The CITADARK Team

Lennor listened with morbid fascination as Haymitch described Games and wondered why he had never gotten to go see them. It was a shame really, he and his master would have loved to be in the stands witnessing the brutal deaths of Pokemon they didn't give a damn about. But the scenarios Haymitch had described, they were like something straight out of his dreams. He himself came up with such elaborate plots to destroy his targets, often never having to lift a petal himself to see them die. Perhaps there was more to Seneca than he had originally thought if these ploys were truly his.

Just maybe...

Aerith, on the other hand, was wide-eyed with horror. Every word Seneca said all but confirmed the Marowak's accusations and she wasn't sure what to do with the information. She had been helping one of the greatest monsters she had ever know, and she even owed him a life debt. At least by his claim. Tucking her anger at the cruel twist of irony away she made a mental not to talk to the Milotic about what had happened before she awoke to find them all. Something just wasn't adding up here and it was really starting to piss her off.

((Sorry for the short post, I wanted to wait for Seneca's reaction to Haymitch before I have Aerith do anything. She needs to hear him actually say he is the Gamemaker before she will fully condemn him. And Len is just being a manipulative prick as usual, lol))

"These... 'Games' or whatever you called them, were they really that bad?"

Seneca could only scoff in response, a slick grin subconsciously crawling over his patterned maw at Joy’s ignorance. Her companion’s response was only marginally better, the bird at least possessing some understanding of the annual spectacles. It was barbaric, cruel – but not one authority could put an end to them. The Games were broadcast throughout the regions, entrants knew the risks, law enforcement knew the horrors that would befall those 24 contenders – but nothing could be done. The Games went on, untouched. Those who were averse to the televised slaughter were forced to ignore it, unable, as Aireth confirmed, to do anything about it.

The fox chuckled darkly at Haymitch’s retort, light-headed as he allowed his eyelids to close a moment. The drunken Marowak began the tale of The Games, each little detail triggering a tug of Seneca’s lips, fighting back a sinister grin at the reminiscence. Devouring another berry in the duration of the speech, the canine’s eyes opened and soon volleyed across to the ground-type’s source of liquor, wondering whether a quick swig wouldn’t go amiss. Then again, Haymitch didn’t seem the type to share his dwindling stash. Seneca was only drawn away from his musings when the victor’s eyes were on him.

"Of course, the higher ups made sure things didn't get boring-- after all, people paid good money for this. So they sent him in to... spice things up. Make bad weather, turn allies against each other, lead rabid beasts toward sleeping Tributes... Right, Senny?"

The Zoroark met the Marowak’s drunken smirk with one of his own, the blood loss infecting his rationality. The fox, slowly growing energized by the dwindling stash of berries, raised his head proudly, callous eyes leisurely wandering across his audience. It seemed each pair of eyes were glued to him, hanging off his every word. What was the point in denying everything? It was all out in the open now, they all knew damn well who he was, what cruelties he’d committed – one little word and they could justify their silent condemnation. Seneca intended to put them out of their misery.

“…Yes,”

There was a pause as he let the word process, the grin that wavered on his maw borderline psychotic in its nature. But as the silence stretched, Seneca seemed to be drawn out of his sudden, long-lost bravado. There was an officer with a personal hatred against his life’s work and two enlightened victors surrounding him, and he’d just happily admitted that he was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of youths. His expression dropped a fraction, claws subconsciously beginning to tremble as he struggled to uphold what had previously been composure nostalgic of his youthful superiority. He was deluding himself if he’d thought for a second he was in control of this situation.

A shuddering breath passing his swollen lips at the severity of his mistake, Seneca kept his head held high regardless. This is what he wanted. Right? Death – someone to kill him swiftly before Haymitch could tear him limb from bloody limb.
“Do what you want to me,” Seneca growled, though the emotion was seeping back into his tone. The spite gradually overwhelmed by fear as his heart beat sounded like a tribal drum in his ears – he dreaded the moments the drumming would stop, and yet knew, with it, his terror would be forever abolished. He couldn’t go on living in such a terrified, vulnerable state. He took a shaky breath, voice breaking with a fearful sorrow one could almost pity to provide true insight in the canine’s unstable mind. “Because I can’t sink any lower…”

(( I’ll introduce Caesar on my next turn. :3 ))

Frowning, the Vulture carefully listened to the Marowak's words, her expression slowly transforming to one of mixed emotions. "Over the course of a few days in a special arena, the chosen pokemon would get to slaughter each other mercilessly." The Mandibuzz blinked. "...Oh." she mumbled, processing the information on her mind. 'How the fuck did I not know all of this shit?' she mentally scolded herself for being much more of a shut in than her male counterpart, her only time outside for hunting and meals. "Make bad weather, turn allies against each other, lead rabid beasts toward sleeping Tributes... Right, Senny?"

Both birds turned to gaze at the Zoroark, Rhett's face one written in disgust, while Joy was anxious. She had liked the fox, enough to have helped him in an attempt to escape, but with all the information stacked against him the Vulture was unsure of what to think anymore. In truth, she didn't know what to think of anyone anymore--who was she supposed to trust, who was she supposed to believe? “…Yes,” The grin that had crawled up his lips caused the Braviary to fan out his tail feathers and the ones on his neck raised, his wings quivered slightly in a mixed display or aggression and fear. "...Sick motherfucker."

“Do what you want to me. Because I can’t sink any lower…” Joy was at a loss. Her voice was stuck in her throat as she cast glances at both the others and the fox. Were they going to kill him? Right here and now? Most of the Pokemon here all had a legitimate reason to murder Seneca. The Mandibuzz shrunk her size, stumbling backwards. She didn't want to be part of this type of drama.

“…Yes.”

That one little word... It was all that was needed. Though Finnick had never been one for hatred, for malice, what happened in that arena never left him. And they never would. Those mere few days haunted him like a ravenous, vengeful ghost, plaguing him every single night he'd tried to sleep since. Nightmares orchestrated with screams-- screams that echoed in an empty night until they were suddenly cut off. The sounds of bones cracking, of a limp body falling to the ground. Nightmares that so accurately reminded Finnick of what he'd been through, of what he'd survived... and what crimes he'd committed.

Every life he'd taken, every devious move he'd made, was because of the fox in front of him. As the birds seemed disgusted, the flower and dragon merely shocked, the milotic's gaze narrowed to that of just Seneca. He'd thought the mishaps of his own Games was just bad luck, just some terrible coincidence, but Haymitch's drunken recital of the Games was just too convincing, even if he could smell the alcohol from his distance. And Seneca... why would he admit to such a thing if it were a lie?

Finnick did not hear Seneca's quiet, shuddering whispers for death. He did not see the somber, fearful expression the fox wore. The coils beneath him he's not known were already tensed lurched forward, springing the milotic on with deadly accuracy. His long, lithe body curled and tensed around Seneca, already trying to crush him. With such a weak body, it would be too easy... After the initial hold, Finnick had to hold himself back or else death would come too quickly for this one.

Fury, betrayal, and vengeance weaved their way across his beautiful face, his aqua eyes boring down into the captive fox's. "You... did that? All of it?!" he cried, squeezing more. "I saved you, I protected you, and you didn't even have the fucking decency to tell me that you were the one that fucked with me all that time ago!?" he cried, his normal, smooth voice soon giving way to hysteria. "That YOU are the cause of all of those nightmares?! You wouldn't even tell me YOURSELF!? I had to hear it from some DRUNKARD!?"

"Hey!" Haymitch protested, putting down his flask and waltzing up to the enraged milotic. Well, at least Pretty Boy finally understood what had been happening-- that he'd been so desperately trying to save the pokemon that had made it his life's work to torture and kill others for pure entertainment. But the milotic wasn't listening. Despite the fact that Haymitch so very wanted to be the one to take Seneca's life, he knew there was little he could do against Finnick now that he was in a rage... Sighing and shrugging, he went back to his flask and pillar, leaning on the latter and taking a swig. At least he'd have fun watching.

"How many times did I kill someone like this, Seneca?" Finnick whispered darkly, nearly spitting the fox's name. "How many times did I kill so that no one screamed, and the only way the audience knew someone had died was from the cannon's boom?" His coils shifted, clenching more and more, his dangerous muscles contracting and pressing poor Seneca together. Bones began to strain, tendons stretched. "Tell me, Seneca. You know... don't you?"

((PM if I need to edit, Snitchers!))

One simple word...three little letters...that was all Aerith needed and yet the sound of them struck her to the core. There, sitting before her, was one of the most heinous criminals she had ever pursued and yet she felt pity for him. Protected him. And what horrified her most was that she still wanted to. Even after his confession he pleaded for death, miserable and depressed about everything in his life. She wasn't sure if it was remorse but he certainly seemed to not wish that life back again. But before she could question him further Finnick snapped.

"Stop!" she cried, racing over to the struggling pair. "Let go of him right now! This is not the way to see justice done!" The Axew was smaller than the male she argued with but her shouting was the only way she could think of to get through to him. "How many times did I kill someone like this, Seneca?" Aerith's eyes widened as Finnick began to lower his voice to a deadly calm. "How many times did I kill so that no one screamed, and the only way the audience knew someone had died was from the cannon's boom?" She could see the coils of the serpent tightening dangerously and Aerith knew she couldn't allow this to continue. "Tell me, Seneca. You know... don't you?"

Blue and purple fire danced around the dragon before suddenly bursting into the air above the pair, scorching the hell out of the metal and stone. "I. Said. STOP." Her Dragon Rage once again danced around her as she waited for the males to come to their senses, eyes narrowed dangerously at this Milotic named Finnick. "Let him go and we can discuss this like adults." Lennor's rich laughter soon echoed through the room after she finished her sentence, causing her to turn and find nothing but shadow.

"Like adults Aerith? Don't waste your breath." His voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, bouncing off of the walls in all directions. "The only thing adult about this group is the alcohol level in Haymith's blood. You think this little ragtag band can get along? Look around you Dragon Lady, in the hour you've been awake they've all tried killing each other. They can't be trusted and you know it." He finally stepped out of the shadows on top of a broken pillar, staring down at the startled dragon. Aerith backed away slowly, her head pounding as she tried to remember anything from before she awoke, anything from that morning, but all she was met with was pain.

Just what the hell was Lennor playing at?!

"...Sick motherfucker."

Seneca chortled at the bird’s response, head still dipped as he took a moment’s recollection of his short, but brilliant life – believing this to be his last opportunity to ponder on such achievement. They could call him sick, twisted, evil, but they could never accuse him of being a failure. He had become a master of his illusions, capable of deluding a Magikarp into thinking it was a legendary; and been responsible for conceiving some of the greatest battles Orre had ever seen.

The mistakes, he chose to brush over.

Lifting his slender head, content with his final reminiscence, Seneca’s attention immediately fell to Finnick. The hatred etched across his features with fury burning vibrant in his eyes, the Zoroark was unsurprised when the youth lunged. He had predicted such a reaction, pleased at least Haymitch wouldn’t have the satisfaction of killing him. Good, drunken bastard didn’t deserve such a privilege – then again, neither did Finnick. Yet consolation came in the form of the youth’s blind rage. Anger was entwined with violence, the killing blow likely to come as sudden, abrupt and mainly painless. Tensing his frail body as the coils snaked about him, Seneca kept his eyes closed; breathing growing erratic as reality dawned.

"You... did that? All of it?! I saved you, I protected you, and you didn't even have the fucking decency to tell me that you were the one that fucked with me all that time ago!?"

He didn’t want to die – not yet. But he couldn’t go on living so pathetically. No doubt the lesser of two evils, the canine braced himself as he nervously met Finnick’s eyes. Conscious of the tightening of the water-type’s powerful coils, Seneca didn’t even try to struggle, instead focusing on keeping his breathing level. He should’ve guessed there would be some unnecessary drama to accompany his demise, some final sneers and jeers to take to Hell with him. But to his surprise, an unlikely source of defence had revealed itself in the form of Aireth. Zoning away from Finnick’s disgust, Seneca’s icy eyes latched onto the dragon, trying to piece together what motivation she had for saving him and whether he truly wanted her help. Unfortunately, there was little time to dwell on the matter.

"How many times did I kill someone like this, Seneca? How many times did I kill so that no one screamed, and the only way the audience knew someone had died was from the cannon's boom? Tell me, Seneca. You know... don't you?"

Seneca gasped as the pressure clamped down on him, bone and muscle aching with each minute movement of his captor. Weren’t the air robbed from his lungs, he would be screaming – but instead, desperate wheezing would suffice. As he met the victor’s murderous glare, the fox’s blood ran cold. This was it. He was going to die. Right here. Right now.

You win…

“Six,”

The firm utterance had come out of the blue, echoing off the walls alongside Aireth’s desperate cries for peace. A stranger had silently slipped onto the scene, stood observing the drama with a worldly sorrow written across a regionally-familiar face. Caesar looked old. The sight before him only drained him further, a combination of shock, pity and concern bombarding the canine as the joy of finding survivors was abolished by the fear of witnessing further bloodshed. He knew too many of those faces. He knew the names; he knew their crimes, their kindnesses and everything in between. But never had he expected to witness such a barbaric scene outside of the arena.

Finnick had been such a charming boy before the Games had corrupted him – Haymitch, aloof, yet by no means unpleasant. Caesar remembered the creatures they had been and the broken souls they had survived as. Staring at each individual in turn, the Vulpix’s attention fell finally to the canine slowly breaking within the Milotic’s grasp. Seneca had fallen off the face of the earth a few years previous. From the look of his dishevelled appearance, Caesar could only guess that away from the Games, the world had been unkind to him – topping off his miseries with a reunion of those who despised him most.

"Let him go and we can discuss this like adults."

"Like adults Aerith? Don't waste your breath. The only thing adult about this group is the alcohol level in Haymith's blood. You think this little ragtag band can get along? Look around you Dragon Lady, in the hour you've been awake they've all tried killing each other. They can't be trusted and you know it."

Caesar’s gaze shifted to the flower he previously hadn’t noticed, his small form tensing a little as vibes of hostility radiated from the stranger. He was never one to form judgements, life as a regional celebrity leaving it necessary for him to get on with everyone, but there was always those few individuals that sent off alarm bells. The shiny eyed the creature a moment before shaking his head regretfully.
“You all need to calm down,” Caesar announced, his age resounding in a firm, but fearless voice. His attention left the Roselia, instead directed to Finnick and Seneca, the latter having fallen limp. “Finnick,” The Vulpix approached, speaking softly with a sombre expression, almost sympathetic. “You don’t need any more blood on your hands,”

Body limp, Seneca only showed signs of life at sound of a familiar voice. It had taken a moment to register, the eloquent tone emerging significantly more fatigued than he remembered, but as he lifted his heavy head, his suspicions were confirmed.
“…Caesar?” He choked out, unsure what to feel. He’d never liked the Games’ resident interviewer, the cheery canine having a reputation for giving away his secrets. Unlike most of the tournament staff – human and pokémon alike – Caesar had always been particularly careless with confidential information. He blamed his chattiness, caught up in his conversation with tributes – but Seneca could see through his lies. Caesar tried to help competitors with what little resources he had, even keeping contact with victors as Seneca was left fuming, forced to come up with even more inventive methods of disposal. He’d been a real thorn in his side for years, his interference only heightened by the weekly lecture that their lives were corrupted. Crazy, old bastard.

[OOC: sjbhdsfdfg please skip me. ;~; I'm having a really hard time getting into these two. >x< ]

“Six.”

The sturdy, tired voice echoed in the cavern, its somber tone granting a small pause in Finnick's murderous intents. His eyes shifted from the poor, suffocating fox entangled in his coils to try and glimpse this newcomer. He knew that voice... He frowned, unable to pinpoint the elusive face in his memory to go with the voice still bouncing off the walls. Who...?

With his rage set aside for a small moment, its absense allowed Finnick to see what had been going on around him. Aerith was pulsating with some sort of power, crying for him to stop killing Seneca. "Let him go and we can discuss this like adults," she muttered, giving the milotic a glare he hadn't thought her capable of giving to anyone other than Lennor. Just as he was about to protest, Lennor's voice took over the scene, its booming, snide tone sending a small chill down the victor's back.

"Like adults Aerith? Don't waste your breath. The only thing adult about this group is the alcohol level in Haymith's blood. You think this little ragtag band can get along? Look around you Dragon Lady, in the hour you've been awake they've all tried killing each other. They can't be trusted and you know it."

Finnick gave a small chortle of bitter amusement; that little leafy bastard... Spotting him and the Dragon Lady, his eyes volleyed between them for a moment as his coils curled more stubbornly around Seneca. "This is absolutely none of your business, any of you-- except him," he began, nodding over at Haymitch. "You were an officer? You knew about this? Then you should know why this son-of-a-bitch has to die. Butt out. This isn't your fight. And you," he growled at Lennor's shadow, "who are you to judge us, any of us? This mongrel and his precious human ruined my life-- a lot of pokemon's lives for a television show. Don't you play righteous with me, you little prick!" His voice had gone from defensive to venomous, his more aggressive side borne from the Games revealing itself after years of dormancy. His words were a hiss, his body coiled and ready to strike.

Haymitch watched, nursing his flask as he was proccupied with far more important things-- like spotting that fellow that just spoke. The voice was very familiar, and while he was sure he hadn't had any company while camping out in the building before, he put it out of his mind; didn't matter much now anyway. But he paused in his musings as his drunken gaze did indeed spot the intruder: a blue vulpix. There was only one blue vulpix...

“You all need to calm down,” Caesar announced, his voice firm and unmoving. Haymitch gave a scoff of a laugh, pushing himself off of the pillar he'd been leaning on to begin to waltz over to the vulpix. “Finnick,” The milotic turned, expression nearly feral until he laid eyes on the familiar vulpine. “You don’t need any more blood on your hands.”

He blinked, his expression falling back to normal, his coils relaxing only a fraction. Seneca, who was somehow still conscious, turned to regard his old co-worker. “…Caesar?”

"Of all the pokemon to wash up on this shore with us, we have our own Master of Ceremonies!" Haymitch announced triumphantly as he approached the group, laughing. "This... This is really something. Of all the poor bastards to end up here, I didn't think you'd wind up here too. Must be... pre-ordained or somethin'." He took a swig, leaning on another, much closer pillar. "Fate's a bitch, huh?"

Finnick seemed nearly entranced with Caesar's appearance, staring down at the calm fox as if the latter were a ghost or a spectre of his own memory. When the others addressed him, though, it snapped the milotic out of his daze-- the vulpix was indeed there. He sighed a little, keeping his hold on Seneca for a moment as Caesar's words soothed him. I don't need more blood, huh...? Gaze dropping to the weak fox, hate still bubbling beneath the now calm facade, there was a moment of consideration. He could kill him so easily... a mere twitch of his coils and the ribs would snap, splintering into his vital organs and causing him to hermorrage and bleed to death. But... if his aim was vengeance... then maybe letting him live was a more cruel fate? Glancing to Caesar, he wordlessly shifted and let Seneca fall from his coils, relinquishing his hold on the fox's life. His eyes stayed on the fox, expression unreadable as he claimed his previous spot, still silent. His antennae once more began to furiously knot and untangle themselves as he tried to understand what he was to do now.

“You all need to calm down,”

Lennor's mouth turned up in a mock snarl as he was spoken down to by a blue pretty boy of a Vulpix. The hell did this poser want? “Finnick, you don’t need any more blood on your hands.” So he was another one of the 'Games' people. They were just flocking to this island weren't they. How the hell did they all end up here with him and Dragon Lady anyway? "Is every freak who was in or dealt with your precious Games gonna crawl out of the rock now or what? How many of you are there?" Aerith glared up at the Roselia and tried really hard not to throw something at him. "Shut up Len. You're running your mouth without any idea what you are talking about." Bitch.

Aerith looked towards the blue fox and was relieved when Finnick seemed to hear him better than he had her. Seneca had called him Ceasar, so he must have been more known to the operators than the the contestants. Perhaps part of the construction? She didn't recall the name in any of their investigations into the Games. Seneca was released from the Milotic's coils and dropped to the floor, Aerith rushing over to try and see if his injuries were disturbed. If the bandage didn't hold during the struggle she would have to retie it for him. Despite what he had done in the past he was still a survivor and needed help. "Seneca, how's the bandage? Do I need to adjust it?" She didn't give a damn what the others thought, she wasn't going to leave someone injured on the floor.

"Of all the pokemon to wash up on this shore with us, we have our own Master of Ceremonies! This... This is really something. Of all the poor bastards to end up here, I didn't think you'd wind up here too. Must be...pre-ordained or somethin'. Fate's a bitch, huh?"

Caesar remained unflinching as Haymitch approached, practically relishing in what was a disastrous turn of luck for both himself and Seneca. But the Vulpix wasn’t scared – if anything, he was guilty. He knew the part he’d played in the Games, his pampered lifestyle offering a bitter contrast to those he was required to keep happy, and unlike the suffocating Zoroark, he carried the guilt with him. It had been crushing him for years.

Watching the drunken Marowak carefully, vivid yellow eyes sapped of their famous vivacity, Caesar looked a stranger. Whilst his appearance was immaculate as ever save a few loose strands of electric blue obstructing his vision, it was his demeanour that had shifted. It was difficult not to know the fox, his face recognisable across the regions with the pinnacle of his career coming with his work in Orre – and now, he seemed an entirely different creature. The chat show host famous for his eccentricity, boasting a seemingly boundless energy and optimism was long gone. Caesar stood watching the proceedings with an emotional depth unfamiliar to his viewers – little more than a sad, old man wishing to avoid further bloodshed.

His eyes meeting Finnick’s, the fox couldn’t bring himself to smile. He was a people-person of course, but contrary to popular belief, he’d learnt a charming grin couldn’t solve everything. The youth had every right to be angry – no doubt Seneca had sealed his fate with his old arrogance, but Caesar had rarely been one to accept defeat without trying. Please… Silently begging, his emotive stare speaking volumes, the shiny heaved a sigh of relief when the Milotic finally released his grip.

Seneca, on the brink of unconsciousness, was cruelly spared a moment’s peace. Instead, he felt the coils about him loosen until he was falling, body limp as he crashed to the ground with a pitiful whimper. The energy sapped from his fragile frame, entire ragged physique trembling with agony, it was a miracle he was still fighting. It hurt to breathe. Each inhale felt like a knife to his deprived lungs, the Zoroark soon coughing as an amount of blood trickled down his gasping maw.
“Thank you, Finnick,” Caesar replied bluntly, though a sincere, almost heart-rending gratitude laced his tone. Seneca had almost forgotten about his pint-size saviour. Lifting his head, his gaze hazy from the near-death experience, the disgraced canine soon caught sight of the blue blur padding towards him. The shiny moved with his usual dignity, seemingly unfazed by the dangers surrounding him as he came to a halt just before Seneca.

Unsure of how to react to what appeared his only friend in the world, the Zoroark held the Vulpix’s disappointed stare a moment before dropping his head. He was exhausted. His body refused to respond, his mind hardly caring of his dire situation. Death would creep up on him eventually, what did it matter that Caesar had chosen to forestall his inevitable demise?
“Arceus, Sen… What happened to you?” He could tell Caesar was trying to ensure his consciousness by doing what he did best, talk – but there seemed to be a genuine shock in his utterance. The Vulpix, studying his colleague’s face, could see that his attempts at quelling tempers had come far too late. He was a mess. Hadn’t those markings been so distinct, the fire-type wouldn’t have recognised the bedraggled, battered fox at all.
“Them…” Seneca finally growled, though the malice was significantly hindered by his exhaustion. Caesar could do little more than shake his head, making a mental note to converse with the illusion pokémon when he recovered – adamant, that he would do so.

"Seneca, how's the bandage? Do I need to adjust it?”

Caesar was pleasantly surprised to find the Axew aside him, peering down at the dark-fox with a concern he probably didn’t deserve. The Vulpix watched her a moment, a recognition eventually erupting in his mind as a small smile graced his features. An officer. He couldn’t remember her name, but he had definitely seen her snooping ‘backstage’, working to shut down the barbaric spectacle with a companion. He and Stanley had often been requested to put the probing law enforcements’ minds at ease, the charm of the celebrities often enough to calm any situation - but Caesar held memories of a particularly stubborn duo. He commended her efforts, only saddened he himself hadn’t possessed the courage to support what was truly right.

Like the blue Vulpix, Seneca was equally, if not more shocked at Aireth’s concern. He met her gaze with some difficulty, a pained groan escaping him as he experimentally flexed the aforementioned arm. The pain seemed significantly numbed, instead an ongoing agony overcoming his entire form in one unpleasant blur. The pool of blood expanding about the limb was enough confirmation that he would indeed require another bandage. But the Zoroark’s mind was elsewhere.
“Why…” His voice was barely a whisper, the life gradually draining from his being. “Why… are you helping me?” It was a genuine question, the surprise locked beneath the fatigue as he slumped against the ground. He couldn’t understand it. She knew what he had done – the terrible crimes that had given his life purpose, and yet she strived to help him. She didn’t want him to die. Why? When everyone was baying for his blood, Aireth had always stood aside him.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Caesar started addressing the gathering with a confidence and composure honed from years in front of a camera. Moving away from Seneca and Aireth, he remained confident his colleague would be safe around the dragon. “In fact, I’m sure I don’t want to know – but these aren’t the Games. You’re so much better than that, all of you…”

“Now, I can’t talk. I don’t know what the Games were truly like, but I can say I never want to hear of them again. You can kill Seneca. You can kill me– I… I realize that,” His calm demeanour remained near-unfaltering. “The need for revenge can blind a man, but in the end it won’t solve anything. You might feel satisfied for a couple of minutes – then what? How many more will you need to kill to sustain that… fleeting happiness?”

Caesar sighed, dipping his head sadly. He was willing to accept whatever punishment these people seemed fit, even if it meant sacrificing his life. The shiny, however, wasn’t keen to give up on the Zoroark he was doing this for. In all honesty, he’d never like Seneca. In the years they’d worked on the Games, the fox had proven himself nothing but a brash, foul-tempered and conniving fiend; but Caesar had seen through the pompous, sadistic charade. Seneca was nothing but a puppet. He knew nothing beyond the Games, no life prior to his occupation and so, the fire-type pitied him. Seneca was never born a monster – merely a youth whose path had been shaped and tainted by the evil around him.

His gaze drifting between Finnick, Haymitch and Seneca, Caesar spoke from the heart.

“I’m sorry… I truly am…”

“Thank you, Finnick.”

The milotic wasn't sure whether to be grateful for a small word of praise or to spit that small ounce of pleasantries right back into Caesar's face. His thoughts not moments before had been determining which would be a more cruel fate for Seneca... and he'd sided with the worst he could ever bestow upon the fox: life. Protection, even. It slowly began to dawn on Finnick that the most righteous and satisfying of vengeances would be to let the bastard live with himself and his guilt. But... the words, those kind, soulful words from the little vulpix only brought guilt to himself. How could he be thanked when his good deed was only done out of spite and malice...? "...Please..." he mumbled softly, his antennae knotting and de-knotting furiously. His voice was barely above a whisper, only audible to those of keen hearing-- and while his eyes were still hard with a low anger, his words were saturated with sorrow. "...Don't thank me..."

But as Finnick slowly reclused into himself, his eyes lowering and body coiling into a ball of scales, Haymitch watched the scene with a sense of disgust. Seneca was being babied once more by Dragon Lady, while Flower Boy sat on the side lines, bitching. Though he had never had a hate toward Caesar -maybe only finding his enthusiasm a bit obnoxious- he'd never had a profound like for the fox either. Watching him so sagely speak to them like rowdy, feral children was getting on his drunken nerves, and it was time it stopped.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Caesar began in an authoritative tone, his voice echoing in the cavern. “In fact, I’m sure I don’t want to know – but these aren’t the Games. You’re so much better than that, all of you…" Haymitch scoffed and took another swig, knowing Caesar wasn't done just yet. The flamboyant host liked to drabble on...

“Now, I can’t talk. I don’t know what the Games were truly like, but I can say I never want to hear of them again. You can kill Seneca. You can kill me– I… I realize that,” ...And on... “The need for revenge can blind a man, but in the end it won’t solve anything. You might feel satisfied for a couple of minutes – then what? How many more will you need to kill to sustain that… fleeting happiness?”

Haymitch paused in another swig, waiting for the final words. Was that it? No little stinger line? “I’m sorry… I truly am…” Oh, no, wait, there it was.

"You done?" Haymitch asked, tilting his head a little as a sloppy, drunken grin graced his features. "Good. That was getting kinda long. Not one of your best speeches.

"To answer you question, Caesar," Haymitch began, waltzing a little closer to the blue fox, "You're right. You're absolutely right-- we can kill you, or Senny there," he pointed his flask to the dark fox, "and all of that... bullshit about revenge being bad and whatnot. That we're better people than that and that we can all get along. But I'll let you in on a secret. That revenge you were talking about, being bad? It's kept me alive for years now, and I'm... not gonna let it go anytime soon." He stared down at the vulpix, drunken gaze strangely void of anger. It was as if he were stating a simple fact.

"Oh-- and I wouldn't knock killin' someone off unless I tried it. It can be real satisfying. So, I'm keeping my little list of hits-- Senny and Snow. And that little brief flitting happiness I get from it, well... that'll be the happiest moment of my fucking life." He gave a wide smile, then tottered back to his pillar to lean. "So keep wasting our supplies on that welcome rug you call a pokemon, Sweeheart. It's a good use of them."

“Why…” Lennor may have been above their heads but even Seneca's soft whisper reached him. Why, indeed. What did Aerith have to gain from helping someone who had caused other misery his entire life? From helping someone she had been hunting most of hers? Her logic and morals contradicted each other at every turn and she never seemed to fucking notice. Even as she began to unwrap his bindings she was so wrapped up in justice and doing the right thing that she often forgot some people weren't deserving of help. 'Hypocrite.'

“Why… are you helping me?” Aerith didn't look up from her task of replacing the bloodied bandages with fresh ones, but she did hear him. Keeping her eyes to her work she wrapped Seneca's wounds once more as the answer went over in her mind. "Did you ever hear that justice is blind? I work very much the same way." She began to pull the bandages slightly tighter than last time to make them more likely to hold this go around, still not looking up to meet the Zoroark's eyes. "It doesn't matter where you come from or what you have done, everyone deserves a second chance. And I can't ignore someone in need even if everyone else around is perfectly willing to leave them to die."

Lennor was about ready to puke. "Seriously Lady Justice? That's your entire reason? That's one half baked sense of morality you've got doll, and I don't envy you for it. Some people need killing and some people are beyond salvation, no matter how much your bleeding heart wants to deny that." His words fell to Aerith, who heard him very clearly and offered him a deadly glare for daring to question her life choices, but the conversation behind them all but ensured that she was the only one to care.

"Oh-- and I wouldn't knock killin' someone off unless I tried it. It can be real satisfying. So, I'm keeping my little list of hits-- Senny and Snow. And that little brief flitting happiness I get from it, well... that'll be the happiest moment of my fucking life." And that will be a sad life indeed, at least Aerith thought so. She finished her work on Seneca and gave the fox a gentle pat before turning around to see Haymitch end his drunken ramble. "So keep wasting our supplies on that welcome rug you call a pokemon, Sweeheart. It's a good use of them."

"Too late Haymitch, I'm already done. So quit your bitching and grow a pair already you sound like such a fucking woman."

"You done? Good. That was getting kinda long. Not one of your best speeches.”

Caesar had expected such a curt response from Haymitch, managing a small smile out of habit at the victor’s famed candour - no sugar-coating there, ever. The Vulpix listened with a quiet sorrow, genuinely saddened that the Marowak had come to accept murder so frankly in a life years from his time in the Games. But, despite it all, the fox could sympathise. He often found himself nodding along, the bow tie about his neck brushing against his chin with each movement to remind him that he had no right to. He didn’t understand Haymitch’s situation and even with the epidemic offering a taste of the world the ground-type had known, he doubted he ever would.

"Did you ever hear that justice is blind? I work very much the same way. It doesn't matter where you come from or what you have done, everyone deserves a second chance. And I can't ignore someone in need even if everyone else around is perfectly willing to leave them to die."

Weren’t his lungs aching so savagely, Seneca would have laughed at Aireth’s reply. Such heroism, such strong morals – he should have expected nothing less from a devoted officer of the law. Smiling to himself, half-delusional as the dragon worked to bind his injury once more, Seneca allowed his eyelids droop. He could hear the voices around him – Lennor’s ringing out particularly savagely – but paid no mind to the topic. He could guess it revolved around his own miserable existence, the value of his life, as the group remained divided by the possibility of saving his black heart. Hilarious.

"So keep wasting our supplies on that welcome rug you call a pokemon, Sweeheart. It's a good use of them."
"Too late Haymitch, I'm already done. So quit your bitching and grow a pair already you sound like such a fucking woman."

The blue Vulpix heaved a sigh of relief, glad to know that Seneca wasn’t about to bleed to death – of course, it seemed a far darker death was already waiting to pounce on him. He pushed the thought from his mind, instead turning to his colleague’s medic with a smile, genuine rather than one of his famed, scripted grins.
“Thank you, Miss…?” He dipped his head in a polite bow on the Gamemaker’s behalf, hearing quieted chuckling from the downed dark-type. Keeping his attention away from the canine in fear of provoking his already irrational, quiet unstable behaviour, Caesar turned his attention to the gathering, not keen to dwell on the topic of old relationships.

“So, what’s brought all of you here? I’m surprised to see other survivors, let alone so many faces I recognise,” The fox gave a short, chuckle in a vain bid to dissipate some of the lingering tension. His stare fell to the quiet Milotic, expression falling at the shift in the youth’s attitude. Caesar had always liked the serpent, but a foreign darkness had come over his demeanour that almost scared him. New or old, he didn’t know. Of all the victors Caesar persevered to keep in contact with, both Finnick and Haymitch had been two to slip past the radar. “How’ve you been?”

[OOC: sdkjfngg skip me please. ;; I'm having a hard time keeping up and I plan to put these two in inactivity soon. >x<]

Finnick watched Aerith work with a glazed stare, unsure of how to feel at the thought of the fox making a recovery. His conflict still waging war spouting from both his thirst for revenge and blood and the other for simple peace, there was little else he could do other than watch as the dragon healed Seneca. Of course, not everyone was all that excited about her choice, even Seneca himself. “Why… are you helping me?” he gasped, trying to weakly procure an answer from the infamous Dragon Lady.

"Did you ever hear that justice is blind? I work very much the same way." She began, her focus completely on mending Seneca's arm. Haymitch's wound, while crude, had been expertly administered. Seneca was going to have trouble using that arm for a while. "It doesn't matter where you come from or what you have done, everyone deserves a second chance. And I can't ignore someone in need even if everyone else around is perfectly willing to leave them to die."

Finnick flinched a little, taking her words into himself. Everyone deserved a second chance? Even those that took so many lives on a whim, by the cruelest of ways? Even those who had played with others like pawns in a mere game, using them as if they had no other reason to be? The worst of creation, the very scum that flourished on the underbelly of society... they deserved another chance as well? Finnick's eyes narrowed, unsure of whether it was justice or naivete that blinded her. It seemed her flowery partner remained unconvinced as well.

"Seriously Lady Justice? That's your entire reason? That's one half baked sense of morality you've got doll, and I don't envy you for it. Some people need killing and some people are beyond salvation, no matter how much your bleeding heart wants to deny that." Finnick's gaze went to him, and he couldn't help but agree.

"...You must have been lucky, Aerith," he began softly, catching her gaze with his own, "...that you haven't met someone like Seneca or his human in their prime. If you had... you might not think like you do." His statement wasn't a threat, but something dark stirred beneath his words-- an ugly, terrible truth gleaned from naught but experience. "I can't believe that either of them deserve a second chance." Granted, he wasn't about to intervene with her healing, but there was no way he would condone Seneca's salvation. The bastard didn't deserve it, and that was that. There was no way in Heaven or Hell that he could ever atone for what he did, and he felt sorry for any fool that thought he could.

But as Haymitch complained, Aerith found it fitting to reply. "Too late Haymitch, I'm already done. So quit your bitching and grow a pair already you sound like such a fucking woman."

The marowak hadn't heard the milotic's words, as he'd been going on himself. Smirking at the female's words, he cocked out his hip and placed his free hand upon it, holding the flask in a flamboyant manner. "Well... at least one of us does, Sweetheart."

Thankfully, Caesar was adept at feeling and navigating through the murky waters of conversation, and saw fit to quickly change the subject. “So, what’s brought all of you here? I’m surprised to see other survivors, let alone so many faces I recognise,” the vulpix began, his tone lightening the situation a little. Haymitch scoffed, but Finnick found the change relieving. His dark thoughts would drive him mad, were he to linger on them... “How’ve you been?”

The marowak's reply was little more than a hysteric guffaw, words no longer coherent as he gasped between syllables. Finnick sighed, watching the over-zealous ground-type for a moment before replying himself. "...Well enough, considering, I suppose," he began with a sigh. "...You look a bit worse for wear, but..." He spotted the bowtie and gave a small, nostalgic smile. "...I'm surprised that's survived, too."

Aerith was saddened to hear such pain in Finnick's voice, though she wasn't sure why she had such strong feelings about someone she barely knew. Yes she pitied him for suffering in the games, she even felt the same pity towards Haymitch, but that didn't mean she liked the drunken prick. “Thank you, Miss…?” The Axew smiled and rose to her feet to greet the strange blue fox. "Aerith." After giving her name she was perfectly willing to let the male go about his discussions with the others and instead focused on trying to find her annoying companion. He wasn't on the pillar anymore tossing insults out of range of her fists so where the hell had he gotten off to?

A tingling feeling in the back of her head told her that Lennor vanished was a cause for concern, and a slight adrenaline rush started putting her on a tense alert, but she tried to force it down. Lennor was just a big bag of hot air, nothing to worry about there. The Roselia, however, was done watching from the sidelines. Emerging from behind Seneca he used the opportunity of everyone's distraction of blue to converse with the fox in private. "So...Seneca," his voices all but purred. "How does it feel to be so unanimously hated by everyone in the group? Even Aerith has lost interest in you now that your bandaged. She talks about forgiveness and second chances but do you really think she cares anymore about you than the rest of that lot?"

Oh yes, Aerith really should have kept looking for him, because this latest scheme was surely going to plant the seeds for all of their doom.

"...Well enough, considering, I suppose... You look a bit worse for wear, but... I'm surprised that's survived, too."

Caesar listened attentively; eyes alight as he nodded his head eagerly as the Milotic spoke, desperate to hear some good news. Whilst Finnick remained vague, brushing over his circumstances, the Vulpix was content to have at least a slither of conversation to dispel the tension. Of course, there was unlikely to be any good, any happiness, in a recollection of past events – more so with the arrival of the epidemic, but it was a most welcome distraction regardless. His eyes never leaving the Milotic, Caesar chuckled good-naturedly at the youth’s comment to his own appearance, bowtie and all.
“Oh, never mind me! All this exercise is doing me good,” He grinned, gesturing to his plump belly with a small, blue paw. “As for the bowtie… well,” The fire-type looked down, almost sheepishly at the honest admittance. “I can’t seem to get it off, “

Whilst Caesar attempted to indulge in a piece of nostalgia, a good old chat – Seneca, with the energy he had left, had pulled himself to the nearest wall. Wincing with each movement, struggling to keep his pained gasps quiet, the fox eventually succeeded in his attempts at distancing himself from the bulk of the group. It wasn’t much. The Zoroark could still hear their chatter, still see them as the blue canine stole his spotlight – but he was beyond their circle, isolated in the darkness to recuperate. He leant his head against the wall, closing his eyes as he struggled to block out the pain throbbing in his arm. Just when he thought that he’d found a moment’s peace, an impish voice was sneering in his ear.

"So...Seneca. How does it feel to be so unanimously hated by everyone in the group? Even Aerith has lost interest in you now that your bandaged. She talks about forgiveness and second chances but do you really think she cares anymore about you than the rest of that lot?”

Seneca sighed heavily, exasperation and fatigue quick to conceal his initial fear. He’d had little contact with the flower, but from their first meeting his instincts had told him that Lennor was no better than the rest of them – yet whilst the others paraded as vengeful heroes, the Roselia had wholeheartedly embraced his darkness. Turning his head to catch the flower’s scheming eyes, only then did the canine’s stomach drop.
“I…” The words failed to come out, the one syllable emerging as little more than a hoarse whisper. Seneca looked abruptly away, the flower’s words already infecting his mind. Unanimous hate. He’d always expected it, always harboured a secret fear of the victors’ retaliations – but the unanimous love of the viewers, the staff, managed to shield him from the ugly truth. He told himself he didn’t care, that he remained indifferent to how he was seen – but that would be a lie. Seneca had always strived to please. He’d worked relentlessly to put on a good show, give the audience what they wanted and prove to his human that he was a success, a victor in his own right. He’d made enemies, but now there was no wall of praise to protect him from their advances.

“Just leave me be,” Seneca eventually snapped at the flower, an angry order emerging more as a pitiful, last plea. “I know they’ll kill me. I don’t know when or who. I’d end everything, now – myself. But… I just can’t let go… I don’t want to die,” Unable to stop the sorrowful confession, tears had again sprung to the fox’s eyes as he stared over to his disguised reapers. Yet his stare soon narrowed, lip curling back in a disgusted snarl.

“Why does this happen to me?” He growled, suddenly angry. His mood swinging with a startling ferocity, Seneca’s self-pity had rapidly escalated into a fierce bitterness. Hardly conscious of whom he was speaking to, the fox’s words emerged in a fearsome yet muted rant. “Why am I the one who loses everything? I was just doing my job – doing it well. They’re not killing Caesar, are they?! He’s no more innocent than I am – thinks he’s a fucking saint,” He spat, claws running through his mane as he spent a moment clutching the thick, matted fur for support. His head was killing him, arm relentlessly stinging and now, his mind was clouded with images of his own gory demise.

“If I’m going down, they’re sure as hell coming with me,”

The vulture had watched silently, a frown etched onto her beak as she listened in on their conversation. Her gaze traveled to the Zoroark, regarding him for a moment in a mixture of confusion and fear. What exactly was she supposed to do...? Her little knowledge on what they were talking about, her inability to take sides was slowly ripping her sanity into two. As much as she wanted to side with Seneca, the words that she had heard of him frightened her. He was a monster, the mastermind behind the games that pitted one another into cruel plays of death and tragedy. The Mandibuzz looked to her partner beside her, only to be met with a face of wrath.

A scowl, dripping with hatred and the wish to kill was a perfect display if the Braviary's feelings. He knew he could never commit murder, his talons too frozen with immense fear to even make a move. Although he may have not been a participant in the games, the very knowledge of what the Zoroark had done had caused the Eagle to develop an animosity towards the fox. Tensing his body, the bird suddenly burst out in anger. "You know what? YOU KNOW WHAT?! I can't take this anymore! I hate having to breath the same fucking air as that little SHIT!" he motions towards the Zoroark in blind rage. "He doesn't even deserve to live! Nobody who has made anyone suffer that badly or killed so many lives deserve to live!" she screeched, turning to face the vulture. "And YOU! I can't believe you're staying silent in all of this! You of all Pokemon should be arguing! Where the fuck did that giant bitch I knew for the past, I dunno, 10 years go?!"

Stamping his foot down, Rhett seethed with hatred. "You know what? YOU KNOW WHAT? I'm done! I am so fucking DONE!" with a final last shout, he turned around. "You guys should just fucking kill that prick," with a grumble, he exited the cavern, immediately setting flight. Joy stuttered for a moment, eyes wide at the sudden outburst. "...Rhett, wait!" she calls, hopping to where the Braviary had left. She looked back to the others, expression of confusion and worry. "I apologize on his behalf, but I can't just let him fly away. I-I'll be back one day." she waved a wing, already beginning to follow the Eagle. "Sorry!" she called, soaring above the sea as she trailed her companion.

[OOC: Leaving post. ;;w;; I'll come back one day, for now, I need to cut down on my characters.]

Finnick managed a small smile as Caesar talked, glad for at least a small breath of reprieve from the intensity of the past hour or so. “Oh, never mind me! All this exercise is doing me good,” the small blue fox grinned, gesturing to his stomach with a bright paw. “As for the bowtie… well,” Caesar glanced down, sheepishly, earning a small quirked brow from Finnick. “I can’t seem to get it off." The milotic gave a small chuckle; it seemed forever since he had the chance to laugh.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing. I can't really imagine you without it..." Finnick glanced around, noting Seneca's new location propped against the wall and Lennor's and Haymitch's slow movement toward the fox, but instead of dwelling on them, he let his eyes roam. Now that the initial drama was past, it was time to look for something more important-- food. No doubt Haymitch had eaten anything within his stinking territory, but... His aqua eyes flicked back down to Caesar, the malice and darkness from his gaze almost completely gone. "...So, did you see any food on the way in here? There's nothing on the coast."

Haymitch, eternally intrigued with watching Seneca suffer, spotted the spritely devil of a roserade beginning to torment the fox. He made his way over, nearly empty flask still in hand, bone knife clenched in the other. And what was the little shoulder devil whispering into Seneca's ears now...? "...now that you're bandaged. She talks about forgiveness and second chances but do you really think she cares anymore about you than the rest of that lot?”

Nodding admittedly to himself with what he heard of Lennor's words, he propped himself against the same wall as Seneca, behind the fox some feet away, content with listening to the reply. “Just leave me be,” he snapped; Haymitch couldn't really tell if it was a yelp or snarl. “I know they’ll kill me. I don’t know when or who. I’d end everything, now – myself. But… I just can’t let go… I don’t want to die.” In a strange twist of character, Seneca's eyes began loosing tears, maybe from a last-ditch defense mechanism. But the tears provoked no pity, no sympathy, for in the marowak's eyes, the bastard was getting what he finally deserved. Retribution, vengeance, payback... a taste of his own fucking medicine.

“Why does this happen to me?” Seneca's statement nearly caused the marowak to spit-take, instead causing a loud scoff. What had he just said? REALLY? “Why am I the one who loses everything? I was just doing my job – doing it well. They’re not killing Caesar, are they?! He’s no more innocent than I am – thinks he’s a fucking saint. If I’m going down, they’re sure as hell coming with me.”

"You get a lobatomy with all them other wounds, Senny?" Haymitch chortled, taking another swig of flask-liquid. "Because you know damn well why all of this is happening to poor little ole' you. Caesar's not getting the celebrity treatment probably because he didn't go out and make our lives living hell." He took another swig, his last, and after inspecting the flask of its now emptiness, tossed it aside. "And if you need a reminder, well... I can give that to you anytime, Foxy."

But as he was about to come forward and be a little closer to the fox, one of the birds blew a gasket. "You know what? YOU KNOW WHAT?! I can't take this anymore! I hate having to breath the same fucking air as that little SHIT!" Haymitch and Finnick stared, wide-eyed with confusion at the livid Braviary as the latter's voice echoed throughout the dome. "He doesn't even deserve to live! Nobody who has made anyone suffer that badly or killed so many lives deserve to live!" He then turned to his vulture buddy. "And YOU! I can't believe you're staying silent in all of this! You of all Pokemon should be arguing! Where the fuck did that giant bitch I knew for the past, I dunno, 10 years go?! You know what? YOU KNOW WHAT? I'm done! I am so fucking DONE!" with a final last shout, he turned around. "You guys should just fucking kill that prick."

Joy seemed as shocked as the rest of them, and all eyes landed on her. "...Rhett, wait! I apologize on his behalf, but I can't just let him fly away. I-I'll be back one day. Sorry!" And with that, they were both gone.

There was a long silence that hung over the group like a cloud, and Haymitch, of course, was the first to break through its silencing spell. "...Huh. Well, you have to admit you weren't expecting that."

“If I’m going down, they’re sure as hell coming with me,”

Lennor's dark laughter soon followed the angry finish, knowing he had successfully struck the right nerve. Oh yes, this fox was going to be much more useful than he had originally intended. More useful than even Aerith and all her blusterous power. This was a man with a death wish and a grudge which left him with nothing left to lose, and that was the best tool there was. Someone who would give it their all because not only did they not fear death they welcomed it with open arms. Leaning in he whispered to Seneca, to where only the Zoroark could hear, "What if I could make that happen for you?"

"You get a lobatomy with all them other wounds, Senny?" Lennor sneered as Haymitch broke the pleasing conversation with his drunken drawling. He kept going, like anyone was actually listening, and the Roselia had to fight to not just beat the hell out of the ground type. But luckily for the Marowak the patriotic bird seemed to flip his shit. His words rang through the air and surely helped drive home the point Len had been making to Seneca not moments before, causing the flower to grin maliciously. Had he known that the two birds would spaz out and leave he would have spurred them sooner! His plan was sure to succeed now. Leaning down once more he smiled at Seneca. "See what I mean?"

Aerith, however, was completely flabbergasted. As the larger bird raged she had to hold her head to stop his screeching from collapsing her skull. "Do you have to be so loud?!" she cried out, but it went unheard as the Braviary soon took to the exit and fled, the Mandibuzz soon after with only a short farewell. Fog swirled in her brain as she tried to figure out why she was suddenly disappointed that they were gone, but nothing came. Her head began to sting and she had to force herself to focus on something other than the weird feelings swirling inside her.

Turning to Finnick and the Vulpix she decided to try and get a gameplan going with them. "So boys," she greeted as she walked up behind them. "Now that everyone is done trying to kill Seneca can we please focus on figuring out what to do now? There is a storm outside with no sign of letting up and Lennor and I have never been this deep into the tunnels before. Should we keep moving up?" Aerith kept turning her gaze to the Zoroark and something in her nagged as she saw Lennor whispering to him. It didn't seem...right. But she couldn't really place her claw on it.

The hell was wrong with her?

"Well, I guess it's a good thing. I can't really imagine you without it..."

Caesar chuckled heartily at the comment, though the sound was significantly softer than the laughter broadcast over his expansive career. Rather than flouting his on-screen persona of charming eccentricity, the vulpix’s laugh had been genuine as he looked fondly down to the bow tie. He couldn’t recall how long he’d worn it. His human had gifted it to him to mark the debut of their first solo chat show and he’d worn it ever since. It was almost as famous as his striking colouration, yet it had started to chafe about his neck – the salt water from his arrival on the island triggering a recent, unpleasant rubbing. Still, as uncomfortable as it was, Caesar knew it would take more than a little stinging to abandon his last embodiment of a world before the epidemic.

"...So, did you see any food on the way in here? There's nothing on the coast."

Brought from his reverie, the Vulpix looked up to meet Finnick’s eyes, glad to find that earlier darkness dissipating with the distraction. It was enough to silence the fox’s own concerns of the situation as he let Seneca slip from his mind, content in seeing a positive change in the youth before him. It hurt him to know his answer wouldn’t be quite as appreciated.
“I can’t say I have,” He sighed, disappointedly. “I’d avoided this place until now, but the storm’s pretty rough out there. I’d been living off a berry bush – too sour for my liking, but you can’t complain really,” The shiny smiled, shrugging. “Surely there’s something left in here?” Turning to seek the information from what he’d gathered was the building’s current occupant, he found Haymitch out of reach – conversing with Seneca and the mysterious flower-creature. He wanted to believe they were resolving their differences, but that was a feat even Caesar struggled to envision.

--

"What if I could make that happen for you?"

Seneca paused, snapping out of his darkened rant to turn his slender, dirtied face to the flower. His cold eyes ran over Lennor’s features, those scheming yet oh so intriguing words repeating in the fox’s fragile mind until the canine’s demeanour shifted with newfound interest. His expression relaxed, a smile momentarily touching his lips at the idea of finding an ally amongst the enemies closing in on him. Was this a way out?

"You get a lobatomy with all them other wounds, Senny? Because you know damn well why all of this is happening to poor little ole' you. Caesar's not getting the celebrity treatment probably because he didn't go out and make our lives living hell. And if you need a reminder, well... I can give that to you anytime, Foxy."

The Zoroark flinched, surprised to find Haymitch in such close proximity. Tearing his gaze from the Roselia, Seneca met the drunkard with a glare. The scent of liquor accompanied each word, the fox’s ears flattening against his head as he felt his temper rising once more – his physical recovery giving him enough energy to respond with his old venom. He had nothing to hide now, nothing to fear. These creatures would kill him – he had no doubt about it, but until then, Seneca had already resolved to make their lives a living hell. As he’d said, they were going to be dragged down with him.
“Caesar obeyed his orders like everyone else,” The Zoroark snapped back, referencing his own argument that he was had only been doing his job. “We had the same superiors, just different roles,”

The fox had intended to continue his argument but was promptly silenced by the eagle’s explosion. Wincing at the shouting, his aching head not prepared for such fierce volume, Seneca’s glare latched onto the Braviary. He hadn’t thought the quiet bird capable of such a reaction. Of course, he’d thrown out the odd comment – ‘sick motherfucker’ seemed to ring a bell – but this was something else entirely. It soon got a stage where it had become funny, the Zoroark left snickering to himself as Rhett finally left, Joy in tow. Such a sensitive boy.

"...Huh. Well, you have to admit you weren't expecting that."

Restraining his sinister laughter, Seneca dismissed the ground-type’s comment as soon as Lennor shifted beside him. His icy orbs were on the grass-type in an in instant, absorbing his words as that same feeling of dread crawled up his spine. Yet at the same time, there was a surge of excitement. Seneca could tell this guy was dangerous – he practically oozed an unsaid menace which had already succeeded in deterring the group from him. But that also meant he was powerful. Seneca saw opportunity to save himself.
“Later,” He whispered quietly, making particular attention not to be overheard. His eyes flashed with his old malice, a smirk brightening his haggard face. This conversation was not over.

--

A rarity, Caesar had been stunned into silence on the birds’ exit. Words had failed him, his mouth dry as he watched helplessly as the fuming avian made his leave, followed by the vulture. It was a shame, the loss of any company taken personally by the canine – but on reflection, perhaps it was for the best. Looking over to Seneca, the fox still slumped against the wall, though now wearing a twisted grin, the Vulpix reminded himself of the eagle’s parting words. At least Seneca had lost a couple of enemies.

"So boys. Now that everyone is done trying to kill Seneca can we please focus on figuring out what to do now? There is a storm outside with no sign of letting up and Lennor and I have never been this deep into the tunnels before. Should we keep moving up?"

The shiny welcomed Aireth to the conversation with a smile, taking a step back to visually integrate her into the circle of conversation – grateful of her input. He nodded his head enthusiastically, taking an instant liking to the rational female, unsurprised that her personality was proving as positive as her previous occupation. But again, he was bound to disappoint her with his response.
“I suppose so,” He answered hesitantly, bright eyes wandering across to Marowak. From what he gathered, he seemed to have the best knowledge of the place, or had at least inhabited it for the lengthiest amount of time. “I imagine Haymitch has seen a little more of this place though. Smells like he’s been here long enough,”

“I can’t say I have,” Caesar sighed, disappointed; Finnick, however, felt that coming. “I’d avoided this place until now, but the storm’s pretty rough out there. I’d been living off a berry bush – too sour for my liking, but you can’t complain really,” The shiny smiled, shrugging. “Surely there’s something left in here?” The Milotic frowned, glancing around the small cavern they currently occupied. Though he hadn't known the Marowak for a few hours, it was already safe to assume that there was little in their vicinity to eat... Haymitch would have already eaten anything worth eating.


"...Somehow, I really doubt that..." he mumbled in reply, his mood settling back to a disgruntled neutral. Food was now the thing to chase, not Seneca. He'd gotten his answers, all right... Now, he... just didn't know what to do with them. Sighing, he was grateful for the change in subject in the form of Aerith's segway, who also seemed to jump on the food wagon.

"So boys," she began, grabbing everyone's attention, "Now that everyone is done trying to kill Seneca can we please focus on figuring out what to do now? There is a storm outside with no sign of letting up and Lennor and I have never been this deep into the tunnels before. Should we keep moving up?"

"Well," Haymitch began, looking away from the group to a darkened corner, frowning a little. While he'd rather not let the flower and fox keep their little intimate mutters to themselves, Dragon Lady was right. Food was very important, especially to the Marowak in question. "There's an entrance to the rest of the fort, but it's completely covered with fallen boulders from the ceiling. I couldn't move it by myself." He shrugged, then looked at the others. "I guess with everyone working together like the big happy family we are, we could dislodge those boulders and find out what's on the other side."

“Later.” That one simple word was like music to Lennor's ears, the whisper proving that his plan had indeed worked and now he was one step closer to taking down these useless fools. And as long as Aerith kept up with her useful amnesia then he might still be able to convince her that the others were evil and out to get them. She already knew what Seneca was, if he could get her to turn on Finnick then all would be simple. He wasn't worried about some drunkard of a Marowak but that water serpent had to go.

But now he also had that Vulpix to deal with, but with Seneca on his side the fluffy blue intruder wouldn't be too much of a threat. And it didn't seem like he had any battle experience. Probably survived on pure luck and the skill of others just to get by this long. Pathetic. Sure he took advantage of Aerith and her skills but that wasn't because he couldn't take care of himself. He just felt like making her serve him, it was funny. With a satisfied grin he melted back into the shadows and decided to pop over to see what his favorite Dragon Lady was doing.

Caesar brought up the point of Haymitch knowing more about the inside structure than anyone else Aerith realized he had a point. She didn't know why she hadn't noticed but his stench was everywhere. His scent, his secretions, his alcohol, it permeated the room and suddenly she realized that she had accepted the scent upon walking into the room. She hadn't questioned it or even where it had come from. But...but she had only just met Haymitch a few moments ago. Hadn't she? Why did she already know his scent and that this room was his? The burning in her head returned and she put one hand against her forehead as she tried to will it away.

"There's an entrance to the rest of the fort, but it's completely covered with fallen boulders from the ceiling. I couldn't move it by myself." Aerith looked up from under her own arm and eyed Haymitch. Was he serious? "I guess with everyone working together like the big happy family we are, we could dislodge those boulders and find out what's on the other side." Wincing she fought past her headache and crossed her arms to question the Marowak. "You mean to tell me you, a ground type, survivor of the Games no less, couldn't deal with a few boulders in the time you spent here? With how much your scent has seeped into the very metal I'd say you've been here easily longer than Lennor and I have. What exactly have you been doing with yourself?"

She regretted the question almost instantly as Lennor's chuckle came from behind her. She didn't realize how lewd it sounded until he appeared. "I'm sure little Haymitch needed some attention to, eh Boney?" Groaning in disbelief Aerith went back to her pose of rest her head in her claws as she felt her headache renewing for an all new reason. Lennor was going to be the death of her, she just knew it.

((Gawd. This post took FOREVER. Chicken peck writing is slow...Stupid wrist))

"There's an entrance to the rest of the fort, but it's completely covered with fallen boulders from the ceiling. I couldn't move it by myself. I guess with everyone working together like the big happy family we are, we could dislodge those boulders and find out what's on the other side.”

Caesar’s suspicions had been correct in assuming Haymitch had scouted the place, but it seemed his response wasn’t quite as positive as he’d hoped. Still, the fox’s smile was unfaltering. He accepted even the most devastating news with an unwavering optimism that things could only get better. He applied his mantra to the current lack of food. Nodding his head eagerly, he knew that when it came to manual labour he wasn’t exactly a role model. Until recent months, Caesar hadn’t needed to lift a paw, let alone move an enormous boulder. Yet the Vulpix remained keen, he would do all he could.

"You mean to tell me you, a ground type, survivor of the Games no less, couldn't deal with a few boulders in the time you spent here? With how much your scent has seeped into the very metal I'd say you've been here easily longer than Lennor and I have. What exactly have you been doing with yourself?"
"I'm sure little Haymitch needed some attention to, eh Boney?"

Seneca, who had summoned both the strength and courage to return to the group, had staggered onto the scene as Lennor spoke. That was an image he did not want to be greeted with. The battered canine grimaced; holding back from immersing himself amongst would-be murderers as he forcefully shook away the flower’s coarse comment. Instead, he focused on his earlier conversation with Lennor. With his headache numbing, he took a moment to reflect on those enticing words, a chance to eliminate his couple of ‘problems’ before they could get to him. His curiosity piqued, he was hardly aware of the small grin crawling over his patterned maw, lost in his own twisted schemes.

“Ah, Seneca,” The Zoroark’s ears flattened against his head at Caesar’s familiar cheer, cursing the fox for his fanciful desire to remedy the problematic. He certainly had his work cut out for him in this situation. Whilst Seneca would have preferred to follow Lennor’s example and sink into the shadows, the shiny fire-type seemed intent on keeping him under a spotlight, apparently keen to avoid the topic of ‘little Haymitch’. “Feeling a little better, are we?”
“Not particularly,” Seneca grumbled bluntly, making a point of hobbling away from the victors to stand beside Lennor and Aireth. Whilst he couldn’t bring himself to entirely trust either of them, he knew that alongside the unshakeable kindness of Caesar they seemed the closest thing to allies.

While Haymitch had figured his explanation of the blocked passage enough, it seemed that to the others, there was much to be left wanting. "You mean to tell me you, a ground type, survivor of the Games no less, couldn't deal with a few boulders in the time you spent here? With how much your scent has seeped into the very metal I'd say you've been here easily longer than Lennor and I have. What exactly have you been doing with yourself?" He frowned at Aerith and began to speak, but Lennor wanted to get in his own jibe.

"I'm sure little Haymitch needed some attention to, eh Boney?"

A snort, and then a cross of the arms. "Look, if you two want to go out and try to move it on your own, you can be my fucking guest. And yes, Miss Dragon, I am a Ground Type. Thank you for noticing. I do not, however, have a psychic connection with any rocks I see and move them at will. They're big fucking boulders, and probably holding more than their own weight. See for yourself." He pointed to the same direction he had earlier, and Finnick was the first to move.

"With all of us here now, we should be able to clear the debris," he spoke, slithering toward the blocked passage. He thought with the gloom of the cavern that it'd be difficult to spot, but once Haymitch pointed it out, Finnick stopped dead in his tracks eyes wide and mouth agape.

The passageway itself was at least 70, 80 feet high, its borders an elegant arch gently sloping downward to the ground. With the exception of the top fifth or so, large, terrifying boulders resembling continents leaned against the walls and each other in a precarious display of utter failure. The milotic tentatively slithered closer, peering to the cracks between the boulders, seeing if maybe there was a smaller, more clandestine way through. "See?" Haymitch announced cheerily. "Blocked."