rhubarb, sour sweet / xov & marceline, day 3

[andromache s. ⚔️ [d1b] sucy]

Once they’re out of the mines’ range of attack (because yes, she does think that Ivan Korsch is up in his seat in the Capitol, hitting a little ‘fire rock’ button over and over), Marceline musters up the energy to drag her feet around the corner of the mines entrance. She looks around a little bit first, for anything useful… if anything survived the avalanche, that is.

Her companions — the spider, the big fuck off owl — make themselves known to her again. The sight of them is what does it; Marceline finally cries. She reaches out, allows the little one to crawl up her arm, pets her owl friend’s head with her free wretched hand, and tries to make any sense of their warmth or their care.

Maybe they don’t give a damn about her. Maybe their sweet, innocent eyes are Capitol cameras in disguise, and they’re tracking her through some sort of chip. That wouldn’t matter to her. They’re the only trustworthy things in here, and Marceline simply can’t allow herself to think otherwise.

She pats her eyes dry, sniffling and nearly choking on tears and snot in her hurry, then dives into her bag to start fixing herself up. She likes Hal, and she thinks she likes Vali, but this is something much too vulnerable to do in front of anybody. Anybody she can see, she reminds herself, thinking of all the eyes on the outside.

Just as she’s finishing stitching herself up — an ironically cruel task today as it was on Day One — she hears a crunch in the snow. Instantly, Marceline grabs her knife and turns around, still sitting on a rock to face the noise. It’s Xov Thao. Marceline’s knifepoint wavers, then droops considerably. She keeps her grip on it tight nonetheless.

“I’m not about to hex you,” she says, and in her head she adds, or do anything at all.

scavenges the mines generator


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table credit to napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. !

1-7

[august vance d7b [Bella]]

X O V thao

The cold air rushed into Xov’s face when they reached the edge of the mine, the sunlight on the snow nearly blinding her. She let out a few coughs, lungs rejecting the coal dust. She felt like a newborn baby emerging from the womb of the earth, everything so harsh and overstimulating that for a second she wanted to recoil back into the eternal darkness. At least it had been warm down there, but she was probably going to get black lung disease now.

”I’m just gonna get some air,” she wheezed to Juno and Marcus, stepping out into the light.

No sign of Gus the buffalo yet. She half-hoped she would run into him again–half, because he was another mouth to feed, but he was also a warm little ball of wool. In Twelve, she’d never had pets, but now she understood why some people preferred the company of animals. They didn’t ask for explanations, and they gave comfort like it was second nature.

She could hear footsteps in the snow up ahead. Maybe… was it her little guy? Curious, she broke into a jog. But she stopped in her tracks when she saw the hunched figure seated on the rock.

Marceline greeted her with the blade of a knife. A surprised sound escaped from Xov’s throat; it sounded like “Oh.” Xov looked from the knife to Marceline, from Marceline to the knife. Her palms turned upwards, but her jaw was tense.

”I’m not about to hex you,” she clarified, tip of the knife sloping downward. Xov nodded. She had lived in the woods all her life, and knew an animal baring its teeth in defense when she saw one.

”Please don’t,” she answered, referring to more than the hex. ”Although if you can think of something better than cursing my bloodline, I’ll applaud your creativity.”

A glimmer of light caught Marceline’s eyes, betraying the tears on her cheeks. Xov pretended not to notice, feeling her empathy exhausted, knocked out by the rubble falling from the mine, maybe.

”So what’s the story with that one? Let me guess--she's nice when you get to know her?” Sarcasm soured her voice, harsher than she meant. So be it. Xov stood stiff, palms out, feet apart, eyes searching Marceline’s face for a clue.

Would she act like the same innocent city girl who had never touched grass? Or like the girl who had killed the girl from Five with her bare hands?

[scavenges mines]
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[andromache s. ⚔️ [d1b] sucy]

Please don’t. Although if you can think of something better than cursing my bloodline, I’d applaud your creativity.

Marceline can’t help herself. A wry smile pulls at her cheeks, still wet from tears, one of them is still hastily stitched up too. Her mouth falls back flat again almost immediately. Xov’s sarcasm is very, very welcome, even as it warps her voice, from shiny copper to rust. Suspicion falls on the snow beneath them like that snow before it. It’s nobody’s fault; it’s just the name of the game. Suspicion thins out the air, dead cold as it hits their skin, but their breaths appear with the heat of what was unsaid. Humanity, real living humanity. Still here. Still them.

They’re a long, long way from home, sure. But now, even the simulated meadow in the Training Center feels like a lifetime ago. Marceline, against her better judgment, barks out a laugh. She sheathes her knife, looks away. If Xov sees fit to use the opportunity against her, then so be it.

She gave me this helmet, says Marceline, knocking on the dented hard hat her little head rattled around inside in. And she purified my water. I think me and Hal might turn out to be her sacrifices in the end. But at that point, I don’t think I’d mind.

They haven’t spoken, haven’t even come across each other in passing over the last couple of days. Marceline had been lucky enough to see Garnet, back on the first day. She looks at Xov, studying her to see if sticking with Juno bolstered her at all in any obvious way. Or that Eleven guy. Marceline sighs. She’s second guessing everything, every decision from the moment she was reaped up until this very second. Who’s going to bring it up? Marceline may as well; Azure is with her now – in her eyes. She’s oscilated between emotions constantly since the Bloodbath, but after the day they’ve had, Marceline can’t even find it in herself to care about anything besides her little animal friends. Her not so little one clicks behind her, like it’s promising to back her up.

Did you see these? Marceline asks. She opens her icy wet eyes wide, points to them. She drops her finger, stares down at her own blood in the snow. My reward for what I’ve done for them.

scavenges the mines generator

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table credit to napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. !

1-7

[august vance d7b [Bella]]

X O V thao

Xov allowed her nerves to reset, watching the knife return to its sheath. Okay.

”She gave me this helmet,” Marceline answered, wrapping her knuckles on the hard plastic. ”And she purified my water. I think me and Hal might turn out to be her sacrifices in the end. But at that point, I don’t think I’d mind.’

Xov got the message. You don’t pick your friends here, she thought. Just the people least likely to kill you first.

At least that was what seemed to happen each year to the tributes she saw on screen, because not everyone could meet two people like Juno and Marcellus. But she wouldn’t allow herself to feel guilty about her abundance in the face of Marceline’s lack. It was the way the cards had been dealt. Right?

”Do you see these? My reward for what I’ve done for them.”

Xov squinted, eyes widening when she realized. Marceline's eyes were bright, unearthly blue. "Oh, no." she said. "What? How can they--" Being that the eyes were the window to the soul, Xov wondered what else the Gamemakers could do with their technology whose reach and malevolence was beyond her imagination.

Xov followed that gaze downward, her fists clenching and unclenching, her fingers suddenly drained of warmth. The words were swept away in a gust of air, a cold silence taking its place. Even now, bruised and battered from the mines, she felt the space that needed to be made for the sorrow of the living.

”Bitter tears, tears of anger: tears of strength,”she offered, voice still cracking from the silica coating her throat. ”It’s an old saying my mother used to tell me.” Her chin tilted upward, eyes fishing for those of the younger girl.

”It means your tears can fuel a flame, too.”

[scavenges mines]
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