aaand much like in odwh, this is what i would consider the turning point-ish of games! blanket tw from here on out that things might get a little dark and nasty - but anything particularly so will be properly tagged. if you ever need a tl;dr of a pov, all you gotta do is let me know!

Day Three – June 17, 15:43

The rooftops

Svelte doesn't wait around for any further explanation – he bolts.

The sensation of shingles shifting under his feet is familiar enough to make him at least relatively confident that he can get away. Even if it's a Career chasing him. Even if he knows he'd be horrifically outmatched in a fight. Even if he knows it's a long, long way to the ground.

This isn't the Bizarre back in Eight. There's no net to catch Svelte if he falls now. Even the slightest misstep would lead to a sure and sudden death – if not from the fall, then from the cruel blades of a Career.

One of the shingles dislodges under his weight, and his foot slips. For the first time in ages, a searing panic claws at Svelte's throat. He barely catches himself, and wastes no time continuing to throw his momentum forward.

The girl following him is more skilled than he originally anticipated. She matches his every move with just as much grace, and she's fast. It doesn't take long for Svelte to feel like his only true advantage is the fact that he's more familiar with the area.

If he can think clearly enough to remember any of his plans, that is.

Svelte's mind moves a mile a minute, trading off between scouring the ground and plotting his next landing point and watching Four out of the corner of his eye. Though she still wields stars between her fingers, she has yet to throw a single one.

(There's something off about that, something on the tip of his tongue. And though Svelte hasn't figured it out yet, he's relatively certain he doesn't have much time before it's too late.)

His breaths come in short, ragged gasps. Svelte can perform every night and hardly break a sweat, but now, when his life depends on it, he can feel death nipping at his heels.

(He can't die, not now. Not when everything he's been through will mean nothing at all. Svelte should still have time left. He should still have the chance to make his life mean something.)

"Nerissa!" Four calls, and Svelte's blood runs cold. "Saccharine! I caught one!"

Fuck. She didn't try to fight him because she was herding him. She played him for a fool, and he made it so easy for her.

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in Svelte's chest – or maybe a sob – and he chokes it down. He's really going to die here, isn't he? A bird torn apart by wolves, his brief freedom stripped away in a matter of a few minutes. He got too complacent. He got too comfortable.

(He wasn't afraid.)

The buildings around him are dwindling, sealing off escape routes, and he let this happen. The thought that comes next cuts as deep as any blade.

I'm going to die.

Back home, that might've brought comfort. He would've finally been free of Monsieur Vaurien, even if the cost was his own life.

"What do you know about Callum?" Four calls. "You killed him in the bloodbath, didn't you?"

Her words make him hesitate, just for a second. He doesn't recognize the name, but he's relatively sure the One boy died on day one. If that's what they want to ask him about, they're looking for the wrong person. The One boy might've been the most useless of the lot, but even Svelte's not stupid enough to draw the ire of the Careers.

He shrieks as pain lances through his calf, making Svelte stumble again, but the leg he lands on can't support his weight anymore. He crumples the instant he tries to take a step, and his fingers scramble against rough shingles. He bites back another cry as the pads of his fingers are torn nearly to shreds, and one of his nails rips directly out of his nailbed.

Just in time, he manages to catch himself. His feet dangle above the ground; even though it's only a couple stories down, Svelte knows that in this shape, falling is a death sentence.

Above him, the sky is a crystalline blue. There's not a single cloud in sight. And, not for the first time, Svelte wishes he could simply fly away from it all, leave the whole world behind in search of a freedom that doesn't even exist.

He takes in a shuddering breath, the first to completely fill his lungs since he got discovered. Svelte glances down at the ground, to where Two waits with a spear that looks like it could reach him now if she really tried. Above him, Four draws another star from a belt around her waist. He can't even see One.

His fingers slip again. He knows he's trapped – whether he climbs back up or falls down, a bloodthirsty Career is ready to cut him down. Svelte barely thinks about what he does next: a swing and a kick of his foot shatter the window in front of him, and he tumbles through it seconds later, his right side landing in the field of broken glass. A broken sob lurches out of his throat, but he forces himself to stagger upright. The room in front of him spins. Something tastes sour in the back of his mouth. It takes every ounce of energy he possesses for Svelte to force his body to move.

He leans against the wall for support as he draws a knife out of his bag. Svelte may see death closing in on him, but if they think he'll just lay down without so much as a fight, he'll prove them wrong. Svelte's gonna give them hell even if that's all he can do.

(He can't give up now, not yet, not when the open sky is within reach for the first time in his life. It's beautiful. It's his. It promises the potential of a future.

He's afraid to go so soon.)

Svelte's senses are dulled enough that he doesn't realize until too late that this building was already occupied. At the bottom of the stairs, quiet chatter bleeds in, and too late, Svelte wonders if this is where One went.

The voices stop. Svelte wonders if he did anything to alert them of his presence. He staggers forward a step, his body strangely out of his control. Any fight he gets in will surely kill him, but-

He recognizes these two.

Guinevere and Akira's faces blur in front of him. Akira looks properly alarmed by his sudden appearance, but Guinevere just sets her face into a neutral expression that Svelte has no idea how to read. He doesn't know how to try. He holds up his bloodied knife, but the tremble of his hand doesn't make for much of a threat.

"You're hurt," Guinevere says.

"I am," he slurs, his voice sounding weak in his own ears.

Guinevere stares at him for a long time. With every passing moment, Svelte is acutely aware of his blood seeping into the floor and the Careers breathing down his neck. He doesn't have much time.

"Kiki," Guinevere says in a shockingly measured tone. "You remember earlier? How I said next time?"

They start bouncing on their toes, suddenly full of boundless energy. "Next time means now, right? Right?"

"Next time means now, as long as you have something ready."

Akira whips something out from behind her back. Svelte squints at it, but he can't tell if his inability to recognize the object is due to the blurriness of his vision or the fact that Akira made some sort of monstrosity. "I always have something ready," Akira says very seriously.

Guinevere blinks, a brief look of unsettlement passing over her features. "Always?"

"Always always. I got wire."

"Okay." Guinevere turns to Svelte. "We can get you out of here if you show us the way."

He swallows hard, and the single step he takes forward is the most painful thing he's ever done. "I… alright."

Guinevere's responding smile is almost a relief. "Alright. Let's give 'em hell, then."

June 17, 13:10

Harmony St. Wharf

Walking gets very tiresome after a while.

That's all Marri feels like she's done. Walk to find Xander, walk along the riverside, walk between trees and buildings, walk until her feet hurt but she's too afraid to stop. Even though she hasn't seen anyone except Xander since the bloodbath, she feels like there's someone lurking around every corner, and all she has to do is look for them.

(She isn't particularly interested in looking.)

But this is far superior to any alternative. Marri will take boredom any day as long as it means she lives to see the next.

As the afternoon stretches on, the day begins to fade, and Marri lets herself wander closer to the water, further out in the open. The dark green of her dress camouflages her far better than the absurdly bright color of Xander's shirt. If she had anything to paint with, she would convince him to let her try.

Then again, he's not been up to much talking since they reunited. Marri has tried, here and there, but he's lost in his own mind. She figures he saw something he doesn't want to remember, but she doesn't want to ask him what. She just flutters close by, a reminder she's there. It's all she can think to do.

That gives her plenty of time to get lost in her own head. Getting reaped means that Marri has hardly been able to stop and think about home, not in a way that matters. She allows herself to miss the trees, the grass, the garden, but not her mother and especially not her father. Without Xander to serve as a sufficient distraction, no matter how hard she tries, her train of thought always leads back to home, and to… other things.

(Will it hurt?)

Marri stares up at the sun until she sees spots in her vision and shakes them out. She crosses her arms and stands a few feet from the river, which is so much bigger than the lake back home.

The longer she stands there, the more she sees. And with nothing to do the past couple days besides observe, Marri has plenty of pieces to attempt to put together.

"Hm."

Xander wanders over to her curiously. "What is it?"

"Do you see it?"

He makes a face. "See what? The filthy river? The complete devastation on the other side? We're not going anywhere near that."

"I highly doubt we would be able to regardless. I believe the forcefield awaits anyone who deems the river to be a viable escape route."

"... Okay," Xander says slowly, "so what do you see?"

"The sky isn't real."

Xander scoffs. "I already knew that. None of this is real. Even if this used to be a real city, any essence of what it used to be has been stripped away and replaced by the machinations of gamemakers. The moon is always full. The stars never move. The constellations don't really exist. We're in a bubble, with no way to escape."

"Do you see the clouds?"

"Yes?"

"They're fluffy and white high above us, and if we were surrounded by buildings that's all we would be able to see. The sky is blue and idyllic. The weather is warm but not hot, the sun is bright but not blazing, the grass is green despite the clearly subpar environment…"

"You talk a lot," Xander grumbles. "What's your point?"

"Sorry." Marri coughs into her elbow. "Look to the horizon. You can only see it by the river here."

Despite his reservations towards her, Xander follows her direction without further complaint. He uses a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, and his mouth twists as he sees what she's talking about.

"The clouds by the horizon are grey. Like it's going to rain."

"But they don't move," Marri muses aloud. "Those have been there since the bloodbath. Any movement they might've made isn't substantial enough for anyone to notice."

"It looks like it already is raining," Xander points out. "You can see it falling on the other side of the river."

Marri bites the skin of her lip until a coppery taste fills her mouth. "The river is rising."

"Oh," Xander mutters, dropping into a crouch. He surveys the bank, dragging a finger through the silt. "You're right."

He doesn't sound as surprised as Marri initially expected. She tries not to feel too pleased about that.

"The city is big."

He shoots her a glance. "Too big."

"And only one person has died since the bloodbath. And we haven't seen anyone since then."

"I don't know how far we've gone, but we've followed this river the whole way. Do you think…?"

Her mouth feels dry. Marri doesn't want to say it, but if Xander is giving her the opening, she'll take it. "I think sooner or later, the rain will come. And so will the river. And if we stay here, we'll drown."

"Forcing us farther inland. Where the other tributes are."

"The city can afford to be this big because it won't be forever."

"This could be a stretch. We don't necessarily know if it's true."

"Is waiting around to find out worth the risk?"

Xander grimaces at the filth on his finger, wiping it on his too-bright shirt. He doesn't answer Marri, but that tells her enough.

(Silently, she curls her fingers into fists. The Games don't afford anyone the luxury of being afraid. Not if they want to live.

Marri doesn't know how to live anymore, but she's far too scared to die.)

Ever-so-carefully, Marri sinks to the ground. She's well aware that it will ruin the green skirt of the prettiest thing she's ever worn, but she can't find it in her to care. The water in front of her is just as much of a promise as it is a threat.

"Can we stay here a little longer?" Marri whispers. "Just an hour or so. It still feels safe."

Xander swallows, his jaw tight. Marri knows there are things he'd never say, not out loud, not to her, but sometimes she swears she can hear them anyway.

"Nowhere is safe," he mutters. He kicks at a rock, watching as it rolls down the bank and plops into the water. With a huff, he sits on the damp grass next to her. "We'll stay. For a bit."

"Thank you."

"... Whatever."

For a moment, it's Xander that she watches. The tremble of his hands as he runs his fingers through his hair. The way his mouth sinks deeper and deeper into a frown as time drags on. The way he keeps his gaze fixed on the horizon, as if doing that will somehow keep the incoming storm at bay.

And then she follows his gaze. The water looks darker than it did a couple days ago. A wind sweeps past them, and the sudden chill makes Marri shudder. White caps break on the surface of the river. Marri imagines what would happen if she went in now, how the water would cradle her as it drags her deeper, pretending to be a comfort until it was too late for her to realize otherwise. Maybe she'll find her father down there. Maybe he's waiting for her to come home.

Marri squeezes her eyes shut before any tears can fall.

She can't be afraid.

(The water continues to churn.)

June 17, 14:46

Taylor Park

"Oh, this is perfect!"

Jasmine drops to her knees in front of a cluster of plants, running her hands over the purple berries. There's two kinds, nearly indistinguishable, but Jasmine knows she can correctly identify each and every one.

"Food?" Nolan asks, hovering behind her.

"Better." She grins. "Poison."

Nolan is strangely not as entranced by her discovery as she is, but he crouches next to her anyway. "Okay," he says slowly. "So…?"

"So we're going to collect some berries, and neither of us is going to eat them because we'll die very painfully."

She doesn't miss the wary look he gives her. Jasmine actually explicitly chooses to ignore it – she's smart, he's strong, and if they try to win each other's game, it won't end well.

(And, really, it's too soon for things to fall apart just yet. Jasmine will reevaluate when they hit the halfway mark.)

Jasmine ties back her hair and pretends that everything is fine and normal. Gnawing at her lip, she tries to come up with a super casual way to ask the question she really wants an answer to.

Hey, why'd my mentor call you a criminal? What sort of crime was it? Did you kill anyone? Should I be afraid of you?

Well, to be honest, Jasmine sort of knows the answer to the last question. She should be afraid of everyone in this Arena. To be anything else is foolish, and Jasmine does not consider herself a fool even on her worst days.

"What," Nolan deadpans.

She finally realizes he's staring right back at her. Jasmine's face grows warm. "What?"

"If you've got something on your mind, just come out and say it."

"I don't-"

He silences her with a look. "You're not very good at lying."

She sniffs. "I take offense to that. I actually think I'm a pretty good liar."

"... Congrats?"

Jasmine goes back to picking berries, putting on a show of being a little too focused. She takes care not to get any of the juice on her fingers. Clearly she'll do her best to wash her hands after this, to keep from accidentally ingesting any, but Jasmine is going to play this as safe as she can.

With every berry that goes into the little pouch sitting next to her, Jasmine feels like another piece is slowly shifting in her favor. Thus far, she's made a pretty unimpressive showing in the Games. But this… this is something Jasmine can do. As long as she coats her blade with the juice of this berry, even a single nick could cause death. She doesn't have to be good at fighting, she just has to be effective once.

It's easier said than done, but Jasmine can still see Orson's blue, pained expression when she closes her eyes some nights. She's done it before, and she can do it again.

(Right?)

(Yes, yes, she has to if she wants to live. It just won't be as easy as killing Orson.)

"Jasmine," Nolan says, his voice softer now.

She keeps her head ducked. "Yeah?"

"You're thinking about something."

"I… yeah."

"... Jasmine, I'm trying to ask what you're thinking about."

"Oh." She rolls a berry between her fingers. "It's… personal."

"I figured, since it's got you moping around."

Jasmine swallows and glances over at him. "Are you… really curious?"

"I'm still asking, aren't I?"

That's fair enough, Jasmine supposes. She sits there for a bit longer, trying to figure out how much to say. She still doesn't believe she can trust Nolan, not really, but they're still allies, aren't they?

(Maybe a bit of the truth will encourage him to talk, too.)

"It's my friend," she starts uncertainly. "Sheridan. I think about her all the time, but I miss her now more than ever, even though now…"

Now I could join her.

"What's she like?"

"Kind. Spirited." A smile tugs at Jasmine's expression. "She's actually the one that taught me about plants, you know. She found me in the woods about to eat nightlock 'cus I was too young and hungry to know any better. We spent a lot of time exploring out there. She wanted a place to go that wasn't home, and I enjoyed having a friend."

She realizes her mistake before Nolan can point it out. "... Enjoyed?"

"Yeah," she whispers. "Enjoyed. Past tense."

"I'm sorry," Nolan says, a little unsure. "Can I…?"

Figuring he's about to ask what happened, Jasmine sighs and puts the berry down. "Murdered. Case was never solved. So her killer's still out there somewhere, running free, and she's dead. Put up a fight from what they could tell, but it wasn't enough."

Bitter tears sting at her eyes, even though she knows Orson is dead. Maybe it's because Jasmine still believes he didn't get everything he deserved – it should've hurt more, he should've been able to scream and hear how no one came for him, he should've fought like hell despite knowing it was a useless endeavor. He should've died knowing exactly how Sheridan felt when her life was stripped from her.

Nolan has gone strangely silent. He picks at the stems of grass in front of him, brow pinched in thought. His expression is strangely somber, to the point where Jasmine suddenly has a couple questions of her own.

She nudges him with her elbow and tries to keep her tone light. "What?"

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"That's not what you were thinking about."

"... Not exactly," Nolan admits. "But it's not my place to share right now."

"I'm asking because I'm curious, right?"

She's strangely pleased to see a smile flicker across his face. Jasmine tries not to think about that too hard.

"I just… get it. I've lost someone, too. Someone important to me. And it's hard knowing nothing will bring him back."

Jasmine forces her gaze away. "Yeah."

"Yeah."

The silence stretches on between them. Jasmine hadn't realized before just how little they knew about each other. And she supposes that was the point, but this similarity… means something, somehow.

(No, Jasmine can't empathize with him. That implies a closeness that she doesn't desire, can't desire, and Jasmine needs to be able to see other tributes as her enemies if she wants to find the resolve to go home.

Nolan's a criminal, and that means he's a bad person. Jasmine can't see him as anything else.)

(... But still, she's curious.)

Call it a moment of weakness, but Jasmine leans back on her palms. She stares up at the sky and wishes Sheridan was here to see it.

"Tell me about him," Jasmine encourages. "I shared, so now it's your turn."

Nolan heaves a sigh. He mimics her positioning, turning his face away from hers. "His name was Ryker. He had musician's hands, but I don't think he ever played. He should've. He would've been excellent at it. But he was good at talking, too. He had the sort of voice that could sway an entire room full of people, even if they all disagreed, even if they didn't like him. He always knew what to say."

And that's when Jasmine sees it – the unabashed fondness on his face. It's the most emotion she's ever seen him express, and it's something both sweet and sad all at the same time.

"Oh," she whispers, unable to look away. "It's like that, isn't it?"

"I-" Nolan falters, fumbling for words. "I- yeah. It was."

"Still is, from the looks of it."

"Hard to love a ghost."

"Hard, but not impossible. He's still with you, isn't he? My- Sheridan's still with me."

"It's not the same," Nolan mutters.

"No, but saying goodbye is hard enough. I'd rather this than lose her forever."

Nolan frowns and doesn't say anything else. Jasmine isn't particularly surprised by this; in fact, she finds she's actually somewhat grateful. It's probably for the best that their conversation cuts off now, before Jasmine sees him as something more than an ally, a tool.

(Even if this makes her wonder…)

Unwilling to let her thoughts stray any longer, Jasmine goes back to her earlier task. She scrutinizes the plants in front of her, trying to distinguish poisonous from not, and takes care to double check before putting them in her pouch.

After a few long moments, Nolan follows her actions. The silence between them is now filled with something neither of them know how to name.

In the distance somewhere, Jasmine hears a bird cawing. Leaves rustle. A flower in front of her is on the verge of blooming. All around, life has found its way back into a broken city. It may be manufactured this way, but the flowers in front of Jasmine are just as real as she is. The world is just as big and bright and beautiful as it is cruel.

She's not ready to leave it without a fight.

June 17, 15:02

The Cornucopia

Theo seriously needs to get his producers on the line after today.

They've got a lot of audacity here, and Theo's not sure which producer is to blame. Maybe Leon, considering the Games are sort of his specialty, but Theo can't figure out why. Is it because of that whole thing with Kodo? Theo launched next to him for a reason, so clearly he was supposed to attack Kodo, and… maybe Leon is displeased because Theo didn't manage to kill him? But Theo did everything he was supposed to, and Kodo's the one that went totally off script.

Then again, it could be a different producer. Lyndon's the one who created Theo's entire backstory, and they clearly have a vendetta against him. Elaine's been working on more of the modern day stuff, balancing the plotlines as Theo goes through the Games. Both of them enjoy seeing Theo suffer a fair bit more than the average viewer, and while Theo totally doesn't get the appeal, it would at least make sense that they'd want him moping around the Cornucopia instead of getting in on the action.

It's so not fair. Theo made sure that everyone got a fair chance to go hunting totally uninterrupted, and this is how he's repaid? His day with Ibai and Zephyr was startlingly lackluster, but the day he's stuck at the Cornucopia, someone finally dies again? Even worse, Theo has no idea who it is – and he won't for several more hours. How's he supposed to perfectly curate his reaction to the faces in the sky if he doesn't even know who died?

(Theo sneaks a glance at Zephyr and Ibai, who have innocently been playing cards for the past couple hours. They don't seem worried about anything at all – could that be a sign? Maybe they don't have to worry about anything because they already know what's going to happen.

He'll have to keep an eye on them.)

For about the third time that day, Theo tries to find something to busy himself with. He checks their inventory, going through every bag left in the Cornucopia as if he'll find something everyone else missed for the past two days. His only notable discovery is a granola bar, which makes him realize he's getting peckish, so Theo scarfs it down without a second thought.

From there, he saunters from one side of the park to the other – the short side, not the long side. Theo's been warned plenty of times not to split off from his alliance, and even though his skills clearly outrank the allies he's staying with, he knows not to push his luck these days. Nothing of interest is happening in the park, either; Theo gets stalked by a few butterflies that might be cameras, and an overly friendly squirrel gets a little too interested in his shoe, but that's it. No tributes, no nothing. He makes sure to wink at a couple butterflies here and there, just to make sure they get his good side, but he eventually heads back to the Cornucopia empty-handed.

With nowhere else to go, and nothing else to look through, Theo must turn to more drastic measures. If he was at home, this would be the point where he starts thinking out loud. The audience loves a good dramatic monologue, and Theo is more than happy to deliver.

Here, though, he has to settle for mumbling to himself. Theo begins pacing briskly back and forth in front of the Cornucopia, taking about thirty steps at a time before spinning on his heel to go back the other way. And all the while, he tries to unravel the mystery that presented itself when the Games first started.

What happened to Callum?

Obviously, he's dead. Now Theo has to figure out who has enough audacity to kill him off so early – and who's skilled enough to get away with it. The only real lead they have is who was standing next to him during the launch, and none of them have seen Svelte since the bloodbath.

(Well, none of them have seen anyone since the bloodbath.)

For all Theo knows, Svelte could be a total red herring. But even if he is, they don't have another tangible lead at the moment.

Maybe he's too focused on the mystery. Watching him struggle to figure it out is probably entertaining for the viewers at home, but it hasn't exactly gotten Theo anywhere so far. He needs to find something new to aim for – like ripping Kodo's head off his frail little body.

"Dude," Zephyr calls, "are you gonna pace around all day?"

Theo pauses, trying to calculate what his response should be. "Not all day."

"You should join us," they offer. "Have some fun while the girls are gone."

A tempting offer, but one slight issue. "On the ground?" Theo wrinkles his nose. Not for the first time, he wishes he had his lint roller with him. Maybe he should make a couple direct hints to Callan.

Zephyr smirks, bemused. "Well, there's not really a better place to do it."

Unfortunately, he's right. Theo purses his lips and tries not to think about it too much as he carefully settles to the ground next to Zephyr.

Ibai doesn't bother to acknowledge Theo's sudden presence, but Theo tries not to be hurt by this. It's totally fine that Ibai gets along swell with Thessaly and Zephyr but avoids him like the plague. It's totally fine, because Theo isn't even that invested in people liking him, anyway. Especially not his own supporting actors who sort of have an important bearing on the plot.

(Ha ha.)

(It's not very convincing even inside Theo's head.)

"Up for another round of poker, Ibai?" Zephyr starts shuffling cards between his hands.

Ibai finally glances up from his hands to level Zephyr with an unamused look. "I am not fond of your version of poker."

"You're just a shit liar."

"Poker is a game that takes equal parts luck and strategy, and-"

"And the strategy mostly involves bluffing, which is just a nicer word for lying. Just let me know if you can't take it, and we'll figure something else out."

Ah, Theo is familiar with the game known as poker. He's played it before with his training group back home, but he's never won because Icara is a filthy cheat. She's also good at this "bluffing" nonsense, and Theo's pretty sure it's just because she's a total snake.

"I'll play," Theo says, cutting in. "I learned from the best, so give me your worst."

Zephyr grins smugly at Ibai. "See? He'll play with us. You're not gonna get scared off, are ya?"

For the first time since the second day of training, Ibai looks directly at Theo and sizes him up. Theo makes sure to mimic Zephyr's expression, grinning and winking like that'll entice Ibai even more.

"... Fine," Ibai relents. "We can do another round."

Zephyr immediately begins dealing cards, like all they were waiting for was Ibai's involvement. Theo feels strangely like he's been left out of a joke, but he manages to push the feeling aside and scrutinizes the two cards in his hand.

King of clubs, jack of spades… Theo squints between his hand and the three face-down cards in the middle, wondering if they'll help him out here.

They're high cards, which Theo remembers is a good thing, but they don't exactly match. He's a little fuzzy on the exact rules of poker, but he can probably figure out something that'll work. The main thing he remembers is that lying is good – so he plasters a slightly smug expression on his face and hopes that carries him far.

And, uh, it doesn't. Theo ends with two pair, which isn't a horrible hand, but he also knows it's not good. Despite knowing his odds are low, Theo plays until the very end, matching each of the bids with enough confidence to attempt to get one of the others to fold.

"Two pair," Theo sighs, laying out his cards.

"Tough luck." Zephyr shakes their head and shows what they've got. "I've got a flush. Ibai looks pretty worried over there, but maybe he's learned a little about lying."

Ibai breathes out a sigh of relief. "Full house," he says, placing down three kings and two queens.

Zephyr whistles, leaning forward to see it for himself. "Damn, really? I thought for sure you had a shit hand."

"I was concerned about the outcome, but I knew that my odds were good as long as I got the cards I wanted. And I did, and there are only three hands that could outrank me, so there was no reason to fold, even if there was still a possibility of either of you bluffing."

"Alright, alright, no need to go through the whole breakdown for us. Good game, Ibai. Another?"

"Have we reset the count from our previous games now that a newcomer has joined? Zephyr was winning by quite a bit."

"Zeph," they correct.

"I am not calling you that."

"Why not? You call Thessaly Thess. Aren't we friends?"

Ibai blinks. "Are we?"

"Playing hard to get…" Zephyr shakes his head sadly and begins shuffling cards again. "We'll get him next time, right Theo?"

"Absolutely," Theo affirms.

Needless to say, between Zephyr's bluffs and Ibai's strategy, it takes several rounds for Theo to win a single game. But even though Theo feels a little left out, he finds he doesn't mind for once.

(Because… well, it's fun. This is the most normal Theo has felt in… in… maybe ever. There's this strangely warm sensation fluttering in his chest. These are actors, obviously, but this is one of those times where the lines blur and Theo wishes they could really be friends.)

(Is he really even made for friendship? Everything about Theo's life has been concocted by a team of people he's never met, so every relationship is staged for viewers. Ibai and Zephyr actually seem to like each other, but they're probably only involving Theo because they have to for the plot. All around him, his castmates are forging real bonds, and Theo is just as alone as he's ever been.

No one ever tells you how lonely stardom is. Will it get worse after Theo wins? What happens then, anyway? Will his show continue on, or will everything come to an end? Does Theo stand a chance at living a normal life? Was he ever meant to win in the first place?

… Theo doesn't want to think about this anymore.)

They're about to start their tenth game when the hair on the back of Theo's neck stands up. He bolts to his feet, scanning the area for tributes and drawing the curious eyes of Ibai and Zephyr. He can't see anything in the area, but the sensation of something being wrong doesn't go away.

In the distance, a cloud of smoke billows up into the sky. Seconds later, the sound of an explosion hits Theo hard enough to make him stagger.

Zephyr and Ibai are beside him in an instant. The destruction is nowhere near them, and Theo estimates it would take at least a couple hours to reach the source, but he takes a few steps in that direction anyway, his mind racing.

There's someone there, a threat, a tribute that needs to be put down, a show that needs to be put on-

A hand grabs his arm. "Theo."

He pauses, turning to look at Zephyr, whose pale face is still focused on the explosion. "We have to-"

"We can't get there in time to help. But… that's where the girls were headed today."

Jealousy slices through Theo's chest. Of course they were. They get to go be part of the action, meanwhile Theo had to sit here and play card games and bore the shit out of his audience, giving them another reason to give up on him entirely. And now something big has happened, and Theo won't know the outcome for hours.

It's not fucking fair.

"Do- do you think…?" Whatever is on Ibai's mind, he can't bring himself to finish saying it aloud. Theo is grinding his teeth too loudly to figure out what he could possibly mean.

"I don't know," Zephyr whispers. "There's nothing to do but wait and see."

June 17, 15:58

French Quarter

Of course the outer District rat managed to find a couple friends. This would've been easier if he'd just come down to talk instead of running them halfway across the grid. But, Nerissa supposes, a 3v3 fight will still land in their favor, and knocking down the count by four tributes in one day would be pretty impressive.

From what she remembers, Five is kind of a nut and spent most of training painting dicks on the floor. The other Eight is… nice? Nerissa doesn't have anything to say about her in particular. It'll be easy enough for Nerissa to hand out a few quick and clean deaths and move on with her life.

She's hot on Thessaly's heels, sprinting after the tributes as they duck into yet another building. They've got a stupidly decent grasp on the lay of the land here, so much so that Nerissa feels like she's being led in circles. She's well aware that this is likely some attempt at a trap, but the thought doesn't particularly concern her. Nerissa can win any fight she finds herself in. These three don't even stand a chance.

(Besides, there's a bigger threat present. Nerissa hasn't seen Saccharine since they split off, and she can't shake the feeling that the other girl is lurking around somewhere. Her attention is a little too focused on trying to spot Saccharine before Nerissa earns a knife in the back for her effort.

Metaphorically speaking. Nerissa still has no idea what the hell One has up her sleeve. She'd prefer to go the rest of these Games blissfully unaware.)

Her legs burn as Nerissa pushes them to go faster, faster, slamming her shoulder into the door as she follows Thess and the others inside. This building is more than just a hollow shell like all the rest – Nerissa sees trinkets all around her, but nothing that stands a chance at being useful.

A door slams somewhere in the building. Nerissa hears the faint tinkling of music from above, and it sends chills down her spine.

Thessaly stands a few feet away from her, brow furrowed in confusion. She's staring at a doorway that leads to a long, dark hallway. There's no one else to be seen – wherever the other tributes went, they somehow made a clean escape.

"Thess," she calls softly.

The other girl turns to her, eyes wide and petrified. "Ner," she whispers. "I think-"

She never gets to hear what Thessaly thinks. A blast tears through the room, sends Nerissa flying towards the wall. She crumples on impact, her left side dully aching and her right unable to feel anything at all. She's not sure how much time passes like that, with her own shallow breaths the only thing she can hear in ringing ears. As she opens her eyes, she can't see anything but smoke and the crumbled remains of a building.

Pressing a hand against the wall, Nerissa forces herself to stand. Her legs tremble under her, and she almost hits the ground again. Something like panic begins to take over, and Nerissa chokes on the smoke, gagging as it fills her lungs. Tears stream from her eyes unbidden. She tries to blink them away, but her vision never clears. When the pain finally hits, it's agonizing. Nerissa lifts a hand up to her face and discovers that the entire right side is raw and bleeding. Shrapnel digs into her cheek, her eye, her forehead – she can't see, she can't see-

"Thessaly!" she screams, her voice hoarse. "Thess!"

There's no response. Nerissa isn't sure if she can't hear it or if Thessaly is already gone or if she's-

Fuck, Nerissa played this game all wrong. She tried to push Thessaly away to protect both of them, and now she's made a mess of everything. Saccharine knows, and Nerissa can't do enough damage control to correct the situation. She knows, and they'll both suffer for it, and…

her ears ring she can't see anything but dust there's no other living soul to be seen what happened did those tributes do this where's saccharine where's thessaly oh god where's thessaly

Everything burns, but Nerissa is stronger than this, she knows it. She's not the kind of girl that gives up, not so easily. If those tributes are still around here, she'll rip her pudao right through their chests, give them a taste of their own medicine. She'll find Thessaly, make sure she's okay – she has to be okay – and they can go back to the Cornucopia and mark this day as an overall success.

(Nerissa has more to do, more to be. This isn't the end for her, not when she has to accomplish so much more to make her legacy worthwhile.)

Her vision blurs. Something draped in darkness crosses in front of her, and without thinking, Nerissa lunges forward with her pudao.

A horrible noise resonates through the room, a screech like metal hitting bone. It sends a shudder up through Nerissa's arm, so strong that her hand goes numb and her pudao clatters to the ground. She stumbles and nearly hits the ground, but someone catches her- no, something-

She screams as it impales through her stomach, pain rippling through her entire body. Nerissa tries to suck in a breath, but she can't- she can't, she lurches forward and vomits red all over the floor, she sees clean white bone – is that hers? – and broken, bloodied flesh, and when she looks up she sees a grinning skull mere inches from her face.

Her lungs rattle in her chest. She sees spots in the little vision she has left. Her scream turns into a broken sob. Everything hurts, and more than anything she wants it to stop.

The world in front of her goes white. The bones protruding through her stomach retract, and Nerissa stumbles backward, coughing. She cradles her face in a hand, trying desperately to make her head stop spinning.

An otherworldly screech rattles from the gaping mouth of the mutt. Whoever's attacking it – dark hair, dark hair, Thess – flits around, feet moving too fast for Nerissa to track. She brings her hand down to her stomach, feeling the place where blood soaks through her dress. She can tell it's a concerning amount, but as soon as Thess is done, she can help somehow. Rhosyn will send a sponsor gift, and Nerissa will patch herself up and everything will go back to normal.

The mutt collapses to the ground, seemingly dispatched. Nerissa realizes she's sinking against the wall, unable to hold herself upright. Her gaze fixes on the gentle curve of dark hair, and Nerissa almost smiles in relief.

"Thess," she whispers, hand stretching out towards the newcomer. "Thess, I'm- I-"

I didn't mean for things to turn out this way. I'm sorry you got roped into this. I should've told you sooner. I wish I never met you. I wish I met you somewhere else, not here, not like this.

She presses a gentle kiss on Nerissa's forehead, giving Nerissa the sign she needed to sink to the ground. Her eyes flutter shut, and peace settles throughout her body.

"You're sorry, aren't you?"

Nerissa's eyes flash open. Saccharine smiles down at her, eyes dark as obsidian and promising nothing but pain.

"Where is she," Nerissa chokes out. "Thess, is she-"

"Sleeping, I presume," Saccharine says. Her voice is light and airy, melodic enough to make Nerissa's eyelids feel heavy. "She needs a rest, don't you think?"

"No- I didn't hear-"

"You can't help her," Saccharine says gently. Her face is the only thing Nerissa can concentrate on. "Shouldn't you be more worried about yourself?"

"But-" A wave of pain washes over her, and Nerissa cuts herself short with a gasp. Her stomach roils, nausea overwhelming her, the pain cutting so deep she could- she could-

Oh, god.

She's going to die here, isn't she?

Despite every ounce of control she has begging her body to do otherwise, Nerissa feels herself begin to cry.

"Oh, Ner," Saccharine croons, caressing her face and wiping away a stray tear. Nerissa tries to recoil from her touch, but finds she can't move. "Isn't it terrible to see your time cut short? To know you should've been far more than a broken corpse?"

Nerissa sucks on her teeth before spitting directly in Saccharine's face. The bloody glob lands right on her cheek, but it doesn't do anything to mar Saccharine's peaceful expression. She wipes it off with a thumb, completely unbothered.

"You think you're better than this, don't you? Better than death? Doesn't the pain make you feel alive?"

With a flick of her wrist, a needle embeds itself in Nerissa's shoulder. She tries to scream, but the noise that escapes her mouth is little more than a whimper. She uses every muscle in her body to swing her arm towards Saccharine, trying to at least knock her off, but she can't make her body obey her commands.

"Do you think she'll cry for you, even after you broke her heart?" Saccharine smiles prettily, and Nerissa finally sees her for what she truly is: a predator ready to devour. "Do you think you ever stood a chance at earning her forgiveness?"

"What the- fuck are you talking ab-out," Nerissa hisses through her teeth.

Saccharine merely hums and ducks her head to the side. The noise matches the tune Nerissa still hears above her, like something out of a dream.

(Nerissa was always too proud to believe in dreams.)

"She wanted this so badly, you know." Saccharine's face blurs in Nerissa's vision, blood streaming from her nose in rivulets. "She wanted it so bad it killed her – you killed her. Was it worth it?"

"What do you- want?" Nerissa manages through gritted teeth.

Saccharine's smile turns cruel, twisting her lovely expression into something monstrous. Nerissa wonders, too late, if this is exactly what Callum saw as he died.

"I want something that no one can give me. So in its stead, I will graciously accept the suffering of everyone I can inflict it upon."

"You're fucking sick," Nerissa hisses. Her hand lashes out to claw at Saccharine's face, a pathetic attempt at escaping this alive. "You- you can't hide fo-forever-"

"I don't need to," Saccharine says sweetly. "By the time anyone else realizes, it'll already be too late."

When Nerissa opens her mouth again, all that comes out is blood. She chokes on it, writhing under Saccharine, trying to breathe – in and out, in and out – and then she feels the slightest prick in the side of her neck. Nerissa's struggling immediately stops, though not of her own accord. For a beat, all she feels is bliss.

The pain that follows is enough to make Nerissa wish she was already dead.

Fire lances through each of her veins, burning wherever it touches. If she had enough mental capacity to scream, she would. Instead, the tears slip out faster, an aching reminder that there's nothing more she can do. There's nowhere to go, no way for her to escape, and Nerissa at least thought staring death in the face would be a kindness in the end.

(She might beg for relief if she had the chance. Nerissa is only mostly glad she doesn't.)

"Your pain is even more exquisite than his," Saccharine whispers into her ear. "It's still not enough."

When the darkness finally overwhelms her, Nerissa embraces it without hesitation.

[The following notes have been compiled from a singular notebook in the Mentor's lounge, an ongoing communication that has already gone on for several pages. Based on the pages in the front, the notebook's original purpose was to document strategies for a particular tribute. The strategies take up the first several pages, carefully penned in simple, neat handwriting. It's a sharp contrast to the jagged writing that responds.]

Fuck.

fuck.

I'm glad Thessaly is okay.

for now

She's done well for herself so far. Did you know about her and Nerissa?

she and ibai mentioned something about it on the last night. i didn't ask questions

Why not?

some things just aren't my business

That's fair.
Do you regret it?

regret what

Not asking.

no
maybe
i don't know
i'm not good at this. i shouldn't be here

You're all she has. All both of them have.

don't you think i know that
sorry
i just

I know.

yeah.

I'm sorry.

please don't

[...]

i don't know what to do

This could devastate her.

i'm afraid it already has
i don't know how to help

You know how to start.

do i?

Just try. What would you want to hear?

i wouldn't want to hear from me

I know. But there's a way, isn't there?

i… do have something. but i don't want to use it too early

Isn't too early better than too late?

i don't think i can do this

I know. I'm here.

i know
i… thanks

[...]

[Something is written in dark ink and then scribbled over to the point of illegibility. The author's frustration is reflected in a slight tear in the notebook paper.]

I don't want to get in the way.

huh?
what are you talking about?

You and Estelle.

ew.
we're not…

Sorry, sorry, I know. But we…

we?

Estelle and I. We're not really… on the best of terms.
I don't want to get in the way of your relationship with her.

you're not doing anything
i can talk to you and still be friends with estelle just fine

Okay.
I just don't want to make things harder on you.

don't worry, i'm an expert at doing that myself

Not funny.

it's a little funny

You doing okay?

i don't know
you?

I guess I don't know, either.

17. nerissa kitharion, killed by saccharine esculenta
you can't hide forever

kills:
saccharine: 2
thessaly: 1
svelte: 1
theo: 1
nolan: 1
nerissa: 1
bourbon: 1

this is so sad alexa play break the ice

nell stop predicting my entire games let me have peace

sorry ner u icy bitch... if it's any consolation i was going to melt you down like one of those slay ass weapons u make but then i decided to let rin kill u herself. what an honor! kissy kissy chuuu~

happy birthday to rin btw :) hope u like ur present!

~de laney is out