untitled [Sisterhood Day 4]

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cass
Retired Staff

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untitled [Sisterhood Day 4] Jul 12, 2014 21:31:43 GMT -5

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Post by cass on Jul 12, 2014 21:31:43 GMT -5

A E L I A V A N D E R W E L L

The riverbed was where they had found themselves. After being torn out of the cacti and sent into a desert Aelia Vanderwell was sure she was going to die. Her mouth was as dry as sandpaper- in fact she was more then positive that her mouth was filled with sand, completely and utterly filled so that it was tipping out of her mouth and sliding down her chin and onto her clothes. It wasn’t moist; there wasn’t even a hint of moisture between her lips. They were cracked and she was sure they were bleeding, but she couldn’t think about it whatsoever, all she could think about was this driving, dying need to get some form of water into her body.

When she found it, it took every bit of strength and will power she had not to drink it straight away, but some voice, something in the back of her mind told her to stop that it could kill her. So she pulled herself back with tears in her eyes, with a burning throat and a body aching and fighting to drink to make a fire. The canteen she filled was like heaven to her eyes, the sounds it made was like heaven to her ears. She loved it, she loved the sound and the sight of it, even dirty it was better then anything she would see for the rest of her life. This was heaven; this was all she wanted out of life. She was not being over-dramatic.

But after Darius Radler’s death she was struggling with everything inside of her. She had stabbed his body over and over and over again. She had seen him, he had turned around to face her and his eyes had been gone, there had been this whole in his face and he had looked dead. But he had tipped forwards and towards her and Aelia had freaked out and she had stabbed him. Until her blade had been more red then silver, until his blood caked her mouth, face and clothing. Then she had torn herself away, cackling, laughing, delirious after all that had happened.

The water had boiled and she had hardly retrained herself from drinking it as hot as it was, but as soon as it was drinkable the liquid had reached her lips and she had done her fill. The sand had been washed away and she had felt alive once more.

Now she found herself in the dirt of the wasteland, hands fumbling over an item she had grabbed at the bloodbath, it was a tarp of some sort, with polls and hooks and all sorts of things. It looked as though it could provide some kind of shelter protect her and her remaining allies from the elements that struck at them. There was no shelter in sight, no protection from the wind and the sun, it clawed at her skin and what was showing was red and blistered. It burned. It reminded the girl that this was why she loved water; this was why she wanted to see the ocean. This was why her dream was the ocean and everything like that, it was water and it was life. The desert was hell, the desert was death.

She looked away from the shelter she was trying to make, searching for Charlie or Owen, ”hey guys? I really need some help with this thing. It’s big and ugly and I don’t know what to do.” She squinted, turning her attention to her hands before pouting. ”My hands hurt, please help me.” She whined, fingers raw, blistered and looking as though they were going to start bleeding at any moment.

[makes fire, fills canteen with water, boils it and drinks it]

Hello darkness, my old friend,
Ive come to talk with you again,

{graphic credit to stare <3}

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untitled [Sisterhood Day 4] Jul 13, 2014 0:16:56 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2014 0:16:56 GMT -5

owen {♔} bowers-fox

The previous night had been longer than all the others combined, and every minute seemed to pass by more slowly than the last. Sundown had leaked into a dreary night, with recollections of my previous time with Leon intertwining into each star that bleakly shone against the blanket of black.

“I can’t.”

”I understand.” (And even though it’s nothing but a lie, I pretend that everything makes sense, because it just might make things easier).

The moments of silence that followed caused more pain than any knife could inflict, and the decision to not stay around any longer lingered in my thoughts until I finally pushed myself to my feet, picking up my discarded bag and casting one last look at Leon Krigel, and though I wanted to stare forever and lose myself in him once more, I turned my attention back in the way I had come and headed back to a reality that I did not want to face. This had been some twisted sort of fantasy, a time that had revealed true intentions and desires and even though they weren’t fulfilled, they were released from the confines of our mind, granting more relief than any solitary time could have. So I suppose I should feel gratitude falling through my mind at each careless step I take back in the direction that points to Charlie and Aelia, but instead it’s confusion mixed with anger, and that in itself is the worst possible combination.

Rapid fire thoughts cross my mind as I attempt to figure out what I did to cause this, even if I had been assured by the problem himself that I was not at fault. But it had to be my fault; it’s always because of me that things go awry, even when I’m only trying to fix them.

“What have you found among those three that we couldn’t give to you—that I couldn’t give to you?” My own words ring true in my ears, the question still stinging like salt in a fresh wound as I met his gaze with uneasy eyes and a tired mind.

“There’s nothing important there that you can’t give me, Owen. You could—you could give me so much more, and we could spend every second of every day to the end of one or both of our lives together, and it could be perfect—“

Then let me. Let me give you the world and everything in it, even if it lasts only a day more, for it would be worth it. It would be worth every tear shed and every previously held back word, and we could rule the world. But I’m apparently the only one to see this as he continues, “But—but things change.”

And I suppose they have, in the sense that I stumble into our camp red eyed and sniffling, wasting no time in settling down in an area as far away from the other two as I can, barely making it back in time to see the faces of Darius Radler and the girl from two flash across the sky in bursts of blaring light, and I’m thankful for the momentary distraction it brings about, for it breaks the silence in two and causes all thoughts of Leon Krigel to shatter with it, even if it’s only for a moment.

The dark rules again with silence at it’s right hand, and I toss and turn over and over again in an attempt to find some way to make sleep seem probable. However, the frigid wind and cold temperatures make it more difficult than it already is, and the thin clothing that has stuck to my body so incessantly for the last three days now does little in terms of holding any heat to my body. So I curl up to pull as much heat into myself as possible and watch the sky until exhaustion takes over and I fall into a deep sleep.

I’m awoken by the blinding light of the morning sun, and sleep shakes itself from my body as we pack our belongings and trudge off. We see no sight of a living soul on our entire journey from the arid desert to the heavenly, murky riverbed and Aelia acts for all of us as she throws herself forward, filling her canteen quickly and boiling it over the small fire she’s managed to start. I wade in just to my calves, letting the water seep through the denim as I fumble with the cap to my canteen, my trembling hands thrilled at the mere thought of water as it rushes in.

Once I’ve gotten a decent amount I walk out, leaving a trail of water behind me as I make my way to Aelia’s fire, setting my jug on top of it and sitting down to watch it boil, longing for the moment in which it would be finished. In the meantime I turn my attention to Aelia, who’s fumbling with some strange contraption, turning it over in her hands and looking at the pieces blankly as she makes no progress towards the goal she’s trying to accomplish. I’m about to stand and make my way over to see what she’s gotten her hands on, but her voice rings out in the meantime and I simply smile as annoyance takes on an undertone beneath the usual gentleness that present itself, “Hey guys? I really need some help with this thing. It’s big and ugly and I don’t know what to do. My hands hurt, please help me.”

I chuckle as I make my way over to her, leaning over her shoulder as I do my best to make sense of the object, but nothing makes itself apparent and I long for Cody’s seemingly endless knowledge, for by this time he’d have already identified it and listed all the possible uses, whereas I’ve come up with absolutely nothing at all.

I shrug as I turn my gaze to Charlie, hoping her knowledge is greater than mine, and I leave her to deal with the situation at hand as I make my way back over to the fire, tediously removing the canteen from the flames and setting it to the side to let it cool, though the urge to rip off the top and down the entire thing sits prominently in my thoughts.

Seconds and minutes seem to take hours to pass as I stare intently at the jug of water, as though if I watch it carefully the heat that’s purified it will fade quicker than if I let it fall from my vision. It has to be cool by now, or at least cool enough.

And though some heat remains encapsulated in the clear water, it doesn’t matter at all because the taste of it down my throat is nothing short of heavenly, and before I know it, my glass has run dry.

[Owen fills his jug, boils it on Aelia’s fire, and drinks it]

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untitled [Sisterhood Day 4] Jul 13, 2014 6:07:25 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2014 6:07:25 GMT -5

[presto]

charlotte ♔ brownings

[/presto]

She could've killed them, she could've killed fucking all of them, but something went wrong; her bangs were in her eyes or blood was in her eye or the sweat her hand wore even beneath the cool of her rings made her miss or something. Luce always said she'd be a piss poor career (which in all beat out him ignoring her existence like it was a damn plague) and it turns out she was. Sure she could actually land a hit, but what were all these digs if they didn't actually manage to kill somebody; maybe instead of Owen being a career's status, Charlotte just sucked ass instead. Besides, limp-leg sometimes made hits even harder than the ones she took, of course never when it didn't matter, if she could actually have some consistency maybe there would've been a third face in that sky. There was no place in her heart to actually bring herself to hate Aelia though, in the days of having to be stuck with her she tried, but it just wasn't as easy as it was to get annoyed with Owen's senselessness to the point of wondering how the hell he was still alive four days into this.

Back in the districts nobody ever really appreciated Charlotte (besides Rene, but that ended up being fucked too huh) it was always just acquaintances or dumbasses, and it was simple because you never had to worry about them getting offended. Even coming to the capitol didn't change that very much, all three of her mentors practically ignored her and Jem - although one of them dropped a medkit onto her after literally slicing open someone's face, whichever's fault it was was beyond her - and it was pretty evident Camal and her dress-up gang didn't find her in their tastes despite always ending up getting make up powder in her back of her fucking mouth. Most of the other tributes never fancied her either, but that's considering they were going to be knife-deep into each other, but hell that doesn't mean be a bitch.

The only names Charlotte could put to the faces still in this arena were Aelia's, that Sonjuh lass who's probably got scars other than the one licking across her hand by now, that one guy that was supposed to be in her alliance but wandered off after the fight (the fact that that phrase could mean either Owen or Leon sickened her to the loose stitching by Aelia on her right arm) and Darius's in the sky. He looked pale with the stars pinning against his face like that, but he probably looked less colorful with that hole in his head inside of his casket back in ten. And she only shivered at the sight of him again because it could have been her; that fucking lower district rat could have set loose on herself instead, or Aelia.

Morning came like Darius's death and each minute she was awake afterwards made her rather that dingy thing to have stabbed her in the ear instead, the crick in her neck making itself as noticeable as the scratch running through the tattoos nesting on her chest. How she'd kill for to be back in one of those beds at the capitol, and she would, since the only future outside of these games was that she'd have an excuse to sleep away the responsibilities she'd leave tugging at her skin. But heat traced each inch like a stamp and even four days into it she was still not fucking prepared for this shit, when she accepted coming into the games she accepted dying but thought it'd be from some bastard's sword point, not this fucking sun.

Water breaks the blinding sight of stretching sand and the urge to just fucking jump into it is matched by the suspicion of leeches or some shit, besides there's no way in hell the game makers would just put it without the intent of getting someone killed - the marks from that stampede yesterday was enough proof. Each press of moccasins back into the ground led to her following the other two's suit and dipping her canteen into the water before tossing a fire under it. She didn't find solace in sitting around watching the flame snap against metal or watching Aelia play around with some useless thing she dragged out of the bloodbath, she was built for this right, the minutes of fighting and the hours of nothing, aching in awkward silence or having to live through Owen and Aelia's mumbling. For once, home didn't feel buried in the sands of this fucking pit and going home didn't actually seem like trash, but maybe that's just the hunger talking; maybe the thought of anything outside of this was just the hunger talking. This was supposed to be the part where she clung to whatever token she brought from home, but she didn't have anything, all she had of district one was herself and Jem, wherever the hell he was.

Collected noise of Aelia's mumbling and cracking water and Owen's choking on his own throat filled her ears as much as the cans in front were to the point of capsizing her attention past the blank expression. The only thing more apparent than the fact of Owen having no idea how the fuck to pitch a tent was that she placed her faith in the wrong people, which was even more obvious standing a few steps away from the mess after the wall of meat moved away. Some sort of growl or pant flew from her mouth before crawling to the wreck, sighing out a false-hearted "how hard can it be," before jamming random pieces together; she'd never actually put one together considering nobody ever expects to have to put one the fuck together.

[charlotte does the water game with the boiling and the drinking and the refilling]

Last Edit: Jul 13, 2014 6:12:12 GMT -5 by Deleted

cass
Retired Staff

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untitled [Sisterhood Day 4] Jul 14, 2014 7:30:01 GMT -5

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Post by cass on Jul 14, 2014 7:30:01 GMT -5

A E L I A V A N D E R W E L L

Back in district seven she had her family, but in all reality she was nothing like them, her father appreciated her and loved her simply because she followed the rules. She was the strongest believer of Him, therefore she was the apple of his eye, the one that had fallen into his embrace and accepted things as they were. Not for a second had she questioned the order of existence, instead she had welcomed it, greeting it with open arms and allowing it to rule her. And then when she had agreed to go into the arena no one had stopped her, no one had held her and told her it was going to all be alright, but that didn’t matter because she had walked with him by her side and he had told her everything was going to be alright. She had believed with all her heart, body and soul that he was correct and she was finally beginning to understand what he had meant.

You see the person they call Ripred does not lie, but there are so many truth’s in his words that you can make any meaning from them. The truth is just as much a lie as a lie is, you see when you lie you try to imitate part of the truth and whilst you may not be saying the whole truth there is always a little bit of honesty in what you say. When you tell the truth there is always a little lie in what you say, whether it be a misplaced word or an indecent thought. Aelia Vanderwell didn’t believe in lying, just as much as she didn’t believe in telling the truth, you simply couldn’t have one without the other, so when he told her she was going to be alright, that in the end she’d see the ocean she partly understood what he had meant.

She was beginning to understand it now. Being alright didn’t mean surviving, being alright didn’t mean getting through this and seeing the ocean didn’t mean she had to be alive. She could so all that with whatever comes after living and she knew it. She knew that everything she had gone through in her life would end when she died and she knew she would be at ease. No longer did she hold that childish enthusiasm that had gripped her when she had stepped up to replace that girl. No longer did she see the world as a wish-granting factory, as a place that gave, but did not want to take, but she saw it for what it was. She saw these kids around her and she saw fighters, people who wanted to live with every fibre of their being. She wasn’t like that. She saw weapons and she saw death hidden in each swift stroke of a blade, each cry of a falling body or each drop of blood. She saw herself and she saw the hopeless realisation that it was going to end soon.

She was and had never been strong enough to cope with all of this. Little, fragile Aelia, the girl that woke up before the sun rose and stood outside simply to watch t grace the planet. She was the little girl that was fascinated by each streak of colour that light up her world, the little girl that dreamed of seeing the ocean and nothing more. The girl that had never ever dreamt of hurting another living being. The girl that cried when she stubbed her toe and wept when her bird died. The one that didn’t fight. And Aelia didn’t need to, not anymore. All of this was not something she needed to keep herself going, she had no reason to fight and live, the only thing that had gotten her this far was the ocean, but Leon had told her about it and after all of it when she faded from this world she’d see it. She’d rise above everyone else and fly high into the sky and she’d see it and maybe she’d go there and she’s smile.

Yesterday, after seeing her blood hit the ground, after seeing wound after wound open in her stomach arms and legs she felt herself giving up. All her life she had grown up being told she was the useless one, the girl that knew nothing and was a nobody. And that was okay, there was nothing wrong with being that kind of person, unlike so many she had lived her life with joy and love and dreams and that was all that mattered. So when Charlie comes over she stands up, and she smiles at the girl, she nods her head a small laugh escaping her lips as the girl fidgets with the items she knew nothing about.

There was a good feeling that came with accepting the inevitable, there was a lightness to understanding and to agreeing with what was to come. Stepping backwards she eyed the world around her and for a moment she embraced the sun and the light and she ignored the pain in her body as best as she could. After the fight yesterday she had refused to treat herself with little more then a needle and thread, instead she had given it all to Charlie, pleading with the bitter girl to use it all, she didn’t need it, not anymore.

She’d be alright.

The aches and pains of the day had not faded, not for a moment. Her feet moved back more, moving into the sand and then all at once there was no ground beneath her left foot and she let out a yelp of pain and fear and surprise as she was thrown backwards. And the world tipped and for a moment a wild panic gripped her and she opened her mouth to scream as sand and hope fell with her and then all at once a sharp pain sprung up in her arm and she wasn’t falling.

She looked up, eyes wide with fear to see Charlie holding her arm. And through the fear there was this flower and it blossomed and relief spread through her chest and tears sprung up to her eyes because she wasn’t dead yet.

She was living for Charlie and she was living for Owen.

She just had to remember that.

Hello darkness, my old friend,
Ive come to talk with you again,

{graphic credit to stare <3}

in all the chaos she fills her jug up again and boils it again

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untitled [Sisterhood Day 4] Jul 15, 2014 0:04:28 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 15, 2014 0:04:28 GMT -5

owen {♔} bowers-fox

When Cody had visited the Justice Building to bid me farewell, the word “goodbye” was never actually spoken, only left hanging in the air as a figment of my imagination as he walked out, breaking eye contact the second our time was up. Even Duncan had managed to tell me goodbye, as he knew as well as I that this would be the last time we would be face to face. And although he would watch me pass into death, whether it was destined to be slowly or quickly, he would see me once more, though I wouldn’t be granted the same privilege. I suppose it was for the better, as the selfish part that sits deep within me realized that I could not bear his pain as well as my own.

Cody’s mind had never been one to hold sentiment as something important, which crossed ever personal boundary I had set for myself, so I suppose our differences in thought were to blame for his lack of departing words and the slight offense that settled uncomfortably in my bones at the constant replaying of the scene that seemed so far in the past as I sat mindlessly on the edge of the riverbed.

My futile attempts at figuring out the seemingly impossible device in Aelia’s hands were quickly cut short by the intrusion of Charlie and her input of endless knowledge (I say this with the utmost sarcasm, as the only knowledge Charlie seems to possess is an exceptionally long list of different profanities and the many ways to say them). So I stalk back with the invisible bit of dignity I still have and sit on the edge of the river, watching my own reflection dance across the dirty waves.

What did I want for myself? Living wasn’t an option, no matter how badly I longed and strived for it. No matter how far I got there would always be someone better, stronger, and more prepared to finish the task, whereas I was stumbling blindly, swinging at any obstacle that came my way and praying that I hit it, and that would only get me so far. I suppose that in the beginning this was a valiant quest to show Duncan that his worth wasn’t determined by his own words, but rather by the fact that he was loved. And there is some nagging thought that tells me that nothing has changed, that resent still sits prominent in his chest and my death will be for nothing, and that’s what I fear most. I fear it more than the jaws of death itself and being alone and losing my life to someone who doesn’t care and a part of me doesn’t even want to come out of this to see the end result because I’m afraid I’ve caused more destruction than there already was, that I’ve only opened the rift wider and driven my family further apart, and it’s all my fault.

And the scariest part is that there’s no turning back anymore.

My reflection stares back blankly at me through the murky waves of the partly dried up stream, and I kick my boot at the water in an attempt to make it disappear, like every single problem could be washed away like a blurry image in a cracked mirror. But the water stills and it’s still there, a constant reminder that everything I’ve done and everything I will do is a lost cause hidden behind the guise of valiancy and my impossibly stupid mission to prove a point that wouldn’t even be made when it was all said and done.

A strangled cry from who I can only assume to be Aelia catches me off guard and my thoughts are stuck in my tracks as I whirl around to see Charlie knelt over reaching out and holding to Aelia as she hung helplessly over a pit of metal spikes, and my eyes widen in confusion and anxiety as I kneel down beside Charlie and scan my eyes anxiously over Aelia to make sure she isn’t seriously hurt. By some miracle it seems as if only a shallow cut has cut into her pale skin, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief as Charlie pulls her out to safety.

A weak, “Are you alright?” makes itself known, shot in the general direction of either of the two girls, but I don’t wait for an answer before turning my back on them to run a dirty hand through my tangled hair and making my way back to my seat on the edge of the bank. My canteen sits empty beside me, and I pick it up and fidget with the cap, tossing it from hand to hand as my feet dangle into the water.

I eventually dip the jug back down into the murky water, filling it to the brim before capping it off and setting it to the side as I drag the rough wood from my bag, laying it out and striking it ablaze. I watch the flames dance across the logs for a moment before setting my canteen atop it, before gesturing to the two girls in hopes that they’ll follow suit.

I turn my attention away from the fire for a moment and stretch my legs, pacing along the brink of the river as I anxiously scan the horizon for any signs of life, human or not, before returning to sit beside Aelia and Charlie, slinging my arm loosely over Charlie’s shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood before asking, “Since you’ve saved both of our asses multiple times over the last few days, I guess that makes you a hero, and it’s only plausible that a superhero has a fitting name. So Charlie, what would your title be?”

And though death lingers in the future for all three of us, we’re all set on saving something or someone before our untimely demise, and some are doing well, though others are fighting for a lost cause.

(I’m not sure which category I fall into yet).

[Owen starts a fire, refills his canteen, purifies it, and allows Aelia and Charlotte to purify their canteens on it as well]

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untitled [Sisterhood Day 4] Jul 17, 2014 10:38:59 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 17, 2014 10:38:59 GMT -5

[presto]

charlotte ♔ brownings

[/presto]

Every string of her existence laid upon the fact that eventually some redeeming factor would make itself apparent like watching that second bull fall, and every single one of those seemed to always fall on their face. Talking to that Sonjuh, punching Leon square in the jaw (which, somehow now that she hated him even more than back in the earlier days, she couldn't seem to bring herself to fucking mimic), not killing Darius right after the bloodbath, each occasion always ended up with Charlotte getting perpetually fucked over. District six ended up with a scar to match the one on her own cheek, Leon bounced from them and then time jump to him literally cutting open her arm, which still contrasted to how Radler ended up a rabbit heart's pin cousin. Stumbling across the river bed was a blessing of course, one more second it felt like and she'd die of thirst before practically choking on the shit - each swallow was like licking the bottom of limp leg's boot one more time. As long as it didn't actually touch her tongue, however, the collected sand that apparently didn't boil and only existed to fuck her over once more didn't taste half bad.

Despite the four days of tasting sand like she it was her damn job, the other two were mostly whole; more Owen than Aelia. Both herself and the girl from seven were battered, but they survived each of the fuck feasts they got thrown into and she'd be damned if they didn't make it through all of them. Each affliction of a weapon against their skin left a good brand and at this point the two probably had matches, Owen, on the other hand, only got hit by that one mutt which was now safely touched into her bag. Back in district one, she never had or thought about what a buffalo would taste like, but hell, there's always new experiences, plus it probably tasted like steak except more exotic-y. Rare food always had that little curve at the end of every bite, some special little ting of some shit, but it made it stand out enough, like the difference between using a butter knife and a butterfly knife.

All the servings wrapped into the bag strapped around her neck could've fooled anybody into thinking she had actually eaten anything in days, besides being on the verge of gobbling on the cactus peeling shit or whatever it was (she only knew it was edible, not what it actually was of course) when the others were asleep. But hell, they were fucking set for days considering the walking pantry Charlotte became - regardless, enough to make the hunger aspect of these games her bitch - so it's not like eating would be as much a sin as sins gets. Water was obviously the same deal, considering the literal river besides them, which she was more than willing to jump in if there wasn't the whole fucking tent problem. She managed to take down a whole buffalo almost single handedly, and yet she couldn't put together a damn tent, but this was district three shit or something other, because since when the hell have tents have hooks and the like.

Back in district one she never even touched a tent or tried to pitch one obviously, and the 101 guide to the hunger games doesn't exactly cover how to, so how the hell was she supposed to know. Urging to ditch the attempt was masked into the over-the-shoulder glance at Aelia, more concerned with being able to burn the fucking thing without her noticing, but only seeing the girl's goofy grin inching backwards towards the sand shifting down like an hour glass. What the actual hell? The ground behind her ally began filtering under the surface until Aelia's lucky leg tipped into whatever was below and Charlotte lurched forwards clutching sand into her mouth like the way her hand grasped at the second girl's arm. Her stomach scrapped against the ground with rope burn between the tears of her shirt before tugging Aelia up to solid ground instead of hanging above fucking stakes, except the momentary look of petrification matched between both of them like half of their cuts.

"Since you’ve saved both of our asses multiple times over the last few days, I guess that makes you a hero, and it’s only plausible that a superhero has a fitting name. So Charlie, what would your title be?” Owen's voice slinking around her ears like his arm hooking against her nook and her immediate reaction was to tell him to fuck off, per usual, without actually paying attention to what he said and responding with an instinctive groan to rattle her throat. Besides, it's not like it was hard to just actually fucking pay attention, but it must be hard for him to see past those eyebrows of his. Though she never drew herself as a superhero, or her parents, or Luce, or Rene, the only thing she ever drew were those dumb faces under the coach she crashed on because it's not like sleeping on the aftermath of a house fire was any more comfortable than sleeping on a discount futon.

"The name's captain screw yourself," slipping through her uncomfortable snarl while weeding through fake names like she could go back and change her answer (since when was 'captain screw yourself' the best she could think of) before rowing away from the scene and into the riverbed.

[charlotte does the water game once more]