soften rough skin // starlords day 2

[Deleted]

It wasn't until the group stumbled upon the hot springs that Haizea was able to regain her composure. She marched in tandem with her allies, the now murderers that they were, and she tried to ease the feeling in her gut telling her what she was doing was wrong. Haze hadn't even lifted her weapon, yet the guilt persisted nonetheless as she led Brennan and the others through the stream. He killed her - effortlessly. Just as they were trained to do the last two weeks, he didn't hesitate and because of that, they walked away nearly unscathed. 

Her morality felt split in two: logic and emotion. Her heart hated this entirely, the visceral image of Calamity's neck splicing in two before her collapse refused to shake from her mental. She wasn't one to watch the games and even so, seeing it in person, seeing it so close to you, from a guy like Brennan who shouldn't be able to hurt a fly - something shifted. Logically, she felt, almost, that she should thank him.

For being able to do what she knew she couldn't.

In a way, he saved her from getting her own hands dirty, and she knew she preferred it that way. She kept her eyes to the ground and her ears to Pierce, who seemed to be the only one with the stomach to talk right now. Comfortingly so, this would be have to become their normal soon enough. "Guys, do you see that?" She says, pointing at a spot in the stream eclipsed in the mountain's shadow, steam collecting in its crags. 

"They should be far enough behind us now," Haizea declares as she stops the hike, turning to look at Ama and the boys. They can't spend all day sulking, even if they'd like to. If anything, they should be celebrating an easy victory - right? The part of her trying to cling to some sanity here says to enjoy herself, that there's no point in making this worse than it had to be. "I don't know about you guys, but that hot springs is calling my name," she grins but her eyes don't show it. 

She drops her bag at the stream's mouth and begins undressing down to her under garments, folding her clothes into a neat pile next to her supplies and stuffing her socks in her shoes. Haizea avoids eye contact in this state until she's able to submerge herself in the stream's water, avoiding going too deep where the spring's too hot to handle. She settles in where it's just right, where she's able to cross her legs and let the warmth wash away the aches of the last day and a half. For a second it's just her, and she tries to convince her mind that she's in paradise after all. 

If you look past the storm clouds, this arena's beautiful as can be. 

"Hey Pierce!" She pipes up, shouting before looking over and seeing him now shirtless. Haizea tries not to stare anywhere inappropriate as she asks, "think you can rig up a trap so nobody sneaks up on us? We could stay here awhile." 

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

〖    p i e r c e    l i t t l e t o n    〗

It's Hazeia who separates steam from fog. Pierce is far too busy watching their backs. He stays behind the others, listening, watching, licking his lips to taste the breeze. He knows that some tributes form deep bonds fast and others just gorge themselves on revenge. He wonders if Yael is like that. He wonders how much Calamity mattered to their allies.

Farther down stream, seemingly alone, he starts to relax. Just a little. Just enough to notice the slump of Brennan's shoulders. "They should be far enough behind us now."

Should? He wants to ask about that instinct but then suddenly she's stripping down. Pierce sets the arm of the Longbow atop a rock, leaning forward over the stream. He cranes his neck, trying to see, trying to listen.

Trying to protect.

He isn't at all convinced that they should be safe. But he knows that if he lets Brennan wallow for too long a different kind of danger will lurk. The mind can only take so much and his mind is full of smoke.

So he drops his bag between his legs and lifts his shirt. He quirks one eyebrow when Haze calls his name. ""Think you can rig up a trap so nobody sneaks up on us?"

He smacks his lips. "I live to serve."

It only takes him a few minutes: a simple trip line between two low bushes. The stream is clear, their line of sight good. Someone would have to crawl to ambush them. Even so, he takes his bow in one hand, cups himself with the other (because he sure as hell isn't wearing wet briefs the rest of the day) and slips into the spring.

It's hot. Very hot. The bow rests on a rock within arm's reach. "We've definitely earned some relaxation," he says at normal volume. And then, pitching his voice skyward, "and maybe something more too, hmm?? Anyone up there?"

[mat]

〖    b r e n n a n    f i t z g e r a l d    〗

There is a forest fire underneath my skin, the blaze kept alive by drawn-out breaths. I can't bring myself to any sort of athletic or high-intensity posture. Shoulders are slumped, feet dragging against wet rocks. The pebbles shake in my boots and maintain the discomfort I deserve. Calamity. Their name details a disastrous moment. I hate myself for what I did to them, and it certainly shows in my inability to raise my head to look at Ama and Haze. Regret is a lose-lose situation. Either way that I look, I'm a killer who accepts it or a killer who denies it. Killer all the same.

Beneath the mist stemming from the stream is a spring. Haze has a smile on her face as she approaches, offering some sort of spa day in the warm water. I want to tell her no, that I'll stay at the entrance and keep guard while the other three have their fun, but before I can make the suggestion, she's already undressing with a draw in her eyes that won't let me pass it up. She volunteers Pierce to muster up a trap instead, and he complies with the order. He undresses, too. Like, completely.

I keep to the more shallow parts of the spring, deep enough to let the warmth loosen some muscles. I'm about thigh deep. I don't have the confidence that Pierce does to let everything go, so I stay in the dark grey briefs with the rest of my clothes tucked away in my bag. I got this far in the locker rooms at school, I can do it here. Compared to the springtime chill of the arena, the water's hot. I keep my chest covered by the palms of my hands and my thumbs run up and down the top of my arm.

Pierce says something about earning the moment's relaxation, making another plea to the sky for a cigarette. I roll my eyes, leaning my head against the walls of the spring. All he can think about is what he can put in his damn mouth. I want to hate him, probably even more than I want to survive the arena. But the thoughts from the elevator come back. For the first time, I felt charmed and important. The attachment lingers even as his more selfish side has begun to shine through. "Maybe we can find some plants for you to smoke," I compromise. "I'm pretty sure I saw some medical marijuana on the known plant list. Sounds right up your alley."

I can shut my eyes, just for a moment. They'll tell me to watch out if I need it. "I think we could all use a smoke… or maybe coke…" (I've never done drugs in my life. Honestly, I'm just saying this to match their vibes.)

[lance]

﹙    a m a t e r a s u    y a m a m o t o    ﹚

Death was unavoidable in the arena. That was first and foremost the reality of stepping foot into the Hunger Games - no matter who you are, no matter what you do, no matter if you win or you die, death will touch you in some way, shape, or form.

She'd always heard that it must be lucky to be on this side of it, because in her world, death was something to be afraid of. Her father educated brilliant young minds in order to prepare them to make a difference in the world, and doubly so after a plague had swept throughout the nation last year. Her mother spent three quarters of her waking life in her lab, supposedly learning how to accomplish miracles like cure deafness or eradicate cancer so that such technology isn't monopolized by the Capitol, even though a) her deafness wasn't something to be cured, and b) everyone knew what would happen if she ever so much as intended to go public with her findings.

But having seen the way that Calamity from Twelve had choked on their own blood before collapsing like a house of cards, having seen how quickly disbelief had been replaced by a haunted, faraway gaze in Brennan's eyes, seeing how the line between life and death was so much more fragile than she ever could have imagined, now, she wasn't so sure.

Now, live or die, she'll have acquired the knowledge that she knows exactly what it looks like when someone realizes they're about to die. That she knows exactly what it looks like as the panic and the light in their eyes fades, as their rich, vibrant history goes down as just another death in the Games' nearly century long history. Worse, she hadn't even done it herself.

(She'll have to, if she survives. But alas, when Mother Nature took away one of her five senses, it wasn't the ability to see nightmares unfold before her very eyes).

It's curious, perhaps, how little Haize and Pierce seem unaffected by Calamity's death in turn. Perhaps the inoculations of their respective backgrounds made the death of a virtual stranger easier to bear - Pierce likely had all sympathy towards the dead trained out of him back in Two, whilst Haize had no doubt lost enough uncles, aunts, and cousins that death may as well have been an old friend for her.

Whereas she was poor little sheltered Amaterasu, complaining about her comfortable life because her mother loved her work more than she loved spending time with her own children.

Perhaps that's why she hangs back with Brennan for a moment instead of skipping along with the others. Perhaps that's why she fails to see the festive spirit of soaking in a springs, opting to merely dip her feet in the water and nothing more (and no, her modesty and the idea of each of her allies seeing her in anything less than her full uniform have nothing to do with it, thank you very much).

She itches to bring her diary out, to write her conflicted feelings like she had for years beforehand. One of her mother's few helpful suggestions, it had been, yet the idea of doing something so mundane even now in front of people unnerved her.

Tonight, then, when she takes first watch.

Belatedly, she realizes that there's a conversation going on around her, that Brennan (and his unfairly attractive slim body; why did he not submerge himself like Haize and Pierce had and spare her poor eyes) is finishing up a sentence, that the one word she's able to make out is-

"Yeah, some soda would be nice right about now," she agrees, remembering the rare times her father had managed to snag the cola from work and bring it home as a gift. Coke had always been her favorite.