sculpted angels - rotten, day 1

[august vance d7b [Bella]]

the rubble fields
something rotten! - day 1

⚜

August

He runs. One hand gripping his bow for dear life, the quiver thumping against his side, his leather boots kick the cobblestones until he reaches what appears to be the edge of the ruins, where the forest starts to swallow everything man-made.

Almost no one had seen him. Just one run-in with Tick, the older tribute from Twelve. He’s lucky it wasn’t Andromache waiting for him around that corner, shark eyes twinkling with bloodthirst. Though he’s sure that Tick was equally capable of attacking him; perhaps he had some other strategy in mind.

Out of breath, he pauses under an old willow tree, leaning against the wrinkled trunk. His heart pounds loud enough to scare the crows out of their perches. They beat their wings and screech their annoyance at the passing clouds. All around his feet, gravestones dot the ground in staggered rows, the small rounded kind that can sometimes be found in old churchyards, the names blurred by weather and time, overtaken by lichens.

It’s creepy here. Something stale about the air. He’s relieved when he sees Thompson, with Tsiuri close behind, passing through the empty square and then, catching sight of him, weaving through the graves to meet him.

He smiles, letting go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the space in his chest he had reserved for the two of them. He couldn’t go around caring about just anyone now, could he? At least that was what he was trying to remind himself constantly.

”Sorry for running without you, I–” got sidetracked socializing, again, ahem!– ”got a little lost.” He reaches out to grab Thompson’s shoulder, steadying him. The kid looks a little shaken, and his lip is busted, a brown crust of blood already scabbing over the swollen edge. August catches his eye with an encouraging smile. ”You ok? You did great, getting a weapon and getting out like that.”

Tsiuri has a couple of bruises, purple against the white cotton of her shirtsleeves. She looks pretty with her hair tied up like that, a few strands having escaped the red fabric of her headscarf during the fight. August notices her rusty bucket with a string, and holds out his own.

”Hey Tsiuri, we match. Bucket buddies.”

He doesn’t feel the need to comfort her; he already knows who’s the toughest of their three.

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

He doesn’t feel comfortable with the knife. Not like the boy has a choice - Thompson would have been silly to spend more time in the bloodbath. He’s lucky that Tsiuri was right with him. August got out, he hopes, but it’s hard to tell. If the bloodbath was still going on, they could still end up waiting another hour until any sort of signal for a death were to appear. He and his ally take their sweet time walking, but he’s glad. Running in sandals didn’t sound fun. And he liked where they were. The castle and her surrounding ruins start to turn into more and more wood. An occasional statue can be seen, but it’s hard to tell what they were supposed to be with the world having chipped away at their structure. They look hurt, broken. They have been alone here for a long time, excusing whatever wildlife exists. Graveyards are about just as common, maybe these are the places of their burial and the remnants of their legacy.

Fortunately, they soon cross paths with the third of their trio. There’s a smile and a breath that quickly seems to escape his chest, and Thompson feels a flourish of… happiness, he thinks, as his cheeks flush back with color. August is leaned against an old, wrinkled tree.

”Sorry for running without you, I-” August begins to stutter of his words, and Thompson just wants to tell him it’s okay. They’re alive, so what’s there to be sorry about? ”I got a little lost,” he continues, and places a hand on Thompson’s shoulder. His cheeks feel hotter. Giving, a light smile as he shrugs the hand off of him Thompsonfights whatever hopeful thoughts he has. They’re both going to die. Only one of them, if they’re lucky. ”You did great, getting a weapon and geting out like that.” August was a nice guy. Thompson doesn’t meet a lot of nice guys. He opens his mouth, feeling the custard blood resist the movement. But nothing comes out as August continues to focus his attention - like Tsiuri wasn’t there.

The tribute from seven addresses her, finally. She’s got the same getup as Thompson, just colored differently. Tracking purposes, or whatever. All he says is that they match, and no other words of confidence. Does he see Thompson as a sad puppy? He’s lucky that August isn’t studying his face anymore, for a flash of worry paints his eyes and his eyebrows furrow. Whatever. It’s not like he’s got much to prove the older tribute otherwise. ”Yeah. T is more to thank for that.” The boy gives her the credit, if any exists. Thompson isn’t anywhere near as brave as her. ”This place is pretty.” He murmurs, looking around and observing the roughly-tamed terrain. ”Are we staying here?”

[d11a tsiuri dermott ☕ minie]

We walked in silence, neither of us just ready to talk yet. It began with a gong, a loud noise and the rest was a blur. A bucket in my right hand and an arrow in my left, I reminded myself of the story of Robin hood.

Only I don’t shoot…

…And I never really helped the poor.

We found ourselves outside of the crumbling building, but the wreckage hadn’t stopped yet. It continued on in half broken pillars and abondned leather seats. Time lingured thick, it became a swamp and it was diffucult to keeep on going. In the worst of cases, it would not be long until we melted, trapped in time, unable to move. A nightmarish version of our chapter where we would become perminant guests amongst the decaying ruins.

Or maybe I was being a little more pessimistac than usual. I should know better, that wouldn’t get us very far. Another stupid thought, but the boy next to me was counting on me for something. I needed him to need me, the selfish idea that I wanted to live would not be enough to get me through the games.

August and Thompson would be my purpose and likethe others before them, they might end up dead. That was the problem with a silent stoll, I had too much time to think about myself and my own problems. God, I hated that.

“There”

I pointed out with my right hand, stilling gripping tight onto the quiver. My discovery however not all that impressive as August stumbles towards us with a moppy grin. He doesn’t as shaken up as the two of us. I assumed he had gotten out before we did, avoided a hit from the careers who’s attention I had drawn. My fault, something I should apologise for…August shouldn’t be apologising but there he was. Sorry for saving his ass, that was hardly anything to be sorry for.

“Cheers”

I bumped my bucket against his, smiling back just a little less lost. Time finally caching up in my breath. Reality filling the cracks in the rubble and the adrenaline wearing off. The three of us together and I could finally breath, but it was not long before Thompson questioned our next moves. I shouldn’t have expected much else; even if he was not a carrer, I found it hard that the culture would have not had taken its toll on him.

I look back with a tired expresion in my eyes but maintaining a mirror of August’s smile that lightened the entire mod. “You did pretty good on our own, don’t give me the credit for that” I sighed for a second. I rested the quiver on the ground, allowing my body to shift a little of its weight; leaning ever so slightly. “I don’t want to stay here very long, something about this place feels like it would suck out our souls”

Truth be told, I hated the thought of staying there.

“But maybe it wouldn’t bee all too bad to sit and tend to our injuries while we figure something out." My way of admitting I was in pain without actually speaking out the words.

Table by Dars