sixthiterationlogs | let the games begin

Entry tags:

let the games begin

WHO: Annie Cresta
WHERE: Fountain (other locations added as needed)
WHEN: Afternoon, 2nd September - All threads take place before Finnick's
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: Anxiety, panic attack
STATUS: Open

Annie doesn't stop to think until she's burst through the surface.

She's been tossed into water before - yes, even fast asleep - and she's from District Four, water is as natural to her as the land. She doesn't waste time on what, where, how, she just swims up. Gasps. Ducks underneath the surface again.

Now she thinks.

She's in a... Pool? No, a fountain, if she swims down and looks up, she can see the central pillar. But how? She knows all the fountains in City One. And that's where she'd been, she'd been in City One, District Four, but she'd been wearing a skirt, a waistcoat, light shoes. Now, Annie twists around in the water and she can see white. White trousers, white shirt. Brown boots. Black straps of a backpack.

It looks like a uniform. A tribute's uniform.

Annie doesn't leave the fountain. Not yet. She takes what breathes she needs, and then swims back down. She's safe in water. She knows how to swim, and this pool is, what, thirty feet across. She can swim and she needs to think.

But thinking doesn't help. Is this the Quarter Quell? Is it? Uniform, a strange entry, but she doesn't remember anything and when she looked out, briefly, it's just a park. There's no Cornucopia. No bloodbath. No screams no weapons no fighting, it's peaceful. But is that part of it? Not Snow's style, she doesn't think, and not Heavensbee. It makes no sense to change everything up, not when the bloodbath is so fucking useful.

But what else is it?

It's then that Annie notices her joints locking up, her chest feeling compressed. P a n i c setting in because no, no, no, no, oh no, she can't do this again, she can't she can't she can't. She can't be in an arena she can't be in the Games she just can't.

Her breath starting to choke her, Annie comes up to the surface again, but she doesn't get out. She doesn't trust herself to run. Instead, she backs up, all the way up against the stone spout in the centre of the fountain. There, she clings to it, and stares out, and tries not to scream.

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Finnick knows the value of intelligence. There is no one single way to survive in the arena, but knowing what is happening is very rarely a waste of effort. Not that he's going back into town: no, he has a couple of knives stashed in his backpack, taken from the kitchen of one of the abandoned and run-down houses and now he's watching the edges of the town along one of the paths. There are people here, certainly, but he's seen no evidence of how many of them there are, so he's watching to see if any of them come out to the forest.

Finnick's vantage point is up a sturdy tree, with a good view of the houses in the distance and the approach to the wild. Soon, he'll have to keep walking, move out into the woods to find a spot to stay for the night, but there's still plenty of daylight left.

He wants to make sure he's not setting up on a thoroughfare first.

He's not looking for anyone he knows; so far, there have been no other victors he's seen here in this strange arena, despite Snow's announcement. But when he sees the figure running along the path, headed straight for the woods, his heart seems to stop. His breath does stop. No. No no no no no.

This had been what he'd been terrified of when Snow made his announcement. What he'd cried to Mags about. What he'd wanted, above all else, to avoid. He doesn't know the bright white clothing, but he knows the head of flaming red hair. He knows the compact stance, the direct way of moving. He knows her.

"Annie!"

Finnick slips down the trunk, moves out onto a branch, and holds himself out until he can drop, jumping down from the tree.

"Annie, stop!"

If there is one thing in this world which can cut through her panic, it's this voice. This voice, spoken by this man. If she's capable if hearing anything, of comprehending through panic and hysterical fit, it's the voice of Finnick Odair saying her name.

She doesn't stop, she can't stop, not until she's off the path (which'd been a risk, a calculated risk, a path means she can move faster even as it's a set up for ambush for being followed for being spotted), in the thick foliage, and then only then only then can she sway, come to a stop, put her hand against a tree.

"Finnick?"

There, there he is. In red. Red pants, mostly-white undershirt, and part of her wants to giggle because wow, he'd hate that colour combination, wouldn't he?

But mostly, she's so torn between wanting to throw herself at him and scream that all she can do is stare, shake her head, clutch her hair because no, no, oh no.

"Why, why are you here you shouldn't be here, you should be safe."

This is a nightmare. Everything that had gone snap in his mind when he'd heard Snow's words, that had made him slip out of the moment of reality as surely as Annie sometimes does, a fixed shocked stare into the distance while Annie had broken into hysterics. It hadn't been himself he'd been scared for. It had been Annie. Annie who can't fight, who'd survived through a combination of skill and incredible luck at what had happened to her arena.

He'd known, as soon as he'd thought about the implications, that he'd wind up in the Quarter Quell arena, either reaped or volunteered, because someone would have to protect Katniss. But there's no sign of Katniss, no other victor, and he'd hoped, he'd hoped, that meant none of his friends were here with him.

This is so much worse. He could have handled anything but Annie.

It only takes a moment for the reflection of his own thoughts to cloud over Annie's face as she stares at him. He can see it, see that terrible fear that he knows so well even before she gives it voice.

"Shh, shh, shh." He hurries through the undergrowth to where she's standing, and he's shaking his head, too, trying to tell her not to worry, not to be afraid, but of course he can't say anything to her, can't kiss her hair and tell her it will all be all right, because he can't be her lover here. They're being watched: whatever else is different from their expectations, that's never going to be changed.

That's what the Games are about.

So he can't kiss her. He can, though, wrap an arm around her like he'd done so many times in public on her victory tour. He can be her friend, her protector.

That's what they'll all expect, out there.

"Can't," she gasps, "I can't, I can't do this, I'm sorry, but I can't do this I can't and I'll just get you killed and I can't, I can't, Finnick-" but he's hugging her anyway. Pulling her close, wrapping one of his arms around her, murmuring gently to her.

He doesn't kiss her head.

Even as she cries and tries not to scream, she recognizes that. That he doesn't kiss her head.

For a moment, she's confused. Then-

Yes.

It's an arena.

An arena.

Cameras and public and he can't be in love with her, they aren't lovers, they aren't promised to each other as much as any married couple here.

"You're my best friend," Annie whispers, between the tears. To show she understands. To clarify to the viewers. To say whatever she can to the love of her life, through the accepted words.

"Yes," he tells her. "Yes you can. You did it before, I knew you could then and I know you can now."

Don't let them think too much about what they saw in her Games. Don't let them think that they'd all dismissed her, written her off as dead because they'd seen her break. He'd persuaded her sponsors to believe in her, to put money behind that belief, and he's going to do it again, even if he doesn't understand what's happening, how they're here, why they're here when the last thing he remembers is weeks from the Quell.

He can chance tightening his arm around her, his fingers pressing into her side, wishing he could do more. He can never stand to see her cry, but worst of all is her panic, when she can't think straight, when sometimes even he can't reach through to her. He hopes he can now, because there are so many things he can't do. He can't kiss her, he can't tell her that he loves her, he can't do anything that might show he's her lover.

He's hoping she'll remember that through her fear, and when she whispers that he's her best friend, it's a reassurance. She will. And she'll understand. Understand, and know that there's so much more he's wishing he could tell her.

"We're going to do this together."

She can't she can't she can't it nearly destroyed her last time she can't she can't she can't can't can't can't can't!

But he's using that voice on her. The one where he lines up all his charisma and conviction and blasts it at someone, and even though she's known him since they were tiny dock brats, it still works on her. Particularly when she's like this, grasping for a lifeline, any lifeline.

She still wants to scream, though. Scream and let go, or at least sit down and sob.

But she's a Career. She's survived. She's got enough training to cling to what he's giving her, at least for now.

"All right. We'd better. We'd better going, then. Kinda lingered here for a bit."

Near the fountain. Near the other people.

And she just wants to get away.

Edited 2016-09-07 09:40 (UTC)

It doesn't always work, trying to reassure her out of her fears. It depends how badly she's panicking, how much attention she can pay to him, how much of what he's saying she can actually let herself believe. But she's got him with her this time, not just watching and desperately trying to get her money for gifts. This time, they can strategize together, they can talk through all this strangeness, they can stand with each other and he can physically protect her. He's here, he's here, and an ally seems a hopelessly insufficient word for what he'd do to support and protect her, but it's the only word the Games allows for it.

And it's with her protection in mind that when she starts to speak again, he nods, turning his head to look back past them towards the path and the village.

"Okay." He gestures off to one side of the path.

"I explored out past one of the other paths earlier. There's a river that runs past the village. If we head north, we can probably find somewhere upstream to set up camp for the night."

He pulls back enough to give Annie some space, some sense of independence.

"What do you think?"

The rest of their situation, they can sort out on the way. It's getting late for them to still be here if they want to make much progress into the woods.

They'd both wound up alone in their games. Finnick by choice, by strategy, Annie by circumstance and breakdown and flight. But they are Careers-trained and allies by choice, and they work well together. Different talents complementing each other and similar talents enhancing.

She doesn't want him to die.

She doesn't. She couldn't stand it. But there's only one victo-

(Except for the 74th Hunger Games, and that's an idea, she'll need to think, she'll need to, she knows the games, not many people know the games like she does, she'll get this. She will.)

"It's a sound idea. We should go."

He knows her, he knows not to take offence the times she's short, when she's just trying to hang on and politeness is hard.

And it's a good idea. Upstream, but not too close to the river or any water source.

It's a good thing they are both active people, built for endurance, really.

It's working, at least a little, his attempt to speak to the cool practicality that's never too far behind the surface of Annie's storms of emotion. It's working enough to team up, like they'd been trained to do, even if they were never going to be in the Games together because it's the oldest Careers who go and he's older than her by nearly a year. It's the same training, the same analytics, that slip them into the same mode of thinking.

And so Finnick leads, staring up at the sun for a few moments to get a sense of the direction, and starts off through the edges of the woods, never too far from the village on his right, but far enough away to be out of the danger of so many people.

"What did you get in your backpack?" he asks, softly, once they're far enough from the path they'd left to be safe talking. "Any supplies?"

The questions are both practical and pointed: the longer she stays focused on strategy, the better, as far as he can guess. Not that he's ever seen Annie in an arena situation since the dam broke and all Panem said she went crazy. But he's working on what he knows, and he knows Annie, in all her glass-delicate steel-strong beauty.

It's hard keeping her awareness to the right level. Not concentrating on the little things like left foot right left right or avoiding roots in the ground, not spiralling out past the foliage to what mutts might be in this arena, what did the red-garbed man mean back at the fountain, I'm in an arena I'm in an arena I'm in an arena. It's hard and it's exhausting, and she's trying so hard to be aware that she doesn't notice Finnick's question at first.

Oh.

Right.

They can maybe talk, now.

"I didn't look. Just ran."

He's leading, so he can't look at her, but she lifts her head anyway.

"It feels heavy, something's there. What did you get?"

The stress shows less obviously in Finnick. He takes the lead as they skirt around the edge of the village, moving deep enough into the woods to be safe before he checks the sun and then swings around to the north-east. But as they progress, he reaches around to his backpack and retrieves a knife, one of the spoils of his raid on the village.

He holds it tight in his hand, ready to fight, and that's the most apparent sign of his fear. The way his body tenses is less visible, though Annie might see it in the way he holds himself if she weren't trying so hard to hold herself together.

He glances back over his shoulder at her for a moment, flashes a brief smile.

"It's okay." He pauses as he shifts his attention back to their way through the scrub ahead of them. "Not much. Spare clothes."

It's a stupid sort of thing to give someone, just like he'd thought when he'd seen the skirt and blouse Kate Kelly had been wearing. "I got a container for water and some knives from the village, though."

"Clothes," Annie repeats, a little disbelievingly. She tries, though. Tries to see a reason for it. As if for some reason, some strange unfathomable reason, Finnick hasn't said, cold-weather clothes. Or rain-proof clothes. Or any other reason why they might require a change.

"What... kind of clothes?"

Her lover - but, no, she can't think of him like that, it's all Friend and Ally - at least is making sense. He's the only thing or person that is. Water container. Knives.

Knives make her feel sick, but they'll need something. They will.

He doesn't understand the clothes, not most of them. The coat, the warm underwear, yes, and that's a hint that the weather here is going to get nastier, perhaps with freezing cold nights. (The only warning tributes get about what their arena will be like comes from the clothes they're given, and the combination of heavy boots and a coat isn't promising.)

The other stuff, though, that was just strange.

"Overalls, underwear and socks, a hat. Winter coat, thick socks and long underwear, so I guess we're in for some cold nights."

There's a hint of a question in his voice, and he shrugs before chancing another look at her. Good. She looks more thoughtful than panicky, and that's what they need right now. He could use her perspective on this, because nothing is making sense to him.

This is fine. This is familiar. She can pretend they are just... They are just going for walk. Inland. Just ignore that the humidity isn't the same, that the trees are wrong, that the smells and tastes aren't right. It's fine.

One step, another step. Left foot and right. Left foot and right, or did she have it the other way before?

"Enough clothing for snow?" she asks then, thinking of the games in the tundra. Thinking of arenas and their weather surprises.

This forest would look so pretty, dusted with snow. That is relevant, when thinking about the Gamemakers.

"With these clothes?" he asks, his voice a little dubious. "I don't think so."

It's a good question. Finnick's never the one who gets to see the clothes the tributes are put in before their grand unveiling in the arena. He's not the one who has to make these guesses with nothing else to rely on. That's the stylists. By the time he's seen the tributes' uniforms, something of the arena is obvious.

"Unless they plan on trying to freeze us out."

He continues on without speaking for a few steps, until he has to stop because his path is blocked by some sort of heavy brush.

"What do you think?" he asks. "Even with long underwear I don't think a coat's enough to make these clothes work in snow."

He doesn't sound certain, though.

It looked a peaceful death, on the screen. Freezing to death. Just... go to sleep. Never wake up. As far as deaths in the arena go, anyway, which is why she can simply shrug, contemplate it, muse a little while there's hysteria still bubbling in her veins.

"It's an idea, anyway," is what Annie actually says. "There are the houses. And other tributes. Drive us together, fight over shelter and resources.

Snow doesn't have to last long, either. But.

He said that they were living there. The others. The man I met at the fountain."

No, it doesn't take long for a sharp change in the weather to do what the Gamemakers want it to. Freeze or drown or dehydrate the weakest of the tributes, drive the others to whatever resources is most needed: shelter, dry land, water supplies. It's one of the simplest pieces of analysis taught to the Careers: learn when you're being manipulated.

"They wouldn't give it to us for no reason."

It's what they'll tell themselves, for now. The tributes' uniforms are usually adapted to the environment of the arena, and with such a plain, uninformative uniform, they need to take whatever hints they have.

"Expect us to be doing a lot of walking, too."

That is, though, just talking for the sake of talking, really: surely Annie's already drawn the same conclusion about their boots. What she says next, though, is the interesting thing.

Finnick frowns in thought as he starts to edge around the tangled undergrowth that had blocked the approximate path he'd been taking.

"Explains why there were so many people around in the village."

The path continues, and Finnick glances up to check the direction against the sun before he sets off along it again, gesturing for Annie to follow him.

"They don't seem very worried about leaving themselves open to attack."

Sam doesn't tend to go by the fountain as much any more. There are too many things going on around the village for him to take time greeting everyone that comes through. He knows it may sound callous, but at the same time he's spending time elsewhere to help everyone that shows up. The village isn't that big, so any new comers he is bound to meet with eventually anyway.

Today is an exception then, it seems, as Sam takes a walk past the fountain to get to where he's going and decides to check for any newcomers hanging around. Normally if anyone is here for the first time they are soaking wet and milling around the fountain trying to figure out what's going on. It's because of that reason that at first Sam doesn't realize the fountain actually HAS seen activity today. He doesn't notice the woman in the fountain until he hears the barest sound of splashing water and turns to see someone floating in the center and looking like she's on the brink of a panic attack.

Sam stops walking. He knows a panic attack -- he'd seen them often enough working at the VA. He can only imagine what might have triggered this -- arriving here can be bad enough. Sam wonders if that's why the woman hasn't left the fountain, though he's now worried that a panic attack could cause her to drown.

"Hey," he says in an even and soft tone. It's loud enough to be heard, but soft enough to show that he isn't trying to startle her or make her panic attack worse. He takes a step towards the fountain, not sure how his approach will be taken -- but he makes sure to keep his hands out and his movements slow. "Hey it's gonna be okay. Do you need help?"

At the voice, Annie doesn't sit up, doesn't flail. Instead, she just vanishes beneath the water. Takes a deep breath, and seems to collapse in on herself to vanish with as little splashing as she can manage. Under the water, she twists, dives, swims around the central pillar and-

She wants to stay down here. Forever. Safe. But she can't, she's a human, not a mermaid. No, not the mermaid the media loved to laud her as (all big eyes and long, thick red hair), she needs to breathe.

Needs to breathe.

And if she keeps the pillar between them, she can swim, she can dart, she can change directions and she's good at running, she's seen the side, it won't be hard to get out, hit the ground with a roll and then run.

So Annie comes up to the surface, peering around the pillar at the man.

She doesn't know him. She doesn't know him.

She swallows, tries not to laugh. Oh, she's crazy, she's the mad one, it's okay to laugh except no, it's not, she's not trying to be too broken here, it's not her tour. It's a game, it's an arena, she has to be charmingly, vulnerably kooky. Not scary-crazy.

"Who... Who are you?" she manages. "What district are you from?"

He looks like he could be from Eleven, but he doesn't sound it. He wants to help. Telling her it'll be okay. She doesn't understand any of this.

(But she's pleased, if that's the right word, for remembering to dampen down her own thick accent, to soften it.)

Sam is shocked when she actually drops down into the water. He's worried because that's usually a sign that someone is drowning. She'd looked like she was floating pretty well before, which is the thing that really confuses him.

The longer she's under, the more worried Sam gets. He starts to creep closer to the fountain, already slipping his boots off as he moves towards it. Is she drowning? Can she swim? Just as he's getting ready to jump in for her, he sees her break the surface of the water.

Sam steps back as soon as she's up, not quite sure why she dove back under the water just now. Did she want her space? Clearly she can swim if she's bobbing in and out of the water.

"Sam Wilson," the first question is easy enough to answer, but he hesitates on the second one. The only district he knows is the District of Columbia, and he's pretty sure she doesn't mean D.C. His brow furrows and he decides to be honest, "I don't know what you mean by District though. Sorry."

She's Annie Cresta, she's the mermaid-girl, she's the best swimmer in all of Panem, and she's staring at him confusion. Was he going to try and rescue her? From the water? Doesn't he know who-

But then the man keeps talking. He's answering her, but he's not, he's not. The answer makes no damn sense.

It's an arena.

What else could this be, but an arena, the Quarter Quell? But she doesn't understand any of these rules and she knows the games.

And she knows Panem.

Everyone knows Panem.

Panem is... is...

"What do you mean?" she asks, staring at him, her voice very, very small.

The question throws him off. How do you explain what you don't know? He can tell that what he's said has troubled her somehow. It's probably similar to the way he'd felt when he'd first arrived and people were throwing around terms like "other dimensions" and "magic." That kind of stuff didn't exist after all. And yet...

So how did he explain it to this girl who was still treading water and sounded very lost.

"It's gonna be a lot to explain and most of it is going to probably sound like I'm nuts. But let's start with the part where you are a very long way from home. You've been brought to a place that's a long way from home for all of us and most people are from different places. There are some of us from so far away we haven't even heard of the city or country their from. So, whatever District you're talking about...I'm sorry to say I haven't heard of it. Unless that's a new way of referring to D.C. that I wasn't aware of."

She doesn't understand the reason for this game. She just doesn't. Why lie? Why make all this up? Why put in people who aren't victors, who claim not to understand? It's a good way for them to get killed - are they prisoners? For some reason left their tongues so they can speak, but then why play along so naturally?

She's not always good at reading people, but she knows fear and this man doesn't seem that afraid.

"What, um. Um. What... Do you mean a long way from home? What distance?

She just kept on with the difficult questions. Questions Sam had no answer for but that had been plaguing him since he arrived. How did you measure a distance like this? Technically, they could be on Earth--they could be in his home dimension--but it didn't seem likely. Not with all the strange people arriving with so many different kinds of stories that didn't fit within his own understanding of the world, let alone history. That wasn't even getting into the fact that some people were supposedly from the future. You couldn't put that kind of distance in normal miles or kilometers or anything reasonable.

He tries to hide his frustration with the lack of answers. It's certainly not this girl's fault. She just got here.

"Wish I knew. That fountain you're in?" he points, "That's how I got here a few months ago. Woke up not knowing what had happened or where I was...let alone how far away it was from home." He pauses, letting that sink in, before continuing, "It was only after talking to some of the others that I realized this was a long way from home, even if I don't know the exact distance."

What happens if I kill you?

It's not a nice question, but she's a victor and she's a Career (even if she's a failed one), and this is an arena. Isn't it? Yes, yes. Operate on the assumption that it is, easier to recover from being frightened and suspicious than it is from being dead.

Are you allowed to kill me?

An even more useless question. Most likely. Probably. Truth or lies, she's not good enough to tell, and this is an arena.

Isn't it?

But she has to survive long enough to puzzle out the strangeness, find the rules, find the clues and put them together.

So she rephrases, circles around the question a little. Asks something else just as important.

"What happened to these others?"

Sam's brow furrowed, trying to figure out why she was asking about the others. Was she concerned? It seemed a strange jump from the previous topics. Sam didn't worry too much about it though and decided to try to answer the best he could.

"They've set up places to stay in the village that's surrounding the fountain you're currently swimming in. We've tired to make a living since we haven't figured out a way out and don't have a lot to go on except to survive." He raised an eyebrow, "Why do you ask?"

She doesn't care about the frown. No, no she doesn't. She's trying to collect clues and she's odd, everyone knows that, and sometimes it's useful because it means she can do exactly that: jump around the topic. Get information. Get the clues to put them together to form the pattern.

But his answer smashes her patterns, little pieces flying everywhere because what the hell?

"Make a living?" Annie starts, voice rising and sharpening like broken glass. "Why're you doin' that? You're not...

Last one alive wins. That's how the Games work. Why aren't you...

Killing each other?"

Wow, okay. Now that wasn't something he was expecting to hear. He doesn't even know if he can answer the first question since he's just so thrown off by the "why aren't you killing each other" part. Her voice rising in pitch and cracking isn't reassuring either. He'd heard people at the VA talk like that, people who'd seen and done things that the average American citizen couldn't possibly imagine.

This girl had clearly seen some things, this place was reminding her of that, and it wasn't good.

"This situation isn't a game," he says, but even as he says it he thinks about some of the situations that had come about. He could be wrong about it being a game. But they didn't know it was either. Also, it's probably not the best idea to consider ideas from a girl freaking out in a fountain.

He shakes his head and adds, "The point is...we can't survive to get out of here if we kill each other. Why would we even do that?"

"Because that's how you survive," Annie says, staring at him with dark eyes that (too) wide and (too) intense. "Make alliances, yes. But the only way to get out is if you're the last one standing. And, they."

They don't like it if you win by endurance too often. Makes them seem cruel. Makes them seem boring. Misses the point of aren't we all just brutes out there in the districts.

"It's the way with, the. The. The, um, highest probability of working."

But this man is so confused, and she's starting to get chilled, that Annie decides to be brave and try something.

"You, uh. Don't intend on killing me?"

Sam is now very confused but also worried. She speaks like she's been in a situation too similar to this one. However, she'd just arrived in the fountain. So how could that be possible? "I don't...I don't think that's what's going on here. We can survive together. Why does there need to be a last one standing?"

He doesn't hesitate at her question though. He makes sure to look straight at her and keep his tone even as he says, "I'm not going to kill you."

She gapes at him. He asks in such honest-seeming confusion, but that's against the rules. That's what's sparked this revolution. This is what causes a stubborn girl from District 12 to save her partner and send the country up in smoke. Smoke from bombs, as the Capitol tries to maintain control.

And here this man is, sounding all reasonable and confused. That, more than anything, makes Annie resolve to get out of the fountain.

"Okay," she repeats, once she's able to. "Just. Just stay there, though."

Like she has anything resembling leverage. But, keeping her eyes mostly on him (mostly, but still flicking around to see if there's an ambush) she swims back, back, back until she bumps into the edge of the fountain and hauls herself out.

Standing on the ground, she's a small woman, barely five foot and perfectly proportioned for that height. Curly red hair drying on top, still sopping wet from where it'd stayed in the water. She stands for balance, feet apart, and her expression is wary.

Sam never considers going against the request. He's not sure what to make of the look she just gave him -- like HE was the crazy one. But, he only nods, holding up his hands in a show of surrender again and making a point of not moving an inch aside from that, "All right."

He then waits patiently, relieved that she is finally climbing out of the fountain. Now, while he doesn't move he does watch her closely. He's not a complete idiot and just because he's agreed not to hurt or kill her doesn't mean she won't turn on him when she gets out of the fountain. He realizes it seems unlikely, but this place had thrown him for enough loops. Her talk of people murdering each other in a similar setting has him a little nervous now, but he does his best to appear as laid back as usual. He feels in his gut that it's unlikely she'll try anything. She seems too out of it, but he also isn't going to let himself be caught unawares either.

Sam goes for light-hearted, it's what he's good at, "So you do have legs. I was starting to wonder if you were part fish with the way you were hanging out in the fountain."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

let the games begin

AFTER EVERYONE ELSE

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