mydarlingfiona

[mydarlingfiona]

The celestial beings that created all could not have fathomed a tale such as this when they birthed the cosmos. The brightest star, the darkest corner, the coldest moon, all paled in comparison to the horrific evil and jealousy that spawned from the Pope family. It began with one, small soul -- Richard -- and expanded into that of a plot most foul. Had the celestial beings decided to interfere in the affairs of mere mortals, the tragedy of Fiona Pope could have been prevented. Instead, the world bore witness to the results of such evil. 

A fist, attached to the wrist of a girl with golden hair and porcelain skin, delivered the final blow. The same knuckle would later be washed, prepped, and waving to the crowds of those that relished in the pain and misery of the less fortunate. A twelve year old Fiona Pope did not deserve such an end. No, she did not. But that was not her decision to make. Her fate had been decided for her the moment Richard Pope succumbed to this mortal coil. 

But, I suppose, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Fiona Pope didn’t realize that her body had given out on her. Her mind continued to race despite the constrictions placed upon her physical form. All she could think about was that she couldn’t give up. Her mind raced while her body slowed and, eventually, gave out on her. But, still, she wouldn’t give up. The whole world watched as Fiona got up time and time again. The whole world watched as she pointed her dagger at Jules’ heart one last time. The whole world watched as the cannon fired. The whole world watched as Fiona Pope died. 

It was over.

Perhaps it was the realization that their lack of interference in the world of man caused Fiona’s untimely demise. Perhaps it was any number of mortal, bodily factors -- because, let’s face it, the common eye could not comprehend why Fiona’s body was able to stand and face her adversary even in death. Regardless of the rhyme, reason, or rationale, the greater forces of the universe watched in amusement as Fiona Pope woke up.

Her eyes retained their doe-like quality even in death, it seemed. Gazing around, she noted that the world around her was black and endless. There was no beginning or end, only an eternal field of darkness. Her hands instinctively went towards her stomach. They desperately searched but could find no wounds, gashes, or blood. What had happened? Where was Jules? Wasn’t--

Then, suddenly, the infinite abyss seemed to answer Fiona’s internalized questions. Voices of various pitches and tones called out from the darkness. She had died, one had said. Jules had killed her, said another. Blood, death, and gore were other keywords that Fiona managed to pick up through the tears that cascaded down her face. 

Right, she thought, I lost. I-I let down everyone. 

Tucking her legs into her chest, she lowered her head and began to sob. The voices continued to taunt her -- their words becoming harmful and purposefully malicious. What seemed like hours flew by as Fiona sat in this strange, dark world. The voices began to morph and, much to Fiona’s despair, the sounds of her mother and father beckoning to her cut through the rest. They, too, laughed at her misery and even went so far as to mock the girl for dying.

She hadn’t been worth it. She was never worth it. What good was a dead daughter? They had given up on her the moment her name had been called at the Reaping, the voice of her father had mumbled in Fiona’s ear. Her mother’s loud, incessant shrieking repeated the same words but with her usual, sadistic flair. Worthless, pathetic, ugly little child! You failed us. You--

The gods had seen enough. With a wave of their hands, the voices began to fade away. Once they were gone, Fiona slowly opened her eyes and raised her head. What she saw caused her eyes to widen and for a new river of tears to flow down her face. There, standing in the middle of a world now filled with light, was Enobaria, Nolie, and Fell. 

The three victors came bearing smiles. Even Fell, who Fiona was perhaps happiest to see, had his lips turned upwards in a little smirk. A choking sob erupted from Fiona’s mouth. What should have been the cause of great excitement and happiness in the small girl was instead the cause of much suffering.

“I’m sorry! I-I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t do it-- I... I failed. I’m so sorry. I just wanted to do well. I just wanted to do well for once! Why couldn’t I do it?” she sobbed as she buried her face back into her hands. Her face was blotchy, the same shade of red as a young tomato, and her body shook with the force of her cries. Even now, as she openly wept in a realm that was unfamiliar to her, she knew that she was a disappointment. The tears continued to flow until she abruptly felt three pairs of hands touching her. 

Looking up with a gasp, she saw that Nolie was rubbing her back, Enobaria held her hands in her own, and Fell had a hand gingerly placed atop her head. They looked at her with closed eyes and wide smiles. They didn’t say anything but, in that moment, Fiona knew... she just knew.   

Her tears of sorrow turned into those of joy. Her frown turned into a smile, the likes of which she had never allowed to grace her face. She looked eagerly at her mentors -- no, her family -- with the joy and radiance of a thousand suns. The gods sighed, happy with the end result.

Fiona Pope was, perhaps for the first time in her life, happy.

[mydarlingfiona]

juleschurchill·:

Missed my heart. 

It still hurt–perhaps more so than a dagger to the heart would’ve. The skin around her ribs was nearly completely gone now, ripped away from Fiona’s daggers, falling rocks. If she had gotten stabbed in the heart, she wouldn’t have lasted long to feel the weapon’s effects. 

Still, a blessing. To still be alive, to still be able to feel pain. A blessing. It had to be. 

She didn’t even take a moment to compose herself before her next actions–after the girl’s scream, what was left of Jules’s mind turned o f f .��

The girl was open, lost in her flurry of papers that Jules still couldn’t decipher. She was vulnerable.

For the first time in her life, Jules Churchill did not think and think and then overthink the task in front of her, she didn’t analyze, she didn’t scheme, she didn’t plan or promise or show any of that great intelligence she claimed to have. She didn’t think at all–she just punched.

 Pushing the girl off with a sudden rush of adrenaline and strength she didn’t know her body capable of, she threw her brass-knuckled first into Fiona’s face, her chest, her neck, her entire body. And again. And again. And again. Again, again, again and she wouldn’t, couldn’t stop until the until the cannon sounded, until someone stopped her. Until something happened.

 But the girl would not stay down. Every time Jules’s fist connected to her nose, with every cracking of ribs or pulsing of worn muscles, she kept getting back up, kept hitting back at Jules. 

“It’s over, it’s over, it’s over. Stop it, just stop. It’s over. It’s okay.” Jules began chanting through punches, a mantra she didn’t understand herself saying. 

Why on earth would she say it was okay? Jules asked the question to herself. The words were a threat, not a comfort. But they wore the veil of comfort, like something her mother would tell her when she was little and scraped her knee. When that was the worst scar she had. 

She needed the girl to stop, she needed the girl to stay down and die quietly, to stop with the rage, with the fight. It had to be over soon–Jules’s side and upper chest were gushing blood, the skin around her wounds beating like a heartbeat. She was so hot, but she was also so cold. And tired. She wanted to stop, to curl up in her bed back home and sleep until the golden sun filtered through the window. She wanted to wake up from this horrible dream. 

She should have seen this coming. She should have known the moment that her name had been called on that fateful day. It was hopeless -- it had always been that way. The world had been operating against her this entire time. She would never be allowed to survive, win, and start a life that she had been craving for years. No, she wouldn’t. But, still, that didn’t stop the young girl from trying... and try she would until the bitter end.

The first punch came and her vision began to fade. The rest followed suit and caused a crushing weight and a slowly approaching feeling of cold to fall onto Fiona. Despite all of this, however, she got up after each punch. After the first series, she fell to the ground and, after almost no hesitation, got back up and tried to stab at Jules again. Her screams were still fresh, then, and there might have still been some hope for the onlookers. Fiona could still win. She really, really could.

As the punches became plentiful, that hope began to disappear. People in Panem began to look away from the scene, their hearts heavy with woe and their eyes burning at the sight of the girl from Seven beating the literal life out of the twelve year old. Nevertheless, regardless of what the other’s thought, Fiona persisted. 

She lost the ability to scream at some point -- she didn’t know when -- and her legs felt nonexistent. Did she still have them? That didn’t matter. After each time she fell and her badly bruised, tattered, and nearly destroyed body hit the ground, Fiona got back up. She refused to give up. She refused to stop trying.

She was vaguely aware of the girl from Seven screaming something at her. At this point, the punches increased in number and Fiona just stood there, a medley of blows aimed at her torso. Slowly, but surely, her organs began to fail. Blood flew out of her open wounds and leaked down from the corners of her mouth. One last punch came from Jules and Fiona finally fell for what many assumed -- and hoped -- was the last time.

But, nevertheless, Fiona persisted. 

Silently, she placed her bloody, disfigured hands on the ground to gain momentum. Her feet followed suit. It was a miracle that she was even able to move. Then, as the whole of Panem drew in a collective intake of air, Fiona grabbed a knife that she had dropped and straightened her back. The sight was unholy. Her body was caked in bruises, blood, and was disfigured. Her face, which had been relatively untouched, looked on vaguely at Jules. 

Time was running out. 

Her hand raised itself and pointed the dagger at the girl. With as much strength as she could muster, Fiona began to hum. She searched for the words desperately. Finally, her mouth opened.

“...I...I-won’t g-give up...”

She stood there for a minute after the words finished falling out of her mouth. Her body was still and her eyes stared blankly at Jules. As the world watched, they wondered what Fiona was doing. Had she, despite what she had said, given up. They got their answer as a cannon soon penetrated the silence.

Fiona had died... standing up.

It is possible, although rare, for a body to die standing up. It is a phenomena that, frankly, should be impossible. When a body’s muscles are too hot and the whole system cools down too fast for the muscles to keep up, the body enters into premature rigor mortis. That is what happened to Fiona Pope as she died on the sixth day of the Hunger Games.

Even in death, she refused to give up.

[mydarlingfiona]

juleschurchill·:

When she punched Fiona, she had expected to hit something solid–Monty had been like hitting a rock, barely movable, barely effective, and Dayta was no wilting flower. Neither was Fiona, Jules could guess. But still, the girl doubled over after Jules’s first punch. She was so fucking tiny. Maybe the brass knuckles would be even more effective than she thought. 

But still, the dagger. It hung from her kilt like a dead weight, calling out to her. Just slit her throat. It will be so much easier. You’ll be home so much quicker. Just one movement. 

Just one. 

It became extra convincing when two knives buried themselves into Jules flesh. 

“Damnit,” she gasped, shocked at the pain. That was an ending hit, that was something they would play in replays, whether she won or not. A series of harsher expletives rushed through Jules’s dizzying head. She stabbed me. She fucking stabbed me. 

This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to girls like her. She was smart, and rich, and important. She was the mayor’s daughter, her birthright was cotillions and dinner parties, not to die in some grassy fields at the hands of a twelve-year-old from district two. Her birthright was rise only slightly above her station and become mayor herself, to charm Capitol elites and district heads for the rest of her life, to be pretty but intimidating, to smile sweetly and be a pencil pusher, make things slightly better for her own children. 

None of that was going to happen. The odds had a different idea for her life, Amos Lorraine, Lark Timbers, President Snow, they all had a different idea for her life than the one she planned. Jules was never, had never been in the business of disappointing people. Might as well rise to the occasion. Her muscles felt frozen in the shock of Fiona’s knives plunging into her chest, but somehow she found the strength to grasp her dagger with a shaking hand. She pushed Fiona off of her, the daggers moving slightly, causing another wave of pain to shoot through her body. Her movements were sudden, fidgety, but she managed to drive the knife in Fiona’s direction. 

She missed the girl’s neck, instead slashing a few inches below at her sweater, where a a mix of blood and a flurry of papers spilled out. Papers? Was she hallucinating?  

The dagger slipped out of Jules’s hand, landing a few yards away from her, sitting all bloody and pretty in the green grass. Damn.

It wasn’t the initial sharpness of the pain that caused Fiona’s eyes to widen. It wasn’t the feeling of her skin being ripped open as the blade cut across her chest that caused her to gasp and stumble backwards -- she had endured that sort of feeling ever since Apollo had bruised her neck and caused a flurry of colored spots to appear in her vision. No, what caused Fiona to lose her balance and cry out was the sight of Fell and Nolie’s names etched onto the sponsor notes she had been collecting. 

They floated downward, taking their time and not caring about the blood that soaked their pristine white edges. Fiona’s eyes darted towards them and watched with horror etched onto her face at the sight of them landing amongst the dirt and grass. A strange feeling fluttered about in her stomach. The sullied names of her dearly beloveds law strewn across the ground, their words meaningless now. 

“You can do it, sweetie! We’re all so proud of you...” - Demetria

Tears began to stream down her face as she stumbled back to her feet. Time was ticking. She had momentarily taken her gaze off of Jules and knew that she had to collect herself. Her face, which was contorted with sadness, shifted to the side as she eyed the girl’s dagger. Fiona’s own blood was dripping off the end. It didn’t even matter at this point. Nothing... nothing else mattered--

"Proud of you." - Enobaria

--except winning. With a loose grip on one of her two remaining knives, Fiona charged at the girl. She had to win, right? Everything else depended on it. She couldn’t go back to the Pope family. They had cast her aside, treated her as bait, and lured her into the false belief that life was worthless. They had broken her before she was even born. Now, she had--

"I'm so, so proud of you. See you soon." - Nolie

-- discovered the prospect of a new family. The District Two victors had believed in her, helped her, and offered her the strength that she never knew she had. Like a newborn babe, she had latched onto the finger of Two. She couldn’t let them down. She had to keep going. Three steps to the side, two steps forward. That was all the distance left between her and Jules. War flashed in her eyes, power ran through her veins, and determination guided her feet and the tip of her dagger. She could do it. She was so, so close. With a swing and a scream, she raised the dagger high and slammed it down into the center of Jules’ chest -- or, that’s what she was attempting. She had missed. The dagger pierced flesh but closer towards her stomach, not her heart. She had--

"You're doing good, kid." - Fell

Failed.

[mydarlingfiona]

juleschurchill·:

As the girl approached, Jules was reminded of the fairy-tales she read as a child. Ancient stories of princesses lost in the woods, maidens befriending magical creatures, a mermaid returning to the sea. A princess with weapons fit for a knight.

She waited too long. The girl got the first shot in the fight, charging at her with an intensity Jules didn’t think possible this long into the games. Jules stood frozen for a moment, like an idiot. Like someone who wanted to die, like someone who didn’t know any better. She had already decided this, already decided she was done with waiting, done with letting the tide of the games have its way with her. Jules learned from her father to see what was ahead, to take control of the situation, any mean’s necessary. 

She was her father’s daughter. She was, she was, she was. That was the thought that went through her head as the girl’s foot connected with her face. So much for the stitches–the cut on Jules’ cheek ripped open once again, filling her mouth with the coppery taste of blood. The blood reminded her that she did not like being kicked. The blood reminded her that she had brass knuckles, and they worked just fine.

She spit out the blood, wiping it away from her mouth and staining her hands red. Vida’s blood was still on them from when she scavenged her supplies after she died, but that had dried, turned to a light pink against porcelain skin. Her own blood covered VIda’s, red as–

Well, blood. 

The brass felt hot against her hand, like it was burning her skin, like it was melting, like it was a brand. Once she regained her balance from the girl’s kick, she rounded her arm back, throwing it with all her strength into the girl’s stomach, right between her ribs. 

She had seen the girl’s punch coming. It was predictable and, based on the wars she had participated in thus far, it was easy to dodge. She began to twirl on one foot, ready to easily slip past the attack, when the cut Kali had inflicted on her stomach opened up and a searing pain overcame the young child. The momentary agony was enough to prevent her step sequence from finishing. Then, before she knew what literally hit her, Fiona felt herself double over in intense pain.

Gagging, she felt a mixture of spit and blood fly out of her mouth and rest upon Jules’ sweater. Her bulging eyes, intense with pain and determination, flew upwards and connected with Jules’ own. It hurt. It hurt so, so bad. But... but she couldn’t stop. This girl was in the way of Fell, Nolie, and everybody else!  She had to go, she had to die! 

So, with the same ferocity that had been present when she glared at Vega, she gripped at Jules arm with shaky hands and latched onto the sweater. Her nails, which had become broken and sharp, pierced through the sweater and into the other’s skin. She refused to let go; it was as if Fiona was grasping at the very thing that kept her alive. By this point, pain was a familiar feeling for Fiona. She practically embraced it like an old friend. Better yet, it was more like a leech that was stuck to her skin. It wouldn’t go away and so to deal with it she just left it there. 

Beyond and within the scope of the arena, that leech carried a few names. Mother, father, Andrei, Vega, Triton, Apollo, the list went on and on. Now, Jules’ name was added to that list. Her life was being sucked away with each wound, each battle, each emotionally draining interaction. The only thing that could alleviate her pain was, ironically enough, inflicting more. Simply put, it was the only solution for her -- it always had been. 

In a swift movement, Fiona let herself fall forward, pushing the girl from Seven backwards. As Jules tripped, Fiona pulled two knives from her boots and charged. Unaware of her own guttural scream, she slammed into Jules head-first as each hand buried a happy dagger into her upper-chest and her side.

[mydarlingfiona]

juleschurchill·:

The brass knuckles were already on. She put them on as soon as she realized what the Muttations were doing. Three left, the gamemakers were looking to wrap it up. She chugged the rest of her water as she was oh-so-subtly pushed forward by the mutts, knowing in all likelihood she wouldn’t need anymore water in a few hours.

The dagger and the garrote hung from the waistband of her skirt, loosely snug. They were a comfort to have, but Jules wasn’t sure if she would actually be able to use them. She was no career–untrained, untested. She pushed Monty off a cliff, anyone could do that. She wasn’t exactly how she could get into a position to strangle someone with a garrote. The brass knuckles were more practical. She could figure out how to throw a punch.

The twelve-year-old from Two. How the hell did that happen? Two was a career district, they almost always sent deadly eighteen-year-olds that could snap people in two with their bare hands. This girl was untrained and twelve, looked even younger than it. She was the size of Jules’ ten-year-old sister Juniper. Lithe and small. 

Smaller than Jules. For perhaps the first time in the Games, Jules Churchill had the physical advantage. But maybe not the crowd advantage, this time. People hated when it was a twelve-year-old against an eighteen-year-old, it wasn’t fair. There would be people around Panem hoping something horrible happened to Jules right about now, hoping the twelve-year-old had a trick up her sleeve.

She steeled herself anyway. It didn’t matter who people wanted to win–Jules had to. Clenching her fists around the brass, she readied herself to charge at the girl from two.

@mydarlingfiona

Fiona had walked with a hung head as the strange horses edged her towards the lake. The last time she had been there was the first time she had met Shay. A twelve year old walking in front of a heard of ponies was a strange sight to behold -- anyone would have looked twice at the phenomena. The Capitol’s cameras had been quick to capture a breathtaking shot of one of the last tributes. It appeared as if Fiona was leading the horses to water. She was their leader, their figurehead, their little lamb that was guiding the flock. Besmirched by blood and dirt, the girl eventually broke through the line of trees and found herself staring at a blonde girl that she had never encountered.

So, this was it. 

Had this been any other day, any other time, any other occasion, Fiona would have been completely startled by the sight of the girl. She looked practically like she was already dead. Instead, Fiona merely allowed her own dead eyes to gaze at the head of blonde hair and the pools of blood that coated her skin. She thought about the lives she had claimed thus far: Apollo, Triton, Kathryn, and most recently Kaliope. Four down, one to go. Four had died at the hand of a bloody lamb, one would die at the hand of a girl who just... just wanted to go home.

Averting her gaze for a second, she stared into the large lake. The water seemed to glare back at her. It’s cool, refreshing liquid taunted her -- it was so clean whilst the girls standing before it, armed to the teeth, were sullied by the sins they had committed. Fiona felt her legs begin to wobble, heavy with the burden of her the lives she had taken. The only thing keeping her from collapsing into a heap was the images of Fell and Nolie. Their encouraging hands, words, and faces kept appearing in Fiona’s mind. They wanted her to win. They would be expecting her to come home. Home, a word that Fiona never really knew the meaning of, was finally in plain sight. All that stood in her way was another life. What was another life at this point?

Stumbling forward, Fiona lowered her head and took in as much oxygen as she possibly could. Then, as the world fell silent save the occasional lapping waves of the lake, Fiona burst forward like a shooting star. She was burning with an intensity that could only be quenched by the love of others. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be saved. She wanted, above all else, to become part of a family -- a real family.

Those thoughts guided her as she reached Jules, dug into the ground, and then sliced the air with one leg as its attached foot slammed upwards into Jules’ jaw. 

[mydarlingfiona]

A small capsule attached to a parachute floats down from above and lands beside Fiona. Inside are bandages (x3). Attached is a note from mentor Nolie Reyes that reads: "I'm so, so proud of you. See you soon."

As she stumbles back into the forest, Fiona slumps against the bark of a tree and falls to the ground. Tears are streaming down her face but, at this point, she just doesn’t care. The sound of her own screaming resonated in her ears and she felt like she was slowly being drowned by her own voice. She wrapped her arms around her torso and slowly bent over, the pain mixing with the emotions that kept her stuck on the ground.

Taking her hands away, she saw that most of the bleeding from her stomach wound had stopped but the blood that had poured out of her wound had stained her sweater even further and left her arms and hands red and dirty. There were obviously no mirrors in the arena but, if there were, Fiona would have fainted away at the sight. Her hair was matted, skin tinted brown from dirt and blood, and her eyes were crazed. Her body had a case of the shakes since the bloodbath that seemed to just… never stop. 

She continued to just sit there, wondering how to proceed with cleaning up her wound, when she saw the familiar capsule plop down before her. Wincing, she reached for it and felt a small smile creep up on her face as she saw the note within. The bandages were good – and she knew what they were meant for – but the handwritten note from Nolie was even better. She held it close to her heart and tried to force the words to sink onto her skin. Her tears threatened to soak the delicate paper so she placed it within her bra with the rest. There were quite a few notes in there now. Ones from sponsors, Nolie, Fell…

“I miss you. I miss you all… Fell, Nolie. I-I love you both.”

[mydarlingfiona]

kaliofhope·:

Kali could end it. The girl was trying to show her dominance, trying to have Kali slip up. The knife was already part of the way through her neck. She could move quickly, douse her knife in red again. She thought about it…and thought too long. 

Kali heard the words that she had just said and the little girl had moved too quickly. Her hand was wrenched backwards and it joined the other pain in intense agony. What the fuck kind of game was this girl playing? She screamed, her voice hoarse and dry, the water she had been dying to get trapped in a backpack only a few feet away from her. She closed her mouth and stared at the face that was causing her pain, more pain than she deserved. 

“You had the chance to get away!” she cried, moving her hands against the knives, but pain erupting every time she did. Kali was still angry, but she now felt sadness, resignation, and fear in what was to come next. Obviously, this girl blamed Kali for Shay’s death and that was legitimate, but this was ridiculous. “I killed Shay, but I didn’t make her suffer,” she spat with venom in her voice. Kali did not expect this was how she was going to die. 

A new wave of pain rushed through her and in a last ditch attempt she cried out, “Vega! Help!” But, she knew Vega was too far away and there wasn’t a chance in hell for her to get out of here unless she ripped her hands apart, and Kali didn’t think she could live if she couldn’t draw. 

Everything that happened next seemed to happen so quickly. Once again, Kali’s screams penetrated the air and consumed Fiona. It was all she could hear. The raw emotion present within those vibrating sound waves nearly knocked the girl from Two off balance. Her body and brain were exhausted. For a moment, she thought her body was going give out and fall to the ground. Her mind was telling her that it would be okay -- what could Kali do? Fiona had effectively crucified her to that table. She was so worried about preventing Kali from hurting that she didn’t even think about the fact that she... she was torturing her. 

“I’m sorry!” Fiona screamed out, finally overwhelmed by the emotions and exhaustion she was feeling. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I-I didn’t want...I...” She felt a vein in her neck bulging out and a piercing pain in her head. It felt like she was going to pass out. Her vision began to blur and the sounds of the world began to become dull. Eventually, even the screams that had ringed in her ear started to fade.

“So did you! You had the chance to get away. Why do you-- why does everyone think that I...I...I don’t have what it takes?!” She screamed at nobody. Kali could have been listening, sure, but this wasn’t really about her. Everything was coming out now and she didn’t care who heard.

“I can do it. I have to do it. If you don’t-- if Shay couldn’t then I-- just die. Just die!” Reaching into her boot, she pulled out another of her hidden knives, moved forward, and slammed it down into Kali’s back. Screaming, Fiona stabbed once more for good measure before losing her backwards and onto the ground. She watched in horror as blood began to ooze from the wound she had just made. 

She had no choice. She had no choice. She had to win. She had... She had to win.

[mydarlingfiona]

kaliofhope·:

She heard Fiona sprinting behind her. She heard the angry steps, the crunching of the grass as she got closer to Kali. But, there. The table was so close, she could get this stuff for Vega and then they could meet up and figure out the next move. There would be water and strength in that pack, enough that they could make it to the end. 

The steps were close and in an effort to stop the onslaught, Kali turned around and put her hands up. Her back felt the table dig into her as the girl caught Kali’s hand and slammed it, along with her sharp knife, into the table. 

Her scream echoed across the clearing and the world slowed for a moment. She could feel the red start to bleed from her body. She could feel the tears fall out of her eyes. She could feel the sweat drip down her neck. Kali bent forward in pain, her eyes wide. Again, anger flowed through her veins. This whole damn Game had taken away her best friend and was on the brink of taking her. Would she get to see her mother again? She hadn’t thought about her mother for a while. That’s who this was all for, wasn’t it? 

With her free hand, Kali pulled out the second of her three knives and held it up to Fiona’s neck. “Get the fuck out of here,” she said through clenched teeth. 

Goose pimples covered her flesh as Kali’s bloodcurdling scream echoed in the clearing. The blood in her veins practically turned to ice -- her thoughts drifted back to those of Kathryn and even herself. That same scream was everywhere. It was a spirit that haunted the rolling hills and bodies of water in this arena. One could never comprehend when it would inhabit a body and destroy it from within. It appeared that it had chosen to take hold of Kali this time. 

Angry tears began to form in her eyes. She wanted all of it to stop. She had accepted that, if she were to survive, she had to kill. That kind of logic had been ingrained into the minds and hearts of every citizen of Panem. For the twenty-four kids that had been selected to die each year, that logic was even more applicable. It was common sense, really. If that’s the case, then why did Fiona’s arms hesitate? Why did her legs feel like they were stuck in the ground? Why did the salty, angry tears keep coming?

Surprisingly, Fiona didn’t flinch when Kali had the point of the knife up to her throat. It was barely an inch away from the most delicate part of her body. The pain in Kali’s eyes... it was too much. Fiona’s own eyes reflected that same pain. In that split second where the world seemed to fall silent, heavy with the weight of the battle, Fiona saw Shay’s face reflected in Kali’s eyes. Then she saw Fell’s face, followed by Nolie, and finally Miss Higginbotham. Where would Fiona be if they had not entered her life? She pictured the life she had once lived accompanied by the girl that had humiliated herself in front of the Capitol on the day of the Reaping. She was a smart girl -- it wasn’t hard to figure out. She’d be dead. Even if she hadn’t been Reaped, she would be dead (just a different version of the word). 

Gulping, Fiona inched her neck forward ever-so-slightly. She felt the slight prick of the sharpened weapon and felt a trickle of blood pour out of her neck in time with the tears in her eyes. Then, with a broken, hoarse voice, Fiona opened her mouth to Kali.

“I am not going to die for someone else...” she said, repeating Kali’s own words back at her. 

Then, with a sudden movement, she bent her back backwards, slid to the side, and took the last knife in her hand and slammed it into Kali’s hand and into the table -- effectively pinning Kali down and rendering her unable to move.

[mydarlingfiona]

kaliofhope·:

Kali reacted the best way she could to the furious girl. She moved as best as she could out of the way of the first knife, but the second caught her beautiful woolen sweater, coming close to her skin. She jumped backwards away from the girl’s knife. She held the sword strong with one hand, putting one hand out. “You can still leave,” she shouted, glaring at the girl. 

Fury burned in Kali. Her sword fell away from her and she twisted to get away from the girl. “I am not going to die for someone else,” she said through gritted teeth. “I need to get home just as much as anyone else here!” Kali shouted, the rage building in her. She was not supposed to do anything. The knife that she had pulled from her grip flashed red again and she closed her eyes for a second. “I didn’t do it to hurt her! I didn’t want to kill her! I am worth something too!” 

She rushed forwards her knives in her hand. She threw the first one at the girl, sending it flying over her shoulder. Kali ran past the girl, the knife out beside her and slashed at her midsection. She kept running past, hoping to have debilitated her enough to get away. 

Kali’s words hit Fiona hard as the two danced death’s favorite jig. What she had said was true. It wasn’t fair for Fiona to take Kali’s chances away from her by saying that Shay deserved to be alive more than her. The hurt in her voice was evident, too, which threw Fiona off her guard. Had she just tried to render Kali inferior and, ultimately, unnecessary? If she didn’t know any better, it felt like--

Fiona’s eyes widened -- not because of the knife that had just almost embedded itself in her skull, but because of the fact that she sounded like her mother. 

The momentary opening in her defenses caused by the sudden realization took its toll. A scream erupted from Fiona’s mouth as she doubled over her pain. The pain was enough to make her knees give out and she landed roughly on the ground. Her hands instinctively went towards her midsection. The warm, sticky feeling that pervaded her palms was enough to make Fiona sick. The girl gasped for breath as she raised her hands and saw that her palms were covered in red. 

The pain clouded her vision. She could only watch as Kali began to run away. The last words she yelled out continued to ring in Fiona’s ears. I didn’t do it to hurt her! I didn’t want to kill her! I am worth something too! If she hadn’t known any better, it sounded like a celestial deity had plucked those very thoughts from Fiona’s mind and had echoed them back at her. Grimacing, Fiona slowly got to her feet and began to chase after Kali.

She wasn’t fair to Kali and the same could be said in reverse. Above all else, though, the Games hadn’t been fair to either of them. 

As Kali got to the table, Fiona was only a few paces behind. As blood slowly began to trickle out of her newest wound, so, too, did the intense anger she harbored at Kali. However, as she drew closer to the other girl, she knew what she had to do.

Taking one of her knives, the girl screamed as she slammed it into Kali’s hand. The sharp blade pierced through skin and bone and pinned itself and the hand onto the white tablecloth that was slowly becoming stained red with blood.

[mydarlingfiona]

kaliofhope·:

Kali rested on the edge of the clearing. She crouched in the trees, her sword balanced on top of her knee as she assessed the area in front of her. The closest bag was free. She knew that there had to be other tributes around and she heard some screaming, but didn’t stick her head out far enough to see where it was coming from. She had to run, she had to go and get the bag and come back to meet Vega. Then they could go hunting if that’s what Vega wanted. Kali swallowed, knowing she did not want to do that, the blade on her knee flashing red in her vision. 

She took a shuddering breath, trying to keep her hands from trembling. Kali could do this, she could do this alone. This…this was the first time she had been alone, truly alone in the Arena. It was a place she knew that she would not get any help if she screamed. It took a moment for her to regain her sense of purpose and Kali stood up, checking Vega’s watch. She had a little bit of time, but Kali wanted to get it over with. 

Her legs started to pump, as she rushed across the clearing. She was nearly at the table when a small body collided with her. She scrambled backwards away from the girl and recognized her as Shay’s ally. She took a deep breath holding her sword in front of her. “We gave you a chance to run. And I need to survive,” she said, shakily. “Now, you can leave or meet the same fate as Shay.” Kali mustered the confidence that Vega would have had in this situation. “Leave.” Vega might be able to take care of this girl later. 

She stared at the tip of the sword with eyes stewing with a slowly building fury. Each word that Kali brought into the world seemed to be laced with a reminder of the havoc that she had brought. Fiona’s world had practically been turned upside down. The thought was a little dramatic considering she was in an arena fighting for her life, but none of that registered in the twelve year old’s mind. To her, Kali had stolen something precious form her. Shay, the girl that had kept her warm, was gone from this world because of her. The emotions she felt were bordering a blind fury that, if remained unchecked, could potentially spell a swift death for Fiona.

But, still, none of that mattered; only vengeance mattered.

Licking her lips (which only worsened her intense thirst), Fiona flicked both wrists and grasped at the knives as they popped out of her sleeves. Both of these knives, amongst the others that were hidden on her person, were Shay’s. In a strange way, Fiona felt like Shay was still with her. As she dashed forwards without saying a word back to Kali, she corrected herself: Shay would, indeed, always be with her. She would always be in her heart.

 Reaching Twelve with blinding speed, Fiona thrust one fist forward. The sun reflected off the cold steel, rending the knife a thing of beauty if only for a moment. The first strike missed due to Fiona’s raw emotion. Twirling on her foot, she slashed sideways with the other fist. This one connected -- albeit only with the girl’s sweater -- and a great rip emerged in the woolen fabric.

“It was supposed to be Shay!”  Fiona couldn’t help it. The thoughts had been building up inside of her since her ally had perished. They had escalated once she saw Kali again and reached a breaking point when that sword had been pointed at her. 

“It should have been Shay that survived! Not you! She was strong, brave, and--and--and... And I loved her!” Her voice cracked and broke as she used her anger to kick her leg straight up, sending her foot crashing into Kali’s hand. As a result, the sword fumbled and slipped out of her grasp. With another movement, Fiona kicked it away as best she could. 

[mydarlingfiona]

The sun was harsh as its malevolent beams seared into the skin of the surviving tributes. Some had been resting peacefully when Seneca Crane’s voice boomed throughout the arena and alerted them of a golden opportunity. Others had been wide awake throughout the night and were hardly affected when his voice appeared randomly. Fiona Pope was one of the latter tributes.

She had barely slept as night turned into day. At one point she had passed out from sheer exhaustion but quickly was awoken by her night terrors. Fiona was no stranger to them but these? These were... a new spectacle. Morphed images of mangled bodies, blood, Triton’s face, Apollo’s arms, Kathryn’s cries, and... and Shay’s warmth. They all seemed to blend into one never-ending unearthly spectral. It was as if Hell itself had sent images into Fiona’s brain. It was unsurprising that she awoke with a scream.

Regardless of however much sleep she got, Fiona knew that she had to attend the feast. It wasn’t until Seneca Crane mentioned water that she actually realized just how thirsty she was. Perhaps it was a placebo (Miss Higginbotham had mentioned those once), but she felt that she had never been thirstier in her life. Slowly, but surely, she emerged from her hideout and began walking. As she traversed the woodsy landscape, her only companion was the dull ache in her arm. It seemed to speak to her like the bullies back in Two: “Just give up. Stop fighting it. Get lost. Go die in a hole...” 

Soon, she came upon the edge of the forest. The faint sound of screaming and... worse filled the air. Her blood froze in her veins and she could somehow feel her heartbeat in the gash of her arm. That seemed to spook her most. It was as if those voices were returning and telling her that she was going to die. She had actually taken a step back when she saw the familiar head of curly, black hair running into the midst of battle. The ache in her arm rose to an all-time high as the once frigid blood turned into boiling blood.

Her body moved without approval from her brain. Her legs carried her body as if she was weightless. The more she ran the more the pain seemed to fade away. The only thing that she could think about as she sprinted was Shay. She should still be here. She should be alive. She should be with her. She should be with Fiona!

A cry of some sort -- a mixture of anger and despair -- clawed its way out of Fiona’s mouth as she slammed into Kali before she could reach the table. The two girls roughly fell to the ground in a pile. As Fiona shakily got to her feet, she glared intensely and panted harshly at the girl from Twelve. 

“Why...?”

@kaliofhope

[mydarlingfiona]

A small capsule attached to a parachute floats down from above and lands beside Fiona. Inside are bandages (x3). Attached is a note from mentor Enobaria McClave that reads: "Proud of you."

Glad to move on from the chilling note that made her hair stand on end, Fiona opened the final one to find some bandages. If the first note had sent chills down her spine, then the note that accompanied this one was akin to shoving ice cubes down her sweater. A note from Enobaria? Wait, that meant this whole gift was from her?

Fiona kept treading the three words over and over again. She had not really interacted with the fanged mentor. The older woman had scared Fiona pretty badly when they first met, actually. Fiona remembered wanting to run away the moment the victor had flashed her pearly, yet deadly, smile. She had also been one of the people that had tossed the likelihood of District Two getting a victor the moment Fiona had been reaped. Now, she was sending gifts to her? Had her perception changed?

Maybe… maybe it had. Tucking her note in with the others, Fiona looked at the new supplies she had gotten and inhaled deeply. She knew what she was meant to do. She had to close the wound. She had to clean it, too. All of that was fine and dandy in theory, but… could she do it? The pain was bound to be intense. Simply staring at the needle was enough to make Fiona feel like she was going to be sick again. The thought of sticking that thing into her wound was horrifying. Then, as she contemplated just letting the wound fester instead of having to deal with it, she remembered Enobaria’s words. 

One minute and two deep breaths later, Fiona reached for and clutched the needle, thread, and the ointment.

[mydarlingfiona]

A small capsule attached to a parachute floats down from above and lands beside Fiona. Inside is a tube of antiseptic cream. Attached is a note from sponsor Calixto Pan that reads: "Didn’t expect you to be the type to give us this kind of entertainment! Keep going, kid. Keep me entertained."

Two more sponsor gifts had fallen by the time she had finished eating the third sandwich. It felt surreal. In fact, it almost felt like a trap. She was so apprehensive about the amount of gifts she was getting that, for about thirty minutes, she refused to get the last two. She simply stared at them. Maybe this was a gamemaker trick. 

Eventually, she succumbed to curiosity and the pain that was threatening to quite literally ruin her life. She snatched the two up and opened the first one to find antiseptic cream. Or, at least, that’s what it said. Upon reading the directions, the corners of Fiona’s mouth momentarily turned up into a small smile. This ointment – or whatever it was – was meant to help her. It was going to “fix” things.

She had to restrain and calm herself. The urge to pour all of it onto her wound was too great. She had to go slow. Taking a moment to read the note that came with this gift, Fiona decided to simply leave it in the metal vessel. It was… it didn’t make her feel good. In fact, she would have preferred if this person had not sent a note with the cream at all. 

[mydarlingfiona]

A small capsule attached to a parachute floats down from above and lands beside Fiona. Inside is a surgical needle and thread. Attached is a note from sponsor Celia Citrine that reads: "Words alone cannot express how sorry I am for your loss. I hope this helps. You can do it."

Shortly after that little thank you message, Fiona heard another beeping and saw another gift. Was it from the same person? No, it couldn’t be. With a sandwich in hand, the girl quickly gathered up the capsule and opened it to find a needle and thread. Attached was a similar note by the same woman. She had been proven wrong, it seemed.

Was this woman… no, were a lot of people rooting for her? They must be, Fiona thought as she continued to munch on her sandwich whilst eyeing the needle. Fell had told her that tributes only received sponsor gifts if people actually believed in them. She knew that winning was the goal but she had never actually thought that it would come true. The fight with Vega and Shay had proven that. A life… no matter how precious and valuable to other people, could be taken away in an instance.

Ignoring the rest of her own thoughts (she had begun to think about the family members of the people she had killed and that was just… a no no) she pondered what she was supposed to do with the needle and thread. Then, as a searing pain went through her arm, it hit her. Gulping, she looked at the wound and then back at the needle. 

Oh, no…

[mydarlingfiona]

A medium-sized capsule attached to a parachute floats down from above and lands beside Fiona. Inside is a cold meal. Attached is a note from sponsor Celia Citrine that reads: "Eat up, little one! You're going to need all your strength!"

In the midst of her crying, Fiona looked up at the sound that had become somewhat familiar to her. A capsule drifted down from the heavens and landed outside of the roots. Ignoring the intense pain in her arm, the girl crawled out and pulled it into her little den. Opening it, she found a few lunch meat sandwiches. 

Usually – and specifically in the Hunger Games – she would have been ecstatic to see such a thing. However, hunger was the last thing on Fiona’s mind. She read the note from the sponsor and found that it stirred something in her. Placing it with the rest of the notes and mementos she had been collecting, Fiona forced herself to eat. Between bites of food, she twisted her neck to look at the sky which was beginning to darken.

“Thank you for the food,” she said weakly. It was the best she could do right now.

[mydarlingfiona]

✦ FALLING ✦ ONESHOT ✦ DAY FOUR ✦

An ivory hand slammed against the hard bark of the tree. The dirt and blood coated fingers gripped at the bark, causing new blood to form. The layers of grime beneath those finger nails told a story that, hundreds of years earlier, would have been unheard of. It did not matter how many splinters pierced. Fiona Pope couldn’t feel a single piece of wood enter her fingers and palm. Rather, the searing pain of the gash across her forearm was the young girl’s main concern. 

Through gritted teeth, the girl collapsed against the tree. In the process, she accidentally rubbed her arm against the sharp bark and her skin turned ghastly white. The pain was so intense. She had never felt something so horrendous in her life. In an attempt to rationalize what was happening to her, she pictured the worst pain she had ever felt prior to this. Once, her feet had been so blistered and bloody that the young Pope thought she would never be able to walk again. That? That was nothing compared to the fire and unholy anger that permeated from her open wound.  

Against better judgement, Fiona decided to look at her gash. That was a huge mistake. The sight of the blood mixed with ripped open skin was enough to cause bile to rush out of her mouth. As she vomited, she tried to pretend that the acidic burn that caressed her throat was the worse pain. For a moment it worked. Then, once the vomiting had stopped, her wound decided to rear its ugly head again. It was taunting her. It didn’t want her to forget about it. 

Kathryn had done this to her. The events of just an hour or so ago began to flash through her head. Kathryn had attacked her. Yes, she had. She had brandished that cleaver. Machete? Cleaver. Whatever, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had won. She--She had killed her. Oh, god, she thought as she let her head rest against the bark. She had killed her. It wasn’t her fault. The girl was trying to kill her! What choice did she have? The other lives Fiona had taken appeared in her mind’s eye. Apollo. He had tried to choke her to death. Triton. He had tried to beat and stab her to death. Kathryn. She tried to slice and dice her. Yes, that was true. Yes. Yes.

Slowly, but surely, Fiona got back to her feet and continued to walk. With each root she stepped over, plant she pushed through, and hill she was forced to climb up, the girl continued to tell herself that she had no choice but to kill them. It was either them or her. An hour or so passed. She saw critters and vermin the likes of which she had never seen. Many of them growled angrily at her or threatened to chase her. However, none of them did. If they did, there was almost no doubt in Fiona’s mind that she would have succumbed to death. She was in no state. Physically or emotionally, for that matter.

Suddenly, Fiona recognized a patch of flowers that she had admired a few days previously. Those flowers.. could that mean?

Her pace quickened. Her breath began to become labored as she trudged along. Yes, that was the right patch. And, yes, there was that one tree that looked like a crying woman. Yes, and there--

Fiona gasped. There was the tree. The tree. The tree that she and Shay had called their home.

A dry sob escaped her lips. Shay was gone but Fiona was still here. With hollow movements, Fiona got to her knees and crawled back under the roots-y haven that had provided her peace and safety. It wasn’t until she had settled that she realized the peace and safety all came from Shay. She was a source of fire and light for Fiona. And now that she was gone...

Clutching Shay’s knives next to her chest, Fiona leaned against a particularly sturdy root and let herself cry silently. She had to allow herself to have this moment. And, so, for what seemed like ages, Fiona cried for her lost friend -- nay, her lost sister.

[mydarlingfiona]

mechanicdotter·:

“shit, shit, shit!” shay curses. she’d forgotten about the ditrict twelve girl. and she’d been stabbed. “you motherfucker! you fucking stabbed me!” she’s stumbling for real now, trying to stop the bleeding. maybe, maybe, she could’ve lived with the leg wound, but if shay knows anything from watching the games, it’s that wounds to the torso like this are almost always fatal. she drops the makeshift weapon as she falls to her knees, first, and then collapses onto the ground, landing almost face-first in the dirt. she turns her head to the side so she can sort of see, and she can see fiona shaking a bit. 

“fiona, get the fuck out of here,” she snaps, and she sounds harsh, but she’s fucking dying. she’d hoped (selfishly, she knows) that someone else could’ve killed fiona and sure she’d’ve felt bad but she could’ve gone home to hemi and suddenly that’s all she can think about. she’s never going to see hemi again. her eyes well with tears. 

“fuck, hemi, i’m…so sorry,” she says, though she’s not sure the girl can even hear her. if the footage is rolling. probably, she knows, but still there’s a chance, and. “you better not die before you’re eight hundred and have thirty kids,” she mutters, laughing a little to herself — quickly stopping once she realized the amount of pain she was in. “and you know i’ll be waiting for you. in the pantsuit that i’d been saving for the wedding, and,” she pauses, breathing heavy. everything is swirling, suddenly, and thinking feels like wading through mud, and — she presses on. she’s not going to let death stop her from telling hemi how much she loves her. “and i bet you’ll look just like i remember you. red hair, white dress. we’ll finally get the wedding we deserve.” she stops. breathing is harder now, and everything is slower and — no. she grits her teeth. “don’t forget how much i love you.” and with that, shay gives one last, shuddering breath, and closes her eyes.

She sees the curly haired girl coming but it’s too late. Fiona’s mouth opens in alarm just in time for Kali to send her knife deep into Shay’s back. The resulting force caused Shay to cough up some blood that splatters itself across Fiona’s face. Her eyes, dripping with tears and widened with horror and shock, accompany her mouth in three perfect ‘O’ shapes. 

A few things happen in rapid succession of one another. First, Shay curses up a storm and then falls to the ground -- the light slowly fading out of her body. Next, Fiona hears what she assumes to be Shay’s final words that tell her to leave. Finally, Fiona does what Shay had been telling her to do this entire time: run. She immediately turns on her heels and sprints away. She can’t help the tears that cascade down her face and into her open mouth. The taste was metallic and salty. Shay’s blood mixed with Fiona’s tears to create a mixture that only caused alarm in the small girl. She had just seen her die. Shay was dead. Shay was dead. Shay was dead.

She doesn’t make it that far before she trips and stumbles over something on the ground. As she falls to the ground with a grunt, she looks behind her to see a bunch of knives. They weren’t just any knives, though, they were hers. They were Shay’s knives. Fiona looks up and sees Kali and Vega staring at her, perhaps also shocked by the recent events. With a glare that carried more sorrow in it than rage, the girl snatched up the knives and took off into another sprint. At that point, it didn’t matter if anyone was chasing her. She knew they wouldn’t catch her. She was too fast. What she also knew was that... that was the last time she would see Shay. 

Shay, the girl who had talked to her about fire.

Shay, the girl who had found her by the lake.

Shay, the girl who had cleaned her.

Shay, the girl who treated her like a loved one.

Shay, the girl who had died trying to save her.

Shay, her sister.

Shay...

The world around her faded into a medley of green’s and brown’s as Fiona burst into the forrest once more. This time, and for the first time in days, she was all alone as she ran. The weight of her emotions threatened to slow her to a turtle’s pace, but she knew that she couldn’t stop.

Or, rather, her body wouldn’t allow her to stop. That wasn’t what Shay wanted.