BACCHANALIA ! faemous, day 2

[calla]

^{P E R R Y .}

The package comes floating down sometime later, at some point Perry assumes is early evening, even though the thickness of the tree canopy does little to reveal the actual sky. They've been loitering in place, maybe apprehensive of more mutts, maybe simply worried about getting lost.

Perry's spent most of that time periodically pulling out her little cracked hand mirror and wincing at the state of her teeth - glasslike, sharp, and wickedly jagged. There's pieces missing from when the mutt cracked her jaw, the force of the blow caused little shards to break off and cut up the inside of her mouth, left behind a mess of razors that's a pain to talk around.

The radial beeping that suddenly slices through the grim gloom is like a dinner bell, making Perry's head shoot up to track the little white parachute. She nurses the lingering pain in her jaw as the capsule magically floats its way through the branches to land on the ground.

She pounces on it immediately.

"Oh, hell yes." Red wine. Almost unbearably fancy, with a little sheet of gold foil covering the cork. Perry could kiss it. She could weep. The atmosphere's been so gloomy and boring and now here's this wonderful little gift she's been bestowed. Someone out there is just as frustrated as she is - they wanna see a little fun! "Thank you sponsorship gods."

Larissa's standing, skinning the last of the mutts like the steadfast caveman-ly provider she is (boring), and Bellamy's over near the fire trying to salvage as much as he can from whatever that beast did to his knee. Perry pops the cork and washes her pain down with a swig of cabernet, then decides to wander over to the more exciting scenario.

"Gross." Is the first thing she says to Bellamy, ignoring the flash of eyes she gets in return.

But it's true! His knee looks so bad that it's almost indescribable. Seriously. Yuck. The swelling's nasty and the skin's turned all purple, she's surprised nothing's peeling off yet. Just looking at it makes her want to hurl.

So she just stands there for a beat, takes another sip from the bottle. Lets the tension build. Gets a really bad idea.

The whole bloodlust thing earlier was kinda hot, alright? She had Larissa on one side, absolutely decimating that mutt, and she had Bellamy on the other side, furious and oh-so obvious about it. Perry wouldn't exactly complain about being in the middle of that particular sandwich.

Does that make her a freak? No! It makes her human.

She plunks herself down next to Bellamy and stares at his knee some more, formulating a master plan and tapping her nails in a steady pattern against the wine bottle, "Probably hurts, huh?"

Stupid question. Meant to be stupid. Maybe mocking? Meant to get the vibe going a little. He's just a little too fun to tease.

The bottle dances between her hands as she manoeuvres it in front of him, waving it back and forth, "Y'know this is supposed to help."

It certainly helped with her jaw pain. The cuts on her gums aren't even that bad anymore. She feels like she could float. And that's what people are always saying right? Drown your sorrows or your demons or whatever. Maybe Bellamy can drown his knee. Maybe Perry can drown herself and no one will have to watch the doomed murderous-forest rendezvous she's trying to orchestrate.

She still smirks when Bellamy relents, pulls it out of his reach when he expects her to hand it over. The light of the fire makes him glow a little, makes the way he scowls a little more pathetic, not cute, "I'm the one that found it." She reminds him.

She brandishes it with a flourish, so close now that she can see the shades of his irises change in real time.

"Careful or you'll spill." She teases, batting his hands away from the bottle and tipping it against his mouth herself, hand resting on the back of his neck with just the slightest brush of her knife-like nails.

The liquid spills anyways, running down the side of his throat. Perry laughs.

The fire is very warm.

When she catches Larissa move out of the corner of her eye, Perry turns away to call out to her, too loud, hand still on the back of Bellamy's neck but the bottle lowered, "C'mon Princess, learn to loosen up!"

Come see what kind of fun you could be having.

She turns back to Bellamy and cranks the display up, fake-pouting at him, not quite mean with it, but almost; "Didn't work? Still hurts?"

She takes another swing of her own and feels the buzz settle. She gets closer, sly, her hair falling around them like a curtain, her eyes swallow the light and glint flatly, shark-like, "Y'want me to try kissing it better?"

And it's not really a nice thing she does next. It's not very romantic. Bellamy's enthusiastic enough, but Perry's the one that looks like she's trying to eat his face off. The jagged edges of her teeth catch on his lip and it turns the kiss into something bloody and gruesome and definitely macabre. She surges against him, nearly toppling them both, her nails on his neck and her teeth shredding his tongue; his blood dripping down both of their throats. It tastes like iron and grapes, a little like laughter, something smokey lingering at the end.

Something in the air - that must be it. That must be to blame for the strange animalistic nature of the situation. The fire casts their shadows longer and the wine warms their faces; the bottle gets discarded for a more heady drink.

"Oh, oops," She giggles when they part, wiping a thumb over the corner of his mouth but only actually succeeding in smearing the blood around, "you've got a little something there."

[d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris]

^{B E L L A M Y .}

The alliance lingers in the forest like his fingertips on his wound.

Firelight flickering, broken knee swelling, the trees that encircle them sway as if urging them all to rise to their feet and dance. But wherever he glances, Bellamy sees some sign of destruction left behind from the ambush; splotches of iron seeping into the earth. It feels hard to conjure joy in this particular moment, irises flashing a deep shade of indigo, melancholy and wounded pride dancing across his expression. All he knows is that he will live to see the next sunrise.

But there's a quiet voice whispering inside his head, is any of this worth the cost? He has sacrificed the right to ask that question, as quickly as his hand had risen during the Reaping all those weeks ago, but it still reverbs inside him. He compares the boy willing to squander his life for glory to the boy now nursing his damaged body, and he realizes right then and there just how fragile his morality truly is. Even with his skin glowing, eye color shifting in sync with his emotions, he is innately human.

His hunger could be a knife.

What is deadlier than a man's wanting?

When Perry joins him in the clearing, sharp features accentuated by the shadows cast by the flames, he notices the wine bottle in her clawed hands and smirks. "Someone went and found themselves a treat, hm?" He presses down on his sadness, compartmentalizing it within himself, eyes balancing back out to a warm, amber shade when she positions herself beside him. He leans back against the log, supporting his weight on open palms, tall frame unfolding itself. His arched neck is left exposed for her sharp teeth to sink into. But she busies herself with inspecting his damaged joint, features wrinkling in mild disgust. "Gross."

He laughs at that, fingertips clutching tightly and tenderly to any frayed thread she leaves available for him to exploit — as hesitant as the girl from Two seems to be to allow him beneath her skin, he has learned that the greatest blooms are the ones that take the longest time to cultivate. If she wants to think him a fool, a bright eyed puppy to bewitch and kick to the curb, then perhaps ultimately that is the greatest gift. No one rushes to stab the snake they don't see approaching in the tall grass. And what Perry doesn't know, well...

It might just kill her someday.

But it has always been difficult for him to resist that temptation to be wanted, to be the center of attention in any space. Even if that means leaning his softest, rawest parts into the clutches of a girl that does not yet trust him, playing off the scarlet flashing in his eyes as mild frustration, anger and agony dancing so realistically together. "Probably hurts, huh?" Oh, little does she know. Imagining her death in the place of his victory is nearly enough to turn his eyes to pure gold.

His lips quirk downward, large hand folding over her curious one, just long enough to guide her in tracing the swollen, discolored bruise. The pain is dull now. "What, was science your least favorite class?" He sets her free, touch as gentle as it has ever been, voice like a lullaby playing over the crackling fire. If her defenses must fall, he will sing them to sleep. "It's just the natural process. I'd be more worried if it didn't look this gross." Dimples carved into his cheeks, little crescent moons, he smiles as she lifts the bottle.

"Y'know, this is supposed to help."

Hungrily, his grin widens, and he leans forward closer to the prize being presented. "Oh, you don't have to tell me that. I'm a sucker for debauchery." He reaches for the wine, and she mimics his pout as she pulls away, still secure by his side but twisting her body like the tides retreating from his gravitational pull, a dance of shattered teeth and greedy fingers and liquid splashing. "I'm the one who found it," she teases playfully, and he counters with a shove and a grasping motion, "and you're the one who offered it!"

"Careful or you'll spill."

Finally, like a puzzle piece coming together, her hand closes around the back of his neck and she places the head of the bottle between his lips. He tilts his head back as she guides the wine down his throat, russet red fluid trickling down the curve of his bobbing Adam's apple. All of his wants are being satisfied by a force that can so easily take his joy away, and yet he will ignore the danger if she chooses to do the same. Her laughter makes his heart thump, the dizzy feeling in his head turns his eyes to pink petals unfurling, bliss and giddiness and flirtation coming to life within his synapses.

The peacock develops its feathers for a reason.

Perry urges Larissa to loosen up, to join in on the fun, and he can't stop himself from reaching forward with his greedy hand and tucking a stray lock of raven black hair behind her ear. The movement of approaching her makes him wince, but admittedly, the majority of the hurt has already sank beneath the buzz of the alcohol flooding his system. "Didn't work? Still hurts?" Spoiled as he is, boy with his hands full of honey, stomach bottomless, he nods his head with his lips still pouted, eyes like spring in bloom. A call to worship the cycle of life.

"Y'want me to try kissing it better?"

Boy meets girl, and boy decides very quickly that even with the cameras filming, he does not consider the way his girlfriend's heart will break in the face of accepting the feast laid out before him. As quickly as the option is presented to him, eyes still teetering on blush, once so vividly scarlet, he does not hesitate to mimic her former embrace. She takes another swig, and he places a soft, warm palm on the back of her neck, losing the flash of his glowing skin in her dark sea of long, pitch black hair.

Her lips find his, jagged teeth slicing into his tongue, but the wine turns the pain into euphoria and static. Love is nothing in the presence of pleasure, and he is a hedonist lost in a forest of wonders. If Perry wishes to offer her company, even a serrated edge, even a clever ruse, he will accept what is offered to him. If he could kill this girl simply by breaking her heart into a million pieces, that would be the easiest route their lives could take. The possibility tempts him as much as anything else.

When she pulls away, he can taste iron, and salt, and a trace of dying lavender; as quickly as it starts to soothe his cuts it turns to a burning, stinging, fizzy feeling. Her thumb rubs at the blood trickling out of his mouth, her amused words ringing like a bell in the night. "Oh, oops. You've got a little something there." He takes his clean, open palm and runs it across his bright, calm face, scrubbing away the bloodstain that has smeared his exposed skin. Like a kind of rebirth. By the end of it, the only proof of his eyes and flesh and desires all sharing a singular shade is the crimson of his piercing stare.

When he speaks, he does so huskily; thorned flower inviting the fly to take another drink.

"Well, wouldn't you know it?" He places his bloodstained lips next to her ear, sacrificing his next words only to her and her pitch dark strands of hair. "I'm not afraid of a little mess."

[hesper hart 🐺 d9f]

^{L A R I S S A .}

"Blood dripped onto the soil in rhythmic thumps. Drip, drip, drip, drip, Larissa hummed along, carefully keeping as much of herself clean as possible. There was more meat here than any of them could eat before the games was over- or, she sure hoped as much. She wasn't going to sit and butcher the entire thing- she'd already hacked off the entire right side and fed it to a pool of orange goo near the edge of the woods where everything started looking dead. As the sun began to set through the canopy trees above, darkness fastly fell upon them and Larissa slowly began glowing brighter and brighter. At least for now, it was helpful in letting her safely use a knife in the dark, but she was already dreading the long night that she was sure would come just as poorly as the last. The sensation of closing her eyes to shield them from the light only to find that her eyelids themselves were glowing was- difficult. Perhaps one of the most difficult parts of this place. The others, of course, being that everything seemed to want to talk to her- whether it should possess the ability to speak normally or not- and the fact that essentially nothing made sense. The others seemed enchanted by all of the food they ate- Larissa seemed to be losing her sense of taste altogether. They seemed worried while they chewed, like the flowers might be addictive. Larissa thought they seemed like pretty normal flowers.

But then stuff like this also happened.

And listen- Larissa might've been a Le Roux princess by day, but he was a teenage girl with access to a very expensive bank account and zero supervision at night. She knew her way around a party. She'd seen the way alcohol made people behave, she'd drank it herself. But there came a time at every party she'd attended where she knew it was time for her to go, and looking at her allies, she could tell that time was coming up soon. Perry stumbled around with an open wine bottle and a set of teeth that made her look post-curb stomp, throwing herself into Bellamy's lap. And he was all too eager, for her company, Larissa noted, his hand coming to a rest on the back of Perry's neck.

They're going to kiss. Any second now. 3, 2,-

She rolled her eyes. Some things were so predictable. She wiped the blade clean for good, sliding it back into its sheathe. One thing she was certain of is that she wasn't interested in watching her allies suck face- she was going to go and gather some more wood for the fire so she could cook dinner. There was no reason not to have a fire into the night, since Larissa would be lighting up the night anyway until she stuffed herself into her swelteringly-hot sleeping bag and felt like she'd slipped onto the surface of the sun for a few hours, at least.

She did spare one glance back and was fairly certain Bellamy had blood on his lip, but then he smiled and she convinced herself it was just the wine. They invited her over and for a moment she considered what it would be like to live in a world where she accepted. She thought of Bellamy's hands holding her head the way they'd held Perry's. She thought of Perry's long hair slowly blending into Larissa's blonde as their faces drew closer and closer together.

But she didn't have the wine.

How the hell had she found herself in such a position? She scoffed and pulled out her phone, snapped a photo of the couple cozied up to one another. She sent it to Krueger Gamble with zero explanation other than a face with its eyes looking up in a way that suggested annoyance. She slid the phone back into her pocket- when was she going to tell them about it? She didn't know why she was keeping it from them, but then again she wasn't certain what it meant yet. Why was the boy from 10 the only number in it?

"C'mon, Icarus. You can be my pack mule!" The young beaked beast ruffled its white feathers and stood excitedly like a dog who was ready to be walked.