"Yeah," she breathed, tensed still-- just in case. "We're still... you know. Friends, right?" she asked into the darkness. She wasn't exactly sure if they'd ever established that they were friends, but... she supposed if they weren't she'd be finding out soon enough.
"Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves," she said back, her voice falling into comfortable skepticism. She inched forward again, trying to make her steps as light as possible.
But what would she do? If this person wasn't Juno? It certainly sounded like Juno. And all things considered, it wasn't like she'd be able to fight particularly effectively in her current state. If this had been someone else, they would have run or rushed her, right?
"I lied," she said quickly, by way of providing an olive branch out. "I don't have a weapon. Had a knife, but the girl from the Capitol got it from me."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
âś“ Live Streamingâś“ Interactive Chatâś“ Private Showsâś“ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Juno sighed out a breath of relief at the sound of a familiar voice. She should be cautious (and she was), but Indie had really seemed to be on her side, right? And considering what she'd just been through, what she'd just done... she didn't want to be alone. She was afraid to be alone.
"Indie?" she squeaked, still holding the tweezers tight in her fist, but peeking her head around the corner, squinting in the darkness and praying it wouldn't mean an arrow to her forehead.
Indie's breath caught in her throat at the sound of her name called out from the darkness. She blinked rapidly, clawing at her eyes to knock blood and mud out of them. The voice was small and squeaky - it had to be:
"Juno?" Her voice cracked as she called back into the tunnel. "Is that you?" Stupid. Stupid question. Who would say no in response? Indie pressed her back against the wall and started inching forward as her eyes began to adjust.
Decima looked around. She knew this arena. she'd toured it twice. How many other tributes could say that? It was a credit in her direction, right? She had an idea, even though it wasn't a great one. There was no water, so Monty's suggestion there was out the window. but she could still hide a bit. that would work. So yes, she was running. The second the clock hit zero- just a beat after, she wasn't getting fucking blown up- She bolted.
Unfortunately, a hand grabbed her ankle, pulling her down.
She and Dan were not friends. They'd been in competition for Monty's attention, and... well, at least decima had known it. where's dan? who cares? "You." He muttered, clearly distracted a moment from his original target, locked on someone who he actually had beef with.
"Hey, Dan." Deci replied, recognizing his voice even as her face was nose-deep in the bloody dirt of the arena. "Hey, other girl. Want to team up before he kills both of us?" she asked, turning her neck to face Indigo.
Now there wasn't just one person who was motivated to kill her - there were two. But it took no time for Indigo's brain to catch up with the other girl's words. And if she was going to help Indie get out of this exact situation? Fine. So be it.
"Yeah, sounds great," she hissed back. "Just - help?" Indie managed to wrench an elbow out and jab it backwards, connecting with Dansen's sternum. She felt his breath fall out of him, and lashed her head back in an attempt to headbutt him. It missed, and with an angry growl, Dan grabbed her by the hair and slammed her face into the dirt. It didn't hurt, as the ground was slick and muddy with blood, but it did little to help the situation.
"You think you can kill me?" He growled, with a hint of laughter on his tongue. "Please, Decima, you couldn't even hold a knife if the hilt was labeled."
Juno had dropped into the tunnels in the wake of the bloodbath. She didn't want to stay long, she imagined that most of the other tributes would have the same idea, but she needed to take the risk to catch her breath, recover, and regroup her thoughts to strategize her next move.
Juno had never been much of a strategist, that had always been Jade's job as the eldest sister, and Juno hadn't inherited any of that. She caught herself with a prickling, betrayed feeling in her stomach-- she and Jade weren't even related, apparently.
In either case, all she could really do was try to parse out her next best move. She scooped up some of the snow, clumped on the ground near one of the holes in the ceiling, packing it together and pressing against her swollen cheek. It was probably blossoming into a deep purple-red, where the tribute had punched her before she--
She swallowed back bile. Next best move. She continued to move through the tunnels, getting a lay of them, moving carefully and quietly with the tweezers gripped tight in her dominant arm.
After about twenty minutes, she saw something move just beyond her in the shadows. With a soft, unbidden gasp, she dropped the snow, which hit the ground in a soft, slushy splat, and pressed herself against the wall, tweezers at the ready in case she needed to use them.
It felt as if Indigo had been running forever. Her shoulder was warm and painful, her blood seeping through to mix with the dried blood of a past soldier. Her wrist was in agony, but she could still close all her fingers, so it wasn't broken. But when she found a tunnel to drop into, she knew she had to take that option. It would be easy enough to defend an entrance, even if she had no weapons of her own to do so. The only risk would be someone coming through the tunnels on either side.
Which - of course - someone did. Indigo heard the splat of something off to her right as she stepped to the other side of the tunnel, and she dropped low. It was no use - they both knew the other was there. Willing as much confidence into her voice as she could, she called out a lie:
"You turn around, now. I've got a..." she almost said sword, but would that be believable? Also - what if they had a ranged weapon? Her voice faltered. "Bow. And arrows, too. I'm a good shot. Don't come any closer."
How many times could she stand being tackled before her ribs broke? It probably didn't matter - either they would break and she'd fight or they wouldn't and she'd fight. But it was with a yelp of pain that her face slammed into the dirt and her shoulder exploded in fresh agony.
She rolled with the momentum, feeling a body above her. She shot her head backwards and made painful contact with someone's chin, but she couldn't see who it was. They grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back before slamming it down into the dirt.
"Fuck!" she screamed, trying to get her body around. She could feel the knife in her hand, but it was twisted painfully under her body. One wrong move and she'd impale herself. Her assailant laughed - a wicked laugh - as he pulled her hair again.
"Gimmie the knife," he growled in her ear. "And I'll let you go."
"Get fucked," she spat back, with no power to enforce it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
âś“ Live Streamingâś“ Interactive Chatâś“ Private Showsâś“ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Shaky breaths and closed eyes are what got Indigo through the elevator into the Arena. She opened her eyes to an even greater horror than she could have imagined - an Arena she knew well. An Arena that had been shown in propos videos, in textbooks, on motivational posters taped to the walls of storage closets in the factory. This was a historical Arena, but she knew immediately there was no way that was all it was.
But no - time to focus. The countdown started and she drew her eyes to the Cornucopia, the wreckage ahead. She knew that if she was going to survive, she'd need something. Anything almost would do. The clock hit four and her decision was made, but an explosion to her left threw her off guard. It was so sudden; a scream, a thud, a boom, and then a burst of dust and viscera. Her breath caught in her throat.
Twenty five remained.
It sickened her that she had already done this, already reduced someone to a number. But ultimately, weren't they all? In the battle for a dismantled Panem, they all would be numbers at the end of it.
Three.
All of their dice had been cast, all of their cards drawn. There would be no Vox breakout of this Arena; the Vox had reclaimed this as their own. This was the legacy of Panem government. This was all it would ever be. Eight needed to be free.
Two.
Only one was getting out of this Arena alive. It was a factory, after all, of death. This was the end for twenty four more of these people, and there was nothing Indigo could do to alter that fact. The cogs were churning already. The only influence she could have was to choose to be one of the twenty four -
One.
-- or fight to be the one left standing.
Zero.
Indigo's legs moved faster than her brain. She sprinted forward. Was it going to be that easy? Just grab something and go? She dashed past the outer limits of supplies. Single packs of crackers, crushed under Tributes' boots. Zipped bags that could hold a single item. No. She needed more.
But already she could see that the Careers were in the thick of it. Bigger Tributes with stronger legs had already made it past her and into the heart of the goods. So, fine. She could settle, at least for now. Her eyes shot around and landed on a jacket. Perfect. She grabbed it and turned to run.
Pain exploded in her back. Then again. With a scream, she tripped and fell to the ground, clawing at her shoulder blade, only to see the culprit a few feet away. A nasty looking dagger, not built for throwing, covered in what she could somehow tell was her own blood. She rolled towards it and looked up to see an intimidating man towering over her. She could only barely see a 1 on his shoulder - was he truly a Career? He reached down and yanked the jacket from Indigo's grip. No - D11. Though it didn't matter. 1 or 11 - either would have to die or kill her. She reached for the dagger, but the Tribute stepped on her wrist. "Not today, Eight," he growled.
She yelled in pain as he scooped the dagger up. No - this couldn't be the end. No, she couldn't die so early. But then something hit him. a body, a rock, anything. It didn't matter. His foot was off her wrist, and he was tumbling to the side. It was all she needed - Indigo rolled in the dirt and scampered away, her eyesight swimming with agony.
No, no! She had barely found her way to her feet when she saw it. Saw her. A young girl, probably half Indigo's age. She was crying, curled down in a ball, and clutching a knife. She could have been any of Indigo's sisters: Yucca, Goldenrod, Bayley. She could have been any of the young girls on the factory line that Indigo supervised. She could have been anyone.
But she was a Tribute in the Hunger Games - and she had a knife. Indigo growled and took three steps towards her. The young girl screamed and brandished the knife, but it was too clear that she had no training. No strength. No chance. A 5 caught Indigo's eye for only a moment as she grabbed the girl's wrist and yanked it up. Five screamed, kicked, spat at Indigo as she was wrenched to her feet.
This was just like her sisters. How many times had Indigo done this? When Goldie stole a pair of scissors, or when Bayley was being annoying? Yank them up, sometimes past their standing height? But she was a Tribute in the Hunger Games - and she had a knife.
Indigo used her free hand to grab the hilt of the blade and easily wrest it from Five's grip. The girl was shrieking now, "NO, STOP, I'M SORRY, LET ME GO" Snot and tears and dirt ran in a free mess across the girl's face. Indigo could have done it - let her go and let her run. She could have done that. But she was a Tribute in the Hunger Games - and she had a knife.
Without so much as a thought, Indigo's body took over. She slammed the blade down into the crook of the girl's neck, taking no pleasure in the soft squelch or the heightened screams that came with it. She lurched her hands apart - one pulling Five's body up and the other pulling the knife down. It slid smoothly through the girl's neck and came out, dripping with warm blood. The shrieking stopped, transformed into a wet gurgle.
Indigo dropped the body - as she was so sure it now was - and it didn't move. Cannons had been firing, but there was no way to know if this was one of them. It was almost certainly one of them. After all:
She was a Tribute in the Hunger Games - and she had a knife.
She took two steps backwards and turned to run. The fighting seemed to be escalating past the point of return. She turned and took only one step before she was tackled - again.
A thousand scenarios ran through her head. She could try something - anything - to make a "good impression." What good would that do? Best case, she scored decently and wooed a Sponsor or two. Worst case, she embarrassed herself and scored terribly, in addition to simply ruining her chances.
Or, she could do nothing. Best case scenario was... what? There wasn't one. The worst case was the same as above. Three of her four options ended the same, and the fourth was a crapshoot.
How poignant and apropos.
So, no. She wouldn't. Doing anything would be playing into their Game, into their expectations. They would want someone from Eight, desperate and alone. If they wanted a storyline for their finale, they wouldn't get it from her.
Indigo knew she couldn't possibly be the first person to pull a stunt like this. There was no way, over the hundreds of Games, that someone hadn't done exactly what she was doing now. But by god would they see her do it. The doors opened, the fierce red clock ticked down from 10:00, and Indigo moved to the center of the room and sat down.
This was her plan. She would sit, patiently waiting, for as long as it took. What was "it?" She wasn't sure. But she knew it had very little to do with the handful of Sponsors in the viewing booth, who all lost interest almost immediately and returned to their drinks and snacks.
For ten full minutes, Indigo sat in silence. She didn't place her attention anywhere in particular, but sat, resolute as the Sponsors ignored her. Finally, the buzzer rang and the doors swung open. But she wasn't done. No, she continued sitting right where she was. One Sponsor looked down, confused and annoyed, but Indigo stayed where she was.
Another minute passed. She remained seated. Finally, a Peacekeeper entered and prodded her with his baton. She remained seated. He prodded more forcefully. "C'mon," he grunted. "Time's up." She remained seated.
He reached down to grab her by the elbow. Oh - he wanted her to move? Very well. With a speed she didn't know she had, her hands shot out and latched onto his baton. She yanked it down and found to her surprise that it was easy enough to pull from his grasp. Maybe this fighting thing wasn't so bad after all. With a wicked grin, but staying fully silent, she swung the baton at the Peacekeeper's side. It thudded dully against his body armor, but the surprise of it all doubled him over. That was all the permission she needed. She swung the baton again, this time at the back of his head.
Multiple Sponsors had taken note now. Indigo had the Peacekeeper on the ground, cradling his head from blow after blow before backup arrived. Still, there seemed to be little protocol. It wasn't until a different officer swung her baton at Indie that the others jumped, seizing on the stunned girl's momentary lapse. Indigo's eyes swam as the officer threw a second blow to her head just for good measure.
But fine. Even as three Peacekeepers dragged her out of the room, she stayed silent and kicking. She bit at their arms, even if it did nothing. She writhed in their grasps, trying to free herself.
No Peacekeeper was going to define her, and no Games was going to take her voice.
The tension amongst the crowd was terrifying in its intensity. A pure electricity of white hot rage vibrated through every person standing in the ranks and files of eligible Tributes. Reapings had never been a pleasant experience, to be sure, but never had there been such an undercurrent of betrayal to the event.
Indigo stood in her column, looking around with a heart seized in terror. This was meant to be just one more go, one more final Reaping. It was her last, after all. It was everyone's last. But never had the odds been so out of her favor. The crowd of Reapable people was... tiny.
Between the families who chose to send soldiers being exempt and those who did not only needing to send a single representative, the bowl was painfully, dramatically sparse in paper. Typical faces Indigo would look to for comfort and solidarity were missing - either because they were at war, represented by a sibling, or already dead.
The ceremony was a blur - even the Escort seemed grim and tight lipped, despite the fact that he was a Capitolite and typically the most excited. He looked out at the crowd, which, if he tried, he could probably count, and dipped his hand in.
"Our first Tribute will be... Tailor Twositties." It was a breath of relief, as it always was. It wasn't her name, it wasn't a sister's name. A young, scared boy stepped forward, one of only a dozen or so in the fifteen-year-old group. Who knew why - perhaps he was an only child and his parents couldn't go to war. Maybe he was the youngest of many, and it was thought he'd have better chances. After all, that's why -
"Indigo LeVis," her name interrupted her thought process. The sound of her name interrupted her empathy. The sound of her name drained her face of color and her heart of terror, allowing the collective rage that bubbled throughout the crowd to surge in. Usually at the end of the second name, there was a shuffling, a release. This time she felt the crowd behind her and Tailor - an upswelling of anger.
She took her place on the stage, her jaw squared and teeth bared. It wouldn't matter right now to say anything. Just like the machines she ran in the factory, she had become yet another cog.
"Alright, step up," a bored Trainer called. Indigo did as she was told. After all, if she was going to go into the Arena, she needed to learn how to throw a decent punch. The trainer raised a padded glove, and Indie threw her best attempt. Her fist thudded into the glove with a satisfying smack, but she could tell from the Trainer's face that something was off. Her form, her power, something. She took a step back, waiting for feedback.
"Great, let's pair you up. I'll be over here. Don't kill each other." He turned his back and stepped off the training mat, leaving Indigo a bit stunned. Nothing? He flicked his fingers and her opponent stepped up. Indigo's face drained a little bit of color, but a glint of indignation leapt to her eye.
Brighton.
"Alright, then," she said, imitating the Trainer's bored tone. "Let's see if all that Academy training can stand up to good old factory experience."
The topic was, if nothing else, terrifying enough to distract from the adrenaline coursing through her body, pooling in her stomach as she forced herself to not look down, do anything but look down. She reached for the next handhold, clinging enough to eke a foot up the wall to another fake rock only inches up, but still up.
"I have sisters too," she replied, keeping her mind occupied. Her expression twisted, having nothing to do with the effort of the wall. "Or... or at least, I think I do. It's complicated now."
A combination of emotions were broiling in Indigo's chest. Between the white-hot rage, the physical strain she was under, and the feeling of freeing hopelessness, she couldn't stop the short burst of laughter that snapped out of her throat.
"Sorry," she said, clinging close to the wall. "You think you do? That's a bizarre statement." She paused on the wall to look down at Juno. "What's that about, then? You don't get to say something that cryptic and then not explain yourself."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
âś“ Live Streamingâś“ Interactive Chatâś“ Private Showsâś“ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Astorian chuckled a little at the morbidness of what she was threatening him with, he couldn't blame her....wouldn't blame her for that. Lifting up one of the skirts he nodded his head, "Yep still looks like black to me, not indigo." Another small chuckle, "I won't make you wear indigo simply because that's your name. I promise." He sighed softly. "I do need to make the rich happy, yes, but I still want to make sure you're happy....with this look...so are you happy wearing this? Your thoughts about it, this look specifically matter a lot more to me than anyone else. You're uhhh the first Tribute I'm ever dressing....and I just...I want you to feel good."
Indie's brow furrowed, still upset at the whole concept. She couldn't decide what was worse: that she was finally being forced into something custom made when her whole life had been spent on ready-to-wear, or that it was coming from someone who had moonlighted in Eight on a mission from the Capitol.
"Yeah, well, first and last," she muttered. It couldn't be helped, unfortunately: the dais turned and she caught sight of the garment in the mirrors now squarely in her sight. A slight gasp found its way out before she could stop it. The fabric, the shape, the way the color caught and absorbed the light... it was breathtaking. But she certainly wasn't about to say that. Perhaps, though, her silence said enough.
The outburst startled her, and for a moment, she was afraid the Peacekeepers stationed... well, everywhere, were going to come grab them or haul them away for Indie's insubordination. Eyes wide, her gaze flickered from Peacekeeper to Peacekeeper, fingers frozen tight around the first rock.
Nothing happened.
Something inside of her released, if cautiously, but something new was there too. Her entire life, she'd stayed well out of the way of Peacekeepers for survival, but here... the rules seemed to have changed. This sort of behavior in the power plant would have earned someone lashings, no doubt, but here? Or... under Vox rule?
She frowned, looking back to Indie with a wild thrill coursing through her. They were getting away with this.
Maybe it was the high of being a part of this sort of disobedience for the first time in her life, but it gave her enough push to heave her leg up too, find a hold, then the next. And just like that, she was climbing, following Indie up, if with her heart in her throat.
"You talk to Peacekeepers like that at home?" It wasn't judgmental, instead her tone was filled with an earnest curiosity.
Indigo refocused on the wall ahead of her, pulling herself up another rung. A strained laugh bubbled out of her. "No," she replied. "Back home they hit harder. And I've got sisters who they all know. So."
She slipped for a moment, but her feet found purchase. She grunted as she pulled herself against the wall. "Here though? What are they gonna do? If they put me in prison, great. I don't have to play their stupid little Games. If they kill me? Then great, I don't have to play their stupid little Games." She grit her teeth. "But they won't do shit, because the Games are like only a few days away and I'm irreplaceable at this point. They need me."
"Foreman, that's impressive," Lyra noted, or at least she assumed it was impressive. Why else would Indigo have mentioned it specifically? Lyra wasn't quite sure she knew what being a foreman entailed, but it was clearly a higher position than what was average. Maybe Indie was a respected leader, a hard-worker, a rule follower? But did that make her ally or enemy? Lyra couldn't say.
"Not everyone," Lyra corrected. "I was raised in the Academy, as were my brothers." For a time, anyway. "Our district is clearly very proud of our Academy, but it takes all kinds to keep a district running. We have quarry miners, stone workers, peacekeepers... and actually, my brother, Aquila, left the Games Academy to train with the peacekeepers." Because violence that proved too brutal for even the Games could still be celebrated among the peacekeepers.
"Rocks, cops, and murderers." The words were out of Indigo's mouth long before she could think about catching them. "So much to be proud of there." She quickly averted her eyes, which had shot up in a glare only a moment before.
How bold, she wanted to say. My sisters are still in the factories because we can't afford for them not to be. There was so much to be said to Lyra, but maybe it was better if she didn't. Maybe. But still, despite it all, she couldn't bite back: "What a sacrifice he made."
Still, spurred on by the pressure of Indie's eyes on her, she took a step forward and experimented with closing her hands over one of the artificial rocks. It felt strange, manufactured and plastic, but gritty and colored in a way it might be a real rock. She looked up the wall, to where way, way, way up there, there was a ledge for tributes to pull themselves up onto. Her stomach swooped. "I don't like heights," she blurted, a confession she didn't mean to make, but maybe she was trying to spare herself from even more humiliation around Indie when she inevitably couldn't do it.
Indigo hoisted herself onto the wall, gently placing her feet on the holds. She pulled herself up one more step before glancing over her shoulder towards Juno. "Yeah, well, I don't like fighting for my life in a state-sanctioned death match that serVES NO PURPOSE OTHER THAN TO INTIMIDATE ITS CITIZENS!" Her voice steadily grew through the sentence until she was shouting it for all the room to hear.
It caught the attention of one of the guards, who glared at her. She stared back at him, adding: "WHICH WE WERE TOLD WOULDN'T COME BACK!" The guard backed down, sensing that Indigo was ultimately not going to do anything other than shout. With a slight smirk, she returned her attention to Juno.
"But unfortunately, we've all got shit we don't like, and you can either submit to it or face it. And let me tell you: I'm gonna face it." She pulled herself up another few steps. "And I'm hoping you will too."
"Totally," Lyra nodded, even if she was doubtful. Sure, Indigo probably never thought about actually being in the Capitol, but surely, she would've imagined it. Indie had never spent long days toiling away in a district like Eight and never imagined living in luxury? She never went home at the end of a long day, looked down at her blistered hands, and conjured images of Capitolites lazing around in the fine linens her own district exported? Maybe because Lyra had seen the Capitol in her dreams every night since she was a child, but it was unfathomable to her that someone wouldn't build some kind of expectation.
But Lyra's face remained perfectly, pleasantly neutral. "I guess you're used to growing up in a big city, right?" She asked, gesturing to the Eight on the other tribute's sleeve. "What did you do back in Eight?"
Indigo cast her eyes downward. She was instantly embarrassed. This was not the way she thought she'd be - she was supposed to be strong and defiant until the end. But one conversation with one Career, and there was icy terror in her chest? Fuck.
"I am," she said carefully, not wanting to reveal too much. Though what benefit could Two possibly get from this? "Pretty much everyone in Eight is from a big city. We don't really have any towns around the District. I was on my way towards foreman of one of the factories there. Worked on the line." She glanced up, unable to hide the queasy look on her face. "And you? I just assume everyone in Two grows up in the Academy."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
âś“ Live Streamingâś“ Interactive Chatâś“ Private Showsâś“ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Needle resting between his lips, the training day had ended and Astorian currently had Indigo standing on a platform so he could work on fittings for her interview outfit. He wanted to make sure she looked good in what he had made. It was one of his first fully produced, ready-to-wear pieces. Of course, if it went out to the public there would be alterations, this was to remain a one-of-a-kind piece.
"So I remember from watching the Games, Stylists for Eight always did lots of colors, or mix matched fabrics, and they were usually loud and ugly or just loud or just ugly. I doubt many of them actually ever stepped foot in Eight." He hummed sewing up something so it sat the right way. "What I remember was the spirit, the hard work, the determination. I wanted to tell that story. Of course, we have to mix it with elements that the rich would like, to make you more appealing to get you sponsors. Still, I decided to go with black, because this is a sad occasion......Vox going back on the promise of no more games......unless you have a color you'd rather wear?"
Indigo stood on the dais, her face resolutely creased into a scowl. She kept her chin level with the floor and her eyes rolled slightly up; she wouldn't look at this dress if it was the last thing she did. As Astorian explained his process, she couldn't stop the scoff in her throat. "Of course," she said, words dripping with ice. "Make sure the rich are happy. I would hate to disappoint them."
She shook her head slightly. What a concept - a story. She had met plenty of this type back in Eight: would-be textile storytellers. But what did this Capitolite kid know about Eight? Nothing. Nothing at all. Even if he was saying the words of the people - parroting the betrayal of the Vox - it was hardly coming from the same place.
"If you make me wear indigo because of my name, I will jump off the starting platform just to spite you. And you will have to know that my death is not because of the Games, not because of the Vox, but because of you."
"Hi, Indigo," Juno greeted, glancing over after a... long stint of staring up the climbing wall. She should climb it. Just go for it. Start. But she'd never climbed anything in her life, and despite the harness that sat around her hips, rigged to catch her instantly and let her down gently if she fell, her hands still trembled and nerves buzzed. She was actually relieved to see Indigo there, even if they'd left things on an awkward note in the cafeteria. She seemed well intended, normal, if nothing else. She could use a dose of normal right now after a morning of being unable to ignore the Careers-- so loud, so strong, so deadly. "Have you ever done anything like this?"
The harness was terribly uncomfortable, and seemed pointless - it wasn't like the Gamemakers were going to provide such equipment in the Arena. Hell, they'd probably love if someone fell from a cliff face or something like that. But all the same, it was important to learn.
"Juno," she greeted shortly. "Can't say I have." She stepped up to the wall and threw a hand up as high as she could, just barely reaching one of the holds with her fingertips. "But I can say that about a lot of things, all of which are gonna change in the next week. May as well get at least this into the 'yeah, I've done that,' territory." She looked back over her shoulder.
