put a bullet in my buttcheek {SS vs CR, Day 2}

lean into my side
never felt alive
call the chance and sigh
we will wait for this

She had slept holding her koalas and the envelope from Saffron close to her. The thin white paper of the envelope had been torn open by Emberly's fingers when it had fallen from the sky, and Kiara's letter and Saffron's note is tucked inside for safe keeping. They were just words scrawled onto a white page in ink, but Emberly felt as though their notes to her were little pieces of them. Whether or not she could see or touch them, it was like they were by her side. Saffron and Kiara, Saffron and Kiara . . . .

They flood her dreams that night. Clementa and Paige come, too. But not Myara — not tonight. When she awakens, she wonders where Myara had gone, why she had not appeared in her dreams. Wherever her family was in her head, Myara followed, haunted. But not that night.

In her dreams she would always imagine Myara to be draped in white and have all of her honey hair in long braids that would snake down her back and shoulders. Sometimes Myara would meet her in the clouds, or in the golden fields of District Ten. She would always smile and laugh; she was, in Emberly's dreams, the Myara she knew during her life. But she was never the Myara that Emberly saw in the Arena — colder, steeled by determination, eyes sullen and skin speckled with blood that was not hers.

But that night, she dreamed of dancing. Only this time, she was not a little girl with pigtails in her hair and her father was not there. Saffron stood in his place; a smile was painted on her face, and her eyes gleamed like a pair of copper stars. She was holding Emberly's hand — and it felt so real, her warm, soft touch, and it felt like home, like comfort, like belonging — and was leading her onto the dance floor.

They were in a room that Emberly did not recognize — it had polished cream marble floors and blue walls with decorative white trim. On the ceiling hung a gargantuine crystal chandelier that refracted its own light, casting fragmented beams all over the otherwise dark room. Perhaps they were somewhere in the Capitol, a ballroom in an expensive mansion. Only, when Emberly glanced at the window, all she could see was an endless black sky dotted with silver stars.

Saffron and Emberly began to dance. They were wearing sundresses, Saffron's a deep red with orange lilies and Emberly's peach with white primroses and paisleys. It was a dance that Emberly had never done before, something between a waltz and a much faster one that she had no name for. Saffron giggled and twirled her around and around and around — one, two, three times.

"Saff!" Emberly laughed as her auburn and gold locks of hair flew around her and her skirt pooled out around her body. "You're making me dizzy!"

"Sorry!" Saffron said in response, and then let Emberly tilt towards the ground out of her last twirl. She was familiar with this part of the dance; as a child, this was the part when her father would catch her, smile, and then pull her back up.

Only something was wrong, Emberly realized, as she began her descent. Saffron's arms were extended out to catch her, but she had fallen past them as if they were merely holograms. As Emberly began to fall, she could see that Saffron's figure was fading. A black hole opened up beneath her, and she was falling falling falling through an endless space of darkness and stars, and she watched as Saffron slowly fell apart into particles of mist.

When she opened her eyes, she was left with a reminder: Saffron would not be here to catch her. It was something she had anticipated, something she had prepared herself for. But now the realization has begun to truly sink in, despite Saffron's note.

A nervous bead of sweat drips down Emberly's face as she throws her covers from her body and pries each of her six koalas off of her. Despite her dream, she had slept more comfortably than she thought she would. Emberly had imagined camping out in the trees and sleeping through thunderstorms that shook the ground like earthquakes, not drifting away into sleep on cushioned sofas and recliners in the room of a giant white yacht. It was much easier to sleep covered in a blanket — and another additional blanket, only this one made of live and drowsy koala bears — with a chair pressed against the doorknob to protect from intruders.

Emberly had never valued sleep so much before she spent her first night in the Arena. She had been sleeping near Clementina, the girl who confessed sorrowfully that she had been the one to kill McCarthy Balmain. And although Emberly knows that she should be angry, that if she were a better friend she would hate Clementina Ogden, her heart betrays her. McCarthy was her friend, but Clementina is, too.

And she did it for Ree. (And she did it because she wanted to live.) That is the one solace that Emberly finds in the killing of McCarthy Balmain.

Emberly's mind revisits her encounter with Clementina as her vision comes into focus, sharpening the view of Clementina's figure wrapped in a blanket. She had called her Tina — a loving little nickname — when she told her that she could forgive what she had done.

"No one ever calls me Tina," she replied.

"Well, someone does now."

Clementina, ultimately, is a killer. But Emberly knows that she did what she had to; she does not blame her for wanting to live or wanting to save Ree. Because deep down, Emberly knows that someday, she may have to make the same decision: her life, or someone else's.

She knows what she will choose. What she will have to choose — and if not for herself, then for everything she loves so deeply back home. (For Kiara. For Ment. For Saffron. For Quinn. For her mother. For her father. For all of the dogs that roam the prairies and the cats that sleep in the willow trees.)

It is more than just a game. It is life and death — the ultimate choice.

Fire blazing on her blade and her tongue, Saffron Lowe had marched up to her enemy with pride and courage in her step. "You're not going home in my place. You're not going back to her instead of me."

"So I'm sorry. But I want to go home, too."

To go home — the greatest desire of every tribute still breathing in this prison. She herself ached with it, yearned to be the last one standing all so she could taste the sweetness of the District Ten flowers that carry through the wind and dance beneath the sun in the grass once more. With all of her heart, she longs to feel the touch of her mother's bear hugs and the constricting feeling of Kiara clinging to her leg when she would make house calls. She covets these things, with every part of her being, with everything she has in her.

Yes, she is familiar with the ache; it burns inside her, the only fire she has ever possessed. Ment is fire and she is the light, but this burn deep within her is far more than an ember or a spark. Emberly knows that wanting such a thing and doing whatever it takes to achieve it does not warrant an apology.

(Then why does she feel so guilty when she even considers killing someone for her own survival?)

- ★ -

Then sun has risen into the sky, and although she can feel its rays kissing her skin like it did in District Ten, Emberly knows that it is not the same sun. It is not her sun, the one she has watched dip below the horizon and bleed scarlet and peach and blush all over the sky as it says goodnight.

The four of them had hauled their yacht out to the beach. It would be easier to move around if they docked it there, they decided. Emberly has never seen a beach before, but she supposes that it is beautiful despite the fact that it isn't real. The hot sand beneath her feet that scorches her skin when it flies up from behind her sandals is not real. Neither is the water that glistenes as if each ray of sunlight reflected on the surface is a little white diamond. It is very beautiful, she cannot not deny that.

But it is also ominous.

The waves were calm for now, but all Emberly had ever heard about the ocean was destruction. It was a force that ripped through District Four only a few years ago, killing thousands and devastating many more. She knows that the ocean is chaos, and that chaos is death.

They walk on the fringe of the jungle for several moments, chatting quietly to each other, careful not to cause too much of a commotion. The last thing anyone wanted was to be found. Emberly is having a rather difficult time handling all of her koalas, who insist on latching onto different parts of her body. She is lucky that she had picked up relatively small koalas, save for Junior, who had obviously eaten a sizable amount of eucalyptus in his life. He is currently riding on her backpack, slowly dozing off to sleep.

Cupcake, the smallest of the koalas, who is a strange dark brown color rather than gray, is conveniently tucked into one of the pockets of Emberly's backpack. She is light, too, making it much easier to carry her. Jojo, on the other hand, refuses to remove himself from Emberly's head, which he seems to have made his permanent perch.

"You know, Jojo, it would be much nicer if you'd get off of my head," Emberly complains to ears that do not listen. Even if Jojo could understand her language, she is certain that he wouldn't care, anyway.

She was about to open her mouth to further protest against Jojo's position on her head, and then they hear it — the rustle in the leaves, twigs snapping beneath heavy feet. Emberly's head snaps to the side towards the stand, and she and her friends stop dead in their tracks.

Emberly feels every muscle in her body go rigid, and it is as if she is unable to move. Like she has been petrified and is now nothing more than a stone statue. Suddenly, Clementina swings, and a boy emerges from the undergrowth. Emberly recognizes him as Chester Meisenzahl, the boy from District Seven.

As soon as her koalas sense danger, each of them scamper away back towards the yacht. She is sure that she will return — if she returns — to find them sleeping on her sofa.

"Shit, Chester? Fuck, what are you —" Clementina begins to question her district partner, but her sentence falls short when her gaze finds another who emerges from the forest.

Rhetoric Anadiplosis, Emberly remembers. She had learned each and every name of the tributes. Only, Rhetoric no longer seems like the poised, proper, "ladylike" girl Emberly had seen at the Training Center. She is more rugged, with a few slashes marring her skin.

And in her hand, she carries a —

"Gun," Clementina calls out.

A gun in the Arena. It was something that Emberly had not considered before, and she found herself standing there, dumbfounded, with a heart fluttering wildly in her chest like a rabid bird in a cage.

Emberly automatically reaches out for someone's hand, only to find emptiness at her side. She breathes in — Be steady, she coaches herself in her head. She had known that she would be alone here, with no Saffron to catch her, no Clementa to cry on, no Paige to release her frustrations with.

But then her eyes find Clementina again, and Ree and Raquel. They matter. They're here, they are with her. At the moment, she tries not to remind herself that one by one they will fall or eventually be forced to turn on one another. They are with her, but they are also temporary. And yet, somehow, they do not feel temporary. They do not feel like the holographic Saffron in her dreams who turned to miss and dissipated at Emberly's touch.

"Please, I'll give you whatever you want just," Clementina begins to plea with the girl from Eight. But Emberly knows that begging will get them nowhere, despite the fear that sinks its claws into her. Desperation does not often speak to those who are fighting for themselves.

"Don't shoot."

Rhetoric replies with snarky words, shooting down Clementina's pleas. Emberly can hear from her tone that she does not intend to show mercy; and so Emberly Lowe draws The Queen, an elegant broadsword named for the childish title Saffron had once given herself in the Arena.

Her eyes find the little crown engraved at the base of the sword, and Paige's words cut through her mind like a knife.

"You have as much chance as any other victor ever had. I know you can do this, Emberly. It's in your blood. Our blood."

But she feels like her blood is boiling — only she is not sure if the heat comes from fear or determination. Perhaps it is both, a fusion of the two.

Click.

Rhetoric prepares to strike, but so does Emberly.

"It's not trick," I tell Rhetoric Anadiplosis. "Not everyone here is absolutely merciless."

(Are they?)

"But if you shoot . . . ." Her unfinished warning goes unheeded, however, and it is interrupted by the sound of Rhetoric's gun.

Click.

Rhetoric prepares to strike, but so does Emberly.

Fear begins to eat away at her like acid, burning holes into her skin and piercing down into her bones. It is not a slow and agonizing process; it is fast the way that fire is, leaping and searing into anything it can touch. It climbs quickly, beginning in Emberly's heart and traveling in a wave through her entire body, to her fingertips and her toes.

But this time, it does not shut her down.

It ignites her.

[Emberly attacks Rhetoric; The Queen (sword)]
Sef_HXBnsword
[1061 -- Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5 damage]

we will wait for this
lean into my side
never felt alive
call the chance and sigh

. . .

lyrics: "divinity" by porter robinson.

Kaiser's alliance left us in peace, once they'd received their fill of medical supplies and champagne. It was oddly quiet once they were gone. The yacht stood still, creatures scampered through the trees above us, Sylvester rolled around every now and then in my backpack. I'm beginning to realize he's awfully heavy, but I can't seem to remove him from my pack. I set him down on the ground and next thing I know he's crawling up my leg again. It makes me antsy, wondering if perhaps it's some cruel joke the Gamemakers are about to play on us. I wouldn't be all that surprised if tomorrow Sylvester grew a set of saber-like teeth and came at my throat.

Somehow, I manage to sleep. I choose to stay on the deck of the boat because inside I feel too trapped. The last thing I want is for another tribute to corner me inside my own prize. I learn that Sylvester makes a good pillow, despite the fact that he doesn't smell all that great. At least he doesn't snore.

I'm woken the next morning by the sun dancing through the trees above us, hot and humid in the air. I sit up, and once Sylvester has wandered around to get his breakfast, I entice him back into my back. I don't intend to look anything like Emberly, with her troop of koalas following her in plain sight wherever she goes. It's not exactly the most subtle form of transportation. Then again, neither is shoving this boat around with us.

It's difficult, without four other tributes to help us. We drag on and on, and there's not much conversation between us, simply because we're too winded to keep up any lively banter. My mind fades in and out of reality, taking me away from my work and to another place where time passes by much faster. Henri always told me that if I didn't like what I had to do, I could always think about something else. I'm pretty sure he was talking about killing, but his advice is just as useful in this particular context.

At long last, we break the treeline, and a welcoming breeze whispers across my skin. I suck in a deep breath and taste salt on my tongue. Hope rises in me like a newly lit flame. Perhaps this boat will be more useful than I first imagined.

I take a peak around the side of our little boat, and sure enough, miles and miles of water seem to stretch out before us. Dark and frothy, wave after wave crashes against the sandy black shore. I take in another breath, this time one of amazement. It takes a lot to impress me. But this is my first time seeing the ocean, and I can't help but be in awe of how vast it all is. Then I realize that it's not the ocean, simply a mirage created by our executioners, and suddenly my wonder is sucked out of me and replaced my a hollowness I've almost become familiar with.

Sylvester twists around in my pack and I'm pulled away from my train of thought.

We spend the next few hours trudging across the beach, black sand kicking up around our feet in tiny dust storms, yacht left to sit and think by itself for a while. I lose track of the conversation. We talk about the light stuff, things like our hunger and our annoyance at Emberly's literal pack of koalas and the probability of our imminent deaths. I keep myself detached, because I don't intend to become involved with these people. They're lovely to talk to, granted. But I don't want to find myself in a place where I'll fall apart when they're taken away from me.

There's something rustling in the trees next to us. I freeze, hand immediately reaching for the sword hilt above my shoulder, gaze flickering back and forth. Perhaps it's another stinking koala. But then again, perhaps it's another group of tributes, waiting to snuff out our candles until we're nothing but smoke and ash. I don't like this. We're in plain view of everyone on this beach, and I'm kicking myself for not realizing that until now. We can't see anything beyond the treeline making up the forest in front of us.

Clem seems to have caught on to the noise, because suddenly she's lurching forward, weapon collided with something solid. It's a hit, but not a good one. I don't hear any bones crunching. Our attacker makes himself known, and immediately Clem is spewing expletives, shock written across her face. I look up and narrow my eyes at the boy in front of us. It takes me a moment to recognize him.

Chester, she says, and then suddenly I remember. He never gave me his name. I didn't bother to give mine either, but I think he's the one I spoke with the most, up on the roof of the Training Center.

"Gun."

My attention is pulled away and focused in on the barrel of the weapon our next attacker is holding. Shock courses through me like an earthquake, but I keep my gaze steady. I've never seen a gun in the Games before. It seems unfair, and I always figured the Gamemakers would want to avoid such clean kills. And yet there's one right in front of me, black and shiny, not unlike the ones I've seen Peacekeepers gripping while Sampson declares his opinion to the world atop his little soapbox.

I glance from Emberly to Clem to Ree, registering the shock written across their faces. I can only hope they don't go running in fear, because I know for a fact we'll get shot down in seconds.

The girl waves her new toy around, speaking calmly, as anyone would expect coming from someone with a gun. She's in control of the situation, and no doubt she feels it. My hope is that she only has so many rounds in that thing. Perhaps she won't want to waste them.

Somewhere far away, I can hear the echoes of Emberly's voice mumbling something about a trick, and then

BANG.

Gunfire rips through the air around us and shatters whatever calm we had left, the eye of our storm drifting away from us and leaving us to pick up the pieces. I can't help but jump a little in surprise and look around to see where she hit.

But there's no blood. Our skin stays intact, glass unshattered and still holding together precariously.

"I won't hurt you simply because you're from home," suddenly the boy from Eight--Chester--is talking, and my attention is drawn towards him. "but your friend over here, the one from District Eleven?" He draws his knife and points the tip at me. "I'm going to make sure the last face she remembers is mine staring down at her as the life leaves her eyes, and I'll make sure she knows it's entirely your fault."

I raise an eyebrow, somewhat curious. He's not exactly the same as the boy I met on the roof a few days ago. That's not too surprising, considering many tributes like to disguise their true intentions up until they're inside the arena. But I can't help wondering, does he even recognize me?

My sword swings around to face him, forgetting the gun for a moment, metal clinking against metal in an almost playful manner. "Chester, is it?" I say, appearing thoughtful. "I don't think I'll give you the privilege of knowing my name, at least, not until you ask for it like a decent fellow." I tilt my head to the side. "Which I can see you're not. Pity, really." I shake my head sadly. "You were such a gentlemen on the roof."

[ attacks Chester with falchion (sword) ]

VfYQG7Nesword

[ 1162 -- Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 ]

Harmony for the patriotic; the anthem passes beneath the black sky while I stare at my outline within my spear, craving for the sensation of smoke within my crackling lungs. The stars tell me the boy with a hole in his head was from District Two, home of the ones who step on the bones and throats of the weak, and I remember. Eleven in training, hulking figure -- when I wasn't high I anticipated he would be the one to shove a blade in my lungs and leave me drowning in a concept I could never understand even when my head was screwed on right. But instead his face graces the skies; it's strange seeing him whole again.

A weak smile passes my face when the boy who shoved his steel into vulnerable muscles and tendons is revealed to be from District Eight by grace of the Capitol. While the sight of the red streaks his bloodtrail made sent my stomach from one to one hundred in less than a second, the agony tearing through my back the only fades by the grace of time reminds me that I should be glad that the cannon that sounded was in his honour not mine. I'm left biting my lip, shutting my eyes and wondering if I can drown out the hum of death's symphony despite the wounds left onto my skin. I tune into the sound of fire cackling within the oxygen.

This would be much easier with a joint.

But the only plants left here are medicinal and for substanance; not recreation. There's no rainbow cloud to bind my eyes and blind me to the reality that there's a graveyard back at District Three marked with Ree Fer waiting to return me to the ground so it can flourish with its purpose. Average boys with nothing but a middle score of Six branded on their backs don't win -- I ain't no Atticus Manor.

I don't understand why I am one of the last to sleep nor do I understand why Emberly makes her way next to me. Silence left to fester with the sound of flames, I'm the first to end the hope of its restoration when I open my mouth to speak despite my eyes hidden behind the ridiculous sunglasses. "You look like something's on your mind," I say simply.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," she looks down but we both see the blood of someone on her hands fading into her porcelain skin.

"What happened to you, are you okay?" I ask, daring to reignite the memory of the traumatized.

"No. The boy who was in the anthem, McCarthy Balmain? He was my friend. We met at the Training Center," she pauses for a moment, and my chest twists. "I found him dying in the woods, I tried to save him. But he died holding my hand." I've never been cursed with the memory of a dying friend but I'm surprised by the way the tone of her voice morphs into one of bitterness. "And then that boy from Twelve, threatened to kill me and you, and Clem and Raquel."

I suppose there is a demand for my blood but I can't let the confidence strung along my sleeve fade.

"I- I don't know what to so say," and it's true, I smiled when I saw my would-be killer's face in the sky. "But we can't let them get to us, we beat the boy from twelve and his friends before and we'll beat them again, and that's a promise."

I wish I believed myself.

"That's somewhat comforting. But, I understand why Clementina killed him. I don't blame her, or you. It . . . had to be done. Besides, I knew that we couldn't be friends for long. Nothing is meant to last here."

I glance at the fading fire and know she's right.

"I've never been a long term thinker, probably why I decided it would be better to bury the inevitable reality than face up to it, but I find it's better to treasure things while they last; even if you know it could be taken away in an instant. Can't keep letting the inevitable weigh you down, else you'll never appreciate things while you have them."

Perhaps that's why I'd rather be anything but sober.

"That's true. But it's just odd to think, that everything in the Arena is temporary. Even the Arena itself will go away when the Games end. Even the bonds between us, and Clem and Raquel aren't permanent. But I guess I should be more used to losing things. Someday, all of this will just go away for us. One way or another."

It's hard to remember that she's accustomed to loss -- I spent most of the 74th higher than a kite.

"I guess you're right but we'll get to that when we come to it." The laughs the follows is riddles with nerves.

"Right. If we're lucky, that'll be a long time from now."

Burying reality under broken wings; I've always been great at running.

"I'm gonna sleep, need to forget about the depressing stuff someway." I get up and keep walking, wondering if it'll ever be possible without a joint.

The morning sky reminds me of his bloodtrail.

The marks along my porcelain skin gnaw with silent agony with less vigour but the prominence is still there, the phantom of Raquel's grace holding together the old wound that now only weeps crimson into sterilized bandages. Every footsteps hurt but I'm only able to spit and grit my teeth as we push and pull the yacht from the hot springs and meet dry sand in silence. Emberly's actions hanging over my head like a broken cloud threatening to weep.

I don't scream anymore, I tore the wings from my back long ago.

This yacht, this group -- nothing's permanent. Perhaps this sky is bloodstreaked for a reason and despite my words of confidence masking the shakiness in my voice there's an undeniable reality in the words she spoke behind that dying fire. The bonds tethering us to the same ground and keeping us beneath the same sun are slowly whithering beneath the pressure of the powerplay; with every sword stroke, every knife wound, every bandage wasted and very bone shattered. Obsidian tipped spear -- it grows heavier with every passing moment and upwards glance towards the glaring crimson in the sky.

"I never got to appreciate the ocean and beaches -- only smoke and factories." I remark, smiling to break the artificial tension fabricated within my mind and shutting my eyes so the sound of ocean drowns everything else.

Yet things that are artificial have always been fragile, especially something as rare as true tranquility, and this fact is illustrated by the way Clem hefts her mace, lurching forward but failing to deliver a hit with a bravado worthy enough to warrant a shattering of skeleton and screaming. Raquel's hand flies to her blade but my eyes are focused on Clem when I heft my spear and I catch one word beneath the mask of fear twisted across her features.

"Gun."

I spot it in the corner of my eyes, silver and light. "Rhetoric." I mutter, mind flashing back to the elevator and the time we spent in her quarters. "Fuck." She mutters something I don't think to read or comprehend, I keep my eyes firmly focused on the trigger finger.

Before I can yell, a bullet lands in the speace between us but Clem doesn't fall, none of us do.

"I'm going to make sure the last face she remembers is mine staring down at her as the life leaves her eyes, and I'll make sure she knows it's entirely your fault."

I spin, spear angled towards Chester but his knife opens a crimson flood that stains Raquel's hair before I can even move. Spared by the bullet, fed to the sword -- the boy from Ten's sword opens a wound similar to mine along Clem's back and I can only see my gravestone within the blood streaks in the sand.

Here lies Ree Fer -- the weak one who only stood frozen in the face of butchery.

My chest tightens when I take one more look towards the the bloobd streaks decorating the sky. Fear an acid biting at the back of my mind as flashes of steel open fresh wounds along trembling skin, my decision is made when I heft my spear, movement automatic.

Red chains tethering me to the ground, plagued by the abscence of smoke in my lungs -- this is not how I intend to die.

"Leave her alone!

I move to add to the streaks in the sky.

She has an air about her. It's demanding, sadistic, and wholly petrifying. I can feel my knees shaking as I take a few steps back, my feet leaving soft imprints in the sand, squishing between my toes and burning against the soles of my feet. I breathe slow out of fear that if I move too much or too quickly her finger will squeeze the trigger on instinct. I say it again, my hands lowered, my weapon dragging uselessly in the sand.

"Please."

But she is merciless. And I can see it in her eyes that she is having far more fun than the average person should while staring down the barrel of a gun, laughing at the defenseless, terrified animal in its crosshairs.

"I'm sorry, dear. I don't fall for tricks."

I shake my head, the barrel of the revolver glaring at me, pointing at me. Good. My allies must have ran. They must have hidden from sight.

"And I can't stand for someone causing my companions issue."

They must be safe if I'm the only target she's interested in killing. There only needs to be one death here today. I close my eyes as all the pieces of the gun click slowly into place. I brace myself as if I were going to take a punch the face—at least a bullet ends me quicker than a sword ever could.

"It's not a trick, not everyone here is absolutely merciless."

My eyes fly open as I hear Emberly's voice nearby, behind me—right behind me, her feet moving gracefully over the sand and her sword drawn as she takes steps forward as I take steps back. I glare at her, beg her with eyes to stay away; she isn't looking. When my voice finally catches up—"Emberly, no! Get out of here!"—well--

"But if you shoot . . . ."

BANG!

I was so ready for the flood of pain and the spray of blood that my knees give out as soon as I hear the gun go off. Instead there is nothing. No pain, no red staining my body. The only thing I see is Chester, the closest thing I have to home, pointing in Raquel's direction.

"I won't hurt you simply because you're from home, but your friend over here, the one from district eleven?"

He's got a look in his eyes. It's the same as Rhetoric's—demanding, sadistic, and wholly petrifying. I'm scared all over again, my heart threatening to burst free from my chest in a wild explosion as he steps closer to her, weapon raised.

"I'm going to make sure the last face she remembers is mine staring down at her as the life leaves her eyes."

I scramble to my feet as fast as my shaking legs will let me. I'm too far from him to grab hold of him, too far to swing my weapon in his direction—and I'm far too scared of losing someone else to keep silent or to let this happen.

"No, wait, Chester--"

I mean to move forward slowly, but a sense of urgency sends my feet into a run. I feel the stitches in my calf tear, feel blood dripping down to my ankle.

"And I'll make sure she knows it's entirely your fault."

"Raquel, run!"

There is blood on his blade and all I can think to do is raise my weapon. He's going to hurt her, he's going to kill her, and it's going to be my fault. It's my fault, my fault, I can't let it be my fault.

Pain. It's red and hot and as I fall forward I catch myself on my bad arm. The already broken bone shifts and I scream. I gasp as a wave of red floods my vision, seals my throat, and stretches across my back. I struggle to stand, my vision blurred and my balance unsteady as I look for an assailant.

I don't see one.

"Leave her alone!"

I take a step towards Ree's voice as my vision slowly begins to clear. I stagger, breathe deeply, eyes finding Ree and Emberly facing a gun—a gun I'm sure has more than one bullet.

It's all adrenaline now. It heightens my senses and floods my vision until I have a clear image of the silver weapon shimmering in the sunlight. I move past Emberly and Ree, their weapons covered in blood and stances suggesting they were okay with getting the barrel of a gun pressed to their skulls.

But I won't allow it. Not now, not ever. I won't watch them die in front of me. I will not let them be my shields or my saviors. That's so much more than I have ever deserved.

I swing at Rhetoric with all the force I can muster, spinning all the way around on my follow through so that I can glare at Ree and Emberly, glancing in Raquel's direction with a flash of panic as I see Chester and Basil's district partner, Teddy, begin to circle her like hungry vultures.

[Clementina attacks Rhetoric w/ Flanged Mace]
MRojzw_sspiked blunt
[BROKEN RIGHT SHIN -- 7.0 damage]

"Go help Raquel! I got this!"

I shove Ree so that it's clear that I mean it, glare into Emberly's eyes and say it again in case me telling her once wasn't enough.

"Go! Now!"

And without another word I spin back around, ready to bite the bullet.

we will wait for this
we will wait for this
lean into my side
never felt alive

BANG.

She flinches; she only sees a blur of a bullet, just missing Clementina by a hair and pounding against the sand instead of her foot. It reminds her of the canon fire she had heard while running through the jungle — Gregor's canon. McCarthy's canon.

Emberly narrows her eyes at Rhetoric Anadiplosis, but she does not glare. The gaze she casts is full of fire — but it is not fury. When she looks at Etty, she feels this rush of heat surge through her, focusing at two points: her hands. They burn with Emberly's determination, her drive to do what is right what she must.

And somehow, telling herself that she has to do this makes swinging her sword so much easier.

The Queen cuts down on the girl from Eight, and Emberly Lowe draws blood for the first time. Her mark leaves behind a line of blood that can barely be seen from beneath her dark hair and forms crimson beads in its strands. Emberly remembers a similar image — how there was so much blood matted in McCarthy's hair.

Would Rhetoric's face appear in the stars tonight because of her? She doesn't know if she hopes against it or for it.

"Emberly! Why? No. Stop!"

Those words should not make a tremor pulse through her body from deep within her core.

Teddy Ursa's voice rings out in desperation. It is a plea, just as Clementina had plead for Rhetoric not to fire her gun. Begging does nothing in a place where violence runs rampant — something Rhetoric had proved when she fired in spite of Clementina's request for mercy. She had met the boy before in the Training Center, made sure to learn his name and his face like all the others. Emberly left no one without a name or a face to connect them with.

She is able to recognize Teddy Ursa mainly by his kind green eyes; that is the feature what she remembers him by the most. She finds it remarkable that even in the midst of a battle, when Teddy has steeled himself and drawn his blade, he still has those kind eyes. Emberly hopes that if he becomes a killer, the life he steals will not take the kindness in those with them.

Emberly Lowe shakes her head at Teddy Ursa. He begs her to stop — but she knows that she cannot do what he asks. "Why?" she repeats his question. Emberly "Why . . . you know why: because we have to, Teddy." We — because Emberly is not the only one who must fight for life.

("You're not going home in my place.")

Emberly's life is not in danger, at least not at the moment; she is not the one on the line in this battle. It's Clementina and Raquel — and though most of her fear during her first day in the Arena has been for herself, right now she fears for her friends. Yes, her friends — not her allies. To Emberly, they are more than that. They are shoulders to lean on, comrades, companions. Even if they are temporary. She can feel terror gripping her heart, her soul and her mind as she considers seeing Clementina or Raquel in the place of McCarthy. And she would have to face their inevitable deaths someday; but she decides that today is not that today.

They were sitting on recliners on the deck of the yacht, their only light the campfire before them and the stars above their heads.

"You look like something's on your mind," Ree said. Emberly had been staring blankly at the flickering campfire for several minutes now, letting its heat flame against her skin.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." She looks down the back of her left hand, where the line of blood that had dripped from McCarthy's wound still shown.

"What happened?" he inquired. "Are you okay?"

Emberly was far from okay; and so she does not lie to Ree. He was her friend, after all. She shakes her head slowly. "No. The boy who was in the anthem, McCarthy Balmain?" A knife twisted in her heart. "He was my friend. We met at the Training Center." She paused and wondered if she should have ever even mentioned it, but it was too late for that now.

"I found him dying in the woods, I tried to save him. But he died holding my hand." Her eyes flicker back down to her blood stain. "And then that boy from Twelve," and bitterness rushed into her tone, "threatened to kill me and you, and Clem and Raquel."

"I — I don't know what to say," Ree admitted. After all, Clementina killed McCarthy to save him. "But we can't let them get to us, we beat the boy from Twelve and his friends before and we'll beat them again, and that's a promise."

A slight smile graced her lips; but she knew that Ree could promise nothing, that no one could.

"That's somewhat comforting," she lied. "But, I understand why Clementina killed him. I don't blame her, or you. It . . . had to be done. Besides, I knew that we couldn't be friends for long. Nothing is meant to last here."

But she liked to think that if she and McCarthy had met in a different world, at a different time, they would have been very good friends — and not just temporarily.

Ree's eyes remained trained on the fire, which slowly burns down to just embers, leaving only smoke rising in the air and hot coals that glint with the remainders of flames. "I've never been a long term thinker, probably why I decided it would be better to bury the inevitable reality than face up to it, but I find it's better to treasure things while they last; even if you know it could be taken away in an instant. Can't keep letting the inevitable weigh you down, else you'll never appreciate things while you have them."

"That's true. But it's just odd to think, that everything in the Arena is temporary. Even the Arena itself will go away when the Games end. Even the bonds between us, and Clem and Raquel aren't permanent. But I guess I should be more used to losing things." She thought of Myara when she said that, the sister she had lost two years ago. Not even their blood could last forever.

"Someday, all of this will just go away for us. One way or another."

It did for Myara — a grim thought, but a true one.

"I guess you're right but we'll get to that when we come to it," Ree chuckled nervously. Perhaps, Emberly considered, it's easier for him to face that fact if he doesn't think about it too deeply. She wished she could be that way too, but she knew that nothing would rid her of that thought always tugging in the back of her mind.

"Right," she agreed. She tried not to dwell on the reality that if she lived long enough, one day she would have to look at her friends' faces in the sky, just as she had done today. And that she could even be the one who put them there.

"If we're lucky, that'll be a long time from now." She certainly hoped so.

"I'm gonna sleep, need to about the depressing stuff someway." And Ree got up from his seat, leaving Emberly alone to look up at the stars and wonder what was going to happen to her tomorrow.

Perhaps she would find more koalas, she thought. And she smiled, but she knew that her fate would not be so fuzzy and cute.

Emberly finds herself dwelling on that memory. She and Ree had agreed just last night that nothing in the Arena is meant to last, not even them or any of their friendships, but despite that, she is not ready to lose them. Not yet. Even if they are just temporary.

I am not ready to lose them — Emberly focuses in on that thought as she rushes to Clementina's side, prepared to defend her against Rhetoric. As she nears her friend, her district partner, Rory Benstaloe, cuts into Clem's back with his sword.

"No," Emberly hisses from between her gritted teeth. It is a quiet assertion, but it does not need to be loud for anyone to think that she doesn't mean it; the steel in her voice makes her clear enough.

Ree quickly follows Rory's attack and slices into Rhetoric's chest, and Emberly watches with wide eyes as her blood spills down her shirt in a thick crimson river, staining the floral fabric. If not for the adrenaline coursing through her veins, Emberly would have flinched — and if this had happened in front of her two weeks ago, she would have screamed. But now she only tightens her hold on her sword, ready to defend Clementina.

As she brings her sword back up, she catches sight of Chester Meisenzahl and Teddy Ursa closing in on Raquel.

"I won't hurt you simply because you're from home, but your friend over here, the one from district eleven?" Chester says to Clementina, his voice slashing through the air like a dagger. "I'm going to make sure the last face she remembers is mine staring down at her as the life leaves her eyes, and I'll make sure she knows it's entirely your fault." His voice sends a wave of ice through her bones, but she does not tremble. Emberly Lowe is done shaking — or at least, she likes to think that she is. The boy from Seven speaks such cruel words, a different kind of violence that Emberly cannot comprehend. He implies by the way that he speaks that he will spill her blood and enjoy the act; Emberly's stomach turns over. The thirst for blood is such an absolutely despicable quality.

Even in a place like this.

Raquel speaks to him in a familiar way, as if she knows Chester Meisenzahl. "You were such a gentlemen on the roof" — and Emberly's suspicions are confirmed. She wonders if they were friends; she feels a little pang of guilt in her gut. Emberly does not know what it is like to cross swords with a friend. (Even a temporary one.) She hopes she never has to find out what that feels like — she can only imagine. A dagger in the heart, twisting and turning more and more vigorously with every clash of blades, every drop of blood drawn.

Her only solace about McCarthy's death is that she will never meet him on the battlefield.

And before Emberly can even move, Chester strikes, but Raquel is quick to hit back. In response to the blood spewing from Raquel's new wound, Ree shouts, "Leave her alone!" He begins to dart towards the three of them, spear poised to attack, leaving Emberly to stand with Clementina against Rhetoric Anadiplosis.

Clementina swings at Rhetoric again, and Emberly hears a sickening CRACK as her mace makes contact with her shin. Emberly's stomach lurches; she recognizes that sound — the breaking of a bone. Needles jab against Emberly's bandaged but still broken clavicle as she remembers someone's blunt violently pounding against it. She wants to shut her eyes tight and cry it all away again, but she knows better than to hesitate, even for a moment.

"Go help Raquel!" Clementina commands, and looks Emberly hard in the eye to ensure that she knows she means it. And Emberly does — but that won't stop her from holding her ground. Raquel and Ree would be alright on their own, but Clementina needed help, especially because Rhetoric has a gun. Emberly will not allow Clementina to sacrifice herself. (Not yet.)

"Go! Now!" she demands once more, but Emberly does not budge.

"You know I can't do that," Emberly tells her, her words running so quickly out of her mouth that they almost run together. "I can't just leave you." And so she won't, she decides.

Click, she hears Rhetoric's revolver cock again, and her knuckles turn white as her grip on The Queen turns iron.

"Don't —" Emberly begins to warn her, but she is cut short by an earsplitting

BANG!

Emberly flinches and her breath catches in her throat, but she finds herself relieved to see no blood — not even one drop. Clementina had managed to dodge it, leaving her unscathed. She would have rejoiced if terror was not holding her in a death grip.

"I told you not to shoot," she tells her. "You're out of warnings, Rhetoric." Emberly's words are not an omen; she does not speak with the intent to frighten Rhetoric. She is frightened herself — as she steadies herself and raises her sword, the acid fear rushing through her entire body once again. It begins to eat at more than just her skin; now it is down to her bones, stripping her bare and leaving her more vulnerable than she already was.

She had promised McCarthy to never stop fighting; she could not bring herself to break that now, no matter how terrified she was of that revolver.

Her gaze flickers down to the blood glistening on her sword, and she prepares herself for the fact that when she pulls away from Rhetoric's flesh again, her blade will be drenched in scarlet.

[Emberly attacks Rhetoric; The Queen (sword)]
uLddzLFRsword
[1126 -- Shallow Cut on Left Shoulder -- 3.5 damage]

call the chance and sigh
we will wait for this
we will wait for this
we will wait for this

. . .

lyrics: "divinity" by porter robinson.

"Raquel, run!"

Had Clem's warning come a few seconds earlier, I would not have heeded it. I am not afraid. I do not ever intend to run from a fight. I will stand my ground, I will be brave, I will look my opponent in the eye until I can't keep mine open anymore. Chester lunges, and his knife cuts across my head. Tiny beads of blood form between strands of black hair, causing them to stick together. The wounds aren't deep and they cause no more than a dull sting.

For a moment, I am distracted, yet another figure emerging from the forest and making himself known to me. I know him. My gaze scans his face, and then suddenly, the memory clicks in my mind.

(Theodore. Theodore Ursa, but I go by Teddy.)

The Training Center. Fresh blood on my skin. Practiced hands and a shiny silver needle. Yes, I do know him. He fixed up my knee a few days ago.

"Teddy?" his name comes out before I can stop myself, somewhat confused as I watch. Chester, I expected to be different in the arena than he was outside. But this kid? Well, it doesn't seem right.

"I don't want to hurt you," the tip of his spear swings towards me, and I taste something sour on my tongue as he gives me what could have been a false promise. "but I have to." and then, in barely a whisper: "I'm sorry, I won't be able to patch you up this time."

An obsidian point cuts into my skin. I'm too surprised to move, and he finds an unprotected spot on my arm. Something warm pools out where cold metal touched a moment ago, spreads across my skin, drips down from my elbow. I blink and look up at him in curiosity.

"Didn't take you for the violent type, Teddy." a grin pulls at the corner of my mouth and I swing my hooked sword around to point at Chester. "This guy on the other hand..."

I'm interrupted by Clem, yelling at Ree to swap targets. "Go help Raquel! I got this!"

For a moment, I'm pulled away from my own fight, long enough to roll my eyes and shake my head. "For crying out loud Clem, it's a gun." She ignores me, urges on Ree, and then all of a sudden

BANG.

Seems like the girl from Eight was growing tired of our bickering. But I don't hear any screams, and when I look around, I can't find any fresh wounds from a bullet. She must've missed. Again.

"I told you not to shoot." that's Emberly, I think mildly annoyed for once in her life. "You're out of warnings, Rhetoric."

Rhetoric. What an odd name.

There's a deep, throaty growl coming from my pack, one which I can only assume belongs to Sylvester. I turn to see Chester stepping towards me. "Darling, I don't need to know your name because soon it'll be forgotten when your face is projected in the night sky during the anthem." A half laugh, half snort escapes me. "It's a dog eat dog world, and if you want to play a game of cat and mouse, then maybe we can have a little fun. Raquel, is it?" I meet his stare, nothing but defiance and mild curiosity in my eyes. I catch his gaze and then suddenly the earth quakes beneath me because I think I can see myself in him. The version of myself I never wanted to exist, but the one I must carry with me if I want to make it out of here alive. The one that's so much like...I can't bring myself to say his name, because that would make the idea a reality.

"I liked it better when you didn't have a name. Makes killing you easier." Mercifully, Chester pulls me back to the present. "But it doesn't mean I won't stop trying." a laugh escapes his throat, and I can hear the echoes of a past tribute's laugh mixing with his until I'm not quite sure I can tell the difference anymore. "It's time to say goodbye."

He lunges, I duck, but not quick enough. His blade cuts the skin atop my head for the second time in a matter of minutes. I do not intend to let him do it again.

I re-adjust my stance, tighten my grip on my sword. "Brave words, Ches." I say, wary of his movement. "Arrogant, but I suppose brave all the same. I do hope you realize no one will remember you either."

[ attacks Chester with falchion (sword) ]

YyOET_NRsword

[ 1097 -- Stabbed in Back -- 9.0 ]