what the season gave me / kruwill

[pogue]

G   A   M   B   L   E

Krueger stumbles through the woods, away from the feast and the sound of Leo's cannon  echoing through the clouds. He'd seen her life fade in her eyes before he'd fled, and the thought of it has carved itself into his memory so deeply that he fears his soul- what's left of it, is bleeding. 

By the time he makes it back towards where they'd came from the bag is soaked in the remnants of his own blood, dripping poisonous droplets onto the ground below. He collapses after what feels like an eternity of walking forwards, no pixies to nag him and no soul left for whatever that thing was that wanted them to stake their claim.

Legs tired, arms weak, he pushes up against the dying flesh of a forgotten tree and feels it give slightly underneath him and the ghosts he carries with him. There are eyes that begin to form around the surface of the wound already, singular clumps of tissue that he's used to seeing sprout along the gashes and cuts he's sustained in the arena so far. He knows what's to come, even as he pulls his needle and thread from his bag and begins to close it.

He'd carved his name into Leo's body and watched her die. Even now, her cannon echoes in his mind, again and again and over and over until the soft droning of dying life around him begins to fade, if only slightly. It's almost a relief, then, when he hears the familiar crunch of footsteps to his left, eyes widening and thread hanging from deep seated wound.

Almost, a relief.

Fight or flight runs through his veins with a vengeance, open palm clamoring into the dirt as he searches for his spear. The only true relief, he's discovered in this arena, is the icy feeling of steel between his fingertips. It's why he's resolute in the way he stares towards the approaching figure and points towards it with the tip of his spear, ready to face his demise or theirs.

"Better be you, Hush." He says, just loud enough for the other figure and the ghosts to hear.

[alex 🐺]

Death should really be more profound, Will thinks, as the light fades out of Luna's eyes. She should close them, maybe. She saw someone do that once after an accident in Twelve. They rushed over and closed the dead person's eyes. But maybe that was more for them than the person who had died.

Death should be more profound. More of a note of music than a dull silence. More of a symphony than a cannon blast. Luna's body is between them, as if an abyss has opened, the wind whipping through the grass and around them as a hovercraft lurks out of sight, in the distance. The telltale whoosh of its rotors are unmistakable, and growing up in Panem, Will thought it would be a welcome noise. It's anything but welcoming. It brings no comfort. 

Hands on her knees and bent in two, Will gasps for air as Vallen takes off behind Eleven, the suede bags swinging in their hands. Will grabs what's left for her and looks back at Luna once before rushing away. 

She runs into Xaa who screams at her, face inches from Will's own but she feels nothing more for the girl. She told them about the fight, choked out an apology for Luna, and ducked away into the trees. 

There's smoke in her lungs, her wounds drenching the ground as it drinks, thirst unable to be sated. She tears a strip of cloth from the bottom of her vest to wrap a makeshift tourniquet around her thigh, if only to get a better grip on her glaive. She straightens up as voices echo throughout the brush. 

"Better be you, Hush." Her grip slackens, but only just and she feels the air escape from her lungs. Safety screams throughout her bones and in her veins. Safety, but just for now. 

"The one and only. You always did roll out the red carpet for me, Gamble," she remarks, at seeing his white knuckled greeting once more. He was alive, which was a damn sight better than four other sad sorry folks, Ripred rest their souls. 

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