Fiyero Deamorte: Reaction: Death 2: Changing Faces
This wasn’t fair.
 This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair. After everything that’s happened, everything that has been happening this was still. Happening. No matter what, this was going to keep. Happening.
It wasn’t a surprise. Honestly, it was more surprising that it took so long. He had bet it would have happened a long time ago, maybe a day after the thinly disguised dropped. Even the method didn’t particularly surprise him, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t think that this type of murder wouldn’t happen immediately (and that he’d kept his hair products under lock and key because of such).
Good thing he was a liar.
“This isn’t happening.” Coming out was probably a mistake. Doing this all was a big mistake, he shouldn’t have run out- but he heard Bland, he heard Bland scream and it set something off in him he’d never even thought he was capable of, that he quickly pushed down with a cough, when he skid to a stop in the garden.
This wasn’t. Fair.
Life wasn’t fair though, wasn’t it? He had been forgetting that, people were destined for certain things, built for certain things- Tegan was a good person, a strong person who said what he thought he was big and strong and handsome which basically insured he would die. It was inevitable really.
(Oh he knew that.)
Tegan was someone too good to live in these games; in the movies and real life, because they were the same, here more than anywhere else.
That left one question though: When it comes to the dumb sex object, was he the one killed off at the start, or the one that got through to the end? Well, he’s made it this far.
(Dumb sex object til the end then.)
“Ew. Ew, lik, super ew ew ew.” Covering his mouth, he fanned himself, face tinting green. “Oh my god, like, this is so not hot! Like, someone couldn’t, like, ew, ew, makeup department! Fix this!” Stumbling back, he let his heart race as he forced his brain to shut down cell by cell.
Every thought. Shut up.
Shaking, he dropped to his knees in front of the body- this is not that big a deal Fiyero, calm do- of course this is this is awful this- this isn’t real Fiyero la de da stand up you didn’t notice this okay. Within the blink of an eye his expression changed from sickness to a blank curiosity, one of a show dog, one lacking in the intelligence department, an almost sheen scraped over top. “Like, wow, they got, like, a perfect replica. Not touching because, like, ew, but, like, whoa…”
Standing again, he tapped his lips as he cocked his head to the side. “This, like, I wonder why they chose such like a totes gross death. Eh, whatever, like, I’m sure the show has something planned.” Scrunching his nose, he began fanning himself again with an almost bored look. “But like...ew. Okay, like, not playing this one, nope.”
Nope nope nope nope- stop.
With that, he turned around, and began to walk back to his room, pausing mid step when he realized his posture was slumped, just slightly. The smallest hint of tiredness, anger, maybe something else.
He quickly fixed that. And smiled. Because this didn’t matter.
It’s not like this was real anyway.
It wasn’t. It was just another twitter fight. And he survived another purge. And more importantly (more? When did it become more?) so did Bland.
As he closed himself in his room, letting out a shuttery breath as he let the cold seep through the wall, through his shirt into his skin, he got an idea. Probably his dumbest yet. But it might just work.
