of queens and vagabonds ; sophie & juliet / day 1

I run and I run and I run, away from the inevitable sound of canon fire. When it does not sound I curse my empty hands, the creeping realisation that I have nothing to defend myself with swirls with adrenaline until I have to buckle over in my place and let the demanding contents of my stomach resurface.

It's not much. Bitter acid and what I think might be a slice of bread. Gasping for air between the fire in my lungs and the bile lingering in my cheeks, I stumble forward with Jamie's voice in my head. Keep going, find shelter. Find anything. Get out, get out, get out.

I wish he was here with me. My legs collapse and I find a dusty opening, the world a strange in-between of green and yellow as my vision spins and large bugs zip through the air. I wish he was here with me, not just in my head. God fucking damn it, I wish he'd smuggled me out of that Justice Building. No I don't, they would of killed our whole family. Better me than them, I think as I sigh into the ground - peering at sticks stabbed violently into the sand in the distance. Better me than them.

A beeping awakes me from a sticky, half-conscious daze. The sun is still high in the sky, I couldn't have been out long. Don't fall asleep out in the open, idiot, Jamie again. You want to die on the first day? He's right, he's always fucking right. The beeping doesn't pass over my curled-up frame. It lands next to me, a deliverance of gifts. A quiet, yet piercing beacon. A gift, and a curse.

My hands don't move fast enough. "Shut up!" hissing through my teeth at the inanimate object tied to a parachute. "Shut up, shut up, shut up-"

With a click! and a small hiss, the package opens and the beeping stops. Inside it is a backpack, heavy with loot. Surely this is not for me. Misplaced, meant for the Careers or the kids with high training scores. Skinny girls from Twelve and a shit training score don't get-

A backpack, emblazoned with the number 12, fit to burst with a water bottle, general antidote, flint - greedy hands dig through my treasure and the world spins a little less violently. Everything my palms touch is another inch away from death. Another bit of hope. Another reason to keep on keeping on.

Maybe I sold my story well enough after all. Go figure, I think with a raise of my eyebrows, looping the straps through my arms and standing up. Sweat has already pooled on my brow, hairline damp and thick with salty moisture. Shade. I need to find shade. Somewhere to cool off, to recover, to shield from the fatigue of heat.

And a weapon, Jamie adds.
I nod to myself. And a weapon.

Still no canon fire. Still no sign of life. I keep going and going and going, walking through the long sticks in the grass-lined sand, until green turns brown and my legs burn with acid and my body demands I rest for a moment.

My weight rests against one of the sticks stabbed into the ground and I find myself lurching toward the ground. "Ah shit-", manage to steady myself, but the stick I thought buried in the sand flops to the ground in front of me and glints in the sunlight.

They're not sticks.

They're spears.

Hands greedy once again, I gasp and grin wildly. I pick the spear up, spin it around, jab the sharpened metal tip into the sand once more for good measure and set to work gathering one, two, three, four. It's all I can manage to pick up before something behind me shuffles into earshot and my body freezes, bolting in the other direction as fast as I can.

What if I've given the spears away. What if they're picking them up now. What if they're aiming, firing, launching a spear through the air to puncture right through my lungs or my back or my heart, run zig zag, run in different directions, jump, run left, rin right, behind the trees, no, yes, back into the trees, zig zag, go go go go-

"Woah there" says a voice from below and I shriek at the presence of another, stumbling into a messy halt. Right hand still clutched around a spear I instinctively raise it, following its long handle right to the chiseled tip to find One, blonde and bored out of her mind, sitting passively on the ground.

"It's about time" the Fray girl drawls, as if she was expecting me. I swallow back a gasp, bite down my will to curse myself for falling into the firing lines of a Career straight off the bat. She looks far too relaxed to try and kill me now, focused more on swatting at the bugs dancing around her than wringing my neck. Still the tip of my weapon points toward her chest and I hope she can't notice it shaking in my untrained hand.

I notice the bandages wrapped around her, the purple bruise blooming at the curve of her chin, the delicacy of which she holds herself. I am at an advantage, unscathed for now - I think she's smart enough to know that. I hope she's smart enough to know that.

"Yeah, they really did a number on me. But I'm okay. Lead the way. We have to find our boys."

I don't know if that's a warning or a white flag, but I choose to believe the latter. Slowly, slowly, I lower my weapon - it doesn't leave my hand.

"You didn't exactly send out an invitation" I retort back with a scoff. "And for what it's worth we're not... I'm not... I don't trust anyone here. Not even you. Not them."

But we walk together anyway. Something tells me I have to trust her, if just for today. Sophie Fray is no threat, not right now with all those bandages and all that blood. She whines like Sidonie, spoiled and unaccustomed to hard work. Her feet hurt, her jaw hurts, she has to check her dressings, the bugs are in her face. Each time I roll my eyes and sigh - a thousand miles away from my family and I'm no further from my instinct to scream bloody murder as I am there.

"Is this a desert?" she spits by the time the day ends and greenery has long since passed. "Did you bring us to a fucking desert?"

The grip around my spear turns white-hot and I want to scream nasty words that will sure end up with me dead, alone, or both. An impatient hiss leaves my lips in their place.

"I don't exactly have a map," voice all but a growl. "Or a compass. Or any sneak-peaks from the Gamemakers. Do you?"

Careful, my brother in my head.
Oh fuck off Jamie, I snap back.

He doesn't respond.