the last supper / throne room fireplace / day 5

I stumble through my sleep, deadweight in my dreams as I fly — or at least that was what I’d thought. No, I’ve been transported. We’ve been transported. It’s more difficult to stand up this morning. I feel top heavy, like I might not be able to straighten myself up. But I do, I manage to. They’ve been renovating. I squint at the tapestries to try and get a better look at them. None of us have done enough to be weaved into one quite yet.

Especially not me. What have I done at all? The smooth stone in my pocket bounces against my leg as I stand. I’ve been making friends. When Eulalie’s face didn’t appear in the anthem last night, that’s when I finally answered Florentine’s question from earlier that day. I turned to her and said, ”Well, she’s still out there, somewhere. We can look for her if you want but…” Maybe whatever has come over me today, hard and cold creeping from the inside out, was already spreading last night. ”She might not want to come back.”

Or maybe it was my Career training finally kicking in, at the same time as Eulalie’s. The time for allyship was fading fast behind us with each and every day. Maybe she’d been doing us a courtesy — she let herself get swept away to give us a head start. And look what we’d done with the time: nothing.

The Throne Room fills up quickly. Between tributes and what seems to have been a fresh restock on the metaphorical cornucopia, the whole place is as fantastical as it was just a few days ago. Except this time the others aren’t running. They’ve accepted the reality of their situations at last, it seems. This won’t be as easy as it was last time. Even the little arty one from Two is switched on now. His knives are the first to be thrown.

I stay back, considering my options, until I see them. Eulalie and Tsiuri. Cold turns to heat in an instant. She paired up with her? Seriously? She left me for that insect from Eleven? All of my good faith assumptions about her disappearance go immediately out of the window. Maybe I never knew her at all. In my flash of anger, I shove Florentine aside and jump in to the foray, closer to the action than usually I’d ever be.

_{[ DARS ]}

I had fallen asleep under the red wing of wrath. That is what I had named the creature, the name he had taken a liking to. Maybe he too was poisoned with anger, allowing it to cloud our judgments and follow the shiny new thing down the stream. Promises that only ever existed in our mind. Hoping the false truths had come to an end the moment I had chosen to believe in the false gods and their golden haired prophet.

Swiflty my breathing slowed down, protected by a giant creature out for blood adding fuel to a fire I had yet to discover had even started.

This dream different to the last, trivial in nature and metaphorical in it’s essence. Two doors stood in front of a room filled with water, a heavey stream for it would only be moments until I would drown. I heard the screams of the boys I had abondoned. Even if I could not see his bleeding body, I knew it was what was waiting for me behind the other door. The one two the left, door number two, harpes playing unision the pearly white gates to victory awaited for me.

Just as I had the day before, I chose the one promsising life. All August and Thompson could have offered me was death.

"Tsiuri, you need to wake up. And don't be alarmed.”

I opened my eyes, body heavey on the ground. Eulalie’s arm on my chest until it made it’s was to my should gently shaking me awake. I could hear her voice, the gentle sound leaking poison into her words. There was no small talk, no time for a good morning. The queen had comanded and whilst still kind, she had not befriended me for my charming smile.

It was never spoken out loud, I had not even admitted it to myself. Despite all her training, years of indoctorination…it was the girl who had nothing that was to be feared the most. When you had nothing to loose it only ever meant that you had everything to gain. Whilst Eulalie would eventually fall, she would be my stepping stone to the top…that is if I could get up.

She continued her instructions…stay behind, but as I sat up the world came crashing down against me. My body felt as If it weight three times the amount the day before. Standing against gravity attempting to pull myself togther, Adromache fucking Stewart of all people came crashing down on top of me. This truly must be the end of the world.

“Get off me!” my voice echoed Eulalie’s quiet plea for a halt of the antics. Her old friend’s shadow large against the burning fire. Thompson and August in their own corner and I could feel the weight of my decision. I’d rather fight with an angel and win then fight with two hevey bricks drowning me in the water of the mermaid bay. The only logical conclusion to the dreams that had plagued my mind.

Then Eulalie went for Thomas.

I should have followed suit. Backed her up and attack my old friend. That was supposed to be my job after all, to stand behind and follow her lead. I had already solidfied my reputation for going after those close to me…a fire burning so bright it would be unwise to entangle yourself with it at night. Maybe that was Eulalie’s lesson to learn in the future.

Hesitance took over before my strike.

My body leaving almost no space between Eulalie and I as I whispered in her ear. “I can’t…not him…not now” (Not after Revel) I offered up my hand of weakness. Instead I turned my back to him, a sorry look but not regretful. He had attacked the girl from four, a sorry excuse of an apology for my betrayel. My spear lifted, ready to gut the girl’s who’s name could have not mattered any less.

Eulalie would understand, this kill was only foreplay afterall. The two of us would reconviene when the blood was shed, finding eachothers bodies in the dark to continue our games.

“But I won’t stop you.” I smild assuring her that in the end, it was her back I had covered.

[Tsiuri lights spear on fire; attacks pearl]

DQp9TU0TC5spear

[3.5]

1-50

[results]

the sky last night was punctured with the faces of the dead, but none of them were my dead. they hung there in the in-between, plastered gaily against the projector-screen of what i can only assume is a fake moon, flanked by a slurry of imposter stars. we watched in silence, andromache and i, and i wondered what she was thinking. when the showcase finally closed and the sombre expression of kristof parks, ex-inhabitant of district nine, faded to black. i could almost hear the applause - just a trace of it, reverberating in the space between us. i unclenched my jaw. august is still out there, somewhere, living to spite me, living in spite of me, proving to me he meant what he said when he told me he wanted to survive. eulalie, too, the deserter, or the lost girl, continues to roam the arena; every second she is absent from us, we come closer to falling with certainty on the assumption that andromache dares to voice out loud: she might not want to come back.

i sleep wearing the helmet i stole from august. although the rock that she gave me is smooth and warm in my pocket, this olive branch is not enough to absolve her of her crimes; i doubt there is any amount of earnest-looking comradery that can convince me that she is anything but a product of her circumstance. it crosses my mind that now we are alone, i could finish this myself, begin to carry out what i came here to do; nobody would know that she had died at my hand, nobody but the cameras and the people of panem. would they celebrate, to see the career girl outsmarted and outplayed by the pretender? would her family weep in shame that she let herself be so foolish, that she trusted so easily? would the kids in four kick the peacekeepers in the shins and laugh, fuelled by the gall of what i had done? although i turn these thoughts over in my mind, i sleep without action, and i dream of beating wings.

i awake in the castle i inhabit when i sleep, rather than the ruins i found on the first day. there is a fire crackling within the hearth; i feel the warmth of it on my skin before i process the way the room has transformed; it is shrouded in rich tapestries and ornate carvings, sheltered by steady walls and unbroken windows and high, ostentatious ceilings. on the far side of the room, the throne i sat upon -- my throne -- still stands, but it stands with a pride it did not have before; in it, his head restored to its original place atop his body, sits the knight made of stone, as though he is waiting for me.

i reach out blindly -- for my knife? for andromache? for august? -- all stupid, pathetic responses, none of them sufficient protection from the monster that is back for another go. he is perfect, again, unmaimed and unharmed. he has not changed, where i have oscillated wildly, turned from one side of myself to the other and back again, twisted and hurt and near-drowned in the hundred years and three days since i met him last.

as soon as i am on my feet, andromache collides with me in her haste. i am too slow to catch her. i follow her trajectory in time to see what she is headed for just as she collides with her target: here, by the fire with us, is eulalie, accompanied by the elevator girl who did not appreciate my showboating. grab your weapon, stand behind me, eulalie instructs, always the self-appointed leader. it becomes all-too clear what has happened, and where eulalie's loyalties have come to rest. a shame, but not insurmountable.

i expect tsuiri to respond in kind, to turn on andromache, and i am just wondering whether i intend to step in and save her or let it happen when i realise that she has fixed her eyes on something behind me, instead. her knife, when she lets it go, flies not toward my rage-filled ally, but away from us. i turn to see it sinking into the thigh of my district partner, fellow party-goer and bracelet-donor, pearl. i am equal parts disappointed to see that nobody has put her in her place yet, and relieved that i may be so lucky as to have a chance to do it myself.

there is no time to centre myself, to take stock of the scene. i am all too aware of the knight, still in place upon his throne, but certainly not intending to remain there and watch us tear each other apart. i turn back to see one of the smallest tributes - the little blonde girl, handling an oversized sword and looking unhappy to be here - lunging toward eulalie, staging an unprovoked and frankly underequipped attack on miss-tribute-of-the-year.

just as i am sure there can be no more chaos within the one room, i set eyes on him. august is here, too, awakening from the same heavy sleep we have all been fighting our way out of. i turn away from him, hurriedly, not wanting to see the look on his face when he recognises that i am here, not wanting him to say or do something that might let the others catch on to our betrayal. after all, i have a part to play, and here, before the fire, i must continue to accept the role i have chosen.

my hands are sweating on the hilt of my knife, and my heart tastes like poison where it beats in my throat. i am suddenly self-aware, certain that everyone will see the way i tensed up when i noticed august there. there is only one way to ensure that nobody suspects i am disloyal; when i reach out with my knife, it must find a target that makes it clear who's side i am on.

_[DARS]

Note to self: do not eat a cupcake you found on the ground in the ruins of an old house, even if said cupcake has a tag attached to it that says “eat me.” Any reasonable person would suspect that it is loaded with drugs. Eating it will knock you into a death-like sleep, and you will awake the next morning in a completely different place than the one you fell asleep in, with a serious hangover.

Live and learn?

While the sun blazes scarlet against my closed eyelids, I try to recall what passed between now and yesterday. I remember Tsiuri storming off, her spear still dripping with Revel’s blood as she screamed, ”Is that the help you wanted?!” I remember patching up Thompson’s wounds; the strange, unfeeling look on his face that made me feel so worried that I swore to myself I would stay by his side until the end. I remember the weight of the empty space left by Tsiuri, hoping she would cool off and come back. One emptiness called for company, and soon enough, my stomach began to growl. Enter cupcake blackout.

Now, as I blink myself into full consciousness, I vaguely remember dreaming about flying, an icy wind creeping into the collar of my shirt and biting the tips of my ears. It must have been a dream, because when I try to pull myself up to sit, my limbs feel so heavy I don’t even want to stand, let alone fly.

Then I see the long gray scab taking over my right arm, wrist to elbow, and I groan in frustration. Of course. Now I’m some kind of leper, probably about to be exiled from the kingdom. I roll my head back to glare up at the blue dome of fake sky, then over to see Thompson spring stiffly upward, none of the joints moving quite right, like he’s some kind of wooden puppet and someone just decided to yank his strings.

“Morning,” he monotones. “Hope you’re ready to fight again.”

I fix my face after I realize I’ve been watching him kinda sideways, my eyes narrowed. Grunting with effort, I stand up, and I’m absorbed into a brief burst of tunnel vision, like all my blood is stuck in my legs, moving slower than usual.

”Uh, morning.” I echo with a curt, dutiful nod, my head aching at the sudden movement. Another day of following Thompson into mortal danger. It’s almost a running joke at this point, but I have to admit that the routine makes our reality a little easier to stomach. ”Let’s do it. I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”

As we step through the wide doorway to the throne room, we’re welcomed by the grating echo of shouting voices and clanging metal from those who are already clashing. A quick look around the room tells me there are a few faces missing, but since I slept through the Anthem, I’m not sure who or how many– it seems like Skiplaurel is absent, along with the little girl from Eight. I can’t help but wonder what Tallulah and Daisy are thinking back home watching these girls their age fall to the sword. Knowing them, they’d be bragging about how they could have done better than either one.

Florentine is here, Florentine is here, Florentine is here, my heartbeat knocks against my chest as if to ask if I’m paying attention; yes, I see her, but I know I cannot look.

Thompson is off already; he lights his knives on fire somehow. That’s Thompson, full of surprises. I don’t blame him for going after a tribute neither of us know; he doesn’t seem like the kind to hold grudges, or act on them. Maybe he is just avoiding the elephant in the room, our friend and defender-turned-deserter, Tsiuri.

It turns out after all that big talk yesterday, she just couldn’t stay away from us. Seeing her next to Eulalie, I have to stifle a laugh, especially when Andromache, out of nowhere, knocks her to the ground. But as I fall into formation at Thompson’s side, I have nothing cruel to say to her. Just a painful ache in my chest where the wound scratches open again, raw and ready for the salt.

And here it comes: Eulalie swinging her massive battle axe at my friend, again. Then Tsiuri’s lips against the blonde’s ear, a dirty secret in her smile. That rubs me. My jaw tightens, and reflex compels me to look towards Florentine, though I’m not sure what for–comfort, a balm for the wound of my loss–but I hold myself back, imagining an invisible wall around my periphery, a line I won’t cross, not now, I will not single her out with so many enemies around. Still a part of me hopes there will be an opportune moment to give her a sign, I dunno, maybe hiss out of the corner of my mouth, real sly, Find me later!

All my efforts to appear blasé go out the window when Florentine lunges toward Thompson with a knife, slicing into his leg. I watch her from outside myself, as if I’m standing in a different corner of the room, far away; my reaction is slow. I reach to stop her, but my right arm is immobile, and won’t obey. I’m certain that I gape at her, frozen in surprise for a split second, pain flashing across my eyes. But the sureness of her strike makes me wonder: what the hell is she thinking? Is she trying to make a point?

Is this just another chess lesson?

As I catch sight of Andromache behind her, Florentine’s advice quivers along my fingertips, closing them around the handle of the knife at my belt.

you always have to be thinking several moves ahead. you can't just figure it out as you go.

Me and Thompson, Flo and Andromache, Tsiuri and Eulalie. How long before one kills the other in their sleep? I know I would never do it to Thomas. So maybe she’s doing it for me. It’s vile, all of it– the guilt, betrayal, death, the strategizing–our sins must stink to high heaven.

She’s right, though; I should hold my nose.

_{D A R S}

Thompson felt a brewing fire within the pit of his stomach. That fire was placed directly underneath a big, fat knot. The knot, similar to what is used for the game tug of war, had constantly been playing a game of will and desire the past few days. Some moments, it’d pull itself into the direction of August. A boy who offered so much kindness and patience. He found the good in everything, and after Thompson’s heart began to mold firmer into stone, it was too far gone for the boy to ever appreciate it fully. August offered emotional safety. Other times it’d pull itself in the direction of Tsiuri. A woman who had expressed every emotion that crossed her mind but fear itself. He liked that. She made him feel protected.

Regardless, the rope had stretched itself thin throughout the course of the Games. He himself never knew which side he would choose. On day six, he was far more confident in the option of August, simply because Tsiuri had revealed herself to have a spine as coiled as a snake. She had no loyalty.

Not that the arena was a place for judging loyalty, but it certainly meant a lot when Pearl had made an attack at him. Tsiuri didn’t say a damn thing. She turned her back, which said all she needed to. That bitch did not care. Following his lead, as if that did enough, it was hard to see such exceptionally clear betrayal. He wanted to shout, to yell at her. But every emotional vein in his body had started to turn into concrete. It all resulted in a bundle of firestarter in his stomach, waiting for that tie to break.

August had hit the same monotone tone to him this morning. Naturally, he’d be scared. But he wasn’t. He can’t be scared anymore, which must have been a good thing that Tsiuri abandoned them. Maybe August had begun to turn into stone, or maybe he was the same as her and needed an excuse to bare his teeth.

The fire’s embers continued to eat away at him. He knew that it was only a matter of time that Tsiuri bent all the way back and attacked him, too. It’s what girls like her do.

He can’t deal with liars, but he’d never become one. His voice finds itself somehow defensive, for his sake, not Tsiuri’s.

”You come from water. Shouldn’t you be used to putting out fires?”

His fire was alive, which threatened to burn through every knot of humanity that remained inside of him.

[thompson attacks pearl w/ flaming knives (2/4).]
DMFSjKlSmZthrowing knife
1-50
[5.5 + 4]