Despicable Me

"There are so many ways of being despicable it quite makes one's head spin. But the way to be really despicable is to be contemptous of other people's pain."

[silverfierro]

nikitathorn​:

jeaninetwill​:​

Jeannie should’ve felt triumphant when the tip of the curved blade sank into his arm and ripped a good chunk out of it. Instead, something dropped into her stomach. Cocky, self assured Silver Fierro could bleed just like the rest of them. He could bleed just like Nikita on the ground, and he screamed with the same agony behind the sound. Each and every one of them might’ve been artificially created, but the blood and pain was only more proof that they were still human. Horribly so. 

At least by the time Silver began to fight back, Jeannie realized she’d made a colossal mistake. He was a career, trained for this, and she was a little girl who’d learned how to dance in an orphanage and with a long lost brother and who’d been taught how to never stop running by her fears. She didn’t stumble back fast enough and his first knife nicked her cheek, a searing pain erupting just under her eye, while the other ripped her her arm in the same fashion she’d done to him. Jeannie cried out and her feet carried her a few steps back, out of reach of the glinting knives. 

This didn’t seem to be a fight she could win. All she knew was that she had to. There was no other option other than standing her ground and making it matter, making it worth something. She wouldn’t die quietly again, sobbing into her own arms as she waited for the bombs to drop. She was the same Jeannie as she had been nine years ago, but different in every way that mattered. 

She knew she could only get close to him again once, and either it would mean his end or hers. She had one chance, and that was it. 

Barely side stepping the knife that sailed towards her face then, she jumped forward and raised the sickle over her head. Jeannie let it fly down towards a point on his chest, a point where she knew his heart was. I won’t kill you yet. Even he had a heart. It was a good thing, as much as it wasn’t in this moment. 

@nikitathorn​

.

The scene before her faded in and out. It became increasingly difficult to bring what was happening into focus, it was a blur of light and metal and awful screams of pain. The sounds bounced off of her insides like an echo, amplifying in her own chest and heightening the sharpness of the knife lodged between her ribs, the way her heart raced to try to keep her alive, her lungs exercised a lesson in futility. She wanted– needed– to stay awake long enough to know it was Jeannie, not Silver. Her fingers clawed into the dirt, she tried to keep herself tethered to this painful, awful earth. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to go. She wasn’t ready yet, there was that chasm of opportunity in front of her, that thing that called to her from the dark bottom. She wasn’t supposed to die, she was supposed to find it, find herself.

@silverfierro​

Jeanine’s sickle plunged into his chest and killed him instantly, though only in spirit. His flesh erupted in suffering. His muscles spurted the blood pouring from his exposed heart. He didn’t want to die again, not again when the end was within his clutches, but it seemed he had no say so in how the story would play out. Silver glanced into the other’s eyes and even without a reflective surface could see that the hostility and anguish born behind his own had dissipated. His knives hit the dirt with unsatisfying thuds, his knees hit it the same. Dying the first time had been so peaceful in Olive’s arms, the explosions dancing all around them and his injuries not nearly so severe. The feeling creeping over him was similar. Unique in its own right, but wholly the same. 

“Didn’t think I had one, did you Twill?” he asked her with barely a whisper left in him. He would die more quickly this time. “It’s not the same as yours, which I’m sure is just...fucking perfect and shining and decorated with a bunch of thready bullshit from your district.” Silver laughed, genuinely, forever finding his own brand of humor superior. It hurt, but villains didn’t deserve to die without getting a taste of their own medicine. It dawned on him that with both his and Nikita’s death rapidly approaching, Jeanine could very well be the one to win the whole fucking thing. For the second time, he didn’t mind. 

It was miraculous that he was still on his knees instead of collapsed on the dirt, but Silver never obeyed the rules given to him. His flickering eyes showed him a different girl with each blink. Jeanine, Olive, Golden. Jeanine, Olive, Golden. Jeanine. Olive, Golden. They were not the same, and that’s maybe why the boy from District One refused to go down just yet. He couldn’t without knowing why the wires of his brain synced them all together. Why their faces magically fit onto the mold that one of them provided.

Once it clicked, he could hear Games commentators going on about his “fatal mistakes” for generations to come. Discussions and debates about where Silver Fierro went wrong losing not only his original Games, but the Quarter Quell as well. They would say it was because he made the mistake of intertwining himself only with those he would not readily be able to defeat, physically or mentally.

He beat Golden in battle, but her memory plagued him from the moment she died to this very moment he lived in. The originator of his suffering would always live in his head.

He lost against Olive. In their romance he was the victor, able to win her over in ways she couldn’t possibly resist. In reality, he couldn’t beat her even if he had gotten a second chance to.

He was about to lose to Jeanine. The girl that from the moment he recognized her as one of the returned, he feared. Not because of her strength, not because of her name, not because she knew what he was capable of. Only because of a indescribable sensation that resided in his depths that told him she was better than him. It was the same sensation that told him he would fail in his endeavors to beat her. 

He had lost to them all. 

Allowing his gaze to move, the boy noticed a flicker from way above, near the highest point of the forcefield keeping them locked in the arena. He vividly recalled seeing the one surrounding District 13 come down. The color he saw both now and then were the same. 

Silver didn’t have much time left to decide who he was going to be. If he didn’t decide now, others would choose for him. There was a bounty of events that made him the bad guy and he was well aware of that, proud of it even. As many mistakes as he’d made, he had no regrets for having made them. 

“Like you said, this is a real place. Remember, Twill?” he asked of her quietly. Blood was barely seeping out of the hole of his chest anymore and the monster should’ve been dead minutes ago. Stubborn to the very end. 

“Go,” he demanded of her, the third and final girl he wasn’t able to defeat. He found himself rooting for her now that he was no longer her competition. He smirked one last time at the ridiculousness of it all. Even he’d been won over by the heroine. 

“Go.”

Silver Fierro fell into a drying puddle of his own blood with a satisfactory thud, at least satisfactory for those rooting against him. Everyone in Panem watched, expecting something heinous of the boy whose name and actions could never be forgotten. They waited for him to rise again, slash the girl’s throats, and be on his merry way. But no. His body slumped peacefully into the ground without a last second scare in him. The villain had been vanquished. 

*BOOM*

[silverfierro]

nikitathorn​:

jeaninetwill​:

“And you shouldn’t have done that,” she repeated herself. Unshed tears took a hold of her vocal chords, but she couldn’t bring herself to cry right then. Perhaps now, where sentimentally might have been most apt, she failed herself. Nikita was dying on the ground and while Silver had promised he wouldn’t kill her yet, the girl from Thirteen was still her friend. 

And the tightly held in sentimentality was joined by for more easily let out anger. The breath left her nostrils in hurried huffs, as she once again tightened her grip on her weapon. 

Remember they’re not your friends. 

Her jaw clenched. Kill or be killed, what a way to live and die. There was no way out of this anymore. At least no way that wouldn’t end in bloodshed. Jeannie would die on her feet. 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered out, lifting the sickle. It was a stark contrast to her anger, but fitting for the finality of it all. Then, after taking a deep breath, she sprinted forward, swinging the sickle towards Silver with all her might. Strangely enough, Nikita and her mirrored each other in this way. Would she meet the same fate? 

@nikitathorn​

.

Nikita rolled onto her side, her cheek pressed to the earth. The last time this happened, it was the dry, sandy dirt of the Capitol’s colosseum, she recalled flashes of her blood pooling in a dark crimson around her, a sharp contrast to the powdery, light dirt. Now, the flowers rushed up to greet her nose and eyelashes to drink her tears, the moss wicked away the life spilling from her, the ferns tangled a reassuring blanket at her feet. This was a kinder place to be. To die. She forced herself to focus on the form of Jeannie, rushing now toward Silver. All she could do was watch, struggle for breaths, helpless. She’d seen Jeannie fight in the Training Center, but she was ready to squeeze her eyes shut at any moment. She’d seen Silver too. Silver wouldn’t hesitate.

@silverfierro​

A dozen times before, Silver built in his mind every move of what the end of the alliance between them would look like. Not once in any imaginable scenario did he think she would be the first to strike and draw blood. The sickle caught the flesh of his left arm, ripping off a chunk of it and the uniform material that covered it. He tried to suppress a scream of agony through pressed lips, but it fought to be free. 

“Fine,” he breathed as though the conflict was anyone’s fault but his own. Alliance or not, he had the resolve to win without mercy this time. Jeanine could’ve opted to stay out of his way, just like she had all of 111th, but she chose the exact opposite path. Silver began swinging his knives at the girl with no particular point as his target. It was a dance that could lead to injury the closer she moved towards him and that kept him safe behind a flurry of glinting metal. Relinquished of the chains that held him all of this life and the first, his furious passion couldn’t help but be met with doubt. 

Killing Golden felt right, earned, deserved. In that moment in District 13′s town square, Silver was triumphant and righteously so. He wore the bad guy label like a suit custom tailored to fit his every inch, but never did he feel like he was the bad guy. Good versus evil, right? Every horror movie ended with one of the sought teenagers fighting back against the monster who ruined their life in the span of a night. 111th painted him as the villain when he was merely seeking a hero’s redemption, fighting back against the evil that had plagued him all of his miserable existence.

As his dagger and survival knife continued to spin, swirl, and slash towards Jeanine Twill, perhaps nicking her or missing her entirely, Silver read the scene for what it was. A girl bleeding to death on the ground, an innocent girl fighting back with hesitance, and a boy armed to the teeth with no regard for anyone but himself.

He was the villain. And try as they might, villains didn’t win. 

@jeaninetwill​

[silverfierro]

nikitathorn​:

jeaninetwill​:​

“Not this,” she shrieked. “Not like this.” Her head was swimming. No, neither of them were supposed to die here, Jeannie was sure of that. Neither of them. Not out of this world, loyal Nikita, not angry, temperamental Silver. In different ways, both of them were her friends and why did her friends keep on dying? She lunged forward and dropped to her knees next to Nikita. Her fingers came away red when she reached for her friend’s hands, moving them to press tighter agains the wound. “Keep the pressure up. You’ll be okay. You’ll be fine. Till the end, that’s what we said. You’re my ally as long as I want you to be, remember? I haven’t stopped wanting you as my ally, Nikita,” Jeannie choked out, but her voice was quiet, solely meant for the girl with the knife in her chest. “Keep the pressure.” 

Jeannie’s hands were sticky with blood again, but it was a relief in her mind to know that Nikita would be alright. She had to be. Her grip around the handle of the sickle tightened, and it almost slipped from her grasp, considering how slick her hands were from the copper painting her skin. “You shouldn’t have done that.” The curved blade pointed at Silver. “She didn’t deserve that.” None of the people in here did. 

@nikitathorn​

.

Jeannie was at her side, her face floating in the center of her blurry vision. Then there was a pressure, more pain so acute she didn’t have the vocabulary for it. She involuntarily let out a raspy yell at the sudden sensation, her own hands clawing at Jeannies in an attempt to relieve the pain. “Silver,” she managed to get out, still aware of the danger, that she wasn’t looking at him, that he was a fucking killer. There was little presence of mind for her in that moment, but what shred of it she had she used to try to shove Jeannie away, choking on Silver’s name again. He’d kill her. He’d kill her too, Jeannie should live, Jeannie deserved to live. @silverfierro​

Silver glanced again at Nikita struggling to stay alive on the ground. Humans were truly animals at their core. Fighting against what was inevitable, all because preserving their own life was of the upmost importance. Each of his victims had been the same in this regard. All except Golden. She hadn’t fought back against him at all. She barely winced when his dagger slashed her skin. She didn’t fight against the blood pouring out of her. She went peacefully, now that he was remembering it more clearly. 

“She’s going to die,” he told Jeanine with a blank face. “I know exactly where I hit her.” Silver waited for his arena partner to turn on him with the blade she was holding, but her attack didn’t yet come. He wasn’t sure she had it in her to be violent. Jeanine was a survivor, that much he knew and feared. But she wasn’t a killer.

@jeaninetwill​

[silverfierro]

nikitathorn​:

jeaninetwill:

Not you Twill, you don’t…

She wouldn’t know what Silver had been about to say, but some part of her could imagine the end of that sentence. You don’t die here. You don’t die yet. But she could also see the future of something else, and she didn’t like it one bit. Because it was her own fault that Nikita stormed forward, right towards Silver. She shouldn’t have. A sword did not a killer make, neither did a sickle. 

“No,” the shout was almost stuck in her throat as she stumbled a step forward and tried to grab for Nikita’s sleeve to hold her back. Not here Not like this. Not yet. This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended. In Jeannie’s mind, this wasn’t supposed to end at all. Nikita would live, like she hadn’t in 120 years. Silver would live too, like he promised not to harm her. This burst a bubble for Jeannie that made her breath hitch in panic as she watched dirt fly from under Silver’s soles, and saw the familiar glint of a knife in the low light of the forest. “No!”

@nikitathorn

.

She swung the sword, but on the backswing of meeting nothing, absolutely nothing, something caught her in the chest with enough force to knock the wind from her lungs. The pain was sharp, immediate, and as the sword fell from her grip and she stumbled backwards, she could feel numb shock washing over her. Her knees buckled, she felt her hands meet cold earth.  I’ve been here, was all she could think. I know this. It wasn’t so different from the first time, though no less agonizing. The pain, the sudden severing of her mind’s control over her body. She was at the mercy of her humanness and the sharp knife sticking between her ribs, no wishes or strategies would remove the dagger or patch her wounds. A gasp for air rattled in her lungs, futile, burning. Not enough, not enough, not enough. She fell back to her elbows, trying again with desperation to catch a breath. She couldn’t focus on Jeannie or Silver anymore, it was only her, her failing body, the pain.

@silverfierro​

Everything was still moving as quickly as it had been when he soared from where he’d been to where he stood now, an out-of-control tornado of a blur where he knew only two things. He had to stay alive and that he had to fight to stay alive. Getting out of the arena was the only way to determine his true purpose. To find who he could be without oppressors pulling the strings.

Silver’s ears rung too late with Jeanine’s plea, though they wondered who exactly the scream was directed at. Did she not want him to kill Nikita? Did she not want Nikita to kill him? Regardless of which, the ancient tribute’s pain-struck body on the ground and Jeanine’s expression told him he’d made the wrong move. No, he’d made the move too soon, yet again. Just like with Apple.

“She attacked me,” he stressed as he turned towards Jeanine, an excuse strangely coming out of his mouth. The girl’s broken breathing filled everything around them except for her lungs and Silver knew the damage was done. There was no bringing her back. “What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

@jeaninetwill​

[silverfierro]

nikitathorn​:

jeaninetwill​:​

Jeannie had jumped to her feet when Nikita did, but there’d been no need for her to grab for her sickle. Its handle had already been safely nestled in her hand while her and Nikita had slowly made their way through the forest. Not because she was afraid of Nikita in any way, and not because she had any plans to kill the girl whatsoever now that they weren’t on the same team anymore. They’d made their own team. 

It’d been the flickering of the suits that’d made her reach for her weapon, the disappearance of the light and the eventual return of a white glow. They’d made their own team. Jeannie would be Nikita’s ally until the very end, because that was what she’d promised. The very end seemed so close now, she could almost feel it on her fingertips. She was convinced she could almost grab for it if she reached out her hand for it. But Jeannie would rather it never came, if it was just her and Nikita at the end. 

It was only bad luck that it was Silver who burst out from between the trees, blades flashing in his hands. All of a sudden, the end seemed a whole lot closer again. Jeannie stepped a little closer to Nikita, shaking her head at the tribute from District One. “The teams never stopped you from leaving me alive before. What’s kicked your butt into gear now?” Oh, it was a mistake, provoking Silver. Especially at a moment like this. But it was hard to fall from their original dynamic, where none of that would’ve meant death before. 

@nikitathorn​

.

Every fiber of her body screamed at her to move. This was wrong, something was wrong, Silver was not here to make small talk. She’d seen what Silver could do, up close, and this was the end. There would be no mercy, and a horrible, sick feeling in the back of her head made her think that, from what she’d seen, he might actually enjoy it. Then Jeannie provoked him. There was a horrible moment where the comment hung in the air, and Nikita was left with a choice: wait for Silver to move, or move first. And Silver would move. This was the end. This was what she’d known she might have to do, right? The price a win came with? And then there was Jeannie– protecting Jeannie was a priority. At first motivated by a promise she’d made to her brother in exchange for support, but now of her own free will. Jeannie was her ally, her teammate, her friend. She wouldn’t wait for Silver to strike her first, she couldn’t take that risk. She made her decision, and from there she shut down all other thought. There was only her and Silver. Her sword was an extension of her. Without warning, she charged Silver, closing the few feet between them with sword raised, then swinging, all aimed for Silver’s neck. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breaths came shallow and staccato, but there was no hesitation in her movements. She was here to bring this through to the end.

@silverfierro​

Silver shook his head back and forth with a twinge of violence that indicated he was on the verge of something, a breakthrough or unhinging entirely. He just wanted it to be over. However, there was a sort of promise he wasn’t ready to break just yet. “Not you Twill, you don’t...” 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Nikita charged at him with the sword he’d been so coy about before. Like he said, everyone had one, which meant he had been mentally preparing for entering into a conflict featuring the medieval weapon. Silver ducked, throwing dirt back with his feet before he leapt up with the larger of his knives aimed for the girl’s stomach. 

@jeaninetwill​

[juno-dearborn]

After the projections lit up the sky, the sign that it was ending came. She’d been waiting on it for days now– from what she’d learned in her short time, Games tended to wrap up within two weeks. Viewers got impatient. Their numbers were dwindling now, they’d want action that would be coming in less frequent bursts.  She wished she was surprised when her suit fizzled from its blue into a bright, neutral white, but in a way the emotion came more as relief. It meant that finally, there would be an end. One way or another. No more long days of dragging anticipation, wondering if it would be kinder to everyone to try to speed the process along. As if she could kill unprovoked. Jeannie remained at her side, Nikita remained at hers. I’m your ally as long as you want me to be. She worried what an end that was just the two of them might look like, but they didn’t discuss it any further. Perhaps they both hoped or expected interference before then.  They were near the mountain, towering over them not half a mile away, the horizon beginning to brighten in promise of dawn. They’d paused to rest their legs, but how could they sleep? The end was close. Nikita felt it. She wondered if Jeannie felt it too. 

Something rustled behind them. Nikita snatched up her sword and pushed herself to her feet, eyes darting wildly through the treeline for sign of another tribute or animal, tensed to fight. @silverfierro​ @jeaninetwill​

[silverfierro]

Silver wielded both of his weapons in either hand as his bright white uniform blurred through the trees in a run. To anyone watching, it must have looked like he was running with purpose towards a destination in mind. In reality, he didn’t know what to do exactly. Relentlessly fighting anyone he came into contact with was a stupid idea, potentially wasting energy killing someone weak when a greater opponent awaited him down the line. He thought it more ideal for the others to kill each other off while he built up as much anticipation as possible. Anticipation didn’t make him nervous. Anticipation fed his soul.

Nikita’s posture wasn’t unlike how it had been that day in the training room. She was more experienced by now, he was certain of it, but how much so wouldn’t be revealed until they fought. Silver’s heartbeat pounded in his chest, his actions no longer matching the rate at which it pumped blood through him. Jeanine was here too. The calculations as to whether he was outmatched ran in his head instantly. The uncertainty of whether he would need to fight at all sat unpleasantly in his stomach. 

“No more fucking teams,” he breathed at them both, twirling the dagger and survival knife in his fingers. 

@jeaninetwill​

[silverfierro]

Pariah // Self Para

There was once a time, not all that long ago, when Silver Fierro wasn’t a household name for brutally murdering his older sister on a nationally televised competition. Actually, for most of his life, Silver was a pariah in only one small part on Panem. District 1, to be specific. District 1, the literal crown jewel of the country, where pressure from abiding to the rules made you a diamond and any resistance to it made you the rough. 

People tried not to stare. People always whispered. People would avoid mentioning Aurelian and Tiara’s other child by any means possible. But, why? 

It could’ve been for a number of reasons if you’ve followed his story long enough. For some of you that’s been awhile and for others not so long, but the effects have been the same, we’re both sure. As he sat against a tree in the woods, bracing himself for the end of the games that he knew was coming in his bones, the boy reminisced on that life. The life that he played no part in but faced the consequences of. 

Was it his grand entrance into the scorn of the pubic eye? The children and puppy he’d tormented certainly hadn’t asked for it, they were merely sidewalk crossers in the wrong place at the wrong time when an enraged “car” flew off the road after staying in between the lanes for so long. Everyone knew about that incident. It had gotten him kicked out of school for over a month while peacekeepers investigated. 

Then there was his hobbies to consider. We all avoided the kid in our classes obsessed with wearing all black clothing or who claimed to see demons or the one who seemed unhinged in a silent, but thunderous way. Silver was innocent in all of the previously mentioned, but he was not without ridicule. Dissection of stray animals, throwing knife practice in his backyard instead of the academy, and watching the Games as his comfort show. Maybe the neighbors would’ve waved if he partook in something simpler like painting or mowing the yard. 

His seclusion ranked high as well. Visitors to the Fierro household didn’t need fret. Silver lived in his “casita” out back most of the time. He only came inside to shower and steal meals from the table. 

“What does he do all day in there? Is that unhealthy? Don’t you ever check on him?” These were the questions Silver guessed his parent’s guests would ask. He got a kick out of imagining his parents stammering to try and come up with an answer. What exactly would they say? They didn’t know the answer to the first one. They didn’t care about the second. They would be shamed if they truthfully answered the third. 

His sweat was making him stick to the bark of the tree, but he was positioned in such a way that nobody could sneak up on him. The forcefield edge was a mere ten feet away, the same spot Jeanine had shown him earlier in the day. Nobody could come from behind to ambush him. He couldn’t be attacked without being able to put up a fight in return. It seemed, all of his life, that he’d been fighting. He pondered for just a moment to wonder if the battle would ever stop.

It made sense that everyone in the luxury district would avoid him for breaking a dog’s legs and tossing it back at it’s owners. Silver could rationalize that much and he could respect it to. After all, the attention had always been his goal. People were whispering about him, feeding the rumor mill about him, and etching him into the part of their brains that understood fear. There, he wouldn’t be forgotten.

But it didn’t line up.

“Oh that’s right! I forgot that you had another one after our princess!”

“You have...two children? I didn’t realize that, I’m so sorry!”

“Silver? Well, that’s a name for sure.”

Silver thought about how often it seemed he wasn’t around when his parents and Golden took pictures. He thought about how he would be nicely asked to stay in his room when his mother’s friends came by for brunch. He scoffed as he remembered the time his grandparents neglected to get him anything for Christmas. A little “mistake” on their end. He was always being forgotten. He was always being excluded. He was always second best.

The last thing Silver elected to remember from the memories shoveled into him from the corpse rotting beneath the dirt was the fireplace in the living room of his home. More notably, the “family” portrait that sat atop it. The portrait that the entire family had posed for hours to get complete. Everyone had spiffy outfits and had their makeup down by one of the best retired stylists in the district. The boy was elated about the idea, all smiles whenever it would be talked about. Dinner the night before tasted funny though, funny enough to make him turn-in to bed early. The next morning, he was throwing up his life and could barely move away from the toilet in the bathroom he and his sister shared. The portrait could not be so easily rescheduled and everything was already prepared. The portrait of the happy family. A father, his wife, and the child they loved.

Silver wasn’t innocent. He tortured, teased, betrayed, and murdered. He wasn’t innocent.

But he wasn’t responsible. Not entirely. He was only a monster because he had no other choice but to become what they made him to be. He became a monster to get the eyes that he so desperately sought on him. He continued to be a monster because it granted him a place of power in a world that had denied him any. He was a monster because that was the only way he would crawl his way from the ditches life left him to rot in. Being a monster got him to where he stood now. Alive again and with limitless trajectory. 

Two more faces displayed in the sky, but he barely noticed as he stared down at the light on his suit. The blue was gone. In its place, white. White, pure and blank. 

He no longer had to play for anyone’s team he didn’t ask to be a part of, nor did he have to play by anyone else’s rules. Not his family’s team, not the red team, and not the blue team. In this game, there was no unfair disadvantage that placed him behind anyone. 

Silver Fierro was a monster, a pariah, and an all-star, but all because of what others had chosen for him.

What would he become today, when he is finally able to decide for himself? 

[silverfierro]

appleasant​:

First moment, she didn’t understand his words, she didn’t understand his gesture. The knife sinking in her neck hurt like nothing experienced before. It was childbirth, without the merit. In her first arena, she succumbed into death unknowingly. Now, the pain was so bright and so acute, and it didn’t yet do anything but hurt. Why wasn’t she dead? Her eyes, by now of doe-ish betrayal, pierced Silver. “What did you do to me?” was all she could breathe out in a hoarse voice. She lied on the ground, having no more perspective of the Ferris wheel. It was fine. She was going to embark on another ride soon.

Then, unexpectedly, the parachute’s beeping announced its entrance. Apple looked up at the gadget that fell masterfully by her feet. “Give that to me,” she hissed, trying to make herself heard. Her voice, once a summer carnival, was in ruins. She, like this arena, went bad in a forgotten moment. Dying felt awful. It hurt, and it scared her. Where did clones go in the afterlife? More than ever, Apple didn’t want to die.

Two questions were running a race through his mind on repeat. Why didn’t you stab her harder? Why didn’t you stab her again? He even stood above her with all the power in the world, something that Silver Fierro was always foaming at that mouth to be in possession of, and he was frozen. He didn’t want to wage war with his emotions, that wasn’t part of who he was. Emotions kept people from advancing and they held people hostage. Silver wanted no part in playing their game. Yet, instead of bringing Apple’s life to an end, he obliged her request as though he was required to. 

He tossed the gift towards her limp body and stared. Stared with eyes that meant to set her ablaze or make her evaporate from here or cause her to shrivel up into nothingness. Jeanine’s questioning popped into his mind. 

“There has to be more than that. Not everything’s about killing. Can’t you imagine anything, I don’t know, bigger than that? Something more?”

Silver knew more than just killing, but there was nothing else in his life that rivaled the relief it brought it. Every kill ever. Nash, Reager, Golden, Zea, Bellona, and the two girls from the woods. Each kill released a piece of his anguished soul and made him feel as though he had reclaimed something taken from him. But not this one, not yet. He grew restless waiting for it. 

[silverfierro]

appleasant​:

“I see you’re the one being pessimistic this time. I had a good day, actually. Of self discovery. You should try it. It really brings things into perspective,” Apple spoke, more excited to be illuminated than genuinely believing she was changed for the better. Her thoughts didn’t have the power to change a person, not even herself. If anything, it made her a little bored. But her heart – her heart was lighter.

“What’s with the change of color?” she then inquired, the sheep checking the wolf’s teeth for cavities, without realizing her head is too close to his mouth. It was something she wasn’t quite getting.

“Perspective, huh?” he muttered to her, his voice barely loud enough to make vibrations. What lingered in the sweat that protruded from his palms to make the survival knife slip from secure? Hesitance? It was out of place, didn’t belong here at all. Silver listened to her optimism and every word met his exterior wall like bullets against concrete. Ricocheting off without so much as a dent. The attack on him would stop once his tanks fired over the walls and down onto the enemy. That was his perspective, though he knew it certainly wasn’t hers. 

“We’re not on the same team anymore, Apple. And rules are rules.” In the second between the sentence and stab, his thumb pressed against her neck as his knife pierced her unchanged uniform and mixed natural red with unnatural. He wouldn’t push it. Her fragile body would succumb soon enough. Silver didn’t even leave the knife in the wound for more than five seconds before reclaiming it. The hesitance was still on him. Why now when it was too late to change his mind?

[silverfierro]

jeaninetwill​:

Jeannie nodded slowly, mind flickering briefly to the three new knives in her backpack. She’d grabbed those and made a run for it as well. There was nothing else for her there in that moment. “What did you think of the teams changing? It seems, no matter how the Gamemakers shift things, we’ll never end up on the same one,” she joked. 

“You looked better in blue and I looked better in red,” he said honestly, still irrationally angry at whoever made the decision to have him “switch teams.” Based on what he’d seen already, he was still grouped up with losers. It seemed he was destined to be the star of whatever team he was on. All in all, it worked in his favor and he wouldn’t complain too much. “Aren’t we though? Or have we been traitors this whole time for nothing?” 

[silverfierro]

jeaninetwill​:

Jeannie scoffed, though it was more in amusement than with malice. “It’s like an eye for an eye, Fierro. You haven’t killed me yet so I’ll try and refrain too.” In truth, she had no desire to kill him, even though she probably should have. Jeannie didn’t feel unsafe around him. Yet. It was foolish in a place like the Arena, but they weren’t quite at the end yet. “So, you’re going too?”

“I won’t kill you yet,” he told her in a tone that rested somewhere between utterly serious and playful teasing. He had no desire to kill him, even though he definitely should. “I have everything I need. I’m armed, I have armor, and I’m me. I’m only going to see who is left to deal with.”

[silverfierro]

tommy-tankangine​:

“Painkillers would be nice” Tommy agreed, especially for his leg, but mostly because he missed getting a little high, and with the amount of food in his body at the moment, it wouldn’t take much. “Caboose?”

“I got into a fight with a wolf too” he grinned, delighted to be able to brag about it. “I won though, obviously” he shrugged, pretending to be all cool about it, but then had to limp a bit as they walked.

“Yah, obviously,” he rolled his eyes as he pinched Tommy’s butt to answer the question about the nickname and to remind the boy of his place, that being beneath him. “Winners always walk out of their battles torn in half and bleeding to death. I could always put you out of your misery.” Silver was mostly joking, but he flashed his knives to gauge the other boy’s reaction. 

[silverfierro]

A silver parachute drifts slowly to the ground. A small container is attached with a note from Clementine Bellerose. Inside is a bandaid. The note reads: “Mother thinks you'll win. -C.B."

Silver pulled out the bandaid that would do nothing to help any of the injuries he sustained and stared at it as though he could make it disintegrate with his scowl alone. As he pocketed it, he read the name again and could make nothing of it aside from the connection this stranger had to his most recent ally turned victim.

"Is everyone naming their fucking kid after food now? Is that a thing?"

[silverfierro]

A silver parachute drifts slowly to the ground. A medium-sized container is attached with no note. Inside is a medium meal.

.

[silverfierro]

A silver parachute drifts slowly to the ground. A large container is attached with a note from Persephone Leon. Inside is full body armor and a granola bar. The note reads: “Nearly there. Kill some more. -P.L."

.

[rheassurance]

silverfierro​:​

He disliked his new branding and the way the blue light emitted from him. Silver disliked change, especially that kind that came without so much as asking for his opinion first. He had new teammates and new rules by which to play by. He wanted the quell to end and he wanted to be crowned, but he could sense that the Gamemakers weren’t out of ammunition yet. Every quell ended in some memorable, out-of-this-world way. The team switch wasn’t it yet. It hadn’t been grand enough. 

The dagger had truly become an extension of himself. More hours had been spent clutching it than had passed with it in his pocket. A result of the combining desire to appear savage and the lurking paranoia that somehow would snatch it and turn his own weapon against him. Like a compass, it pointed in the direction that he walked in. This time its tip had led him back to where he had gone in the first hours of the quell and back to the first person he’d elected to call an ally, if only temporarily. 

Because their colors were now different from each other, Silver just stared into her eyes from a distance, tilting his head awaiting something from her. Her red felt familiar, but he was now constantly reminded of how different it was each time he gazed down at what shone through the armor he wore. 

Apple waved Silver’s way. It unsettled her slightly that he was now wearing a different color, but she couldn’t explain it and didn’t want to. Since her uniform never changed, there was nothing pointing towards the reconfiguration of teams. Her best guess was that he undressed someone else and claimed their uniform as part of some witty strategy she didn’t see the point of. It didn’t matter. The sight of Silver wasn’t reeking of immediate danger. 

“Silver, my friend!” It was already a catchphrase. “Nice color. What’s up? Who did you steal it from?” Apple tried to act nonchalant, but the suit, just like the one Margot was wearing when she killed her, just meant that Silver had killed another person. It was troubling in a way, even though she was mostly concerned only about her own safety. “I guess your soul isn’t very pure now, is it?”

[silverfierro]

He waved back, the most unusual thing about his performance yet. In a post-Games candid interview set in both blue and red lighting with Calix Crystal, Silver might reminisce and remember Apple for better instead of for worse. She wasn’t more than a shield, but he’d had lesser allies. She knew secrets about him that she hadn’t spilled. She hadn’t taken advantage of his weakness after the mist, and he hadn’t felt inclined to either. However, this was all when she was red. Her usefulness had run dry now they represented different teams.

“It’s mine,” he told her plainly. It was better he killed her than someone else, or the wolves or something worse. “My soul hasn’t ever been pure. This time or last time.”

[silverfierro]

tommy-tankangine​:

Tommy raised a brow. He knew Silver was strong, and a lot less cowardly then himself, but fighting off a pack of wolves was ambitious, even for him.

He looked around when the announcement commenced, wondering what was next. This was what he loved, how nothing could be expected, and he could imagine the excitement that would have ran through his home if he’d been back there watching.

“I never run out of steam, I can show you later”

He smirked. “I’ll go if you’re going?” Tommy said then, pulling himself up, his leg still twinging slightly in pain.

“I’m going,” he made clear. “I’ve got enough weapons to last me until the end, but I need some more fucking painkillers.” Silver grabbed his rib on cue, the pain never ceasing and only ever dull at best. He knew from watching countless Games that a feast was an invitation to death. No feast ever went without someone dying in exchange for the Capitol’s generosity. He wouldn’t pay the fee, but he needed supplies to make it another few days. 

Silver glanced at the boy’s injury and grimaced at the extent of it. “You’re charging into battle looking like you lost the last one, caboose. What the hell happened?”