Nightmare on Capitol Lane //The Spice Rack vs Mutts day2

I think I scared Vin.

It’s funny; I never thought he would be the type to know fear. But he hadn’t lasted long after my Shakespearean lesson, slipping back into the foyer in search of new friends. The podium had darkened; the lights shut off. I’d sat in the third row of the empty auditorium, staring at the edge of the stage where Vin had wandered before. In another life, I would walk a stage like this and accept a diamond-encrusted crown solidifying my status as a glittering gem of District One: “Most likely to be voted prom queen?” It’s me, hi.

I lose track of time on my own; nothing makes sense. Nobody comes to visit, the message on my watch sitting unanswered and desperate. I’m slightly mortified at what could only be likened to a drunken text message to an ex at 2am in the morning – God, haven’t I been there before. I send a silent prayer to a forgiving deity that Jack hadn’t managed to come into possession of a watch of his own.

Wolf’s face passes through my mind as well, an unexpected visitor to my thoughts. I don’t let myself wonder what it means.

Eventually, Tigs finds me, alone like I am. Alarm bells start to ring, a soft peal rising at the fact neither of us had managed to find Irene or Tati like we’d hoped. For more reasons than one, this is bad. Strength in numbers, four is always better than two. More company to keep the loneliness at bay; more reinforcements in fights; more chances to slip away when the chaos reaches its peak. Remnants of Axinite’s strategy-ridden brain flow through me. I’m comforted by the reminder of him.

Slightly less comforting is thinking about what might have happened to Irene and Tati. Was it simply coincidence they were both nowhere to be found, even after hours of searching the Arena and countless run-ins with other nervous tributes? I’m conflicted: less tributes meant I was closer to home.

But less tributes meant shit was getting real. Less tributes meant people had started to die.

I pull myself up before the spiral begins. My main priority right now is a blonde-haired girl with black-rimmed eyes standing before me with slumped shoulders and healing bruises.

She’s shattered. Understandably so. I’d have probably been the same if I hadn’t managed to catch a few extra hours of sleep already. I note absently that she’s stitched up the large wound on her stomach. I suppress the desire to roll my eyes. Too stubborn to trust anyone but herself with a needle and thread? I’m not even surprised.

Though I mean, can’t say I blame her. But I could have done that, seriously! I’d just wanted to help! I can be useful too!

The annoyance only lasts a moment. Rational thinking kicks in: she’s the medic. I’m the everything else. She can have this, I suppose.

She barely utters five words to me before draping herself in the hanging curtains by the side of the stage and flopping down into a pile of fabrics.

“Okay, I’ll keep watch!” I huff out an annoyed remark, but it’s as shallow as they come. The very fact Tigs is sleeping right now means she trusts me enough to not stab her in the back, and that feels like a win to me. I envision walls crumbling, friendships forming against all odds.

I like the feeling in my chest at that thought. It feels like home.

At some point in time, the air shifts. I shudder at the cold draft that filters through the room despite the closed door. I check the barricade I’d constructed earlier: still intact.

I scan the room: still empty.

I check under my seat: still dusty.

The singing bells gather momentum. An ensemble roars from the orchestra pit below. Act Two is beginning.

One moment, the world is dark.

I turn back to the stage: fuck are you actually kidding me right now this is NOT fucking happening.

A creature from my nightmares streaks across the podium. I have the foresight not to scream out and alert it to our presence – there’s a chance it will move on, that he won’t see Tigs swathed in her crimson canopy. Maybe this year's mutts are stupid, or blind, or friendly–

I see the moment the monster chooses violence, red eyes locking onto Tigs’ sleeping body. Shit.

I’m on the stage in seconds, but it’s seconds too late. The mutt strikes, drawing blood from her neck. I wince at the sight; I feel her pain like it’s my own. Damn fucking empath.

One moment, the world is dark. The next, it burns red.

“ARCADIA! QUICK! We need to get out of here!”

“Wayyyyy ahead of you,” I grit out, already swinging my weapon at the mutated heads bearing down on Tigs as she scrambles away from its spidery clutches.

attacks mutant spider dummy mutt with glaive

4ofE8SgV|aglaive

deep gash on stomach -- 9.0 damage [ +1 blades ]