Zipporah Vast died trying. (filles) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-02-08 16:46:00 |
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Somehow, Zipporah didn’t think that when the Capitolites squealed about girl time, this was quite what they had in mind. Nonetheless, in the strictest of definitions, that was what was going on here: the (arguably) more ladylike tributes from One, Two and Four formed a pack of their own, a formation of formidable females making their way through the arena with a fair amount of impunity despite their injuries. Broken arm, sliced arm, battered head - the Two recited the list to herself, not able to keep herself from sparing a glance at the stitching. There had been a dream the night before about it splitting open, festering: infection, the greatest fear of them all in this arena for a girl who feared very little in regards to the other tributes. There was no knowing where their northern path would lead - and that was the point. They seemed to have cleared at least their immediate area of tributes (and, Zipporah thought to herself with a scoff, only an idiot would settle that close to the Careers; they’d be begging for their death when it rushed in to greet them), but she still allowed one of the other girls to take the lead, her lingering at the back of the pack and careful to keep an eye over her shoulder, just in case anyone should have the idea to try to get the jump on them. “Do you hear that?” were the first words she spoke since they set off, abrupt in the near-silence of the arena. Music. Sephora was at the helm, her careful movements wary and cautious. The cream her Mentors had sent her had done wonders - while the nausea was still prevalent and the beat of her temple still a consistent rhythm, it was a dimmer one. Most importantly, her balance was back and she had some confidence that while it may not heal before she left this place, it was at least somewhat protected from blood poisoning. Her daggers, unnamed still, were gripped expertly in each hand. At this rate, if she survived, she was having them mounted over the fireplace in honor. She’d heard the music before Zipporah mentioned it but she’d kept silent on the matter. Head wounds were tricky and if she was being tricked by her own senses, she wasn’t about to make that public. But the faint chorus of sounds, kind of a strange whistle-y tune, had gotten a little louder as they’d moved closer. “Six, do you think? Got something running?” she inquired, her voice low as she slowed her step to fall back to her packmates. Miranda blinked rapidly, narrowing her eyes as if it would somehow miraculously enhance her hearing, and she sped up her step a little to meet the other girls so they were walking in a row. Earlier, she had almost jokingly remarked to the other two how it might almost be worth it to kill the boys and just form a girl pack -- no more unpredictable Ariel, no more high-maintenance Aramis, no more posturing, macho Brock. Just the kind of calm companionship that made her wonder if, in another world entirely, the three of them might have been real friends. "Wait, I know this song," Miranda said slowly. The tune was getting louder as they pushed forward, and she paused, shifting her splinted arm so that it ached less. "It's a sailor song from Four -- don't you hear it?" She began to hum. We'll rant and we'll roar like true sailors, We'll range and we'll roam all on the salt seas Eyes suddenly overbright, she inhaled sharply, fingers curling even more tightly to clutch the mace, still vaguely bloodstained (but who could bother to clean weapons here?) Then the signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor, And all in the downs that night for to lie She glanced at the other two girls, meeting two sets of uncomprehending eyes. "Let's go closer," she said abruptly. "Don't you hear it? I can teach you both the words." It was with sharp confusion that Zipporah had stopped short, right around the same moment that recognition came to Miranda: she insisted she knew it, insisted it was a song from Four, and yet the melody prickled over the skin of the girl from Two as if it were tangible, dangerous. She knew it, and it certainly wasn’t from Four. It was the song her father whistled during training, training her, training the peacekeepers, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, the tinkle of carousel music that held disturbingly vivid memories. Memories of her mother singing the words to him in the dark of night, haunting, a reminder. Not quite a work song. Not quite a sea shanty, either, and she’d be hard pressed to tell where it came from; only that she, and her parents, and Mica - Mica - if they were watching, would recognize it as well. Even the strongest survive by chance, even the weakest of all Hold up a candle to your flame, so you must make them fall “It’s not from Four,” she managed roughly, forcing the lyrics from her head though she couldn’t drown out the tune itself, but like Miranda, she pushed forward - her heart beating too fast even as her pace quickened. “I want to see where it’s coming from.” It was Sephora who now followed at the back as Miranda and Zipporah pushed forward. Truth be told, it wasn’t either of those songs she heard, but she imagined that was the point. They’d each hear what would draw them near. Suddenly, she didn’t think it was Halle from Six luring them in, it was the Gamemakers. She clutched her daggers tighter in her hands as the sounds clarified in her head, the words coming to mind automatically. There’s a lady who shows all that glitters is gold, and she’s buying the stairway to Heaven. It wasn’t home that called to them though as they came upon the Carousel, the obvious origin of the sound. The animals that sat on them were expertly carved, so expertly that Sephora wasn’t quite sure they weren’t real animals that had been stuffed. Their faces were molded into various expressions and still the music drew them in. Something in the air pricked at the back of her neck, the alarm bells in her mind about as loud as the remaining headache. Her feet stilled on the ground, letting Zipporah and Miranda continue on as she watched the tableaux warily. And in that second, the music stopped, leaving the three girls alone in the deafening silence with the perfectly carved animals. "Hello?" Miranda called out, half anxious, half irritated. "Finish the fucking song, would you?" In response, the wind picked up and the carousel creaked slightly, animals sliding to the left, though not moving from their pedestals, still eerily imprisoned. Miranda's shoulders slumped, slightly. "It was a fucking trick of some kind," she said furiously, folding her arms, anxious that the other two wouldn't be able to see that her eyelashes were slightly damp. "Let's get the fuck out of here, please." Something collapsed momentarily inside Zipporah as the music stopped, dissonance of the last note still drifting on the breeze and sending a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature up her spine. There were no tears in her eyes, precious little emotion on her face as she stood, staring blankly at the carousel, wondering if they were expected to ride it; wondering if, on the desperate grasp of something from home, the melodies were meant to lure weaker tributes into a trap. Her eyes fell on an alarmingly realistic looking zebra, its teeth just barely visible in the elaborate carving, and without realizing, she took a step back. In a low voice, she answered, “The Gamemakers are toying with us.” Casting her eyes around, hand sliding already to her throwing knives and keeping them safely in her palms as though it gave her some comfort, even as she moved backward, edging away from the creepy music and the carousel itself, looking for all the world composed until she nearly stumbled: more nervous than she was letting on. There was the vaguest tremble in her voice when she commanded, “Let’s go.” They moved back and the music suddenly came on anew, almost yearning them to stay. Be eaten. Die. “Have we already fallen into it?” she said aloud quietly, turning on her heels to look the way they came, to see if anything had come into view like a wire or a shining bit of metal. “We should go a different way,” Sephora reasoned, gesturing out to the right. “We haven’t been that way yet.” "Absolutely," Miranda agreed crisply, voice reverting to its usual hard tones. "Let's go." Hefting the mace over her shoulder, she turned on her heel and set off rapidly, glancing back to make sure the other two were following, and trying her best to force the music from her mind. They were only twenty steps away when the music started again -- a veritable and real siren song; the raucous music of her childhood, loud enough to hear, soft enough to crave. (We'll drink and be jolly, and drown melancholy... and here's to the health of each true-hearted soul.) Squaring her shoulders, Miranda glanced at the girls to her left and right and forced herself to not turn around. Her spine was prickling. "Let's go," she repeated forcefully, and she took another step forward. |