(lone wolves) /. { pillar, hyacinth, jenoah } .\ (day five)

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

P I L L A R  F R A Y

 

The roar of two cannons burns in her ears as she walks through the Granite Flat — one for the life that she burned away, and the other for someone that she cannot place. Three faces linger in her mind as she lets herself dwell on who it could be; her lost boys and lost girl. And when she turns to look over her shoulder and doesn't see them trailing behind her, it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth that causes her throat to tighten. She feels something that she isn't able place, but in truth, she doesn't want to define it. She doesn't want the reality of missing her friends to come to light — because it's easier to just write off the gnawing feeling in her stomach as something that is less raw and real. 

Letting herself worry over lives that aren't her own is nothing but a disaster waiting to tear apart the foundation of her entirety, and she's not interested in letting herself break. Not here, and not today. She used to think that the way she would often act was selfish, but now she knows the truth: everyone in this place is out for themselves — each tribute is hungry to see a new break of dawn each day, and they're all willing to do whatever it takes to reach the next bar of the ladder that they've been forced to cling to with sweaty palms.

She sighs and runs her fingers through her hair as she trails off from her inward pondering, coming to a halt in order to tie her blonde locks up into a messy knot and push the stray strands out of her face. Her sword hangs at her side, the strap of her satchel hooked across her shoulder, and when she finishes her adjustments, she takes a moment to scan the area. The rain has started to fade, nothing but a sprinkle that leaves behind the distant sound of pattering. Unlike before, she doesn't smile at the sight of the beauty. The smell of smoke still lingers with each breath, and she knows that there's no comfort to be found here.

Voices take hold of her attention, neck craning itself to catch sight of the figures that take shape across the way. She stands there for a few seconds, watching them and trying to determine who they might be. But dark skin and a length of brown hair tell her the identities that she is searching for: Jenoah and Hyacinth, from Eight and Twelve. She swallows, knowing one for the murder of Myara, and the other for her impressive score during the private training sessions — and for the fact that she was once the ally of the young man that she killed just moments prior. She doesn't remember Jenoah having any part in their group, which causes her brow to furrow in confusion. It seems as if the majority of alliances were separated by the storm, so with an inhale, she makes the decision to close the space between her and the older tributes. Two cannons have fired on the fifth day, and she walks with courage over to the pair

— because two lives have already been stolen, and just for today, she's tired of all the death.

"Hey!" she calls out, keeping her voice as steady and calm as she can manage. She steps closer to them, staying wary and tensing her body. "I hope that I'm not getting in the way of something," she starts, biting her lip when she realizes how awkward it is to be striking up a casual conversation. "I've already been through enough shit this morning, so I just—" she takes a moment to locate the correct words before shaking her head in defeat. "I don't know what there is to say, honestly, but I promise that there's no threat from me today." She smiles, one that causes the corners of her lips to twitch upwards weakly, but it's still an offered pact of peace between the trio.

But when she notices the body lying a short distance behind the boy and girl, she feels a chill run through her. The familiar boom from earlier echoes through her mind, and when she deciphers that the form is masculine, she isn't able stop herself from asking the question that now burns like fire on her tongue.

"Who was he? And which one of you killed him?"

D I S T R I C T  ●  O N E

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

j e n o a h

I have changed. In such a short moment, I have drastically changed. How is that even possible? Death does funny things to people. Grief shadowed me for so long after mother died, I was no longer the little boy, I had to grow up, my maternal figure was gone. But father never cried, his cheeks were never stained with tears, grief did not latch onto him after his wife died. My father is not like any man, my father is the devil and I am the devil’s son. He tried so hide behind the Ripred persona but in reality, he is the cause of all the evil in this world. He put me here. He made me take those three souls for him to harvest and he killed my friend. That is why I have to go home, to free my family from an eternity of living alongside of him…

Such ridiculous thoughts Jenoah.

Oh I don’t know. I do not know what to think or who to blame, I have already blamed myself for the road that life has lead me down, that did not help much. Nothing, there is nothing out there to help me, it is just me. The only help I had has gone; my allies are nowhere to be seen. It is just me in this world. Oh lonely little Jenoah, having to fend for himself. Walking the path of life with nobody but himself, no hands to guide him, no friends to comfort him, just lonely little Jenoah.

I can just fight the thoughts but every fight I have been in has ended up in my killing something, is it possible for someone to live without their mind? There is a thing of growing used to something, I just have to grow used to the battle of my conscience.

I push myself off of the saturated ground, moving away from Reese’s body. I turn my back to him, my face to Hyacinth, the ten foot proximity between us still there. If I were her, that sword would be in my back, not in the dirt like it is. My bond with the glaive is hard to break so instead of joining in with the treaty, I just loosen the grip, allowing it to dangle on the left side of my body. If I had a mirror, I bet my appearance has changed just as much as what has inside. Not only am I wearing a ridiculously torn costume but I bet my eyes under the fancy dress mask look dead.

I pull the mask from my face, allowing it to drop down to my neck. The rain is soaking through my clothes to my skin; I don’t want my eyes to drown under the mask. The climate probably replicates the drama that is unfolding in every corner of the arena. Such ill-mannered and dull clouds, coughing out moisture to dampen the already disastrous mood in here, the gamemakers could at least switch the sun on. The smouldering scent of the supposed body in the distance still lingers in my nostrils; it is certainly one aroma that I will never be able to wash away. Even the musty fragrance of the rain on the earth cannot help eradicate it.

"Hey!" A female voice breaks my thoughts and I look up, thinking that I had fallen silent with Hyacinth. "I hope that I'm not getting in the way of something," It is the girl from One, Asha’s District partner, the relative to the recent victor, Pillar. "I've already been through enough shit this morning, so I just—" Her body language seems rather awkward, forcing me to grip tight onto the glaive. "I don't know what there is to say, honestly, but I promise that there's no threat from me today." She wants a peace pact? What are we to do, huddle together and share stories? Should I really trust a career?

Oh look Jenoah, another pile of questions.

"Who was he? And which one of you killed him?"

I grit my teeth, remembering the elephant in the room that lies on the ground. I have killed two of her allies. Will this peace with her last long, if I cough up the truth? I glance to Hyacinth and then back to Pillar. My fingers wrap around the handle of the glaive, blood rushing to the tips. If I don’t tell her, Hyacinth will and well, I am sure this girl has just barbecued another tribute. It could have been Asha or Desimae.

”It was uhm-.” My words come out hesitantly, I scold myself by biting my bottom lip. I just need to get it out quickly. ”I killed him. It was me. I killed the District Seven boy, Reese…your ally.” I could apologise for killing him but I have done that a lot and it hasn’t helped bring them back.

[Python]

H Y A C I N T H  M O R T U U S

"One of the Capitol’s toys, a great furry mutation,”

She remembered the beast from her second day, a white ferocity capable of tearing humans limb from limb. It was forged by the Capitol as a killing machine, resembling a basement laboratory experiment gone haywire. Muttations like this were meant to execute tributes with one swipe. It had nearly split her spine with its enormous claws, leaving an itchy red ribbon across the nape of her neck. She supposed she should feel grateful; another inch deeper and she would’ve seen black. Her heart would’ve stopped in the blink of an eye, the flash of a light, and she would not be here today to mourn Mitchell’s death.

She wanted to imagine his death was painless.

”It slit his throat. He didn’t suffer.”

But she didn’t know.

Surely, there had been a second of chest-crushing fear. The sudden loss of breath, the spurting of blood, the pain of having one’s neck split open – was that truly a lack of suffering? He would’ve died within seconds, but those would be the worst seconds of his life. The very end, spent sputtering and drowning in his own blood. She gulped away the ache she felt in her chest. On the first day they met, crammed into a train, he had downed a drink and offered her the same. She wished she could have five of those drinks, because she craved the numbness that had sustained her back home. The ice in her heart had melted over Mordecai and Mitchell. She felt vulnerable now, and she didn’t want it to show. Looking Deja in the eyes yesterday – what did she feel? Nothing? Or did she want it to be nothing?

”I hope you’re right,” she mused, the rain falling against her cheeks. They resembled tears she would never shed. ”He didn’t deserve to suffer.”

And somehow, through the icy mist hovering above their granite platforms, she smelled suffering. It was the familiar stench of a roasting fire, and in the distance she noticed a narrow plume of smoke rising from a fixed point. Something, or someone, was burning, and it wasn’t firewood.

A figure seemed to emerge from the smoke like a rising shadow. It revealed itself as Pillar Fray, an enemy she didn’t want to encounter. Her grip on the sword tightened; if she had to lift her blade and defend herself, she would. But it was not a fight Pillar wanted. She announced herself as a nonthreatening intruder, and Hyacinth didn’t know whether to trust the word of a strange career or not.

Pillar’s demeanor changed abruptly, eyes glued to the corpse that lay behind Mordecai’s killer. It dawned on Hyacinth a moment later; he had been the Fray girl’s ally, and now she was here to witness his demise – or what remained of it.

”What an awkward situation,” she mumbled.

She admired the boy’s honesty, admitting that he had killed the girl’s friend, Reese. It seemed everyone had a reason to kill this boy, but she would not risk being outnumbered. Perhaps the Fray girl wouldn’t care, and revenge was meaningless here. She was sure it felt like warm justice bubbling in one’s chest, but today she was not interested.

So she didn’t move.

”I have a question too,” she chimed in, wondering if either of them would lash out. This was a game of death, after all, and they were all ripe for the picking. ”What did you just burn?”

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

P I L L A R  F R A Y

 

The tributes greet her with a tensing of their bodies, just as she had tightened her own — and for the first few moments of their interaction, the air holds nothing but a thick and constricting weight of awkwardness. Her words had been met with shifting glances and pursed lips, fingers wrapping tightly around limply hanging weapons, but she doesn't express that she's taken any offense from their reactions. She holds a white flag of peace above her, watching as it waves like a beacon of hope through the storm — but it's stained in red, and she's learned the hard way that friends don't exist here. Honeyed words and weak smiles don't change the fact that only one of them will make it out of the arena alive. All that you have is yourself in this place.

But she still swallows a gasp when the boy admits to his murder — and her chest starts to burn when he tells her one of the two names that she had been hoping not to hear. A hand flies up to her mouth in shock, but she plays it off by rubbing something nonexistent away from her chin. She lets herself catch her breath before responding, calming herself down from the revelation. "I respect your honesty," she starts, recognizing the amount of guts that are needed to tell the ally of your victim that is was you who stole their life. She moves her gaze back over to the body, noticing the damage that has been done to Reese's head. "It was a quick death, wasn't it?" She looks away from the blood that trails down his face and drips into a puddle near his eye — she knows that it had been.

"Good. He at least deserved to die quickly," she adds, unhooking her satchel from her shoulder and tossing it to the ground — not giving herself the chance to think about the panic and fear that must have filled Reese's last few minutes of being alive. She drops her sword beside it, not afraid of being the first of the trio to make themselves defenseless. "I can't fault you for surviving," she says, pulling out a bundle of firewood. "Listen," she goes on, looking up to stare at Jenoah with understanding eyes. "I know that this can't be easy for you." She looks at the girl from Twelve, not hearing her mumbled worlds. "For any of us."

"And I'm not looking to become friends with either of you, and I know damn well that each of us is ready to stab the other in the back just as soon as we turn around. But we don't have to be killers right now. None of us asked for this — to be here. I never wanted to kill anyone, and I know that you didn't want to kill Reese, Jenoah. And I get that that's just how the Games work — but right here and right now? We can just pretend; pretend that we're not going to want to see each other dead by tomorrow. Don't you guys think that we deserve at least one damn break from this shit?"

She lays out the wood with a sigh, making the preparations to build a fire. When Hyacinth speaks, she knows what's coming, and she fights back the urge to wince. The smell of the smoke grows stronger, and she pauses long enough to inhale. "He's not a what. His name was Bolts — and he was your ally, right?" She glances back to Jenoah after making her confession, smirking with a defeated laugh. "See? It's like I said — we're all murderers here. I couldn't judge you even if I wanted to."

But the desire to nurture is still there, regardless of the blood that stains her hands. She rubs them together after removing her gloves, blowing a stray strand of blonde hair out of her face. "Okay, since we're all finally acquainted, I'm going to get this fire started now that the rain's beginning to die down. You're both welcome to make yourselves comfortable and enjoy the warmth." She pulls the goat cheese that she salvaged from Bolts' items out of her bag, looking up to Hyacinth's standing form. "Hungry?" she asks in an innocent voice, tossing it to the girl.

"There's something for you to remember your friend by — but it might be a little burnt."

D I S T R I C T  ●  O N E

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

j e n o a h

Such an awkward mood lingers in the air, the three of us stood as we are, it is such an anomaly. The flag of peace has been raised for the first time ever in this arena; I wonder what the game makers are thinking. Three cannons have sounded today, surely that is enough to suffice their need for death? Maybe it is time to have a short equilibrium, before the destruction persists tomorrow. But something is forcing my hand to grip onto the handle of the glaive; I feel like a child unworthy to surrender their toy. I have carried this thing for days; I can’t simply give it up now.

Admitting to killing the District Seven boy feels like a weight is being lifted from my chest, like a vile burden being wiped away although the fact won’t be erased permanently. If I am to be the one to survive to the end, every name of the lives that I have taken will forever linger in the back of my mind. Their families have likely already made enemies of me; they will be watching the televisions, hoping that the day is my last. I cannot beg for their forgiveness, I do not deserve it; like they didn’t deserve the agony that I have bestowed upon them.

”I don’t think he suffered.” I reply to the career girl as I take a quick glance down to his body. I don’t know how I performed such a kill, I didn’t know I had it in me.There has been a lot I have found out myself that I didn’t know was there because of these games…

I listen to the girl as she begins pulling out items from her bag, as if beginning to set up camp in this very unsheltered area. Am I to join her in this makeshift camp? It is like I have been invited to a family friend’s house for supper at the most awkward of times. Should I accept this bizarre invitation?

I place myself down onto the saturated ground, the ass of my black trousers immediately soaking up the moisture as I do; I hope the obvious fire that Pillar is preparing helps dry me out before it is night fall. I do not like the idea of spending the night shivering and soaked to my bone, I’ve been told hypothermia is painful death and I would rather go out by the hand of a tribute.

The glaive finally leaves my hand, taking a seat close besides me on the ground; it has to be near me but it at least it isn’t touching my body. I listen to the two girls as Hyacinth questions what the smouldering thing is in the distance, my thoughts on it being a body are correct. Bolts Spark, the boy from District Three, I never had the opportunity to converse with him in the training centre, and he was just another face. Another face who I struck with my glaive, fortunately he didn’t meet the same fate as Mordecai, Myara and Reese, instead he got roasted by Pillar. I dread to think of the type of pain he endured in those final moments.

I pull a plant from my sporran, hoping that my training in the centre wasn’t wasted as I assume it is a plant of an edible nature. The last time I ate was probably two days ago, yet I have not felt my stomach yearning for food, such a basic everyday need of survival and I have somehow forgotten about it. I take a bite out of the plant, the first couple of mouthfuls haven’t killed me off…yet, I might as well finish it off.

”How did you both get split up from your allies? What happened last night?”

It is ridiculous how unbeknownst I am to the events last night; it isn’t a coincidence that the three of us were wandering alone today. Something must have happened last night to split everyone up, and somehow I slept through it. I want to know what my body witnessed but my mind didn’t…

[Python]

H Y A C I N T H  M O R T U U S

The air was thick with a tension she couldn’t describe. Awkward, sinful, yet as harmless as the gentle raindrops falling against their broken halos. There was evidence of shock in Pillar’s mannerisms, and she wondered what kind of pain – if any – was stirring in her chest at the revelation. Reese had seemed like a cute, charming tribute with an endearing personality, the type who would tug at heartstrings the moment he left the big screens. Hyacinth hadn’t known him, and now she never would, but she could see from the gore of his face that his death had been swift. They could all be grateful for that.

Despite murder hanging in the air, neither of them seemed invested in a fight. The career even set down her sword, creating the widest opening for an ambush, yet nobody moved. Hyacinth decided to drop her guard as well. The Fray girl spoke reason; they were trapped within the choice to either survive or die, and when faced with obliteration she would skewer a few hearts for her own sake. Nobody could fault the other for valuing their own life. No matter how much she missed Mordecai, she could not feel angry at Jenoah for trying to win. Winning meant living, and it was not about the victory, but evading the unknown and terrifying clutches of death.

Pillar could pretend all she wanted; by the end of this Game, perhaps all three of them would be dead. Killed by each other’s hand or by the hand of another, ally or enemy. They were one in the same at this point. Ansgar and Bolts – she hoped to never see them again. Pillar and Jenoah, she wouldn’t care. Somehow that didn’t matter now. She would see both of them dead if given the choice and opportunity, but something kept them grounded today. Maybe it was Reese’s body collapsed nearby, a disturbing reminder of their new reality. Sitting around a campfire would not create bonds or mend feelings about dead allies, but it was a pause. They could be frozen in time for this one moment. An embracing of peace. Temporary, of course, but her weary bones would thank her.

She lowered herself to the ground, feeling the raindrops fade. The smoke in the distance had dissipated, and now there was a cause for it. ”He was your ally, right?” Bolts’ scorched body lay where the career girl had abandoned him, and there was no promise of a painless passing. It was impossible. Roasted alive in a rainstorm, the culprit standing among them with tar-stained weapons. If Bolts was out there, where was Ansgar?

”It’s like I said – we’re all murderers here.”

Murders committed with blood and silver, whilst Hyacinth was guilty of vials and secrecy. Her victims passed away in silence. No trace of their demise remained, yet here she was guiltless. The blood on her hands belonged to a girl who was already dying. Somehow, her sword wasn't tainted yet.

She had nothing to say about Bolts. There was nothing to say – he was gone, and complaining would do nothing to erase the agony he suffered.

”There's something for you to remember your friend by — but it might be a little burnt,”

It felt like salt in the wound. ”Thanks,” she said dryly, snatching the cheese. It was crisp around the edges, but still good. Despite instincts, she couldn’t waste her frustration on this career girl. If it was a snarky comment meant to stir a reaction, then she would give no indication that she was affected. Instead, she opened her pouch and let Buttercup roam about. ”This is Buttercup,” she said, stroking his fur. ”He’s all I have left. If you try to eat him, I’ll slit your throat.”

Then Jenoah begged the question; how did they all end up this way? Torn and alone.

”I left them.”

And now one of them was dead.

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

P I L L A R  F R A Y

 

Her words were pointed and sharp, but Hyacinth doesn't react with anything beyond a dry statement of gratitude. It causes the girl from One to purse her lips in thought, recognizing just how hateful her last remark had been — without it being necessary in the slightest. She looks down at her hands as the two tributes sit down, placing their weapons aside just as she had. It's a harsh truth to grapple with, but there's now a toxicity to her entirety that frightens her. Her eyes are always shifting, fingers always twitching — and maybe there's no way to escape the Games consuming you. Even when you can manage a smile and block out all the fires of Hell, you're still left burnt and changed

— and now her teeth are forever sharp, willing to tear apart anything that gets between her and victory.

But chapped lips close and hide a snarl before it can form, and she understands that now is not the time to wage war. Blue eyes glance up to the pair preparing their water and eating to fill their growling stomachs, and it's a scene that calms her. There's a peacefulness to it, somehow — a ragtag group of survivors feasting like bloody kings right beside of a dead body, with the fading smell of burnt flesh hanging in the air. Most would find themselves shaken and confused by the setting, wondering about how far they fell from grace to become so disgusting and vile, but there is only beauty to be found in this place. A sick, artificial kind. The Capitol finds a sense of wonder in trickling red and shattered marrow

— and she knows that they'll kiss the blood on her hands and call it their salvation if she makes it out alive.

Jenoah breaks the silence with a question, and she listens to Hyacinth's short words as she pops a handful of berries into her mouth. She chews, raising an eyebrow at the knowledge of Hyacinth having left her allies by choice. It seems that some alliances had a say in their separation, and for the rest, the arena gave them the final push needed to part ways. She sighs and leans forward with her flask, holding it over the fire and looking at Jenoah. "I didn't leave mine behind," she says, though it's not her intentions to vilify Hyacinth's decision. "There was an earthquake where we were camping. We had to run and save ourselves — but then the storm came, and we just never made it back to each other."

She doesn't look to Reese's body, but she knows that they'll understand who she's addressing. "It hurts knowing that I was so close; that I could have helped him," she goes on, sitting back and taking off the lid of her canteen. "But he would have had to die anyway, so I guess you saved me the trouble," she finishes with a detached shrug, finally satisfying her thirst by bringing the water up to her mouth. "What about you?" she asks, turning her attention back to the boy. "Did you lose yours, too, or was it your own choice to travel solo?" She looks down to the ground, tracing a slender finger across the small droplets of water that have been left clinging to the granite beneath her. She traces three lines, but then the sound of another cannon fires, and she adds another. "That makes four tributes dead today," she muses aloud, putting aside her flask after refilling it and pulling her knees up to her chest. "That leaves, what — seven of us now?" She grins weakly at the thought of the final eight interviews and what her family must be saying about her

— Kellan's sure to be enjoying the spotlight.

Both the memory of her brother and the fire warm her, and she finds herself watching the flames until they leave her seeing splashes of color and feeling the need to blink away the sensation of stinging. She rubs at her eyes with an unclothed hand, keeping them closed for a few moments and finding shelter in the darkness. She thinks about the lives that have been lost — about how the endless night must have felt to Reese, and she ponders if the young man from Twelve had died a quick death the day prior; he had been kind to her, and seeing his face in the sky had tasted bitter. Most of all, she wonders if Bolts' screams will haunt her in her sleep. Lips part as if she's going to answer herself, but a yawn is all that comes out. She removes her hand and squints at the sudden flash of light, shaking her head and toying with a strand of blonde hair that falls across her face. 

She takes notice of movement coming from where Hyacinth is sitting, and the sight of the cat that rests in the woman's arms is enough to make the younger girl's heart skip a beat. She says his name, speaking of him with a deep love that causes Pillar to smile, but the warm expression is broken by a gasp when Hyacinth suggests that her or Jenoah would attempt eating him. "I would never eat a cat!" she nearly shouts, but her features show only excitement and a childish look of intrigue. She scoots closer to Hyacinth without realizing it, outstretching a hand to the cat's face with a sharp inhale of anticipation. When he sniffs her fingers and licks them with a rough tongue, she's not able to stop herself from giggling. "Hi, Buttercup. I'm Pillar," she greets him, looking up to Hyacinth with the face of sixteen-year-old girl, not that of a murderous career who has killed two people. "He's awfully handsome."

She bites her lip, leaning back and fiddling with her hair. "Hey, Hyacinth? Listen — what I said about the goat cheese was a little insensitive. I don't know, maybe that was just my morbid humor talking — but it wasn't funny, and I'm sorry for being an ass." Part of her wants to keep talking; to confess how in another world, the two of them could have possibly been friends, but she realizes that she'll never see that reality come to be. She smirks with a chuckle, moving to sit right beside of Hyacinth and nudging the older girl's side with her elbow. "If we meet up again tomorrow, I promise that I'll give you the first swing."

She looks down to the cat, then back up to Hyacinth with blushing cheeks and an aura of happiness around her that shouldn't exist in a place like this

— "Can I hold him? Please? I promise that I'll be gentle."

And when the cat is placed in her arms, warm fur tickling her skin, the feeling of the cat purring takes her to a place that is outside of the arena. A better place; the kind that you have to dream of to visit. A world where her hands are stained only in cherry flavoring, stomach full on sweets and smile stretched wide. Two new friends sit beside her, and she holds Hyacinth's cat on her lap with a squealed 'awe!' It's a beautiful and charming thought

— but then she comes crashing back down to their harsh reality, hugging the cat tighter to her chest with a sigh that is sad and hollow; because the red on her hands isn't sweet, and she'll never come to know Hyacinth or Jenoah as friends.

{ Both of them have to die for her to live,

and it's a selfish longing

— but she hopes to see their faces in the stars. }

D I S T R I C T  ●  O N E