open.

[downbeat]

Who| Katurian and OPEN
What| Katurian is boozing the night before the arena.
Where| Tribute lounge.
When| Night before Arena 6.
Warnings/Notes| possible mentions of abuse, death.

Katurian had made several decisions before the next arena:

1. He was going to train. Before the last arena, he had poured over poisons and antidotes, hoping there was a way that he could gently taint the food supply when no one was looking. But there were no poisons, there were no antidotes, and Katurian had been stuck in a barren wasteland with a knife that was no longer than his index finger. He was too weak to throw spears, but he spent days learning how to throw the smaller knives, how to shoot a bow and arrow, how to blow darts without sucking the needle-thin points back into his cheeks. Distance was key.

2. He was going to run for the cornucopia. It was better, he figured, to die early and messily rather than embark without weapons and find yourself at a psychopath's mercy. Or two psychopaths' lack thereof.

3. He was not going to scream and he was not going to cry. He would take injuries with a grunt, if anything. He would pretend that his mouth is stitched shut.

4. He would not harm any children. There were limits.

5. He was going to play to win. He would not shy away from betrayal. He would not hesitate to slit an ally's throat in the dead of night. If he ever granted mercy, it would be with death. Which was fair.

He had also decided that he wasn't going to drink the night before (it only stirred up panic, it only made him groggy in the morning), but he couldn't stop himself. It was the eve of the arena, and Katurian, in all his pale and haggard glory, was kicking back drinks in the tribute lounge.