[ONGOING]
𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐗 𝐎𝐂
"Novalie, or, Nova Blackthorn. Won her games at fifteen. One of the only female victors from district four. Don't let her innocent appearance fool you. She's brutal, ruthless. I'm talkin' like, major leag...
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The arena is deadly silent. Too silent. Two more tributes have died.
Melora Shadegrove, district eleven. Throat slit by Aurelius Wyrmbane, district one.
Calico Marshbane, district eight. Stung to death by tracker jackers.
Down to six tributes now. The games have been ongoing for nearly two weeks now. This year's reaping selected smart tributes.
Ones that at least had a shot at surviving. Not that it mattered now, anyway. There was only one winner.
One tribute remained alive out of twenty four. Sixty six years of the same moronic, violent, twisted entertainment bullshit.
That's how the two tributes from district four stand where they are; fighting for their lives and constantly looking over their shoulders. Never sleeping, barely managing to avoid starvation.
"How much longer do you think it'll be?"
"I don't know. There's only six of us left; can't be too much longer."
Nico and Nova have been sticking together for over six days now. Neither wants to talk about what comes next. Sometimes denial is the only way to survive.
It's quiet again. Nico silently roasts the lizards he'd hunted, not their first choice of food; but beggars can't be choosers, as they say.
"How many do you think you've killed?"
"No idea. Haven't been keeping track."
"Hell, you're a regular killing machine. Wouldn't be surprised if you've taken out at least half of them, especially after what went down at the cornucopia."
"It was sick, Nico."
"Yeah, but it was pretty rad too. I think you're the first person to ever behead someone in the games."
"Shut up."
Nico mockingly clutches his hand to his chest, feigning offense.
"Girl, you wound me."
She rolls her eyes with a soft smile at her friend's antics. He's such an idiot, but she couldn't imagine life without him. And she's trying not to. Nico gets up from the fire, brushing the snow off his pants.
"Where are you going?"
"Just down to the river. I'll be back, don't worry."
"Be safe."
"Always."
He heads off to the river, to do god knows what; but he's perfectly capable of handling himself.
They've both always been very capable, but he has a certain style of handling himself. He's cunning, yet oblivious at the same time. He's tricky, yet plans in plain sight.
They've been best friends for as long as she can remember. And to think they may never have become such if not for being put in the same class.
