bloody city :: [ raven + denali // justice building ]

"Are you going in or not?" The doorknob is clenched in Denali's fist, so tightly she feels as if the metal will collapse inward at any moment, crushed by her... Confusion? Disapproval? Jealousy? Anger? Concern? She takes a deep breath as the peacekeeper takes a step toward her, completely fed up with her antics. Wherever she goes there are broken vases, unwanted scrutiny, and — now — whatever this nonsense is. "Get in or get out," he threatens harshly and Denali pulls the door open in a fluster, rushing inside before the guard can come any closer.

She regrets it immediately.

It was a lie when she told herself that it didn't matter which of this year's tributes she visited first, that they were both the same to her, that there was no particular reason for her to go and see Francisco first. It was a lie when she told herself that they're both strangers, because this girl is only half a stranger. The sister of Zion Lyons comes face-to-face with the twin of his District partner's ghost and all Denali can do is press her back to the door, stammering and wondering why she didn't turn back when the peacekeeper gave her the option.

Denali didn't remember gutting Parson in their bloodbath, only realizing his motivation for sending her a jar of piss and a note of harassment after she had returned home — weeks or perhaps months slipping away before she found the courage to watch the replays of the Eightieth Games. (She had been afraid to find out what her family had been told to think of her. She had been worried that replays of Faux Rhodes' head being bashed in would spark new nightmares. She had been terrified that her duel with Lex might somehow end differently if she relived it. What if watching it killed her?) Even now she forgets who stabbed her in the chest right at the beginning of everything, always flinching against memories of the pain when the face blurs across the screen. It wouldn't matter if she could sort it out anyhow. The fistfight that followed is too distracting, too surreal to focus on anything else: Denali and Lex, trying to tear each other to pieces with their bare hands.

Still, she vividly remembers the moment in the Seventy-Ninth bloodbath when Dove aimed her javelin at Zion as he held his axes out to her, to all of them, as if begging to be saved from the bouquet of unwanted blades. Take these, please, his expression said, although the only sound his throat could make was a soft and persistent whimper, I don't want them. Oh, dear! Oh, my! Oh, gosh! Denali had gasped like it might be her last breath instead of his, having been certain that — if no one else — surely the girl who had taken the train with him to the Capitol would spare someone so obviously harmless. For a little while, at least. Pardon me! Zion had cried out after being attacked, So sorry! So... sorry... I... ohhh, golly.

This girl is not Dove Elsu any more than Denali is Zion. She shouldn't be remembering moments like those that made her question the humanity of a girl just trying to fight for her own life any more than she should be remembering moments of her redemption that came later in the games. None of it should have anything to do with Raven —

Except that Raven volunteered. Like Denali volunteered. Only... it's absolutely nothing like Denali volunteering. It wasn't the name of an Elsu that had been drawn, the way it had been Denali stepping up in her little sister's place. "Why would you do that?" Denali gasps too bluntly, her eyes flicking back and forth between the Elsu girl's hauntingly familiar face and absolutely anything else in the room she can find to look at. This doesn't make any sense. Why would she willingly do this to her family after the loss they've already gone through? Maybe Denali isn't the only one of them who regrets ending up in this room, but it's too late for both of them. Neither of their decisions can be undone.