Day 2: The Tunnels (Napoleon v Dagger v Amber)

And when she wakes, October is still asleep by her side.

The stench of mildew lingers in the air, and the wet carpet squelches beneath her as she shifts and stretches with a quiet yawn. As cold as the night had been, the warmth of good company has gotten her through mostly unscathed. She's even smiling as she sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes — and only then, in a blur, does she remember the ordeal of watching a girl die only hours prior. The blood has dried on her skin, and her knife is secured inside her boot. No less sharp; no less ready to cut into more flesh if it means surviving.

Max's corpse is probably a good five minute walk away from the room they're in now, down a dark and quiet hall where the scent of rust is stronger than the mold. Amber tries not to think of it, focusing more on the late night conversation with her friend and the hug they shared when they first reunited. It made her feel so important, and wanted, and she clings to that feeling now more than ever. Even if a quiet voice in the back of her head tells her to snap out of it, to be rational and realize that she and October can't go skipping hand-in-hand out of this nightmare together.

She cannot deny the joy she feels when she feels useful. And, sure, October could have been playing her like a fiddle and Amber could have very well woken up with her throat slashed open — but she didn't, and she continues to trust that such a betrayal is not a possibility. Until it is no longer an option, they have one another, and that counts for something. They shared their food, canned meat and trail mix, and they told one another about the awful things they endured. Even if every person down here in these tunnels is a threat, Amber feels safe with the girl from One. She will not let go of her loyalty so willingly.

Maybe it's that urge to help and please the other girl that makes Amber's next decision for her — October looks so peaceful as she sleeps, safe and pretty like a porcelain doll on the highest shelf, and Amber wants so badly to stay in her good graces. If she could go and find them some breakfast, for example, or some other worthwhile supplies, she's certain that October would be grateful for her service. Before she can dismiss going off on her own as a bad idea, she's scooting closer to the wall, grimacing as she draws her index finger across the dark green muck and scrawls a message where the other tribute can see.

don't worry! gone scavenging :) be back soon - amber

And that's what she intends, of course. To go find some treasure and return in a matter of minutes. But she starts to realize that maybe this had been a bad idea as she travels through the labyrinth of tunnels, growing more and more lost and finding nothing of note. Any available food has been picked clean, and there are no medical supplies, either. Just strange graffiti on the walls, the telltale sound of rats skittering around in the dark. Her stomach growls and gurgles as her heart drums. She thinks the paranoia is the worst part of all.

Then she turns a corner, and she cannot overlook the corpse that is lying in a puddle of pitch dark blood. It's a girl, with lovely curls haloed by a scarlet smear on the concrete — instantly Amber's hand is over her mouth, a scream slipping through the space of her fingers. "Hesper," she croaks, as if calling out her name might wake the tribute from her sleep, like if she simply starts to move the obvious damage to her body won't seem all that bad. But now that Amber has seen death up close, she cannot deny the truth. The girl who shared jerky with her, who kept her and October company in the exhibit, is dead.

She starts to cry, lifting the collar of her boiler suit to muffle the sound. For a short while, she's left alone with the sound of her whimpering and the rats. And then the footsteps come, first echoing down from the right, and then from the left. Before she can spring into action, she is acutely aware that she is being approached from either side, with absolutely nowhere to run. Maybe they're just perfect strangers, or maybe they're the people who killed Hesper coming to check their handiwork. Either way: they are a danger to her.

Pulling her blade out of her boot, she lays flat against the wall, right where the intersection crosses. She knows she only has this one chance to get the jump on them, if the sound of her sobbing hasn't already ruined her chance. Maybe the tributes know they're walking directly towards one another, but there's a chance they don't realize she's right in the middle. She waits only for the briefest glimpse to confirm neither of the masculine figures are either October or Fraser, and she lashes out with her knife wildly. A strike for both, one a perfect stranger and the other someone she swore to avoid.

It would seem she's really proving herself to be a bad omen, especially for Dagger.

amber attacks napoleon ; knife
GaMJH5aqpTknife
4.0

amber attacks dagger ; knife
knife
3.5

The fire doesn't stop burning. She and pain are one in the same — two separate beings with a singular face. Amber's eyes are bloodshot, her skin and clothes stained crimson, tears streaming down her cheeks. Sadness need not be audible. Agony rises from her chest like a tidal wave, crashing on the inside of her mouth until it feels like she's drowning in the taste of rust. She refuses to unclench her teeth, knuckles bleached white around the hilt of her blade.

The wounded rabbit is only so lethal — an arm hanging by the sinews, raw nerves touching the open air for the very first time. Every step she has taken into the unknown has felt like traveling through a briar patch. What will be left of her when she crawls her way to the other side? Will the grass be greener, or will she even be able to see it beneath her own bloodshed? Amber likes to think a flower will grow from the groove she wears into the earth. Against all odds, against any obstacle, she refuses to fall to her knees and allow her body to keel over from the shock. She keeps moving, stumbling forward with her one working hand reaching for survival.

Her knife misses the hungry boy, but as if fated by an invisible thread, her sharpest edges catch onto Dagger. She promised to avoid him, to disappear entirely from his life, and now it seems like she will continue to haunt his every waking moment in this utter Hell. Normally it would break Amber's heart to know that just the sight of her brings someone so much turmoil — but armed with the intent to kill, she must make her peace with that. Even if she's arguably the lesser of two evils, a girl who wants to live and a boy who wants to feed the rats, his sword does not discriminate.

It feels as if another half of her has been cleaved from the root. Something comes loose, another red blossom unfurling its petals beneath the fabric of her boiler suit. In a matter of seconds, after seventeen years of longing for a thing she has only just learned how to name — Amber Bosch might meet her end. She stares at it silently, a black cat gazing into the pitch dark, an omen confronting an omen. Who will the bad luck take out first? If she's learned anything from her dances with Dagger Thane, she has learned that the music stops when at least when body hits the filthy ground.

So when she lunges, armed with a wail of sorrows, a battle cry — she strikes with the intention of dragging a boy to his untimely grave.

amber attacks napoleon ; knife
l81zpkNhZNknife
3.5

amber attacks dagger ; knife
knife
4.0