Day Four – June 18, 00:13
Museum of Death
As time slowly shifts towards a new day, Thessaly Akaste finally begins to awaken.
Excellent timing. In her rush, Saccharine hadn't been able to calculate the proper dosage for Thessaly's body weight, and she'd begun to worry that Thessaly would be out for the next day. That just wouldn't do. Saccharine needs to get her back to the rest of their alliance, needs to be able to witness the raw reactions of everyone else.
Sleeping, I presume. It wasn't a lie, though Saccharine conveniently left out the part where she was the cause of Thessaly's slumber. The explosion had dazed her, but that wasn't enough – if Saccharine was going to capitalize on this opportunity to take out Nerissa, then she needed Thessaly out of the way. She'd never remember the prick in the side of her neck, and there wouldn't be so much as a mark to prove anything happened.
Besides, given the current state of her body, Thessaly has much bigger issues to worry about.
A stray piece of glass had pierced her leg, and Saccharine had to withdraw it, disinfect, and then stitch Thessaly back up. She'll undoubtedly walk with a limp for at least the next few days, but Saccharine doesn't think that will slow Thessaly down much. Her torso and arms have a scattering of burns and superficial cuts, but nothing life-threatening. Saccharine assumes Thessaly's biggest concern will be her face.
It took ages to get the inches-long scrape across her forehead to stop bleeding. There's a burn on her right cheek that looks close to eroding through her skin entirely. The edges of her hair are singed. If she had the help of Capitol technology, this could all be erased in a matter of hours. Even in One, a couple days of treatment would have her looking good as new.
But in the Arena, all she has is Saccharine's willing hands, and she's nowhere near invested in keeping Thessaly's beauty intact.
"Wha…" Thessaly rubs the side of her head, smearing blood into her hair. "Ner…?"
Saccharine flits over, pressing a concerned hand against Thessaly's forehead. "You're injured," she says gently. "Try not to move much."
"Everything is ss-so loud," she mumbles. "Screaming- fuck, it hurts-"
"There's no one here but us."
"But I heard-"
Thessaly freezes. Her eyes flicker over Saccharine's blood-soaked dress. "You're- you're hurt?"
Saccharine flutters her lashes, dropping her gaze to the floor. "It's not mine."
"Then-" Thessaly sucks in a gasp. She jolts upright, hissing as one of her several injuries protests her sudden movement. Her feet stumble on the broken carcass of a building, eyes darting around the husk of a room as she tries to find the source.
And oh, how good it feels when Thessaly finally sees the destruction left behind. Saccharine keeps her head politely bowed, expression carefully neutral, and listens to the sound of choked sobs.
Suffering has never sounded so good. Saccharine closes her eyes and takes in a long, deep breath.
"What are you doing here?"
Nectarine's voice is sharp, but not cruel, as she regards Rin. Her gloved hands are clenched tightly into fists, like she's trying to strangle the bottle of cleaning solution she's holding.
"Cleaning." Rin picks up a brush to join her sister in the monotonous task of scrubbing the fountain until it sparkles. "I thought you could use some help."
Next to her, Nectarine's shoulders stiffen. "Go home, Rin. Get some rest. I've got things covered here."
Rin furrows her brows, withdrawing just enough to be out of Nectarine's reach. "No, I came to help. I want to help."
"I can handle it."
"I never said you couldn't. I just-"
"What?" Nectarine's voice has gone frigid. "It's my job, isn't it?"
She unceremoniously rips the brush from Rin's hands. Without another word, Nectarine begins scrubbing away at the marbled fountain with enough vigor to make Rin wince.
This isn't like her sister. Nectarine is perfectly poised at all times, graceful, capable of anything. She doesn't show emotion, not like this. She's always so positive, so caring and gentle that it makes Rin wonder why she wasn't born just a little more similar to her sister.
She doesn't know what else to do. Rin slowly reaches out for her sister's hand, a silent offering that she's there, that she always will be.
Out of the corner of her eye, Nectarine spots her encroaching hand. "I said I can handle it! Go away!"
Rin falters. Nectarine has never snapped at her before.
It's then that she realizes Nectarine is unkempt in a way Rin doesn't often see, where her hair is messy and her eyes are weary and there's something about her expression that's just so… so…
She can't make herself think it. Swallowing hard, Rin reaches out again. This time, Nectarine smacks it away.
Clutching her stinging hand to her chest, Rin stares into the dark, angry eyes of her beloved sister. They look like a mirror, like Rin can see every ugly part of her soul reflected back at her by the one person who was always kinder, always better. It's so frightening that Rin almost misses the instant Nectarine's nose begins to bleed.
"Nectarine," she whispers.
Her sister's face breaks, and then just as suddenly turns somber. Nectarine tears her gaze away, staring into the crystalline waters of the fountain. Blood drips from her nose once, then twice, and then she wipes it on her sleeve. The drops settle in the water, dissipating until Rin can see nothing more than a pinkish haze rippling outwards.
"Rin…" Nectarine starts, then shakes her head. "I-"
"Nectarine," she pleads again.
(Rin already knows it's useless.)
"I'm fine. I've got it from here." Nectarine flashes her teeth, attempting a smile that Rin doesn't buy for an instant. "Please, Rin. Just go."
Rin flees without a second thought. She rather ungracefully rushes to the doorway, before gripping the door frame tightly in one hand and looking back over her shoulder at her sister.
Nectarine is still hunched over the fountain, blood flowing freely into the water. Her dark hair hangs in front of her face, shielding her from view. The water ripples, distorting her reflection, and the shimmering blue water turns red enough to make Rin's stomach twist.
That's the last time she sees her sister alive.
Something rams into her shoulder, hard. Saccharine is taken off guard enough that she stumbles backwards a single step, and from there she lets herself fall back to the floor. A weight presses down on top of her, and all that fills her vision is Thessaly's eyes, swarmed with a mess of emotions. Confused, angry, grieving, lost – it's like all she can think to do is lash out, and Saccharine is conveniently there.
The gentle kiss of a blade at her throat is almost enough to make Saccharine smile.
"What happened?" Thessaly asks, hand trembling.
"Hm?"
"What happened?"
Saccharine swallows, feels something trickle down the side of her throat. She's not particularly afraid, as this reaction more than validates her decision to kill Nerissa, but she knows she needs to put on a show. She makes sure to widen her eyes, like this is an outcome she didn't expect.
"Thessaly, I-" she falters, halfheartedly trying to break free from the other girl's grip. "You're hurting me-"
"Start talking," Thessaly demands. "Tell me everything."
Sucking in a shaky breath, Saccharine darts her gaze away from Thessaly's. "I was examining the perimeter of the building, trying to determine an alternate point of entry, when the bomb went off. The tributes scattered out a side door, and I contemplated following them, but I knew it would be a useless endeavor. I had to attend to you and Nerissa.
"It took precious minutes for me to get inside unscathed. The building had crumbled, and every movement put it at risk of falling apart completely. Once I was inside, all I had to do was follow the screams."
Thessaly's hand wavers. "Keep going."
"By the time I reached Nerissa, a muttation had already carved that hole into her chest, as if it was trying to rip out her heart. Though I dispatched the muttation, it was already far too late for Nerissa. I tried, but…" Saccharine lets her voice waver as if she's about to sob, though her eyes are as dry as ever. "I-I couldn't-"
"But- but the cannon-" Bewildered, Thessaly shoves herself off of Saccharine and crawls back to Nerissa's body. She digs her fingers into the side of Nerissa's neck, searching for a pulse she'll never find.
"Her body's been cold for hours," Saccharine says, carefully sitting up. "There was never any chance of saving her."
"No, no, there should- there should still be something-"
Saccharine merely waits. It's fascinating to see the range of emotions Thessaly spirals through, one after another, so dizzyingly fast that it almost gives Saccharine a headache. She screams, sinking to the ground and dirtying her skirts with Nerissa's blood, spilling fresh tears as if they could bring Nerissa back from the dead.
"It's not fair," Thessaly mutters, again and again. Sometimes her voice borders on a sob, other times it's edged with angry knives. "It's not fair, there was supposed to be later."
Her pain is beautiful. It's gratifying. Saccharine wishes the whole world could feel exactly like this, so lost and broken and alone.
(And it's so… familiar. It's just out of reach, something Saccharine could touch if she tried…
…
…
…
Nectarine…)
Saccharine hears the faintest shuffling of rubble, and she turns to gauge what sort of threat is approaching. Instead of seeing another tribute, she spies a silver parcel with a golden 1.
Fascinating. Saccharine had assumed Estelle would never send a sponsor gift for her, considering her treatment of the poor fool. Perhaps this is Estelle's way of extending an olive branch of sorts, or perhaps she's merely hoping that Saccharine will spare Thessaly any further suffering.
It's hard not to be amused when Saccharine gets the gift open. Inside is an array of herbs and ointments obviously curated by someone that has no idea what any of these materials do. There's only a small sampling of each, so Saccharine will have to use her resources wisely, but…
Well, she has enough to heal Thessaly and make a good impression going forward. But Saccharine also has enough to combine with the other supplies she's been collecting during her shifts on watch.
"Shall we stay the night here?" Saccharine asks.
Thessaly's head jerks up, startled. She winces at the sudden movement. "We should… we should get back."
"Are you well enough to make the journey?"
"I…" Thessaly stands up carefully, her wounded leg almost giving out on her. Saccharine is by her side in an instant, ready to swoop in if given an opening. "I've gotten enough rest, I think-"
"I need better light to do a full assessment of your injuries, but maybe there's something I can do to help with the pain. We can sit for a few."
Thessaly needs no further encouragement. She slumps to the ground, heaves a sigh, and stares blankly into the darkness surrounding them. As Saccharine sits in front of her, preparing her new set of supplies, Thessaly's eyes flutter shut, and her face relaxes entirely. This expression of foolish trust isn't new to Saccharine – she's seen it many times before. Behind her, Nerissa's corpse watches with unseeing eyes.
"I'm so tired," Thessaly whispers.
Saccharine merely smiles and begins to work.
June 18, 03:29
Saenger Theatre
"Fuck!"
Akira nods appreciatively and restarts the timer she's got going in her head. Svelte's got a new record going – it's only been about a minute since his last outburst. They suppose that Gwenny pulling chunks of glass out of his arm can't possibly feel good, but she's still surprised that Svelte is outwardly reacting this much to it.
Maybe he really can feel pain. Huh. Cool.
"Stop squirming," Gwenny mutters, digging another piece of glass out of his arm. It glints a sharp crimson that makes Akira nod appreciatively. "I don't want to cause excess damage."
"I- can't really control it-" Svelte shifts again, hissing and ducking his head – the movement surely causes him more pain.
"Fine." Gwenny pauses and glances at Akira. Her expression is the sort of weird that they're more accustomed to seeing on Madoka – mouth pursed, eyebrows knit together, eyes all squinty… "Akira, you-"
"No," Svelte says emphatically. He casts a sidelong look at Akira that contains nothing but disgust. "Just finish it. I'll stay still."
Well, message received. Akira can plant bombs and save lives all they want, but Svelte doesn't want anything to do with them anymore. She's just stuck wondering what's changed, or if this is the way it's always been and they were just too stupid to notice.
No, no, Kiki, think of your happy place. Think of being with Gwenny and how she trusts you, how she knew you could do this, how all of you got out alive even though you're enough of a screwup that you could've blown up half the Arena-
Breathe, Kiki. Breathe.
Would've looked real pretty, too. Red like pain, orange like hurt, grey like loneliness, and then screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming-
Akira sits down, and the voices sit with her. They curl around her ears, whispering incessantly about everything and nothing all at once, until they aren't saying anything at all and Akira can finally listen again. They play with their hands, trying to come up with something productive to do so she doesn't lose their mind – isn't it already lost? – and eventually settles on one of her other projects.
"We can finish this in the morning," Gwenny is saying when Akira listens again. "Really, you don't have to push-"
"I can take it. The pain isn't bad. Just… get it over with."
"I can look in the box again, see if Ariadne also sent something for pain-"
"No. I need them out, or I'll just-"
"Sit down, Svelte."
"Stop telling me what to do!"
A clang! echoes through the room, and Akira lifts their head curiously. The chair Svelte was sitting in has been knocked to the floor, and he stands several feet away from Gwenny: hands raised, eyes guarded, clearly searching for an exit. Gwenny, on the other hand, appears entirely unperturbed. She simply raises an eyebrow.
"Are you done, or are you going to take the glass out of your own arm now?"
His chest heaves. Svelte refuses to look at either of them. Ever so slowly, one hand reaches for his arm, and Akira watches, fascinated. He rips out a shard with no particular flair and throws it at the ground. It bounces once, twice, and then skitters over to Akira. It's thoroughly bloodied, and there's a chunk of flesh attached to it. Akira feels the strangest urge to just reach out and-
"You're going to hurt yourself more by doing that," Gwenny chides, her tone gentler now. Akira likes this Gwenny best.
"I know."
"If you know, then let me help."
This suggestion appears to cause Svelte more pain than the glass. His face twists, and he stares down at the floor for a long while.
Akira stares, too. They wonder what he sees. He doesn't seem to be the type that has mushy, happy thoughts, but Akira sort of hopes for both of their sakes that he does.
"Fine," Svelte concedes, his tone indicating that things are most definitely not fine. "Finish the job."
It takes him another few moments to gather himself and sit back in the chair. When he does, Gwenny resumes her task in relative silence. Akira hates the silence, but they've been doing her best to keep her mouth shut. Zipped up tight. Key thrown away. The tension in the room reminds Akira of when Madoka is with them, and when that happens everything goes fuzzy and they both get angry and say terrible, terrible things.
So Akira stares at Gwenny, hoping that she's not Madoka, that maybe she really is different. A new, better sister. One that won't hurt her.
Really Kiki, shouldn't you know better? Hope is dangerous, hope is how you get hurt.
it burns it burns it burns it burns it burns
You don't want to be hurt anymore, do you?
alone always alone
Do you?
"There. Now you're all done."
Akira blinks. When they look up, white bandages are wrapped around the entirety of Svelte's arm. That must mean all the glass is gone – but if that's true, then what does Svelte plan to do from here?
Or, rather: where does he plan to go?
Svelte pushes himself to his feet with a wince of pain, waving Gwenny off as she tries to step in and help.
"We should get some rest," Gwenny says, voice soft. She hovers nearby, ready to step in and help out if needed. "It's late."
"No, I can- I can…" Svelte brings a hand to his head, taking in a shuddering breath. "I can rest later."
"The sun doesn't come up for hours. We've put distance between us and the Careers. You're exhausted. Sleep."
Svelte is very resistant to true facts. Akira can see the bags under his eyes from here, but he stays standing. He's stubborn to a fault, which Akira can most definitely respect. She gives him a salute that he doesn't see.
"I should really go," Svelte mumbles.
"Svelte," Gwenny chides, putting her hands on her hips. "I didn't help you so you could run off as soon as you possibly could."
He regards her warily. Akira recognizes that sort of guarded look. "What do you want, then?"
Gwenny seems to recognize the look as well. Her face twists. "Do you think I did this so you'd owe me?"
"Well-"
"I helped you because I wanted to. Because you're my District partner. Because we were briefly allies and I think we could be again. Why do you think anything else matters?"
"You saved my life. People don't do that sort of thing for free."
"So… so what, you think I want you to… go out and kill someone for me? To make things even? Is it too hard to believe that I- that we just have your best interest at heart?"
Svelte's lips flatten into a thin line. He doesn't respond.
Sighing heavily, Gwenny tangles a hand in her curls. She takes several long moments to pull her thoughts together, and when she speaks again, she does so carefully. "Do I really have to spell it out for you still? After everything? I wanted to ally with you on the train not because I thought you'd be helpful, but because I wanted to know you. And then you left, and Akira and I… we still pissed off the Careers to help you out – we probably killed that Career to help you out. That could've gone wrong in about a hundred different ways, and it didn't, but we still risked that, didn't we? And we're not allies, and I don't owe you anything. We could've left you for dead. I could've left you to deal with your own injuries. Akira could've kept their bomb to herself, and she could've gone to sleep hours ago, but they wanted to make sure you were okay."
Svelte looks stunned, his eyes darting between Gwenny and Akira. "I-"
Gwenny holds up a hand. "I wasn't done yet. We're all exhausted. Neither of us are in any shape to rob you blind, and if we wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have bothered patching you up. Staying the night won't kill you, but going out there on your own very well might. I can't make you do anything, and I certainly don't intend to, but I don't want to see you die after I put all this effort into keeping you alive. So stay."
Akira can hardly breathe. She stares at Svelte, who looks so very small in the middle of the room, and wonders if he'll really come back.
But Gwenny said she didn't think he would, didn't she? And you trust Gwenny, don't you?
Gwenny knows best… Gwenny wouldn't lie…
Wouldn't she?
"Okay," Svelte finally mutters. "I'll stay the night."
But he won't stay forever. Akira understands this without him having to say it aloud. They're okay with it, too. As long as Akira accepts that he'll be a fleeting presence, they won't be bothered when he eventually leaves.
Going to bed is a quiet and relatively uneventful affair. Svelte curls up by himself halfway across the room, while Akira and Gwenny pull out their sleeping bags close to each other. Akira doesn't miss going to bed alone every night. They wish things could stay like this forever.
"Thank you for everything today, Akira," Gwenny whispers. "I really appreciated it. And Svelte does too, but he won't say as much."
Something burns in Akira's chest, bright and warm and comforting. "I like helping my friends."
"Your friends like it, too."
Not all of them. The burning becomes painfully hot. "You're just saying that."
"No, really. Thank you, Akira. I couldn't have done this without you."
"Do you think he'll really stay?"
Gwenny hesitates. In the dark, Akira can't tell what she's thinking. That scares them more than anything.
"It's too early to tell."
Nothing more is said between the two of them. Perhaps that's for the best. Akira lies awake for a good long while, staring up into the darkness. And then, when they're sure the even breathing of the Eights means they've both fallen asleep, she sits up and gets to work.
June 18, 09:31
Magazine at Napoleon
"I hate the rain," Xander grumbles.
Marri smiles, as she's prone to do. "It's a beautiful day for rain."
He kicks a rock with his shoe, sending it skittering into a puddle. Marri is too optimistic for her own good sometimes. And his. Everything is soggy and grey and downright dreary and she's still trying to tell him it's a lovely day. It's so very Marri that it makes him feel… sick. Definitely sick. Disgusting.
"You disagree with me," Marri points out, ever so observant.
"I do."
"But you didn't say so."
"I didn't."
"That's not like you."
Xander gives her a look. "How do you know?"
The smile she flashes him is stupidly bright. "I pay attention."
"Right." Xander tries not to roll his eyes, and then wonders why he's trying at all. "It's miserable out. It's warm and muggy and I'm soaked and even when we stop these clothes are too thick to dry in a reasonable amount of time, so I'll still be drenched throughout the night."
"We can't stay by the river, though. You saw it."
And that's true, he did, but that doesn't change the fact that Xander is uncomfortable. He's fully aware that finding a place to stay put for a while could lead to him drowning in a filthy river, and he's also aware that being out in the rain could eventually lead to him getting some kind of sickness, or he'll be exhausted, or he'll… well, there's a whole list of issues. His father would probably go on an entirely unprompted lecture about the dangers of immunodeficiency if he was here. As if Xander has never heard of them before.
Okay, fine. Xander will admit he's stuck. Neither situation is optimal, and the one he's currently in has a lower chance of instant death. But that doesn't mean he has to like it.
"Another hour," Xander says. "Another hour and we find a place to take a break."
Marri nods, gaze lifting to the grey clouds above. She does this sometimes, escapes to some faraway place in her head that Xander can never reach. He knows she heard him, but if he tried again now…
He sighs. It's quiet when Marri gets like this. At least Odette was always rambling about some inconsequential matter. Marri does that sometimes, too, but she lapses into silence just as easily. And yeah, the silence is way better than listening to Akira and their sister scream at each other back in the Tribute Center, but it's different now. Xander doesn't know how to say it.
(Or, rather, he doesn't want to admit it.)
So instead, he goes quiet as well. The only problem with silence is that without anything to fill it, Xander is stuck thinking.
Thinking about how he misses home, even though home isn't such a great place to be. Thinking about how he's in the Hunger Games and death is only an inevitability. Thinking about how even though Xander should be frightened out of his mind, it's like his body has been overwhelmed by this suffocating, inescapable numbness. Like he's hollow. Like he's already dead.
(She could've killed him too, why didn't she? It's not like Xander has anything to offer here; his continued survival provides no benefit to anyone besides himself. There's only one answer Xander can think of that makes sense, one that he's been circling since that first day.
He wasn't worth the effort.)
(And… that's true, isn't it? Here he is, trudging through the streets while water soaks through his shoes, running from an incoming flood, and all he can do is complain. He's good at that, isn't he? One of his many talents, of course. Father sure taught him well.)
The whole world seems so far away that Xander could laugh if he didn't think the laughter would quickly turn hysterical. He stares up at the mass of dark grey clouds moving across the sky, and briefly thinks about just sitting down in the rain and waiting to see what happens.
He hopes dying doesn't hurt. He's never been particularly morbid, but maybe the Hunger Games is a good time to start. The Arena contains endlessly painful possibilities, and odds are Xander is going to stumble right into one, and then everything will be over. He probably won't even have the chance to do anything about it.
Something brushes against his hand, and Xander instinctively recoils. He steps back hurriedly, and then feels strangely like he's sinking into the water for good.
Despite his reaction, Marri looks entirely unperturbed. She reaches for his hand once more, and this time, frozen, he lets her take it.
(He didn't realize how tense he was.)
She's trembling. Or maybe Xander is. He can't tell anymore. All he can feel is the gentle weight of Marri's hand in his.
Why are you doing this? he wants to ask. He's sure his expression is probably screaming that question right now, though he can't bring himself to voice it. It would be too much, too…
"Only for a little while," she whispers. "It's dark, and I'm frightened. Please. Until we stop."
Xander watches her for a moment, unable to move. Water swirls around his ankles. Marri's eyes are wide and kind. He doesn't know where the sun is anymore.
He swallows. "Okay."
A soft smile stretches across her face, and she nods once, as if that settled things. Maybe it did, on some level. They begin walking again without any further fanfare. Xander can't stop looking over at Marri.
She is not frightened. He's sure they both know that. But Marri doesn't say otherwise, and neither does he, and that feels strangely okay. It shouldn't be. It's wrong, and Xander knows it.
But, at least for now, Xander can't bring himself to let go.
June 18, 10:45
Taylor Park
Against his better judgment, Nolan is starting to feel like Jasmine is a real person.
This is only problematic in the sense that he's not convinced she's going to stay his ally to the end. Sure, they could both die or whatever, but Nolan figures there's a decent enough chance that Jasmine will aim a blade at his back one of these days. If Ryker was here, he'd give Nolan a talk about the importance of risk management, but it's probably a little too late for that now – in every sense.
Fuck. Nolan just wants to go home. He misses the months where he got to freely roam the country just as much as the ones he spent with Ryker. He misses learning that freedom didn't have to be a place, it could be a person. He misses who he was before he lost both.
It's dizzying to remember that he still has a family, one that seems to care about him despite everything. Nolan knows that deep down, he still cares about them too, but… they're such a faraway concept that he doesn't know how.
And then Jasmine is… here. She talks incessantly about topics he doesn't even know how to begin wrapping his head around. She nags him for personal information and simultaneously acts like he's some sort of experiment she's studying. She wildly swings between likable and the most annoying person alive.
(Maybe that's largely due to the fact that Nolan hasn't spent much time with anyone since Ryker.)
On a day as grey and dreary as today, there's nowhere for them to go. Jasmine has been perfectly content to spend most of the day creating some sort of concoction that Nolan doesn't particularly want to ask questions about. He spends most of his time staring out a rain-streaked window, wondering if any other tributes are nearby. It's just been the two of them for days. Nolan's beginning to wonder if he'll ever see another person again.
"Aha!"
Nolan's on his feet before he can fully register the outburst. A noise like that should mean danger, and he scrambles to find a weapon quickly.
"Hey! Whoa, Nolan-"
The voice is finally recognizable – Jasmine. Nolan freezes, the rest of his surroundings bleeding in. Jasmine is holding a silver box in her hands, eyeing him with more than a little wariness. For once, Nolan can't really blame her.
"You good…?" she asks, taking a cautious step forwards.
"Yeah," Nolan breathes. "Just… lost track of things."
"... Right."
"Sorry," he adds, a little too late. Jutting his chin towards the box, Nolan asks, "What is that?"
"Sponsor gift. I sort of already opened it, but half of it's for you, so…"
Jasmine holds out the open box, and Nolan looks inside. He was sort of hoping for food, or a good weapon, or even something to help them restock on water, but instead he sees…
"A mirror?"
Nolan picks it up out of the box. The stupid thing is heavy and golden, weirdly intricate, and… well, it's a mirror. What the hell else is he supposed to say?
"I got one, too." Jasmine flashes hers at him.
Nolan turns the mirror over in his hand, hoping that this simple action will reveal some sort of previously hidden secret. It doesn't. "I don't get it," he says flatly.
"This was definitely Tessa's idea," Jasmine mutters. She runs a finger over the gilded edge, shaking her head.
"What makes you say that?"
"She's a little, ah… materialistic."
"Oh."
He studies the mirror again. The frame is comprised of delicately intertwined ivy and flowers, all gold and glinting in the sun. Nolan would argue that it's a little too flashy to be practical, but he finds that he doesn't have the energy today.
Instead, he squints at Jasmine, who is reading a note that he didn't see until now. She holds up her own mirror, and then hums in understanding. After a few moments, she realizes that Nolan is staring at her, and smiles.
"They're to signal each other if we get separated, or split up to go exploring, or if we need to check around corners for danger. A world full of possibilities, really."
Ah. Kind of lame, but Nolan will try to avoid making his opinion overly obvious. "Right."
Jasmine looks at herself in the mirror again, turning her head from side to side. She frowns. "I really do look like I'm going to a funeral in this outfit."
"At least it's not grey."
She scrutinizes his monochrome outfit. "You look like… like… a school teacher."
Nolan doesn't have a clear memory of what those look like. They feel like a relic from a past life. "In… a bad way?"
Tilting her head, Jasmine scrunches her brows. "Hmm… not really. Teacher sounds too juvenile – you look more like a professor, which is far more refined. A professor that's been through a really bad rainstorm and lost his briefcase along the way."
"Thanks," Nolan says dryly.
"It's not your fault it started raining. It just makes me wish there was an underground segment like last year… except I really don't want to get buried under rocks, so maybe that's a good thing."
"Probably."
"You don't talk a lot."
She's still watching him. Nolan twitches uncomfortably. "Is that an alliance requirement now?"
"Well, no, just…"
"... Just?"
She's nervous now. Nolan can tell. One thing about Jasmine is she's never terribly hard to read – while Nolan wears an expression of perpetual apathy, Jasmine lets her feelings show through every small movement. Her hands are fidgeting in her lap, turning the mirror over and over as if to distract herself.
"Tessa told me something about you."
Nolan can't breathe. His jaw clenches so tightly that he has to fight to force it back open. By the time he can summon a response that sounds even the slightest bit casual, too much time has passed for him to sound at all natural. "Like what?"
"Well, it's… you remind her of Rowan. You know, the guy she allied with in her Games?"
"The guy who kissed her, stabbed her, and planned to leave her to die?" Nolan raises a brow. "I hate to break it to you, but I don't plan on kissing you."
Jasmine snorts. "No offense, but I wouldn't want that, anyway."
"Glad we're on the same page."
"I think she was trying to warn me. I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"She sounds paranoid."
"She probably is. She's also kind of a bitch. I hear the Games mess you up real bad."
"Makes sense." Nolan looks over at her. "What's your point?"
"That… that I'm sorry. For being weird. We're not friends, but we're supposed to be allies, and we've been doing a shit job of that so far."
"I suppose," he says slowly.
"I don't want to betray anyone," she whispers. "That's not the kind of person I want to be. There's no justice in that."
She's sort of losing him, but Nolan nods along anyway. "Right."
For the first time since handing Nolan his half of the sponsor gift, Jasmine lifts her head to look at him. Her eyes are dark and wide, like there's some lingering hint of fear hidden away somewhere.
(She's still looking at him like she did in the bloodbath. Like at any moment, Nolan will turn his weapon on her, too.)
Slowly, Jasmine extends her hand. Nolan does nothing but stare at it for a long moment.
"We're still allies," Jasmine insists. "I want us to still be allies."
"Do you trust me?"
"Huh?"
"What's the point if you don't trust me?"
"You saved me in the bloodbath. You wouldn't do that just to kill me now."
"Is that so?" Nolan tilts his head as he looks at her, sizing her up. He suddenly feels very confident that, if the need ever arose, he could most certainly win any fight against her.
"Yes," Jasmine says confidently. Her gaze is pure steel. "Unless you've decided this alliance no longer has any worth."
There it is. Nolan tries not to smile. He finally shakes Jasmine's hand, taking note of the way her shoulders relax, just slightly. "It's only day four, isn't it? Plenty of time left."
"Right," Jasmine echoes. "More than enough."
June 18, 13:48
Jena at S Miro
The blood won't come out of her skirt.
Granted, Bourbon hasn't exactly been trying terribly hard. She doesn't want to look like she's panicking at all, except she kind of is because she's done a lot of shit before but killing a guy wasn't on that list until now. And her siblings were probably at home, watching her. And Kodo was right there, clearly scared shitless, and she hugged him after.
What the hell was that about? Did she lose her mind somewhere along the way? Did she completely forget how much of an insensitive asshole he is?
It's hard to forget that last part. Bourbon is constantly reminded of it – his voice gets all high and needling when he wants something from her, and he's more than willing to infiltrate her personal space when she attempts to ignore him.
Why the hell do people get married in the first place? Bourbon's only engaged and this is a nightmare. She can't imagine cohabitating with Kodo for a week, much less the rest of her miserable life.
(Maybe there is a perk to being in the Hunger Games with him.)
Bourbon sighs wearily. She's not exactly in a chatty mood, and they're stuck indoors so Kodo doesn't give himself an aneurysm complaining about the rain, but that means she's stuck without anything to do but think. And, more tragically, listen to Kodo whine.
To his credit – a phrase Bourbon tries to think of as little as possible – there's nothing to do in these houses. That's why she wanted to keep traveling throughout the day, working farther and farther away from the Cornucopia, but Kodo turned up his nose at the idea. Bourbon assumes he just refuses to get wet and filthy, but she also can't help but wonder if he's averse to the idea because it's hers.
Their entertainment choices are limited. There's a television, but they can't turn it off and it only plays through clips of the two of them. Bourbon threw a sheet over it an hour ago so she could stop rewatching Kodo's proposal, or their combined interview, or her blade sinking into the chest of the Ten boy.
It's a very unhelpful reminder that they're constantly being watched. Even now, the Capitol has eyes on them from somewhere. Bourbon has squinted at every object in the room, trying to spot a camera, but she's come up empty-handed so far.
She squeezes her eyes shut. Fuck. It's hard to be normal around Kodo when all she can think about is her siblings back home and everything they've been forced to see. This whole engagement obviously came out of nowhere, and now she's killed someone. If- when she makes it home, who's to say they won't think she's some sort of monster?
(How does she know she isn't one already?)
"Bonnie," Kodo calls from across the room. "Bonbon, I'm bored."
"We can still go exploring-"
"In the rain?"
"It's an option!"
"Not a viable one!"
"Fine," Bourbon snaps. "You find something for us to do."
Kodo contemplates her question for long enough that Bourbon regrets asking in the first place. "Charades, or-"
"Fuck no."
"You asked!"
"I take it back!"
With a huff, Kodo crosses his arms and leans back into the couch. He stares up at the ceiling for several seconds before muttering something to himself.
Bourbon's eye twitches. She knows when a bitch is talking shit. "What was that?" she coos sweetly.
It's morbidly fascinating to watch the way his entire body shifts as he changes facades. He's a boy, and then he's his father. His eyes turn to steel. His posture grows stiff. A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. Bourbon has to admit that the whole scene is strangely hypnotic, even as she feels ice prickle down her spine.
"I was just lamenting how you don't want to at least try charades. But, I suppose, you might have something better in mind."
Bourbon forces her gaze away. "Not really," she admits.
"Ah, must I come up with everything?" Kodo teases.
She can hear a shuffle, as if he's standing up, but Bourbon doesn't watch him. She stares resolutely at the wall, at a patch of peeling paint that briefly reminds her of home so much that her chest aches. Her assumption is that he's going to make his way over to her, and they'll continue playing the part of a newly engaged couple on the verge of death, but his footsteps move across the room instead.
A few clicks later, the sound of music fills the room. It's gentle and brassy, and certainly not the sort of music Bourbon would listen to of her own volition. When she finally looks over at Kodo again, she can tell he agrees with her. Despite his attempts to fiddle with the radio, the style of music never changes.
"This will have to work," Kodo mutters. He glares at the radio before crossing the room, stopping just short of the chair she sits in, and holds out his hand expectantly.
Wordlessly, Bourbon quirks a brow. She may be his fiance, as meaningless as that word is to the two of them, but she'd still appreciate basic manners.
"Dance with me."
It's a demand, of course, but that's often the case with Kodo. He's used to the world catering to his every whim, and there's no reason for Bourbon to be any different.
Bourbon hesitates as long as she can, contemplating his outstretched hand solely to make him squirm. When she lets her hand finally settle into Kodo's, she notices the way he looks briefly relieved, as if part of him expected her to turn him down.
It's fascinating, she thinks, how we've been through all this and still don't trust each other in the slightest.
"I should warn you," Bourbon says as Kodo leads her into the center of the room, "I'm not very good at dancing."
"I'm well aware. You stepped on my foot more than once during the party."
"I did say I was sorry."
(Bourbon most certainly did not.)
Kodo merely smiles, sinking back into that comfortable state where he controls the little game they play. It's the first time Bourbon's seen him like this since…
"I know it was just your nerves getting to you," Kodo soothes her. His smile widens as she visibly bristles. "But at the party, we were surrounded by hundreds of people, and here it's just us."
Right. Just us and the millions of people watching.
She smiles, hoping she looks lovestruck and not just as totally insane as she feels. "Just us."
Kodo adjusts her hands, placing one on his shoulder and lacing his fingers through the other. His other hand slides around to her back, making Bourbon stiffen despite herself. They're close, too close, but there's nowhere else to go. This is the part she has to play, and she has to be convincing enough that they don't get killed for having the audacity to lie to the entirety of Panem.
Next, Kodo focuses his gaze on their feet. "A three step waltz will be simplest… the music isn't right for it, but I'm afraid we won't find much better. I'll take the lead here, and you just have to… to follow."
"Sounds easy enough," Bourbon says dryly.
"Stay on the balls of your feet. It'll keep your steps light – and make sure not to take big steps. You shou-"
"Kodo, we haven't moved yet."
"I'm preparing you for when we do!"
"You said three steps – it can't be that hard."
"Alright, fine."
Kodo adjusts his posture so he stands a little straighter, and then takes a step towards her. Startled by the sudden closeness, Bourbon steps back, and narrowly misses Kodo stepping directly on her foot. Before she can open her mouth to make a scathing comment, Kodo swiftly moves to the side, dragging her along with him.
His smirk is downright infuriating. "There's two out of three steps. You followed my lead perfectly well."
"Then what the hell is the third?"
"Bring your feet together."
Bourbon scrunches her nose, and then immediately tries to flatten her expression. Based on the way Kodo's eyes glitter with amusement, she didn't do it fast enough.
"Okay, okay." Bourbon squeezes her eyes shut. "Back, left, together. Not so hard."
"Halfway there."
She squints at him. "I thought you said there were three steps."
"And if we keep doing the exact same steps, we'll run straight into the wall. Think of it like a box: three steps for one corner, then three for the other."
Despite her best efforts, Bourbon can't quite imagine what the hell he's talking about. None of the steps actually make sense to her, and she's just fumbling around hoping she doesn't look like a total idiot.
This time, Kodo actually bothers to instruct her. "This time you step forward, then right, then together again."
They move through the second set of steps slowly enough that Bourbon feels like she's almost got it. Back, left, together. Forward, right, together.
"All together now?" Kodo asks, squeezing her hand.
"Yes, fine. Slowly."
Bourbon looks down at her feet pointedly, as if that'll make them go the proper direction. Her steps are a little delayed from Kodo's, but she manages to complete the entire square without a misstep. She's probably a little more excited about that than she should be.
"Got it?" Kodo asks, his voice soft.
"I think so."
"Good. Then stop staring at your feet."
Her face warms, and Bourbon snaps her gaze up. Kodo looks a little too amused by her inadequacy, which Bourbon thinks is particularly unfair because it's not like dancing is a worthwhile life skill. She'll die without ever needing to do this again.
"You know the steps. Just follow my lead."
Easier said than done, but Bourbon is determined not to fail now. She's let Kodo turn her into enough of a fool as is. She repeats the steps in her head over and over again, determined not to get one wrong.
They complete the square three times before tragedy strikes: Bourbon moves the wrong way, and Kodo steps directly on her foot. With a yelp, Bourbon staggers to the side and clutches onto the closest object to her. Unfortunately, that object happens to be Kodo, who isn't at all prepared for the weight of anything more than his own fragile bones, and they crumple into a heap on the floor.
"Fuck!"
"Ow!"
Bourbon struggles to sit up, clutching the side of her head. Beside her, Kodo looks similar, rubbing his jaw.
"You," he says slowly, "really are a terrible dancer."
"Oh, c'mon, I wasn't that bad."
Naturally, the asshat only laughs in response. "It's like you have two left feet!"
She's not even sure what that means. Wordlessly, she snatches a pillow off the couch and chucks it at his head. Kodo's laughing too hard to realize what's happening until the pillow hits him square in the face.
Stunned by the turn of events, silence falls between them. And then, unable to do anything else, Bourbon starts snickering – and once she starts, she finds it impossible to stop. Kodo tries to glare at her, but all Bourbon can focus on is his ruffled hair and how very unsavory it is, and how Kodo would probably have an aneurysm if he could see himself right now. He's probably about to get annoyed and start spluttering like a fool, and the image Bourbon has conjured in her head has her downright cackling.
She expects this to annoy Kodo even more. Instead, the most surprising thing of all happens: Kodo starts laughing with her.
And, for a moment, Bourbon forgets that she's supposed to be acting at all. She isn't actively disgusted to be interacting with Kodo. She wouldn't mind spending the rest of the day inside – even if that meant doing something completely stupid, like charades or dancing.
The realization sends a jolt through her system, and her stomach drops. Bourbon feels sick.
It doesn't matter what's real to her. They might be working together now, but at the end of the day, Bourbon will choose her own life first. Without hesitation.
And she has no doubt that he'll do the same.
June 18, 17:52
Prythania at Valmont
Aleksei is so overwhelmed with energy that he hardly knows what to do with himself. They've been stuck inside all day, and it's been driving him insane, which means he's been driving Sagan insane, and now they're free. It's thrilling.
The whole world outside is golden. Small puddles linger on the sides of the road and ripple in the wind. Aleksei kicks one, sending an arc of water splashing into the middle of the street. He laughs delightedly, and then turns to see Sagan's reaction.
She's unamused – though, granted, she always is. Smiling appears to be as rare an occurrence for her as frowning is for Aleksei. So of course, this doesn't deter him. He'll find a way to turn this day around for the both of them – and he has an excellent idea for where to start.
"Do you see a ball anywhere?" Aleksei asks, darting back and forth between houses. His pants are soaked nearly up to his knees from how high his splashes have been hitting.
"Huh?" Sagan stays rooted in place by the doorway.
"A ball! You said you play, right?"
"Um, sort of…"
"So we can sorta play!"
"I don't know…"
"C'mon – please? Just until it gets dark?"
Her lips twist into a thoughtful expression. "I don't know where we're supposed to get a ball from…"
"There's houses everywhere! I bet one of them will have something."
Aleksei skips ahead, his smile widening as wind rustles through his curls. It reminds him of home and the entire days he'd spend outside with friends, without a care in the world. He knows the entirety of Six like the back of his hand, could easily navigate it in his sleep. This Arena is entirely unfamiliar in terms of layout, but there's something comforting about the run-down homes and streets riddled with cracks.
Really, it's just good to move. Aleksei can't stand to be cooped up indoors. He's not too keen on staying out in a rainstorm, either, but nothing can beat the feeling of the sun on his face. In the aftermath of the rain, it's a little too muggy for things to be truly pleasant, but Aleksei won't go back inside until he has to.
"Aleksei!" Sagan calls. "Aleksei, wait up!"
He spins on his heels, jogging backwards. "Come race with me!"
"I'd race against you."
"Same difference!"
Sagan stares at him, baffled. "No?"
"Just come on!"
As Aleksei tries to spin himself back around, his foot gets caught on an uneven patch of road. With a yelp, he tumbles to the ground, landing flat on his back.
He lays there for a few moments, completely motionless. Clouds drift high above. One looks like a duck if Aleksei squints just right.
"Aleksei?" Sagan's worried face hovers above him. "Aleksei, are you okay?"
"Ow," he mutters, rubbing his head. "That kinda hurt."
"That doesn't answer my question."
Aleksei holds up his arm and stares at her pleadingly. Sagan makes a face at him, but goes to help him up regardless. Unfortunately for her, Aleksei had no intention of getting off the ground just yet.
Sagan cries out in protest as she topples forward, and Aleksei does his best to catch her. His intention obviously isn't for her to get hurt; he just wants a bit of company for a while. Since clearly they haven't been able to spend enough time together recently.
"Sorry," Aleksei offers.
"No you're not."
"No I'm not. Mostly. I just wanted you to join me."
"You could've asked, you know."
"Would you have joined me anyway?"
Sagan hums. She tilts her face up towards the sky. "Maybe."
"Really?"
"Mmm."
Aleksei spreads his limbs out to imitate a starfish. "The ground is still pretty wet, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Can't you feel it?"
He wiggles his fingers. "A little. The material of this outfit is really thick, though."
"I wish the skirt was shorter," Sagan says wistfully.
"We could try cutting it off!"
"Do we have anything to do that?"
"Oh." Aleksei thinks on it for a moment. "I don't think so."
"I'll be alright, probably."
"I think your skirt is pretty."
Her cheeks pinken. "Thanks. But I don't have anything to do with it."
"That's not true! You're pretty, too."
Sagan sits upright and buries her face in her hands. "Knock it off!"
Aleksei raises up on his elbows. "What's wrong? I'm just sayin' the truth."
"That's your opinion!"
"And?"
"... and I thought we were gonna play ball or something."
"That was before I saw a duck in the clouds."
"You- huh?" Sagan squints up at the sky, and then tilts her head. "I don't see it."
"Maybe it's more of a swan."
"Do you have any idea what a swan looks like?"
"Long necks, yeah? And white. And pretty, I think."
"There's a book about that, you know."
Aleksei blinks. "There is?"
"Yeah." Sagan glances down at her hands. "There's this duckling that everyone thought was ugly, so they were cruel to him. Left him behind. But he finds out that he's not really a duckling, he's a… whatever a baby swan is. And they accept him for who he is."
Aleksei goes quiet for a moment. "That's a sad story."
"Part of it, yeah. But the ending is happy. He finds his family."
"Why'd they leave him in the first place?"
Sagan gets to her feet before Aleksei knows what's happening. A few seconds too late, he follows, barely catching what her response is. "... guess some people aren't worth staying for."
"I-"
"We need a ball, right?" Sagan says abruptly. "We should go find one."
"Right." Aleksei swallows down whatever questions he was about to ask. Sagan has made it clear enough that now isn't the time. "Where to next?"
She stalks off without another word. Aleksei has to jog to catch up with her. For once, he makes himself stay quiet. He's figured out that when Sagan gets like this, it's best to give her a little bit of space – but not so much that he leaves her all alone.
(He can't tell if that's out of consideration for her, or if he's only looking out for himself.)
They travel a few blocks in relative silence. Aleksei itches with the urge to say literally anything at all, but he bites it all back. Where are we going? There's a backyard over there, do you think they'd have a ball? Do you think we'd have to rely on a sponsor gift? Would anyone even send us that? Would anyone send us anything at all? Hey, do you think there's anyone else around here? Will we ever see anyone or are the gamemakers just gonna send something after us?
"There."
Aleksei blinks and follows the direction of Sagan's outstretched finger. It takes him a moment to register what he's looking at, but when he does, he beams.
The ball is old and worn down, but it'll do nicely. Aleksei sprints to pick it up, tossing it high in the air. It almost hits him in the face, but he real casually manages to save it.
"So awesome," Aleksei breathes. "How do we play?"
"I dunno… It's just me most of the time, so I don't have rules for playing with someone else."
"We can make it up! What do you do when it's just you?"
Sagan gnaws on her lip. "It's sorta like soccer, so you can't use your hands. And I try to bounce the ball between my feet so it doesn't stay on the ground. I pick two goal spots a few feet apart from each other and go between the two, but we can just make one mine and one yours."
He nods enthusiastically. "Sounds easy enough."
"You think you'll win, then?"
He shoots her a cheeky grin. "Depends – will you let me?"
Sagan narrows her eyes, choosing not to respond to that. Instead, she glances around the area. "The siding of that house will be my goal, and the one across from it will be yours."
"Can we use our hands if we're not in possession of the ball?"
"We can test it out as we go."
"So awesome," he whispers.
Aleksei's face hurts from smiling. He bounces the ball on the ground and nods approvingly. Slightly deflated, but nothing he's not used to. A few feet away, Sagan has managed to find enough string to tie her hair back. She furrows her brows and bends her knees, getting ready to move the instant Aleksei does. Her fierce gaze never leaves his.
"Okay," Aleksei says. He spins the ball between his hands. "Whoever has the most points by sundown wins."
"Sounds good."
"Great. Ready?"
And then, so quick that Aleksei can hardly see it, a smile flits across Sagan's face. It's the most wonderful thing he's ever seen.
Sagan nods firmly. "Ready."
June 18, 20:36
Audubon Park
For once, Ibai was not relieved by the prospect of spending the entire day at the Cornucopia.
It's Zephyr that pushed for them to stay. Pantheon wanted them to go out, blades at the ready to rip anyone and everyone apart. Ibai was just paralyzed. With Nerissa and Callum dead, as well as two of their allies missing, the three of them felt… inadequate somehow. Ibai and Zephyr haven't so much as made a kill. Pantheon is… difficult. Combined, Ibai doesn't know what to call the three of them besides a disaster waiting to happen.
Ibai spent the whole day even more restless than Pantheon – an achievement in and of itself, considering Pantheon disappeared for most of the day. He'd resurface every couple hours or so, looking moodier and moodier as the rain drenched each of them to the bone. Zephyr lounged inside the Cornucopia, inviting Ibai to join them, but he refused every time. It was easier to traverse the entire park, waiting in vain for Thessaly's return, wondering how much of her would be left.
(For a time, Ibai was convinced she wouldn't return at all. The only thing that convinced him otherwise was a sponsor gift containing nothing but a pair of nunchucks and a letter with Thessaly's name scrawled on it in unfamiliar handwriting.)
It's dark by the time the girls return. Thessaly looks unbelievably small, like all of her bravado has been stripped away and she's shrunk down to nothing. Half of her face has been bandaged, and she's limping. She looks like she's been through hell – and maybe she has. Next to her, Saccharine looks to be drenched in blood, but based on the way she carries herself, she doesn't look to be injured at all.
"You've returned!" Pantheon booms, holding his arms out grandly. "Tell us what happened, if you please."
Thessaly looks off to the side instead of speaking up. Saccharine notices this and clears her throat, taking a step forward. She bends at the waist, ducking her head.
"We stumbled upon Svelte, but in our attempts to corner and interrogate him, he ran into a couple friends. It's hard to determine what exactly happened past that point, but a building exploded while Nerissa and Thessaly were caught inside."
Alarmed, Ibai looks over at Thessaly again. Her fists are clenched at her side, and the expression on her face is downright murderous. She looks ready to kill, and Ibai feels sorry for whoever makes the mistake of getting in her way.
"Thessaly," Pantheon says, more gently than before. "Are you ready to go out again, or do you need a br-"
"Give me the night," Thessaly all but snarls. "And then I'm going out tomorrow, with or without you."
In the dim moonlight, Ibai could swear Pantheon smiles. "Sounds like a plan. Who do you want to join us?"
"Zephyr," she replies instantly.
A flash of hurt whips through Ibai so hard that it burns. He struggles to push it back down, but he's afraid it already shone brightly across his face. He crosses his arms and tries to pretend like nothing happened at all.
(It doesn't help that when Ibai looks away, he sees Zephyr staring right at him.)
"It's settled, then!" Pantheon claps Zephyr on the back. "We'll set off bright and early, see what the day brings us. Everyone should get some sleep while they can."
No one needs any more encouragement. The five of them that remain split off in different directions, and Ibai feels torn between them. But then he remembers the sponsor gift in his backpack, and he sets off after Thessaly.
"Thess!" he calls, jogging to catch up to her. "Thess, I have something-"
The instant he reaches his hand out to touch her shoulder, Thessaly lurches away. She bares her teeth, her hands warped into the shape of claws. In the dim light, she looks downright feral.
(For the first time, Ibai wonders if he should be afraid of her.)
"What is it?" she snaps.
"You got a sponsor gift," Ibai says, pulling the gift out of his bag. "I don't know why it came to me, but… here."
Her gaze softens. "A gift?"
"Yeah. And… there's a letter with it."
Thessaly's so still that she's barely breathing. Her gaze is fixated on the note like it could bite her. Then, ever so slowly, she reaches out and grabs it from Ibai's outstretched hands.
"Thank you," Thessaly says hollowly. "I… thank you."
She doesn't wait for his response. Thessaly turns and walks away, disappearing behind one of the trees in the park. Ibai watches her the whole time, each limping step sending pain up his own leg. He suddenly feels very certain that if he followed her now, he would find her with tears streaking down her face like blood seeping from an open wound. It occurs to him that that wouldn't be an inaccurate description of the pain she's most likely suffering right now.
Instead, Ibai heads to the cornucopia. The golden horn looks smaller in the moonlight, unable to adequately reflect the light of the sun. It only takes one try for Ibai to hoist himself up on the side, and then he crawls to the open mouth and sits at the very edge.
It's not as far away from the world as Ibai would like, but he understands that this is the best he can do for now. It's nothing like the warm beaches of home – it can't even compare, really – but Ibai finds that he begins to relax regardless.
He's not sure how much time passes. Ibai isn't anywhere near tired enough to fall asleep, not yet, and he's pretty certain Thessaly wants nothing to do with him right now. He can't blame her. It's not like he's the best at comforting people in normal situations.
It's no surprise that Ibai doesn't realize he has company until the company is directly beside him. The only thing he registers is the slightest shift of fabric against metal, and then Zephyr is sitting directly beside him.
"Fancy meeting you here," they joke.
Ibai sighs softly. He contemplates getting down, but he would hate to be so rude. It's not that he doesn't want to talk to Zephyr, he just… doesn't know how to.
"How are you?"
Ibai gives them a look. "What sort of question is that?"
"The icebreaker kind. We've hardly talked all day. I care about you, yanno."
Ibai doesn't know, not really. But he doesn't know how to voice that. "I'm… alive, I suppose. That makes me okay."
"I'm not sure the two are synonymous."
"It's the best I can do for now."
"Understandable." Wind blows through Zephyr's hair. "Your turn."
"My turn?"
"To ask me."
"Oh. Uh. How are you?"
"Scared shitless." Zephyr snorts and ducks their head. "I can say that, can't I?"
It's a more honest answer than Ibai gave. "Yes."
"Then I think that sums it up."
Even though they go quiet, Ibai is hyper aware of Zephyr's presence. He's right there, so close that Ibai could touch him without trying. He's not sure why he's so focused on that fact, and tries to get rid of it.
"Why are you here?" Ibai asks abruptly.
"Here, as in…?" Zephyr shakes his head. "Well, my mom hooked up with some shitbag, and someone up there decided Zaidra wasn't fit to be an only sibling, so they sent me along with her. And back home, we really need the money, and the medical care, and this felt like the best case to get it from, so I volunteered. But neither of those are really what you're asking, are they?"
Ibai stares up at the sky. His mouth feels dry. "No."
"You're asking why I'm up here with you, right?"
Ibai's jaw tenses. He can't really come up with a proper response, so he doesn't bother.
"You looked like you needed some company," Zephyr finally says.
"Is that right?"
"Maybe I needed some company, too."
"Mmm."
"And besides, being up here reminds me of home."
Perplexed, Ibai raises an eyebrow. "You have a giant golden horn in your backyard?"
Zephyr snorts and shoves his shoulder. The gesture is so strangely friendly that Ibai is downright stunned. "Definitely not. I meant I spend most nights on the roof journaling until I can't see the ink on the page anymore. I don't have a journal here, but it's the same vibes."
"Oh."
"And, c'mon. I like you, Ibai. Can't fault a guy for trying to hang out, can you?"
"I can," Ibai says, and then he falls quiet. He sort of hates whatever Zephyr is doing to his head.
"I can always leave, yanno." Zephyr is closer than before, and Ibai doesn't know when he moved. "All you gotta do is tell me."
Ibai can't, and Zephyr knows it. It's sort of infuriating how they do, but Ibai isn't in the mood to question it. Instead, he simply looks back down at the ground, and pretends that Zephyr isn't still staring at him.
"You in the mood for talking?" Zephyr asks. They nudge Ibai with their foot.
"Maybe."
"Tell me something, then," Zephyr whispers. "Anything at all."
There are lots of things Ibai wants to say. So many that his head is growing fuzzy, like he can't focus on anything at all. Sometimes when he stares at the grass, he swears he can still see it stained with blood. He still thinks about drowning, but more than that, he thinks about what it will feel like to die. He wonders if Thessaly is finally going to be sick of him now that Nerissa is gone. He wonders when Zephyr will come to the same conclusion: that he's not worth the effort.
"The sky isn't real," Ibai finally replies. "Any cityscape such as this one would drown out the stars for miles, but they're as clear as ever here. And even though some of the stars are similar to something you could find in a star chart, there are enough inaccuracies to poke holes in the sky itself."
"Really?"
Sometimes Zephyr's voice is full of enough genuine interest that Ibai can almost believe him. He pushes on. "In the grand scheme of things, though, there's only one that really matters: Polaris."
"That's the north star?"
"Yeah – how'd you know?"
Zephyr smiles slyly. "I'm no academic, but I know a few things here and there."
"Like what?"
"I was always pretty good at chemistry. If I didn't live in Seven, it's the kind of thing I would've liked to study. Maybe Three would've been a good fit for me."
"You could move there. After… all of this."
"Yeah." Zephyr's smile grows wistful. "Yeah. It's just a little hard to imagine an after these days."
Dacre's blood paints the back of his eyelids. Ibai suppresses a shudder. "Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean."
[The following note was included in the sponsor gift intended for Thessaly Akaste. It's filled with an overabundance of enthusiasm, though it's anyone's guess as to what the writer is feeling now. There is no question as to who it is from.]
Dear Thess,
Wow, I can't believe I really get to hear from you! ! ! I could hardly believe it when the letter showed up addressed to me – it's a good thing Mom and Dad didn't see it, otherwise they might've snagged it for themselves. I bet they wouldn't have wanted to hear about all the fun you're having, though, and that's my favorite part.
I hardly know where to start… Home's been good. We're all really excited to see you again – Mom and Dad were thrilled by your score and placement, by the way. I've just been anxious to see your face again. Not like the Capitol has you, where you're coated in makeup and don't look anything like the Thess I know at home. You still look lovely though, I promise.
(I'm writing this in your room, by the way. It's far too quiet here without you. I hope you don't mind.)
I've done a bit of research on the allies you mentioned, by the way! Ibai's something of a legend at my school, at least in regards to academics, so I've heard a lot about him. It's not often you get someone that smart and dedicated – the professors love him. The students not so much, but he keeps to himself the majority of the time, so I guess it's alright. I like him, though. He's a good guy to have in your corner.
Then there's Nerissa… I actually recognized her surname, but I had to do some digging to figure out why. Turns out her family can be traced all the way back to the beginning of Panem as blacksmiths! They've supplied weapons for the Games just about every year. Not much information on her, though. Looks like she keeps to herself unless it has something to do with her family. I bet she's a wicked fighter. Well, I bet they all are. I hope you're the best, though.
Gosh, this has been a lot of rambling. I guess I'm nervous to tell you about how I am, because I've mainly been thinking about you. And it's not that I don't have faith in you, I'm just… worried. You can't blame me for that, can you?
I believe in you, though. I know that's contradictory, but I do. More than anyone. You're the best person I know. [Something has clearly been written here, and then scratched out and erased to the point of illegibility.]
Come home soon. I miss you.
And no matter what, I'm proud of you.
Love,
Euna
[The original envelope bore witness to a few tearstains from the dismayed author. Though she prevented her sister from ever reading the words she originally wrote, they will weigh heavily on her heart for a long time to come.]
I'm sorry. This is all my fault.
yes, i just wrote nearly 12k and no one died. it would be wise for you to consider this a blessing.
see y'all next time for day five, part one: stage of fools :)
~de laney is out