riffraff, cave rat // [Noah vs. Cave Rats, Day 2]

[wimdy]

I wake to the hissing of the ocean swallowing me whole. The sound bubbles in my ears, popping in quick succession, clouds my senses until I am dragged under fully. There is a silence then, a total void of sound that shakes my core. Cold needles strike through my skin and pry open my lips, allowing the water to spill into me and consume me like a fire from the inside. I am tugged into the depths, my eyes flashing open to see the milky eyes of her. I feel the rot setting in my bones, my movement slack as she stares through me; as her hands draw me closer; as her silent lips whisper promises of peace. It would be so easy to give in.

In an instant, the water is set afire. The salty expanse roils and I am left boiling in it, Penelope's fell shriek sounding in my deaf ears. I thrash violently, hearing the hiss of a telltale demise once more before my eyes are opened to the new morning in full. The sky is a dull grey, bleak and tired from the downfall of the day before. I'd practically been washed out, swimming in snakes until I could find a high enough bank in the pit to sleep on. Even then, sleep wasn't easy to come by, not when the rain came down in sheets and the snakes were furiously writhing. A night had never been longer.

My heart thumps in my chest wildly as I regain what oxygen I have lost. I can feel the burning of the water in my lungs still, searing me deep. The pulsing fire in my veins slows little by little until I can move again. I try to turn slowly, noting the angry hissing of the snakes that have wrapped around me as if a cocoon. They're woven tight and I can hardly move without upsetting them. I pull them apart as if a web, making room for me to shift and, eventually, sit up. They slither away as if I've parted the seas and I smile for that. Maybe being the Snake King is paying off.

I am unsteady on my feet when I stand, seasickness lingering in my throat and churning my stomach with quick movements. I don't have anything in my stomach to expell anyway. There's no food around me either, nor water. Already I long for the comfort of the Capitol, no matter how sterile and controling it was. I long for tables of food to choose from. I long for a warm, albiet burnt, bed. I long for the conversations, spoken and unspoken. A sigh slips past my lips and I don't have the time to catch it, nor control the trembling of my hands. What I wouldn't give for a little vial right now... but I am here. I am amid a sea of snakes, waiting to pull me down in revolution. They hiss and snap, catching at my clothing for just a moment before falling back into the fray of wriggling bodies.

My pack is light when I hoist it back onto my back, tightening the straps so it stays snug against me. I keep my eyes low, toeing through the snakes carefully so as not to disturb them too much. When I finally see grass below my feet, I look up. The Arena is much larger than it seems, a vast open plain of grass and brush, dotted with buildings in the far distance. Death lingers in their every halls, I know. What choice do I have but to enter, to venture out to somewhere unknown? My eyes fix on the two within my distant line of sight, swiveling between them. I close my eyes slowly, take a deep breath, and spin. I come to a halt quickly and open my eyes, frowning at the view of the cliff before me. I repeat the process, twirling myself and stopping to open my eyes to a great structure in the distance. I set off at a light jog.

The closer I get, the more my heart pounds with adrenaline. This building is unlike anything I've ever seen. Tall pillars and layer upon layer of gold form the edifice, towering above me as I come to its steps. We Ripleys have never seen such riches. I've grown up in the dirt of a grave, ripping buttons from suits and picking watches from pockets and snatching coins from behind a pillow. My riches were measured in how many metal teeth I could crank out in a night. I lived in secondhand suits and worn shoes. Never once had I seen such wealth accumulated in one place. This monolithic monster of riches has me entranced by the sheer wonder of its majesty. Along with the amazement comes a sickness in my stomach. So much money has been dumped into this Arena, into the Games, into the Capitol, while we starve and beg and grovel for enough to get by. My face twists into a scowl for a moment before I begin the ascension.

Inside, there is a darkness so deep that I can hardly breathe. It is suffocating. The musty smell of old life lingers in the halls and it gets stronger the deeper I go in. I turn and twist through the lifeless passages, hand passing across the dull wall. This is no treasure trove, but a tomb. My feet shuffle across the floor slowly, taking me further from what little light was left. Then, there is total darkness. My hands serve as guidance in the maze of halls, slipping from the corners. I turn slowly, eyes catching on a glow of light in the distance. My hand drops to my knife, fingers curling around it in a moment and drawing it from my belt. The light lifts suddenly and a slight flapping is echoing in the distance from which it hovers before it disappears. I blinkin the darkness then, tripping over my own feet as I struggle to chase after the light.

With a thud, I collide with a wall. My head smarts as I fall to the floor, knife clattering from my hands. A squeak songs nearby and then the light is back, trailing across the floor and coming closer. I roll backwards behind a wall- I hope there is a wall here- and peek out to the side. There are a few lights now, spinning and whirling together. I blink quickly, trying to clear my head of the delirium that has set in. The lights merge for a moment before scattering and disappearing from sight once more. My hands pat across the ground to find my knife and I rush off again, trying to maintain my balance and follow the glowing lights. My feet carry me past hall after hall. I halt quickly as a glimmering sparkle catches my eye. My breath catches in my throat and I nearly drop my knife again. Instead, I fall against the wall beside me, leaning on it for support as I inch my way towards the light. This is the beauty that was promised by the Capitol. This is the royalty that was told by the glittering building. This is wealth unlike all else.

I slip into the room slowly, my footing unsure against the floor of loose coins and beaded jewlery. Every surface gleams, every inch shines. Torches line the far off walls and set the room on fire with the golden haze. Chalices are overflowing with rich divinity. Statues hold spilling palms of jewelery out for the taking. Piles of pure gold flow through the room. I find myself stumbling over a mound of coins, sending it gushing at my feet as I try to find purchase on the mountains beside me. It is with a streak of dark grey across across my vision that I remember the reason I am here. I lower myself to the floor, crawling forward carefully to see what exactly has led me here.

There, in the middle of a small clearing, are four rats. They're squeaking away at each other, tails flicking with their every movement. However, they are not regular rats. A set of leathery black wings protrudes from each of their backs, twitching a little in excitement as they run in a dizzying pattern of play. I move back behind the pile I'm hiding against, breathing deeply as I try to figure out my best option. If I run, they would surely hear me. If I try to stay hidden, they would surely come across me. My only option, then, is to fight. The knife in my hand feels heavy, especially as I round the corner. I take but a second to prepare myself before I reveal myself completely and strike.

[Noah attacks Cave Rat #1 with a knife, yo.]
[dice=200+2000]
[Aw miss. -- 0.0]

[rand=4444119895342737428043411509133875262230455875396739282012856565416]

[✨ zozo.]

The Marauders' Rats

Padfoot the rat was not impressed when some idiot tribute had stumbled in on the Marauders diabolic plans to (eventually) venture out of the cave. Scratching at a flee at his ear, he turned to Prongs the Rat and nodded, racing ahead in a dog-like manner at the tribute.

[attacks noah // knife code]
[dice=200+2000]
[miss lol]

Prongs the rat twitched his nose in understanding at Padfoot, reared up on his hind legs as if he were a four-legged woodland creature, and raced ahead, hoping to attack the tribute first and impress Lily-rat, who probably wasn't watching him anyway and more likely doing her homework.

[attacks noah // knife code]
[dice=200+2000]
[Stabbed in Bicep -- 8.5 damage oh shit]

Hesitantly, Moony the rat fumbled behind Padfoot the rat, not wanting to retreat from the comforting shadows of the cave. With a howling noise, he eyed up the tribute carefully and then (attempted to) dig his teeth into the tributes flesh.

[attacks noah // knife code]
[dice=200+2000]
[Miss lololol]

Wormtail the rat, with the most fitting name of all, barely managed to keep up. He was the fattest rat of all, and wanted desperately to fit in with the others. Barely managing to get his feet off of the ground, he flapped his wings and charged.

[attacks noah // knife code]
[dice=200+2000]
[Severed Thumb on Right Hand -- 8.5 damage i'm SO SORRY WINDY]

[rand=3571699424646795721700721420347792222023475915198678306974470615]

[wimdy]

One of the rats flies up and sinks its teeth deep into my arm, slicing through me and slipping red across my arm. I cry out shortly, moving to swat it away with my right hand when another hovers toward me. There's hardly a second to react as the remaining two whiz by my face, making me stumble back against one of the piles of gold. There's a quick pain in my thumb for a moment before I feel a subtle crack from within. I bite my lip hard, trying to dislodge the rats that cling to me before any more damage can be done, but then it is too late. The damage is done and there is no going back from this loss.

"You melonfucking, douchewaffling, rat with wings!" I scream, pulling my hand away from the rat with a quick swipe. I hold it to my chest, not daring to look at the bloody mess that remains of where my thumb once sat. The rat has the end of it in its mouth, looking at me with wide eyes. Its wings twitch a bit and I glare, crawling forward with a rat hanging still from my other arm. The other two buzz around with a empty-minded business. Hot tears spilling down my cheeks, I growl low in the back of my throat, and stab at the thumb-stealing rodent.

[Noah attacks Wormtail with a knife, yo.]
[dice=200+2000]
[Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder -- 3.5]

[rand=217596380505710842526058407966047590309991850517699525227763224393]

[✨ zozo.]

The Marauders' Rats

Feeling suddenly dazed by the sunlight, and slightly shocked at the fact that all his teeth had suddenly fallen out (hey, let's face it, do you really think that rats keep good dental hygiene? Those things were asking to break off - moral of the story, brush twice a day, kiddos), Padfoot had no choice but to slam aimlessly into the tribute with no sense of direction whatsoever


[attacks noah // misc. blunt code]
[dice=200+8000]
[miss]

Wailing at the loss of his teeth and how Lily rat will react (probably tease him senseless), Prongs flailed uselessly around the treasure hall, half wanting to protect his precious jewels, and half wanting to get the hell out of there.

[attacks noah // misc. blunt code]
[dice=200+8000]
[bruised left knee 2.5]

Muttering something about how 'he told them so', Moony shrugged and tried to attack the tribute, but gave up halfway through and just slammed straight into the boy instead.

[attacks noah // misc. blunt code]
[dice=200+8000]
[Gash/Bruised Left Thigh -- 3.5 damage]

Reeling over being attacked, Wormtail had no idea what the eff was going on. Trying to flick his long tail at the tribute, but, as usual, failing, he followed Moony's suit and slammed his rather large body into his opponent, hoping to at least make some positive impression.

[attacks noah // misc. blunt code]
[dice=200+8000]
[Gash/Bruised Left Arm -- 3.0 damage]

Moral of the story is always visit your dentist every 6 months for a regular check up and floss regularly.

[rand=8940984224900603210786590119823871288606408052156515558557584882]

[wimdy]

I swat at the rats viciously, hand whizzing by them in the air as I try to dislodge them from my body and keep them from doing any more damage. The blood from my thumb splatters across the gold, staining the riches red and adding color to the dizzying brightness of the wealth. I shake my arms again, waving them hard to try and remove the foul rats and am surprised when I hear a sickening suction followed by a crack and a popping noise. Then the rat is gone, flung back to the floor for an instant before flying back in for more damage. My feet slide over the gold scattered across the floor and I'm sent tumbling into the stacks again, knocking down the piles as I try to escape the assault. Two hard impacts against my left leg send me into a fit again and another strikes at my arm. I growl, swinging the knife in my hand towards the nearest rat.

[Noah attacks Wormtail with a knife, yo.]
[dice=200+2000]
[Stabbed in Bicep -- 8.5 ]

[rand=87121022189967330943179151508957146814794652163989526711574289948]

[✨ zozo.]

The Marauders' Rats

are getting the hell outta here.


[Padfoot, Prongs and Moony flee on their broomsticks]

[wimdy]

The rat that took my thumb squeals for just a moment as it dies, falling from the air to land at my feet. Upon its downfall, the other three seem to feel tiny as they are, all scurrying away and taking off with the quick flapping of wings and snapping of tails. In an instant, I sink to the level of the fallen rat, crashing among the clinking coins and curling into myself. My hand is pressed hard to my chest, curled within my other fist in an attempt to regrow what has been lost, but it is useless. The stub is all that is left. I can feel the jagged bone beneath and I feel my stomach roll in protest until I put it out of my mind. This is no different than being beaten half to death in a fight back in District Four. This is no different than picking myself up off of the dirty ground of back alleys and seaside docks. But it is and I am all the more terrified of it.

I steel myself slowly, trying to regain my composure and find the will to move. My body throbs with every movement, my muscles screaming in protest as I try to sit myself upright again. My arms are bloodied with the remnants of yesterday's bites and today's bites and they'll surely be littered with tomorrow's bites as well, should I live to see them. Is this how it ends? Bitten and chewed and spat out upon the ground for the wealthy to cherish? A martyr's death, that's what it is. Sacrificed with honor. What honor is there to being eaten by rats with fucking knives as teeth? I finally get myself upright, grumbling as I slide against the coins and back myself against a wall. My pack is beside me without me even realizing I'm moving, my body going into service at the slightest thought. I stick my hand in slowly, hissing when I feel teeth nipping at my fingertips and scaled heads colliding with my palm. Sharply, I pull myself back and stare down at the snakes inside my bag. They're tangled around the med kit I was reaching for. The noisy whispers of the snakes send the ones in my pockets wriggling as well and I frown. My eyes quickly scan the area for something, anything, but what they catch on sends my stomach swirling again.

My thumb is lying on the floor a few feet away. My mouth is set in a deep scowl, lips twisted in disgust. The movement from my bag and pockets continues and I stare mournfully at what used to be a part of me. Slowly, I reach out and pluck it from the gilded floor, staring at the light scarring, the chewed nail, the twisted fingerprint. I feel sick again and force myself to look away as I drop it into the bag. My left hand moves quickly to snatch the snakes from my pockets and I wince as they scrape at me before they are dumped into the bag as well. For a moment, I wait. I can hear the movements from inside the bag as well as another sound and I really don't want to think about what they're doing to my thumb so I reach in and grab the kit. My bag is shut again in an instant.

I've patched myself up plenty of times before. I'd thrown myself in to one too many fights over the years that ended with me in bad shape and not wanting to go limping home completely hopeless to my brothers. I never wanted them to see me a mess because I wasn't. I was strong. I was the riff-raff, streetrat, scoundrel little spitfire brawler boy of District Four and no one could call me weak when I'd throw myself body and soul behind my fists and straight into some sorry bastard's face. I wonder what has become of my reputation now. Little Noah Ripley can't even go two steps without nearly killing himself. He gets bitten by every animal he comes across. He runs into walls while trying to walk forward. He can't even fucking sit up straight. I feel myself slumping against the wall and then slipping sideways until I'm resting against the mound of riches beside me. I feel my energy draining out of me with every beat of my heart and I just want to sleep, but the pain in my hand is throbbing and my body is uncomfortabley pressed against hard gold and my entire body is crying out for some kind of relief.

For a moment, all I can do is blink at the remnants of my thumb on my hand. My head is already swimming with a disorienting sickness, so the sight hardly makes a change. I lift my other hand slowly, the roll of bandages clasped in my fingers unfurling. I press it against my skin and wrap it slowly, trying to fight the angry tears that build in my eyes as I watch the stub disappear behind white cloth. I raise it slowly to my mouth, tearing at it with my teeth and tucking in the end. The rest of the cloth lays on my lap as I pick up the needle and thread instead. A sharp stab at my bicep sends my skin crawling and I fight the urge to yell or cry, but my mouth is too busy trying not to spit up acid. Again and again, I draw it through my skin until the gash on my arm is closed up and then it too is covered by white bandages. I'm still stained red and dead and my body is tired of trying to keep up with my injuries. I pull myself up gracelessly, stumbling against a tall pile and turning to scale it, trying to find something, anything, to put me to rest. There is no rest for the wicked, though, and I am surely a boy with the devil's tongue.

I've only just reached the top of the pile when I feel my hands slip and my body inch forward for just a moment. Then, I am falling in a cascade of gold, buried beneath its sands of glimmering toll-fare, and breathing in wealth. The weight is suffocating and I gasp, trying to push at all that lies atop me. I feel my stitches stretch and my ribs creak and I reach out, hand striking through the wreck of me and my greed for solace. For a moment, he is standing there with his arm outstretched and a blank look etched upon his face. There is a peace in his eyes I've never seen in all our minutes, hours, days, lifetimes together and I reach out in earnest, trying to pull him back and take it as my own. Then, he's tugged beneath the waves of flaming gold and I am left alone to drown in my delirium.

[Noah uses 5 ft of bandages and one use of his needle and thread as well as First Aid to remove 9 damage from his damage of 37.5. He is now at 28.5.]

[wimdy]

When I wake, there is a heaviness unlike any I have ever known holding my down. My limbs stretch out, moving the weight atop me and shifting it little by little until I feel it slide apart and fall by my sides. There are still items sitting on my back and legs, but the mass of wealth is gone from me. How fitting. I pull myself forward slowly, clawing my way from the wreckage I had created. The glimmering gold is still blinding, but it isn't aflame like before. There is no inferno to be dealt with. I try to quell the shaking in my bones, but it rattles through my marrow and sets my system alive with tremors. When I am finally free of every glittering coin and encrusted cup, I stagger onto my unsteady feet. I nearly topple over again, only steadying myself by grabbing the torch above me and hanging on.

What takes me by surprise is that it moves with me. It drops slowly and clicks into place and somewhere beyond the wall I hear a deep groaning. It's like a hinge on one of those fancy coffins as it is swung open after being encased in dirt for far too long. The low noise from beyond comes to a halt and I lean up against the wall to listen for more, but there is only the flickering of flames. The crackle of the torch sounds still in my ears even as I back away, the smokey smell sending my gut clenching in memory. What I wouldn't give for a bed of fire and an armful of brimstone. I back away in small steps before I round the stack I had fallen from entirely, nearly stepping on the dead rat in my haste. My bag is right where it was left, completely closed and still. I open it slowly and peek inside, grimacing at the traces of blood along the material, and shut it again. I'll be carrying myself until the end, it seems. I pull my bag up with my right hand, cursing at my lack of thumb and setting it back down in favor of lifting it with the other. I sling it across my back easily and settle it, frowning at the hissing coming from behind me.

The room is bigger than I first expected, the high walls lined with torches and obscured by towering piles of riches. Everything that can be imagined is there. Nothing of immediate use, however, is in my sight. I spy no swords or knives or spears or any weapon of any kind. Despite there being stack upon stack of just pure stuff, I cannot find anything that I can use. There are coins tossed everywhere; chalices perched atop lofty peaks; gilded thrones sitting amongst a sea of glowing power. There are no weapons, no jugs. There are no mountains of food, nor fountains of water, nor troves of supplies. This room is pure unadulturated greed curled into a single spire of temptation. The pauper in me longs to bathe in it, swim through the waves of gold-coated items and take it in while he can. The Panem citizen in me wants to set it on fire and watch it burn, but I know that won't even put a dent in their power. This room is full of their excess money to waste, lying around without better purpose.

I turn slowly, letting the fire illuminate my vision of the room little by little. Glittering jewels are held aloft by large statues of strange looking apes. Their eyes are dark crystal, contrasting with the bright gold surface. They stare beyond what Noah can see, through the walls and onto the distant boundaries of the Arena and still farther until there is nothing left. At the end of the world, their vision stops short and they offer the jewels of life long since taken in each passing Games as sacrifice to keep their gold plating, to maintain their extravagant lifestyle. The Capitolites are so good at fashioning images of themselves. If only they know they were doing it. My feet guide me through the towering maze of gold, winding through the stacks and picking at them little by little. The entire room was full, yet there was nothing that really intrigued me until I saw the manifestation of Patrick's conscience lying atop a small amount of spilled coins.

Once, mother told Fitz and I a story about a king or something who wanted to find some kind of magic answering shell that would help him make every decision correctly but then he lost it or some shit like that. I never believed her stories. There were nothing but fanciful tales told to children to fill their heads with hopes of a better life, one that would never come. Now, however, it feels so real. I've lost my way, haven't I? And I need guidance, yes? Who is better to ask than the Magic Conch? Patrick always did believe the conch existed. I can't help but wonder if the Goofy Goobers found the Magic Conch back during their Games and asked it for guidance. I reach out for it, letting my fingers smudge across the perfect golden shell before lifting it into my palm. It is lighter than I expected and I lift it so I can see it more properly, tracing the swirl with a fingertip before steadying it away from me. I narrow my eyes at it slowly, trying to think of what exactly I should ask it. My lips move without my permission, but it is the question that bites at the very base of my soul now. It curls tightly like a vice around my spine and immobilizes me.

"... Will I live past the Games?" I mutter, looking down at my feet and hoping for the gods to answer.

"No."

My heart drops into the pit of my stomach for a moment, the thudding washing over my system in sickening waves. Death has always been an inevitability, even in these Games, but to hear an answer... It rattles my nerves and sets my mind racing.

"Is River alive?"

"No."

"Is Pyrian alive?"

"No."

"Are those fucking rats going to leave me alone?"

"No."

"Am I being hunted right now?"

"No."

"Can you say any fucking answer other than no?" I burst, fuming and shaking out of pure agony over the thought of losing River and Pyrian and facing the rats again and being hunted. My mind, however, is seething. Every single answer has been a monotone 'no', a simple word. This Magic Conch is total bullshit. I glare at the glinting gold before firing off another round of questions.

"Is my name Noah Ripley?"

"No."

"Am I from District Four?"

"No."

"Do I have three brothers?"

"No." A pang of pain thuds through my veins and I see him again staring back at me from the gold of the conch, his eyes that same peaceful state of rest. His skin is golden and his hair is sun bleached and his lips are set in a line, but he is at peace. I feel sick just looking at him. It's because I hate him and he makes me sick. Just seeing him repulses me. His broken promises cannot be mended. They can never bring her back from the depths that consumed her and threaten to consume me. I don't feel sick because there is a longing deep in my soul. I want that calmness, that composure, but he's holding all of the cards in his own hands, as per usual. He's playing his games well.

I take one last look at the conch shell in my hands, devoid of magic and devoid of meaning and devoid of life. All it holds are false promises. Then, after a moment's deliberation, I throw it as far across the room as I can manage, watching as it sails into a bust and sends it tumbling from its perch. In the next instant, that same deep rumbling is head from behind the walls, my skin going cold. I listen closely as the groaning comes to an end and a shuddering thud sounds with finality from behind golden walls.

Then, a panel of the front wall slides aside to reveal a dark, inky passage to a place beyond.

[wimdy]

I really shouldn't do it. The moment I see the tunnel come into existence, I know I shouldn't do it. It's a bad idea. The darkness lurks just beyond this room and dips into an inky black pool of oblivion. There is nothing more beyond this room of extravagance and excess but the eternal night of death. Everything in this Arena is constructed and trained to kill. There are fangs waiting behind every corner to sink deep into the flesh of life and suck from it all hope until it is but a rigid corpse with hardly a thought left to its name and then soon enough that is gone too. Soon enough, there is only a cold embrace of the water and what it holds there. Soon enough, there is a void of consciousness and spirit. Soon enough, there is only a grave to hold your future.

Graves have been my life though and I am close enough to one now to throw myself at, as if I were home after all. I take a few hesitant steps forward, hands skimming across golden ridges and sending coins skittering to the floor. The clang of their fall rings loud in my muddled head and echoes through me, reminding me of all that is up here. It reminds me that there is light here and wealth and a future. The darkness whispers its quiet rebuke, calling me forward again with its promise of familiarity and comfort. I have lived for many years in the dark of the night, and evil has found me time and time again. It has doomed me and cast a curse about my living, that it all be thrown aside with a reckless abandon in favor of taunting the very things I fear most in this world: death. I have hidden from it in the dark of the night for so long, cowering in the shadows and throwing my every bit of force into my endeavors to cheat death time and time again. What better way to face a fear than to come closer to it with every swing of your fist, with every lurch of your gut, with every step of your foot, with every dig of your shovel? I move forward again, as if my strings are pulled taught and I am willed forward by the hand of a puppeteer. What choice do I have in this anyhow?

I am to die in just a few days time. The stupid conch shell had agreed with me on that. The sickness twists in my gut and sends my nerves fizzing in my system. There is no escape from this fear, not when she swims through my nightmares and splashes into my every waking moment. She tugs at me without relent, drawing me closer to her heart with every passing moment; encircling me in her arms and trying to seize me within the very kernel of her world: death by water. It defined her every move, the urgency of her struggle to keep her head above the water evident in every fluid strike of her harpoon at the bodies of children. It was evident in every gasping breath cried into the silence of the morning air. It was evident in her every step as she trod carefully upon land as if it were water. She'd sunk beneath the sand and waves to the deep depths and now she won't leave me be. Every breath I take gurgles through my lungs; every step I make sloshes my stomach; every day I wake suffocates me with the promise of no tomorrow. There is no world for tomorrow anymore. Now, it is live in the present or die with your ambitions stretched too far toward the future.

I'm carried silently by a whispering longing for security towards the mouth of the cave of wonders, and of darkness. The promises of blindness in the endless abyss are too strong for me to resist, my eyes catching for just a moment on my reflection in a large golden plate. I am soiled beyond recognition. My face is covered in dirt and blood, dried streaks of life scarring what remains of Noah Ripley's face, but who am I? Surely I am not one and the same. So much has twisted; so much has spilled; so much has died. I am no different, twisting and spilling and dying with every step until I am faced with just darkness. I let it take me readily and embrace the familiarity of the void of life.

It goes down, I realize, stepping carefully across slippery floors and descending ramps. The walls are colder than death and it sends a shiver through me, my skin bubbling in disgust and comfort. For just a fraction of a moment, I want to turn back, but what lies for me in the light but the dark? The shadows are easier to see when there is a source to illuminate them. Here, the shadows are simply what reign supreme. They mask all their pawns in their cloak of security and draw them close to the bosom of corruption, wanting nothing more than to stain them darker until they are subverted beyond recognition to even themselves. It's a sick process, all under the veil of safety in anonymity and I embrace it readily. Each step brings me closer to the cradle of defilement, but still I push forward, feet skipping down steep stairwells and over musty stone. I continue onward until my legs feel ready to give up, muscles aching as I take just a few more steps- and then I am sliding against stone and landing upon a mountain of coin.

I curse, bemoaning the friction burn across my heels as my sandals had fallen off during the journey down. My eyes try to bring into focus the dull light that glows, but I instantly cover them when it blazes to life before me. My lungs practically shrivel with the sheer heat of it, sucking the moisture from my cells as I gasp in shock. The fire burns at my eyes and they water as I try to pull myself away from the unstoppable force. There is nowhere to go, however, and I find myself praying that I'm not submerged in fire and bathed in flames until there is nothing more of me. I want to burn no more than I want to drown. For a moment, I can feel the heat lick at skin teasingly, too close and not close enough, and the burning in my lungs extends to the absence in my heart. I would never will Pyrian's fire to go out like I wish this one too. The burning flashes recede into gentle, illuminating light, but the beams stretch from every corner. I blink slowly in shock at what lies before my eyes.

There, in the center of the room, lies a large disk of gold. It's almost a foot tall of solid metal, gleaming in the glow of the fire that burns at its core like a bonfire mountain. The pedestal is engraved with strange markings and symbols, as if it's a writing trying to tell a story, but my mind is oblivious to its secrets. It's not like they taught us any pre-Panem languages in school. We were kept practically in the dark about the true history of the world and its people, to my knowledge. We are ignorant of our past, no matter how much we try to better ourselves. That will never change. It's not the disk that truly astounds me, though. It's the people that stand atop it, proud and strong in their gilded state.

They're shorter than me by a foot or so, each one with a tiny hand outstretched toward the flames that burn at the center of their platform. Their clothes are in tattered state, loose gold-leafing hung upon their frames. Some of them look bent and broken, legs misshapen and bodies practically begging to be released from agony. I get up carefully, legs unsteady as I drop my bag from my back and make my way around the circle. Their faces are burning with intensity and drive and I want to step up onto the gold disk to look them in the eyes, but the fire burns to hot to even dare it. I feel sick, however, when I see my own face staring at me from across the fire, eyes drowning with fear and mouth open in a silent scream. The hand extended is dripping from where a thumb used to be. My heart races in my chest as the faces all begin to clear in my head- River, Pyrian, Emerald, Ivy, all of them- and then there is a loud hiss. A bubbling erupts across the skin of the girl from twelve and then her face sinks into a grisly deformation and sloughs off altogether, dropping to the base with a sickening slosh. Her limbs melt away in the same fashion, boiling down to pure gold until she has fallen completely, no recognizable trace of what she was existing any longer. I stare in shock as she spills over the side, a puddle of her existence trailing across the floor. There are eight other remains pooled in the same fashion and I feel my stomach flip. I have just watched a girl die from a ways away, saw her reduced to nothing in the wake of her demise.

I stare down at the puddle with a sickening fascination, watching the sparkling liquid slip across grey stone and coat it with beauty. I reach out hesitantly, letting the tip of my finger dip into it before pulling back and cursing, wiping off the burning metal quickly against the stone. My finger throbs anyway and I curse at my own curiosity, grumbling to myself as I reach for my belt and tug out my knife. It's a dull silver, hardly anything worthy of note, and I glance down at the molten gold once more. Gently, I lower the knife against the liquid metal and coat it from the hilt upwards so the blade is bathed in gold. When I stand and shake the excess off, I cannot help the small smirk that builds on my lips. It's a knife fit for a king. A Snake King should have such a knife, and I, being the Snake King, claim it as my own. Half of me wonders if the citizens of District Twelve will be offended; the other half doesn't quite care. I look back up at my own eyes, staring from across the distance and frowning when I realize there's something there that doesn't look quite right. Is it my nose? I reach up to feel at the feature, judging it to be sound, and cross over to my golden likeness. I stare for another few moments before I actually realize the difference.

There, in my tiny hand, is a normal sized crown of gold. It's a simple circle, glittering prettily in the light of the fire, but what catches me is not its material, but it's make. The 'simple circle' is made of snakes. I laugh low, reaching out to touch it and am surprised to find it quite cool, as it the rest of the statuette. I feel at the mark against the golden back and frown when my own tingles as if being touched as well. A shudder rips through my system and I pull the crown from my twin's hand, examining it a little more carefully before lifting it to nestle in my hair. It fits perfectly and I cannot help the amusement that shoots through me. I give a small salute up to the ceiling, knowing that a camera will be on me somewhere, and smirk into the heavens.

"Thanks for the gift. I suppose a king really should have a crown, yeah?" I call out, letting out a light chuckle into the crackling silence. My smile falls bit by bit as I am hit with the realization that I am really, truly alone. There is no one here to laugh with me, to joke with me, to be with me. There is only myself and the statuettes of gold, replicas of those still alive out there somewhere beyond my sight and reach. My eyes flit between them quickly, trying to gather who is left. I'm not sure whether to be pleased or horrified that Pyrian, River, and Ivy are all still in the Arena, whole and unscathed, from what I can tell. I hardly have a moment to think before I'm brought out of myself by a distant call, high pitched and melodious. It sends a chill down my spine as I turn to the only route out; a steep staircase of stone, leading right up to the noise beyond.

[wimdy]

My blood feels cold as I ascend the stairs, each step bringing me closer to the crying from up above. It has continued for the duration, leading me unwillingly to the source. I can't just hide out in the bottom chamber of this treasure trove whether I like it or not. If I stay down there, I'll surely die of starvation, or maybe those rats will come back and finish what they started. My state of disrepair is dreadful and every step I climb sucks more of my energy out of my, limbs weak and wounds throbbing. My missing appendage especially hurts beneath the careful pressure of bandages. No matter what I do, it rubs agonizingly and sends jolts of pain up through my arm. I would like my thumb back, but that is quite impossible now that the snakes in my pack have no doubt devoured it.

The spiraling case of stairs seem endless until I reach a level surface, disoriented by the sudden change of environment. I reach out cautiously with my good hand, fingers brushing against damp rock. I graze across an oddity in the wall, curiously reaching up to feel it in the pitch black. It's rounded, like a cone, and colder than the wall. The smooth slide of it against my hand sends a shiver down my spine, but I grasp at it anyway and pull. The wall groans and turns with a shudder, light seeping through the hole that is created with each inch moved. Glittering gold comes into view little by little and spills through the crack, jamming the wall and halting its movement. When I blink past the blinding light, my body stumbling forward into the treasure room once more, I am struck dead by confusion.

All around the room, there are these tiny little white things. They're standing atop mountains of gold, cradled in large goblets, hanging from precariously high ledges. There are so many of them that I can't even count them, their little faces taunting me in number. Dark holes for eyes stare at me in silence, heads turning to follow my every move. A chill runs up my spine as I creep along the wall, trying to get away from their vacant watchfulness. But these are mutts, are they not? And they're built to be perfect to their purpose. I am surrounded by them and so exhausted, body slumping to lean upon nearby towers of gold and cold stone walls. They're sucking away my energy, they must be. How else are they to function? This is their design, to draw the life-force from a child to maintain their own pure visage of creamy white and obsidian black. I have no way to fight it.

One of the creatures waddles close, just a mere foot or so tall. Its wide black eyes stare up at me without word and I can feel an uneasiness boiling in my gut. It comes closer still and I back into the wall, body pressed against it completely as the thing closes the distance step by tiny step. I kick out at it, causing it to stop just beyond my range before moving closer again. Again, I lash out and send my foot forward, connecting with the plush little stomach and sending it rolling back across the floor. It twists to sit up again, shaking its little head before staring up at me again. There is a completely silence for a moment, the feeling in my stomach churning harder and coming to a sickly stillness when the creature lets out a high-pitched wail. I wince, stumbling back and tripping into the corner, my weight crashing down upon riches. A few of the other mutts call in response to the one maintaining the note, adding harmony to the noise and creating a symphony of musical cries. Bewildered, I scramble back to get away from them as more draw near. My arms flail out at them, keeping them at bay for a short amount of time, but the terror in me grows all the more.

I won't be killed by rats, but marshmallow people. My heart is thrumming quickly behind my caging ribs and my lungs are working fast to keep me alive. They've all come to circle me, their soulless sounds cutting short when they part. Up the middle comes the little one I kicked, tiny legs pushing it forward gracefully until it stands at my feet. I almost kick out at it again, but it moves before I have the chance. It waddles quickly up by my side, eyes staring straight through me. There's a fluttering in my chest for a moment before it calms, my eyes getting heavy and my limbs going slack. There's a peace in me that I haven't felt in a very long time. I can practically feel the fear being siphoned from my veins, leaving only warm blood to soothe me with every pump of my heart. I am oh so tired and I just want to sleep.

Slowly, I twist so I can remove my backpack and set it beside me. The cooing crowd draws closer, some of them daring to reach out and touch me. I just watch in slight amazement as they all waddle over as one. My eyes flit between their faces, trying to note the differences of their haunting blankness; a wider mouth, lopsided eyes, ovular heads. They're all very similar, but none of them are the same. I catch sight of two of them tugging over a little bag, but can't be bothered to move to inspect it any further than my sight can see. I don't count them, even now when they're so near. My body is shaking as I curl up, trying to maintain the calm that was given to me, but unable to let go of the thoughts that whirl inside of me. What if these little spirits have come to take me, kill me softly with gentle touches and soothing sounds? I am immobile and without cause to fight if I am so near death. A king should die among his wealth and I am doing just that, it seems. I am dying to the music of whispering winds from far away and flickering lights all around. I can't even bring myself to mourn my own loss, my very soul settled deep in resignation and undeniable peace.

Just before the wind rushes through and extinguishes all of the torches above, a little creature snuggles into my arms and wills me to sleep. So I do.

[Noah has received one day's worth of food from the Kodama.]

[wimdy]

WHOOPS HI THUNDY THIS IS DELETE ME #1

[wimdy]

WHOOPS HI THUNDY THIS IS DELETE ME #2