the last supper / throne room fireplace / day 5

d'arcy whispers what she knows in my ear. i'll admit, it sounds crazy - like the hopeful imaginings of a desperate little girl - but she shows me the scratched remains of the note she found, and if it is anybody's deluded plan, i'm willing to believe it belongs to the gamemakers themselves. that, or i, too, have grown so deranged in this experience that i am as gullible as the smallest and most vulnerable among us. it's possible, i'll admit it. 

she makes it in front of me, mixing items like it has been rehearsed - she has all the expertise of an ancient witch brewing a potion that will turn a frog back into a real prince. i suppose she has done this a thousand times in her mind, playing each step over and over until it is committed to heart. 

go on, then - drink it. that way, if it's not what you say it is, we'll find out, i tell her. as much as i want d'arcy to succeed here, if one of us is going to die at the hands of some sick gamemaker trap, it's not going to be me. i intend to send a canary down into the mine first, to check the air is breathable. my stone arm itches, as though it can sense that i am close to something pivotal. 

as d'arcy raises the cup to her lips, there is the terrible sound of the cannon - so close to us it could almost be one of us who has fallen. i turn, greeted with the gratifying sight of pearl's body hitting the floor, eulalie standing over her, her never-ending streak of triumph continued. when i look back at d'arcy, though, she has turned pale. i'll drink it first, i promise, she says, a quiver in her voice. i can see in her eyes how much she wants to run, the rabbit-hearted thing. but she is brave, stands her ground long enough to explain: let's move somewhere safe first. 

what i should do is hold my knife to her throat and force her to drink it here, and now, even if she is scared. this is what glamorous career girls would do, their blood pulsing with indifferent self-interest. the fake-flo inside of me is tired from a long day of flouting her superiority, however, weakened after the fight. she is my wiser self, the self that is keeping me alive in this place, and yet i allow her to defer to the other me, the weak and human flo, who looks upon a scared little girl and intends to give her what she asks. 

okay, i say. i take the cup in one hand and d'arcy's arm in another. my grip is a careful balance between a comforting force and a deadlock. she will not get away from me, but together, we can get away from this place - if that is what she wants. 

_[DARS]

My arrow hits Tsiuri, but rather than keep my focus on her, on the arrow sticking out of her leg, I follow her line of sight — Pearl from Four, caving in on herself at last with one final swing of Eulalie’s axe. The cannon erupts above us, around us, and within us. Which of us will the next one belong to? Whoever’s it is, it will not be mine. Not today. I look up from Pearl and scan the area for Florentine. She and D’arcy made it to the feast table. I keep one eye on them, on the items they both sweep into their bags, while the other eye wanders to keep me safe. Tsiuri Dermott is still alive. And the others too; the other fight. They’ve seemingly gained someone instead of losing them. Who…?

The living armour statue? The Stone Knight? I shiver. Hardly. They wouldn’t actually throw another living tribute in, would they? I’m seeing things. Back to the matter at hand. I notch another arrow, train it on D’arcy Mason as an insurance policy. If she tries anything with Flo, I’ll let it loose. 

D’arcy and Florentine flee with their takings from the feast, and for a moment, I think oh. That’s that for us. But I don’t think D’arcy will stay with Florentine, not when my ally has proven herself so stab happy. And vice versa. Who wants to stick around a twelve year old with anger issues? 

An Andromache with anger issues is much better. It’s tempting to shoot the arrow now. A voice tells me I should just go ahead and do it, but I resist. It’s difficult, in a way that scares me, but I do it. I resist. Self control has been the ultimate guiding principle of my life up until now. I can’t lose my discipline now where it counts.

August Vance is lurking too, spying over their retreating shoulders to see what they’re grabbing, closer than I am. He might be able to hear them. I let him go ahead of me up to the table, and watch what he decides to take. The same items. I wait until he’s gone and then I take my turn.

_{[ DARS ]}