July 20, 124 ADD.
lookatmelookatme why won't you see me what did i do wrong why why why why why won't you lookatme
There's someone inside the house.
Sagan doesn't know how she knows this, but she does. She feels something icy settle deep into her bones, locking up her joints and sharpening her mind into focus. Her instincts scream danger, but Aleksei's curls tickle her jaw and make her want to let sleep consume her again.
She's probably wrong, anyway. Sagan hasn't seen anyone besides Aleksei in days. The odds of there being anyone near them now…
A distant thump in the darkness makes her flinch. Beside her, Aleksei continues to snore away, completely oblivious to what's going on.
(If there's anything going on. Sagan could very well just be paranoid. Things go bump in the night all the time back home, and it's always been okay. Sometimes her mother gets up without any sense of where she is, pacing the hallway like a ghost that doesn't realize the world left her behind. Sometimes Sagan would wake up to a crash and bolt out of bed, knowing that her mother had taken another terrible fall.
And other times, Sagan could swear she heard her siblings' laughter ringing down the hall. That part must be a dream. She doesn't remember what their laughter sounds like.)
A soft sigh escapes Sagan's lips. She should check, just to be sure. She tries to wiggle herself free, but Aleksei sinks further into her, one hand clenching the fabric of her dress tightly. Her lips twist, and she carefully pries his hand open, placing it gently back in his lap. The only indication that Aleksei realizes something has changed is the loud snore that escapes him, and the way his brows furrow, as if he's not as comfortable as he once was.
Sagan wraps her arms around herself and shudders. Now that she's gotten this far, she isn't sure what to do next. The supplies they got from the Cornucopia have dwindled to almost nothing, and she knows they haven't picked up any weapons. The mere thought of holding one makes her skin crawl.
But just to be safe, Sagan makes a stop in the kitchen. She can't find any knives, not without making a ruckus, so a battered rolling pin will have to suffice.
There's another clatter down the hallway, and Sagan freezes in place. She holds the pin so tightly that her fingers ache. She takes a step back, then another one. It would be so easy to just run-
Her jaw clenches. She can't run from the mere idea of something hiding in the night. And besides, with Aleksei in the next room…
Everything is fine. She's safe. She just has to prove it to herself.
Whatever the hell Jasmine fucked him up with, she got him good. The world tilts and spins around Nolan with no sense of rhyme or reason, and every few steps he has to pause to regain his bearings.
He has no idea where the hell he is. It's inside and cold and dark, but at least that's an improvement over the pouring rain outside.
(It's raining so hard that Nolan can hardly see two feet in front of him. The only thing keeping him moving forward is the steady sensation of Ryker's hand in his.
They're so close to freedom he can taste it. Once they get back out into the world, they can disappear completely. Nothing will matter so long as they're together.
Blinding lights cut through the rain, and the boys stop still. They know that the lights track movement more than anything else, and at least in this one situation, the rain helps distract from that. Once the light swivels away from them once more, the two let out a sigh of relief and give each other a smile.
Only a few more feet. They might really be able to make it out together.)
God, his head is pounding. Nolan leans heavily against the wall as fire tears through every nerve in his body, making him grit his teeth and shudder. The pain steals the breath from his body, and Nolan doubles over, blinking through blinding flashes of light in the darkness. He wipes at his forehead, unsure if he's burning up or freezing cold. Sweat and rain mingle on his brow, completely indistinguishable.
Would Jasmine know what to do? Fuck. Nolan has half a mind to dig through her collection of concoctions and start downing whatever doesn't look like poison. But then he remembers the note – two days – and thinks better of it.
Two days gives him a chance, even if that chance is nearly nonexistent. Jasmine might've stolen his freedom from him, after he gave her every opportunity to back down, but he won't let her steal his hope as well.
(They're nearly to the wall. According to Ryker's calculations, there should be a brief respite between guards where they can slip through the gates and make it out unseen. He's been right about everything up to this point. There's no reason not to believe him now.
"Stop!"
Nolan freezes in place, unsure where the guard came from. He blinks rain out of his eyes, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender so he doesn't frighten the boy – because the guard really is just a boy. One whose gun is aimed at them, the barrel trembling as he holds it too tightly to aim properly. One wrong move would set him off, Nolan knows that much. Fear and a gun never mix well.
Lies form on his tongue, a story that Nolan can play off as the irrefutable truth: this was all his idea, he forced Ryker to come along with him, they actually got assigned to a station out here-
But before Nolan can bring any of that to light, Ryker steps forward. And the world as he knows it ends in one swift move.)
There's a girl in front of him – dark hair, dark eyes. Shadows cling to her form, obscuring her features. For a moment, he swears it's Jasmine standing in front of him, several inches shorter but just as angry and afraid. Nolan tries to snap himself out of it, but he can't figure out who else matches that description.
"Stay back!" she calls, her voice wavering. There's something clenched in her hands – a weapon? "Get out, and we won't-"
We. Nolan's eyes snap up, searching over her head for where her company lies in wait. It's a trap, isn't it? Nolan surrenders, turns his back, and then her ally attacks. He'd be back with Ryker far too soon.
"No," Nolan forces out, his head swimming. "No, I'm n-not-"
Not a danger, he thinks. Not a threat. Not going to hurt you.
None of it ends up mattering. Pain swarms once more, and Nolan lurches forward in an attempt to regain his balance. He can distantly hear the girl screaming, calling out a name-
("Ryker!" Nolan cries, the echo getting lost in the night. He scrambles forward and snatches the gun away from the frightened child, aiming and then-
boom.
The boy's eyes are wide and afraid as he falls, though Nolan can't tell whether it's because of his own actions or Nolan turning the gun on him. The fear twists Nolan's stomach – again, another death on his hands, like Nolan's a killer that just can't stop – but he manages to turn away. The sight in front of him now is even more horrifying.
"Ryker," he repeats, his voice breaking. He kneels next to the body of his lover, his friend, and tries not to weep. "Ryker come on, we have to-"
"Go," Ryker whispers. Red bleeds through his shirt, and he shudders from the cold. "I'll be glad to see you get out of here."
"Not without you."
Ryker's laugh turns into a cough, and blood dribbles down his chin. Nolan wipes it away with a gentle touch. "Take me with you, then. I won't let them kill you, too.")
Those eyes – fuck, she won't stop screaming. The pounding in Nolan's head is getting louder and louder. This girl is so afraid of him, and he hasn't even done anything.
It's not fucking fair. The only thing Nolan has ever wanted is his freedom. None of this senseless death and violence. His own ally couldn't trust him, and now this child won't give him so much as a chance-
It's like something is drilling into his head. Her scream turns piercing, and whatever patience left in Nolan's body snaps. Before he can so much as think, he slams the handle of his shortsword into the side of the girl's head.
Stars blink across Sagan's vision, and she crumples to the floor. The rolling pin in her hand tumbles out of reach. She's not sure it would've done much good, but it was something of a comfort regardless.
"Aleksei!" she cries again, scrambling away from the boy standing over her. She looks around wildly, trying to seek a way out. "Aleksei!"
The boy's face twists as she makes eye contact with him again. His free hand raises, and she flinches. There's some sort of rage and frustration lingering in his expression, but Sagan doesn't see it long enough to determine the reasoning behind it.
Pain slices across her face, and Sagan screams. She crawls until her back is against the wall, wetness streaming down her face – tears? blood? she can't tell – and the darkness is so overwhelming that she can't tell where he is anymore. Right in front of her, surely, but then why can't she see-
"Sagan!"
There's suddenly a presence in front of her, warm and comforting. Sagan reaches forward to snag a piece of his jacket, a way to make certain he's really there. It doesn't feel real.
He stayed?
"You don't really want to hurt us," Aleksei blurts out, his mouth moving a mile a minute. "I've seen you, you were friends with Twelve – I'm sorry she's dead, by the way. You didn't smile very often, but you seemed fond enough of her. We've been staying here, we didn't know anyone else was nearby. We can leave, if you really want! And we won't hurt you, I-I promise. Just- just please-"
"What's your name?" the boy asks, his voice low and rough.
In front of her, Aleksei trembles. Sagan presses her face into his back. "I'm Aleksei, and this is Sagan. You're, um, Nathan or Nick or something."
"Nolan."
Sagan can feel the way Aleksei nods emphatically. "Uh huh! Nolan! You were really good at fighting."
Nolan stays silent for a long moment. "How old are you?"
"Um. Fifteen?"
Another beat of silence, and then Nolan swears loudly. An object clatters to the floor – his weapon, maybe? It's so dark, and Sagan can't bring herself to move.
"Get out of here," Nolan mutters. "The tide is rising. And if you see anyone else like this, run. Understand?"
"Yessir!" Aleksei chirps, and Sagan can hear his smile. She only pulls away from him when she hears Nolan's footsteps echo down the hallway, when she's sure he's out of the house. The wetness on her face feels more like tears now, the kind that never stop. She's so terribly cold.
"Oh my god," Aleksei whispers, trembling fingers grazing her temple. There's a shuffle of fabric and then his jacket slides over her shoulders. "What happened?"
"He-he hit my head, and I th-think my face."
"Yeah, he- are you crying?"
She sniffles. Years of instinct want her to push Aleksei away and run off into the night, figure out how to make her own way, but after the past few days… "I think so."
"Okay, just- hold on, let me-"
He stands up, moving out of reach, and Sagan's heart beats faster. "Aleksei," she whimpers, fingers searching out for anything she can grab. His hair, his shirt, his hand- "Aleksei, the light."
"Huh?" Confusion colors his voice. "What about them?"
Her throat squeezes so tightly that Sagan nearly can't speak. She's being swallowed whole by the shadows surrounding her. "It's still dark, you have to- the lights-"
His hand stills in hers. Sagan's heart drops into her stomach.
"Sagan," Aleksei says as gently as he can manage. "I already turned on the lights."
what makes him so special instead of me what happened why did him showing up change everything i want it to go back to the way it was when everything was just us i miss us do you even miss me at all
"I'll have you know that I am very disappointed in you guys."
The clarification is helpful. Ibai is too distracted by the blood soaking Pantheon's shirt to really analyze his current state of being. There were three cannons yesterday, and two unaccounted for: Marri Esters and Jasmine McCoy. Based solely on the amount of blood, Ibai would guess that Pantheon took out Jasmine, but that doesn't make any sense – the only defensive wound Pantheon sports is the one slicing through his eyebrow, the one he gained from the Nines. According to the scores, Jasmine would be a more threatening opponent, and therefore more likely to put up a fight. It doesn't make sense for Pantheon to be drenched in this much blood, unless…?
"Are you even listening?"
Definitely not. Ibai snaps his gaze back up to Pantheon's face, which… looks like it has perhaps devolved from disappointed to angry. "Um…"
"Someone needs to start explaining to me how we lost two allies in one day, and why you two look like you lost a fight. And," Pantheon crosses his arms across his chest for this next part, "why wasn't I invited?"
For the first time in hours, Thessaly and Ibai exchange a Look. Ibai has never been particularly fluent with those, but he understands this one to mean What is this guy talking about?
"Easy," Thessaly says dryly. "We had two snakes, I got rid of them, they put up a little bit more of a fight than I anticipated, end of story."
"Then why is only one of them dead?"
Ibai winces and looks away, pretending to be absorbed in checking his injuries again. The gaping wound in his stomach doesn't hurt much anymore, not since whatever was sent in that sponsor gift last night, but it's still bleeding through the bandages every few hours. Ibai may not know much about first aid, but he knows that's probably a concerning sign.
His lips pull into a frown. Ibai has gone on more researching deep dives than anyone else he knows. He could summon a hundred facts about origami, or the rates of drowning among Four tributes, or the intricate system that the District Four Public Library uses to categorize their books.
(And boats, of course. But Ibai could never regret his mind becoming an encyclopedia of knowledge about the structure and industry of the single most beautiful craft to ever exist. That would be blasphemy.)
Ibai pokes at the cloth bandages again, willing them to stop soaking up his blood. He can't paper fold, statistically outwit, or organize his way out of this one.
"Saccharine had already killed two of our own, and tried to kill a third. It would've been a crime not to put her down exactly how she deserved. Zephyr…" Thessaly's lip curls. "Helped. A little too much."
Thunder booms in the distance, and Ibai's chest constricts. It's been raining all day – again – and the water is on the verge of seeping into the Cornucopia. The golden horn that has provided them shelter so far won't be able to do so for much longer.
(And, Ibai's mind helpfully supplements, there's thirteen left. In an Arena this big, there's always something to corral the tributes together, make it impossible to avoid each other forever.)
"Hm." Pantheon is not pleased by this answer for some reason. Ibai doesn't understand why, considering everything Thessaly has said so far is completely factual.
"Which one did you take out? Seven or Twelve?"
"Ah, Marri! The rather quiet girl from Seven. Not as quiet in the end, but… well, she put on a good show."
Ibai's fingers sink into the grass. Something sour lingers in the back of his throat.
"Right," Thessaly responds. "Zephyr had her ally cornered and just let him go. Ran back here to confront Saccharine, and nearly got himself killed in the process."
"And if they had stayed, I would be dead."
Ibai instantly regrets opening his mouth. His two remaining allies swivel to look at him, as if remembering that he's a fellow person with thoughts and opinions and the ability to form words. He instantly wishes that ability would be taken from him.
"Right," Thessaly says, a too-wide smile gliding across her face. "I saw the little rat run and decided to follow. Didn't have time to grab you, too, or they might've gotten away from me."
Pantheon nods slowly. "Understandable," he says, though something strange lingers in his tone. "You mentioned Saccharine was responsible for the deaths of two of our own?"
"It was her that killed Callum in the bloodbath, and she admitted to killing Nerissa after that bomb went off." Thessaly scoffs. "Fucking crazy bitch seemed to have it out for all of us. God knows why – I wasn't exactly in the mood for a sit-down therapy session."
Again, Pantheon frowns. "She never made an attempt on my life."
"What, are you jealous?"
There's a pause before Pantheon responds. "If she truly was that formidable of an opponent, I would've liked to take my own shot at her."
"So you are jealous. What, you want your own personal rival? That scrawny Nine kid isn't cutting it for you anymore?"
Ibai can almost hear the way Pantheon is grinding his teeth. He looks to Thessaly, practically pleading for her to stop antagonizing their ally, but she won't look at him. There's that glimmer of cruelty in her eye again.
It scares him.
"When we see him again, Zephyr is mine," Pantheon growls. "We'll see how much of a worthy foe he manages to be."
"All yours." Thessaly bats her lashes. "I want that little rat from Five, anyway. It's about time someone showed them her place."
"Excellent," Pantheon says through bared teeth. "Gather your things. We're heading out."
Pantheon stalks off into the rain without another word. Ibai is only mildly unsettled by the fact that he didn't so much as ask if the two of them were well enough to start moving – or even ask if they were ready to.
He supposes it doesn't matter. This late in the game, they can't afford to wait around.
(And, really… Ibai can't say no. Not unless he wants to meet death at the hands of an ally. He's never been more certain that either of his allies would kill him if given the opportunity.
He's never been more frightened by the possibility.)
"Hey."
Ibai blinks, startled. Thessaly is kneeling in front of him, expression completely unreadable. Though there's a bandage covering the wound on her face, Ibai swears he can still see the bone-white glint of teeth through it, a threat and promise all at once.
He tries not to recoil.
"C'mon," Thessaly says, offering him a hand that Ibai has no choice but to take. "We'll show everyone they can't fuck with us anymore."
i hate you i don't need you i don't need anyone you'll pay for what you've done to me i'll show you i'll show you all
Honestly, how could Bourbon be so fucking stupid?
This sentiment could apply to a lot of shit throughout her life, but the moment haunting her right now is that hug she gave Kodo yesterday. A hug. Like she's some damsel in distress trying to thank her knight in shining armor for saving her skin.
How's that supposed to go, anyway? Bourbon bats her lashes the way she's seen those prissy rich girls around school do when they're around the boys they like. Oh, Kodo! Thank you for saving me from being entombed forever! How could I ever repay you?!
She violently shudders at the last part. Bourbon does not want to know how Kodo would desire to be "repaid."
"Are you having a stroke?"
"Fuck off," Bourbon bites back immediately. She's wound so tight that her nails are digging into the palms of her hands. "We can't just stay inside forever, yanno."
Kodo moves to stand next to her – a few inches away, thankfully. He frowns at the amount of water that's already collected in the streets. "Surely we can wait for the rain to stop."
"What makes you think it will stop?"
"What makes you think it won't?"
Bourbon only allows herself a moment of hesitation. God forbid Kodo ever think he's made a good point. "Because we haven't seen any tributes in ages. They'll try to push us in one direction or another, and unless we want to learn how to swim, I think sooner is better than later."
"That's an awful lot of speculation."
"At least I came up with a reason! What's yours?"
Kodo pauses. "It makes for shoddy camera work."
Bourbon can't help it – she snorts. "Are you fucking for real?"
"And it'll distort the audio. The audience deserves to hear the smooth tenor of my voice in crisp high definition surround sound."
Bourbon has no idea what half of those words mean. "A luxury only few deserve to be subjected to," she responds.
"Precisely."
"I call bullshit, though. If they can make the rain, they can come up with countermeasures for how this shit looks and sounds. You're telling me Capitol-grade cameras can't handle a little water?"
He pouts. "It could still be a concern!"
"Yeah, right. You got any better reasoning? Or- let me guess. The Capitol doesn't want us to be miserable, so surely they'll let up the rain at some point? Are you fucking listening to yourself?"
Kodo gives her a look of warning. "Bonbon-"
"What, are you scared your socks getting soaked will cause you to die of some horrible disease far below your status?"
"That's not-"
"All those sponsors you wanted so bad – maybe you could ask them for a goddamn umbrella!"
"Bonnie." A hand latches around her wrist.
She snatches her hand away, remembering the tight grip of whatever thing shoved her into that enclosed space where the darkness tried to swallow her whole. It feels like a dream – a horrible dream, the kind she's never truly woken up from.
"Fuck off," Bourbon sneers, more venomous than last time. A strange sensation wells up in her chest, threatening to overpower her. She shoves the feeling back down with more force than necessary, stalking away from Kodo into one of the open bedrooms.
Shit. What the hell is her deal? Getting almost buried alive one time shouldn't be making her crumble like this. It's pathetic. Bourbon's survived worse. She's begged and stolen on the streets just to get enough food for dinner. She's pulled off many a daring escape, only getting caught once. She's sold every bit of herself that's worth something just to hand it over to her siblings so they'll never have to do the same thing.
Goddamn it all. They're probably watching Bourbon now – what the hell kind of example is she setting? Rich little loser boys make all your problems go away? Violence is always the answer?
(No matter how hard she tries to deny it, she's scared shitless?)
Bourbon rakes a hand through her hair, pacing restlessly in the dim glow of a lamp. She needs to get the hell out of here. If she doesn't get home, what will her siblings do without her? Rely on their dad?
Fucking ridiculous. Fucking embarrassing. There's no god for Bourbon to speak of, but she prays that she at least taught her siblings better than that.
She has half a mind to throw the lamp across the room, just for the satisfaction of seeing it shatter, but that would snuff out the only light source she has right now. Bourbon just lets her hands hang at her sides, nails drawing blood. Off to the side, Kodo stands in the doorway, watching. She's not sure how long he's been there.
"The fuck do you want?" Bourbon mutters, trying to let the anger seep out of her voice. The last thing she wants from Kodo right now is a poorly concealed lecture about how they have to maintain appearances.
Luckily, Kodo doesn't say a word. He holds out a box for her to take. That's when Bourbon realizes that he's looking at her with… with concern. She tries to brush away the initial feeling of disgust, and takes the package like she's accepting a bomb.
It's… a raincoat and boots. She raises a brow at him.
"That's all we got," Kodo explains. "I… wanted you to have first pick."
"Awfully generous of you."
"For you, I can have my moments."
Bourbon purses her lips. She doesn't want to think about that sentiment any more than she has to. Besides – it's not like he means anything by it. All Kodo Hotakim does is for show.
She'd be a fool to ever think otherwise.
"I'll take the boots," Bourbon says, dropping the box on the bed. It'd piss him off more to have wet socks, she's sure of it. "Let you keep that fancy jacket of yours safe and dry."
"Where are we headed, then?"
She raises a brow, surprised that he's suddenly so agreeable. Kodo watches her quietly, looking… she can't tell how he's looking. It unnerves her. She has half a mind to slit his throat right here and go through the rest of the Games alone.
Instead, Bourbon sits on the edge of the bed and slides on the boots. She didn't realize how much her ankle was bothering her until she can relish in the new support. "North. Towards the city. Gives us more places to hide."
"We'd better start moving if we want to get there before dark."
"Right." Bourbon stands once she's ready, shifting weight between her feet experimentally. When she determines she's ready, she swipes her lips against Kodo's cheek in a halfhearted show of affection. "Let's get moving, then."
i'm sorry please come back
Everything hurts.
This shouldn't come as a surprise. Zephyr isn't sure how many times he got stabbed. Everything that happened has become a blur in his mind. Marri's screams, Xander's fear, Saccharine's vengeful smile, Thessaly's brutality, Ibai's…
No. Zephyr can't think about that right now. That can come later, when they at least have some sense of where they are and what sort of danger they're in.
They wince and sit up. Zephyr's hands pass over his torso, but all they feel are thick bandages where wounds should be. Where wounds are. The last thing he remembers was running, and then… how the hell is he alive?
It takes far more effort than Zephyr anticipated to force himself to his feet. A knife slices through their ribs all over again, and their heart pounds in his chest so loudly that it makes their ears ring. It takes several steady breaths to make the feeling subside.
Zephyr's inside now, which is probably a good thing – they can see rain steadily pouring outside. If he was still out there, then they'd be looking at an infection right about now. Instead, Zephyr was on the floor of some living room. The hardwood floor won't do great things to his back the rest of the day, but that feels like a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things. Curiously, they were on the ground right next to a couch. Maybe Zephyr just didn't have the energy to collapse a few inches to the left.
Then again… they sniff the air. Someone is cooking something. Not well, from the smell of it, but Zephyr's stomach makes an embarrassingly loud noise. He's pretty sure they'll eat whatever gets put in front of him.
They follow their nose to what Zephyr presumes is the kitchen, and they start to figure out how exactly he got in this house. A tall, lanky boy stands in front of the stove, staring at a pot of boiling water like it's going to explode directly in his face. He secured some of his hair out of his face with a hairtie, but a few strands linger stubbornly – not that Xander appears to notice.
Zephyr makes it halfway across the room before Xander realizes he's not alone anymore. And, really, the only reason he does notice is because Zephyr stumbles over the leg of a chair and nearly hits the floor. They grit their teeth in an attempt to smother a groan of pain, but it's drowned out by Xander's surprised shriek.
When Zephyr looks up, there's a kitchen knife pointed at him, the blade wavering in midair. It's a little difficult to feel intimidated by someone that looked more terrified by a pot of boiling water than an intruder, but Zephyr manages to keep from laughing, if only barely.
They slowly raise their hands in a gesture of surrender. "I come in peace," he jokes, cracking a smile.
Xander scowls at him and drops the knife on the counter. "You're supposed to be resting."
"I've had all the rest a guy can stand. Besides, the floor didn't feel particularly inviting anymore."
The tips of Xander's ears turn pink. He focuses on the pot in front of him. "You're not exactly cooperative when you're unconscious. I got your wounds taken care of, and you're not dying in a puddle, so… I'd consider the dry floor an upgrade."
"And I thank you for that," Zephyr says, his tone far more serious now. "There's no doubt in my mind that I'd be dead without you."
"Yeah, well… so would I. So… thanks."
Gingerly, Zephyr lowers themself into a chair. "I'm sorry about Marri."
Xander flinches. "She was your District Partner. And it's not like you killed her."
"That's true. But she was your ally. Your friend."
Xander's response is so quiet that Zephyr almost misses it. "Yeah. Yeah she was."
A memory floods back: Xander's fear and despair as that first cannon went off. The one that wasn't really Marri's. Zephyr doesn't even want to consider how distraught the boy would be if he discovered Marri's life hadn't ended there.
"None of that happened because of me, did it?" Xander asks softly. He's staring at the bandages peeking out from under Zephyr's shirt.
Zephyr's hand traces around the deepest wound in his chest. "The worst of it is from Saccharine, who was at first displeased that I interrupted her, and then… well, she stopped making much sense after that. Once Saccharine was dead, Thessaly turned on me, and the only reason she didn't kill me was because Ibai begged her not to."
Xander nods blankly – it's clear the only name he's very familiar with is Saccharine. His jaw clenches. "I'm glad she's gone."
"Me too."
A heavy silence settles over them. Xander won't look at them, and Zephyr can't even begin to fathom what's going on in the boy's head. For once, Zephyr doesn't know what to say.
"Why didn't you kill me?" Xander blurts out. His hand is trembling, and he quickly clenches it into a fist by his side. "It would've been easier. You wouldn't be stuck here with me now."
"I don't know," Zephyr whispers. "I just… couldn't. I didn't like that you were afraid of me. I knew you before the Arena, in a sense. You weren't some nameless tribute. And… easier isn't always better. I still want to be myself when I leave these Games."
"And if it was Marri?"
"I would've done the same."
There's a sniffle that Zephyr pretends not to notice. "I… I keep thinking about it. If it was her instead. And how I ran away and left her, but… but maybe she would've tried to help. And I didn't."
"You can't know what she would've done."
"No, but-"
"One of you is still alive. It's not worth it to kill yourself over what-ifs."
Another sniffle. "I don't know how to make pasta."
The laugh that tears out of Zephyr's throat is downright painful. He braces a hand against the back of the chair and gets to their feet. "Is that what you're doing?"
"I found it in your bag." Xander frowns at the water. "It looked easiest."
"How long has this been going for?"
"... A while?"
"Oh my god." Zephyr lurches rather unsteadily towards the sink. "We didn't get this far just for you to kill us with pasta."
Fixing up two bowls of plain pasta takes a herculean amount of effort, but when Zephyr manages to sit down and eat the plain, overcooked noodles, it's the best meal they've had in ages. It reminds them strangely of home – even though his mother would be mortified if her cooking ever went this poorly.
But while Zephyr finishes their bowl in no time at all, Xander merely picks at his for a while.
"Us?"
"Hm?"
"You said us. We didn't get this far."
They smile. "I guess I did. We're both… short on allies. Might as well make do with what we have now."
Xander considers this for a moment. "Your allies won't want you back?"
Zephyr winces. "One of them called me a rat, and the other one is… Pantheon Lexicus."
"Right. And the third?"
If Theo is hard to describe, then Zephyr really has no idea what to say about Ibai at this point. "He saved my life, but his loyalties remain with Thessaly. I wouldn't ask him to leave her."
Xander narrows his eyes. "I'll consider your proposal then – on one condition."
"Which is?"
"Return to the couch and rest. We're moving tomorrow. I can't drag you around the Arena myself."
Chucking, Zephyr hauls himself to his feet. "Doctor's orders?"
Xander does not appreciate their innovative and well-timed joke. He scowls again and points to the living room.
And… it's probably a good thing. Zephyr's eyelids are drooping as soon as they enter the room. He never considered before how tiring it is to be stabbed. They barely manage to haul himself over to the couch before exhaustion hits in smothering waves. Everything hurts, and sleep will be a blissful reprieve.
It only takes a moment before Zephyr succumbs to the darkness again.
do you hate me? is it because i'm a monster?
or something even worse?
Akira startles awake with a choked cry and the remnants of tears drying on their face.
If this had happened several days ago, they might've gone to Gwenny, curling up next to her and relishing in the fact that Akira was safe. For the first time in years, Akira had a person.
why would she choose you why would she choose you why would she choose you whywhywhywhywhwywhyyouwhywhywhyhwyhwywhywhyyouwhwywhywhy-
Her head hurts.
Akira gets to her feet, arms wrapped tightly around herself like that's the only way they can keep everything tucked inside. If Akira lets any of that pressure go, they'll become a supernova.
Beautiful, right?
It's strange. Akira hasn't wanted to go home until now. Five doesn't have much to offer, but at least there Akira was used to being alone. That was normal. No one pretended.
Their eyes linger on Gwenny, wondering how to pry all the secrets out of her head. Does she care about Akira at all? Did she ever? Was she only Akira's ̶s̶i̶s̶t̶e̶r̶ friend because she didn't have a better option yet?
(If Akira was dreaming right now, they'd shake Gwenny awake and ask all those questions, and maybe even a few more. They wouldn't be scared, because Gwenny is nice, Gwenny is caring, Gwenny is safe. Gwenny holds their hand and makes the voices go away. Gwenny always knows what to say.
Gwenny is hers. Akira doesn't want to let her go.)
w͍̿ͥḫ̶̴̢̨̡̛̬̺̥̼͍̗͚̪̙̻̻͔̭̦̲̈́̿̈́ͬ̉̀͊͌̑ͭͣ̆͐ͩ̐́ͨ͘̕͜ý̡̝̯̝̳̩̪̮̤̘̗̝̗̔ͦ̊̂̔̌̓ͮͨ̕͠͝ w̴̨̡͇̠̪͍̺͕̲̩̠̮̜̣̫͈̬̙̮̼͛͐̇̄ͯ͗̑̑͂̈́̓ͭ̆̕͘͝͠o̷̴̢͈͚͉̮̬̫̩̰̼̰ͮ̏̆̏ͮ̈̈́͌̒̀ͭͣ͛̃̀̄͂ͧͅn̸̝̱͎̦̲̜͔̯̮̈̀̃ͣ̀ͥ͋͟'̴̸̨̦̯̜̦́̃̀̆ͧ͛ͩ̓̽́̏͊ͭ̾͞t̢̨̖̥͉͔̪̘̼̓ͧ̈́̍ͬͫ̆ͭͥ̕͜͝ͅ_̩̮̅̀͘ y̸̶̩͖̘̲͉͖͔̿́̇ͫ̈ͦͯ̐͡oú̴̵͇̮̲ͭͭ͑ͮ͗͜ l̫̜͍̦͈͙ͣ͋ͧ̾̀o̸͜ṿ̵̷̧̞̲̱̝̘̭͔̼̝͓̳͍͎͖͓̰̌̓̓ͪ̅ͫ̎ͨͦ̀͞e̢̡͚͍̬̹͚̼̰̙̓́̽ͦ̔͒͛ͮ͌́͜ m̵̸̶̢̨̺̺͓̰͔̩̥͖̟̘̤̟̗̗̮̰̓̋͗͛̉ͦ͒̾ͤͪͤ́̓͑̉̀ͯ͑͗̂ͣ͘͜͝͡ẽ̜͋ͣ
Before Akira can think about it any more, they've started digging through Gwenny's backpack, searchingsearchingsearching- there. A doll that easily fits into the palms of Akira's hands, one that has lived a life without any suffering at all. The smile stitched onto little Kiki's face looks happier than Akira thinks she's ever felt. They're struck with the sudden urge to throw the doll across the room, stomp it to bits for so cruelly reminding Akira of how alone they are, but Akira remembers what happened to Gwenny. She doesn't want to hurt like that.
(They don't want to hurt at all anymore.)
So instead, Akira cradles little Kiki close to their chest. They could be a family, just the two of them.
Akira huddles in the corner for a long, long while that night. The voices are louder than ever. She wants to see Svelte get skinned by one of those Careers, wants to see Gwenny's lying tongue ripped out. When Akira closes her eyes, their two allies explode into a thousand fiery stars that rain down around her. When she opens them again, her allies are sleeping peacefully only a few feet away from each other.
It's not fair. Akira should get to make them hurt, too. They should know what it's like to be alone.
(No, no- that's not really Akira, is it? Those thoughts… Akira can't be a bad person, not really. They can be good if they really try, Akira knows it. Afreakajinxamistake but not a monster.)
(Right?)
The beady eyes of little Kiki can't offer her much of an answer. Akira smooths back the doll's hair and then carefully tucks it away, where its little eyes can't see anything they're doing. Maybe this Kiki can be kept safe and sound.
It's far too late for Akira.
[The following letter has been sealed and delivered in a plain white envelope, tucked away into the desk of someone who knew to expect it. It pays to have eyes and ears everywhere.]
M,
One is off licking their wounds together now. I expect Alila will head home soon to her family, but Estelle always stays until the end. When all this is over, I'll go see what she knows.
Tessa enjoyed herself this year, as always. She gets far too much enjoyment out of teasing fellow Victors and watching her tributes get up to… whatever she advises them about. She'd still be a risk, but if this year doesn't pan out, I think she would make a lovely pawn going forward. Send her to me if you're interested.
This year will make or break Madoka. I'm leaning towards break. All she cares about is her sister, and Akira is so starved for affection that they try to find it in everything, and when they fail, she self-destructs. I quite like them. I'm waiting to see what they manage to accomplish. If Akira sees this through to the end, I could make something out of her. If they don't, we'll have to give Madoka some time before approaching her.
Kalanit has been sniffing around. She won't come near me, so I'm not sure what she's looking for. She's primarily been approaching other Victors – Callan talked to her, but he won't tell me what about.
There's something going on with him. He was late for a meeting last night – I caught a glimpse of the evidence this morning. Bastian follows him around like a puppy these days. They're close. I'm not sure how that happened. Callan likes to think of it as a secret, but it's not a well-hidden one. He sent a sponsor gift to the Fours using Two's money. It's almost a shame he can't play stupid with me forever.
Lots of options going forward. When all this is over, let me get to them first. I'll get them ready for you.
A
happy birthday to me. count your blessings while you have them
this is so sad alexa play blind faith
see u next time for delusions of grandeur
~de laney is out