Jem Piper, 17

District 9, He/Him

June 13th, 97 ADD

10:32 AM

"Now that we have the Cornucopia, we need to make sure we keep it," Chevre proclaimed to the six people gathered inside the Cornucopia.

(Seven, if Jem counted the One girl's ghost.)

"Yesterday was good," she said. "Decontaminating everything was important. But we need to stay alert, and I think we need to stay on the offensive."

"Like… hunting?" Tomo asked. "The way Careers do?"

Chevre nodded. "There are fourteen tributes left. We can be sure that at least three Careers are still out there, along with someone strong enough to have killed one. But we make up the majority right now, and we should be using that to our advantage."

Jem glanced at Jest, who shifted uneasily on the crate he was sitting on. The Five boy looked much better than he had two days ago, but he'd been much quieter since the Cornucopia attack. The lack of enthusiasm Jem felt about this plan was written all over Jest's face.

"We can do two groups of two out at a time," Chevre continued. "That way, we'd cover more ground."

"We'd be outnumbered if we saw the Careers again," Wisdom pointed out.

"That's tr-" Chevre stopped herself. "I mean, that's right. We could do groups of three, then…"

As the others continued discussing, Jem turned to Jude, who was sitting beside him. "You okay?" he asked, keeping his voice down.

Jude blinked. "I… yeah," they said.

"You sure?"

Jude sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. Sometimes I just think I see stuff."

"The ghosts everywhere keep doin' the same to me," Jem commented. "Gives me the creeps."

Jude looked up at him. "Really?"

Jem nodded. "Yeah."

Jude blinked. "I thought…" they trailed. "The other day, I thought I saw…"

Jem exhaled, understanding what he meant. "I wish I'd been able to stop it," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for her."

"I wasn't there either," Jude said.

"I'm glad you weren't," Jem told them. "I can't-" His throat got tight. "I don't wanna see you go the same way."

Jude's eyes shone. He nodded.

(Looking at him, Jem couldn't help but feel as though he'd failed the kid. All Jem Piper had ever wanted to do was to make things better. To give everyone a fair chance. He'd known, on some level, that things would get dangerous- something he hadn't been prepared for in Nine with the newsies strike- but knowing that and finding True limp on the ground with a hole in her back were two different things.

In a way, he might as well have put that hole there himself. He'd tried to give True a chance, and instead, he got her killed.)

(What kind of fair chance could Jem possibly give Jude?)

(As soon as he thought it, the same argument came back to mind. Just because Jude didn't have a fair chance didn't mean they didn't deserve one. Jude's future was worth fighting for the same as anyone else's. That was what Jem was all about- evening the playing field. Newsies getting fair pay and outer district kids getting fair odds.)

(Because if the odds weren't fair, then this was all a folly. If Jem couldn't find a way to make things fair, he'd get crushed by the big guys all over again. He'd never be able to bail Sparrow out of the refuge, and he'd never be able to rally the newsies to fight another day.

No. Jem couldn't accept that. He would create better odds. And if he had to die here, then the Victor would be someone in this room. This would not be a waste.)

Jem reached over and patted Jude's shoulder. "We got this, buddy," he said softly. "I won't have it any other way."

Jude nodded again vigorously.

Chevre's voice drew him back into the discussion. "So let's do that," she said. "I think Tomo's right about them coming back here, so we'll stick with two going out and four staying here. Maybe tomorrow we can do three and three? But since we're not going the way the Careers did, I think two should be fine."

"Who are the groups?" Jem asked.

Jest leaned forward. "I'd like to go. I need to get out of this room."

Jem nodded. "I'll go with you."

"Are you serious?" Chevre asked. "The two people with leg injuries are going out for a walk?"

"I'm fine," Jem insisted, at the same time Jest said, "I need fresh air."

"They're the best at fighting," Tomo added. "Jest is really good, and Jem killed the Career."

Jem set his jaw, trying to appreciate Tomo's assistance while ignoring the ghost lingering at his shoulder. "See? We can handle ourselves."

She eyed them both for a long moment. "You're sure?"

"Yes," Jem said. Jest nodded.

"Fine," she relented. "You two first, then Wisdom and I. That should cover all the time we have until nightfall."

Neither Tomo or Jude seemed to have any issue with staying back at the Cornucopia all day. Wisdom nodded and said, "I need time to work on more solutions anyway. For next time."

"Those were helpful," Chevre agreed. "Alright. We'll eat lunch and then you two will be on your way?"

Jem exchanged a glance with Jest. Jest nodded.

(Despite everything, Jem found Jest's hesitation comforting. There was someone here who seemed to have the same reservations. He wasn't alone in this. That meant something.)

(So as they got their things together and set out into the arena once more- slowly, between Jem's calf and Jest's thigh- even though Jem knew he should've been afraid, he felt okay.)

(And if okay was the best he could get right now, he'd take it.)

Bastet Avarne, 18

District 2, She/They

12:49 PM

Bastet was living a very familiar nightmare.

(The worst part was that she'd tried to avoid this. They told her it was impossible, that there would be no time, and they were fucking right. Bastet had pushed her away and she had gone but she wasn't supposed to go like that. But she did, because of course she did, Bastet should have seen it coming but they didn't stop it because of course not, they were the second choice the backup the spare for a reason, and they could practically hear Nyx laughing now-)

"Bastet."

"What?" they snapped, twisting around to see Tisiphone sitting behind them. Two ghosts flanked her, and Bastet forced herself not to look at them.

Her voice was low and hoarse, hitting a pitch that felt wrong coming from her mouth. "Are you okay?"

Bastet leaned back, caught off guard. "...Why?"

Tisiphone frowned, puzzled. "Because you won't talk to me."

"Nothing to talk about," Bastet bit back.

Tisiphone looked away, turning her head just enough that the brim of her hat hid her eyes. At this angle, the bruises spotting her throat were on full display, making their stomach turn. "It's her, right?"

Bastet didn't answer.

"Thought so."

Bastet didn't answer that, either. They let the silence stretch between them.

(She didn't want to talk about her. They didn't want to admit that pushing her away hadn't worked. Losing her again hurt just as much, and it wasn't fucking fair.)

"I understand," Tisiphone muttered.

"You understand," Bastet echoed. "Right. You know what this is like."

Tisiphone's head jerked back toward them. "I know some," she answered. "I… I know I can't stop thinking about Brizo-"

Bastet scoffed. "Brizo's not the same."

"He was important to me," Tisiphone said. "And I can't- I can't understand it-"

"Brizo was an insane little freak who's better off dead," Bastet snapped.

Tisiphone stilled.

"And he wasn't like her, he deserved-"

"Stop," Tisiphone said.

"-what he got, the outers should've gotten him instead-"

"Then why didn't you say anything before?" Tisiphone interrupted, her voice cracking on every other word. "If he was so awful, why'd you let him hurt me?"

"Thought you could handle yourself," Bastet replied. "Sorry I overestimated you."

The hurt was written plainly across Tisiphone's features, forming a line between her brows and tugging the corners of her lips toward her jaw.

(It was almost enough to crack Bastet's resolve then and there, but it was better this way. Better that Tisiphone saw who they were here and now and stayed away. Better that Bastet didn't get attached, that they didn't care, because caring was the same as killing these days, especially where Bastet Avarne was concerned.

Yes. This was better for both of them. They'd spare both themself and Tisiphone the suffering this way.)

"I… I thought…" Tisiphone trailed.

"Don't compare her and Brizo ever again," Bastet said.

"He was my friend," Tisiphone said.

"Some fucking friend he turned out to be," Bastet retorted.

"I thought you were my friend, too," Tisiphone mumbled.

Bastet's throat clenched. "Probably best that I'm not," they replied. "After what happened to your last one."

Tisiphone drew back, her dark eyes gleaming. "I- I know you're upset," she said. "My sisters do this too when they're mad. I can take it. But right now I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"Good. Me neither."

Tisiphone pressed her palms against the ground and gingerly rotated her hips, turning away from Bastet. Bastet snuck a glance at Tisiphone's bandaged leg- no fresh blood sprung to the surface. They tried to ignore the relief that came with that.

(At least now, Tisiphone would start keeping her distance. She could save herself from the destruction that Bastet brought everywhere they went. Tisiphone could be better than… than…)

Vince chose that moment to walk back up, dropping two jugs of water on the ground in front of them. "Water's all purified," they announced.

"Thank you," Tisiphone mumbled.

Vince tilted their head, looking each of them up and down. "You two okay?"

"Fine," Bastet replied.

Vince studied her for another moment, but didn't push. "Cool. Well, water's here if you want it."

"I don't."

They raised their hands innocently. "Sorry for trying to keep us hydrated. That's on me."

Tisiphone said something else, and the two of them started talking, but Bastet ignored them.

(The voice in the back of their head wouldn't stop. The one that insisted Tisiphone was better off without them, that she would've been better off without them.

But it was saying something else now. Something that made Bastet's blood run cold.)

(If even she couldn't survive you, Bastet, who's to say that you'll survive yourself?)

Bastet shoved their thoughts away, pushing down the fear coiling in their stomach. They couldn't spend one more second thinking about this. "So," they said, interrupting Vince mid-sentence, "what's our plan for killing those fuckers who stole our Cornucopia?"

Tisiphone stared at her, something unreadable in her expression.

Vince, on the other hand, grinned. "I'm so glad you asked."

Jest Valencia, 18

District 5, He/Him

1:22 PM

Chevre might've been on to something when she pointed out Jest and Jem's leg injuries. The going was slow. Still, Jest didn't mind, and it didn't seem like Jem did either. That was nice.

Jem blew out a breath. "Good to be outta that fuckin' general store."

"Yeah," Jest mumbled his agreement.

Jem gave him a long look. Jest kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, working hard to keep his gait even, as Jem's eyes bore into him. "How've you been holding up?"

"Oh. Um… fine, I guess," Jest answered.

"Yeah?"

Jest sighed. "Fine as I can, I think."

(He couldn't stop thinking about the One kid. The One kid scared him, badly- partially because they were a scary tribute, but also because they brought out a side of Jest he didn't like. He was glad he'd managed to hold up against them as long as he had, but he couldn't stop wondering about how it could've gone if he'd had to hold out any longer. Either of them could've died, easily. Jest could be on his way home in a body bag right now. Or Jest could have that kid's blood on his hands and a ghost of his own as his shadow.)

(As if Jori's wasn't enough.)

"Fair," Jem replied.

"You?"

"Same," he answered. "I'm, uh, not a huge fan of this one-" Jem gestured to the One girl tailing him- "but I don't know how else that could've gone. You know?"

"Yeah," Jest said, quietly glad that things hadn't gone the same for him.

"And, you know… True," Jem said. "That doesn't feel good."

"No," Jest agreed. He'd never felt like he knew the Eight girl well, but he liked her well enough, and things felt quieter somehow without her around. She was a good fighter, too, which they'd been relying on. And he hated seeing Jude so upset.

Jem pointed up ahead. "Was thinking we'd go by the river, rest for a bit, then turn back?"

"Sure."

They took their time walking, especially when it started getting hilly. Eventually, they made it to the river. Jest, who wasn't too familiar with rivers, thought it was kind of beautiful. He liked the way it reflected the clouds in the sections where the water was slow, and how the banks around it were green and lush. He pulled two empty water jugs out of a bag, passing one to Jem, and they knelt down to refill and purify them.

That was when, leaning over the water's surface, a voice carried down from upriver.

"You can't say every cloud looks like a fart."

And a second one, answering it:

"It's not my fault if they all do! That's just what they look like!"

Jest's eyes widened. He knew that second voice.

Next to him, Jem froze. "Shit," he muttered. "Maybe if we stay quiet?"

Jest nodded, his shoulders tight.

The first voice came again, louder now. "I'm just saying, maybe if you tried to imagine something else, you would see something else."

Jest turned toward the sound, listening closely. He could make out footsteps, and they were getting louder, too. "They'll come this way."

"Shit," Jem repeated. He started reaching for a weapon, and dread coiled in Jest's stomach.

"Maybe-" Jest tried. "Maybe we don't need that."

"What?" Jem asked. But he stopped.

The second voice rang out with a response to the first. "Don't got time for that. I just wanna know what I'm looking at."

One figure appeared, then another, making their way down the riverbank. They were close enough that Jest could see their faces. He and Chase locked eyes, and he saw her stiffen and stick her arm out in front of her ally. Her ally, the pink-haired girl, crashed into Chase's arm, but stopped.

For a moment, they were in a standstill.

It was Chase who broke the silence. "Is this gonna be a problem?" she asked.

Jest could feel Jem's eyes on him. "I, um," Jest said, "I don't want it to be."

Chase's gaze drifted to his injury. "Got banged up already."

"Yeah," Jest admitted. "You?"

Chase shifted from foot to foot, sizing him up. "No," she eventually replied.

"Good," Jest said, and he found that he meant it.

Chase jerked a thumb back at her ally. "So you'll let us go?" she asked.

Jest glanced at Jem, hopeful.

Jem sighed. "Fine with me," he said.

"Really?" Jest asked.

Jem's nod was resolute. "We're after someone else," he replied. "Besides, I dunno… making you go after your district partner feels wrong."

"Agreed," Chase said loudly. "We were gonna get matching tattoos, remember?"

"I didn't agree to that," Jest reminded her.

"We still could," Chase continued. "I'll get YO on my arm here, and you can get LO-"

"How are you getting a tattoo in the arena?" Jem asked, a faint smile playing across his lips.

"All you really need is a needle and dye, right?" she asked. She turned to look at her ally. "Right?"

Her ally looked from Jest to Jem, biting their lip. "I… I don't know," they said. "I've never had one."

"It hurts like hell," Jest said. "And having an open wound in the arena isn't a good idea."

Chase deflated a little at that. "Well, either way," she said, "if I make it outta here, I'll get the tattoo. And if you win, you have to get it too."

"I'll think about it," Jest amended.

Chase smiled. "Awesome."

Her ally perked up. "Wait. Are you the ones Tomo wanted to ally with? From the big group?"

He and Jem exchanged a glance. "...Yes," Jem answered.

"Have you seen him?" she asked hopefully. "Is he okay? There was a cannon last night."

"It wasn't him. We don't know who it was. He's alright," Jem told her. "S'much as any of us are, anyway."

They nodded with so much vigor Jest thought she might fall over. "That's really good. Can you tell him I said hello?"

"Sure," Jem said.

Chase leveled a look at Jest. "Who're the ones you're after? That guy-" she pointed at Jem- "said there was someone else."

Jest shrugged.

"The big guys," Jem supplied.

Chase's eyes widened. "The trained ones? Did you guys kill the one who died yesterday?"

"No," Jest said.

"So it wasn't you, either," Jem deduced.

The pink-haired one shook her head. "You're the first ones we've seen."

"Probably a good thing," Jem said.

Chase tilted her head. "What's that thing behind you?" she asked Jem.

Jem's good humor vanished. "Oh. That… is what happens when you beat another tribute in a fight."

"That's a tribute's ghost?" Tomo's district partner asked.

"Yeah."

"Fuck," Chase breathed. "You killed a Career. Wow."

Jem kicked at the dirt with his good leg. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Stay away from them, though," Jest told her. "We kind of made them really mad. It's not worth it to pick a fight with them."

"Sure, sure," Chase said. "So you guys killed one, and someone else killed another one… I still think it was the Sevens, Fleur."

"The Sevens?" Jem asked.

"They're nasty pieces of work," Chase said. "And crazy, too."

"Good to know," Jem said slowly.

"They're good to stay away from, too," Fleur told them. "Seriously."

Jem exhaled. "We probably shouldn't stay here much longer," he said. "We'll get someone's attention."

Chase nodded. "Yeah."

Jest gave Chase a gruff nod. "It was good seeing you."

"You too," Chase said.

He hesitated, taking a step closer. "I hope… I hope, um, you can get that tattoo."

Chase smiled bitterly. "Right back at you. I think you get it, you know?"

"Get what?"

She gave a short laugh. "The whole 'being from Five' thing. What it's like."

"Pretty sure you had it rougher than me," he told her.

She waved a hand. "Not a competition," she said. "Well, we're in one now, I guess, but not for that. I just… you know."

He didn't press her further. He knew.

(He'd done his time. He'd worked through plenty of nights on Five's streets, looking for work to feed Ma and Jiddana and Divvy, searching for wages that could keep Jori alive. He knew what it was like for everything he had to still not be enough.

Looking at Chase, he saw the hard gleam in her eyes and the set of her jaw and knew she understood.)

Chase tilted her head. "Good luck with your people," she said, gesturing to Jem.

Jest looked away. "Haven't always been good at that," he muttered.

That bitter smile returned once more. "Me neither," she said.

His head jerked up. "Really?"

"Yeah," she said. "Hope it's different this time for both of us."

"Same," he said.

(Yeah. She understood.)

Jem cleared his throat. "Best of luck to you both."

Fleur inclined her head. "To you as well, especially with the Careers…"

Jem smiled a little. "Will do." He turned to Jest. "You got that water?"

"Yeah, just need to purify it," he answered.

"Right. We'll be on our way, then," Jem said.

Jem started making his way back from the riverbank, keeping Chase and Fleur in his view as he moved. Jest followed. Before he turned his shoulder, though, Chase gave him a little wave.

(For the millionth time, Jest Valencia wished things could be different. He wished he could've known Chase back in Five. He wished he'd never been Reaped. He wished Jori didn't get sick.)

(It was all futile, though. Jori was born sick. There was never a chance he'd be anything else, so Jori stayed sick and got sicker, and Jest worked and took out tesserae. And the cycle repeated and repeated until Jori was gone and the money was gone and there was no more tesserae left to take. There was no time for something like a friend in Five.)

(Maybe if he did make it out of this- if he did go home alive, and he could give the family he had left a house and enough money to live- he could stand to get one more tattoo after all.)

Jest waved back.

Chase smiled.

They turned and went their separate ways.

Invincible Gaultier, 18

District 1, They/Them

3:13 PM

Once again, Vince did not like the position they'd landed in.

It certainly wasn't ideal to be stuck between two brooding lesbians. Vince hadn't forgotten their conversation with Bastet back in training and was still fairly sure Bastet was stringing Tisiphone along the way they had with Rumi. It also was not ideal that Tisiphone was injured, although Vince was happy to see Brizo disposed of. Two brooding lesbians were way better than two brooding lesbians and a nutcase. So at least there was that.

But the problem with it coming down to just them, Bastet, and Tisiphone was that Vince was now a third wheel. If they ever got into a dicey situation, they would choose each other over Vince in a heartbeat, and that was not a dynamic Vince was willing to let continue. Not for the first time, they wished Aveline had made it through the siege. At least there had been some kind of friendship there. Bastet had never been anything approaching friendly, especially not now, and they'd been so territorial of Tisiphone that they'd barely spoken to her.

Still. One of those situations was much more workable than the other: more approachable and, in Vince's opinion, much less dangerous.

So when Vince arrived back from the river into what was no doubt the end of an argument, it was Tisiphone they sat next to.

"I'm so glad you asked," they told Bastet with a grin. "We should take the Cornucopia back, show them we're not to be fucked with."

Tisiphone frowned. "There's so many of them," she said, her voice still a quiet rasp.

"Well, that's something we should change," Vince replied. "Not fair that you guys have three kills between you and I've got none."

"Stop whining and kill someone, then," Bastet said.

"That's what I'm saying!" Vince said, keeping their tone light despite their irritation. "Let's go thin them out."

"Thinning them out isn't taking the Cornucopia back," Bastet pointed out.

Vince nudged Tisiphone with their elbow. "Now a bad idea to soften 'em up, though," they replied. "And sponsorships have been slow since we lost it. Maybe killing a few would help us out there."

Tisiphone nodded. "We could use some things," she muttered.

Bastet tilted their head. "You want to do this now?"

"Depends." Vince looked at Tisiphone. "How's the leg?"

"Oh." Tisiphone grimaced. "Better?"

"Let's not do this now," Vince said, assured in the decision by the relief on Tisiphone's face. "Tomorrow, maybe. Tomorrow sounds good. We could do a stakeout that way too."

Bastet snorted. "What are we, detectives?"

"They got information on us," Tisiphone said. She looked at Vince. "Right? You said one of them talked about Mercury while you were fighting him."

"They did," Vince said slowly. "We also, uh, gave Mercury reason to do that. Especially given what happened with… you know…"

They didn't have to say anything else. Tisiphone looked away.

"Merc's an idiot," Bastet scoffed. "It was a reasonable assumption at the time."

Vince dipped their head. "Thank you. I thought so as well."

"But," Bastet continued, "maybe we don't kill all of them right away."

"...Oh?"

Bastet's smile was humorless and flat, and unnerved Vince so deeply they had to exert focus to keep their face neutral. "Maybe we take one. Make them talk like Merc."

Vince considered that. "Maybe. Any one in particular?"

"Not the little one. Any of the others would be fine," Bastet answered. "Nine, though… I bet I could get Nine to talk."

Tisiphone returned to the conversation, her expression wary. "We're not torturing anyone."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart," Bastet drawled.

(Vince eyed Bastet as she said it. They weren't sure whether or not to believe that.)

"What- what kind of information do you even want?" Tisiphone asked.

Bastet waved a dismissive hand. "Watch rotations, injuries to exploit, who's the most dangerous, all kinds of shit. Didn't someone throw acid at you or something? That's something we should know about, too."

Tisiphone's hand drifted up toward her collarbones, where the concoction had left angry blisters on her upper chest, many visible between the folds of her shirt. "Oh."

Vince shrugged. "Could be good stuff. If it's not, we just kill them anyway."

Bastet nodded. "Right."

They clasped their hands together. "So tomorrow, we stakeout. We figure out how to lure enough out that we can get rid of some and capture one. Then we get out of there. Sound like a plan?"

Both of their allies nodded, Bastet readily and Tisiphone after a brief hesitation.

"For now, though, I'm fucking hungry," Vince said. "Tiss, how's that net coming along? I grabbed some more plants at the river."

Tisiphone perked up. "It's almost done. Give me an hour?"

"Sure," Vince replied. "If you get us some fish for tonight, I'll love you forever."

Tisiphone's eyes widened. "Oh. Okay."

Vince grinned. To their dismay, Tisiphone looked away, reaching for the net. She'd been weaving it out of plants for a while now, and it did actually look pretty good. "Those knots look great."

"Thanks," Tisiphone mumbled, pulling it into her lap.

Vince gave her a nod, then started working on sharpening another makeshift spear. They didn't need to press Tisiphone too much right now, especially in front of Bastet. If Bastet saw anything coming, they'd reel Tisiphone in harder, and that would only fuck up Vince even more. They'd just lay the foundation. Prepare her so that when Vince eventually shoves Bastet in the line of fire, Tisiphone would be ready to lend a hand.

(Besides, it could be nice to have a real ally again. One more reliable than Aveline and less killable than Rumi. From what they could tell, Tisiphone was actually fairly sincere. In an arena that was the biggest stage Vince had ever been on… that could be a nice change of pace.)

(Maybe.)

For now, though, they bided their time.

Wisdom Garland, 16

District 3, He/Him

8:44 PM

He and Chevre were still far from the Cornucopia when the faces of the fallen began to play in the sky. Tonight there was only one: the boy from Two, who must've been the cannon from late last night.

"Wonder who he ran into," Chevre mused. "His own allies, maybe?"

"Very possible," Wisdom said.

She turned to him. "We should get back," she said. "The others will be worrying, and I don't want anyone sneaking up on us."

"Fine." Wisdom sighed.

She gave him a look. "What's that for?"

He chose his words carefully. "The Cornucopia can be… cramped, with so many people," he said. What he did not say was that of all his allies, Chevre was by far the most tolerable. In hindsight, he still approved of his decision to join the group. The resources, between the Cornucopia and the sponsor gifts, had been an asset. Still, he would have liked to put up with fewer people.

"It can," Chevre agreed. "But we should get going."

"I know," Wisdom replied. "I have work to do regardless."

They started hiking back toward the center of the arena. Chevre continued the conversation. "How's that going?" she asked.

"My work?"

"Yeah."

(It was going well, in fact. Extremely well. But Wisdom wanted an ace up his sleeve, and there was no reason to tip Chevre off.)

"It is frustrating," he told her. "The lack of proper materials is a hindrance."

"Makes sense," she said. "It's not what you're used to."

"It's not much of anything," Wisdom replied. "But I make do."

"How brave of you," Chevre said, smiling a little.

Wisdom looked away, miffed. "I thought you did not want to be detected. Talking would allow someone to sneak up on us much more easily than if we remained silent."

Chevre's smile widened. "Sure, we can do that."

They made it back to the riverbank much more quickly when they focused on just walking instead of talking as well. Wisdom took some satisfaction in being correct about that, though he didn't comment to Chevre about it. No need to distance the most tolerable ally he had, especially given that she was instrumental in getting materials he needed from sponsors.

(He wanted to up his game. Simple acids were child's play- literally, as he'd mastered them years ago. He wanted to do something flashy, something bold, that could both ward off attackers and provide him with enough sponsors that he didn't require an alliance anymore.)

(And, with some carefully phrased sponsor requests, he'd acquired what he needed. He just had to finish the last few steps. He could probably do so during his shift on watch, with his allies none the wiser…)

"Wisdom," Chevre muttered.

He turned his head to look at her, brows pressing together in the center. "I thought we were remaining silent-"

"Stop," she whispered. "I think I heard something."

Wisdom froze. "Where?"

She pointed off toward her right. Wisdom didn't see anyone in the darkness.

"Could it be an animal?" he suggested.

"Maybe." In the night, her pale eyes practically glowed. "We should go."

Wisdom studied the brush she was pointing at. This time, a few limbs of a bush moved, its leaves brushing against branches. The movement was unmistakably there.

Wisdom took a step toward it, intrigued.

"Wisdom," Chevre hissed.

"If it's an animal, then it's food," he whispered back. "If it's a tribute, then we do what we came here to do." He reached for the shortsword he'd strapped to his back, taken from the Cornucopia- better armed than sorry.

He looked at Chevre and found her inching behind him. "What are you doing?"

"If you're so curious, then you investigate. I still think we should leave," she said, holding a knife with a blade the length of Wisdom's palm.

Disappointing. Wisdom thought he'd met a fellow academically-minded tribute, not a coward. That would be useful to know in future altercations.

He took a few slow steps forward, making sure to tread quietly, and reached his shortsword into the brush. He pushed at the branches, and swore he saw them move again. He peered closer, but still saw nothing.

Strange.

Well, if there was something in there- something truly dangerous- Wisdom would not retreat and allow it to hunt him. He would strike first. That was how these Games were played: kill or be killed.

(Wisdom Garland, given the choice, would be the killer.)

He thrusted the shortsword deep into the bush, right where he'd seen the last branch twitch. A scream rang through the night, and Wisdom drew back, finding blood on his blade.

The next thing he knew, he was prone, the air whooshing from his lungs as he crashed against the dirt. He fumbled for his bearings as something heavy bore down on his chest, trying to make out the figure in the dark. He felt a hand against his shoulder and realized this was a person- no, a tribute- on him, someone small and slim and panting like an animal. His fingers closed around the handle of his sword and he swung wildly. The tribute on him shrieked and leapt back, one hand clasped at their shoulder.

"Chevre!" he shouted. He scrambled up to sitting, his gaze firmly on the bleeding tribute. "Help me-"

Another figure materialized from the darkness, launching itself at his sword. Wisdom tried to yank it back, but the second tribute was faster and had the element of surprise, and the weapon went skittering into the dirt. Both of them dove for it, but as he moved, the first tribute tackled him again, clawing wildly at his face. Wisdom tried to shield himself with his arms, and the tribute just cut into those instead.

"Chevre!" he shouted again. He twisted his head and caught sight of her blonde hair flashing in the night, though he couldn't tell what she was doing. He tried throwing a few fists at the tribute pinning him down, but only a few landed, and they were glancing blows. The tribute raked their nails on his cheek, and he responded with a shove, successfully pushing them off his chest. He sat up, searching for his ally. "Chevre-"

White-hot pain seared through his middle.

He looked down.

A gleaming piece of steel, sharp and red-tipped, protruded from his stomach.

Immediately, his grasp on his sight began to elude him. Spots crossed his vision, and he had trouble focusing. "Chevre," he repeated, his mouth metallic. He searched again and found her withdrawing, horror plain on her features.

Wisdom Garland was no idiot. He knew a sword through the stomach was death.

(But he could not bear this. He could not die here, so early, with nothing to his name but some stunningly basic compounds and a ridiculous smoke bomb. He could not die with his work unfinished.)

"Mix them," he insisted. "My work, in the C-Cornucopia. Mix them."

Chevre stared back at him, wide-eyed. "What?"

Desperate, he leaned toward her, grunting as the metal slid inside his abdomen. "Mix the ethanol and the s-sulfuric acid," he instructed, refusing to beg or plead. He was above such things. "B-be careful with it. Use in em-emergency…"

She nodded slowly. He'd have to trust that she understood.

(Trust. Always an unpredictable variable, trust. Wisdom had never liked those.)

Then someone wrenched the sword from Wisdom's back. Wisdom gasped, his mouth filling with red. It burned horribly, acidly. Before now, he might've found some humor in that.

Under present circumstances, he found humor far from his reach.

The burning spread. Wisdom pressed a hand to his stomach, slumping against the ground, and his fingers became sticky and soaked in seconds. He choked out a wheeze as his vision flickered in. Out. In. Out. In.

(His last thought was to wonder what effect his acids would have on such an exposed wound. He'd never thought to try it, given how close the subject would already be to expiring, but it would be an interesting experiment nonetheless.)

Out.

Patrek Torres, 15

District 11, He/Him

9:15 PM

Blood pooled beneath the dead tribute, forming rivulets in the dirt beneath him. The shortsword trembled in Patrek's hand. The girl with blonde hair turned and ran, stumbling, into the dark.

Boom.

Mendi let out a shuddering breath, her hand still pressed to her shoulder. She, too, was staring at the body, her eyes round as moons.

Patrek dropped the sword, wiping his palms furiously on his pants, more in an attempt to steady himself than anything else. "We- we should go," he mumbled.

Mendi's eyes shifted toward him. She nodded.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She grimaced, but nodded again. To his relief, she didn't return the question. He forced himself to pick up the sword again, doing his best to wipe the stain on the brush nearby. It was too dark to be sure that he got it all, but he was happy to stop looking at the thing. Mendi turned and started walking away from the body, and Patrek was happy to follow a few paces behind. He wanted to keep moving, to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

(That way, he wouldn't have to think about it. He wouldn't think about crouching in the brush, his breath in his throat, listening to the other tributes debate searching for the source of the sound. He could ignore the combination of horror and relief as metal cut through the branches and into his ally, but not into him. He could force out the memory of desperation as he clawed the sword out of the attacker's hand.

He could will himself to forget the sensation of shoving the weapon into the tribute's back and all the way through his stomach.)

(It was fine. This was fine. This was what the Games were. He wanted to go home, right? Win enough money to cure his father's illness? He- he'd only been doing what he needed. What the Gamemakers made him do, really. It was basically their hand putting that sword into that boy's back, not Patrek.

And he'd shown Mendi that he was serious about their alliance. He'd defended her. He could've left her to die- he'd thought about it- but he didn't. That was worth something, right? Maybe she'd see that and defend him, too, when the time came. Maybe Bryony was always right about her, not Tiernan, whose ghost now lurked uselessly behind her for some reason Patrek still could not decipher. Patrek had some theories, of course, but the arena made him so anxious that it seemed as though anything was possible. Who knew what the answer was.

That, and granted what his theories were, he was much happier not thinking about it.)

(His list of things not to think about was growing long.)

Mendi walked for what he estimated was about half an hour before stopping. "Here?" she asked.

"Sure," Patrek said. He had the urge to toss the sword aside- it still shook in his hand- but the idea of not having it made him nervous, too. What if another tribute started searching for them? Patrek would have to do what he'd have to do. Better to have a sword for a little protection than to have nothing.

She nodded and sat down, picking up sticks and flinging them off into the darkness to make a more comfortable sleeping place. Patrek, who had watched her do this many times, busied about making himself comfortable. Mendi had found a decent spot- she'd led them along the river, where there was still enough plant life to keep them somewhat sheltered. If another tribute pulled the same thing on them, they'd have to search thoroughly.

"I'll take first watch," he told her. He still felt too jittery to sleep.

She nodded and started to ease herself against the ground. He saw she still pressed a hand to her shoulder and reached for some water to clean it with, passing it to her. She just stared at him. Patrek had learned over the last few days that this meant Mendi was just confused, so he clarified. "For your shoulder."

"Oh."

"To clean it up."

She twisted the cap off and set about rinsing the wound. Patrek offered to help her, but she insisted on doing it herself. As they did, a tiny parachute fluttered down from the sky, marked with an 11. Patrek opened it- disinfectant. He passed her the small spray bottle. "Put some of that on," he instructed. "It'll keep it clean."

She took it and, after a moment's hesitation, clicked the top once, spraying the solution right on her shoulder. As it coated her shoulder, Mendi squeezed her eyes shut, sucking in a breath.

"Sorry," Patrek said. "I should've told you it would sting."

She shook her head, dismissing his apology, and gave the spray bottle back. Since it was his sponsor gift, he took it. Besides, if he held onto it, he could make sure it kept getting cleaned.

Mendi took a few deep breaths, then slowly laid down. The next time Patrek looked over at her, her eyes had slipped shut, and her breathing was fairly even.

His eyes, though, were on that wound.

(Was one spray enough? She'd barely cleaned it, and definitely not thoroughly, and their water was river water, which could have all kinds of bacteria in it. And she was sleeping on the ground, and they didn't have real bandages. What if a bug got in it? In what universe did this injury not get infected?)

(He thought of his grandfather in his sickbed. He thought of Lucia haunting his dreams, an older sister who Patrek was now older than. He thought of ruddy cheeks and bone-rattling coughs and of rotting from the inside out.

He thought of his dad, wasting away in a room he would only leave as a corpse.)

(No. Patrek squeezed his eyes shut. His father would get better, because Patrek would keep doing what he was doing and get home and make sure he got better. Mendi's shoulder wouldn't get infected. Patrek would not leave this arena a terrible person. He would leave it a Victor whose actions were explained by pure necessity. And good intentions. And love for his family.)

He heard a leaf crunch, and his eyes flew open. Mendi had shifted her foot in her sleep. How she could sleep so easily right now was beyond him.

(Even asleep, she held a hand to her shoulder. Patrek was sure that hand was streaked with dirt from all their days out here, and probably blood from the other tribute, too-

No. He had to stop thinking this way. They'd keep disinfecting the wound, and she would be fine. He would make sure of it.)

Patrek let out a shuddering exhale, palming the handle of the sword to keep himself calm.

He was fine.

He would be okay.

He would think about the watch he was keeping, and nothing more.

15th: wisdom garland, d3 (killed by patrek torres)

kills:
aveline: 1
bastet: 1
mercury: 1
tisiphone: 2
brizo: 1
aescelin: 1
jem: 1
patrek: 1
mendi: 1

alliances:
jest, tomo, jude, jem, chevre
invincible, bastet, tisiphone
chase and fleur
valentina and aescelin
patrek and mendi

featured ghosts:
aveline averone, d1, fool's gold (killed by jem piper)
tiernan merle, d12, fool's gold (killed by mendi navar)

thank you to ty for submitting wisdom! he was truly so much fun despite all the research he made me do (/lh). figuring out ways to fit his talents into this story has been so neat and i am sure his experiments will have no lasting compliments. it was particularly fun to write him with chevre, possibly the only tribute here who can rival him, and have them be kind of friends instead (though i know he'd deny that).

hope you guys haven't missed me too much :) i got some good planning down in my absence and am very hyped about phase 2! next chap will probably hit in late april, which is when my classes wrap up, and then ideally i'll be back to more regular updates like we're all used to. in the meantime, though, the group continues to dwindle...

thank u to goldie for betaing (plus the interlude too), love u guys lots, and see you with day 7! ! !

rb