friendly fire // River

[Python]

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It has been too long to count the days since his home was stolen from him. The two houses were nestled a short ways away from one another in district six, each buzzing with their own strange activities and each with an identity that would never change. His father would still be locked away in his laboratory, badgering away at his assistant as he scrambled to please his superiors and earn the money he so desperately clung. In the true Keeni household, his half-siblings would all continue to earn their reputations as the freakshow circus of district six and out-weird each other weekly with new discoveries and ideas about their passions and fantasies. Bear would still be a cannibalistic, vulgar, asshole of an older brother, and everyone else would remain the same. The only difference was the absence of that extra spice of orange chaos - the fires we started, the things we destroyed. Gypsy and Pyrian had been plucked from their homes like fruits ripe for the picking, and as the days lingered and withered him to dust he felt himself separating by the seams, growing more distant from the past and from what he called “home”. The patches of dried skin like reptile’s scales had been smoothed to perfection, his blisters and white scars erased in just a matter of days when they were meant to trace his entire life. The Capitol changed him, and it had taken only a day to realize that the Games had changed him, too.

Blood, for example, was not supposed to be a norm. The sight of it, the stench of it, the sticky warmth to it - it had all been a bitter experience, watching himself shed it for the sake of other’s entertainment. Now he merely looked upon it with indifference, hands steady and gentle as he wiped the nuisance away from his eyes and bandaged his forehead. He wasn’t too happy about the recent scratches and abrasions, but he couldn’t neglect the sense of relief lingering by his side when he thought of how worse it could’ve been. He could be missing fingers, like Gypsy. He could be missing an eye from that death-trap built by someone obviously superior to him in strategy, wits, and physical combat. I could be dead. And he was supposed to be. Assuming that Elodie had perished from the flames or from the mutts clutches, there were only five tributes remaining. Three that were threats, one destined to die, and one that would wear a golden crown bathing in flames of victory. Three was still too large a number, especially knowing that Owen was still out there somewhere, alive and probably fighting viciously though every obstacle. Yes, Pyrian knew that he was meant to die, but there were still problems to take care of, and he wasn’t submitting his life until he could ensure Gypsy’s victory.

With that thought in mind, he hastily finished his first aid treatment, gathered his belongings, and climbed to his feet. There was no time to waste if Gypsy was alone out there, perhaps being pursued by someone or something. Three of the five tributes left were near the Treasure Hall, and if Gypsy had strayed far from it there was no reason to worry about Cricket. That didn’t eliminate Owen, though, and the feeling of uneasiness that had lied dormant was now invading his chest and anchoring him down with a feeling of dread. He had no idea what Gypsy or Owen were doing, and it was driving him to unbearable anxiety. Were they fighting mutts? Fighting each other? Had Owen died without his knowledge? Being a disabled boy that relied on his eyesight to survive, he didn’t enjoy being left in the dark. Curiosity and desperation plagued his heart and demanded that his creaking limbs continue through the brutality until he could find relief again. Just wait for me, Gypsy. I won’t let anyone touch you.

His limps were disturbingly loud and uneven as he staggered through brush and thick blankets of grass, away from the treacherous hall that promised only death rather than riches and splendor. The arena was an enormous battlefield and wasteland of old blood; the chances of colliding with a tribute were slim to none if he continued at this pace away from the treasure hall, which seemed to have turned into a magnet for danger. As his eyes darted frantically, the bushes and trees seemed to blur together and morph into shapes that resembled humans. Each one made his heart skip. The branches were like arms, the trunks like thick bodies. He had hoped one of them would reveal itself to be a real person, so he could either kill them or reunite if it was his sister. It wasn’t until he caught the spot of red against a green background that he paused and blinked, realizing that the human figure was not a trick of the eyes.

River. The blood returned to his knuckles as his tight grip around the hilt of his sword weakened. Of all people, River wasn’t somebody he wanted to slay, not now. Not in cold blood. Not after Noah’s brutal death. He still wanted to tell her somehow, to show her that he had tried to find closure by killing Asunder. That he had avenged Noah’s death, despite how unrewarding and sinful it felt. That he still felt guilty because it was his fault for keeping secrets, for not telling them. Just a few signs to Gypsy, and maybe they would’ve spared him. Or maybe it would just be a search for mercy in a place full of bloodthirsty killers.

[Pyrian gives River one medkit]

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[bg=222222][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style,width: 500px] so come on, put on your war paint crosswalks and crossed hearts and hope-to-dies seal the clouds with gray lining so we can take the world back from the heart-attacked one maniac at a time, we will take it back I run. I run until the world blurs, a scarlet-green haze of terror and could-have-beens swirling across my mind's eye and flooding my lungs with something I can't think clearly enough to place in my own perspective. I saw her fall, the girl from Five, not exactly by my hand but close enough. (The scent of burning flesh will haunt my dreams for however much longer I'm alive to have them. Who knows how long that will be? Death may even be a mercy if it allows me to escape the demons to which I've given life in this hell.) Pyrian's slurred order for us all to run still rings in my head, reverberating with each frantic pound of my feet and heart echoing off the gilded walls. I can hear the mutts snarling behind me, animalistic and ravenous as they tear into the dead girl's charred flesh, and the sound makes a sour burn of bile rise in my throat. Somewhere in the corner of my vision Cricket passes by in a graceful arc, a blur of languid limbs and an out-of-place smirk that's gone as quickly as it came. She's faster than me, but maybe that's only because of the fresh wounds slowing my progress, sticky-red dripping down my limbs and slicking the floor beneath my feet. The unmerciful heat of the sunshine has never felt more like salvation, searing into my already-sunburned skin as I emerge from the golden tomb with a shriek of almost-victory. I survived. Again. How long before my luck wears out? The thought is a harrowing one, my heartbeats transforming into the stuttered ticking of my life's clock with every step I take. Only when I'm a good twenty yards clear of the door do I stop to catch my breath, my hands frantically patting around to make sure I made it out with everything I need to survive - sword, food, water. With only six... no, five. There goes District Five's cannon... five left in the Arena, that's all I'll need. As the adrenaline fades, the pain encroaches, licking through my lacerated veins like liquid fire. It's nothing too terrible, just thin lines of red slashed across the top of my arm and the small of my back, but sweat worms its way into the wounds and stings viciously, prompting a low hiss before a flash of movement in my peripheral makes me jump back in surprise. My sword is up in a flash, the sun-warmed steel raised to guard me against- "Pyrian! Ripred, you scared me," I breathe out shakily, a hand pressed to my sternum in a futil effort to quell my frantic heartbeat. I'm not sure what it is, but the visceral, honest part of me knows that the boy from Six won't attack me. At least not yet. There isn't murder in his eyes, no malice in the way he holds himself, and his urgent cry for me to run still rings across my consciousness. We share common ground, Pyrian Keeni and I. We both lost Noah, and in the Hunger Games, shared grief is the closest you can come to friendship. "That was crazy," I say slowly, pronouncing the words carefully in accompaniment to my rough attempts at sign language. Pyrian probably thinks I look more than stupid, but it's the only sort of alternative communication I have. As my eyes readjust to the daylight, I look him over carefully, watching to see if any of the blood marring his too-bright clothes is fresh. "Those things came out of nowhere. Are you hurt?" There it is again. That inherent instinct to look after someone, rearing its head in the most unlikely of places. For so long that drive was focused on finding Noah, on keeping him safe, and the whole nation saw how that worked out. Now with no one else around, my attentions turn to Pyrian, my lips quirking downward as I lean over to get a closer look at him. "That trap looked pretty nasty - ow!" The motion pulls at the cut across my back, wrenching the fractured skin farther apart in a warm tide that soaks through my shirt. Wincing, I pull back, reaching around to press my hand against the sticky cotton. "Guess they got me worse than I thought. Doesn't matter, though." None of it matters. Before the ticking hours pass, both of us will be dead. I don't know when that very important fact slipped my mind. [River accepts the medical kit.] you know, time crawls on when you're waiting for the song to start so dance alone to the beat of your heart hey, young blood, doesn't it feel like our time is running out? i'm gonna change you like a remix then i'll raise you like a phoenix

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[Python]

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Following countless ambushes by gluttonous mutts and tributes alike the surprises concealed by the arena posed less of a threat to Pyrian’s thinned membrane of sanity’s boundary as he quietly approached death’s doorstep. Recalling the torched body of Elodie and the stench of the reptile mutts’ rancid breath as their razor teeth dripped in decayed blood brought him smaller amounts of discomfort and terror each time the images reappeared in his scrambled brain. Even Cricket - a wondrous piece of work with serpents for limbs and a rubber band as a spinal cord - was no longer a sight to bear fearfully. Her trap was ingenious, he would admit to that. With precise enough aim and a cooperative enough target the bundle of sharpened spikes would’ve rammed itself into his skull and ended his life in a matter of seconds, hopefully without a single drop of pain. But after narrowly avoiding his death yet again there was nothing he could do other than wait for death’s patience to run thin. He did not fret, he did not feel panicked, and he was far too weak to fear anymore traps the arena had in store for him.

When you’re waiting to die for someone else, there isn’t much point in fearing anything. Yet as he wished he could remain a hollow shell there was no rejecting his humanity.

His heart lurched wildly in an instinctive frenzy when River burst into his view, wielding her sword like the warriors they had all become. He closed his eyes briefly and panted to calm himself down, blinking among the shade of the trees to shield his sunburn from a scorching monster. She was relatively unscathed from the chaotic encounter with the exception of a few nasty cuts, much like himself. She tossed her hands up in further attempts to communicate with him as she spoke of the incident, though his eyes were only trained on her face. ‘Crazy’ was massive understatement - it had been utter chaos in motion, a storm of blood, fire, and gnashing teeth, and they had escaped somehow with only a few wounds to bear. He had already patched himself up in preparation for continued travel, away from buildings that tried to imprison him like an animal for slaughter, but it was evident by River’s state that she was either waiting to clean her wounds, or did not have the materials to do so.

Confirming his suspicion, her face contorted into a mask of affliction when she leaned to get a detailed glimpse of his forehead. Instead of reaching for medical materials she pressed her hand to her back and touched the wound he could not see. ”I guess they got me worse than I thought. Doesn’t matter, though.” A scratch on the back; he knew what it was like, being nearly unable to reach a wound so bothersome. He pursed his lips together and chewed the inside of his cheek, hesitating to acknowledge the idea that had flashed across his mind. There were three medical kits nestled in his bag, one from the bloodbath, one from the feast, and one he had found buried in treasure after he had stumbled over a wooden chest in the golden halls. Two he planned on giving to Gypsy once he found her, and the other he had stashed for his own sake. But he was planning to die, wasn’t he? At any time, any moment of the day, by any sort of means. Was there a point to wasting the supplies on himself?

He withdrew one of the kits from his bag and handed it to her, regardless of whether she protested or not. It was the least he could do after causing Noah’s death with his naivety. Medical kits weren’t a necessity, but they were helpful in preventing infection and further damage. If River was going to die, he’d rather her leave quickly and painlessly, not by any sort of poison that crawled sluggishly through the veins. His bag felt considerably lighter after she took it, and with his heart feeling weaker than a feather he moved to zip it up and sling it back over his shoulder. That’s when he spotted it among the supplies - a white shape streaked with pinks and pearl colors, an object he had found tucked away in Asunder’s bundle of supplies. It was a bizarre object he could not name, a hard surface with ridges and a swirl in the center with a hole resting casually on one side. He had recognized it immediately as Noah’s token, recalling the moments he had caught the boy toying with it in the training center, and had stored it in his bag as if he were saving a memory. He gingerly took it out of the bag and let it rest on his palm. It was property of Noah, and therefore property of district four; perhaps River knew what it was? She would have better use of it, being a girl from his district. She deserved it more than he did, so without wasting another moment stalling for conflicting emotions he extended his hand and offered the token of their beloved friend.

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[bg=222222][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style,width: 500px] so come on, put on your war paint crosswalks and crossed hearts and hope-to-dies seal the clouds with gray lining so we can take the world back from the heart-attacked one maniac at a time, we will take it back wip wip wip going to get some brunch and then filling in my posts [River uses 1 use of N/T for -5 damage] you know, time crawls on when you're waiting for the song to start so dance alone to the beat of your heart hey, young blood, doesn't it feel like our time is running out? i'm gonna change you like a remix then i'll raise you like a phoenix

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