{but you won't get them for free - day six feast}

there's a sick little suicide in all that we do
you decide, which one's for you?

He could never seem to get where he wanted to go.

The night had been long and frought, even though he had finally, finally found his way to Owen. And Gypsy and Pyrian, of course. Couldn't forget them. And yet he found it increasingly easy to do so, even as he dodged Gyspy's footsteps, even as he tried to start a conversation Pyrian and then realized what a fruitless effort that would be. He tried to make himself known with gestures and grunts, to convey to Pyrian that he thought they were on the right path. Together. All together. But really the only person he could be concerned about Owen. It didn't really work out. So, after a good long time of attempting to awkward his way into Pyrian's good graces, Asunder fell back into step with Owen.

Sometime during the long night and shadowy morning he got the impression that not all was going according to plan. Something, like a tremor at his feet or a shudder along a coal-thickened wall, was wrong. He used his jar of tar without seeking advice, babbling to Owen about how dangerous earthquakes could be, and how the Gamemakers would surely use one against them. He had doused his weapons, coated them, but the vast majority of the tar stuck to his trusty old arrows. They seemed to be kindred spirits, tar and arrows, and together they bred flame. Blazing flame. Deadly flame. He put his fingers into the black stuff, rubbed it between his palms as he walked alongside his friend.

His friend. He smiled at Owen with no restraints, utter abandon. He laughed shrilly, thickly whenever he attempted a joke. And there was no pause in the conversation, even though keeping it going became a stretch, became a battle in itself. He talked of nothing, of the land ahead of them, of the rich meals in the Capitol, of working and how sore his muscles remained, despite years of practice. It had all the workings of a terrible conversation between acquaintances, and all the earnest affection of someone falling in love.

Another smile broke, another eager response left his lips until his feet betrayed him. He stumbled over the thick vines, flailing his arms and coming to a halt against a tree. A giving tree. "Whoa," he uttered, staring up into its branches. And he barely had time to reach for the stones in his pocket, to hurry them to spark before the other tributes fell upon them. "Too good to be true," he muttered, about the tree, about their alliance, about Owen himself.

[ Until I get confirmation on where to do this, Asunder lights his arrows with his jar of tar ].

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
if i never get back home
there's no garden overgrown
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

There was only one face in the sky last night; I thought I recognized him, but I wasn't too sure. His blank, vacant stare illuminated the evenin', reflectin' off of the golden medallion I'd snatched from the hall of treasure and kept for myself, a little somethin' to remind me of where I'd been, what I'd done in this arena. After about a minute of puzzlin', his name finally clicked in my head. Benat. Benat Izar, district… eleven, was it? Benat had probably thought he had a chance to win these Games, a chance as much as the rest of us. He probably had spent more than a few nights imaginin' what it would be like to come home, back to a family he'd left, a home he'd missed, friends and hobbies to return to. And then the fame… oh, the fame and fortune of winnin' these Hunger Games. He probably thought it was in his grasp. He'd probably fought hard for his life, just like every tribute in here did. And then a slash of someone's sword, a slice of someone's axe, and boom. Done. Gone.

There were less than half of us left now that Benat had died, and for a fleetin' moment as I was preparin' to drift off to sleep my mind started to wander, and I imagined my own face in the sky. The other tributes lookin' up at me, maybe some a little sympathetic and remorseful, but most just glad as hell that I was gone because it meant a better chance of them winnin'. I realized I was glad to see Benat go for the same reason; if I'd had any dregs of humanity left I probably woulda been kinda bothered by this, but I, Gypsy Keeni, was becomin' more and more desensitized to the idea of death with every passin' day, so it really didn't have that much of an effect on me. I wanted him to die. I wanted them all to die. So what? I wasn't the only one. We all wanted it. Because there wasn't a single one of us who didn't want to live to see home, right?

With Asunder back with us—he still hadn't given a straight answer as to how he'd gotten lost—our little motley band of tributes had planned on pursuin' the next clue we'd found to lead us on our treasure hunt, which seemed to be pointin' back towards the Cornucopia. But right after Benat's face that night, announcer Templesmith's voice had boomed out over the arena, reverberatin' through the golden walls of the treasure hall. A feast. He was announcin' a feast. I wasn't surprised; these were pretty common here in the Games. I shuddered involuntarily as he spoke, thinkin' of the particularly gruesome one just two years before, in which two tributes had opted out and instead had to face the Kraken, a terrible beast I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy okay I'm lyin', maybe I would and another had been stabbed straight through the eye by an angry she-bitch from District One… wasn't she Viridian Harper's sister? Anyway, Feasts were common, and even though they didn't usually turn out well for the parties involved they seemed fun and I realized that I wanted in.

We found ourselves back in the thick, viney jungle of a garden we'd fought those pesky digitamoles in a few days before, and as we moved quietly among the trees I couldn't help but feel more than a little claustrophobic. They were closin' in on me, these vines… I found myself with one hand around the hilt of my rapier, the other twitchin' in the direction of the jar of tar in my backpack. I knew fire would save me, if the need arose. Suddenly, a noise. There were people, people close nearby. I swung around to face my brother. Keep your eyes open, I signed to him warningly, knowin' that if he was going to survive this he had to use his remaining senses on overdrive. Py relied on his eyes where the rest of us used our ears, and I had a feelin' this feast was gonna prove to be challengin' for him. But I wasn't goin' to babysit him; we had to learn to fight on our own, the both of us, and I had total faith that if any deaf kid could survive it, it was him.

The speed at which the boy jumped into the fray really would have made his sister proud. Despite his injuries and exhaustion, his body and brain were wired for just this- fighting. It was effortless motions that made him extract his knife and aim it at someone. By the looks of it all the tributes were there but with all the movement it was hard to identify any. Only one face stood out among the rest and that belonged to the hopeful child from Twelve.

Asunder had already killed at least one tribute thus far and was now fighting like a banshee. How odd. Viridian's mind had painted such an innocent picture free of blood and fire about the boy and now, watching him, he saw that it was Viri who needed the pity.

"You got the knife out now use it!" Stark chided him. It was almost if the boy's body was no longer his, but now a mere vessel for his dead sibling to take her revenge out on a world that had banished her. The boy's head was foggy, but his movements weren't. In fact, his arm cut through the air with ease, all injuries forgotten and all courage screwed to the sticking place.

[Attacks Ivy ]
[dice=200+2000]
[ -- Deep Gash on Right Thigh -- 8.0 damage]