud! Just memorize your card, and then put it back on top of the deck."
Zephyr makes a show of closing their eyes while Ibai follows directions. He frowns intently at the pile as Zephyr shuffles again, wondering if his card really will pop up. There's no logical way for Zephyr to know which card Ibai picked, considering they weren't even looking, and an answer as foolish as magic is entirely nonsensical.
"Is this your card?"
The one Zephyr holds up is decidedly not the one Ibai initially picked. He can't help but smile. The two of spades, Vitali Strychnos.
"No."
With a sigh, Zephyr shakes his head and puts the card back in the pile. "Like I said, I'm still working on those. Guess I can't win 'em all, eh?"
"I guess so," Ibai echoes.
"It's alright, though." Zephyr reaches towards his face, and Ibai recoils too late. The other boy's hands brush against his hair, and when Zephyr leans back again, they're smugly holding the queen of hearts. "I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."
Ibai blinks several times, trying to take in what just happened. "You…?"
"Have many talents, yes."
"That was nothing but trickery."
"Which is why I called it a trick. It's not like I'm trying to deceive you. Your card never went back into the pile. I didn't even know what it was until I pulled it out from behind your ear."
"Hm."
Zephyr slides the card back into the pile and begins shuffling it again. "That's about all I know. Sorry if you didn't like it much."
"It was…" Ibai struggles to come up with a word. "Passable."
"If you were grading me, what grade would I get on it?" Zephyr teases.
"Nothing higher than a B."
"Harsh grader."
"An A is saved for a performance where you truly outdo yourself."
"Ahh, so you're one of those."
"One of… what?"
"You think people can only get an A if they go above and beyond expectations. Like just following a rubric isn't enough."
Ibai frowns. "It is not! Following a rubric is merely following a guideline. Ingenuity is what earns you an exceptional grade."
Zephyr raises their hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll get to working on something for you, then."
Surprised, Ibai stares at him. "For me?"
"Well yeah, if you're the one I gotta impress to get a good grade around here."
"I do not think it is possible to get a good grade in the Hunger Games."
"Well, no." The corners of Zephyr's eyes crinkle as they smile. Ibai finds it hard to look away. "But I'm not too concerned with that right now."
"Oh."
Zephyr hesitates, like they're about to say something else, and then he just sighs. Ibai can't imagine what's going on in his head. He realizes he's still staring, and turns his gaze down to the cards Zephyr's still passing between their hands.
He wishes Thessaly was awake. Ibai knows it's not wise to spend all his time around her, but she feels… safe. That's hard to come by in the Games.
(Ibai should have everything going for him. He's trained for this, he knows every detail about the Games, could recite endless strategies on the spot if need be. He had his chance in the bloodbath; he could've started this off on the right foot.
But… Aleksei was just a child. He held no weapon. He posed no threat. They were both alone. No one could possibly know that Ibai simply turned the other way.)
(He doesn't want another Dacre. But the more that happens around him, the less Ibai thinks it will matter. He still sees Dacre in the blade of his own weapon, in the blood splattering Thessaly's clothes, in Callum's fallen form.
Ibai can't tell if he's more afraid of sending someone else to their death or meeting his own.)
"Listen," Zephyr says softly. Ibai's head snaps up to look at them again. "I'm sorry. If I did anything."
"Huh?"
"I can tell you don't like me much. And I'm sorry if it's something I did. And I'm sorry for continuing to bother you. It's just… really quiet here."
Quiet and lonely, certainly. Ibai's eyes stray up to the full moon, glinting high in the sky. "And peaceful."
"Yes, that too."
It takes Ibai a few minutes to come up with what to say. He's never been particularly good at… whatever this is.
(Then again, not very many people are willing to try very hard to make things right with him.)
"I do not mind your presence," Ibai eventually says. He pauses, and then adds, "Or your company."
"High praise coming from you."
"And… I am also sorry. About Callum. That must be difficult."
"It's… not ideal. I didn't know him well. But… thanks. No one else seems to notice he's gone."
"He looked afraid," Ibai whispers. "I don't want to die like that."
"I don't think anyone does. But in a place like this, I don't think we'll have much of a choice."
Unfortunately, they're correct. And all Ibai can think about is how he's already made his choice by coming here. Maybe this is what he deserves. Maybe this is proof Dacre should've won all along.
There's nothing he can do now to change what has already come to pass. All Ibai can do now is hope for a more tolerable tomorrow.
"You mentioned card games," Ibai said, straightening his spine. "Would you show me one?"
Zephyr gives him a smile – a real smile. "It would be my pleasure."
[The following notes have been compiled from scraps littering a trash can, fragments of a letter yet to be penned in a way the author is pleased with. Several are completely illegible from how furiously the author scribbled out the words. Most are hopelessly wrinkled from being crumpled and unceremoniously thrown away. A couple have been shredded entirely. One has lingering tear stains. From the limited content that remains, it's difficult to tell exactly what the author is feeling, as they do not articulate it well, but it is clear that they are feeling a lot.]
I want you to come back. I want you to come home. I want to be able to look at you without seeing how much you hate me. I want a lot of things that I don't think will ever happen. I wish a lot of things were different. I wish you could meet Carina under better circumstances. I wish our parents didn't die. I wish I was a better sister. I wish I didn't go into the Games. I wish you didn't go into the Games. I wish I didn't say all those things to you. I wish you were nor
…
I did everything for you and you can't even see that and all I've ever wanted is for you to be happy and I make one mistake and I push you away and you never let me forget it and if mom and dad could see us now they'd be so disappointed in what we've become.
I think we're different types of monsters. I think I could've saved you. I think it's too late for that now.
…
I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said… any of that. I didn't mean it. I never have. I always say things without thinking. I think you take after me in that sense. I wish you took after me less. That would make things easier.
…
Why can't things just be normal again? How did this get so fucked up?
…
Sometimes I think I really do hate you.
…
I love you. I'm scared to watch you die.
It should've been me.
i am going to get a good grade in the hunger games, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve
thank you again to goldie for the editing! i only remember to do this every few chapters but she edits all of them so thanks for the finessing and sorry for the occasional personal attack. love you!
i love breaking the ice. isn't it so cute and funny
btw pleading emote sometimes games days have two parts! this clearly isn't one of them but mayhaps there is one on the horizon
oh this chapter is dedicated to roshan bc it's his in-fic birthday (june 16) i miss you bb gorl
things r heating up in the toxic yuri fandom
~de laney is out