resfeber | areto & emerson

[alex 🐺]

“Ḕ tā̀n ḕ epì tâs.”

The words were repeated over and over and over in Emerson’s mind, the phrase nearly losing all meaning, slipping away like sand eroding on the shore, as Areto strides away, placing the falcata back on the weapons rack, the sway in her hips doing things to Emerson's fragile sense of self-control.

Emie watches her from the ground, her arms behind her to cushion the fall from Areto’s escape, her bangs in her eyes, and her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She’s frozen, motionless, rendered dumb and stupid and all because the girl from Four had deemed her worthy of her attention, if only for a brief moment in time before her own tide carried her away. She moves like water pulled against gravity, rising to her feet and making eye contact with Love, who stand a few paces away. He had seen it all and she flips him off for good measure. 

Emie’s heart screams to chase after Areto. Her body tells her that all she needs to do is place one foot in front of the other until she reaches the girl, spinning her in her arms like those cheesy fucking movies that she used to watch with giant bowls of popcorn with Tat and Rora, the characters in black and white always in some state of distress and yet, always so graceful in their romance. She’d grab her by the arm, pulling Areto flush with her body and demand answers. Demand—anything, really.

But her mind tells her that a lion never gives chase unless it knows that its prey could be caught. And Areto was certainly no prey. No, she was something else entirely. Maybe Emie's the prey here.

When Emerson finds herself at the door of the District Four apartments, her hand poised to knock, she nearly turns and escapes back to the safety of her room three floors down. She nearly leaves, but then growls at herself because she’s a lion, dammit. Because—she was—girls are so fucking complicated and Emerson didn’t know the first thing to say to Areto other than the very thing that had brought her to her door tonight, the night before the Bloodbath.

Her face had been scrubbed clean of makeup hours before, her hair hangs wet and curling in the recycled air, she’s dressed in a charcoal grey hoodie and black leggings, and all she needs to do is knock on the door and demand to know exactly what Areto had meant when she had walked away two days ago. She couldn’t think of anything else. She wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing what it meant because tomorrow could bring any number of surprises and Emie was so desperately tired of waiting for fate to play its hand. Maybe the universe just needed a little push. 

She’d tried looking in the history books that took up space in the tiny library tucked into the back corner of the Training Center for the meaning to the phrase, but after hours of fruitless searching, during which Loathe had come to sit as close to Emerson as he could, his long limbs taking up much-needed desk space and his music blasting out of his stupid fucking headphones until he had relented and shared with Emerson who had threatened bodily harm to his favorite assets, she’d found nothing. Absolutely nothing. Maybe she had the wording wrong, but no, she remembered clearly how Areto’s voice had sounded, like a psalm, like a benediction. Like a knife to the aorta when all you wanted to do was pull it out, knowing it would seal your death warrant.

But she’d found nothing—nothing at all that could point her in any sort of direction to learn anything about Areto.

Love knew exactly what she was looking for and why, Emie could tell, because the smirk that he wore on his lips was one that spoke of truths whispered that somehow had made their way to his keen ears. He’d nudged a book closer to her at one point, about islands off the coast of Four and she wanted nothing more than to smack him upside the head with it. She wasn’t even sure what the fuck he was doing here other than keeping tabs on her, carefully cataloging weaknesses in his never-ending inventory of her sins. He’d hold this against her until the day she died, she was sure of it, but then again, she held his closest secret, guarded like a precious jewel. They both owed each other, it seems. And it was always best to keep your enemies closer, wasn’t it?

The door swings open and before she can lose her nerve, Emerson smiles and says boldly, “Come with me, I want to show you something,” and spins on her heels, heading for the stairwell that would lead them to the roof.

[tick 12a / calla]

A R E T O

► ► ►

Areto expects the night before the Bloodbath to be a quiet one. Bubby's already gone to bed, and Areto suspects that he'll be sick before morning comes. The boy had looked nervous, swaying like he was on the deck of a ship and not on the solid tile flooring of their rooms. Beck and Annie had gone over last minute strategizing with them both before telling them to get some sleep.

Tomorrow would be a big day, after all.

And Areto's in their little kitchenette, stirring honey into two cups of tea. The Capitol stuff tastes and looks different, a bunch of brightly coloured leaves in little bags, but the principle is the same, and the warmth seeping through the porcelain is enough to warm her hands and calm her nerves.

She pushes one of the cups towards the Avox waiting up with her. There's three of them that frequent their floor, Areto's noticed, and she doesn't know why they seem to shy away from her and almost everyone else. She'd tried to talk to one on the first day, but their eyes had widened and their shoulders had hunched and Areto was at a loss to what she did wrong. Then she had seen one of the trainers in the hall act like the Avox was nothing more than a piece of furniture, and something deep in Areto started to simmer.

This time, the Avox glances between the cup on the table and Areto, obviously unsure, but she just gives them a little hopeful smile. And she almost thinks that they might take it, that she might finally be making some progress, but a knock at the door disrupts the moment and the Avox jumps back to attention.

"I'll get it." Areto says quietly, fluttering her hand above the Avox's arm when she passes, careful not to touch and spook them.

She turns the knob and is surprised to see Emerson Le Roux on the other side.

Areto would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about the other girl since the fiasco down in the training centre. She had watched her train after, sneaking the smallest glances while helping Blade learn her fishing knots, and had been pleased to see her actually trying again. It was more than a little thrilling to watch. Especially after having her own run ins with Julian and Love, Areto really doesn't know how the other girl deals with them. There's a whole other layer of Emerson's strength hidden there.

This time, Areto barely even sees Emerson's face before she's turning and walking, but that small sliver she gets? Emerson looks strangely vulnerable. But her voice is confident, and if Areto was a lesser woman, she would say she's impressed. But she's not. Because she knew that Emerson had this in her - whatever this is.

Maybe proud is the better word.

Areto watches Emerson take another step away, then glances back into her rooms where her tea and bed are waiting.

She follows Emerson.

"I hope you're not leading me somewhere to kill me." She glances over at the lioness, following the curve of her jawline, "You'll have to wait until tomorrow for that."

[alex 🐺]

Emie hears more than sees Areto following her, the door to the District Four apartments closing softly behind her. She thinks she smells lavender and camomile with a subtle hint of honey, but that could just be all in her head.

And Emerson could have chosen the elevators in the opposite direction to take them to the roof, but the feeling of time slipping through her fingers like shards of glass was already causing an acute ache in the pit of her stomach. It’s an ache that she knows was put there by Areto, seemingly by accident. But it’s there nonetheless and Emerson wanted to delay things as much as possible, especially before tomorrow.

She wants to linger. She wants to linger with Areto, on begged and borrowed time.

A quick shove at the door to the stairwell and in holding it open for Areto, she’s able to finally look at the girl. Her nerves flash and thunder and she’s finding it hard to take a breath, let alone a step forward. As Areto’s hand touches hers on the doorframe, Emie feels her cheeks color, tinges of pink high on her cheekbones.

Areto speaks then, and it’s definitely not as clipped and cold as it had been during their interviews with Caesar. She’s not guarded now, Emie hopes, reading her posture and seeing the ease at which she carries herself, so sure of the calm grace that radiates from her every movement. It’s so unlike the way she was all harsh lines and edges in the interview. Emie had given too much away then, showed her hand with a delicious flourish and a ferocious smile, and Areto wouldn’t even give a damn inch when it had been her turn. Emie had watched it all with her lips pursed, chewing off her lipstick.

"I hope you're not leading me somewhere to kill me. You'll have to wait until tomorrow for that."

Emerson feels herself falter then, nearly tripping up the first stair. “I don’t think you would have come with me if you thought anything was going to happen to you,” she says simply as she recovers, her hand gripping the railing to keep her upright. She had a thought to reach out to Areto but that seemed too bold.

They pass the sixth, seventh, and eighth floors before Emerson speaks again, if only to give a small clue to Areto as to her intentions.

“I don’t know anything about where you’re from, but the last night that I spent with my twin brother before his Reaping was on the roof of our house. It was our last moment of peace together. I thought—I don’t know what I thought—and I don’t know what the sky will look like tomorrow in the Arena, but we’re probably going to be on opposite sides of it and I wanted to exist here with you, underneath the constellations. Just for a moment.” Emerson pauses, chancing a glance to her side, eyes tracing the lines of Areto’s neck and shoulders.

[tick 12a / calla]

A R E T O

► ► ►

She trails after Emerson in the same way Eurydice had trailed after Orpheus and tries not to think about the implications.

“I don’t think you would have come with me if you thought anything was going to happen to you,” Emerson says from the step above her, and Areto doesn't say anything back, she just hums.

So what if she does want something to happen? It won't matter in twenty four hours. She can keep this little feeling and this little moment until then.

Because Emerson, as smart as she is, is very very wrong. Areto would follow the other girl wherever she wanted, even if it was off the side of a cliff. There's just something magnetic about her, and Areto quite feels like a little moon circling around great Jupiter.

“I don’t know anything about where you’re from," Emerson continues, and Areto nods even though she knows the other girl can't see it. The island was good at keeping its secrets, its inhabitants even more so. When Areto had told Bellamy that story just short days ago, she'd felt something claw at the back of the throat and try to stop it. But it was worth pushing through for the look on the boys face, the way his eyes had lit up when Areto had told him of Polyphemus's destruction.

So it's no surprise that Emerson is unaware of the island. Even people in Four doubt its existence.

Emerson mentions her brother, and some part of Areto huffs at that. Julian was enough. She doesn't need to hear about any more of the Le Roux men. Besides, Areto can't even imagine having a twin. Having someone so similar to yourself? Even in face? She takes pride in being herself, no one else, and the thought of having to share that with someone else makes her recoil. She has enough camaraderie in herself and in her family, she knows herself well enough to not want to see her face anywhere other than the mirror.

"I don’t know what the sky will look like tomorrow in the Arena, but we’re probably going to be on opposite sides of it."

And Areto, well, that puts the slightest damper on her spirits, "You could still change your mind." She says, but it falls flat between them. Areto knows that Emerson's made her choice, and as much as she wishes she could drag the other girl away from those boys, she can't. That's not her place.

But her face softens, as does her voice, when they climb the final flight of stairs, "I'm honoured that you want to spend that moment of peace with me."

The stars are bright when they reach the roof, and Areto's eyes follow patterns that seem familiar and foreign all at once. She takes a moment to breathe in the night air and feel the breeze against her face. This is what living is - these little snippets of time where it feels like nothing else in the world even exists.

Areto raises her arm over Emerson's shoulder to point at one cluster, lining up the view with Emerson's eyes and tracing a constellation design with her finger "Megáli Gáta." She says, breath fluttering against the girl's neck, then she takes a step away and looks at Emerson slyly, "The lion."

"They say its hide couldn't be pierced by any mortal weapon. It devoured every man that sailed to challenge it and was awarded a place in the sky for its prowess."

She grins gently and crosses her arms, walking backwards along the concrete, "Sounds like someone else I know."

[alex 🐺]

She receives no response from Areto, just a hum as they pass the tenth and eleventh floors, the sound of their feet on the concrete steps echoing like heartbeats. No response could mean any number of things. It could mean that she trusts Emerson—which is so unlikely because Areto didn’t seem the type to trust anyone. Or it could mean that she had a knife up her sleeve and was going to take any opportunity she could to corner the lioness unaware. That seemed even more unlikely.

Maybe she—somehow—and for some reason that Emerson couldn’t begin to fathom, felt the same. A girl could dream.

"You could still change your mind." Areto says, the words falling between them like a bomb exploding.

How could Emie begin to tell Areto that the decision was made for her, by her, the moment that she had stepped on the train to the Capitol? How could she begin to convince Areto that her family, their pride that had been torn apart twice now, was all that she had? She couldn’t—they’d never see eye to eye. Areto swam alone, a shark with her head above the water, who did not concern herself with the whims and desires of minnows, while Emerson thrived in the thrill of a pack at her back.

Emie could change her mind, but she won’t, and she tells Areto as much with a grim smile, her eyes nearly sparkling.

“You know I can’t.” Not yet, at least, she wants to add, but that’s far too vulnerable, even for how out of her depths she feels around Areto. Maybe it had something to do with the way Areto kicked her feet out from under her and tipped the scales in her favor days ago.

"I'm honoured that you want to spend that moment of peace with me." Areto says a moment later, a balm on Emie’s fragile sense of self because—she ached for Areto’s approval. Ever since she had walked away from Emerson, she couldn’t think of anything, anyone else. She knew it was selfish to need someone else so badly, to crave Areto’s presence when everything around them was a temporary castle built up with falsehoods and slathered with layers and layers of illusions. But Emerson also knew that this was her one chance for something true, for something she could carry with her through whatever they were going to face tomorrow.

Emie had heard tell of a space on the roof, just above the thirteenth floor of the tribute apartments where one could see the stars. She was sure that light pollution and skyscrapers would obscure much of the night sky, but after greasing a few palms and ensuring that no one would bother them as they made their way out onto the rooftop, the view doesn’t disappoint.

She’s struck momentarily dumb because even though they’re the same stars that shine in District One, she’s never been this high up before and certainly doesn’t expect to feel Areto’s arm around her shoulder, her breath warm against her neck and tickling her cheek as she explains a particular constellation, far too quickly for Emie who hadn’t even found the North Star yet. Emerson turns her head half an inch, her heart hammering in her chest.

Don’t move away, don’t move away, Emie wants to beg her.

"Megáli Gáta." Areto explains before she drops her arm stepping away and to the side. Emerson misses her presence the moment it’s gone. “The lion. They say its hide couldn't be pierced by any mortal weapon. It devoured every man that sailed to challenge it and was awarded a place in the sky for its prowess."

Areto walks backward from her, a challenge and dare wrapped up in the way she steps slowly, not watching her progress, trusting Emie to guide her. Emerson can’t help but follow, scoffing at Areto’s last statement as she bites on her lip—"Sounds like someone else I know."

It makes Emerson laugh, so unlike the laughter that had filtered out of her mouth during the interview. There was no artifice here, there couldn’t be. She wanted something real, to be someone real, and whomever she had been on that stage had been shed the moment she had left it. Respect and recognition from the girl next to her wouldn’t come from any illusion.

“And here I thought I could impress you with my knowledge of the celestial sky and try to point out Bellatrix or Scutum, but I should have known that you would be immune to such charms.” Emerson teases, a grin lighting up her face, joining Areto at the opposite ledge, her hands grasping the metal barrier in front of her because she didn’t trust her hands at the moment. And she trusted herself far less. Seeing Areto breathe the night air, seeing the way that she carries herself with such ease makes Emerson want to rage against all of the gods, the old and the new, for just twenty-four more hours. Twenty- four more hours to simply be.

“You said something when you walked away from me in the Training Center,” Emie begins slowly, turning to Areto and meeting her gaze. Her eyes drew Emerson in—they always seemed to— because there was something about the way the light from the moon was coloring her irises, with flecks of gold shining next to amber drops, like splashes of honey. “What was it?”

[tick 12a / calla]

A R E T O

► ► ►

Emerson's laugh reminds Areto acutely of Acis's river and the way that the water trickles against the rocks. It feels like the coolness of the stream on a summer day, that icy chill that comes when the girls wade in up to their calves after a long run.

“The stars have different names depending on who's seeing them. Scutum,” she tests, rolling over the strange syllables, “I’m not familiar with. I was never one for learning about the sky anyways. I always found the earth more interesting - the plants and the animals and the soil.”

Emerson sounds like she knows what she's talking about though, and Areto wonders if she had grown up on stories of celestial heroes and beasts like she had, “Maybe we can compare notes.”

“And I never said I was immune to them.” Areto shrugs and tries to look nonchalant. She tries to look natural in the face of all this, but “There’s plenty impressive about you.”

Her face colours and she marks it as a traitor.

“You said something when you walked away from me in the Training Center.”

Areto tenses without meaning to. She looks down at the way her hands grip around the railing of the roof and something clouds over her face.

It was one thing to share stories and names from the island, but it was another to even begin divulging their language. It was something that the Amazons clung fiercely to, a final scrap of the old world that couldn’t be torn from their grasp. It was sacred and hidden and they had no records of it written down. It existed in their minds and in their minds alone. Using it with Emerson had been a lapse of judgement. She had been exhilarated and suddenly carefree, like a young soldier seeing battle for the first time.

“It’s a phrase my mother used before I left.” She says carefully, "There’s no true translation. That's how most of the language works.”

“It’s a very old saying.” She adds. Then she's quite for a long moment, tapping a finger against the rail in a steady rhythm. There are crickets chirping somewhere, and Areto wonders if they're real or just a recording. She's not sure which would surprise her more, but she finds herself comforting by their little song either way.

“Either with shield or upon it.” She says, so quiet it's almost a whisper, eyes looking resolutely out at the stars, “Honour or Death. I am expected to return home proudly and free of cowardice, or I will not return at all.”

Areto watches her fist clench around metal and feels herself sway in the breeze.

"The way would be barred to me."

And it's terrifying. It's frightening to think that she could lose her home so quickly. Believing in yourself is half the battle, she supposes, but when she actually enters the arena, will she run? Will she do herself proud and hold her chin high or will she beg for a quicker execution than she deserves?

"We learn from a very young age to face Death head on." She laughs but there's no humour in it - "How could we not? The island is kind but it is not merciful. I've seen girls fall to sickness and injury and sometimes to nothing at all."

Her eyes clench shut but Areto can still see the stars burned into the back of her eyelids.

"My mother is a healer." She says in explanation, something bitter lacing her tone "There was time when I understood poultices and salves better than blades and arrows."

"But that's why I pushed you." She sighs, and maybe it's because Areto is just as afraid as Emerson is. Maybe she's just as reluctant to admit it. Maybe she's selfish. “Ḕ tā̀n ḕ epì tâs. I can't put myself against someone who doesn't fight to their fullest.”

Areto offers the smallest smile then, trying to soothe the tidal wave that had just crash over her, "It would be a slight against us both."

[alex 🐺]

Emerson feels the calmness that she’s been seeking suddenly wash over her. This is what she wanted with Areto. A moment to breathe without pretense. A second to exist and just be without any sort of mask in place. As if she was saying, here I am, take it or leave it. It's refreshing. It's terrifying. She wants to soak up all of it and bottle it to drink from for the next few days. She wasn’t sure she would ever feel the same way again for as long as she lived.

“The stars have different names depending on who's seeing them. Scutum,” Areto says slowly, “I’m not familiar with. I was never one for learning about the sky anyways. I always found the earth more interesting - the plants and the animals and the soil. Maybe we can compare notes.”

“Well, Scutum is the shield. It was named for a king long dead. None of the stars shine brighter than Alpha Scuti. Or your eyes." Emerson says simply, and she takes the moment to step closer to Areto, her arm brushing the other girl’s as she points to the night’s sky. She isn’t as comfortable placing her whole body around Areto’s like a shield but she lingers in her space as long as she can, breathing a sigh of relief before stepping away. She was always better with something in her hands than with the memorization that the stars demanded.

“And I never said I was immune to them. There’s plenty impressive about you.” Emie takes the victories where she can, storing them up for later, like badges she can place upon her chest and preen about later. It means nothing. It means everything. She smiles despite herself.

Emerson wants to tell her just how impressed she is by Areto, how she can’t think of anything but the way the girl dances with a blade or wields a knife like it’s a true extension of her arm, but she listens when Areto opens up about her life. It’s the closest she’s ever going to get to being on the island with Areto, beneath the sun and hearing the waves crashing upon the shore and she wants to grasp and hold and cherish every single moment. Life here was far too fleeting and it was slipping away with each heartbeat.

"We learn from a very young age to face Death head-on." Areto’s laugh is hollow and Emie wants to hear it again and again. She wants to coax it from her. "How could we not? The island is kind but it is not merciful. I've seen girls fall to sickness and injury and sometimes to nothing at all." She's hearing secrets that never have hit her ears  or the ears of those from the mainland and she's enthralled, in rapture. Areto could be talking about the weather and she would be hanging on every word. 

She seems pained talking about her past, her life, and Emie wonders for a moment why they didn’t meet earlier, why she couldn't learn about this so much sooner. Her life is so different from everything that Emerson has ever known. There’s no honor in Emerson’s fighting. There’s only winning and the will to get there, no matter what. Tradition and ceremony have no place when one gets to the top and the other falls. It’s all about position and posturing and family backing. And the Le Rouxs had enough to ensure a victory again and again.

"My mother is a healer. There was a time when I understood poultices and salves better than blades and arrows. But that's why I pushed you.” A pause, and Emie recognizes this moment for what it is. Two orbits suddenly colliding for a brief moment in time. She knows they will move away from each other, but grasps at the eclipse, at the perihelion, looks right into the face of the star that Areto truly is.

“Ḕ tā̀n ḕ epì tâs. I can't put myself against someone who doesn't fight to their fullest. It would be a slight against us both."

Emerson isn’t sure what she’s supposed to say, but she steps closer to Areto, invading her space and giving the girl the option to step away but hoping against hope that she doesn’t.

“I can promise you an honest fight, but I don’t want to think about tomorrow. I don’t want to think about the steel and armor that could separate us. I just want to remember the night sky and the way it makes your eyes sparkle, Areto. I can think about everything else later.”

She hoped it was enough for her. It might not be. The desires of the flesh seemed so beneath her, despite the way her cheeks colored under the stars moments before.