saints {without} a cause :: river/ahuitzotl day 5

they're gonna miss me when i'm dead and gone
they're gonna talk about me over
(and over and over)
they're gonna file me under "latest nostalgia"
but not "happily ever after"

The moment I leave Emmy's body behind, I decide that I will not look for her face in the sky tonight. That kind of permanence isn't something I can handle anymore, a reminder of just how alone I truly am that would drive me mad(der). I spend the rest of the day wandering aimlessly along the shore of the lake, stopping towards the hottest part of the afternoon in a secluded little inlet that would be peaceful if I wasn't so painfully aware of where I am.

There is no such thing as peace here. Sometimes I wonder if I've ever known peace at all.

The fringes of jungle beyond the horizon look tempting, offering shelter and resources, but even trying for them would mean my doom. A girl from District Four who can't swim. The Capitol must be having a hay-day with this one. The idea of commending myself to the water is enough to make me shudder, but it's hellishly hot and I feel beyond disgusting, every inch of me sticky with dirt and blood and sweat. Finally coming to a decision, I sigh, dropping my backpack and shimmying out of my bloodstained clothes. I don't even recognize the body I see beneath. Where there used to be soft curves and stretch marks courtesy of Brooke's arrival into the world, there are now flat planes and harsh lines, a mountain range of ribs emerging from under the stretchy sports-bra-thing they gave the girls to wear and razor-edged hipbones peeking out above the waistband of my underwear. I look like the pictures of old-time war refugees that used to be in my textbooks, wasted by lack of food and increased stress until there's nearly nothing left. And as a bonus, I'm positively grimy.

Being in the lake makes me nervous and there's only so much I can do without soap, but watching all the blood and dirt spiraling off through the crystalline water is an odd sort of gratifying. I rub at the rusty stains along my limbs until my skin is pink and raw from the friction, rinse the matted blood from my hair, comb through the unruly curls painfully with my fingers, even manage to get most of the stains out of my clothes. By the time I re-emerge onto the shore, I almost feel like my old self.

I realize what a stupid mistake I've made about five minutes after. It's humid in that awful, stifling way that sticks to your skin, the temperature only barely dissipating as the sun starts to sink. My clothes will never dry out here, and already my hair has started to swell into some sort of horrific creature that may or may not have a mind of its own. Night is coming, and I'm not stupid enough to stay by the lake with so many tributes roaming around.

And so with an irritated growl I, River Destin, Training Score Ten and Self-Proclaimed Badass set off across the Arena.

…In my undies.

I hate how exposed I feel, even though the Arena undergarments cover the same amount of skin that a bathing suit would. No one can see me, at least not any Tributes, but I can feel the gazes of the cameras searing into the bare places of my flesh, scrutinizing, mocking. Yeah, laugh it up, you bastards. Maybe I'll be the first Tribute to die in her panties. Scowling, I resolutely flip the bird to the first lens I see zooming in out of a tree trunk.

The pyramid rises out of the distance like some long-forgotten idol, still splendid even as its golden glow diminishes beneath the setting sun. High ground, good visibility… It's the kind of place Emmy would pick to camp. The thought sends a pang of loneliness spiking through me, but I do my best to ignore it, showing my way through the foliage and hovering just beyond the edge of the clearing where the monument gleams. It's a crapshoot, guessing whether or not there are already tributes up there. A crapshoot that could cost me my life.

But then again, I'm standing in the middle of the jungle in my knickers with my hair frizzing audibly around me. My dignity is long dead, so the rest of me can't be too far behind.

The metal still holds all the heat of the day, burns my hand painfully when I reach out to touch the side. I can even feel the heat through my shoes as I climb the steep steps, the plastic of the soles starting to melt by the time I reach the top, where, Ripred be praised, there's no one else waiting for me. It's literally hot enough to fry an egg up here, and with that thought, a spark of brilliance catches in my mind. I grab my wet clothes from the outside pocket of my backpack, spreading them out over the golden floor. A loud hiss rises along with a cloud of steam from the sopping garments, and a victorious laugh bubbles over my lips. I'm good to go as long as it doesn't rain tonight.

The room atop the pyramid is mercifully cool, large archways on all four sides looking out over the vast expanse of the Arena. If anyone's coming, I'll see them. Relishing in the respite from the heat that the shadows hive me, I throw together a makeshift camp, building a sort of nest from my tarp and Emmy's cloak (no fires tonight, not this high up. The light will bring everyone within ten miles right to me). It's going to be a long night. No ally means no watches, which means no sleep. Until I can find a nice cave or grotto to hide myself securely inside, I don't trust the Arena enough to grab even the tiniest cat nap.

The Anthem blares outside, but I remember my promise. I don't stick my head out the door to look at Emerald Shore's face. Instead, I curl up in my new nest and cradle my compass in my hands, watching the needle skitter before it settles over the scripted N on the face. Home. It's still pointing home. Still pointing to Brooke. At least that much hasn't changed, and maybe… maybe I'll just rest my eyes for a bit. Only a little bit, and then I'll stay up, look for a permanent camp tomorrow, maybe find Noah or-

Blackness.

When I wake up, there's a thing staring at me.

Screeching, I pinwheel out of my nest and scrabble around for my flail, cursing colorfully the entire time. Whatever it is, it's huge, sharp claws and rows of teeth and a fucking hand on its tail. Horrifyingly, the thought strikes me that it may have been here last night, lurking in the shadows that I was too tired to search. Maybe I've been squatting in its house. Well, sorry, buddy. You're not taking a bite out of me as payment.

"Hullo, beastie," I grin ferally, grabbing for my flail. The options are clear. The stairs are too steep for me to run down quickly, and I don't want to turn my back on the thing. Only way out is fighting. I've spent my whole life hunting things that were bigger than the boat I was standing on. The weakling in me can't kill faces I know, but the whaler's daughter in me would end this nasty little thing in a heartbeat. I don't know how fast it is, don't like the look of the range of that tail, so I keep my distance, prowling carefully around the edge of the room before I strike.

I, River Destin, Training Score Ten and Self-Proclaimed Badass am going to slay this mutt.

…In my undies.

[River attacks Ahuitzotl with her flail]
[dice=200+12000]
[Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage]

i'm not a hero, i'm a liar, i'm not a savior, i'm a vampire
sucking the life out of all the friends i've ever known
and we're a train wreck, not winners
on a soapbox, preaching down to the sinners
saints without a cause, we're not listening