Chapter Text
Maysilee doesn’t know how she ended up like this.
Like this, as in between the arms of her previous rival, slash crush who one would think would try to kill her at least six times in the arena, now huddling close to each other for warmth in the middle of a small cave they’d found.
Silka had suggested it, with rosy cheeks and an avoiding gaze after seeing how much they were shivering due to the sudden cold- probably imposed by the Game makers, to kill the rest of them- and with nothing but a simple sleeping bag, courtesy of Silka’s sponsors.
Maysilee, crushing hard despite herself on this wonderful and dangerous woman in the deadliest place in the planet- and not stubborn enough to freeze to death- had accepted shakily.
Yeah, turns out that as much as she wanted to joke about the girl and trade insults- was it banter all along? – she wanted her to look at her, to acknowledge her.
She’d feel more embarrassed by the typical ‘pulling pigtails because you like someone’ thing she’d been doing, but she remembers that even now she’s still a teenager.
It had all started when a sudden explosion beneath the arena, enough to give her pause in her ministrations- looking for any of her allies or potential foes- brought her to the deadly volcano pretending to be an innocent mountain.
It was all ashes and suffocating heat, tremors beneath her feet and coughing to the point of falling down multiple times in her haste to get to safety, but Maysilee had escaped from it. Had fled to the furthest edge of the forest she could run with her tired lungs and legs to.
Finding a big tree shielding with its leaves a promising bush of berries- her venom reserves were nearing depletion now- she set to drink half of her last water bottle and burrowed deep in the ground with nothing but her jacket over her nose and eyes- to wait for dawn or for a merciful fast death, whichever came first.
With nothing more than a sore throat and a bit of pain on her legs, she stood up, grateful for living for another day, for another day in which she would try to go back home, to her sister, to her parents, to her district.
After eating a few crackers and more water, she had set for the Cornucopia to try to find any food left- that is if the careers hadn’t beat her to it- and after midday, she stopped completely in her tracks at a low, distant sound like a groan. Thinking they were mutos, she walked a few meters maintaining distance with the sound, up until she had sat on a rock to take a gulp of water and her bottle exploded right in her hands.
The careers, fuck.
Knowing it could not be anyone but them, she sprinted to where the sound was- she could probably use the mutts to her advantage and have them kill her chasers or something. But she had stopped abruptly at a sight so out of place that she shook her head to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.
A couple of Game makers- not older than them- were leaning over a white structure growing from the ground, absorbed in their tasks of- wiping the floor and drilling into the broken structure? What the fuck were they doing there? At that point, Silka and Maritte- why was District four allied with the careers? Where were the others? - had caught up to her, the blonde not having the same luck as her and sliding through the floor covered in hay, but Maritte stood a few steps behind with caution.
“Are you Game makers? What are you doing here?”
One of them, a woman, too, lifted her mask to acknowledge them.
“First of all, you three shouldn’t be here. I suggest you get yourselves scarce if you don’t want a punishment for intervening in our business.”
Maysilee scoffs. “That’d be a lot scarier if you weren’t shaking like a leaf.”
In that moment, all of them traded glances with one another, the game makers reaching the same conclusion as them and rushed to a stair beneath the open structure, but she wouldn’t know what was beneath it, because her instincts kicked in and it was that for them.
In a second, a poisonous dart left her blowgun’s place to insert itself at the man who had been previously wiping the floor, throwing him to the floor.
But she wasn’t the only one to do it.
Maritte joined her by launching her trident with an astounding speed at the woman, then the other man fell down in shock and everyone within distance heard the crack of his skull.
Silence.
“What the hell did you do? Now they won’t let us win!” Silka broke the silence, and seriously? That was all she could think about right now? Knowing she was at a disadvantage with no ally of her own, but incapable of shutting up- not when it came to the games, not when it came to Silka- the girl always managing to rile her up- she responded, with a saccharine voice.
“Are you seriously still holding onto that silly dream, Silka?” Reaching for her blowgun and directing her attention to the other girl, she continued. “I almost pity having to kill you, Maritte, but it is what it is.” She was trying to instill confidence in her words, mixed with the desire of revenge for her fallen allies. For Wyatt, for Lou Lou, for all the children they killed in the blood bath.
But a part of her was scared, hoping even that the girls would be distracted enough from their encounter with the Game makers to retaliate, shivering with cold sweat.
“Dumb...? Are you serious?” Silka wasn’t done, taking a step forward to try to kill her or... or something, her expression irritated, but not murderous, thankfully.
Then, in a shocking twist of events, Maritte retrieved her trident, locked eyes with Silka in a silent conversation that left Maysilee confused for a moment, only to shake her head at both of them.
“Just this once, Twelve, okay? “Silka warned her, irritation on her face mixed with something else, something Maysilee couldn’t put her finger on. Then, both girls fled.
What? Just what? But Maysilee wasn’t stupid to stay and try to get answers out of both tributes who, apparently, weren’t interested in killing her anymore.
And that was dangerous. Not entirely for her.
But because of the fact that two seemingly opposing tributes agreed not to kill each other on sight? Agreed on having killed one of the Game makers who made the very arena in which they were forced to kill each other?
That was sure to have repercussions.
And it did.
Maysilee was looking for Haymitch one moment, - she had the horrible feeling that he had something to do with the explosion the day before- having heard the boom of a cannon a few minutes before and tensing up only to hear a shrill scream and the pattering of something running towards her.
A big flamingo- or heron? with a beak so large it couldn’t be natural- a mutt from the Capitol, probably- had fallen over her in a feral attempt to kill her.
She was sure she was going to die because of it. There was no way she could’ve overpowered the beast in the state of dehydration she was already in, and the animal was trying to pinch her with its beak, she just couldn’t...
But then, as if a miracle, a swift ‘whoosh’ followed by the fall of the mutt on top of her, let her finally breathe.
Who she didn’t expect to see was her rival: Silka Sharp, hair wild and bloodied axe back in her hand with an extended hand towards her.
“Who are you and what have you done to Silka?” She said in lieu of an answer, choosing to ignore the offered hand. Which was a bad thing to do, in retrospective.
“What the hell do you think I’m doing, Donner?” The girl said, suddenly furious- and were those tears in her eyes? “I save your life and you can’t even...?” but sudden cries akin to the ones of crows stopped them- a flock of the same mutts came running towards them, scratch that, they were sent to kill her, only her.
Why wouldn’t Snow retaliate at her for killing one of his precious Game makers? It’s probably the same thing that happened to Maritte, now that she thinks about it.
But there wasn’t time to think.
“Run!” She didn’t care whether the girl would follow her, try to kill her or would fight the creatures- tried not to care- and with her heart leaping to her throat she ran for her life.
After reaching a high steep filled with rocks glistening under the sun like crystals does Maysilee stop, turning around to find the girl almost bumping into her, but stopping to see the commotion beneath them: the birds can’t climb or fly.
It must be because of the volcanic ashes and the mysterious almost dream-like substance covering the floor now. Guess the Game makers didn’t account on their creatures from hell to know how to climb or fly, huh.
“They can’t get up here, thank fuck.”
“Thanks for the heads-up, Twelve.” Silka comments derisively as she sits beneath a tree nearby to catch her breath, her gaze never leaving Maysilee’s every move.
“What the hell did you think ‘run!’ was for?!” Tired of fighting with the girl at every chance they have and after realizing the mutts have fled back to the crevice they probably came from, Maysilee flopped down onto the ground, knife still at the ready. In case... in case she... no, she wouldn’t, not now, would she?
Silka doesn’t answer but makes no move to stand up from her position either.
A few minutes pass, laying like that, looking at the cerulean sky above, catching her breath when Maysilee asks: “Why... why did you save me?”
At that, Silka opens her eyes, startled. She caught her with her guard down, for the first time since she’s known the girl.
“My... my ally... all my allies are all dead.” She sniffed, voice breaking in the last word, all in an uncharacteristic display of feelings that rendered Maysilee speechless. “Maritte, she’s dead because of that stupid bird.”
A shiver of fear ran down Maysilee’s back at the realization that it could’ve been her too, if it wasn’t for Silka.
“You... I have to thank you then.” She said, completely astounded, an unbidden, hidden part of her feeling a bizarre excitement at the girl’s heroical act. She shakes it off. “It’s weird to say it but... thanks.”
“Don’t expect any more favors from now on.” Silka responded in a steely tone. “Now be on your way, before I go back on it.”
“Well damn, with pleasure.” Maysilee scoffs, suddenly angry and with a mix of confusing emotions, standing up to do just that, before the other girl calls out to her.
“Wait.” Maysilee turned, seeing the girl turning her axes over and over in a surprising display of ability that has her gulping in fear and... something else she doesn’t want to put her finger on. But she saw, with astonishment, how the irritation on her face morphed slowly into one of slow consideration as she asked her. “I think... ugh, what do you think about being allies?”
What the fuck? Maysilee couldn’t lie to herself that the thought of a career- especially not Silka, ehem- allying with her hadn’t crossed her mind.
But that didn’t mean it would be her first option.
Hell, not even her fifth, few as they were now.
“If this is some sort of joke to make me lower my guard and then kill me, then it’s a shit one.” But as she said it, she felt her heart jump at the suggestion, at the steadfast way in which the girl looks at her, waiting for an answer. As if she was the best Maysilee could have.
What would they do? Braid their hair and kill the rest of the tributes only for her to turn her back on Maysilee? Yeah, no.
“Oh my God, you must’ve hit your head fighting or something, because there’s no way.”
This exasperates the girl further, who looks as if she regrets speaking up completely.
Maysilee tried not to linger on how gorgeous she looks furrowing her brows in anger.
“It’s not as if you have allies left.” Ouch. “Like me. And... well, I don’t think our odds would be too bad if we stick together.” Maysilee doesn’t know why she proposed that, as if the girl would ever consider anything more than trading insults back and forth until one of them were killed by another tribute or mutt, because something tells her now- hope, or plain delusion maybe- that they wouldn’t kill each other if it gets down to it.
She knew she should also think objectively like any other tribute here would; that she should take advantage of the safety in numbers and join their food and resources.
Two is better than one, obviously.
Way better when it’s a strong career who has much more popularity and good odds than her.
Another part of her- the teenager with a crush that can’t help her growing feelings- told her she should accept.
Told her anything would be nice to be near her.
But there was also the fact that a few of her rookie allies may be living still. But she thought that if she accepted, she could maybe convince Silka to not kill them.
Or she would die trying.
It’s stupid, blatantly naïve of her and outright traitorous to her allies, but she knows she can turn this around without having to kill one more soul.
Locking her eyes onto soft blues, and with as much firmness she could manage in the moment, Maysilee accepted. Silka stared at her as if struck, but then nodded in acceptance, a small upward of her mouth that could’ve passed as a smirk- if Maysilee didn’t know any better.
“Alright, Twelve, but don’t fall behind.”
They may have started as rivals, competitors, but here?
Here they are stripped down to the most basic versions of themselves. Just two teenagers trying to survive in the midst of a venomous arena, to survive from the impending doom hanging over their heads.
One of them crushing hard on the other. A career, of all people.
Which begs the question, perhaps the most important of all.
How are they going to get out of this?
Who will strike the final blow and to whom?
These are questions rounding up on Maysilee’s mind, as she categorizes every bit of the forest above them as she can. And despite herself, discovering new pieces of the puzzle that Silka Sharp is. Every bit pretty as deadly, the girl’s presence and overall self makes her shiver in the worst (and best) ways. Sue her, she likes pretty girls, okay? But the way in which the girl gathers attention to herself is something else.
Maysilee’s never been scared of the careers, annoyed by their flaunting bravado at every opportunity they had, but knowing she would do the same if in their shoes. If she got every bit of training, they supposedly had before the games.
But she knows that like the rest of them, they’re scared.
Knows it in the deep inhales Silka does against her back every time so much as a twig breaks, every time the girl tenses and shivers due to the cold.
She can’t blame her for the things she’s done to protect herself.
Not even a little bit, as she’s done her fair share of killings- something she’ll never forget, nor stop regretting.
But in this moment- and as selfish as she may sound, she thanks every deity out there that she had nothing to do with Haymitch’s death but still bites off a sob that would be unfit for the place and moment she’s in, at the memory of her friend, who she dared to call a brother, even.
A few hours before- maybe midnight, she’s not sure- and after making sure no other mutts were following them when they had found a promising cave and were in the process of setting their things to sleep and stand guard- had Maysilee found the truth about Haymitch.
His face painted across the sky in a cruel mockery of the Capitol to remind her where she was, how not even her hot-headed friend could escape the horrors.
In that moment she assumed Silka was too tired and she wanted a few minutes alone in her grief, so she volunteered to take the first shift, receiving a short glance and a nod. And she cried the entire night.
She refused to show her true feelings in front of her former rival, no matter how cozy they might be now. Even if the whole country could see her reaction, but she thought darkly that the Game makers wouldn’t waste their cameras on her crying, wanting to broadcast something worth watching, the sick fucks they are.
But now?
Now, in the daylight, all she wants to do is to let someone hold the weight for her.
Even if she just bares a small part of herself to none other than the career holding her close.
“Are you... are you okay?” comes the tentative voice of Silka, breaking her out of her stupor.
Is she? Are any of them really?
She thinks there’s no way in hell she wants to know about my real feelings, much less comfort me, so she deflects.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m not cold anymore, I guess.”
“I didn’t mean just physically.” Oh, okay. Maysilee’s heart skips a beat as she thinks of how to tell her this. How to tell someone who she previously thought of as another bloodthirsty career dead set on winning this year’s games about her regrets and trauma?
That and she can’t quite help that the girl’s face is so close to hers that she can feel their breaths mingle.
Come on, focus.
“Well... if you count the fact that my best friend, more like my brother just died, that I killed people from the Capitol and that now we are allies, then yes, I’m hanging on barely.” Perhaps she expects that the girl will leave her at her outburst and then she’s gonna fall asleep, alone and when she wakes up all of this will have been just a dream.
Yeah, right.
But Silka surprises her, again. Frowning and her eyes softening for a fraction of a second- too fast for Maysilee to notice, had she not been paying full attention to them- Silka readjusts her arms around her waist, leaving her more space if Maysilee so wishes to. To have some space between them, now that the conversation has turned this deep and personal. The care in that gesture makes her blush.
“I don’t think you’re at fault for feeling that. We’re all like that, even... even if it doesn’t seem like it.” Silka says resolutely, as if there’s no space for argument, as if it’s final.
Maysilee lets a small laugh escape.
“Sorry, but did I...? Did I hear you right? Do you really have feelings, Sharp?” She says it partially to rile her up, because being in this situation, seeing this soft side of her is so strange she can’t pinpoint her emotions towards it, not now, not ever. Partly too, because as weird as it is, she enjoys their banter, but as soon as it escapes her lips, she regrets it.
“You really think that low of me?” Then, she shifts forward, her face closer, as if to evaluate whatever feelings appear on her face, as if... as if to test her resolve. “I wouldn’t have saved you if I didn’t have any, for starters.”
And... what? Is Maysilee reading too much into it, or is it...? No, it can’t be.
She’s going insane, probably.
“You...” She can’t find the words, can’t think past the thoughts of their faces so close together and what her words might mean. “What do you mean?” Silka shakes her head with desperation, her jaw clenching and unclenching as she thinks her words over.
“God, I... It’s just that I couldn’t let you die, okay?” Then, in a whisper, only Maysilee can hear, she adds. “Just as I should’ve saved Camilla, Carat, Loupe and Maritte...” Maysilee’s brain short-circuits right there, all synapsis stopped, systems down, her heart beating to the rhythm of the rain that has started to fall above them.
Because she has feelings, she’s every bit human as anyone else. She’s more than what she imagined her to be.
Whether they’re enemies, rivals, allies or friends, whatever mixture of it, she didn’t kill her when she had the chance to. Saved her even. And is proving to be someone Maysilee won’t forget, ever.
Probably taking her silence as an answer, Silka withdraws her arms from her completely, her steely gaze and tense posture back on.
“I... I don’t know what to say.” She hurries to say, sucks in a breath, hitting their shoulders together, a quiet comfort, but not having the guts to ask something that could get her an axe between her eyes. “I thought you hated me.” She opts to say.
Silka’s somber laugh does the opposite of scaring her away from asking more questions, echoing lightly in the space around them, in the crevices of Maysilee’s heart.
“Hate you? No, no. I wish it was easier like that.” Takes a breath, schooling her expression but not quite capable of erasing the dark amusement on her face. “I don’t hate you, Maysilee.”
And oh, hearing her say her name springs butterflies and all sorts of the stupid things her friends have told her for years, not feeling it with anyone then, but now with this girl? In the middle of the games? She doesn’t know what to do with it.
“But you do rile me up, too. So much sometimes... “Silka continues, seemingly at ease to tell her more, shocking as it is. Maysilee sighs shakily, desperate to break surface from this too good of a moment to be true.
“Well... then that makes two of us.” And Silka’s expression morphs into one of full surprise, surely not having expected it.
“I...”
“Don’t think too hard, Sharp, or you’ll hurt yourself.” Maysilee winks, noting with an internal wince that it may come out as flirtatious, but choosing to go back to their banter- lighter now, though- while extending a branch of cordiality. And to try not to think too hard about what the girl said.
Now is so not the time, Donner.
Silka must see the overwhelming swirl of emotions showing on her face because she goes along with it with a scoff and stands up, leaving Maysilee’s missing the offered warmth.
“Stay here and eat something, I’ll go see if there are any tributes left.”
Right.
There’s less and less of them now. With a heavy heart at the thought she doesn’t want to voice- what do we do if we’re the only ones left?- Maysilee grabs one of the two last apples they still have in Silka’s backpack, gazing longingly at her ally who just disappeared through the cave’s opening with her axes in hand.
“Alright...”
Maysilee didn’t expect what happened next, not even in her worst nightmares.
In a spectacular twist of fate, they found Panache with the rest of the living District 4 tributes- Urchin and Bar... something.
More like they found Maysilee and Silka.
Whilst retrieving more venom from a cranberry tree for Maysilee’s darts- they had agreed to look for it and for any spare backpacks from fallen tributes for food and water, as they were reaching their limits on theirs- a sudden snap of a twig had the district twelve girl turning around in surprise only to narrowly escape a swift death by sword.
Panache’s sword.
Two other figures emerged from behind her, trying to cut her with their tridents and knives, as she screamed in shock- and for Silka’s help, as much as she didn’t want to accept it.
“Scream all you want, Twelve, no one is coming to rescue.” Panache said as a sharp cry came from his side and Silka collided roughly into his ribs. Hah, payback for Haymitch.
Taking advantage from their sudden distraction, Maysilee wasted no time in attacking the tributes from 4, cutting with her knife left and right, skin and bones, any place she could find her weapon into, effectively rendering them uncapable to fight, falling down in heaps of pain.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Panache’s mocking voice breaks her out of her stupor. Silka, crouching right in front of her, shielding her from the boy with her axe at ready and a tense stance. “You went and intermingled with the enemy, right?” He says the word with a derisive sneer, the double meaning clear in his words.
Silka tenses impossibly more.
“The fuck are you talking about, Barker? We’re just allies. Best than the lot of you, who can’t see one of your own approaching behind you.” Maysilee sees right through her, something that she’s been eerily getting the hang of- she must be putting her front of cold-blooded killer again so we can still get sponsors, but the way in which she sells it is so... and makes her shiver, because what if this alliance and the talk they had in the cave has the same intent? Shaking her head to refocus, Maysilee intervenes, drawing her knife.
“Now that you don’t have Haymitch to torture anymore, you think you can come after us?”
Silka glances at her, just barely, but enough to see something akin to hurt on her face. Oh. She shouldn’t have underestimated the bond of district’s partners. But they’re here, now.
“Aww, your little girlfriend comes to defend you, how sweet!” Ignoring his comment, but with a slight blush to her cheeks that Maysilee latches on despite herself, Silka presses on.
“We’ve both always known one of us had to die. Let’s end this now, shall we?” Silka says before advancing in a sprint towards him, nothing but the sharp sound of their weapons clashing against each other.
From there, there’s not much Maysilee can do but watch.
Their fight deadly, but still graceful, has Silka on the offensive more times than she can count, but still Maysilee chooses to retreat to the bushes for better visibility. To strike her darts.
“Leaving now, Twelve?” Comes Panache’s voice, somehow able to parry the hits and taunt them, but by the wheezes he’s letting out more often than not Maysilee can tell he’s at his limit. “See? Even she’s leaving you, because we both know I’m the winner here.”
Seriously? They were supposedly allies and maybe friends... but Maysilee supposes, in the arena there isn’t space for friendship and niceties.
Ignoring him- and a part of her hoping Silka doesn’t take his words at heart and decides to turn on her- she throws herself across the floor to have a better view, away from Panache’s gaze.
Not long after her opportunity comes in the form of Panache somehow getting past Silka’s defense and cutting a small slash on her leg, she barely has the speed to sidestep before it does more damage.
There. Maysilee shakes her nervousness off, sucks in a deep breath and launches the dart.
It strikes.
Right on his neck.
Rivulets of blood fall down his throat and chest as he collapses to the side, leaving nothing behind but a shocked and injured Silka.
As Maysilee approaches, she knows that as much as Silka may not forgive her for this, it was the right decision to make in that moment.
With a staggering breath, she realizes it’s not just because they’re allies and if dead, she would go back to being on her own in the final stretch of the games surrounded by the monsters and tributes that pray on her bones.
No.
Because she would’ve lost her.
It pains her to admit it, because it goes against everything she’s known, everything she’s grown hating- the killer careers full of themselves- but she knows now, the girl is every bit human as her. As anyone she knows.
But it would be stupid to deny how her feelings at this point- that she’s harboring a real, big crush on this girl- and if the slightest chance of them being reciprocated is real, she won’t tell her either. Not here. One of them is bound to die, anyways.
Approaching slowly as to not startle her, Maysilee crouches down to where the girl is alternating her gaze between Panache, her wounded leg and her.
“How deep is the wound?” Maysilee speaks past the urge to say sorry- sorry for what? For doing what they were meant to do to survive? Sorry for possibly saving her life just as she did before? But none of it leaves her lips.
Silka quickly regains her composure, scoffing at her in an attempt to lighten the situation. “It’s not that serious. Barely scratched the skin.” And she may be right, judging by the lack of tendon and bone on it, it’s a light rash that could’ve been caused by a sharp branch, nothing else, but why does her mind jump to the darkest conclusions? That there’s more than meets the eye and that the wound will later get infected, thus killing her slowly...
“Hey, Donner...” Silka’s voice sounds as if under a fog. “Maysilee!”
Maysilee shakes her head, surprised to find that the girl is currently holding her hand in both of hers.
“I... what?” Silka frowns, the gesture at odds with what she does.“I’m fine. See?” She drops one of her hands while still holding her hand with the other and points at her wound again, grabbing one bottle of water from their backpacks. Pours half of it on it, only wincing slightly. “I think it’s sufficiently disinfected now. But we should look for any medicine in the backpacks they left.” She glances in the direction of the fallen tributes. Her past allies. Her fallen friend from home.
“Okay...” Shakily, Maysilee gets up to her feet, dragging the girl with her. What the fuck is she doing? Fearing for the girl who’s proven a worthy fighter? “If you say so.”
“I say so.” At that, Maysilee rolls her eyes.
“But are you seriously not mad at me for... for killing your past allies? I’ll admit I thought you’d regroup with them and throw our alliance away, I don’t know.”
“Come on, I wouldn’t...” At Maysilee’s disbelieving stare she sputters in shock. “Come on! Okay... maybe I would have. Before.” Maysilee widens her eyes, not believing what she just said. “If anything, we are even now.” She gulps and adds shakily, puncturing her steely front. “He was from home... but what’s done is done.”
Maysilee isn’t entirely convinced, but she lets it go, tired enough to argue with the girl. “Alright.”
“Let’s go.” She says, shaking her blonde hair in an attempt to refresh herself from the heat. And wow, that’s a pretty sight.
They part together to look for possible resources and the tributes left.
And things go as good as they can, in their circumstances.
Not counting the fact that Maysilee’s been eyeing her peripheral every few seconds to check on possible mutts coming to kill her, or that the insults thrown between her and Silka have been less and less common, now developing in a sort of banter and teasing, still with a bit of edge to them.
Silka’s wound being already taken care of- later in the afternoon, they’d gotten an ointment for wounds from one of Silka’s sponsors... or maybe from hers? She doesn’t know what Mags and Wiress may think of her alliance, though. Along with it, they’d found in Barba’s backpack, a few buns, two sardine cans, a syrup of sorts that they think may be for the poison, and another knife- that was going for Maysilee- and not bleeding anymore, they’d set up a camp between two trees for the night.
“How’s your leg?”
“For the fifth time, Maysilee, I’ve told you it’s alright.” Silka responds tiredly from her spot next to her. “Look, it’s even getting smaller.” “I don’t think medicines work that fast.” She scoffs, disbelievingly, but happy that the girl is not on death’s door. Not as if she was that close to it, she knows, but she doesn’t want to think about the alternative. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“You just say that because you can’t wait to see me out of my clothes.”
Maysilee almost cuts her finger with the knife she was using to cut her sardines, sputtering in shock.
“I’m sorry, what?!”
Although it’s true that Maysilee hasn’t seen more of the wound because Silka refused to undress, claiming it was ‘too little to need more air’. But she wouldn’t insist if she was feeling better.
Not like she would mind, though.
Feeling a raging inferno on her face, Maysilee distracts herself from the thoughts wandering into the bitter memories of their first day at the Capitol, in the showers. No, just no.
But Silka just laughs- realer now, this time. Maysilee can almost pretend they’re friends flirting in a camp at home, not this mix of rivals-slash-allies who don’t know where they stand with each other.
But before she could add anything more, a loud cry came from the heart of the forest behind them.
“Was that a baby?” Silka asks, but no, it couldn’t be anything more than some kind of horrific experiment the Capitol was waiting to use on them, to kill Maysilee.
“I don’t think it is.”
“We should go look.” At her expression Silka backtracks. “Or at least to make sure it won’t kill us in our sleep.”
She agrees, but what they find is worse.
In the middle of a clear, laying on the floor, there are two tributes no older than them, with their clothes the same olive color- District 11? – shaking desperately between wheezes trying to pull out spikes from their mangled bodies, and oh...
Hull and Chicory. Maysilee’s allies.
But then she stops at the sight of a porcupine the size of a bear in front of them, crying that same noise, rearing its legs before charging in a murderous sprint at them.
Heart beating at the reminder, at the realization that they probably won’t take kindly to her having allied with one career, no matter the situation, she tries to scream at them, to distract the mutt.
But she’s stopped by a strong hand covering her lips.
Scared for a moment that she’s been attacked by another tribute. Who’s left beside them and the guys on the clear? Wellie...?
Swiveling around in shock, she finds it was just Silka, once again saving her life.
“Are you completely insane? That thing is clearly venomous and would kill you in a second and you call out to it?” She seems irritated at her but also weirdly worried out of her mind. If Maysilee died, wouldn’t it help her increase her odds?
“I wasn’t planning to... now you´re seriously underestimating me.”
“I don’t, but are you so keen on dying for someone?”
Alright, that´s it. “What’s up with you?! Seriously?” Maysilee’s done with this, all this. “What do you care?! Besides, what if we are the last ones standing, what will you do then, huh? Why don’t you let me help them even if it ends in my death? It’s what I would want my family to see, not hiding like a coward. It’s what I would want.”
Silka, if possible, gets angrier.
“Killing yourself?! For them?! Why are we allies for, then?!”
It feels weird coming out of her lips, considering she hasn’t been as ‘bitchy’ -as they would call her- lately, but she does it anyway.
“They were my allies to begin with!”
And at that, Silka stays silent. Maysilee thinks she can see hurt there, but it passes as soon as it appeared.
Silence is way worse.
Come on, cuss me out, tell me anything. Something.
Schooling her features into one so painfully familiar- stone cold gaze, blank face, locked in- she stands up, seemingly uncaring if the mutt sees her or not, making Maysilee tense at an upcoming lash out.
But it never comes.
“Alright then. If that’s what you want, Donner, that’s what you’ll get.” There it is, that icy tone again, as she crouches in silence towards the deep of the forest, seemingly uncaring of the mutt, the tributes, or her. Silka walks away from the fight.
Away from her.
Maysilee stays there, rooted to the ground, uncapable of unpacking what just happened. Regret filling her veins, but soon, she remembers that her allies are still on the floor. She can’t- will try to- think about anything but that.
“Hey!!” The porcupine turns around, ready to kill her, but to her shock, a figure, smaller, comes rushing from where she and Silka came from.
“Maysilee?!” It’s Wellie, armed with knives so small she can’t fathom thinking about her wielding them, rushes forward, colliding with Maysilee in a hug. “I thought you were dead! I just heard the noise and knew it might be you.” The girl speaks hurriedly, but happy to see her.
Maysilee smiles, trying to appease her and remembering the task at hand.
“I’m glad to see you, Wellie. But how are we going to kill that thing?” But then, Wellie grabs something from her backpack- are those olives? “Wait, what are you doing...?”
But the creature surprises them by sniffing the offered food, gulping it down in a contented sigh and begins to calm down.
“We all like food, don’t we?” Wellie answers with a small smile- and she reminds Maysilee so much of Louella and Lou-Lou she feels her throat close up- watching the mutt chase the rest of the food she keeps throwing towards the forest.
She thinks Silka went that way. Thinks about going to warn her, but the pained groans from Chicory and Hull distracts her. “Let’s help them!”
“I think I have a syrup for venom, but I’m not sure if it’ll work.”
“Let’s try it!” And from there, it’s a flurry of hands helping, pulling out the poisonous spikes with the straps of their backpacks as to not get poisoned too, and forcing the syrup onto their battered lips.
But it’s useless.
The mutterings and pained whispers they let out at first fade into garbles, and the sound of the cannon confirm what they didn’t want to accept.
“I’m sorry.” Maysilee utters in the space between them, helps rearranging the bodies in better shapes than the cruel ones they left the world in, for their families to have a last sight of.
“We did all we could.” Wellie answers, putting a hand on her shoulder in comfort as they wait for the hovercraft to appear.
But it doesn’t come and instead, a group of shrills and screams come from the forest behind them, doubling in volume rapidly.
“What is that?” Wellie asks fearfully, but any prayers Maysilee could’ve had are gone as she sees bright, pink shapes entering the clear.
They’re back. They’re back for her.
Snow is not satisfied yet, she knows. He will do anything in his power to kill her for what she did, and he won’t give Twelve the satisfaction of having a victor. But Wellie could continue the poster she’s trying to paint.
But Silka...
She doesn’t entertain these thoughts for much longer, focusing on wielding her knife and searching in her backpack for anything else, finding...
Finding one of Silka's axes, dangling from the side.
Her eyes widen, tears welling. She left me one of her weapons, after all that. She continues to save my life, even from afar.
“Come on, Maysilee!” Comes Wellie’s voice, her tiny body pointing to a tree nearby for them to climb up to. She doesn’t tell her she never learned to climb trees, figures that in between their panic she can somehow do it.
They run as much as their tired legs give them strength for, Wellie choosing to help her before she climbs, but just as Maysilee has one step up on the tree, she hears the sudden, unmistakable sound of a pained gasp behind her.
Turning around, she sees Wellie’s vacant stare and blood pouring out from her mouth, the bird’s beak protruding from her throat in a horrific sight.
“Wellie!” She shouts, uselessly, as the bird, not done with his objective, dumps the girl’s body as the cannon goes off and comes at her. The rest of the flock follows behind.
This is it. This is how I’m going to die.
She sends a prayer for whatever’s up there to take care of her sister, her parents, Haymitch’s family and Lenore Dove after they’re gone.
But the strike doesn’t come. Opening her eyes in shock, Maysilee finds a sight so unbelievable and terrifying to her.
“Silka?!”
The girl is fending off the mutts with her axe, sweat pouring down her face and a fearsome expression so focused that Maysilee can’t help but swoon.
“Are you seriously going to stare at me the whole night, Donner?!” Insane, really.
And like that they work as one and swing at the birds with everything they have.
Minutes, hours pass like that, gashes and screams passing around, but after killing the last mutt, they hear a familiar high-pitched scream.
“It’s that thing again?! For fuck’s sake.” Silka begins to turn around, spinning her axe to kill the porcupine, both of them at the ready, back-to-back, axes raised, one soul in the same.
It comes at them from the side, propelling them to the ground, but clearly Silka has gotten the worst brunt of it, still laying on her side as Maysilee stands with difficulty.
She can feel something’s broken inside her- maybe a rib- but the mutt is nothing but tenacious as it rears at her again.
She stops its head from impacting with her chest with the blade in her hand, the recoil almost too much to bear, putting all her energy in not letting go. But the creature does what knows best and just as Silka is rising again, it turns around alarmingly fast and goes for her.
The scream she lets out is nothing short of inhuman, her legs carrying her as fast as possible in a deadly sprint, to stop what she knows the creature will inevitably do.
Lifting her arms above her head with the last dregs of strength she has, Maysilee impales the creature once and for all, into its exposed backside. It screeches, loud and horrible, dropping unceremoniously to the ground, but Maysilee doesn’t see past it.
Sees, instead, the blood gushing out of Silka’s side. The venomous spikes burrowed deep in her skin, as the girl heaves painfully. Maysilee can’t see anything else but her.
Tossing her axe aside, she crouches in front of the girl. Her rival, her ally, her friend, her... She doesn’t know who she is to her anymore. What they mean to each other now but knows it can’t be hate by the pain that pricks at her gut, if the tears rolling down her face tell another story.
“Silka?!”
“Did you come to finish me off, sweetheart?” Silka says, with a small smirk that contorts into a wince of pain, and it would cause all sort of things in Maysilee’s gut if she weren’t at the brink of death right now.
“I know you´re not seriously flirting with me right now, Sharp.” She tries to sound stern, but her voice breaks at the last syllable. Pulls out one spike with as much care as she can, but in her desperation, she must’ve been harsher than she wanted, causing Silka to wheeze. “Shhh, shhh, I’m sorry, it’s gonna be okay.” And she doesn’t know if she’ll be okay, if she’s wrong for caring about her in this way, if any of them will escape from this arena, if she’ll go home and inevitably remember the last moments she had with the girl for the rest of her life, if...
“Maysilee, it’s okay, you-“ Silka tries to make words of the mess in her throat. “You have to win. You understand me? You must win this now.” Maysilee finds that as she says it, a small knife is deposited on her hands, softly. The realization strikes her like a bolt of lightning.
“No, no, no. What are you even talking about?! C’mon, drink this.” She finds herself saying as she brings the syrup’s bottle to her lips, half hope, half logic taking over.
“Won’t or can’t?” Silka’s features turn into a decided frown.
“I won’t, okay? Happy now?” She knows she’s being irrationally mad at the girl, but she can’t help it, her emotions on haywire, her hands shaking, all telling her to save her.
“Wait, wait.” Silka stops her ministrations but still drinking the syrup obediently. “You know what they want, right?”
“Who? What are you saying at a time like this?” The Capitol? Snow? Panem? She thinks she knows where she’s going with this, but her mind can’t finish comprehending how does the girl- a career who seemed to want nothing but victory and recognition can think in the same way she, and every rebellious citizen in Panem does.
“You know what I’m talking about.” Then, she leans closer to whisper in her ear, their foreheads almost touching, the ghost of their breaths intermingling. Maysilee’s heart lurches forward but listens intently. “They want their victor, don’t they?” She nods. “Well, they won’t get to have it.”
And delicately, as soft as Maysilee’s ever seen her act, she takes off Maysilee’s blowgun from her neck, opening the small crevice that holds the venom crushed to a pulp.
“Wait, Silka, don’t!” She whispers-screams, realizing what she’s about to do, but even now, the girl still has a steel hold on her hands, keeping it away from her.
“It’s fine, Maysilee.” Silka looks her in the eye. Then, searching for any type of answer- answer she doesn’t know the question about- and perhaps finding one, she nods to herself, sucks in a breath and spills the purple liquid onto both their hands. “We can do this.” She hesitates for a second. “If you´re sure, that is.”
Her shyness would be endearing in any other circumstance, and Maysilee is sure, but she still wonders why Silka is doing this, wants to ask, wants to die without any more regrets.
“Yes, I am, but...” Takes a deep breath. “Why are you doing this, Silka? I thought you wanted to win, but what changed?”
Silka forgets all semblance of cool, forgets the cameras currently recording their every movement, grabs her face shakingly, looking for any kind of denial from Maysilee and finding none, kisses her.
Kisses her here, in the arena. In front of the whole country.
Oh.
Oh.
So, Silka does feel the same as she? Huh, difficult to tell with all those traded insults and banter, but... she supposes she should’ve seen it coming.
With the way the girl protected her, saved her life and gave her the very last chance to win her games, when it was all she ever wanted- was trained to want, probably.
Maysilee gasps, which is swallowed by Silka’s desperate lips, their kiss slowly turning from tentative and surprised to hungry and tender at the same time.
She knows they shouldn’t be doing this, knows it’s all kinds of stupid, and that it won’t get them any favors. Wonders what her allies would think, what may her family and her people at Twelve may think about this.
But all of this is nothing in the face of what she feels in this kiss.
Passion, hesitance, forgiveness, desperation and freedom in one. She can taste all of Silka’s emotions on her mouth, on her tongue, no words needed and her whole body feeling like she’s on fire.
Perhaps it’s a poetic thing, for them to share a moment of closeness and passion never seen before, in the middle of the games meant to destroy people’s hopes, meant to kill them for entertainment.
If she dies like this, she’ll die happy, she thinks, gripping the girl’s waist tighter.
But as all things good, their kiss ends.
Lightheaded- by the blood-loss, or the kiss, or maybe everything- Maysilee leans back, looking at the girl in front of her, both breathless and full of questions, questions that in another world would be answered and discussed in full.
But now? Maysilee will gladly die, but not before making her feelings clear, and painting her last banner.
And it seems Silka is dead set on helping her do it. Despite everything, she’s still on her corner, saving her, helping her at the very end.
“Are you sure?” Is what Silka voices out instead.
“Yes. On the count of tree?” She nods. In sync, both girls- the last tributes from the 50th Hunger Games- join their hands and lift them to their lips, ready for the world to disappear in a second.
But their death doesn’t come.
One of the game maker’s voice booms over their heads, effectively stopping them in their tracks. “STOP! BOTH OF YOU STOP!” Maysilee spits every last bit of the pulp, wiping her lips and making sure Silka does the same. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the winners of the 50th Hunger Games and Second Quarter Quell.”