Chapter 1: Jade: Reaping Day
Chapter Text
Today is something that she hates. She remembers it because it’s the day when even though her brother has mostly recovered, they still have to hide the liquor in the house. That’s how bad the day always is. Jade had just turned fourteen that recent winter. She remembered it because Jake still taught her how to hunt. She remembered it most of all because a snare was set the wrong way, and it cut across her cheeks in jagged lines. She remembered the way Jake froze at the sight of the blood, the way his eyes seemed to glaze over and it was as if he was staring off at something she would never be able to see. It wasn’t uncommon; not really. She knew what to do in those situations; to tell him where he was, who he was with, and guide him away from anything that he could hurt himself with.
It doesn’t feel like summer. The sun still beams down, the meadow is still lush and green in the Victors' village, but there’s an unmistakable chill in the air; because it’s the Reaping Day. Two more people are going to be hauled off from 12, paraded around in the city, and then turned into a spectacle when they die in the arena. It was almost always kids from the Seam. She knew plenty of them. Learned from her grandfather how to help treat common infections in the district. Those kids were always starving, vying for food. To her, it was a wonder that there were any children left to reap from the Seam sometimes– it was more common to die of illness, of starvation, of freezing to death in the bitter and unforgiving winters. She knows it’s going to be a bad day, because no matter what, Jake is going to have to leave again, like he did last year, and the year before that– because he was one of 12’s only Victors, and he had to be a mentor the next poor kids that were chosen to get murdered for entertainment.
She’s not the sobbing child she was at ten years old, kicking and screaming for her brother not to be taken away to be killed. He was only fifteen years old. She’s four years older and so is he. Fourteen and nineteen. She knows that the stylists who were adoring of Jake fawned over her, but she hated it. She hated it in such a way it made her skin crawl with the sickening sweet tones they used– but they were also the ones that helped Jake stop getting lost in countless bottles of liquor when she and Pop weren’t able to reach him. She still hated how they called her ‘sweetheart’. There was one though– she wasn’t all that bad, not really.
She gets dressed. It’s a simple outfit of trousers and plain shoes and a button-up blouse. She hates this day because Jake’s eyes always go empty, and she’s terrified of what it’ll do to their grandfather’s health. It won’t be until the afternoon, but she’s seldom slept well since Jake had been reaped. Nightmares of him not making it out, of seeing his name and face up in the sky. It’s still barely dawn. The house is still cold. She doesn’t know if Pop is up yet or not, she knows Jake is, because he’s always been an early riser. She figured that sitting with him was probably the best option. She goes out and sees her brother sitting at the breakfast table, holding a steaming mug in his hands. They don’t exchange the usual good morning they would, she just sits with him in a silence they’ve both learned to be comfortable with.
They sit in that silence for a while, before Pop is up and ready, and is able to join them. By then, it’s nearing the afternoon. The walk is quiet, but they all walk together, close-knit, watching as a few more gather outside their houses for the walk to the district square where the Reaping will take place. It’s a familiar sight, even the adults– seeing the gaunt faces and hollow eyes, the sideways glances. She knows the assumptions that come from being a Victor’s family member, that everything is handed to them. It’s not– she still hunts; she still tries to give back when she can. She still helps out at the clinic. Jake tells her that no matter what; she still needs to know how to survive. They all do. She stands to the side and watches as familiar faces from the Seam start filtering into the square. The adults are all herded to one side, and it’s there she has to separate from Jake and Pop, because Jake has to go up on stage for this godforsaken ordeal, and Pop has to go over with the rest of the adults. She can see the nervous hand-wringing with both of them, it’s a habit they shared.
She learned years ago to hide things. Expressions, opinions, nervous habits. It was much easier to be seen as weak if that happened. She didn’t criticize others for it as much; it was something she needed in order to stay alive, to keep the ones she cared about safe. She watched as a woman came up; she’d seen her in the years before. One of the only other Victors from 12. Latula Pyrope. She remembered her. She was one of the few volunteers 12 ever had. Because her younger sister’s name had been called; a younger sister who had been blinded by a Peacekeeper earlier that year. Latula and Jake almost look similar, except she’s managed to perfect the art of acting fine and painting a smile. Another woman ascends to the stage. Definitely from the Capitol. She’s dressed in deep reds and rich black colors, tactfully tattered to make her look like a ghost, seemingly. Even her eyelashes are red, her lips are painted a deep burgundy like the color of blood, and she notices the design of a ram on the woman’s clothing. It’s someone different than the previous years, she knows that.
“Welcome, all,” The woman says, her voice striking something in Jade. She says it with a smile, and makes sure it’s able to be heard in her voice, but Jade can tell there’s something hollow in it. “My name is Aradia, and I am the newly appointed escort for this year’s tributes.” She’s young. Jade can tell it. Nineteen, maybe even eighteen. Something twists in her chest at that.
“We do have a message from the Capitol, as we do every year,” her voice rings polite. Not exactly superficial like she’d been used to.
Jade knows what comes next. The same damn video that plays every year. The terror of war, horrible war, widows, orphans, and bullshit. How was this any different? She can see Jake biting his damn tongue, and she thinks she can see Latula trying to hide a grin. Only so much could be tolerated when the same thing had been droning on for nearly a century.
“Now– we will select this year’s tributes for the 97th annual Hunger Games. I believe it’s only polite for ladies to go first.” Aradia dips a lace-gloved hand into the bowl with all the names of everyone from the ages of twelve to eighteen in the district. She plucks a slip out, and Jade forces herself to hold her breath. She never places bets on who will be called; she only knows it’s weighted towards those who took out tessera more often, and it’s because of that, so many kids from the Seam get reaped. Aradia unfolds the piece of paper and Jade sees just a tiny flash of remorse in her eyes.
“Jade Harley,” Aradia announces, and the world suddenly stops spinning for a moment.
She feels like she just fell from a tree, and all the air has been knocked out of her lungs. It feels like falling into the stream during the winter when the cold is so shocking that it hurts and it feels like she can’t move anymore. She glances at the stage, and she can see Jake trying to hold it together, she can see Latula setting a hand on Jake’s shoulder to try and help keep him from screaming. She glances amongst the crowd, and she can see her grandfather’s aging face, tears gathering behind glasses and obscuring kind hazel eyes. The crowd parts like a sea around her, all eyes staring at her.
“Come up, dear,” Aradia says, and though there’s a smile, it’s said gently. As if coaxing an animal.
Jade numbly steps up to the stage, she can feel her hands shaking. She feels like she’s going to be sick. She doesn’t let herself cry. She knows that will be a sign of weakness, that when the rest of the districts see it, it’s an automatic target. Aradia offers her a gloved hand, guiding her up, and resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. She schooled her face; look indifferent, look unphased, do not let anyone see this weakness.
“Now, for the boys,” Aradia says, with the same vacant smile. She reaches into the bowl, and draws out another slip of paper. “Karkat Vantas.”
Jade’s head snaps to the crowd; she knows that name, knows it too well, because he was a regular visitor of her grandfather’s, he’s barely half a year older than her; he’s snarky and loud-mouthed and an asshole, but he’s never once given her trouble when it counted. The crowd parts around him like a sea as well, before there’s a scrawny boy nearly toppling over himself, shouting that he’ll volunteer in Karkat’s place. She knows him, too. Kankri Vantas. Karkat’s older brother by three years. It takes three Peacekeepers to hold Karkat back, and two more escorting Kankri up to the stage.
Aradia does the same thing, offering her hand to help Kankri up to the stage. He’s gaunt and pale; he and Karkat are from the Seam, from the orphanage. He’s a little bit taller than Jade, but shorter than Jake by a few inches. She can hear the soft panicked breathing coming from Kankri, too quiet to be picked up by the microphones.
“Your name, young man?” Aradia asks, unendingly polite.
“Kankri Vantas.” It’s an automatic reply, almost robotic and numb.
Aradia just nods. She doesn’t ask about familial ties. It’s known by then. She vaguely hears the escort speak a bit more, inviting the mayor to speak, there is no applause, no nothing, it’s just silence. They get herded off, likely to say their goodbyes before they get loaded up onto the train and shipped off to the Capitol.
She feels numb. She’s in a room, alone, and she’s wringing her hands, in the quiet of the room, hidden away from cameras, she lets herself have that brief moment of panic. They’re allowed up to have a few visitors. She expects two; she expects that it’s going to be Jake and Pop. She’s right, for the most part. Jake comes in first and nearly crushes her in a hug. It’s brief, she knows she’ll see him again on the train. He lets her cry for a minute, holding her close and petting her hair before he tells her to dry her tears, to not let anyone see her cry, that he’ll do everything he can to help her before the Peacekeepers tell them the two minutes are up.
She expects Pop next, but instead, it’s Karkat. He’s her height, still small and underfed from being in the Seam for all his life, never mind the Seam’s orphanage. His eyes are reddened and puffy, but he still wears a scowl on his face. Jade’s not sure what to expect from him. She thinks maybe anger, maybe him saying that she better make sure that Kankri is the one that comes home. She doesn’t expect him to quietly thank her for helping to treat him or Kankri when they got sick. She’s quiet, before she tugs Karkat close, acting like it’s a hug. She whispers to him to keep people safe however he can; he’s a bossy little shit but he knows how to rally the Seam. They’ll need it. Pop can only do so much at his age. The two minutes are up quickly.
She doesn’t expect to see Terezi— Latula’s little sister shuffling in, darkened glasses hiding milky eyes. She’s around the same age as Jade, maybe a couple of years older if she had to guess it. She’s usually always sporting a grin despite her circumstances, having adapted and gotten used to using a cane. She’s not now. Jade knows why. It’s a brief exchange, quiet. Terezi wishes her luck, reaching out for her hand and pressing something into her palm. “They let you take something from home,” she had said. “Take this with you.” Jade doesn’t get to look, because Terezi encourages Jade to close her palm over whatever the trinket is. It’s smooth and cold, she can feel a pendant and a chord, she figures it has to be a necklace or a bracelet, maybe an anklet. The minutes expire quickly, and she shoves whatever the gift is into her pocket, whispering a rushed and quiet ‘thank you’ to the blinded girl.
Pop is the last to come in, and he holds her close. He pressed kisses to her forehead, stooped to cup her cheeks, and so he could have her look at him properly.
“You’re strong– if you can, hide. If you can, run. If you can, wait them out,” He says, the worry evident in his eyes, brows pinched together in the growing wrinkles on his aging face. “You know how to hunt, how to survive– use what you can. You do what you can to come back– I know Jake is going to do everything to help you–”
“You can’t let him fall into drinking again,” Jade interrupts. “You can’t, okay? No matter what happens. Don’t let him fall into that again– or morphling, or whatever else. He needs you; he needs you when this is over.” She doesn’t expect herself to come out. 12 had maybe four Victors in the near century of Hunger Games. She knew her odds. She needed a plan, she needed for her family to be okay. “No matter what– swear that to me.”
Pop looks pained. She memorizes his face. The same way she started memorizing Karkat’s, and Terezi’s. There was more gray in his hair than in previous years, his hands were calloused and weathered from work and chapped from the cold. His eyes are still a muddy hazel and they always look tired, but there’s still that spark of life in them. She wanted to remember his smile. She needed that. If there was one thing she wanted to remember before being shipped off, was the few times she had gotten to see him and Jake truly smile, the sounds of their laughs. But he nodded. He nodded anyway because they both remember too well what it was like with Jake trying to cope with winning his games, getting lost in alcohol to try and numb and forget what he went through and what he saw. It’s too quick. It’s too quick that the time is up, and she clings to Pop as long as she can before he’s ushered out of the room by Peacekeepers.
She wants to scream. She wants to scream until her throat is raw and nothing else comes out, she wants to throw something and break a window because it’s not fair. It was never fair. There was nothing fair about this horrid lottery, there was nothing fair in going to a blood-bathed masquerade and paraded around like fodder. She doesn’t want to go onto the train, to leave everything. She doesn’t want to leave her family. She doesn’t know how Jake survived this part, it feels like her chest is tight and that it’s hard to breathe. She forced herself to, sitting down and burning a hole in the corner, a hand shoved into her pocket to hold onto whatever trinket Terezi had given her before she was led to the train.
Chapter 2: Kankri: A Poor Decision
Summary:
Told from Kankri's point of view on what volunteering meant to him, and the fallout of that decision.
Chapter 2 Warnings: mentions of dead bodies, mentions of chronic health conditions, mentions of starvation/malnutrition/anorexia as a health condition from the environment but not from choice (starving from lack of available food)/mental health condition, mentions of severe illness and blood, mild dissociation tendencies, very vague description of a panic attack, strong language
As always, please read the warnings in each chapter carefully!
Chapter Text
Kankri has never once considered himself a lucky person. He was an orphan with an orphaned little brother, in the poorest part of District 12. The orphanage was directly in the Seam. Food was never plentiful; more perished from starving than ever being reaped, he saw more bodies lying in the field once the snow melted away. Starvation, exposure, and disease. He knew that’s what killed more than the Games and Peacekeepers ever could. He’d seen it firsthand, and he’d seen all the shallow graves that came with it– save for the ones that were diseased; they were always buried deeper, away from others, away from anything.
Kankri knew he was never much. He was thin, gaunt, and weak. But he considered himself clever, considered himself sharp, and knowledgeable. He had to be. His younger brother was loud-mouthed and highly opinionated; not wrong, but often outspoken in such a way he often had to cover for both Karkat and himself. He admired Karkat’s passion to an extent but seldom humored the younger’s plans to sneak out to the Wilds, past the district boundary. Where would they even go? He remembered learning about the war, and he knew what war could leave. There might have been ruins out there, but there wasn’t food, shelter, or medicine. Medicine was something Karkat needed often, and it was usually by the good graces of Mr. Harley and his grandchildren.
The morning of the Reaping is like any other. The orphanage is cold, as it always is despite the summer weather creeping along. He’s one of the oldest there; it falls on him to make sure the younger ones are up and dressed. Another year and a half, and he could get a job paying well, and maybe bring home enough to keep Karkat fed properly and not as scuffed up as he usually is. He knows his little brother can hold his own in a fight, he’s quick to cuss someone out, quick to fight dirty. But it doesn’t change the fact he always loses blood far too easily. It doesn’t change the fact they’re both starved, and it’s one wrong move before either of them could end up with a broken limb or worse.
He set about waking the other children up, rousing them from their sleep, herding them to get dressed in the modest Reaping day clothes that the orphanage gave them. The younger ones are a bit easier to convince to get up, it’s the older ones that tend to drag their feet. He still rouses them, ushering them to get changed. The little ones will get herded with the adults until they get sorted out at the town square. It’s the same fanfare it always is, marching along with the inhabitants of the Seam. Karkat is as mouthy as he always is, but he’s saving it for mostly grumbling under his breath. The shirt is still baggy on him; more than it was last year, and Kankri feels a horrible pang of guilt. There were only so many times he could take out tessera, and he couldn’t exhaust the kindness of those who did take pity on him and give him an extra portion when it was allotted.
It’s a new woman, that comes up, and he feels a bit mortified that she barely looks older than himself. She’s younger than Latula Pyrope, maybe even younger than Jake English. The Victors stand up on the stage, tight-lipped and hands folded in front of them. The woman is dressed in Capitol fashion, he knows it by now; the extravagant colors– it almost feels like a spit in the face to see it ripped and tattered in places. As though to sport it as a stylistic choice when he knows so many who have tattered and worn clothes because it’s all they could ever afford to have, threadbare and covered in more stitches than anything else. She has a polite voice though; even if it still seems superficial. The same video plays, the same footage, the same message. Like it has been every single year, he’s gotten his hands on history books; far and few in-between, but he often wonders how it came down to this. Why this? Why anything– why did thousands have to die in a spectacle?
He always waited with bated breath every year. He always counted. He was seventeen. He started taking out tesserae as soon as he could. That meant a total of eighteen entries. He did everything he could to make sure Karkat never signed up for it; he was the older one, and he had to take that responsibility. He knew the odds, but he also knew how many in the Seam had larger families, how many had more than forty entries to their name. He forces himself to breathe, even if it’s shaking and horrible. It feels like the air rattles his lungs.
It wasn’t like when he’d fallen ill once– when he’d coughed so hard bloody mucus came up and left him aching with the horrible copper taste in his mouth. He remembers that far too well, mostly because Karkat was in tears over the fact he’d been in a delirium from the fever. It was the kindness of Mr. Harley that saved his life, it was the kindness of his granddaughter helping to care for him. He remembered those faces often; and regularly offered to help Mr. Harley with cataloging geological findings and mineral deposits in the mines. He often felt it was the least he could’ve done; especially when Mr. Harley had been so kind as to refuse any sort of payment.
He watches as the woman, Aradia– dips a gloved hand into the glass bowl filled with names. He hoped, quietly, that it wasn’t someone from the orphanage again; it was hard to not view them in a protective light when he spent so much time caring for them. The name that gets called still makes his blood run cold, because it’s familiar in a painful way.
Jade Harley. Mr. Harley’s granddaughter– and Jake English’s younger sister. He knows what she looks like, very well. But it feels impossible to look away as she numbly steps toward the stage, helped up by Aradia. Her skin is tawny, almost olive in the right light. He knows what her eyes look like– a striking green with a little ring of gold; he knows it because he’s seen her face so often when she’s helped Mr. Harley care for the sick in the Seam. There are two scars across her cheek like something slashed at her and narrowly missed her eye. She looks so small, so young. Smaller compared to others her age, at least. Her hair is wavy, even pulled into a braid, he can see the curls sticking out even from where he is. He sees her putting on a brave face, but her eyes are looking somewhere far away from the crowd.
He can see Jake’s face up on the stage, he can see the older teenager trying to hold it together. He still holds his breath, he holds his breath because it’s not over until another name has been drawn and someone else is called up so the Capitol can have the pounds of flesh it demands every year.
And then Karkat’s name gets called, and it feels like the ground has been ripped out from underneath him. Kankri felt the very breath leave his lungs. He speaks before he can even think about it; he volunteers, his voice nearly breaking. He won’t let Karkat die in those games. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. He didn’t think twice before the words had flown out of his mouth, he didn’t think as Peacekeepers grabbed him by the arms. It’s only when he finally hears Karkat shouting, having to be held back by three other Peacekeepers that he realizes the weight of the situation. It feels like he’s outside of his own body. Numbly led up the steps to the stage, where he could see Jade glancing at him from the corner of his eye. It’s all he can to do try and keep his breathing under control but it feels impossible.
It felt like a blur when he was taken to say his goodbyes. He knew he was pacing. He could tell it because, in the back of his mind, he could hear Karkat chewing him out for wearing down the floorboards with how much he was pacing. This was stupid. This was so, so stupid and unbearably idiotic. What would happen when he was killed in the games? What would happen when Karkat finally had to start taking out tesserae when he was gone to feed himself? The thoughts plagued his mind, and he felt his heart hammering against his ribs. He knew what the games could do; how ruthless the arena could be. Would he be killed or would he die from exposure first? A trap? A mutt? Starving to death? Dehydration?
The door opening nearly scares him out of his skin. Karkat marches in, teary-eyed and close to shouting at him.
“Why the fuck would you do something like this?” His little brother hissed out, grabbing Kankri’s shoulders firmly.
“I’m not letting you die in that arena– I wouldn’t be able to live with myself,”
“I would’ve been able to fight!” Karkat argued. “I could have fought!”
“And what? Die after a week from starving to death, or disease, or poisoned water, or at the hands of some Career?” Kankri questioned in return, his voice and chest too tight for his comfort. “Karkat– you’re too young. You’re too young for this, let me do one thing right, and let me do this.”
“Everyone is too fucking young for it! That’s the entire goddamn point!” He’s thankful, that Karkat is at least keeping his voice down, because he knows the Peacekeepers are never above dragging a visitor out and beating them bloody to prove a point, because he had seen it plenty of times.
“I’m going to try and come back, alright? I promise– but I need you to try and stay with Mr. Harley– he can help to care for you, stick with Terezi. Stick with people we know we can trust.” Kankri knows he sounds desperate. It’s because he is. “I need you to promise me that no matter what happens, you do whatever you have to to stay alive.”
Karkat only huffs and pulls him into a crushing hug, tight enough that it makes his ribs ache. He does his best to hide it because the last thing he needs Karkat to know is that his lungs still give him trouble. He knows there’s nothing to give. Neither of them had much to begin with, he’s content with this. He commits Karkat’s face and voice to his memory. He doesn’t want to forget either when it comes down to whatever his fate will be. The few minutes they have are nowhere near enough. He didn’t expect to see anyone else.
Yet, afterward, Mr. Harley entered. He had been crying; Kankri could tell that much. He’s surprised to see the older man, mostly because he genuinely didn’t expect to see anyone else other than Karkat. Yet here he stood.
“I’m so sorry,” Mr. Harley begins. Kankri knows, logically, that’s just sentiment, that there’s no cause in this from Mr. Harley, two of his family had been reaped, if anything, Kankri felt incredibly sorry for him. “I’ll do everything I can to keep Karkat safe. He’ll have a place with me, he’ll have meals and a roof over his head.”
That is a shock to Kankri. He hadn’t expected that in any dream. “There’s no way either of us could ever repay you for that,” he starts to say.
“No– no, dear, I will not ever expect something like that. You both are children, and I know you did what you did to protect him. The least I can do is make sure he stays safe. I know it’s not much, but… Karkat had come to me about a month ago asking for help to make you something. He asked that I give it to you.” Mr. Harley said.
That only serves to confuse Kankri a good deal more. Make something? His first thought is wondering where Karkat would have gotten material for something like that; if not at the Hob, which meant he likely had to trade something.
Mr. Harley brings a hand out of his pocket and shows Kankri a necklace. It’s a carefully crafted thing, with an odd sort of little symbol making up the pendant. He remembers an old book about stars and the constellations that could be named, along with the symbols for them. He recognizes the symbol after a moment, carefully holding the necklace in his hands. It’s the sign of Cancer, of the crab; of a caretaker. It’s fitting in a way, only now it’s incredibly bittersweet from the context of the situation.
Kankri thanked Mr. Harley quietly, putting on the piece of jewelry before tucking it under his shirt so that it wouldn’t get ripped from him. He thanked Mr. Harley again, for his kindness, his generosity. In turn, the most he can promise is that he’ll try to make sure Jade is safe, that she can come home safe.
And once again, it ends up being far too short of an amount of time. He doesn’t feel as though he can cry. Everything still felt so painfully numb.
It’s quiet in the room, and he knows then that he won’t receive any more visitors. It stings, minorly, that no one else from the orphanage ever came to visit him. He knows the other children were likely barred from visiting him, and he never expected much care to ever come from the adults. He can’t help himself; he starts pacing again, holding onto the pendant tightly in the palm of his hand, feeling the cold and smooth metal against his skin.
Distantly, Kankri wondered how Jade had been holding up in all of this. She was young– younger than Karkat by nearly half a year. She often reminded him of fawn, soft and kind eyes, and was typically soft-spoken. She was always polite, and she had always been so kind to both Karkat and him. She’d gone through the trouble of bringing them soup when Kankri had still been recovering from a serious bout of sickness. She was always gentle. It was hard for him to not see her in a similar light to the other children he often had to care for in the orphanage, to not see how similar she was to Karkat. She always managed to have a steady hand when helping with medicine, or helping with suture wounds in those that came to Mr. Harley.
He knew that soon he would get ushered onto the train, and shipped off to the Capitol where both he and Jade would get paraded around for entertainment, probably in horrifically ridiculous and tacky costumes. He remembered, starkly, that one year– the tributes had been covered in little else but coal dust and it still left a putrid taste in his mouth. It wasn’t to say that the other districts weren’t also cloaked in gaudy attire– he’d seen plenty that generally looked like they were holding back tears from the sheer embarrassment of how they had been dressed.
He held the pendant tightly in his hand, nearly to the point where he could feel the design of the pendant being branded into the skin of his palm. He repeated the same sentiment over and over, the more the reality of the situation settled in. He needed to make sure Jade had a chance of making it home safely. She had a chance of surviving. He knew she did. He just somehow had to give himself a chance, as well.
Chapter 3: Jade: A Difficult Breakfast
Summary:
Jade continues to struggle with what being reaped for the games means; and how to make a plan of how to survive, and Kankri being utterly incapable of *not* acting like an older sibling
CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of starvation/lack of food/anorexia as a result of food shortage, vague descriptions of nausea, vague descriptions of panic attacks, mentions of child death and killing, vague mentions of being ostracized from peers, vague mentions of pathogens
Chapter Text
Jade has always remembered that the train was, as Jake put it, nauseatingly eccentric. There’s a goddamn chandelier in the train, there’s a whole dining table. A single train car is bigger than most houses she’s seen in the Seam. Jake and Latula are relatively quiet still, sitting at the same dining table, likely waiting for Aradia to join them to start talking strategy. She can see Kankri scrutinizing the food out of the corner of her eye; somehow a mix of wonder and indignation at the sheer amount of it. She’d had to admit it too, though. She had never seen an abundance like this– there were assorted jams and jellies, sweet rolls, platters of various types of meat (some of which Jade is sure she’d never really seen before, not if it ever came from a pig, sheep, or fowl), pitchers of different drinks, steaming mugs filled with what she can only tell is either coffee or something else that smells much sweeter, biscuits and eggs and so, so much more. All she can think about is how many people were starving back home; how even after living in the Victors’ Village, she had never seen this kind of luxury. She’s only reminded of it further when she glances down, seeing Kankri’s hands folded neatly in his lap; hands that she can tell have bony knuckles just from the outlines of the bone and tendons.
Latula is eventually the one to break the silence.
“You can eat whatever you’d like,” she says. “There’s plenty to choose from…and you’ll need your strength. It’s– I’m going to give the advice you should probably try to eat as much protein as you can– the meats and the eggs, and some fresh fruit and vegetables while you have the chance. But, if you want sweet rolls, you have as many as you want. Just eat slow; it’s easy to get sick on this if you eat too fast.”
Jade can only feel herself staring. It’s alien; almost unreal. She didn’t know if she could eat. She felt sick still, that horrible rolling nausea that came and went in waves, that seemed to crawl all the way up to behind her eyes.
Jake, taking mercy on them, helps to gather the plates, and sets portions of roasted vegetables, potatoes, bread, ham, and eggs on each one. He pushed the smaller plates forward, encouraging them both that if they wanted something more, they were allowed to have it. She notes that Kankri muttered a small ‘thank you’, still looking at the food hesitantly.
It’s a battle of wits, but they finally start eating, slow and steady. Only then do Jake and Latula add food onto their own plates. It’s good food– it’s rich and savory, the biscuits are flaky and buttery with just enough sweetness with some blackberry jam, the vegetables are seasoned with flavors Jade’s never once had the chance to try, and the fruit is sweet and ripe. She only justifies grabbing a sweet roll to offer to split it with Kankri; figuring it might be too sweet or rich to have one all to themselves.
Aradia eventually comes out to join them, sitting toward the end of the table and giving a polite greeting. She gathered a meager amount of food onto her own plate; seeming to favor the eggs, vegetables, and fruit over much else, though she still grabbed some biscuits. She took a breath and looked sympathetically at both Kankri and Jade.
“First and foremost; I’m sorry this has happened to you both,” her voice is still polite and gentle. “But my job is to help you both; to help you gain favor from sponsors, to let you know how this is supposed to work once we get to the Capitol. We’ll be on the train for a few days to get there; take the chance to rest and eat well.”
Jade wanted to ask why Aradia was being kind. She remembered Jake’s own telling of the escort he’d had when he had been reaped; some uppity Capitol citizen that chastised Jake’s district partner– a starving girl from the Seam that was seventeen years old– for eating as much as she was, pulled apart the appearance of the poor girl. That escort was infamous for sideways comments and criticizing a starving child for acting like a starving child. She knew how the Capitol viewed the districts– like animals in a cage that should be kept there.
The silence fell once again before Jake cleared his throat and took a drink of water. “The first thing you’ll both want to focus on is what your strengths are. List them out, and we can go from there.” He suggested.
Jade had to think for a moment; she needed to be careful about what she admitted. Poaching was punishable by death, and she’d seen enough public executions to know that breathing a word of it could cause Pop to be the one who suffered.
“I can climb pretty easily– and set traps. I can run pretty fast,” she finally decided to say. That was the safest bet. “I’m decent with a knife, I think.”
“I don’t have much,” Kankri says, wringing his bony hands.
“No– no, you’re smart. You’ve been able to name forty different kinds of plants in under two minutes, what they’re used for if they’re safe. That’s something you can use to survive.” She objected.
“Knowing different plants won’t save either of us in the bloodbath–”
Latula was the one to clear her throat next. “Okay– okay, we can work on this. That’s still a good skill. Knowing which plants are safe or not can save your life; the Game Makers like to put berries in the arena, and some are poisonous. When the food gets scarce; that’s something you’ll need to hold onto.”
“Weapons are important. But that’s how the bloodbath starts. Everyone wants to go for a weapon. My advice to both of you? If you find a weapon you’re good at, keep it a secret from other tributes. Grab a supply pack from the cornucopia and run– don’t stay to fight, or try to find a weapon.” Jake advised. “The careers aren’t likely to focus on survival skills, that’s where you need to pay the most attention. We won’t know what the arena is going to look like yet, not until we get to the training center.”
“And if we can find somewhere to hide and wait things out?” Kankri questioned, the doubt already seeping through his voice as far as Jade could tell.
“It’s unlikely– the Game Makers and the Capitol treat it like a spectacle, and they don’t let people hide for long. If you’re too far away from tributes– most of the time they’ll find a way to force you back in proximity; mutts, natural disasters, something else,” Jake informed. “If you can find a place to hide, make sure you find multiple. Rotate between them, or stay out of sight as much as possible. The first thing you’ll need to worry about is running and clean water.”
“Boil it before drinking, no matter what,” Jade added quickly. Anyone from 12 could’ve attested to that– sometimes run-off from the mines would get into the drinking water, and it made for nasty bouts of sickness.
Aradia suddenly piped up. “Sponsors– that’s where I can help. You’ll both be needing something in the arena. Weapons, food, water, medicine, matches– the list can only go on. For lack of better words here; my job is to make you as appealing to Capitol citizens as possible. Sponsors go a long way in these games– the more you have, the better chances you’ll have as well.”
That seems to settle the situation all the more. Jade suddenly felt sick again; that horrid creeping nausea that clung to the back of her throat like the heavy smoke that would sometimes come from the coal mines. She still had the trinket Terezi gave her in her pocket and she clenched her hand around it, and quickly excused herself from the table as quickly as she could, making up an excuse about motion sickness. It’s not all a lie– the train is moving so fast that if she looks out the window for long enough, she would start feeling dizzy.
She pushes her way toward the back of the train. She needed to be away and alone for a bit. Everything was far too real. She had never excelled in making friends, let alone getting people to like her or even being around her. She was never as gifted as Jake had been with easing into conversation with strangers, she never had the charm he did. She felt like a toddler; scared to go to the doctor, it felt ridiculous. There wasn’t anything to be changed– there was nothing that could be changed. She was going to the games, and there was an overwhelming chance she was going to get killed. She felt sick, and it was hard to breathe at that moment. It all felt like it was choking her. And she needed a moment to just break down away from her brother’s eyes, away from the eyes of anyone for that matter.
It’s still a quiet thing; when the tears started falling down her face. It’s quiet when she curled into the smallest ball she could possibly curl herself into. It was so unbearably quiet that she swore all she could hear was ringing in her ears, powerful enough that she could feel that sensation behind her eyes even as they were shut tight, and the shaky breaths that left her. It was real. Not counting for anything else, there was a 5% chance of her survival, she calculated it herself. That wasn’t factoring in anything else– like allies, the arena itself, the bloodbath, the ability to get a weapon, sponsors, or rule changes.
Jade could vaguely hear the door from the compartment open, and she tried to silence herself or apologize for acting like a scared toddler, but all that came out was a shaky breath and a bitten-down sob. She hopes it’s not Jake; she can’t stand it when he’s upset because it’s always painful seeing him agonized.
“You need to try and take a breath,” She didn’t expect to hear Kankri’s voice, and she didn’t expect it to be kind. He was never one to raise his voice like Karkat, as far as she knew– but it’s still something she doesn’t entirely expect. “You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t breathe right. Breathe in for five, hold it for just a few seconds, then breathe out.”
Jade did her best to do as told, every breath was shuddering, and her chest felt so tight she wondered if she was starting to get sick. It slowly worked, painfully slowly, but it still worked. All she was truly able to do by then was mumble out an apology.
“It’s alright– it’s a lot. I cried before coming to breakfast.” Kankri offered a muted smile, and Jade looked at him– truly looked at him for the first time in a while.
His face is still gaunt, there are hollows underneath his eyes. But his eyes are similar to Jake’s– similar to Pop’s in a way, too. They’re kind. Comforting. A deep sort of brown that reminds her of the coffee Jake is so fond of, even though it’s such a luxury. She hates showing this kind of vulnerability, this kind of weakness, even in front of someone like Kankri who has never once reprimanded people for showing emotion, let alone grief.
“I know that it’s so much to take in; I know it’s terrifying. We can’t change that we’re here now, but I made a promise to your grandfather I’d do everything to make sure you got home safe.”
That alone makes Jade’s blood turn to ice at that moment. It was the same frigid, horrible feeling like falling into a creek in winter, that full-bodied freezing feeling. He had a younger brother; a true reason to want to come back.
“They change the rules, every now and then,” Kankri continues. “I’ve been studying it. What do they change and how often? If– if we’re lucky enough; if we do this smart, we might have a chance of being able to go home together, okay?”
It was rare. Incredibly so. In the entire history of the games, she could count on one hand the amount of times that there have been alterations to the rules. Typically, one person was just left by the end of the Games, but it wasn’t ever unheard of for the game makers to announce there could be multiple victors in each Hunger Games. It was just rare. The Capitol took a sick kind of amusement in the mutts that got created; they thought fighting for survival was amusing– that it added drama, and there was a sick sort of entertainment they found in tributes swearing to make it out together by a set day, only for some to perish by a mutt or succumbing to an injury or disease. It was mostly career districts that were able to go home with more than one; and the further out, the slimmer the chances were.
“Do you think we can make it out together?” Jade found herself asking. She hated how she sounded; like an unsure child.
“I think we might just have a shot. We might have to make a few friends in the Capitol but– we’ve got some good mentors; I think we have a chance.” Kankri is still kneeling in front of her– it reminds her, painfully, of the way that Jake used to do so when she was so much younger.
“I don’t have much luck making friends. I never have.”
“Now, why would that be? You’ve never been anything other than helpful; everyone in the Seam knows your name and face, what all you’ve helped with.” Kankri tilted his head a bit.
“That doesn’t mean people like me. I’m not like Jake– I don’t have that kind of luck. I don’t talk about things that people are interested in; I’m not good at talking in general; I can’t make people in the Capitol like me.”
“Well, I think that might just be nonsense. You’re a kind girl, Jade. You’ve always been willing to help and lend a hand.” Kankri’s voice was still even and gentle as he spoke. “I think anyone would be a fool to not want to at least try to be friends with you. How about this, alright? Let’s try out being friends; and work on it together. We can keep helping each other like that– and help each other to get sponsors.”
It’s not a horrible suggestion. Truthfully, the only companion she’d truly had was her family– she’d never connected with her schoolmates, and she never clicked with the other children in 12. Jake was the only person aside from their grandfather she’d spent substantial amounts of time with. Regardless of that, she found herself nodding. It wasn’t all that different from talking with Jake, at least. There was a comforting similarity between him and Kankri.
Kankri offered up another smile and then asked to sit with her. Jade figured that wouldn’t be so bad; if they worked together, she figured there might be a good chance as he said. She didn’t want to think about how realistic it was; if both of them could truly make it back home. She didn’t want to think about killing (she swore to herself when she got on the train, she was going to do everything she could to avoid killing, to avoid the games turning her into a monster for the Capitol’s entertainment).
“I think we might need to get to know each other a bit more to be friends. What do you want to be when you get older, or, what’s your favorite color?”
She’s a great bit thankful Kankri is so willing to help lead the conversation. She’s grateful he says ‘when’ and not ‘if’, even though in the back of her mind, she knows it’s most definitely an ‘if she gets older’, not a ‘when’. She’s never been good with initiating conversations like this; not outside trying to help treat the sick and injured that came to Pop. So she thinks for a moment, trying to decide on the answers she wants to give.
“I like the color blue,” Jade finally answered. “Like the butterflies or the flowers that grow out in the meadow in 12. And…I wanted to help people. Like my grandfather. He’s taught me a lot about what plants can be used for medicine; what can help when people get sick in the winter, all of that.” She could’ve prattled for hours about learning about bacteria and viruses from old books, ways to treat those ailments– but she figured that was better left unsaid, lest she chase Kankri away with that odd fascination. “What about you?”
“I wanted to tend to books; I guess whether that’s records or just working at the school. We both know that the history is all nonsense– but, I guess I found something nice about caring for books, for wanting to preserve history or information, or even to just…teach the students there more.” Kankri voiced. “And, I like the kind of red that comes with a sunrise or when the leaves change colors in the fall.”
They continue talking like that, falling into an easy sort of camaraderie. It felt a bit easier to talk with Kankri, and for a moment, it felt like a nice distraction from what was happening. She supposes it’s not all that bad, trying to make friends, not if they could be like Kankri or Jake. They pass time like that; continuing to talk until eventually, Latula comes in to check on them. She knew they would have to go back, to develop a strategy, but for the first time for a day and a half, she felt the slightest bit less terrified.
Chapter 4: Kankri: New Friends, New Information
Summary:
Kankri wants to know about the other tributes, and why many of them seem to have familiar names. He is also utterly incapable of not acting like an older sibling.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of starvation, mentions of chronic illnesses and past severe illnesses, mentions of brutality against children, mentions of death, mentions of brain damage/head injuries, mentions of selective muteness, mentions of deafness/trauma-induced hearing loss, mentions of drug dependency/addiction, brief description of panic/anxiety attacks, all the typical HG tags here, mention of snakes
Chapter Text
The train is so elaborate and lavish it’s hard to bury the seed of resentment burrowing itself so deeply in Kankri’s chest. People lived in shacks that would barely pass for broom closets in the Seam; it’s unthinkable that a train could have this much space; that a single car was more spacious than most houses he’d ever seen. The air is crisp in a way that seems fake, even if there’s a reprieve from the horrid humidity that comes with the summers in 12. The morning is relatively early, he’d woken up to watch the sunrise from his own train car. It had been difficult watching the rest of the reapings. He’d forced himself to watch the rest; to know what other children were getting thrown into the spectacle alongside Jade and himself. He’d shed some tears, terrified for what could happen to his little brother, terrified of the end he was going to meet in the arena.
The girl from District 1 is rather bubbly– with a smile so bright and genuine that it’s hard to believe she’s a career. She had honey-colored skin, wavy hair done up in intricate designs, and big brown eyes. Her district partner, however, certainly matches what he’s heard of careers; a cold look of determination and haughtiness.
District 2 is similar. The girl tribute looks downright vicious, with eyes that are piercing and a rather self-satisfied smirk on her face. The boy, however, looks more reserved; a carefully neutral expression; but looking at the screen alone Kankri can tell the boy is strong.
District 3 throws in another curveball. The selling point for the two frankly terrifying teenagers on the screen was that they were twins; one looked far less imposing than the other, but both had terrifyingly pale skin, pale hair, and red eyes. He already knows the Capitol is going to eat that up.
District 4 sports both relatively young tributes; the boy looking no older than fifteen, slate eyes framed by glasses, and a swoop of curly copper hair. The girl had careful twists in her hair, framing her young face.
District 5 showcased a boy the same age as 4, except the stark difference is two different colored eyes; one a watery teal and the other a light brown, complete with a shock of white in the boy’s hair. The girl has tawny skin, a tad darker than Jade’s, and big brown eyes.
District 6 sports a teenager who looks like he could’ve just aged out of the reaping age grouping; thick and curly hair pulled in a ponytail, with incredibly tired eyes. The girl…the girl just looks sick with skin that almost appears yellow in the harsh light of the screen. It’s a kind of sick he’s seen too often to not know.
District 7– the girl looks beyond angered; he knew rage well enough when he saw it. She’s barely containing it on the camera; lip curled in a way like she’s stopping herself from snarling. The boy is tall and thin, almost mouse-like in appearance if it wasn’t for the fact Kankri was certain he would’ve been towering over him.
District 8 holds another older tribute; a teenage girl who has tired but gleaming green eyes, short and curly hair with bronze skin. The boy is maybe sixteen or so, a bit more stocky, and noticeably missing a few fingers.
District 9 is disheartening; the tributes are a sixteen-year-old boy who looks wide-eyed and hesitant, and a girl maybe thirteen or so with her hair done up in twin braided pigtails. The camera pans to the victors on stage, the woman– she’s holding back tears. He doesn’t know which one her tears are for.
District 10 sported the worst surprise he’d seen that day. The girl couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, she looked so young, so small. Her district partner, who couldn’t have been much taller than Kankri, almost towered over her, barely older. That’s enough to make the tears well back in his eyes.
District 11 was a young boy with tawny skin similar to Jade’s, a smaller stature but clever eyes, the girl had twin buns perched low, strands sticking out. They’re so young. They’re young and small, and this is beyond cruel.
The last names of nearly half of this year’s tributes were familiar in a way he couldn’t entirely place. He noticed, distantly, that many of the mentors on the stage seemed to be steeling themselves. He figured he’d try and ask either Latula or Jake about it later on. He needed to. It had to be important.
He ruminated in his compartment for a while, watching as the train flew by. It’s fast– not going as fast as it would be, usually; he figures. Or maybe it is going that fast, and he just couldn’t tell. Within maybe a day or two, they’d be at the Capitol. He knew that there had been semi-frequent stops for refueling. The train was fast, but it certainly wasn’t efficient. Everything had a catch– it burned so much fuel, not just for the speed, but for all of the power on the train, too. It’s barely dawn, and he doubts it’s time for there to be a meeting.
He ruminated further. Aradia didn’t have the typical Capitol accent he’d heard so often. Granted; Jade and Jake didn’t have the typical accents he’d heard around 12, either. Latula did– just a bit, Terezi less so. Jake and Mr. Harley have similar accents– similar to the Capitol, but not pompous– just out of place in 12. Jade doesn’t have one; granted, he’s seldom heard her speak enough to truly place if she does or not. Aradia’s words twist in a way that’s practiced and careful, but Kankri can tell there’s a hint of something else– it’s hard to place. The beds had been comfortable; so much more comfortable than the bunk beds back in the orphanage.
And that thought sends something shuddering through him. Karkat was still back in 12, alone now, but hopefully in the care of Mr. Harley. Hopefully, there, at least, he would have the chance of decent meals, and a warm place to sleep. A horrible, creeping nausea descended upon him like an awful cloud. He doesn’t know how he can take comfort in any of the luxuries at his disposal; not when he can’t see his little brother beside him.
Eventually, that rumination comes to an end when a knock comes from his compartment door. When he went to answer it; he saw Latula standing there, a small smile on her face. It’s carefully constructed, he could read that much. It was time for breakfast. It was still an odd concept to him; having something like breakfast. A guaranteed meal. Nonetheless, he collected himself, and nodded, following her to yet another train car.
Jade is already there, tapping her delicate fingers against her own hand, and staring at the table. Her hair is still done in that same simple braid it was at the reaping. It’s painful, in a way– she reminds him so much of Karkat; down to the nervous habits. He glanced at the table, and it almost looked like mountains of food. He had to stop himself from making a face– all of this food and people were starving back home in 12. Foods he’d never even seen, delicacies he had only ever seen in the windows of a bakery, vaguely described luxuries during the televised interviews. Food that is, easily, even by his own minimal expectations, is excessive for the five people it’s being served for. It’s hard to conceal the indignation burning in his chest. Still, he took a seat, just beside Jade, and folded his hands in his lap.
It’s an unbearable, awkward silence. Jake is soon joined by Latula. And, mercifully, Latula decided to speak first, telling them they were allowed to eat whatever they wanted. She suggested eating as much protein as they could– carbs, as well. It’s not a bad tactic. She advises them to eat slowly; to not make themselves sick. It appears that neither of them is really able to fathom being able to choose from the copious amounts of food filed onto the table; and Jake, like a saint, decides to help serve them, at least to make sure they eat something.
He does his best to eat, even though it’s still somewhat nauseating to try. He’s never even tried some of these– but it’s good. The eggs and meats are savory– just like the roasted vegetables; the fruit is fresh and sweet. The bread is soft, warm, and buttery. There are sweet rolls; with some kind of sugary glaze. Jade splits one with him, and he swears that there’s such a similarity between her and Karkat that there’s an ache in his chest. Aradia eventually joins them, as well, with all of her polite speech.
Then comes the issue of talking strategy. It’s back and forth at the best of it– he knows Jade has a better chance than him. He’s seen her handiwork with a knife before; she’s skilled with it. He also knows that she knows how to treat injuries and illnesses; he’s watched her work and been the recipient of her careful hands and care. The most he has is a mind that’s sharp and that can identify plants. Information is just as powerful, sure. But it’s not anything like body mass, or muscle, or a weapon.
The topic of sponsors comes up, and Kankri can see some kind of gloss in Jade’s eyes. And before he can try and ask what’s wrong; she’s excusing herself hurriedly from the table, muttering something about being motion sick, before scurrying off and away from the dining car.
He could already see Jake getting up, that instinctual look of worry and concern in an older sibling. He knows it too well because it’s the exact same reaction he has whenever Karkat gets a particularly nasty cut or gets hit too hard by one of the orphanage staff.
“I’ll go check on her,” he offers immediately. “I know a few tricks to help with motion sickness.”
That’s sort of a lie. He knows tips for nausea, but doesn’t know next to anything for motion sickness; not beyond what can result from vertigo. Still, he gets up, and heads in the same direction he saw Jade leave in. He’s not exactly privy to asking any of the Capitol workers on the train where she ran to, but he’d swallow his pride if he had to. He promised to look out for her, he promised Mr. Harley that. That wouldn’t simply start once they were in the arena.
It doesn’t take long, however, to find Jade. She’d retreated toward the back of the train, the section with an absurd amount of windows, presumably it’s a viewing room to watch the passing scenery. And there Jade is, curled into the smallest ball he thinks he’s ever seen someone curl themselves into. And he’s seen Karkat squeeze himself to hide in cabinets. He can hear the quiet sobs and the struggle for air. It’s so, so painfully similar to Karkat– when he would wake up terrified from nightmares. His heart aches, partially because he knows how careful Jade has been in schooling her emotions, and partially because she’s so young, and she should be allowed to cry as she needed to.
Kankri carefully approaches, and kneels to be at her level. He instructed her to breathe, in and out, slowly, confessing that he’d cried earlier that morning, too. He doesn’t say anything about why– he feels like that might be counterintuitive, and may just serve to upset Jade more. It takes a while, having her slowly breathe with him to help her calm down. Her eyes are a watery green, red-rimmed from crying.
He tells her of the promise he made, and he can see the flicker of panic in her eyes. Bless her— this poor girl. He quickly follows it up by saying that the Capitol sometimes allows for multiple victors in one year– sometimes, but it’s worth a shot.
“Do you think we can make it out together?” She asked. And her voice was so small, so unsure.
The most he can do is offer up a smile. He tells her, that maybe if they can make some friends in the Capitol, they might just stand a chance at it. Her response surprises him– that she’s never had luck making friends. It’s a shock, honestly. He’s never considered her anything other than pleasant and kind. Sure, she may not have quite been as socially gifted as Jake, or Latula for that matter, but he found it hard to find any reason to dislike her.
He tells her as much. That he’s never seen her be anything other than kind and helpful. So, he suggests that if it’s daunting, they could try out being friends. And it’s a hesitant acceptance, but it’s acceptance nonetheless. He learns that her favorite color is blue and that she wants to perhaps be a medic or work as an apothecary like her grandfather when she gets older. He shares that he loves the color red and that he wanted to either work in the school as a librarian or to actually teach the students something other than the botched history of the country, and what the coal mines were for. He had gotten his hands on a few history books– older ones, that had been preserved. Their little section of the nation used to be called Appalachia, marked by ancient mountains and dense forests, and an abundance of coal.
They talk for a long while longer, exchanging simple pieces of information. Jade’s favorite animals are dogs, she knows a great many plants that can be used for medicine when medication pills couldn’t be afforded or obtained, she loves painting and drawing, and she loves reading. So, he tells her the same, he’s always been fond of owls– specifically the barn owls that sometimes linger around in the Seam and catch the mice and rats fleeing around. He tells her that he knows all kinds of plants because some of them are safe to eat, and can be the difference between just a meager amount of strength to continue on and collapsing from exhaustion and starvation. He tells her about the sweet and calming taste of mint, that it’s an easy way to help quell the feeling of hunger. He tells her about all the books he’s managed to read. He tells her of the geodes he’s seen toward the rocky outcroppings; little stones that had gotten split, and exposed the twinkling crystals within.
It’s enough to help her calm down. And that alone helps Kankri relax a bit. He gets to see her properly. She has little freckles scattered about her face, and her eyes are so, so tired, similar to the way that Karkat’s are. The scars on her left cheek are pale, almost glinting like silver– and he still doesn’t know what caused such a wound. Distantly, he’s worried that a Peacekeeper had gotten violent with her. She has little nicks and tiny scars on her hands; ones he either hadn’t noticed before or had been too out of it when she had been treating him to recognize. She looks young– younger than her age. There are flecks of gold in those green eyes, and it reminds him of sunlight filtering through the trees. She’s quiet and observant; she’s said she prefers listening to others than talking herself. He can understand a bit of that. He keeps that in mind. He knows he won’t be able to do all of the talking for her, but he could at least help. It’s difficult to see her in a light different from how he viewed the other children at the orphanage; someone he wanted to try and protect.
Eventually, he manages to persuade her to go and talk with Jake for a little while; to build some ideas with him. Not because he doesn’t want to work alongside her; but he figures she might be more comfortable talking with her brother one on one. He figures that he needs to ask Latula about the other tributes, as quickly as he can to try and get information; what’s going on, and why so many of the victors chosen as mentors this year were so distraught over those who were reaped.
When they part ways; he goes to find Latula to ask just that, finding her at the dining car, picking at a plate of eggs and roast potatoes. He pulls up a chair quietly and takes his seat.
“She alright?” Latula asked him, glancing up.
“I think so,” he responded in turn. “I was able to talk with her a bit. Motion sickness is a nasty thing.”
Latula simply hummed; he didn’t know if she believed his words or not.
“I need to ask some questions,” Kankri starts.
“Shoot for it then, little man.”
Kankri thinks that, possibly, it could’ve been meant as a slight against him– but it’s Latula; who has typically been hallmarked for a rather relaxed personality. He then thinks it’s maybe meant to just be a nickname.
“I watched the rest of the reaping ceremonies. Some of the victors on stage– whoever got chosen to be mentors this year– a lot of them seemed upset.”
“Not a coincidence, bud. Nearly every mentor there has some sort of familial tie to one of the tributes,” Latula remarked, now looking at him squarely. “Jade isn’t the only one to be the younger sibling of a past victor that got reaped.”
That– that alone makes something horrible crawl and settle in his chest. He’d heard– distantly, that sometimes reapings could be rigged.
“How many?” He choked out– nearly terrified of the answer.
“Well– most of them. You get to know these people when you have to be around them every year. 11’s got Rufioh Nitram– solid guy, actually, sweet man. His baby brother was the one to get reaped. 10 has Meulin Leijon; her niece was that little one up on the stage. 9 has Jane Crocker– her younger cousin was reaped this year. 8 had Porrim Maryam,” Latula keeps talking and he doesn’t know most of the names but he immediately recognizes Porrim’s– she was dubbed the ‘Viper Victor’ because of how she won her games– using the venom and poison the arena around her. “Her younger sister is the one who got reaped from there. 7 has Aranea Serket– her cousin got reaped too; I’d stay clear of either of them. 6 has Kurloz Makara– his younger brother got reaped this year. 5 had Mituna Captor– he’s a good guy, just not quite all there anymore; another brother of his got reaped. 4 has Cronus Ampora– he’s around your age now; the kid he took in got his name called. 2 has Horuss Zahhak; smart man, relatively alright for being a career; his nephew volunteered. 1 has Meenah Peixes; steer clear from her, she’s meaner than all hell; her little sister is the exact opposite of her though; volunteered; and said she wanted to bring honor to her district and all that. 3 is the only district they didn’t have someone related to a past victor– but, they reaped twins, so that’s anyone’s guess of how much of a chance that was.”
Kankri processes as he hears Latula talk. She didn’t mention anything about the other tributes– but if he had to guess, he’d assume it was maybe some far-off relation. There were too many for it to be a coincidence. Family members of the victors. It seemed beyond cruel, at that point. The victors had gone through the gore and horror to survive and win their own games; now they were watching family members have to go through the same; or face the imminent concept of a brutal death.
“Can you tell me about them– the um– the mentors that have relatives as tributes this year?” He finds himself asking.
And Latula does.
Rufioh Nitram is a large man; tall and strong but with a big heart. He was twenty-eight and won the 87th a decade ago. She described him as a kind man; someone who was quick to help others. He still worked, even though he was a victor; and refused the pay for it, saying he wanted to help the others working in 11, that he’d go stir crazy if he didn’t have actual work to do.
Meulin Leijon was twenty-four and won the 90th. Latula described her as a sweet woman, gentle. Her hearing had been bad before even going into the arena, something she’d been born with. Then the games damaged her hearing beyond any kind of repair; to the point even the Capitol couldn’t fix it with technology or surgeries. She was described as someone who always tried to make others smile, someone who wore her heart on her sleeve.
Jane Crocker was twenty-six and won the 89th. She won by being able to hide. Latula said she was a woman with a perpetual sadness around her, even masked behind a smile. She always looked tired. She loved to cook and bake; and– evidently; always brought something from home for the tributes from 9 when they were whisked off to the train; she would visit every single one, even if she wasn’t the mentor.
Porrim Maryam was twenty-seven and won the 86th. She was memorable; because the arena had been filled with venomous snakes. She used that to her advantage and set traps, she never killed any single person with a weapon; they would just wander into the trap, and that was it. Latula described her as a quiet woman, but a caring woman nonetheless, someone who’d had a propensity for artistic body modification; tattoos like artwork and carefully done piercings. Not like the Capitol; Latula had told him, but like art– true art.
Aranea Serket was twenty-three and had won the 92nd. Latula said she was a snake in the grass– someone who donned a smile like fangs and waited to strike. Cruel. Tricked people in her own games by promising to ally with them, only to kill them when their backs were turned. Latula also mentions she believed that Aranea was one of the most violent victors to ever come from a district other than the careers and that evidently, a lot of the people in 7 were weary of her.
Kurloz Makara was twenty-six and the victor of the 85th. He was described as a tall and thin man and had survived by keeping entirely alone, watching and waiting. He hadn’t spoken since he won, and appeared to have a heavy dependence on morphling every time the games rolled around– but he was fond of, and kind toward, several of the other victors. Even if he didn’t speak, Latula emphasized he was a rather benevolent man.
Mituna Captor was only twenty, and the victor of the 95th– just two years ago. He got injured, badly, with a head wound that was difficult to heal properly. As such he wasn’t ‘all there’, as Latula put it. There was a kind of sadness in her voice saying it. He was kind though, talkative. Just sometimes got confused, and had to be helped.
Cronus Ampora was eighteen– the youngest victor in the history of the games, winning the 94th at just fourteen years old. Latula described him as a ‘flirtatious, pompous peacock that preened at any attention given to him’; but that he had taken in a young boy as his own younger brother when he got back to 4. And like many in his district, an incredibly gifted swimmer.
Horuss Zahhak was thirty now and won the 82nd. He wasn’t stocky and big like the others from 2, Latula said that he was actually rather short– a bit scrawny. But a brilliant mind; gifted with understanding the intricacies of technology so much; that many thought that the system had been wrong and that he was from 3 instead. Evidently a very sheepish man, as well– and one who seemed rather close with Rufioh.
Then there was Meenah Peixes. Twenty-eight, and the victor of the 84th. Latula’s look darkened when she talked about her; a calculating and ruthless woman, evidently. One who had the highest kill count for the games, with her having eliminated nearly half the other tributes entirely on her own. She made no alliances and was as deadly as she was efficient. The textbook picture of a career. Latula emphasized multiple times to stay well away from her or her tribute out of preservation of safety.
It’s a dizzying amount of information to take in. Most of them were recent Victors– it was hard not to see the connecting patterns. For whatever reason– at least half of the tributes had been relatives of the previous victors. And Kankri had a feeling it was to send a message.
‘Look at what we can do, just because someone is a victor doesn’t mean their families won’t be eligible anymore. Let this be a reminder of the control.’
He swore he could hear that sentiment already. All he knew for certain was that this wasn’t even a quell, and everything seemed entirely stacked against the entire lot of the tributes. He knew then, more than ever before, they had to start coming up with a strategy and fast.
Chapter 5: Jade: Be Remade
Summary:
Jade meets her stylist, and Kankri is once again a big brother to her.
Content Warnings: semi-vague descriptions of being waxed/having to be naked at the remake center, vague descriptions of sensory overload/mild agoraphobia, typical Hunger Games tags of the Capitol being the Capitol, mention of the Avoxes, mentions of dizziness/nausea
Chapter Text
By the time they reach the Capitol, it’s midday. It’s surrounded by towering mountains and comprised of glistening buildings that glitter like precious stones and metals. Jade thought that it was nauseating. She knew right then and there she was going to have to be extra vigilant in controlling her expressions and her general disdain for the Capitol. The pure excess of it all was sickening. She’d only had interactions one-on-one with Jake’s styling team, and there was only one of them she could tolerate. The rest were just…she didn’t think they were bad people but it was laughable, almost pitiable, how idiotic and naive they were; like spoiled children learning not everyone got it their way.
She peered outside the train, watching as the masses gathered, hollering and cheering; in colors so bright that it could’ve only ever been an eyesore. She thought, distantly, maybe this was what seeing poisonous animals was like; so vibrantly colored to warn others ‘Don’t get too close, you’ll die if you even consider harming us’. She knows– logically, that the citizens in the Capitol aren’t the ones who came up with the Games, who did everything, but they were complicit, and in her eyes, that was just as bad.
Jake urged both her and Kankri to wave; he said he knew it was ridiculous, but it was a good way to try and get sponsors. So, they do. She does her best to force a look of excitement and smiles, waving to the crowd– it seems much easier for Kankri.
They step out onto the platform and are greeted by the masses cheering, calling Jake and Latula’s names, tossing flowers even then. She reminds herself, constantly, to look polite and not angry. Others may be able to afford that, she can’t, and she knows that. She’s appreciative, though, that they all stay close together. It’s hard to quell the fear bubbling up in her chest when she eventually got herded off to the remake center.
She’s hoping they don’t turn her into something she couldn’t recognize. She’d seen it happen– people looking utterly unrecognizable from the reaping to when they were shown for the tribute parade, to interviews– and then still unrecognizable in the arena. She wanted to be herself still; she didn’t want to get warped into something different. She didn’t want the Capitol to change her, these games to change her.
It’s not Jake’s styling crew; it’s new people. They’re…polite, for Capitol citizens. One of them is a tall woman, elegant and with feathery, long eyelashes, all adorned with glitter and rhinestones; skin dark but with starkly white hair– she says that her name is Peregrine, but just to call her Perri. Another woman, just as tall, just as elegant, adorned with jewels and intricate, swirling tattoos of gold; dressed in velvet; she says her name is Queenie. It’s just the two of them for the time being.
She hid a grimace as the wax strip ripped away from her leg, taking the soft down with it– she’d never had any single reason to shave; not in the biting cold of the winter months, that was for certain.
“Oh– I know, dear; you’re just not used to it yet, though, that’s why it stings,” Queenie piped up. “Don’t worry– we’ll make that right as rain!”
Capitol people always talked so oddly. The ends of their sentences always had an upward lilt. It wasn’t how Jake or Pop talked– similar, but starkly different.
They’d waxed her down everywhere. Arms, legs, under her arms, her face, shaping her eyebrows into perfect angular little shapes. She isn’t fond of it. She glowered at them the moment they tried to touch her hair. That was one thing that she would fight tooth and nail for no one else to touch but her. She’d grown it long for a reason, she grew it long and braided it every day because it meant something to her, and no matter how much every sign of community was stamped out in an attempt of full control; Pop still taught her about the importance of it.
“Did you roll around in the dirt all day in District 12, dear? I swear, it’s under every nail of yours, I think we need to scrub you down again to be safe; get all that dead skin and dirt off,” Perri remarks.
Jade is doing her best not to snap at them. She is. She hates being exposed, and any chance she has at being able to keep on the thin robe she was given, she takes it and curls it close to herself like it was a shield. Even if the stylists reminded her more of birds than actual people; it didn’t change the fact she didn’t like the fact eyes watched her.
Eventually, when she feels like every follicle of hair has been ripped from every limb, she gets slathered in something light– it’s like lotion, she thinks. It helps soothe the sting, at least. It’s not sticky– that’s a plus, from the way the lotion gel looked in the bottle, she would’ve thought it would leave a sticky or tacky residue; like tree sap.
She’s left alone in that room, and it’s hard to tell how much time passes. There aren’t any windows in there, and there isn’t a clock, either. She’s staring up at the wall, hoping Kankri is at least having a more pleasant time than she was. It was a bit hard to truly hate the stylists. Queenie and Perri were…eccentric and eclectic, flitted around and genuinely tried talking to her. Maybe overenthusiastic and horrifically naive. It was hard to hate them when they were like birds mimicking what they’d heard in life.
The door suddenly opens and her gaze flicks to it, but this time, it’s a person she finally recognizes. It’s one of Jake’s stylists and the one she doesn’t mind. That much, a small bit of relief.
“Jade Harley?” The woman asks.
Jade found herself nodding, sitting up a bit, and holding the robe as close as she could to her body.
“My name’s Roxanne Lalonde– we’ve met a few times, before. Your brother usually just calls me Roxy.” The woman, Roxy, now greets her with a small smile.
She looks Capitol but in a more toned-down way. Her hair is dyed, the blond roots show but there’s a gradient of vibrant pinks to rich purples, done up in a bun with a few strands pulled to frame her face. Her makeup isn’t over the top, either– some shimmery eye shadow and a little bit of eyeliner. She’s dressed practically, too, as far as the Capitol goes.
“I’m going to be your stylist this year…and more than anything, I’m sorry this happened to you. To you, and your district partner.”
She was Jake’s stylist, and he wasn’t paraded around naked in coal dust, or in a poorly made version of the mining jumpsuits.
“What are you going to dress me as?” Jade blurted out and was mortified with herself. Like a fucking fool.
Roxy seemed taken aback for a moment before the small smile returned. “Personally– I’m pretty tired of the whole ‘coal’ theme for 12, honey. Every district has an export that they’re supposed to represent in the parade. My goal is what it was for Jake’s…I want to capture what 12 is to you, and what it means to you. Coal is easy to focus on– I want to add in the gold that sometimes can be found in 12. The light in the dark, if you will.”
It’s…new. Not bad, and certainly more appealing than being paraded around naked in nothing but coal dust.
“And you’re doing this how…?”
Jade is then worried she’s going to end up getting paraded in some gaudy, horrible get-up that’s going to make her look completely unrecognizable. Roxy, though, seems to recognize this.
“I have the outfit here with me if you’d like to see it. It’s…not flamboyant, but, I wanted to design it look gilded. Gold amongst coal. Light in the dark. The beauty and innocence that can rise out of the dust. Have you ever heard of the old-world descriptions of angels, Jade?”
Poetic. Jade can hand her that. And she shakes her head at the question. She’d heard the term, but it wasn’t exactly like there were any iconographies of the things floating around in books. She knows the ones from the games; horrid mutts that could fly and had beaks filled with razor teeth; they’d been a staple in the games for as long as she could remember.
“Well; that’s my goal. My sister, Rose– that’s Kankri’s stylist– she and I worked on this concept together. Angels rising out of the smoke and coal, gilded with gold– rising out of the ashes like a phoenix.”
So, that’s how it starts. Roxy has a delicate hand. The makeup isn’t heavy– it’s localized mostly to her eyes. She’s told it’s meant to look like coal dust in the inner parts, and then it’s a gradient to a brilliant and twinkling gold. There’s a liquid being painted from her eyes down her cheeks, and then she realizes it’s meant to mimic tears. Tears of gold. Gold eyeliner is used under her eyes, used to make her freckles catch in the light.
The clothes are made of a rich black and soft fabric. It was comprised of a tunic and pants; all made to look like it had gold fissures. The sleeves of the tunic drape down, translucent black fabric with a slit in it that faded to a deep and rich amber. It fits Jade well, but it doesn’t squeeze uncomfortably. There’s a small amount of comfort in that.
Roxy helps her to get dressed, and she’s able to see herself in a tall mirror. She’s still able to recognize herself. Her face hasn’t been altered by the makeup. But she feels she looks otherworldly. She looked at the painted golden tears on her face, at the way it made her look younger than all the times she’d seen tributes made to look older than they were. There are no fancy attachments to her face, like false eyelashes that expand out like feathers. Her hair is done carefully– the only alteration that Roxy makes is to rebraid her hair into a different style but does it with the same care Jake or Pop used to do when she was so much younger.
She got herded out and met Kankri, who was in nearly identical attire, his curls done to be much bouncier than they were originally. The makeup around his eyes almost makes the amber of them glow, she swears it. There’s a bit of red added to his attire, at the cuffs of his tunic, around his eyes. It’s vibrant; subtle but unmistakable.
He aids her up onto the chariot. It’s the first time she’s ever seen a horse up close; they’re massive creatures, powerful, elegant. The ones pulling their chariot are the color of charcoal, and she knows there’s no coincidence in it. The chariots are sturdy– made of metal and wood. Kankri helps to hold her steady because she feels like her legs are going to give out. She hated feeling weak– she couldn’t be seen like that by the Capitol. She supposes it’s an odd amount of irony, considering the golden tears painted on both of their faces.
And then before she could make any sense of that; the chariot was moving, the horses moving in add synchronicity; like it was robotic and unfeeling instead of a living, breathing, animal. The fanfare plays, cacophonous drums that almost seem like a heartbeat. All she can hear is the deafening cheers of the crowd. A crowd that would watch with glee if she was brutally killed.
Nonetheless, Kankri holds her up to keep her steady. They raise their hands together, and the crowd cheers louder. She tried not to think about seeing her face up on the screen. She managed to catch a rose in her hand, and a managed to give a timid smile to whoever threw it to her. All she can focus on is the heartbeat drumming in her ears, deafening and unrelenting. It’s hard to focus on anything else. There were too many eyes, far too many eyes, too many people looking at her. She cursed herself then and there to fucking toughen up; Kankri was able to handle this fine, so she needed to do so, as well. She couldn’t be seen as a weak child when the time came.
Kankri still helped her down when the chariots had done the final lap. She needed it because she felt weak. Far too many people for her liking– she barely was able to tolerate the Reaping Day at any given point, and that’s because people typically weren’t looking at her, save for this year.
“Wonderfully done, both of you,” Jake commented and offered a smile to them both. “The crowd loved you. We can talk about the strategy of this later. Right now–”
Jade glances behind him; where Roxy, Latula, and another woman– she had similar hair to Roxy’s except it was dyed a pale lavender and she wore stark black makeup– to see one of the other tributes glaring at her. She doesn’t recognize him; not really. His pale hair is shaved close to his head, and his eyes are a vibrant sort of red. He looks identical to the tribute next to him; except they have short but bushy and wild hair. There’s something wicked in his eyes. It reminds her too much of when she saw a wild dog foaming at the mouth, staggering around.
Jake followed her gaze and stepped to block the boy from her sight. Even Kankri appeared to stand up a bit taller. “Right– let’s go up, and we can finish talking there, alright? It was a busy day. You two should be able to eat and rest before training has to begin.”
And so they do. A ride up the dizzying elevator with see-through glass that makes Jade’s head spin if she stared at it for too long. Kankri is still helping her stay up; it’s not much, he isn’t grabbing her by the arm or holding her by the middle like Pop or Jake would sometimes have to do when she was little and had bad bouts of dizziness. But it’s similar, simply an arm linked with hers to help keep her from stumbling.
When they finally arrive at the floor they’re staying on; Jake calls it the penthouse, it’s massive. It’s bigger than most buildings in 12– nearly the size of the Hob. It’s elaborate, with chandeliers and crystals, a dining area, and a full living room. People are standing silently at the corner of the stairs and her stomach twists. Jake told her about them– about avoxes, and it made her sick; that people had that robbed from them.
Eventually, they’re allowed to go into their rooms; to change into more comfortable clothes, and then the measure of eating dinner and beginning a focus on training would begin. Jade ventured to hers, almost hesitantly. It was spacious– with a large bed, and silk-soft sheets and blankets. The windows are big, and it makes her feel far too vulnerable. On the nightstand, there was a remote, and as she messed with it– the windows became screens. She had to flip through some to find anything resembling a calming scene. Crowded streets were a hard no, the field didn’t feel right, and the waterfall didn’t seem right, either. After minutes of flipping through– she finally found something comforting. A night sky, with bright stars where she could make out constellations, light frost to the ground, and a few scattered pine trees. This was familiar. She just wished she could smell it; the clean and crispness of it, the sharp smell of pine, she wished she could feel it; soft and crumbling snow beneath her fingers while she looked for plants and observed the wildlife.
It’s not the same– but it’s enough, at least for then. It’s enough to pretend and to give herself some kind of reprieve and a chance to relax a bit. She hoped, distantly, that she could dream of a place like that if she was able to sleep that night.
Chapter 6: Kankri: Building a Plan
Summary:
Kankri is in the remake center, meets his stylist, and sees the other tributes in person.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of starvation, child death, unrealistic/unhealthy beauty standards, typical Hunger Games warnings/the Capitol being the Capitol, mentions of seeing someone experience sensory overload/mentions of sensory overload, semi-vague descriptions of being waxed, semi-vague mentions of having to be naked for the remake, mentions of Avoxes
Chapter Text
As far as Kankri was concerned, the Capitol was a shining spectacle of hypocrisy. It was supposed to represent the civility and innovation of the Capitol, the citizens able to lead lavish lives with little want for basic needs. All he could see was a bedazzled garbage heap; regardless of how tall the buildings towered, how many fanciful fountains with intricate statues appeared, or how many vibrantly colored droves of people flocked to the train to watch himself and Jade be herded out like livestock.
Jake told them to wave; it was the start of getting sponsors, so he did. He pinches his expression to look happy, he’s had to do it plenty of times before then. He watched and listened as the crowd cheered and cried out Latula and Jake’s names, tossing flowers like roses and lilies to them. He grinned and bore it all; because they were from 12, and they couldn’t afford to not look grateful to be receiving scraps from the Capitol.
Then; they’re both herded off to get re-made. He’s seen the process, and he’s dreading it. He had a horrid feeling he was going to either be paraded around in a horrid, completely gaudy, and skimpy coal-miner outfit, or he’d be paraded around nearly naked with just coal dust covering him. Granted, that thought sparks more worry for Jade than it does himself; there’s not exactly much he would expect the Capitol to ogle over with his image. He knew it already; he was going to be picked apart little by little. He just hoped he would be able to recognize himself afterward; and that Jade wasn’t going to be humiliated.
The stylists who work with him are snippy and short– exactly what he expected. They made constant comments about how his ribs stick out, how bony his appearance is– how he’d be picture perfect if he just had a little bit of a fuller figure– that they could think of Capitol citizens that would’ve killed to have the thinness he did. He does his best to bite and hold his tongue. He wanted nothing more than to quip back with saying how constant starvation isn’t as fun as it seems, and that they wouldn’t know the first thing about hardships. But he doesn’t.
He gritted his teeth as another wax strip was ripped from his arm and leg at the same time. He was certain the skin was going to be red and raw– if not pulled off entirely. It hurt. And he continued to hold his tongue at every sideways comment that was slipped in.
“Honestly– if I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve thought you had been plucked from the mines,” one of the stylists commented. Her voice was shrill, prim, and clipped in that typical accent; her makeup was done up to the point where he wondered if she was supposed to look more like a nauseatingly vibrant-colored moth than a person. The odd thing was– she had similarities to Jake– down to the eyes and nose. It made his stomach twist uncomfortably.
He relished when they finally left him alone. The silence was more comforting than any placating words from those two could have ever been. He hugged the robe around himself; unable to help but feel chilled in the room. Summer or not, he’d been hosed down several times, and the room was cold.
The door opened, and in walked a short young woman with pin-straight, platinum-blonde, and lavender hair, stark black lipstick, and a deep purple eyeshadow. She looked intimidating– he had to admit that much.
“Mr. Kankri Vantas?” The woman asked, a small, barely-there smile quirking on her painted lips.
“That would be me…and please don’t use a formality– there’s no reason for it. I should be using that for you, I think.” Kankri answered.
“Please– no such necessities. My name is Rose Lalonde, and I’ll be your stylist. My sister is the one working with your district partner. First and foremost– I’m sorry for these unfortunate events; few come here by choice, and even those that do, don’t realize how little of a choice it is.” The woman– Rose– stated. “This is my first year working as a stylist– and if I may, it’s an honor to work with you, despite the circumstances.”
“You must’ve been unlucky– new ones get assigned to 12 all the time,” he commented. He knew that much– he’d heard it all the time from the reports of the games.
“Oh– on the contrary; I requested to work with the District 12 tributes this year. Your…volunteering was greatly admirable. That was your younger brother who had been called, yes? You two share quite the resemblance.”
That was new. Mostly in the fact someone requested to work with the poorest district in the entire country.
“Well– that’s part of the image we’re going to make for you. The caring, loyal older brother. And yes– the Capitol will adore that. Tell me, are you able to see Jade Harley in a familial light at all?”
He felt for a moment it was a loaded question. Ammo to be used– something that could be done to punish them in the games, or punish Karkat and Mr. Harley back in 12. But he nodded, anyway.
“It’s hard not to– she reminds me of Karkat. It’s hard not to see the similarities.”
“Then tell me about that.” Rose invited, eyes gleaming with interest. “Tell me why that is, and we can work together.”
And so, he does. He told Rose of the orphanage in 12, what it was like to care for the younger children there, and how it was hard to see someone younger than him and ignore that instinct to protect and care. How he saw a terrified child trying to act brave and felt the need to offer her comfort. He knew that, out of either of them, Jade had the best chance of going home. He was going to try, but he knew the odds. She was quick, crafty, and brilliant– he was sickly and had basic information on local flora.
“Well; I can tell you now that the Capitol will devour the protective older brother role you’ve taken up. So; play into your instincts. Don’t let her seem weak, but let her seem innocent to the eyes of the Capitol. Let them see you’re protective of this younger girl; that you’re willing to fight alongside her and for her, like you’re willing to fight for your brother.” Rose says.
He hates it, in all honesty. It seems like a horrid play on what someone should do. But he knows, logically, it’s the most likely option to make them seem likable and desirable to the Capitol.
“Okay,” he agreed. “Okay. What’s the plan for the parade costume?” He asked, needing to know. It was better to rip the proverbial bandage off.
“Oh, I am thrilled that you asked, Roxy and I worked on this concept together and we believe we’ve come up with the perfect theme.”
He was getting paraded around naked, covered in coal dust with a stupid headlamp, he knew it already.
“And what, pray tell, is that? I’m going to be paraded around in a chariot wearing nothing but coal dust and suspenders for thousands of Capitol citizens to gawk at?”
He’s mortified as soon as the words leave his mouth. This is it– he mocked someone from the Capitol, they’re going to call for his head before he even gets into the arena, he’s sure of it. However, he’s startled by the near cackle Rose lets out.
“Tempting, very tempting, but no. Roxy and I had something different in mind. Tell me; what do you know about angels– not the ones used in the games, the old-world ones?”
And that’s how it starts. His face is painted to look like he’s crying tears of gold, and Rose styles his hair so that the messy mop of curls he had is a bit tighter and more refined. She added bright red pigment near his eyes; it made his eyes look a bit brighter. She didn’t change his face much– added the illusion of coal dust spotted along his face. The clothes he’s supposed to wear are…remarkably within reasonable limits. His tunic has a stark cut-off at the sleeves, and it appears that translucent ribbons of light fabric cascade down to the cuffs. The pants are the same deep black as the tunic, with fissures of gold cracking through the fabric like gilded stone.
It doesn’t take long before Rose deems him to be ready to head out to the chariots, he walks alongside her and meets Latula along the way. The chariots are massive things carved from metal and wood; and the horses are massive, with drapes of hair near their hooves.
And then he sees Jade– with the same gold-painted tears on her face, and she looked even younger; almost doe-eyed. He knew well enough she was a strong girl– he knew that because he’d seen it. But it doesn’t change the fact she was still so young. It doesn’t help that she looks about ready to jump out of her skin. He couldn’t blame her– he’d never been fond of crowds exactly, but not to the point it seemed to incite fear as it did to Jade.
Rose nodded to him, and he knew it was a silent sign to keep up the act– it wasn’t much of an act by that point. His priority is less so seeming appealing to the droves of Capitol citizens cheering for their demise and more so making sure Jade feels stable– he’d hold her up if he had to. He helped her step up into the chariot, mostly just keeping an eye on her to make sure her legs didn’t buckle out, or that she lost her balance.
They were at a decent point; it let him see all the other tributes.
District 1 was dressed in their typical fanfare. The bubbly girl is in a mesmerizing gown that transforms from platinum to gold, all studded with precious stones and over-the-top makeup. The boy is in something similar– except his is a sleeveless tunic and black pants with the same color pattern. Both have shiny silver and platinum painted on their skin.
District 2 was dressed in a way Kankri could’ve only described as ‘lethal’, to be made to look like weapons. The girl wears a short dress that looks like it’s been constructed from knives and spear tips, gleaming silver in the light, the sleeves hang off her shoulders and stop at her wrists– with that same metallic glint. He wondered, distantly, if they’d used real knives for that. The boy is dressed in a black tunic, high-collared and long-sleeved with silver harnesses resembling body armor adorning him.
District 3– the twins– are dressed identically. It would’ve been impossible to tell which one was which if it wasn’t for the boy having a shaved head. Their outfits seem to look like tailored skin-tight suits with glints of green; circuit-board designs in the clothing, with drapes of clothing he supposes are meant to look like wires.
District 4 is dressed in the exact thing he’d expect; the girl has a seashell-shaped top that glints ivory in the light– the ruffles of the dress are designed to look like waves crashing against the shore, with fixtures to make it look like she’s wearing, or possibly growing coral. The boy has a fabric that looks like a fishing net draping across his shoulders and acting like a shirt– with a wrap around his waist to act as pants– boots made to look like the fins on a fish. He felt bad for them– in all honesty; and he wondered if they’d used real fishing lures as decorations hanging from the fabric.
District 5; it’s never exactly hard to expect what they’ll be dressed as any given year– typically either as powerplants or something similar. But this year– it appears both the boy and girl wear attire that reminds him of solar panels. A deep blue fabric studded with white and barely there lines, with accessories that actually glow. It’s…eye-catching, most definitely. He’d guess that the glowing accessories were powered by something– fabric couldn’t catch sunlight like that.
District 6 is one he always feels a bit of pity for in the end– mostly because their costumes are hardly ever switched up. This year seemed to be no different. The girl wore an olive jumpsuit with draping sleeves he guesses are meant to represent the chain belts he’s seen on tanks in old history books. It doesn’t do much to hide how sickly she looks. The boy is in something similar, but there looks to be a fabric draping from the collar of his shirt down to his knees– looking like the tire tracks left behind in the mud.
District 7– he hears the female tribute before he sees her, really– it’s hard not to when she’s cussing up a storm and glaring hard at her stylists and mentor, he thinks so, at least. It’s not a bad outfit– really. She wore a long and flowing green dress, gilded with copper and amber accents, with arm bracers he thinks are meant to show bark. The boy is in something similar, except his shirt is mostly comprised of leaf-like patterns and looks to be fairly see-through– with dark brown pants styled to look like the trunk of a tree.
District 8 is one that can easily be the gaudiest at times; typically, he knew from watching old ceremonies, because the stylists were obsessed with showcasing every kind of fabric they could. This year seems different, at least. The girl is in a high-collared, long-sleeved dress that is a rich black, glinting dark green in the right light. Half of her dress is a breathtaking addition of a rainbow of colors, all seeming to be velvet or silk. The rest is dark green, black, or red. The boy is in something similar, minus the addition of a silk rainbow; his, though, seems to be far more of a cape addition, with hand-stitched textiles.
District 9– it was hard to be creative with grain. The girl is in a high neck dress with an opening in the chest, a golden brown shifting to straw color, inlaid with patterns of fields and cuts in the fabric he supposes to look like wheat. The boy is similarly dressed– an amber-colored tunic that faded to straw, with arm bracers meant to look like bundles of grain, with brown trousers.
District 10 made his heart ache. Because there was that tiny twelve-year-old girl, dressed in a tawny colored puffy shirt with different stripes and patterns, with overalls, complete with brass buttons and little broaches. The boy is dressed similarly– though his shirt is not nearly as puffy. Both seem to wear headbands that had attachments Kankri thinks are meant to mimic cattle horns– but on the girl they’re so small he could’ve mistaken them for making her look like an alley cat.
District 11 has a girl dressed up like a flower, a puffy skirt looking like the blooms of a petunia, long laces trailing up her legs from the pink slippers she wears, even complete with a circlet of flowers in her hair. The boy is shorter than her, but he has a long vest that looks like it was made to resemble marigold petals, with straw-colored pants. Blooms of flowers decorate both of them, like budding gardens.
He has to keep Jade steady by the time the fanfare picks up; feeling her jolt in the chariot and cling onto the sides with a white-knuckled grip. He did as Rose said; and helped to keep her steady, putting a gentle hand on her shoulders while he held on with his free hands as the horses started trotting out in tune with the cacophony of drums. He moved to clasp her hand, in the way that he would when Karkat was younger and he’d grab his hand to walk him across the busy alleys in 12. It at least seemed to bring Jade a shred of comfort, and he could deal with that. The camera panned to them; and despite the raucous sounds of the crowd cheering and crying out their names, it was an opportunity to help Jade get a head start– to let himself have a head start. He raised their clasped hands high into the air, forcing himself to look proud and determined.
Someone had tossed him a rose, just as someone tossed one to Jade; and he grins and bears it with a wide smile. He can see the way the crowd is completely fawning over Jade; enamored by the shy smile she sends in thanks for the flower. And then Kankri understood. The makeup– everything. Of course, it was to help him too, but– he understood it seeing Jade’s face up on the screen. The golden tears; it was meant to help them appeal to the Capitol; not to capture their attention in one fell swoop; but to garner sympathy, maybe even adoration at the innocence in Jade’s eyes.
Eventually, the horses make the final lap, and they’re able to dismount from the chariot. He has to help Jade down– she’s not that much shorter than him, not really, but a step to him is more of a hop to her. He helps to keep her standing because he can see a flighty look in her eyes.
Jake, Latula, Rose, and another stylist all came out to greet them; beginning the start of making training plans. They only had three days, after all. He then noticed that Jade’s focus was further away, one the boy tribute from 3. There was something wrong, in the beady gaze that boy held, something sinister in the way his lip curled. It reminded Kankri far too much of a sick animal. He stood up a good deal straighter– it never added much to his height, but it helped create a bit of a shield for Jade. Jake, evidently, has the same idea and squared his shoulders to block the male tribute from Jade’s view, suggesting they head upstairs and have dinner before discussing anything further.
As they rode up in the elevator, he had to link his arm with Jade’s to help keep her up. He supposed maybe she did get motion sick easily. Granted, it was hard not to, watching the floors pass by so quickly in the glass casing of the elevator. They’re at the very top apartment– Jake had called it the penthouse. And when the doors open; he swore he needed to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. The sheer amount of overabundance in one room alone is enough to make him nauseous.
There were people standing silently with their eyes titled toward the floor, with odd mask-like contraptions contorting around the bottom part of their faces. He saw Jade’s eyes widen at seeing them and thought it best to not ask right then. The minute they’re told they’re allowed to get out of the costumes, Jade bolts for a room. He can’t really blame her.
“Not good with crowds, is she?” The other stylist asked, her curly hair tied halfway up into a bun, a dizzying array of colors that resembled a sunset.
“Never has been…has always been too overwhelming for her,” Jake admitted. “Said she couldn’t stand that many people having their eyes on her at one time; or all the sounds that come from crowds. Just give her a little bit, Roxy– I’ll make sure she comes out to eat dinner.”
The other stylist, Roxy, nods. That had to be the sister Rose was talking about before. He can see it now– the similarities. Down the shape of their eyes, to the shape of their nose, to the curve of their lips.
“Go on and go get changed, we had some clothes sent up ahead of time, should be fairly comfortable,” Latula advised him, and he nodded and set off for his own.
His room, when he arrived at it, was large. Larger than most school rooms he’d seen. The bed is extravagant, with soft-looking blankets and pillows, slightly lofted. There’s a pile of clothes waiting for him, a plain, wine-red tunic and black pants. At least it was something warm to chase off the chill of the room. He settled on fiddling with the remotes later on, to see what all they did. He sat on the bed for a long while, trying to figure out what the strategy would be for the next few days. It was three days of training before they were dropped off at the arena. That meant he had to win over not just sponsors, but the actual game makers as well. That meant possibly creating allyships with the other tributes. That meant having to show he at least knew how to use one kind of weapon so that he wouldn’t be seen as easy pickings.
He set his face in his hands for a moment, breathing deeply. One day at a time– that’s all he could do. One day at a time, keep building the strategy and try to make friends. It was daunting– but there wasn’t a choice to back out. He had to figure out a plan. He had to keep his promises.
Chapter 7: Jade: Making Allies
Summary:
In which Jade tackles the daunting task of having to try and make allies.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of social anxiety, mentions of malnutrition, mentions of death/toxic gas exposure, typical HG warnings
sorry this took so long, I was sick and going through it lads lmao should be back to a semi-regular update schedule soon now that finals are over
Chapter Text
The dinner the night before wasn’t bad. She’d tried a poultry dish that was both sweet and savory, with a bit of spice. It had a fragrant bed of rice and vegetables with it, with more of the bread rolls. Poultry was a rare thing in 12– mostly because chickens were a complete hassle, and any ducks beyond the fence were as likely to make anyone catching them sick as they were to avoid capture. It’s mostly about strategy, really. She does what she can to eat and tries to keep the food down, setting the fork against her plate to listen whenever Jake or Latula speak and tapping her fingers against each other as something to help keep herself grounded. She was thankful that only their stylists joined them; not the rest of the styling teams, and Aradia was somehow a comforting presence
Jake hammers home to focus on survival skills more than combat– not to neglect them entirely, but that survival skills could save them more than a knife could. Fires, how to make sure there is clean drinking water, how to search for viable shelters without giving away their locations– everything Jake had taught her when he took her out hunting. Latula says that if they can, pick something of a ranged weapon. She’s not fantastic at shooting a bow; she’d needed far more practice with a traditional one; a crossbow, however, she’d had practice with. A knife, she’d had practice with. Both of them say that a weapon should be the very least of their priorities; that they should grab a pack from the cornucopia and run like hell, away from the bloodbath at the soonest chance.
The night passes too slowly– and Jade has a fitful sleep. It’s hard to fall asleep, to stay asleep. She tries– she does. She imagines hearing Jake’s humming from when she was little, the way he would carry her on his shoulders. She imagines Pop picking her up, spinning her around, and telling them both stories. It brings a small amount of ease, and it’s meager, but it’s six hours worth of sleep, and that’s better than the two she’d had on the train.
The morning comes, and she takes a shower to wash off the remnants of makeup from the night before. Showers were a luxury– ones even rare in the Victors’ Village; typically it was just baths. The water is warm– which is nice. The floors are even heated. When she returned to her room, she found a training outfit lying on the bed, which had been made. She felt bad– she should’ve made the bed before she took a shower. She went over to examine the clothes– a simple black t-shirt and what she had to guess was athletic wear pants. The shirt had ‘12’ on the sleeve. She took a breath and got changed; she couldn’t hide all day, no matter how much she wanted to.
She walked out and met Kankri in the living area, and he was dressed in identical clothing. It looked much baggier on him than it did her– and she hoped; truly hoped, that he would eat enough in the coming days to give himself strength. Latula is the one to escort them down to the training center, giving them the advice to not showcase any particular talents until they’re well enough alone with the game makers for individual assessments. She supposes it’s a good plan– to not let the other tributes know what’s up their sleeves.
Kankri suggested ‘dividing and conquering’, splitting up, and then switching after a little while at their respective stations. He’d said he wanted to try lighting a fire first, and suggested she practice on some traps or tying knots. She wasn’t particularly a fan of this– not exactly wanting to be split up from the one person she knew in a hall filled with twenty-two other people, none of whom she knew anything about, let alone their names. But she relented and did as suggested.
She watched the other tributes idly as she worked on a few snare traps. The girl from 7 was…intimidating, to say the least. Curly black hair, a sharp nose, and sharp blue eyes– with a look of utter disdain on her face. She knew her way around an axe, though. That much was very clear. The girl was mostly keeping to herself, occasionally talking to the boy from 9, but Jade didn’t feel like it would’ve been a good idea to ask her about anything just yet. The girl from 1– which was surprising, was bubbly, and already talking with the boys from 4 and 5 as if it was a party. She held a spear in one hand, and from what Jade gleaned, she was showing the other two how to wield it.
One of the twins from 3; the one that didn’t send her a scathing death glare the night before was talking quietly with the boy from 8, watching attentively as he demonstrated how to stitch something closed with a needle and fishing line. The boy from 3, however, was already speaking to the male tribute from 1, and both of the District 2 tributes, though the boy from 2 looked far less interested. Not many of the others were mingling– the boy from 6 ended up crouching down near Kankri to talk with him. She hoped he was at least able to make friends.
Her thoughts were halted when she felt eyes on her, and she looked around– to see a small figure dart behind a wall, barely peeking out. She recognized her as the tribute from 10, tiny and observant, quick and clever. This little girl reminded Jade a bit of a barn cat. Watchful and sweet olive eyes, bronze skin, and quiet footfalls. She figured it wouldn’t do any good to run after her or call out– not if it proved Jade had startled her.
She’s startled out of her thoughts once again when the boy from 11 came up to her. He’s her height– maybe just a hair taller. His hair was shaved shorter on the sides, the curls on top of his head bouncy and soft-looking.
“Hi– sorry, could you teach me how to do that?” He asked.
Jade blinked, a bit speechless, but nodded a bit. She supposed it couldn’t hurt. He seemed nice enough– even if they’d be facing each other in the arena within the next two days.
“Thanks…my name is Tavros, by the way. Tavros Nitram. You’re Jade, right? Jake English’s little sister?”
Jade felt herself nodding. She didn’t comment on the name– it wasn’t common; Jake had still been in the process of it– of trying to get his surname changed to Harley. He wanted to remove any trace he had of any ties to a certain someone; she couldn’t blame him. That woman left them when Jade was barely three and toddling around, trying to string together words– only coming back when Jake had won.
She showed him how to set a snare, and how to make one from simple resources. What to do if someone was caught in a snare; how to release it.
“Here– I can show you a trick for something in return. Follow me,” Tavros invited– he didn’t seem to mind Jade’s general aversion to speaking in front of someone new.
So she did; she followed him over to a screen where there was a massive encyclopedia of different plants. Many were familiar. Foxglove, aloe, rhubarb, thyme, snakeroot, marigolds, chicory. Many she knew from the garden Pop had tended to work as an apothecary, others she knew from trips out with Jake and finding them in the wild. Wintergreen– that was something easy to chew on. But then Tavros nodded up to a screen to leaves she didn’t quite recognize.
“What are they?” She asked.
“They’re a kind of leaf we use back home. 11 has a lot of trackerjacker nests near the fruit trees– this helps when they sting you.” He informed.
“The leaf itself, or a poultice?”
“It’s both– grind the leaves up, and put one over it. We don’t really have a name for it anymore, but, we know what it looks like.” Tavros explained.
“And you think they’ll use trackerjackers in the arena?” Jade asked in return.
“I mean– they have in past years. Never a bad idea to know how to use something to your advantage.” He offered a smile– one that looked like the ones Jake used to have when he was truly happy.
Jade still felt skeptical. Normally, she wasn’t someone to second-guess someone’s kindness. This, however, was an entirely new situation– one where in a few days they’d be hauled out to an arena and forced to fight each other and whatever mutts or disasters awaited them in that death trap. In this situation– kindness had to come at either an expense or had to have an ulterior motive.
“Are you trying to make an alliance with me…?” Jade inquired– wanting to know then rather than later. She may have been observant– that never once meant she was always able to understand what people were trying to communicate without using words.
“I mean– I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” Tavros laughed a little– it was a light sound. “You seem like a nice enough person, and you look like you actually know how to survive…not just to train to fight if that makes sense.”
Jade nodded a bit. Okay. That wasn’t so bad. She supposed that wouldn’t be so bad. Kankri had encouraged her to try and build bonds with those she felt comfortable with doing so; to use her own judgment. She figured that Tavros wasn’t too bad– he seemed nice, and he knew his way around plants, as well.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Okay. Let’s be allies, then. What about your district partner?”
“Oh–Arriety? She’s uh…she’s kind of training on her own. But she’s still really nice; she just wanted me to train on my own or explore my options today if that makes sense.” Tavros answered.
Jade nodded a bit. That made sense– it wasn’t identical to the approach Kankri had proposed, but it was similar enough for her to understand.
So, a large part of the day passes like that. With her and Tavros exchanging tips and information. She attempted to climb the rope net; it wasn’t too difficult, even if her ankle got caught a few times. It was simple enough– similar to the brambles out in 12, or the holes in the ground. Tavros had an easier time with it; a lot of strength in his arms as well. He gave her a tip she thought was incredibly helpful. To look for rock outcroppings– that tended to be an easy shelter, but to always check for wild animals. She’d seen a few back in 12, out beyond the fence and along the streams and rivers. Some jutted out and were incredibly shallow; others had collections of dead birds and lizards around the entrance, not eaten– but a sign that the outcropping and whatever deep hole acted as a vent spewed out something deadly.
Shelter was needed– regardless of what the arena would look like in the end. It was good information to have. So in turn– she tells Tavros what plants are safe to eat, and what can be used as makeshift medicine. How to make sure the collection of berries that was stumbled upon were huckleberries and not nightlock. That licorice root was good for when a cough started up. How lavender could mask even the strongest of stenches. How mint was something easy to chew on when hunger pains were unrelenting, or when nausea was unbearable.
It was a bit too early to make a plan, just then. They could construct that tomorrow. But they continued to work together throughout training the rest of that day. Kankri took notice and gave her a small smile– she figured that was at least a good sign. She wasn’t sure if she could call Tavros a friend yet– an ally, sure, but friends were hard to come by; even if he seemed nice, there was still a part of her that always remained hesitant and skeptical. There always would be. She’d had to watch Jake’s games. She knew that allyships could turn on a dime sometimes.
She and Kankri switch stations, and Tavros tags along with her. She taught him how to tie different knots in rope, and how to quickly undo one if necessary. It was similar enough to the snares, after all. How to tie them around the legs and around trees, to keep steady. He taught her quick ways to make a fire– things she hadn’t even considered. Different rocks other than flint. He showed her a rock that looked similar to the charm Terezi had gifted her, and showed her how to strike it– it only took a few tries for sparks to dance down and ignite on the dry leaves and twigs. Fire and water– things of life. One provided warmth but could kill from the smoke giving away their location. Water– they could only last three days at most without it– and they’d need fire to make sure it was safe to drink.
The day passed quickly like that, but she wanted to consider Tavros a good ally– maybe even a friend. They parted their ways, and she joined Kankri to ride back up the long elevator ride to the twelfth floor. She was tired, but she didn’t know if sleep would come easier that night or not. She knew dinner would be soon, and she would probably catch up with Kankri at a later point. At that point, all she wanted to do was retreat to her room for a while, and steal a precious hour of rest if she was allowed that. With soft blankets, staring at a snowy landscape to try and find some semblance of peace. It hadn’t been a bad day, not really– by all considerations. It was still just a lot, talking with strangers.
Thankfully, the retreat came easily, and shucking off the boots she wore at the training center, she crawled under the soft blankets to shut the world out for a little while. She had made a friend, an ally. That had been enough. At least for now, it would be enough.
Chapter 8: Kankri: Begin a Plan
Summary:
Kankri tackles the task of analyzing which tributes are safe to talk to, someone approaches him, and he approaches someone else, and of course, is incapable of quelling his older sibling instincts.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of malnutrition/anorexia caused by food instability and lack of food, brief descriptions of body dysmorphia/malnutrition, mentions of death via exposure, brief mentions of anxiety, Caliborn's detestable personality in general, mentions of sexism/misogyny, mentions of sibling abuse, very vague allusions to transphobic comments, very brief mention of off-screen vomiting, mentions of facial scars (Glasgow scars), Hunger Games typical warnings
for the future, Caliborn just has his own warning-- you know his character, he's a shitbag, he's going to act like a shitbag
Calliope is also non-binary in this, based on a good buddy's headcanon that I also personally adore
Chapter Text
The dinner is so delicious and he has to remind himself to take time to eat. Kankri has seldom ever had meals like this, never mind not typically having full meals to begin with. It’s savory– the meat is tender. He has to remind himself to eat slowly, lest he eat too quickly and make himself sick. Jade was the first to retire to her room, likely still reeling from the tribute parade. He couldn’t blame her– it had been a lot to deal with. He spent a while longer talking with Latula (largely because Jake had already retired to bed), trying to figure out what to do for the next day, who was a safe bet. He hated thinking of it that way– these were other kids being forced to fight. But then he reminded himself of the male tribute from 3– who had glared daggers at Jade earlier that evening, and knew that no matter what, this was going to end in death, and he wouldn’t be willing to watch from the sidelines if that monster got anywhere close to harming Jade.
So, Latula talks with him and gives him her own opinions on the tributes. Allyships were fragile things, and she instructed him to pick carefully. Those that were the fastest and strongest weren’t always the best bets. The priority was allies that knew how to survive in harsh environments, but their being fast or strong didn’t hurt anything. The only thing that truly mattered in the end was whether they were trustworthy or not. Her recommendations had been the boy from 6, and the boy from 4– if possible. She mentioned trying to get on the good side of the boy from 2 couldn’t hurt; he looked formidable in a fight and it was better to have him as an ally than not. All in all, it came down to who he felt was trustworthy, and who he wanted as allies.
It was a hard pill to swallow, that. It wasn’t something pleasant to end the night on, but there wasn’t much of a say in that. He eventually arrived back to his room. There had been wine at the dinner– offered by Aradia. Jake politely but firmly refused, Latula had taken a cup. Kankri had never had liquor once in his life, and he didn’t have the idea that he would be able to tolerate it well, and Jade had an equal vehemence against drinking any. The rooms were still cool and almost chilling, but he was cold almost anywhere he was. He stripped down from his clothes into what had been provided– soft but simple pajamas and crawled right under the warmth the blankets offered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to bed on a full stomach, if ever. And then the guilt hit. There he was, with food and delicacies he never could have fathomed, and Karkat was back in 12– being cared for by Mr. Harley but even then, food was always scarce. All the kids in the Seam who were starving, while he was here, where food could appear at the drop of a coin.
He did his best to squash down the thoughts, and eventually, sleep came– though not without what felt like several hours of laying in the dark, completely restless. It was a long night at the very least, and he woke with a start, part of his brain still convinced that he was still back in 12, and panicked because he couldn’t immediately find Karkat there beside him. He had to relax when he realized he was, in fact, in the Capitol, and had to remind himself that Karkat was with Mr. Harley in a warm house and was being taken care of.
Regardless, he forces himself up after he’s finally collected his thoughts. He forced himself to take a shower. It was the first one he’d ever had. Any chance he’d had to get cleaned up in 12 was typically reserved for a metal bin with lukewarm and murky water and harsh soap that often left his skin irritated and reddened. A shower is nothing like that. It has warm water, and a gentle flow, not like how he’d been hosed down in the remake center. There are different soaps to wash with, more than he’d truly ever seen in his life. Even the towels were soft and warm, not like the scratchy fabric from back home.
When he exited the bathroom, clothes had already been laid out on his bed. A black, short-sleeved shirt with ‘12’ stitched on the side, and pants that looked to have been made from a flexible fabric. He got dressed, silently wishing that whoever brought the clothes had a peaceful day– he knew Avoxes were the ones to do this, to have made his bed. He wished he’d made it as soon as he’d woken up. The shirt was a bit baggy and had a loose fit on him, the pants at least stayed up, even if they were loose around his legs. He did his best to not let his eyes linger in the mirror. He didn’t want to see what he knew would greet him; he knew that there would still be the outline of his ribs, and he knew there would still be the sharp jut of the bones at his hips and collar. He wasn’t fond of it, he’d grown to be just an inch or two shorter than Jake, but he knew he wasn’t growing past that.
When he exited his room, he saw Jade just starting to enter the living area. She was dressed identically to him, but her clothes seemed to fit her properly. It’s a short meeting– when Latula and Jake join them. Jake emphasizes focusing on survival skills the first day– worry about combat later, that knowing how to survive off the land itself was infinitely more valuable than any weapons they would be able to fight for at the cornucopia– which would likely result in them being killed more than anything else, just as he had the night before. Latula, however, encourages them to keep any talents they might have strictly to themselves until the individual assessments come in two days. She’s the one to walk them down to the training center. He has to be the one to tell Jade to split up for a now, to focus on the other tributes, to see who looked like a good ally.
He sets for the station on how to make a fire first. Kankri knows it could very well be the difference between freezing to death and surviving another night. He kept a watchful eye on Jade through most of it, mostly out of concern. His attention was grabbed when the boy from 6 approached him, tall and gangly, and just as thin.
“Can you um– can you show me how to work that?” The boy asked, gesturing to the stick, and a pile of dried tinder which eagerly awaited a flame.
Kankri nodded. “Sure,” he answered. “The way I saw it, you need to move your hands fast, just like this. Don’t keep them to one spot– go up and down, and keep at it until you see or smell smoke. That’s how you know it’s working.” He demonstrated as he spoke, nodding to the boy as he crouched down– he didn’t know how much he could call the other a boy– he was fairly certain this was the oldest tribute out of all of them.
“It’s too damn damp in 6 to be able to light anything other than in a barrel,” The other tribute replied with a small and humorless chuckle. “Name’s Gamzee, by the way…Kankri, right? You’re the one that volunteered for your brother?”
“That would be me,” Kankri agreed. “Pleasure to meet you, circumstances aside.”
“Likewise,” Gamzee offered a tired grin in response. “I know it’s just the first day of all of this…but I’m trying to build an alliance with who all I can. Some of these fuckers are going to be picking us off like birds catching bugs.”
The vulgarity was a bit of a surprise, but Kankri supposed he couldn’t exactly judge. It was the circumstance they were in, after all. It was just ingrained in him to not swear– not with younger ears around that were bound to pick up on the language.
“That guy from 2– Equius– he’s stronger than anything I’ve seen. And he’s started developing a specific fondness for that little wildcat from 10. I’ve talked with both of ‘em. They’re set on making an alliance. Seems to be a similar situation to you looking out for your district partner.”
That much was incredibly surprising to Kankri. A career taking a fondness for someone from one of the poorer districts. Never mind the fact it was the youngest of the tributes. At first, alarm bells rang in his head, too much out of habit, but he relaxed at hearing the last part.
“And are you asking me to join this alliance? Does that invitation extend to Jade?” Kankri found himself asking. Be skeptical, analyze the person, see what their intentions are– see what their goal is.
“You look to be damn smart. And we could use the extra brains. Nep’s clever and quick and all the same, little spitfire, too, can hold her own pretty easily. But we need that extra help,” Gamzee explained. “The little sister you’ve got– she’s welcome. Hell, I think Nep’s taking an interest in her.” He nodded and gestured over to the station where Jade was at.
He didn’t exactly have time to correct Gamzee– Jade wasn’t his sister by blood, and he felt like it was going to cause offense to share Jake’s title like that. But true to the other’s word, The girl from 10, that tiny little twelve-year-old, ‘Nep’ was peeking out from behind a wall to observe Jade, darting back when she was noticed. He supposed his previous comparison to an alley-cat wasn’t so off-base.
“I’ll circle back later on…you can give me your answer then,” Gamzee informed, before getting up and walking off, presumably to check on his district partner, who Kankri could see dry-heaving off to the side.
Kankri continued his practice, switching off to a couple of different stations as he went. He caught a glimpse of Jade talking with and working with the boy from 11. There was a sort of relief in his chest seeing that– that she was able to talk and socialize, and from the looks of it– possibly make an ally.
He looked around– there were at least twenty-two other people he could talk to, a small handful of whom he actually wanted to talk to. He did eventually find someone standing alone– one of the twins from 3, the one that didn’t look like a raging beast. So, he approached them.
They took notice of him, and gave a timid smile, moving to the side at the camouflage station to allow him room. Their gaze darted between him, and their district counterpart, who was perusing the various knives and weapons with the boy from 1, and the girl from 2.
“I apologize for his behavior last night,” their voice is soft and wispy. “He’s never been one for making friends, or making good impressions.”
Up close, they have scars on both sides of their mouth, which extend nearly to their ears.
“You’re not responsible for him, so don’t apologize for him,” Kankri said simply, observing the work the tribute did, a convincing blend of colors that seamlessly merged with the pattern of undergrowth and foliage. An artist– like Jade.
“No– but, he is my brother. There’s still some responsibility I have for his actions– for his words. No matter how awful they may be. I can’t say the same for him. I’m sure he’d pluck the blood from his veins if it meant being rid of any ties to me,” they said. “I’d stay clear of him if I were you…he’s rather intent on doing what he can to win these games, and he’s never been opposed to violence.”
That makes concern twitch in Kankri’s chest. His suspicions had been right– that the boy from 3 was as deranged as he presented himself to be.
“Well, I didn’t come over to talk with him.” He does his best to offer a smile. “I came to talk with you. And if it’s alright– I’d like to know your name.”
They smile a bit, continuing their painting.
“Calliope. But…everyone from home mostly just called me Calli. My brother is named Caliborn. It’s tradition to name twins similarly in 3…so they’re always connected.” They explain.
“It’s nice to meet you, then. My name is Kankri,” he introduced himself in turn. “You look like identical twins, almost.”
“Oh– we’re not. What’s the word for it– fraternal? We’re that. We just look similar enough since I cut my hair.”
Kankri nodded a bit. “Did they just pick you because you’re his twin?”
“Maybe…might be the girl’s tribute but I’m not one. Not a boy either. Just me.”
Kankri nodded a bit again at that. It certainly wasn’t a foreign concept, rare, maybe in 12, but it wasn’t a foreign concept by any means.
“Can understand that,” he assured. “It seems like a big thing though, twins getting reaped.”
“Oh, it was.” Calliope chuckled, though it was a bit humorless. “Not so much back home, but…definitely once we reached the Capitol. Our stylists fawned over us– wanted us to look identical. They just weren’t willing to shave my head. Pretty sure Caliborn’s stylist was so frightened by him, she just stuck him in the suit and left it at that. Truly though…do what you can to keep your district partner out of his view, he’s cruel at the best of times.”
They both talk with each other for a little while longer, and Kankri tries out his skills at camouflage painting– it’s a poor attempt, but Calliope still attempts to humor him. They don’t discuss an allyship, not really. The training day still comes to an end, and he goes to find Jade after giving Calliope a brief goodbye.
She’s quiet on the elevator ride up, though Jade is almost always quiet. He still smiles at her, to let her know he’s proud that she made a friend. He’d seen her working with the boy from 10 nearly all day, if anything, it seemed to be a good allyship, they worked well together, that much he had been able to see. He figured he’d ask her about it at a later time, she seemed tired. The minute they arrived on their floor, she darted for her room, not so dissimilar to last night.
He meets to talk with Jake and Latula, it’s only an hour before dinner, and he figured it was a good idea to make the best of it. So he tells them about what he observed, who approached him, and who he approached.
“Oh– Rufioh’s little brother. Sweet kid– I figured he and Jade would get along well.” Latula commented, idly sipping some wine. “Similar interests, from what I’ve gathered. A bit surprised Kurloz’s little brother approached you, though– he’s never been one to try and rely on anyone.”
“And you said that Calliope identified their brother as a threat?” Jake questioned, a great deal more concerned about that.
“They said he was cruel and prone to violence, yes,” Kankri answered. “He seemed that way today…seemed incredibly eager to partner up with at least half of the career pack. They didn’t say why he seemed so focused on Jade, though.”
“Keep an eye on him…see if you can get them to talk more about him tomorrow. I’ll see if I can’t glean something from their mentors.” Jake replied.
“He’s a little fucking brute, I can tell you that.” Latula scoffed. “I’ve heard enough about him from some of the stylists. Threatened to bite someone’s ear off. Made a nasty reputation for himself from all the comments he’s made.” She took a large sip of wine after that. “He’s a shithead.”
“Comments of what nature, exactly?” Kankri was almost hesitant to ask.
“He’s a sexist worm that I wish I could knock some damn sense into.” Latula swirled the wine in her glass around.
“Did he say something to you?” Jake piped up immediately.
“Doesn’t have to be said to me for me to understand what was meant. He bragged that any female victor would’ve only won because of sponsors. I can’t stand Meenah, but fuck– I wish she would teach that jackass a lesson or two. He’s so goddamn cruel to Calliope, too, even Terezi would be able to tell that much.”
“Alright– we’ve established that he’s a prick and he’s a threat. We’ll gather more information as we go,” Jake cleared his throat a bit. “I’d like to hear your opinions, though, Kankri, about the allyships that were proposed to you.”
“Well– Gamzee offered that Jade was welcome. He’s allied with tributes from 2 and 10. He says they’re smart and strong, but that extra brains wouldn’t hurt anything.” Kankri admitted.
Jake nodded. “Good– keep that in mind then. We can discuss that with Jade when dinner comes around. Try introducing them to each other tomorrow– focus on what fighting you’re able to do, find a weapon you feel comfortable with, and start training with it.” He instructed.
He nodded to Jake’s advice. They continue talking and sharing information. There was still no inkling of what the arena would look like, how big it would be, what it might contain. They had to prepare for anything– for everything. It was impossible, but it was necessary. He reminded himself of the end goal– to get himself and Jade out of that arena alive, and if he couldn’t do that; he was going to make sure Jade was able to go home alive. He had to. He swore as much.
Chapter 9: Jade: Dodge and Weave
Summary:
Jade tries out combat training, and ruminates over the other tributes. She is also entirely clueless when it comes to understanding that someone is flirting with her. And, Tavros is a good friend.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of death, alluded mentions of suicide/attempted suicide not by main characters, mentions of nightmares, descriptions of blood, Caliborn in general (misogynistic insults and comments), mentions of agoraphobia/social anxiety, mentions of sensory overload/being overwhelmed, mentions of killing people, mentions of rabid animals, depictions of an attack/attempted violent assault (it is stopped), allusions to anxiety disorders, allusions to systemic-based discrimination (Hunger Games style with the careers and poorer districts), typical Hunger Games warnings
Chapter Text
The dinner that night is similar to the previous one’s. Except this time around it was seafood. Jade had never once had seafood in her life. The only thing she’d ever had were the skinny fish from the lake outside the fence in 12. Jake tells her it’s shrimp. These small, curled things lay in a bed of noodles– the smell of melted butter, garlic, and other herbs wafting through the air. There’s other similar food– these red things that Jake informs her are lobsters. She’d heard a bit about it before– that it was common in 4, something fairly hearty. Some biscuits have the same aroma of melted butter and spices, nearly melting in her mouth when she takes a bite from them.
“Have either of you had any luck making allies?” Aradia piped up, carefully twirling her fork around some pasta, with it, a speared shrimp.
She simply nodded. She figured one person was better than none, and Tavros seemed kind. She wondered about the girl that had been tailing her though– she was a tiny thing; quick, quiet, and clever. She’d seen her dart around the training center floating between different groups that day.
“The tribute from 6– Gamzee, approached me about a possible team. He said so far it was him, the boy from 2, and the girl from 10– I think he called her ‘Nep’.” Kankri responded to Aradia’s question.
Latula hummed. “That’s Meulin’s youngest niece. I met her a handful of times. The kid’s got some spark in her– she’s fast, too, can take off like lightning. Good to have her as someone who can help– she’s got a penchant for squeezing into tight spots and making it out unscathed. What about you, Jade?”
“Tavros,” Jade replied quietly, glancing between her and Jake. “We helped each other in training today. He suggested becoming allies.”
“Rufioh’s baby brother, huh? He’s strong for his age, clever, too.”
“And you feel he’s trustworthy?” Jake asked in return.
She nodded. “He told me ways to deal with trackerjackers if the arena has them. I don’t think he’d share a way to help myself or others just for his gain. We helped each other.”
Jake nodded in return, offering a smile. “I’m glad. He sounds like a good ally– a good friend to have.”
She doesn’t correct him. This friendship will end in one way or another because it’s the games– and friendships, don’t survive the games– they’re always changed, altered, or shattered entirely. She doesn’t believe Tavros would betray her. She doesn’t believe she could find it in herself to betray him. But she knows what the games do to people. It would end in blood, no matter what, even if neither of them started it; because the games were about brutality, and a career was just as likely to cut their throats and watch them die as a poorly placed step or exposure would kill them.
She excused herself after that when the conversation moved on. She didn’t feel like eating the candied fruit that had been laid out. She wanted to clear her head. So, she stepped out onto the balcony, where the air wafted up cool and brisk. It was refreshing. She’d always preferred cold in the end; cold was refreshing, and there was a sort of cleanliness to it that cleared her lungs and made every breath all the more meaningful. She looked over the railing of the balcony. Nets. So tributes couldn’t try and take their lives themselves instead of being made into a spectacle. She lets herself wonder for a moment. If Pop is doing okay back home, if Terezi is alright– if Karkat is okay. Two people she never really would’ve thought about being concerned about aside from the typical business of treating them. But there she was– hoping they had a warm place to sleep, that they were getting close to enough food.
She wrung her hands for a while, just staring out from the balcony, watching the glittering lights of the Capitol, with people down below flocking around. They reminded her of a colony of ants. She fucking hated this place. She missed home, she missed the forests of 12, she missed Pop, she missed the meadow.
She forced herself to go back inside, she needed a shower and to get to bed. Tomorrow was a combat training day. Everyone could use a knife somehow– she just figured she needed to show her accuracy with a knife later at the individual training. She walked back to her room– wondering what to focus on tomorrow in terms of combat. Dodging and defense, she figured. Those seemed like the most important things.
She made her way back to her room and reminded herself to make her bed in the morning that way the Avoxes would at least have one less task. It wasn’t fair to them. She didn’t care if this was supposed to be a taste of luxury. It wasn’t something she wanted done for her. And– it was almost childish to admit it, she had a certain way she liked to make her bed; because it was one thing she had genuine control over in this situation. She locked the door afterward and got ready to shower, admittedly thankful for the heated floors.
The shower is pleasant enough, the soaps are all floral and herbal scented– calming, in a way. The pajamas on the bed are soft– just as they were the night before. Sleep doesn’t come easily, but it still comes easier than it did the night before.
When the morning came, she woke with a start. It wasn’t unusual to dream of the day she got the scars on her cheek– the sharp pain, the blood. It wasn’t unusual to dream of seeing Jake’s games, only he didn’t make it out. It seemed that much more of an insult that both happened. She had to take the time to get her breathing back to normal, to stop the feeling of her heart leaping out of her chest. To remind herself Jake was alive.
She got dressed and made her bed. She took the time to braid her hair again, to tidy it up from the night before when the curls had started to come loose from the wind. Repetitive, familiar tasks always seemed to help her come back to herself after bad nights. An Avox came into her room– bringing in similar clothes to what she had been brought yesterday. Jake had told her, countless times, that Avoxes were servants in the Capitol. Nothing more. That it would only cause trouble for anyone that decided to talk to them, and the Avoxes themselves, she supposed, what more trouble could she be in, exactly? She was being sent to fight to the death in an arena that was likely to have been filled with nightmares.
“Thank you,” Jade whispered.
The Avox looked almost pained hearing that. It hurt Jade’s heart. She looked like she was a sweet woman.
There were no other sympathies exchanged between either of them, the Avox just quietly leaving the room after setting the clothes on the bed. She got changed, and ready for the day, picking at her breakfast. She managed down a few eggs, a few rolls, and some fruit. She was able to drink some of the hot chocolate that had been served, as well. There wasn’t much of an appetite for the training that was to come.
Jake was the one to walk them down, advising them both to focus on being able to dodge attacks and prioritize defensive styles of fighting. Kankri looked like he was ready to crawl out of his skin. She couldn’t blame him.
She knew, at some point, she did need to meet with the people who had proposed an alliance with Kankri. But right then, all she wanted was to either be on her own, stick beside Kankri, or find Tavros and start orchestrating a plan.
She was largely saved when Tavros waved over to her, inviting her over to catch up. How someone could still be so bright in the face of something so imminent, she didn’t understand. But she wasn’t going to take that light for granted. She walked over to him, giving him a polite greeting, before trying to orchestrate a plan.
He shows her his use of a spear. He’s good at it– surprisingly well-versed.
“My older brother taught me it,” he mentioned with a small grin. “Well– he and his partner did. His partner’s a nice guy– super smart.”
She watches more than she attempts. It’s how she’d always been. She learned best through watching something first, and then trying to replicate it. It had been true for identifying plants, in talking with people, and in hunting. She didn’t suppose it was going to be that much different from fighting.
One of the trainers there looks far too young to be a trainer. His skin was the color of rich copper, with patches of white along his hands and face. His hair was tied back for the most part, but tight ringlets of light hair still fell onto his face, darker streaks of brown, or maybe black, on some areas of his head, but the pale gold was the main color. He was quiet, with an unreadable expression on his face, with dark-tinted glasses. He seemed to be teaching those willing to learn how to wield a sword how to fight with one.
He was too young– he looked her age. She didn’t know when the Capitol started allowing children to train other children in their prestigious training center.
“-ade?”
Tavros’ voice cut her away from the thoughts. “Sorry– what?”
“I was just asking if there was a weapon you felt comfortable using– I figure we can teach each other like we did yesterday.”
“Right– right, sorry.” She shook herself from the focus she had. “Knives, mostly. Or a crossbow, I guess. I’m okay using either. A knife is more likely to show up in the arena, though.”
He hummed his agreement. “Alright then, knife-throwing it is.” He humored her intuition. “How’s your aim?”
“I’ve never missed before– I can hit small things, usually. Like rabbits, or turkeys. I have to be fairly close, though– closer than I would have to be with a crossbow, at least.”
So they head over to the station, and she feels eyes on her back. She doesn’t want to look. She had a suspicion of who was glaring at her. She just didn’t want to confirm it.
The girl from 7 was standing near the station, along with the boy from 9, and the girl from 8. She glanced at Jade, a cocky, self-assured grin on her face. She remembered Jake’s words– to stay clear of the tributes from 7– at least for now. The boy, though…she knew him. Because Jake talked about him often– John Egbert, the younger cousin of one of his closest friends; the younger cousin of Jane Crocker.
She stood hesitantly, before taking some of the throwing knives and steadying herself. Don’t second-guess an aim. Never second-guess an aim. Throw straight, aim for something easy to hit, but something vital. She hated it– this was for hunting wild game, this wasn’t supposed to be for killing people. She swore to herself– she wasn’t going to let these games turn her into a monster, she wouldn’t let them turn her into something she refused to be. She just needed to put on enough of a show to let any concerning tributes that she wasn’t weak, that she could fight.
The trainer at that station gives her the cue to start, and she does so. Her aim is still good. It sinks either into the chest or into the neck of targets. It made her feel sick. Tavros looked at her, a great deal impressed.
“Where did a little hummingbird like you learn something like that?” A voice crooned, and she turned to see that it was the girl from 7, grinning like a cat that just caught a mouse.
“From my brother,” Jade answered simply. “It helps with killing the rats that like to creep around.”
The girl’s eyes are a dark blue, glinting like flecks of glittering gems. There were sharp angles to her face, but the grin remained. It reminded Jade of a coyote. Clever, quick, cunning– too observant.
“How about that,” the girl chuckled. “How about that, wouldn’t have taken you for such a little spitfire. Go figure– the little princes of 12.”
Jade only could give her a questioning look. She didn’t understand what that meant. She also wasn’t keen on trying to see how much attention this might have started garnering. She could see Tavros approaching by her side, and she wanted to tell him to not start an argument, that it wasn’t worth the trouble.
“Gotta hand it to you, princess, what a sight you are.” The grin remained on the girl’s face.
She didn’t know how to respond to that– she didn’t know what it meant in the first place. What about her was a ‘sight’ exactly? She looked like most of everyone in 12. There wasn’t much that was unique about her.
“Come on…think we might want to figure out hand-to-hand combat,” Tavros mumbled to her, nodding over to one of the other stations.
All Jade could do was nod a bit, setting the remaining knives down where they had first been. She could still feel eyes on her, and she wasn’t sure who it was at that point– the girl from 7, or the one she was apprehensive about– that monstrous boy from 3.
So they practice, she watches first and then replicates what she’s seen. It’s not unfamiliar to her. She’s cared for people in drunken stupors, people delirious from fevers. But those movements are typically sluggish and uncoordinated, they aren’t the calculated jabs and swings from the trainer. She has to react faster than she normally would. It’s not unfamiliar, but it’s more difficult. Tavros does well, largely being able to dodge or block attacks with relative ease. It was going relatively well until she accidentally bumped into someone after a small stagger at dodging a jab from the trainer. A barely there bump of the shoulders.
Immediately, an apology left her mouth before she could even see who it was that she had bumped into. But it was her luck– and of course, it had to have been the boy from 3.
Up close, he looked worse. His skin was pale, almost sickly. Red eyes that were just as beady, just as bloodthirsty as a starving wild dog. Jagged scars that stretched from a twisted mouth with thin lips nearly to his ears, like a wicked and twisted version of a grin. Short hair buzzed close to his scalp, almost white in appearance.
“Fucking watch it, you stupid bitch!” He snarled at her.
She’d heard worse in drunken states from the coal miners.
“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to bump into you, I’m sorry for that, but it wasn’t intentional.” She said, keeping her voice quiet. She didn’t want more attention than what was already being directed toward her. Far too many eyes.
“Just because you’re the bitch sister of a Victor doesn’t give you any fucking higher chance– I’ll take my time killing you!”
He looked like a rabid animal up close, and Jade barely had the time to duck out of the way before he lunged at her to attack her. Which ultimately sent him face-first into one of the concrete pillars of the training center.
She stepped away, trying to steer clear of the rampaging path the other tribute was on. It scared her– more than seeing the rabid animals outside of the fence, more than seeing what that disease did to them.
The other tribute howled in pain– cupping a bleeding nose, a deranged look in his eyes, and he charged at Jade once again, with a speed and force she wasn’t expecting.
He was, however, stopped when someone rushed in front of her, if she had to guess from the uniform, it was one of the other tributes. He was massive– towering over her to the point where she wasn’t certain someone could be so tall. The number ‘6’ was on the back of his shirt. As soon as the boy from 3 charged, he was shoved back, which finally seemed to garner the attention of some of the other trainers and even some of the guards.
The boy kept screaming obscenities, promising to make her death hurt in the arena, that she was the first he was going to kill, that he was going to give the Capitol a show and paint the ground with her blood. Eventually, they were separated, the trainers all but dragging the boy from 3 away. She felt herself shaking a bit– she knew that wasn’t theatrics. She’d heard drunken insults and feverish promises of violence– she’d heard plenty in her life. But that? Those weren’t just threats– those had been promises. Judging from the attack– he planned to make good on those words– he had been quick, calculated– though with the sloppy strength she was familiar with.
“You alright?” The boy from 6 asked, turning to look down at her.
Numbly, Jade nodded. “He didn’t hurt me.”
“Good– little fucking beast of one, isn’t he?” The boy said. “I’m Gamzee– I was the one that proposed an alliance with your district partner. Meant to approach you earlier to ask if you wanted to join us. But…given everything, think it might be better to talk over it at lunch if you’re willing for that.”
So this was Gamzee. The one Kankri had thought of as a possible ally. He’s at least a full foot taller than her if she had to guess it. She glanced back at Tavros, and he seemed to recognize the other but didn’t say much. She felt like there were stones stuck in her throat.
“We’ll think it over,” Tavros piped up. “At lunch, like you suggested. How about we sit together?”
“A plan, then…we can talk it over at lunch.” Gamzee agreed and stepped away.
Jade felt shaky. Incredibly so. She needed a moment, somewhere quiet, somewhere where she could think. She held it in. Too many eyes. She could see many of the other tributes glancing at staring at her, and it was just as overwhelming as the parade had been.
“Here…c’mon, let’s go sit for a bit, alright?” Tavros suggested to her, and she nodded a bit.
She wondered if this was what Jake felt like. He’d mentioned his run-ins with particularly vicious tributes. The ones that he had told her often made him run for his life and narrowly escape a knife or arrow that could’ve ended his life.
“You handled that amazingly, you know– I mean, not even a grimace or a flinch,” Tavros mentioned. She was content to let him do the talking for now. “And…I think you humbled him a good bit. He was impulsive, and that’s pretty stupid. His name is Caliborn, I think. He’s…yeah, well, you saw what he was like. But you moved so fast, brought that right on himself.”
She doesn’t tell him that she learned to school her expression a long time ago. That it was the same method she used at the reaping when her name had been called. To not let herself seem weak, to not let herself be seen as an easy target. She doesn’t tell him that for her, she can’t let herself seem weak, or impolite, because she was from 12, and 12 had one of the unluckiest streaks known in all of the games’ history. Her actions directly reflected on Jake and Pop, and she couldn’t afford to not seem likable. So she sat and listened to him speak because it was something to focus on instead of the whirlpool of thoughts that swam through her mind. The comments from the girl from 7, the boy from 3– Caliborn– attacking her, and Gamzee offering to talk about an alliance. It was a lot. After this, there was one more day.
There was one more day, and that was to try and get sponsors before she was thrown into the arena with Tavros, Kankri, and everyone else before there was a nightmare to be had and she would either survive or die from another tribute’s weapon, or some horrible monstrosity in the arena.
Chapter 10: Kankri: Observe and Understand
Summary:
In which Kankri witnesses Caliborn being detestable, and finds an allying group-- along with an unexpected companion.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: Hunger Games typical warnings (mentions of blood, death, killing, etc.), mentions of an attempted (and failed) physical assault/violence, mentions of poisonous/toxic plants and animals, etc.
This took,,, so much longer than it needed to lmao, gotta love temporary writer's block
Chapter Text
The evening held the same rich food and the same tumultuous thoughts. Jade spoke a bit more, and for Kankri, that was a relief. She had made a friend in her training– Tavros seemed like a sweet kid from everything he’d garnered. At one point, though, Jade did as she always did, and excused herself from the table. She’d at least eaten; that was what was important in the end. The night was largely the same– rinse and repeat, create a plan, garner some information about the other tributes. Take a shower, and then try to sleep.
The morning is similar– get dressed, eat a bit of breakfast, start to plan the day out, and pray that everything goes well. Jade still looked small in his eyes, and just about as he was getting ready to suggest that she come and meet Gamzee so he could introduce both of them, Tavros had waved over to her, and there was a small bit of light in her eyes at seeing that. He wasn’t going to take that away.
So, he met up with Gamzee on his own, catching up with the tree of a young man. He looked exhausted, but still greeted Kankri with a smile. And with him, were two others. The tiny little girl from 10– Nep, and the boy from 2. The girl was completely dwarfed by Gamzee’s height.
“Kankri Vantas?” The boy from 2 spoke up and extended his hand out.
Kankri returned the gesture after nodding a bit, surprised a bit by the firm grip.
“My name is Equius Zahhak, pleased to meet you,” the boy, Equius said. “Despite the circumstances, though. I have an understanding that Gamzee has proposed an alliance with you, and with your district partner?”
He nodded once again. For a career, Equius seemed rather polite. It was almost startling. He recalled what Latula had told him– that many careers made it a tradition to stick with their own, and that they were often rather brutal with their killing strategies, that often-times, they were some that often turned on their district partners or allies when the numbers started dwindling. It also raised some concern with him, that this career seemed so eager and willing to ally himself with poorer districts that were likely to be picked off by other careers.
“Don’t look so worried,” the girl, Nep, laughed a little. “Eq is a sweet guy when you know him, Gam, too. They’re like older brothers.”
He didn’t dare burst the bubble, not if she was able to seem happy in the face of death and fear so easily.
“Our relatives are all pretty close,” Gamzee elaborated. “Nep’s aunt and Equius’ uncle are pretty close friends– my older brother and her aunt are also really close. We know each other because of that.”
“Mhmm! Gam’s big brother taught my auntie how to use sign, they’ve been super close ever since!” Nep piped up.
“It’s difficult to not consider each other family, at times,” Equius confessed. “Our families know each other, we see and hear of each other often. I…would rather stay with the people I know than rely on Pandora as an ally– she seems rather preoccupied with Caliborn.”
Another name to another face; Pandora, he figured it was a fitting name for the girl from 2, who looked so eager to start combat training the previous day. The same girl who looked rather eager at the prospect of killing others.
“And I take it that everyone that has a relative that was a victor here knows a lot about fighting, then?” Kankri found himself asking.
“Well– some. My auntie taught me mostly how to run and hide. She says that’s a safer bet. And I’m fast– and I’m good at climbing. They can’t catch what they can’t find.” Nep explained with a small smile. “I know how to use a knife, but…I can also make slingshots, too. We use that for the coyotes back home when they get too close to the fences.”
“My brother wasn’t exactly involved with giving me tips,” Gamzee confessed. “But…he told me intimidation works. I’m taller than everyone else here, and…I’m strong enough, most of the time. That counts toward something.”
“I’m used to using a bow,” Equius admitted. “Spears, as well, but my interests have always been with creating. My uncle’s always been of the same mind– figure out how something works, and learn how to use that to your advantage. We won’t know anything of what the arena will look like until we’re on the hovercraft and dressed– but those clothes will tell us the environment we’re likely to be in.”
Kankri felt like the odd one out, there. He didn’t have any practice with weapons, he didn’t have a relative that could give him pointers. Admittedly, he had mentors who were trying their best to give him a fighting chance. Ultimately, he knew his largest asset was to try and gain sponsors.
“I don’t have much skill in fighting, and I’ve never held a weapon,” He confessed. “I know how to identify plenty of plants– what’s edible and what’s not, and what’s poisonous.”
“Certainly not a bad talent to have,” Equius remarked. “Especially in the arena. Though…I suggest we get you acclimated to being able to fight. Are you familiar at all with a sickle? It’s rather lightweight.”
“Not entirely, no. Not beyond what I’ve seen from previous games. It’s like a curved knife, isn’t it?”
“That’s the one!” Nep piped up. “It’s almost like a farm tool, kind of for harvesting grain and stuff like that.”
“Then I suppose I should try and train with one,” Kankri commented.
“I can show you how. It’s similar enough to a knife– and your district partner, is she good with any kind of weapon?” Equius questioned.
“Well, look over and see for yourself.” Gamzee nodded to the other, his gaze trained on Jade and Tavros as they both practiced with spears.
And sure enough, there was, admittedly, an odd sort of curiosity in watching Jade replicate someone else’s movements to fight. She always seemed like someone who watched first and then tried. Now, he felt he understood why. It was almost like watching a mirror in a way. There was still an open innocence in her eyes and face, but she always kept it carefully neutral. There was an ease to her movements, a fluidity he hadn’t expected from her. It’s more hesitant than what he saw of Tavros’ movements, but it’s mirrored almost perfectly.
“She knows ways how to fight, then. That’s good,” Equius nodded a bit. “She seems rather, calm…all things considered.”
“She’s got a talent for that,” Kankri ended up chuckling. “Looking unphased and calm. She and her grandfather would help around in 12– usually in the Seam. They knew how to make medicine, and how to help those who were sick. She’s always been kind, but she’s always worn that kind of indifferent calm as a mask. That’s how I’ve seen it, anyway.”
“Not a bad talent to have. Makes it harder for her to seem intimidated by others around her. It makes her look strong.” Equius agreed. “It’s a good way to have a positive eye in the Capitol.”
They continue to converse with each other for a while, Equius more willing to show Kankri how to properly wield a sickle, how to swing it, how to even use it as a defense. The curved blade was interesting– it was lighter than he expected it to be. It was easy to hold. His attention was briefly grabbed when he heard the commotion coming from one of the training stations.
It’s Caliborn– that horrid little monster of a boy, snarling at Jade like a diseased animal. And for a moment, Kankri feels like his world is slowing and stopping. He can see something glinting in Caliborn’s hand, as he’s charging at Jade, howling insults like a deranged beast. She steps out of the way, thankfully, with that same careful blankness and neutrality on her face. He felt frozen. That abominable boy had a weapon of some kind, and he was willing to try and kill Jade right there in the training center.
Thankfully, Gamzee’s reflexes are better than his own, and the taller of the two of them rushes forward to put himself between the District 3 tribute and Jade, shoving him back with a show of strength Kankri never would’ve suspected– not with how thin Gamzee was.
Finally, time catches up, and a couple of guards have their attention brought to the scene. They drag Caliborn off and away, and he can see Gamzee talking to Jade, hopefully to check on her. She doesn’t appear injured– barely phased by the whole ordeal. Tavros walks off with her after a few short moments as well, and Gamzee returns over to him.
“She’s alright– might be a little shaken up, but she’s alright. Little jackass didn’t get a hit on her. Figured it might be best to talk strategy over lunch…since the individual assessments are going to be tomorrow.” Gamzee mentioned to him.
It was worth that much. Any allies, building a larger group– that was the best bet any of them could have. Especially with two that were already strong. Jade was skilled enough as it was, and Tavros seemed to easily know his way around fighting with a spear. All in all, that created a group of at least six. Latula had mentioned there tended to be safety in numbers toward the start of things.
“We’ve still got a bit before then…I’d say find a secondary weapon, like a knife, that you might get comfortable with using.” Gamzee advised him.
So that’s what ends up happening. He does his best to get accustomed to using a knife. He can’t help but keep glancing toward Jade and Tavros, where they’re both off in the corner– Jade seemingly content to listen to Tavros talk, working on creating ropes from fibers. He can’t help but worry. It was instinct to do so. Even if he knew, logically, she was more than capable of caring for herself. She seemed alright, she didn’t seem shaken, instead just nodding along as Tavros continued to prattle on about whatever it was he was talking about.
He truly does try with the knife. The sickle had an easier hold to it, it was meant to be swung in an arc. Knives were not, as he learned rather quickly.
“You’re more likely to take your own eye out than land a blow if you keep swinging it around like that, you look like a drunk flailing around on the docks,” a voice sounded from nearby.
Kankri turned to see– it certainly wasn’t a familiar voice. The voice belonged to the boy from 4, with copper hair and sharp blue eyes, two tiny notches that could’ve been scarred just above his eyebrow.
“You’ve got a bad grip on it. If someone hit your arm, you’d lose hold of the knife.”
Kankri felt himself nod a bit dumbly. Of course. This had to be pointed out to him by another career– the target might as well have been painted right on his throat at that point.
“Saw that you were able to match the different plants at that station back there…think you can give me some tips if I teach you how to hold a knife properly?”
Again, Kankri felt himself nodding. The boy was young, maybe about Karkat’s age. There’s a jaded glint in his eyes. None of the over-the-top, cocky, self-assuredness he’d come to expect from the careers from years of seeing the games.
“What tips are you looking for in particular?” He found himself asking.
“Any you’re willing to share. Don’t have a whole lot of different plants at home.” The boy responded and nodded toward the matching station.
“Well…the first thing is that that station only focuses on matching plants, it doesn’t give you anything to know what the plants are, how to identify them, what’s safe to eat or use,” Kankri began to explain, setting the knife down and going over the station to explain. “There are subtle differences most of the time but, those differences mean anything from something safe to eat, to something that will make you sick, to something that could kill you. All it is is pattern recognition with this, in the end…it’s like that identifying plants too, but..this doesn’t show colors.”
The boy nodded a bit. “Doesn’t work much in our favor, does it?” He asked.
“It’s the games…don’t think much was ever meant to be fair to us.” Kankri laughed, but he knew there wasn’t much humor in it. None of it was ever fair, in the end. None of it. “I don’t know all of the different plants in the other Districts but, I can tell you what I know from my home in 12.”
So he talks for a while with this boy. He explained the difference between huckleberries and nightlock– how to tell them apart. It’s difficult– they’re nearly the same color and the same size.
“Nightlock is just a bit smaller, and a darker shade. It’s more likely to stain your hands, too. It’s deadly. Would kill you in less than a minute if you happened to eat it.” He explained.
“There’s fish like that,” the boy said. “If they’re not cooked right. Some fish even have spikes on them that’ll kill you. My brother says people here like to live on the edge…means we have to try to catch fish like that back home so there’s a point that can be proven.”
“You’re a little more–”
“Level-headed? Not rearing to go on a killing spree?” The boy butted in. “Just because my brother was the youngest victor doesn’t mean I wanted to do this. I didn’t volunteer. My brother taught me how to fight…he just knew it was a possibility.” He shrugged. “My name’s Eridan, by the way.”
“It sounds a bit more like a Capitol name,” Kankri remarked.
“Might’ve been,” The boy– Eridan, shrugged. “Dunno where I came from. Cronus took me in and that was that– he helped raise me, don’t care what I’m named after, all it means, in the end, is something like ‘river’, anyway. Makes sense, District 4 and all.”
“So your older brother is Cronus Ampora?”
“That’s him. Best swimmer 4’s ever seen; best fisher, too. Everyone calls him a peacock; one of those stupid birds they have here. He’s not– yeah, he acts like he’s got an ego the size of the sea, but he’s a good person. I want to make him proud.” Eridan said. “Even if I don’t make it, I want to make him proud. He told me killing’s not anything prideful– that there’s nothing glamorous in it. It costs everything, just in that split moment…I’ll kill if it comes to it, but I won’t enjoy it. I won’t make it a show for these asses to enjoy. I’m going to make my brother proud, and I’m not letting this hell change me.” Eridan rambled on, heaving a rough sigh at the end. “That was too much. I’m sorry.”
“I think any of us are allowed to be ‘too much’ if we’re being sent into a death match,” Kankri offered a small smile. “It’s good– that he told you that. Taking a life can’t be easy. I’ve seen how death changes people back home– I don’t want to imagine what it would be like to see the change in someone who was forced to kill.”
“Careful,” Eridan muttered. “Don’t talk too loud. A lot of the big-wigs here don’t like when tributes start shit-talking their great concepts.” Despite the warning, he still cracked a small smile.
A sense of humor, Kankri supposed, wasn’t a bad thing to have in a situation such as this.
“A few of us are making a group– allies, I mean. You’re welcome to join. There’s safety in numbers.” He said.
Eridan looked at him for a few moments. “Maybe later…but for now, there are two people I want to stick with. They’re good people, and I want to protect them. Thanks for the offer, maybe later in the arena, but I’ll keep that in mind.”
He could understand that. He saw him rather close to the girl from 1 and the boy from 5. It was slightly surprising, but not terribly so. If he was sticking to that alliance– he wouldn’t try and talk Eridan out of it, not if it was so important.
“I still need to show you how to use a knife properly, though,” Eridan commented. “You gave me some tips…I’ll show you some.”
So that’s what ended up happening until it was time to part for lunch. Eridan showed him how to use a knife– how to hold it properly. Always hold it with the blade out, hold it horizontally instead of vertically or at a slanted angle, that way it isn’t as likely to be hurt by his weapon. There was less of a chance of the knife being taken from his grasp as well. He didn’t believe he’d have the strength to fight someone if it truly came down to it.
He met back up with the small trio he’d come to know, parting ways with Eridan. Nep stayed rather close to Equius and Gamzee, she was dwarfed by them, Equius was less than half a foot taller than him, but he still looked like a goliath compared to the small child. Gamzee dwarfed all of them. It was a wonder how any of the clothes fit him properly, with how he towered over everyone else there. Nep was chattering on, happily but quietly, like a little jabber jay, repeating what she’d observed to the other two– who seemed privy to what kind of weapon, who seemed to be allying with whom.
He walked alongside them, as many of the other tributes started filtering out of the primary training center. He listened as Nepeta spoke, as Gamzee offered up theories about the arena. He listened in silence alongside Equius. He still didn’t understand why a career sought him out– when all he had to offer was a meager knowledge of edible plants. He supposed that was something else to try and figure out in time, when it eventually came up in conversation.
Chapter 11: Jade: Fester
Summary:
Jade's general disdain for the Capitol and everything it stands for, and Roxy being a good person.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of social anxiety, very brief mentions of slightly self-destructive & repetitive behaviors used as a coping mechanism, general Hunger Games warnings, mentions of sensory overload, mentions of becoming overwhelmed from information, allusions to paranoia and mild agoraphobia, strong language, mention of rabid animals, mention of possibly upsetting tactile sensations (comment of "bugs under skin"), mentions of starvation, etc.
Chapter Text
Too many eyes. There were always too many eyes. Jade knew, logically, everyone might’ve glanced for a moment and that was it– it didn’t stop from the fact she still felt like eyes were boring into the back of her skull, dissecting every single move that she made. She busied herself with creating ropes from fibers available at the stations. It wasn’t a given that they might have some rope in their packs once they were dropped into the arena– learning to use her surroundings was as good as anything else, she supposed. That’s a lesson Jake had always taught her. She was content with listening to Tavros prattle on– truly. She was always more of a listener than a speaker unless it was a topic she couldn’t shut her mouth over. He was talking about 11, and what it was like. Humid summers, and winters that barely ever saw cold temperatures, but always in a constant state of moisture from how much it would rain. Loud buzzing insects that droned on during the summer months.
It provided a distraction. She was thankful enough for that. And it was nice listening to Tavros talk. He was animated– he had a kind voice. He would talk, and he’d describe everything. The plants, the trees, the smell of fruit ripening, the calls of mockingjays, the drones of insects, down to the honey-sweet taste of some fruit they could sneak away for themselves in the orchards. It was comforting oddly– it reminded her a bit of Jake when he’d go on and on about the old bones he would find along the creek beds in rocks. The shaking in her hands eventually subsided, and she was able to pack away the image of the boy from 3 snarling like a diseased wild dog into the far recesses of her mind.
Lunch eventually rolled around, though she didn’t feel like she had much of an appetite. There were pressing matters that continued to plague her thoughts. Individual assessments would be tomorrow, and that meant coming up with a plan. Sponsors weren’t the defining factor of anything– but it didn’t hurt anything. That meant she had to impress the game makers. And she was looking forward to that about as much as someone inflicted with gangrene was looking forward to an amputation. She hated them all. She never wanted to consider herself a violent person– she never wanted to believe she would willingly hurt other people– but the game makers were the exception to that rule.
There wasn’t room to showcase the talents of a little girl who liked to paint. They wanted something useful. There wasn’t any way to show what an apothecary knew– she doubted there would even be any plants to use in the training station when it came down to it. She knew they were watching– hidden behind their thin glass pane, with bounties of food and liquor and no regard for human life. It was horrible and bitter of her– but she wished they had a fraction of the amount of suffering the districts saw– she wished they came down with one of the terrible illnesses so common in 12, that they experienced pain for once in their selfish lives.
Jade barely realized they’d reached a table with four others sitting there. The skinny boy from 6– Gamzee– the one that stepped in to help her. The strong-looking boy from 2. Kankri. And the little girl from 10 she’d seen darting around and following her around the previous day. She seemed far less timid around this group.
The girl had short, choppy, and even hair, a dizzying mess of waves and loose ringlets that hung just slightly longer in front than it did in the back. A face filled with freckles, sunkissed copper skin, and eyes that showed like the vibrant moss in springtime. She was small, granted she was sitting next to two people who made herself look like a small child– but this girl from 10 just looked so, so tiny next to them.
Tavros seemed a bit stiffer than she was– maybe it was because one of them was a career? She didn’t know. Granted, it was hard to tell. She hardly knew any of these people, but clearly– many of them knew each other.
“Tav– it’s good to see you again,” the boy from 2 began. “It’s…bad luck, I suppose. I’m sorry.”
They did know each other, then. Well enough to use nicknames.
“Right– yeah, um. Okay, let’s just talk about the logistics of all this. Jade– this is Equius. He’s uh– technically a relative of mine. His uncle and my older brother are married, sort of.” Tavros cleared his throat a bit.
Oh. They knew each other well then if they were technically in-laws, or whatever nonsensical term she’d heard used by Roxy on occasion.
Equius gave a polite nod. “It’s a bit awkward, I know– but, I suppose most of this will be. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jade. Kankri’s had nothing but good to say about you,”
That made her glance at her district partner. It wasn’t necessarily something she disliked– granted, she could admit she wasn’t really all that comfortable with the idea she was a topic of conversation amongst strangers (she realized the irony, considering everything was going to be televised regardless).
“You already know Gamzee, and this is Nepeta.” He nodded to the tiny girl sitting beside him. “Our families are rather close– so we’ve come to consider each other family. We want to offer you a place in this allyship if you would like it. And of course, Tavros, as well.”
He was polite for a career. Almost unnervingly so. To the point, Jade was trying to decipher if this was an act. But even Kankri seemed at ease. Safety in numbers. She’d remembered Latula mentioning that on occasion.
“That would make six of us,” she finally said. “An eighth of all the others. We might have more eyes but nothing to say that wouldn’t make us targets if we all ran in the same direction after the start.”
In her eyes, it was too similar to a flock of birds taking off. A mass of feathers and confusion– but the chances of hitting a target were that much higher in the end when they were all clustered together.
“I’m not saying I would decline this– I think it might be good for everyone involved…you all see each other as family in some way, yes? So that means you should all try and stick together. I just think– there needs to be a plan. If we did agree to this– we would need to figure out ways to show where we’ve been. We would need to scatter first. To put as much distance between ourselves and the cornucopia as possible.”
Tavros looked at her– a bit surprised. She couldn’t blame him. This might’ve been the first time he’d heard her speak so much.
“She’s not wrong,” Gamzee said, resting his head on a gangly, thin arm. “We all go in one direction and that’s a target on all of us. It might be easier if we split off into three different groups, two each. Means there’s someone to watch our backs.”
“Who goes with who then?” Kankri piped up.
“Honestly– we can have as much of a plan as we want, but it doesn’t mean it’ll go our way.” Tavros shrugged. “We may just need to split at random, find someone from this group, and go with them, worry about meeting back up later.”
He wasn’t wrong. She’d seen enough of the games to know the chaos that came from the bloodbath. It always seemed like pure adrenaline, fear, and either a want to survive or an eagerness to start killing. She’d seen it with Jake’s games. He was one of the few who made it out. He’d dragged the girl from the Seam, that had been reaped alongside him, by the hand, away from the bloodshed and screaming.
It was too short of a lunch break– they’d ended up at the table for 11. There had been a bread basket there. It was almost sweet– not like the dense and lackluster bread from 12 (even what was in the meager bakery)– it was hearty but light and fluffy in its unique way– it had its flavor. She grabbed a roll, and tore it in half, offering the two pieces to Kankri and Tavros first. The others seemed to follow suit, eating some of the bread and occasionally engaging in conversation. By the end of it, a tentative plan had been made. As soon as they were able to– they all departed. There wasn’t much training left to be done. Combat had been practiced. Basic survival skills had been practiced. What needed to be decided on was the individual assessments.
She said her goodbyes to Tavros for the time being– she knew she’d see him again tomorrow. She just wanted to hope for some sense of normalcy. It was a quiet ride up the elevator, she knew Kankri was glancing at her. She knew it was just out of concern, but it was still in such a way that it was hard to differentiate his eyes from the eyes in the training center. Once they reached the penthouse, she hurried past the stylists, past Jake and Latula– to her room.
The room was quiet– it was a haven. It meant she could hide under the blankets if she needed to. She hated this place. She hated what it tried to do. She hated that she was here, that Kankri was here, that anyone was here. There was already one tribute that was ready to tear her throat out. And he had friends– she knew that. He seemed to get fairly close with the boy from 1, the girl from 2– two careers, and a bloodthirsty tribute never made a good bet.
Then there was that girl from 7– with the odd comments. She still didn’t understand what she was trying to get at. What about her was a sight, exactly? It didn’t sound like it was meant as an insult– granted unless it was in the same in-her-face fashion as that monstrous boy, or the drunken miners who couldn’t tell left from right but still were able to hurl insults– she tended not to notice when those were hurled her way.
That then brought up the next horrible thought– that she had to get people to like her. She had to be palatable to the general masses. Against others who were relatives of past victors, and on average, very beloved victors.
She had to appeal to the Capitol– people who took joy in this twisted shit, in watching children bleed out on the ground and get murdered violently, all for their entertainment. It meant she would have to go on stage– televised to the entire nation, in front of a crowd of hundreds, and not shut down, and make herself seem likable. The thought alone of all those eyes watching her, scrutinizing every move or twitch– every word. Every little damn thing. It made her feel sick.
It made a horrible sort of nausea creep from her stomach to her throat. It felt clawing– like the brambles and thorns of the shrubbery back home– stubborn and sticking to anything and everything. It was anxiousness and anger; it swirled like something ugly to curl up in her chest and fester like an infected wound, like an angered snake– as angry and ready to lash out like a copperhead.
She hated it here. She hated seeing the people of the Capitol walk around so nonchalantly, in their bizarre clothing and outlandish appearances, in all their excess. She hated that Jake still seemed adverse to the food– she hated that he was more on edge, she hated that she could tell it was always a fake smile that he put on to greet others. She hated that this place made him flinch. She hated that, back home, people were starving and freezing to death– and everyone here in the Capitol lived in nothing but luxury and privilege.
A knock coming from her door startled her out of any thoughts.
“Jade– it’s just me, hon, I was wondering if I could come in? I just wanted to check on you.”
Roxy’s voice was soft and patient. Roxy and her sister weren’t bad– they weren’t like the rest of the Capitol. Yes– the generalization was harsh, but so was the anger and frustration in her chest. It was hard to see the people of the Capitol as individuals– not as some twisted cogs in a machine hellbent on spilling more and more blood.
“Yeah,” Jade had to cough to clear her voice. “Yeah– you can come in.”
The door opened quietly and gently. Roxy stood in a loose-knit sweater tucked into what looked like a corset that had been sewn into the sweater itself. Curly sunset hair tied up in a casual bun– not so different to the first time Jade had seen her since arriving in the Capitol– different from the first time she’d ever met her; when her hair was still in golden ringlets and hadn’t yet been dyed in various colorful shades of the sky.
“How are you holding, sweetheart?” Roxy crouched down to be at eye level with her, where she sat on the floor with her back against the wall. “Kankri told me a little prick tried going after you in training today.”
“He didn’t hurt me,” Jade answered with a shrug. “He thought I bumped into him on purpose, yelled and threatened me– then ran right into a cement pillar.”
“Attagirl.” Roxy smiled a bit. “Don’t think that’s the only thing on your mind though. You can talk to me if you want– but, if you’d rather talk with Jake, I can fetch him.”
Jade was quiet, pondering her options. Jake had gone through this before. Jake was also good at being likable– he was personable, charming, and had a nice smile. But he also was effortless. It was hard to meet someone in 12 who didn’t like him– that much was incredibly true in the Capitol– everyone adored him here. He would know what to talk about– what people would want to hear.
Roxy, though…Roxy had a career made of this. Of making tributes desirable to the public. Of turning them into likable figures for the Capitol to fawn over. And she would be more likely to see Jade’s faults and shortcomings than Jake would be– and she needed that honesty.
“I need to know how to get sponsors– I need to know how to make some of them like me,” She finally decided to confess. “I don’t have Jake’s luck– I’m not a people person. I didn’t have friends before this.”
“Well– that’s a bit hard to believe. I think you’re a delight to be around, you took right after Jake.” Roxy mentioned. “I don’t think you’d have any trouble making people like you out there, all you’d need to do is be yourself.”
“Being myself isn’t generally a great idea…some of the other stylists said I just had a ‘flat’ face,” Jade said. “I can’t– I hate people looking at me. It’s too much– it makes it feel like there’s bugs under my skin.”
Roxy hummed a bit. “Rose used to be just like that– she still is, for the most part. Hates crowds, and never liked mingling. She got good at talking circles around people, though– getting the conversation to work in her favor.” She admitted. “You got me to like you.”
“Because you’re one person versus a room full of hundreds of people.” Jade objected, taking in a breath.
“Then just focus on the one person you’ll be talking to, okay? You know of Aurora Snowman, yes?”
Aurora fucking Snowman– yes, Jade knew of her. Silver-tongued and sliding in sideways comments like velvet daggers in every single interview. Still, she nodded. She was charming, granted, to Jade– she seemed about as charming as the choice between nightlock and getting bludgeoned with a mace.
“Are you friends with her?” She found herself asking Roxy.
The woman looked at her for a moment and nearly doubled over laughing– there was something bitter in it, she supposed– something incredulous.
“No, no– she is most certainly not my friend she is…poison with nice teeth.” Roxy finally said. “But she’s likely to ask you questions like, what was your favorite thing about home, what your dreams are, how you like the Capitol so far, what your plans may be.” She elaborated.
“And how much of that is going to need to be something I have to lie about?” Jade asked, skeptical. If she was honest– what would she say, exactly? That she loved her family more than anything in the world and she hated the Capitol for dragging her grandfather through this all over again? That she wanted to become an apothecary just like Pop but now she was likely going to be choking on her blood in a death match arena filled with nightmares?
“If you feel like you have to– do that,” Roxy said.
Jade fucking hated lying.
“But– I wouldn’t call it lying. Fluff your answers a little. Think of your favorite things from home, maybe the sky, the trees, or the birds. Something that’s just unique to your home. Kankri’s got a good angle going on– he’s giving off the impression he’s ready to act like a brother and a protector to you in that arena, and people here eat that up. I’m not saying that’s something good, but I am saying it’s a tool for you to use. You don’t have to be weak for that, or even seem weak. I already know people who are fawning over you because they adore the dynamic between you and Kankri– they are buying into the idea that he’s taking over for Jake to help you in that arena. They eat this stuff up– they adore the idea of some kind of camaraderie and bond between district partners, or any tributes for that matter. It’s fucked up, for lack of better words, and it’s not great…but it’s something you can use to your advantage.”
Jade was suddenly reminded of the look in Karkat’s eyes. Steadfast, angered determination. It felt twisted, trying to sell herself as a younger sibling to Kankri to appease the public when he already had a little brother– one he showed to the entire world he was willing to die for. It made something sour in the back of her throat, bitter like bile.
“Half of the games are playing on people’s expectations, sweetheart,” Roxy consoled. “I’m sorry this is happening, and I’m sorry you have to go through it. I will do everything I can to help you. Part of that is telling you what sells here.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that. It was so much to take in. It was too much.
“Come join the rest of us for supper when you’re ready, alright?” Roxy encouraged gently, getting up, and blessedly leaving Jade to process what all that meant.
She hated this place– she hated nearly everything about it. The one lining is that there were decent people there, like Roxy. She’d made a friend in Tavros. But everything else felt like tar and coal dust sticking to her skin. It kept bubbling up in her chest. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to make crowds like her, she didn’t know how to gain the eye of the game makers.
She set her head against her knees, tapping against the side of her head with her knuckles. An old habit, one Pop and Jake were never fond of her falling back into for fear she’d stay in that headspace for too long. But it had some semblance of normalcy. And right now, she needed that shred more than anything else.
Chapter 12: Kankri: Adapt
Summary:
Where in Kankri is an anxiety-ridden mess thinking about what's to come.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: Hunger Games typical warnings (mentions of blood, death, exploitation, etc.), mentions of attempted physical assault, mentions of death threats, mentions of poisoning, mentions of anxiety, watching someone go into sensory overload, wishing death on someone, mentions of forced starvation/food scarcity/malnutrition, mentions of chronic illness/complications of a chronic illness, thoughts of death
yeah this took forever, my bad
Chapter Text
There had been many things Kankri had to learn since being reaped. One of those things is that Jade was quiet, and she got easily overwhelmed. He could see it in her eyes– she looked trapped, like there was energy buzzing like hornets under her skin, begging for an escape. Jade was quiet and hard to read– but if he looked close enough, there were small enough tells to how she was feeling. She always had a calm and removed demeanor– but he was able to identify anxious tells she had. Her eyes would always flit around, never able to hold contact with someone else. Her hands would barely fidget, usually twitching along the seams of her shirt or pants, tapping along the side of her leg.
There weren’t many things that Kankri was talented with; speaking, on occasion, was one. Identifying plants, of course, and being able to read people. It had become a habit growing up. The few times he’d dared to venture to the Hobb to trade some edible plants for some extra food, or for a spool of thread and a needle to patch up clothes– he learned quickly that reading someone meant being able to tell how something was going for him, what was going well and when he needed to cut his losses.
The ride up to the penthouse in the elevator was quiet and tense. Jade never showed anything outwardly– not unless it reached a boiling point and she wasn’t able to hold it in any longer, like on the train. She was silent, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Even her breathing was quiet. The moment they reached the twelfth floor, she bolted to her room. He couldn’t blame her– not after the morning they’d had.
She hadn’t been hurt by Caliborn, thankfully. Not physically, at least. But he could tell it was still eating at her. He couldn’t blame her. The look in that monstrous boy’s eyes would’ve been enough to even send the strongest miner in all of 12– even some of the peacekeepers, heading right in the other direction to avoid the wrath of snapping teeth. But he’d had a knife– and he had announced to everyone she was a target of his, and that he was going to hunt her down in the arena. It was horrible of him– but he hoped Caliborn was one of the first to go in the bloodbath.
That was barely two days away. Two days until they were all transferred to an arena filled with nightmares and death just waiting to happen. Two days until there was a high likelihood he would be seeing others cut down like saplings. Two days to have a semblance of a plan, or accept death.
Kankri had been on the couch of the living area, thinking about these facts. He knew that he was picking at the skin of his lips, bouncing his leg impatiently– enough to where he knew if Rose was there, she would’ve chastised him and smacked his hand away.
“Heard there was a tussle today,” Latula’s voice cut through the silence of the room, and he had to stop himself from jumping out of his skin right then and there. “Anyone get hurt?”
“No, ma’am,” Kankri said. “Just Caliborn– he moved too fast and went crashing into one of the concrete pillars. Jade didn’t get hurt.”
A sharp grin twitched on Latula’s face as she came over to sit beside him. “Good,” she said simply. “Maybe that’ll teach him that he’s not all the hot shit he thinks he is. She holding up alright?”
“I don’t know,” Kankri confessed. “She seems fine but…she was quieter than usual. I think the attention that whole thing brought on was it.”
Latula simply hummed and grabbed a piece of fruit.
“Give her a bit of time, then. I know Jake’s talking with your stylists. He had some ideas for tomorrow, wanted to run it by them and see what he could do to help you and Jade out in terms of gaining some popularity here.”
“Is he leaning into me putting on the older brother act, too?” Kankri asked.
It seemed wrong. He felt he was stealing Jake’s role away, the significance he held in Jade’s life simply by the proposed idea. He felt like it was a mockery. Granted, he didn’t suppose he’d know how to feel if the roles were reversed, and someone was acting like an older sibling to Karkat to help him gain favor among the Capitol citizens.
“Kid, he’s encouraging it,” Latula chuckled. “He’s charming and he’s got a pretty face, but he’s damn smart, cleverer than most will ever give him credit for. He knows how to play the Capitol like a fiddle, and they adore him here. He gives you a blessing to protect his beloved little sister? People will eat that up like nothing else. For a place like this– they love sibling dynamics– they love to see someone so loyal to a family member.” Her voice took on an edge of bitterness.
“Were they like that with you? Since you volunteered for Terezi?”
“At first,” Latula shrugged. “But then I didn’t want to kill. I didn’t want people to suffer. I used nightlock– the ones that were left wouldn’t feel a thing, and it would’ve been over before they even knew what happened. Wasn’t ‘cinematic’ enough for them– they called it a coward’s victory. Some thought it was alright– I was ready to go in to protect my sister, but I wasn’t willing to cause suffering. Others thought that it was boring to watch.”
“It was merciful– you didn’t let them suffer through a painful death, and they called you a coward for it?” Kankri asked, incredulous.
“Violence and blood sell here just as much as relationships, Kan. No way out of that. It’s just not dramatic enough for them.” Latula said. “You can win without shedding blood, but just know that it’s not likely to gain you a whole lot of favor if you admit that’s your plan.”
“So what am I supposed to do exactly?” Kankri found himself frustrated. He wasn’t very skilled in combat, and he was physically weaker than nearly all of the tributes– if not all of them as it was. “I can barely fight. I made a promise to Mr. Harley that I would make sure Jade came home, no matter what happened.”
Latula looked at him for a moment, analyzing him, picking him apart like a page in a book.
“May not be a fighter– but what you are is compelling. You’re a voice. And I’ll bet you ten to two, Jade’s not going to have an easy time in those interviews, alright? That’s where you need to come in. Be the charm, be the voice, be the people-person. Get people to fawn over both of you, and you’ve got a decent chance at garnering some sponsors.” She explained. “Sell it. Talk about how much Karkat means to you– if you can, talk like you’ve known Jade and her family for years.”
“But I have known them for years– her grandfather is the only reason I’m still alive.”
“Then sell it. Talk about how she’s family in your eyes. Talk about good parts of her personality– the audience is going to adore both of you. But you’ve got to lay out the honey for this, you have to give them something to grab onto.”
It sounded horrid from Kankri’s perspective. It sounded like he was trying to sell the idea of Jade to an audience. That he was trying to paint a picture like he knew her better than he did, or that he knew how to protect her.
“Look– it’s not nice, and it’s not pretty. But it’s a way to survive. For both of you to be able to survive. To get sponsors and to get a little extra leverage in the arena. You’re personable. You can play them like a fucking fiddle, and they will give you food, water, matches, medicine– whatever you may need. Jake and I are talking with others, too– trying to garner some that would be good candidates for sponsors.”
Kankri felt himself wringing his hands before he realized what he was doing.
“Then I need you to promise me something– I need you to swear to me, no matter what happens…you make sure Karkat is taken care of.”
It was the first time he’d ever made a demand like that. He didn’t have any right to do so. Not really. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mr. Harley– he did, the man was kind and generous. He knew that Karkat would be taken care of as long as he was under their roof. But nothing in this world was guaranteed, and he needed to know his little brother would be safe. Something in Latula’s eyes softened a bit.
“I will. He and Terezi seemed to be getting along well.” She said simply.
And for then, that was enough to help give Kankri some semblance of peace for the moment.
He retreated to his room after a while. He knew dinner would be soon. But until then, he needed to shut away the world for an hour or so. To just crawl into the comfort of the bed, and let himself be drowned in soft blankets for a while.
The individual assessments were tomorrow, and he had to find a way to impress the game makers. It seemed impossible. And he didn’t imagine that there was going to be any want of how quickly plants could be identified. He didn’t want to cut down dummies with sickles– assuming he even could.
He was as good as dead. He knew that. Logically, he knew that. He knew that out of the two of them, Jade was the stronger one, she was physically healthy, and she was likely going to be much faster. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to fight someone off if he was tackled. He knew that his only bet was going to be dodging attacks. And that would require his reaction time to be decent.
He wanted to try and protect Jade– he did. She was too young to always look so scared. Too many of them were too young. He wanted to get back home to Karkat, to show his brother that there was a chance to live in this world and not have to just take every hit and kick. But, in the end, he knew his chances. He had weak lungs, he got sick easily, and he knew it was going to be sooner rather than later. The one thing he was good at was making an impression. At talking people up. A lot of good that would do in the arena when it came to it.
He needed to make a plan– the interviews, that he could stomach. What could he do to impress the game makers? He wasn’t like Karkat. He wasn’t scrappy enough to hold himself in a fight. Karkat was– he always had been; he was strong, determined, tough as nails, and three times as stubborn. He was still far too thin for Kankri’s liking– but he hoped that he was getting decent food under the care of Mr. Harley. But Karkat was the one who knew how to fight– Kankri was the one who talked his way out of problems.
He didn’t know what to do. And it came crashing down on him. He always had a plan for something– it was something he learned from a young age to have a plan for everything. To find food, find water, how to stay out of trouble, how to stay warm in the unforgiving cold. But he didn’t have a plan of how to impress the people who were going to turn his death into a spectacle. It was as gutting as hearing Karkat’s name being called at the reaping.
He couldn’t talk his way out of this one– he wouldn’t be able to. So he had to use what he could– maybe match edible plants based on silhouettes and colors alone. Maybe that would impress them. Or maybe it would just give them further ideas. Maybe all he could do was show off some of his knowledge and the survival skills he’d picked up on.
He was startled out of his thoughts when a knock came from the door. Jake’s voice filtered through, soft and kind. Kankri would’ve felt guilty for telling him to leave.
When the other came into the room, he stood by the door. Kankri forced himself to sit up to properly look at him.
“I just wanted to thank you…for being there for Jade. It helps when there’s someone around her age to look out for her,” Jake began. “I’d heard about what happened in the training center today…thank you for checking on her, and thank you, for your friend intervening to make sure she didn’t get hurt.”
He wanted to tell Jake that he hadn’t done anything to warrant thanks. He felt paralyzed in that situation– he hadn’t been the one to help Jade. That had been Gamzee. Gamzee was the one who was able to move over to put himself between that little monster and Jade. But he couldn’t, so he just nodded a bit.
“It’s– I can’t say anything that’s going to make you feel better, or calm you down…god only knows I was a wreck the night before my interviews,” Jake said. “But I can tell you– don’t let them change a damn thing about you, alright?”
That much surprised him. He’d heard the same thing over and over by that point– that he had to make something to sell to the Capitol to get some support.
“You’re a good kid…a wonderful young man– don’t ever let them think they can change who you know you are.”
It sounded far too much like a goodbye, some final parting farewell before he was sent off.
“I don’t want them to turn me into something I’m not,” Kankri finally said, looking at Jake. “I don’t think I can kill someone else if it comes down to it– no one asked to be here. Not a single one of them– even Caliborn. He might be horrible but he didn’t ask to be here.”
Jake looked at him, and walked over, sitting on the bed beside Kankri.
“Good,” Jake told him. “Don’t ever let them change that for you, alright? I can’t tell you that it won’t happen– I can’t tell you that it’s impossible to kill in that arena when you’re set on protecting someone else. I can tell you that’s something they can never take from you– no matter how they try.”
He tries to remember that. He tries to remember that as he forces himself to eat dinner that night, he tries to remember it as he takes a hot shower to chase away the ever-present chill of the penthouse. He tries to remember it when he curls into bed, hyper-aware of the fact he’s one day away from possibly dying on the ground, that he’s going to have to put on an act for everyone in the Capitol tomorrow night. He tries to remember it because he feels this place will gut him and scrape out everything that ever made him himself.
Chapter 13: Jade: Snap
Summary:
Jade makes a rash decision
CHAPTER WARNINGS: detailed descriptions of feelings of anxiety and anger, semi-detailed descriptions of a panic attack and breakdown, death threats, Hunger Games typical warnings (death, blood, exploitation, etc.), Delta (Bro) makes a gross/fuckass comment, mentions of social anxiety/agoraphobia
Chapter Text
When the morning came, it felt like a window had been left open in the middle of winter. There was a bone-deep chill Jade could feel clawing down her spine, like an unrelenting hand clasped at the back of her neck. But more than that was the ugly feeling curled in her chest, like a snake, bearing its fangs and ready to strike. It held anger. It held hate.
The food was just as extravagant as it always was, and Jade had to force herself to eat it. It felt like hell. The night passed in a blur just like the morning had. All she could think about was Pop. If he was okay back home. He was going to be caring for two kids for however long– however long these games were going to be dragged out for. All she could think about was the way he’d clutched a hand over his chest when it was just Jake in the Capitol, the fear in his eyes. The fear he would forget his medicine, or that the medicine wouldn’t work this time around.
Jake was the one to see them off for the individual assessments. He told her not to worry– to show her talents. She wasn’t bitter toward him– but it was easy for him to say that when people actually liked him and were happy to support him in the games. They were herded into the cafeteria, guards at every door, between different tables. All were sorted by district number, so much for sitting with Tavros until it was time.
He still waves to her, when she finally sees him. It’s all she can do to try and offer him a smile. A silent wish of good luck. That he at least would have better luck than here. It drags on– even though Jake said it was just fifteen minutes per person. Thirty minutes per district. Six hours. If it took the full fifteen minutes per person.
Kankri tried to distract her by talking– mostly trying to get her to open up about hobbies she liked. Painting, drawing– whatever he could try to think of to engage her. She tried to respond, she did, but every time someone left, her eyes would dart to the door. There was bread at the tables, at least. Granted, at their table, at 12’s table– it was the same dark bread with a bland texture. She could still hear everyone else talking and whispering amongst themselves.
She could see the group she’d met with yesterday glancing at each other, at Kankri, at her. It was less that they were glancing at her and more so the fact people were looking at her. She could feel eyes burning into the back of her skull. She didn’t need to look to know it was that asshole that charged at her yesterday. It made her uneasy. It made her all the more uneasy that there were going to be other strangers looking down at her, examining every little move. Like vultures circling a dying animal.
Time drags on slowly– even if it doesn’t take as long as it would usually. She can hear her own heartbeat in her ears, can feel it pulsing behind her eyes and all the way down to her fingertips. Most are done and over with fast. Some take the full time. She knew Equius’ was over in less than five minutes, considering that his district partner was brought in nearly right after him. Gamzee’s took a bit longer. Ten minutes, if she counted it right. Nepeta took about eight.
When Tavros was called for his, he offered a warm smile and a small thumbs up to Jade. She was glad to call him a friend. He was probably one of the nicest people she’d ever met.
“You’ll do wonderfully,” Kankri commented to her. “Just be yourself.”
She knew he was trying to calm her down. He was just trying to help. It didn’t work. When she was herself she got stared at and ogled at like she was a walking spectacle. She didn’t want to be rude or mean to him. He was just trying to help.
“Make them remember you– for you.” She finally said.
He was a good person. He was good, he was kind, and he was patient. He was better than she was.
She got led away. The guards towered over her. She kept her arms close to her body; jerking away when one of them made a move to grab her by the arm. She would walk, but the anger boiling in her chest made any contact with those deplorable assholes seem like being burned. She walked, and she could feel something frigid clawing at her skin, the same way something was burning in her throat like a fire.
The training area was empty. Save for the top balcony, where she could see a collection of about ten or so people. Ten pairs of eyes, at least. There was a rack of knives. There were training dummies. All the survival stations were still up. She felt frozen.
Name and district. Name and district, she needed to say that. She needed to force her voice to work and her mouth to move.
“Jade Harley, District Twelve.” She spoke, trying to make her voice carry. It was quiet.
The game makers on the balcony barely acknowledged her. There were a couple, though. One, from what she could tell, was a taller man– blond. A cruel face, and stubble along his jaw. He seemed to regard her with disdain as if she was little more than a pest– she knew who he was– the head game maker, Delta. Sitting up high with a feast that could’ve fed a quarter of the Seam. There was another standing beside him, a carefully neutral face. His eyes though– his eyes betrayed any facade he put on. He looked similar, with blond-copper hair, younger, eyes that glanced back from her to the boy standing beside him– the same boy who had been there yesterday in the training center.
“Proceed,” Delta waved her off flippantly.
The anger in her chest continued to boil, festering like an infected wound left exposed. There weren’t any crossbows available, not that she could see. Knives it was, then.
She could hear the chatter from the balcony, the loud raucous laughter, and the beckons for more liquor to be poured. She forced herself to walk, going for the throwing knives and the targets. Accuracy before speed. She tried to imagine it was just the same as hunting some game, but it wasn’t. The human silhouette of the targets was the strongest reminder.
She held the knives in her hand. Center chest. Quick, painless. Don’t cause suffering. Life was never to be wasted, and pain was not to be prolonged.
And so she did, methodically. Center in the chest of every target, less than ten seconds apart, until she had one knife left. And then she heard it.
Unimpressed chatter, loud cackling, and talking about another outer district disappointment. She hadn’t been fast enough, evidently. She didn’t throw the knives fast enough for their liking.
“Just another pretty face like her brother. Maybe she’ll make up for it by showing some skin at the interviews.”
The anger bubbled in her chest. Not for the insult toward her; but toward Jake. He was good, he was kind, and he was selfless. He was everything she had ever wanted to be in the world. He was loving and smart and, as far as she was considered, was the greatest person in the world right alongside Pop. And these people didn’t fucking deserve to breathe the same air as him.
It swelled; like a festering wound. Her body moved before she could stop it, the plan was in place before she could truly think it over. She went over to the training dummies, in all their plastic lifelessness, and dragged one down onto the floor. She grabbed paint from the camouflage station and got to work. It was simple, from there.
The dummy was going to look like Delta, that insufferable piece of shit. She painted every feature she could recall onto the smooth plastic surface of the head. She painted the handle of the throwing knife. It was quick– she was used to making things quickly. She painted his name across the chest. She kept the painted knife in her hand.
She marched over to the weapon’s rack and picked up a spear. She’d seen people throw them. It was just a knife, but bigger. She knew there was a glass pane. It had been put there between the tributes and the game maker’s balcony when a tribute threw an axe at them– twenty or so years ago, from what she could remember hearing.
She wound her arm back and sent it flying. It was a thick glass pane, but it still splintered and cracked. The spear fell to the floor, not enough to pierce the pane, but enough to have cracked the glass, enough to have made sound. That seemed to catch their attention.
She walked right back over to that training dummy, and looked at Delta, imagining and willing that the dummy was him. She plunged the knife into the center of the head, the cracking sound of the plastic almost cathartic. The zinnia flower painted on the knife was visible on the handle, vibrant and unavoidable to the eye.
She rose, meeting the shocked and appalled faces of the game makers, the look of murderous intent. There was a shred of her that felt gratified– that there was the look of terror just visible enough in their eyes that she had to see in everyone back home in 12 every single year.
“Your pride is poison, and I hope you choke on it.” She let her voice carry loud. And for a moment, she was proud of that, proud of the venom in her words.
There was nothing left to do, and she left the training area. She left, and the anger still boiled in her chest, burning and caustic like the fumes from the mines and crevices that would seep out. She could feel the thrum of the vitriol all the way down to her fingertips, in her teeth. It felt like it physically burned in her throat. It felt like fire licking behind her eyes. Like red-hot coals were scorching her throat.
And then it set in.
She had thrown a goddamn spear at the game makers, she had all but threatened to kill the head game maker himself.
What the fuck had she done?
Jade had all but signed death onto people in 12. She had just condemned Pop– Karkat, Terezi– people she’d cared for in the Seam. Would they kill Jake too? Would they poison him? Would they rig her stand in the arena where the bombs would set off?
It all came crashing down. She’d just condemned the people she’d wanted to protect to death– and for what? A few moments of gratification and anger? A moment to show the hatred she had?
It suddenly felt like her breath was stuck in her throat; like she couldn’t force any air into her lungs. The burning was replaced by ice, freezing and shocking down to the marrow of her bones. Choking. She felt like she was choking, just like at the reaping, like the very wind had been knocked out of her.
She ran for the elevators. It was the only place she’d be able to go, anyway. There wasn’t anywhere else. She wanted to run to her room, curl herself in the blankets, and wither away into nothing. She wanted to die, right then and there, for her stupidity. For her anger, for not thinking things through. For being so, so fucking stupid.
Why had she done that? Why had she even allowed herself to do that?
It felt like seconds had become hours, riding up the elevator. She ran to her room and locked the door behind her. She had to stop herself from clawing at her own throat, that there wasn’t actually anything choking her. But god, had it felt like it. She tore the blankets off the bed and found a corner to curl into.
Her hands felt numb, tingling, and unable to move properly. She hit them against her legs, trying to regain some semblance of feeling, trying to uncurl her fingers from the tight fist that her hands had been locked into.
So, so goddamn stupid.
Chapter 14: Kankri: Assess
Summary:
Kankri's individual assessment, and the aftermath.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: descriptions of anxiety, vague mentions of breakdowns, typical Hunger Games warnings, mentioned death threats, mentions of mental health issues
I had to look up how to describe different types of bread for this lmao
Chapter Text
The nerves felt like Kankri was being devoured, torn apart, from the inside out, hollowing him out like a gutted fish. He had to impress the very people who were going to do their best to orchestrate his death in the arena. He’d heard the same tips from Jake and Latula– to show whatever talents he believed would give him a solid chance. That would likely end up being one of the matching exercises, identifying edible plants, and if it truly came down to it, he would use the sickles.
The breakfast was as elaborate as it always was that morning. With platters filled with fresh fruits, sweet and sticky rolls filled with either a sugary paste or different jams but all iced with something sweet on top, eggs cooked in various ways, fried and roasted potatoes, little batter cakes that were buttery and soft, carafes of various types of juice. The food was always so rich. Even Aradia didn’t seem quite so accustomed to it, taking small amounts of the sweeter foods, but more of the plainer foods like meat and eggs. She was her usual polite and quiet self, attempting to make small talk with both him and Jade.
And Jade, as she always was, was quiet and usually answered with nods or shakes of her head. He couldn’t blame her. Not with today. He’d thought that they’d have the interviews the same night– but Aradia explained it to him after a while; there was an extra day to prep for the interviews. Going over questions and styling. He supposed it was all the help they could possibly get. They air the training scores first, then there’s a day of preparation, and then the interviews– and that’s it. A day and a half of more time at most.
Jake is the one to walk them down to the elevator, telling them that it will be okay. Kankri wanted to believe him– he did. But it curled like poison in his throat, the dread.
When they got down to the training floor, it wasn’t like it used to be. The tables are separated by district. It hadn’t been like that yesterday; they had been free to mingle with the other tributes. He spots Gamzee first–not that it’s hard to, really, the young man was the tallest one there, even sitting. He gets a knowing nod. Equius seems tense, risking glances over to Nepeta and Tavros. Tavros waves at Jade, trying to offer a smile– it hurt Kankri’s heart in a way too familiar. Nepeta looked small and not at all at ease like she was yesterday.
Time drags on as slow as a snail. The bread in the basket looks like it’s got details from every district; little hallmarks and tells. There’s the familiar dense and unattractive bread from 12. 11’s looks heartier; with different bits of dried vegetables in it. 10’s is dense but sweet like it had been soaked in syrup. 9’s is flour-dusted on the top, and light, and fluffy on the inside. 8’s bread looks like sticks– as thin as them, too, garnished with different seasonings. The bread from 7 has a thick crust, dusted with flour just like 9, but doesn’t seem as light, it cracks, and has air holes through the actual bread. 6 had bread that was squat and flat, soft, and aromatic. 5 has long and skinny slices, and different little spices dotted into the interior. 4 sports a crescent moon-shaped roll, bits of green dying the surrounding dough, with a layer of flaky salt on top of it. The bread from 3 is soft and sweet-smelling, and when he tore off a small piece, tasted vaguely of potatoes. 2 has a puffy, soft bread that smells of honey and seems to have been sugared. And 1 has a sticky-sweet bread that looks like it’s been dunked in melted sugar, a heavy and sweet aroma coming from it.
He tries to get Jade to try some of it– she doesn’t seem all that interested. He couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t even really bring himself to try any of it.
He tries to engage in conversation with her, if anything, at least to take her mind off things. She seems to try to respond, but every time that another’s name is called, her eyes dart toward the table and the guards escorting the tribute out. He couldn’t blame her for that, either.
When he’s called, he tells her to be herself, not to doubt her abilities.
She tells him to make the game makers remember him for himself, and nothing else. An edge and desperation in her voice, a look of worry in her eyes.
He forces himself to move, to not recoil at the firm and borderline painful hold one of the guards had on his arm. Every limb felt stiff like he had to force it to bend and carry him.
The gymnasium is hauntingly empty; all the equipment is readily available. The game makers stare above, occupied with themselves and copious amounts of wine and food. There’s loud and boisterous laughter, people drunkenly stumbling around.
“Kankri Vantas, District Twelve.” He’s surprised that his voice carries. It’s louder than he’s ever really dared to speak. He would’ve been struck for it at the community house.
Breathe, in and out. Use the skills in matching the edible plants, plants that would be a danger to come by; things he’d picked up from rummaging in 12, and the words he’d heard spoken between Jake and Jade.
So he went over to the station that sported the sorting exercise, the one that would determine if he would win a few over with his mind rather than the lack of strength that was glaringly obvious to everyone around him.
He began matching the plants, flying through the one he knew off the top of his head like reading the pages from a book. They’ve changed this exercise, over the years. It used to just be silhouettes. Now it was the full picture. Many of these grew in 12, close to the meadow, along the community house, by the school, and along the main town square. Dandelions were the easiest, they had the sort of unmistakable look to them, regardless of the season. It took him a little while longer to sort the plants that weren’t common in 12. It was always little tells– just like with Jade. Tiny details that could be glanced over and not picked up on. But he had learned from Latula, had listened the few times he was coherent to Mr. Harley speaking about berries to avoid in the woods.
When it’s all done and completed, the timer blinked at a steady two and a half minutes. He’d gotten them all correct. It was sorted into two neat categories; edible and poisonous. He’d done it– better than he thought he would be able to. At least forty photos of different plants stare back at him.
He takes a step away from the station and risks a glance back up to the game makers behind their thick panel of glass. A few are nodding. Two look strikingly similar to each other. Both are blond and tall. One is definitively older– and it’s easy to place him as the head game maker from the thick pin on his suit. But the younger one, he’s actually looking at Kankri, a microscopic nod on his face. The boy from yesterday, the one who helped with combat training, stood beside the younger man. Out of the twenty or so people on that balcony, ten or so nod. He figured that wasn’t so bad. He figured, so at least. He knew either incredibly low or incredibly high scores could put a larger target on any tribute.
The lead game maker, Delta– if he remembered the name correctly from all the broadcasts; glanced at him, something like disgust curling at the corners of thin lips.
“Dismissed,” Delta said, waving Kankri off as if he was scum on the bottom of his shoe. ‘
Kankri loathed that man.
He nodded a bit and turned to walk away. He didn’t know what to feel in that moment. Anger? Relief? It was flippant, sure, but– it was over. Shouldn’t that at least be a good thing?
He started toward the elevators, hoping that whatever merciful thing was out there to let Jade’s assessment go smoothly. The ride up to the penthouse is smooth and short, and he feels himself wringing his hands again before he realizes he’s doing it again. He sees Rose first when he gets in, and she offers a warm smile and a seat at one of the couches. There’s a platter of cookies and a few cups of warm tea around.
“I had an order put in…I didn’t know what kind you’d favor more, but– I figured it might be a nice way to wind down from the stress of today.” She had said, pale and lavender hair done in her typical straight bob, though her makeup is a bit more mellow than usual.
Kankri wanted to object, to say he was tired and wanted to rest for a little while. But Rose had gone out of her way for this, and that would’ve been beyond rude to decline. He couldn’t remember the last time he had tea, never mind cookies. The last tea he had was a watery, minty-flavored one he’d managed to put together from harvesting a few of the leaves. So he makes himself smile, and sit down opposite from Rose.
“Chamomile. Roxy always used to make it for me when I was younger and sleepless,” She informed, taking a delicate cup in her hands and taking a sip. “It has honey in it, too.”
“Never had it,” Kankri admitted, gingerly picking up a cup and taking a sip. It was a pleasant taste, a fuller body than the weak mint tea he’d made before, but not nearly as overpowering as coffee was.
“Well– I hope you’ll enjoy it. Of course, if you don’t, I can always have some more brought up. There’s quite a good many flavors you’d be bound to enjoy.”
“No– no, it’s perfect. Thank you,” Kankri assured quickly, taking another drink. It felt like it warmed him from the inside out, calming. “I’ve never been able to try teas than what I could make back home– and that was mostly from mint or dandelions.”
“Resourceful,” Rose smiled softly. “That’s a good thing. I would’ve never thought to use dandelions– I was always told they were weeds.”
“Anything can be a weed depending on who you ask,” Kankri humored her. “To one person a dandelion is a weed and a honeysuckle is a treasure– to another, a berry bush is a prize and an azalea is just a pretty thing that takes up space. The trick is seeing what can be used and for what. Nothing’s useless– not if you know how to use it.”
Rose hummed, taking another drink.
They fall into a comfortable silence, occasionally punctuated by bits of conversation, Rose explaining what’s in the cookies, that it’s from a nice little shop rather than the main kitchens of the training center. That, however, is shattered when the doors of the elevator open, and Jade bolts to her room. Even in the blur, Kankri could see her hands shaking, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Immediately, he felt like there was a heavy weight settling back into his chest.
Something had gone wrong– evidently, something had gone terribly wrong for Jade to be so upset.
He excused himself quietly, noticing the doors of both Roxy and Jake opening quickly from the slammed door.
He shook his head to them. He knew better than to crowd her in; of course, Jake knew that. Roxy did, too, by that point. But he figured he needed to at least knock on her door and check on her. If she needed to speak to someone, or if she needed to be left alone.
He approached the door, carefully, before knocking against the door.
The reaction was immediate. There was a cry to leave her alone, to not go in.
Against his better judgment, he honored that request. His heart ached, the similarity between Jade and Karkat. The amount of times he’d tried to stop his little brother from shutting himself away from the world, from shutting him out and becoming lost in his own head. He was worried– beyond that. Something about it didn’t sit well with him. But he knew better than anything, he couldn’t force someone to open up until they were well and ready. He learned that firsthand years ago with Karkat; trying harder to get him to open up would only make him shut away further– some things just needed time.
It was hours before Jade finally came out, reddened and puffy eyes, barely dried tear tracks along her face. It made something twist horribly in Kankri’s stomach.
He had been sitting on the couch, with the others. Jake had been pacing around, Roxy trying, and failing, to try and get him to calm down. Aradia, sitting quiet but with a concerned look on her face. Rose had been trying to distract them all with some different conversations, assurances that when Jade was ready, she would come out and talk.
The moment that Jake saw her, he approached Jade, gentle and careful. It was a true glimpse into both of them, the concern and worry etching lines into Jake’s face, the way he approached her like she was a small child and really– she still was. She was so young, looked even younger, vulnerable and scared and unsure.
For a while, nothing is said, Jake just wraps Jade up into a hug. She mumbled something, something so difficult to hear.
“Say again, bumble? What happened?” Jake asked gently.
Jade almost looked like she was going to fall to the floor.
“I told the head game maker to die.” Her voice was quiet, and sounded as shocked as everyone looked.
Chapter 15: Jade: Mend
Summary:
Where Jade learns it's okay to rely on others, and finds more in common with Kankri than she expected to; the victors of 12 are just a little bit more bitter than they let on to others, and Aradia's got a right to be concerned.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of breakdowns, mentions of severe panic attacks/overstimulation, briefly reference self-harm (in the form of bruises), mentions of death, mentions of death threats, Hunger Games typical warnings
Two chapters less than a day apart??? it's more likely than you think
Chapter Text
It feels like an eternity, curled into the ball in her room, sobbing over what she had done. Jade knew it– she just signed a death wish to everyone she cared about in 12. Would she be arrested? Turned into an Avox? Hell– this was hell. There was no way she wouldn’t go unpunished. Would she be beaten before being sent into the arena? She’d seen it happen to a tribute, one year. When she was still little– a boy from 8 who had risen onto his podium with fresh injuries and a bleeding nose, an eye that was swollen shut.
She felt like she’d cried all of her tears out. Pitiful. She felt fucking pitiful and stupid. Would they hurt Jake? Roxy? Rose? Would Aradia take the fall for what she had done? They didn’t have any part of this– they didn’t make her or encourage her to do anything. She didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of her– she didn’t want that to happen.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She hit a closed fist against her legs. She knew it was probably going to leave red welts or bruises at some point; but it was something to keep her tethered to the moment. She was going to get a horrid headache later, she knew it, from this much crying. She tried to remember what Jake and Pop had taught her. Focus on a place in her mind.
She pictured home. The meadow of 12, the soft sunlight filtering through the trees. The call of the mockingjays and other birds in the woods. The sweet smell of smoke from candles made from beeswax and scented with different herbs. The sight of Pop brewing tea before heading to work. The sight of Jake’s real smile, as he lay in the sunlight, telling her about the best places to find patches of wild strawberries.
It helped. She was able to calm herself down enough to eventually pry her hands open from closed fists. The skin felt numb and tingly; never a good sign, but it would subside with time. She knew that. It was a few more moments of sitting down, before she forced herself to get up and wash her face, to take deep breaths. It didn’t do much to help. The skin on her face was still blotchy and red, her eyes were bloodshot.
She had to face the music sooner or later. She’d have to tell everyone what she did.
She felt awful for shouting at Kankri to go away and leave her alone. He was just trying to help; he hadn’t deserved that– he didn’t deserve to have her lashing out.
She took a few more deep breaths before she finally decided to leave her room. She was greeted by worried faces the moment she went into the common area. Jake wrapped her up in a hug, and she couldn’t help but return it. He felt safe. He felt like home. She tried telling him what had happened.
His voice is gentle, he uses the same nickname for her he always had since she could remember it, asking her to speak again.
So she says it, and the others look fucking mortified.
“You did what?” Aradia exclaimed, standing up rather abruptly, jostling the black and red ringlets of her hair, ruffling the dark crimson of her dress shirt.
“I,” Jade took a breath, refusing to hide behind Jake for this. This was her own fuck-up, she wouldn’t hide behind her brother. “They didn’t pay attention. The head game maker said something awful and I just– I got so mad. I painted on the dummies to look like him, and I buried a knife in it, and I told him to die.”
Latula shook her head, a disbelieving grin on her face as Jade spoke. That had to be an angered response. She fucked up. She had fucked up so bad.
“Do you have any idea the repercussions this could have?” Aradia’s voice became nearly shrill, a harsh and drastic change from her usual calm and comforting tone. “What could fall upon you, upon them?”
Roxy laid a hand on Aradia’s shoulder.
“Plenty of tributes have acted out in the past…that’s never fallen on the stylists, or the escorts, or the mentors.”
That was a lie– it had to be. There was no way the Capitol would be that lax.
“Jade,” Jake’s voice cut through the stupor she found herself in. His hand was set on her shoulder, but she could see him fighting a smile. “What else happened?”
She was quiet for a moment. “I threw a spear at the glass…to get their attention.”
Aradia looked like she was going to have a stroke.
Laughter bubbled up from Jake. Not forced– not harsh or empty. Actual laugher. He brought her into another hug, tighter this time, resting his chin on top of her head.
“You wonderful girl,” he said through his laughter. “Oh, I wish I had been there to see that– Delta’s had that coming for a goddamned long time.”
Kankri still looked concerned, at least from what she could see out of the corner of her eye.
“What– what about you, and Pop? Won’t they go after you? After the people back home?”
“For them to do that, they’d have to admit what happened, sweetheart.” Roxy assured, a smile growing on her face. “The lot of them are way too prideful to ever admit that to the public; even when tributes have acted out in the past.”
Eventually, she sat down on the couch again, clutching onto a pillow, largely because she felt she was going to collapse into a boneless heap on the floor.
“What’d their faces look like?” Latula asked, that same sharp grin on her face.
“Surprised…I think the word is indignant.”
Latula cackled. “Serves the fuckers right!” Her voice hollered loud through the penthouse. “My god, what I would’ve given to see that. You made them remember you, that’s for damn certain. You showed them you mean business.”
“Are you okay?” Kankri suddenly interjected.
“I…cried for a bit, yeah,” she confessed. “I was scared…I thought they were going to hurt people back home, or any of you.” She gestured to the general group. “I think I’m okay.”
“Still, I’ll get you a glass of water, alright?” He offered, and got up to do just that, it seemed.
Jake still sits beside her, a gentle hand on her shoulder. She held the pillow tighter, still fearing that there would be some punishment waiting for the others around her.
“I can put in an order for some fresh tea. Is chamomile alright for you, dear?” Rose asked, keeping her voice gentle.
Jade has never once had chamomile tea. She’d heard Pop talk about it, that it was good for nerves. But she trusts things she’s tried and knows more than not.
“Mint, please, if there is any.” Jake requested.
She’s glad, sometimes, that her brother can read her like an open book. She’s glad that he can take one look at her and know what she needs, or if she’s not okay with something.
Rose nodded, and pressed a call button on the remote near the table. Within minutes, a steaming glass pot of tea was delivered, matching glass cups and honey accompanying it. She still hated the Capitol, that food could appear the press of a fucking button. But she appreciated Rose’s consideration, her kindness.
Kankri soon returned with a cold glass of water, which was welcome alongside the comforting smell of the mint tea. It helped a bit. It was familiar and comforting.
After a while, and after she’d poured a cup of mint tea for herself, Aradia finally spoke up. “Well…I suppose that if he made such a vile and upsetting comment to warrant that reaction from someone as polite as yourself…I suppose he had it coming.” She relented. “He’s never been a merciful man in best recollections of my memory…he’s got a very cruel and twisted definition of entertainment.”
Jade shook her head a bit. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. She hated being that angry, that out of control of herself. It was like she wasn’t herself. Anger was familiar, sure– but not like that. Not to where she wanted to hurt someone that badly and made a point of showing it. It scared her.
“How did yours go?” She asked Kankri.
“Oh,” he sounded a bit surprised by that, but seemed to sense the pleading undertone in her voice. “Oh, mine went fine, I think. Not many paid all that much attention, a good few were stumbling around drunk, I could smell the wine. But, I did the matching exercise, the plants one. I got them all correct.”
Oh thank god. That, that she could focus on. One, because that was no small feat. Two, because that showed Kankri knew how to use his surroundings.
“That’s amazing,” she offered a smile, and for once that day, it wasn’t hard to muster.
“All of them correct? People never get them perfect.” Jake asked, seemingly just as excited as she felt.
“Two and a half minutes,” Kankri replied, though he almost seemed hesitant to answer.
That had to be a record. That had to be.
“Two and a half–” Latula started, another bark of laughter leaving her. “Holy shit! That’s amazing, Kan– I don’t think anyone’s ever sorted them that fast before.”
“Language,” Aradia murmured quietly.
“But they were colored, actual pictures, not just silhouettes–” Kankri attempted to object.
“But that makes it more impressive,” Jade interjected quietly. “You knew to look for the little differences. The difference in a stem or leaf shape, in the shape of the petals. The color– the patterns. That’s life-saving.”
Kankri seemed surprised for just a momet, before giving a gentle smile. “Well, to be fair, I knew the differences…it sorted them after, into what was edible and what wasn’t…I didn’t know most of them.”
“I can teach you,” She offered immediately. “Or, Jake can– he has more experience than I do, and he and Pop were the ones who taught me what to look for in the woods to help get the right herbs to make medicine.”
So that falls into an easy distraction. Jade and Jake take turns describing what plants are edible, and can be used for food, and which ones are for medicine. Which ones are toxic, or outright deadly. The others interject every so often, trying to come up with little rhymes to remember. It was nice; almost normal. At least, until Aradia gently informed them all it was time to listen in to the training scores be announced.
The television clicked on. Front and center was Aurora fucking Snowman with her too white teeth. Bold, black makeup on her lips and eyes. Like oil spilling from them. Like tar. She was dressed in a similar garb as to what Jade was used to– some gimmick of a reporter, with a wide-brimmed felt hat sitting upon slicked-back curls. This time, the outfit she wears is such a deep shade of red, Jade could’ve been convinced that it was almost as black as her makeup.
“Hello, hello, everyone,” Snowman’s voice may have been intended to sound like a purr; something sultry and inviting and grasping; to Jade, it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “I know we’ve all been eagerly awaiting the training scores. With the tribute parade this year, there is certainly no doubt we have quite the selection.”
Of course, District 1 is the first to start. The boy got a training score of ‘9’, the girl a ‘9’ too. District 2 was next. Equius had gotten a ‘10’ as well, the girl a ‘10’. District 3, Caliborn’s horrendous self still managed to score an ‘6’, his twin scoring a ‘4’. District 4, the boy got an ‘8’, the girl an ‘8’, too. District 5, the boy got a ‘7’, the girl a ‘5’. District 6, Gamzee had gotten a ‘7’, the girl a ‘4’. District 7, the boy got a ‘6’, the same of his district partner; that sharp girl who’d made comments in the training center. District 8, the boy had a ‘5’, the girl a ‘6’. District 9, the boy had a ‘7’, the girl had a ‘5’. District 10, the boy had a ‘6’, and Nepeta had gotten an ‘8’. District 11, Tavros had gotten a solid ‘7’, the girl– Arriety, had gotten a ‘8’. And then it came.
Kankri had gotten a score of a ‘9’. Rose praised him, so did everyone. He deserved that, because he had done wonderfully.
And then her score came on, and she saw Snowman’s eyebrow quirk up as she was about to read it. Damn her. She had scored an ‘8’. Not bad, not too high, not too low. That was good. That was okay.
Jake pulled her into a hug, and she hugged back.
“Guess a few more of the game makers might’ve just agreed with your sentiment toward the bastard.” Latula nudged her shoulder a little bit; Jade thought it was meant to be encouraging.
She still looks to Kankri, and offers him the most genuine smile she can muster. She was glad he got a higher training score than her. It meant he had a better chance at sponsors. It meant they realized how smart he was. It gave him a better chance to get home to Karkat.
That night, the food was a bit more manageable. And Kankri sat beside her, just like Jake did. One on either side of her, engaging in talk about herbs and their uses. Maybe she could still do this. Maybe she could still give them both a fighting chance at making it out of that arena.
Chapter 16: Kankri: Prepare
Summary:
Kankri and Jade have a chat together and suffer through preparing for the interviews.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: General Hunger Games warnings, mentions of Caliborn and his detestable personality, mentions of sickness.
Chapter Text
Kankri was still in disbelief. The fact he’d gotten a 9 of all things. He hadn’t expected that high of a score. He hadn’t expected that identifying plants would lead to that high score. But evidently, the interest that both Jake and Jade showed was for good reason. Rose has been giving him a knowing smile the entire evening. Something like an “I told you so” sort of look.
The dinner that night was pleasant, more so than past ones. Jade was still quiet, but she seemed a bit more involved and attentive to the conversations going on around her. He figured that was a better sign than anything.
It still felt like a crash, in the end. Despite the bountiful meal laid out before them; it was still hard. Two and a half days when he thought that tonight was it. One day for preparation. One more for the interviews. And then they’d be shipped off to some arena scattered out in the wilds.
He poked at the contents of the bowl of stew in front of him. It was a savory thing, something he never could’ve fathomed back home in 12. It’s creamy, has bits of chicken and various vegetables, served with a soft and dense bread that’s sweet when he’s bitten into it– similar to what was in the bread basket yesterday from 10. He’s fairly certain cheeses have been mixed into the stew, as well. There are little chunks of potatoes in it, too. He wished he could enjoy it more.
He wondered what the arena would be like. His mind flashed back to the conversation he had with Latula on the train. The different victors. She’d told him a bit about the arenas they had; what she had. Badlands– barren places with sparse vegetation but a plentiful amount of caves. Grasslands, with prickly bushes and dry trees that could go up in flames like a tinderbox. Marshlands– muddy and dense with little shelter from lightning storms. Swamps, with murky water that could hide any number of horrors, not to mention the bugs. Tropical settings, small islands or sandbars– very little fresh water. Mountainous forests with steep drops that could lead to a broken limb or worse. Abandoned buildings that come straight out of nightmares. Volcanic fields, spewing toxic gas, and the ever-present threat of being burned alive. Ruined cities with creatures swarming in the dark. Rocky coastlines and reefs, all filled with dangerous mutts. Wastelands that looked like they had been burned to the ground and the earth had been salted for good measure. Deceptive glades and meadows that hid threats in the grass.
He still tried to engage in conversation; he did. He listened as Aradia, Rose, Roxy, Latula, and Jake all spoke. It was largely about what the angle was going to be for interviews. What to focus on. He couldn’t blame them. He was a scrawny kid from the community house in the Seam who happened to have some smarts; his only real angle was acting protective over Jade. Jade, who was the little sister of 12’s first male victor, and the granddaughter of the most generous apothecary in the district; Jade, who had shown she could very clearly fend for herself and wasn’t afraid to show the game makers that.
Jade was just as quiet as he was. Glancing at him throughout the meal. He figured they could catch up later after dinner, away from the general noise.
They did. Out on the rooftop, where the wind blew gently. They both sat down on the floor, looking up at the light-polluted sky that hid any notion of stars.
Jade is the first one to break the silence.
“I’m sorry if anything happens in the arena because of what I did.”
He had a feeling this was going to happen; that she’d find a way to take the blame for the cruelty the game makers so often showed.
“They don’t need an excuse to be cruel to tributes, you know that,” Kankri said quietly. “Maybe it was impulsive…but I don’t believe for a second you weren’t justified in what you did. Telling him to die? That’s a kinder sentiment than I would’ve offered.”
“But I didn’t just say that– I painted a dummy to look like him, I stabbed a knife through the head, I told him to choke on his own pride–”
“And if I had the courage, I would’ve done the very same.” Kankri kept his voice firm but gentle. “Everyone knows how awful Delta is, the things he says about tributes. If you ask me…it was a long time coming that someone finally knocked him down a peg. Whatever happens in the arena, we’re going to make it, okay?”
Jade went quiet, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt again.
“Here– you mentioned a while back that you liked to paint, right? I never saw many paints at the market, did you make your own?”
He knew she knew what he was doing. There was a sort of recognition in her eyes. But it was a distraction, and it was something they both needed.
“Usually,” she finally answered. “Plants, sometimes clay, or different rocks, too. As long as the plant is safe to handle, I can usually make paint from the petals or leaves.”
That, he hadn’t known. He figured the paint had to come from somewhere, but he’d always imagined it was a far more taxing process than that– that she might have brought the ingredients into town to have one of the merchants help her.
“There are some vendors that sell them in the market, in town. But I like making my own. It’s better for what I like to paint.”
Kankri nodded a bit to that. He could understand that much. He supposed it was just the difference in quality at the end. He couldn’t blame her there. He’d have rather spent his days in the school library rather than buying any books from the market, finding the old and hidden books carefully tucked away in the back shelves or under old crates, attempting to memorize every word from the pages than spending any sparse money that came around.
“I used to escape to the library all the time during lunch at school, or when I had any free time.” He confessed in turn. “Karkat was usually able to keep company with Terezi. I liked the company of books a bit more. I remember wanting to learn every single thing I could about 12– the land, the animals, even the ones beyond the fence.”
Jade cracked a small smile at that. “It’s not all that different, you know. More scavengers, but it’s not a different world. The birds sing more, though, out in the woods. Not just the mockingjays.”
They talk a little while longer out on the roof, not bothering to approach the balcony’s edge to see the Capitol citizens milling about in the bustling and loud streets below. They talked until finally, it was cold enough and late enough to return to the penthouse and retire to bed.
Sleep was still a fitful matter, but the bed was soft and warm. He hoped Karkat was able to keep warm, even in the summer nights when the occasional unrelenting rain would torrent down and chill the air and fill it with fog. It took hours of just laying there, curled into his blankets before sleep finally decided to claim his mind.
When he woke, it was later than he usually would. Not by much, really, but it was still surprising to him. The sun wasn’t just starting to rise, it had already started its daily climb into the sky. He takes a shower, relishing in the hot water cascading over him. He liked the warmth. It always was comforting.
By the time he’d finished cleaning himself up, there were clothes neatly folded on his bed. A lightweight brown tunic, and dark pants. He could admit that he loathed the general Capitol in all their excess, but the clothes were at least soft and hardly uncomfortable. He dressed himself and joined the others for breakfast.
As always, there was a feast laid out. Carafes of various types of juice, even milk. Three warm kettles; from the smell of it, one was coffee. A tower of biscuits piled high like a pyramid, an assortment of different jams, marmalades, jellies, and spreads all around. Different meats on a platter; sausage, bacon, ham, and eggs. Something that looks like the batter cakes from yesterday, but much thinner; almost like little sheets of paper. The usual roasted potatoes and vegetables. Sticky rolls that are so sweet he swears they make his teeth hurt.
By the time he’d sat down, Jade was handing him a mug of hot chocolate– explains the second of the carafes; maybe the third had tea? He thanked her quietly. It smelled rich and sweet, but it was a delicacy even he had a hard time passing up. He took a slow drink of it, relishing in the warmth of it. Jade had her mug of it, plus a bit of tea.
He fills his plate and eats slowly. A couple of biscuits, some meat and eggs. He dares to try one of the thin batter cakes, applying a meager layer of some orange marmalade to it. It ends up being phenomenal, and nearly melts in his mouth. He knows he needs to eat as much as he can in the next day and a half; food will be hard to find in the arena, and he needs as much of a chance as he can get for his body to have something to burn before it starts devouring itself to stay alive. He has to eat it all slowly because if he doesn’t, he’ll make himself sick, and then what good what it have been?
Today was their prep day—measurements for the outfits they would be wearing to the interviews. Practicing what the interviews would be like; the angles they would have to play. It’s supposed to be a day-long ordeal. Aradia tells them both it won’t take that long, that they’ve got little to worry about for the interviews; the most taxing thing might be learning how to walk in some shoes.
A day without having to risk seeing Caliborn’s face? He was all too happy to take that. He wondered how Calliope managed to be related to that monster. They seemed so kind, so mellow– and their brother was that.
Jake and Latula had their first session with him. He hoped it wasn’t going to be eight hours long; he truly did. He liked them plenty but answering questions for that long was certainly not something was inclined toward.
It still took a good long while; though he was the one mostly doing the listening. Jake had some good pointers on how to make his tone sound interested in the questions; it was mostly just an extra bit of advice, it was going to be easy to talk about how much he cared about Jade, about Karkat, that he wanted to protect them. Latula was the one to give him pointers on body language. To seem relaxed. The devil-may-care act wouldn’t work on him; he looked to be about as intimidating as a rain-soaked kitten (per Latula). So he practiced that much; sitting relaxed but open, holding his hands politely in his lap. That seemed to be a step in the right direction.
They eat lunch together. There are more sweet fruits this time around. A creamy soup that goes well with sliced bread. Until the time of switching out, it was a pleasant chat with them. He got to learn a bit more about both of them. Latula was rather active, and preferred climbing on rock outcroppings when she had the chance; it gave her the chance to grab materials for Terezi– who was also an artist in her own right. Jake loved creating poetry, waxing about the sights and hidden beauty of 12, of the people there, that was home and nothing could change that.
And then he had dress lessons with Aradia. The shoes were deceptively difficult. Heeled boots that he wasn’t used to navigating, he supposed it was to make him appear taller to the cameras. They weren’t ridiculously difficult, but the shoes were stiff and unfamiliar. It was a practice in walking, in how to walk to seem dignified and proud.
“I know it’s difficult, and it’s uncomfortable, but it’s what usually garners the best responses,” Aradia said, rather apologetically. “Believe me, it will be a great help to you in the long run.”
By the time it’s over, the sun is already setting in the sky, and it’s time for dinner. It goes the same as the other dinners, quiet conversation. Roxy and Rose join them, discussing the ideas for their interview outfits. He trusts them, he knows it won’t be anything horrendously outlandish and they won’t be nearly naked out in front of the crowds, he trusts their process. They both seem rather excited about it, discussing amongst themselves ideas for makeup and accents, something similar to their parade costumes.
He takes it as a welcome distraction. Tomorrow was their last day. Their last day for full bellies, warm beds, and comfortable clothes. Their last day of seeing their mentors, of seeing Aradia. He forced himself to eat his food, willing the nausea of that looming dread down and to quiet itself for just two more nights.
Chapter 17: Jade: Interviews
Summary:
Jade's paralyzing social anxiety is briefly quelled by her absolute hatred for the Capitol.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: general hunger games warnings apply (mentions of death, blood, violence, extortion, sexualization of minors per the canon), mentions of social anxiety, mentions of starvation, etc.
A longer chapter, retribution for my ass not posting for a while: aka, finals are about to kick my ass but I am nothing if not stubborn
moving into the meat of this fic, this is the cut-off for mild warnings. Please, please read all chapter warnings carefully going forward, especially if there is contact that is upsetting or triggering, protect your mental health if you're not in a good place-- the story is only going to get darker from here, please take care of yourselves
Chapter Text
Jade felt sick the morning of the interviews. It took everything, pressing into spots on her skin that helped quell nausea, cold water, and anything she could think of from actually getting sick. She felt horrendous. It wasn’t the food. But the thought of hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at her that evening was enough to make her feel like she was going to lose the contents of her stomach comprised of last night’s dinner. Too many eyes, too many people watching her, too many people in general. And she knew that Snowman was going to slide in sideways comments and try to pick her apart on camera for everyone in the Capitol and everyone in the districts to see.
She managed to get tea down that morning, keeping a mug close to her while Roxy worked her magic. She thanked every star in the night sky that Roxy was letting her wear dress pants. She couldn’t stand flowy dresses and skirts– it felt hard to move in it, choking, so many times. She was thankful Roxy considered her comfort. She still has to hold still, lest she accidentally poke herself with needles and stain the fabric.
“You’ll look breathtaking,” Roxy said, meticulous in every movement of changing or altering the fabric and style of it.
“I’m going to make a fool of myself,” Jade countered. “I’m going to stutter, and stumble on that stage, and everyone is going to laugh and think I’m an idiot.”
“Everyone adores you, hon,” Roxy chuckled. “You didn’t even have to try to get me to like you.”
“Because you’re one person versus hundreds in a crowd,” Jade grumbled.
“Pretend you’re talking to me, or to Jake, even to Kankri, alright?” Roxy suggested, making sure the collar of her dress shirt wasn’t too stiff.
She’d have to stretch the truth, just like Roxy had mentioned to her before, even if she hated it. She wanted little more than to tell the Capitol and every other person in it to go into the games themselves, to live the horror, to choke on their own blood or bile, to be chased around and hunted for entertainment and see how it feels.
She knew it already, Aurora Snowman was going to twist the questions and dig at her and try to take her apart. In the ten minutes she would be interviewed, she would need to make herself appealing to the Capitol and refrain from strangling that woman on live television. A heavy task; almost more daunting than finding bear tracks. Almost.
The styling team comes back, likely to help Roxy out with the clothes and fetch her makeup supplies. Perri and Queenie return, in all their fanciful get-ups, fawn over Jade in a way that honestly reminds her of stubborn birds.
“Oh, you’ll just look marvelous, darling,” Perri croons. “Every single person is going to be just speechless seeing you, I can’t wait to see Roxy’s finished product.”
“Yes, yes!” Queenie seconds. “Oh, you’ll be the apple of everyone’s eye, just like your brother, I can tell it now!”
She doesn’t have the heart to tell them they’re getting their hopes up. The minor similarities she has to Jake end in their nose and eyes, his ability to make people adore him, and her ability to generally annoy everyone around her at some point.
Roxy gets her dressed in the rest of the outfit. There’s a corset vest that was tight, but not uncomfortably so. It blended well into the black fabric of her shirt and pants, a deep and rich green that reminded her of how the trees looked during misty spring mornings. It’s inlaid with little gems. The sleeves are translucent, a black mesh that lines all the way from her shoulder down to her wrist inlaid with gold embroidery and other gemstones. It’s beautiful. It’s probably the nicest and most expensive thing Jade will ever wear.
Roxy does her makeup as well, instructing Queenie and Perri to work on manicuring her nails and painting them. Jade doesn’t fight it; they seem content to do it. Even if they’re going to be chipped and unrecognizable by tomorrow morning. The mirror shows everything that Roxy does.
Her face isn’t changed much, by the end. Eyeliner was applied around her eyes, it didn’t change the shape of her eyes. A dark brown and black eyeshadow was applied, blending into a gold shimmer that was closer to the inner corner of her eye. Little rhinestones dotted along her cheekbones, not rough and gaudy, but delicate little things that actually looked like small crystals. Gold flecks were dusted over her cheeks, marking where her existing freckles were. She was still recognizable. There was gold painted onto the waterline of her eyes, giving the same illusion that she was crying tears of gold, or at least about to. Her lips were painted a soft wine shade, sheer, almost. She couldn’t hate it– not when Roxy put in all that work, like a painting with every detail.
She looked down at her nails before thick mascara was applied with a light hand to her lashes. They looked to have been painted black at first, but when the light caught, it was like a glimpse of gold on a few of her fingers. Others are plain black with a golden stripe. Others are gold with a black stripe. They all match together in some way.
She still looks like herself. She would still be remembered as herself; not as a painted mockery.
With gentle instruction from Roxy, Perri started doing her hair. She handled it carefully.
“Oh– the people I know that would have done anything to have hair like yours, dear,” Perri said. “So thick, so much volume, and these curls, I’m jealous.”
She doesn’t really respond. She does her best to keep her hair neat and tidy. It was something she learned from Pop– that hair was a gift from her family members, that it held memories. That if she wished to cut it, she could– but that sometimes, hair was cut out of grief, too. She’s hesitant to let anyone other than Jake braid her hair, because of the significance, because he knows what it means.
But Perri works carefully, gathering her hair up and running a gentle brush through it, sectioning it, with black, gold, and red ribbons all draped over one of her arms. Jade can’t exactly see what she’s doing, but by the time she’s done, she seems rather proud of herself.
In the mirror, she saw an intricate braid with those ribbons weaving in, blending and dancing through her dark hair like little flickers of light.
She’s thankful for it.
She still feels nervous about all of it, like there’s a stone lodged in her throat. Just pretend it was Roxy, just pretend it was Roxy and she would be able to make it through ten minutes of hell without making a fool of herself on live television.
When she met up with Kankri, he looked similar to her. His curls were springier than they were before, curling over his ears and forehead, framing his face. He had a thin bar of gold on his waterline, and light brown eyeliner accenting his eyes. His get-up was similar to her own, except his sleeves were opaque, and he had an overcoat with similar designs to her sleeves. He’s wearing a corset vest too, but his is a deep and rich brown like fresh coffee and has swirls of gold and crimson embroidered into it.
“Are you feeling ready?” His voice was gentle as he asked it.
“We don’t really have a choice, do we?” Jade tried to smile, but she felt nauseous.
“It’ll be okay. I’m right behind you, and after I’m done, I’ll be able to sit right next to you, and Tavros will be beside you, too.”
She tries to hold onto that, and when Kankri offers her a hand to hold while they walk to the elevator, escorted by Jake and Latula, she can’t help but take it and hold his hand tight.
Breathe, breathe. She needs to breathe. Just pretend it’s Roxy, or Jake, or Kankri, or Pop– anyone but Snowman. Just pretend it’s like talking to a classmate.
It’s crowded when they arrive, and she squeezes Kankri’s hand tighter.
The girl from 1 is dressed in a vibrant and extravagant two-piece dress. The bottom half is an asymmetrical skirt, flowing together like water ripples of blue and green, finished with a bright Fuschia trim and golden designs. The top was just as fanciful. The same vibrant fuschia color morphing from opaque to translucent as it got closer to the skirt, framed with gold and with gemstones adorning her waistline. The heels she wears are tall, shiny black with gold ornaments and cuffs around her ankles. It was similar to the golden arm cuffs and dangling jewelry from her wrists. A golden chain is worn around her neck, dainty with small charms all over it. The makeup on her face was just as vibrant– a bright pink eyeshadow and long fake lashes, a vibrant magenta painted on her lips, and it looked like there was glitter dusted onto her shoulders and cheeks, making her shine in the light.
The boy from 1 is dressed in a rather practical suit, with similar accents, though much darker, and a lot more gold. He seemed far less enthusiastic than his counterpart. She actually seemed rather bubbly and excited– he seemed disinterested at best.
Equius was dressed nicely– a deep, navy blue suit that complimented him well. Small white lines raced up from his sleeves, almost like they glowed. He regarded Jade with a polite nod when he saw her, seeming heavily uncomfortable near his district partner. He kept shifting away from her, as much as he was allowed to, really. She couldn’t see much in the way of makeup, from what she had seen.
Pandora, his district partner, has sharp makeup, and a black low-cut dress that showcased a slit up the side of her leg, boasting a twisting and long silver metal design. It was elegant, but she looked exactly like a dagger. She saw the glare Pandora gave her– she was sharp as a knife, too, in every way.
The twins were dressed nearly identically to each other. Caliborn still looked horrid in a suit, and there was part of Jade that felt vindicated when she saw the veiled makeup along the bridge of his nose, an attempt to hide what he’d done. His suit was a nauseatingly vibrant green, striped with bright red. Suspenders and a bow tie, to boot. It wasn’t flattering. Calliope’s was similar, except their suit was black with green stripes, puffier sleeves, a longer coattail, and no suspenders.
The boy from 4– Eridan, if she remembered Kankri telling her of the boy’s name; was in a white suit, violet overcoat, and with countless gold rings. His copper hair had been gelled back away from his forehead, and a tasteful but messy black eyeliner under his eyes. He looked exhausted, in more ways than one. There was a thin sheen of makeup on his hands, and if Jade looked hard enough in the light, she could see the reddish tint on his knuckles– bruises.
The boy from 5 kept glancing back and forth between Eridan and the girl from 1, looking more nervous than he probably ought to have been for the ordeal. He was dressed in a sharp, black and white suit, blue and red accents on either side, blue with white and red with black, it seemed. The same seemed to be true for the eyeliner that he sported, accentuating the different colored eyes; one brown and one blue, and if she looked closer, there was a bit of white-blond hair poking through on his head.
Gamzee towered over the rest of them. He was dressed in a deep indigo suit, accented with black and white details. He looked beyond uncomfortable, adjusting the collar every two minutes, at minimum. His nails had been painted, a plain black. But the closer she looked, the more she saw makeup on his hands too, covering up faint designs. Tattoos, maybe? She couldn’t entirely tell.
His district partner looked like death warmed over, and no amount of makeup was going to hide it. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes looked sunken, and no matter how much blush was applied, she looked half a step away from a grave. She was so thin; they had to have added some shapewear or something that she’d heard Perri raving on about. The dress she was wearing hung off of her like window curtains. Jade wondered if there was a Seam in 6, too, if that girl was from there, and that’s why she looked so thin– or if it was just so common there, too.
The girl from 7 was dressed similarly to herself; except hers seemed to be an actual corset with an open jacket. The corset seemed to have been cinched tight, all a bold cobalt blue, glinting bronze in the right light, vibrant red decorating the sides. It had been low-cut, too; Jade felt bad for her– stylists choosing that angle for someone who was her age. It wasn’t ever uncommon though…and that’s what sold. Her pants looked like there were buckles and straps across her legs, gold accents, and tall black boots. The main star of the piece was a large choker around her throat, a spider ornament sitting in the middle with chains that seemed like webs attached to precious gemstones.
The girl from 8 was taller than the rest of the other girls and dressed a good deal more modestly, as well. Layered draped of fabric, regal and beautiful, like her dress was made to be a prism reflecting light. It looked like a deep black velvet melding into scarlet, an orchid-colored sash that draped over her shoulders and hung down her arms. She looked elegant. She looked beautiful.
The boy from 9 was in a powder blue suit. He doesn’t look as physically imposing as Equius had, but she can tell he’s strong. The fabric of the suit is tighter around his shoulders and arms. He was idling about, bouncing from foot to foot. Black hair touseled and slicked back away from his face.
Nepeta wore a pale green dress, puffy and transparent sleeves that glittered in the light, and a large blue bow tied around her waist. Little slippers with small butterfly charms on them. If Jade looked close enough, there were floral patterns in her dress, spiraling like daisies and lilacs. She didn’t have much makeup on, a little bit of light green and gold shimmer dusted at her eyes and cheeks.
Tavros, who was just in front of her, had on a black and copper suit, the light catching on him. He had a younger face, the closer she looked at him. Stubborn baby fat that clung to his cheeks just like her own did. He stood taller than her, at least four inches taller. The closer she looked, the more she realized small details that she hadn’t before. The little beauty marks dotted close to his ear. His hair was close-cropped on the sides, but it was longer on the top, wavier. It had been swept back to stay out of his face. He gives her a small smile when he sees her, and a little thumbs up. She mirrored the expression and the gesture, wishing her friend just as much luck.
She tries not to pay much attention to the other interviews. She doesn’t want to psych herself out. But it’s hard to ignore Snowman’s boisterous and velvet voice sliding in sideways comments at every chance. The only one that’s stood out in the twenty or so minutes from the interviews started has been Caliborn, who claimed he had made a list. It garnered a mixed reaction from the crowd, some frothing at the mouth for the display of viciousness, others appalled at the monstrous boy. She shifts side to side on her feet, trying to keep herself occupied. The girl from 7 catches her attention a bit, who rather confidently and shamelessly tells the Capitol that they’re full of shit– either she had no one left to care about or she didn’t care enough for the ones that were left; but the next thing she says makes Jade nearly balk– that she’s taken a liking to a particular tribute that sported a braid, and green eyes. She was dense to plenty of things, but that was about like ignoring a landmine at her feet.
The one question that kept echoing was why. Why her? There was nothing to indicate it– she and the girl from 7 had all of one confusing interaction and there hadn’t been anything she could think back on that might’ve qualified as blatant flirting. She never fucking understood other people and their odd customs and expectations to pick up on tiny clues that needed heaps of context to understand.
It was hard to pay attention to the rest after that, worse with the other tributes glancing back at her and the screen every so often. She knew Gamzee’s answers were relatively short and clipped– that Equius’ had been polite but short and to the point. She forced herself to pay attention to Nepeta and Tavros’ interviews, at the very least.
“I’m small– I’m fast and I can hide. No one can catch me if they can’t find me,” Nepeta had said when Snowman asked her how she managed to get an 8 as a training score despite her young age. “And I’m really good with knives, too.”
And she did– she looked tiny on the stage. Legs dangling off the chair in which she was sitting, slipper-clad feet with sparkly ribbons tied up to her knee barely even reaching the floor. It made something cold and painful grip Jade’s heart. She was too small– too young, too gentle to be in a place like this.
Tavros was polite, a good bit more soft-spoken. Even if he forced himself to appear calm, his eyes looked like a panicked animal, occasionally darting from the crowd to areas off the stage, back to Snowman. She sympathies with her friend, she knows it’s hell– it’s a bit hard to see someone who was usually so talkative and outspoken shrink in on himself.
And then it’s her turn. She gets escorted out onto the stage, having to focus on not tripping over herself or her own two feet. She sat down and promptly reminded herself to keep her disdain for the woman sitting adjacent to her strictly to herself, to hide her expression as best as she possibly could.
“Miss Jade Harley,” Snowman began, and she was very much reminded that this woman was ‘poison with nice teeth’ as Roxy had put it. “Now, that training score was rather impressive, not as high as your brother’s but still wonderful for a District 12 resident such as yourself. Tell us, what’s your strategy?”
Jade wants so badly to hit her and wipe the stupid, smug, fake smile off of Snowman’s face. She reels in that urge, just barely.
“That wouldn’t really be a sound decision, to say my plan with other tributes around, now would it?” She questioned in return. Even if she was painted as a smart-ass, so be it. Two could play that game of sideways comments and velvet daggers.
Snowman forces a clipped smile and laugh. It’s gratifying, in a way. “What a clever girl we have here, everyone!” She says, to distract from the fact she probably just tried to set a tribute up for failure. The audience laughs along and applauds, and Jade forces herself not to think about all of them watching her. “Well then– what is it that you can share with us, dear?” She says 'dear' all sickly sweet and it's nauseating.
Jade considered her answer carefully. She couldn’t say she hoped the Capitol sent their own children to these hellholes one day, see how lovely it is to see their loved ones tormented and killed for sport. She couldn’t say that she hoped every Capitol citizen who enjoyed watching the games got to experience that kind of tragedy firsthand, that they would know what suffering truly was. “I can adapt,” she finally settled on. “I like to think that I can adapt to different situations.”
The menial chat like that continues for a few more moments. “Now– if you weren’t selected, what did you want to do with your life?” It’s a loaded question– she can hear it and can tell from the growing sharp grin.
“An apothecary, like Jake and I’s grandfather,” she answered honestly. “I wanted– I want to help people.” She quickly corrected herself. “We don’t have doctors at home. Apothecaries, like our grandfather, are the ones people who are sick or need healing go to. I want to be able to help people who need it.”
“Oh– very, very noble, dear. You have quite a large heart,” Snowman began. “Though– the games do make it rather difficult to help people, do they not? What do you plan to do?”
It’s another loaded question. Another way to get her to reveal the plan she, Kankri, Equius, Gamzee, Nepeta, and Tavros all carefully constructed.
“I’m going to do what I can– to make my brother and my grandfather proud. I want to help– to protect who I can,” She said.
“Killing is often unavoidable though, dear– you may not be able to help and protect others.”
“I know that,” Jade said, rather intently. “But I can still try. I don’t want to be changed– I won’t let myself get changed.”
“The games are known for changing plenty,” Snowman said with an inquisitive tilt to her voice, the sharp grin still present, and even the crowd’s din was starting to dwindle down. “It’s impossible to come away from them unchanged.”
“Let me rephrase– I won’t be changed into a monster. My brother– and Latula– they fought to stay true to themselves all the way. I’m not going to be turned into a monster by the games.”
And that– that seemed to make an eerie silence settle into the crowd. She refused to be a pawn. Even if it meant dying to not be warped into something unrecognizable, she wanted to die as herself, not as a bastardized version the Capitol had curated. Maybe that would make them think for once in their privileged fucking lives. And blissfully, no mention of the girl from 7-- Vriska, she thinks the girl's name was, comes up.
She took a seat after it was all said and done, sitting nearby to Tavros, giving a small smile to him. He mirrored the response, mouthing a quiet ‘good job’ to her.
And then it was Kankri’s turn. He walked out, calm and prosed, and took a seat with his hands folded politely in his lap.
His interview ends up being far less targeted. But the topic of his volunteering comes up. And he spoke his truth– that he couldn’t live with himself if his little brother was taken to the games, and he was never able to see him again. At least, that’s what he’s shared with Jade and the crowd.
“Now, District 12, we don’t hear much of what goes on there– all coal, from what I’ve been told,” Snowman comments. “What is it like to you? And don’t think we haven’t noticed your fondness for one Miss Jade Harley, you’ve become quite a protector for her.”
“People don’t see much of 12 because they don’t know where or how to look,” Kankri says rather calmly. “Most only look at see coal miners. But just like Jade, just like Jake and Latula, there are hidden wonders there. People that are more wonderful than any luxury item or precious gem. People that matter more than material things ever could. Family doesn’t stop simply through blood, either.” The audience is enraptured with him; Jade is almost envious of his ability to do so, but she is more impressed at how easily he speaks. “Jade, and her family, have shown my brother and me nothing but kindness and generosity, even in times when things were uncertain. That kindness is why I’m still alive. I consider her, and her own, to be as much of my family as my brother is. They are like the sunlight through the trees, golden, and unforgettable.”
And the thing is, Jade can call bullshit for what it is. She’s had the ability to do that since she was little. And Kankri wasn’t stretching anything. There was a small tremor in his voice, one she’d heard when he’d been speaking a heartfelt and almost painful truth. She admitted, to herself, that it was hard not to care for him in the same way she cared for Pop or Jake– from every moment he’d helped her. It’s gutting, in a way, having someone she saw in the same light as her family head into the arena with her in the morning to try and survive and outwit other tributes who were murderous and eager for bloodshed.
When the night came to an end, Kankri had held her hand through the end of the interviews, during the last bits of drawling that Snowman was pattering to, that these were the selection for the 97th annual Hunger Games, and that it would be a very interesting year’s games. They return to the penthouse and she immediately goes to take a shower, to enjoy just a bit more food in the late evening, anything will help in the arena.
By the time she should be trying to sleep, she can’t. She knows it’s going to bite her in the ass– every moment of exhaustion is one where she would be vulnerable. She ended up in Jake’s room that night, sleeping on one side of his bed while he murmured quiet stories to her– like when they were both younger, and thunderstorms were the biggest threat to the fragile safety of a child’s mind that she could ever fathom. She wanted to remember this when she was in the arena. She wanted to remember the sound of Jake’s voice, the quiet tunes he would hum, what his face looked like. She wanted to remember it because if she was going into a death trap, she wanted to remember the people who were the most important to her.
Chapter 18: Kankri: Come Away, Little Lamb
Summary:
The 97th Annual Hunger Games have begun.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: typical Hunger Games warnings, mentions of starvation, non-explicit descriptions of deaths, descriptions of blood and gore, mentions of freezing to death, mentions of explosives, explicit descriptions of dead bodies, mentions of heavily unpleasant physical sensations (tracker)
As always, please heed the warnings. Stuff is only going to get darker from here
Chapter Text
When the morning came, Kankri felt sick. This was very likely the last time he would be seeing Jake, Latula, Roxy, or Rose. He scrambled to grab the necklace Karkat had made for him, the one Mr. Harley had given to him on the Reaping. He tucked it inside his shirt, hurriedly so, before the guards came in and were getting ready to escort both him and Jade to a hovercraft, where they would end up being taken to the Launch Room. Latula had called it the Stockyard. Jade was tightlipped the entire time, a sort of darkness under her eyes that he had seen with Karkat all too often. He watched as Jake hugged Jade tight, kissed the top of her head, and whispered something to her. Latula dragged Kankri into a gentle hug, simply telling him to stay alive, to remember what he’d been taught, to remember Karkat in the arena.
He can see Caliborn glowering at them like he was ready to try and leap across from his seat to attack given the chance. Once they were sat, someone dressed similarly to a game maker was making rounds. When she arrived at where Kankri was sitting, she requested his arm. He knew it was the tracker that would get injected into his arm.
“It’s much easier if you keep still,” the woman says, drily, blandly.
It stings when the thick needle pierces under his skin and he watches as the tracker slides into place, under the layers of skin on his forearm. It nearly made him sick if he thought too long about it. He could feel it. It was nauseating, this innocuous little thing that pulses and glows under his skin a few times before it dulls down, and settles like an odd growth or lump of flesh. Jade looks to have a similar predicament, though her expression seems to be far more readable through her eyes rather than her face.
It was finally settling in, the reality of it all. They were being sent to all but certain death. The morning was still early and young. He knows the games won’t start for several more hours, just like every year, because the Capitol citizens wake up later. After all, god forbid they ever had to rise early for anything– their so anticipated and eagerly awaited speciation of children being slaughtered for entertainment.
When they got to the Stockyard, it was hard to see what the area was going to be like. The temperature wasn’t enough to go on, not in a hovercraft. It wasn’t exactly like he’d be able to see anything, either.
The building looks mundane before the jaws open up like a wide maw and the hovercraft docks. Subterranean tunnels that run under any arena, and always new ones constructed. Kankri never understood how they managed to build nearly one hundred arenas, how they had the space for that, he had no idea. There had to be countless that were built in the wilds– or maybe more land survived the great war that tore the continent apart than they were originally told. Capitol citizens could visit them, the old arenas, like an attraction.
He got led to one of the Launch Rooms, where Rose was waiting for him with a sympathetic expression on her face. There were thick stacks of clothes laid out. He knew the stylists had no choice in what tributes wore in the arena, but this was his best bet of figuring out what kind of arena this was going to be, and what kind of climate he and the others were going to be sent into.
“There’s a folding screen– if you want some privacy to change,” Rose said gently. “I can help if you need anything.”
Kankri felt himself nod stiffly and went over to grab the first and second stacks of clothing. The first was simple, black clothes. Long pants, and a long-sleeved tunic. Thin, for the most part, but when he put them on, he felt warmer. Layers. A colder climate, that had to be it. The next stack of clothes was thicker. A thicker brown tunic, lightweight, but a great deal thicker than the first layer of clothes. Thick wool socks, and pants that were baggy and seemed to be lined with something insulating. It was absolutely a cold climate. This was winter wear. This meant there was a good chance of people possibly freezing if there was this much care taken into providing multiple layers of clothing. He put the boots on after he was dressed for the most part. He still had the necklace tucked into the brown tunic, wanting to keep it close.
Rose helped him with the next jacket, a charcoal grey with a red-lined hood. The next was a thicker, bulkier black jacket that ended at the tops of his thighs, lined and insulated– Rose commented that it was a fabric to repel water.
“They gave you backpacks to start, this year,” Rose mentioned quietly. And from the tone of her voice, this was far from a victory. That had only happened a handful of times, and every time, the bloodbath had been horrid. “Don’t open it until you’re somewhere safe, alright? It has buckles and clasps…use them. It’ll make sure the backpack doesn’t come off.”
When Kankri glanced over to it, it was a light grey canvas backpack, with different zippers and compartments. That meant there had to be some amount of supplies in there. Maybe water purification, maybe some rations, maybe medical supplies. Maybe a weapon or two. No– no, there wouldn’t be weapons. The Cornucopia had to have weapons, there was no way they would just give them to tributes from the beat. There had to be something valuable in the Cornucopia; food, plentiful amounts of water, weapons, something.
“Can I get you some water, or tea, anything to eat?” Rose asked after he was dressed.
“Water, please,” Kankri finally said. He didn’t think he could keep anything else down. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to eat anything more before he was sent out.
She nodded and put in the request with a simple push of a button. She came to sit beside him.
“Remember what they told you– don’t run for the Cornucopia– run anywhere but there. Find who you need to, and stay with them. Find Jade and stay together…there’s a big chance these games are going to be drawn out with so many relatives of victors being tributes.” She said to him.
Drawn and dragged out, as if the entire affair wasn’t already horrifying enough– it was going to be prolonged for entertainment.
“Do you think they’ll have multiple victors this year?” He found himself asking, swallowing the growing lump in his throat.
“I honestly don’t know,” Rose confessed. “I don’t…but I hope so. For you and Jade– I really, truly hope so.”
Kankri drank the water in slow sips. It was all he could do to quell the rising feeling of nausea that threatened to spike foul bile into his throat– the familiar burn starting just below his ribs, the beginning feelings of aching, and his mouth feeling both far too dry and like there was far too much spit.
“Five minutes until launch,” came a flat voice over an intercom. He couldn’t place it immediately– it wasn’t Delta’s voice– he’d heard that too often to mistake it.
He felt his hands start to shake and he looked at Rose. Could he even make it past the bloodbath? Was that something he would even be able to succeed in?
“Run– anywhere except the Cornucopia, you have a family to get back to,” Rose said, gentle but firm. There was a wetness in her eyes, one she was barely holding back. “Run– don’t focus on anything else– run, and don’t look back. Find cover somewhere until you can find your allies.”
He forced himself to stand up. Rose helped him get the backpack on, fastening the clasps and buckles. It was lightweight, there wasn’t likely to be much in there– not in the way of supplies if it was so light. Or maybe it just felt that way. Everything almost felt that way, compared to the looming dread of being sent into a death match in less than five minutes.
Two minutes, now. According to the intercom. He could feel his heartbeat rushing in his ears, the feeling of the blood flowing through his veins.
“Remember who you’re surviving for,” She says to him, leading him over to the launch pad.
It was largely a featureless, glass tube that would transport him up and into the arena. It was as unassuming as a well-camouflaged snake on the forest floor, as unassuming as nightlock next to a thicket of blackberries.
He nodded numbly. One minute. He felt sick. He couldn’t take his feet off the podium– he couldn’t– he would get blown into red mist if he did. It would be a quick death, but he’d made a promise, and death was still a terrifying concept, regardless of how quickly it was promised.
“We’ll do what we can to help you and Jade, alright? Trust your instincts.” Rose gave him a brief hug before he had to step onto the platform.
The problem was every instinct in him was battling with the other. If this was anything like the training sessions– he knew his reaction was going to be to freeze, and that all but would have him as good as dead if he didn’t react fast enough.
Latula was right– in calling this place the Stockyard. He knew now more than ever what it felt like to be an animal in a slaughterhouse, the impending feeling of fear and uncertainty.
He hadn’t even gotten the chance to really hug Rose back, or nod to her sentiments before the platforms started lifting. He wanted more than anything at that moment to clutch the necklace tucked into his tunic, underneath the jackets. He couldn’t though. He needed both hands free.
In the slow rise, the light was bright in the arena– and the air slammed into his lungs. Frigid air. He had to blink several times, trying to get used to the brightness of the surroundings. Snow-covered, icy grounds. Towering swaths of pine trees, expanses that he couldn’t have fathomed. How big was this arena?
Everyone was dressed similarly. Jackets. Boots. Backpacks. Rose had been right– the game makers were going to drag this one out.
Twenty yards away, sandwiched between the girl from 6, and the boy from 10– was Jade, wide-eyed and looking like a caged animal. Even from that distance– Kankri the rapid rise and fall of her chest and shoulders, despite the wide-eyed, tight-lipped expression on her face. He can see her glance to him, and then the Cornucopia, and he does his best to give a subtle shake of his head. The best way he can tell her is to just run and not look back or think twice. She had the skills to survive this– but a career pack intent on killing whoever they could at the bloodbath wouldn’t give either of them a chance.
He could hear the countdown begin, this time the voice was recognizable as Delta’s.
Forty-five seconds.
He glanced around him, unsure if even shifting his feet would set off the bomb under the platform. He could make a break for the treeline. Keep running. Climb a sturdy enough tree to find a place to hold out until he could find a way to regroup.
He can see Tavros, shaking his hands out, likely to get his blood running properly, to not freeze on the spot. He can see Gamzee, glancing around, like he’s trying to keep track of where every one of his allies is. He can see Equius, torn between trying to keep watch between Tavros and Nepeta, who is small and despite her bravery before, looks like a scared child.
Twenty seconds. Treeline.
He needs to run for the treeline and hope the others do the same.
Fifteen seconds. He has to force himself to take in lung-fulls of oxygen. He feels like he can’t breathe.
Ten seconds. He can taste the bile in his throat threatening to rise further.
Can he make it past this alive? He doesn’t want Karkat to see him die on the screen, not like this. He can’t die like this.
Three seconds.
He begs for Jade to run and not look back in his mind.
Please run.
The cannon fires, and he forces himself to run away from the Cornucopia, into the growing treeline of towering pines and spruce trees, snow clinging to their branches and needles. The snow and ice crunched under his feet. There had to be high-quality treads on the soles of the boots to avoid tripping and slipping.
He hears it before he sees it– a blood-curdling, gurgled scream, a cannon, and silence. Yelling– screaming, laughing, another canon. Two. Two already in the first three minutes. Don’t be Jade. Don’t be Jade, please, please don’t be Jade.
A third cannon. No scream.
Caliborn was yelling. At someone, not just yelling for the sake of it. Yelling at whoever it was that they could only hide for so long. That he would find her– her and he would make it slow. Jade. She made it out. It had to be her– he’d only heard Caliborn say that to her.
Each lungful of air felt like being kicked in the ribs. The frigid climate made every breath painful. He couldn’t stop running. He couldn’t stop, not until he found somewhere to at least hole up for the night.
Something ugly and vile snarled in the back of his mind. Coward. Running was the best bet for all of them. Only the careers would take the bait of getting a weapon. He remembered what Jake had said. Find fresh water before anything. He knew firsthand that someone could go for far, far longer without food than they could water. He knew how to be hungry. He knew how to hold out. He knew the limits of what starvation could look like, what that slowness felt like. But water? Thirst was quicker and far more painful. Hunger pains were like striking a bruise. Thirst pains were like dragging sandpaper over open wounds.
High ground was the best option. Colder, maybe, but it kept him in a spot where he could keep an eye out for the others. He was far from graceful in climbing trees. He couldn’t count the amount of times he’d fallen flat on his back and Karkat had laughed at him– it was never that high up, maybe five or so feet off the ground with a branch that was less than sturdy for a thirteen-year-old version of himself.
When he does manage to actually find a vantage point to look back over the Cornucopia, he almost wretches. Even from a distance, it was hard not to see the horrid way the girl from 5 had been butchered. There was too much blood for a broken neck, the odd angle– when he realized it was only still attached by a few weak tendons. Blood painted the snow all around. The girl from 9 was lying in a pool of her own blood. Crimson painted most of her body, and it didn’t take much to see Caliborn as the culprit– hand bloodied, face splattered with the red liquid, brandishing a knife that was still dripping. The girl from 6 was motionless. No movement came from her at all, not even when one of the careers kicked her near skeletal body.
It was a small death toll for the bloodbath– evidently, most had the sense to make a break for it. And blessedly, Jade was nowhere in sight of the carnage. She’d gotten away. That gave Kankri some reprieve. That meant there were just twenty-one left, including himself. He couldn’t risk getting too high up into a tree; secure knot or not, he didn’t trust the tinner branches throughout the woodline to support him or keep him hidden. If he kept walking, he could find an outcropping if there was any luck, a small place to hide for the night. There was an illusion, that only the bad and awful things could happen at night. An idea that somehow the day banished away all fear. That was never true for the games. It was just harder to see at night.
He kept walking. Told himself to keep moving. He couldn’t stop until there was a decent spot to find shelter. This climate was too similar to the harsh winters in 12– and that usually meant brutal storms. Granted, the arenas seldom followed anything natural. It took most of the day, if the actual calculations his internal clock ran on were accurate, before finding a secluded little outcropping. He remembered something Jade had said. Plant life, and nearby animals– those were signs if a place was safe or not. The last resort he could use was seeing if a flame could hold. That would mean there was enough air. A cave or an outcropping was more likely to provide shelter if the weather turned, and it was better than being out in the open if there were angels in this arena. Which, if his own knowledge was anything to go off, there most definitely were. They were as common as other wildlife, as common as mockingjays or jabberjays or trackerjackers. He'd hear them before he saw them.
Just get through the first night, and it would be alright. He couldn’t think too far ahead– that’s how he would end up sabotaging himself. Shelter, water. That’s what mattered immediately. Then he needed to find the others. It took a long while of walking, of the freezing air feeling like a slam into his ribs every time he breathed in, of navigating snow and ice. But there was one little outcropping, that he’d just seen a few small birds flit around, with a healthy amount of lichen and moss. If he was lucky enough– some of those might to prove to be edible. They’d taste far from pleasant– but it was food, and that was something he wasn’t going to be able to picky about for a long while.
There wasn’t much in the way of covering the entrance, covering his tracks. But it was something to help make for safety. Something secure. He could still have a good view when he ventured a bit further into the outcropping. Secure. Far from warm, far from comfortable– but it was shelter.
When he finally settled down, hunkering in on himself, he took a look at what was in the backpack. There was a sheet in there– and when he wrapped it around himself, he felt warmer. Much warmer. It was a small comfort. This meant he wouldn’t freeze. A water canteen– empty. Because of course, it was. But there was a water purification kit, too. Iodine drops. Something; that was at least something. Rations. Dried out meats, fruits, and nuts. Some thin crackers. He’d have to save those– make them last. A tin full of matches, a small ceramic pot. It wasn’t something he immediately recognized, but it was in there for a reason. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It was something to survive. He huddled the blanket closer to himself, holding the backpack like a child would hug a stuffed toy– it was something small but there was a comfort in holding the sturdy canvas of the bag.
He hoped the others were safe. He hoped Jade was safe. As safe as anyone could be in this death trap. He hoped for it. He had to. Jade was the strongest out of all of them– he was sure of it. She was going to make it. He had to make sure that she made it through all of this.
Chapter 19: Jade: Come Away to the Slaughter
Summary:
The games begin, and they begin with bloodshed.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: blood and gore, graphic descriptions of death, graphic depictions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, shock, near-death experiences, injury, panic/fight or flight mode, general Hunger Games warnings
Finals did NOT kill me, thankfully-- this update is brought to you by a victory in one-shotting the final boss in a DND campaign and drinking games while watching Howl's Moving Castle (do NOT take a shot for every time someone says 'witch' you WILL be on the floor 30 minutes in)
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Chapter Text
Ringing. That was all Jade could hear. A high-pitched whine strained her ears and almost made her head swim. If she focused harder, she could hear her own pulse thundering, could feel the blood pulsing through her veins, down every limb, down to each fingertip. Her pulse was louder than her breathing, which came out as white puffs into the cold air. She couldn’t stop running. If she stopped, she was dead. She would be dead. This was worse than getting chased by wild dogs out past the district boundary. At least she knew the wild dogs didn’t know any better– they were just animals, going off instinct, with no maliciousness in their bones and teeth, just the desire to live. Humans? Humans have the capacity to know how to make others suffer. Humans had the capacity to make it malicious.
She could vaguely feel the stinging across her face, where sharp branches sliced into the skin along her cheeks and nose. She could taste the copper from the blood on her split lip. She felt the thrum and ache from the scrapes along her knuckles and hands. A small clearing was just up ahead. Everything felt fuzzy, slightly fuzzy, and blurred at the edges. The ringing hadn’t stopped. Nausea rolled over her in waves. It was hard to recall the past hour.
She could tell which blood was hers and which wasn’t. The sluggish flow from the cut on her forehead was hers. It hurt– stung and throbbed, but she figured the cold could help take care of that soon. She just needed to get it covered. Find the proper plants if they were here, make a poultice. The blood splattered on her cheek was not hers. It was the District 5 girl’s blood. She remembered her face. The split moment of fear in her eyes, before the machete sliced through the flesh of her neck and sprayed Jade with her blood. Jade remembered the way her mousy brown hair had been caught against the blade, that it stuck to the bits of mangled skin and muscle, strands among thick blood. Brown eyes that held the emotions of fear and shock, before the light was gone, they dulled like stones. She watched in a matter of seconds as the girl’s pupils blew out, and she was gone. She remembered scrambling backward, narrowly escaping the next swing that the boy from 1 aimed at her. She remembered getting knocked to the ground.
She remembered scrambling to try and get up and away, she remembered the feeling of nearly getting pinned down, the scrape of a knife against her forehead. She remembered the crazed, horrifying look in Caliborn’s eyes. The sound of his scream when she freed an arm and elbowed him in the face, the sounds of his yelling insults as she ran, the feeling of something hitting her backpack. She just kept running. She didn’t look back. Not at the near separation of the District 5 girl’s head from her body, not at the bloody, motionless corpse of the girl from 9 who made a horrid exhaling-choking sound as the blood bubbled past her lips, eyes still open and wide. Not at the body of the skeletal girl from 6 who lay motionless in the snow, staining crimson around her head, face down with her mouth barely open, bloody and cracked lips flaked with mud and snow.
She ran. She kept running, further and further, even when she tripped and fell down for what felt like a solid minute down a steep hill. Had she hit her head? She couldn’t remember. There wasn’t an ache. But she felt dizzy and sick. She remembered the feeling of the frozen ground underneath her feet as she tore between the tall evergreen trees, the way she couldn’t even feel the cold.
She needed to find somewhere safe. She needed to find somewhere to hide, at least until she could gather herself again.
The morning had started with a nightmare. Now she was truly in one.
Her legs ached. Her chest hurt. Every breath of air felt like it rattled her lungs and ribs so painfully from the frigid air. She hadn’t cried yet. She couldn’t cry yet. She couldn’t. She didn’t even know if she could. For all she knew, it was cold enough that the tears would freeze to her skin. Logic wasn’t exactly on her side at that moment.
Moving. She needed to keep moving.
If she stopped moving she was as good as dead.
Keep fucking moving. Keep moving.
She forced herself to keep walking, no longer in a sprint she’d been forcing herself to keep up between the stumbles and various inclines and slopes she’d been traversing through. She needed to find a safe water source, and fast. Water before shelter. She needed to find a moving body of water. Moving water was safer than still– she’d still have to boil it no matter what– find a way to make sure it was safe to drink.
Her thoughts kept racing. Had Tavros made it out? She didn’t see his body at the Cornucopia. She hadn’t heard any other cannons go off but the three at the start. He had to have made it out. Kankri had to have, too– the same with Gamzee, Nepeta, and Equius. There hadn’t been any more cannons– at least none that she’d been able to hear. They had to have made it.
From then on she moved carefully, quietly. Trekking through the snow here wasn’t so different from the winters in 12. The snow wasn’t quite as powdery, though. It was thicker– it had a layer of ice on it. She had to think both like she was hunting something, and that she had the wherewithal to understand that she was being hunted. She looked up– it was never a real sky– but if she had to guess it, she needed to rely on what she knew. Pale blue, almost grey sky. That meant another layer of snow on the ground, in the most likely scenario.
She hadn’t even bothered to look into the backpack, to see what the contents were. Not until there was somewhere safer than being out in the open. She didn’t know what mutts there would be– how dangerous they would be. She didn’t know if there would be regular animals like hares or rabbits to run around that she could trap for something to eat. The light was already starting to wane.
She strained to listen for a river, anything that was a moving body of water. Gusts of frigid wind kicked up every so often. Storms– had to be. She knew the feeling too well, so many unforgiving winters in 12 had taught her that. She hoped the others could find shelter. Being in a white-out was dangerous. Anyone would be likely to freeze to death before something else killed them, that was if they didn’t get themselves killed by careening over a drop-off.
Just keep moving. Rivers tended to be on lower ground. Lower ground also posed plenty of its own perils, never mind if there was a river and it flooded. The sky was starting to bleed into a light purple color. Of course– if it was a winter climate, that meant there wouldn’t be as much daylight. More hours of darkness. Of fucking course.
She kept moving. She couldn’t tuck her hands into the pockets of the coat for long. She needed both hands free in case something happened– in case she was attacked or jumped at. Regardless of how cold it was, regardless of how much it made her hands ache and feel difficult to move. She needed to be able to react.
It kept playing back over and over in her head, the feeling of blood splashing on her face, of seeing the life fade from another person’s eyes. It wasn’t like seeing an animal die– not even close. She swore it– if she even made it out of there alive, she wasn’t ever going to be able to forget that feeling, forget what that girl looked like. It was just before dusk– she could tell that much, the sun steadily starting to set down. It couldn’t have been that long– it had to be the winter setting. Long nights. Short days.
Every step ached. The clothes were doing their job at keeping her from freezing but it did little for the ache that settled all over her body. That tumble had to have been worse than she’d thought it had been. Everything hurt– like every inch of skin was either scraped, scratched, or bruised and salt was being pressed into every wound. Probably not her finest moment. She imagined however many assholes watching this glorified murder spectacle got a good laugh out of her misfortune.
There was a small clearing just up ahead. Not by much, but an area where the towering pines and conifers waned, a muffled rushing sound. A riverbank. That was at least a better turn of luck. So much for sticking into small groups like they’d all planned to; that idea had gone to hell in a handbag the moment that cannon went off. She just needed to find a place to hide out the night, to try and get some rest. She was a light sleeper, anyway. Nearly anything could or would wake her up.
She approached the riverbank, kneeling down. She was largely glad the pants seemed to be waterproof, considering the muck and mud and snow that tried to cling to the fabric and failed. She looked past the riverbank, checking the area. She was downriver from something, further up than plenty else. The water was hard to see as it was, never mind trying to see if there was anything wrong with the water. Better safe than sorry, for now. She wouldn’t be finding anything to clean her hands from unseen threats for a while. Snow it was. It would be unpleasant, but it would at least help to scrub some of the blood from her hands and face, it would at least help to get rid of the feeling of it starting to dry on her skin.
She spent a few minutes doing just that; cleaning her hands and face, scrubbing her skin clean with snow. It was so cold that it burned, but it was better than nothing at all. She hoped Pop was okay– that he was taking the medicine he needed for his heart, that Karkat was able to stay in their home and know at least someone was taking care of him. She’d remembered to grab the charm Terezi had given to her. She had tucked it into an inner pocket of her coat. The little cord with a crystal pendant. It felt like a crystal, at least, but it was rough like an unpolished rock. It was a reminder of home, at least. She’d shrugged the backpack off of one shoulder; and wedged fairly firmly into the canvas of the bag, was a large and serrated hunting knife. Thank you, assholes. Now she had a weapon.
Her focus immediately turned to the sound of a branch snapping. She held the knife in a way she remembered to, to avoid it getting knocked out of her hand, to avoid it being turned on her. She held her breath and stayed stock still, looking in the dim light to see what caused the noise. She held the knife so tight her knuckles turned white.
“Jade…is that you?” A familiar voice called out.
Tavros. He’d made it– he was okay. He was okay.
Her voice didn’t work at first, but she lowered the knife and nodded; even if it wouldn’t exactly help in the ever-growing darkness. But then he stepped out, it was hard to see his features in the waxing night. His hair was mussed, she could see blood trickling down from his nose, she could see scrapes and bruises along his skin.
Tavros, upon seeing her, held his hands up, carefully approaching her. It was then she realized she was still holding the knife tightly in her hand, shaking. She let the knife clatter to the cold ground, and within seconds of that, Tavros closed the distance and hugged her tight.
She was at a loss of what to do– it shocked her, honestly. That he was hugging her, resting his head against her shoulder.
“I heard the cannons– I couldn’t see where you were, I thought–” His voice was quiet, almost choked.
“I’m fine– I’m okay– but you’re hurt.” Her voice finally returned to her, and she gently held Tavros in return. She was reminded he was a year younger than her, despite his height, despite his strength.
“So are you!” Tavros objected, pulling away enough to set his hands on her shoulders. She knew she was scratched up, she knew the gash on her forehead was far from a pretty sight. His expression softened at seeing her though, the blood likely staining her coat and clothes. “What happened…? Was it Caliborn?”
“Careers in general– the pack they made,” she answered, shaking her head a bit. “It’s not bad– I’m fine– I’ll be fine, I just need to get it cleaned.”
Tavros frowned, looking her over, inspecting her in a way that reminded her of how Jake would whenever she skinned her knee when she was little. “You still got hurt…I care. Why is that so surprising?”
It was hard to answer that. That she held very little trust in people in places like this; that she had seen so many games firsthand where betrayals had taken place. “It’s one less person to worry about– one less tribute to compete with if I had been killed.”
“I don’t care about that!” He interrupted, voice teetering on breaking. “You’re my friend, and I care about you– you’re my ally, too, but my friend above everything else. I don’t care about the rest of it. You’re my friend, Jade. We can make it…we just need to stick together and find the others.”
That carried a bit of weight to it, it made something well up in her chest and created a lump in her throat at hearing those words. Tavros actually calling her a friend, his friend. Numbly, she nodded a bit.
“We should find some shelter,” she finally said. “It’s only going to get colder when it gets dark.”
Tavros nodded a bit and gave her one more brief hug, one she found a bit easier to return the second time around. She picked up her knife and walked alongside him.
It took a bit of time, but they found a little cave that seemed to work fine. Jade inspected the area before anything, making sure no toxic fumes would spew and suffocate them, and that there was decent plant growth, and went as far as tossing a rock into the cave to make sure that it wasn’t already inhabited by a wild animal. Once she was sure of all of it, she gave the go-ahead to Tavros and advised him to likely venture as far back as he could stand to. Caves were cramped, but that was their best bet with shelter, and with the growing chill in the air and the wind picking up, they needed to be as far away from the entrance as possible.
It was dark, that much was obvious. They needed a light source, and soon. Even when their eyes adjusted, they weren’t going to be able to see. And so, with the bits of dying light from the day, Tavros rummaged through his bag to produce a tin of matches, and something she couldn’t entirely make out.
“Lantern,” Tavros grinned a bit, unfolding the little contraption. “Sometimes the workers use these to see at night if there aren’t enough of the night glasses to go around. They actually let some keep these instead of the glasses. My brother always carried one. They fold in on themselves. And if we have any luck, the battery can be charged by leaving it in the sun for a few hours.” He explained.
Jade had no clue what the hell night glasses were, but she figured it was in the name. Glasses to see in the dark of night. A sun-powered lantern wasn’t a bad thing to have though. It meant they wouldn’t have to rely on a fire for light.
After zipping up his backpack, and picking up the precious tin of matches, they headed into the cave together, Tavros lighting the way with the little lantern. The inside of the cave was a bit warmer than outside, a small reprieve. Lichen and moss covered the walls. If it came down to it, if she could tell which kinds they were, it might be an easy way to get some food.
When they finally sat, going through their backpacks to see what supplies they did have. Both had an insulated blanket, tins of matches, and meager amounts of some rations. Water purification tips. Only Tavros had the lantern, though. Jade had a spile; she didn’t know how much of the water in the trees would come out instead of sap. Tavros had an awl. It might come in handy, at the very least. Tavros had coils of rope, and a small ceramic pot, one Jade recognized easily. She herself had a pack of candles, two dozen, at least, and with them, small things that looked like bricks.
She could see Tavros shivering, and her expression softened a bit.
“You’re not used to the cold, are you?” She asked.
“It never even snows back home,” Tavros admitted through a small, weak laugh.
“Here– get the sheet; wrap it around yourself. I need to borrow the pot you have.”
Tavros did as instructed, admittedly looking a good deal confused as he did.
Jade grabbed one of the matches from the tin, striking it on the rough surface at the top of the container, lighting two of the candles. The lid of the pot could serve as the bottom, the candles had metal coverings all the same. She stacked the little bricks on either side of the candles and turned the pot upside down, covering the flickering candles. It would take a bit– but the heat would help them both keep warm throughout the night.
“How did you know how to do that?”
“My brother showed me– winters in 12 get bad, and sometimes the wood is too wet to use stoves to heat houses,” Jade explained. “So we used this instead. It takes a little bit– but it’ll help.”
They spend time talking light that, huddled around the meager heat, speaking quietly and making sure the light of the lantern isn’t bright enough that they can be found. It’s hard to stomach any food, and they both agree to save the rations until they truly need them. Water will be a different matter– one Jade knows she can handle. She offered to take the first watch for that night, that way Tavros could get some rest. She doesn’t think she can sleep, not until the exhaustion physically claims her mind.
It would be a long night, but the focus of keeping watch would take her mind off the phantom feelings of blood splashing on her face, of watching the light fade out of another person’s eyes.
Chapter 20: Kankri: New Dawn
Summary:
Kankri survives the first night in the arena and consequently is left alone with his thoughts.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: graphic descriptions of death/blood/gore, typical Hunger Games warnings (death, starvation, exposure to elements, fear, etc.), minor blood and injury description
WE HAVE RISEN BABY GIRL
very sorry for not updating this in four months-- the summer was nuts and I am currently juggling preparing for graduation as well as dealing with financial aid tap-dancing on my last nerve, undergrad is a time and a half but I am less than two and a half months away from being free (at least temporarily, until grad-school also decides to grab me by the ankles and drag me into the pits of hell).As always, if y'all can, please take the time to visit Operation Olive Branch to help families out. If you can't donate, please share so that it can reach those with the means to do so.
https://linktr.ee/opolivebranch
Notes:
This fic has now been crossposted on Tumblr! I have art in the works as well!
@somewhereunderthewillowtree for writing and art specific to fics and my general nonsense
@willowtreewhims for general nonsense art and designs, this is the signature I will be using in all art going forward.
Chapter Text
When the night had come, Kankri watched as the sky lit up with the faces of the fallen tributes from that day. He watched, feeling sick to his stomach, hoping not to see the faces of those he’d become close to in the past few days– Jade, most of all. The faces shown in the sky are those he’d seen the bodies of. Portraits of the fallen. The girls from 5, 6, and 9. The girl from 5 bore a bit of a resemblance to Jade, in a way– copper skin, long and dark hair, the only difference was the eyes– the girl’s were darker– likely brown. It was hard to tell in the harsh blue light that the projections were cast with. The girl from 6 looked just as sickly in her portrait, with sunken eyes and thinning hair– hollowed-out cheekbones that looked far too similar to many of the children in the community house in the Seam; she was starving, he theorized as much, from how rail-thin she seemed even the previous night, she would never have lasted long, not in her condition. The girl from 9 had looked strong, broad shoulders, but he remembered the way blood stained her lips like she’d choked and drowned in it.
Those were the only ones. This meant Jade had survived through the day, and he hadn’t heard any other cannons go off. Which meant the rest of their group was also alive. He never thought relief would still make him feel so sick. The night was far from over, and he’d been huddled in the blanket and jacket to try and conserve heat. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay hunkered in the same spot for long, the tracker in his arms always made it so that the game makers could tell where he was, and either guide other tributes to him, or spawn in mutts that would undoubtedly try to tear him to shreds in a moment’s notice.
It wasn’t even a real sky. None of the arenas had them. Not after the first quarter quell, he was fairly certain, when the technology in the Capitol had advanced enough that full domed arenas were able to be created. That’s what he’d learned about at least. He didn’t know if sleep would come easily, but he had to try. He knew firsthand what prolonged exhaustion could do, and falling victim to it out here would mean either freezing or essentially having been the easiest target for a career pack to pick off, or whatever disaster or nightmare the game makers had planned would kill him within a moment– or make it a slow death to entertain the masses.
He hoped distantly that Jade was alright, that she’d found at least one of their allies, and was finding a way to stay out of the cold. He curled the blanket around him like a shield. It was breathable, at least, but it still kept the heat in, which helped.
When he managed to force himself up the next morning if it could have even been called that in the dim light of dawn, it felt like his limbs were old machine parts that were rusted over from disuse. He hid a grimace from the feeling. Keep to high ground– valleys weren’t a good spot to stay. And he knew he could melt the snow down for drinking water, he had the iodine to make sure it got properly sterilized. Valleys could lead to any number of issues– mudslides or avalanches that came crashing down and buried anything and everything in the wake of the destruction. He’d heard about it more than he’d seen it. It had been an event; in one of the previous games. More than a decade back.
He packed up what he could, folding the sheet back up and tucking it back into his backpack, along with all the other supplies he’d managed to sort through the evening before. The air was bitterly cold, and his breath came out as white puffs. It was so cold that every breath made his lungs ache, his chest constrict uncomfortably in the way it often would in times when he’d fall ill. He remembered steam would help with it, but making any kind of fire would be like lighting a beacon to his location, and priming him to get killed.
As he began a trek to higher ground, he let his mind wander a bit. What if everyone just outright refused, one year? Everyone refused to watch the games, the tributes refused to fight, and the mentors refused to put on an act to appease the Capitol. If everyone just outright refused this blood sport, this yearly slaughter, and said that two thousand brutal killings were an unforgivable crime. All this– because people rose up against the Capitol nearly a hundred years ago, because of being starved and outright denied their humanity. Because the Capitol couldn’t stand having a taste of their own medicine being thrown back at them when the masses had enough of being treated like less than dirt.
He knew, realistically; that people wouldn’t. Fear was a powerful weapon. Just like the district boundary in 12, the fear there was a mile wide and a foot deep. Of course, the fear from peacekeepers would always be there; the fear of public executions, or simply being whisked away in the middle of the night and never being seen again. The notion of rebellion was like a weed, and the Capitol answered it by burning and salting the earth for good measure. He’d heard about it, on occasion, people were paralyzed by tragedy and left only able to watch. He’d seen it, at times. Where an older building in the Seam would collapse, and people could only stand and watch as it caved in.
It still made him wonder; if everyone, in every district, just stopped and refused, if they showed they outnumbered the Capitol. It was a fool’s dream at best. It would be suicide at worst.
The snow crunched under his feet. A layer of ice crystalized on top, cracking with each step that he took. The morning air was frigid, cutting into his lungs like daggers. But it was better that he hadn’t been on low ground. He’d seen it happen in 12; lower meadows where someone who was drunk and out of their mind would rest, and they wouldn’t wake up, the temperature dropping like death in those little divots.
The dawn was rising, just barely. If it wasn’t occurring in a death trap, he might have said the golden and pink light being cast on the snow was beautiful. It reflected like shards of glass. Fitting, in a way.
He kept walking, keeping an eye out and his hands pushed tightly into his pockets to keep them warm. The air was freezing in the early hours. He didn’t exactly have a weapon he could use if he got cornered, his best bet was to find a place to hide, or hope one of the trees was sturdy enough to climb up and avoid a fight. He didn’t trust his aim in trying to throw a rock at someone; never mind his own strength.
The arena was big, more so than he believed it would have been. In the past they were only maybe four or five miles wide in total, something that could easily be traversed within a day. This one seemed to stretch on and on. He remembered once there was an old saying of how to measure it, two thousand steps to a mile. He hadn’t exactly been counting when he’d run, far more concerned with making sure he wouldn’t become a target for a knife or an axe. From the way his lungs had heaved and his legs had ached, it had at least been a mile at the minimum– he knew the pain well after a mile.
The day carried on like that, with brief intermissions of resting and attempting to keep track of where he was. He didn’t have a knife to carve into the trees, so a rock having to scrape off the bark in an innocuous pattern had to suffice in place. So far, he’d marked five trees by the time the sun was perched high in the pale sky. The illusion of being on his own was quickly shattered; granted, it was so quiet aside from the soft chirping of some birds (did they get real ones, or were they just another type of mutt?) that he could hear some of the cameras droning lightly as they focused on movements– no one was ever alone in the arenas, not when the entire nation was watching in anticipation for bloodshed or a horrible death.
It was a thick crunch of snow that was not from his own footfall, and then a branch snapping. His eyes darted around, looking for the source, and a tree to climb into, or hide behind, if he was hard-pressed for options. He froze, so much so that he swore even his own heart stopped for a moment to assess what was about to happen. It took all of five seconds to find some dense shrubbery for a bit of cover.
“Where are you?” It was a muttered thing, and Kankri swore it was difficult to hear over the thundering of his own pulse. A girl’s voice, if he could tell it right. Alone, from the likes of it. That didn’t exactly give him that much of a leg up. It would take one well-aimed knife, or spear, or whatever could be thrown, or an arrow and he’d be bleeding out into the snow.
It wasn’t a voice he recognized, which didn’t exactly amount to much. There was a grand total of seventeen (fourteen, now) voices he didn’t know from the other tributes.
He didn’t move, didn’t even dare to breathe. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs like a terrified bird. He put a hand over his mouth, hoping that would stop any stray puffs of air from giving away his position.
There are a few more mutters, from the same voice. He has two options because honestly, fighting isn’t one. He has no weapon, and he doesn’t believe he’d be any more likely to land an injury by using a rock. He could run, duck for cover, and find another place to hide. Or, he could stay where he was, and try and wait this out. If he was going to run, he needed a distraction, and tossing something would expose where he was. There wasn’t a good choice here. It was picking whichever one was the least likely to kill them.
The footsteps rescinded for a moment until the crunch of snow between boots was barely a whisper.
He took his chance, scrambling up and making a run for it. Horrible choice, really. He still ran and kept running, with no real direction. He ran, gulping lungfuls of icy air that burned his lungs. There were footsteps behind him, still about ten paces behind him. Not a throwable weapon, at least. That meant he just needed to get out of reach. And up ahead, there was a sizable evergreen tree that would be thick enough to climb– that was his hope.
He’s fairly certain this is the most athletic he’s ever been in his entire life, including the sprints they would occasionally have students in 12 run. His lungs burn, his legs are throbbing, and he can feel his heartbeat in both his fingertips and in his throat. He attributes it to adrenaline, because he knows better than most there is very little leeway for hidden strength in him. Nonetheless, manages to start climbing, fairly certain his fingers are going to be scraped bloody and raw from the rough bark from trying to escape. He gets up to the second thick limb, hugging close to the trunk to try and hide himself from view.
The footsteps catch up with him. He manages to catch the number 4 on the jacket sleeve. The voice didn’t belong to Eridan, that much was clear. His district partner, then.
The girl’s hair is thick and coiled, and the puff of her bun is covered in frost and snow. She had a spear, a short one, but still a spear. He could barely make up some bruises and scrapes on her face– she’d been fighting, too. She’s armed, and he isn’t, but she is alone. It isn’t a matter of ‘if’ she looks up and finds him, it’s going to be when. The plan that forms in his mind is either something that will aid in getting sponsors, or it will certainly for an entertaining bit for the viewers. Chased up a tree like a housecat, and he was about to act like a smart-alek. Latula and Karkat were either going to be very proud of him or hide their faces in shame. It was really anyone’s guess.
“How’s it fairing for you?” He calls down.
He could hear Karkat cursing him out in his own mind, and really, that’s probably a good indicator.
The girl looks startled for a moment, looking up at him like he’s sporting a second head. It was working. Play the crowd, just like Latula had said.
“Fine enough, I say. You?” Her voice is smooth, smoother than his own at least. Granted, some just had voices like that. She was built stocky, with a sizable bulk of muscle and broad shoulders visible under the cover of the various jackets. She was strong. That much was clear. No doubt she knew well how to use that spear. Four was full of fishermen, nets were far from the only tool he’d seen them use in the sparse coverage he’d watched.
“A bit nippy for my liking, makes for wonderful mornings though,” Kankri comments.
There’s a pause, and the girl– she looks about his age– regards him like an odd bird. He figures he must look like one, perched up on a branch and holding onto the tree like that was a lifeline, and for now, it was.
“Eridan trained with you,” she says. Blinking at him once, twice for good measure. “You showed him plants.”
Maybe socializing had helped in this situation.
“I did,” Kankri confirms, not entirely where the conversation was going to go.
“He showed them to me. You helped him, and he helped me. And I’m not in the practice of paying that back poorly.” The girl spoke. And he doesn’t entirely understand it. She was a career. She could kill him right here, and it would be one less competitor, one less threat (and that was being generous with the word), or one less contender for precious supplies like food and drink and sponsors.
He decidedly remained quiet, seeing if she had anything else to say. He didn’t expect her to propose an alliance Who would?
“Your friends– I saw them. Head north from here. There should be a small river crossing. The little one from 10, and the two trees from 6 and 2, right? Eridan passed by there at dawn. Either way– head that way. You’ll find them around there.”
And that surprises him. He’s fairly certain it shows on his face because the girl makes a comment under her breath about him looking like a speared fish. Whether he could trust the word was another matter entirely.
“I ain’t gonna do anything, twig. Not in the habit of pissing off people from home. Not gonna get Eridan pissed at me ‘cause I tried skewering someone he took a liking to. At least for now. I’m gonna leave, and go back the way I came.”
He’s fairly certain he looks about as certain of that statement as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs is sure its tail wouldn’t get crushed.
“And in the kindest way, I hope we don’t see each other again.”
With that, he watches her stalk off, until she’s well past the point of disappearing behind the clutter of trees, and he can’t hear her footsteps any longer. He waits, for a grand total of ten minutes to see if she’s going to come back, before he finally climbs down from the tree, realizing how hasty he’d been when he sees the still sluggishly bleeding scrapes on his hands. It’s still hard to believe; clearly, the girl wasn’t at any impasse with killing– she just didn’t kill him because evidently Eridan had spoken about him enough.
He finds himself walking in the direction the girl had pointed out to him, for a long while, before he finally comes across the river she’d been talking about. He’s lucky enough that it’s low, and that it’s shallow enough to walk through. The boots are thick and waterproof, something he’s now endlessly glad for so that it won’t stick and freeze to his skin.
It goes a while, continuing past the river. He tries to keep track of any stray sound that isn’t just nature– not the dull whisper between trees from branches rustling, not the occasional chatter of birdsong, not the crunch of his own footsteps. He’s beginning to wonder how much farther he’ll need to go before he sees a few silhouettes in the distance, about a hundred feet or so away. One very small, one towering, and one stocky. He feels himself smile. The girl was right.
It seems they notice him as well, and there’s a brief, excited shout before the smallest silhouette comes running toward him, and Nepeta nearly knocks him off his feet tackling him in a hug. He hugs her in return, a startled laugh leaving him. The last time anyone had done this was when Karkat was still little– maybe only eight or so. It’s a sobering sort of nostalgia, realizing how much his little brother has grown. He sees similarities in others who were strangers up until a couple of days ago.
Equius and Gamzee approach them. No one seems injured, and that much is a relief. It’s only the second day, but it’s still a relief. It’s something. And he wants to hold onto that something for as long as he can.
Chapter 21: Jade: Domino Effect
Summary:
Jade and Tavros try to survive, even amidst new threats.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: general Hunger Games warnings (mentions of starvation, dehydration, exposure to elements, canon-typical violence, fear, etc.), slight psychological horror (this will grow in time, please head this warning and others that will pertain to it in the future), minor injury description, slight body horror from the mutts as per Hunger Games typical canon, mentions of suffocation via gas exposure
A longer chapter, to make up for the fact it's been over a month since the last chapter. As always, please check out Operation Olive Branch if you can, check on your communities, and help where and how you're able to-- the world is a terrifying place at the best of times.
A small reminder that my handle on Tumblr is somewhereunderthewillowtree
My handle on Bluesky is hiraethdaydreams (because Twitter is circling the drain, it seems)
Chapter Text
It’s hard to keep track of time in the arena. It’s hard to tell what’s actually a day, and what’s been engineered as a day/night cycle. It’s dizzying. But Jade has one fool-proof internal clock. Two, technically. Hunger and thirst. She and Tavros had done good, at least. They are careful with their rations and lucky enough that the boiling snow thus far has given them a good supply of water, to the point where they at least aren’t constantly dehydrated. Two more nights, what she thinks are nights, at least, have passed completely. They’ve stayed together, moving from place to place and keeping carefully hidden. They promise each other to start looking for Kankri and the others once the dawn comes.
In the past few days, Jade has come to learn a lot more about Tavros. He’s easy to listen to. His favorite color is orange– not the gaudy, eyesore orange so common in the Capitol, but the color of tulips, of flowers. She wished she’d had the supplies to make paint. She would’ve made him a painting. Honey is Tavros’ favorite thing in the world, and he loves animals, even snakes and mice. It’s hard not to be endeared by him. He finds ways to crack a few jokes to try and make her smile, even in the face of everything. They sleep shoulder to shoulder most nights, mostly for warmth, but it helps knowing the other is still there, even if one of them is sitting and keeping watch if anything comes around.
Tavros is the first real friend she’s made aside from Kankri. To her, there’s something precious about that. His smile is as bright as the sun itself, as warm as it, too. When he talks about 11, she can picture it from his words alone. The more she thinks about Tavros, the more she likens him to sunlight and what a warm summer actually is. Tavros is as precious of a friend as there could ever be.
They were making camp for the evening, finding another place to hole up in for the night. There had been snowstorms– more so blizzards that had torn through the arena. They were seemingly random, never really following any time pattern– either in the day or at night. But they’d figured out a way to at least start predicting it. It was an ugly, ramshackle little thing of a set of wind chimes. It was made from stones and sticks, and a bit of twine they’d found going through their backpacks. When the wind started to pick up, they knew to huddle down and wait it out, and to not go outside. The sun was still up, in the false sky, it looked like it was maybe early afternoon– but it was hard to tell. Keeping track of time was difficult, never mind actually knowing how much time was passing– the only tells were hunger and thirst.
It was then that a cannon went off, and both froze. It echoed loud and cracked across the quiet of the arena. They were uphill; a decent trek away from where the Cornucopia had been. Jade had scaled up a tree to get an idea of where they were, and the Cornucopia sat in a small valley, huddled by trees in the clearing it sat in. She’d climbed down, and marked the tree as best as she could with the knife, to at least show where they were. But there was no rush from a hovercraft near them, no powerful gusts of wind. They weren’t close enough to whoever had died. But it remained the same unspoken question. Was it one of their allies? It was the first cannon that had gone off since the first day.
“We just have to wait,” Jade found herself saying. “It might be someone else.”
It was a weak reassurance, but it was the one thing she could offer. She found herself often wanting to shield Tavros from the worst of possibilities. He was taller than her, stronger, too– but he was still younger than her. She felt it was the very least she could offer. A year or not, he was younger than her, and she wanted to protect him at least in some way.
They sit shoulder to shoulder as the sun starts going down. It’s relatively quick, when the light fades from the arena, replaced by a mockery of a starry night: the screen projects, the anthem of the Capitol playing, the same booming thing that played the first night, and during the tribute parade. The image flashes, and there’s no name, but the number ‘7’ flashes below the face of a young man.
“He was nice,” Tavros muttered, almost too quiet to hear.
“You talked with him?” Jade found herself asking.
“Not really, no,” he confessed. “But he was nice. He had a nice smile when I saw him talking with my district partner. He and Arriety really seemed to get along…I wish I learned his name.”
She knew the feeling well. The girls that were slaughtered at the bloodbath. She wished she’d known their names, not just their faces, and not what their blood splattering against her face had felt like. If she got the chance, she wanted to know their names– at least through their district partners. She remembered the girl from 6, because both she and Gamzee looked gaunt, like skin draped over bone. She didn’t remember the others– she could barely recall their faces. But they were from 5 and 9. She didn’t really know anyone from 5. She did remember the boy from 9, though. He was with Vriska Serket, 7’s female tribute.
She keeps the comment to herself that hopefully, the boy from 7 had a kinder disposition than Vriska. It was far from that she hated the girl; really, she thinks– the only people she could bring herself to hate thus far had been Caliborn, and the game makers themselves, maybe some of the other careers, if she was truly pressed on it. They were all starving animals in one way or another, after all. And they’d been put into a cage.
Vriska, though– she was an enigma. She was vitriolic and sardonic, and she was cunning . Jade knew that much. She was smart, and it reminded her of the foxes she had seen lying in wait, ready to snatch up a rabbit or a mouse or some other morsel. Rather, a spider in a web, ornately weaved and beautiful to the eye but a deathtrap nonetheless.
“Was it true? Her having a crush on you?”
The question snaps Jade from her thoughts, and it’s as stunning as falling through ice into frigid, deadly water.
“What?” She croaked out, caught off guard. The words alone were not exactly something that tended to go together in her mind.
“In the interviews– Vriska said she had a crush on you. Do you think it’s true?” Tavros elaborated.
Jade peered at him, discerning if this was a usual sense of banter they’d come to accept as normal. But there was an earnest sort of curiosity in his eyes, and Jade couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed by it.
“I don’t know. I don’t see why she would have a crush on me, to be entirely honest with you. I think she probably just wanted to stir the pot, maybe find a way to get sponsors, get people watching involved, and keep them entertained.” She shrugged, huddling the coat over her shoulders so that it would trap in more warmth.
“Okay– but that would also mean people were bound to sponsor you too,” Tavros added on. “And it’s not that unthinkable. You’re a nice person, and I know everyone did, but you looked pretty at the interviews. Your team made you look like you– I like that more than not being able to recognize the person under a costume and makeup.”
She shook her head at Tavros’ words. People may have had that impression within the first few seconds, but it tended to be whenever she actually opened her mouth, that most lost any and all interest. And in any capacity, she was far from the most outstanding person at the interviews. Kankri had looked great; she honestly believed a few of the others looked nothing short of ethereal (a word she’d come to pick up from hearing Rose speak and rave about styling choices). The girl from 8 especially, looked like she could’ve belonged in the Capitol and modeled for them too.
“It doesn’t matter now. She may have gotten a middle score in training, but I don’t think she’s incapable for a second. We both saw her at the targets. She knows what she’s doing. Being clever and knowing how to use it is just as dangerous as having a weapon and being skilled with it.” She reminded.
And it was a sobering truth. Because yes, they might be trying to find their allies– their friends. But they were still in an arena with sixteen other people who would be just as likely to kill them as they would blink. There was a career pack, comprised of Caliborn, the boy from 1, and the girl from 2– Pandora. It was hard to forget that name. And they had been brutal . Caliborn, especially. She swore he reveled in the bloodshed, the violence, and the smell of death.
Tavros quieted down after a while, his head only starting to pick up when the makeshift wind chimes they’d constructed started to clatter. Another blizzard. At least it made them hard to track. But the wind howled like something awful, and the freezing air always dripped with something more sinister.
They had been lucky, for a while; not running into many mutts. They’d seen a nasty-looking thing the previous day, some warped version of a bobcat with teeth that didn’t fit in its mouth and eyes that looked too reptilian. It sounded just as awful, too. She had a feeling their luck wasn’t going to last for much longer.
They huddled in close, around their makeshift little heater, hoping to ride out the storm and get some semblance of rest that night. There was a pit building in Jade’s stomach, though. Were the others able to find shelter? The snow and wind were blinding; and she knew well enough stumbling around in a snowstorm was a fate too many had met in 12, freezing to death and lost in a white-out. What would the game makers do if the snow buried a tribute? Would the hovercraft even be able to retrieve them? She hoped Kankri, Nepeta, Gamzee, and Equius were okay, that they’d found a place to wait this out.
Sleep doesn’t come that night, though. Not easily. There’s a pervasive sense of deep unease that goes unsaid by both of them, hearing odd wails throughout the night. It doesn’t sound like the horrible mockery of a bobcat, there’s no way that it’s a Mockingjay making that noise– and it’s a terrifying thing to think about. A new mutt– a new threat being introduced, scares them both. It sounds like a warped version of a human voice and an animal cry, and it’s impossible to tell which one is more predominant.
And then it happens. This odd warbling call of Tavros’ name. It makes his eyes go wide, and he whispers a name– Jade is fairly certain it’s ‘Arriety’. He moves to get up, and his heart is too big for his body, she swears it. She grabs her friend by the wrist, shaking her head. Holding her finger to her lips with a free hand, desperate and pleading. The voice was off , she didn’t know why or how, but it was off in a horrible way that made her skin crawl.
“She wouldn’t go out screaming in a storm– you know her,” she pleaded with her friend, not to step out into a white-out, not for something like thing. She kept her voice barely above a whisper, scared that any noise would attract whatever thing was out there.
And Tavros– with his heart too big and eyes shining with tears, was glancing between her and the entrance to their little hideout of the night, torn. She understood, partially. If it had been Kankri’s voice, she was fairly certain she wouldn’t have hesitated; and that much likely would have gotten them killed.
“But what if it is her?” Tavros asked, voice tight. “What if she’s hurt?”
As if in some mockery of the plight, the warped voice calls out again, but there’s something wrong with it– it’s guttural in a way no person could ever sound, slurred like it was words being spoken from a mouth that wasn’t meant to speak; over and over until it devolved into something like a rumbling growl.
“It’s not her ,” Jade pleaded through a whisper. “ It’s not her .”
She pulls Tavros back down, and when he shifts and grips her hand, she does everything she can to squeeze back and hold tight. The mockery of a voice starts again, even worse than before, and she does what she can to try and cover his ears; she pulls his hood over his head, where it’s buried against her shoulder, trying to shield him from the sound. And it’s a horrible thing, it changes between calls, shrieks, wails, and something she couldn’t try to put into a box even if she tried. It would draw closer before ebbing away, and it made her blood turn to ice in her veins every time a new, horrible cry was made.
There had been no cannons, there was only one portrait in the fake sky that night. All the while, the wind howled and bayed like a wild dog, making a twisted song and dance with whatever it was trying to parody a person’s voice.
It continues like that for what feels like hours, with no rest, and constant fear. Tavros is shaking and hasn’t moved away from where his head is buried against her shoulder, the hold on her hand was tight, his free hand is clamped tight over his mouth, just like Jade’s free hand is clamped over her own, too scared to make a noise.
And like a fool, too hopeful to believe it could get worse, the air starts becoming difficult to breathe. It’s choking, thick like the air that sometimes hung around the mines. Her fears are confirmed when the flickering flame inside their makeshift heater is snuffed out. It’s a struggle to keep themselves from coughing. By then, whatever was making the awful noises outside sounded farther and farther away.
It was a choice; stay and suffocate, or run, and possibly get hunted by whatever mutt was out there. If they stayed, they would die, choking for air.
She silently motions for Tavros to keep his hand over his mouth, to pack his bag as quickly as he can. They had to flee; it was running or suffocating. They both move silently, muffling coughing breaths. They both keep a vice grip on each other’s hands.
Tavros is bigger than her. He is taller, and he is stronger. His hand, despite the freezing weather, is warm around her own. He is bigger, taller, and stronger, and in the hardly-there light, he looks like the terrified child he is. His face is young, his eyes are shining bright from fear and unshed tears, and Jade wants desperately to protect him. To make sure he gets through this alive.
“Don’t let go of my hand, no matter what. You keep holding on, and I’ll get us out of here,” she promises him through a whisper. She doesn’t know if it’s a promise she’s going to be able to keep.
Even still, he nods. The wind is howling and feels like needles against their skin once they finally step out. She squeezes his hand, as much as she’s able to with how tight they’re holding onto each other’s hands.
She has no clue where she’s trying to lead them. Not downhill– they’ll freeze easier. Even with their hoods up, even with the thick coats, the cold is biting and stinging. It’s hard to tell where they’re even stepping. It’s pitch dark out, there’s no light from a fake moon to illuminate anything, and the blizzard chokes out any light that could have been there. There’s no direction, and it’s hard to pinpoint where the river might be from the howling wind drowning everything out.
Her free hand is clutched tight around the knife, and it’s also the only method she has for navigating where they’re going. Her hand feels the rough bark of a tree, and it’s something. It’s not much, but it’s an anchor. She feels an incline under her feet crunching through the snow and ice. Uphill. Better than downhill.
She squeezed Tavros’ hand tight, a silent reminder she was still there, they were going to find a way through this, to just stay close to her. She gets a squeeze back and is thankful for it. They trudge uphill, the incline getting steeper as they go, but it helps with getting out of the blizzard, at least. The howling of the wind hardly subsides, even when the faint, barely there light of dawn starts blotting along the fake sky. She managed to find somewhat flat areas; they were on top of a hill. It was better than nothing, and with any hope when the storm died down, they’d be able to see where they were. She pulls Tavros with her, looking over him for a moment, trying to see how he’s fairing in the hardly-there light. He looks exhausted, which she can’t fault him for.
It takes a few more minutes, but the wind starts to die down. Snow– she still can’t really tell if it’s real or fake; it melts and feels real– still falls around them. She pulls him into a hug, tight and secure. He returns it and buries his head in her shoulder again. She moves a hand to cradle the back of his head, a silent apology for everything that’s happened. Part of her wonders if it was Arriety out there. If she’d stopped Tavros from finding and helping his district partner. They stay like that for a long while, even as the light of day starts painting the sky. When it’s said and done, she dusts the snow off of his hood.
“I know you’re tired– but I need you to stay awake for me, okay? Whatever snuffed out the fires– I need to make sure it doesn’t have any effects.” She requested.
She gets a numb nod in return, and it guts something in her, to see Tavros this scared and tired. She finds a place for them to rest, at least for a short while. It’s under an outcropping, not like the shallow caves they’d been in. She checks over him, and he tries to joke she’s acting like a mother hen. She can’t really help it. There’s no discoloration in his eyes– aside from the redness that tears had brought forth. His breathing is even, if a little shaky. His heartbeat is coming down slowly. His hands were shaking, but it didn’t look like there were any ill effects of the air turning suffocating for a short while. No cough– which usually meant there wasn’t any irritation. It was one small relief. And when the tears threatened to spill over, she wiped them gently from his cheeks. Aside from the bruises and scrapes they’ve both collected over the course of being in the arena, there’s not a sign of injury on Tavros. And for that, she’s beyond grateful.
She knows, realistically, there were several things left behind in that cave. They’d have to sit down and go through their bags later to figure that out. But it was better to escape with fewer belongings and their lives intact, rather than anything else.
By the time the sun is high in the false sky, the snow has stopped, leaving them circled around in a blanket of white. It’ll be a matter of needing to try and find where the others are now; if they can. The arena was massive, but it was nothing they wouldn’t be able to traverse as long as they made good time.
Enough time has passed, and most of Jade’s worry has subsided, but she still makes sure Tavros feels alright to start walking. When she gets the confirmation, she offers a hand to help him up. He doesn’t let go, even when they’re standing and away from the outcropping, and she doesn’t have the heart to pull away. She holds onto his hand, pushing the sleeves down on both of their heavy coats to try and give some extra warmth. She gives him what she hopes is a hopeful enough smile. She has little idea of how to navigate in this place. Not beyond where she can see the lower-lying area of the Cornucopia; somewhere she wants to steer clear of and give a wide berth– she had no doubt the career pack was going to be out, about and looking for people to hunt down.
They start walking down the hill again, trying to take a path that’s less steep, to stay away in case that silent killer seeped out of the cave and gathered in low areas. The soft puffs of white leave their hoods as they walk.
By the time they’re halfway down the hill, toward a cluster of smaller trees, they hear something that stops them in their tracks. A high, inhuman, keening shriek. The angels. And before they have time to react, one of the damn things comes swooping down, eyeless face split open from its maw.
How the angels here were any different than the old-world’s version; whatever Roxy had decided to use as inspiration, Jade didn’t want to know. The angels the Capitol loved to use in the arena were just under the size of a person from their main body. They were awful amalgamations of leathery skin and feathers, starkly– always– pure white in color, featureless faces except for the wide mouth that seemed far too large for their own heads, a beak-shape but filled with razor-sharp teeth made for slicing into flesh. There were no back legs on mutts like these– the wings were powerful with small mockeries of hands at the end, armed with sharp talons. Out of most mutts, angels were the ones that killed the most tributes– more than trackerjackers, snakes, or any other nightmare the game makers could come up with. It wasn’t just claws and teeth; they had a very nasty habit of managing to carry tributes up into the air and dropping them to their deaths.
She managed to push Tavros out of the way, and the world spun when she landed on her back hard– enough that it felt like the air was knocked out of her lungs. What brought her back, however, was the snarling, snapping teeth, and the talons scratching across her face. She did her best to block the damn thing from getting any closer, to not let the jaws close around her throat. She wrestles with finding a way to get the knife back in her grasp, just a quick stab to the soft and vulnerable underside of the angel’s throat and it would be easy. That task, however, is proving difficult while keeping her jugular intact.
And as suddenly as it’s happening, just as quickly is the angel getting hauled off of her. Tavros was yanking the damned thing back by its spindly tail, heaving the mutt until it was dragging talons through the snow and mud underneath. And for a moment, Jade had forgotten how Tavros had gotten a score of 7 in the training– but she promptly saw why a good few were impressed, because he wrangles the mutt to the ground, pinning its mouth shut.
“Get your knife!” He calls to her, voice urgent, because regardless of how strong he is, he's still struggling to keep the angel pinned.
Jade scrambled to do so, finding it where it had fallen in the snow. She threw it, the blade lodging itself deep into the side of the mutt’s skull. There were a few more twitches before it finally went still. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, getting up to grab the knife.
And Tavros– features still soft and young, looked sharp and tensed, a bloody line from the mutt’s flailing talons had grazed across his face. He looked at Jade, grabbing her hand and tugging her along to find somewhere to hide. For a moment, Jade didn’t understand why, until he glanced back at the dead body of the angel. They never hunted on their own. Where there was one, more were to follow, and if they stayed there, they were likely to get swarmed.
She holds the knife tight in her free hand, straining to listen for the next shriek of an angel. It doesn’t come; no– because they’re already being descended upon like vultures on a kill. She tries to shield Tavros as much as she can, but it’s proving difficult– largely because she’s trying to make sure her friend’s face and torso are covered and safe. The backpack was going to get ripped to shreds at this rate– and they would be soon to follow.
She resigns herself to her decision before she’s really even thought about it. A distraction would give Tavros time to run and would give him a chance to live . So, she shouted, waved her arms, and attempted to draw the attention of the angels, away from Tavros. She has a knife, but he doesn’t. She tells herself it’s no different than trying to intimidate the wild dogs in the woods of 12; she tells herself if she doesn’t think about the too-sharp teeth and the eyeless faces, it’s not that different. She doesn’t know if she can believe herself.
“Get out of here,” She calls out to Tavros, who is stumbling to his feet. “Run!”
He balks, looking at her like she grew a second head, objecting that friends didn’t leave friends behind.
“And it’ll do nothing if we’re both dead! I’ll find a way back to you– stay out of sight, keep moving!”
She looks at him, pleading. If he runs, he’ll live. He’ll survive. He won’t get torn to shreds here, and he’ll have a chance to get through this. That’s all she can do. If he runs, he has a chance to find or make a weapon and keep himself safe. If he stays, they’ll both be swarmed; but if he ran, he at least had the chance of finding their allies, a chance of being safe.
She sees his eyes, wide and afraid, torn between options. And she begs him silently, to please just go . Between the shrieking of the angels, at least three of them now, she can see him finally dart off into the trees, and there’s a relief that feels both like a weight being lifted off of her chest, and like a stone tying it down.
But the angels bring her attention back quickly because unlike the wild dogs of 12, or other wild animals, they did not kill to live. They did not kill to nourish themselves. No– they were mutts, just like everything else that the Capitol made, and they killed to kill, and nothing more. There would be nothing that could scare them. For an animal to be scared, it would have to value its life in some manner– food, shelter, water, and safety. The mutts never did. The mutts killed because it was what they were made to do, even if it killed them in the process.
And because the game makers weren’t sadistic enough assholes, from the suffocating air to now being cornered by three of these monstrosities, there was now a deep rumbling from the ground that nearly caused her to lose her balance. She kept her hold on the knife, white-knuckled and so tight that she swore she could feel numbness buzzing through her fingertips. She hoped Tavros found somewhere to hide– or found a tree to scale up to escape what was coming.
In 12, it was rare. Landslides and avalanches didn’t happen as often as they used to, according to some of the older residents. But they still happened. Dull roars shook the earth before a wall of mud or snow would come racing toward low areas. The most common thing to happen was collapses in the mines– no less devastating, but often not well seen when they happened so deep under the surface.
So, she abandons the fight. Less because she’s outnumbered, and more because she’s not interested in getting buried underneath snow and rock. And because there’s no survival instinct other than to kill, the angels follow her. Her chest hurts , it’s hard to tell if it’s from how cold the air is, from when she’d gotten knocked to the ground– or anything else. Dodging the tumbling rocks and shelves of snow is easier said than done, but the noise is giving her cover from the angels. It doesn’t last long– she doesn’t think, it’s hard to understand how much time passes between running from mutts and evading debris falling. Whether it was because of the noise being too much, or something else, the angels eventually scatter.
Every breath rattles her chest, and the edges of her vision feel blurred, slightly. She had no direction of where she was; where the hell Tavros would have gone to begin with. Everything was so bright, and it felt overwhelming. The sky was barely lit up as it was, but it still felt bright, like being in the dark for too long. She took a step back, trying to calm down her heartbeat, to figure out a plan to find Tavros, to get the hell away from where they had just been.
The ground crumbled beneath her feet, the shallow slope she was on giving way to cascades of mud and snow. The sensation of falling never fails to be nauseating, but it is horrific now. More and more seemed to crumble away, and when she made contact with the ground again, it was on a much steeper slope than what she had been on before. She felt herself tumbling down, shoulders and knees knocking against rocks and saplings. It fucking hurts the whole way, and the world is spinning to the point she can’t hardly tell up from down.
She barely registers it; she lands hard against something– probably a boulder, and there’s a sicking pop that comes from somewhere. And she doesn’t have time to know which limb it was from– if it was her limbs, not her spine, or neck, or skull.
The world goes dark.
Chapter 22: Kankri: Witness
Summary:
Kankri's memory is a sharp thing; sometimes it's a curse.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: Explicit and graphic death, strangulation, blood and injury, general Hunger Games warnings, mentioned flashbacks/hallucinations, slight survivor's guilt/remorse, mentioned animal death, Caliborn is his own warning at this point
Notes:
Hey, it's been a minute. I graduated college in the meantime, so there's that. The end of the year took me out back and put me down like a sick animal, and the new year has allowed my rotting bones to rise from the dirt.
Anyway, it’s come to my attention that OOB (Operation Olive Branch) has been doing some shady shit. Families do still need help, and just because some chucklefucks want to act like fools, doesn’t mean these families don’t deserve the help they need. Links in bios will be replaced with a linktree for credible non-profits that can help families in Gaza; if you enjoy my writing, please consider spreading the efforts to help those in need.
Also, for any readers in the LA/affected areas of California from the recent fires; please stay as safe as you can, and don't wait to evacuate if you're in a dangerous spot
Chapter Text
How things ended up like this– Kankri wasn’t entirely sure. The days blurred together at the edges harshly, like the smudges of ink blotting out what words could have been written down in the first place, the two days he’d been able to spend with his allies had been relatively peaceful, as far as could be said for being in the arena. It was a short-lived thing; when the snow came rushing down the side of a hill, the ground split and crumbled into a jagged and sharp ravine. Two were trapped on each side, and it was far too wide for anyone to try and jump across. It made Kankri wonder how deep the tunnels in this arena were; since nothing seemed to show with flickering lights despite the gaping maw in the earth.
They attempted to make a plan to try and meet up with each other again to find a way to do it. And yet; they were hard-pressed for luck. It was difficult– every attempt he and Gamzee made to meet back up with Equius and Nepeta was proving to be fruitless, either being driven away by swarms of angels tearing into flesh, an area that was warmer with dense leaves but proved to be too dangerous to trek, considering both he and Gamzee witnessed beetles swarming the carcass of a bird and stripping it clean within minutes, a particularly territorial and ill-tempered mutt that Kankri believed was supposed to look like a bobcat, but the eyes and mouth were wrong. Every attempt to meet back up was met with resistance that usually had them turning right back around. And between them all, they didn’t have a weapon. Well– Nepeta had fashioned a slingshot, but she was at least in company that would keep her safe. He trusted Gamzee well enough, but his fellow tribute was easy to spot from most places, considering he towered over everyone else presently alive.
What had been even more unexpected, was stumbling upon Eridan, and one of his allies. What had been downright shocking was that Eridan almost seemed happy to see him. The boy with him– the male tribute from 5– Sollux, he learned, was lanky and gangly, not as tall as Gamzee but infinitely more awkward. And there was no fight– it had seemed everyone was in the same mind, that they’d been split up from their existing groups and were finding it difficult to make their way back. And upon learning they’d been living off the meager rations provided; Eridan demanded they all sit down because he was going to show them how to spear some fish, fillet them, and cook them. It’s bland and mostly flavorless, but it’s the best he and Gamzee have eaten since being put into the arena.
He wishes he was able to share it with Equius and Nepeta. He wishes he was able to share it with Jade and Tavros, but he just hoped they were holding out. He had felt like his heart was going to leap into his throat when he heard a cannon for the first time since the bloodbath, and he was ashamed to admit the sweeping relief he felt when it wasn’t a face he recognized. The boy from 7’s face was projected up into the sky, and there was a moment where Kankri didn’t feel remorse for someone dying because it wasn’t someone he had come to care for. It was a battle of rationalizing the emotion in his mind– he felt awful for it, after thinking over it for longer than a minute. True, that now it meant fewer people on the roster possibly trying to kill them, but it was the fact he felt relieved someone had lost their life in place of someone he cared about.
He didn’t want the games to change him to become indifferent toward death. Not even those of tributes he didn’t know. A large handful were still younger than him– far more dangerous and formidable, yes– but they were still younger than him nonetheless. It’s hard to not see the similarities between so many of the other tributes and the children he’d taken care of in the orphanage. How similar in nature they were to Karkat– the bravado that came from being young, and not realizing some risks. This sense that there was still some kind of fairness in the world. The innate feeling that there is a way to fight back.
There hadn’t been any cannons since. It was unnerving, in a way. It felt like a waiting game. Usually, half or more would have been killed in the bloodbath, but only three had met their fate there. The rest had run; maybe circled back to get a weapon once they were sure that the career pack had cleared out. It was a game of hiding and starving, by that point. Waiting to be found by another tribute and killed, being caught by a particularly nasty mutt and killed, or withering out into bones. As far as he knew, no one had succumbed to the cold– yet. People were smarter this time around, or at least had gleaned that fighting in the bloodbath was the quickest way to die, that staying on their own might have proven to be the best way to get out of this. It made him wonder, though, not just in this year’s games, but in general. How many had stepped off the sensor earlier– knowing or unknowing of the explosives underneath, how many charged into the bloodbath knowing how it would end? How many knew what was coming, and didn’t want to fight it? How many just wanted it to be over?
He doesn’t have much of an appetite, after the past couple of days. Hunger pains seem more like echoes of something far off and distant. It’s usually Eridan that persuades him to eat. Gamzee and Sollux seem to have an easier time, but it’s something he noticed with Eridan all the same—persuasions to eat just a bit; even the smaller fish that manage to be caught. Flavorless flesh, most of the time, but it was still food nevertheless. He’s tried to help catch them; minding Eridan’s advice. Rivers were tricky, clever things, he’d learned. Like living animals, in a way, though far less merciful. Shallow areas and those that were deep and a footing was sure to be lost. There weren’t many like that in 12, shallower creeks that were easier to wade across, if not outright use dry stones as a path, in some areas. And like a wildcat in wait, deep and calm sections of the rivers were the most dangerous; with undercurrents ready to pull someone under, strong enough that few could escape, even those that were notably strong swimmers. The shallower, the safer– the louder, the more honest the water was.
The fish were small as it was; not like pond fish, but– small. Rarely larger than the palm of his hand. Eridan had long since taken the drawstring out of the lighter jacket they’d all been sent in with, and often carried a ball of twine with him from his backpack. He carried their catches on those strings, threaded through the mouth and gills of the fish after they’d been cleaned and gutted. He’d had a hard time eating, namely because of the eyes. The head seldom had any meat on it, it was usually discarded and buried. But the eyes always made him feel sick. They were too similar.
He remembered it vividly. He’d gone with Eridan to fish down near one of the shallow areas of the river; downhill a ways, far enough away from their makeshift little camp. It had started when he’d heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. Eridan had likened him to a rabbit at some point, swore his ears would start twitching at the slightest sounds and reacting just as fast. How to clear out of somewhere, or hide, before the carnage started. They’d heard odd noises at night; far away– too different from what Kankri had come to associate with the shrieks of angels. It had become a good skill to have. He’d led them to hide; to wait out whatever was approaching. He’d heard the bickering, strained to understand the words. He’d pinpointed Caliborn’s, closer, and then far off again. Pandora– he knew her voice enough. And the boy from 1– Lux– he’d finally learned the final name. But another familiar voice sounded– Calliope, who had more venom in their words than Kankri would’ve ever expected from them. The tribute from 3 who had such a low training score– who sounded like they were snarling the words out.
It had happened fast. He had seen their feet, not their faces. He heard the sounds of a fight, from where he’d dragged Eridan and himself to hide in a dugout, shrouded by brambles and shrubbery. Sounds of arguing, without Caliborn at the source of it. The sounds of a struggle. The sound of something making a dull impact, the sound of a body being dragged up, the sight of a pair of feet kicking above the ground, the sound of a cry, silence, strained breathing– horrible gasping, then, a horrible, awful crunching sound. Calliope’s body landed with a thud and vacant, carmine eyes stared at him. The whites of their eyes were turning just as red as the blood bubbling past their lips. He saw the irritated skin on their throat, a deep maroon setting in, and something deeply and terribly wrong with the hollow of their throat.
The cannon sounding in the sky felt deafening. It felt like he’d been shot, with how loud it was. He’d heard racing footsteps, and then the sound of Caliborn’s voice. Angered, raging , the sound of flesh slicing open. That Caliborn had screamed Calliope was his responsibility. The careers outnumbered him two to one; why they didn’t kill him there– just as they had done to Calliope, was still beyond him. What he did know– what he could remember was indistinct mutters he couldn’t decipher, and that Caliborn cut a lock of Calliope’s hair from their head.
He remembers their voice, what their eyes looked like– and he’s unable to see dead eyes the same. He’s not able to dismiss the venom, fear, and rage he’d heard in their words. It haunts him, he sees their face when he tries to sleep. Hears the crunching their throat had made, hears the horrible, wet gasping that came from it. It clings to him like a layer of frost that refuses to melt. Eridan had similar fears with it, though the younger boy kept it bottled up far more than Kankri did. He would sit next to Kankri in silence, always removing the head of his own fish, removing the head of any fish he tried to get Kankri to eat. Sometimes, he’d try and speak to Gamzee about anything else; watching Eridan and Sollux sit shoulder and shoulder, whispering to themselves. It was the first time he’d seen a violent death up close. Close enough that he smelled the blood, thick enough that the copper scent clogged his throat like smoke.
Every time he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, he would see Calliope’s face, the way the light was leeched out of their eyes, how they settled into a dull thing, how their pupils blew out when it was done. The crunching echoes in his ears like a gunshot. He didn’t know much in the way of medicine or specific names for injuries, but he knew their windpipe had been crushed and they had been strangled. It had been a full day, by then, but it still felt like he was right back in that dugout whenever he did try to rest. It made him feel sick to his stomach.
He couldn’t help but wonder about it– the time and place of it all. A few more unfortunate incidents, it could have very well been him laying on the ground, strangled with air not in his lungs. It could have been him, in any of the past cannons sounding off. It could have been him in the bloodbath. It could have been Jade; who he had to hope was still alive, that she was safe, and had managed to keep any allies she found safe with her. It could have been Karkat– had he remained frozen, had his voice worked faster than his mind. He had to hope Karkat was at least warm, with better food in his stomach, and under the care of Mr. Harley. He had to hope things in 12 were alright, that there wasn’t retaliation for the interviews, or anything similar to it.
He elected to keep watch alongside Gamzee that evening. The older boy looked just as exhausted as he felt, the dark circles starting to show under his eyes. He hadn’t been speaking much, not as much as when Equius and Nepeta were still there. The previous evening, he’d tried asking about it, to see where his ally’s mind might be at. All he’d gotten in response was that Gamzee understood why his brother changed a bit more now.
Eridan was the only one of them with a real weapon, a trident he had procured from the Cornucopia. He’d circled back for it, a good while after the bloodbath. It was an impressive thing; sleek and sharp with prongs like fangs. Sollux had a makeshift slingshot– a ramshackle creation but one that still did a decent job. He’d heard both the boys mention their companion– the third of their trio– Feferi, District 1’s female tribute, had gotten a spear. Evidently, a good few had snuck back, trying to pick off what was leftover after the career pack had ransacked it. What surprised him was that Feferi didn’t pair with the career pack.
“Her heart’s soft,” Eridan had supplied quietly when Kankri had noted it. “Too soft for a career. She’s a good fighter. Doesn’t mean she wants to be. She wants to walk out of this as one of multiple victors. Didn’t have the heart to tell her it probably won’t end that way.”
From everything Eridan and Sollux shared, Feferi was bubbly for a career. Friendly. Someone kind but not inclined toward violence. That was hard to imagine for a career, never mind someone from District 1– someone related to who Kankri had learned was dubbed the most cutthroat victor in the immediate history of the games. Then again; it wasn’t hard to conceptualize. He was old enough to have remembered watching Jake’s games. Jake was– he wasn’t brutal , but he was efficient, from what Kankri could recall. He didn’t hesitate when it came down to it. He sees some similarities between him and Jade– in the expressions, in the nervous scrunch of their eyebrows, the little twitch in their hands. Jade, though– Jade seemed incredibly reluctant to hurt others. She dodged rather than countered. She evaded instead of throwing a punch back.
It was an awful thought to have, but it was between himself and the false sky.
He hoped she didn’t hesitate to save herself.
It’s the early hours of the dawn– what he assumes to be, at least, when he’s startled by hearing the boom of a cannon again. Loud enough that he saw birds scattering above the treetops to escape the noise, even a few angels that seemed to flee from the scene. It drives another pit into his chest, wondering who it was.
The same thought, over and over– don’t let it be Jade– don’t let it be Jade , he would never forgive himself for the rest of his life, even if the rest of his life was there in that arena. Please, don’t let it be Jade. It wells like nausea, rolling over him in waves. It sits like a heavy stone in his chest– there was no way to know, but it was a deep sense that something was incredibly, very, and horribly wrong about all of this that he wasn’t able to shake. It weighed heavy, looming over him like a vulture waiting to feast.
Hours later– he at least assumed it was hours later– a piercing scream rang shattered through the air. Panicked, scared, wailing, horrified . It was like a knife twisting in his stomach. Not Jade, please, please, don’t let it be her, please don’t let it be Jade. The screams continued until they were suddenly cut short, and within seconds, the cannon fired again. The bone-deep chill he feels has little to do with the cold air around him, it feels like someone injected ice right through his veins. Even Gamzee looks deeply unsettled, and the older boy seemed harder to read by the day, closing off more and more. His eyes would always dart around as if trying to spot something that had darted out of sight. Kankri could understand it well enough; the fear, the growing paranoia. They were being watched, every moment of every day, but somehow it was still less unnerving than the pervasive feeling something was incredibly wrong about the arena.
When the night fell, and they were eating another meager meal of roasted fish, barely daring to exchange in conversation and huddling in the small alcove that sheltered them from the snow and wind, there were two faces in the sky; one familiar, and Kankri’s heart sank to his stomach, and might as well have dropped out of his body onto the frozen ground.
Chapter 23: Tavros: Love That Doesn't Have a Place to Rest
Summary:
Tavros reflects and realizes he hasn't grown up much.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: emetophobia warning (several mentions of Tavros feeling like he will be sick/lose his stomach), general Hunger Games Warnings, blood, body horror (of an animal), graphic descriptions of injuries, character death
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You know the drill, the linktree is in my bio, please help families out that need it.
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One day I'll make good on actually posting art of this fic; no idea when that'll ever be though. As always, read the warnings and the tags, things only get heavier from here. This took up 14 pages in my docs, a longer chapter to make up for not updating as often as I'd like to be
And as always, thank you for reading my silly little stories
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tavros had never once considered himself particularly lucky. Not really. He was fortunate in some means, but he was not lucky. His luck, if anything, was rotten. But he was fortunate– his brother was a good man, and taught him how to fight beyond just schoolyard scraps– Rufioh always picked him up and carried him on his shoulders when he was still little. His parents were good and kind, and hard-working, even after Rufioh became a victor– and Rufioh was too, he swore that he’d go stir-crazy if he didn’t have something to work on. He didn’t have many friends. Not at home. There was Horuss, who he’d heard Rufioh talk about often, but rarely saw the man; beyond the tiny glimpses on the television, of the well-wishes. He’d heard Rufioh quietly talking about someone named Damara; when he’d asked who that was, Rufioh got quiet and promised him he’d tell him about her another time. He’d only heard of Equius through word of mouth, but– Rufioh always seemed to think the two of them would get along well. Equius liked to build and tinker, just like Horuss. And Horuss was kind– he never saw him much, usually on victory tours, because 1 or 2 or 4 would usually win, standing quietly to the side. But he had a kind voice, and always nodded his thanks to the mayor, always treated everyone kindly.
There was Meulin, who was a close friend of Horuss– from what Tavros knew. He saw her only through screens. Thick, wild, and curly hair, using her hands to speak– Rufioh had said she lost her hearing, and even the Capitol couldn’t repair it. She was their neighbor, in a way. Sort of– Rufioh had mentioned that the districts were close, 10 and 11. There was Kurloz, another close friend– he was involved with Meulin. In the same way, Rufioh and Horuss were as close to married as they could ever be. Kurloz also talked with his hands, Rufioh never explained it more than he just couldn’t speak with his voice anymore, not after his games. He was tall and intimidating but had a quiet sadness about him whenever Tavros caught a glimpse of him on the screens.
The morning of the reaping, he woke up with a pit in his stomach. It was the second one he’d been in; he’d been so nervous the first year that he’d thrown up afterward. He didn’t have time, this year. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t remember much about that morning. He remembered hugging his parents, he remembered getting on the train, he remembered watching the footage of the reaping, he remembered putting faces to names he’d been told about. He remembered seeing faces flash on the screen. Equius, first– and he did look like Horuss in a way, but there was no pride on his face on the stage. Then Gamzee, Kurloz’s little brother– who was taller than Tavros ever could have imagined him to be. Then, Nepeta. All of them were the relatives of people he had come to learn about through Rufioh’s stories. Nepeta’s aunt was Meulin, and she had looked tiny on the stage.
Arriety had been called before him. Arriety Wellthorn– she was a little older than him, mostly reserved and quiet. He’d seen her in school, a few grades ahead of him. She was strong, one of the best climbers he’d ever seen. He never talked to her much, though. And she was quiet– didn’t talk much to him on the train. Or after. She didn’t talk to him much, in general. She wasn’t rude or mean, but– Tavros had a feeling it was to distance herself in a way. He knew the feeling well enough, especially when it came to sick animals.
And then he met Jade. Eyes a pretty green like the stems of flowers, with a thin ring of gold in the center, little honey beams around the edges; freckles all over her face that reminded him of paint splatters. She was smart, clever, and kind. She reminded him of the deer he’d seen in 11, soft-eyed and a bit flighty. But she was kind, and still taught him things she knew– he returned the favor. He swore it, he believed she looked at the world like it was a puzzle, moving parts and seeing what could fit together to see how she could solve it. It was something he admired about her. He learned she was barely half a year older than him, even if he was a bit bigger and stronger than her.
Jade, he also learned, was a very quick learner. She wears a mask in a way, something carefully blank, but he sees the tension in her shoulders, in her jaw. He saw it first in the training center, when Caliborn had gone after her, how quick she was to react, darting out of the line of danger like a bird flitting away. He learned she’s a listener, more than a talker. But she likes to listen, and she told him as much. When she smiles– really smiles, and not a fake, brittle one, it reminds him of a flower blooming, a soft thing. Her hands are steadfast but gentle. How pretty she looked in the interviews, how gold had looked perfect on her, how she had looked like a painting.
When he had gone into the arena, he was terrified out of his mind. He reacted before he could think. He ran the moment the cannon sounded, and it was deafening. He heard three more cannon shots and prayed none of them were the people he knew, the people he wanted to survive with. And then he found Jade, by some small miracle. She looked like a scared deer, eyes wide and clutching a knife, face all cut up and scraped, she had looked so scared . It was hard to see, the cold stung his own eyes, but he swore tears were beading in her eyes when he found her. Pale-knuckled grip on the knife, he held his hands up, and promised it was just him. When she let it fall, he rushed forward and hugged her before he could really think if it was a good decision or not. She was shaking, but when she hugged him back, it was tight, and it felt like the first full breath he was able to take since being in the arena. She asked why he cared. He would never be able to forget the fragile look on her face when he said it was because she was his friend.
She helped to keep him warm. She’d huddle next to him and show him how to light their precious candles for extra heat. She’d sometimes talk about what 12 was like, how she liked to paint, how she wanted to be an apothecary like her grandpa. She held his hand, and she had brushed the snow out of his hair when they ventured away from their hideout. When he’d had a night terror, she whispered to him to calm him down. Pressed a kiss to his forehead and tried to assure him it was safe enough for him to sleep. They were never safe. Just safe enough.
Jade was warmth, in a way. Her hands always felt cold, no doubt from the circumstances they were both in. But, she herself exuded warmth like the summer sun on a nice day. There was something comforting about her. She’d shake like a leaf sometimes, but her hands were always steady when it came to him. She showed him how to gut a fish and set traps to catch animals. She said, if it had been better circumstances, she would’ve made him a painting of his favorite flowers. She listens to him speak and holds onto it like a story. When he talks about home, he wants her to picture it.
When he asked if she thought there was any truth to Vriska Serket’s sudden confession, even in the dim light, he saw her cheeks go ruddy, and part of him knew it wasn’t just from the cold. He didn’t think it was so unbelievable. Jade was kind, and sweet. She reminded him of summer, light, and warmth. He calls her pretty, because it’s true, to him. He says that he liked that she still looked like herself, even at the parade, even in the interviews, because so many got warped into something else entirely– something to sell and be made a spectacle of. He liked her, and he was happy to have a real friend.
Then came the wailing. First, it was his name. There was a part of him that felt bone-chilled just hearing it, that there was just something slightly off– but it was Arriety’s voice. He didn’t think before trying to lurch out to find her– it was his district partner, after all– and district partners don’t usually turn on each other, and if she needed help, he could help her and do something worthwhile. And Jade held him back, pleading with him that this couldn’t be Arriety. The scared desperation in her eyes halted him. It was a short debate until the cries turned into something entirely inhuman, something animalistic. She holds his hand tight, and he holds hers, enough that he swears his own might start going numb.
But of course, his luck was rotten. It wasn’t enough to hear something like that, to hear guttural cries turn to shrieks, howls, and snarls. The air was clogged– it almost felt humid but in a far more different manner. The little flame on the candles snuffs out, and he sees Jade’s pinched expression, she directs him to cover his mouth with his hand. She’s muffling her own coughing by doing the same. They’re still holding hands, tight. He doesn’t want to lose her out in the snow. She whispers to him to not let go and promises to find a way out for them. Once they’re out of the little cave they’d been calling home, she removes the hand from her mouth and holds tight to the knife she always carried around.
The dawn comes, eventually. She says she knows he’s tired, but he has to stay awake. She mentioned something about gas– how it happened sometimes in 12, that it was a silent killer that suffocated people in their sleep if it seeped out. He refuses to let go of her hand when she offers it to him to help him stand up, he holds her hand tight as they walk. She’s an anchor to what’s real. And he can feel her hand shaking in his, spasmodic little twitches of her fingers, the muscles in her palm.
He didn’t even have the time to think when the angel swooped down and knocked Jade to the ground. He didn’t have time to think, not when that monster’s jaws were inches away from closing around his friend’s throat and tearing the life from her in one bloody spectacle. He doesn’t really know if he did think in that moment, because he felt himself rushing forward and grabbing the angel by its ugly little snake-like tail, and dragging it off of Jade. It’s a struggle to pin it, enough to where it can’t get out. But he’s bigger than Jade is, and he’s stronger than the other kids in 11 his age. Rufioh always made sure he was strong. He remembered yelling for Jade to grab the knife.
When the blade sunk into the mutt’s skull, he was certain both of them breathed out all the air they’d been holding in. He hadn’t realized he’d even been hurt until Jade was cupping his face in her hands, fingertips wiping away the blood from a thin cut he hadn’t even realized had been made. He remembers, very quickly, that angels were like vultures, and there was never just one on its lonesome. He grabbed her hand tightly and tugged her to find somewhere to hide. Somewhere they could wait out being descended upon by the beasts. They barely had the time to get out of the open, there wasn’t even a shriek to signal another attack when it was already happening.
And Jade– she’s shielding him, trying to protect him from gnashing teeth and razor claws. It’s when she shoves him back and starts yelling– waving her arms, acting like bait that he gets a horrible feeling that builds a pit in his chest and stomach. She meets his eyes for a few seconds, and it’s hard to decipher the look in hers– he recognizes it, in a way. It makes him feel sick. It was a look of resignation. A look of acceptance.
She yells for him to start running, to get away from there and find somewhere to hide.
“I’m not leaving you, Jade!” His voice breaks– it’s the loudest he thinks he’s ever yelled. “Friends don’t leave friends– they’ll kill you!”
She only responds that it does nothing if they’re both dead from this. She promises to come back– to find a way back to him. Tells him to keep moving, and not stop.
Her eyes hold that resignation that makes him feel sick. She looks more like a deer than he’s ever seen her before. Her eyes are glassy, her hands are shaking, and the snow in her hair looks like the dappled spots on a fawn. She knows the odds of this. She knows , and she was telling him to run. He was suddenly reminded of Rufioh saying that he’d heard Meulin talk about guard dogs in 10. Big, lumbering dogs that were supposed to protect livestock– especially the smaller animals, from coyotes, or other wild animals. Jade stands resolute, knife in hand, expression pinched. She mouths a ‘please’ to him, and the desperation in that single, silent beg makes his heart shatter in his chest, and he chooses to believe she’s going to follow through on her promise to find him again.
He turns and runs, and he hates himself for it. He didn’t have a weapon like a knife, but he could have picked up a rock and fought and done something instead of leaving his first real friend to fight those monsters off. He doesn’t have the time to even question what the rumbling sound is before it feels like the ground is shaking under his feet. His instinct is to climb, and that’s what he does. He finds a tree he knows can hold his weight and scales it as quickly as he can. High up, obscured by thick branches and limbs with pine needles that poke uncomfortably at the exposed skin, it’s safer than the ground, at least.
His own question is answered when there’s a rush of snow that comes barreling through. He’d run downhill; just toward the thicker parts of the forest. Snow and rock , evidently. He remembers enough of the floods from the orchards, what he’d been taught to, and locks his arms and legs around the trunk of the tree he was on, and holds on tight, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for it to pass.
It feels like forever when it finally subsides, and the ground below is closer than it had been before. He hadn’t heard any cannons, which was a small relief. Through the branches and snow, he saw a good few of the flock of angels flapping upward, which meant the flood of snow, rock, and debris had scared them off– which meant they wouldn’t be going after Jade anymore. That much filled him with a nauseous sort of hope.
He finally was able to climb down and noticed rather quickly how much his jacket had been shredded, the backpack by some miracle was still in one piece, but it wasn’t pretty to look at. He tried to remember what Jade had said about shelter– caves were best but after what had happened, he wasn’t sure about that anymore. She had said going downhill would mean lower temperatures, which would mean freezing to death. That was one thing he hadn’t forgotten– she had said that the cold was a silent killer. That dying in the arena might not look like a weapon spilling blood and guts, or starvation or dehydration– dying could look like falling asleep in the wrong spot and freezing to death.
He kept moving, hoping that Jade was alright, wherever she was in the arena. It was odd– how quickly someone could fit into his life, how quickly they could mean so much, and how quickly he could miss them. Rufioh did always say he had a soft heart. He never understood why that would be a bad thing. To him, it was a small testament that there was love in the world, because his heart was full to bursting with it.
He tucks his hands inside the balled-up sleeves as best as he can, like how Jade taught him to, and keeps treading through the snow. It was easier– and she’d taught him how to make a sense of direction. There wasn’t a fake sun in the arena– but the skies were designed after real ones, and that meant the light had directions. It would rise in the east, and would set toward the west. The stars weren’t real here, either– which meant using them to find what was north wouldn’t work. But– east and west could work, at least for now. He was still on higher ground– he knew that much because he was still along the ridge he’d passed the first day when he ran from the Cornucopia. It was one point of reference, at least.
It was then, he realized, that in the panic, he and Jade had left all the candles back in the small cave they’d made their camp in. The easiest heating source without making an actual fire was now lost to him. Part of him wished that it would get cold enough back home so he would actually know what to do– it was always warm, it barely dipped below freezing. Fires– that had been something they were all taught how to make in the training center. But Jade was the first to tell him that lighting one was essentially putting a bright, blinking target on his back for others to come and find him. Smoke rose high– that much, he did know.
He just needed to stay above the ridgeline, that was all that he had to do, and it would be alright. He walked toward the fading light– west, at least by as much as he could guess over the matter. Find somewhere safe enough to wait out the night– another storm if it came around. Which was another thing that he and Jade had left behind at their old camp– damn it .
The light was starting to fade. All he’d be able to rely on to see if a storm came through would be his eyes– there wasn’t exactly wind that wasn’t created from the hovercrafts. He just needed to find somewhere safe enough , hunker down, wait it out, and try and find Jade in the morning. He needed to find her. He didn’t think he was going to be able to sleep that night, not even if he tried, or how exhausted his body felt– he was too scared to hear a cannon, to see Jade’s face up in the sky. Or any of his other allies. Nepeta, Equius, Gamzee, or Kankri. He knew she’d told him to find them if they ever got separated.
He kept up past the ridge. It was cold, but, it was higher ground, and Jade had said higher ground was a safer place to be when it came to the freezing temperatures, or in avoiding disasters. He treads through the snow, finding footholds on rocks where ice hasn’t frozen them over to be slick and impossible to traverse. By the time he’d found somewhere to wait the worst of it out, the sky was already dark. His hands felt numb, even his nose did. He decided a tree was probably going to be his best bet, and he decided to try and scale one. What he did have left in his backpack was rope and the meager rations. The rope– he could at least tie to himself and the tree to make sure he wouldn’t fall off. He could use his coat as a makeshift shelter, even if it meant sacrificing his sight and having to use the odd foil covering in the bag. Jade had explained it could be used as a blanket– that it insulated body heat. Something like that, at least.
He knows he won’t be able to sleep. He knows it the moment that he huddles himself inside his clothes and under the chromatic sheet. He’s straining to listen for any noise so much he swears that his ears are ringing in the silence. He closes his eyes but doesn’t truly sleep. He feels exhausted, but he can’t let himself slip away. There isn’t even light when he starts to hear something moving below. The sky is a muddy grey color, only light enough that he can see his hand in front of him; but he can’t see the ground. He knew he was covered in a light layer of snow, at the very least.
He keeps himself quiet, holding his breath the entire time. It’s hard to hear, at first. Almost like a whisper of a thing. It got clearer for a moment, Jade’s voice ringing out, calling out his name. For a moment, he was ready to clamber down the tree, fall the last few feet, and land in the snow if he had to, to run and find where Jade was and hug her as tight as he could. It sounded far off– not in the distance because there wasn’t an echo. It sounded wrong, and off. He wondered if it was a jabberjay that had copied her voice; but– there weren’t mockingjays around either, from what he could tell, they would be ringing the same pitch and call, their version of a song. There wasn’t anything like that, though.
He undoes the rope from where he’s tied it around his midsection and legs, he stuffs his backpack as much as he can. There are lumbering steps, crunching below on snow and ice, waning and waxing every so often, like something below is looking for something. It sounded too big to be a deer; but, then again, he hadn’t seen snow until he was put into the arena. He remembers Jade showing him how to muffle his own footsteps, though. He remembers she said to drag his feet, that it stopped the sound of crunching, and that he had to go slow. There was another call of Tavros’ name, but it sounded more warped than before. It wasn’t quite Jade’s voice– it sounded a bit like Arriety’s, too. The pitch and tone were different, clashing like two different instruments. Arriety’s voice was lower, she spoke the same way many back home did, with long vowels, and long syllables. Jade’s was raspier, just a bit– it was soft, and sometimes the ends of words were more like a whisper; Kankri had more of one.
It repeats, and repeats, switching from Jade’s voice to Arriety’s, to some odd thing in between that sounds like both and neither of them at the same time. It devolves, and Tavros remembers what Jade had told him the morning before; that no one in their right mind would go yelling for someone in the arena when that would be a bright red target to get killed.
He walks slowly through the snow, dragging his feet like how Jade showed him. He clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle his own breaths, little idea of where he’s going. It doesn’t help that the calls have shifted to something worse– it’s guttural, and it doesn’t sound like it could even be from a person by that point. It’s gravelly and hoarse and devolves into something that makes it feel like ice has replaced his blood.
He keeps himself quiet, he doesn’t answer, he doesn’t call out, he doesn’t throw a rock to try and distract whatever it is that’s lurking nearby. The faint haze of snow is starting to fall, and he feels like he’s holding his breath all over again. He’s scared, he feels like he’s about to lose his stomach at this rate, and the contents in it.
Please, please, please, let Jade be far away from here and away from that thing , and let her be safe. He missed her to where his heart hurt, and he was terrified about what could happen to her. He was scared for himself, sure, but he had control of himself, then and there. He had no idea where Jade was, if she was okay, if she was hurt or not– he missed his friend, and he wanted to be there to make sure she was safe.
Part of him wondered if keeping the backpack was worth it– if it would slow his movement down if he needed to run or scale up another tree. Whatever was lurking was large, and it sounded like it was coming closer. Thudding steps, the sound of heavy breaths. It was big, most definitely bigger than a deer. He might have to abandon his backpack and hope whatever it was might have more curiosity about the dried food than him. Animals were driven by food– every living thing was, in a way. Save for mutts– which, with his rotten luck, was likely what he was currently being followed by.
The question he’d had was quickly answered. The steps were getting closer. The bag wasn’t worth the weight or distraction. He moved as quietly as he could, removing the backpack and setting it down in the snow. He kept moving, trying to put distance. It was hard to tell which direction he was going in the low light, in the blinding of the snow falling. He kept moving, quiet, shuffling steps. Keep moving. Keep moving– don’t stop until he finds somewhere safe enough to hide.
He keeps his mouth covered with one hand, he keeps shuffling through the snow. The steps echo and crunch, whatever it is heaves heavy breaths the entire time, underlying with a low, rumbling growl that sounds like it’s bubbling up through water. It rattled and echoed, a sound he’d never heard an animal make before.
He realizes he’s nearing the lip of a ledge, the way the rock starts to crumble under his feet and shift, the way the wind echoes and howls below. He shifts himself away, as much as he can, and turns to see where else he can go. What greets him is a hulking silhouette in the dim light. Even on four, lumbering legs, it was taller than him– it was bigger than the horses that pulled the chariots in the parade. He has never seen a bear before in his life, but he heard Jade say there were some in 12. About as tall as Gamzee– black fur, scavengers, usually, could be frightened off if someone looked like too much trouble to deal with. What he sees is not that.
He smells the rot before he sees it. He holds stock still and feels frozen in place. Dingy, sand-colored fur that lightens to a dirty cream that looks grey in some spots, and darkens to a muddy color. It is not the smell of rotting meat– of death, which he is more familiar than he’d like to be. No– that is an afterthought. It is the sickly sweet smell of rotting fruit and flowers that makes him feel sick to his stomach. It is the bone peaking through mangled tissue, it is the visible jaw and skull that looks like it has something fused into it, it is the dripping blood on bone and on its coat. It is the horrible, warbling, growl of his own name that makes it feel like the very blood in his body has been replaced with ice.
He takes a step back before he even realizes where he is, and how close to the edge he is. If he wasn’t so focused on trying to suck air into his lungs, he thinks he may have lost any contents of his stomach right then and there. That thing rears up, and it towers over him like a beast from a nightmare. It’s instinct to step back, to put as much distance between this monstrosity and himself, to run.
The rock crumbles under his feet, and he notices too late, before there’s a sinking pit in his stomach, and the feeling of falling encompasses him like a flood. It feels like it happens so slowly, he’s sure it’s only a handful of seconds. He felt the pain before he felt the ground, harsh and unforgiving before it dulled out to darkness.
When he came to, he was staring up at the fake sky. It was barely dawn. He remembered a time, once, when daylight seemed to scare away the monsters of the night. Where the sun would chase away anything that hid in the shadows. He remembered being young enough to believe nothing bad could happen in the daylight. That the morning would make everything alright again. He wished he was still able to believe that.
His head hurt, he could feel his hands a bit, but every movement felt like agony. His hands felt tingly and numb, like they’d fallen asleep and it was difficult to get rid of the static feeling. It was when he couldn’t get himself to sit up that he realized a lot more was wrong than just some numbness and tingling. He couldn’t exactly turn his head much easier, from the angle he was at. He tried to remember what Jade had said at one point– what Rufioh had echoed, that he needed to stay calm, not panic, and keep himself quiet. He could still move his arms. It took effort, but he was able to push his back off the ground, at least, holding onto rough rock to keep himself upright until he could prop up against something more sturdy.
When he’d accomplished that, he didn’t know whether or not to be thankful that he couldn’t feel his legs. There was an odd lump at one of his pant legs, steadily soaking dark red. Bone poked through the fabric, angry and jagged. Crimson. He couldn’t feel the pain of it. He supposed that might be a good thing in some aspects, but he also knew that probably meant something a lot worse than a broken bone had happened. He felt cold, more than usual. What he could feel was the stinging pain at the top of his head, he could feel a heavy pressure-pain in his stomach, like getting crushed under a rock, even if nothing was there. He doesn’t let himself scream. He does let himself cry, he muffles it by covering his mouth with his sleeve. Every breath felt like it wasn’t enough. His lungs were starving for air and each broken inhale wasn’t enough.
It didn’t happen as often in 11 as it used to, according to Rufioh. Fruit trees weren’t tall enough. Some trees in 11 were big enough, though. They were big and old, and it was usually smaller kids who went and climbed them and got hurt. Some were just small enough for it to be worse. Kids that fell high enough that something broke and they couldn’t use their legs anymore. Some, sometimes adults, and sometimes kids, got caught crossways with the wrong peacekeeper. Something would burst inside them, leaving nasty bruises before it seemed too much for their bodies to handle. He knew it was slow. He knew it hurt. He didn’t want to be in pain like that. He didn’t want to die like that. He didn’t want to die at all .
He sits for a while. He doesn’t really know how much time passes. There were small streaks of light across the sky, like paint on concrete. He was scared to disappoint Rufioh– scared to let his family down. He was scared to not see Jade again, not knowing if his friend was okay and if she was safe. He was scared of dying. Fear was not something new to him. He had known it intimately from a young age. But now– now it was glaring. There was no bed to hide under. There would be no sunlight to chase away the shadows. There was no way for his mom or dad to tell him everything was okay. It was cold and dark, and he was afraid.
The pain he felt was almost numbed by that fact. It hurt before, but now it was like a steady pressure that only got worse. Every inhale felt painful. The crying wasn’t helping him, he knew that, but he wasn’t able to stop it. He wondered if it was cold enough for his tears to freeze to his face.
It was the rustling that made him more afraid. He didn’t want to die slow, but he didn’t want to die at the claws and teeth of that thing , either. He squeezed his eyes shut, scared it had come back to finish him off.
“Tavros?”
The voice echoed clearly, without any kind of distortion or warped effect. When he opened his eyes, it was Equius standing there– it looked like him, at least. His hair had been pulled back, out of his face, in a short stub of a ponytail from all he could tell. He looked tired– there was a nasty bruise on the side of his face, and his knuckles were bloody, too. The fear he felt was first because Equius was bigger, older, and stronger than him– a career . In that split moment, it didn’t matter how close Rufioh and Horuss were, Tavros was the scared kid from 11, who was immobilized and wouldn’t be able to fight back, he was easy prey to someone who was so much stronger than him, someone who was from 2 and knew how to kill as easy as it was to breathe.
“It’s just me– it’s just me, I got separated from Nepeta earlier, I’d heard crying and I thought–” Equius had been explaining himself, open hands, the same way he’d approached Jade when he found her the first day. He watches slate eyes widen. “Your leg–”
“I know it’s bad,” Tavros cuts him off. “I, um. I can’t feel it, though. That’s probably not good. But I think I’d be making it worse if I did feel it,” it feels like his lips are numb as he speaks. Not from the cold, the odd buzzy feeling like when he’d fall asleep on his arm.
Equius approaches him carefully. “Is it just your one leg?” He asks, navigating between the rocks until he’s beside him.
Tavros shook his head, and his eyes stung again with fresh tears.
“Okay,” Equius seemed to take a breath. “Hey, hey, just– deep breaths, right now, alright? Are you hurt anywhere else?”
He nodded. “My stomach hurts really bad– it’s like it’s spreading up into my chest, kind of,” he tried to explain.
“I need to check, okay? Just to make sure. After that– I’ll find something to splint your leg.” Equius says it like a promise. Tavros doesn’t know if he can believe him. He doesn’t know if he could hold onto that kind of false hope that he could be okay from this.
Infection kills– that’s what one of the trainers had said. Cold, and infection. It was one of the fastest ways some tributes went. Exposure to the elements, and getting sick from an open wound, or dirty water, or bad food.
Equius was careful. Tavros liked to think it counted for something that he was. It was dulled, but he could feel Equius’ hands, he didn’t want to look, but when he saw the pinched expression, he tried to.
“Don’t look,” Equius told him, firm but shaky all the same. “Don’t– it’s– it likely looks worse than it is, and I don’t want to make you more upset.”
It wasn’t going to make him more upset. It was going to cement what he already knew, deep down. That he was hurt bad , and nothing was going to change that. Not the fancy medicine that the Capitol could make, not sponsors, not his brother, not Jade, and not Equius. There wasn’t a bed to hide under this time, there was no escaping the monster of his own death.
He knows, then, that he isn’t going to make it out of there. It would have been as useful to wish for the games to be called off entirely.
Equius glances over and sees the trails of blood from his leg. That wasn’t what was making him hurt– he knew that. He remembered learning about blood loss. He wasn’t dizzy yet. It looked bad, but it wasn’t what was going to be his end. He doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know if he can ask Equius to not leave him alone. He was scared to be alone, to be cold and alone, and he realized how childish it is to be afraid of that– especially after the monstrosity he had seen.
“I’ll carry you,” Equius suddenly says. “I’ll carry you. We’ll find Nepeta and the others, and we’ll find somewhere to stay. I’ll make a splint for your leg.”
“I’m not gonna make it that long,” Tavros says. It’s odd, to have finally admitted out loud to himself. To someone else. “I’m not gonna make it.”
“No– no, don’t say that. I’ll find a way. They’ll send something–” Equius doesn’t specify who ‘they’ are– if it’s any guess, Tavros thinks he’s referring to Rufioh and Horuss.
“Nothing’s fixing this,” Tavros cut him off. “I’ve seen it in 11. There’s no medicine to fix this. I can’t feel or move my legs,” he feels more tears run down his face when he says it. It’s a finality. It’s admitting what he doesn’t want to. “It feels like there’s a boulder on my chest and stomach– you know it as much as I do.” He doesn’t say that it hurts. He knows Equius knows.
“You’re family,” Equius says, stiff and unwavering. “I have to be able to do something .”
And it’s a hell of a thing, to hear that. He doesn’t know if Equius is saying it to just try and make him feel better, or if he really believes it. The thin bead of tears in the older boy’s eyes makes him think it’s at least a little true. He wishes they could’ve had more time to know each other. He doesn’t know what to say, though, so he just asks Equius to stay with him.
The older boy does as much. He’s quiet, and his shoulders are stiff, but he’s a little warmer than the rocks and ice around the both of them. He wishes that he had been more careful. He wishes he could be there to help protect Jade, to see her again, to give her one more hug. He wishes he had just stayed in the damn tree. He wishes he was able to see his brother and his parents. He wishes he was home.
The pain builds and builds like a dam threatening to break. It hurts so much . He’d fallen out of trees before, but he’d never been hurt this bad. Never enough for it to feel like it was crushing his bones and lungs from within him.
“I don’t want it to hurt– I don’t want it to be slow,” Tavros finally confesses. He can taste the blood in his mouth already. He doesn’t want to die choking on his own blood– drowning in it, waiting for the pain to end.
Equius almost recoils as if Tavros had electrocuted him. There’s a panic in his eyes. He feels bad for asking, but there’s no saving him. And he’d rather have a quick death if it came to it. A quick death from someone he knew wouldn’t have any malice behind it. It would be a mercy. Something brief, and hopefully painless, so that he didn’t force Equius to listen to him choke as his body gave in to the injuries he’d sustained.
“I can’t–” Equius says immediately. “Tavros– I can’t hurt you– I can’t kill you!”
“If you don’t– something else will. You’re family. I’d rather it be you,” it’s a weak argument. He knows it. But at this point, it was better than the pain that made it feel impossible to think straight, crushing him from the inside.
It was odd. Equius was nothing like the careers he’d grown up watching. There was no bloodthirst in his eyes. There was no eagerness to kill. He thinks about what Jade had said the first day when he found her. That it was one less tribute to worry about. He thinks he understands a lot more, the confusion about the hesitation. He wishes that the world was different. Maybe he could have had more friends.
“I don’t,” it takes so much more effort to speak than before. “I don’t want to wait for this to kill me. It hurts – I just want it to stop.”
He sees a battle behind Equius’ eyes happen, one he can’t tell what to make of. He sees the thin beaded line of tears in the older boy’s eyes, sees the way his shoulders shake a bit, even under the heavy coats. He hopes that Equius knows there isn’t another path to take. It was this, or wait until his injuries did him in, or the cold or the mutt circling back, or someone else far less kind and merciful finding him and claiming an easy kill.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying to bite down yelling, because the pain just keeps getting worse. The dizziness was definitely there, by that point. It felt like the world was spinning, even with his eyes closed. He feels calloused hands cupping the sides of his face and it makes him open his eyes again.
Equius is crying. His hands are rough, they’re calloused and chapped– but it’s gentle.
“I’ll make it quick– it won’t hurt,” he promises.
Tavros hopes that it’s true. He nods a bit. “Tell Rufioh I’m sorry,” he muttered. He didn’t want to let his brother down. He wanted to do better. He wanted to show he could make it. “Tell Jade I’m sorry– I was– I was supposed to find her again.” It’s selfish– it’s awful, but he’s glad he won’t have to see either of them cry when all is said and done.
Equius promises him that he will. He feels him brush hair out of his face, before the hold is a bit stronger, a bit sturdier. He lets his eyes close again and tries to picture something nice. He can distantly hear the sound of Rufioh’s laughter in his mind when things were good. He pictures his brother picking him up and carrying him around on his shoulders like when he was little. He pictures Jade’s smile, he tries to imagine her talking about what 12 was like.
He feels his head turning sharply, feels something crack, and the dark behind his eyes takes over. The pain is gone. It’s just a floating darkness, a bit like falling asleep. He feels like maybe he’s starting to dream, in that state of seeing something in his mind but it not quite playing like he’s watching it.
It wasn’t cold there, and he didn’t feel any more pain.
Notes:
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Chapter 24: The Outside Looking In (I)
Summary:
The perspectives of Latula and Karkat as the games progress.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: Typical Hunger Games Warnings, light descriptions of blood, injury, and illness, mentioned alcoholism/substance abuse
A little on the shorter side, the byproduct of me getting blasted with wind and dirt in the spring
As always, please visit the links in my linktree
Chapter Text
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Latula
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She has never once let herself get attached to people other than Terezi. Terezi had always been her priority. Anything was just a distraction from that. She had won her games, and the Capitol had hated her for it. Until Jake had come along, she was the only victor 12 had who wasn’t a drunk. Well, she had that for a short while, until Jake started drinking hard after he came out of his games.
It was something she had learned quickly. No one won the games. There was only ever surviving them, never winning. She understood plenty well why Jake drank, though. The mutts he dealt with– nasty pieces of work. Something harvested out of a nightmare. They were the only two living victors, 12 had the year after Jake’s games, when the old drunk who had mentored her kicked the bucket. The old bat probably drank herself to death– that was the wake-up call she needed to help Jake avoid the same fate. ‘Help’ was perhaps too kind a word for what she’d done. She’d sat him down and chewed him out, admittedly probably using some low blows that she shouldn’t have, but it got the message across.
She was 12’s first volunteer. She would’ve done anything in the world for Terezi. And when she promised to try and win for her little sister, she meant it. There was a time when she believed she could, and if she won, she would be able to get Terezi help from the fancy Capitol medicine that could stitch flesh back together like it was nothing. She could find a way to help her sister see again, maybe not fully, but just maybe enough.
That had required people to like her. And they, resolutely, did not . She was snarky with Aurora, enough to garner some laughs from the audience. But she was not entertaining enough for them. They called her a false victor. A coward. They weren’t entirely wrong, she supposed. She never could look any of them in the eye, not the ones that she poisoned with nightlock berries. But it was better than killing them, better than seeing the fear in their eyes. And, when it was all said and done, it was either let the Capitol style her like a doll or have the one person she truly cared about face the consequences. She supposed, distantly, that she was glad to be mundane and uninteresting to them. They never changed much about her. Her victory tour had her paraded in varying shades of teal and bright red. It nauseated her.
She realized, in that tour, that no ‘help’ the Capitol could offer would be worth it. She wasn’t willing to put Terezi into that world, into that horrible collection of greedy vultures. Terezi was all that mattered to her, for a very long time. She did what she could for the tributes until Jake came along, and joined the spoils of war, all of fifteen years old, just a year younger than she had been. She did have to fight the Capitolites on not changing his face that much, but he couldn’t grow scruff, even years later. She did what she could.
She had seen Aranea Serket, the victor the year after her. If she had ever seen a snake personified, it had been that girl. Cruel– crueler than some careers, actually. Had killed her own district partner after lulling him into a false sense of security. She played the cameras and audience well. She had been seventeen, all poison and a smile like daggers. Latula had felt more unnerved by her than by any career in the arena.
There was Mituna Captor. And, admittedly, she had a soft spot for him. Two years after Jake, he had been an eighteen-year-old victor. He had been quiet and twitchy, but so beyond brilliant when Latula had watched him. He was clever. He had trouble talking when he came to 12. But Latula loved to hear him speak when he could, without cards in front of him. He had given her the nickname ‘Tulip’ when he saw her in the coming years.
In the years following, she watched six more kids from 12 die. All from the Seam. Five of them had died in the bloodbath on the first day of their games. One had made it close– closer than anyone from 12 had been in a long time, a week in, before she had been killed by a career that slit her throat.
Latula had known of the Vantas brothers. Terezi was friends with Karkat and dragged that mouthy little asshole everywhere with her. He grew on her, admittedly, a bit like a leech. He was annoyingly perceptive. His older brother– she never interacted with Kankri much before the Reaping. She knew he was sickly, but he seemed to hide it well. He had volunteered, just like her.
It also became very easy to tell who the charismatic one of the two was going to be. Jade wasn’t a bad kid– she was quiet, but she clammed up too easily, and couldn’t hold eye contact with anyone. She wasn’t that different from Mituna. But Kankri knew how to play his words like an instrument, to latch someone into conversation, and knew how to play people like a fiddle. He volunteered in place of his little brother. He had almost naturally taken to the same sort of protectiveness over Jade. That– she could work with. Jade, thus far, had little she could spin.
So when she watches the games and sees both of them survive past the bloodbath, even if Jade had cut it glaringly close, there is a small amount of pride she allows herself to feel. Of course, she knew Jade had survival skills, but she also knew Jake was going to have his work cut out for him to get her any sponsors. On the second day, when she sees Kankri treed like a goddamn housecat, she balks and nearly starts laughing when she realizes all his playing nice with some careers has actually paid off when the girl from 4 leaves him to be on the account she knows Cronus’ little runt of a brother was fond of him.
It’s more of a shock when she sees Kankri ally himself with not one, but two different careers. Horuss’ nephew, and Cronus’ runt. Half the group gets split up. Evidently, Eridan (because Jake cared enough to remind her of his name) was close with Mituna’s brother. And Meenah’s little sister. It’s a surprise. Cronus tries to talk to her. He’s a teenager– more than Jake was, and really, she’s never been assed to care about a career. The peacock himself, pride and joy of the Capitol, the most beloved out of all the victors she knew. It was a shock when he asked her blessing to try and gather sponsors for Kankri, and a beat later, offered to do the same for Jade. She thought it had been a joke.
So, some days later, when she’s watching Jake pace, watching him try to garner sponsors for Jade, watching him look frustrated and scared, knowing his sister was out there alone, she wishes she had taken Cronus a bit more seriously on his offer. The girl was out there in that arena, stumbling around, having scaled up a tree, keeping herself quiet, and looking half out of her mind while she was doing so.
She realized it more, watching Equius goddamn Zahaak, sit in the mess of snow and rocks after he’d killed Rufioh’s little brother– from what she had seen it had been a mercy. She watched him sit until the hovercraft came. She watched him sprinkle something over the coat of the boy from 11, watched him wait until the hovercraft picked up that broken body. She recognized the hollow look in that boy’s eyes. It was hard for her to believe, even if Rufioh and Horuss were so close, that a career stayed willingly, with the body of a boy from one of the poorest districts. She wished it when she saw Rufioh holding Horuss tight in a quiet hallway, both of them weeping silently.
She realized it more, watching the scene of a broken, mangled body being cradled, with frantic hands trying to stop bleeding from where unmovable stone and harshly broken saplings had pierced through the soft flesh of the body. She turned and excused herself to get a drink– she would at least do that away from Jake.
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Karkat
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He doesn’t know how it’s possible to have a constant feeling of boiling anger, fear, exhaustion, and outright disbelief constantly warring within himself. Karkat has known that feeling for as long as he can remember. The anger, always. Everything was so fucking unfair. It wasn’t ever fair that the kids in the community house would get hit over small mistakes, it wasn’t fair that a merchant’s kids never had to know hunger the same way a kid from the Seam did. It wasn’t ever fair that it was kids from the Seam going off to die nearly every year. It wasn’t fair that the pool for the Reaping, almost every year, aimed younger and younger when a kid from the Seam was chosen.
He sits shoulder to shoulder with Terezi. They’re both in Mr. Harley’s house, in the Victor’s Village. Mr. Harley had insisted they stay with him; Terezi had seemed fine with it, so Karkat went along without complaint. Terezi always had a talent for calling bullshit for what it was, whenever she sensed it. It was one of the few times Karkat had a full stomach when he stayed with Mr. Harley. The first couple of nights had made him feel sick, and he stayed out in the living room. That’s what it was called. He’d never been in a house as big as this in his life. It wasn’t that Terezi never had him over– just that usually, Karkat had to find something to do the minute he wasn’t in school, and he had to find something to snag a little extra food. Mr. Harley would make him tea, wouldn’t linger long, but always said that he was there if either he or Terezi needed to talk.
He mostly has to relay what happens on the TV to Terezi. Aurora Snowman is an asshole in the kindest terms, and for all her fucking yapping, does very little to actually narrate what’s happening. So when it comes to telling her about any updates he can see of Kankri, or of Jade, he does his best. He described what they looked like in the tribute parade, where Kankri held Jade’s hand. He described what they looked like in the interviews.
Terezi asks what they looked like, because she can’t remember. He does his best to describe his brother– how out of the two, Kankri looked like their mom (at least, that’s what he’d heard so often from those who knew their mother), that his hair was dark and curly, a bit longer than his own, eyes so brown they twinkled like wine. He tells her that Kankri had dimples when he smiled, but that he had a permanent worry line creasing between his eyebrows. He tells her that his hands are willowy, that all of Kankri is some wisp of a person, that he had specks of freckles on the bridge of his nose, that he had a couple of beauty marks along his face and on his arms. That his eyes were always tired. He tells her of the silvery little scars on his hands from when they’d go foraging for plants just past the fence. He tells her that he couldn’t sing worth hell, but that he hummed songs. He tells her what he wore on Reaping Day: a thin-worn dress shirt and trousers, just like he had. He tells her that he almost always smelled like mint, because it was one of his favorite things, and he always kept pickings of the plant tucked away. He tells her that for all his bony and wiry limbs and bones, Kankri still gave the tightest hugs he’d ever had. He does not tell her that, more than anything, he wants his brother back and wants to crush him in a hug.
He tells her that Jade looked like them, too– green eyes instead of brown, tawny skin that was a little bit darker than theirs, the same green eyes that Jake has, that they fit the bill of most in the Seam, save for the eyes. That she had a face full of freckles, that she wore her hair in a braid. He realizes then that he didn’t know Jade that well. He, Terezi, and Kankri went to school with her. But he couldn’t recall a single time he’d spoken to her aside from when Kankri had been so sick, Karkat was scared he was going to lose him, the times when Kankri’s fever wasn’t breaking, and he was delirious. He realizes, then, that the first real conversation he’d ever had with Jade was Reaping Day, when he’d visited her, when he thanked her for her and Mr. Harley’s help with Kankri– when she’d pulled him into a hug and whispered in his ear to keep people in the Seam safe.
“Her hands are soft,” Terezi noted. “I know that– I gave her a necklace. It’s a striker– Latula gave it to me as a birthday gift, before my name got called. Her hands are calloused, but they’re soft.”
Terezi liked to say she could read people by their hands alone; Karkat had known that for as long as he’d known Terezi. She swore up and down that she could tell what someone was like just by being able to feel their hands. Karkat never believed much of it, but he never questioned it– Terezi had the innate talent of being able to find anyone’s bluff.
When he had to explain to Terezi that Jade was hurt, but was still going, Terezi was quiet. She asked how bad. He told her that from what he could see, there was blood in one of her eyes, that there were bruises on her throat, that she had outrun one of the career pack after he’d pinned her down, that one arm looked like it was hanging lower than her other arm, that she’d hit a rock hard in an avalanche. She still scaled up a tree and covered her ears and mouth with whatever she could when the monster of a mutt came around. Terezi, tactfully, never asked him what the mutt looked like. It was something he was glad for.
When he glanced at Mr. Harley, when it was all happening, the man’s eyes were glossy with tears, holding a hand over his mouth, the other over his heart. Jake had mentioned something to him just before he had to leave on the train. That Mr. Harley’s heart wasn’t working as good as it used to, that, with a gentle request, he asked that Karkat remind Mr. Harley to take whatever medicine he needed for it, every day, until he was able to come back. He doesn’t know what to say; Mr. Harley was watching, for the second time, one of his grandkids in an arena with the knowledge that there was at least a one-in-twenty-four chance that his kid wasn’t going to come home. He was never great at math, but Karkat knew it was less than a 4% chance. He doesn’t know what to say to someone who’s been through this twice now.
He doesn’t know for complete certainty how old Mr. Harley is; he looks at least fifty, but Karkat had never been good at guessing ages. If Jake and Jade got his characteristics, it was possible that he looked younger than he was. People always knew to go to Mr. Harley, at least the ones from the Seam, because he never charged them– the most he’d ever ask was to grab a few local plants as a payment. It was one of the many times he and Kankri snuck out of the fence, collecting plants and herbs in a small sack, coming back to make payment on the times Mr. Harley had cared for Kankri. He’s heard the man talk about witnessing the second Quarter Quell, the 50th games, when he was a child. It was a mess; twice the number of tributes had been reaped from each district. He rarely talks about the third quarter quell, from what Karkat had learned in school, which had been only twelve-year-olds; it was especially cruel.
He realizes he doesn’t know much about the man who’s saved his brother’s life, over and over again, beyond being the apothecary of 12 or the grandfather of one of 12’s only victors. He does not know Mr. Harley beyond the fact that he is the man who had saved Kankri, had given medicine to those in the Seam who couldn’t afford it otherwise, and was a man who was watching his youngest child go through the games. He does not know Mr. Harley at all, beyond the fact that he is a kind and quiet man, that he has an affinity for gardening, and that he hums to himself often, that he mumbles words to stories that rhyme.
He knows Kankri has been lucky, so far. But lucky– that is the only thing he has. He has no weapon, and he knows his older brother isn’t that strong, not compared to others. He has no idea how or why Kankri was willing to team up with not just one, but two careers– even if the careers were also teamed up with other outlying districts. It terrifies him how close Kankri skirts death and danger.
Karkat sat alongside Terezi in a living room that was twice the size of the cramped bedroom at the community house with its rickety bunk beds and leaky ceiling. He sits beside his best, and only, friend, and wonders to himself how much more blood has to be spilled before the Capitol is satisfied, how many more kids have to die before they feel that the wrongs of the Dark Days were paid. He wonders, silently, how much more will it take until there aren’t enough kids left to send into death traps before the Capitol would be happy. He tries not to think about the fact that there’s a solid possibility that his or Terezi’s names could be drawn again, in the coming years.
Chapter 25: Jade: Discover
Summary:
Jade wakes up in the care of a friend and realizes she lost another.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentioned strangulation/violence, mentioned head injury/concussion, brief descriptions of horror elements in the flavor of the bear mutt, brief and vague allusion to suicidal ideation toward the very end.
------------------------------You know when writer's block beats your ass and you also end up getting a ton of other fixations all having a cockfight in your brain? Yeah. Job-hunting is also its own circle of hell. I'm hoping to have a more consistent update schedule at some point, at least. A shorter chapter but I'm trying to get back into writing this work. Until then, I've gotten wrapped up in FNAF (once more, since it refuses to let go of me), ER, Yellowjackets (if you haven't already seen my fic for that, it's up), and a swath of Dimension 20's DND campaigns.
Notes:
As always, please share the campaigns in my Linktree. Families need more help now than ever. Donate if you can, but please spread awareness above all else so that those with the means can donate.
Chapter Text
It’s hard to make sense of everything. Everything had been a blur, one that felt like ringing bells inside Jade’s head whenever she tried to recall the events that had taken place. What she can make sense of, immediately, is that her throat hurts . So does her skull, and really, every part of her. Her shoulder does, too. It takes her longer than she would like to remember where she is– to recognize where she is. For a single, blissful moment, she almost believed she was in 12, back home, and had just fallen off a tree.
“You’re up,” the voice is quiet and soft. It takes her a minute to place it. “I was getting worried– you were asleep for a long time.”
Nepeta crouched beside her, huddled in a coat, poking at the glowing embers of coals with a stick. Immediately, Jade felt a spike of dread in her stomach.
“Don’t worry– I only made a fire when the snow was heavy. No one could see it,” Nepeta promised quickly. “I know smoke rises fast. There’s a ton of wildfires back home, and we can always see the smoke from miles away.”
It’s hard to recall the last thing that she remembered clearly. What came was in flashes, bright and loud and disorienting. She remembered, vaguely, stumbling out of a snow pile. She remembered climbing a tree. She remembered that there was screaming, at one point, but she couldn’t remember if it was hers or not. Everything else felt foggy.
“What–” Her voice is hoarse, it feels scratchy, and she has to clear her throat for any words to come out without sounding like sandpaper. “What happened?”
Nepeta’s face falls a bit. “What do you remember?”
“Not a lot,” Jade replied honestly, and was dreading to learn what the gaps in her memory were. It couldn’t have been good if Nepeta looked hesitant. “It’s fuzzy– it’s hard to remember everything.”
“It’s been a couple of days– you were asleep for most of it. I was able to get you to drink some water. You look better, though– that’s a good thing, I think.”
“Did I get hurt?” It felt like it.
Nepeta nodded a bit. “When I found you, yeah. You weren’t using your left arm much, but you still had a good grip on your knife. It was hard to see your eyes a little, but there was blood in one. And your neck was bruised up. One of your pupils was a little bigger than the other, but it was hard to tell. I see it a lot back home.”
Concussion. That made a bit of sense. It was slow to recall, but she remembered what Pop told her, that it was important to stay awake, that usually it was going to be like a bad headache. Dizziness. Nausea. Gaps in memory. It took a moment longer to realize how she’d hit her head in the first place. Then she remembered the shrieking of the angels, the landslide, the cascade of snow. The rock. Her right hand floated to her left arm, her shoulder, namely, where the pain radiated in a dull thrum. It was even again; she hadn’t broken anything, so it must have been a dislocation, one she’d set at some point. The other details came back fuzzier.
She remembered hands around her throat. She remembered being pinned down in the snow. She remembered thrashing and headbutting whoever it was that had her pinned down. She remembered it was a boy. She remembered it was one of the career pack, because she remembered him saying something about Caliborn. She remembered running after that. She remembered scaling up a tree.
“Where was I?”
“Well, I saw you first in the trees when we were hiding. But after it, I found you in the snow. I brought you back here.”
“You’re not with Equius,” Jade pointed out. “What happened?” It was the one time she wished a career was there; Equius had at least seemed to be a good ally, and he didn’t seem the type to abandon his allies, either.
“We got split up. Again. We were with Kankri and Gamzee to start– we got separated when the ground split open. Equius and I stayed together, but we got split up near the trees. We heard that big mutt– he told me to find somewhere to hide, and he’d find me later. Then I saw you, when we were up in the trees, but I didn’t see him. I figured he tried to find somewhere else to hide, but I haven’t seen him since. I know he’s alive, though; there haven’t been any cannons that fired off since that morning.” Nepeta rattled off.
Time had passed, then, evidently. From the career boy that had her pinned– 1, it had to have been the boy from 1, then, to the trees Nepeta was talking about. And someone had died afterward. Or maybe multiple people. It was hard to remember in full. The mutt came back slowly, and then all at once.
She didn’t see what it had looked like, not immediately. It was hazy in the same way that trying to recall every moment of a dream was, with some parts glaringly clear. The mutt was one of those details. This horrid, atrocious thing. A walking corpse, a mockery of any actual animal. The sickly-sweet smell of rot that she knew far too well, like decaying flowers and spoiled fruit over festering blood and wounds. It stole voices. It used voices like bait to lure people out. She remembered, startlingly, that it had used Jake’s voice. It built and built and built until it devolved into inhuman shrieks and snarls. That– she remembered covering her ears to, and squeezing her eyes shut.
The flood of ‘not real, not real, not real, not real’ whispers came back to her, what she’d told herself, that her brother wasn’t in the arena again. That it was just an ugly, awful Capitol-made mutt, that he wasn’t there, and that Jake wasn’t in the arena again, and he wasn’t faced with hell on earth again. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t her brother screaming, it wasn’t him. And then horrible screaming, that it gurgled like someone trying to speak through water.
And the train of thought that led to mutts led back to the angels. Back to Tavros.
“I need to find him,” she blurted out. “I need to find Tavros– I promised I would find him after we got separated, I have to– he doesn’t have a weapon, I need to find him. I told him to find you, and the others, that he’d be safer– he hates the cold,” she feels herself going into a tangent before she can stop it.
Tavros had hated the cold. He had thought the snow was pretty, but he hated the cold. She knew that for a fact. He’d said it had made him feel stiff and slow, and she was supposed to find a way to get them somewhere safe enough where she could get him warm, and make sure he was okay, and that he wasn’t hurt.
Nepeta looked at her with an emotion she wasn’t quite able to decipher. It wasn’t pity. It was something else– it looked like hurt for her.
“You don’t remember?”
It feels like a breath caught in her throat. The memories were slow and sluggish. Gaps that were hard to place with what happened, and what had been a dream. Even that seemed to blur together. Who had screamed? Was it her? Was it someone else?
Nepeta approached her carefully, with nothing in her hands. She looked upset, too, now that Jade looked at her properly. The blaring pain in her skull almost seemed dim compared to this. She offered her hand, and it was shaking, and it was all Jade could to do to immediately take it.
“He didn’t make it,” Nepeta said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. You started crying when his portrait was up in the sky, and you passed out after– I’m sorry.” Her voice wobbled and started to break.
Jade tugged her close and just held her. And the moment she did, she felt Nepeta crumple against her, her hands holding onto the fabric of the coat and balling it up, as she listened to quieted sniffles and sobs. It hurts. There’s a fragment of her memory that she can recall that was so hazy around the edges, but it was Tavros’ face up in the sky. The girl from 11– Arriety– had been after him. It was Tavros’ portrait lighting up the dismal arena, as the anthem played, blared, and burned her skull.
She doesn’t know how long she has been sitting, just holding Nepeta, tucking her into the crook of her shoulder. She feels wetness on her face and realizes she herself is crying, too. She doesn’t care when her limbs go numb. She just holds Nepeta close, cradling the back of her head.
She was supposed to protect Tavros– he was supposed to live. He was supposed to run, find cover, and live . He out of most deserved that. He was her first real friend. Outside of 12, outside of forced circumstances, he had been her first true and real friend. She tries to commit what he looked like to her memory. Big brown eyes that held so much light and warmth, a smile that was like sunshine itself. His hands were bigger than hers, but that he was always so, so gentle. So careful. How his hair was curly and thick, shaved down on the sides, hanging in loose ringlets. How there was just a little notch under his right eyebrow, and there were silvery little scars on his fingertips that he said were from thorns from picking fruit. How his fingertips would sometimes trace the hair out of her face, how they were calloused but warm when they’d hold hands in the hideout. She tries to etch the sound of his voice into her mind. The sound of his laughter, which was like bells and was one of the sweetest things she’d ever heard, how it reminded her of birdsong. How his voice was always soft, how the corners of his eyes would crinkle up when he told jokes, how animated he became when talking about 11– about his home, how his hands would articulate as he spoke.
It didn’t feel real that she wouldn’t get to see him again. That she wouldn’t hear his voice as his again. That she wouldn’t get to hug him again. She wouldn’t be able to hear his heartbeat. It felt like someone had gutted her like game, and left the hollow husk of her body behind. It hurt in a way that she wasn’t able to describe. There was a part of her brain that whispered that she barely knew him, that she knew the odds of everyone going in, that she shouldn’t be surprised. There was another part of her that wanted to shriek and scream and cry, demand that it was wrong– that Tavros was alive and out there somewhere, and that she needed to get up and look for him.
So she held Nepeta quietly. Everything still came back in fragments of memory. Rushing and odd, jagged at the edges. A few days, how long had it been since she was in the arena? A week, or longer? Hunger pangs were familiar, but enough to know that Nepeta had been telling the truth about a few days passing. The last time she ate, it had been with Tavros, splitting some meager rations between themselves. She could feel more tears fall at that realization.
Nepeta was smaller than her. Quick and clever, but smaller, and Jade vowed to herself then, she was going to do whatever she could in order to protect her. She had to do better; she had to do what she could to make sure Nepeta lived. So, she brushes thick curls out of the girl’s face, and is met with teary eyes. She brings a hand to wipe some of them away.
“Thank you for helping me. For saving me,” she says, and it’s honest. “We’re going to work together, okay? And we’ll find a way back to the others.” She promised.
“Okay,” Nepeta nodded a little bit.
It is impossible not to feel endeared by Nepeta. She still has a brightness in her eyes, like fragments of moss and amber tangling together in the quiet haven of a grove. She has a silent earnestness about her– something that Jade has found in plenty of younger kids in the Seam. It’s a testament to the fact that Nepeta is the youngest out of all of them; the smallest. This time around, Jade needed to do everything in her power to keep this girl safe, to at least give her a strong fighting chance. She had to. She wasn’t able to protect Tavros, but she could at least do better by Nepeta. Both of them deserved to live more than anyone else. Tavros had certainly deserved to more than she did– and she couldn’t rewind time to change it. So she had to make sure Nepeta had that chance. That she could live, and leave this nightmare behind.
Time bleeds together slowly, huddled in the quiet shelter. Nepeta talks quietly about 10, what it’s like. It’s mostly desert, dry and cracked land that was filled with shrubbery and dotted sparsely with trees. Some places grew fields of grass better, and livestock preferred it. Jade couldn’t blame them on that front. Nepeta said that the wind would howl and make dust storms that could block out the sun in the sky entirely. But that the wind could sing– and what a funny thing to think about. She said it was common to have windchimes in the houses there; that they’d make melodies in a breeze, or the sound of raindrops on a roof was like music.
Nepeta curls up against her just like a little cat would. She rests her head against Jade’s chest, nestled against her ribs. She’s so small. Her curly hair is at least two or three inches of her height, Jade is sure of it. Nepeta knows how to handle the cold a bit better; she knows the biting chill of winter winds, but rarely of any snow. She knows they have to keep their jackets off, to get used to the slight warmth in this little hollow, so that they would be able to tolerate the cold outside just a bit easier.
Jade hums to her. She’s never been a singer– her voice would break on certain notes, sounding more like an odd rasp of air. But she knew the songs, knew the rhythm and beat, the chords– all from Jake and Pop. Pop didn’t really sing, either, but he taught both of them the words. Jake was a singer; he had a pretty voice that rang smooth and clear, just like a stream and the water-worn pebbles at the bottom. He knew the Valley Song, he knew the Meadow Song, he knew Lucy Gray and all the others, and used to sing them to her when she was so much younger, when she still had the habit of crawling into his bed and clinging to him after a bad dream.
Her heart aches, and she holds Nepeta close, where the younger curl is curled up against her, asleep. She misses her brother. She misses her granddad. She misses the smell of the herbs, the smoke from the hearth. She misses the clean smell of the woods, of the fresh grass. She almost misses the smell of white liquor from the Hobb; she misses seeing the real sun and sky. She doesn’t let herself cry, not any more than she has already. She knows it will exhaust her; that she’ll wake up with more blinding pain in her skull. She wants to go home, though. And at this point, she’s less concerned with how she could get home. Alive, or in a wooden box.
She just wanted to go back home.
Chapter 26: Kankri: Wild-Flowered Lungs
Summary:
Kankri is exhausted, and more problems arise.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: Hunger-Games Typical warnings (descriptions of blood, violence, gore, etc.), mentions of starvation, effects of starvation/malnutrition, implied mental health issues, Kankri's piss poor self-worth, mentions of death
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Guess who's finally got a job!! Finally getting into the meat and potatoes of this story soon, too, which I am very excited to share. As always, and especially going forward, mind the tags. I have been scrounging the HG wikis, rereading and rewatching like all hell to add in breadcrumbs through this story, and I hope it will be fun as a reader to find them.
Notes:
As always, please share the campaigns in my Linktree. Families need more help now than ever. Donate if you can, but please spread awareness above all else so that those with the means can donate.
Chapter Text
The cold is bitter. It always is, but especially so in the early dawn and dusk of the day. The nights have been filled with odd lights painting the sky, glowing hues of blue, green, and purple, dancing around in the dark. It would have been beautiful if this weren’t one massive graveyard.
Kankri only saw the faces of District 11 up in the sky. Tavros– and the girl. He hadn’t ever learned her name. Jade wasn’t yet among the dead. But he knew how close she was with the boy, the click of a kindred spirit, the acknowledgment of making a friend. This hesitant sort of happiness he saw in her eyes, the little he saw her speak of him. It had been a few days since then. He thinks so, at least.
The small group he’s stayed with hasn’t had much luck. Eridan’s caught fish, but even that’s beginning to dwindle. Hunger is a persistent old pest that’s clung to him since he was a toddler. The pangs it causes are dull, instead of sharp. He feels like he’ll be sick if he ever eats too much, like on the train, but with so much fewer resources this time around. He takes to drinking water, boiled and sterilized as much as possible. Thirst would kill faster than hunger, he remembered that. Either the tremble in his hands, or Eridan, or Gamzee, is the one to remind him to eat something.
There hasn’t been much in the way of edible plants, either. What little there is is sparse. Mostly roots. He’d dared to make a thin broth of the pine needles once, but the smell had been acrid and wrong, and he’d dumped it out rather than risking making himself or the others sick from it. Gamzee’s unused to the terrain; 6 was big, evidently, but didn’t have many trees– it was all flattened land and buildings. Sollux appears to be in a similar boat, from what little he’d learned of the boy. Granted, he sticks to Eridan’s hip and hasn’t opened up much to either him or Gamzee.
Somehow, none of them had developed frostbite. Their camp is on the border of a warmer area, but far enough that the beetles they’d seen previously don’t venture out toward them from the snow and frost clinging to the ground. They hadn’t seen many other mutts, not counting the particularly ill-tempered one that would occasionally shriek from a distance. He can’t hunt, either– he has no weapon for it, aside from the sharpened stick he used to spear the small fish. There are no small animals. There are no rabbits, there are no birds. There are no squirrels. The meager rations are divided and divided, constantly, to try and stretch just a little longer. He knows that trying to hunt the mutts is a poor idea– someone had tried that years prior and died from poisoning, and he wasn’t eager to see if that had changed.
Gamzee is looking more and more gaunt. The sharp outlines of his cheekbones, the hollows of his eyes– all are so much more pronounced. He’s caught him muttering under his breath more and more often, usually dismissing it as talking things out to himself, which helped him keep track of time and supplies. Kankri is finding he doesn’t have the energy to try and figure out if that’s a lie or not.
There hadn’t been any more cannons since. It’s still as unnerving as it was before then. In the fitful bouts of sleep he can tolerate, death is seared behind his eyelids. The bloodbath. Calliope. He tries not to think about how Tavros and his district partner died. The only mercy he could hope for was that it was quick– but if the screaming was anything to judge by, his district partner did not have a quick and painless death. He wonders how many others are hiding, bleeding, and starving. How quickly they’ll be reduced to emaciated animals, tearing into each other, fighting to get out and be paraded around like dolls. He wonders, distantly, if the Capitol citizens watching find this to be boring.
People made bets in 12, sure. He would wager that every district did. But there was rarely the gusto he had seen at home that ever matched the Capitol’s. What about it was so entertaining, watching children kill and starve and die? Were they toys– shiny and new for a time, only to be tossed and quickly forgotten when the newer version arrived? He felt like it.
He was surprised he’d even survived this long, if he was going to be honest with himself. He had expected to die within the first few days, really. He wasn’t strong enough to be a fighter. He wasn’t skilled at hunting like Jade was– he knew very basic first aid, nowhere near what an apothecary’s granddaughter would know. He could hide– really, it’s all he’s been doing. Even out in the open, they’ve been careful. It’s still hiding. He imagines Karkat would be less than impressed with him.
It’s about midday, from the position of the artificial sun– it could just as easily plunge right into night if the game makers so wished it. It’s a day when he is painfully aware of every single injury. Every bruise feels like an open wound, and the way his bones ache down to the marrow if he sits for too long is persistent. He can feel every individual tooth in his mouth– oddly, if it’s not nightmares, the fleeting glimpses of dreams he does have are all about his teeth falling out. Everything aches down to the nail, all flushed red from the cold. Dizziness from hunger is not new, but it is still as unpleasant as he remembered it being. He has to use his makeshift spear as a cane, more often than not, something to help him keep his balance. Every thought of food makes him feel sick.
The frigid air hurts his lungs, just like it would in the winters of 12. If he breathes too deeply, it causes a bone-deep ache; his chest feels sore, his ribs feel bruised and tender, even more so in moments of fear when his heart feels ready to jackrabbit right out of his chest. He feels like he’s rotting. Like every part of him is some dead plant that’s withering into something more brittle and frail than before, wasting away.
Sitting around and feeling sorry for himself isn’t doing anything useful, though. If he had the luxury to mope and wallow in self-pity, he lost it long before the Reaping. And whether he liked it or not, it was easier to find purpose in caring for those younger than himself than it was to care for himself in general. He wasn’t a fighter, he wasn’t a hunter, or a healer, or someone really worth anything. But people talked to him, and he could resign himself to that. He could lend an ear and be the shoulder to be leaned upon if that’s what use he had left.
He’s starting to understand more and more why people drank so much in 12; why the white liquor at the Hobb was always in such high demand. He’d only deigned to go a few times himself; Karkat was more or less the one who would go there to trade what could be for extra cloth or other supplies. He didn’t even really know what it tasted like; he only knew the sharp smell of it, again from the Hobb, and from the few times it had been used to clean wounds when he visited Mr. Harley.
His job is stringing together the fish that Eridan catches. He’s perched up on a rock while the District 4 boy spears the small things and hands them off. There wasn’t much sense in trying to gut them with a somewhat sharpened stone, and Eridan’s more adamant on doing that himself. He’d called it grounding, at one point. Something easy to focus on. Repetitive and simple. Kankri can’t blame him for that.
“You have anyone? Back home, I mean. Aside from your brother.” Eridan’s voice cuts through the quiet. The babbling of the slow area of the river does little to muffle him this close, but it’s enough that they’ve learned that it dulls down most other noises.
The question caught him off guard. Then again, Eridan was young, just a bit younger than Karkat. He supposed kids worried themselves about those sorts of things; it was easier to think about than other matters.
“No,” he answers honestly. “Not really, no. I help take care of other kids without parents, but– if you’re asking if I’ve got some sweetheart back home, I’m afraid I’d disappoint.”
Eridan made a noncommittal hum. “Dating’s weird,” he says. “I think it is, at least. It’s– it’s kind of expected, once you get to be a teenager back home. Supposed to do a whole courting thing, go find matching seashells or beach stones that match each other’s eyes. Cro’d prattle about it all the time– said he couldn’t wait to find his person.”
Kankri stays quiet, but listens. It’s intriguing, learning the little bits of culture from the other districts. All he’d known of District 4 until recently was that it was technically a career district and that it was responsible for seafood. It seemed silly not to think they’d have traditions just like 12.
“He, uh– he talked less about it when I started growing up. I tried, you know, but– everyone heard the name ‘Ampora’ and thought it’d be bad luck to get tangled up with a victor’s brother. We have a house on an island, and food and money– and not a lot of people wanted anything to do with us, because they all knew that victors were bad luck that just brought more food and money,” Eridan continued, spearing at the water again. “It was bad luck. Get too close and it’s like getting caught in a riptide. It was lonely– I really only had Cro. And– for so long, I’d get so pissy with him, you know? It was– he was everything I wanted to look like and more. Everything I wanted to be and more. He’s the best swimmer, he’s the best at catching the fastest fish– he’s just good. And I miss him. I want to think I’m going to see him again– but everything about this feels wrong."
“Of course it does,” Kankri found himself saying. “We’re in a death trap. It’s live entertainment for the entire country. I’d be more worried if you didn’t miss him, from how you talk about him.”
“It’s still stupid, you know?” Eridan laughed, but it was hollow– there was no mirth or joy in it, not even in reminiscence. “Thought I’d outgrown sympathy by now. I knew it was gonna happen, sooner or later. Relatives of victors always get chosen one way or another. I knew– I knew it wasn’t ending well. And– in 4? We’re supposed to be proud that we get so many victors; that we’re technically careers just like 1 and 2. That us winning brought extra food and money in, that it made life easier– but it’s all bullshit. It always was gonna be bullshit. It’s– it’s just a bigger cage with fancier bars and nicer food. And I must sound like a spoiled rotten little kid to you, because I never went without a day in my life, and we always hear how people are starving to death in the outer districts.”
“We’re both here,” Kankri said. It took him a moment to find his voice. “We’re both in an arena, surviving on scraps. I don’t think there’s much spoiled about that. Not when you’ve tried to help, when you’ve taught me how to fish and how to fight.”
“How do you not hate me?” Eridan looked at him, and– really, what a child he was. Baby fat still on his cheeks, eyes a wide blue, copper hair that was dulling, freckles all over his face, sun-smattered despite how pale he was.
Logically speaking, it would be easy to resent anyone from a career district. They were better off; not many starved. Few probably ever had to take out tesserae. Careers killed outer districts in the games; for nearly a hundred years, that had been how it went. Careers almost always win. Careers were the Capitol’s favorite. A boy with a Capitol-like name, with an older brother with one all the same. All Kankri can see in front of him is a scared kid who is losing hope. From what had been shared, 4 was warmer. Cold like this would’ve been foreign to Eridan.
“You didn’t make the games,” he finally said. “You didn’t ask to be here. You didn’t set up the system, you didn’t make the rules. You’re here, just like me. It’d make as much sense to hate you as it would be to hate Jade, just because she came from a victor’s family. And I can’t hate either of you for that. None of us asked to be here– none of us could control what circumstances we were born into, either.”
“I miss my brother,” Eridan confesses, sounding more choked up than he lets himself look, stabbing the spear at another fish.
“I miss mine, too.” It’s an easy and honest answer. He misses Karkat like his lungs miss air that didn’t freeze and ache the muscles.
He misses his little brother’s loud mouth. He misses his quips and snark; he misses the way Karkat would always wrinkle his nose when he was really focused on something. The way he’d hum to himself while working, quiet things like the Valley Song that they all learned in school. He missed Karkat down to his bones. It made his heart ache.
And despite it all, despite all the bloodshed and all the terrors that lurked behind his eyelids, if he was presented with the same choice, he would've volunteered again in a heartbeat. He knew, logically, that this was buying Karkat at most another year. That this wouldn't mean that within the next three years, Karkat wouldn't be at risk again. But this time around, he bought Karkat some time. He bought him another year.
It's hard not to see fragments of Karkat in Eridan. The furrow of their brows, the way they'd speak or get annoyed at menial little details. Both teenagers who were angry at the world and felt like they'd been cheated out of any semblance of a normal life— and he knew the feeling well. Anger is an easy shield to hide behind; it was easier to accept than fear, than grief.
It was just as hard not to see similarities between him and Jade. The obvious ones, the tawny skin, the shape of the eyes, the lines and curve of their noses, the curls in their hair. He supposes it's hard not to see Karkat in every younger child he's encountered since Reaping Day. It's hard not to get attached in some way. How could he not, when there are echoes of the person who mattered most to him in the people who surrounded him?
He's never been fond of the concepts of careers as people. They were favored. Hardly any of them ever starved or knew the pain of hunger like the outlying districts. He'd heard Latula mutter something about it once. A lapdog and a mutt both have collars tied around their throats, at the end of the day. One was just promised something nicer.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a horrid shrieking. Inhuman, crackling like the vocal cords were never meant to make the noise in the first place. He saw the shadow on the ground before he saw the shape in the sky. Sprawling wings and skinny tails. He hears himself tell Eridan to start running for the treeline. It would be harder for the mutts to attack there instead of the open area of the stream. There is hardly any time to react by the time they're both running.
The angels descend on them, maws open with razor edges, shrieking all the while.
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