tangram — yael & johnny

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

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She hasn't been able to sleep since she heard the Major General speak weeks ago on the dissolution of the facility in Two.

In the Black Room, she had sat ruminating over the magnetic cuff, over the marvel of her own fingers, built so purposefully that there seemed to be a god who'd shaped them. She remembers her mother telling her, you are never alone, Yael. She had soft eyes, warm like almonds. She could imagine her mother so clearly. He will take care of us.

Her pulse had sat squarely in her throat the whole time she had thought about breaking them, the spoon beneath her mattress.

Then, in the Capitol, she spent those nights staring at the red light of the lock, the shackle that chained her to the bed, and her hand, bandaged and healing against her will. She imagined the halls of the Training Center on the ceiling, laying out a map, tracing and retracing, filling the tedium of her impending death.

She stays awake now, maybe more out of habit than anything.

She touches her stomach. It's wet again. The gash keeps closing and reopening every time she over exerts herself. She wipes her blood stained hand on the ground. The grass feels cool and dewy between her fingers.

She hadn't let anyone come near her. Calamity had tried, had spoken to her very gently, voice low with a real type worry – but Yael drew the glaive between them, the thin steel an impassable barrier, and retreated further into herself.

It gets a little unbearable in the middle of the night. The pain of her wounds have had time to sink in. Adrenaline bled out of her, they feel ancient, like deep grooves in her very being. She cradles her broken arm and rests her forehead on her knees, eyes squeezed shut, sucking in air sharply through clenched teeth. The clear stream bubbles by them, light like bells. It sounds sweet. The arena looks like a storybook she might've seen once and she hates it even more.

Something stirs, soft rustling behind her. Impulsively, she grabs her weapon, turning and gritting her teeth at the way her abdominal muscles stretch and tear.

The blood seeps through her clothes again. She stares at the now-awake Johnny for a brief moment, his eyes reflecting orange and glassy from the firelight. As carefully as she can, Yael turns back around towards the sound of the stream, knuckles turning white on the hilt. He can't see the deep maroon stain spreading across her stomach. She hides it. It's a weakness. It's a way to find a knife in your back.

[k!ah]

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Exhaustion seeps deep into my bones as the sun dips below the angry swirling clouds. My mouth opens wide in a yawn as I settle myself down against my bag, ready to pass out for the night. Yael had taken the first watch, somewhat putting me at ease, however not enough it seemed. My eyes staring blankly into the fire as I waited for sleep to carry my off into the land of the dreaming.

It refused.

Sighing, I roll onto my side, closing my eyes, I snuggle deeper into my lumpy bag. Okay! Time to sleep! I demand myself, desperate to feel my body turn heavy. However, as the minutes pass, I become frustrated, colours swirling widely behind closed eyes. Muscles twitching, refusing to relax and allow my body the sleep it so desperately needed.

Come on! Sleep!

Frustrated, I flip onto my other side, sighing in a rather dramatic manner as I watch Yael's dark form by the edge of the stream. I had noted that during the day she had refused to let anyone near her, hissing and growling at anyone who went to touch her, to offer her assistance with the injuries she had taken during the bloodbath.

I wasn't a fool. I knew that she was hiding the amount of pain she was in. I had watched as the other tributes tear into her like a pack of wild animals, desperate to rip her limb from limb. I had seen her take a knife to the thigh, quickly followed by a knife to the stomach. I had watched as her blood rained to the ground, soaking the sand beneath our feet, as I attempted to stop the flurry of attacks long enough for her to get out.

I remember this. I also remember considering to just let them finish her. To kill her here and now, as she may very well be the one who ends it all for me with a knife in the back as I slept. A thought I had only entertained for half a second before it was gone, because despite what I have done, it wasn't who I was.

Defeated, I push myself from my spot by the fire, moving towards Yael. She hears me instantly, whirling around weapon in hand. I raise my hands in surrender quickly, "It's okay, I come in peace." Maintaining her eye contact she quickly evaluated the situation, deciding whether or not she was going to harm me. She decides on the later, relaxing ever so slightly as she turns away from me and back to the stream.

She was pale. Was her wounds still bleeding?

Swallowing nervously, I gather my courage as I sit down beside her. It was time to put my big boy pants on. "Yael, don't be a fucking idiot. Let me look at your wounds. I can help." I was ready for her to lash out, to slap me across the face, or poke my eyes out with her fingers. "If you don't let me help, your wound will get infected. Dying from infection is never a fun way to go." I should know. I had watched many die on Mr. Garner's table from infection. It was slow and painful, and in many cases they died in a bout of delirium. Messy and confused. It used to be sad to watch. Used to be.

"Don't be so bloody stubborn."

I look at her again, refusing to allow her to see just how much she intimidated me.

I was sure she could see right through me.

"Show me."

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

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He sits down next to her and she shifts away from him. "Yael," he says.

There's a roundness to his voice, full and steady. "Don't be a fucking idiot."

She scowls. Rich coming from the biggest idiot she knows – can't even hold a damn knife without cutting himself. The fire flickers in the dark, a warm beat, before he speaks again. "If you don't let me help, your wound will get infected. Dying from infection is never a fun way to go."

Maybe she'd rather die than let him see.

He's persistent, he's always been persistent, since the first time he'd followed her around in the Training Center with a stupid grin on his face. She wants to tell him to get lost, shove him back to where he came from, but she's too tired now. An ache weighs her down, lack of sleep dulling her sharpness.

"Don't be so bloody stubborn."

That makes her laugh scornfully, turning to the boy from Six, but he's just staring right at her. He's afraid of her but he isn't. He looks calm, sitting patiently, that look of earnestness lining his face. There's a slight nervousness that gives him away, but he tries nevertheless. It's maddening. She wishes he'd just be scared of her and leave her alone. What does he want from her anyways?

She pauses, glances at the still forms of Karl and Calamity. Their breathing is even.

She knows the blood loss is becoming intolerable. She'd do it herself, but she's better at breaking things than putting them back together. And now, laden with a day's worth of pain, she can feel her hands shaking slightly, her head feeling light.

"Show me."

Relenting, she does. She unties the belt, undoes the intricate folds of the cotton clothing, until she’s peeled to the simple layer underneath. She can feel the cool air through the thin layer of cloth, the wetness of the blood soaked into the fabric that sends a shiver down her back. She can't look at him.

It feels shameful, vulnerability. She'd be dead if she were still in the facility. She should be dead already.

The thought makes her harden again. Pulling it from her bag, she drops the tin with the needle and thread in Johnny's hands, holds the glaive with her good arm, poised to strike. She stares at him, hand on weapon, like a dare to make one wrong move.

She'd kill him if he messes up.

[k!ah]

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I was playing a dangerous game.

Yael was a wolf and I was her prey, poking around her den with a confidence that should not belong. But if Yael didn't let me help her she would be a dead wolf and I would be the one laughing. My body was tense, but I was determined. I half expected her to bite back at me with teeth and claws, or signal for me to piss off, remaining as silent as the day I had met her. But instead she huffs a dark chuckle and turns away from me.

It was frustrating. Why did she have to be so damned stubborn? It kind of reminded of Flynn, maybe that was why I was drawn to her. However, whilst her stubbornness seemed to stem from aggression, Flynn was stubborn in a different way, and once he set his mind to something it was almost impossible to change it. He was relentless, constantly pushing. But with him I knew it was because he cared.

With Yael on the other hand... I was sure part of it was to spite me.

So it surprised me when she unties her belt, peeling off the outer layer of her uniform. There was a stiffness to the way she moved, almost as though she was fighting with herself with each breath.

Instantly, I notice the blood that soaked into her undershirt, black against the night. The stain was larger than I had been anticipating, but I keep my mouth locked shut, aware of the fact that Yael, for the first time since meeting her, couldn't look me in the eyes.

And for the first time since meeting her I keep my words to myself, silent as she pulls open her pack dumping a tin containing needle and thread into my hand. After another moment her hand finds its home on her glaive, and once again she stares at me with a hardened glare.

There was threat in the glare, you fuck this up and it'll be the last thing you do it screamed. "I know, I know. Don't fuck it up," I mutter under my breath as I readjust my position so that I am sitting closer to her. Pulling open the tin I thread the needle, before I look at Yael, my eyes meeting hers in question, looking for confirmation that it was alright to begin. "I'm going to start now. This might hurt."

I move slowly, determined not to scare her off. I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous and I demand my hands not to shake, because instantly that would be game over.

"Stop glaring at me," I demand, my gaze flicking to hers before I tug at the fabric of her undershirt, exposing the messy laceration that slip open her abdomen. "I get it, you're big, bad, scary Yael from District 2." I touch the needle to her skin. "You win."