Secret Destroyers // Day 4

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L△LIA
RP Tutor

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last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

BOOM SH△KALAKA

Secret Destroyers // Day 4 Mar 6, 2013 19:29:31 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Mar 6, 2013 19:29:31 GMT -5

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secret destroyers
hold you up to the flames
and what do I get for my pain
betrayed desires
and a piece of the game

My palms press themselves into the heated gold of the pyramid step as my body arcs over itself in slow-motion, feet suspended in the air above me as I redefine the watching world's idea of climbing. I am reveling in the sticky sunshine, a lazy stretch of limbs and nonchalant time. The high noon burn of rays lick my shoulders until the neon remnants of dead Nakom finally begin to crack and fleck away at the edges. Still, their wings are stuck to me like armor — or at least a second skin — holding stubborn with the help of dried sweat, mud... and blood.

Red ghosts have left their fingerprints all over me in hasty swipes that dance between the outlines of my own scars. Yet one more reason I don't seem to recognize the damage criss-crossing my own flesh, although in more honest moments warpaint and optical illusions have little to do with it. My wounds are marks of shame as much as they are small victories. Fire-rippled flesh from my past in District Two is one thing, evidence of mistakes I've overcome from clumsier days when my body was still its own worst enemy. Since coming to this Arena, however, I have become something more than myself and now I should be untouchable. Yet there are bruises and cuts that were not given to me by my worthy Nakom foes and they are not remnants of my training days. So surely they are not mine at all.

A sigh twists out from my lungs as I push my thoughts away with a bend of my spine, folding myself in two so that my feet may press themselves onto the golden step of yet a higher level. For several senseless minutes, I become a creature of excess, threading my limbs into themselves until I am more art than human. This pyramid is a pedestal, an icon of gleaming perfection that is perfectly fit for me and I intend to declare myself the champion of it. Braiding my body into itself, a smile begins to sneak across my lips as I wonder how much savage battle footage will be set aside in favor of my slow and soul-aching display of contortionism.

The thought of it quickens my heart until my pulse is skidding giddy through my veins. I am bullet-wings. I am cloud-scorn. I am the patron saint of televisions. Here, on my golden stage, I am on display for everyone to see and my heart goes thumpthump thumpthump thumpthump until the onetwo beat reminds me once again: Here, I am more than myself. This time it is not scars that stretch themselves too long through my thoughts, but —

Fingertips find their way to the tattoo across my chest, pressing themselves into the swirling ink of an anatomical heart mapped out above the cage that houses my own. "Are you still afraid for me, Zombie Boy?" A girlish giggle twitches out of me as I whisper my curiosity across the airwaves and infinite miles that separate me from the nervous heartbeat that haunts my own like a shadow. Do you still not understand the things I want? On cue, my bare feet and the greedy palms of my hands find the top of the pyramid — the end of the stairs and the peak of a fleeting impulse of ambition.

Across the platform, a room beckons to me with promises echoed by the snarling, golden animals I passed by on my journey up. The fingers of my right hand are still shivering with the memory of other unspoken promises, at once defiant and jealous. I am no more dead than you have ever been, zombie boy, despite your ironic refute of feeling. Traversing the distance between the intricate patterns of the walls before me and the complexities of my own thoughts and denials, the thumpthump thumpthump thumpthump restarts as I pass through the open doorway and I can't help thinking he's still afraid — terrified — I'm going to die, I can feel it, before I realize it's not the boy I left back in District Two who's afraid right now. It's the butterflies.

The airborne companions that have followed me the past two days are hurling themselves at me, a fragile hailstorm of panic. Thumpthump. What they're trying to escape is coming for me as well — as all things in this Arena are fated — and I simply close my eyes and wait, as if the passing swarm of insects are just another another kiss of the day's sunshine. Warm. Greedy. Mine.

[Cricket is attacked by a swarm of flying leeches]

[dice=5]

[6 Damage]

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Last Edit: May 11, 2013 13:13:09 GMT -5 by L△LIA

( C H A R A C T E R S )

clover ❁
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Secret Destroyers // Day 4 Mar 8, 2013 0:39:26 GMT -5

Quote

Post by clover ❁ on Mar 8, 2013 0:39:26 GMT -5

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ivy soren.

[/font]

we keep on paying those freaks on the tv
who claim they will save us but want to enslave us
and sweating like demons they scream through our speakers
but we leave the sound on 'cause silence is harder
and no one's the killer and no one's the matyr[/center]

Silently, I curse the Gamemakers. In this fleeting moment I curse Indigo for not taking my place, curse my mother for not doing something to save me, curse myself for not fleeing from the Peacekeeper's firm grasp. I could have done it, surely.[/color] The endless monotony of the arena reaches out for me - so far each day has followed the next in a hot, humid fire of blood and ash. Last night I gladly quenched my thirst but still I ache all over. (It's almost as though I can feel them watching me, sabotaging my every step and making sure I tumble headfirst into unavoidable confrontations.)[/color] They test me, and I do my utmost to rise to the challenge. Half-way there, now. It's all uphill from here.

The glistening slopes of the pyramid beckon, glowing with soft golden light and the promise of a view. Perhaps from the top I will be able to see the others. A little initiative never goes astray in the arena, so I make sure the creature is turned away and I step onto the staircase.[/color] Suddenly, I freeze, feeling faint tendrils trailing behind me. (There is something here besides the allies I cannot bring myself to trust and the monster that terrorises them.)[/color] I look right at it - it's form almost beyond description, ghost-like. I swear if I concentrate I'd be able to see through it, but instead I leap upward three steps at once and continue to eye the creature. It makes no move to hurt me[/color] - instead, I almost see it's dark, featureless mouth curve up into a smile.

Irrational thoughts flood my mind. Perhaps everything will be okay.[/color] Without direction from me, my feet drift back down toward it. "Hi," I mouth, doing my best to move slowly so as not to scare it away. I smile, overcome with the desire for it to stay[/color]. For the first time since the siren sounded and we were released into the arena, I feel like I have found something with no shadowy meaning lurking behind it's eyes. "I'm Ivy," I say, more to remind myself than inform the mutt. For a moment I consider stretching out my hand, but then I recoil. Future Victors should do their best to appear sane.[/color]

The people I have met in the last few days have all wanted to kill me, or had twenty-three other people wanting to kill them. The tiny spirit that stands at knee-height on the step below me possesses neither of these unattractive traits.[/color] Perhaps, I wonder, my eyes almost as wide as my grin, he will serve as a better companion to me than any of the others. I shake my head, surprised at my own desperation.[/color] Has my inability to trust really gone so deep that I yearn for the friendship of a nameless ghoul? "You seem awfully friendly for somebody who lives around here," I say, continuing my climb. "I'll call you Casper."

(Casper follows me determinedly, and a sharp stab of delight rockets through my veins.) His eyes are so hollow - a mirror of mine far more accurate than my own twin. My stomach twists at the thought of my sister.[/color] Usually, I am silent until tears spring to her eyes and then suddenly I am alive, no longer cold and harsh. For years I held her hand when she cried and braided her hair and coaxed her from nightmares with steady streams of words. If she yearns for me as I do for her then she is torn in two right now[/color] and I am doing nothing to protect her from that pain. (When I come home perhaps all this blood will be forgotten.)[/color]

By now I have reached the half-way point of the pyramid. I stop and turn back, startled by the tiny person-like muttation that clambers desperately over the steps like a lost toddler, panting. Each step is barely shorter than he is, but he's eager as a puppy to follow in my wake[/color]. Without thinking, I lean down and scoop him up, his milky skin cool against my sunburned flesh. (His body goes limp in my arms, both grateful and exhausted.) Together, we clamber upwards into the dark sky. The occasional high-pitched encouragement spurs me on, and it is almost as though he radiates calm. Perhaps just finally knowing I am not alone is enough to make me really mean it when I smile.

At the top of the pyramid, armed with an incredibly affectionate Casper, I feel something I have never felt. Perhaps I came close when Indigo told me stories to ease the pain of being locked away[/color], or when my father was finally avoxed for what he did. Not until now, however, have I felt safe[/color]. (It's a dangerous feeling I daren't entertain for long.)[/color] My new friend kisses the places on my arm where the leeches sucked at my blood - or perhaps he is simply nuzzling me, it's hard to tell. I shiver, and survey the arena. It's much to beautiful - perhaps I shall be reluctant to leave after all.[/color]

"Indigo," I say, imagining cameras zooming in on my moonlit face, broadcasting my coming message to the world. "Don't you dare cry. Because you know, I'm alright and I'm coming home, soon." I feel Casper settle into my arms, so I sit down on the ground with my back to the wall. From here, I can see my whole world. "Remember that rhyme? About being the King of the castle?" We learned it when we were twelve, one of our first days in school. Someone had declared Indigo a dirty rascal, and I'd fixed them good and proper.[/color] (A lot of people left me alone, but Indigo was my friend and that was enough.) "Well, when you look up, know we're looking at the same stars." I can picture my sister rushing to her window and cracking it open in an attempt to see the sky. The end is inevitable, and yet quite far away.[/color]

I awaken much later to the noise of somebody else in my castle[/color]. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat and my heart hammering hard against my ribs. It's Junglegym[/color], and if I was to be afraid of anything in this arena, it would, perhaps, be her. (I'm not, but this is the girl who tumbled and turned to the podium, who ~~stole~~ scored my a twelve in training.)[/color] For a long moment, I simply wait, watching her. She doesn't look at me - my presence has perhaps gone undetected in the shadows. Settling Casper on the ground beside me and pulling my belongings in close, I set my eyes on her bag.[/color] A glimmer beckons, and before logic can overthrow my sudden, burning confidence, I lunge toward her dagger and seize it with glimmering eyes.

normal text
emphasis one.

[/color]
(notes)[/color]
"words!"[/center]

{ivy attempts to steal cricket's dagger}

[dice=14]

[where numbers 1-6 equal success]

[success]

{action/roll approved by thundy}

[/color]

the weather report keeps tossing and turning
predicting and warning and warning of
possible leakage with news publications and possible
leakage from news tv stations, the very same morning
right next to her coffee she noticed some bleeding

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Last Edit: Mar 8, 2013 1:14:58 GMT -5 by clover ❁

food for worms
2024 tracker

arx
Retired Staff

2,424 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
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literally so gay, doing so many crimes

Secret Destroyers // Day 4 Mar 8, 2013 0:39:39 GMT -5

Quote

Post by arx on Mar 8, 2013 0:39:39 GMT -5

Look at me. You may think you see
who I really am , but you'll never know me.
Every day it's as if I play a part.
Now I see if I wear a mask I can fool the world,
But I cannot fool my heart.

My eyes flutter open when the smell of smoke reaches into my lungs and burns my throat. But where a normal girl might sit up straight in bed, I am only lay under my covers silently, the months of practice I have had at making sure the man next to me stays asleep as I roll out of his bed has trained me to wake from my sleep without so much as taking a heavy breath. Cigarette smoke. I scrunch my nose at foul stench of it. Light streams through an open window, but it is not sunlight (it never is, I always wake before the sun) only moonlight. It casts a soft light across the floorboards in the room, a sort of shine that makes you think it might be polished. And then I'm running my fingers across the bed sheets, trying to determine if I know this place, the person who smokes behind me, really if I know anything about where I have slept. And then I am shooting straight up in bed. Because this is my room. And I most certainly do not bring men back to my house. My heart beats wildly in my chest as I stumble out of my bed at the sight of a man sitting at my dresser, staring at me, a burning cigarette dangling from his lips, a smirk growing on his face as he watches me crash to the floor in a nearly naked flurry. He wears no shirt, and not to my surprise, I am wearing what must be his button down, collared shirt. In a rush of terror I grab at the nearest thing to me that I can find and point it at him accusingly. I try to find words but instead only a cluster of unintelligible pour out into the silence of the dark room. He laughs, deep, from a very dark place.

"What? You going to, uh, paint me to death there, sweetheart?"

I pull in a shuddering breath as he continues to chuckle to himself, blowing clouds of smoke in my direction. I feel like crying, screaming, but that will only wake the others in the house, alert them to the crimes I commit. Instead I only stare at him, still pointing the brush at him. His eyes shine in the dark, but I do not recognize this man (not that I could recognize any of the men I have slept with) who sits across my room, still staring and smiling and puffing away. "Who - How the the hell did you get in here?" He chuckles and stands from where he sits, slowly making his way towards me from across the room. ~~No shoes, no shirt? Hell to the yes!~~ I stand tall as he approaches me despite how much I want to curl into a ball and just hide. No one is ever invited into my room. Ever. He take s the paintbrush from my out stretched hand and tosses it to the ground where it rolls across the floorboards making what feels to me like an echo rush through the entire house. I want to grimace, fearing that the sound, the smallest sound in the world, will wake my sleeping family. I bring my hand down to my side as he takes a step closer, standing as tall as I can, trying to look and sound fierce when I say, "Get the hell out of my house," but he only continues to move towards me. He towers over me, staring down into my eyes (which better not be brimming with tears or something) with a ferocity that nearly makes me slink away from him. But I don't. I won't. No man gets that satisfaction from me. He raises his cigarette back to his lips breathing in before exhaling slowly into my face, the smoke burning in my eyes and filling up my nostrils. My hand shoots from my side, opening up and aiming for his face, but he catches it nonchalantly before it gets anywhere close to his face, blowing another puff of smoke in my face and tossing his cigarette out the window, still clutching my wrist in his hand. He I move away from him, trying to wrench my hand free, but he only takes a step closer to me and grips tighter before grabbing my other wrist in his hand and raising his eyebrows at me. "Ah, a girl used to control." I stare at him, my jaw clenched tight, even as I find myself backed up against the wall as he pins me to the wall with his body. Really there is no point in struggling, so I only moan in appreciation and close my eyes. Maybe he just wants to play? (Have we not done that already?) Whatever, I just need him to let go of me. "That won't work on me, darling. But I congratulate you on the attempt. Real class act." I open my eyes again, clenching my jaw, shifting in a futile attempt to escape. "What do you want, huh? Your money back? Too bad. Think you can sneak in a quick one before I shove you out the window? You're going to have to pay extra for that. And my god, I swear if you are one of those creepy sadist guys, you can just get the fuck out now."

He laughs and bends down, his lips brushing against my ear. He voice is crackly against my ear, his hands squeezing so tightly around my wrists that I am sure they are bruising as we speak. I barely hear him when he finally does anything more than breathe into my ear. "You know what I want? I want to watch you bleed out slowly on the ground. I want to see the light leave your eyes. I want to laugh as you cry for mercy - as you beg for death. And I want to scream but my throat won't work. It shrinks so small that I can't even pull in a breath. Darkness washes over me as I struggle in silence. The smell of smoke is nearly overwhelming and then suddenly it's not even there anymore. Gone and replaced by one more familiar. I cry out when the voice reaches my ears.

"You will beg for it won't you, Elodie?"

He pulls back and the face isn't unrecognizable anymore. It's Will. I shake my head at him blinking hard, willing away the images. Wake up, Elodie. Wake up ... I open my eyes and yet another face meets me and the hands on my wrists suddenly feel small and dainty compared to the other two pairs. "Come on, you profitable set of holes. Beg me." I shake my head again, her eyes burning into my skull as I turn away from her. This isn't real. She isn't really there. "Oh, I'm real. And don't you dare think I will let you off easy just because you're my sister." I swallow and turn back to her, spitting in her face. "You are not my sister." She laughs and wipes her face against her shoulder, staring back at me until I blink before replying. "You're right! I'm your brother." And the hands turn into strong ones again and the smell changes from female to male in an instant and I'm banging my head against the wall, willing myself to wake up. The body pinning me against the wall continues to change, different voices hissing in my ear. The drug dealer down the street. The boy who bullied me at the orphanage. My sisters, my brothers, Urbane. I start to scream eventually, but it becomes background noise as the voices get louder, overlapping, bursting around the room and blinding me in every possible way. Will, Benat, Essence, Ivy. Pyrian, Gypsy, Asunder, Owen ... the whole lot of my fellow tributes, all threatening to slaughter me. All of them pinning me against a wall, laughing as tears run down my cheeks. And then they are all shoving me towards the window. Fly, bird girl, fly! Come on now, show me those wings you must have. And then I'm screaming, flailing, falling ...

My eyes fly open, but my trained body does not sit up. I feel sweat on my forehead and dripping down my back and even though my heart beats rapidly, I only pull in shallow breaths. The stars burn bright in the sky, but instead of distinct points of light they are all blurred through the tears in my eyes. I swallow and slowly shake me head, forcing the nightmare away and brushing the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. I keep telling myself that it wasn't real, that I need to calm down, that they wouldn't hurt me. But that isn't true. Each one of them wants me dead. Each one wants to laugh as I bleed out on the ground. Every single one of them wants to force this broken bird out a window and watch her fall. I push myself up, seeing Ivy in the corner and Benat not much farther away. And then I see her. My heart stops beating. My lungs liquidize and I know I should be scrambling for my spear. But I can't move. My muscles, my bones - they are all frozen in terror. It's little Miss Twelve herself. She aimed for me earlier, back when River broke my collar bone, just missing me with what I assume to be one of her multiple blades. My eyes flash back to the darkened corner where Ivy shifts placing her new found pet on the ground and creeping slowly towards Cricket. "Ivy, what the hell are you doing?" And then she is grabbing the dagger from where it sits with Cricket's ~~toys~~ things and slinking away again. I look from her and back to Cricket who has yet to notice our presences. "Are you completely insane?" I hiss through the dark at my ally, making sure not to say anything too loudly for fear that the girl across the room will wake and yes, kill each and of us one by one without breaking a sweat. ... What? Am I really ridiculous enough to believe one girl could possibly kill three people working against her? I shake my head as I begin silently padding my way across the room, reaching for the knife that protrudes from her bag. The metal glints in the moonlight and I smile, looking back at Benat, raising the knife for both of them to see before backing away, the image of this girl throwing me out a window filling my mind.

[Attempts to steal knife from Cricket Antoinette]
[dice=14]
{Success}

I am now in a world where I have
to hide my heart and what I believe in,
But somehow I will show the world
what's inside my heart
And be loved for who I am.

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Last Edit: Jan 1, 2014 15:28:26 GMT -5 by arx

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

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Secret Destroyers // Day 4 Mar 8, 2013 0:40:12 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2013 0:40:12 GMT -5

•••
Death on two legs
You're tearing me apart
Death on two legs
You never had a heart of your own
•••

OH HAI BENDY LEGGED GIRL HOW YOU DOIN’
GUYS ARE WE REALLY TRYING TO TAKE HER STUFF
OH THEY ALREADY TRIED
GUESS I MIGHT AS WELL TRY TO
DON’T HURT ME
~~WANT TO MAKE OUT YOU’RE HOT~~
RUN RUN RUN SCARY
BYEEEEE
BENAT ATTEMPTS TO STEAL the bow and arrow from Cricket SO HE DOESN’T HAVE TO USE HIS BLOWGUN ANYMORE
[dice=14]
[Result: Bow & Arrows Stolen]

[/size]
[rand=2360816141590476923821303062140924219680367968976843588434625417]

Last Edit: Mar 8, 2013 0:40:59 GMT -5 by Deleted

L△LIA
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last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

BOOM SH△KALAKA

Secret Destroyers // Day 4 Mar 9, 2013 17:44:20 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Mar 9, 2013 17:44:20 GMT -5

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then someone will
s a y
what is lost
can never be
s a v e d

The insects soar in one window of the small room and out the other. They are a passing breeze that lingers on my skin — with blood-hungry teeth and mouths that only know how to swallow — and I know this is not a sensation that can be brushed away, although that knowledge doesn't stop me from smearing the last of my medicinal plants across my flesh to dull the burn. Perhaps their greedy bodies are more tangible than the wind, but they are just as stubborn and undeniable. When I glance down, the few that remain latched on to my flesh seem to blend as if they have become a part of me.

I am a collector of this Arena. Leeches and killer butterflies. The thin scraps of cloth that remain of my hacked up shorts and neon bra. Blood, mud, and sweat that is not all mine. My own skin is hard to see, whittled down to cracks in the color-shock collage, a living labyrinth of these four days that have become my entire life. Memories are so far that even the heartbeat of the abandoned ~~never-was~~ lover that I've carried in my fingertips stills, because it knows it does not belong in this end times world of gold and sacrifice.

When I turn my gaze back to the blinding shimmer of the surrounding walls, the stillness begins to consume me. They are carved with such intricate patterns that although their shine promises the probability of reflections, I cannot see myself in them. "Sun. River. Jaguar. Rings." Reaching out to trace my fingertips over the mosaic, I am an explosion against the teasing gleam. Wings. Bruises. Life-blood. Sin. One creature swirls into the landscape of the next and I follow, the strangest sense of comfort and finding lingering within my hushed chant of identification. "Tusk, eagle, trees, temple." As the jilted words smooth themselves into strings of sound that hardly know the difference between one another, it turns from nonsense listing to a sentence of coherency in my mind: "Compass into serpent lake view to heart sacrifice tomb." Halcyon.

My eyes snap shut with a suddenness that borders on violence. The mixed up words of my little sister are accidentally echoing in my lungs, tumbling over themselves until I ache with a sense of missing that I haven't felt ~~ever~~ since coming here. (Meanwhile: something fleetingly jealous beats at the tattoo across my chest, wondering why I never felt this for him — as if to say: "why are you so selfish with your love, Cricket Antoinette?!" — and I could almost swoon at the soul-familiarity of the thought as it twines itself with my ego.) It is not often that my feelings break the barrier of my own body. I am so self-consumed that I forget what it's like to long for anything beyond the muscle-stretch and lung-burn of my accomplishments. The Arena has always been the future. What — or who — might lie beyond it has never had a home in me.

"Cloud devils water at pit garden to fish treasure crown moon." Sucking my lower lip into my mouth and biting down until it is pinned between my teeth, an incoherent mumble still threatens to slip past the blockade, until: Maybe I miss my sister. But I'm shaking my head, whipping the blasphemy away because I can't miss what I chose to leave behind. Everything. Her broken mouth does not live in this wall any more than his heartbeat lives in my hand; this Arena was only ever been meant to be home for me. Yet, here stands a girl who loves her cruelest demons and demonizes her love. And maybe I'm finally beginning to know it.

Refusal screams within me and I whirl away, limbs tearing messy at the air as my hand swoops down to reclaim my satchel from where it lays, forgotten for reveries. Mine is a body that knows little more than itself or the weight and balances of what it comes into physical contact with and so ~~ironically~~ instantly I feel it: The missing. Not-there emptiness. Vacancy. Automatically, my muscles are doing math, subtracting the newfound loss from my memories to determine what has left me. The heft of my bag is so wrong that without looking, I can already tell my knives are gone. My bow. My arrows. ~~I am once again left with little more than tweezers, Julian Useless Bryze.~~

I'm out the door in an instant, prepared to once again make demands at the sky, forever entitled in my moments of need. It is only when the sunshine is once again crowning my head that I catch a flicker of movement from the shadows of the room I have just left behind — not fearsome, vicious mutts. Tributes. The sticky-fingered trio are not as stealthy as the prizes they hold might make them seem. With Halcyon's deafening tumble of words fading away, I can hear the trembling of their bones and see it in their wavering shadows. I can smell their fear, acrid-sweet as the soaked and yellowed mattress of a child waking up from their worst dreams... only to find that their nightmare has come to life. All of this is an inevitable manifestation of their awe and that knowledge is enough to summon a smile back to my face, until I am nothing but teeth.

One of them wears a helmet, made as much of fear as it is of steel. Casually tilting my head in hello, my own armor flakes from my neck — butterfly wings, bare skin, and blood. Staring her straight in the eye, a giddy smirk still curling my lips, I don't have to say what all four of us already know: It is right for the three of you to be afraid of me. Nearly naked and unarmed, the idea of me is still unfathomable to most. I destroy all their fragile definitions for impossible. "It's not my weapons that make me deadly." My voice is gravel, evidence of the ten thousand swords I've swallowed over the years, loose and rough as I laugh at their petty attempt take what is still undeniably mine even with their hands wrapped around it.

Butterflies congregate in the air around me, returning to the vibrant colors I wear as if my body were their cathedral. A place to worship and pray, something worth devoting their lives to. With a lazy bend, I close my eyes and lean back, my body knotting and spiraling into angles that defy my audience's logic, but never my own. This slow-motion twist is a kind of trust-fall that pulls me to the edge of the pyramid that has become my stage. "I am not so easily disarmed."

Theatrically launching myself over the pyramid's edge, I am open-mouthed and airborne, the last echo of my laughter swallowed up by the sun. Above me a small white parachute falls from the sky, tied around the hilt of a butterfly knife, proof that perhaps my mentor understands me more than I give him credit for. My spine arcs as I flip through the air, the world shifting beneath me, and I catch the knife in my teeth, the taste of new possibilities metallic on my tongue. Even after I fall back to the gilded surface of the pyramid, my momentum has already long been unstoppable, and I go sliding down the smooth side of the monument. Faster than my enemies. Faster than the victory of my own showmanship. Faster than any of my butterfly followers — except, perhaps, for the new one held between my teeth.

[Cricket treats her leech wounds with medicinal plants, receives a butterfly knife via sponsorship, and takes a joy slide down the side of the pyramid]