to your health. [day 5 - all tributes]

[aya]

Under the rafters in the old mill sits a long table, draped in a gingham cloth and flanked by a dozen chairs. Long before you've even entered the room, you're struck by the aromas of the feast laid on top of it: of rotisserie birds and roasted vegetables, of mulled cider and spiced wine, of pie crust, flaky and buttery, and of fresh bread, still warm, as though it was pulled from the oven mere moments prior.

The banquet laid out before you is even richer and more splendid than your nose would have you believe: casseroles filled with green beans and a rich mushroom cream, sprinkled with fried shallots and toasted almond slivers; a rainbow assortment of sweet potatoes yams, each halved and baked with a lake of butter shimmering atop each orange and yellow and purple tuber; roasted duck and turkey with skin golden, crisp, and glistening; ham glazed with orange rum sauce and studded with cloves and peppercorns; a fleet of gravy boats: mushroom and onion situated amongst turkey and duck and bacon sauces; rendered cranberries, tart and sweet and still warm; a mountain of creamy mashed potatoes, dusted with chives and ready to be topped with butter or molasses or gravy; piles of rolls and loaves, the flair and style of each district captured in the crust, from flecks of seaweed to flecks of bacon, to slices made entirely of cornmeal instead; rings of roast delicata squash, acorn squashed halved and baked, pumpkins and turnips and sweet potatoes broiled and turned into soup; sprigs of rosemary and thyme and lightly crisped sage leaves decorate the piles of roast vegetables and stuffing; inexplicable bowls of popcorn and jelly beans and rock candy dot the table between butter dishes and salt shakers.

An additional course sits on the sideboard, an assortment of berries bursting through the intricate lattices of half a dozen fruit pies, each alternating with pumpkin or pecan or custard or chocolate cream, and flanked by large trays of bread pudding and spice cake.

What little room is left on the table is occupied by the place settings, and it is clear that the Gamemakers have set out their good porcelain: the rim of each plate and bowl, saucer and mug, is decorated with etchings you find recognizable and chilling. Scenes from the Games, past and present, ring each dish. If this was meant to be a feast of merriment, why add the reminders of each of the attendees' murders and misdeeds?

In the center of each plate sits colorful paper twisted around tubes and tied with ribbons. It opens with a festive snap! to reveal a flimsy paper crown in primary colors, a ring with a familiar face delicately painted on an oval of black onyx, and a strip of paper which reads: Have you thanked the Capitol lately?

Enjoy your feast, tributes.

To your health.


----

You must post in this thread at some point during Day 5. You may also post in additional threads should you wish.

Initiative order does not need to be followed as this is not a fight.

Additional posts beyond your one required post count for leisure time, regardless of whether or not they are in this thread or a separate thread.

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

The Lonely Coven slept under a blanket of stars. When morning came, Milo woke refreshed for the first time in the arena. He'd slept on his good side, supported and book ended by Delaney and Ridley. For a dreamy moment, he forgot where he was, what had happened, and just indulged in the safety of friendship.

The dream evaporated with the morning dew, leaving him legless and feverish.

"I think I'm hallucinating," he said through a yawn. "It smells like home. Well, not like my home, we never had money for anything that smelled this good. But like the holidays in the district center, everyone baking their best treats, trotting out the fattest geese. You ever have anything like that?" He asked his allies, smacking his lips.

They came away a little greasy.

He sat as upright as he could manage, then grabbed hold of Ridley to come to leaning. They crept, carefully, slowly, to the side of the old mill.

"Well, I'll be," he whispered, then slunk back to the safety of the water's edge. They conferred, mostly Delaney and Ridley making the decision to accept the Gamemakers' invitation. As they approached a second time, Milo asked for Delaney's assistance. When he was sure Ridley was far enough ahead, he whispered, "is it too weird to ask her on a date to this macabre feast? Do you think she'd say yes?"

Is it worth it if she says no?

In the end, in the doorway to the mill, he decided it was. He led with a devilish grin, his crooked arm outstretched for her. "Ridley Le Roux, may I escort you inside?"

They sat at one end of the table, backs straight. Milo fingered the edges of his plate, thumb grazing over Harbinger Rhodes' visage. He hadn't picked the spot for the District Eleven art but now that it was in front of him, it was like he was meant to be here with Ridley and Delaney. For half a second he thought about reserving a chair for Charisma, and then the other tributes began to trickle in.

"Over the river and through the wood," he sang, coughed on something thick and tinged with iron. He lifted both hands, palms facing the others. "The Gamemakers," he managed by way of explanation.

Table credit shrimp

[esther kim d3 {lance}]

Slate Rothul, from District Nine, is her name. Forever weighing down your shoulders with the soul you took from her until your last breath.

There's no Cole to talk to you in his own snarky way, no Torren to offer advice with an easy-going grin. Just Reyes and his own brooding manner, just Asari Rhodes and her ill-disguised grief.

You offer to take first watch in spite of that. And then first watch turns into the only watch as your demons tear away at whatever morality you had left.

But tiredness doesn't claim you, not immediately. You walk the next day as if in a fog, crossing the riverbank and headed towards an unknown destination as if compelled by forces unknown. Or maybe you just started walking and the others followed to be polite. You're not quite sure anymore.

But before long, another landmark appears on the horizon, the first on this side of the river, and like a moth to the flame you find yourself drawn to it. Only when you arrive at the rusted old building, you find not only the symptoms of age and decay, but a table laden with foods of the sort you'd seen back at the Capitol.

And three very familiar faces.

"The Gamemakers," Milo Miloslavsky offers by way of explanation, as if that was to make much sense in the grand scheme of things. And in truth, you recognize this setup in doing if not by name - a gathering two years ago, a fancy tea party eight Games past. A feigned attempt at peace and prosperity in the midst of wrath and ruin, a brief respite as if to lull the survivors into a false sense of security.

Perhaps it's your exhaustion from a lack of night's sleep. Perhaps it's the demons that dance across your face and crawl across your skin. Whatever the case, you've seen what follows these sort of things - a fight with a gargantuan mutt that ended in the death of four people. A hallucinatory drug that caused the users to damage themselves as much as others in the following day.

The food is so, so tempting. But you do not trust the trio across from you. And you do not trust the Capitol or anything that might come from it.

So you tighten your grip on your axe and turn back to your followers. "I don't trust this shit," you muttered, soft enough for only Reyes and Asari to hear. "Something about this gives me a bad feeling."

You've seen this before. Gifts laid out in opulence in the midst of a war rarely have anything good come from them. And it's not like you'll die if you just up and leave - even if a singular pie suddenly pales in comparison to the literal feast in front of you.

But at this point, you're too tired to protest come what may. So you'll follow the lead of the others.

[goat]

She was still covered in blood when her and her allies noticed the carefully designed feast. Her clothes were permanently stained, that was a given, but she’d made no effort to scrub the blood off her skin. Her face was still half-red and splattered, her hair matted with gore. She thought it gave out a good message— this is what I’m capable of, don’t fuck with me.

Considering the Gamemakers’ apparent plan for the day, it seemed it was going to be a useful message.

She and her allies conferred. “I don’t trust this,” Delaney started, “But I am hungry. Besides, if anyone tries anything, I can just kill them.”

The corner of her mouth quirked at the last part, even though it wasn’t funny. Just sad.

As they made their way toward the table, Milo pulled her aside. “Is it too weird to ask her on a date to this macabre feast? Do you think she'd say yes?”

“Buddy, you can do whatever you want. Don’t let my opinion stop you.” She looked out at Ridley, strong Ridley, walking ahead of them. “But if you guys wanna bang tonight, I’ll look away.”

The scene of all the indulgent food laid out for their consumption was almost too much for her. She felt her stomach growl, an ugly noise, as if it was gnawing at her insides already. She wanted to dive in with her hands, grab chunks of meats and potatoes, shove them into her mouth without any care as to what the others thought, then go back for seconds and thirds and fourths. She decided had to stay composed, though. After all, somebody had sent her those fancy satin gloves, as if they were taunting her for what she was not.

They settled at one end of the table. Delaney ran her fingers over the pristine tableware, etched with scenes that grew in familiarity as she studied them more. On her mug, a boy falling endlessly through space. On the rim of her plate, a girl being gored through the eye by a skeletal creature. Inside her bowl, a different girl cutting out her own tongue. It seemed this place had been set for somebody from somewhere else, but Delaney was already sitting there, so it had to be hers now.

She wanted desperately to dig into the food, but everyone else was playing coy, and she figured drawing attention to herself wasn’t a smart mood. Instead, she reached out to one of the piles of party crackers and handed them out to her allies. “On the count of three, yeah?” she said, before ditching the countdown and popping hers open.

Out fell a yellow paper crown, a thin strip of paper, and a ring. She reached for the jewelry first, turning it over to reveal the deep onyx oval. There was a face inside it. It was her sister’s.

She stared at the ring, cold fear pooling in her stomach, and then she slammed it down onto the table and hoped the stone cracked. After all Harlow had done to escape the grips of the Capitol, they’d roped her into their games anyway. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t—

“Fuck this.”

She grabbed one of the wine bottles and tilted her head back.

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Asari Rhodes

He's gone.

A broken world sits before her leaving a winding path along the way. Nothing makes sense anymore, yet she finds herself trying to move on. Sapphire and Reyes are two new friends, but it's not the same as having the crabby career around. Saying goodbye is the hardest thing ever, listening to his last breaths. Staying at his side was important, and hopefully it meant something to him.

She'll never know.

Ugly tears stream down her cheeks dripping onto the coloring book resting on her lap. Why bother feeling the pain? It's not a family member, and he had to die, but it's the loss of a companion. Ubbe became a brother in this awful place, and now he's gone.

Sapphire offers to take first watch, and Asari simply nods her head. At least someone is watching giving her the chance to lose herself inside the coloring book forgetting the events of the day, but it only lasts a moment. The lantern offers just enough light as her hands glide across the pages until four pictures are complete.

Setting the book and crayons aside, placing them in her bag Asari rests her head on the cold ground beneath her, and all she can do is stare at the sky until sleep consumes her.

In the morning, Asari follows the others walking slowly behind the trying to keep up, but even then the directions aren't simple. Crossing the riverbank, and heading another way - this place all looks the same.

It's cold, and each breath is visible before her eyes. The uniform is doing very little to keep the chill away. Every hair stands on end until the fresh scent of home cooked food reaches her. For a moment, she feels like she's home, but it's taken away from her the moment they reach a place with food spread across many tables. It's food she's enjoyed once in her life, and it's something she'll never have the chance to enjoy again.

Milo's voice is the first she hears, and a soft grin spreads from ear to ear until she notices he's not as whole as he sounds. Her heart sinks into the pits of her stomach, but she knows not to stare. Another girl arrives, and Asari isn't sure what to do. She killed him, and while it's hard sitting next to her, she knows this isn't a fight she can win.

She doesn't say a word as she walks around the tables taking it all in. Perhaps it's a trap, or maybe it's good to enjoy a home cooked meal one last time before her face lights up the sky.

Seventeen | District Eleven | Female

[googlefont="Oswald:400"]

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

The night is long, and terrible — but the sun still comes. It rests on my skin like a stain, like something I cannot wash away. And it's warm, but it's bright, and there are things that I do not wish to see. Like the axes that have taken the place of my hands, and the scars on my body that have not closed. That cannot close.

Every wound is fresh, a memory that replays over and over in my mind — and I have stood on the edge of death for so long, that now I don't know where else to go. I don't think I will ever feel safe again. And maybe that will keep me alive, or maybe dying would be kinder. But I have blades in my grasp now, always, and I will never stop fighting.

I am relentless ;

and I am graceless.

And when I walk, I refuse to show how much it hurts. Not here, not now, not in the light — my tears are sacred to the moon, and to my reflection. And that doesn't make me strong, or special; it just means that I'm a girl that wants to be more than her pain. I am in agony, and all the wolves are here, but I will not be their feast.

Something else has come
to satisfy their hunger.

And it is my hunger, too. I smell the food before I hear the voices, and I move forward against my caution. A grand scene spreads out before me, faces and whispers and a thousand delights. I see strangers, and I see the reasons for my torn flesh. I know all of these people — and all the same, I don't know a single soul here. But I know my own, and I do not deny myself pleasure.

"Well, boys, it looks like we've earned a day off." I flash a smile at my allies, trying to rebuild myself into the playful girl that they first came to know. It had been easier for them to hate me back then, when I was confident and selfish and whole, but now all of their hatred is gone — and all I see in their eyes is pity. I would prefer the cruelness.

I nudge Vargen with my shoulder, approaching the food and turning back at him with a pout. "Help a girl out?" I look away before I can consider my words, before I let it sink in that I need his assistance. And it makes me sick, that I can't even feed myself anymore; but I keep that grin on my lips, never letting the colour drain from my cheeks. I tell myself I just want to be spoiled — I play pretend.

I nod at all the treats I crave, watching as the plate in his hands begins to tower to the point of nearly toppling over — and I move my gaze to the familiar faces, to the girl from Seven and the boy from Eight. The tributes that stole from me, that have torn into me two days now. And here I am, and there they are, and I'm on my feet. And I'm smiling. I told them they wouldn't be able to kill me, and I meant it.

"Scared to treat yourself?" I purr the words at Sapphire, leaning to the side and sipping from a drink that Vargen holds up for me; I lick up the aftertaste, blowing a sugary kiss. "I didn't take you for a coward."

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

Sleep is a much-needed gift, happily unwrapped and I even dispose of the paper. Silence takes hold of an empty alliance, there are no career boys to mutter through the night. Just the girl whose voice I have yet to hear and the murderer in our midst. May blood stain her axe, if that blood is not mine, she can keep on barging through the doors to get me to the other side. Career boys are an old fashion, the District Seven girl is the must have this season for any skinny boy daring to volunteer for the games.

Each breathe I take now is another surprise to add to the mix. No scars to carry and my hidden injury is barely noticeable, just an ache with every sharp movement. Now the numbers are dwindling and there will no longer be any ruined souls to hide behind. Soon old traditions will follow, and I will be pitted against a foe likely stronger than I. Basically, I am fucked once this alliance is dispersed. Thoughts of going solo have disappeared, soon there will be no choice. So that’s that lesson learnt then, it is not always a good idea to venture a cruel world as a free agent.

Fuck, I forget to wake for my watch, but I blame the others for not disturbing my slumber despite being at peace for once, even it was for about four or five hours.

It is time to leave behind the familiarities of the river, I carry no daring ace to step into its shores or even hitch a ride on the boat as it lands at the pier every hour. There really is no time for ticking anything on the bucket list, not when every second of the day is being mapped out for me.

Finally, new scenery to perform a drama, a backdrop of a familiar looking building. Despite looking derelict, it is like the working mills back home except it does not carry a musty smell. Its aroma is spellbinding, any empty stomach could so easily be drawn to its doors. Ahh – it is clearly a fucking trap! I burst through the doors, too late on thinking that a blade could easily slice my throat as I step through the entrance but worse happens…

Well acquainted foes sit around the clear as day banquet of a trap. I did not spend four hours watching archives to forget about the madness and thrills of one of the recent quarter quells, thankfully Sapphire has opened to the same page as me. "Something about this gives me a bad feeling."

Though the warmth of the mulled apple cider is enough just for me to take in its scent. ”It will probably give you a bad feeling tomorrow, indigestion really sucks.” I take my place next to Sapphire, swiping the largest glass of the cider. I take no hesitation on hiding the moment Jenoah Rasoio lost his fingers to the District Ten victor with a dollop of mashed potato on the plate before me. Every piece of cutlery and eating apparatus has a reminder of where we really are but let’s enjoy this last meal.

I take in the faces around me, handless still breaths and has acquired her own carer. ”Penelope, it is nice to see you have found yourself a helping hand.” I dart her a smile, patting the handle of the sword that rests on the table besides me.

I raise my glass to those that dare tuck into the clear trap of peace. ”To the days of death that will follow our final meal!”

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

calling out for the lonely, i am going home
i've been doing awful things again

i hear them laughing in my head
i went out in the morning looking for a man

i could see you were the perfect one

We left her near the moss-cloaked riverbank for the icy waters and its murky depths to take. Slate Rothul, feral. Slate Rothul, who was so eager to tear the world apart into hopeless shreds but ended up in a grave born from it. Slate Rothul, one of my monsters, dead and cold, her dark and wild eyes dulled by Death’s shroud, night-black wisps of her hair entwined with the flowers I’d found nearby.

I would had shed a tear for her if I hadn’t planned to kill her myself in the first place. I would had mourned her if I had the right heart to. But, my one purpose in this eternal autumn was forever a blade pressed to my throat; I felt it in each step, mused it in each thought, noticed it in each gaze at my allies’ battered forms—so plentiful with welds and soft openings where my axe’s silver tooth could bury itself in.

The world quieted afterwards, the sounds condensed to only our ragged breaths and the cold winds through the leaves: the cry of a looming winter. Hood carefully drawn around my silver hair, I prowled the snow-white expanse alone, my cape a trail of velvet-dark behind me as if though I dragged blood, or a corpse that’d drowned in it.

        I was the bloodstain on snow, the dark fleck.
        I would blemish this entire world if I could.

Night threw itself across the skies savagely but I did not rest, could not. I let the night pass by me, pass through me—stars and constellations and moonlight and all.

I memorized how many breaths Reggie Blume took in his sleep and thought about a thousand ways to make that breath skid to a halt. I glanced at the moonbeams that broke into slivers upon Penelope’s axe-hands and thought if I should take my axe to the rest of her.

Then, I winced at my own savagery, so painfully aware of it, each thought of murder a grotesque twinge of delight in my chest. I was born into this, I didn’t choose it. Volunteers could choose at the reaping post, make a decision to become the hero, the martyr-boned one, but my choice was made the moment the Forresters crowded around my flower-embossed cradle and named me their sacred firstborn.

        I was born to be the sacrificial blade,
        my soul inlaid with glistening silver.

The feast was decadent, glistening plates of cured meats and golden soups, the air perfumed by many herbs that even I could not name. It seemed too generous to be actual generosity—like the sickeningly-sweet honey on the jaws of a trap that would close after you’d tasted it.

Casting a wry bow, I glanced down at the engravings upon the plates. The studious talent of whoever or whichever machine that had etched the portraits showed clearly. I could see the bewilderment in the eyes of a girl that stared at a dark figure, draped with terrible flames that leapt from her sword. A boy with flowers growing from his wrist-bones; Francisco Bloom. Another boy, holding a blood-soaked spear, face twisted in a cruel expression at a dying girl. Two boys, skating down a hill with the stars aswirl around them. My own features that had grinned at Sapphire the other day, staring back at me.

“I don’t trust any of this,” I scowled to Penelope. My hand ached to slit the throats of everyone that had wandered in from all corners of the arena, each one in varying degrees of peril and ruin, adrift ghosts. But, her words, gentle, drew me away from my thoughts, if only for a second. “Help a girl out?” she asked, jutted her chin out at the food and then her axe-hands. I plastered a tiny smile across my face.

        “It would be my pleasure, m’lady.”

The smells that caressed my nostrils as I filled the plate with dollops of food were divine—my stomach growled.

But, paranoia sent another shiver down my spine, a warning, so I fed Penelope instead. If there was venom stirred in the food, let her have it, let her choke on it. 

“Penelope, it is nice to see you have found yourself a helping hand,” the one from besides Sapphire crooned, and I let my eyes touch his gaze, hold it. “Do you want one too, handsome?” I showed him my teeth, smiling saccharinely. “I have a few axes to take off your hands and two hands to feed you afterwards.”

i've been walking ahead for a while
and dragging your body behind

bye baby, i had a good time.
got them all collected in these boxes

underneath my bed, my bed.



lyrics: aurora — in boxes

[Stare]

Ridley Le Roux didn't know how to trust.

It wasn't a surprising fact. A girl plucked from the streets and then raised in a world of honor and glory, forced to hide her true, selfish, terrified nature, was bound to be wary. She didn't trust people to be loyal and she didn't trust luck to last. It was no wonder she had been practically a stranger in her own home, shutting herself out as much as she was shut out. Striving to be something she wasn't, all the while building a list of names as a safety net.

Not that it had done her any good.

So of course, she didn't trust the Feast. The Gamemakers wanted torment, so if they were encouraging peace now it was only because it would make the murders of the following days all the more heartbreaking. No one would be fooled - a table filled with food did not change the fact that eleven of them still had to die before the game was over. They were being fed, certainly, but in the same way that a pig was fed before the slaughter. Those thoughts and more were tangling in her mind when Milo interrupted her at the threshold.

"Ridley Le Roux, may I escort you inside?"

Ridley blinked at him. Her gut reaction was to quirk an eyebrow and point out that she'd been escorting him places since he'd lost his leg, but something told her that Milo wasn't joking. That didn't quite sit right. If he wasn't joking, it meant he genuinely cared. And who the hell could possibly care about Ridley Le Roux?

The answer, she realized, stood in front of her with a crooked smile and an arm stretched out toward her. Someone with a heart as big as Milo's.

She took his arm with a grin of her own, the first one since they'd entered the Arena. "It would be an honor."

When they sat down at the table Ridley put all the table manners she'd learned from Pax on full display. No need to embarrass her family by acting like a savage. She helped herself to a glass of wine before Delaney helped herself to the entire bottle but left her plate bare, folding her hands on the table. "It's lovely," she murmured, glancing at the piles of food. There was a distinct pang in her stomach, but she'd felt worse. "Shame I'm not hungry."

And for once, it wasn't because she didn't trust the food. It came from a genuine place of anger, self-respect, honor. She would not take food from the hand that was planning on gutting her the very next day. She would not play into the Capitol's game of making friends and then murdering them. She already had two-too-many people she cared about in the Arena. So instead of feasting and making conversation she simply waited for a lull in the hum of voices around the table before saying the only thing that she needed them all to know.

"Torren Jaroux wants roses on his grave."

And then Ridley sipped another glass of wine and remained silent.

table credit goes to the fabulous shrimp!

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

"Something about this gives me a bad feeling."

Milo considers Sapphire's assessment. He nods slowly. "Everything here does. But this?" He sweeps his good hand towards the glistening, perfectly prepared smorgasbord. "It'd be boring to kill us all off by poisoning. Besides, it smells fine. It even -" He reaches out, at the same time letting his knee slip to rest against Ridley's, the only indication he's even a little bit nervous. He takes a leg of duck, the meat ruby red, the fat crackling, and chomps down.

A little grease dribbles down his chin as he winks in what he hopes is reassurance at Sapphire. He can't say anything, because he's gobbling the food down, dangerously close to swallowing the bones.

“Fuck this.”

He pauses, just for a moment, to watch Delaney absolutely destroy a bottle of wine. And then he's got his hand in a green bean casserole, the boat of gravy, soaking a bread roll, then reaching for a yam, a spiral slice of ham. He's never been so hunger in his life, and that's really saying something.

His hand is a sticky mess of the feast when he takes a quick breather and finds none other than Asari Rhodes standing across the table. "Hi!" He says a bit too loudly, too enthusiastically. He shoots a glance at the other tributes before lowering his voice. "I don't think that chair's taken. How are you holding up?" His dirty brow knits together.

"To the days of death that will follow our final meal!”

His glass is empty. Maybe it's a good thing. He couldn't toast to those words, couldn't fathom cheering for the end of anyone - even the kids in this room, some of whom surely wanted him dead. And if not him, one of his allies, and he couldn't imagine life without them any more. An honor, Ridley had said.

He tips his glass towards her, hoping she'll oblige and fill it to the brim.

"Torren Jaroux wants roses on his grave."

He knows the words aren't for him. There's absolutely nothing he can do for Torren. But maybe there is something he can do for Ridley. "There might be some flowers along the waterway. We can check, if you want? Maybe after dessert?" He glances meaningfully at the sideboard, somehow starving all over again.

Table credit shrimp

[goat]

Milo was using his hands to eat. He was taking his bare hands, hands that were by no means clean, and digging them into the dishes of food that were meant for everybody. It was bold, and a little rude, and Delaney felt her chest swell with admiration. They owed nothing to the other kids that were sitting around the table. She had never cared much about what other people thought of her, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“We’re doing this, yeah?” She said, setting her wine bottle down and gesturing between Milo’s hands and the food. “Fuck yeah. Let’s do it.”

She leaned across the table and shoved her fist into the beautiful pile of mashed potatoes. She almost felt bad for destroying something that looked so nice, but one bite of the soft, creamy potatoes erased any guilt she would have felt. They had nice food like this back in Two, sure, but after being in the arena for five days, it felt like she’d been starving for seventeen years.

While she licked the clumps of potato off her hands, she took the time to observe the other tributes. This was the closest she’d physically been to some of them without trying to kill them. The way they were interacting with each other seemed so stilted, so fake. It was rubbing Delaney the wrong way. She preferred to channel her anger into that, instead of dwelling any further on her sister’s face inside that ring.

“You all are so dramatic,” she said, throwing herself back into her chair with an exaggerated sigh. “My god. This is real fucking life, you know. Not some Capitolite soap opera. Whatever awards you’re trying to win don’t exist.”

She reached for her half-empty wine bottle with her free hand. “Less bullshit, more drinking, thank you!”

[Kire]

His sleep had been interrupted by a boy and a girl. They had walked into the place he was hiding and shoved him awake. "Efram, wake him up. He seems useful enough." Coming to alertness, he nearly swung his pole arm into the boy's skull before realizing that they didn't mean to hurt him. In fact, after a few minutes of careful talk, he found that they might be able to provide him with a small amount of protection. If anything, though, he was more likely to be the one to protect them.

The girl seemed somewhat self-indulged, like she had some sort of title. The boy - who she appeared to boss around rather a lot - was more subdued. They didn't set his hackles on edge like Milo and the girls those few days ago. There was a level of desperation within all of them that had led them each to admit their own vulnerability to each other. If any of them were to turn on one another it would be a case of mutual destruction. Of course he, as the most recent addition of the three of them, was on the losing end of any internal conflicts that might come up. He would simply have to hope that they continued to have greater problems to worry about than each other.

After assuring themselves that they wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night to one of the others slitting their throat, they settled down to wait out the night.

--- --- ---

The sun brought with it the smell of one hundred kitchens. They pieced themselves back together and Curt began to walk toward the smell. Efram and Bell, each rubbing a raw wrist where they were once bound, took a moment to follow him. He kept his weapon in his hand at all times, wary about being attacked out of the blue as they walked. Twice now he had come upon other people when he wasn't expecting to and both times had been terrifying. He was sure he had been incredibly lucky to escape with his life not once but three times - if he counted the fight with the tree. This was not a day that he wanted to risk a fourth incident.

The crazy thing was that when he finally reached the source of the mouthwatering smells, he was the only one with a weapon drawn. That was, if you didn't count the fancy cutlery that decorated the table. Feasts in the Games were usually bloody, sordid affairs. This one, it seemed, was actually a moment of rest and refill.

He didn't like it at all.

The sight of Milo and two of his gal pals was enough to set him on edge. Maybe this time Milo would try to help him by breaking his head instead of his leg and apologize when he couldn't fix it. He felt his lip curl in disdain - whether completely at the thought of Milo or influenced by his own bitterness he didn't know. In a place like this he couldn't really afford to be fair.

Other tributes were here, too, faces that he hadn't seen at all over the last five days. He wasn't sure if they scared him more or less for that fact. Yes, they had all managed to live this long which meant killing someone else, and yes there were people who had changed over the course of the last few days. Still, those arguments could be applied to him, too. After all, he had now killed two people and a tree-mutt. He might have the highest record of everyone here - or he might not.

Bell, as though echoing his unease, came up beside him and looked between himself and Efram - to the other side of her. "This is...oddly suspicious. Keep your guard up, I don't trust this." She was off toward the table before he could say anything, though he didn't have much to say to that other than that he agreed. He gave Efram a quick nod and followed Bell at a bit of a distance. He knew he would not partake, but he wanted to at least make sure she was safe while here. They had taken him in, despite the risk for all of them by doing so, and the least he could do was watch her back.

When Bell froze he froze too. He watched her hand clench, watched as red drops curled down the side of her hand. She was bleeding, not severely but bleeding in a place where she hadn't been before. Following her gaze he found himself looking at one of the other girls that were here. She had long dark hair and was paying absolutely zero attention to them. Sensing a missing piece to the story, he stood back to let Bell make her own decisions.

^{Table by Griffin}

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

Sleep found me easily.

My eyes were heavy. My body exhausted from the beating it took earlier that day. It was mere seconds before rest found me, and I did not wake up once until it was my turn to watch.

It was an easy sleep. One that felt deeper than the others, one that somehow felt safer. Maybe it was because there were two people surrounding me again instead of just one. Or maybe it was because everybody else in the Arena needed a break too.

The Gamemaker's must have thought so as well.

We were taunted by an enamoring smell. It seemed that every food you could ever imagine was all in one place. It felt like months since the last time I've smelled anything so delicious. Maybe never. The food at the mansion was sub-par most of the time. Our eyes all met, and without another word we headed in the direction towards the enticing smells.

Even though it seemed to scream the word danger.

The mill ahead contained a table that appeared to hold endless amounts of food, but the first thing that I noticed were the other tributes that had already gathered.

But more importantly how none of them were trying to kill each other.

Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to grab my weapons and fight, but it seemed that not a single one of the others had the same thoughts. I quickly looked at the two boys who stood on either side of me.

"This is...oddly suspicious. Keep your guard up, I don't trust this."

Without saying a word to the other tributes I made my way towards the table, determined to discover what this was really about it. I placed a piece of pie on my plate for show and pulled the ribbon to see what this was all about. My eyes scanned the note and a sigh escaped my lips. They did not seem to want us to fight either, so I decided to keep my weapons strapped safely to my waist.

For now.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed what else had fallen out of the tube.

A crown.

They must have known that their queen would be in attendance.

Quickly, before any more of the tributes had a chance to open their wrappers, I went around and opened each one to take the crowns. They stacked up on my arm quite nicely. I was the only queen here.

And there would be no false monarchs today.

Finally, I noticed one of the last gifts they had given us. A ring. The closer I looked I realized that it was Cole who's face was engraved onto it. A fury began to burn deep in my bones. He was taken too soon.

Too soon by a girl who was not worthy.

I looked up, and there she was, enjoying herself with a smile on her face. Now a fire consumed me. My hand squeezed tighter around the ring in my hand, and blood trickled down my arm as it cut deep. My fingers twitch for the weapons at my side but I stop myself.

Now is not the time or the place to start a war.

Every queen knows that bloodshed at a gathering is bad for one's reputation.

So let them eat their cake.

Because it might be the last piece they ever enjoy.

[sidney]

This doesn’t feel right.

How can any of them feast at a time like this? With blood on each of their hands, staining their skin and souls. It’s disrespectful, and as they all approach the large table lined with fine china and more food than I think I’ve ever seen in my entire life, I find myself apologizing to those that have already fallen. To the boy whose leg I’d severed. To the girl from Nine we lost just yesterday. To all the faces I barely know but have seen each night in the sky since we arrived.

I’m sorry, I think to myself quietly, almost flinching at the next bit of laughter that floats up and makes its way to my ears. I’m so, so sorry. Not that they can hear me, or even acknowledge me. But it makes me feel better anyway, to take that little piece of humanity that remains within myself and focus on it. To show empathy instead of zero consideration, which is all I can see before me now.

Some scarf down the food without question, shoveling the bits of meat and potatoes and freshly-baked pie right down into their gullets. Others are hesitant, sniffing the bread and sipping the water slowly. I nearly praise those who wait, those who show slight apprehension, scowling and gritting my teeth in the direction of those who partake, namely Penelope. Hasn’t she suffered enough?

Why on Earth would she, or anyone else for that matter, eat this food? Ripred only knows what they’ve done to it.

For all I know, the second I take a bite, my heart will stop—or worse, the effects don’t kick in until this supposed day of rest comes to a close, then my insides will turn to mush and I’ll be the cause of the next canon to sound. You’re being paranoid, a distant voice in my head slices through my thoughts to scold, though I can’t help but chuckle.

Better paranoid than foolishly killed.

So I keep my distance. I don’t approach the table and instead stay back, leftover leaves from the forest in my hand and freshly purified water in the other. This is my feast, and I spend it watching my enemies as they relax in the one place they should know not to because the second their guard is lowered, what’s to stop me from striking them down?

[ghosty]

efram.

Efram's steps slowed as he saw the other boy lying there, watching them. They wandered into his camp, if that was what sleeping in the arena was like. Camping. He never understood doing it for fun; it was nothing other than hell in this place, cold metal on his wrist in every living moment for the past almost week. He traced the red line on his wrist, as his mind raced to what Bell would say, would do. She didn't do what he expected, merely trusted him by his word. The Three didn't threaten them as a pair, not a chance. Efram hoped he didn't need to fear him. His threats held no weight, anymore. He saw what happened to Tommy, his tongue sharp with Efram's words, their sword sharper still.

He dreaded to close his eyes, in fear of seeing that sight again. Of Tommy's-- he wanted to sleep, not lie awake, thinking of it. He shut them, hoping for the pure darkness to greet him.

To his surprise it did.

{ --- }

He woke as the light started to rise through the trees into the daylight. And, for once he smelt something across the air, carried by the slight breeze through the trees. Cooked food. Ripred, was that a surprise. His curiosity from the smell was only beat by his confusion; Bell wasn't beside him, wrists held together like prisoners marching together. He never realised the freedom he'd lost, until he gained it back. Efram's fingers felt the gouge in the skin of his forearm. If he made it out of this place, which he doubted, it'd probably never heal. Slowly, and cautiously, the three of them followed the food, back into the factory where Tommy's cannon echoed through the walls. He spotted the table from far back, spotted with colors and piles upon piles of food. He heard Bell murmur, suspicions raised between the three of them. As they got nearer still, tension filled his muscles, ready to act. People. Everywhere. Despite that, he heard no shouting, or clashes of weapons. Just.. talking. He watched as Bell walked forwards, towards the table and the food that tried to tempt them closer, nearer. He didn't want to trust it, weary glances to the groups that dotted themselves all around the table.

They weren't the only ones doubting why everyone was here. Efram would have hoped so. Even so, everything did feel peaceful, and he felt his shoulders and neck release, and let out a deep sigh. Efram hated the tension that he'd been holding. It's the only way to survive. He thought that Ten was hard enough. Nothing compared to the arena though. One slip up, cannonfire, gone.

He didn't want to think like that, now. Efram's arms reached behind him, grabbing the bag off his shoulders. Might as well relax a little, as his scowl loosened, eyes blinking to focus on the little everything's happening around the table.

He never was one to join in the party. He adored the watching more. Efram just hoped that this would last. If but only for a day.