70th Games: Abridged

DISTRICT TWO REAPING

Orion.

Today marks the one year anniversary of the day my brother went to his death. Reaping day.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

What the hell did I just do?

I muster up with confidence my final words as a living resident in two. "Orion Hammerfell. Future victor." Future victor. If only that were the case.

I follow in my brother's footsteps. He taught me a lot of things. There is one thing he didn't teach me. How to say goodbye. In about two weeks, I won't need to learn that anymore. I'll be saying hello to Mason in person.

Elya Johnwayne.

The younger children fidgeted, while the older careers stretched and flexed and cracked their knuckles, nerves on full display despite their best efforts. Despite not being one to succumb to such things, Elya Johnwayne could feel her muscles tightening with every breath. Last reaping.

She should know better; she'd spent as many reapings with her older brother across the square as without. But old habits die harder than Johnwaynes in the desert, and still Elya had to stop herself from glancing over for reassurance half a dozen times before the President even took the podium.

For a moment, she thought she might be willing to relinquish her place, to allow someone else to enter the Games in her stead. But Dan's words came echoing back to her, when she'd asked him why he'd volunteered at all. "What else am I going to do?"

She took a deep breath, then another, as she surveyed the crowd at her feet. To stand on the stage at the reaping was to stand on the edge a canyon, and then take one more step.

Circe.

But what she failed to etch into the ground, she drove into the hearts of the others: no one was going to get in her way.

She didn’t think this had been part of Elya’s plan. Had something changed? Was she being left behind? Because fuck that.

“Circe Lyon. I volunteer.” She crossed herself at the place where her heart had once been.

But she could do this for something more, an idea made into life. Not for the many suffering. Not for the few dead. Not even for him. “For you,” she whispered at Elya’s back, as she followed her into the dark beyond the podium.

DISTRICT FOUR REAPING

Nat.

He once asked Leon, in a moment of childish spite, what it felt like to not have an arm.

He’d been a child with petulance on his face and a sneer on his lips. Just a child.

Two words and mere moments later, Nat suddenly… isn’t.

He breathes the air in-out flowing through his lungs like all movement is without his bidding. The sea continuously parts in his wake, like his very presence is a wedge between two individuals; none reach for him, and he does not reach out in return.

Numbness, then, is knowing all of this - but being unable to feel anything for it.

Hope. Less.

"Better run, Nat! See you back home!"

Gunner.

If Iggy's ass is the apocalypse then Gunner is its herald, all four horsemen stitched together in a patchwork of neon clothing with gilded diamonds of crystal meth strung around her neck, glinting fearlessly in the sunlight.

"Oh, get off already, Gunner."

"I'm trying."

The look on her face, this is how the devil says hallelujah. Plagues are born. Hoof beats echo.

Yet, even though she couldn't hear it and her hands are empty, she knows it's there and that it finally belongs to her.

The end of the world.

STAY WITH ME [JUSTICE BUILDING: ORION]

COME HOME WITH ME [JUSTICE BUILDING: NAT]

LEFT ME BROKEN [JUSTICE BUILDING: NAT]

EAT, DRINK AND BE DEADLY [D2 TRAIN]

Circe.

Elya.

Orion.

Olivia.

Even though I know not a single person that I am now destined to be district partners with, they are not above me, and I not above them. We have all left the justice building with the same goal. Our stories are different. Our motives are our own. Yet, the outcome will remain the same.

"I wonder how much the capitol is enjoying this outcome. Four district twos. Four careers in one district. Thanks quell."

Circe.

IN THE WATER [D4 TRAIN]

Nat.

Gunner.

Preston.

Nat.

Gunner.

Nat.

BANG BANG BANG [TRAINING CENTER: LUST △]

Gunner.

With pickup lines, it’s usually best to stick with the classics. “Anybody ever told you you got pretty eyes?” Says Gunner to the girl with an eye patch, charming as fuck.

Diamonds are for basic bitches.

The compliment isn’t insincere and the shit-eating grin stretched across her face says: You can slap me if you want, but I’m gonna like it.

"I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be doing until I saw you."

Classic.

Elya.

"The windows to the soul," she mused.

She winked, wheeled on the District Four, and flipped up her eye patch, revealing the empty scarred-over socket beneath. "What do you think of my soul, Gunner La Torre?"

She took a step forward, tucking the knife behind her ear and folding her arms across her chest. "I think you can kill me better than that," she dared.

Gunner.

Elya.

If it was good for nothing else, at the very least Elya's eyepatch was catnip to the sort of girl she often found herself with an interest in. By extension, it served as a reasonably accurate litmus test for who was worth her time, and who would bore her.

"Now this feels better."

It didn't, not for the girl who'd despised being snuck up on before getting blindsided and savaged and left for dead some four years prior.

She turned to face the words as if to respond to them, smile small across her face —

— then unlocked her knees and threw her entire bodyweight back and upward and over, hurling Gunner to the ground at her feet. Elya didn't give a shit if that was some sort of violation — someone had said something about not fighting with the other tributes until the Arena, but this somehow didn't seem to qualify; the venn diagram of fighting and flirting was practically a circle for the one-eyed girl.

"And I might like getting you on your back first," she murmured, voice low and deliberate.

Circe.

She'd been living her life one dagger at a time since she'd been able to walk. At first they were wooden, light and polished. Then, they were iron, heavy and dull. It wasn't until she came of age that she was given the ones with jeweled hilts and steel tips. They were as lavish an adornment as any necklace, bracelet or ring, and she treasured them more highly than baubles. Daggers wrapped around her hips, strapped to her calves.

She had daggers in her eyes.

Watch your mouth, La Torre, she did not say. When you are speaking to a god.

No one would kill Elya; no one could kill an immortal. But it was a very small comfort as La Torre quickly disarmed the merry murderess. Without thinking, without hardly even moving, Circe shifted two daggers into each hand, ready to spring.

Gunner.

Elya.

And despite herself, Elya smiled. Something — no, everything — about Gunner La Torre was so ridiculous that she scarcely remembered where she was, or why.

Or she didn't until Circe Lyon stalked over, daggers and claws out and on display. While she couldn't blame the girl for showing off — after all, half the point of training was to intimidate the others into leaving you the fuck alone during the bloodbath, into literally pissing themselves when they saw you coming into view — clearly Elya already had Gunner under her heel.

So long as Circe never forgot who was in charge. So long as she never forgot that she didn't need her. For a human shield that could fight — and fight well — it was worth it to put up with whatever clingy bullshit came with, at least until she could yell at her for it.

Her hobbies were limited to fighting and fucking, and anything that helped to facilitate either. Or both.

Gunner.

MY NAME IS [TRAINING CENTER: BARFS]

Orion.

Nat.

Elya.

Circe.

Orion.

Nat.

A DIFFERENT KIND OF DANGER [TRAINING CENTER: GUNNER + GABRIELLE]

Gunner.

WHAT LIGHT THROUGH YONDER WINDOW BREAKS [TRAINING CENTER: CIRCE + TYBALT + GABRIELLE]

Tybalt.

Circe.

ONE {VOICE} TO ANOTHER [TRAINING CENTER: KEY + NAT]

Key.

Nat.

LUMP SUM [TRAINING CENTER: ELYA + SUE]

Elya.

Sue.

FAIRLY LOCAL [TRAINING CENTER: ELYA + WYATT]

Wyatt.

PAPER PLANES [TRAINING CENTER: GUNNER + WYATT]

Gunner.

Wyatt.

FRICTION [TRAINING CENTER: GUNNER + OPAL]

Opal.

Gunner.

SEEKING CLARITY [TRAINING CENTER ROOF: CIRCE + ORION]

Orion.

Circe.

Orion.

(THI S)EXODUS [D2 SUITE: LUST △]

Gunner.

Circe.

For the first time in many years, Circe was simply exhausted. She hadn't eaten as much as she should have, and she had stalked The Not-So-Silent Hulk all the way to the rooftop. He was probably still there, brooding quietly. She hadn't really meant to leave him, but every second away from Elya was marked.

It hadn't exactly surprised her to find Elya's door shut, the sound of sheets and heavy breathing filtering through the cracks. It hadn't been surprising, but neither had it been welcome.

"I could lie and say I don't care, but I wouldn't be a very good liar if we both knew. So."

"So instead let's say I do care. Not about you. About her. Let's say I care about her very much. Enough to stand aside, if something's better for her."

This time, when she swiped the frosting, she gathered a glob, and held it up as an offering. "So, are you?"

Gunner.

WHEN THE STOLEN HAMMERFELL [TRAINING CENTER: ORION + IMP]

Imp.

I wanted it all to be over, I wanted to enter that god damn arena already, so I could have my throat slit, and finally join Papa.

I was on the roof, it looked beautiful. I didn't realize there was a place of beauty in this horrible place.

"Whats your name?" I ask. He probably was one of those career assholes. Just another jerk I want to sink my teeth into.

Orion.

Maybe the other tributes see me as a career. One that everyone is afraid of. Maybe they'll leave me alone long enough.

Step after step. Breath after breath. It's all so long and tedious, but soon this will be no longer.

She's the enemy in the future, but right now she's someone in my way.

Maybe it'll allow me to survive longer. Maybe it'll give me time to decide what I really want. Whether I want to fight to return home, or whether I plan on meeting my brother somewhere beyond the sky.

Imp.

He seemed uneasy, like my presence made him uncomfortable. I liked that, I liked having the upper hand. He was mine to command at the flick of my tongue.

PTS

Orion.

Circe.

Elya.

Gunner.

LOST IN THE CRACKS OF THE LANDSLIDE [D4 SUITE: GUNNER + NAT]

Gunner.

CUZ I CAN [TRAINING CENTER: GUNNER + RHYME]

Rhyme.

For once my attention is off of my siblings, and the horrors they might have to witness me endure. If I can’t be that ruthless fighter Father desires, complete the simplest task of receiving a high score, there’s not going to be much for them to watch in the first place.

For the first time since arriving to the Capitol, I observe a completely abandoned Training Center. Even at the crack of dawn this spacious room is consumed with the chaos of life.

I never minded the consequences that erupted from stealing a few shots behind his back. That shivering taste was always worth whatever punishment awaited ahead.

Gunner.

The girl from One has cracked open a leftover bottle of liquor and Gunner pauses for a moment, wondering if she's finally burnt herself out on blondes. This one probably doesn't have the challenge of Circe's rioting jealousy or an ass like Iggy Avé... but then again, no one does and even those two might not have legs that could stand up to these. "I knew there had to be something better to do tonight than watch old men talk about training scores." Whatever they say hers is, it doesn't matter.

It's not as if Gunner La Torre doesn't know how to score.

Rhyme.

Perhaps we've both found better entertainment then the discussion of training scores.

"Have any dance moves up those Career sleeves of yours? Or just muscle?"

TRIBUTE INTERVIEWS

Elya.

"Well then, how do you feel about your competition?"

"What competition?" she fired back. Caesar forced a laugh.

"Certainly there must be some tribute out there who could give you a run for your money! What about Sue Tate? Or Circe Lyon? Or Gunner La Torre? Based on their scores, they could certainly put up a fight!"

A wry smile forced its way onto her face, despite herself. She stared Caesar right in the eye. "Oh, I already know how to make the two of them scream," she said, ignoring the host's inquiry about the boy from the forgettable district.

Just as she suspected, he took the bait: "And how's that?"

"With my bare hands."

"Now where have I heard the name Johnwayne before?"

She rolled her eye. If Caesar Flickerman was going to follow his lead in the conversation, she certainly wouldn't come along willingly. "The movies?" she pretended to guess, voice dripping with sarcasm.

She white-knuckled the armrests of her chair, pretending the padded wood was Caesar's throat. Sadly, choking the substitute was not enough to silence the interviewer.

Elya began multiplying in her head. Four. Eight. Sixteen. Snap his spine. Thirty-two. Rupture his kidneys. Sixty-four. One twenty-eight. Snap his neck. Two fifty-six. Five twelve.

There'd never been anything difficult between Elya and her older brother, not really. He'd kept an eye out for her when they were younger; she'd returned the favor in kind when she came into her own. He'd get reamed out by their grandfather for no good reason, take his lashes from their father; she'd hide a shard of glass in the old man's shoe, dilute the miner's moonshine with runoff from the quarries. She'd come home eight years old with tears in her eyes and he'd give her a hug and disappear for a few hours while he set fire to the favorite toys of the girls who teased her.

When she was six, they'd been dueling and Dan had cracked her over the head a little too hard. When she burst into tears, he was quick to apologize, and quicker to offer amends — two free shots at his head for the one he'd taken at her. He'd even had the decency to act like the blows actually hurt.

"Well what about your eye? What's the story there?"

Fuck. She sighed, pointing at the one eye left in her head. "I've had this one since I was born. Not that exciting."

Caesar wasn't appeased. "What about the other one?" he prodded.

"I only have the one, Caesar, I don't know what you want to hear."

THE BLOODBATH

Elya.

Back in District Two, some referred to the very last reaping that a given child was eligible for as Judgement Day.

They were wrong, all of them. For it was Judgement Day that awaited the one-eyed tribute from District Two, that awaited the three others chosen from her home, that awaited each and every one of them, lamb and lion and Lyon alike.

While they were certainly not the most appealing weapon in the whole arena — a longsword over near Gnat Krigel certainly caught her fancy — they would more than suffice for however long it took to get something better.

It only took her half the allotted time to get the feel for the battlefield that she needed: every desirable item, where each tribute was relative to her, which potholes and stones were liable to turn someone's ankle, how stupidly attractive Gunner was in the same uniform that everyone else was wearing.

Circe.

For the first time in weeks, Circe and Elya are forcibly separated. She does not want to dwell on it, but there is a part of her mind, spiraling and dark. It asks the questions she dares not: what if the Cornucopia divides us? What if Elya decides she is better off with La Torre? What if Elya does not make it?

"I’m ready," she says to him, to herself, to Elya in absentia.

For a moment, the universe shifts. Her hair curls, her eyes deepen, her shoulders broaden. She is him, in a cage.

He is sobbing, for himself, for the distance that divides them. In his heart, he knows there is only one way for them to be together again.

When the platform squares itself inside of the steampunk arena, her eyes are red rimmed, but her jaw is set.

She wonders: when they look at me, will they see Circe? Or a Lyon?

Nat.

If he is the world, then his tongue is dust on the desert plain and his fingers roots knotting together like the act will keep him alive. His heart is the heated core, bubbling with the threat of an explosion; his mind is Panem, teeming with the life and light of lives in millions. His bones are mountains, moving only to be fractured, broken, shattered. But his eyes are all Michel Nathanael Krigel, and what sits before him is not the world, but a sorry copy of some better model. Blaise Krigel, version alpha; but he didn't come first.

It's like he was born to be second.

Home, no, is not in Victor's Village. Home is not with his estranged father, or anywhere else but home. Home is the tiny place they grew up in, where Arissa had her own room and Nat didn't; where the kitchen door squeaks, and the second-seventh-ninth step on the way upstairs squeaks, and his bed squeaks, and all the cupboards in the kitchen squeak; where winters are cold and summers are hot; where the stove sometimes caught fire because there's too much gunk below the metal; where he knew by heart the shape of every crack in the ceiling he and Leon shared; where he had birthdays and Ratmases and celebrations and memories and watched his siblings survive Reapings until one didn't and then home didn't belong to them anymore. Home was just another empty house on the street that was theirs, and the land that was theirs until one didn't and they left.

"You can't sneak up on a blind kid in the snow."

Yeah. Thanks Arbor.

Dry as they may be, he means the words directed towards his adopted mentor: Thank you. For keeping him alive when his own fucking brother won't try.

"Don't let me go," he hears himself say, and Jizav squeezes his hand tight.

"I have to let you go, Nat," Leon said.

"I'll hold on for as long as I can," says Jizav. Said Jizav.

Elya.

She'd find the boys eventually, Orion and Nat, and Circe would likely find her before Elya One-Eye even thought to look for the blonde.

Circe.

She doesn't have a particular destination in mind; she has a particular person in mind. There is no single thing in the Cornucopia that can entice her more than Elya Johnwayne.

"Nice of them to have all this stuff just for us." She smirks and turns to the Cornucopia, which is already being swarmed.

"Just have to remind everyone that it's ours."

Circe.

She needn’t have worried. Whatever it was that had drawn them together initially was still working its magic. It’s not long before they’ve all found each other, their merry little Career pack. Circe blows a kiss to Nat Krigel, taps Orion’s shoulder with the sharp end of an arrow.

Elya.

She lived to fight, but this was an honest clusterfuck as she'd ever seen. Acutely aware of the pounding of her heart, of the tributes in her vicinity, of little else, she knew that she was well on her way to losing herself in the battle high. As she hurled a fist at her target, she decided she might just be okay with that.

Nat.

His trainer is patient, and it's clear by now that he's a fantastic teacher - but young as he is, Michel finds these endless brute strength drills useless, exhausting, boring. He wants something that's fun.

Orion.

Today is the big day. A day I signed up for. Today is the day I die.

I don't know what to do. Odysseus and Kate want me to fight. Elya Circe and Nat want me to fight. Sometimes I wonder if they know the true person lurking inside my veins.

I can't end their lives. None of them deserve it.

Elya.

"Ha," she taunted, bloody grin smeared across her face, glint of malice in her flinty eye. "Missed me!"

Circe.

Circe hisses at Sue Tate as he crosses her path. “Find your own beanstalk, Giant.” She’s hoping that works as she ducks beneath the arch of a projectile. This is definitely not the time to be testing the strength of her weapon against the beardo’s. Later, they could test the strength of their metal mettle.

Nat.

Scowling, the boy flops down onto the ground and glares at his trainer. "I'm tired," Michel whines. "Wanna sleep."

"No one's going to be sleeping in the Games, 'Chel."

Orion.

Right now I can picture Odysseus sitting at home staring at the screen begging me to fight. Begging me to find the will to survive. Perhaps I've found it.

Circe.

They needed to overtake the Cornucopia, to establish their alliance as the one to beat. She had half a mind to tell Nat to lick the stupid thing, but she couldn’t get close to him to say anything.

With no warning she ducked into a ball and rolled backwards, popping up at Orion's side. "Ready to pick me up, Big Boy?" She winked. "Because I’ve been ready for awhile."

For a second, she was a dancer upon the stage, lifted, glorious. For a second, she was free.

Eyla.

Her weapon mandated that she get in close to her marks, but she didn't mind much. There was something intimate about it, something personal about looking someone in the eye and then delivering a —

Circe.

At the edge of the circle of death, she looked back. Just once. To see the treasure she was abandoning. Circe hoisted the weapon above her head, a promise that another day, she would be victorious.

Nat.

Michel hardly ever pulls out the puppy eyes in the Career center like this, but he doesn't want to train anymore. It's boring. Boring, boring, boring.

Orion.

I'll run far away from the fighting. From Elya and Circe and Nat. I'll make sure they never see me again until my face stares down at them in the anthem.

Nat.

When he begged Mommy to let him join the 'big kids training', he'd one goal in mind: archery. Most children might have been bored by its technicality, but Michel thought it beautiful. From the start it was his own belief that his strength would never surpass Leon's, or even Arissa's - so archery was something that would suit him. I don't have to fight, he reasoned. I just have to shoot good.

Nat.

Michel doesn't know how they know just what to do - it's never happened like that for him.

Nat.

They're running, all of them together; looking right he catches Orion's eye and flashes a grin - wants to laugh but there's a time and place for everything, Nat Krigel, there'll be time for laughter later. He wants there to be time for laughter later, wants to find Elya and Circe and share much of the same they shared; camaraderie, some odd version of love and friendship twined together into one single rope that pulls them together.

Not just brothers and sisters of lost brothers all.

Brothers and sisters to the end.

Gunner.

Gunner.

ALWAYS GOLD [DAY ONE: ELYA'S DEATH POST]

Elya.

TOOK ME APART & PUT ME BACK TOGETHER [DAY ONE: ELYA'S FUNERAL PYRE]

Circe.

That Gunner had branded her just that morning was impossible. The most impossible thing. More impossible than what followed Circe.

She did not dare turn around.

She could not contextualize the pain. It was a distant thing, happening to someone else. This broken body and impossibly beating heart belonged to someone else

Her fingers bent into claws even as Orion pulled her away from Nat. She scratched at Orion’s arms, landed one kick with her left leg to his shin, screaming bloodily. He carried her away.

When he turned her, face to face with Gunner and the body, it was no longer impossible.

Elya Johnwayne was dead.

With one hand to her chin, she worked her jaw manually, enough to say, “it should have been me.”

Nat.

He's trapped in the hurricane of Circe's grief, the sound of her drowning silenced by heavy air surrounding them

Her wordless scream should drive his heart to early death, but he's still breathing and Elya isn't and Circe's hands are claws on his skin, claws on his soul, blood and spit on his puppet frame. Whether she's screaming, What have you done, or What the fuck happened, Nat Krigel? he can't respond in anything that even closely resembles words, because primality is all he has left - primality in anger, in disappointment, in devastation that his efforts against a boy he assumed friendly, assumed harmless, assumed brothership - you got away and I lost-

Orion.

If Circe kills Nat, what would happen? It wouldn't make it any better. It wouldn't make it any worse. It's all stupid.

I keep shifting my gaze from person to person making sure that Nat is still following me because right now it's not the best time. It's not the worse. It's nothing.

Gunner.

Two thousand two hundred and sixty-eight heartbeats later, she stops. Never in her life has Gunner La Torre believed she had a heart. Whatever the thing in her chest is pumping her blood, it doesn’t take up much space or speak up with opinions about her behavior. It just quietly goes about its own business, as if it were a separate entity living within her. Parasitic survival. Maybe it crawled into her mouth and down her throat to eat her heart when she was just a baby and that’s why she’s never had one.

The great debate within her keeps asking: Why are you carrying this girl, Gunner? What are you going to do with her? What’s the meaning of this? She tells it to fuck off. This doesn’t mean anything. She just does whatever she wants.

And what do you want?

Fuck off or I’ll slit my own throat to shut you up. Don’t think I won’t.

She wonders why Elya’s inner parasites aren’t doing their fucking job anymore. Who told them they were allowed to quit? Not Gunner, that’s fucking who.

Gunner takes Circe's broken jaw in both her hands, holding her together as she presses their faces cheek to cheek, nose to temple, lips to ear. "Just stay with me, Kitten," she whispers gently enough that even the boy still restraining Circe from her worst thoughts can't hear a single word.

Gunner reaches over to pick one out from the tangle of her hair, but swerves at the last moment. Skimming her touch across the girl's brow bone like a small theft, she hooks her fingers beneath the band of Elya's infamous eye patch and carefully tugs it free, pausing only once for the strangeness of holding it in her hands. She puts it on and the sudden darkness doesn't feel unnatural.

The world divides itself in half and all that remains is all that's left. The wrong half of Elya. The wrong half of Gunner's sight.

Gunner has had fantasies about this and what she would do to a gorgeous girl sprawled out for her on top of the La Torre fortune. This isn't what she wanted.

EAT US ALIVE [DAY ONE: GUNNER + NOAH]

Noah.

Eye full of sun and veins full of smoke to replace the lack of blood, he nearly believed that he was a corpse reanimated already. He was nothing but broken and bloodied - black eye, busted lip, ravine on his leg and two cuts on his chest like parallels, and a constant throbbing in his left hand "o'fuck me."

inhale, exhale, break, inhale, exhale

This is what he wanted, right, a chance for a new- something. A new anything, a new breath a new heart, anything but Noah and smoke and factories, and somehow even again, that's all he has. Noah, and smoke and blood, and it's a new pain at the very least.

Breaking for a crown or breaking for ashes, either way he was doomed days of rust.

"I'am no king," the axes in his hand made him retch. He was no king, he was a murderer. One of two, and only two, and it felt like he was on the wrong side of the axe.

She was the 11, one of two, one of the only two, and somewhere was her people, because 11's don't just happen, people have people. 22 people, Noah included and somewhere in the mix 22 people wanted him dead, there was a Lyon and a Krigel and a Hammerfell, and he fucked with Orion once unarmed and there was no hope there. There was no hope, he held his hand to his mouth, clenching his other on an axe. Noah was an entity of chaos, and his heart screamed and his veins ached, with the pounding of his head and the seize of the word fuck repeating on his brain, nothing but screaming and blood and crack, that splitting of her forehead and he couldn't even say her name.

"Momma, who'm I."

Sin, a body of chaos, mass hysteria of smoke and blood, tears and cracking and I'am no king. It's a new pain, breaking.

Gunner.

HOW BIG, HOW BLUE, HOW BEAUTIFUL [DAY ONE: GUNNER + TRAIN]

Gunner.

ORION VS LILY VS [THE EVIL POCKET DRAGONS] [DAY TWO: ORION + LILY + POCKET DRAGONS // FIGHT]

Lily.

Orion.

Pocket Dragons.

Lily.

Orion.

Lily.

Orion.

BARFS REUNION TOUR [DAY THREE: BARFS + ETERNALLY TICKING // FIGHT]

Circe.

Nat.

Gunner.

Tybalt.

He wants to lay claim to the sun, to catch raindrops on his tongue.

"How dare you lay claim to our Castle, you maggot-pie!"

Geo.

Orion.

Abel.

Gabrielle.

Circe.

Nat.

Gunner.

Tybalt.

[filler]

Geo.

Orion.

Abel.

Even with the strikes of blades against my skin, I feel calm, the darkness is the only thing I know.

Gabrielle.

Circe.

"You want more of this ass? You already got a piece of my jaw." She says, the flaming arrow flickering reflection in the duct tape patch. She leaps forward on the conveyor belt, sidling up to him. "I don't even think you'd know what to do with this piece of ass." In the dark, she winks.

Nat.

[filler]

love me for who i am and not what i do

Gunner.

Tybalt.

There was something aggressive about her, her upbringing something that needs improvement for her to become a real person, not some monster that needs to be slayed.

"Whose knife slew my friend, she shall die."

Geo.

Orion.

Gabrielle.

Circe.

Nat.

Gunner.

Tybalt.

"You soggy bladder."

Geo.

Orion.

Circe.

Nat.

[filler]

SWAGGIN' GOIN' SWELL [DAY THREE: GUNNER + WORDS]

CURVE'S THE WORD [DAY THREE: CIRCE + WORDS]

TOO STRONG [DAY THREE: NAT + WORDS]

NO ONE TAKES US PRISONERS [DAY THREE: BARFS + ETERNALLY TICKING]

Tybalt.

Orion.

Circe.

Geo.

Nat.

Gunner.

XXXO, PART 1 & 2 [DAY FOUR: GUNNER + WORDS // KEY + STELLA]

Gunner.

XXXO, PART 3 & 4 [DAY FOUR: GUNNER + WORDS // IMP + OLIVIA]

Gunner.

XXXO, PART 6 [DAY FOUR: GUNNER + WORDS // SUE + WYATT]

Gunner.

DOPPELBANG BANG BANG [DAY FOUR: BARFS + DOPPELBARFS // FIGHT]

PATRONUS, FORM OF A LIONNESS [DAY FOUR: CIRCE + REAPER // FIGHT]

THE GROUND WALKS, WITH TIME IN A BOX [DAY FOUR: BARFS]

Gunner.

Orion.

Circe.

Nat.

Gunner.

WHITE [DAY FOUR: NAT'S DEATH POST]

Nat.

Nat.

NOISE [LEON]

Leon.

HANDY DANDY [DAY FOUR: STELLA + WORD + GUNNER]

Stella.