Day Three – June 17, 09:46
Jackson Square
The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Thessaly Akaste would like nothing more than to hit Nerissa again.
Nothing more has happened since yesterday, when Thessaly had to spend the entire day stuck at the Cornucopia with the girl who won't talk to her and the girl who talks to no one at all. Theo took all the fun people with him, and Thessaly was stuck bored with the rest. It's really such a shame; maybe she and Nerissa could've worked something out if the girl hadn't randomly gone completely cold on her.
She's just so… infuriating. Thessaly worked hard to get on her good side! And for Nerissa to throw it all away for… for nothing?
(Honestly, it stings more than Thessaly is willing to admit. She can't quite get a read on Nerissa anymore, not like she used to. She's well aware that Nerissa had primarily been annoyed by her for days, but they'd been moving away from that. Thessaly had been hoping that was for good.)
(She was right when she told Ibai things don't always last around her. And, not for the first time, Thessaly wishes she would finally be wrong about that.)
Hunting, at least, provides its own entertainment – especially when it means Thessaly can explore someplace new. Ibai gave her a tip last night that they'd spotted some sort of streetcar system, but they hadn't had enough time to try it out yesterday. It didn't take much convincing for Nerissa and Saccharine to plunge headfirst into the unknown with her today, hoping that they would finally spot other tributes and get the Games rolling.
And, well, Thessaly would really like a solid chance to prove how much of a mistake it was for Nerissa to leave her in the dust like that. She's not the sort of girl you want to make an enemy out of.
She will forge a path out of these Games. And everyone will remember her for it.
(They have to.)
The streetcar carried them to the east and then north, the line ending right before a grid-like collection of buildings. Though Thessaly can't see a single occupant, she hears faint jazzy music, and the sound of a woman singing. As the trio moves through the streets, the direction the music is coming from changes, such that they can never get a grasp on where exactly the noise originates.
"I think we have to split up," Thessaly declares, spinning on her heel in the middle of a courtyard. A cathedral looms on one side, and a broken statue of a horse on the other.
Nerissa curls her lip. "Splitting up is a terrible idea."
"Why? Because it's not yours?"
"No, because we hardly know where we are. We don't know the schedule of that streetcar. We could very easily get stranded out here, and at least if we're together when that happens, we can sort out a plan."
"If that happens," Thessaly corrects. "And besides, I thought you would be happy to get rid of me for a while."
"You're injecting your personal feelings into this conversation, a place they don't need to be. Splitting up isn't a wise choice, so I don't think we should do it."
"We're supposed to be a team, aren't we? Who says you get the final say?"
"Fine." Nerissa juts her chin towards Saccharine. "What do you think?"
Saccharine smiles, pleased to be noticed. "I am agreeable to whatever the majority decides."
Thessaly swears she sees Nerissa roll her eyes up into her skull. "Right," she says drily. "Thanks for the valuable input."
"There's three of us; we should be able to cover more ground. And the layout of this area is pretty easy – it's just a grid! We each pick a street to walk down, and someone is only a block away if something happens. It's not as completely brainless an idea as you're making it out to be!" Thessaly crosses her arms.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Nerissa sighs. "I get the feeling that unless I agree, we're just going to stand around arguing all day instead of hunting tributes like we're supposed to. So in the hopes of getting something accomplished today, we can try out your idea. For a couple hours."
"A couple hours?"
"Yes, so we can reconvene and figure out if it was a waste of our time or not."
"Fine! We each pick a different street, follow it all the way down, and then meet back here in a couple hours. That sound fine to you?"
"Yes, it sounds great. Glad we figured something out."
"I'm so glad a solution has been reached!" Saccharine claps her hands once. "Are we ready to set off?"
Thessaly sort of forgot the other girl was there at all. She manages one more scathing look at Nerissa before forcing a smile back on her face. "Yep! I'll take this road." She points to one at random. It's not like the location itself matters as long as she gets to be on her own for a while.
"Have it your way," Nerissa says coolly. "We'll catch you in a bit, won't we?"
An hour goes by without anything of note occurring. Thessaly is more relieved than she wants to admit. She really needed a chance to cool down, to exist without anyone watching her.
(Besides the thousands of eyes through their screens, that is.)
There are so many buildings surrounding her. Thessaly wants to figure out a way to climb up on the rooftops, but she figures that'll come after she actually peeks into some. She has to do her job or whatever, and then she can scale up to the roof and try to catch birds or spot tributes or… well, she'll figure the rest out later.
Caught up in her own fantasies about scaling buildings, she nearly misses hearing the only sign of life in her area. Something clatters behind her, and Thessaly's normally sharp reflexes are dulled enough that whoever is sneaking up on her probably could've gotten a free hit in. She spins around, raising her throwing stars to defend herself, and-
Nerissa is standing only a couple feet away. A chill races down Thessaly's spine, and then she just gets angry.
"Why are you here?" she hisses.
Pursing her lips, Nerissa steps towards her. "I just came to talk. Alone."
"I don't want to talk to you."
"I know."
"What happened to splitting up?" Thessaly holds her weapons so tightly that the metal digs into her skin. "Do you really hate the idea so much that you had to come bother me again? Can't you just leave me alone-"
"Thessaly," Nerissa hisses, crowding into her space so suddenly that Thessaly is forced to take a step back.
The wall behind her is closer than Thessaly realized, and she's suddenly trapped between it and Nerissa. She raises a hand to shove the other girl away, but Nerissa moves faster – her hand comes up to encircle Thessaly's wrist in a vice-like grip.
"Hey!" Thessaly manages to yell, affronted. She twists her head to the side sharply, sinking her teeth into the pale flesh of Nerissa's arm.
"Shit!"
Nerissa yanks her arm back. A brief scuffle ensues, but by the end of it, their positions remain much the same, save Nerissa's exhausted panting and the fistful of Two's dress clutched in Thessaly's hand. Thessaly is less surprised than she should be – sure, she's better than the other girl at hand-to-hand combat, but Nerissa is strong. She only somewhat resents this reminder of that fact.
"I can't say anything if you start yelling." Nerissa's lips brush against her ear. "I'll leave right now if I need to."
Thessaly tries one more time to throw her off, but Nerissa's grip holds firm. Damn her. If Thessaly could figure out a way to gain some leverage, she could pretty easily worm her way out of his hold, but for now, she's stuck. She grits her teeth.
"Fine. I doubt there's anything you can say now, anyway."
"I know what this looks like right now," Nerissa mutters, blue eyes softening, "but I need you to stay quiet and trust me."
"Are you fucking serious?" Thessaly whispers back, her knuckles turning white against Nerissa's dress. "Trust you? After all that shit you said?"
Nerissa's response is coldly reprimanding. "Control yourself. This is something bigger."
"You're not making any sense."
"I know- I know. I… It's complicated. I can't say more."
"Then why are you doing this?"
The other girl's shoulders slump. Thessaly isn't sure she's ever seen Nerissa look so strangely defeated. The sight makes her heart wrench, and she loosens her grip on Nerissa's dress.
"It's difficult to explain."
"Try."
Nerissa squeezes her eyes shut. When she opens them again, her face is just as impassive as ever – but if Thessaly squints, she swears she can see sorrow prickling at the girl's eyes.
"It's safer if I don't say. Things are more dangerous than I realized."
"Ner?"
"There are eyes and ears everywhere. You have to be careful."
"What about you?"
Nerissa opens her mouth, closes it again, and shakes her head. "Not important."
"But-"
"For what it's worth," Nerissa says, almost too softly to be heard, "I am sorry that things have turned out this way."
"I don't believe you."
"And that's your choice. I certainly don't blame you. I'm just trying to warn you to watch your back."
"Did something happen?" Thessaly asks urgently. "You can tell me. I'll fight, I'll-"
"It's not like that, really. It's complicated. I'll… I'll tell you later. Just not now."
"Why not?"
A wry smile twists at Nerissa's mouth. "You're terribly curious."
"Yes, because you're being weird and cryptic and-"
"Do you still trust me?"
For a moment, Thessaly goes completely speechless. She can't possibly wrap her head around what Nerissa just asked her. "Do I trust you?"
"Maybe I shouldn't have bothered asking," Nerissa muses aloud. "When I asked a similar question earlier, you did keep quiet for me, and you keep telling me how ridiculous the question is without actually answering it one way or the other. You're quite the fascinating specimen."
Thessaly wrinkles her nose. "What the hell are you saying anymore?"
"I-" Nerissa sighs heavily. "Look. I'm sorry, okay? This doesn't make any sense to you and I know that. You have every right to hate me. I hope you do anyway. But just… trust that I'll explain everything later, alright Thess?"
And… well, there's a reason why no one ever turns to Thessaly when the time comes to make a wise decision. Even when her head and her heart tell her two different things, she never ends up picking the best option.
But she looks at Nerissa, and something in her softens. Thessaly is aware it doesn't make sense, but she can just tell that Nerissa is speaking some version of the truth, even if Thessaly can't even begin to imagine the whole story.
She just has to trust.
"Okay, Ner," Thessaly whispers. She hopes she isn't imagining the relief in Nerissa's eyes. "Later."
June 17, 11:35
Museum of Death
"This place is creepy," Akira announces delightedly.
Unfortunately, they're quite correct. Guinevere is not sure what to make of the fact that she still finds the store they've entered to be comforting.
It reminds her of home, of her place with Shae, filled to the brim with oddities of every sort. She sees crystals, tarot cards, skulls, straw dolls, ancient photos that look like they would crumble if she touched them, and the comforting sight of old blood staining the floor.
Guinevere hopes that part is just as fake as the rest.
Some artifacts are carefully protected behind glass, though the glass is stained and chipped in multiple areas. This entire building looks like it's weathered a storm and barely come out standing on the other side.
Though to be fair, the entire Arena sort of looks like that. Whatever city this used to be, the glamour has been stripped down over the years, greying the colors and causing the buildings to be overrun by ivy. Guinevere finds herself to be lucky that her dress is a dark enough orange that it reasonably won't catch the attention of outsiders, but Akira isn't so lucky. It's a shame they're so attached to the bright colors of their skirt.
"It's got its own charm," Guinevere mutters, defensive of the place that reminds her so much of home. She picks up a metal skull, her fingers leaving behind streaks in the dust caked on it.
If there was a way to get this stuff home, she and Shae could make a fortune off of it. A genuine Arena artifact! A remnant of a lost civilization! After all these years, what kind of ghosts could it still contain?
"Hello there, children."
The two of them jump, clearly not expecting any company. While they'd been exploring the shop, a woman shrouded in black moved into the entryway, blocking off their path to the door.
Guinevere swallows. She's not sure they could take whoever this is in a fight. They're stuck hearing her out for the time being.
"We were just looking around," Guinevere explains, slowly trying to maneuver herself closer to the door. She hopes she doesn't need to make a quick getaway, but she'll sure as hell play it as safe as she can get. She just hopes Akira is smart enough to follow her lead and not try to instigate.
"I'm ever so glad. I have quite the collection here, don't I? Some of it is for sale, if you're inclined to make a trade."
Guinevere would hate to know what sort of trade would be required of her. "I'll think on it."
The woman steps further into the room and lowers the hood that had previously been obscuring her features. The light casts strange shadows on her face, which is hidden behind some sort of skeletal mask. The way she moves is decidedly unnatural, with poise that doesn't befit a human. She steps forward and her fingers scratch against a table, making Guinevere cringe. The sleeve of her dress falls in such a way that Guinevere can see there's no flesh covering the bones of her fingers, which shine a polished white.
When Guinevere looks back up to the woman's face, she realizes there's no mask at all. Her eyes are sunken caverns, her dark curls extend directly from the white bone of her skull, her teeth rot in her jaw. It's such a horrifyingly macabre image that Guinevere can hardly stand to look at her, but she also can't bring herself to look away.
With all the grace of a practiced dancer, the woman – can Guinevere even call her that? – extends her hand for one of them to shake. Guinevere is petrified to realize she didn't notice the woman getting so close. "Madame Delacroix," she says, her voice almost unsettlingly low and rich. "It's quite the pleasure for someone come out all this way just to see me."
"We rode something called a streetcar!" Akira offers up eagerly.
Her ally attempts to shake the mutt's hand, but Guinevere steps in first. The bones of her hand are ice cold against Guinevere's skin, and the soulless depths of the woman's eyes peer into Guinevere's own.
"Something follows you, doesn't it?" Her grip on Guinevere's hand tightens. "Or perhaps someone. You encounter her in every mirror you come across, see her behind every corner. Your paranoia could lead you straight to your own doom."
Guienvere rips her hand away, cradling it close to her body. Her palms are slick with a mixture of sweat and blood – when did she get cut? When she looks back up at the woman, scarlet rivulets stream from between her teeth.
"And you, child." Madame Delacroix turns to Akira, who quickly shoves their hands behind her back. "You have a history riddled with tragedy, with betrayals and lashing out and cruelty. Does your sister know you still love her?"
Akira's face falls. "I-"
"Many people come to me seeking help, and I'm more than happy to do so." Madame Delacroix leers at both of them. "For a price."
"We don't have any money," Guinevere says. Her hands are trembling. "And we don't need your help. You have no real power here."
"I'm quite accustomed to nonbelievers," Madame Delacroix replies. She floats over to the counter. "Those are rather common in my business, as well as yours."
"We're not the same."
"I never said we were. I find it quite fascinating that you insist on declaring that anyway."
"What do you want?" Guinevere challenges, her voice rising in volume.
"Oh, isn't that obvious? To make a sale, my darling tributes. Or a deal, if you'd rather."
"Not interested."
The skeletal creature pauses and tilts its head. Guinevere can sense the sheer displeasure radiating out of its nonexistent expression. Rejecting its offer was an unwise choice, but Guinevere is afraid that accepting it would be worse.
Wordlessly, Madame Delacroix opens a drawer underneath the counter. It pulls out a couple objects, brings them into the light, and-
"That's me!" Akira marvels, pointing to the object on the left.
And sure enough, they're right. One doll wears an orange dress and holds a crystal ball in her hand, while the other wears yellow and holds a haphazard hunk of metal. Their faces have been stitched into expressions of misery, beady black eyes staring vacantly at nothing. Guinevere has seen dolls like these before, and she doesn't like the implications of their presence.
These dolls are typically linked to a person's life. She hates seeing them be wielded so casually.
"I offer a choice," Madame Delacroix says, presenting the two dolls to them. "Punishment for one, freedom for the other. The door behind you is locked, but the rest of my museum is open for customers. You're welcome to try your hand against whatever you find in there."
There's no guarantee that the door really is locked, but Guinevere isn't about to test the gamemakers by going against whatever inane plan they've concocted here. And if this is only the beginning of the museum, then she'd hate to find out what the rest contains.
Guinevere clenches her jaw. "What's the punishment?"
"Should that matter?"
"It does if we're talking life or death."
"Ah, you think I intend to kill you?"
"I think it's definitely a viable option considering our circumstances."
"If I kill you, then you can't come back and make a deal with me later."
"Who says I would want to anyway?"
Madame Delacroix bares rotting teeth at her. "You may think differently when a helping hand is the only thing that can save you from destruction."
"I'll take the punishment," Akira volunteers. Her chin quivers. "I'll take it. Just not… not Gwenny."
"No," Guinevere insists. "It's mine. Give it to me."
Akira turns to her, surprise and confusion evident on their face. She's about to open her mouth, more than likely about to pick a fight with Guinevere over who has the right to whatever ridiculous punishment the gamemakers have cooked up for them, when Madame Delacroix begins to laugh.
The creature laughs for an unnaturally long time, without need to stop and draw in a breath. When it's done making a scene, it pretends to wipe tears away from its eyes.
"No need to fight, darlings. I'll just choose for you."
Faster than either of them can react, Madame Delacroix tosses the dolls back and forth between its hands before throwing one at them. Guinevere catches a flash of yellow and feels a mild sense of relief that at least Akira will be unscathed. In the same instant she catches the doll, a searing pain shoots up her left arm and throughout her entire body. Guinevere cries out as her legs crumple under her. She hits the floor, hard, and her limbs spasm uncontrollably. The pain burns, it sizzles in her veins, makes it hard for Guinevere to suck in a breath, to do anything at all-
-and then it's over. Like it never happened.
Guinevere squints up at Madame Delacroix, blinking black spots out of her vision. One hand holds a long, menacing needle, and the other holds a doll. Guinevere raises a hand to her own arm, feeling the bump under her skin where a tracker lies, a far more ominous threat now that she better understands all it can do.
When Guinevere manages to get to her feet again, her entire body is trembling. Her head is fuzzy. Everything around her moves in slow motion. Akira's worried face lingers nearby, too scared to draw close, too nervous to go away.
Madame Delacroix extends its arms, the Guinevere doll still held tightly in one fist, and takes a grandiose bow. Guinevere herself almost feels like she's choking.
"It's a pleasure doing business with you. I ask you now to kindly take your leave. Don't forget to recommend us to your friends!"
She certainly doesn't need to be told twice. Guinevere scoops the doll off the ground and snatches Akira's wrist, dragging them towards the door. Luckily, Akira offers surprisingly little resistance, except to turn and stick her tongue out at Madame Delacroix.
They cross the doorway, the blinding sunlight giving Guinevere a headache. The door slams shut behind them.
"I could blow this place up," Akira whispers loudly.
Guinevere's heart beats rapidly as she cradles the Akira doll close to her chest. "Maybe next time."
June 17, 12:28
Clara at Jefferson
Everything is different now that they're actually in the Games.
Kodo can't stand it. He hates this filthy city, the lack of a comfortable bed, the way Bourbon practically preens every time she looks over to see him looking even remotely repulsed by their surroundings. It's like all the effort he put into making pregames go in his favor is actively working against him now.
His fiance, however, is thriving. She's the one more or less dragging him from place to place, and her clear expertise makes Kodo remember just how little he knows about any of… this. He's good at talking, and he's good at acting – though some might call it lying – and that's about it. The cold hilt of a knife in his hand is just as unfamiliar as the damp alleyways and musty houses.
It's gross. It's uncouth. Kodo can't possibly understand how anyone of reasonable status could survive in such conditions.
Then again, Bourbon certainly matches their surroundings. And her status is not reasonable in the slightest.
She's a far more grating presence now that Kodo has to deal with her regularly. There is no solace in the Arena, no way out of what is becoming an increasingly unfortunate situation. Kodo doesn't just have to pretend he likes her, he has to pretend like he's in love with her. Some days, he can't imagine a worse fate for himself.
It doesn't help that Giavanna is more or less holding sponsor gifts hostage unless they put on a good enough show. If they're not adequately in love, she'll cut them off entirely, rendering this whole charade entirely useless. What used to be a fun little game is very quickly getting out of hand, any sense of control Kodo used to possess rapidly slipping out of his grasp.
(Kodo can't die here, not like this. He was supposed to have years upon years to refine his craft, to make a name for himself, to become something… more.
Now he's just a boy, a boy who's very-)
He shakes his head. Kodo can't start thinking like that, not so soon. It's only day three, and he should have several days to go. This is only the beginning. If he can't handle this, what can he handle?
Thankfully, the Games have not thrown that much at Kodo thus far. Really, they're much more boring than Kodo anticipated. There's quite a bit of down time where he and Bourbon do nothing but bicker and walk for hours. They haven't seen anyone else since the first day, and Kodo's glad for that.
If only he wasn't still stuck with the most annoying person alive.
Next to him, Bourbon cracks her neck loudly. On instinct, Kodo wrinkles his nose.
"Do you have to do that?"
"I'm just stretching. Unless you've got another suggestion to help me out."
"Not here, my dearest Bonbon. I may like to show off, but not like that."
Bourbon snickers. "What, got something to be embarrassed of?"
He scoffs. "No. I just have enough class to remember there are cameras everywhere."
"Right." Bourbon snags his hand and laces his fingers through hers. She brings their hands up to brush a kiss against his knuckles. "A damn shame, then."
"Right." His eyes dart down to her mouth. "A shame."
Bourbon smirks and leans in, but the kiss is short-lived. She instead ducks her head to whisper something into his ear.
"We're being followed. I'll handle this – just don't get yourself killed."
That's the only warning he gets. Kodo has no idea what to look for, to listen for, but he's on edge. Does he even have a weapon in his backpack? Even if he does, it's stowed away enough that he'd have to search for it, and there may not be time for that.
Bourbon steps away from him, and Kodo tries to force himself to relax. It's just like acting, except right now he has to act like he's not scared shitless of whoever is following them.
If anyone is following them. Kodo side-eyes Bourbon, suddenly aware that this could all be some sort of strange prank she's pulling on him. If she wants to make him look like a fool for no reason, then he won't give her the satisfaction.
He huffs. Trust Bourbon to turn the Games into some sort of joke. She's insufferable enough as is. He didn't think she would do anything so low.
The shadows created by the buildings around him appear to stretch, hiding sinister forms in every dark corner. Kodo strains to hear any sign of footsteps, trying to determine if Bourbon is right or not, but he keeps coming up with nothing.
He hopes it's not the Careers again – Two would probably straight up kill him this time, and Kodo doesn't appreciate the mental image of his body being torn limb from limb by some maniac.
"Kodo!"
He turns towards the sound of his name, just in time to feel a blade whizz right past his ear.
The scream that tears itself from Kodo's throat is shrill, and he scrambles away from the appearance of a sudden threat only a few feet away. It's a boy, one in pink; Kodo can't come up with his name. He can't think, he can barely move, his gaze fixated on the weapon in the boy's hand and how he's going to get away from it. He could surely outrun this kid, right? It's not like he's a Career; he's just a nobody, someone inconsequential to the larger game.
(In a way, isn't that what Kodo is, too?)
Kodo's foot catches on an uneven cobblestone, and he tumbles to the ground in a heap. His body aches, his head swims, and he can't quite seem to focus on anything. He hears the scrape of metal on stone, and throws his hands in front of his face in the hopes that whatever happens is over quickly.
Something wet splatters Kodo's arms. He hears the sounds of a scuffle, and then a clatter, and he braces for a pain that… never comes.
When he finally peeks through his fingers to look at the scene in front of him, he sees Bourbon beating the shit out of the other tribute. They're both covered in so much blood that Kodo can't be sure who it originated from. A knife lays on the ground a mere inch from Kodo's foot.
"Kodo!" Bourbon grunts, wrestling to keep the tribute pinned down. "The knife!"
He stares at it like it'll bite him. The hilt is covered in blood. Something bitter rises in the back of Kodo's throat, and he swallows it down just in time to pick up the blade.
It nearly slips out of his fingers, but Kodo tightens his grip just in time. He clutches it in one trembling hand as he stares at Bourbon with wide eyes, a bruise already beginning to bloom on her cheekbone.
"Fuck, Kodo! Give it here!"
Her hand lashes out blindly, searching for his, and Kodo stays still for a long moment. Blood drips down his wrist. It occurs to Kodo that Bourbon might've set this whole thing up, used him as bait to get a kill. He could run away right now and be rid of this particular thorn in his side.
(But god, what could Kodo manage to accomplish on his own?)
He thrusts the knife towards her, eager to be rid of it, nicking her hand in the process. Bourbon doesn't even flinch, barely looks at him, and stabs directly through the tribute's throat.
A cannon goes off within seconds. Kodo's entire body is cold. His heart beats so rapidly in his chest that he can feel it pulse, an uncomfortable throb that reminds him of his own mortality. His life could end just as quickly as that tribute's just did. He'd barely be able to put up a fight.
A few feet away, Bourbon breathes heavily, looking slightly stunned. She drops the knife and clambers off the now-still body. For a long moment, all she does is stare, and then she turns to look at Kodo.
There's a lot of things that could be said. Kodo isn't sure any of them can be. The cameras watch them from every angle, especially now that Bourbon has made a kill. This moment will broadcast to the entire nation. They can't afford to mess things up now.
Kodo moves first, flinging his arms around Bourbon. She staggers back a step before holding him tightly. Kodo swears he feels the slightest tremble in her arms.
"I'm glad you're okay," he whispers. Why did you do that?
"Me too. I didn't… know I could do that." I'm not sure. Why did you give me the knife?
"I didn't, either." Why did you come back for me? What does any of this mean for us?
Bourbon pulls away first, a light smile curving her lips up. "You gonna play nurse for me again?" Since that's all you know how to do?
"Maybe in a bit." Kodo skims his hand against her cheek. "Let's not make this a habit."
This time when they kiss, all Kodo can taste is blood.
June 17, 12:40
Somewhere to the northeast of the Cornucopia
It's been a long time since Aleksei was able to sleep in a bed.
Beds are far softer than he remembered, to the point that it's almost unsettling. It's hard to get truly comfortable when Aleksei is half convinced the bed is going to swallow him alive. He ends up throwing all the pillows onto the floor and curling up under a single sheet.
He's also not used to sleeping with company. Aleksei has crashed on the couch of multiple friends' places, but they almost always retreated to their own rooms for the night, leaving him in the dark expanse of the living room. It wasn't so bad, really – indoors, the walls muffled the sounds of the trains and Six's constant stream of traffic. The silence cradled him in a way no bed ever could.
But despite all this, Aleksei is glad to be where he is now. There's a roof over his head. He slept the night without getting too cold or too warm. He has a friend just a few feet away.
(See? There's a bright side to every situation, as long as Aleksei knows where to look.)
(As long as he doesn't miss his siblings. As long as he doesn't think about how soon, there will only be one of them left.
As long as he isn't scared.)
When Aleksei finally awakens, the sun is high in the sky and the room he's in is empty. He stretches, peeks out the window to peer at the colorful houses surrounding them (unaware of where exactly they are), and then gets up. He's starting to get hungry, and he certainly misses Sagan's company, even if he was asleep the whole time they were apart.
The house they're in is huge – there's two floors, two bathrooms, and the living area is its own separate room. Aleksei could lay down in the middle of the floor in almost every room and spread his arms and legs and still not touch any of the walls or furniture. He figures that's sort of what being rich is like. Maybe if he gets home, he'd be able to have a house with a room for every one of his siblings. They'd be able to live all together again, and they'd eat every meal until they were full, and the bills would always be paid, and everyone would go to bed happy and content.
(Thinking about home so much makes his chest hurt.)
"Good morning!" Aleksei chirps, draping his upper half over the back of the chair Sagan is sitting in. "I didn't hear you get up!"
"I know," she mumbles. "I didn't want to wake you."
"Did you sleep well?"
She shrugs – sometimes that's all the conversation she can offer. Aleksei never minds.
He directs his attention towards the television she's watching. It's muted, and he sees text scrolling along the bottom of the screen, but he couldn't read what it says if he tried. All he sees is his own face and a smile that tries to light up the whole room.
"What's that?" he asks.
"Your interview, I think. From training."
"Oh." Thinking back, Aleksei tries to remember what he even talked about. "Well, what am I saying?"
Sagan gives him a strange look and silently unmutes the television. It's a little strange to hear the drone of his own voice, but Aleksei watches in fascination as he talks about everything under the sun – his siblings, his mentors, the food, training, Sagan. Every time Itara asks him a new question, he manages to answer about three that she didn't ask.
"Wow," he breathes. "That's so cool. Do you think my family back home is seeing this?"
"Probably."
"We're, like, famous or something. That's so awesome. I didn't think I'd get to see myself on TV."
Sagan frowns at him. "We're the only ones showing on this TV. Don't you think that's weird?"
He thinks about it for a moment. "Not really. We're the only ones watching, aren't we? And I haven't seen you show up yet."
As if on cue, the channel switches without either of them pushing a button. The screen flickers as if trying to calibrate, and then Sagan appears on the screen, clearly in the middle of her own interview. The real Sagan flinches and scrambles to mute the television again, breathing a sigh of relief when the deed is done.
"Aw man," Aleksei whines, "now I can't hear!"
"There's subtitles. You can still read it."
"Um." Aleksei squints at the blurred text, trying to make it form a shape he recognizes. The only word he can really read anyway is his own name, and that only gets him so far. "Right."
She huffs and crosses her arms. Aleksei swears she's blushing. "I don't want to hear myself."
"That's fine! I just can't…"
She turns her gaze up to him. "Can't what?"
"Can't…" Aleksei doesn't understand why he's hesitating, why his words suddenly aren't coming out. He clears his throat. "I can't read it."
"Oh."
Aleksei suddenly feels awkward standing behind her chair, so he moves to sit on the couch. He stares at the carpeted floor, his sock-covered feet, the silent television. For a long while, no one speaks.
And then, to Aleksei's surprise, Sagan moves to sit next to him.
He glances over at her curiously. Her eyes no longer hide behind her bangs the way they used to. Aleksei doesn't mind that. He likes being able to see her, to pretend he knows what's going on in her head. It's strangely comforting.
"I didn't talk much," Sagan says, so softly that Aleksei almost wonders if he imagined it. "As soon as they let me leave, I did."
"Why?"
She shrugs. "I didn't want to talk about anything in particular."
"What did you say, then?"
"My mom. How much I want to go home. The sort of things that are true, but don't give away how much of the truth there really is. Training. If I'm prepared for the Games." She hesitates, and then adds, "You."
Aleksei can't help the grin that takes over his face. "Me?"
She ducks her head. "Yeah. A little."
"Cus we're allies?"
"Well… yeah. I told them you were nice."
"I talked about you, too."
"I know. I saw."
"And?"
"You like me a lot."
"Well, yeah! That's why we're friends."
Sagan doesn't always like it when he uses that word, but she's stopped reacting to it quite as much. She tucks back a strand of hair, and he notices that her blush is extending to the very tips of her ears. "I guess so."
Aleksei bolts upright like a current of electricity has shot through him. "Wait, really?"
"I-"
"You don't have to say it!" he insists, waving his hands. "But… really?"
Her lips twist as she tries to summon words. "I… I am pleased to be your ally."
And it's not a confirmation that they're friends, but it's as close as Aleksei has ever dreamed. He's brimming with energy that he doesn't know what to do with.
"Can I hug you?" he asks, just to see.
Even though Sagan doesn't say yes, she doesn't say no, either. "Maybe next time," is all she declares.
She puts her head on his shoulder after that. Aleksei takes care not to move an inch, hoping that she'll stay here with him for a good long while. This is something he desperately doesn't want to mess up.
(And for the first time, Aleksei realizes that while he was dead asleep this morning, Sagan very well could've just left him behind. There's no way he would've noticed, no way he could've found her. She chose to stay for him.
That has to mean something, doesn't it?)
June 17, 15:38
Pat O'Brien's
The more time that goes by without Svelte seeing a single other living soul, the better.
Don't get him wrong, Svelte would love to get the hell out of here. There's only been one cannon since the bloodbath, and there's seventeen to go before he can even think about going home. At this rate, the Games could last weeks. He's already tired of looking over his shoulder at every minor sound, bracing himself to see death again – whether he meets it or causes it.
But… as long as he's in the Arena, no one can control Svelte's life but himself. No more late nights or early mornings to prepare for the next show, no more sneaking around the District and praying he doesn't get caught, no more dismissive praise when he does something right or slaps when he does something wrong. All Svelte has to do is be.
He spent the night under the open sky, tracing unfamiliar constellations with his finger. All around him, flowers were just beginning to wilt in the heat of the summer, and brick walls carefully concealed him from any outsiders. When he closed his eyes, he could hear a fountain gurgling and the fain sound of a piano playing.
Though Svelte could stay here for ages, he knows he won't be able to. To remain alive, he has to stay on the move, offering some sort of show as he traverses the Arena and evades other tributes. He's already been in this area for a day – there's no telling if anyone else has managed to catch up with him or not. The courtyard he found brought him some small sense of security – if necessary, he could escape through the bar or the surrounding rooftops. There would be almost no situation where he found himself truly stuck.
(Is this true freedom? Does that make the cost worth it?)
His next goal is the city itself. Svelte stood on the rooftops the night before and mapped out the Arena in his head. He came from a park over in the southwest, presumably where the Careers continue to camp out. He'd headed as far east as he could go, and then north, so ideally he's established himself a pretty decent head start. After getting off the roof, he walked through this entire district twice over, familiarizing himself with the layout and the best route forward.
There are no more streetcars to carry him; he'll have to do the rest of this on foot.
Svelte doesn't have much by the way of possessions in the Games, so packing to leave doesn't take long. His backpack is lighter than it was when he got it, considering he's had some of the water and food he found inside. This will become concerning in the next day or so when he'll have to begin rationing, but it's nothing Svelte isn't used to back home.
(If it wasn't for Ariadne, Svelte would feel confident that he at least had enough sponsors to get him a warm meal. Now he's certain that even if his sponsors do exist, they won't be able to reach him.
He's tired of putting on shows for other people.)
Svelte heads inside the bar and up the stairs to the balcony. From there, he climbs up the railing and swings onto the roof, intending to scout out the best path to take. One of the taller buildings a couple miles off will certainly work well – and give him plenty of places to hide.
Instead, he finds that he's not alone. On an adjacent rooftop, a girl with long brown hair grins at him, baring her teeth into a smile that serves as both a threat and a promise. In her hands, she wields throwing stars like claws.
It takes longer than Svelte wants to admit to figure out who found him. Four. He prays she's alone, but no god has ever listened to him before, and he knows one won't start now.
"I've got a couple questions for you, little bird," Four calls, eyes flashing dark. "Why don't you come and meet my friends?"
[The following notes have been compiled from the Mentor's Lounge, primarily on pink stationary. It's anyone's guess as to who would think ahead enough to bring that into the room. The paper itself smells faintly of lavender, or something similarly floral. The owner of this stationary initiates the conversation, each note accompanied by a doodle of some kind – whether that be a flower or a strange little face. The recipient… seems to be less than enthused to hear from her, but he responds every time nonetheless.]
vitaliiiiii~
(ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ
Why are you passing me notes like we're in high school.
because i'm boooored
and everyone else is doing it i felt left out
We're literally sitting next to each other you could just have a normal conversation with me.
when you say that it makes it sound like you really *do* want to talk to me ;)
You're reading into this.
yes because you're handing me a written note
that's how this works (✿◠‿◠)
Why are you talking to me.
i already answered this! i'm bored and this is entertaining me!
Bothering me is entertaining you?
yes, because i enjoy this thing called having *fun*
you should try it sometime
i'll even do you a favor and teach you ;)
I am perfectly capable of having "fun." Just not your kind.
aww, what's my kind of fun?
I watched your Games, you know. I'm not Rowan.
i'd sure hope not, considering he tried to kill me first and he was gay and entirely uninterested in me
Fascinating implications there.
you have yet to prove me wrong
despite all your protests, you're still talking to me, aren't you?
[...]
hey! this wasn't an invitation to start ignoring me!
(╥︣﹏᷅╥)
VITALIIIIIII
God you're insistent. Just come sit next to me.
omaga… THE vitali strychnos wants ME to sit next to HIM…
be still my beating heart…
Knock it off before I change my mind.
hehe~
18. chip 10m, killed by bourbon jaque
kills:
thessaly: 1
svelte: 1
theo: 1
nolan: 1
nerissa: 1
saccharine: 1
bourbon: 1
if ffn eats my emoticons i think i'll cry
wow that's so crazy is day 3 in two parts or smth? whoa who did that that's so nutty (ideally i'll be posting part 2 next week)
my head hurts. thank u for ur hard work goldie
bye bye
~de laney is out