CHAPTER XXXIV: NIGHT THREE
Fioynder Itamor-Nilth • District Five Male
Planet Hollywood / July 10th, 7:37 PM
Hunting! Fioynder Itamor-Nilth is going hunting!
This is like a dream, except that it's not a dream — it's real life, and that's the best part. He's experiencing a real hunt in the flesh, real as the air coursing through his lungs, the blood simmering in his veins.
He's ready. He's so ready.
And has been ready for the last, like, six hours. He and Kieran left the Cromwell at around 1:00 PM. They (well, Fioynder, really) strategically chose to target that midday slump, where the tributes get sluggish. For some reason, tributes don't expect to be found when they're full and tired, which lulls them into a false sense of security and makes them unprepared for encounters. (It's a real phenomenon — search the r/Post-Munchies Murder forum on !)
So that's the psychological reasoning Fioynder's operating with here. But they haven't come across anyone, despite how many buildings they've checked and how thoroughly they've checked them. And believe Fioynder, they've checked a loooot of buildings. They've scoured the breathtaking Bellagio (they spent 1.5 hours there), the serene Vdara (3 hours — they didn't finish, they gave up halfway), the glitzy Cosmopolitan (2 hours — Kieran kept gazing longingly at the piano inside), and now they're wrapping back around to the side they came from, working their way back to the Cromwell from Planet Hollywood.
The terrible thing about an urban arena is that everything is so manmade that you can't tell what people have or haven't disturbed, unless it's really obvious. There aren't dirt trails you can follow or hollows in the foliage; you just have to pray that any mess you stumble upon was left by someone that's still in the area. And you have to look out and listen really well to catch any activity past proofed walls and dark corners.
(Fioynder's been wondering if there are any cameras. Like, duh, there are cameras for the live Hunger Games broadcast, but he means the kind that the tributes can use. The kind that lead back to a surveillance room of some sort.)
(In an Arena like this, there's gotta be, right?)
Fioynder's eyes track to Kieran, who's several steps in front of him. He wants to ask the District One Male for his opinion, but the other boy strides briskly ahead, nearly leaving Fioynder in the dust.
Fioynder can't catch a glimpse of his face. The only thing he can see is the small pack slung across Kieran's back, and his improvised weapon of choice: a long, spear-like fence spire, sharpened to a wicked point. Fioynder recognizes the object from the Venetian; it's part of those balcony railings Kieran and Sergeant ripped off to barricade the stairwells on the first night.
As for Fioynder himself, he's been lugging around two weapons, one in each hand: the broken neck of a bottle they found yesterday at the Flamingo, and a handheld corkscrew, its nasty, wicked spiral curving out from between his middle and ring finger.
Since this morning, Fioynder's been hoping and praying that he and Kieran'll run into his loser excuse for a District partner, Keesha Cathode, and that idiot ally of hers! They could tag team the District Five and Three Females and just totally eviscerate them off the face of the earth, like the cannon fodder scum they are. Fioynder can see the Hunger Games headlines now — Kieran and Fioynder, the power duo no one ever anticipated!
Except the District One Male is totally off his game. He's been acting broody all day, like someone forced him at gunpoint to chaperone a mangy, crusty-eyed dog that no one likes. Fioynder was thinking if he showed how excited he was about this hunt, surely his enthusiasm would rub off on the One Male, lift his spirits, and make him recognize hunting for the privilege it was! They're probably the most interesting thing happening on screen right now — Fioynder wishes Kieran would act like it!
But every attempt at conversing and alleviating their boredom has been promptly shut down. As in Kieran would tell him to shut up, and Fioynder would obey the command for a grueling fifteen minutes until he had something really urgent to say all over again. But for the last hour, Kieran hasn't said a word, which Fioynder's taking as his license to keep talking.
The District One Male's demeanor grows darker and more vacant by the minute. Fioynder wonders what's on his mind. Maybe he's thinking about how embarrassing it is that Fioynder currently has more kills than he does. It'd be even more embarrassing if he came back from the hunt with nothing. He kind of feels bad for the guy, being the only Career with no kills — bro has even less than Cassia, which is just plain sad. With that being said, Fioynder'll try to let Kieran have the next tribute they come across. But he can't make any promises.
After about half an hour of empty searching, Fioynder and Kieran leave Planet Hollywood, strolling back into the dry, evening air. It's about an hour until sunset at this point, if Fioynder had to guess — the sun is significantly lower in the sky, nearly skimming the surface of the water in the canal. Across the water, Fioynder can see a huge, blue-LED hot-air balloon structure with Paris written in cursive. Behind the sign, a ridiculous-looking A-shaped tower crouches over a stout building like it's been glitched into the map.
"That place looks so stupid!" Fioynder cackles, clapping his hands. "Let's go!"
Kieran sends a grimace across the canal. "I'm ready to call it a night."
Fioynder whirls toward him, scandalized. "But it's not even dark out yet!"
"We've been out for seven hours and haven't seen shit," Kieran scoffs. "Better luck tomorrow."
"But there hasn't been any blood since the bloodbath! The Capitol's getting bored!"
"I don't really think that's our problem."
"Oh, but it is," Fioynder assures him, wagging his finger. "Three days without any action — if nothing happens today, the Gamemakers'll send something real nasty out, you know. Some sort of unskippable encounter with a muttation." He chuckles to himself. "Heh. Honestly, they'll probably target us with it, too."
A conflicted mix of frustration and apprehension dances across Kieran's features. "What the hell makes you say that?"
"As the Careers, we're supposed to be the driving forces," Fioynder whispers with wide eyes. "If we go back now, we'll look like we're halfassing this hunt. They won't like that."
It's subtle, but Fioynder can tell that his words are having an effect on Kieran. The District One Male's shoulders stiffen, and his eyes grow shifty.
"They'll punish us if we're not doing our job — entertaining the audience." Fioynder cocks his head at the other tribute, smiling slightly. "Shouldn't you already know that?"
Kieran doesn't answer for a long time. He swallows, looks down the block in the direction of the Cromwell, then back across the water at the A-shaped tower. He sighs for a long time, hesitation flickering like firelight behind his eyes.
"Fuck," he mutters at last. "Let's just make this quick."
The District One Male turns on his heel and stalks off toward the building, not bothering to check if Fioynder's following. A wide grin breaks across Fioynder's face as he hurries after the Career, eager to not get left behind.
Shaffa Zorp • District Three Female
Showcase Mall / July 10th, 7:56 PM
Shaffa squeals with delight as she twirls around in the cramped space of the dressing room, her monstrous white gown nearly sweeping her off balance. Her ruffled sleeves flare out like silky gossamer wings. Ten pounds of satin and chiffon thump loudly against the walls, nearly knocking over everything inside the stall. Delano presses himself in the corner for dear life, laughing uncontrollably as he tries to avoid getting carried off by the bridal tidal wave.
She's smiling from cheek-to-cheek as the fabric swishes against her legs, feeling as elegant as a butterfly, ferocious as a hurricane. The three of them started raiding boutiques hours ago, and it's taken an egregiously long time to find a store with stuff that she likes. But this is the dress — she can feel it in her heart. It's perfect. And she can tell the Eight boy's thinking the exact same thing.
"That's money, baby!" Delano declares, nodding with neck-breaking gusto. "That's the winner!"
From outside the dressing room, Keesha's voice comes muffled and sullen. "I wanna see."
Delano makes a sad trumpet sound in response. "Womp womp."
Shaffa's giggles spill into the small space. She's endlessly entertained by Keesha and Delano's bickering — they remind her of the way Fae and Tarley would go back and forth at home, arguing about the dumbest things imaginable with the seriousness of war. Oh, they would've loved them, she thinks to herself, her heart pittering painfully in her chest.
"Come on," Keesha calls out again. Shaffa can practically hear the other girl pouting; the visual just makes her laugh harder. "How come he gets to be in there?"
"There's only space for one other person!" Shaffa exclaims.
"Not even," Delano snickers under his breath.
"Shouldn't that one other person be me? Since we're getting married?"
"Dumbass," Delano cackles. "You know you're not allowed to see the bride until the wedding, right?"
"That's kind of impossible to avoid," Keesha argues. "We still gotta get to the damn venue together. 'Cause, you know, we're still in the Arena?"
"Pshh. Don't think about that part," Delano shoots back. "We're just three silly little guys having fun right now. How can anyone hurt three silly little guys having fun? Anyway, just chill out and wait. You're gonna see the wifey soon enough."
Shaffa and Delano both snicker softly, hearing Keesha's miffed tsk from outside the dressing room. Delano smooths down the glittering chiffon layer of Shaffa's gown, fixing the uneven pleats. Shaffa catches his eye, and they smile at each other.
"Want me to do your hair?" the Eight boy asks.
"You know how?" Shaffa says, surprised.
"Yeah. I've got a sister," Delano smiles. "She's a few years older than me. Kind of a bitch. I love her, though."
"I've always wanted a sister," Shaffa confesses.
"Not mine," Delano laughs. "When I was little, she'd hold me at gunpoint to play dress-up with her. Trau-ma-tizing. But anyway, all that's to say I know a few things."
Obediently, Shaffa turns her head and lowers herself so that the significantly shorter boy can reach the top of her scalp. He hums as he brushes and separates her hair into several sections, slowly but tightly weaving each piece into each other.
The gentle tugging of her scalp is awfully comforting. It brings her back to when her dad used to do her hair for school. At one point, she almost feels like she could fall asleep, only to be yanked back to reality when her hair gets caught in the grooves of Delano's prosthetic. The boy swears softly under his breath before removing the offending strand.
"I bet we're making Hunger Games history out here," he murmurs with a grin. "First tributes to have a wedding in the Arena."
"You think so?" Shaffa asks, matching his smile.
"Honestly, I don't know. I'm just guessing. You think anyone else has ever thought of doing this?"
"Fio would probably know," Keesha says from the other side.
"Who's Fio?" Delano asks.
"Keesha's freak ass District partner," Shaffa supplies.
"Is that the guy that doxxed me on stage during interviews?"
"Yeah, the one with the ugly ass vest," Keesha snorts. "It's even worse than the one I stole from his house."
Shaffa blinks, an incredulous smile splitting her face. "You stole something from your District partner's house?!"
"Funny coincidence. It was before I knew we were going here," the Five girl says. "But, yeah. Well, sorta. I broke in and then someone else came and stole it, actually."
"Who?!"
"This other kid I know. Blaine. We run into each other sometimes, when we accidentally B the same house."
"What the fuck is in the water in District Five?" Delano asks, dumbfounded.
"This reminds me, actually," Shaffa says, turning her head slightly to look back at the Eight boy. "Del, when you marry us, you can't have that uggo shit you had on yesterday."
Del gasps, mock-offended as he secures Shaffa's updo in place. "What? I thought it was pimpin'!"
From outside, Keesha flatly goes, "Never say that again."
"Everyone here fucking hates me," Delano says, sniffing wetly before abruptly returning to his normal speaking voice. "Okay, done. I think we're ready here."
"We are?" Shaffa asks, gently smoothing back the baby hairs by her ears.
"About time," the Five girl says.
"Hey. You can't rush genius."
"You'll be at it for a thousand lifetimes before you gain a single IQ point."
"Fuck you," Delano barks out, laughing.
Shaffa laughs too, a breathless and dazed sort of sound. They're really finished here, she supposes. And now it's time for the grand reveal. Her eyes draw toward the polished doorknob, and her heart starts to thump insistently in response as she imagines Keesha waiting for her on the other side.
She feels a little ridiculous, in a good way. She knows Keesha said this wasn't gonna be a big deal, but still — some part of her wants to impress the cool, confident Five girl.
As silly as it is, she kinda wants Keesha to think she looks… pretty.
Shaffa's eyes flicker to Delano. The Eight boy gives her a thumbs-up and a wink. It gives her the bravery she needs to turn the doorknob.
The door opens swiftly. Seeing Keesha knocks the breath out of Shaffa's chest.
She's a total stud. The Five girl is impossibly sleek in her obsidian velvet blazer, silver stitching trailing down the deep vee of her lapel. Her neck is adorned with statement chains, metal glinting meanly underneath the chandeliered boutique light. The waist of her blazer is cinched in with a chain corset, draping down her torso like bleeding diamond droplets. Her billowing dress pants bring a splash of street into the sacred, and the whole look is brought together with a relaxed white tie and a milky rose perched in her chest pocket.
"Oh my god, Keesh!" Shaffa squeals, jumping up and down. "You look so hot!"
"Shit, wow," Keesha coughs out at the exact same time, her eyes wide. "You look… yeah."
"Yeah?" Shaffa whispers, smiling.
"You know. Really good," Keesha clears her throat, gesturing vaguely. "Gorgeous, lowkey."
"GoRGeOus, lOwKey," Delano repeats in a caveman voice.
Shaffa pretends to swoon. Keesha rolls her eyes, trying to both hold back a smile and slam an elbow into Delano's ribs. He darts away from her strike, snickering obnoxiously, but Keesha's not looking at him anymore. Her eyes keep flickering from Shaffa's face, the bodice of her dress, the gown, and then away. Something flutters in Shaffa's chest — a teasing remark, perhaps, but she can't stop smiling for long enough to muster words.
"So," Delano speaks up, gesturing to the Five girl's suit. "I guess Keesha's the man in the relationship?"
"Are you stupid?" Keesha scoffs. "There is no man. We're both girls."
"You can both be girls," Delano shrugs, raising his hands in defense. "But I'm gonna be for real, that's kinda gay."
"Says the guy who wears skirts and blouses and shit," Keesha retorts.
"Exactly. That makes me the CEO of gay."
Delano quickly shushes any impending arguments, shooing both of the girls in front of a large, gilded mirror that stretches from the floor to the ceiling. Shaffa takes in their reflections, standing side by side. Their height difference startles a laugh out of her — Keesha's nearly a full head shorter than her, the top of her braids only coming up to Shaffa's collarbones.
But despite that — or maybe because of the juxtaposition — they look shockingly well-matched. Bold in gunmetal-black and bridal-white, save for Shaffa's shock of red hair, artfully designed into a spunky updo by Delano's hands. She and Keesha are suave, sharp, and vogue, like they could grace the cover of an niche, indie fashion magazine. Delano stands next to the mirror with his hands on his hips, whistling approvingly.
"It's camp," Delano grins.
Shaffa's cheeks hurt from smiling. "I love it," she whispers.
Keesha hums. "I think it's missing something, though. There could be more…" The Five girl's makes a popping gesture with her fingers, "… pizazz."
Shaffa blinks. "What're you suggesting?"
A sly grin overtakes the other girl's face. "All I'm saying is there's a paintball place next door."
It takes her a moment, and then Shaffa's face lights up like a beacon. "Oh, you're so on!"
She doesn't wait for Keesha's response before barreling out of the dressing room with the front of her skirt hiked up, shrieking wildly. The sounds of Keesha's surprised laughter and Delano's whoops follow behind her, and Shaffa's heart feels so full it might burst.
Dottie Dressel • District Eight Female
Paris - Elevator / July 10th, 8:12 PM
Her clammy palms hold Ginsengs long, dark hair back as the Seven girl vomits everything in her body. The sounds of retching drown out the soft elevator music.
Dottie feels floaty in a really really Really bad way. Both of her eyes are like windows on washing machines, spinning, spinning, spinning. Something sharp and bad rises in her tummy with the whirr and click of the moving box. Every step and stumble make her feel more sick but they Heard something Something coming and needed to move. And now theyre here in the glowing elevator, and its taking them sky-high to heaven
Or at least halfway — The mouth of the box feeds them to some sort of of ccobbled courtyard area. The roof. theres no sun in the sky. warmth has abandoned the city. The night wind bites and nips through Dotties clothes chilling her straight to her core. Her lungs rattle inside her chest. her teeth chatter inside her mouth.
She and ginseng lean against each other stumbling toward a shadowed area underneath a tall tower. There are More bars and more cock's tail juice, Purple light pours all over the floor and its beautiful delightful in a way she cant describe.
Ginseng stops in her tracks a couple times like she wants to vomit again. Her skinny body heaves but nothing comes up nothing but a bad hoarse empty sound
Dottie hasnt been able to make herself throw up for some reason. Everything in her stomach feels like its already dispersed to the rest of her body. Only way to get the poison out is if she clawed her own liver open. And She mightve tried it if she didnt feel so so Dizzyy;y
Ginseng wipes her face with her own dust-cool hands; Dottie Cant tell at first because she misses by large margin before correcting and then correcting again.
"don't wanna feel like this anymore," ginseng slurs past slow shallow breaths.
Dotties trying to match her breathing but its Hard. An impossible effort. In out. In out. In OUT. She feels like she needs to be Twisted inside out and stripped clean of this Sugar fermented crystalline Rot. Somethings Disintegrating all the squishy parts inside of her. Its Coating all her organs with poison
Dottie remembers Reading somewhere that a persons small intestine can stretch out twenty feet long. Theres so much distance inside of her body but shes only fifteen years old and five feet something — how is that possible? How can it fit? What if she pulled it out and washed it? would it fix her?
Shes suddenly dizzy again and she realizes its because shes laughingLaughing through shaking teeth. Her tongues never felt so dry before. Her brain feels like its Spiraling into giggles and her back slumps against something hard something that digs into the crooks of her spine like a wrong bad puzzle piece And the ground feels so cool underneath her so cold
"c'mon," ginseng frowns looking dazedly at the leg of the tower. "can't stay here."
"dunno if I can get up," dottie whispers, her head lolling to the side.
"s'okay," ginseng whispers. She lowers herself beside her. "get some 'nergy and then… try again."
Dottie sighs and then shivers. Cool air passes through her lips cracked and dry as pavement. The world moves so slowly around her that she cant really tell if shes actually truly alive right now
"y'know," Dottie breathes, "always wanted t'see what heaven looks like."
The other girls voice warbles. "i'm not ready t'find out yet."
The Pebbles underneath her legs are hard and unforgiving but Dottie sinks into them like clouds. With shaking fingers and a sedated smile she twirls the other girls straight hair. Its so silky. Raven black. (Blonde stained black with blood…) Darker than anything shes ever seen. Darker than Anything she can ever imagine. (And Her cousin doesnt even seem to notice…)
"just want my mom to come, and yell at me, and take me home," the other girl says in a broken whimper. "then she'd make me soup. and wash my hair. and sing a song 'til I fell asleep."
"your mom's scary when she yells," Dottie laughs softly. "but it's scarier when she cries."
"huh?"
"you don't know," she drawls, "but she cried all day, all night after w'found you, paisley…"
"dottie," her cousin says. her voice is spiked with an edge of fear. "what're you talking 'bout?"
"the fall, it cracked your head open. like an egg," Dottie murmurs dreamily. "the red's still there. couldn't… wash it outta the cement."
"you're scaring me," the girl says, scared Scared SCARED
bLONDE HAIR ON FLASHLIGHT FIRE
BLUE eEYES BLUE LIKE THE SKY;Y
THE BLOOD DRIPS LIKE: A FAUCET
DOTTIE BLINKs sendings stars scattering over her vision. No blonde hair no blue eyes No blood none Its not her cousin. Who is it? She whimpers as She forces herself to remember
Sense trickles back into her brain. Its Ginseng she realizes. Ginseng her friend. Ginseng Root girl. Raven black hair almond brown eyes round face and bravery bleeding into fear and its wrong but Dottie cant remember how its wrong or why its wrong
"'m sorry," dottie rasps weakly. it feels like something is escaping her. "didn't mean to"
"s'okay" root girl whispers. and then its quiet. quiet in dotties ears. quiet in her eyes. the nights growing so dark and so Cold
root girl whispers again "dottie"
and again "you 'kay? y'haven't said anythin' in a while"
and again, scared. "dottie?"
"tired," dottie slurs
"please don't fall asleep," a scared shake in the girl's voice "don't wanna be alone."
"not g'nna."
"you sure?"
"i won't," dottie echoes cold hand in cold hand. "not… not 'til you do."
Keesha Cathode • District Five Female
Planet Hollywood - Chapel / July 10th, 8:45 PM
"Keesha, can you put that thing down?" Delano says, his curly hair dusted in powdery hues of blues, greens, and pinks.
Keesha clutches the paintball gun closer to her chest, smearing the wet, technicolor splotches on her blazer. "Why? Shaffa gets to hold something."
"The bride gets to hold a bouquet. The groom doesn't get to hold shit."
Keesha grumbles, but when Shaffa gives her an expectant look, she begrudgingly sets the artillery weapon down on the pew beside the others.
She doesn't bother to hide her snickering as she walks back up to the podium, taking in her friends' appearances. They're both splattered head to toe in rainbow powder paint. Delano looks like he lost a fight with an army of flamboyant leprechauns, and Shaffa's dress, once a bleach-white canvas, has turned into a million-dollar contemporary piece of artwork, a medley of rich teals, pomegranate pinks, sunset oranges, and every color in between.
Even as stealthy as Keesha was, she couldn't avoid every shot. Shaffa nailed her a few times on her blazer. Delano even got some hot pink in her hair, totally wrecking her dark, shadowy aesthetic.
Weirdly, she can't find herself to be all that pressed.
"What an amazing turnout," Shaffa comments, sarcastically gesturing to the three massive guns sitting in the front row. The rest of the chapel is abysmally empty.
"Does this make this a shotgun wedding?" Delano asks.
"A shotgun wedding isn't when you bring a shotgun to a wedding, dumbfuck," Keesha scoffs. "It's when two people are hauling ass to get hitched 'cause someone's pregnant."
The Eight boy laughs. "So who's pregnant?"
Wordlessly, Keesha and Shaffa turn to look at Delano.
"Oh, come the fuck on."
Shaffa whistles innocently. "I don't have a uterus, so that's between you guys."
"Not it," Keesha says immediately.
"I'm not even the one getting married here," Delano protests. "Man, we're getting sidetracked as fuck. Are we ready for this shit or what?"
At Shaffa's little clap and Keesha's swift nod, Delano clears his throat and begins.
"We are gathered here today to commemorate the union of Keesha and Shaffa-Whatever," he announces. "I, Delano Astarte, will be the unofficial officiator, because no one else is here." He gestures dramatically towards their barren audience, where their guns are patiently perched. "And you three beautiful ladies will serve as witnesses for today's ceremony, and will be able to attest to the validity of this marriage."
"What the fuck are you even saying right now?" Keesha says.
"I'm covering our legal bases," Delano defends. "Probably. Anyway, now that that's over with, let me open this up with a few words."
"Oh god," Keesha groans.
"I love words!" Shaffa cheers, clapping excitedly.
Delano jerks two thumbs — one made of flesh, one made of metal — back at both Shaffa and Keesha. "It's a funny story, how I met Shakshouka and Quiche. A week ago, we got very lucky, you see, when we all won the lottery to die. We all got even luckier when we made it out of the midnight murder party unscathed, and then our luck had a threesome supernova bastard baby when our paths fatefully converged in the, ahem, best building in this Arena, AKA the Delano."
Across the podium, Shaffa mouths, what a loser! Keesha doesn't bother holding back a snort.
Delano raises his voice. "Even though I'm one thousand percent sure they're bullying me right now, they're my friends or whatever. And they're perfect for each other. They're the 'pea' to each other's 'nut,' the 'snicker' to each other's 'doodle,' the 'hallo' to each other's 'ween,' yeah, yeah. Which is why I'm officiating this shit. I've only known these bitches for forty-eight hours, but if anything happened to them, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself."
"That seems excessive," Shaffa chirps.
"Yeah, and no one's in this room except us," Keesha points out.
"Nothing bonds a group better than triple murder suicide," Delano grins. "Anyway, 'nuff of that. What's after this?"
Shaffa furrows her brows. "I think this is the part where the flower girl and the ring boy come down the aisle, but…"
"Do we even have rings?" Delano murmurs, scratching his chin.
With a flourish, Keesha procures a small, plastic bubble container from her suit pocket. "Duh," she smirks, popping it open to reveal a hot pink, plastic dinosaur ring. "Gotta ice out my wife."
Shaffa gasps, her eyes sparkling. "When did you get that?"
"Remember that toy vending machine we passed by the other day?" Keesha grins. "You said you liked the hot pink one, so. I went back and stole it."
The Three girl's voice wavers. "You remembered…"
"Well, 'course I did," Keesha murmurs, trying to fight off the sting in her cheeks. "C'mon, give me your hand. Let me put the damn thing on."
Shaffa extends her hand, and Keesha puts the damn thing on. She's glad to focus on the act of sliding the dinosaur ring on Shaffa's finger, which gives her a free excuse to not look at the Three girl's face.
Shaffa's fingers are cool and slender in hers. The slightest bit clammy. But maybe Keesha's just imagining that. Or maybe she's projecting.
Abruptly, Keesha lets her hand go, clearing her throat. "I only stole one, so. Yeah."
"That's okay," Shaffa smiles. "We can go back later and get another one."
"For sure," Keesha agrees a little too quickly. "Yeah."
Delano cuts in, saving Keesha from the blooming awkwardness. "I have to be honest, I don't remember how weddings work at all. Is this even the right order of things?"
"No idea," is Keesha's brilliant contribution.
Shaffa chimes in with an equally helpful statement. "This is definitely not the order of things, but that's okay!"
"Fantastic! Well, uh… speeches? Vows?" Delano grins impishly. "Do you wanna make your own, or repeat after me?"
"There is no way in fuck I'm repeating after you," Keesha deadpans.
Shaffa pipes up excitedly. "I have my speech prepared!"
"You do?" Keesha blinks.
"Yeah, I was coming up with it on the way here," Shaffa admits. "I wanted it to be good."
Keesha didn't even think about vows at all. How could she forget that part? Shaffa's committing to the bit way harder than her — why does that make her feel lowkey guilty?
Shaffa laughs, a breathy sound. "I didn't write it down anywhere, so it's just all floating in my head. This might be really bad. Let's see if I retained anything from my public speaking class, I guess!"
She smooths down the front of her dress and gives Keesha a lopsided smile — a little nervous, but all parts sincere. Her lips part, and the words start to flow.
"I love mysteries," Shaffa starts, "always have. The supernatural, the occult, detective novels, puzzle games — you name it. I've always been a curious person, and I love when things have more questions than answers.
"From the moment I saw you slip on stage during the recap, Keesha, I knew I needed to know you. I mean—" Shaffa makes this incredulous sound, "—what kind of person treats the Reaping like a magic show? You just spontaneously appeared, somehow; I've run that recording back like, five times, and I still can't figure out how you did that. And you were so unbothered, like the escort calling your name was no big deal. Getting Reaped felt like my life was ending, but you were so cool about it. And that's just how you are — untouchable.
"I don't know if anything can scare you. Seriously — you're so brave, Keesh, or stupid. I've never seen someone else so fearlessly throw themselves headlong into danger, with so much confidence that everything'll work out." Shaffa shakes her head, both exasperated and amused. "We could've gotten in so much trouble with that Career's jacket, and again with breaking into the slot machines. But we did it, and… I don't know. It felt like being on top of the world. Being around you is kind of addicting, honestly. You make the impossible look so easy. You make everything feel so fun and so… alive.
"It's been a privilege and an honor to be partners-in-crime with you. You're not like anyone I've ever known. At the same time, I feel like a part of me already knew you from somewhere, and everything I'm learning about you, I'm just remembering. Slowly and surely, I think I'm starting to piece you together. At least I hope so.
"I certainly don't think I've gotten you all figured out yet, but I think that's what I like about you. I'll always have questions to find answers for when it comes to you." Shaffa gives her a brilliant smile. "For all seventeen years I've been alive, you're my favorite mystery, Keesha Cathode."
Keesha's… floored. She blinks, at a total loss for words. She tries to come up with something to say, but every thought vacates her brain the second she opens her mouth.
"Damn," Keesha finally mutters after the longest pause ever. "You — you spit."
"That was a fucking banger," Delano agrees. Shaffa somehow beams even brighter than Keesha thought was humanly possible. "Keesha, it's your turn now."
She coughs into her hand. "I'm supposed to go after that?"
"Well, yeah, that's kind of the way it works," Delano says with a sly smirk.
"Uh, fuck. Okay." She shuffles, trying to shake away this strange feeling that stubbornly clings to her nerves. "I'll just do this off the top of my head, then."
Keesha clears her throat again, knocking hard on her pounding chest. Chill out, Cathode, she chides herself. She takes a deep breath, letting her mind backtrack to the beginning. Here goes nothing.
"I don't think I ever told you, but on the train ride up to the Capitol, I fully decided that I wasn't going to have any allies." Keesha sticks her hands in her pockets. "Past me would've laughed in my face if she saw me now. But man, you came as a surprise. I wasn't really expecting us to go anywhere, but you were pretty persuasive. Not that you were really trying to persuade me. I guess I'm tryna say the more we hung out, the more I thought, you know. Maybe some company wouldn't be so bad, after all.
"I usually kick it solo, but it's a billion times easier to get away with stuff when you're helping me. You keep me in check. Sometimes, you keep me from doing stupid shit, but when you can't do that, you do the stupid shit with me, which is pretty cool. I guess I never realized how fun it could be to do things with a partner.
"You've got this way about you. I don't know how to describe it. You're just so… bright. Kind of blinding, sometimes. It's easy to feel good when you're there. You make me laugh and you just get me. It's like you can read my mind, and you know what I'm gonna do before I do it." She shakes her head and smiles despite herself. "You probably have this effect on everyone, honestly. 'Cause like, you're a real people person, and I'm definitely not. You could have anyone you really wanted, but for some reason, you… chose me.
"I don't really know what I did to deserve you, but like, whatever it was, I'd probably do it again. I like you, Shaffs. Like, I like having you around. Especially in this shithole full of dumbass people — you just, I don't know. Make everything better, somehow." Keesha laughs a little too forcefully, looking off to the side. "Which is such a corny thing to say, but… it's true. I kind of hate being here. I hate that I was Reaped, and I hate that I can't go home. But if the worst thing never happened to me, then I wouldn't have met you.
"So, everything sucks. But…" Keesha exhales slowly. "I'm glad everything sucks with you."
A loud sniffle causes Keesha to jerk her head up. She's met with the sight of tears streaming down Shaffa's cheeks.
"Oh my god," Keesha says, mortified by the lump in her throat provoked by the sight. "Why are you actually crying right now?"
The Three girl's nose is totally red. "I don't know," Shaffa admits with a weak laugh, wiping her eyes with her palms. "That was just so nice, Keesh."
"I didn't even know you were capable of being nice like that," Delano concurs.
Keesha sends a glare at the Eight boy, but there's no real heat. "It's never happening again, just 'cause you said that."
"It's too late. Keesha's a sap, confirmed." Delano makes a criss-cross symbol with his fingers. "Hashtag real. Hashtag not clickbait. Keesha and Shaffa, sitting in a tree—"
"Are you twelve?"
"So close! Thirteen."
"Guys," Shaffa chides with a watery laugh.
"Okay, okay," Delano laughs. "Um, what the hell. How does the next part go—? Are you guys chill with taking each other as your lawfully-wedded wives?"
"I'm chill," Keesha answers.
"So chill!" Shaffa agrees.
Delano makes a rolling gesture with his hand, trying to remember the words. "Uh, will you take each other for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, all that other shit…"
"'Til death do us part?" Shaffa asks Keesha, something vulnerable creeping into her voice.
Keesha hesitates too long trying to get the words through her throat.
"Yeah," she whispers at last. "Through everything, Shaffs."
"If there are any objections," Delano declares with a grand sweep of his arms, "speak now, or forever hold your peace!"
The guns don't say jackshit, because they're guns.
"Then without further ado…" Delano does a drumroll against the wooden podium, "I pronounce you woman and woman! You may now, uh, do whatever you want with the bride."
Shaffa turns to Keesha with a dazzling smile, anticipating her lead. Shaffa — her homie, her partner-in-crime, her… wife.
Hesitating, Keesha takes in the sight of the girl across from her. Her honey-brown eyes, her sharp nose, her pink lips. Shaffa really is gorgeous, she realizes — Keesha doesn't think she's really noticed until now. Or, she's noticed, but… not like this. Not in this light. Even when Shaffa's eyes are wet and her nose is red and she's covered head-to-toe in paint, she's the brightest thing in the chapel.
She can't think of anything clever to say or do. She can't look away, either. It's fucking idiotic. For the first time, Keesha finds herself totally unprepared and way out of her depth.
Awkwardly, Keesha holds up a fist. They fistbump. The corners of Shaffa's eyes crinkle deeper as their knuckles clash against each other, deeply amused.
"Fisting," Delano whistles. "A classic."
"You're ruining the moment," Keesha bites out, her face uncomfortably warm.
"I don't think so," Shaffa whispers, smiling. She unfurls her fingers and slots them against Keesha's, intertwining their hands together. Keesha kind of feels like she needs to crawl into a hole and hide forever.
After a beat, she forces herself to let Shaffa's hand go. Her chest feels choked up like something's stuck, like there's pink bubblegum lodged in every empty space of her ribcage. Her heart's pulsing in double-time, nearly drowning out every other sensation.
Is this the feeling of fullness or claustrophobia? Both?
She dares herself to sneak a glance at the red-haired girl. Shaffa's turned to Delano, and they're laughing like they're at home, like everything's okay, like everything will stay like this forever. Something inside her chest constricts so painfully, so sweetly, and it's not like anything she's ever felt before.
This is either the best mistake of her life, or the worst. Because now, looking at Shaffa, Keesha's realizing she's got something to lose.
Ginseng Clarkson • District Seven Female
Paris - Chateau Rooftop Bar / July 10th, 9:26 PM
A soft ding. Ginseng stirs. Trying to blink as fast as she can but its slow like a camera with a bad shutter speed. Her vision sways when she looks down at Dottie leaning against her, still. Ginsengs back aches pathetically against the base of this tower
The sky is even darker than she remembers The lights overhead look like hell. Demonic greens and purples and ambers, the terrace dripping with poison. Shadows of the tower above them cast menacing zigzagging stripes Like the spindly legs of a spider.
Ding. Another musical chime.
Whats real? and whats fake? The lines are Blurring and she doesnt know if shes dreaming or if shes awake. Theres no distinction anymore. Last days been like that — Forever Drifting in and out when everything got too heavy when everything was spinning too much. Waking up(?) feels harder and worse every time. Her memorys eroding — she Doesnt remember why shes here or what shes doing. The only sensation is the sour taste of vertigo and this vacuous nothingness terribleTerrible needs to stop — Even the outside air cant depollute this feeling
The floor underneath her legs growls. Ding — ding — ding. She finally registers what it is — the sound of elevator. The light above it is blinking flashing gold Brilliant radiant gold Danger
Ginsengs arms shoot out, attempting to grasp her friend's slight shoulders. "Dottie," she slurs urgently. "Dottie, I hear sum'thn. Sum'thn's coming."
No response. Ginsengs heartbeat spikes and sputters as Panic pours into her limbs. She takes a cold bone-dry palm and presses it against the Eight girls lips checking to see that shes still breathing. She cant be dead — Ginseng wouldve heard something right?
Ginseng Draws frighteningly slow breaths trying not to drown out the sound of Dotties. But Ten seconds pass. maybe twenty. Maybe. She cant tell she cant hear but oh god Shes not waking up. Dottie dottie wake UP PLEASE—
A slight damp puff from the girls mouth. The thinnest whisper of breath. A soft shiver. Ginsengs chest rattles in relief when Dotties bleary green irises peek through her eyelids. The relief dissolves into dread that tastes like poison When Ginseng hears the elevator doors shudder open.
Its the same feeling at the bloodbath. This primal dread that shoots like ice through her blood. Her legs tremble underneath her and she knows she should go she should run Far far where she'll be safe
But looking at her friend curled against her Her shallow breaths her thin cold fingers her motionless body her dulling eyes Ginseng knows even more that she cant pry herself away.
Fear fights loyalty fights reason fights weakness fights love. Love — its all of those things all at once. its in the soup her ma makes its in her brothers crushing hugs,its in the warm blankets she and Dottie shared in the seven suite its in Artans blood splattered on her face at the bloodbath. Its in everything and she doesnt get it but it bleeds anyway like an overflowing tap. Under the influence of the alcohol and adrenaline Its the only thing that feels real.
She cant leave Dottie behind. She cant abandon her. Wherever dottie goes they have to go together.
Its The hardest choice Ginsengs ever made because shes scared of the end
The easiest because she would never choose differently. not after everything.
Faraway shuffling footsteps chafe against her ears pricked up like an animals. Instinct demands she has to run or climb. Somewhere they cant be found Cant be reached.
Above. Safe — above is safe its why squirrels scurry up to the tops of trees its why birds fly to the sky. The spider legs of the tower swirl and dance from above but its the best option ginseng can think of. Its frighteningly tall but she tries to steady herself — she can climb trees and rocks and this is is a Big big ladder its even easier. She has to be strong She Has To Be
"Hold on t'me, Dottie, 'kay?"
"'Kay," Dottie whispers almost imperceptible. Her eyes are on the verge of rolling back on the verge of unconsciousness. But shes still here. They both are.
With trembling hands Ginseng leans Dottie against her back Using all her might to stand on her two feet. Dottie fists her fingers into the fabric of her shirt. an impossibly weak but sincere attempt at helping. The other girl is using every last shred of strength to hold on
Ginseng nearly tips twice with the other girls weight but manages to stumble upright. Something sloshes in her skull. Alcohol in her veins feels like sludge. She feels like a paper boat in a ravenous thrashing ocean. Her clammy palms grip the ice-cold metal for leverage. The ground sways violently underneath her feet
When she hears the dull scrape of metal against cobble Nausea rises in her stomach her chest her throat but Ginseng knows shes all out. nothing will come up anymore. She has no time. Now. She has to go up NOW
She takes a haphazard step up on one of the metal ledges of the tower and attempts to pull herself above the ground. Her skin is a sick yellow around straining white knuckles. With dotties Arms slung around her shoulders she feels like a bird with a broken wing. She feels like shes carrying the whole night sky
But she has to
She will.
( she cant let her go. )
Kieran Locke • District One Male
Paris - Elevator / July 10th, 9:31 PM
Kieran spams the elevator doors closed before Fioynder can get on.
Knowing the Five boy, he's probably sprinting up the stairs to meet Kieran at the top level. At most, this spares Kieran one, maybe two minutes of blissful silence — he'll take it over being stuck in a metal box with Fioynder anyday.
(It's been a long, long time since Kieran had an annoying, younger boy following him around, stuck to him like a shadow. He's not really sure if he misses the feeling.)
(It's… complicated.)
Even with its silence, the elevator doesn't provide much relief at all. The raw smell of regret steeps in every molecule of the air, nearly making him gag. Kieran's eyes trail down to a dark puddle of liquid in the corner, a godawful concoction of what he can only assume is liquor and bile.
Fioynder's hypothesis must be right: that some tributes have had to resort to alcohol in lieu of clean drinking water. Kieran slumps against the far back wall of the elevator, stomach churning with nausea. He has no way to know how long it's been there, but if he had to guess, it's recent. There's also a smeared stain on one of the buttons clearly indicating where the last user of this elevator went — the rooftop level.
Any other Career — besides Cassia — would be feverishly anticipating the end of a fruitless search. But Kieran breaks into a cold sweat at the thought of what — who — he might find at his destination.
His hands clench around the cool metal spire. He's not afraid of a fight. He might prefer it, in fact; anything but the feeling of being some sort of sick, bloodthirsty predator.
(Even if that's the legacy he's trained almost a decade for — he doesn't have to want that, right?)
Soft dings signal each passing level. The box slows to a gentle stop at the top floor, doors opening to reveal a gorgeous, illuminated rooftop courtyard area. Some distance away, a large, four-legged tower slopes and converges into a wicked point about two, three hundred feet above the rooftop of the building.
Kieran exits the elevator, thankful for the cool breeze that wafts through his hair and clothes, taking away the smell of vomit. He peers around the courtyard at the empty tables and undisturbed chairs. The path seems to only lead in one direction: underneath the tower.
He approaches warily, on guard. He keeps his steps as muffled, steady, and slow as he can, wielding his spire against the shadowy parts of the courtyard, bracing himself against any potential assaults. He doesn't see anything or anyone, but he starts hearing strange, scraping sounds, like fingernails against metal. Sirens start to ring off in his ears.
[The footsteps are getting closer louder Louder Keep going keep climbing
Dont look down dont look down]
[Her hands MISS THE NEXT PART Wildly ginseng flails only barely catching herself by the hem of her shirt Hooked on the metal railing Breaths tear out of her throat ragged and
She feels so so tired Everything inside and out Burns]
A stupid part of Kieran hopes, prays that it's just Fioynder up there, for God knows what reason — that he'll be bragging in Kieran's face any moment now about miraculously beating him to the top of the building.
But there's no way that's possible, and Kieran knows it.
["root girl" dotties breath comes out in short puffs against ginsengs neck]
["shh," ginseng whispers, she cant keep the fear out of her voice
she doesnt want to hear what her friend has to say next]
["you hafta let me go" dottie pleads]
["just hold on," Ginseng begs "i can get us there"]
["s'okay," dottie says. "im not scared."
ginseng can feel her heart breaking like glass]
Kieran's body moves on its own accord, dragging his feet forward to where the sounds are coming from — the base of the tower. They grow louder the closer he gets, reverberating, shuddering above him like the whole thing might collapse.
His fists clench around the shaft of the spire in his hand. He doesn't want to use this, but he's afraid if anything jumps out at him, his body will make the choice before his brain can.
[the monster is right underneath them and
ginseng doesnt dare make a sound]
[she feels dottie smile against her skin
thats all the warning she gets]
[Dotties grip on her shirt goes slack
Cool air kisses the back of her neck Ice darts down Ginsengs spine
DOTTIES FALLING]
[gRAB HER WRIST GRAB IT—]
[THE EIGHT GIRL SLIPS RIGHT THROUGH HER FINGERS
AND ALL GINSENG CAN DO IS WATCH]
Kieran whips his head toward a harsh, sudden sound, a sickening crack against the pavement. His eyes land on a fallen body, young and small. The girl's blood leaks out of the back of her head like a broken egg yolk.
The night comes to a screeching stop — the wind, his breath, every sound. Everything becomes eerily still.
From above, another small figure abruptly drops down from the inner crevices of the tower, stumbling toward the fallen girl. She's unbearably skinny, the courtyard lights hollowing the skin of her cheeks and her knees. Her hair whips behind her like a black silk curtain as she kneels beside her friend, horror washing over her features.
"Nonono," the black-haired girl gasps. She shakes the other girl's side, who twitches just barely in response. A terrified whimper. "Oh no, Dottie—"
The tip of Kieran's fence spire scratches against the ground. The girl's head snaps back at him, but with an unfocused delay; the reaction comes slower than it should. She stares at him with reflective eyes like a horribly frightened cat. Kieran can see the exact moment when the dazed, frantic girl starts to understand.
"Dottie, wake up!" the black-haired girl sobs, begs, screams as she smears her crimson-stained hands against her friend's scalp, like she's trying to put the blood back in. "Please, I can't leave you—"
Dread floods his entire body, suffocating, drowning. He tries to breathe, but his lungs reject every attempt. Kieran's paralyzed all over again, just like he was at the bloodbath, just like he was when he was fifteen — (just fifteen, and nothing bad had happened yet to Aurie or to him) — the kill test and the criminal and the burlap sack and the tag, the fucking—
—tag was the only thing Kieran could focus on — the label attached to the person bound in chains and smothered in a burlap mask, succinctly describing the crime.
Theft.
No details. No amount. No date. No name. No face. Nothing. It didn't matter. Kieran was going to kill him.
He didn't have a choice. If he didn't do it, then he wouldn't move on to the next stage of the Academy. And then what? Waste thousands of dollars and years spent training? Fulfill his mother's prophecy of being the inferior son? Amount to nothing, be no one?
There was nowhere to run in the marble plaza, not for the criminal, not for Kieran. The man was going to die no matter what — if Kieran didn't slaughter him, someone else would. And after everything was said and done, the Academy janitors would powerwash the criminal's blood out of the floor, and it'll be like it always was: pure and pristine.
"Please," the man gasped through the burlap sack, "I needed the money to feed my children. Please, let me go home. They need me."
"Don't listen to 'em, kid," the Peacekeeper behind Kieran told him. "They'll say anything to get out of this. But they all deserve what's coming to 'em."
"I just wanted to help them," the man wept. "I, I'll never do it again, I promise — please, don't…"
Kieran's guilty hands clenched tighter around his spear. He blinked rapidly, shoving all of the watches, the necklaces, bracelets, and other cheap thrills to the back of his mind — he forced his eyes to blur out the imprints of a face behind the coarse fabric of the sack.
He deserves it, Kieran told himself, and for a second he believed it enough to make the strike.
That's all it took.
Kieran blinks, and his vision shatters into kaleidoscopes.
It's the kill test. He's in a plaza, sterile and suffocating. He's standing over a faceless, nameless nobody.
(But he deserved it. That's what they told him, and Kieran couldn't question it.)
(Right?)
It's the bloodbath. He's in the banquet room, drenched in red lights. He's standing over a little girl with skin as dark as umber.
(Did she deserve it?)
It's day three. He's on the rooftop as the wind whips through his hair. He stands over two girls — one screams, and the other's gasps grow shallower and shallower.
(DO THEY?)
The fallen girl looks like a broken toy on the ground. The blood just keeps trickling from her head. Her green eyes (green) — they're too big on her face, doll-like, dying.
(JUST LIKE AURIE'S WERE)
She stares right at Kieran, right through him, and amidst his horror he can't help but wonder what she sees.
(WHO WAS HE BECOMING?)
Kieran whirls when he hears the sound of a door being slammed open. Fioynder stumbles out from the direction of the stairwell, his chest heaving up and down. He perks up when he catches sight of Kieran, a look of demented excitement stretching across his face.
"Did you find someone?" Fioynder exclaims, out of breath. "Wait, Kieran! Wait for me!"
Something starts clawing from inside Kieran's lungs. His mind assaults him with visions of score after score savagely serrated in Kai's back (TEN STAB WOUNDS. MORE THAN WHAT MADE SENSE FOR SELF-DEFENSE) The manic look of glee in Fioynder's eyes, the hot blood splattered on his face (THE PURE ANIMAL FEAR IN THE GIRL'S — BLACK-HAIRED AND BLONDE ALIKE)
There's no other choice — this is the only mercy Kieran can afford—
He turns on his heel and plunges the spire deep into the black-haired girl's back, right over her friend.
All he can think is that this is easy. Nauseatingly easy. He doesn't have to calculate where or how — his hands already know exactly how much force to use. The two girls are little, and it's unbearably easy.
The spire skewers right through the black-haired girl, out the other side into the soft flesh of the fallen girl. A broken whimper leaves her lips, slicing right through Kieran's heartstrings — no animal could make that sound. He can feel the point of the weapon hooking through bones, sinking into meat. It goes until the tip clangs against the cobblestone floor, through both girl's backs. A butchery with a rusted spire. Breaths passing through cold lips. Bodies going slack.
The black-haired girl slumps over the fallen girl. A cannon. Two — they follow right after each other. The deafening sound sends two black birds soaring off of the tower, their oil-slick wings flapping off into the starlit horizon.
The girl's blood sears like acid where it landed on Kieran's face. Gasping, he tries in vain to scrub it off, but he just smears it worse, all over his skin, his palms. He can't look away from the fallen girl's unseeing green eyes.
One strike was all it took. A decade, preparing for one strike.
(Was one really any better than ten?)
Someone's voice, heartbreakingly familiar, laughs in his head. The melodic warmth, the husky tenor — Kieran would recognize it anywhere.
You're as much of a murderer as I am, she'd told him.
Staring at the twin corpses, Kieran has no defense.
Delano Astarte • District Eight Male
Horseshoe - Arcade / July 10th, 11:55 PM
Delano can't tell what's louder — the racketing blare of the arcade, or their laughter.
He grips one side of the air hockey table, gearing up to take Keesha's strike. Her arm sweeps out in a wide arc, sending the puck flying quick as lightning against the table's borders. But he's ready — like a viper, he lashes out, slamming the puck into Keesha's goal with a deafening clatter. The table blasts a triumphant tune, flashing more neon lights than a Peacekeeper siren.
Keesha boos, shaking her head. Shaffa shouts with delight. Delano hollers loudly, throwing middle fingers at Keesha. "Get shit on, motherfucker!"
"That was so rigged," Keesha protests.
Delano shimmies his shoulders. "I don't know what to tell you. Get good."
"Better luck next time, wifey," Shaffa smiles, rubbing Keesha's arm consolingly.
Keesha scoffs, waiting a beat before she forces herself to shrug Shaffa's hand off, like that's something she needs to do. A shithead grin spreads over Delano's face. Keesha's so painfully obvious, and she doesn't even realize it.
A fashion show, paintball, a wedding, and arcade games until midnight. Delano honestly can't think of a better way to spend what's probably their last day of security.
"Can we take pictures now?" Shaffa exclaims, pointing excitedly at the photobooth. "I've been waiting for like, ever!"
The three of them slide into the cramped booth, one after the other. There's this short metal seat beyond the curtain, and they all have to squeeze to sit on it properly. Even then, Delano swears only half of his ass is on the damn thing. It doesn't help that Shaffa's dress weighs like, five hundred fucking pounds. And Keesha, of course, brought her damn gun in there with her.
"She carry that thang on her," Delano quips, just to get on her nerves. "She stay packing the strap."
Keesha nearly shoves him out of the booth. "You're so annoying. You know that, right?"
"I love doing these," Shaffa gushes, totally gliding over their bickering. "Every time my friends and I go to the arcade, we make sure to take one. I've saved all of them over the years. They're all lined up on my wall, right next to my bed."
Delano tries to imagine how Shaffa decorates her room. The Three girl's got incredible style, so her room would definitely match that. He's thinking it's probably really cool in a retro-alien-futurama way, complete with starburst, candy colors from the floor to the ceiling.
"What's your room look like, Keesh?" Delano asks. "Let me guess — the walls are black?"
She wrinkles her nose at him. "So what if my walls are black?"
"Haha. Emo."
"I'm not emo," she says, rolling her eyes. "I just prefer when it's dark."
"Like a fucking bat cave," Delano snorts. "Do you hang upside down while you sleep, too?"
Shaffa shakes both of their shoulders. "It's counting down from five, guys!"
"What?" Delano yelps. "Why didn't you tell us it was starting?!"
"Oopsies~!" is all the Three girl has to say in response.
Delano shifts into his default peace-sign pose as quickly as he can, looking right into the screen's camera. Beside him, Shaffa and Keesha pose back-to-back — the former with a wink and a heart sign, the latter with her shades on and crossed arms.
The camera flashes like a firework, locking down the shot.
"Okay, let's do something silly now!" Shaffa exclaims.
Keesha sticks her tongue and shoves her middle finger in front of Delano's face, totally blocking him from the camera's view.
"You call that silly, Keesha?!" he cackles, making a grab for her shades.
Shaffa shrieks with laughter. The camera flashes again, right in the middle of Delano and Keesha throwing hands. He somehow manages to get his hands on the sunglasses, ripping them right off her face.
"You fucking rat!" she snorts, shoving him violently. Delano lands on the floor of the photobooth with a thud.
He groans, massaging his battered tailbone. "Fuck, my ass," he curses, wincing.
"Ew," comes Keesha's offensively quick response. "Hell no."
"Get into frame, Del!" Shaffa laughs. "It's about to take the last one!"
He hurriedly scrambles off the floor and straightens too quickly, slamming his head against the ceiling of the booth. "Shit," he swears as sparks explode through his skull.
"Three!" Shaffa exclaims, her smile widening. "Two! One!"
Delano tries his best to pog through the pain, slapping a goofy expression on his face as he anticipates the shutter.
Several seconds pass. They all wait, but the flash never comes.
"Did it already go off?" Delano asks.
"I didn't hear it take the picture," Keesha says.
Shaffa's grin starts to falter. "Why isn't it taking it?"
The screen's just frozen in place. Their faces stare back at them, totally static. Delano has half the mind to start waving at the sensor before it starts glitching violently, warping the image into a distorted series of pixels that swarm like a coked-up colony of wasps.
Delano's head throbs as he squints, trying to make sense of what he's seeing. Slowly but surely, the glitching starts to coalesce into a sickeningly familiar graphic: the reel of a slot machine. The Panemian anthem starts to play.
"Ah," Keesha says. "Right."
"Hopefully nothing happened today," Shaffa says, but the waver in her voice betrays her plastered optimism.
Soon enough, the anthem finishes playing, but the graphics don't disappear. They're silent as the slot machine starts to roll. A sinking feeling starts to flood in Delano's chest.
One by one, the images land on a young girl with a victorious ding!
Sobriety hits Delano like a sledgehammer. It's Ginseng, Dottie's ally. Dottie's friend.
Every ounce of mirth in his body vanishes in an instant.
Fuck, he thinks. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"It's a kid," Keesha murmurs, staring at the screen.
"Del? Are you okay?" Shaffa whispers, giving him a worried look. "Did you know her?"
Delano can't answer. The only thing he can hear are the shallow breaths that flow in and out of his lungs. His eyes are glued on the screen, and he's praying that it's over.
But the slot machine rolls again, and his heart plummets. He knows the face of Quention's cousin all too well, with her glass-green eyes and vacant smile.
17th: Ginseng Clarkson, killed by Kieran Locke. [Impaled by a fence spire. Severe alcohol poisoning.]
"Dottie, wake up! Please, I can't leave you—"
Ginseng's mother presses her face into her husband's chest. Min closes her eyes, holding back tears. Bo lies motionless in his little sister's too-small bed, and only when all the lights turn off does he let himself break.
16th: Dottie Dressel, killed by Kieran Locke. [Impaled by a fence spire. Skull broken against cement from a height. Severe alcohol poisoning.]
"S'okay. I'm not scared."
Quentin can't do anything but weep for his baby cousin, another little sister figure he couldn't protect.
Scoreboard:
Kai: I
Delano: I
Dottie: I
Reverie: I
Sergeant: I
Lucifer: I
Cassia: I
Jupiter: I
Fioynder: I
Kieran: II
Injuries:
Cassia: One large cut on the right arm. [Addressed.]
Sergeant: Multiple contusions, abrasions, and lacerations across the torso with possible internal damage. [Addressed.]
Jupiter: Bruise along the jaw. Knife slashes on the arms. Broken ankle. Deep stab wound in the abdomen, stitched. [Addressed.]
Delano: Bruised tailbone and back. Contusion on the back of the head.
Falo: Varying puncture wounds on the right leg. [Addressed.]
Jillion: Multiple bruises across the body. Broken ribs. Localized hematoma on the side of the head. High likelihood of concussion. Immediate attention is required. [Deteriorating.]
Alliances:
Careers: Reverie, Kieran, Cassia, Sergeant, Jupiter, Fioynder
"Truce": Lucifer, Emilio, Jillion
Dicks: Shaffa, Keesha, Delano
Ten: Falo, Asahel
Loners: Wisteria
Locations:
The Cromwell: Reverie, Cassia, Sergeant, Jupiter
Paris: Kieran, Fioynder
Horseshoe: Shaffa, Keesha, Delano
?: Lucifer, Emilio, Jillion
?: Falo, Asahel
?: Wisteria
a/n: birds of a feather… ;;;
thank you Paradigm of Writing for ginseng, and FabulousAbby for dottie. writing this broke my heart. they were my darling girls, and i'm so sorry.
thank you to ama, logan, and rb for betaing this round ;; i kind of couldn't laugh at y'all's reactions because i was equally as horrified about what had transpired. i achieved what i sought out to do but at what cost.
today's title [ BALL AND CHAIN ] is an idiomatic expression for a burdensome restraint. it's mostly used by people to derogatorily refer to their spouses ("the ol' ball and chain!"). you don't have to be very creative to see how this idiom could apply to each of the three alliances depicted in this chapter. i believe in you
with that, we close the curtains on STAGE 1: CATALYST. the chapters for STAGE TWO: CRUCIBLE are as follows:
35. mercy for a sinner. [5 POVs]
36. heat of passion. [4 POVs]
37. strings attached. [4 POVs]
38. of human bondage. [6 POVs}
(every chapter in stage two takes place on day 4.)
i love you guys so much, and i'll see you guys in february.
deuces,
Bazinga!
