#sector two

Then, he heard it--the sound of someone else approaching. Though he knew he should have tried to avoid any other tributes, Harrow couldn’t stand being lost and alone any longer. “H-hey, I’m not gonna do anything,” he said, putting his hands up as if to show that he was unarmed. “I just wanna get out of this place. Do you know how to do that?”

@honeybellerose​

@masonxbrick​

Roman eyed the water in between them and stood just close enough to make a grab for it. Whether he was about to lunge for the tribute or for the canteen was anybody’s guess including his own. “You should have left when you could have, but I’ll make it quick if you don’t move,” he threatened. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

@opalramsey

It was incredible. He’d never tasted anything so good. Harrow bet that even the people in the Capitol who could afford to eat anything and everything they wanted wouldn’t understand what he felt like in that moment. Years of powdered eggs and stale bread led him to this. Harrow, always hungry, could never be satisfied. But as the pigeon’s heart punctured in between his teeth and as blood ran down his chin, Harrow came damn well close to it. All he had to do was break through bone. Bone and blood and feather. Harrow took another bite, only lifting his head when he heard another tribute approaching. There, in the distance, stood a familiar sight but he couldn’t place who it was. His eyes were dilated and bloodshot, but that didn’t matter. Harrow wasn’t going to let anybody get the better of him any longer.

But what if they were a friend? He didn’t believe Honey and Nico would lay a finger on him. What if he’d be making himself an enemy over nothing at all? What if he was just losing it? What if he wasn’t? What if they were coming after him now that the end was so close? What if he was making a mistake by thinking some of these people were actually decent for once? What if, what if, what if?

Harrow was tired of it all. He was tired of his own fucking complacency, the second guessing.

The sun had grown low in the sky once more, making shadows long and deep. How many sunsets had she seen since launch? Was it three? Was it more? They’d all bled together now-- deep reds and oranges and the inky night that followed. Houses speckled the scenery around her-- all looking the same-- set dressing in this game she’d wound up in.

Arachne twisted a doorknob to test if it was locked, and the door popped open easily. She stepped cautiously inside, being careful not to make too much noise as she did. Even her own breathing sounded loud in her ears. She was so aware of it, even if everything else was warm haze. She crept through the first room of the house and found it was empty except a few pieces of furniture. They were sparse and of no use to her. None of it was remotely interesting, but at least here the sun was out of her eyes.

Roman stood on the platform, taking a moment to look down to where Mason had fallen to his death. The booming cannon rang heavy in his ears and he wondered what his friend was thinking about as he plummeted down to the arena floor. Did he regret saving his life only to have that same person stab you in the back? No, Mason wasn’t like that. Mason would have understood. He would have known how much a victory meant to someone like him. It was a noble sacrifice and Roman wouldn’t let it go to waste. 

He backed away from the edge and turned to find a package waiting for him from Trixanna. The throwing knives felt light in his hands and, though he would have preferred a spear, something that heavy would be a pain to carry around in the arena. It was better than Everett’s crackers, at the very least.

It was early, the sky looking like a giant bruise as the sun started to slowly inch it’s way out. There were a million ways to describe a colour like that — the hue of flowers grown in Eleven, fruits well-stocked in the kitchen he missed at home, even the wigs Capitolites wore around the Tower.

Roman only understood violence. Anything else would have felt as strange as sleeping in another person’s bed. Fuck, he missed his bed. He’d spent the night tossing and turning on a pile of whatever scraps he could salvage from the hovercraft on the dirty floor of the platform. Going back inside that death trap was the last thing he wanted to do, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. It seemed impossible that he would have to survive on the supplies in the hovercraft while the other tributes could do it just by foraging. Roman wanted it all to end.

On the second day of the 126th Hunger Games, he’d gotten up at the break of dawn to do just that.

He packed whatever he could manage for his meals in his pockets. If the mutts roaming the arena caught his scent, so be it. Roman would rather take his chances in the jaws of an animal than he would starvation. After begrudgingly sorting through the supplies, he tore a seat belt off from one of remaining seats and used it to secure the trident across his back. Roman hated it. He’d almost died for something he didn’t even want to use. Though he tried to practice with it the night before, it felt too off-balance for his liking. It was better than nothing — but not by much.

Mason was still sleeping and Roman almost felt bad for waking him up. It didn’t seem right to drag him along, though. He’d already saved his life once, how could he ask Mason to do that again especially with an injury? Worse would be to bring his friend along on something that could get him killed. Whatever mess he was getting into was his alone to burden.

They were both tried and true Careers, but they couldn’t be any more different from one another. He should have hated a district partner like that. One who was kind and considerate despite having trained to be anything but. Mason probably thought twice about taking a life, maybe a part of him even felt bad. Roman, on the other hand, hadn’t even let the blood dry off his shirt before he began planning how to hunt the remaining tributes. He only respected his friend all the more for it. Friend — he didn’t have much in the arena, but it calmed the nagging feeling in his chest to know he had one, at the very least.

“Mason, I’ll be back,” he started, reassuring the other tribute. Roman went over it in his head a thousand times, but he wanted him to know that he would find his way back to Mason one way or another.

“I need to take care of things. I can’t bring you along, but I know you’ll be fine. I left more than enough so don’t go through it all at once. If we run into any trouble, just come back to the hovercraft and we’ll find each other here. Watch out for the girl from One. The girl from Seven, too. Everett’s had his fair share of accidents so I know they’re looking out for that arm of yours. We’re going to bring one of us home for Two, don’t forget that.”

Roman spoke as if he wouldn’t be seeing his friend again. Knowing the Hunger Games, there was a chance he might not.

“I’ll be back, alright? I’ll be back.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. If Mason had asked, Roman wouldn’t have left the platform for the entirety of the Games. So, he stepped onto the rope bridge before he could say otherwise.