Once upon a time, the Rebellion rose against Capitol in a fairy-tale act of bravery. With swift timing and justice in mind, the Capitol put an end to the tyranny. Now, we bring you a Quarter Quell, to remind all of you, that the Capitol is in control. The Arena will remind you that we have the power, we have the strength, we have control. Only one of you will live, the rest will fade away. One will live in the history books, the others will be nobodies. This is your fate, this is THGYear4.
Meg, Clara, and Veronica have managed to survive all the other Tributes, the traps, and mutts of the Arena. Now, it's just the three of them. The following are the results, in order, of how the formula showed who won and who died. I had to actually go back and score all the other pieces once more, average them, just to find the proper Victor, I am pleased to announce that the Victor of THGYear4 is...
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Final Situation
Clara, District 1
The slowly rising sun painted the horizon with pastel pinks, oranges and blues, but the tranquility of the fourth sunrise of the Games was violently interrupted. With a blinding flash and a concussive blast like a thousand bursting weather balloons, the Cornucopia exploded. Shards of golden metal ricocheted off of the charred feast table, some flying over twenty feet, showering there arena's last alliance in gleaming metal shrapnel.
Clara heard the rumbling of explosives before the blast, raising her bandaged arm to cover her face. A ling sliver of metal lodged in the cotton, penetrating her skin but not her bone, thanks to the covering. Veronica seemed unaffected by the shower of projectiles, as her ally had been standing between her and the explosion, absorbing the extent of the damage with gritted teeth.
Both girls' ears hummed loudly in the aftermath, but despite that, very little in the way of serious injuries had been inflicted. Clara's bare legs were shredded by flying chunks of the once-magnificent Cornucopia, but for the most part, her dress had absorbed the damage. As she knelt to pluck a shimmering splinter from her shin, her hearing seemed to abruptly return as the implant inside of her ear sparked to life.
"Just like the Cornucopia gave you life, was the source of first blood, and gave you another chance to survive, so I am giving you the opportunity to make it out alive. You now must fight the other two tributes. With only two people in the way, surely 'victor' isn't such a far off title. You will meet at the wreckage of the Training Center. If you refuse to go, your death is on your own hands."
With the culmination of the message, all noise returned to the persistent, humming static that filled her head. The girl from District One groaned, rubbing her face with her hands, blood from many tiny cuts smearing on her flesh.
Clara turned to Veronica, who wore the same pained and disoriented expression that she did. Her ally's lips seemed to be moving, but Clara could barely pick out what she was trying to say, despite her friend's best attempts to add expressive motions to her vocabulary.
"We… should…" she paused to make a motion to suggest drinking. "Drink… all… of… the… water."
The girl from District One nodded, taking a long drink from the jug that the two had found on plate two and passing it to her ally. This persisted until there was only a little water, thickened with honey, swishing at the bottom. The two had already eaten their rolls.
Clara motioned to the pile of recently obtained weapons, and Veronica nodded agreement; decisions had to be made as to who would get what. The two walked over to the small knife, empty blowgun, and billhook. Clara picked up Ryan's knife, using it to dig the large shard of golden metal from her arm and then sheathing the blade in the skirt of her grey dress.
With a shrug, Veronica took the billhook and collapsed it, stuffing it into her pocket for later use.
Neither girl really wanted the blow gun. It was a cumbersome weapon, unbladed, heavy, and almost entirely useless, as demonstrated by the near-harmless puncture wounds that both Clara and Veronica had sustained in confrontations with Nesanne, the last owner of a blowgun. After a series of increasingly annoyed gestures, Clara snapped it in half. She gathered her other supplies, the jacket wrapped around the vivid green darts. She hadn't yet mentioned them to Veronica, hoping she wouldn't need to.
Once all was attended to, they walked away from the scattered gold of the Cornucopia, neither girl looking back; it would be the last time they saw the remnants of the golden horn. Neither would miss it much. The atmosphere of the place was heavy with ash and blood.
Clara's ears still buzzed, but the high-pitched whine had almost entirely abated.
"Whisp?" she said experimentally, a little too loud.
"I can sort of hear you," Veronica replied.
"I'm okay with you killing me," Clara said, her tone light and conversational.
"…what do you mean by that?"
"Look, I just want to make this easier for you. You don't know much about anatomy, right?"
Veronica tilted her head, confused. "Pretty much nothing."
"Put your hand on my shoulder. Find the first rib, a bit down- yes, that. Now count three ribs down."
The girl from District Seven did as her ally asked, her hand resting on the fabric of Clara's dress. "Now what?"
"That's my heart. Stab me there, and it's over quickly."
The collapsible billhook in Veronica's pocket felt suddenly very heavy. She shrank back, unwilling to confront her thoughts on the matter. "And you're telling me this because..?"
Clara shot her a serious look. "I want it to hurt you as little as possible. If it happens. If you win… I don't want to hurt you the way Nesanne did."
"Killing you would hurt me no matter how easily it went, Clara."
"I'll take that under consideration."
They walked in silence, the blanket of static that filled their heads creating an eerie sort of atmosphere after the night's carnage. The streets were quiet and unfamiliar, but they had a kind of order to them that Clara understood. This particular boulevard was home to several vaguely official-looking, hardy old buildings. It made sense to her that the Training Center should be somewhere nearby.
"Ah, Whisp-y, do you hear something?"
Behind the rushing noise that filled her head was an unfamiliar rumble. It felt as though the ground itself was shaking beneath her.
"Yes, I thi- fuck!"
Seemingly from nowhere, two vaguely equine shapes appeared from the direction of the Cornucopia. The feeling of fracturing pressure from beneath the pavement, the groaning of the asphalt- it was the street being torn down the center in a long, vertical path. The mutts had been released from under ground.
The smaller of the two veered towards Veronica, who had been knocked to the ground by the force from beneath the arena. Clara made as if to help her up, but the larger mutt increased it's speed, marking a direct course that would intercept her before she could reach her ally.
"Go! I can take this one!" Veronica shouted.
Clara whirled to face the larger of the mutts. The majority of the body was unquestionably equine; hooves that shone a deep brown, glossy chestnut forelocks, delicate but muscular appendages. However, where the head ought to stem from a graceful neck, the mutt's torso extended into something recognizably human, blurring the line between hominid and equid. The odd juxtaposition of human and horse was only made more eerie but the mutt's face; this was Ryan, her district partner. While his features were strikingly familiar and, obviously, intentionally so, his eyes had an odd glassy quality.
"Oh, hell…" Her ally's horror-stricken voice echoed from across the wide street. "Nesanne…"
For her part, Clara stared down the cold-eyed facsimile of her former district partner, rolling her head once, leaving her sais sheathed in favor of the knife she had taken from Ryan's corpse the previous night. The irony of the moment made her laugh aloud.
"You again," she said, her voice sing-song and utterly unconcerned. "You always were a persistent one."
The centaur mutt reared back, sharp, shining hooves flashing in the light from the rising sun. Clara dodged back, avoiding a chasm in the pavement that had spread from the site where the mutts had been introduced. She could see a pale green tube, roughly six feet in diameter based on the curvature she could observe in between evading the mutt's clashing hooves. Several bolts had come loose, and water was spraying from a tiny crack next to a line of bolts holding the entire thing together.
She dropped into a crouch, edging further from the mutt. It stopped abruptly, pawing the ground with one hoof.
Abruptly, Clara broke from her defensive stance into a roll, burying the knife in the creature's unshod hoof, effortlessly cleaving deep into the appendage, skewering two major bones.
The mutt reared back again, but she dodged the pounding hooves, throwing herself into the split in the street. Focusing on the crack that shot water several yards into the air, she drove the knife into the weak point. It did very little damage, and her sais weren't terribly useful, either.
Meanwhile, the mutt seemed to have caught on to her location, limping awkwardly to where she crouched on it's three good legs, fourth dripping blood.
"Whisp!" She yelled urgently. "Axe?"
Her ally was not faring quite as well against the centaur mutt, pushing it back with her axe but unsure of what to do beyond staving it off.
"You have a plan?"
"In here, this cleft bit. I need you to break the water main. A few good hits to the weakened part ought to do it. I'll hold them off."
"I trust you," Veronica said. The complete lack of hesitation made Clara freeze momentarily, looking up curiously to gauge her ally's expression.
"You wha-?"
"I trust you, okay? Now what was that about holding them off?"
With a curt nod, Clara resheathed the small knife in her dress, whipping her sais into her hands and throwing herself back onto level ground, fending off the smaller centaur as Veronica switched places with her, raising the axe expertly and bringing it down on the already weakened water main with a resounding crack.
Lukewarm water geysered from the newly enlarged gash, rushing off at an angle, some measure of it bruising Clara's neck with the force. There was a great deal of water in a comparatively small vessel beneath the arena. While the sudden influx startled the smaller centaur back several paces, the larger of the two was growing progressively bolder despite it's wounded leg. Before the odd mutation could seriously injure her ally with it's flailing hooves, Clara bounded over the chasm in the road, dodging rib-cracking kicks to bury one sai deep in the mutt's chest, the other to the side of the humanoid torso.
She stumbled on a slick, loose paving stone as the mutt reared again. Seconds from having her chest crushed, a resounding noise like a bursting dam directly preceded a blast of water from behind her.
Clara took her sais into her hands, clenching Ryan's knife between her teeth and bracing herself for the inevitable impact. Too late, she realized that Veronica had no good way to secure her axe, let alone simultaneously hold the weapon and endure the crushing pressure of twelve feet of water.
Before she could shout a word of warning, the wave overtook them, plunging Clara's field of vision into a cloudy brown turmoil.
Her feet were washed abruptly out from under her, and Clara was all but smashed against the pavement. Her preparation was her saving grace; instead of the base of her skull, her elbow was nearly crushed by the brutal combination of her weight and the water's. The fast-moving current sent her rapidly in the direction they had been walking, a few feet beneath the surface, just close enough to see light. It was clear, but, she observed, had the same high iron content as the water she and Veronica had taken from the pipes on the first day.
Sais in hand, she clumsily propelled herself towards the surface. Clara was no master at swimming, and could only vaguely remember a few strokes; it was, nonetheless, enough to get her head out of the water.
From around the knife in her teeth, she gulped air like a man dying of dehydration would swallow a cool beverage. In her haste to balance out her oxygen and keep her face above the waterline, it took her a moment to realize that her ally was still under. Another rapid breath, and she was below the surface once again. It was slightly reddish-brown, but clear for the most part. She let herself go slack, following the current as it would propel a limp form. Five feet beneath the surface, she hit a body, this one not a mutt. In fact, the centaur mutations seemed to have entirely disappeared, their purpose fulfilled.
Motionless, strands of hair suspended around her face like a sentient form, Veronica still clutched the axe, bobbing with the current under eight feet of water. A trickle of fine bubbles escaped her slightly opened mouth, and the water close to her left parietal was a more concentrated reddish color than the rest of the deluge.
Clara grabbed her ally by the back of her shirt, slowly pulling her upwards as the axe slipped out of the girl's hands. Biting back an exasperated huff, she brought the axehead up to rest on her shoulder, then thrashed her way back to the watery light that shone through the roiling flood around them, bringing Veronica with her.
As she neared the surface once again, the water began to subside. Clara lifted Veronica and her axe free of the tumultuous flood, then checked for a pulse. Her ally's heart was still beating, but weakly. Clara watched passively for a second as Veronica's eyes fluttered open. She coughed up a mouthful of water, then coughed again, hair clinging to her face in damp tendrils.
"You could have told me you couldn't swim, Whisp."
Both girls sat, soaking wet and shivering in the morning breeze. To Clara, the signal couldn't have been clearer. It was time to get moving, or the next catastrophe would result in at least one fatality.
"Are you ready to go?" she asked her ally, putting her arm around Veronica in a brief hug.
"I'm a bit waterlogged, but I'll be fine."
Veronica coughed several times as she labored to find her feet, but she stood, though in a wobbly fashion, on her own. "I can carry my axe," she suggested, after walking a few yards. "Really, I'm just a bit dizzy from hitting my head. Nothing major."
"You're likely concussed. If not from the explosion, from this," Clara observed.
"I'll survive."
The girl from District One smiled half heartedly, not voicing her immediate reaction; only one of them would be surviving the next few hours.
-break-
From where the sudden flooding had brought them, the Training Center was not far by any measure. The building had been constructed solidly, and despite definite charring and several chunks torn from the walls, it was still standing, however shakily.
"Let me go in first. Be prepared for an attack, just wait here," Clara announced authoritatively.
She left Veronica near the door, hidden by a pile of rubble and standing in six inches of water. The heavy doors to the Center swung open slowly. Inside, it was pitch black. The Center's only source of light was the soft dawn sunrise streaming in through the cracks in the heavily warped walls. Clara's vision adjusted slowly to the near-pitch darkness.
As she began to see properly, she caught a glimpse of something moving, breaking one of the spots of light, and instinctively hit the ground. An iron weight swung two feet above her head, smashing into the crumbling concrete wall behind her. She was dusted liberally with fragments and rock dust, but her sais were drawn and her attacker had lost the element of surprise. Where the wall had shattered, light was pouring through.
It was Meg.
Clara cursed quietly, assuming a defensive posture. In one hand, Meg swung the heavy iron ball suspended on a chain; in the other, she held a wickedly sharp rice sickle. Her grip was not expert, and her stance was weak, but her weapon was definitely impressive, and she had at the very least some idea of how to use it, as evidenced by the destroyed wall.
"Meg!" Clara chirped, her tone at odds with her stony composure.
"Are you the only one here?" Meg demanded, swinging the weight in a slow circle.
"Yes, I am." The lie slid out easily, like oil on her tongue.
"Then we'd best get started."
She swung the iron ball at Clara's head, simultaneously aiming the rice sickle at her chest. Pushed up against the wall, she barely managed to dodge both attacks, ducking under the weight and catching the sickle with one sai. While her opponent was off-balance, she aimed a solid kick at Meg's chest, pushing her backwards and gaining some ground for herself.
Before Meg had time to adjust, she attacked with both sais, aiming at the Nine girl's abdomen. Meg brushed both strikes away with the rice sickle, nearly disarming Clara but for her iron grip on the two daggers.
"That's a lovely weapon," Clara observed, stepping carefully out of range.
"I think the blade would look better in red, don't you agree?"
"Ahaha, wonderful. I've missed this! You know, I was half-worried that all this time with Whisp was turning me soft…"
"What the hell is a whisp?"
Meg resumed swinging the weight, building momentum for another strike. Clara watched her carefully, reading the Nine girl's posture and anticipating her next movement, steeling herself to absorb a potential erratic abdominal blow.
"Never you mind. Take your best shot, Meg; you'll find I'm very difficult to kill."
The weight swung forward again, missing Clara's nose by a hair's breadth as she ducked back to avoid the simultaneous blow from Meg's rice sickle
They squared off again, Clara rolling beneath the weight's circular orbit and skewering Meg's foot with a solid jab. Meg cried out and swung the weight hard; it's slow revolutions turned hurried and it connected hard with Clara's jaw, splintering her jaw and stunning her momentarily. She grimaced, taking a few shaky steps back and colliding with a gel dummy- her own. It was enough to distract even Meg; side-by side, the resemblance, though certainly intentional, was disturbing. They were nearly identical, save for dummy-Clara's odd translucence and dead eyes.
Her momentary lapse was what Clara had been waiting for; she threw herself forward, sais at the ready.
"Clara? Are you… what's going on?"
The massive doors swung open, flooding the room with sunlight. Clara froze for a second, looking from her ally to Meg and back again.
Meg didn't hesitate, spinning the weight once and tossing it, from three feet away, at Clara's neck. The chain looped once around her; before the girl from District One had a chance to free herself, Meg dragged her forward, off-balance, and slammed the four-inch blade of the rice sickle into her chest.
As the weight loosened, Clara went slack, dropping first to her knees, then to the ground, rice sickle protruding from her breast, lodged firmly in one of her ribs.
"Clara! No, Clara!"
Veronica sprinted from the opposite end of the room to where her ally lay, bleeding out on the floor; first sluggishly, then, with each passing breath, more and more red painted her damp grey dress. The kusari-gama was still wedged in her chest. Veronica looked up at Meg, whose eyes were wide with some unspoken emotion.
"She doesn't have long," Veronica said quietly, placing herself between Meg and her ally. "If you've killed her, she might as well die knowing she's been properly avenged."
"What's to avenge? She's a killer. She would murder either of us in a second. People like her aren't worth avenging."
"Maybe she's never saved your life personally, but without her I'd never have gotten so far. Considering just how fucked up she is, I don't think she could have turned out better. Clara's my ally, and she's my friend. I'm not going to leave her."
"You trust her?"
"…yes."
"How many people has she killed, Veronica?"
"Fewer than me. Fewer than you. How many of your kills have been justified, Meg?"
The girl from District Nine paused a second, meeting Veronica's furious stare with a gratingly calm expression. She shrugged, though her casual reaction seemed forced. More had happened than she was letting on.
"Your funeral, dear."
Meg whipped a dagger from her belt; Veronica brought the billhook from her pocket, letting her axe fall to the floor with an immense, echoing din.
"Whenever you're ready, Meg," Veronica growled.
Neither was experienced with the weapon they held, but all the same, both girls had a very specific idea of what they wanted to happen. Meg moved in, slashing at Veronica's jacket hard enough to tear the top layer of fabric. The girl from District Seven swung parallel to Meg's ribs; the force of the attack was insufficient to penetrate deeper than the dermal layer. Meg stumbled back on the foot Clara had stabbed, an opening Veronica recognized and took; she followed with a strike at Meg's knife arm, breathing heavily with exertion.
Meg jerked back and continued on the offensive, slashing wildly at Veronica, who was forced closer and closer to where Clara had fallen. The girl from District Seven stepped back again, fully expecting to trip on a corpse; her foot lost purchase on the ground in a slick bloodstain, but, as she noted from where she fell, Clara was gone.
"Final two, you and me?" Meg asked kindly, playing with her dagger as she stooped over the fallen girl. "I wouldn't have called it, but then again-"
She was cut off abruptly by Veronica's axe, which seemed to sprout from her temple. Dark blood spilled from her nose, and Meg's dagger dropped harmlessly from her hand.
"Not… final two. Told you… ahaha, should have listened, Meg. Told you... I'm quite difficult to kill…"
A cannon sounded as Meg hit the ground, limp.
-break-
Veronica stared in confusion. Clara was soaked red with her own blood; she had removed the wadded-up fabric from her arm and used it to staunch the blood pouring from the wound inflicted by Meg's kusari-gama, though the effect as only superficial.
"Can you stand, Whisp-y?"
Unsteadily, Veronica found her feet, though the odd combination of fear and relief clouded her thoughts. Again. She'd been saved again. It seemed that every time there was a distinct threat posed, Clara was there to take the hit. How the hell was she supposed to kill the girl without whom she would be dead five times over?
"I did it, Whisp. I kept us… you… I kept you safe. I held up my part. I promised… I'd be with you until the end. This is the end."
Clara staggered briefly, just as haphazard in her movements as Veronica. Both girls were showing signs of succumbing to the serious wounds they had received; Clara was quite literally bleeding to death, Veronica confused, battered, and concussed.
"No… Clara, it's been four days. It's can't just be over! They can't just make it end like this!" her voice took on a frantic timbre, faced with a choice between her own life and that of her ally.
"We could fight now… you're at an advantage, I'm bleeding fairly heavily. Or… well, this'll kill me within the hour. You could run."
"No. It ends here. Whatever happens, I'm sorry. And thankful. So thankful, Clara. You're the last person I want to fight, and not just because you're terrifying. I really… I owe you." Veronica bit her lip. "I understand that this has to happen. I just don't want it to. But the alternative is worse, for you. I know you. I know how much it would hurt you to die without a fight."
"It's getting a bit difficult to stand. I don't mean to cut in on your time… but you were right, I don't have terribly long to live. So we fight, or I die. That's the final decision. And I'm giving it to you."
"Let's do this, Clara. I need to try… just to know if things would have gone differently, that first day, if I'd tried to fight you." Veronica averted her eyes, not wanting to see Clara's reaction.
To her surprise, her ally handed her the axe, blade still wet with Meg's blood, and offered her arm. She pulled Veronica into a standing position, supporting her slowly towards the door to the Training Center, still hanging open where the District Seven girl had thrown it aside. They emerged into the warm, rosy glow of the rising sun, leaving Meg where she had fallen.
"I understand. And I'll do anything to make this easier for you. I'm dying anyway, Whisp. Are you ready?"
Veronica nodded silently, wiping her axe on her shirt.
"Don't hold back, Clara. I want a real fight. To the death. If you deserve to win, I want it to be you. Okay?"
By way of reply, the girl from District One lunged forward, sais at the ready. Veronica blocked both thrusts with the axe, trying to imagine that the girl she was fighting was anyone other than Clara. It was more difficult than she had anticipated; not only was she fighting a fatally wounded girl, but it was someone she knew…
Clara parried Veronica's next strike easily, letting the axe glance of the prongs of her sais. She was not feeling the same compunctions as her ally, despite what they'd done together. Fighting friends was something she had long since gotten used to. The searing pain in her right breast, where the rice sickle had been embedded, threw her every action slightly out of balance- torn muscles, a badly damaged if not broken rib. And all the blood. She was slick with blood, her makeshift dressing soaked a deep crimson.
Her eyes stung with lack of sleep, and every part of her felt as though lead weights were hanging from her clothing. Every quick motion took a serious, concentrated effort that she had not had to attempt since childhood, learning the fundamentals of proper knife fighting.
She aimed another flurry of nonlethal blows at her ally's abdomen, the majority of which were deflected by Veronica's axe; she connected twice with the girl's lower ribs. Veronica took a step back, the wind knocked from her lungs. She watched Clara's face, a sort of grimly solemn expression, so different from the way she usually looked at Veronica.
The girl from District Seven felt panic welling up in her chest. Clara had meant what she said, about this being a fight to the death. So far, the girl from District One had shown every indication of intending for the loser to be her.
"Clara… Clara, please.." Veronica gasped. "I don't want to make you do this. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
Clara sheathed both of her sais, walking towards her ally with arms outstretched. She flinched as Veronica embraced her, head on her injured chest.
"What's wrong? What can I do?"
"I… I'm sorry. This is what you want, right? A real fight?"
Strands of golden hair stuck to Clara's flushed face, still damp from her impromptu swim earlier. She nodded slowly, watching her ally's expression carefully.
"I'm sorry. It's just so difficult to think of you as an enemy. We can start again… please, don't hold back..."
Clara nodded again, drawing her sais. Veronica raised her axe in what would have been a killing blow. Clara closed her eyes, raising the twin daggers as the axe bore down on her. She caught it effortlessly, twisting the sais and wrenching the axe from Veronica's hands. It hit the floor with a clatter. She opened her eyes to see the same look of wide-eyed amazement that Veronica had worn on their first meeting. The eerie deja vu was not lost on the girl from District One.
"I can't let you kill me," she declared.
"Not that it doesn't make sense… what's wrong, Clara?"
"I've adjusted the equation with all of the values I've determined. I can't let you kill me because it will hurt you. I've decided that I'm the one who should deal with the pain," Clara explained, as though it were the most straight forward thing she'd ever encountered.
"Hold on, Clara, please… what makes you think you can survive more pain than I can?"
"I said nothing about surviving. I should be the one to do this, because for me, it will be over."
"You're not…"
"I've made my choice. It wasn't easy. But I've made it."
Veronica thew her axe back to the ground. When she looked up, her face was wet with tears. "No, you can't… you said you wouldn't…"
"I said I would protect you. This is me, protecting you."
"Is this some sick District One thing? A code of ethics? Do you even have one of those?" Veronica demanded, tears burning in her eyes.
With a sad smile, Clara gestured at the still-bleeding wound that decorated her chest. "If we had longer, Whisp… If we had a little longer, I would have loved you. But now it's got to end. I can take the pain. For you."
Their eyes met for several seconds; Veronica's hazel-green irises meeting Clara's, golden shot with dark brown.
"I can take care of myself, Whisp. Just… I think we should say good bye, before I do anything I may regret. Good bye to everyone. All the dead and all the living. This is the hardest thing I've ever done. You're the only one I'll miss."
For a minute, they stood in silence, each of them lost in separate memories.
"I would have loved you…" Clara echoed, voice barely audible.
"I would have loved you, too."
They paused.
"You keep whispering."
"It's what I do," Veronica laughed.
With that, they were hugging again, the last warm bodies in the arena. Clara gently gripped the back of Veronica's neck, sais still in her hands. Gently. It was a word she'd never have imagined being used to describe her actions.
"Whisp… I've been misleading you. About my intentions."
"It's okay. I'm just… I'm so glad I don't have to kill you."
"Think of something you love."
Clara dropped the sais, pressing her ally to herself. Her blood, hot and wet, held them together- a tangible, adhesive bond. It would be over soon. Even Clara, the quintessential stoic, felt something stir in her chest- it could have been simply brought on by the wound to her breast, but to someone experienced in their own emotions, it would have felt more like grief.
"You don't have to hurt… I'll hurt for you," she whispered. Veronica nodded.
Slowly, Clara's hand inched down her ally's spine.
She drove Ryan's knife deep into Veronica's back, between the third and fourth rib, holding her even closer in a crushing embrace.
"Dying is the easiest part of living," she whispered.
"…I'll miss you."
"I… Whisp, I wasn't lying when I said that I think I could have loved you."
"Neither was I." Blood was beginning to well up in the District Seven girl's mouth, but she replied nonetheless.
"I'm sorry this is taking so long," Clara said quietly.
"No… I'm not sorry. I just wish… I wish you'd have told me."
"Why?"
"So that I could do this."
The dying girl lifted her head and pressed her lips to her ally's in a kiss that tasted of blood and melancholy.
"It was worth it," she murmured, letting her head fall to Clara's chest, too exhausted to hold it up. "Do you… do you remember my name?"
"Veronica."
"Yeah… that's it… but I'm not really her anymore. It would be an honor to die as Whisp."
Veronica went slack in Clara's arms, but her pulse continued to sap the blood from her body, even as Clara sank to the ground, touching her forehead to her dying ally's hair. When she lifted her face up to the sky, it was streaked with tears.
Unapologetically, Clara held the smaller girl to her chest and cried into her hair. She knew what grief was; she had seen grief, had seen people cry, but she had never felt it for herself. The awful tightness in her chest, the stinging tears that forced their way from beneath her eyelids- they were real. So real, and so present. Even as the final cannon of the Games sounded, Clara cried, for the first time in her life, over the body of the girl she had known for less than a month, but who somehow meant so much more than she could explain.
The sound of wild applause echoed through the arena, and somehow, behind the blood rushing through her head, Clara managed to register that this meant she had won.
It felt empty. Veronica's body was still warm in her arms.
"Congratulations, Clara of District One. You are this year's victor of the Hunger Games."
-break-
She slowly lowered Veronica's body to the pavement. were it not for the blood smeared across the girl's skin and clothes, she could have been sleeping.
The tears stopped coming. Clara brushed Veronica's hair from her face, a small smile playing on her lips. She could have been sleeping…
"I guess… ahaha, this was how it had to end… Whisp. Everyone leaves in the end."
Clara herself was lightheaded and numb from blood loss, sleep deprivation and malnourishment, but she was still standing. A hovercraft materialized overhead, and a ladder lowered to her level, surrounded by a field of light.
She looked back at Veronica for a last time. She was small in death, and so still. Unearthly still. Veronica was gone.
With the backs of her hands, she wiped her face dry, then took hold of the suspended ladder, feeling herself frozen in place by the projected field. It wasn't emptiness she was feeling, but normalcy. A return to life as it was outside the arena. Of course, she wouldn't be the same. Her life would be irrevocably different.
She hung there, from the slowly rising ladder, as her consciousness began to fade. Voices swam around her, through air that must have been thicker than molasses. Through it all, her lips moved wordlessly, a soft palilalia on her every exhalation.
"I was right… she doesn't hurt any longer, would've gone anyway… I was right…"
Her consciousness ebbed from a void to searing pain to nothing again. As she was brought into the hovercraft, many hands and voices hang through her head. Her eyes hung numbly open through it all, stinging with uncertainty. She could barely feel the tubes thrust into her arms, the infusions of blood and antibiotics. No one seemed to care that she was still awake.
A young woman paused by her face, cleaning the blood from one of the many old wounds from her encounter with the geji geji.
"I was right," she said aloud. The woman jolted back.
"This is better. She won't have to hurt… and I get to keep her. She'll never get old and she'll never get boring. She'll never leave me, this way. Everyone leaves me eventually. Everyone but her."
"She's awake! Can I get a sedative before she starts moving?"
"You're not in any danger. I've won, now. Isn't that what I wanted?"
"Hurry with the sedative!"
"It's good to know how well I'm trusted," she sighed, stretching to feel the bonds securing her to the gurney. The young woman put a syringe to one of the ports in her IV line.
"You're going to feel very tired. Just close your eyes and count backwards from fifty."
Her eyelids felt abruptly heavy, sinking shut on their own accord. The voices, even her own, felt like they came from miles away.
"It's… better this way…"
In time, she would believe the lie herself.
"She… she would've left on her own… they always do… everyone leaves…"
It has come to my attention that there is a want for THGYear5. While THGYear5 is unknown at this moment, there is one game that will be promoted through this blog once the finale is up. I will be letting all of you know what Games I truly support with all my faith. I have met with the future Head Gamemaker and have full faith that the games will be run with incredible energy, in a timely manner, and with amazing twists and turns.
What has been the most difficult part of these Games for you?
The most difficult? Coming up with new was to attack and kill Tributes. After awhile, it has all been written. Keeping things exciting gets challenging after a few submissions.
What would you say is the most rewarding part of the Games for you?
Most rewarding is proving to myself I can make it to the Finals, again. I used my writing skills and my creativity to get there, and no one can take that away from me. I am very thankful for my unofficial mentor, Christian, for all the time he spent helping me along. Be it I win or be it I lose, I'm content with my final results.
Did you ever think you'd make the finale, why or why not?
Yes, because I've done it before with less writing skills and help. There were times when I didn't think I'd make it out of a situation, but overall I had faith in myself.
From the moment you submitted your training to the moment you sent in your final submission, what was the one thing that kept you going?
Proving to myself that I can complete something. My friends who wanted me to win also helped a lot, I'm very thankful for them.
Were you in an Actual Arena and be crowned Victor, how do you think you'd cope?
I would remind myself I didn't have a choice. Being reaped is something that happens whether you want it to or not. As I wrote in my narratives, I would focus on coming home to my family and friends. Knowing they needed me, that would keep me going and help me balance out what I've done to other Tributes.
Finally, should you win, what would you want to say to the Tributes and their families?
First, I would apologize to the families of the Tributes I killed. I know my words would do little help to ease the pain of losing a child, but it's all I have. I would tell them to remember them as the people they were before the arena. Remember them in their good times at home. They are in every breeze that sweep through their District, every ray of sunshine. They are still there, just not in their physical form. I'd ask them to never forget their bravery.
What has been the most difficult part of these Games for you?
Hands-down, the most difficult part of the Games was getting to know everyone, to some degree, in some cases hours before they died. I honestly do love people, and developing personal attachments made the whole thing even more gut-wrenching.
What would you say is the most rewarding part of the Games for you?
The most rewarding part was… I'd have to say, it was being able to tell people 'ah, yes, I've been in a Games before- in fact, I'm in the final three!' It gave me some sort of odd validation, to be on the inside looking out instead of the opposite
Did you ever think you'd make the finale, why or why not?
It takes a great deal of arrogance to even enter a Games like this, and even more arrogance to stay alive. I sort of had to believe that I was going to survive in the finale; otherwise I'd not have had sufficient motivation, knowing how it would end.
From the moment you submitted your training to the moment you sent in your final submission, what was the one thing that kept you going?
A lot of things were important to my sticking with the Games, not the least of which were my friends- Nick, who died horribly, Nesanne, who died horribly, Donny, who died horribly, and… well, there are others I could name. Once I was allied with Whisp, there was really no turning back. I can't leave in the middle of something when someone else is, in some small measure, depending on me. Also, it was really fun.
Were you in an Actual Arena and be crowned Victor, how do you think you'd cope?
…in the hypothetical scenario you're proposing, does Victor's Village have internet access? I have sort of a difficult time imagining myself as a victor, if only because my many neurosis would make the endeavor rather futile. But I'd likely end up even more of a shut-in than I already am.
Finally, should you win, what would you want to say to the Tributes and their families?
Ah, to everyones' families… sorry about killing your kids? Sorry about participating in the killing of your kids? My therapist says it's perfectly healthy, so… yeah, I'm still sorry. Killing people is difficult. Specifically to Whisp's family: you raised a pretty awesome ally, do you take requests? I'd like to order a few more. Specifically to Whisp's boyfriend: back off, she's mine, I will not hesitate to cut off bits of you if you do not comply.And, yeah, to everyone: thanks for being cool about this whole murder thing. You're all awesome, even if you're not.
With Six Tributes remaining before The Feast, it was the perfect time to narrow down to our final 3. Here is the results of the Feast.
Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.
Meg V. Donny
Meg approached the plate, taking in the fullness of the foreign weapon. She reached for the kusari gama, her hand landing upon another hand. She looked up to see Donny, the District 11 male standing on the other side of the thin table. She looked deep into his eyes, seeing he was as shocked as she was. “So... I’m guessing only one of us is going to live,” Donny said timidly. Meg nodded stiffly, feeling her heartbeat rise. She knew she could kill him, but she didn’t want to.
She looked him over, seeing he only had two knives. Her weapons outweighed his heavily. Meg grinned, feeling fresh adrenaline pump through her veins. She held his gaze, no fear in her eyes. She slid her fingers over a shuriken, feeling the metal against her skin. She slipped it from her belt and threw it at Donny’s upper right arm. She watched it sink into his skin. Deep red blood dripped from the tear, reminding Meg of Josephine and Austin.
Attacking first felt odd to her, but she liked it. Her conscious was becomming muted, letting her act in ways she never thought she would. Thoughts bounced around her head, there were so many ways she could kill him. She had her dagger or the poison, a knife and darts. Her grin spread wider across her face, she knew she had this fight.
Donny removed the shuriken and threw it at Meg, landing it in her side. She winced and pulled it from her skin but proceeded with her plan. She drew out her knife, holding the the handle firmly, and lunged at Donny's torso. He screamed as the knife sliced through his shirt and skin, making a six inch cut. Meg quickly examined the knife, intrigued by the amount of blood already on the blade.
Beside them, fights were starting. Shrieks of the wounded rang out making the hairs on Meg's arms and neck stand on end. The blood of an unknown Tribute sprayed on her cheek, she wiped it off, her stomach churning. She found it humorous that the blood of her victims didn't bother her one bit, but the blood of the unknown made her die a little inside. She pushed the thought away, reminding herself of the task at hand.
Donny wasn't giving up easy. He took out his knife and went for Meg's throat. She jumped back, the point of the blade grazing her collarbone. She backed up a few more steps and ran at the table, hurdling over it and knocking Donny over. She straddled him with her knees, pinning him to the ground.
She reached back, grabbing a fist full of jerky. She suffered a couple blows to the head with the handle of the knife, but the swings were too weak to do any major damage. Dizzily she pried Donny's mouth open, shoving the jerky down his throat. He coughed, trying to remove the meat lodged in his throat. Meg took her knife, and shoved the dried meat further down his throat, watching his face turn blue. The blade cut the sides if his mouth, turning his saliva red.
Donny struggled below the District 9 girl, kicking wildly, swatting at her face. Meg chuckled, wondering where the pity she once felt went. She stood and turned away, waiting for the cannon to sound. Donny turned over and heaved, vomiting the jerky and quite a bit of blood. He got to his knees, and regained his grip on the knife. He made his way to his feet, and thrust his knife into Meg's back, right above her left lung. Instinctively she drew her elbow back, hitting hard him in his stomach, then leaned forward placing her hands on her knees.
After she caught her breath, she removed the knife, placing it in her belt. She felt the blood drip, warm and sticky down her spine. She turned around and punched him hard in the face. He shook his head, and spat in Meg's face. She wiped the bloodied spit from her face, feeling another wave of nausea roll over her.
Meg lunged forward with her knife, feeling a strange sense of deja vu. She drug her knife across his throat, cutting deep. Blood flooded from the new wound, covering Meg's hand. She wiped her hand clean across the hem of his shirt.
Donny wrapped his hands around his throat, trying to hold the gash together. His eyes widened with fear when he felt the deepness of the wound. Blood poured out more rapidly, coating the boy's hands. He became weak on his feet and fell to his knees. Meg kicked him on his back, ready to end the fight.
Standing over the dying boy she weighed her options. She stepped hard on his groin with her heel, watching him twitch from the pain. His screams were drowned out by the blood. Meg stabbed her knife deep into Donny's chest. His struggles stopped and she counted down his last moments. ...3...2...1...The cannon sounded, signaling her third kill.
The people around her continued to fight, ignoring the Tribute and her new kill. Meg collected Donny's other knife, along with her's and placed them in her belt. She looked for her shuriken, but assumed someone else had found and used it. She picked up the kasara gama, placing it awkwardly around her waist, then picked up the rest of plate one and walked off.
She walked until the sounds of fighting were far behind her. She sat on the ground and ate a few pieces of food, hoping it would fill the void she felt. She picture Blake again. "I'm coming home to you dear, just a few more people in my way of seeing you again."
Blake needed her as much as she needed him. Before the reaping, he was diagnosed with PTSD. His childhood was rough, and the thought of it placed knots in Meg's stomach. She wanted to be there to hold him through the nights when his flashbacks became too real for him. She wanted to be there to wipe his tears, much like the nights he did for her. He was the ray of sunshine in her gray world, and she hoped she was the same for him. That night she slept soundly, happy with the fact her time left in the arena was short.
Nesanne V. Veronica
Veronica quickly surveyed the contents on the second plate. A wicked looking weapon with a short handle and a fat curved blade lay beside a hefty jug of water. She couldn’t place the name of the knife-type object, but she didn’t have time to speculate. Maybe it would be useful. She jammed it into her belt and was just beginning to figure out what to do with the water when movement on the other side of the table caught her eye.
Nesanne.
She looked up into the District 6 girl’s eyes. They had only just met, really, but Veronica found her heart beating wildly at the idea of killing the girl. She seemed so nice, so harmless. They could have been friends if they’d grown up in District 7 together. They would have gotten along so well. But no. That wasn’t how the story went.
Donny was fighting Meg and Clara was fighting Ryan. Veronica had no doubt that Clara would defeat Ryan, and she was fairly certain that Donny could murder Meg after the damage he had done to Clara earlier on. Once Meg and Ryan were out of the picture, it would be the final four. All bets would be off. Veronica had to kill Nesanne. That was the story.
“I’m sorry,” Veronica murmured before bringing her axe down at Nesanne. The thin girl dodged it, though barely. The axe head lodged itself in the table and Veronica pulled frantically at it. She didn’t know how to use the weapon in her belt. She needed her axe. With a frustrated cry she leapt up on the table and yanked as hard as she could on the handle. Just as Nesanne got to her feet, the axe head broke free. Veronica found herself tumbling backwards in surprise. She landed flat on her back on the other side of the table, thoroughly winded. She fought for breath, knowing Nesanne was coming.
“No,” Nesanne said, her childlike voice seeming terribly out of place in the situation. She materialized from behind the table and came to stand over the girl lying on the ground. “I’m sorry. Because as it turns out, Veronica, you were right. I don’t have to protect you. I’m not afraid of Clara. Not anymore.” The District 7 could feel her breath coming back, but she continued to gasp heavily in order to mislead her opponent. “I’ve thought of a way to beat her. Once you’re dead, I’ll run until she and Donny kill each other. Then it’ll be me and her, and I plan on going home to District 6. They never have anything to root for back home. But now they have me, and when I kill the lunatic from District 1 I’ll go down in history.”
Just as Nesanne fired a dart from her blowgun, Veronica lifted her axe and slammed it into Nesanne’s abdomen. No turning back. The girl’s expression twisted, a mix of horror and surprise on her face. The blowgun fell from her hand, bouncing off of Veronica’s chest and hitting the ground. Veronica was vaguely aware of a dart lodged in her jaw, but it wasn’t of any immediate concern to her. Nesanne collapsed onto her. No turning back. Veronica heaved the tribute off of her and stood up, shaking slightly. She tore the dart from her skin, crying out. It wasn’t really from the pain of the wound, no. It was from the weight of what she had done. But Nesanne’s cannon hadn’t fired yet. She wasn’t dying as quickly as Veronica had hoped. No turning back. She flipped Nesanne over with a shaky foot. Squeezing her eyes shut, she buried the head of her axe in her opponent’s stomach. She couldn’t bear to see her ally in pain. The cannon fired and Veronica collapsed, throwing her axe aside.
Clara V. Ryan
On the plate she had chosen, a blowgun, several food items, and a small collection of darts sat. They were tipped in acid green, and the fledglings matched the odd color. Though she was momentarily perplexed, Clara scooped the darts into her makeshift pack with the tip of her sai. When she looked up to grab the rest, she wasn't alone. Ryan stood before her, his hand on the unloaded blowgun.
Her mouth twisted into a cruel smile as tributes clashed around her.
"So, you managed to get here on your own. And here I was thinking that 'away' was the only way you could run."
"Still no kills, Clara?"
"You'll make one."
He opened his mouth to reply, but she threw herself over the table, knocking him off-balance. Ryan swiftly regained composure and drew his knife, breathing heavily.
"That… would have been a penalty," he muttered.
"This isn't training."
Mouth tightened with determination, she went on the offensive again, twirling her sais expertly even as she aimed a sharp kick at Ryan's kneecap, foot connecting with his heel as he jumped back to avoid it. Though her district partner watched the spinning daggers in her hands, he was also wary of the rest of her, watching her musculature for indicative motions.
In all but expert knife fighters, attacks can be predicted by little clues in the attacker's stance. Clara was an expert, but so was Ryan. They circled each other warily, waiting for a weak moment. Ryan stumbled on a loose piece of pavement, and Clara dove in, throwing her weight on the already off-balance boy.
Ryan absorbed the blow, slashing at her face as he shook the impact off, bracing himself for another kick. The sais still twirled in her hands, but he recognized them as tools of distraction, which they were, though he crucially underestimated them.
The boy from District One raised his knife, lightning fast, and slashed again at his district partner's face. She lifted her left arm, which was liberally bandaged, to block, just as fast. His knife bit fabric and weakened bone, but did not penetrate the layer of blood-soaked cotton.
Clara began to push him back towards the table, still twirling one sai like a baton with her injured arm while she aimed mock blows at Ryan's face, knowing he would dodge and back away. They inched back towards the fight, Ryan forced on the defensive as he evaded jab after jab, aimed at his eyes, his throat. He found himself pressed against the feast table, stripped nearly bare by the other tributes, the third plate still left untouched. Rolls and honey newt to an empty blowgun. Not much to improvise with.
He turned back to Clara, who had stopped advancing, pausing to smile smugly.
"I'm proud to call myself a self preservationist, Ryan. But running away from an alliance is something even I would't do. It's called 'cowardice'. You can be like me and own it, or you can run away from it… which you've been doing since I met you."
Ryan fought not to answer her, knowing she would only be amused by anything he said. Clara was too far gone to be stopped by anything but death.
"You can run forever, Ryan, but eventually you'll be caught. I'm glad it was me. You're no loss to the district or the Games."
She aimed a piercing blow at his neck, but Ryan saw the motion coming, barely catching the sai by one prong inches from his trachea. He breathed in relief. Physically, he was stronger than she was. Though Clara threw her weight on the sai, there was no way she could finish him off just yet, not without pulling back, and-
Without hesitation, she buried the second sai just below his solar plexus, angling up into his rib cage. He stumbled back as, first, shock seemed to fill his chest, then heat, then searing pain. Clara delivered the finishing blow as his knife hand slackened, plunging the second sai between his third and fourth ribs, effectively stopping his heart.
Blood and bile mixed, flowing from the deep puncture wounds as she withdrew the daggers, letting Ryan fall to the ground. His cannon fired in seconds. She knelt to retrieve his dropped knife, and pulled off his jacket. It was too big for her, but she would make do with any additional armor she could get her hands on.
Briefly, she considered taking his pants as well, but decided the action was too distasteful, even for a traitor.
"Whisp?" Clara called, suddenly alarmed. She hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings while fighting Ryan. "Whisp! Are you… where are you?"
A strangled sob diverted her attention momentarily. A girl, leaning over the body of another tribute. Clara's mind went abruptly blank.
"What happened?" she demanded, racing to the body, which she couldn't see fully. "Whisp!"
Her ally looked up at her, eyes red and distraught. "Clara… you're alive."
"Of course I am. it was just Ryan. What happened?"
"Nesanne… I killed Nesanne…"
Her axe, like Clara's sais, was covered in blood and gastric acid, a consequence of inflicting a deadly abdominal wound. Clara bit her lip, gaze flickering from the body on the ground to her ally, close to tears.
"It wasn't like this with Skylar… I didn't know Skylar! He was just there. She existed, and now she's gone."
"I wish I could tell you something that would make you feel better," Clara said awkwardly. "But… I really suck at this stuff. I'm sorry you feel bad. I'm not sorry she's dead."
That was a little bit of a lie. Clara had liked Nesanne, in her own way. But the Games were no time for introspection.
"Look… there's food. Come on, Whisp. We'll get you something to eat, and you'll feel better. It's just hard. The way you feel the first time you kill someone you know… it doesn't change with the second, or the third. This is just what it's going to be like. That's what I've seen."
Veronica dragged herself to her feet. "It was the same for you?"
"Not at all. But maybe that's just a way you don't want to be like me. Maybe feeling this stuff makes you stronger. I don't know. I wouldn't know. You and Nesanne were together for, what, twelve hours? I've known Ryan since I started at the academy. I'm not crying over him."
The two girls briefly cleared out to allow the hovercraft access to the bodies, then returned to the table. Water, rolls, and honey, not to mention the excellent selection of weaponry.
"You want the billhook? Your axe is a bit big for you, and I've got Ryan's knife and my sais."
"No. Even after all this, I like the axe. It's home-y."
Even Clara couldn't fail to notice the change in her ally. Though Veronica was not normally a ray of sunshine, she had a sort of darkly humorous approach to things; post-feast, she seemed listless. Her mind was not on the present. Even though she won the fight, she seemed defeated.
"Here…" Clara said awkwardly, picking up the little pot of honey. "You have any bad cuts?"
"I'm fine."
"No, you aren't. But for now, I'm ignoring that."
Undoing her makeshift, bloody bandage, Clara washed the wound in her arm, then spread a thick layer of honey over it, discarding the old bandages and using the remaining tatters of the dress to redo the job. She scooped the rest into the large vessel of water on the table, mixing it evenly.
"This should perk you up a bit. I hope. Because there's not much good news for us, from here on out. It's you, me… and whoever lived. I hope to god it's not Donny. But that won't be a problem, even if the little psychopath is the one in here with us. I can take pretty much anyone. But then it's the two of us."
The last sentence got Veronica to look up. "Oh. Final three."
"Yeah, that's now. But it's final two we've got to worry about."
"What are we… you… what are we going to do?"
"I don't really know. I've never had much to live for beyond this. I'm not afraid of dying- well, I sort of was, then it went away once I got here. Death's not a big deal. Either way, I win."
Veronica laughed. "You know, I'm never going to understand what goes on in your head."
"Well, think about it. Let's accept that death is nothing. Dreamless sleep. Hold on, just for the purposes of this explanation. Let me finish. Death is a void, and you're really the only one I'd miss. I don't have any unfinished business. Hell, this whole thing was basically my business. So I've got two options. Either I live- get out of here, try to got through life like a normal person- or I die, and it's over. Living is painful stuff, Whisp. I could honestly go either way."
"You're really not… attached? At all?"
"I wasn't. But now I've got you to think about. And I've seen how you deal with killing, and how you deal with death. Got to factor everything in, work out what's best for us, collectively."
"Care to share your findings?"
"No. Not until the end. There are still unsolved variables. Like whoever's left."
They sat in silence, Veronica slowly eating a roll.
"But when you do figure it out, Clara, I want you to tell me," she said, biting her lip. "I want to see what's coming, whether it's a fight, or… well, I want to know."
"I wouldn't kill you, Whisp."
"…are you lying for my own good?"
Another silence fell.
"Yes."
As each of the remaining Tributes rest easy, the Capitol has been working hard on the Cornucopia, getting it ready for the feast. Each of the 3 plates getting set up with a nice treat for the ones going for it.
On plate 1 lies a kusari gama, a pound of beef jerky and some dried fruit.
On plate 2 sits a lovely collapsible billhook and a half gallon jug of water.
On plate 3 there dwells a blowgun with 5 darts with poison, a half dozen rolls of bread, and some honey.
Tributes, you MUST go to the feast and choose which plate you decide to go for. You must submit your choice by August 30th at 11:59pm CST. Your submission must include a narrative in 3rd person from the moment of your last situation to the moment you grab the items on your plate.
Meg awoke after a seemingly sleepless night. Her stomach was still uneasy from the close call and ached with hunger. Her throat was raw and dry, making swallowing an uncomfortable task. Not knowing when she’d get another opportunity to eat, she opened the trail mix and forced a handful down. Her eyes watered in discomfort, but her stomach accepted the food, allowing it to stay down. Not waiting to get sick again, she sealed the mix and stuffed it into her pocket.
As Meg sat on the hard ground, a parachute fell from the sky and landed with a soft thump beside her. She hesitated before picking it up, afraid it was a sick trick of the Gamemakers. She opened the container and found six red darts. Each one had a small red cap on its tip, it was then she realized they were tranquilizers. She grinned mischievously and slipped them into her belt. She stood and stretched her sore muscles before she started walking out of the small homes of the community. She could see the larger buildings of the Capitol up ahead.
The ground shook and the sound of collapsing buildings filled the air. Meg paused and turned to see the once partially standing community now crumbled and in flames. Various sizes of rubble and shards of broken glass remained untouched by the raging fire. A gust of hot air and smoke rushed past her smelling toxic and tasting like a lit cigarette. She shook her head and walked on, knowing it was what the Gamemakers wanted. With that in mind her senses were overworking, magnifying every noise and each speck of dust.
Meg looked deep into the shadows ahead. Only bases of buildings and partial walls, hardly tall enough to hide behind, remained of the once elegant structures. Chunks of buildings lay strewn about in messy piles along with shards of broken glass. Her eyes ran over the scene again and again, but she still felt as if she was missing the most important detail to the big picture. Just as she was about to proceed into the rubble, she noticed the silhouettes of Josephine and Austin. Taking another look at her surroundings she noticed that the fire had spread and encircled the three Tributes. Her heart sank, knowing a fight would soon erupt. One that would end in a death or two.
Not able to bare the thought she backed up a few steps, being as quiet as humanly possible, then turned on her heel and ran from the two Tributes. Back home, Meg valued a non-violent lifestyle. Though her life was hard, deep down she felt it was important to treat everyone with kindness. She hated raising her voice at people, now she had to murder them? As she ran, her earpiece clicked on. “Dearest Meg,” Essurio cooned, “run all you’d like. Keep in mind though, only one of you will walk away from this battle.” There was static and then a deafening silence.
Meg stopped to catch her breathe and to think over her survival options. “I could continue to run, but this will exhaust me after while. One of the Tributes will die, but the other will come looking for me. By then, I’ll be useless in a fight and as good as dead. It makes more sense to fight with everything I have, while I can.” With a heavy heart, she made her way back to the Tributes.
“Remember Meg, this is a game. One that must be played, no matter the cost. It’s kill or be killed if you want to make it home,” she told herself sternly. She pushed aside every moral limitation and focused on the main task at hand: to stay alive. She reminded herself of training and of the bloodlust she felt after attacking Steph. Her heart started to race as she remembered how good it felt to be in control, to be the cause of someone else’s pain for a change. The years of bottled anger finally being released. With each thought, her confidence built. Adrenaline raced through her veins as the two Tributes came back into view.
Josephine and Austin were tangled together on the ground. Josephine seemed to have suffered a few blows to the head and was at a slight disadvantage. Meg watched the two wrestle as she took to the shadows and hid behind a crumbling wall about ten feet away. To the left of her there was a decent pile of rubble, perfect size for throwing. Meg watched as knife seemed to materialize in Josephine’s hand and she thrust it into Austin’s forearm.
Austin let out a scream and dropped his pipe in shock. Josephine kicked the pipe, sending it out Austin’s reach as blood began to drip onto her torso. Austin grabbed the knife and tore it from his arm, throwing it in a disarray of thoughts.
Meg knew Josephine would be the bigger challenge, she was agile and quick. It was hard to tell what she would do next. Meg wanted her out of the way first. Austin, in proper circumstances, would be an easy kill. She wanted to take her time on his death, and knew the best way to do so.
Finally ready to fight, she removed the cap from a dart. She sent up a quick prayer and threw the dark as straight as she could at Austin’s arm. She watched as it missed, flying too far to the right. “Damn!” Meg thought. She readied another and threw it with more force. It hit its mark, sinking deep into his left arm and he went limp. Josephine rolled the boy’s body off of her and stood. She looked around, searching for her new adversary.
Meg grabbed a piece of building, one with jagged edges, and threw it hard at Josephine’s back. Josephine yelped and turned to see Meg take off. Angered by Meg’s hit and run she followed, running as fast as her legs would carry her. Gaining on Meg, she threw a shuriken. Meg felt the sting of the metal point in her shoulder. It was just under the skin, not causing too much damage. She pushed herself forward, leaving Josephine behind, running in a zigzag to avoid another shuriken.
Annoyed that she wasted a shuriken and that Meg was getting further ahead, Josephine pushed herself harder. Her legs ached and her lungs were on fire, but she somehow managed to put one foot after another. Each pained stride brought her closer to Meg.
Familiar rubble and empty land flashed past Meg, telling her she was going the right way. She kept her eyes on the fiery horizon and the billowing smoke. She used the time running to form a plan, but knew it was subject to change. She was brought from her thoughts when she heard Josephine’s labored breathing near her.
Momentarily distracted, Meg missed a step and took a tumble on the rocky ground. She picked a rock from her cheek and rubbed the blood into her skin. The palms of her hands stung, but no blood protruded the scrapes. Josephine fought through her exhaustion and pounced upon Meg’s back as she began to rise. Josephine locked her hands around Meg’s throat, cutting off her airway. Meg used her whole body to turn over, placing Josephine under her. She scratched at Josephine’s hands, making her lose her grip on Meg’s throat.
Meg turned over, straddling Josephine, and punched her hard in the nose. She felt the bone crack under her fist and blood started to trickle across Josephine’s lips. Josephine reached up and dug the shurkin deeper into Meg’s shoulder.
Meg screamed, feeling the warm blood run down her back. Not wanting to tear the skin anymore, she left the blade. She stood, stepping hard on Josephine’s stomach, and began to run. Josephine grabbed Meg’s right ankle, almost bringing her down again. Meg kicked hard with her left foot, making contact with Josephine’s bloody face, escaping her grip.
Meg ran hard and heard Josephine following. She knew she had just escaped death, and didn’t want to have another close call. She had to be more alert and much more quicker. Thoughts of how to kill Josephine bounced around her brain as she lead her to the edge of the fire, where the rubble and glass remained untouched.
Meg picked up a large shard of glass, keeping her eye on Josephine. Josephine charged, knife in hand. Fed up Meg lunged at Josephine, taking her by surprise and knocking her to the ground. Meg sliced deep into Josephine’s arm with the glass, watching the blood spill onto the ground. Josephine screamed, her hot breath hitting Meg in the face. She took her knife and stabbed at Meg’s torso making three small, shallow cuts.
Meg winced at the pain and knocked the knife out of Josephine’s hand. Her stomach tightened, making her feel sick again. Angry and in pain, she hit Josephine in the jaw. She felt the fire warm her exposed skin and got an idea. She picked Josephine up by her shoulder and thrust her head onto the broken concrete, the sound was sickening. Josephine’s eyes rolled into the back of her head.
Meg waited for Josephine to come to, then began to drag the dazed Tribute to the fire. Josephine struggled, kicking her legs and clawing at Meg’s arms. Meg lost grip and Josephine started to crawl away. Meg ran and jumped on her back, smashing Josephine’s face into the ground. Meg continued to drag her and placed Josephine’s head inside the flames.
Meg sat on her stomach, holding her in the flames. Screams of torture escaped from Josephine’s blackening face. Her hair caught fire and Meg moved back to keep from getting burnt. Meg covered her mouth and nose in attempts to filter the smell of burning flesh and hair. After a few moments a cannon sounded, signaling her death. Meg raided her pockets, noticing minor burns on the back of her hands. She found Josephine’s last knife, three more shurikens and a sewing kit.
Meg slowly made her way back to Austin, thinking over everything she’d just done. The realization hit that she just fought, burned and killed another person. The screams of Josephine ringed in her ears, twisting her stomach into knots. The passion that she once felt to stay alive was now replaced greif. She arrived to see Austin was still knocked out. This would be the best time to kill him, it would be painless for him, but she’d had enough of killing. She would let Ausin have the honor of walking away.
Meg sat next to Austin, waiting for him to awake. His eyes fluttered, then finally opened completely. He looked confused, still in a daze from the tranquilizer. “Hey. You know what happened to my allies?” Austin asked sleepily.
Meg’s heart dropped even further, he had forgotten his allies were dead. “Dear. They’re dead,” she said bluntly.
“Well, I would sure hope so. They were so boring. That’s why I killed them. The people at home were bored with them, so I killed them. They trusted me. I hit them with pipes and tied them up. I forced them to drink poison. They’re dead now. Because I killed them. It’s their fault. They were boring...” Austin kept rambling on, the tranquilizers making him delirious but Meg had heard enough of his gruesome tale.
The pity Meg once felt turned to hate. He was a murderer. A cold blooded murderer. “It’s one thing to kill for survival,” she thought, “but for your own gain? Because they were ‘boring’?” She couldn’t handle it anymore, Austin was still talking, telling their death over and over. Meg took out a shuriken and threw it at Austin’s throat. He stopped mid-sentence, blood pouring from the wound. “Sorry.” Meg said emotionless. “You were boring me.”
Austin focused on the object in his throat as Meg pulled out a knife. She stabbed him in the chest, right above the heart and dragged the knife down tearing the skin. Blood poured out and formed a pool around the Tribute. Meg waited on the cannon, but one never sounded. Annoyed, she removed the knife and jabbed him in his jugular vein. Blood sprayed Meg in the face but that didn’t stop her. She took the handle of the knife and slammed it into his skull repeatedly. Tears stung her eyes as the cannon sounded. “I should’ve let you wake up more. You were a boring kill.”
Meg wiped her face and cleaned the knife. She checked his pockets for anything useful and found the poison bottles. She collected them and noticed the fire was gone. She got up, and walked on stiffly. All emotions gone.
Veronica, Clara, Ryan, Nesanne, and Donny
Morning came slowly for the trembling girl from District One. Venom still burned in her wounds, inside her body, like hot coals on raw flesh. Though she shook with the effort of standing, she stood; walking was an even more difficult task, since her right knee, where her pants were torn, was nearly paralyzed where the shredded, inflamed flesh showed vibrant pink in stark contrast to her ghostly pallor.
The swelling in her arms was noticeably diminished, but lines cut as if by razor wire criss-crossed every inch of exposed skin.
A deep magenta glow on the horizon told her that the sun was rising. Probably about five thirty in the morning. Her eyes flickered up and down the street for what might have been the thousandth time.
With a slow, controlled breath, Clara stood straight on her own, legs feeling as though they were carved from still-smoldering firewood. She walked, stiff-legged, towards her ally, sleeping in the corner. She made very little noise for a girl with at least one nonfunctioning joint as she stood over Veronica, watching her face as the Seven girl breathed, serene, as if she was in a Capitol bed instead of a pair of jackets on the ground.
As she passed the mutt's corpse, the taller girl glanced contemptuously at the mutilated body. The giant centipede had made her feel weak, and she hated that more than she could express with words. All Clara really wanted from life in general was control, which was why she made her way over to her sleeping ally as the sun rose behind the distant Capitol skyline.
She couldn't quite figure what about Veronica had made her so angry when the girl was threatened. It was dangerous for someone to have that kind of power over her, even if they didn't know it.
Veronica slept soundly, exhausted from the last two days. The heat and physical exertion in combination with Clara's reluctance to open either can of food had thoroughly tired her, emotionally as well as physically. She didn't hear the approaching footsteps, or feel the quiet breath on her face.
"Whisp. Whiiisp."
Clara perched over Veronica's chest, lightly pinning the girl's arms back in anticipation of her surprise.
"Wake up. It's morning. Whisp. Whisp. Wake up."
Veronica jerked awake, startled by the laughter that carried over from her dream to the waking world. Clara's face hovered inches above her own. She nearly screamed. Her ally was still ghostly pale, but lines of vivid red were etched over her features as if someone had taken a knife to her face.
"Good morning, Whisp," Clara said, her voice cheery despite the swelling of her throat that had not yet abated.
"What are you doing?"
"Your manners are impeccable."
"Uh… 'morning. I'm sorry… 'bout your face…"
"No reason to worry. They'll be sexy scars."
"Good. I… wait." Veronica broke off in confusion. "Why are you on top of me? And where are your pants?"
"My pants are still pretty soaked with venom. They burn the cuts. I'm gonna have to make a wrap out of my jacket, or find some new pants."
"You didn't answer the first one…"
"This is how you wake someone up at the academy when you want to remind them that you can and will kill them. And that's what I'm doing. Whisp-y, rest assured, I am entirely capable of killing you. I choose not to because I like you. There are a number of things that could make me dislike you. Please don't do any of them."
"…what?"
"You understand me, Whisp? I like you, and I'm not totally sure why the hell I do. But if you even think of leaving me, I swear to-"
"I… I get it, okay? Can you not be on top of me? This is very awkward. I won't… leave you, though I'm not entirely certain what you mean by that," Veronica said, biting her lip at the oddness of the situation.
Clara nodded, hopping to her feet with a wince as her knee took on half her weight.
"Eight left!" she said cheerfully. "That's including us. Six to kill and it'll be you and me, Whisp-y… together until the end."
With a great deal of effort, Veronica ignored the last part of Clara's thought.
"Eight… then they'll be interviewing our families now. Clara, I've been wondering… what's your family like? I just realized, I don't really know you. I don't know a thing about you."
"That's because I don't give out information for free. Not on myself. Information is power."
Veronica stood up, shaking the rubble from the two jackets and handing one back to Clara, who nodded appreciatively.
"Maybe if you shared a bit, I would trust you more," Veronica suggested.
Clara winced as she tried to pull the jacket over the knee still covered in blazing red marks. She struggled with it for a second, eventually tying it around her waist, the protein blend and water bottles secured in place.
"Well, I don't have anything to share about my family. My parents aren't around much. My little sister's screwed up, but I'll freely admit that's probably my fault. I haven't lived at home since I was accepted to the academy."
"Oh. I don't mean to make you talk about something you don't want to…"
"No, training is something I don't mind telling you about. It makes sense that you would want to know my credentials before trusting me explicitly."
The two girls swept through the building, trying to erase evidence of their stay, though they did nothing about the giant centipede carcass in the middle of the large building. What could they do? It was too big to haul away or cover effectively.
"It's been… six years? I think that's right. Six years since I got in. Before that, I just used the local center like most kids. I learn fast. I did well."
Veronica tucked her two remaining full water bottles into her belt. Some of the oxidized iron had settled at the bottom of the cloudier one, making drinking an unpleasant prospect. Before Veronica could move to leave, Clara gestured her over. She slammed one sai into the small, cylindrical can, creating a puncture less than a centimeter in diameter.
"Here. You can drink some of the pineapple juice. It'll make you feel a bit stronger."
"Aren't you going to eat?"
"I'll have some protein stuff later."
"You'll eventually crash if you keep it up, this no-sleep-no-food thing."
"Yes, I will. I can manage."
"But you just killed a mutation, and then you didn't sle-"
"I can manage," Clara repeated, more harshly than she had intended. She still didn't feel quite normal; everything seemed sharper than it ought to be. Even more so than her injuries, on their own, should be making her feel.
Veronica seemed to enjoy the pineapple, and that made her smile.
"You were talking about training?" she said, prompting Clara to continue as the two walked from the building to the street, heading slowly towards the east.
"Yes. Ah, I already told you this, but I wasn't really the strongest or the most versatile or anything like that. I just learn very fast. And I read a lot. Information is power. They do a fairly rigorous psychological test before you can even think about volunteering, so I can assure you, I'm not insane in any sort of clinical sense."
"Why would they worry about your psychology?" Veronica raised an eyebrow at her ally's last statement.
"They need to know how we'll deal with killing. I deal well."
"But you… haven't killed anyone."
"Not in the arena, no. You haven't seen me kill a person yet. I assure you, you will. I generally try to keep people around as long as possible. It's a fault, I know, but I really do like people. No reason to kill someone when you might need them later."
Clara shrugged. The truth of the matter was that she had killed quite a few people during training. But everyone did. That wasn't special, and it wasn't really something she wanted to share with Veronica. It was something people in District One had come to accept. If you sent a kid off to the academy, chances were fifty-fifty that they'd come back in a body bag.
The sun had nearly risen, and the streets were beginning to heat up again. The two made a great deal of effort to stay in the shadows, but traveling east while the sun rose was brutal. The two girls were quiet for a long time.
"You keep saying that there's nothing special about you. So why did you get picked? I mean, why did you volunteer?"
"I was chosen because of my attitude towards death."
"And that's all?"
"Well, you know me, I can hold my own in a fight, but so can anyone who survives a few years at the academy. They hit you until you don't feel pain the same way, train you until you're strong enough to fight anyone. But they can't change the way you think. And I think the right way."
"So Ryan, your district partner… who we're heading towards… is like a bigger version of you," Veronica said, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Okay, starting to feel less good about this plan."
"No, there's more than one personality type that they accept. I maintain that I am the best one, for the record. Ryan's different than me. Very different. I can fight him. I'd likely win."
Veronica adjusted her axe from one shoulder to the other. "You make my head hurt," she declared.
"It's best not to try to understand me. See, I could have been a charming, pretty girl and married a handsome, rich Capitol man. I could have been one of those success stories, the girl who lifted herself out of the districts and into a fairytale. But this, this is so much more fun…"
The calm mask she has worn while discussing murder with her ally didn't waver, even as her voice grew lower and more serious as she talked. Veronica didn't miss her meaning; it was time to stop talking about her ally's life.
"I wonder where they are," Veronica said, abruptly changing the subject. "The… three left, is it? With Ryan? The ones we're trying to intercept?"
"Ah. Them. Well, based on the pace suggested by their initial departure from the Cornucopia, I would say… we'll be meeting them very, very soon."
"What's the plan when we do?"
"You fall back, let me do the negotiating."
"You don't mean actual negotiating, do you."
"I don't."
They successfully passed through another building, only the steel frame of the construction left behind from whatever had been used to create the arena. Once they were out of the rubble, though, they found themselves on a street lined with fancier houses, the streets liberally covered with colored glass. Clara bent down on one knee, inspecting some particularly crushed shards that were clear, unlike the rainbow of colors glimmering in the road.
"This is a bottle. Was a bottle. They were here, and rather recently, I'd say. Look. Blood."
A large bloodstain on the pavement, obscured by the fallen glass, stared up at Veronica.
"This is probably one of the six cannons we heard last night. Maybe two, judging by the amount of blood. It's nearly fully dried, and has been out in the sun, so I would say… eight hours old. Approximate guess."
Clara drew her finger through the still damp stain.
"Viscosity suggests that this is the result of internal hemorrhaging rather than physical trauma. Someone's got poison, serious stuff."
Veronica stared blankly at the blood on the ground, all that was left of one person, maybe two. Now, just a bloodstain in a field of broken glass. She felt mildly ill.
"Do you ever worry about dying?" she asked suddenly.
"No. I just don't want to be forgotten."
They were silent for a second.
"Who do you think this was?"
"Ah, let me think. This much blood… of the people who went southeast… it would have to be either Ryan or Nick. No one else would survive long enough to keep bleeding after losing so much."
Veronica bowed her head silently, and for a few moments, everything was serene. She tried for remember their faces, and was ashamed when she couldn't. She was surprised to see Clara making a similar gesture.
"Whoever this was… died horribly," the District One girl murmured. "But they don't hurt now."
She turned her head slowly to face Veronica. "We ought to go. The trail will get cold."
Clara stepped around the blood, her ally trailing behind her, stopping for a second to glance back at the place on the pavement where at least one tribute had died. Nick or Ryan. Veronica hoped silently that it was Ryan, then felt a wave of nausea at her thoughts.
The two moved quickly down the street, much more careful now that they knew they were close. Every few seconds, Clara would stop and scan the buildings with a critical eye. She seemed to be searching for some sign of habitation. It was still early, and it was entirely possible that the shrinking band of tributes was still asleep. Occasionally, she would stop unexpectedly and stoop to the ground, inspecting a few pieces of glass that Veronica saw nothing in. She seemed reaffirmed by whatever the crushed glass told her.
"Two small, one big," she announced. "I'd guess we're going to meet Donny soon… I've been looking forward to that."
Again, she stopped, though this time she froze.
"The trail does't go any farther southeast. They're very close."
"Excellent observation!" a boy, likely a young one, chirped.
This was an entirely new voice, and Veronica whirled around to see the source. Clara showed no sign of surprise, almost entirely ignoring the comment. Three indistinct figures silhouetted against the sunrise stood before the two girls.
"Ryan," Clara said calmly. "Lovely to see you. You've made some friends."
Veronica had her axe off of her shoulder before anything could happen, pointing the head from one tribute to the other. She had no idea how to gauge the threat levels of each one. The tall boy in the middle could likely snap her in half- and he was holding a knife. Ryan, almost certainly. Her stomach dropped. Nick. It had been Nick.
"Clara," said Ryan, stepping away from the sun so that Veronica could see him properly. Donny followed him, but the third person, a small girl, took a few steps back, the blowgun pressed again her lips. It was Nesanne, the Six girl.
The three of them seemed focused on Clara, despite Veronica's drawn weapon. She wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or relieved.
"It's been a while, Ryan. How's your alliance working out? Did you really knock Meara off that quickly? I called it. Though I didn't expect you'd get there that fast."
Veronica watched as Ryan's hands turned to fists and a muscle stood out in his jaw. His breathing slowed, and steadily evened. Nesanne glanced back and forth, from Ryan to Clara and back again. The girl from District One was smiling coldly. She finally faced the small alliance head-on, closing her eyes and raising her hand just as Nesanne fired a dart directly at her face.
It skewered her wrist, barely missing the network of blue veins that was displayed prominently beneath her near-translucent skin. With a laugh, she wrenched it from the bone.
"Darts? Really?"
Despite her cavalier attitude, Clara stepped in front of Veronica, shielding her ally with her body.
"Try again," she said with a grin. "Let's see if you can actually hurt me with those little things."
Nesanne unhesitatingly shot again, burying a dart in Clara's cheekbone. The District One girl smiled, though it must have been incredibly painful, and plucked the second dart from her face as though it were a bee sting, Rivulets of blood ran down from the two puncture wounds, and a sluggish trickle of dark blood welled up in one of the larger slash wounds inflicted by the mutt the night before.
"Hey, look, if I was here purely to kill you, you'd be dead."
Ryan snorted at Clara's comment. "I see you haven't changed a bit."
"It's only been two days. Give me time. A little longer in this hellhole and you'll wish this was what insanity looked like." Clara laughed coldly, as if to drive the point home.
"What're you doing with the girl? She's not one of our's, you'll get no leverage out of her."
"You think I'd go to all this trouble for you? Look at me, I'm a mess."
"You certainly are. You're a bit cut up, too."
Donny yawned. "Okay, okay, you're both clever and we're all properly intimidated. Can you get on with it, now?"
Though he rolled his eyes, Ryan took a step back, though his knife stayed firmly in his hand. As they talked, the two had been edging in on each other until they were barely three feet apart. Donny's intervention had barely averted a fight.
"Of course," Clara sighed, easing her sais into a less offensive position. "I'm nothing if not reasonable."
Veronica stifled a laugh. From behind Donny, Nesanne lowered the blowgun slightly. Clara nodded acknowledgement and stepped lightly to the side, allowing Veronica a better view of the proceedings.
"So," Donny said casually, breaking the awkward silence. "What got you?"
"Giant centipede. No big deal," Clara replied. "Who poisoned Nick and Meara?"
The silence swirled abruptly back into place, settling around the tributes like a heavy fog.
"The Gamemakers," Ryan said finally, his voice dark with anger. "It was the Gamemakers. Our alliance got too big. They decided we needed some… I don't know, I don't give a damn. It was them."
"Really," Clara said skeptically.
Seeing that the obvious tensions between the two of them were dangerously close to flaring up again, Veronica stepped forward, finally getting over her nerves as adrenaline rushed into her system.
"Okay, I'm thinking maybe it shouldn't just be you two doing the negotiating," she announced, surprised at how loud her voice sounded.
Ryan's free hand curled into a fist, but he nodded. Clara shot her a sideways glance, but there was no stopping Veronica.
"We're five out of the final eight. At the rate the Gamemakers are killing us off, I'd say that number will be down by tonight. We could use some security. They can't just kill all of us, right?"
Clara turned to face her, one eyebrow raised nearly to her hairline. "Whisp. You're suggesting a late-Games alliance? That's the worst suggestion I've heard all day, and I've been talking to Ryan."
"You know what? Maybe you're right all the time, and maybe I'm an idiot for suggesting it."
The two girl's held each others' stares for a moment. Veronica looked down first, but she didn't stop talking.
"I think we'll be safer as a group!"
"And I think we'd be safer in a pool of molten silver than with these-" she paused, nodding at Ryan, Donny, and Nesanne "-watching our backs! I can keep you safe, Whisp! I can't promise anything of them!"
"Well, I'm good with an alliance," Donny cut in.
"Oh, you're good with an alliance? Maybe I could take off my jacket, too- stabbing me in the back would be a bit easier that way."
"Clara! He's just a kid!" Veronica cried, looking from one person to another. "Look, I trusted you, okay? I trusted you. And god knows, you're a whole damn sight more difficult to trust than a couple of kids!"
"A couple of kids, is that it? A couple of kids who put a dart in my face and would've done it to you? A couple of kids who I've trained with for the last five years? A couple of kids who cut your district partner up like a turkey for slaughter and watched him bleed to death? There's a reason why they're still alive, Whisp!"
"We're alive, too." Veronica shut her eyes for a second. "We're no better than they are."
"I… I'm inclined to agree with her," Nesanne said, her childlike voice coming as a surprise to everyone. "I've done some awful things to get this far, but haven't all of us? Who here doesn't yet have a kill? Donny… got carried away. Ryan's a good guy. And I… well, you have something of a reputation."
"Why am I the only one being sensible?" Clara demanded. "That isn't my job! That was your job, Veronica!"
Her ally flinched a little at Clara's use of her given name. “I don’t know what your definition of sensible is!”
Ryan laughed dryly. "I'm not totally averse to the idea myself. Haven't we all killed tributes? Don't we at least have that as a common bond?"
"No! No, we fucking don't!"
The four other tributes turned to Clara with surprise.
"What are you saying?" Nesanne asked quietly.
"I haven't killed anyone now, have I? Don't look so goddamned surprised! I know how to play without killing, but honest to god I am tired of thinking things through! I am so tired of staying calm and staying rational. I haven't slept for days, I haven't eaten in longer. I am ready to kill every one of you right now- don't look at me like that!"
"I just thought…" the girl from District Six trailed off.
Clara breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a second and digging her nails into her palms so hard that they drew blood.
"Here is the compromise I am offering you," she said, her voice quiet and restrained. "We are not an alliance. We are not a group. But I will tolerate you, and in the event of an attack, I will fight with you. Conditionally. My tolerance officially runs out at the final five. Then, you'd best run. My tolerance ends if one of you so much as looks at either of us wrong. Then, you might want to commit suicide. It will hurt less."
She fixed her stare on each of the three in turn. Ryan nodded curtly, Nesanne offered her a small smile, and Donny met her eyes with a look of his own.
"You forgot my conditions already?" she growled.
He blinked once, then slowly looked away.
"Thank you," Veronica murmured.
They slowly broke apart, Ryan, Donny and Nesanne walking back the way that had come, into a home they seemed to be sheltering in. The two girls watched them go, Ryan turning around twice to glance at Clara.
"Shouldn't we..?" Veronica asked.
"Follow them? I suppose we'll have to. The rest of the houses are boarded up."
Veronica scanned the streets, seeing that her ally was correct.
"Well, with any luck, no mutts, right?"
"I'll guard tonight," Clara said, ignoring her ally.
"…guard? But we're with them, and you… last night…"
"I'm not sleeping with the Eleven boy in the house."
Veronica sighed, but put her arm around Clara, who half winced as her ally touched her still-inflamed arm. "Hold still," Veronica said, and Clara paused momentarily while she looked her up and down, then reached up to wipe the blood off her face.
"…thanks," the District One girl muttered.
"I sort of do trust you. A bit," Veronica told her. "And I'm sure nothing will happen, really. I just want to spend the night somewhere in peace. Before… before we have to fight again."
Clara said nothing as the two walked into the concrete-block home, closing the door slowly after Veronica made her way in. She didn't trust any of the three in the house with them. Though she wasn't thinking in the same terms as Veronica, she understood the appeal of staying close. It's easier to stab someone when they're sitting next to you.
"Hey, Clara," Veronica said, laughing suddenly. "Maybe we could even find you some pants!"
While the Tributes rested, Ryan had managed to sneak away, heading away from the alliance, now on his own.
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