I Didn't Think I'd Care (But I'm Not Letting Go)

by AVerySmollBrownie

Summary:

The rebels wanted to send a message, and while the arena was the most explicit show of the Capitol's violence, its true cruelty was most evident somewhere else. A place where butterflies flap their wings, creating storms no one could have predicted.

Instead of the arena, the rebels bomb the zoo enclosure while the tributes are away. It changes everything.

Chapter 1: Thank Our Good Gracious God For This Gift

At first, Marcus had believed not a single day in the Capitol was going to be enjoyable in any way. Being assigned Plinth of all people as a mentor confirmed that. Then again, he’d also believed that he’d never be reaped, and here he was, so he supposed his predictive powers weren’t the most trustworthy source of information out there. 

In his defence though, no one could have seen this coming. Aside from the perpetrator, but that was a given. When they returned to the zoo, the last thing anyone had expected was to see a crater where their enclosure had been. Let alone a still smoking crater, reeking of the ashes left by fires that had only just been put out. 

Not that he was complaining. 

A few of the peacekeepers were hissing at each other like scraggly white cats. Clearly, there had been a bit of a miscommunication. One of the few bars left standing swayed dangerously. Another balanced precariously on top of a pile of… was it rubble if it was never really a structure? Was that how words worked? 

“What do we do now?!  We can’t lock them in there!” The peacekeeper sounded near hysterics, frantically looking between the others and the remains of the tributes’ little home. 

He would feel bad for the guy, but… he really didn’t. 

“Why not?”

The rubble collapsed, metal creaking loudly as it crumbled. One more gust of wind caused the swaying bar to finally lose its battle against gravity, its fall mingling into the cacophony already tormenting the ears of every nearby soul. It took significant mental strength for Marcus to keep the joyous grin off of his face as he watched that stupid enclosure burn right in front of him. 

Metaphorically, of course. Like he said, the fires had already been put out. 

Those flames had been gorgeous though. Truly an otherworldly kind of divine. It was impossible to put into words how much sheer, giddy glee had coursed through his veins over the past few minutes. After days of dehumanisation and mistreatment, this was exactly the kind of levity he’d needed. Nothing better than standing by while watching the representation of what your tormentors see you as go up in flames. 

Finally, the universe had mercy on him. Just the tiniest amount of it. Was Marcus going insane? Maybe, but hey if it helped him find some joy in this ocean of horrors he’d take it. Gladly. He’d sell his entire soul for some spark of happiness. Seems like he wouldn’t have to for now, but the sentiment still stood. Now hopefully, the universe wouldn’t hit him with double the bad luck now that he remembered what the warm fuzzy cloud of positive emotions felt like. 

For the moment, he would enjoy this absolute gift. Peacekeepers running around like headless chickens and a burning monument to the Capitol’s cruelty. If he was going to die, at least he’d gotten to see this. The frustrated whispers and harried discussions were hard to really follow, since he only caught about every fifth word, but he got the gist. 

Someone, whoever they were, had destroyed the zoo enclosure. Nobody knew how they’d gotten in or when, but they had. And they’d blown it to smithereens. While the tributes were taken to see the arena, too. How considerate of them. Some Capitol jerks had gotten caught in the explosion though, which… sucked for them, he supposed. 

Anyway, Marcus was having the time of his life. Sitting quietly with the other tributes while they talked in hushed tones to pass the time. Not about the wreckage, because there were peacekeepers keeping guard and nobody fancied a gun to the head. Or a bullet through the skull. But if it wasn’t for that, Marcus would have no doubt he’d be in the midst of excited squealing about their fortune to witness this. 

Not that he was judging. If anything he’d be half-tempted to join in. Call it group bonding or something. If there was anything the 24 of them had in common, it was a hatred of the people watching them like they were some kind of freak attraction. With a deep, burning passion. As aflame as their enclosure had been just minutes prior. 

They could have so much fun with this! From what Marcus had gathered, a few of the other tributes were absolute delights to talk smack with. He’d heard them be absolute masters of roasting in passing, and personally? Today’s dinner was undecided, but he was quite feeling toasted Capitol. Extra crispy. Actually, if Plinth could help him with that, he may be willing to talk to that traitor again. It was the one thing that could make him interact with the guy. 

Maybe. 

… He’d consider it.

A muffled little giggle caught his attention. Turning his head to the side, Marcus raised an eyebrow at the little kid from 4. Miz or something? The boy was clamping his hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his delight as he watched the chaos around them. The girl, Coral, shot him a glare as she hid him from the sight of the nearby peacekeeper who turned his head at the sound. She didn’t seem genuinely mad though, even as she quietly admonished him. 

Probably more concerned about the boy’s safety. See the aforementioned gun to the head or bullet through the skull. These guys were sensitive and their egos were about as sturdy as a house of cards. It was honestly ridiculous how often these guys got mad or offended. He’d seen toddlers that were more well-adjusted. At least the kid’s glee was cute.

“And to think they were watching us for entertainment just a few hours ago.” Amusement tinted the murmur from beside him. “My how the tables have turned.”

It was the boy with the trilby in the oversized vest. Marcus could not for the life of him remember hearing the boy’s name at any point, though he remembered seeing the boy juggling and interacting with small parts of the crowd for food. A smart move, especially because of the sponsor system they’d have this year. Only question was whether that was why he’d been doing so, or if he’d simply had no other choice. 

Lamina, the girl who’d been crying the entire time since he’d met her, lightly punched his shoulder. She was smiling. Were they friends, or did they bond over being reaped together? For their sakes, he sincerely hoped it was the latter. Like it was for him. As much as he liked Sabyn, he didn’t really know her, and that made the thought of watching her die slightly less unbearable. To even consider having to live at the cost of an actual friend… That had to be a whole new kind of horrible. 

“What? Just saying!” The boy whisper-yelled, laughter colouring his voice. 

“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

“Not as much as whoever managed to miss a whole bomb being snuck into a populated area right under their noses.” Brandy smirked.

“Gotta wonder how they explained that to their boss.” Her district partner, Tanner, added. 

Sniggers rang in the air around him, and Marcus couldn’t help but revel in the positive atmosphere. This day was just getting better and better! Not being chained to any surfaces, seeing the zoo decimated, watching the peacekeepers lose their minds trying to do damage control, and now seeing the other tributes relaxed for a change? Whatever could top this? Well, the games being cancelled, he supposed. But it was more likely for the universe to implode than for that to happen so it didn’t count! 

“I think they’re currently trying to avoid doing that at all.” Trilby said. 

“Unsuccessfully.” Lamina added. 

“As usual.” Brandy’s smirk widened. 

Oh yes, he was so right about these kids. Absolutely delightful human beings. He wasn’t getting attached, of course. That would be stupid. But he could appreciate good people when he saw them. And he could definitely have fun laughing along at their snarky digs at the expense of their jailors. 

The games wouldn’t be on for a few more days. For the time being, they were just 24 kids in a bad situation, trying to make the best of it. As long as that was the case, Marcus could afford to relax and have some fun. Who knew how much longer he had left in the world? Might as well enjoy it as much as he could. It certainly wasn’t difficult to do so with this crowd given how effortlessly entertaining they were. 

“I think some of them are about to have a complete meltdown.” Sabyn commented.

“Oh that would be the highlight of my entire life.” Marcus said. “Please let it happen.”

“Let’s see how they’ll react once someone reminds them that several of their own were caught in the blast.” Trilby sounded amused and more than a little excited at the prospect. 

Marcus was going to try and catch his name. He liked this kid. Stuck though he may be, at least he was in this boat with a truly lovely bunch. Hopefully their ends would be quick and painless, not dragged out or overly horrifying. They deserved much more than that, but it was the best he could hope for given their situation. 

A loud creek caught his attention, and he turned back to the remains of the enclosure to see the last few metal bars finally surrender to their fate. Crashing into each other and the rubble below with loud bangs and ear-shattering shrieks. It kind of looked like a disorganised version of construction sites. Like someone had thrown one into a box, closed it, and shook it around for a few minutes and then took it out again. Glorious. 

“This is the best day of my life.” Miz(?) sighed wistfully. 

“I wish it was still on fire.” Trilby remarked. “Fire always looks so pretty! I could watch it for hours and never get bored…”

“Me too.” Marcus smiled dreamily. 

Everything would go to hell in a few days, but he couldn’t care less at that moment. At least the Capitol got to suffer for a little bit too. Out of touch, stupid little ingrates that they were. He was going to savour this afternoon and nobody could stop him. Not the Capitol, not the peacekeepers, not stupid Plinth, and definitely not a fate he couldn’t change either way. 

Dust blew up into the air as the last bar collapsed. Several peacekeepers flinched away at the sound, causing Marcus’ smile to transform into a massive grin. He leaned his head against his hand as he watched the spectacle in front of them, letting the other tributes’ banter wash over him. While he was sure the solution to the problem of where the tributes would be staying now was going to be a fresh kind of horror for them, that was a grief for future him. He’d deal with it. For now, he was content to just laugh with the other kids. 

A wonderful afternoon indeed. 

Chapter 2: Going For Gold In Mental Gymnastics

Notes:

The next couple of chapters will be back to the good (crack) tribute tomfoolery, but as this is a fix it of the psychological kind some serious moments must happen. I promise I'll keep this fic mostly lighthearted but it's the Hunger Games so it's not all sunshine and rainbows.

“What?!” 

It was kind of funny how the most outraged reaction didn’t come from any of the more insufferable mentors, like Cardew or Crane or Breen, but from Snow of all people. One of the few mentors that seemed to care about their tribute. Snow wasn’t exactly the most normal dude though, so perhaps Pup should have expected this. 

Well either way, the news clearly didn’t sit well with most of his classmates. Almost all the mentors were somewhere in the range of angry to terrified. Still trying to process what they’d just been told as if it was some cosmic truth they weren’t supposed to be able to understand. A test harder than all the ones that had gotten them into this position in the first place. 

Personally, Pup was positively ecstatic . 

As unexpected as it was, he couldn’t help himself. Such an opportunity, for both him and Lamina… It felt great, though slightly daunting as well. He’d have to do a lot of planning and a lot of placating, but he could pull it off. He had to pull it off. For Lamina, because she deserved it. 

Thankfully, he wasn’t alone. Felix seemed mildly enthused, though there was something like worry mixed into his expression as well. Meanwhile, Domitia was practically beaming at the news. Excitement was clear on her face, and she looked like she was about to burst she looked so happy. So did Apollo and Diana. Persephone and Lysistrata seemed to have a positive reaction, though he couldn’t read them as well. 

All the other mentors were several shades of in denial. It was honestly quite amusing. Pup wasn’t gonna lose sight of reality though, even if he was happy with how things were going for now. A little extra time with Lamina was very good, but he had to use at least some of that time to think about how to get her some sponsors. Especially because she wouldn’t be able to gain them herself now. After all…

“But Dean Highbottom!” Livia Cardew whined with her annoying voice. Ah. There was her predictable protest. “You can’t seriously expect us to let those- those mutts into our homes!” 

“I believe I can, miss Cardew, and I do.”

It took all of his upbringing to keep the smirk off of his face at the sheer despair in her expression. He had waited years for that, and it did not disappoint. Cardew was nothing but a bratty headache-inducer, and clearly she’d never been told no before. Being there for her first time was a privilege. Pup would never forget this beautiful moment. 

Sadly, it only made her complain more. The urge to simply cover his ears and shield himself from her shrill voice was tremendous, but he remained composed. Just a little longer and they could leave. He could forget about her existence until the next time he had the misfortune of running into her, and he could focus on preparing for Lamina’s stay. It would be a lot of work, but if it made her stay a little more comfortable it was more than worth it. 

“Of course, peacekeepers will be assigned to prevent any possible incidents. As the games are still on, I implore you to provide basic necessities.” 

“What if one manages to escape?” Crane asked. She was almost worse than Cardew, somehow. It made sense why they were friends. 

“That will be on you.”

More outrage ensued, but Pup couldn’t care less about this newest revelation. There would be peacekeepers to ensure the tributes stayed put. Lamina was smart enough to not try anything stupid. No, someone so surprisingly intelligent would know not to step into a gunfight unarmed. It made him feel very grateful for getting her as a tribute, since he didn’t have to worry about this like his classmates did. 

This might work in his favor, actually. If some tributes tried to push their luck too much and got themselves killed, that would significantly increase Lamina’s odds of winning the games. Hopefully, Pup had enough good fortune for several to do so. Even one would suffice, because he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but multiple would be even better. The less people went in, the more likely she would get out. 

Gaze sliding over the room, he considered his competition. Honestly, the only ones he’d rule out completely aside from Lamina were the two from District 3. Being smart was their whole thing, so they’d be able to properly analyze their options. Of course they’d come to the conclusion that it wasn’t worth trying. But all the others? It wasn’t hard to imagine them attempting something as stupid as getting around Capitol security. Likely the only thing that would be stopping them was their mentors.

From the corner of his eye, he gazed Vipsania up and down. How inconvenient that she of all people had to be assigned to Lamina’s district partner. With one of the most competent mentors being given the juggler, chances of him getting taken out before the games were slim. Pup felt frustration bubbling through his veins at that fact. If he’d been anyone else’s tribute, Pup was sure that boy would be out of the picture by tomorrow. But no, of course he couldn’t have that. Things could never be that easy. It’s not that he wished the guy ill, necessarily. Under any other circumstances he wouldn’t spare a district a second glance. 

But that boy was a problem. One that had to go. Pup would make sure Lamina would come out of the arena as the victor, but he’d seen that boy suck up to her in the zoo. It made him feel sick , the way trilby boy sidled up to her to spend time together and bond. As smart of a strategy as it admittedly was, it made things more complicated for him and his tribute than they needed to be.

Lamina’s heart was just too big, letting that boy use her. Because that’s all her district partner was doing. The only skill that boy had was juggling of all things! Was he some kind of circus attraction? Probably, now that he thought about it. Aside from maybe some social skills, that was all the guy had. Completely useless during the games. It didn’t surprise Pup that Vipsania had ordered him to try and use “District solidarity” or whatever they’d sold it as to Lamina so he wouldn’t be squashed like a bug as soon as the bell rang. 

Of course, if those two fought, Pup was sure his tribute would absolutely mop the floor with her district partner. But he was worried she’d be too attached to the boy to actually do so when push came to shove. That was dangerous. He’d have to find a way to remedy the situation soon. The quicker the better. For now though, he’d focus on the nearer future. After all, he was going to have to convince his parents to be nice to Lamina. Preferably before they met her, so they wouldn’t upset her. That… would be difficult. 

As soon as they were dismissed by Dean Highbottom, Pup walked towards Dennis and Lysistrata so they could walk home together. He’d wait for Felix, but he was taken home by a chauffeur. Son of the president and all that. Of course, Pup would get a chauffeur too if he asked his parents, but he quite enjoyed the daily commute to and from the academy. Once Domitia joined them, they finally left for the day. Earlier than usual, because the Academy had decided the tributes got until tomorrow to make whatever arrangements they pleased. 

“I cannot believe I’m saying this,” Dennis murmured, “But I feel a little bad for Crane and Cardew’s tributes.”

“Oh those poor souls… Imagine having to deal with those two all day! And being stuck with them no less!” Lysistrata said. “We’re stuck with them too, but at least we can leave at the end of the day.” 

“Small mercies. I don’t think I’d survive if we didn’t have that relief!” Pup complained. “Are they allergic to shutting up or something?”

“Clearly.” Dennis smirked. 

Mentally, Pup couldn’t help but hope those two would let their bratty streaks overtake their wish to win the Plinth Prize. Their tributes weren’t a threat he thought Lamina couldn’t take, but they were a threat nonetheless. One stroke of bad luck could end it all for her, so anything to tip the scales in her favor was a massive deal. If those two tributes’ physical states deteriorated enough their threat level would be neutralized completely. No getting his hopes up though. Just an analysis of the possibilities for the future. Dad always taught him to do so, and he did that for a reason.

“I’m thinking of asking Arachne whether Brandy can stay with me and Tanner.”

“Why would you do that?” Pup asked. 

The tributes from District 10 were not people Pup would want to have in his house, let alone both of them at the same time. Something about them made them come off as particularly… primal . More so than all the other tributes aside from Lamina. Once again he was thankful for which tribute he’d been given, because she’d defied all his expectations. It was hard to believe that she wasn’t a displaced Capitol citizen, because how could someone like her be from the Districts? 

She was so unlike the rest of them. Nothing about her was vicious or animalistic. No, Lamina wasn’t a beast like the others, and that knowledge invigorated him. Pup would ensure that she would win, because she deserved it. Besides, the value she brought to the districts was too great to be lost. Her kindness, her empathy, her capabilities, her very soul … Those could not be destroyed in such a crude fashion like the Hunger Games . 

“Because she and Tanner are clearly close. I think it might make him trust me more.” 

“That’s… probably a very effective way to do it, Domi.” He praised.

“Shame you can’t do that for yours. Vipsania would never agree.” 

Sending Dennis a questioning look, Pup tried to figure out what that meant. Why would he need to win Lamina’s trust? He already had it. And even if he didn’t, inviting Vipsania’s tribute into his home was the last thing he’d ever do! It’s not that the boy didn’t deserve a home, every living creature did. That didn’t mean he had to be the one to provide it though. 

“And? It’s not like it would help.”

“Wh- Pup, those two clearly care about each other! Of course it would work! If that was us-”

“It’s not the strategy, Lyssy. It’s that they aren’t close. He’s trying to get close to Lamina.”

“Uhm, actually… I think- They don’t act like they met days ago.”

“Doesn’t mean they were close.” 

And that ended the conversation. No one spoke another word. Which was fine, because Pup needed to think. How could he utilize his extra time with Lamina to help her take back the sponsors that her district partner had stolen away. He’d have to, since he was sure Vipsania would keep that circus kid from getting himself killed before the start of the games.

It wasn’t that those two were close. Pup knew they weren’t. After all, he was smart enough to not deny such a significant thing if it were true. Someone as empathetic as Lamina would likely break at the mere thought of having a loved one die, and if it were true that would be something big to account for in his strategies. The impact it had on her odds of victory would be so tremendous they’d be undeniable. But it wasn’t true. Lamina just cared about people a little too quickly. And that might cloud her judgment, which was very bad. 

So Pup could only hope Vipsania would be unable to keep her tribute in check. As soon as that one was gone, the only real threats would be the District 1 and 2 tributes, and maybe the boys from 11 and 12. Everybody else would be a cakewalk . Maybe the boy’s death would make some sponsors switch over to Lamina, even. But as long as he was around, Pup had to worry about his tribute getting herself hurt to protect him. Or worse…

No, he wouldn’t go there. She wasn’t going to die, he’d make sure of it. It wasn’t like her district partner would live long anyway. It was merely annoying that Vipsania was marketing the boy so well, because all he was doing was taking up sponsors. The boy’s only skill was some mediocre juggling of walnuts , he’d be dead in minutes. So much money wasted when it could have been sent to tributes that stood a chance! All that boy was good for was putting on a show. Nothing but some useless tricks and a pretty face, yet he was getting donations!

Same went for Snow’s tribute, but she was no real danger. Lamina could get rid of her no problem, but his tribute had spent all her time in the zoo with the trilby-wearing boy. Clearly she cared about him, and Pup doubted she’d have it in him to put the boy out of his misery. Besides, since the juggler was from Lamina’s district, he was taking all the attention away from her despite her being far more deserving of it! 

But it would be fine, because when the interviews came he could show everyone what Lamina was capable of. If she could hold it together, that is. Pup knew she could handle an ax, and given the boy’s frankly pathetic physique he doubted the circus freak had worked a day in his life. He had no doubts his tribute would upstage her district partner easily . Then they’d realize who to support, and everything would work out. Yes, he just needed to prepare properly and that would be that. Capitol citizens weren’t stupid. They’d choose a capable fighter over some brat who’d never worked a day in his life!

No wonder Lamina’s clothes were more intricate. Given that he knew she worked, she’d probably have more money to spend on better clothing. A talentless “performer” like her district partner would obviously be unable to afford even slightly fashionable clothing. All the more reason Lamina should win. She actually contributed to her district, rather than living off the work of others. She had value to them, something to give that was worth preserving. Whatever the redhead saw in him that made her care so deeply, it was clearly born from her empathy. A deep, kind nature that he was using like a leech. Otherwise she would’ve left him behind already, like she should’ve done ages ago. 

Yes, that was it. She was just too kind to leave that boy all alone. Even when there was nothing there to stay for, sweet Lamina would do so anyway. It was in her nature, and her nature was currently working to her detriment. Pup would not stand for it. Acting too hastily wasn’t an option either though, so for now he’d simply watch and see how things went.

Whether fate would make life easier for him or not, he wouldn’t let the circus kid get Lamina killed. Not now, not ever. And until he made good on that promise, he’d focus on making sure Lamina’s stay would be as comfortable as possible. He’d just have to talk to his parents so they understood that anti-district sentiment should be pushed away when it came to her. 

It would be a challenge, but they’d understand as soon as they interacted with her. Pup knew that for certain. One look at her and they’d recognize what he’d try to tell them. The sentiments weren’t wrong, they just weren’t applicable. She shouldn’t be treated like other people from the districts. 

Lamina was nothing like them, after all. 

Chapter 3: Unwinnable situations and uncomfortable sleeping arrangements

Notes:

I know I said this would be mostly fluff, and I do certainly plan for it to be that way, but I need to get the angst out of the way first. Yes, the ending to this needs to happen. It'll come up later as a big factor in some mentors' epiphanes.
If it wasn't clear yet, I'm going mostly by the book version here (though I'm mixing in the movies a little bit for specific characters for the sake of the story) and in the books Lamina left Treech, not the other way around.

Lamina was several shades of fed up with being dragged around. 

Was it really that hard to just let them walk on their own? As much of an improvement as it was when compared to how she and Treech were taken to the train back home, it still wasn’t a pleasant experience. It just felt… needlessly vindictive. And mean. And unnecessary. She really didn’t like peacekeepers. 

At least Treech wasn’t getting dragged by his hair for no reason. That was the only thing keeping her from slamming herself into the guy currently pushing her friend around roughly without prompting. It was so unfair that he kept being treated worse than her by these people. It was like they thought he was the one they should be scared of. That boy didn’t have a malicious bone in his body, the day he actively hurt anyone would be the day he mentally broke beyond repair. 

Wherever they were going, it probably wasn’t gonna be a place any of them would enjoy staying. Honestly, this day was deviating so much from the expectations in even her wildest fantasies that if they were dragged back into the arena to fight days ahead of schedule she wouldn’t even bat an eye. It would be less hard to believe than the zoo enclosure being reduced to literal ashes. At most she’d shed a few more tears before getting to work. Maybe it would break her to not get to spend a few more days with Treech, but she’d live. No matter what anyone else thought. 

People saw her as weak here. A harmless little girl incapable of defending herself, let alone her loved ones. Such a stark contrast to back home, where everyone knew not to mess with her. Years spent standing up for her friends had given her a reputation so strong she didn’t need it anymore. Honestly, she didn’t have the energy to even try to build it up in this new place when the only person here who mattered to her already knew the real her. 

That wasn’t to say that she disliked the other tributes or her mentor. All of the tributes kept a certain amount of emotional distance from one another because of the inevitable end to any bonds between them. Pliny, meanwhile… he was okay. Pup was nice, if a little out of touch with the situation. Well, more than a little, but she hadn’t expected anything else from Capitol people. It was still a little unsettling to hear the way he spoke about everything. Continuously talking about how to secure her victory as if it was that easy. 

As if all of this was just a game. 

Strategy this, sponsors that. Trying to help her outshine Lucy Gray and Treech of all people in performing as if she even stood a chance against them. No, she’d spent years going to every single one of her friend’s shows. In no universe was she delusional enough to believe she stood a chance to even hold a candle to him. Absolutely not. Yet Pup spoke as if “beating” Treech would be easy. Performing wasn’t her thing, but her mentor talked about it like she was a natural and her friend was some kind of joke. The kind that was only funny because it was so terrible you couldn’t help but laugh at the incompetence. 

To be fair though, Pup couldn’t be expected to know just what Treech could do. And he wasn’t a fighter, though he was technically better at wielding an ax than she was. So while she disagreed with him, she could kind of understand where her mentor was coming from. That didn’t mean she appreciated the implication that Treech would “drag her down”. As if he ever could. 

Despite that, Lamina was very happy to have Pup as a mentor. They started off a little rough, but he turned out to actually be quite nice. Out of all the tributes, she was definitely one of the few who struck gold. A mentor who seemed to care about her at least a little, even though their main motivation was a selfish one. It was nice to know that there was someone here who cared about her who wouldn’t be forced to turn against her eventually. 

It wasn’t like Pup had actually done anything to Treech. Hadn’t even explicitly said anything bad, really. Her mentor had been focused on her and only shown outright displeasure over the fact that Treech had more sponsors than her. As long as it didn’t go any further, she could tolerate it. Not that she could really do anything else, but the sentiment remained. 

As was the norm, the tributes were dumped into a cattle car. It still didn’t feel any less infuriating. Likely, it never would. How could it, when they were so obviously being treated like mere lambs for slaughter? Tools for their mentors and sick entertainment to these people was what they’d been reduced to. Only one of them would live to be anything more again. All the others would have these horrid moments as their last ones. Disgust and anger and pain would be the last thing they’d experience. 

Without a word, Lamina reached out and put her arm around Treech’s shoulders. Her friend immediately leaned into the embrace. Just like back home, when he came to her for comfort because he’d had a falling out or he was nervous for a show. Maybe… Maybe she should tell him she was going to fight alone. But the heartbreak that would inevitably be on his face was something she couldn’t bring herself to face yet. She’d do it later. Before the games, of course! Not doing so would be plain cruel. But she needed more time to mentally prepare for the inevitable pain she’d have to cause him. 

The whole cart shook violently. All the tributes still standing alone reached out and clung desperately to whoever was closest to them. Jessup to Marcus, who didn’t seem to mind. Reaper protectively held Dill, of course, like Bobbin did Wovey and Coral did Mizzen. Like she did Treech. Cold metal bled its grip through her blouse and into the skin of her shoulder. Bruises would undoubtedly bloom all over her body later, what with the way they were rammed into everything around them. 

Harsh shoves pushed her around, gravity taking away every semblance of control she had over where they were flung. All she could do was shield her friend from as much of the onslaught as possible. The terrified squeaks muffled by her vest made her heart break as she tried to keep her hold. Finally, everything returned to normal. A familiar rumble of the cart moving forward, rather than the hurricane they’d been turned into just then. 

“Where are they taking us?” Wovey asked innocently. 

Poor girl. She should be at home with her family, not in this hellhole. All of them should, but especially Wovey. Dill, Bobbin, and Mizzen too. They were far too young for this, more so than the other tributes. Lamina hoped with all her heart that the girl at least had a nice mentor who treated her as well as a Capitol citizen ever would. 

“We don’t know, Wovey.” Bobbin said, voice soft with kindness. “But it will be okay, I promise. I’m here, yeah?”

“Okay!” 

It broke Lamina’s heart to watch that interaction. Her hold on Treech’s shoulders tightened, and a second later she felt a soft hand in hers. Another one grasped the fabric of her vest lightly. Guilt welled up inside of her as she watched Bobbin and Wovey. He was staying with her, despite knowing there was no way she’d make it. Meanwhile, she was fully preparing to abandon her best friend since childhood despite the fact that he could make it to the end. 

Why was she comforting her friend while planning to leave him to face his fate alone? Where did she find the nerve to be around him when she couldn’t even find the strength to be there for him when it mattered?! Especially when she knew he was fully prepared to go through the agony of possibly losing her just to support her through this. Years spent being the protector, and when it mattered the most she couldn’t do it. Pathetic. 

Her grandparents would disagree. They always went out of their way to reassure her she was doing everything she could. But they weren’t here to do so, and it was hard to remind herself of their sentiments when they didn’t see what was happening in this city. As for her parents… Lamina would never know what they thought of her. They hadn’t been around long enough to tell her. Doth was too young to remember her very well. 

Oh Doth. Her beautiful baby sister. Born right before their mother’s death and not even of reaping age. Lamina had been ready to volunteer for her next year, or the year after that if need be. She’d thought she’d have another year to mentally prepare herself to do so, if the time came. But now the time wouldn’t come, because victors couldn’t volunteer. If Doth got reaped, there would be no eligible older sister to volunteer. 

Her sister would have to go through this no matter what Lamina did. No way to save her, no way to change their fate. As if the world couldn’t get any crueler. All she could do was hope it would never come to that. But regardless, she had to focus on the here and now. On this group of kids who shared her experiences. The ones she felt close to now, in a weird way, after how they’d passed the time together in the zoo. 

“Do you think they’ll put leashes on us at any point?” Brandy asked bitterly. “Since they’re so insistent on treating us like animals.”

“Well they put us in a zoo enclosure, so…” Tanner trailed off. 

“Not too big of a leap.” Marcus finished the sentence. 

“Seems pretty in-character, if anything.” Brandy said. 

Treech’s hands tightened their grips. She the feel his warm body through the fabric of their clothes as he pressed further into her, and couldn't help but notice how thin his clothes were. Lamina had known they were, but that didn't make things any better. Now if only he'd accept her offers for help. Or any of their friends! Why did he have to insist that he didn't deserve it when he always worked so hard? It Wasn't his fault that the wages in the fringe were so low that his two jobs weren't enough to pay the bills! He and his older brother were doing more than enough and could still only barely put food on the table. Treech deserved nice things, but he just had to be too kind to take anything but the bare minimum for himself.

The worst part was that Lamina didn’t know what to say to him to convince him to take more. In truth, she didn’t understand his situation. Not at all. Her friend had been working even before she’d met him, though back then he’d only done small wood carvings. One of her earliest memories was worrying he’d injure himself with the sharp tools he used. Meanwhile, she’d only started working in the lumberyards about two years ago, and it wasn’t even out of necessity like Treech. She’d wanted to make money so she could better help the less fortunate of the district. Treech had never had that choice. 

“Don’t jinx it you guys, for all we know they’re listening in and taking notes.” Treech said jokingly, but Lamina could hear the near imperceptible tremor in his tone. 

He was too young for this. Too gentle for something as cruel as the games. Too sweet for the life he’d been forced to live so far through no fault of his own whatsoever. It wasn’t fair that, just because her parents had “better” jobs, she got to live relatively comfortably while amazing, kind people like Treech had to fight a constant uphill battle just because they were born somewhere else. 

Maybe that’s why she hated those mentor kids so much. It might even explain why she couldn’t quite bring herself to call Pup a friend. Because unlike her, they didn’t seem to realize they’d done nothing to get their position of privilege. If anything, they looked down on those who were born in the districts as if they had any right to. They didn’t get it, the same way she didn’t quite understand Treech’s position sometimes, but unlike them she was at least trying. Even when it would have been so easy for her to be just like the mentors, she tried to do what she could to help the less fortunate. 

Pup didn’t seem to have ever even considered it, even though he seemed so nice and caring wherever she saw him. That wasn’t something Lamina could just overlook. Not until he changed, but she doubted she’d be there to see it if he did. She hoped he would, of course! But at the end of the day he was Capitol. She wasn’t gonna expect anything. 

After what felt like an agonizing amount of hours, the cattle car finally stopped. The minor excitement at being allowed out of this thing was handily squandered by apprehension at where they would be going. As she looked around, keeping her grip on Treech’s shoulders, she realized that the same could be said for everyone. And it dawned on her that the jovial air from before had been sucked out of all 24 tributes as soon as they were led to the cart. 

Their little bubble of normalcy had popped as they were reminded of their situation. That stupid cart was an inescapable reminder of what they were to these people. Animals, lesser beings that deserved to die for something they’d had no control over. The doors opened, and then they were herded out. Guns clicked around them, ready to shoot. As if any of them would try to run when there was a massive, closed gate and a whole station of peacekeepers between them and freedom. 

Before them was a building so much bigger than anything she’d ever thought possible that she couldn’t even comprehend it. Before she could even begin to take it in, they were led inside and through a large gray corridor. Lamina didn’t let go of Treech for even a second as they went. A chill ran down her spine. It didn’t help that a few of them were forced into a tiny box with a few of the peacekeepers, the doors closing after them. 

No one spoke. The silence felt oppressive, too intimidating to break. A threat hanging above them. One wrong move and they were dead. Even the urge to tap her foot succumbed to it. All she could hear was breathing and her own racing thoughts. Where were they going? What was this place and why were there so many peacekeepers crawling around? Where would they stay in their last few days? Seemed like she'd get the answers pretty soon. When the doors finally opened again, the box was empty. Treech’s gasp of surprise was, thankfully, muffled by the sound of peacekeepers shouting orders at nobody. 

“Move! Come on, get in!” 

As if they had any idea who they were talking to. When one turned to them, Lamina gently pulled Treech with her into the small thing. Her friend was rooted to the spot, and if she didn’t get him in, a peacekeeper would do it. Given their treatment of the tributes… She’d rather be the one to do it. As they crammed into the small thing, she watched anxiously as the doors closed behind them. Cutting them off from the world. A peacekeeper tapped at some buttons in the wall, and then the whole thing jerked. 

Lamina’s grip must’ve been painful to Treech, but he didn’t seem to mind. Which was good, because she doubted she’d be able to loosen it. Mizzen audibly yelped, and Reaper let out a grunt as he pulled Dill close to him. Treech buried his face in her vest to hide whatever noise he was making. An uncomfortable pressure grew in her chest, tingling under her skin as her eyes flickered over the box’s interior. 

There was no way out. They were stuck here. Surely the peacekeepers wouldn’t be in here if they were going to die, right? Unless they were planning to- No. No. They would be fine. It would be fine. It was just like the cattle car. Without the gaps reminding them that the outside world still existed. Clearly they were going somewhere. And the games weren't to happen in a few days at least. They still had the interviews, at the very least. Those were necessary for the whole mentorship thing if she understood what Pup had told her correctly. 

District kids dying in a big spectacle was the whole point here. They wouldn't kill them and a bunch of peacekeepers in a tiny box. Nothing bad was going to happen. There wasn't a thing in the world that she'd allow to hurt the boy in her arms before the games. Once the bell rung the story changed, but for now he was still her best friend. And she was still the protector she'd always been. It would be fine. They were jostled around again. 

The doors opened again. See. Fine. Everything was fine. Treech was fine. She was fine. No reason to panic. They were led through more hallways, all barren and soulless. Like what she imagined the hearts of these peacekeepers to be. It would be fine. Everything was going to be okay, even though she was going to have to betray her best friend in just a few days and let him die on his own. They would have to go their separate ways eventually anyway, right? She was just ripping the band aid off. It would be less painful for both of them in the long run. At least now they wouldn't have to see each other die. She was doing what was best for both of them. She just had to remind herself of that and learn to live with her actions. 

And maybe, if she died and Treech won, this would help him move on. His last memory of her would be her betrayal. It would taint how he saw her forever, and this way it would be easier for him to let her go. After all, who would want to care for a dead girl who left them to die? That thought soothed her. Yes, she had to do this. It was the best thing she could do in this impossible conundrum. Nothing else would work out better for them. Lamina clung to that as they were led to their final destination. A white room with little to no color. It was incredibly small, filled with nothing but equally small metal… Oh. This was where they were staying. The tributes that had gone into the box before them were already there, locked into tiny, gray cages . Too small for anyone to be comfortable in. Were these people serious ?! 

If she ever got the chance, she would rain down Hell on this city. 

Notes:

Sorry for the abrupt ending. I had plans for how to continue and then decided this would be a good place to stop before my throat murders me because I'm sick :)

Chapter 4: At least the company's good. Still only one star >:c

Notes:

I'm back! I did not notice it's been like two weeks since I updated this I thought it'd been one at most I'm so sorry! I'll try to write faster but no promises lmao. Hope you enjoy the tributes being 100% done with the misery of the last few chapters and lightening the mood a little.

If they had to spend their last days cramped up between these cold, disgusting, dirty, ugly little metal bars calling themselves ‘cages’ Brandy would gladly give her life for the cause and take some assholes in white with her. 

And her mentor too. 

That bitch was going down too, one way or the other. No hesitating a second time, Brandy was going for the throat and she was gutting that condescending little worm like the animal she was. And she would get no sympathy from her tribute, because even the most flighty animals in the slaughterhouse were leagues nicer than the rich girl. 

When she reached whatever awaited her after death, she’d be soothed by the knowledge that she didn’t die for nothing. But, of course, living was preferable. If she could live and still get some retribution that would be very cool. So, if any possible forces of fates were listening in on her thoughts… It would be fun to give those Capitol bastards what they deserved. Was more justification necessary? No. The answer was no. Attempts at debate would be rejected. 

Sighing deeply, Brandy tried to stretch out a little. These bars were closer together than the ones in the zoo, sadly. Only the smallest kids could get their legs through. Brandy? No chance. She was stuck in there. Completely and utterly stuck. Crumpled up like paper. Wonderful. Just what she needed in this already horrid situation. It wasn’t enough that she was days away from near certain death and had spent the past few days starving in a zoo . No, no, they just had to go and make it even worse! 

At least no one was gawking at them here. Because no one was here. Just the tributes. The peacekeepers crawling through the building were not inside their room, so they could be ignored. And Brandy would take any and all chances to ignore a peacekeeper’s existence. Every moment spent not being in their presence was a good one. An amazing one, even. She would like to remain in such a moment for as long as possible. 

She would also like to start a conversation with these kids now that she had the chance, but there was no way she was going to start it. What would she even talk about? The weather? Ah yes, what beautiful uncomfortably cold air they lived in. Truly a wonderful… whatever time it was. Unrivaled by any day she’d seen come and go before. And the white walls had never shone so brightly! Not a single waft of smoke obscured the vision. 

Ha. Wasn’t she funny? If only she wasn’t about to be thrown in a child death match, she would’ve made an amazing comedian. Probably not an option anymore, but hey! If she made it out (If. If she made it out) she’d have plenty of trauma to joke about. Comedy goldmine. Only she would find it funny, but still. Other people being horrified wasn’t gonna ruin her fun. Those other people being Capitol brats would enhance the experience, but that wasn’t likely to happen. Oh well. She’d live. For now. 

Looking around the room, Brandy took in as many of her fellow tributes as possible. Almost all of them were either staring off into the distance or watching another kid stare off into the distance. That or they were switching between the two. The crying girl from 7 was sending frequent subtle glances at her district partner, who was doing the exact same thing to her. Both managed to be so inconspicuous the other didn’t notice. Coral, the fiery redhead from 4, kept alternating between worried glances at Mizzen and absolute, seething rage at being stuck in a cage. Probably because she couldn’t comfort her district partner like she’d spent most of her time doing. An understandable feeling, because while she was nowhere near that level of fury she was a little annoyed at the several cages separating her from Tanner. 

She wanted to be with her best friend, so fight her. He calmed her down. In fact, she was the only reason her mentor hadn’t been gutted yet. One of the few moments where Tanner being her voice of reason was not appreciated in hindsight. That bitch had it coming. For all their fear for the districts Capitol people sure enjoyed taunting them. Would be a downright shame if someone reminded them of why they were (admittedly irrationally) scared of children. 

Taunting a starving person with food was a recipe for disaster, and for a top student Crane was dumb as fuck for not realizing that. Oh well. Maybe she’d get her chance for some kind of petty revenge before they were thrown to their deaths. It would be well worth any possible repercussions, that was for sure. For now, she’d make do with her daydreams about all the things she would do if given the chance. 

“So…” The boy from 6, Otto, starter, “How’s life going?”

“Not much different from yours I’m assuming.” Marcus raised an eyebrow. 

Several of the tributes looked around their tiny cages, shrugging a little unsurely. Only Wovey could possibly stretch her legs out without sticking them through the bars. Standing up straight was impossible for all of them. They’d been in the same room for however long it had been since they were brought here. There really wasn’t much in this white closet desperately trying to call itself a room that could be going on. Aside from their exact thoughts, their experiences were roughly the same here. But hey, he was trying to start a conversation rather than sulk in the sad silence. Props for that. 

“Wonder how long they’ll keep us here.” Velvereen wondered. 

“It’s already too long.” Brandy responded. Not a second later, Coral spoke up. 

“It was too long before we even entered this damn building.”

“This city sucks. Terrible customer service, crappy food and 100% chance of cramps no matter how you sleep.” Leaning his head on his hand, the boy from 7 readjusted his trilby. “0/10, would not recommend. I demand a refund.” 

Sniggering, Brandy couldn’t stop the smile from growing on her face. It only grew wider when Tanner muttered “ Can be get a refund?” under his breath. Everyone managed to hear thanks to how stupidly small this ‘room’ was. Wouldn’t it be nice if they were compensated for this? That might actually rank higher on the ‘Good Things That Will Never Happen’ list than sticking it to her stupid mentor. Not by much, but still. 

“Don’t forget the transport in your review.” First time Brandy had ever heard Ginnee speak. “I refuse to believe we made those rattly, rusty carts. Those were either made during the war or are older than Panem.” 

“Alright.” Trilby stretched his legs out a little where they’d been pressed against his chest so he could pretend to write on an imaginary surface against his thighs. “‘Transport sullies the good name of several highly appraised citizens.’ What else?” 

“Are we really doing this?”

“Yes, Mina. If we want to warn others of these utterly atrocious accommodations, we have to be thorough. Any and all complaints must be taken into consideration.”

His tone was completely serious as the two stared each other down for about 10 seconds. Clearly that was as long as ‘Mina’ could keep up the act, because she broke down into giggles. It was the first time she’d heard the girl laugh. Cute . And pretty too. Just like that, the mood of the entire room was lifted. That tense silence was replaced by a lighter, more comfortable atmosphere. 

After Trilby had gotten his own, more subdued chuckles under control, he managed to put on an expression that vaguely resembled seriousness. It was obviously an act, though. Anyone could see that just by using their eyes. Or eye, in Tanner’s case. Probably intentional on Trilby’s part. She’d seen him in the zoo, where he’d made fooling people look like his second nature. Actually convincing them he was serious would ruin the newly brightened mood. 

“People kept staring at us all day!” Sabyn said.

“And they took their kids with them. So rude.” An eye roll accompanied Facet’s words.

With an amused huff, Trilby furiously ‘scribbled’ on the ‘paper’ as he nodded along to their words. Honestly? Hearing the same sentiments she’d been sitting on for days echoed by her fellow tributes was pretty cathartic. At least she wasn’t alone in feeling this way. Perhaps something good could come from being in the same space as these kids without having to watch their words because of peacekeepers. 

“Got it, so ‘no manners whatsoever’. More complaints, anyone? Feel free to air them!” 

Several people spoke at once. The quiet “mean comments!” from Sheaf was nearly drowned out by Jessup’s “they’re constantly antagonizing us” and a short “

“Unnecessarily bruising grips.” Mina said.

In a second, the boy’s expression went from amused mock seriousness to completely blank. Not a single twitch that betrayed anything about how he was feeling. It was… oddly terrifying. The massive switch in body language was jarring to say the least. For the first time since she’d laid eyes on him, Brandy felt like he may actually pose a threat in the games. 

“They hurt you?” 

His voice was controlled and cold. Its contrast with his usual tone was so harsh it sent a shiver down her spine. Brandy narrowed her eyes. From what she’d seen, his mentor wasn’t any different from hers, yet he’d never used this tone before. A protective streak then? Those two must’ve known each other before they’d gotten reaped. Something ached in her chest. They were just like her and Tanner. None of them would get a happy ending. 

“Not enough to bruise.” 

As soon as the words left Mina’s mouth, the boy’s face cleared up entirely. It was almost like that cold fury had never been there. As if it had just been an illusion. A trick of the light that disappeared as soon as you looked at it from another angle. Brandy narrowed her eyes. If the girl hadn’t been bruised, why had she brought it up? She was still looking at her district partner, in a way very similar to Tanner’s mom when-

Oh. So the peacekeepers had been giving him bruises? Looks like the protective streak’s mutual. For a girl who’d spent most of her time crying, Mina sure seemed ready to throw down with anyone for her district partner. Clearly she was stronger than she appeared to be at first glance. Especially when it came to her friend from home. That was… kind of cute, actually. On both their ends.

“Okay! So ‘who raised these people?’ Let's add ‘interior design flop’ too.”

“Do ‘horrible fashion sense’ while you’re at it.” Bobbin smirked. 

“Sure thing!” 

Never let it be said the kid did anything by half, because he was committed to the imaginary writing utensils act. Even faked tapping his chin with it. All in all it was pretty funny. These kids were fun. Maybe, in different circumstances, she could’ve befriended at least some of them. At the very least she’d have gotten along with them. But of course, the Capitol destroyed that possibility. Assholes. 

“Oh!” Mizzen piped up. “This building is creepy!” 

“Huh… ‘Does not pass the vibe check.’”

“Well, they are doing some pretty heinous things on the regular. Being the baddies is kind of their whole schtick.” Marcus shrugs. “Guess they’re committed to the bit.”

A round of laughs follow the statement. Yeah, for a bunch of self-righteous pricks who continuously fail at achieving even the smallest semblance of self-awareness, they sure were fond of making themselves look as stereotypically evil as possible. That hallway they entered through was just the cherry on top, really. The fact that they still hadn’t caught on to the fact that they were monsters was honestly mind-boggling. 

“I admire the dedication!” 

“Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Your theater nerd is showing Treech. That’s what it means.”

“Oh come on Lami, it’s not that bad!” 

Lami? Didn’t he call her Mina before? Wait. La mi . Mi na. Lamina. That was her name. It’s just that the boy was using nicknames. Wow. How did it take her that long to figure it out? And the boy’s name was Treech. Good, she could file those away in her mental list. Calling them by their names felt a whole lot better than referring to them by some trait of theirs. That acknowledgement of their personhood made the thought of killing them harder, but…

If she died, she’d want her name to be remembered. Besides, if she took away that humanity from the other tributes she’d be acting like the Capitol . How could she claim to be any better than their ‘mentors’ if she allowed herself to dehumanize them the way those spoilt brats did? No, she would not allow the Capitol to turn them against each other like this. They would be forced to fight, but they could not be forced to forget. She would never forget. 

“Add ‘snotty rich kids pretending they’re superior’ to the list.” She said without thinking. 

All eyes turned to her, and she leaned against the side of the cage. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but if she positioned herself just right she could at least get close to it. Close enough to not be in pain within minutes. Some of the tributes looked conflicted, but most of them seemed to agree with her statement. Well, at least some of them got stuck with bearable snobs. 

“Snotty kids who feel all high and mighty until you move. Then suddenly they’re all scared like they ’re in danger.” Reaper scoffed. 

“Out of touch to the point where I cannot believe we’re from the same universe.” Otto added. “Apollo asked me what my favorite book is. When I told him I don’t have time to read he looked at me like I’d grown a second head or something.”

Of course. These people were coasting off of their parents’ wealth, they didn’t know what it was like to be forced to work from an early age. For them, work was probably some faraway future thing. A worry for after their fancy education and not a requirement in order to survive . A maybe. A question. A choice . Disgusting. Yet they were somehow so hard done by for, what? Having to carry the burden of mentoring children who were about to die? 

Yeah, because that’s so much worse than being thrown to your death for something you had no say in. God, she should’ve slit Arachne’s throat. Would’ve taught those privileged, condescending pricks a lesson at least. Don’t be a dick to the desperate. But no, Tanner had to be a smart human being by pulling her away! 

“ Wow , okay.” Panlo made a face. “I wish I had the time to do stuff like read .”

“You don’t have free time at all?” Lucy Gray asked. 

“No we do, but we have so little of it that using it for anything other than relaxing or socializing is a waste. And the peacekeepers will shoot us if we talk so…”

That checked out. Peacekeepers sucked. Luckily they weren’t too involved in the slaughterhouses. With so many animals making constant noise, it was an impossible task to keep them all quiet. Usually they didn’t even bother trying. They weren’t great, but clearly they could be much worse. In her circumstances, she really couldn’t ask for much more. And by God did she hate that. 

As the conversation shifted from their current predicament to their home lives, Brandy allowed herself to slowly drift off. It’d been a while since they’d been thrown in here, so it was probably late. No matter what happened tomorrow, she’d need a good night’s sleep to deal with it. Or, well, as good a night’s sleep as she’d get in this stupid cage. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was taking a nap with one of the animals again. The one place where peacekeepers were guaranteed not to find her. 

Stories washed over her. About adventures on a boat, different kinds of forest vegetation, instruments and songs and recipes… Anything that reminded one of them of home. The others talked about their families and friends, about work, about their districts, whatever came to their minds was discussed. Those voices, filled with undeniable fondness and longing, slowly began to lull Brandy to sleep. 

She’d worry about tomorrow when it became today. The future only mattered once it became the present, and given her lack of control over how things would shake out… It wasn’t worth the energy. A light burn in her eyes coaxed her to keep them closed and let herself drift off. Silence had never been for her anyway. 

There was always noise back home. If not from the people then from the animals. One of the hardest things about the zoo had been the times where she’d stayed awake until there was nothing but the crickets and occasional peacekeeper patrol. It had been so foreign that it had kept her awake. Now, there was noise. A taste of home, however brief. It made her long for her bed, where she could hear her family through the thin walls. Snores and constant tossing and turning under the covers. 

This was as close as she’d get, and she’d gladly embrace it. Also, the happy memories shared around her made her feel a little lighter. Even in their darkest hours, they could hold on to the good things in their lives. Nothing the Capitol did could kill their spirit. None of them would ever let that happen. No matter who made it out of this mess, they’d make it out knowing none of them were angry at each other. 

Their anger was shared, and it was pointed at the Capitol. Not at the other helpless kids forced into this horror show. One last act of defiance. They shared their stories, found joy in the depths of hopelessness, and remembered who the real monster was. And until her time came, Brandy would cling to that. Just like she clung to thoughts of home as she finally fell asleep. 

Chapter 5: The tributes are very confused and the first seeds of fix it are planted

Notes:

Only a week between this chapter and the last... pretty good for one of my stories. Well done me (lol)

Sometimes, I take my chapter names seriously. This is, evidently, not one of those times

When Sheaf woke up, she couldn’t help but be grateful for her smaller stature. 

She’d been able to curl up to sleep, and while it hadn’t been comfortable by any means it had at least spared her the cramps most of the others would likely be subjected to. As horrible as the circumstances were, she could acknowledge she had it a little easier than most of the other tributes. 

Even Panlo, who wasn’t big by any means, couldn’t avoid touching the edges of these stupid cages where he laid on the floor. Still far off in dreamland it seemed. Good, he needed sleep. Being older, it seemed he felt somewhat responsible for her, and she hated it. Hated that he spent precious time and energy worrying over her when he was in just as much danger as she was. But then, he and some of the other tributes had been handling some rabid raccoons, so she supposed it wasn’t entirely unwarranted. 

If any of them got rabies, it put everyone in danger. So Sheaf would refrain from judging too hard. Besides, no matter how much she wished it wasn’t true, his insistence on looking after her made her feel warm and safe. It quelled the loneliness that she’d feared would consume the days that may be her last, even if they made the games even scarier. Now she was going to lose someone she was actually attached to in some way. 

Since Panlo was several years older than her, she’d never actually met him before. Maybe it would’ve been for the better if they’d kept the distance, but no. Here they were. A strange bond between them was growing for the sole purpose of being torn to shreds. Slowly sitting up, Sheaf stretched as well as she possibly could. One look around the room told her she was the first person to wake up. Or at least the first one to show that she was awake. 

Someone could be faking sleep for their own reasons. There really wasn’t any way for her to tell, being stuck in a cage and all that. Sighing quietly, she tried to find a comfortable position leaning against the bars of the cage. No use wasting energy sitting up already. Who knew how long they’d be here? There wasn’t even a window to give them a vague grasp of what time it was, let alone a clock. 

They hadn’t even turned the lights off for the night! Most of the other tributes were covering their eyes to try and escape from it. Some luckily had hats to do the job for them, others were stuck with just their clothing or arms. Sheaf wasn’t sure whether this was better or worse than the zoo. There were no visitors, nor was there a hot sun beating down on their skin, but there was no cover of night to hide in either. They had no room to move and no way of getting food. It was better and it was worse. 

Treech was right, this city was horrible. Zero stars. Time for an angry letter to whoever had caused this. That’s how Capitol citizens outed their displeasure at an establishment right? As far as she knew, that was accurate. If only they had something to write on. Then she could pretend to be able to write at all. Wouldn’t it be nice to imagine something she could barely even picture enough to dream about? 

Something echoed outside. Footsteps. Multiple pairs. A sound she’d had ingrained in her memory during long nights of sneaking around after curfew. Footsteps meant peacekeepers. One pair meant hide, multiple meant distract. The big guns, because being found meant death and more than one peacekeeper meant it wasn’t just patrol. They already knew you were there. All you could do at that point was pray they didn’t know the specifics. 

Sitting up straight, Sheaf stared at the door. There was nowhere to hide and nothing to create a distraction with. She couldn’t go anywhere. All of them were stuck. Before she could even begin to figure out what to do, the door burst open and several peacekeepers flooded into the room. Just as she’d expected. Bracing to be yanked around again, Sheaf was surprised to find that they all went over to the same cage. 

Several tributes woke up with annoyed groans and cries of surprise. The sound of screeching sent spikes through her skull. With the sound of struggle and protest, Marcus was dragged out of the room. A sudden cacophony muffled just as quickly as it had begun as the door slammed shut. Within seconds, it was quiet again as all of them stared at the door in disbelief. What just happened?

---

By the time Facet woke up, almost half of the tributes were gone. 

One of the ones who’d already been taken was Velvereen, and it terrified him. Nobody knew where they’d been taken or why, just that they’d been dragged off without a word. The 13 remaining children sat in tense silence. None of them dared to break it, too caught up worrying about what was happening to think of making idle conversation like yesterday. 

And here he’d thought seeing all the others struggle to adjust to their tiny prisons was as hard as it could get in this room. Facet absentmindedly tried to relieve the tension in his cramped muscles as he calmed himself down. The Capitol wouldn’t just kill the tributes one by one. They wouldn’t! If that was what was happening, they’d take all of them away at the same time. Going up and down with the fancy, high-tech elevator over and over again would be highly illogical. Same goes for the games. 

If that was it, they’d be taken out like they’d been brought in. Three big groups, with only a couple of minutes separating them. Not with these long, inconsistent intervals that had in some instances stretched on for a couple of hours at least . No, something else was happening. Facet wasn’t under the delusion it would be a much better fate for them, but at least it probably wouldn’t mean death. Yet . 

Curiously, he glanced around the room. Maybe figuring out who’d been taken so far would give him some kind of clue as to what was happening? Unlikely, but it would help pass the time. At this rate, he was going to die of boredom before any weapon was introduced to the equation at all, so hey. Might as well. If nothing else, it would give him something to do with his ability to remember names exceptionally well. 

There was Velvereen, of course. Even though their uniforms made them blend in with the sheer whiteness of this room, her absence was palpable to Facet. Marcus wasn’t anywhere to be seen either. Both the pairs from 10 and 12 were gone too, as well as the girl from 7 and the boys from 4 and 5. Lastly, they were missing the two from 6. 

He laid down on his back, legs bent so they’d fit in the ridiculously tiny space, and narrowed his eyes as he looked up at the top of his cage. That was all 11 tributes that had been taken. Now to connect the names to the faces. Brandy and Tanner were from 10, he knew that straight away. They’d made themselves quite memorable with that stunt in the zoo. He knew Lucy Gray was the girl from 12, and her district partner was Rea- no wait, Jessup? 

Right! Jessup. Livia only ever talked about those two because of their strength, and he hadn’t how ‘rude’ it was of Reaper to not talk to his mentor and he was certain he’d seen the boy from 12 talk quite enthusiastically with his mentor. Ha, as if not wanting to talk to the people gleefully awaiting your death for their personal gain was rude . If anyone could be considered ‘unmannered’ here it was the mentors acting like children dying was just fine and dandy! As if it was okay to actively try and make it ‘entertaining’. Oh whatever. Back to the people he actually cared about. The boy from 12 had to be Jessup. Seven down, four to go. 

First, the boy from 5 was Hy, if he remembered correctly. The one who’d had his district partner fussing over him while they were waiting in front of the wreck of their zoo enclosure. Something about the dust and coughing? And then there was Ginnee and Otto from 6. The two who’d danced in the zoo. Once all of the visitors had left, the other tributes had thanked those two for lightening the mood. After all, people wouldn’t have been as willing to give them food without those two’s efforts. Lastly, Lamina from 7 and Mizzen from 4. 

He knew their districts thanks to their district partners, mostly. Livia was so obsessed with winning the prize she’d only talked about the ‘competition’ and their ‘possible weaknesses’ throughout the few times she’d bothered to talk to him. And even then, she’d mostly been talking at him. Her failure to even acknowledge his responses to her when he bothered to give any didn’t give him the impression that she actually cared about his opinion. 

Just ‘victory’ or whatever. Since she thought she was so superior and more highly intellectual or whatever, of course she wouldn’t bother with the lowly, puny thoughts of a district kid . Why would she, when she was so much smarter and more competent? If bringing food was too much of a hassle, surely acknowledging him as a human being was a task of herculean proportions. Best not waste the energy! 

No, no, rambling about children like they were vile beasts who knew nothing but violence would suffice! Fantasizing about the possible threat they could pose to one’s possible future was a much more worthy investment of time. As was getting mad at those children for being a possible ‘roadblock’ to more money being added to the already unnecessarily large pile. No need to consider that those children were only in that position because the Capitol put them in it! Everything was the districts’ fault, even when they had no say. Obviously . 

Without a doubt, Livia would find a way to blame the tributes for being dragged out of the room too. He didn’t know how she could justify it all, but somehow she managed it. It would be impressive if it wasn’t so sickening. From what he’d heard, some of the instances had been pretty brutal. Facet couldn’t know for certain though, because somehow he’d slept through every single one of them. He must’ve been a whole lot more tired than he’d thought he’d been. Given how succinctly Sabyn had relayed the information to him, he probably wasn’t the only one that had. That wasn’t something a person could word perfectly on the spot. If it were him, he’d have been stammering and stuttering from the shock. 

Actually, that might just be him. 

His eyes fell on Coral and Treech. Aside from his own alliance, Reaper, and Jessup, Livia had been most worried about those two. While the other ‘threats’ were physically strong, those two were a different kind of dangerous. According to his mentor. Personally, Facet wouldn’t label any of the tributes as dangerous in any way. He’d call them desperate . He’d label them scared children who wanted to go home like everybody else. That was just him though, and he was lowly district scum, so what did his opinion matter? 

Where the more outwardly scary tributes would win a fists-only brawl easily, Coral and Treech would have a massive advantage once they were in the actual arena. Weapons. Tanner and Brandy knew how to handle their blades too, but working in a slaughterhouse they were likely better in close quarters. But Coral was a fisher, and Treech was a lumberjack. A trident and an ax would likely be their respective weapons, and both of those could be thrown with deadly accuracy. 

His alliance’s mentors had tried to think of the best ways to attack those two, but Facet had a feeling no idea they’d ever come up with would work ‘properly’. If it did, it was through pure luck, not tactical genius. Why? Because they all talked about the two like they were mindless puppets doing as their mentors commanded. Kind of the same way they expected their own tributes to behave, actually. They saw Coral and Treech, and all the other tributes for that matter, as mere pawns in the game. 

But Facet saw what their mentors refused to even look for. He saw how all of Coral’s time was devoted to ensuring Mizzen’s wellbeing and noticed that Treech performed for the visitors as much as physically possible to earn food, yet never seemed to eat any himself. Once, he’d heard him insist that Lamina eat from his meager ‘earnings’ first while promising he’d already had his share, only to see the poor boy curl his arms around his stomach and muffle pained noises when she was asleep. Worst of all, Lamina had suffered from hunger as well. To a much lesser degree thanks to her friend, but still he’d seen her struggle. 

It’d been their second evening in the zoo. That first day had been rough , with no one having eaten anything since before the reaping, but the second was hardly any better. Watching Treech, who was clearly close with his district partner, go through so much pain and effort for Lamina and to have it not even be enough... It’s the first time Facet had felt active hatred towards Livia for not bringing him anything to eat. Bitter annoyance had grown into a raging fire within him at being unable to help the other boy. There was no way for him to even ease the pain, because he didn’t have anything to eat either. For as long as he lived, he would never forget that feeling of powerlessness as he tried and failed to think of any way to help. 

Those two reminded him so much of himself, it was impossible to not be affected. If he’d been reaped with his closest friends… He’d have done the same as Treech, and imagining himself in their position broke something within him. A barrier that he’d tried to put up so he could remain detached from the other tributes. It cracked every time he saw something so undeniably human in any of the others. Like Bobbin being so painfully kind to Wovey despite knowing she had no chance of surviving this, or watching Reaper do everything to comfort Dill, who was likely to die soon even without the games shortening her lifespan to nothing. 

And all their mentors could see was the odds of their own victory. Cash prize and a scholarship weighed more heavily in their mind than the lives of innocent children who had done nothing to deserve any of this. All they saw in Coral was an ice cold killer, when in reality she was a young girl doing everything to try and protect the one she saw as her younger brother, even if it would likely be to her own detriment. 

They only talked about Treech to be angry about him ‘stealing sponsors’ when he only did so out of necessity to help feed his friend, allowing himself to starve in the process and dramatically worsening his own odds of making it through the games. And they only brought up Lamina to judge her for crying too much, as if she didn’t have plenty of things to cry about. With how the mentors spoke of her, one would assume she was destined to die in the first five minutes!

Facet knew better. He’d seen the way she looked at the peacekeepers that touched Treech too roughly. With eyes that screamed murder, seemingly only held back by the threat any action would pose to her friend. And with the way he’d clung to her when they were brought here, Facet couldn’t help the sneaking suspicion that everyone’s idea of who was the real threat between them was completely backwards. 

Every other tribute was a victim to this kind of cruel dehumanization. Brandy and Tanner were both seen as merciless murderers just because they worked in a slaughterhouse, yet it never occurred to these people that they were the reason these kids had that job in the first place. Their clear care and compassion was completely ignored, just because they’d been left with the job of slitting animals’ throats. Apparently that was gruesome and horrible, but watching actual human children die on live camera was perfectly fine. Yeah okay. What beacons of moral superiority, those Capitol folks. 

Then there was Reaper, only known for his cold shoulder towards the person tacitly endorsing the death of 23 and not for the honorable code of ethics that caused said cold shoulder. Nor did anyone even consider his obvious care for his sickly district partner. Speaking of Dill, people only saw a lost cause, not a fragile young girl with a whole life ahead of her. Same for Wovey. Just a weapon that couldn’t fight in their eyes. 

It was monstrous , yet these people believed themselves to be superior. Perhaps, in a way, they had to. How else would they be able to live with themselves, knowing what atrocities they allowed to be committed right in front of their eyes? Maybe it seemed so utterly illogical to him because he didn’t need to justify all of this. After all, Facet was living through this utter nightmare. Not hard to call it what it was when he was one of the people suffering because of it. And perhaps that was why he couldn’t bring himself to hate Livia. 

This was being done by those she considered to be ‘in her camp’. If they were evil, then she was evil, and he knew she thought herself to be a good person. She helped her friends and worked hard for her grades, she had a good relationship with her parents, and she planned on making life easier for the less fortunate in the Capitol. Key words being ‘in the Capitol’, but still. That’s what Facet had gathered from overhearing her talk to mentors like Palmyra and Hilarius, who she was friends with. 

In a way, that’s one of the worst things about all this to him. That someone who genuinely believed themself to be a good person could twist themself through so many hoops that they could write the hunger games off as not a big deal, or as necessary . A person he’d seen be so kind to people he knew she didn’t particularly care for had managed to convince herself that the games were a good thing. Because she’d been raised on the other side of the screen, watching them and being told that the districts deserved it. It wasn’t her fault, so Facet couldn’t bring himself to hate her for it. No matter how much he resented her for being complicit in their suffering. 

The door burst open. He’d been too lost in his thoughts to hear the footsteps Sabyn had talked about, and the sudden bang nearly made him jump out of his skin. He shot up, watching as the peacekeepers stomped over to Dill’s cage and ripped it open. Their large hands easily clamped over the poor girl’s small arms, yanking her to her feet and nearly dragging her over the floor with how quickly they moved. 

“Hey!” Reaper boomed, grabbing the bars to his cage and yanking them so hard his whole cage rattled. Several peacekeepers jumped back in fright. “Let her go!” 

“You monsters!” Coral shouted hotly. 

Angry yells rose around him, and Facet couldn’t help but join in. Dill wasn’t even resisting! How- How could they be so cruel to her?! With a growl, he lurched forward, only just avoiding slamming his head into the metal that stopped him from physically getting himself between Dill and the peacekeepers causing her pain. How dare they?! Who did they think they were, laying hands on a little girl like that?! 

“Stop it!” He screamed, “she isn’t doing anything! Leave her alone!” 

Only two of them turned to him, hands hovering over their guns. It was honestly a miracle they hadn’t shot anyone yet, but Facet couldn’t bring himself to care about the fact that he was probably changing their mind on that. Not when Dill was in enough pain as it was. Not when they were hurting a helpless kid who wasn’t even attempting to resist. And based on their behavior from before, they were getting enjoyment out of it. 

They liked using the power they had to hurt defenseless children, and now they were going after one of the most helpless of them all?! These- These- There were no words for the utter vileness these people he was supposed to believe where human beings displayed. He’d worked with toxic chemicals that were nicer to him than these pathetic excuses of supposedly intelligent lifeforms! Literal bombs had more human decency than these disgraceful wastes of oxygen. 

“Can’t you see she’s sick?!” His voice cracked with near hysteria, worsened when Dill had a coughing fit as if on cue. “You’re hurting her!”

They only pulled more viciously, and Facet felt like he was losing his mind . What were they thinking?! At this rate they could get her killed or something! That wasn’t- They couldn’t just- Why would they do this? Couldn’t they see how horrible their conduct was? When they were right there, right in front of them, could they not see how all of them were harmless? One of the peacekeepers pulled Dill so hard she fell to the ground, causing Reaper to rattle the bars again. This time, several guns were drawn. 

“What if that was your daughter?!” Facet cried desperately. 

For one moment, everyone froze. Over a dozen eyes bored into him, and Facet couldn’t help but shrink into himself. He didn’t like being the center of attention, but if it made them leave Dill alone it could barely even be considered a price to pay. Didn’t mean he’d enjoy it though. Not at all . One of the peacekeepers looked him straight in the eye. It made him want to dig a hole in the floor with his bare hands and crawl into it to disappear. 

But he didn’t, because Dill was struggling to get to her knees and Reaper had guns pointed at his face and almost half the tributes had been taken to who even knows where and these people were hurting a small child for no damn reason just because they could ! Discomfort could go kick and scream somewhere else . So, Facet raised his chin and stared right back. With all traces of nervousness wiped from his face, he pierced through the man’s very soul with his gaze and dared him to answer. 

Seconds passed as the room waited for their invisible battle to conclude. This one time, Facet would throw caution to the wind. He wanted to go home, but in the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care about long term goals. Not when all he could see in Dill were the children he babysat. When a little sick girl was being shoved around for the crime of being born , caution could go take a hike and die in the wilderness for all he cared. 

“We don’t have time for this.” One of the other peacekeepers broke the silence. “Lets go.”

“Alright, move!” Another said. 

And then they were gone. No more shouting or shoving. Just a hand on Dill’s shoulder pushing her out the door just a little too quickly. Well. That went… better than expected. Nobody died, so that was good. Much better than could be expected of peacekeepers. Still not great , but Facet had long since learned to take what he could get. Same as all the other tributes, he assumed. Without a word, he laid back down. He wasn’t stupid enough to think his words had actually reached any of these people, but…

He hoped they’d at least be a little less cruel to Dill. If only just for today. 

---

“Uhm… Welcome… To my house…”

Coryo awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck as he let her in. With a smile, Lucy Gray walked through the door as he held it open for her. An utter gentleman, despite his clear embarrassment. How cute. The two peacekeepers keeping her in line followed briskly, one grabbing her arm when she strayed too close to a table filled with all kinds of things. Papers, silverware, and many trinkets she couldn’t place immediately. 

“Hey!” Coryo protested. “That’s enough.”

“But sir, she-”

“This is my house and I will decide what she can or cannot do, understood?” 

Hesitantly, the peacekeeper let her go. Lucy Gray shot her mentor a slight, grateful smile. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about them so long as Coryo was with her. She looked around, surprised at the state of the apartment. Not what she’d expected… Definitely a whole lot smaller than she’d imagined this place to be. Paint was peeling, the furniture looked old and worn down, and miscellaneous items were scattered around everywhere. 

Overall, though, it looked cozy in a way. Comfortable and like a home . No grand halls empty of atmosphere. This place had personality, if nothing else, and it kind of reminded her of home. It was bigger than home, but the vibe was similar enough it put her at ease. Or as ‘at ease’ as she could get with two peacekeepers whose job was to find reasons to shoot her. Coryo hadn’t said it like that when he’d explained the situation, but Lucy Gray doubted he realized that was what they were here for in the first place, so that was no surprise. 

Compared to the other mentors, Coryo was incredibly nice, but he was still Capitol. She had to remember there were things he didn’t quite get yet. Hopefully, she would be able to help him in that department. With that in mind, Lucy Gray began to explore this new environment while stubbornly ignoring the several sets of eyes boring into her back. Let them look. If there’s one thing she was used to, it was having all eyes on her. Center stage, spotlight on her, playing the crowd like she played the guitar. 

“Do you, uhm, do you want something to drink?” Coryo asked. 

“Is tea an option? If not, just water is fine.”

“Of course! What tea would you like?” 

There were multiple kinds of tea? She’d heard such a thing, of course, but it had always seemed like some kind of fantasy. A concept made to excite the imagination rather than an actual truth. At the confused tilt of her head, Coryo’s expression changed into something unfamiliar. This was the first time Lucy Gray had been entirely unable to read him. Was it such a mundane thing for him? 

“There are… Kinds of tea?” She asked hesitantly. 

“Oh, tons! And there’s different flavors too!” 

“So kinds and flavors are separate…” She mumbled. 

Something flickered in his eyes. Confusion twisted together with something akin to… agitation? Disbelief? Emotions she’d never seen on him. Seems like he’d heard her after all. Whoops. Well, maybe she’d be able to try some of them! If she ever made it home, she could tell the Covey all about it! Maybe they could even figure out how to recreate some of these flavors with stuff from back in 12…

“I’ll have whichever’s your favorite.” 

“Right… I’ll be back in a minute. We’ll get you settled and then I’ll introduce you to grandma’am and my cousin Tigris once she’s home!” 

“Wonderful!”

Then he disappeared through one of the doors. That was… Strange. Oh well, Lucy Gray could worry about that later. Or never, in case it was a one-off thing. No use wasting time on inconsequential things, after all. To pass the time, she began to examine everything in the room more closely. Who knows, maybe  she’d find something interesting to share with Jessup when she saw him again! There was so much stuff here, she couldn’t imagine having the money all of it undoubtedly costed, let alone actually spending it. 

This trip was proving to be far more interesting than she could’ve hoped for. 

Chapter 6: Good Mentors Aren't Automatically Great

Notes:

My alarm for work goes in three hours but I'm not tired soooo have this :)

It’s not that Palmyra was bad , per se, or even that she was mean . 

She was just… Well. She was Capitol , and Velvereen couldn’t find a better way to label all of the things about her mentor that made her hate this arrangement. Because that one word was all the explanation anyone who mattered to her would need. It encompassed everything there was to say at all. The callousness, the dissonance, the everything . 

The way Palmyra casually talked down to the districts like they were filled with backwards savages. Grandstanding about being ‘civilized’ while sending children to their deaths with the explicit goal of making it entertaining . Nothing had ever frustrated Velvereen quite as much as watching her mentor act like she cared while allowing her to face near certain death without even a hint of protest. 

To make matters worse, apparently they were supposed to spend even more time together than before. With every second, the sheer magnitude of disgust she felt for her mentor grew even further. When Palmyra had led her to a car like it was nothing special, talking about showers and shopping and food the entire way like it was normal . When she made it sound like she had money left to spend on nice clothing that wasn’t necessary and as if food was in abundance here. And perhaps the thing that made Velvereen hate her so much was the fact that all of that? It was true . 

Palmyra did have food in abundance. She did have money to waste on frivolous luxuries like unnecessary clothing and the expensive jewelry Velvereen helped make. Her family had showers and soaps and a million other things they didn’t need. All kinds of things made with the blood of innocents. Of children who died in factories, sisters and brothers and parents who were murdered by the Capitol’s negligent cruelty. 

She got to eat the bread Panlo and Sheaf were forced to make all day, topped with the fish Coral’s muscles had strained to catch or the beef Brandy and Tanner had to kill their beloved animals for and paired with fruits and vegetables Reaper and Dill had to collect. All of them slowly starved to death, never allowed to even have a taste of all that delicious food that went to a spoiled brat who hadn’t worked a day in her life. Instead of walking, Palmyra got to relax in the cars for which Otto and Ginnee had to leave school to put together. Her life was made so much easier by the technology Circ and Teslee were forced to waste their life and intellect on without ever getting to reap any benefits. Her house was warmed by the coals Jessup risked his life for every day. 

She got to wear the clothing Bobbin lost his arm making. She got to wear the jewelry Velvereen and Facet slaved away for, watching their comrades suffer and fall all around them. Then when she was done she could sit on the chairs that cut open Lamina’s hands and put all those fancy pearls in a gorgeous box that left Treech’s hands trembling with cramp and pain and fatigue. And what had Palmyra herself ever done in her life? Nothing ! 

Everything about her mentor added insult to years worth of injury, and Velvereen hated her for it. None of the friendly chattering, the trying to get to know her, the big bed or the offered food would change that. Because now she was making Velvereen reap the benefits of all that pain and suffering too. So as she sat at that fancy, intricately decorated, shiny wooden table, eating that perfectly cooked food on expensive plates, her blood boiled under her skin.

All under the skin, away from prying eyes, because she had no luxury in life. She made the luxury. Her pay was her life and the barest of privileges the other districts weren’t granted. None of it made her feel superior, it just made her sick . Even in the periods where food was low, she could only think of all the children for whom that would’ve been far more than what they usually got. And now she was forced to exist in a house bigger than a factory, with shelves full of useless wastes of money and cupboards stocked to the brim with food. 

Velvereen was seeing her dreams right in front of her, and it only made her want to cry. 

Scream and cry and vomit at the sheer audacity of it all. For these people to consider themselves worthy of all of this when they’d never done a damn thing for anyone else! As if their every move wasn’t fueled by selfish desire. Their biggest problems were some other social elite’s drama, which they chose not to ignore. Actual, real people were dying. Children were dying . And these- these- these Capitols only cared about great uncle Claudius’ oh so terrible mistake of knocking over a decorative vase ?! 

If it weren’t for the two peacekeepers watching her like the whitest, slimiest hawks in existence, she would’ve slapped Monty in the face and screamed in her face until she cried like little Edel when a malfunctioning machine blinded her in one eye and cut off part of her ear and nose. But they were watching her, so she sat. An empty, polite smile on her face and a growing fire in her veins. She hated every single person at this dinner table. 

Including herself. 

---

Jessup was one of the first kids to be taken out of the room.

Right after Tanner and Brandy, who were taken after Lamina, who was taken after Marcus. Mizzen was likely taken after him, because his mentor came in while Lysistrata led Jessup out of the gray, soulless building the tributes had been kept in overnight. He hoped the others would follow soon, but knowing some of the mentors… their odds weren’t great. 

Lysistrata had shown him to the room where he’d be staying, reassuring him her parents would be home soon to meet him and that he could use the time until then to get settled and explore the house. Or at least Jessup assumed she was trying to reassure him. It just didn’t work very well, because meeting any other Capitol folks was just about the last thing he wanted to do. The only thing he wanted to do even less was go into the arena. She tried, though! Jessup could appreciate the effort. 

That does not mean he enjoyed the growing unease as the minutes ticked by. Given the fact that he had nothing except the clothes on his back, there hadn’t been a lot of ‘settling’ to do in the room. After a while, constantly switching between laying on the unfairly soft bed and sitting in the disturbingly comfortable chair became incredibly boring. Which meant his thoughts started to drift. Now that was dangerous territory to be in. 

It’s only the constant happenings of stuff that stopped him from spiraling into insanity, and now all of that was gone. Now he was supposed to somehow keep himself from going crazy. But when the only big thing in his certain future was the arena … Thinking wasn’t exactly conducive to mental stability, and it was literally the only thing he could do in the room that was bigger than his family’s entire living room despite being the smallest room in this building . The contrast between his life in the districts, relatively comfortable considering what tributes like Reaper, Dill, Panlo, and Sheaf went through, and the average Capitolite’s life was also not something he’d like to focus on. 

His only other option was thinking about the other tributes, but that wasn’t any less upsetting. Because most of them would be dead in a few days, and none of them deserved it. All of them were kind, compassionate, good kids. They were kids . Jessup himself had only just become an adult. And here they were, lambs being paraded around before their slaughter. With a sigh, he turned over and buried his head into the pillows. 

There was a window, not barred but unable to open far enough for him to crawl through and with some kind of sensor on the outside that would set off an alarm if it broke. Probably better than some of the others would get. He frowned. How were the others doing? Were they okay? Were they even still alive ? Was Lucy Gray being treated well? Her mentor seemed to be on the better end of the spectrum, but given what the standard was that didn’t really mean anything. 

Oh, he hoped his friend would get a bed and food at least. Of course, he also hoped she wouldn’t face any vitriol, but he wasn’t stupid. They were in the Capitol. Chances of that happening were minimal , to say the least. It worried him. Not that Lucy Gray was weak or helpless by any means, of course not! She was more than capable of handling herself. It’s just that Jessup wished she didn’t have to. 

She should be back home, singing for district 12, not stuck in a cage and forced to entertain these Capitol pricks for food! However, that hadn’t stopped her from ending up here, had it? Just like it hadn’t stopped innocent young kids like Wovey, Dill, Bobbin, and Mizzen from ending up here. So young they shouldn’t even know what the word “work” meant, yet already having spent the majority of their lives in their respective industries. Even worse, their lives likely wouldn’t last much longer. 

It hurt to think about, but it was a fact. As much as he wished it were different, those four weren’t gonna make it. Bobbin could try to protect Wovey all he liked, but… Not even Reaper and Coral had a good shot at getting their younger district partners out. None of the tributes wanted to kill one another, but all of them wanted to go home. There would be one who was willing to do the unthinkable. There always was. 

Jessup just hoped it wouldn’t have to be him. Living with the blood of innocent kids on his hands would be difficult enough. If it was someone so young, he’d probably never be able to sleep at night again. If he made it out of the arena in the first place, that is. Big if right there. Groaning, he stood up and walked over to the window. There really was no happy ending here, was there? 

For no one, except maybe the mentor that won the prize. That stupid prize Marcus’ mentor had apparently talked about during his ramblings while trying to talk to his tribute and failing. Ramblings that Marcus had, apparently, listened to enough to remember at least partially. For someone so dead-set on pretending Plinth didn’t exist, he sure did absorb a lot of the information the guy had dumped on him in rapidfire succession. 

Well, whatever had happened or was currently happening between those two was none of his business. He had other things to worry about. Getting himself seated comfortably in the windowsill, Jessup tried to see as much of the outside world as possible. If he was gonna be stuck here until the games, he was going to see as much of the world as possible while he had the chance. 

Predictably, the vast display of wealth made him seethe , but he pushed that down in order to marvel at it all instead. Tall buildings, fancy decorations, and a sort of cleanliness Jessup hadn’t even thought was possible . Back home, dirt and grime was everywhere . From the mines to the slums, it could be found on and under every surface. Ever since starting work in the mines, Jessup’s fingernails had been black with charcoal. Everything he touched became a little dirtier no matter how long or hard he scrubbed at his skin.  

That was one of the few things he probably wouldn’t share with Lysistrata. As nice as she was, there were things she simply couldn’t understand. Being clean was something she considered a good thing, and maybe it was , but Jessup couldn’t bring himself to see it that way. The total spotlessness of everything around him felt unnatural. Fake . Worst of all, it felt foreign . While being dirty wasn’t necessarily fun, it was familiar. It was home . 

If he wasn’t going to see home ever again, he wanted as many reminders of it as possible. And death wasn’t unlikely . He was one of 23 kids, and a lucky hit would kill him no matter how good his odds were in terms of sheer strength. That’s why, as much as he wanted a bath, he didn’t actually look forward to it. Yet another thing taken from him by the Capitol. 

Jessup looked down through the window. Everything down there looked tiny , like little ants crawling around the empty cupboards in his family’s kitchen. This room was so high up! Higher than any building in district 12, and he wasn’t even on the top floor. That was probably on purpose, to be honest. He’d probably be able to just straight up rip the window from its hinges if he tried hard enough. However, even if he somehow managed to crawl out, there was no way he could get down safely. 

There was a high chance he’d snap his neck. 

Maybe, if he…

Wow. Hold up. What the heck was that? Why did he think that? No, absolutely not. The whole plan here was to not die, so doing such a stupid thing would be one of the worst decisions he’d ever make. Probably the last one too. Jessup did not want to die, thank you! Even if it seemed like a far less painful way to go than some of the more brutal deaths in the games, that did not mean he was going to try it! Absolutely not. Think logically! Was suffering through all those broken bones really a better way to die? Yeah, exactly. Stupid. 

Okay. Enough windows for the day, time to back up. Literally. Stepping away from the glass, Jessup tried very hard to rid himself of… that . It was just a thought, likely brought on by stress and the hopelessness of his situation. It wasn’t anything serious . Besides, it would be way too much effort to be worth it. While he highly doubted he’d be able to bring himself to go out of his way to kill anyone, that didn’t mean he was a lost cause! He just had to keep his hopes up and try not to think about all the children that would have to die for him to-

“Jessup? Can you come down?” 

Well, at least there were no peacekeepers to drag him out of the room for once. After a verbal affirmation, Jessup cast one last look at the window before turning away. He’d have to be careful with those kinds of thoughts. Maybe keeping the blinds closed would help them? He’d figure it out later. Hopefully getting settled a little would help him not be as on-edge and stop him from doing anything impulsive. 

When he opened the door, he found his two “escorts” with their hands on their guns, standing behind Lysistrata like bodyguards. Guess she must’ve stopped them from doing what they did best: Being massive douchebags for no reason. Honestly, Jessup thanked his lucky stars for his mentor. Whatever he did to deserve one of the few good mentors, he was glad he did it. 

“Come on, they’re excited to meet you!”

“Yeah. Of course.” 

Returning her smile, Jessup couldn’t help the slight strain in his expression. In his defense, Capitol citizens did not have the best reputation when it came to the districts. Lysistrata was great, but that said nothing about her family. Well, maybe it did say a little , but not enough to draw conclusions or get comfortable. As if getting comfortable was even an option given the looming threat of death tormenting him constantly. 

“Hey, it’s okay! I totally get being nervous about meeting new people and all that, but I promise they’re great!” 

“I’m sure…” Well, that was a little rude. Quickly, he continued:  “That’s not really what I’m worried about, Lysistrata.” 

“Oh? What’s wrong? And just call me Lissy.” 

What’s wrong? A better question would be what wasn’t wrong. The answer would be a whole lot shorter, that’s for sure. Jessup had been reaped the year before he aged out and was dragged to a city full of people who hated him for existing. Now here he was, being paraded around for the entertainment of rich pricks before he was thrown into child gladiatorial games to die horrifically or be scarred for life. He was starving and dirty and tired and honestly? He was terrified of what would happen to him. 

Now he was in a house that casually rubbed salt into lifelong wounds at every corner because of the sheer magnitude of wealth on display. Wealth that could feed several districts for years was being wasted on stuff no human being needed just because the people who held it could and didn’t care enough not to. And he could keep going. For hours , he could talk about all the things that were wrong, and there would still be things he’d missed. 

But he didn’t. Because Lysistrata was genuinely asking. Just like she’d been genuinely trying to help him since day one. None of this was her fault, and if he didn’t know any better Jessup would think she was actually trying to be his friend . Ruining all of that just because he was bitter over something she didn’t control either… It wouldn’t be worth it. Maybe he would be justified in being mean, but he didn’t want to be. So instead, he forced his smile to be just a bit less strained as he answered. 

“It’s nothing, Lissy, don’t worry about it.” 

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t pry either, which Jessup appreciated. The rest of their walk was silent and mercifully comfortable. He did his best to ignore everything around him that screamed money. So everything around him. All the way down the several staircases, because of course there were more than one. Through fancy hallways with carpets and paintings and chandeliers and statuettes and many things Jessup did not recognize, until they finally reached the living room. 

There were two people there. A man and a woman, both dressed in clothing that looked more expensive than Jessup’s whole family’s entire lives . The man was clean shaven, had short, curly hair and wore a tailored dark gray suit. The woman wore a cream suit-jacket and skirt, her hair pulled up in a bun and immaculate makeup on her face. Both of them looked a whole lot nicer than Mayor Lipp, so he’d chalk that up to a win. 

“Mom, dad, this is Jessup!”

“Ah, so you’re the tribute that will be staying with us?” The woman said. 

“Uhm, yes. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. and Mr. Vickers.” 

He tried for politely casual, but ended up more in the realm of automatic response. at least neither of Lysistrata’s parents seemed very upset with his presence. They were, however, staring holes into him. No one said anything. Clearly they were waiting for something, but Jessup had no idea what and he wasn’t about to try and guess. What if he got it wrong? Would they switch up on him and become vitriolic like most Capitol citizens?

What if this was a test and he was failing? How was he supposed to not fail? They brought him here to fight to the death, not speedrun learning Capitol Elite social games! Lysistrata had not warned him about this, so either this wasn’t planned or she was in on it. What was even happening? Jessup was not prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for anything about this stupid city. Why did this have to happen to him?!”

“We’ll have Atticus set up an extra plate for dinner.” Mr. Vickers spoke after an unbearably long silence. 

This was going to be so awkward. 

Chapter 7: Boy In The Wings, Doll On The Strings

Notes:

So uhm. This took a while. Had some interpersonal stuff go down irl and lost the drive to write but I'm back!! Will update The Losing Battle sometime soon, hopefully this week but no promises lol. I hope you enjoy this, I don't know if it's good but it's definitely long so I hope that makes up for the wait.

It’s quiet in their small room. 

After what must’ve been hours, there just wasn’t much to talk about anymore. Or maybe all that was left was the stuff they didn’t want to talk about. If Lamina had still been there, it wouldn’t have been an issue, but she was long gone. Just like most of the other tributes. Taken away to who knows where ages ago, leaving the three of them in silence. 

They’d talked about their mentors a little while ago. It was a much needed venting session, though there hadn’t been much to vent about for him. Panlo and Facet had actual, concrete things to be mad at. Treech’s whole problem was the lack of everything from Sickle. All he got was her delusional belief that she was somehow important or special enough to negate the fact that a third of the other tributes could effortlessly snap his neck. 

Well, whatever. She could believe whatever she wanted to believe. It wouldn’t change the outcome of anything here, and Treech wouldn’t let some spoiled nepo baby like Sickle ruin his last few days on earth with her God complex. As if some snotty brat who hadn’t worked a day in her life had any claim to superiority over anyone . Really, what had any of the mentors ever done? Facet and Panlo’s mentors were similar to his own in the way they thought they were special, like they were God’s gift to mankind or something. All the while profiting off of child murder and acting only when it benefited them. 

Yeah, not the kind of stuff any of them really wanted to talk about right then. So silence it was. Treech wouldn’t call it uncomfortable , per se, but it was… Off . Which was a terrible way to describe anything, but sadly he couldn’t think of anything less vague. Mostly because he knew what was causing this, and it had nothing to do with the three boys still stuck in their cages. No, nothing had happened between him, Panlo, and Facet. Yet there was a tension in the air. An uncertainty. Fear of what the fake peace could mean. 

Was it that no kids had been taken in a while, or was it that they were losing their grip on reality? Were they losing their sense of time even further? For all Treech knew, the three of them could be dead. This could be some weird version of the afterlife and now the three of them were awaiting judgment. It wasn’t even an unlikely conclusion! Granted, the only source he had for it was the voice snarling in his head about how he’d die in the first three minutes of the games, but still. Lack of evidence wasn’t evidence on its own, but he was stuck in a basement, starving and dehydrated and helpless . So let him be illogical then. 

It wouldn’t change anything, whether he was right or wrong. His opinions had never mattered in the grand scheme of things, and this would be no different. At least he wasn’t alone. Had it been just him in this white room full of empty cages, Treech probably would’ve gone insane in minutes. Cramps, hunger and thirst were more than enough troubles, he didn’t feel the need to add losing his mind to his growing list of problems, thanks. One of them would be alone eventually, though. Treech didn’t know who he hoped it would be. 

None of them deserved that. None of them deserved any of this, but it had happened anyway. The world didn’t care about fair. Why would it? It was run by the Capitol , so it’s not like he should expect much. Which he didn’t, by the way. A guy could dream though, couldn’t he? Dreams were all he had left at this point. They tethered him to reality in a way, which was hilariously ironic. The thought of a good ending, something he knew would never be real for them, kept him in contact with reality. 

Okay, revise that earlier statement about going crazy. Maybe he’d lost his mind ages ago and just never realized. Which begged the question, how does one know they’ve gone crazy? Someone who’s lost touch with reality wouldn’t exactly realize that, would they? The whole point is that they don’t know what is or isn’t real anymore, so from their point of view the world in their head is just… the world. Kind of like when he was a kid and his dad told him the monsters in the shadows weren’t real. Sure, they hadn’t really, physically been there, but he’d seen them. They’d been real to him . So what even was reality?

Well, this mental conversation with the voices in his head was turning weirdly philosophical. Was it the starvation or was it the strain that… everything that had happened was having on his mental stability? Nobody knew! How fun. Treech didn’t like it. He was a circus freak turned actor who would probably be dead less than a week from now, not some kind of enlightened intellectual like the Capitol brats loved to pretend they were. 

Yet despite their so called ‘higher mental capacity’ and ‘further evolved sense of decency and empathy’, whatever that was supposed to mean, they saw nothing wrong with innocent kids being murdered. Sounded more like highly evolved narcissism to him, but whatever. Who was he, anyway? A name that would fade to all but a select few within hours. Swallowed by the sands of time to be forgotten by everyone except his friends and family in District 7. His opinion meant nothing, and it never would. 

But that was fine, because he wasn’t alone. People cared about him, and while he loathed himself for having to cause them pain, he was glad they’d been there to light up his now drastically shortened life. Even in this nightmare, he wasn’t alone. As horrible as things had been, he’d been able to cling to one of the most important people in his life. At least he still had Lamina. His ally, his friend , who was by his side through this all. 

Despite knowing how their friendship would end, she hadn’t given up on him. Maybe she should have, but she hadn’t . Only the peacekeepers had managed to separate them, but they wouldn’t be inside the arena during the games. With all this uncertainty, Treech clung to the one thing he was sure of. No matter what happened in the arena, he and Lamina would face it together. She wouldn’t abandon him. If nothing else, at least he could be sure of that. 

“Do you… Do you guys think they’ll come for us too?” 

Panlo was the one who had spoken. The youngest out of their little trio by mere months. His voice was soft, uncertain, and boy howdy was he asking the real questions here. None of them knew the answer, but Treech wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t about actual answers or some kind of resolution to their ‘situation’. AKA starving or dehydrating to death in a disgusting, white, cramped basement. It’s clear Panlo needed comfort. Something none of them could provide properly with the metal bars if he was entirely honest. 

Well joke’s on the universe, because Treech was nothing if not a lying bitch . 

“Absolutely! We’ll get food and water soon enough. They can’t let us die before the games.” He gave Panlo as charming of a smile as he could manage. “We’ll be fine, no worries!” 

“Where will they take us?”

“To our new accommodations, or course! Much more pleasant ones that… this.” 

He gestured around the room, and he wasn’t lying. Wherever the others had been taken was definitely better than this, because everything was better than this. Except for maybe small white boxes instead of cages. And the arena, but that was because of reasons entirely separate to comfort so that didn’t count. Treech wished he had actual answers to give instead of just his own speculations that were at least 50% self-reassurance, but when did he ever get what he wanted? 

All he wanted right now was to be put on a train back home with Lamina, and his odds of that happening were… slim, to say the least. Laying down on the floor, Treech closed his eyes. He thought back to home, to the forests and rickety houses, the school that doubled as daycare, the vent system of the peacekeeper barracks he’d memorized years ago. When’s the last time he’d ever been to school? Would he ever play a game of hide and seek only he knew was happening with the peacekeepers? 

So yeah, chances of getting what he wanted were basically zero, but that was fine. Sort of. If he squinted. While hanging upside down drinking near lethal doses of alcohol after not having consumed anything for two whole weeks. And then fell and got a concussion. Then maybe he could be delusional enough to believe anything about this was in any way even close to resembling some weird, twisted, screwed up version of ‘fine’. But again, Treech was nothing if not an expert liar, and deceiving himself into having a slightly less horrible last few days of his life was better than the alternative. 

Besides, misery loved company, and there were few things Treech hated more than upsetting people who didn’t deserve it. If anyone didn’t deserve it, it was the tributes, so he’d do his best to be as positive as one could be when staring a horrific death in the face and try to lift the mood for the others. Would he fail miserably? Probably, but at least he tried. That was worth something, right? Right. Case closed, comforting fantasy reinforced, end of mental conversation. 

“Hey Facet?”

“Yeah?” 

Treech didn’t need to open his eyes to know both of his fate-mates had their full attention on him. It wasn’t a difficult conclusion to draw, what with the utter, maddening lack of anything else to focus on in their stupid little room. They could look at white walls, gray metal, or colorful soon to be dead kids. Or whatever the color the inside of their eyelids were. Easy pick. it’s a 50/50 between those last two. 

“You said you work with kids in district 1?” Facet hummed in affirmation, at which point Treech opened his eyes to raise an eyebrow at him. “Got a favorite?” 

At the other boy’s surprised spluttering, he couldn’t help his little smirk. Oh he definitely had a favorite. He shared a smirk with Panlo, solidifying their alliance against the other boy as they waited for him to become coherent again. It took a few seconds, and by the time Facet finally managed to get enough actual words out of his mouth to string together a sentence he was as red as the lights on the back of a transport truck. 

“N-no, no of course not! I love all of them!” 

“Obviously,” Panlo rolled his eyes playfully. “But do you have a favorite?”

“No!” Facet said, just a little too quickly to be believable. 

“Oh he so does!” Treech laughed. 

“Tell us!” 

Facet shook his head, turning even redder in the face. Treech hadn’t even thought it was possible for someone to turn such a vivid color, but even red currants would be jealous of the hue spreading over the other boy’s skin. Roses would slink away in shame if they could see the sheer vibrance of Facet’s cheeks. The other boy didn’t seem upset, though, just very embarrassed to admit what was by now an obvious truth. So Treech felt no shame in teasing him like this. 

“I… Well I… Okay, fine, yes, I do. But it’s so hard not to! Zira is just the sweetest kid you’ll ever meet! Kind of like Dill and Wovey, but with Mizzen’s energy and Sheaf’s curiosity. She’s always asking about anything and everything with a twinkle in her eyes that you just… You have to keep it alive, you know? Nobody can deny her, really. One look at her face and even the coldest peacekeepers melt.”

“So… cuteness overload got y’all in a chokehold?” Treech inquired.

“I-” Facet sighed in defeat, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, yeah you could say it like that.” 

“Understandable, have a nice day.”

However long said day would last, none of them knew. Hours could feel like seconds and minutes could feel like days in here. Treech had given up counting to pass the time ages ago, when he lost track for the umpteenth time and ended up more frustrated than he’d been when Sickle told him he was guaranteed to win the games under her mentorship as if she was gonna have any hand in his victory at all while watching him die from the safety of her plush princess room. 

“Who’s your favorite?” Panlo asked. “Treech?” 

“Back home?” he blinked slowly, mulling it over for a second. “Lamina. Aside from my family, of course, but I’m not picking between them.” He laughed lightly. Deceptively so. 

No, he wasn’t gonna pick between his dad, Murai, and Silvy. His older brother and his baby sister were special to him in such vastly different ways that it would be like comparing chestnuts and acorns. Different flavors with the same outcome. And Lamina… Treech didn’t remember a time where she hadn’t been a part of his life. The time before the day she saved him from hypothermia was so hazy it may as well be a dream, surviving only in disconnected flashes that occasionally drifted to the top of his consciousness just long enough to remind him of their existence. Then they faded again, forgotten until they reappeared months later. 

A life without her in it was unimaginable. Just as infeasible as one without his family. It was as much a dystopian horror as a world without the forest, without the smell of wood polish in dad’s workshop or the feel of dewy grass under his fingers as he watched the sunrise before work. It had never even struck him as a possibility until her name had been called. His world had shattered right then and there to the point where he failed to react to the echo of his own name as it bounced around him. 

He’d looked around nervously, from up on the stage. The place where he thrived had become the place where he was forced to listen to his best friend’s sobs as he tried to memorize as much of his home as possible. Maybe he’d already known, in the back of his mind, that it would be the last time he’d see it. Not consciously, but perhaps a deeper part of him had realized what none of them wanted to accept. The Grim Reaper’s blade was pressed into his neck with so much certainty he could almost feel the cold steel on his skin. It wasn’t contemplating, it was just waiting for the moment to strike. 

“If you want me to pick, we’ll have to look at my theater group. And I’m picking Lauriel.”

“Wow, no hesitation!” Panlo giggled. 

“Nah, it’s barely even a contest. He’s hilarious , words cannot do him justice. Also he once kicked a peacekeeper’s ass so badly we were given a month’s worth of food and were sworn to secrecy about the incident. They made sure we kept it all under wraps.” 

“Did you?” Facet raised an eyebrow.

“ Fuck no.” 

With the metaphorical light filling their room, Treech couldn’t help but sink into the comfortable atmosphere. It was painfully easy to talk to Panlo and Facet. How could he not consider them friends? He didn’t know how they felt, and he wasn’t stupid enough to ask, but in his books they were friends now. In a kinder world he’d have shown them his favorite spots in 7. But he couldn’t, so he’d tell them about home instead. Through sharing everything he could think of, he tried to at least let them imagine the world he grew up in. 

Just like they did when they told him about their homes, sharing every tiny detail about it so passionately Treech almost felt like he’d been to districts 1 and 9 himself. It made him feel all the closer to these two boys he met mere days ago. Despite how different they all were, they had so many things in common. Especially surrounding the upcoming games, though they carefully tiptoed around that subject. It was impossible to deny the connection he felt to them. Even more so given their… shared frustrations in the Capitol. 

“We screw with the peacekeepers by hiding behind the bigger crops.” Panlo smirked slyly. “They can’t do anything, because we’re technically not doing anything wrong. It’s not our fault they assume we’re slacking off or running away when they can’t see us. What’re they gonna punish us for? Doing our work?” 

Facet and Treech devolved into giggled. Honestly? That sounded like so much fun! Seems like all the districts found their own ways to mess with their overlords without too many consequences. Petty revenge in any form they could come up with. Oh, he hoped he could talk to the other tributes at some point to see what their versions of it looked like! These stories were exactly what all of them needed to cheer them up. 

A loud bang cut off their laughter. They whirled around to where the door had slammed against the wall, letting in a stream of peacekeepers. Wild and unpredictable like a river in a storm, they filled up the small room, guns in their hands and ready for use. Treech scrambled into a sitting position, pressing himself against the far back of his cage. One of the peacekeepers barked something, though he couldn’t discern what the words meant over the rushing in his ears. Half-hysterically, he wondered whether any of these people had ever heard of the concept of manners . Couldn’t they just knock? For once ?! 

Then they were coming his way, and any attempt at humor to cope with the near heart attack these people just gave him died a grizzly death. The door to his cage was ripped open. All he could hear was the sickening screech of metal as large hands grabbed at his arms. Their death grips closed around him as they pulled him forward, almost dragging him over the floor of the cage. With every forced movement, his muscles ached . Cramps seared through his body so fiercely it felt like his body would be ripped to pieces. 

His knees slammed against the floor, the impact thrumming through his bones all the way to his head until he swayed. Only the bruising clamps crushing his arms held him upright. As black spots slowly swallowed his vision, Treech could just barely hear Facet and Panlo’s screams from somewhere around him as his body was forced up and forward. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep up with what was happening around him. Everything was so fast and he was so dizzy . 

Fingers twisted into his hair, tangling into his curls and yanking his head up. Forcing him to stand on wobbly legs as gray uniforms swallowed his vision. They pushed and shoved from all directions, scratching his skin through his clothes and cruelly pressing into the dark bruises marring his body. The heat stabbing through his body brought tears to his eyes. Only the lack of hydration kept them from spilling. A door slammed. The peacekeepers were walking fast. Too fast. 

At least they weren’t yelling at him. Instead, they barked orders he couldn’t process. Not that it mattered. His scalp burned as the person holding his hair tightened their grip even further. A pained groan slipped from his lips before he could stop it, but he didn’t dare protest. It would only make things worse. Don’t resist. Just go along and don’t resist and be good and they’ll get bored eventually. They’d leave him for dead and he could crawl his way home. Just wait it out. Go along and wait it out. 

It would be fine. It was always fine. Things were bad right now but if he shut his mouth and did as he was told they’d leave and things would be better again. Just like always. Ignoring the burn of his nerves, Treech bit back a scream as his hair was pulled so harshly he felt like his locks were getting yanked right out of his skull. They’d stopped. So suddenly Treech bumped into the peacekeeper in front of him. Cold pressure wrapped around his heart as the man he’d ran into turned to him with a glare so filled with hatred he could only assume this is what people in his ancient history books meant with hellfire. 

“I- I’m so sorry sir, I-” Treech squeaked, eyes wide as he looked up at the giant of a man in front of him, “I didn’t mean to, I swear I-” 

Oh no. Oh no he’d pissed them off. They were mad now. They were mad and all of them towered over him and there was no way he’d even stand a chance against one of them let alone all of them . With a tremble in his bottom lip, he tried to back away, causing the peacekeepers to tighten their grips even further. Icy hot spears of pain split his body into a million agonized pieces. A pained yelp escaped from him as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable pain hit him. 

But none came. No sharp sting in his cheek, no flare of agony in his stomach, nothing. Just silence. A deafening silence only broken by a weird buzzing sound and the panicked thumping of his heartbeat. Treech didn’t dare move a muscle, scared any wrong move on his part would catapult him out of the eye and into the storm. A sudden shake of the small gray box they were in made him lose his footing. Before he could fall, arms wrapped around him from behind. He flinched, starting to push away before realizing where he was and carefully freezing every muscle into place. 

He’d opened his eyes again at some point. The sheer amount of gray around him made it impossible to focus properly. Peacekeepers. Right. This was the same gray box that had brought them to the room they’d been staying in before. Or it was similar, at least, so they were either going outside or deeper into the building. He could focus on that instead of his massive screw up from mere moments before. Because if he didn’t focus on something else, he’d start to do dumb things like panic, which never ended well. Not when there were peacekeepers involved. 

Eyes were boring into him, but Treech did everything to ignore it. Maybe, if he stayed as still as possible, they’d think the effort of finding something to get mad at was too much to bother. It seemed to be working so far, though he had no idea what he’d done for the peacekeepers to stop pulling at him. He’d even dare say their grips had loosened, save for whoever was holding him up. Probably for the better, since Treech had exactly zero trust in his body’s ability to keep him standing at the moment. 

“Uhm…” The guy in front of him looked… softer? No, he was a peacekeeper, it couldn’t be that. But he looked calmer. “It’s fine, kid.”

Glancing up at the man, Treech tried to figure out what the guy wanted him to say. Angry peacekeepers he could deal with. Just shut up and take it. Unless there were people to protect, in which case the answer was to antagonize them as much as possible until they had to leave or got bored. Whichever happened first. But this? It was a ploy, he knew that much, but what was he meant to do? Before he could respond, the box shook again and the buzzing sound finally stopped. As the doors opened in front of him, Treech tried to pick out details in his environment. Anything that would ground him back in the present. 

The grips on his body that returned, though they weren’t nearly as painful as before. Treech tried to keep his attention on the stinging sensation as he let himself be pulled forward. At least they were going at a reasonable pace this time. They brought him to an area he was sure they hadn’t passed when they’d brought the tributes in. To one side were doors, opposite to a long desk behind which sat several people in some kind of uniform with name tags and a glowing mini-TV in front of them. Different-looking to all the TV’s Treech had ever seen, but similar enough for him to think they must function somewhat comparably.

Further away were what looked like criminally comfortable chairs and couches, with tables that had what he assumed were newspapers on them. A waiting area of some kind? A familiar blonde sat in one of the chairs, inspecting her nails impatiently, and Treech couldn’t help but wonder what the heck was going on here. His mentor looked up, rolling her eyes and standing up with a huff. Well, that wasn’t a good sign. Maybe staying in the room would’ve been preferable, save for the starving and/or dehydrating to death part. 

“ Finally . What took you so long? I’ve been waiting here for ages !” 

“Apologies, ma’am,” one of the peacekeepers said, voice politely bland with clear disinterest, “the tributes were held several floors down.” 

“Apologies accepted or whatever. Can I go now?” 

Either Sickle didn’t pick up on how uncaring that ‘apology’ had been, or she didn’t care. It was impossible to tell for certain with her. Two of the peacekeepers in the group stepped forward, guiding him with them. Guiding, not dragging. Wow . Some kind of paper was laid down on the table, and Sickle wrote down… something. A scribble? It didn’t seem like an actual word, with the weird swirl she’d crossed through the letters. If it was a word, it was unintelligible. It seemed to be what the peacekeepers were looking for though, because then they were moving again. 

Then they were out the door. It was dark outside. The peacekeepers finally let him go, at least. With a harsh shove forward that was unnecessary, thank you very much , but still. And his legs kept him upright too! Awesome. A large vehicle of some kind stood not too far from the entrance, and Sickle made a b-line towards it. It was black and shiny, with someone already seated in the seat in front of the steering wheel. The controls looked similar enough to the transport trucks back home, but the rest of it was entirely foreign to Treech. 

There were three rows of seats, with the back two facing each other and the front one facing the road. Sickle climbed into the back of the vehicle, after which the peacekeepers herded him towards the same door to urge him inside after her. Treech let them push towards the middle seat of three on the back row and click some sort of band over his lap and across his torso, strapping him to the seat. He tested it out carefully, surprised to find how much give it had. What even was the purpose of that thing? When both peacekeepers were strapped in next to him, Vipsania called for the person in the front to start driving. 

“Come on, we need to pick up Camilla and Aurilla and we’ve wasted enough time already!” 

So much for the ‘mannered folks’ of the Capitol, huh? Treech felt a little bad for the person driving the vehicle. What had they ever done to deserve that snappy attitude? When the vehicle suddenly moved, it took everything within him to not grab onto the nearest thing and clutch it for dear life. Mostly because that thing would be one of the peacekeepers, and he highly doubted clinging onto them would end well for him. Instead, Treech settled on squeezing the fabric of his pants with a startled yelp. 

“ Ugh , why couldn’t you just allow them to wait in the car like my chauffeur?!” Sickle whined. 

“As we’ve explained, ma’am, due to the security measures in pla-”

“Couldn’t you have made an exception or something?” 

“No ma’am. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to tell them they’d have to wait for me to pick that ,” she nodded in his direction harshly, “up after our mall trip before I could bring them home?! This is unacceptable-”

While Sickle continued ranting, Treech couldn’t help but wonder what she’d been doing exactly. It seemed like she’d been preoccupied with this ‘mall trip’ before picking him up to go… wherever they were gonna go, but honestly? That told him basically nothing. What even was a mall? He could ask, but… Yeah, that didn’t seem like the soundest of ideas. 

Treech wasn’t the sharpest ax in the shed, but he wasn’t suicidal . Just a little hopelessly pessimistic and very jaded. Big difference. It’s not like it mattered anyway, given that there were no ‘malls’ in the districts. They sounded like a rich people thing, given the fact that Sickle was talking about wrinkles in clothing and something about jewelry. Also makeup shades and it not matching her skin? Which was weird, because he could clearly see the very obviously unnatural tint on her lips, eyes, and cheeks. Either it wasn’t supposed to match her skin or Sickle was colorblind. 

Instead of listening to all of that, Treech decided to look out of the windows of the vehicle. In the cattle car, he hadn’t been able to see anything outside, but now he got a nice view of the Capitol in all its money-wasting, pretentious glory. It was certainly fancy. That was about the only word he could use to describe it, because while he could appreciate scale and fine detail, everything seemed built just to flaunt wealth. Which he, personally, felt was disgusting and gross. It was fun to play ‘spot the statue’ though. 

It was certainly more interesting than Sickle’s rambling about nothing. Thankfully she’d run out of words to vomit out and was now silently sulking in her seat. Great, she’d graduated from a hair-pulling experience to just annoying. Congrats, miss pompous prat, have a mediocre trophy for the Bare Minimum Awards. Even the top spot failed to reach bearable, yet this first prize in a one woman competition was the highest achievement Sickle had ever achieved. Applause everybody. If this pathetic display was not acknowledged with simpering praise, she may refuse to feed the child whose survival she was responsible for! Oh wait . 

“So…” He spoke, carefully controlling his tone to be neutral and polite. Who knew what display of emotion would set these people off. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your names?” 

He looked between the two peacekeepers, who in turn shared a look with each other before eyeing him up and down. If they were trying to figure out why he was asking them that, they were giving him far too much credit. Planning an escape hadn’t even entered his mind yet. He’d do that once he was in a fixed location so he could meticulously plan out his route and course of action. Thinking on the fly really wasn’t his forte when he wasn’t under pressure. 

Besides, he had no idea where in the city he was. Even if he made it out of the vehicle and to a hiding spot without getting shot somehow, he’d likely get caught within minutes while he ran around like a headless chicken trying to find a way out of the city. Treech would much rather get as much rest as he could and wait until he’d had something to eat and drink before making rash decisions. 

“Claudius.” The one on the left grunted. 

“Manners!” The other one admonished, before giving Treech a small smile. “My name’s Silvanus, it’s nice to meet you.” 

“Pleasure’s all mine, sir.” 

At least they weren’t mean. Anymore. For now. Treech had no doubt that this peace was temporary, and he didn’t lower his guard for even a second. Moods could change at the drop of a hat, especially with peacekeepers involved, but this dip in hostility was beneficial. Now he could gauge what kinds of people his escorts were, which would be valuable later on when things inevitably went sour. 

Knowing how to appease them would come in handy later on. Based on his first impression, Treech would be better off sticking around Silvanus as much as possible, since he seemed less likely to overreact and shoot him on the spot for moving the wrong muscle. Looks could be deceiving though, so this tentative judgement would remain under scrutiny until further notice. Claudius was already a lot less willing to indulge him, which wasn’t a great sign. Especially because he seemed entirely unhappy to be here, glaring at Sickle when she wasn’t looking and coming off as generally annoyed at this whole situation. 

But that could be good too, because if he was pissed about being assigned this task he may be less likely to actively step in unless Treech showed himself to be an actual threat. Which he wasn’t. Without Lamina, he was basically useless, but nobody needed to know that. Resigned as he was to his fate, he didn’t actually want to die. If there’s anything he was good at, it was running away. From bullies, peacekeepers (AKA bullies x2), from his problems, you name it. An inevitable fate was just one more thing he could sprint far away from at maximum speed. 

As the car stopped, Sickle got up and dusted off her clothing. She wasn’t wearing her Capitol uniform, unlike the two times he’d seen her previously. Now that he was actually looking at it, Treech noticed her getup must cost more than the entirety of the Fringe plus inhabitants combined. Seriously, how much money did this girl have to just blow through on something as stupid as fancy clothes? Wait, no, stupid question. She was Capitol, so the answer would probably make him cry because of how many mouths her shoes alone could feed. 

The light blue blouse and black skirt were finely detailed, with embroidery so intricate Treech had to wonder how many kids had been kept awake by the cramp in their hands to make those fabrics. How much skin had been sliced open by machinery and sharp gemstone shards for the necklace, the bracelet, the rings and the hairpiece. Briefly, he wondered how Sickle could sleep at night. That is, until he remembered that that was a dumb thing to ask. His mentor had likely never even thought about it, because she didn’t have to. 

This is a girl for whom the nightmarish, cruel horrors of the game were a mere competition to win. A person who was given responsibility over the life of a child and chose to withhold food and water so he’d perform like a pretty little puppet on her strings so she could get money she didn’t need. Someone who looked at children starving, knowing all but one of them would die horribly in mere days, and still saw a school assignment as her biggest worry in life. The day Sickle would give a single flying fuck about a district kid was the day someone in this wretched city grew a conscience and tried to do something about it. In other words, the day wood stopped being flammable. So never. 

“ You ,” Sickle hissed at him like a boneless, defanged tree snake. All of the venom and none of the danger. “Keep your mouth shut! You will not embarrass me in front of my friends!” 

Instead of doing any of the things he wanted to do, like scream about how talking to snot-nosed Capitol brats was the last thing he wanted to do or cry about how he didn’t even want to be here or laugh in her face, he nodded in acknowledgement and turned his attention to the moon outside. As Sickle opened the door and gave an excited squeal as she ran to greet whoever was outside, he let himself sink into his mind. Finally he was back in familiar territory. A place he’d navigated so many times he could draw the map from memory. 

Taking every scrap of emotion that might screw him over and shoving it behind his most hidden walls was easy. Acting was easy, even when the stage was somebody else’s design. All he had to do was hide away what those in control didn’t want to see and exaggerate the things they liked. Be whatever they wanted him to be until he was alone. Once they couldn’t see, he’d let out all the things he shoved down. 

So he pushed away the frustration. The fear that prickled under his skin every time he caught a glimpse of the guns in Claudius and Silvanus’ holsters, the longing for home and the pain of all his regrets. The what ifs and should haves were carefully locked away as he forced the burn out of his eyes. And when he saw two equally dolled up girls sit down next to Sickle, he didn’t allow himself to react. 

No, he had more control than that. He didn’t say a word, even when he knew they were making fun of him and speculating about the ‘savagery’ of people so much better than they could even dream of being. Swallowing the syllables of his insults, Treech let it all wash over him like the rain. They could pretend their miserable splash was a tsunami, but he was a mountain. Years of practice caught every sliver of upset and locked it up with the rest. A net of experience fished out angered rants and resentment before they could escape. It chained them close to his heart, where only he could see them. 

And when they finally arrived at the large mansion made of gray stone with four floors and several slanted, dark brown roofs that Vipsania called home, Treech didn’t let a single hint towards his inner storm show. He kept it contained so effectively he didn’t even feel it anymore aside from the initial sting. When the double doors opened, he followed along like a ‘lowly district peasant’ should until they reached a big room where two women and two men were seated. Which made sense, since it was clearly late in the evening. 

“I’m home!” 

The people he assumed were Sickle’s family greeted her cheerfully, starkly contrasted with the distrustful and disgusted glances they shot at him. As if he was the morally bankrupt hellspawn here. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but nervously shift from one foot to the other as he offered an awkward wave. His hands fiddled with his vest, which was a nervous habit he wished would die already. Treech blamed it on the long day he was having. 

“Ah, I see you’ve brought your tribute.” 

“Didn’t have much choice, mom.” 

The younger-looking boy groaned in annoyance, grumbling about something. Treech didn’t catch much, but he knew it was about him apparently staying in this house? So the tributes were staying with their mentors. Suddenly, the blond boy glared fiercely at him, as if any of this was somehow his fault. Oh how he wanted to tell this guy that he’d rather have stayed in that stupid cage and starved to death if he’d known this was the alternative. 

But he didn’t, because this guy wasn’t at fault for any of this. None of these people had bombed the zoo or volunteered to take him in. Their frustration was understandable. If this was in the districts, he’d have said something nice or offered a hug, but he doubted it would help in this situation. All he could do was smile apologetically, which seemed to surprise everyone in the room for some reason. His eyes shifted as he took in the room, from the landscape paintings on the wall to the fireplace. The wooden tables and frames and boxes he and his family had helped create made his eyes burn with tears, but he kept them down. 

If he cried, there was a high chance that these people would take it as an insult of some kind. Given that they were effectively in control over whether he lived or died, that would be very bad. They could do whatever they wanted to him and Treech highly doubted the peacekeepers would stop them. After all, their job was to keep him from escaping or hurting the Capitol’s precious citizens, not to stop these people from straight up murdering him or something. So he had to be careful and stay on their good side as much as he could. Which meant no snapping at these people. 

“So. What’s your name, boy?” The man, who he assumed to be Sickle’s father, narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Oh, I- Treech. Sir.” 

Tipping his hat a little, Treech shrank into himself as much as possible. Clearly none of these people liked him. Which, again, understandable, but still. The overly thick scent of something unnatural was making him nauseous, but the sick feeling in his stomach was undoubtedly caused by the people in front of him. Vipsania introduced them to him, sounding like she wanted to strangle him for intruding on them like this with every word. 

“That’s my mom and dad,” She pointed at one of the women and the older man. Both had some gray hairs, well hidden but visible to the keen eye. The man had brown eyes and blond hair, whereas the woman had blue eyes and a red tint to her hair. “My older brother Diomedes,” the blond boy, who Treech now noticed had green eyes, grunted, “and my older sister Proserpina.” The other woman, a brunette with hazel eyes, nodded at him. 

“Show Vip’s boy to his room,” Mr. Sickle waved his hand. “Bring up the leftovers.” 

And Treech didn’t bring up how he’d had even less say in this than they did, despite how obvious their displeasure at his presence was. With careful precision, he hid away how he felt about the casual disregard of his individuality. He let the peacekeepers lead him down the stairs into the basement, to a tiny dark room with nothing but a thin mattress, blanket and pillow. Instead, he asked if he would be allowed to go upstairs again and quietly nodded when he was told this room was the only place he’d be able to go without supervision. 

Nobody needed to tell him that he’d be locked inside, because he already knew as soon as he saw the door locked from the outside. It had a set of small sliding hatches, one on each side of the thick metal door. If one was opened, it let through enough sound to catch the attention of whoever was on the other side. They could call it a room all they wanted, he wasn’t stupid enough to miss the fact that this was just another cage. After drinking all the water they gave him, he finished savoring the single potato and two slices of meat he’d been given and let his guards show him around the parts of the mansion he was allowed to come. 

Treech barely even registered the carpets made of better fabric than his best clothes. He didn’t let the knowledge that every single item in this caste of a home was worth more money than he made in a year bother him. Every shred of negativity was systematically acknowledged and placed with the rest. Neat little mental rows of all the things he wouldn’t let himself feel. Treech let go of the restrictions on his words he’d placed on himself in the car, but there was no screaming. No anger or hatred. 

Instead of restricting his speech, he swallowed all the things he couldn’t show and let his mouth run free with everything that was left. It wasn’t worth drowning himself in his own emotions anyway. He’d much rather make the most of the time he still had on this earth. So he inquired about paintings, asked about the history of the building and listened intently as Silvanus told him about famous people in the city with occasional comments from Claudius. 

“What’s your favorite book from Priamus?” 

“‘ When you stole the sun , for sure!’ Ever heard of it?”

“Not really.” Treech smiled sheepishly.

“It’s a tragic love story about-” 

And while he could have gotten mad about all the ways in which the Sickles could’ve treated him better, Treech knew that that would have taken effort and resources. Why could he expect them to inconvenience themselves for his sake? He wouldn’t be entitled. Instead, he chose to focus on the ways they could’ve treated him much worse and chose not to. He had a room with an actual bed of some kind. A way to be warm and comfortable while he tried to sleep, which was objectively better than his two previous accommodations. They’d given him food and water, even though he’d done nothing to earn it. 

They could have made him do chores or work of some other kind to earn the right to all of those things, and they didn’t. Nor did they yell at him or insult him to his face. At no point had they gone out of their way to hurt him or make him miserable yet. That was so much more than he’d ever expected from a Capitol citizen it honestly amazed him. So he didn’t complain, because he had no grounds to do so. 

The peacekeepers showed him the dinner room (A whole room dedicated just to eating? Such a concept didn’t seem real ) and the kitchen, the library he wasn’t allowed to enter and the rooms filled with collections. There was a massive one with a glass ceiling so high up it put the arena to shame. It was spacious and filled with light, which made sense since it was filled with plants of all shapes and sizes. Flowers, trees, shrubs, climbers, you name it. Treech made a mental note to find a way in there. 

It was the one room in this maze of a building that didn’t leave him feeling suffocated. Aside from his latest prison, funnily enough. Obviously the plant room (an atrium, Silvanus had called it?) won though, it wasn’t even close. For the first time since he arrived in the city, there was a place where he felt truly comfortable. Sadly, Claudius had dragged him towards the next room before he could truly bask in the feeling. Which sucked, because the next room was empty. There were a lot of those empty rooms, with insanely detailed floors with flower motifs and golden accents, apparently they were used for parties? Who the heck had time for parties on a regular enough basis to dedicate several rooms to hosting them? 

When they came back to the living room, Treech took it in more carefully. It looked cozy enough, with the plush white couch against a cream-colored wall, loveseats on both sides and a fluffy beige rug on the floor. Pastel pillows were scattered around, which helped make the atmosphere more homely. A glass coffee table stood between the seats and the stupidly large TV, which was placed on top of a small cabinet. A large plant stood in a corner of the room, which was probably larger than Treech’s whole house. An ornate chandelier made of clear gemstones that shone all colors of the rainbow in the light hung from the ceiling. 

There were expensive vases scattered around, as well as shelves full of decorated silverware, picture frames and miscellaneous objects Treech didn’t recognize. When his eyes fell on the Sickle family, he was reminded of how kind they’d been to him by Capitol standards. Taking a step forward, Treech made sure to make eye contact with all five of them before dropping into a low bow. 

“Thank you very much for your generosity in accommodating me.” 

After about three seconds, he straightened up again and offered a small smile before turning to Silvanus, who was staring at him like he’d grown a second head for some reason. To be fair, everyone was giving him a look somewhere on the spectrum of shocked to confused, but still. Was it that weird to thank them? They’d given him more food in one meal than he usually had for an entire day , and they actually let him sleep on a mattress instead of on the floor. Was he not supposed to be grateful for that? 

His guards looked at the Sickle family, who didn’t seem inclined to speak. They didn’t seem to know what to say. Finally, Silvanus motioned for him to follow, and once he’d wished his ‘hosts’ a good night, the two led him back down to his room. Claudius kept a hand on his shoulder, pushing a little harder than necessary but still far gentler than he’d ever thought a peacekeeper to be capable of in the first place. But he didn’t complain, because that would be stupid. Claudius was doing his job. Just like with everything else, Treech clamped his mental grip around the prickle of annoyance and dragged it into the dark void where he kept all the other bad emotions. 

He kept it there when Claudius warned him not to try anything stupid because they’d take turns standing guard and gave his brightest smile as Silvanus told him to sleep well and closed the door. Even when he heard one pair of footsteps fade away, he kept the lid on the bottle around his heart shut tight. Treech kept himself in perfect control until he heard whoever was standing guard finally shut the second hatch in the door. Only then did he allow the tears to come.

Now that he was finally alone, he could allow the locks to come off his chest of secrets and let the pain flow through him. His pillow muffled the screams of frustration as he let himself go hoarse. Here, he was free to act how he wanted. Finally, he could allow himself to let all the things that would get him killed run amok. When morning came, they had to be small enough to be locked away again, because only in his prison did he have the right to feel resentment. Only in here could he sob until the bitter taste of reality became bearable again. 

If they knew, Treech was sure they’d punish him. And he’d meant it when he’d thanked them, because he was district. He didn’t deserve better than this. Pity that didn’t stop the ache in his chest, nor did it put a stop to the tendrils of disgust at everything about this damned city. From their frivolous spending while hundreds of people died mere miles away to their callous disregard for anyone who wasn’t in their circle. 

They expected him to behave perfectly while treating him like a savage beast. Who knew what they’d do to him if he broke. If he said all the words he couldn’t force past his lips for fear of hurting someone who wasn’t at fault. But it’s fine. Outside, he’d be a perfect little doll. All the good with none of the bad, because here he could break down all he wanted. 

In his tiny little box, with only the walls as his witnesses.

Chapter 8: The impulsivity of emotions

Notes:

I'm baacckkkk I'm sorry if this chapter sucks I'm on vacation and had ideas and none of them worked out because I just finished introweek for university. I'm not hungover but I am physically destroyed soo.... apologies T-T

Back during the Reaping Ceremony, when he’d first seen his sickly tribute dragged onto the stage on that tiny little screen, Felix had known he wasn’t gonna win the Plinth Prize. 

It wasn’t the end of the world, given that he was the son of the president and all that, so he hadn’t expected to feel any strong emotions that day, but he had. Not for the utterly non-existent chance of winning the prize, however. No, he still couldn’t care less about it. But the sight of that small child being hauled away, coughing uncontrollably as she was pretty much dragged over the floor, had made his heart squeeze in his chest.

That day felt so long ago, and now here they were. Dill sat on the couch in the main living room with one of Felix’s attendants, who was trying to help her learn how to read. Felix himself was sitting in a loveseat and rethinking every single day he’d ever spent thinking the districts were somehow “lesser” than the Capitol. How could they be, when Dill was so sweet and gentle? When he’d heard from Clemensia that Reaper spent most of his time demanding to see his district partner to make sure she’s okay. 

How could he believe that when all of the tributes were protective over one another? Even the ones from other districts who they’d never even met before? When several mentors had become so attached to their assigned tribute that they’d confessed to feeling physically ill at the thought of them dying? And how could Felix judge his classmates for that reaction when he had the exact same one right in that moment? 

The two peacekeepers tasked with keeping an eye on Dill hadn’t dared say anything, but Felix had a feeling they would agree with him if he told them what he believed. He’d heard how some of the other tributes were brought to their mentors when they came to pick them up, and none of the rough cruelty described could be found in Polyphemus and Flavius. Not nice, per se, but… calm. Patient. Almost gentle, though not quite reaching it. And at that moment, as the two watched the two on the couch, Felix would almost call them fond . 

“So this page,” Dill tapped the paper with her finger, “Is Helen choosing her husband from all the…” She tilted her head, squinting at the words. 

“Suitors.” Polites finished for her, smiling kindly. “Exactly! See, you don’t need my help.”

“But I want it.” There wasn’t even an ounce of hesitation in her voice. 

He wasn’t surprised that Polites had taken it upon himself to offer his help when he’d seen her struggle to make sense of the pages. It was no secret that he adored kids. Felix had been subject to plenty of the guy’s laments that he couldn’t be an architect and a teacher at the same time, since he was 17 and would have to pick his career path soon. He carefully avoided the niggling voice in the back of his mind that both of them were worrying about career paths while 23 children who’d never even had the chance to think about such a thing were about to be brutally murdered. The games- The games hadn’t happened yet. All the tributes were still alive. They all still had their odds, so Dill still had a chance. 

But they shouldn’t even have odds, they should be home in their beds worrying about school not impending death it wasn’t right - 

Somehow, no matter what it took, Felix would get her out of here. Out of this city so intent on watching her suffer and die. He’d pay whatever price attached to her life and pull every string necessary to make her the unlikely victor of this wretched cruelty, even if he had to march down into the arena and take out every threat to Dill himself. Even if he had to burn down this entire city and pull her out of its ashes. Dill was so young, so gentle, and Felix would give his entire future just to save hers. 

How could he let himself even have a future when hers was so brutally taken on his watch? 

It made him even more determined to help her in any way he could. Watching Dill and Polites get fully absorbed into the book they were reading together, lost to the world with how wrapped up they were in their own, was all the motivation he needed to look for every possible way he could increase her odds of survival. It had to be her walking out of that arena, it had to be! Because she was far too sweet, to young and too innocent to face such a gruesome fate. Felix would get the medicine and figure out a way to get her out of there because she deserved it. She deserved so much more than what she’d gotten. 

He’d gladly offer another mentor the prize if it meant they’d help him get her out. They could have it, they could have everything Felix owned if it just got this poor, young, sick girl out of this horrible situation she’d been thrown into. He couldn’t imagine anyone who deserved to walk out of there more than her. After all, she was one of the youngest, and Felix had a hard time believing any other tribute was gentler, sweeter than Dill. 

Except… Except Dennis was just as desperate as him to find medicine for his tribute. Perhaps even more so, in a way. Felix had seen his friend’s worry at all the dust and impurities in the air around the zoo, had seen him rub his tribute’s shoulder more gently than he’d ever thought a human being was capable of, and had been there to witness the sheer panic Dennis felt when he found out he’d need a prescription, and the tributes wouldn’t get any medical care. 

( “They… They can’t be serious !” Dennis yelled out, the sound bouncing off the walls of Felix’s room. “It doesn’t even make any sense! Why can’t they be seen by an actual doctor?”

Frowning, Felix moved forward calmly. There weren’t any words he could say to comfort his friend, because they would be lies. Both of them would know they were lies. So he simply wrapped his arms around Dennis, hugging him tightly as he felt his shirt slowly get drenched where his friend was pressing his face into it. It’s all he could do, because he couldn’t fix this. Neither of them could fix this. 

“It’s not fair!” 

He hadn’t seen Dennis cry in years. Not since the rebellion, when they’d both nearly lost everything. That was the one time he’d seen his friend truly break down in tears, completely and utterly defeated. Hopelessly upset, angry and so filled with raw agony it nearly made Felix follow him in his despair. It had remained the only thing to break Dennis until now. 

“It’s not…” Dennis’ voice faded to a quiet, broken whisper. “It’s not fair…”)

He’d find a way, of course. This was Dennis Fling , who could do anything if he set his mind to it, but still. And even if he discounted all of that, the both of them had been there to hug Lysistrata through her tears as she cried over even the thought of having to watch her own tribute die. The name Jessup would be burned into Felix’s memory forever, for he’d never be able to forget the sheer, raw agony in Lyssie’s voice as she’d sobbed out the boy’s name. 

( “I can’t- You don’t understand!” Lysistrata wailed. “You don’t! I can’t lose him too!”) 

Clearly his friends felt as passionate about saving their tributes as he did. Domitia couldn’t shut up about Tanner, and now Brandy too since she was housing the girl instead of Arachne for the time being. ( “I never knew any of this about 10, can you believe that?” Domitia exclaimed excitedly. “We literally run the place but there’s so much! I wanna go there one day. They can show me around.” Her happy expression dimmed. “I mean… Tanner can. Show me around.”) Their plans to show their tributes their favorite spots in the city made it clear that the Ring twins were attached to their tributes, the same way Persephone must be since she’d already made arrangements to go swimming with her tribute and had convinced Festus to come along with… Coral, he thought the girl was called? 

( “Do you have a date and time?” Persephone inquired. “We could meet up!” 

“Where are you going, then?” 

“To the pool, of course! Festus is bringing Coral.” 

“How did you manage that ?” Apollo asked. 

“I think I know.” Diana’s smirk was smug, and Persephone turned slightly red. 

“Oh stop it, you!”

“Never!”)

Meanwhile, Pup had been singing Lamina’s praises ever since he got over his disdain of her constant tears, with the added bonus of open dislike of her district partner. He’d spouted many reasons, but now that Felix was starting to realize just how much the mentors cared for their tributes he had a feeling he knew the real core of the issue. 

( “Oh come on! He doesn’t even mean that much!” Pup began to get visibly agitated. “I mean, my sweet Lamina can do everything he does and then some!”

“Are you sure? Do you even know anything about him?” Felix asked.

“I- Isn’t it obvious?! Anyone can see!” He huffed. “Not even Lamina cares that much about him. If she doesn’t, clearly he can’t be that important.” 

Felix shared a look with Lysistrata and Domitia. Memories of seeing the two tributes from 7 nearly cuddling in the zoo, constantly at each other’s side, their clear concern for each other and the way they shared everything they had flashed through his head. The different ways in which they interacted with the crowd that pointed to the boy’s skill in performance, contrasting the the girl’s more obvious physical strength. He didn’t bring it up though. 

Something told him that, deep down, Pup already knew.)

If Pup wanted Lamina to win, he had to want her district partner dead. Unlike Felix, Pup couldn’t use age as an argument, since Felix was pretty sure he’d overheard from the tributes that the boy was several months younger than her. So the best alternative was finding reasons why the boy was less deserving on a personal level. The funny thing was that Felix wasn’t sure he’d have realized this about Pup if he hadn’t undergone a simmilar thing with Dill and Reaper. It’s only when Clemensia messaged him for Dill’s physical state in hopes of soothing her tribute’s worries that he’d started to wonder what made him think he had a right to decide who did or didn’t deserve to die. 

Reaper had appeared cold, a clear threat in the arena. An obstacle to clear to everyone but himself and Clemensia. Except he clearly wasn’t. Or he was, but he wasn’t just that. He’d been worried sick about his district partner, who he must’ve known wouldn’t make it very far the same way Felix had known back in Heavensbee Hall. One of the strongest contenders in the Games, worried about a girl he knew wouldn’t make it. That was care. It was a love for one’s own, it was kindness Felix knew many in the Capitol wouldn’t have had for him, had it been them in that situation. 

With that realization had come the logical conclusion that if the children from the district, supposedly so much lesser in every way to the Capitol’s children, were capable of such acts of tenderness and altruistic good when he knew plenty of so called “Capitol’s bests” that would’ve gladly watched everyone rot if it benefitted them… What did that say about them? What did that say about everything Felix had ever thought to be true about the world? How could he, in good conscience, keep believing what he’d been taught all his life when all it took was one closer look at the people whose suffering he was supposed to enjoy to disprove it all?  What kind of person would Felix be if he kept doggedly believing the words he now knew without a doubt to be lies at the expense of so many young, innocent lives, just because it would be uncomfortable not to? 

But if that was the case, how was he supposed to justify fighting for Dill’s survival over everybody else’s? For fuck’s sake, just minutes ago he was contemplating what mentors to bribe into letting the child whose life was in their hands die just to save her! Some poor child who’d done nothing to deserve this would have been abandonned to their fate, betrayed by the person they’d been forced to rely on by the Capitol, just because Dill was lucky enough to be mentored by the son of the president. His clout, which he’d done nothing to get, could’ve potentially ended a life. 

If all his friends were equally as passionate about helping their tributes as him, what made his case so special that it was him who deserved to get what he wanted? Even the classmates who’d started so opposed to housing their tributes seemed to have changed their mind a little. Just yesterday in class, he’d head Palmyra confide in Persephone that she didn’t understand why her tribute seemed to hate her so much, asking her friend for advice on what to do. How to make things better. 

( “It’s just…” Palmyra sighed miserably. “She looks so sad all the time. I hate it. Velvereen was so nice to the other tributes in the zoo, and now she’s just… Ugh!” She banged her head against the table, making Felix jump in surprise. He tried very hard to pretend he wasn’t listening in. “I don’t know what to do…”

“I’m not sure there is anything you can do, Myra.” Persephone rubbed her back comfortingly.

“There has to be! I can’t just…” She buried her head in her arms. Felix thought he heard a sob. “These can’t be her last few days…”)

  Weirdly enough, Gaius had stopped joking quite as much, looking slightly uncomfortable when he did make a joke about the rebels. Once, Felix would’ve said he looked guilty if he didn’t know better. 

( “What’s wrong?” Felix asked. “You look stressed.” 

“I can’t find the exact type of bread I need!” 

“And that stresses you out… Why?” Festus raised an eyebrow.  

The other mentor’s hands gripped at his hair, pulling at it so hard Felix worried he’d rip it straight from his scalp. He’d never seen Gaius look so stressed out about something that wasn’t an important test before. 

“I only have three more days to get it!” 

“What? Why the tight deadline?” 

“Because it won’t matter once he’s sent into the arena!”)

Vipsania didn’t seem very invested in her tribute, far more worried about winning the prize, but yesterday she’d unexpectedly struck up a conversation with him and a few other classmates about art, specifically what supplies one would need and where to get them. Io had immediately joined in on the conversation, which was… surprising, to say the least. 

They’d both been surprisingly invested in it. Io had leaned more towards technical things, like supplies to build small structures and small technical games, which made sense. She was so smart, Felix didn’t doubt she could amuse herself with those. Vipsania, though, had leaned more towards decorative art and wood-carving. 

( “I’ll be honest,” Arachne said, “I didn’t expect you to be so interested in that sort of stuff. Io, I can definitely see, but you ?” 

“I’m not.” Vipsania snipped.

“So why are you asking all of this?”

“I-” She paused, her usually poised face scrunching up, “Just thought I might try something new, nothing more. Problem?”)

And Livia… Livia didn’t seem to care much. At least not openly enough for Felix to be able to tell. But she’d been wearing less jewelry lately, only noticeable due to the decrease in their jingle every time she moved. Last time the group went out for pastries together, she’d bought a few things she usually avoided. There wasn’t really anything connecting them together, just a random assortment of foods he was sure he’d heard her complain about before. 

But no matter how many mentors did or didn’t change their minds, it made no difference. Gaius could find his bread, Livia could acquire new tastes and Vipsania could pretend to find new hobbies, and it didn’t matter what their motivation for it was, but it wouldn’t change anything because at the end of the week 23 children would be dead . The mentors would live their lives and grow old when 23 human beings didn’t even get to live to their age. And they never would, because the mentors couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. 

Because it was easier for them not to. Because the games, the whole system, was beneficial for the mentors. No games meant no prize, no scholarship and no extra cash. There were plenty of other ways to get into the Capitol’s university or get money, but the games were the easiest way. Moreover, it carried an air of prestige only there because the Capitol gave the event that air. It was little more than a trophy to put on the shelf when Felix really thought about it, but it was easy . Much easier than actually tearing down the system that gave them the best food, top education, and the highest quality luxury items. 

Felix stilled in his seat, looking over at the fireplace. The most recent family portrait hung above it, proudly placed front and center for anyone who entered to marvel at. Perhaps it was easier not to do anything, but… His father was directly involved in the games, they were happening because of his blessing. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to get rid of these games entirely, but he’d seen the way father had looked at Dill during their first dinner together. The way his gaze had gone from scornfull disgust to… conflicted, almost. Which made sense, it was Dill . How could anyone muster up the emotional energy required to hate Dill ? 

Maybe Felix couldn’t save Reaper, no matter how happy he knew it would make his tribute, but… Maybe, just maybe , he could get her out somehow. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be something , right? And he wouldn’t dare call himself a good person anymore after realizing just how much he’d rationalized away for the sake of comfort , but he wasn’t a monster. He refused to be a monster. Trying, even if it yielded no result, was the only possibility. If he didn’t, he’d never sleep at night again. 

Abruptly, he stood up. Without even an acknowledgement of Dill’s whispered “Felix?” and Polites’ worried calls, he walked through the halls of the mansion to his father’s study. Father wasn’t prone to listen to Felix’s objections. Never had been and likely never would be, but he had to try. He had to go in there and take whatever his father threw at him to defend his choices, if only it meant a possibility of saving one more life. 

It was the bare minimum he could offer all the tributes whose names weren’t allowed to be anything but a name to be crossed off in bloodied red, but had already started to mean so much to his classmates. 

It’s the least he could do for Dill, who deserved a better life than this. 

It’s all he could do for Reaper, a silent apology for how hardly he’d judged a boy who wasn’t given any choice yet still did everything to fight back. 

It was embarrassingly little, but it was something . 

It was going to be enough. 

It had to be. 

Chapter 9: Strength and Weakness

Notes:

Miss me?

I hope this isn't disappointing your expectations after my little itty bitty break haha

Persephone had never thought herself to be weak. 

She tried to be kind, she tried to be caring, she tried to be open and understanding of anyone and everyone, but none of that made her weak. If anything, being kind despite all the hardships of the dark days was a testament to her strength of will! Especially because she would not put those values aside when it came to those who’d harmed her. Not even the rebels could make her give up on her drive to make the world just a little kinder. 

So when her tribute was brought to the Capitol, she strove to be kind. She strove to be caring. She strove to be open and understanding to him, even though he was district and she was Capitol. Even when her classmates told her she was too soft, too nice to a rebel, she kept going. Even if they were right, that didn’t mean she couldn’t show this boy some amount of grace. Not just because she needed his trust anyway, being his mentor and all, but because it was simply the right thing to do. As the daughter of an important, influential Capitol family, she had to lead by example and show herself to be a better person through her actions and behavior. 

Well, that’s what her starting point had been. 

Somewhere between the arrival of the tributes and the day the zoo was bombed, she’d shifted away from mere principle. It was hard to point at a specific moment as the turning point, because really it had been a slow thing. So slow Persephone was only truly realizing what had happened right at that moment. No amount of insistence to it being about status or values would change the way her heart warmed at the sight of Mizzen jumping around the market, eager to see and learn every new thing he could possibly find.

Somewhere, she’d started learning not about her tribute, but about Mizzen. Not an image she was trying to get people to bet on, but a kid with a life and a family, a future he might never get to see. For days now, she’d convinced herself things would be okay. Coral seemed determined to protect him and Persephone was sure he was capable of killing if necessary, and she still believed that! She knew with 100% certainty he had a good shot at winning the games, at making it out alive and going home and living his life! But… 

But… 

When he grabbed her hand, a bright smile on his face as he babbled 1000 miles an hour about some ‘mini animals’ he’d seen while he dragged her to a market stall with sea creature shaped plushies, all she could see was an innocent little kid. Persephone couldn’t imagine him with a weapon in his hand, blood splattered all across him as he claimed victory in the arena. Not because he wasn’t capable of it, but because he shouldn’t have to be. Every day, she wished more and more she could just keep him safe and protected in her home so he’d never have to face the horrors of the world ever again.

And with everything he told her about District 4, the worse those horrors seemed to be. Even her father, so steadfast in his hatred for the districts, seemed to have a hard time being cold to Mizzen. His energy was too infectious, his smile too contagious, his childlike tendencies impossible to ignore. It showed him to be exactly what he was: A child. A little kid of 13 who shouldn’t be here, who was far too young to be here. Perhaps it was because of this that even her father was starting to soften his stance towards not just Mizzen, but the tributes as a whole. Something about that youthful energy had softened him enough to listen every time Mizzen mentioned another horrible aspect of his life casually like he was just discussing the weather or something. 

With everything he let slip, Persephone wondered more and more how she could have thought the rebels were ungrateful, greedy monsters without question. They weren’t good, they weren’t kind, but maybe they had their reasons for it. She didn’t need to like them to acknowledge that she’d only ever known what the Capitol thought had caused the rebellion. Looking at the picture Mizzen had painted of his life, Persephone was hesitantly starting to dip her toe into wondering if maybe, just maybe, she could even go so far as to conclude they’d had justifiable reason to be upset. 

The thought hadn’t actually occurred to her until she’d seen Coral again for the first time since the zoo, looking much healthier than she had mere days ago. Such a short amount of time, but Persephone could easily tell how much weight she’d gained in those few days. When she’d asked Festus, he merely shrugged and told her his tribute wasn’t eating nearly enough to be truly healthy, but that they’d got her to about a quarter portions of what he and his family ate on average. A quarter. Not full, not half, a quarter. And most of that probably hadn’t had time to take effect, yet the results were already outwardly noticeable. 

Ever since then, she hadn’t been able to look at Mizzen without being forced to remember how underweight he’d been when he’d first arrived. It had been easy to overlook when she’d been there to see it happen, but now that she knew it was impossible to forget. Especially now, while they were walking through crowds of Capitol people. The difference between these wealthy children and Mizzen was clear as day, to the point where everyone who looked could see he was a tribute, even when he was wearing borrowed Capitol clothes. The difference was that big, and it had been even bigger when the tributes had first arrived. 

But it wasn’t permanent. All it took was access to a shower and a slow buildup towards a proper diet to begin mitigating the damages a life of poverty had caused. Mizzen wasn’t genetically cursed with starvation, his circumstances had. Changing those circumstances was enough to slowly help Mizzen blend into the Capitol crowds. Her father had noticed it too. That might’ve been the turning point for him, Persephone mused as Mizzen rambled about a cute seaweed-shaped plush with big cartoon eyes. 

“Do they make coral reef plushies? We could give one to Coral!” He squealed. “Oh! Do they have ships? Then we’ll have a Coral and a Mizzen!!” 

“We can take a look,” Persephone smiled softly. “Or I could have one made for you.” 

He gasped, eyes lighting up as he looked at her like she’d hung the stars in the sky. All for offering to order him two custom plushies that wouldn’t even cost her an eighth of her weekly allowance. It wouldn’t affect her life at all, but it meant so much to him… It broke her heart to think she had all this wealth while he hadn’t even had pocket change. Did all the tributes share these circumstances? 4 was pretty well off from what she knew, so if even they didn’t come close to what had always been below the bare minimum standard for her… 

What was life like for the ones even worse off? 

Was it really that unimaginable that these people would hate them, when they had it so much better than them just for being born somewhere else? Her eyes fell on a high-end jewelry shop behind Mizzen, filled with shining gems in gold and silver necklaces. Two teenagers in white uniforms, hidden deep inside the zoo, flashed through her mind. Did they work before they were adults too, like Mizzen? Or did they start early? Did they work deep into the night to create these things, only for the profits of their labor to be stolen by people who’d never even seen the inside of a mine? 

Now that her eyes had been opened to these possibilities, every single thing she saw made her wonder who had bled for its existence. And their pay wasn’t even high enough to feed them properly. Mizzen was 13 and already working, but not even a week in the Capitol had him gaining several pounds. Even those pounds didn’t tip him into a healthy weight scale, which made it even worse. All these epiphanes began weighing on her, not helped by all the reminders of the Capitol citizens’ complacency in it all. 

She hadn’t seen many of the other tributes, as most had been confined to the homes of their mentors, but while most of them seemed a lot healthier now… 

When she’d visited Livia just yesterday, the glimpse she’d gotten of Facet didn’t spell much good. Clemensia had mentioned her tribute refusing to eat anything at all until he got confirmation that his district partner was doing okay. Not Clemensia’s word, but a personal reassurance from the girl herself. His refusal to trust her or Felix carried a lot of implications that Persephone couldn’t quite bring herself to unpack yet. Pup… didn’t seem to be doing well. At all. 

He’d been one of the first to come around to his tribute, proclaiming her to be his friend openly rather soon, but once she’d moved into his house things seemed to have changed. Pup still cared about her, but her fondness of him had apparently deteriorated rather quickly, based on what her classmate had let slip. Based on what he’d said, it likely had something to do with Lamina’s district partner. More specifically, Pup’s attitude towards him, which wasn’t surprising. Even when she’d thought the tributes to be less human, the closeness between the two District 7 tributes had been undeniable to the point where Persephone would bet money there was something more than friendship there. The only thing more obvious than their closeness was Pup’s hatred for the boy. 

A hatred that, to Persephone, seemed to become less like an actual dislike for the kid and more like desperate, self-protective delusions every day, but that was just her opinion. 

The only three mentors who hadn’t changed their opinion significantly were Gaius, Arachne, and Livia. At least they hadn’t done so noticeably. Gaius made less rebel jokes and Livia didn’t complain about this situation quite as often anymore, but that was about it. They weren’t showing any signs of coming around, but Persephone knew better than to write off the possibility entirely. Hilarius had gone from complaining about how disadvantaged he was for being assigned a “weak little girl” to proudly announcing every successful attempt at making her happy, so clearly everything was possible in this world. 

Besides, the three unyielding mentors now had an extra two weeks to change their minds, so Persephone was still hopeful. It had already been over a week since the bombing, but just earlier that afternoon the president had announced that the games would be pushed back even further due to unspecified ‘issues’ regarding the changes made to the arena for these games. Personally, she suspected Felix had something to do with it, but she had no proof. Nor did she care enough to find any. The further the games were pushed back, the more time she got to spend with Mizzen. 

And if she got more time with Mizzen, maybe she could figure out a way to convince her father to help her smuggle him out of the Capitol to safety before the games started. Surely he wouldn’t be able to stick to his hatred for the districts forever, right? As soon as she found his weak spot, she’d be able to save the young boy she’d started to see as a little brother. All she needed was a little more time, and if some of her classmates came to see things the way she had… Maybe she wouldn’t have to do it alone. 

The more minds brainstorming ideas, the higher the chance they’d figure something out that would actually work. Maybe not all of her classmates would be on board, but every tribute saved was a life spared, right? Perhaps it would be slightly easier for Persephone to sleep at night if she could at least save a few more lives from this nightmare she’d been calling a game since she was 8. It wouldn’t help her shake the guilt of the decade she’d spent only feeling disgust towards these innocent children simply for where they’d been born, but it could at least prevent her from having more to feel guilt for. 

It might be a faraway dream, but she was determined to hold out hope. The thought of losing Mizzen was too horrible to bear. She was prepared to do anything to keep him alive and safe, to give him the childhood he should’ve had from the start, and if that meant risking her life trying to find people to help her make it happen then so be it. Especially since she wasn’t gambling or something. Persephone had known her classmates since childhood, she knew how to read them. Sure, she wasn’t 100% accurate all the time, but she liked to think she could get a pretty good grasp on their stance without being too explicit. 

Sejanus would definitely help her, no questions asked. Felix adored Dill, the only question was how willing he’d be to go against his dad to save her. With a few carefully worded questions, she’d be able to figure out if it was worth the risk of involving him or not. Domitia would definitely help her, as would Dennis, the Ring twins, Io, and Pup. Vipsania might not be there quite yet, but she certainly appeared to be headed in the right direction. Given some time, she might be willing to help out. That was a pretty solid group already, and if she started actively nudging her classmates in the right direction… 

Sometimes, it only took a small push to start a domino effect. As long as she treaded carefully, Persephone would be fine. It was risky, it might not work, but she had to try. Mizzen deserved that much. That was all for later though, because for now she had a little brother to spoil. He was looking at a shark plushie now, as well as a shrimp one. The stall owner looked quite amused at Mizzen’s excitement as he rambled about all kinds of sea-related stuff. Persephone couldn’t quite follow along, but she didn’t care. As long as he was happy, so was she.

“Do you want these?” She asked, smiling as he nodded his head rapidly. 

“They’re so cute!” His face fell a little. “But I don’t wanna be a bother…” 

“You’re not.” 

Without another word, she pulled out her credit card and paid for both plushies, as well as the seaweed one Mizzen had been eyeing earlier. Mentally, she made a note to look into the ship and coral reef plushies he’d asked about earlier. Or custom plushie makers, if she couldn’t find any. As they moved along the stalls advertising different stores, Persephone took note of everything he seemed to be particularly interested in. Any sea-related things were a hit, which made sense. Most of his life was centered around the ocean, so of course he’d love anything related to it. 

Aside from that, though, he seemed to love anything sparkly. Stands advertising stores selling jewelry made in District 1 attracted his attention like a magnet and he spent ages just admiring the craftsmanship. Sometimes, he even explained why he liked certain pieces. Usually it was because they reminded him of his home or his loved ones, and he wasted no time happily telling her all sorts of wild stories. It made her even more determined to figure out how to get him away from what professor Gaul was planning to put him and the other tributes through. 

“Look!” Mizzen exclaimed, pointing at a necklace with a crescent-shaped moonstone charm and small, star-shaped opals hanging from slightly longer chains. “Coral would love that one! She loves to stargaze.” 

Every time Mizzen talked about his big sister, Persephone was reminded of the fact that all these children had lives to return to. They weren’t just creatures spawned for the games, they were people. They had families and other loved ones waiting for them to come home. Not just Mizzen, not even just him and Coral, but all of them. It made her even more determined to push through with her plan. There had to be a way to get them out of here, and she would find it if it was the last thing she did. They all deserved to go home. Mizzen deserved to go home, and he shouldn’t have to lose his sister for it to happen. If that made her weak, Persephone would wear that insult like a badge of honor. 

Values be damned, status be damned, image be damned, she would rather be the weakest, most useless pariah in the Capitol than let sweet, innocent Mizzen go into the arena and lose everything just so she could be comfortable. Her drive to be kind gave her the strength to realize the Capitol was wrong, and it would give her the strength to do something about it. Others might not call it strength. They might call it stupidity or delusion, but if they didn’t get it that was their loss. Persephone didn’t need to label it to know it was right, and she only needed to see Mizzen’s eyes sparkling with joy while he hugged his plushies to lose all her doubts about crossing the point of no return. Strength and weakness were social constructs anyway. Mizzen, though? His happiness? His hopes and dreams? They were far more than that. They were real. 

Persephone would give her life to save him, so what was a label, really?