the world on fire / bitches day 1

He had several reservations about leaving the cornucopia. After all, no one would dare try and fight them there, not when the advantage would've been tipped so heavily in their favor. They could wait out the games there, he thought, or at least wait a couple days. Surely the Capitol would've grown bored with that eventually, and they would've been forced out eventually. But even still, JJ figured that was better to come later than now. Later meant less targets, which meant a bigger chance of living through it.

But Terra did have a point, they did need water, and it was better if they all stuck together. Safety in numbers. So he went when the group stood to leave. Reluctantly, but he went: backpack heavy on his shoulders with various goods too big to properly fit inside jutting out of the top as if it were his own mini cornucopia overfilling with goods.

He tried to lighten the mood by keeping up thoughtless chatter with the rest of his allies, keep his spirits up at the very least, or keep himself distracted from reality. When he tried hard enough, he could convince himself he was hiking through a new place with new friends. A new, strange place. A new, strange, terrifying place. But he wasn't alone.

Even before the beach was within eyesight, JJ had the feeling that something terrible would be waiting for them. Hidden mutts, or hidden tributes, waiting for them to walk by so they could pounce with an advantage. He made it a point to keep himself in the middle of the group: not the first one to walk into a trap, not the last to be picked off before anyone noticed.

He braced himself, but even still he was surprised when he finally saw the water. Scarlet waves lapped at crimson-dyed sand; the entire place looked like a dream. Or a nightmare. He was sure there was some symbolism for the blood spilled between the Capitol and the Districts being enough to fill an ocean; he'd spent a lifetime seeing the true point of things like this. The 83rd autumn bleeding into the ides of winter, a symbol of the passage of time and fleeting life in the arena. The circus tent in the otherwise unremarkable 81st arena, representative of the Capitol standing out from the rest of Panem. The entirety of the 79th being a play on the consequences of letting hoped and dreams guide you. The gallows of the 77th being a really, really blunt representation of the deaths soon to come. Every arena had its lessons, both for those living in it and those watching at home.

He looked at it with disinterest.

"Headline: Capitol can put dye in water. Stay tuned for more groundbreaking discoveries after this."

He sat his bag down and rummaged through it until he pulled up an urn- a morbid but, at the very least, practical makeshift canteen- and began filling it up.

"Should we have a bit of a bonfire?"

The idea that he'd worked so hard to make sure the Capitol couldn't kill him, only so he could do something as reckless as set the arena on fire all by himself made him hesitate.

"I'm in. This place could use a good cleansing," Helle chimed. He couldn't tell from where he was sitting, but he thought there were still bits of dried blood around the corners of her nose from where it'd been broken earlier.

"That sounds dangerous," he said, keeping his eyes on the murder tide before him, "Not to ruin the fun. I'm just saying."