I don't flirt. [Ross v Harpie | Day Two]

The blade shudders in your hands, the impact of weapon meeting flesh rattling down the bone length of the sword and into your own skeleton. There's a deafening shriek, a defiant scream, from the giant bird on the other end of your weapon - the pointy end - which chokes off abruptly. Shaking the blade, you hear a heavy thud as something hits the ground in front of you. Blind still, and most likely going to remain so as long as you were in this pit, you knelt and groped for the dead creature. There was a faint noise, a rustle and the scratch of talons on stone. Without thinking, you struck one final time at the dead or dying thing in front of you, silencing the stirring noise with a satisfying crunch.

You're a bit more cautious about reaching out for the beast this time, but when no sounds came from the place where the now-lifeless thing lay you grew a bit bolder. Still keeping half a mind for something else potentially sneaking up on you, you grip the foot of the thing - a taloned bird's foot, as you had expected, and dragged the body closer. The sound of feathers against stone made sense to you, however there was a different sound that came along with that. Strangely, it seemed like not all of the body was covered in feathers. Once the thing was beside you, you ran your hand up from the foot to the leg. Once more, as expected, you felt the pebbled skin of a bird that then was feather-covered at the thigh.

When your fingers met skin you paused. The torso of the creature - it clearly wasn't a bird now that you knew there weren't feathers on it - was bare and the muscles felt very prominent. Trying to piece together a mental picture of the thing, being unable to see it in the overwhelming darkness of the area, you attempted to make out more features. You drew your hand back quickly as you encountered the face, somewhat startled by the feel of it and the slime that was now on your fingers from accidentally sticking them into the thing's mouth - at least you hoped it had only been the mouth. Making a face, you wiped the drool off your shirt and took a moment to think. Having watched each Hunger Games closely, planning in case you encountered a time when your name was drawn - or in case you volunteered, which had ended up being the case - you had learned about a number of muttations that the Gamemakers favoured. This hadn't been a common one, as the name wasn't coming to mind, but you were sure you had seen this type of creature encountered before.

The name clicks into place as you trace the features of the face. The primate-like eyebrows and the shape of the snout bring to mind a large monkey-like creature, and with the addition of the wings and legs of a bird - and tail too you would imagine - it could only be one thing. "Harpie," you scoff. Grabbing two feathers into your fist, you yank them out of the flesh of the corpse. Wiping the blood off the tips of the feathers, you stuck your prize into the band of the cheap, useless headlamp you had been given as part of your uniform. Now having a feather in your cap, or as close as you could come with what you wearing, you stood and tried to take stock of your injuries. The bird had missed you after that first strike, so there was only that to tend to. Deciding it could wait, you began to head away from the slain harpie and toward what might hopefully be an exit.

The walk was quiet, lacking even the sound of muttations lingering in the distance. Where before you had been assaulted by threatening sounds, you now were left to a strange sort of peace. Then the floor disappeared from under you and you fell nearly five feet, landing on a number of sharp points. Pain flared in your left arm, right thigh, and just under your bottom left rib. Growling and spitting at the surprise and the injuries, you spend a good minute figuring out how to stand up without jabbing yourself with more of the spears that seemed to be planted in the rock all around you. It was only when you grabbed onto one of the spikes that you realized it was a stalagmite and not a spear. Eventually, you found a way to not only stand up but to use the stalagmites and climb out of the hole. Without being able to see what your injuries were, it was tough to judge whether there was any real damage done.

Figuring it was probably a good idea to stop and tend to yourself - and keep a better watch out for pits in the future - you made sure the rock around you was solid before sitting yourself down. It was messy, and not very efficient, but you managed to tend your injuries without wasting all of your supplies. That pit was most likely the reason why the Gamemakers hadn't set another monster after you; they had wanted you to fall into it all on your own. How many people had watched as you had fallen into a pit that they could see even though you couldn't. Your mother must have been worried, perhaps even embarrassed, by your fall. You take a moment to close your eyes and breathe in deeply. Cool ice crawled along your limbs to still the rumbling magma inside your core. Letting emotions get the best of you would get you killed. For your own survival, it was best to feel nothing at all.

The mental image of Mach, the recall of the heat that had risen in you and drifted from him, the calm moments spent drinking whiskey, the flood of emotion that had come afterward. You had to clench your jaw and shut your eyes to sever the endless string of thoughts that denied a lack of feeling being the best. Mach was a weakness you couldn't let continue, and that night was a moment of lapse judgement that you couldn't let happen again. Those memories couldn't mean anything to you anymore, and shouldn't have meant anything to you ever. In the Hunger Games there was only death or survival, there was nothing in between. The times were too short to develop any sort of attraction to anyone. That time with Mach was nothing more than a moment of need and urge, and it was high time you forgot about it.

Percy's blank, staring eyes greeted you in the darkness. No, she was another weakness that would only cause you harm. She had not been your responsibility or your friend, she was not your sister or your ally. Her death was one that would have happened regardless, and you knew that. Young girls like Percy didn't survive the Games. Victors like Aranica Petros - who had won only a couple months before you were born - were rare. Saffron Lowe, despite winning while she was only fourteen, had been in an arena where she was one of the eldest ones there. Percy, one of the lone young tributes in a group of tributes that were nearly all your age, had no chance against the older, stronger tributes. Once more, you think that perhaps dying early and quickly may have been best for her. At least she wouldn't have to face being torn to tiny pieces by muttations or tortured by cruel careers. She wouldn't have to face your stone cold heart, either, which perhaps was the most important of those.

Settling yourself down and driving away any inkling of emotion that attempted to stain your sheer cliffs, you solidified the churning pit of molten rock in your core until the volcano was dormant once more. Under the disguise of a mountain, you stood and began to walk in search of an exit to this pit. Testing the ground with each step, you calmly dealt with each of the potential problems you could come across. At one point you gave in to the discomfort in your bladder and searched blindly for a wall. Not finding one, you had to simply stand in the open - much as you would have preferred to not expose yourself to all of Panem. Surely even the Capitol would have enough decency to turn the camera away during this moment. Zipping your short shorts back up - which really didn't feel like they did all that great of a job of covering you in the first place - you set back on your course. Eventually, it came time to stop and rest for the night. Sinking into the stillness around you, you wait for the anthem to play overhead before settling into an extremely light sleep.



[Takes two feathers from the harpie corpse]
[Uses first aid on self for -3]
[Uses needle and thread on self for -5]
[Uses 5ft of bandages on self for -1]