I Know What You're Keeping // [Conqs Day 1]

Snakes writhed at their feet, fangs bared and dripping with acidic poison ready to invade the next vessel and scorch everything in their path to a blackened crust. Their shining, beady black eyes were enough to give Pyrian a case of the creeps, and their cold, shedding skin was slimy and uninviting to the touch. He stepped over dozens of them, avoiding their snaps and unaware of their malicious hisses of warning as they lunged at him and pricked holes in his neon pants desperately trying to sink their needles into his skin. He didn’t appreciate the Gamemaker’s sick sense of humor in molding a snake pit around the cornucopia, where every tribute would be forced to flee after collecting their treasures, but now that they had been lingering here for quite awhile he no longer paid them any special attention. There were armies of them, nests scattered about the mud, egg fragments and burrows and shells of shed skin littering their path, but it was no longer a shock factor to him; there were too many. He just had to be sure not to step on them, or else the antivenom in his bag would have to be put to use.

Sweat smearing the soil and blood on his skin, he trailed behind his allies and shrugged to adjust the bag slung over his shoulder, its belly rich with useful items. After the dreaded and highly anticipated bloodbath had ended they had found themselves alone at the cornucopia, exactly five corpses sprawled across the grass at awkward angles with neon clothes coated in blood. Two of them belonged to Gypsy, one to Owen, while Asunder and himself had acted as their wings, keeping them balanced and afloat as they slaughtered their enemies. After chasing away the remaining tributes, they had invaded the golden horn and discovered beautiful treasures in its bowels; jars of tar, medical kits, bandages, things they needed for survival. Pyrian had walked away almost satisfied despite having just witnessed five horrible and gory deaths, but that was a part of the circle of life he needed to become familiar with if he was expected to survive another day in the arena. It was the Hunger Games, death would be his everything and his ending, he might as well try to accept it without bearing the pain or guilt. He could expect nothing worse, from now on - though there were still some surprises the Gamemaker had in store for them. One in particular did not compete with the prospect of death itself, but it sure as hell had terrified him after he had performed his tumble of faith.

A nest of scaly worms, that had been his lovely surprise. He had known there was something wrong about the sudden drop-off wrapped around the cornucopia, but when he had fallen into it he had not expected to land in a pile of tangled snakes, and he certainly had not expected his allies to suddenly disappear while he was forced to lay in a bed of scales. They had invaded his skin like parasites, covering him from head to toe, and he had been forced to wait for their instinctive anger to diminish so they would slither away rather than catching their fangs on his clothes and wrapping themselves around his quivering limbs. He recalled one leaving a trail of icy shudders in its wake as it had dragged its cold, smooth body across his cheek, tempting him to tear it off before it could strangle him or bite him in the face. When they had finally abandoned his motionless body, he had searched frantically for his allies and had none too soon spotted their neon clothing in the darkness, though with their hands and weapons occupied by a sudden brawl. The bodies of two unrecognizable girls had been left to rot, one of them with an arrow protruding from her neck. His eyes had instantly darted to Asunder and his trusty bow. The awkward, clumsy boy from twelve, committing murder? It seemed highly unlikely, but what else could he believe? That he wasn’t the only useless ally, that Asunder was his equal?Not anymore.It seemed Pyrian was outmatched by all three of them now, making him the one and only burden.

Pushing these thoughts aside, he wandered into the oversized crevice buried deep into the snake pit, and after finding no immediate threats settled in and embraced the freedom of a reptile-infested environment. He watched his allies’ lips move, analyzing every twitch and translating them into the printed language he knew, trying to keep up with their conversations after having just failed them by missing a fight. “Anyone wanna make a bet on what we'll find once we go up? Loser has to hunt for dinner.” He smirked, admiring Gypsy for her sense of adventure. Rather than sulking about some stranger’s death or dwelling on how bad the odds were, why not share a few laughs and give Panem a the show they’ll never forget? He liked that idea better than the cold gnawing at his insides, warning him that he was a target, that he might as well be dead already, that he was no soldier in this war. He had more important things to focus on, anyway, like the box Gypsy withdrew from her bag. He remembered glancing over their shoulders to take a peek at it; a slip of paper, words pasted clearly on the front, a clue for a scavenger hunt with treasures laying at its end, or perhaps death. He didn’t really mind hunting for treasure, really, as long there wasn’t a damn trap with a room full of flesh-eating mutts or another snake pit waiting at the end. He was already sick of animals in the arena and already annoyed by the stench of blood that didn’t belong to his own vessels.

He memorized the printed words of the clue, unable to attach any meaning to them, and leaned back against a wall that cooled his sweaty skin. He rubbed his neck, grateful that they had all emerged from the bloodbath unscathed and without markings, though the purple splotch on his neck was still a bright contrast to his pale skin, now visible after the make-up had smeared and melted away. It was his one and only marking, for now. There were still dangers lying ahead, waiting to pounce the unsuspecting deaf boy and his precious allies, but when that happened he would be ready, because if Pyrian was anything he was a flame not yet ready to be extinguished, much like the beautiful orange blaze that engulfed the glowing box in Gypsy‘s hands.