A Game Called Revenge ✭ Cato Hadley

Nineteen - My Apologies

"I suppose," Cashmere agrees, "What were hers?"

"Forty-eight to one." Clio lets out a giggle and Cashmere joins in after a moment, the two girls sitting laughing together as if they were old friends. As if they weren't laughing about a dead woman's odds of survival.

"We're very similar, me and you. I think in some other universe, we're probably friends." Cashmere says, head hanging low as she tries to will her voice not to break. "I never really had any in the Academy, we weren't really allowed friends. I mean what's the point in-"

"Getting attached to someone who could die.' Clio finishes her sentence for her.

"Exactly." Cashmere accepts sadly, "I meant what I said in my interview. I know I'm in here with my brother, but I really do view you as a little sister and with everything that happened to us, if things were different we'd be friends. I'm not looking forward to having to kill you."

Clio holds back a scoff. Not looking forward to having to kill me? She thinks, wanting so desperately to fire back a sarcastic remark about how she'll be lucky if she even gets the chance, but she knows she has to maintain the alliance for at least another couple of days, until the main threats have been eliminated. "We are friends. In some other universe you're probably helping kids out and I'll get to have my kids, but hey, maybe try not to think about killing me until we've at least whittled down some of the others."

"Deal." The smile returns to Cashmere's face as she stares into the distance at the forest. "I guess it depends on if you kill me first."

"True," She agrees, "I'm tempted."

"Gee, Clio, you're not doing a very good job at hiding it." Cashmere laughs.

"I don't know how to hide things. I have a very expressive face."

"You have a chronic resting bitchface,' the blonde woman snorts. "You think they'll execute us for betting on each other?"

"What are they going to do?" Clio replies, before adding, "Throw us into the arena again? Oh wait..."

"Still, it feels redundant to place a bet with you on which one of us will die first."

"If you die first, you owe me a hundred."

"Deal." Cashmere repeats, "and if you die first then you owe me two hundred, considering you have better odds and all."

"Sure, Cash, whatever you want." Clio rolls her eyes playfully. "Do you think I'll get two cannons when I-"

Clio's sentence is interrupted by a shrill chiming noise. A silver parachute glides down, the tinkling coming to a halt when the large container hits the rocky ground with a small clang.

"Whose is it?" Clio asks as Cashmere leans over to grab the sponsor gift.

"It's for you." She shrugs, handing her the parcel labelled 'Two.'

Clio's face contorts in confusion as she strains to read the note attached to the large cylindrical tube.

'Find pretty boy. He's stuck with Twelve. Don't be a chicken.

- L.C '

She rips the note from the thin strands of string which attach it to the top of the container and chucks it aside, eager to open the gift. She twists the top of the cylinder to the left and gently lifts it from the large tube at the bottom. With the darkness in the arena now that it must be at least midnight, or so they think, she can only make out some small black objects that are seemingly embedded into some kind of thick foam inside. Fingers finding a small notch on the side of the cylinder, she flicks it and the barrel uncoils, opening in front of her.