Chapter 1: The Reaping
Chapter Text
Todd woke up cold, which he still hadn’t gotten used to after four years. His hands stretched around the mattress until it hit — again — that his older brother, Jeffrey, was dead. It always hurt, but today particularly stung deeper in Todd’s stomach. After all, today was the day of the Reaping.
Todd groaned drowsily as he rolled over on his side, facing his parents. His mom and dad’s bed was shoved into the opposite other corner of the room, collecting dust. The bed’s usual substitute was across from Todd’s bed — two identical, flimsy cots just inches apart from another. That’s what they’d been using since Todd’s father’s legs shattered in the mines— preserve what was left. But on special occasions, his parents would carefully curl up onto their shared mattress and doze off. And boy, was today special.
Todd turned over to the clock on the wall. 6:02. He reluctantly sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. His worn-down hunting boots sat right next to his feet, waiting. One by one, he slipped his feet in and pulled the already ripping laces into something resembling a knot. He was nowhere near the headspace for hunting, but food wouldn’t come home unless it was dead over his shoulders.
Todd hated hunting. He hated the idea of entering the forest with the sole instinct to kill what was just peacefully existing. Jeffrey used to drag him into the forbidden woods for lessons around when Jeff was 14, and Todd was nine. He’d told Todd it was good for him since he basically trembled at the mere sight of a dagger.
“C’mon, Todd,” he’d tell him, “it doesn’t hurt ‘em. They’re dead before they feel a thing.”
“How would you feel if you were in your home and someone came out of nowhere to kill you?” Todd would ask. Jeffrey eventually came to learn exactly how that felt.
Todd carefully pulled on a ratty shirt and pants several sizes too large, not wanting to wake his parents. He’d just slung his patched-up bag when something caught his eye in the kitchen. There was a large, carefully designed roll sitting above a chipped plate on the cracked table. A reaping day present, courtesy of his mother.
Todd lifted the roll, examining it closely. It was in a shape resembling a swirl, dusted with brown sugar. Brown, shriveled lumps poked out at the sides, which Todd identified as raisins. Raisins! This was a luxury. Todd would have to sell, what, three to five squirrels to buy it himself. He looked over at his still-dozing parents, wondering what his mother had to give up for it.
He didn’t spend a lot of the time near the bakery. In fact, he went out of his way to avoid it. The sight of fresh, warm, piles of dough made his stomach churn so loudly it sounded like it was ripping itself apart. Holding one of the dreaded delicacies in his palm offered a very strange feeling, though he welcomed the gift wholeheartedly.
Todd carefully tucked the roll into his bag and slipped outside.
At the Seam — where Todd lived – this time of day was normally bustling. Dozens upon dozens of hunched-over miners would be trudging down the street to work. Thin parents would be walking their even thinner children to school, worn-down pencils clutched in their fists. Others would be wheeling very obviously custom made wheelbarrows full of various clothes, dishes, and other scattered objects to sell at (legal) market. But today, the Seam was at standstill. Next to no one worked on Reaping Day. Everyone was sleeping, praying, or spending time with family while they still could. The silence that ran down the Seam left a shudder in Todd’s bones. It didn’t need to be like this.
It wasn’t always like this, either. Todd didn’t hear much about how everything was before, but he clung onto what he could pick up. He heard from older people about things called libraries and movies. Libraries were buildings — large buildings — dedicated entirely to books. Todd owned only four battered paperbacks, counting his mother’s cookbook. He’d read them countless times — to him, there was no other literature outside of them. To have a building, let alone a shelf of books was mind blowing to him. Movies were something like books turned visual that they’d project onto televisions. Did the Capitol have either of those? Todd didn’t know, but he couldn’t imagine they didn’t. There wasn’t anything the Capitol didn’t have. Food, warmth, the space Jeffrey Anderson took his last breath — they had it all.
Every year, two kids from the 12 Districts were chosen to die. No matter how much padding the Capitol offered that statement, it was true. They were chosen on annually Reaping Day, which fell on July 4th, a former American holiday — back when Panem was called America. One week later, the 24 children would be cast into the infamous Hunger games. Only one would survive — Todd didn’t think of it as winning — and be crowned Victor.
Todd Anderson was reaped for the games to fight for his district—District 12– exactly four years ago today. It was also the anniversary of the last time he’d seen his brother. He’d remembered that day vividly, it was like he was still there. It was funny, really. Out of all the memories he’d held in his mind, his brain chose to perfectly remember the one he’d most wanted to forget.
“Todd Anderson!” the advisor, Alouette Dankworth, called out.
If you’d been watching Todd — which the cameras immediately did — you could pinpoint the exact second the realization hit. He started to stagger mindlessly to the stage, skin pale (more than usual) and lips parted.
“Todd?” Jeffrey called out. Todd couldn’t help but turn around, immediately searching for his brother. He was near the back of the crowd, sandwiched between other kids his age.
“Todd!” It took one push from Jeffrey to kids to start parting, giving him a clear path to his brother. The Peacekeepers nudged Todd forward and he reluctantly continued walking. Jeffrey had already made it through the crowd by then and shoved one of the Peacekeepers aside. They quickly grabbed onto him, others creating a human barricade in front of him. Todd could hear him struggling against them as he approached the steps to the stage. He’d wanted to whip around and help, but he didn’t feel capable of even talking then. The way he was moving was almost robotic as his foot landed on the first step.
“I vol — I volunteer!” his brother called out behind the wall of Peacekeepers.
Todd finally turned around. The ones restraining him seemed to have let go in shock, allowing Jeffrey to shove the others aside as he stepped forward.
“I volunteer as tribute,” he stated again. Todd picked up the slight quiver in his voice as he talked, though no one else seemed to notice.
Todd hadn’t even processed the fact when they started leading Jeffrey up to the stage.
“No,” he murmured, barely audible. His legs were rushing him over to Jeffrey before he could think.
“Jeffrey, no! Stop!” He wrapped himself around Jeffrey, attempting to use himself as an anchor. Not you, please not you…
“Todd, let go,” Jeffrey stated firmly. His tone was a clear contrast to his face, which looked to be void of blood.
“You can’t go! You can’t — ” Todd went on, clinging even tighter onto Jeffrey’s shirt. His fancy shirt, the one their father wore when he was their age. He’d proudly presented it to Jeffrey that morning, claiming he’d been waiting for Jeffrey to grow into it.
“Todd, let go!” Jeffrey repeated, harsher this time. The Peacekeeper easily ripped Todd off his brother and flung him onto the ground on his back. Jeffrey had been pushed onstage before Todd could even get back on his feet. Alouette was babbling about Jeffrey’s “heroic display of bravery” as the Peacekeepers led — no, dragged — a writhing Todd back to his place in the crowd.
“And what’s your name, young man?” Alouette asked, batting her bright purple eyelashes. She shoved the microphone into Jeffrey’s face.
“… Jeffrey Anderson,” he mumbled numbly. The announcer pulled the microphone back to her glittery lips.
“Anderson? Oh, that wasn’t your brother, was it?”
Jeffrey cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said simply.
“Well, isn’t that just so beautiful?” Alouette asked the audience. They remained still as statues. The Announcer swallowed behind a strained smile, clearly used to receiving the same insensitive enthusiasm she was giving.
“Now let’s give our first tribute a big round of applause, shall we?”
Alouette clapped her gloved hands against the microphone, alone. The rest of the crowd kissed three fingers and raised them against the breeze.
If there’s one thing Todd liked about the woods, it’s that it was quiet. Besides the gentle crunch of leaves beneath his boots or the song of a bird, it was about completely silent. It had the type of peacefulness one would write songs about. Todd actually did from time to time, but he couldn’t read music, so there was no way to capture them. They would eventually fade into his mind quicker than they came into it.
But though the silence was enjoyable, the reasons for it weren’t too great.
First was because the woods were technically illegal. It was all in their leaders — the Capitol’s — attempt to make them feel small and controlled. Being caught trespassing in the woods was punishable by public poaching or whipping. Hunting was impossible if you didn’t know how not to get caught.
Second was that there weren’t many larger animals in the woods, which spoke for itself. Todd couldn’t make a living primarily off of rabbits, squirrels, and birds. He needed the occasional deer to properly satisfy a stomach or wallet — though he doubted either was possible at this point.
Todd crept throughout the woods, dagger drawn. Jeffrey had saved up and bought him a few from the Perrys in the Hob when he was younger. Though he still hated hunting, daggers were the easiest and fastest way to kill. It was the least painful way to kill if you threw right, which Todd seldom didn’t.
Todd settled his eye on a fox across a patch of grass, lapping at a stream. It was a beautiful, lively creature. Its fur illuminated in the sun, brightening its already brilliant orange shade. It had a unique birthmark as well — a dark, tiny splotch that spread out between its eyes. Its ears twitched as it licked mouthful after mouthful from the stream, like it would never eat again — Todd knew how that felt. It was such a beautiful, content creature.
This was going to hurt.
“I’m sorry,” Todd whispered under his breath. He adjusted his hold on the knife to a throwing grip. He stepped back with one foot, preparing to take the shot. The dagger had almost left his hand when —
A hand clamped over Todd’s eyes. “Guess who!”
Well, the woods weren’t all that quiet.
Todd quickly yanked the hand off his face, but it was too late. The fox had scampered off into the trees.
Todd whipped around. “Knox, what the hell?!”
The boy held his hands up in mock surrender. “What? S’just a joke.”
Todd had been friends with Knox for four years. He initially met him during school, but once he started hunting, he’d meet him in the woods. Knox took a big part in feeding his family. His mother’s job as a miner couldn’t account for a family of four. Since neither of Knox’s siblings were even 10 yet, he took on the role of feeding his family. That was the first thing that they’d discovered they had in common— quite literally being the breadwinners of their family.
“Your joke just cost me a fox pelt. Do you know how much those are worth at the Hob?” Todd asked, frustrated. Though he was exasperated, he couldn’t help feeling relieved at not having to kill that fox.
Knox’s hands dropped back against his sides. He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, no, it’s not like I’ve ever tried to buy one. Furs aren’t my thing.”
Todd shoved the dagger into his pocket. He always tried to spend the smallest amount of time possible holding any hunting weapon. “Enough to feed my parents for more than one day is what! That was the first one I’d seen in months!” Todd walked further down the forest, looking for another target.
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Knox admitted as he walked alongside Todd. “Someone’s aunt won’t get her fur scarf today.”
Todd swallowed a chuckle. They’d spotted one particular recurring woman in the market. She’d flounce around wearing their more rare kills draped around her neck like it was some kind of fashion statement rather than a waste of precious money. She’d become an inside joke of sorts, they’d refer to her as “Auntie.” Whenever either of them caught a coyote or wolf, they’d say something along the lines of “Auntie’s gonna love this one.”
“I doubt anyone’s in the mood for shopping right now,” Todd muttered as his eyes darted around the forest. He looked thoroughly for any movement, but could only find twitching leaves.
“The Hob’s still open.”
Todd scoffed. “Well they’re always open.” He couldn’t entirely blame them. He seizes any opportunity for food and money as well himself.
Knox nodded. “Even the Perrys are selling. Like their kid’s name isn’t in the bowl, too.”
Todd swallowed. “Their son, yeah.” They’d met once, after Jeff died. It wasn’t anything he’d ever want to talk about, even to Knox.
“It’s crazy. Everyone always thinks they’re exempt from getting drawn until they are.”
“Heard that,” Todd added solemnly. He didn’t mean to make it sound self-pitying as it came out.
Knox looked down at his boots, which were nearly identical to Todd’s. They weren’t as worn down as Todd’s, but they were getting pretty close. “Yeah … sorry.”
“For what?”
“I just know this is a harder time for you, and — ”
Todd’s eyes flew to something wriggling in the trees. Another leaf. Great. “It’s the Hunger Games, Knox. It’s a hard time for everyone.”
“Well, yeah, of course it is… but you’re — ”
Todd’s head snapped away from the trees. “Knox, I appreciate it, but not now. Please.” He tried to keep any underlying feelings of frustration from his tone. Knox was just trying to help, after all. That’s all he ever wanted to do.
Knox’s eyebrows furrowed, but he ultimately gave in. “Okay. F’course.” They ambled awkwardly through the woods, side by side.
“Where’d you say your snare was last time?” Todd asked, feeling guilty from their earlier interaction.
Knox could throw a knife every now and then, along with the occasional arrow. But his real expertise was in traps. Todd could understand why — it lacked the responsibility killers claimed.
“I only do half the job. I just set the snares. If any animals step into one, it’s not on me. It’s on them,” he’d told Todd before.
Knox turned his head and nodded forward. “‘Round here, close to the stump. You think it caught anything?”
Todd shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt to check, right?”
They padded through paths of damp leaves and stepped over scrawny twigs. Sure enough, Knox’s snare had caught a fox around the neck. It was sprawled limply across the muddy path, staining its once brilliant orange mane. Its eyes were lifeless, but open, allowing Todd a glimpse of their faded gold.
“Shit, score!” Knox pulled a pocket knife out of his battered satchel. He knelt over and sliced through the wire restraining the fox to the tree to which he’d tethered the snare.
“Auntie’s getting her scarf after all, huh?” Knox cut the wire around the fox’s neck. Todd couldn’t respond yet, still fixated on the fox. It was the same one that had been spared earlier — he could tell by the splotch between its eyes.
Todd didn’t believe in fate. The idea of the universe having plans ruined the whole thing for him. Life was beautiful because it could go anywhere, right? You never really knew what would happen next, and that gave you a reason to keep going. But if fate was real — this was definitely a sign.
“Next,” Mrs. Perry called out from her holy table of trinkets. Todd came forward, coins clutched in his hand.
Five rabbits, nine squirrels, and two geese later, Todd and Knox called it a day. They’d eaten their Reaping gifts together in the meadow and split the catches unevenly in Knox’s favor due to his family. He was currently in line for Perry’s table at the Hob, having just sold some of his catches.
Todd plucked a spool of dark thread from the assortment in front of him. He’d torn another hole in Jeffrey’s old jacket, and it was big enough to force him to care this time.
Todd handed the coins to Mrs. Perry. “Thank you, son.” He nodded, turning to leave until something gold on the table caught his eye. It looked like a teeny-tiny wreath of sorts, made up of tiny golden sticks. On closer examination, Todd could see the more intricate details, like the stick’s jagged edges and the tiny berries that accompanied them. A tiny needle stretched across the circle.
“What’s that?” he jutted his chin over to the pin. Mrs. Perry glanced over to it.
She made a clicking noise with her tongue. “I think it’s supposed to be a crown of sorts … we’ve had it for quite a while.”
Todd shifted so his body was facing the table again. Something about that pin seemed to reasonate with him somehow. “How much for it?”
“The pin? It’s on the house,” she decided.
Todd’s eyebrows heightened on his forehead. “Really?” Nothing was free in the Seam, especially at the Hob. People were desperate all around in District 12. Even Peacekeepers
She nodded. “It’s been here forever. Take it.” Todd took the pin off the table, closely inspecting each rusted crevice. He tucked it into one of his jacket pockets.
“Thank you, ma’am … ”
She smiled at him. “May the odds be in your favor, dear.” Todd offered back a tired, closed-mouth beam and left, allowing the next customer to step forward.
“Next!”
Todd had to dodge past heaps upon heaps of people to make it to the door. At least the rest of the Seam had the decency to stay silent on Reaping Day. The Hob, however, had two constant modes: swarming, and swarming at a slightly lower level. Today was luckily relatively lower.
However, no matter how crowded the Hob was, it was most people’s only source of income — for those buying and selling. Todd sold a hefty amount of his catches there himself. If it wasn’t for the Hob, he most certainly would’ve been dead.
The townspeople weren’t the only ones who were desperate. Even the Peacekeepers found themselves stooping down to their level. They would turn blind eyes to the Hob’s blunt defiance of the law if it meant they could score a squirrel or two off of it. Todd once caught a group of them filing out of the warehouse still in uniform, his dead rabbits in their arms. It took him a while to realize it, but right then it truly struck him that they were all in the same boat.
Todd left the Hob and trudged his way back to his house near the edge of the Seam. His parents probably weren’t up yet. It was only, what, 9:00 in the morning? They already had a difficult time getting out of bed on the regular — they’d be insufferable today. They always were; not speaking a single word except to each other. Barely picking at Todd’s catches. Examining him closely, digging for any resemblance of his brother. It was rough all around, but they didn’t have the same motivations Todd did. He couldn’t afford to go dark. He tried sitting alongside them in the backseat before and they just about starved. He’d love to lose it for a second, but he’d love to not watch his parents turn into bones in front of him even more.
Todd carefully unlatched the door. Sure enough, his parents were lying in the exact same position he’d left them in. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. 9:13. They had time. He’d wake them later.
Todd stepped into their kitchen and pulled the food he’d retrieved from his bag. Catches he’d saved, stale Hob bread, and plants from the woods he’d learned were safe to eat. He successfully and quietly prepared breakfast, lunch, and dinner as they snored away. Portions were always the hardest to deal with for Todd. On one hand, they should be eating as much as possible so their stomachs wouldn’t rip themselves apart. On the other hand, they should preserve anything they could eat as long as they could to save money. Todd had found his way onto some sort of middle ground. It seemed to have worked — he hadn’t heard any complaints. He hadn’t heard much of anything from his parents.
Todd sorted their breakfasts onto three separate plates. He set aside three glasses and filled them with milk as a Reaping day treat — fuck, the milk would go bad soon. Todd quietly reminded himself to use more of it before it went to waste.
He cast another glance at the clock. 11:46. Todd shook his parents awake. They weren’t in the state to go anyway, but attendance to the Reaping was mandatory.
“Hey, hey …” his mom groaned as she began to sit up. His father laid back in the bed, barely able to move. “Time to eat, guys, okay … ?”
“W’time izzit, baby?” she grumbled, rubbing her eyes.
“11:46. C’mon.” Todd circled the bed to her side, helping her off the springy mattress. They both dragged his father into his makeshift, rusty wheelchair Jeffrey had made after the accident. He was handy, like Knox. They most definitely would’ve been friends.
Todd wasted 10 minutes coaxing his parents into eating before he could get ready for the Reaping.
“C’mon, guys. Y’know the rabbit will go bad if you don’t eat it now,” he said. That was a lie. Rabbits could last up to a day before spoiling. But it motivated them to choke down a couple more forkfuls before staring back into space.
Todd gave up on trying to get them to finish their plates and started to get ready. He scrubbed himself clean of hunting grime with his trusted rag and bucket and washed his hair. He and his mother then washed his father up afterwards and gently changed the bandages around the jagged stumps that were previously limbs. It was after he’d changed his father’s clothes and laid out his mother’s that he could get ready himself.
He’d chosen the same clothes he’d worn every year — a previously white button-up that grime had tinted into a light beige and a particular pair of trousers that didn’t have pockets. They were the fanciest clothes he had, and he could count on the hunger to ensure he’d never get too big for them.
“Your buttons are off.”
Todd turned over to the entry of the bedroom. His father was watching him from the cracked frame, crooked wheels resting against the wood. He had a dark blue bundle of crumpled-up wool in his lap that Todd didn’t recognize.
“Hm?” Todd hummed. His father pointed forward at his chest with shaky hands.
“Your shirt … ” he croaked. “Oh, I’ll fix it.” He wheeled himself over to Todd. One by one, he unbuttoned the disks and lined them up again.
“There you go.” He adjusted it, pulled the shirt by the hem. Todd ran his hands over its wrinkles and gave him a tired smile.
“Thanks, Dad.”
His dad gave an attempt at a smile back. It used to reach all the way up to his eyes. Todd could find the whole picture if he dug far enough into his brain.
He rolled himself backwards a few feet and glanced up and down at Todd’s clothes. “You wear this every year, don’t you?”
Todd looked down at his shirt and trousers. “ … Well, yeah.” Is he noticing just now?
“I’ve got something else you could wear, y’know.” Todd’s father lifted the bundle of wool off his lap and handed it over to Todd. Todd let it dangle in front of them, revealing its full form as a battered sweater.
“I used to wear it at the Reaping at your age. I’ve been wanting to give it to you for a while, but … ” he shrugged, “y’know…”
“Yeah, I do.” It took one look at his parents’ faces to tell that nothing was going on behind their void eyes.
Todd pulled the ratty blue sweater over his head and through his arms. It was too big, hanging loosely around his neck and billowing at his torso. There were several holes that would’ve shown a decent amount of skin, had it not been for the button-up underneath — though he still felt a slight breeze. It was itchy enough that he felt the burn through his undershirt. He felt the strong urge to rip the sweater off himself faster than it had come on.
“How does it feel?” his father asked, trying to hide the eagerness in his voice. Todd knew the effort it took his parents to be present on Reaping Day. The gift of overlooking didn’t come as easy to them as it did to Todd. They didn’t have any way to distract themselves, after all. Todd had plenty of things on his mind — all they had was waiting for food and thinking about their dead son. Any visible effort they presented was thoroughly appreciated in Todd’s eyes, he needed to act like it.
“Great.” Todd pushed through a strained beam. “Thanks, Dad.”
His father smiled. This time it nearly reached the upper half of his cheeks.
Close enough, Todd thought.
Todd winced as the needle entered and left his pointer finger. The Peacekeeper pulled his hand onto a page dotted with bloody fingerprints, each above their owners' names in text. Todd's splotch was pressed over Anderson and the Peacekeeper let him go without another word.
“Next,” they said stiffly. Todd stalked away from the table and wiped the excess blood on his trousers. The fresh smear fit right alongside the faded smudges from all the past reapings. At least his pants were dark.
Todd walked to the square alongside clusters of children, their shoulders all grazing against each other. Todd was suddenly glad his father had given him that sweater, the claustrophobia of the square always made him sweat through his shirt. They all shuffled into their rows — youngest in front, oldest in back, like always. Todd nudged and dodged his way to Knox, who was biting at his fingernails.
“Did you sell all your catches this morning?” Todd asked.
“No, I split them.”
Todd pulled Knox’s fist away from his mouth. “Then why are you eating your nails?”
“I can’t help it! Don’t like you’re not feeling it either.”
“I’m not.” Todd doubted anyone was unlucky enough to be reaped twice.
Knox shifted, gripping his fist in front of his legs. “Anyway, I heard they finally got a new advisor this year.”
Todd perked up. They’d been using Alouette Dankworth since before Todd or his brother were even born, so this was news. “Yeah?”
“Josh saw ‘er in the Seam early this morning walking to the square in, like, foot-high heels.”
“So they finally got rid of Alouette.”
“Guess they can only make you look so young in the Capitol.” The people from the Capitol had the weirdest technology dedicated to looking young. One technique was a treatment that involved pinning their skin back to smooth their wrinkles. Todd saw glimpses of people with said procedure on television. They all perceived it as beautiful— but it just reminded Todd of dough.
“You think that’s why they replaced her?”
“Why else? She was extremely insensitive, loud, and obnoxious. Perfect for the job.”
Todd snorted just as the door opened to the podium. The new advisor filed onstage alongside Mayor Mcallister and John Keating, the sole winner from District 12.
She really is young, Todd thought. She couldn’t be older than him or Knox’s age. She also didn’t look too artificial either, surprisingly. She still had the Capitol’s tall shoes, striking eye makeup, and general getup, but… softer, if that made sense. Something about her made Todd want to trust her.
“She’s pretty…” Knox whispered next to him.
“She’s also in charge of who will die in front of the whole country,” Todd whispered right back. He wasn’t going to like her, he simply refused. Nothing good could ever come from the Capitol after the Hunger Games— not even people.
Mayor Mcallister shuffled up to the podium and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. The sunlight shone right through it, giving everyone a nice view of the scrambled handwriting. Todd didn’t know why he’d still needed the paper— he’d been reciting the origin of the Hunger Games long enough that he shouldn’t need the battered thing. There were even permanent creases engraved sloppily into the paper, demonstrating its age.
He raised it just under the microphone and listed the disasters that led to Panem’s beginning. Todd can practically feel Knox roll his eyes next to him.
“There’s no way he needs to read that every single year,” Knox muttered to him. A kid in front of them whipped around and held his pointer finger to his lips.
“Shhh!”
Knox raised his hands in mock surrender. “Jesus,” he mouthed, tucking his hands into his pockets. The kid whipped back around as if the mayor was reciting something actually important. Knox turned back over to Todd, who stuck out his tongue and wrapped his hands around his neck, feigning choking. He laughed, earning another Shhh.
Mayor Mcallister finally closed his mouth and folded the piece of paper back into its permanent creases. Faint, reluctant applause scattered throughout the square. He recoiled back over to his spot next to Keating, who glanced at him through the corner of his eye. He shuffled a few inches to the side, lengthening the distance between the two.
The new advisor trotted over to the podium, almost reluctant. The sounds of her heavy heels hitting the stage floor practically echoed against the wood. She looked down at her gloved hands and exhaled loud enough that the microphone caught it and threw it across the entire square. She didn’t seem to notice, as her head snapped back up with a smile she’d clearly practiced in the mirror before.
“Happy Hunger Games, everyone! May the odds be ever in your favor!” She flashed her altered teeth at the crowd. No one even coughed.
“I’m your new advisor, Chris Noel, and I’m thrilled to have the honor of selecting District 12’s competitors in the 74th Annual Hunger Games!”
Chris Noel. Well, Todd had to hand it to her— that was by far the least outrageous name he’d heard from the Capitol.
“I know we’re all eager to begin, so I’ll jump right into it!” She stuck her hand directly into the fishbowl, and Todd could practically hear the whole square hold their breath. He turned around to the ropes surrounding the square where everyone’s parents were gathered. They were all clutching at each other’s hands with white fists, eyes squinted shut. Some of their lips were moving in a silent prayer for their children’s lives, the others’ jaws tightened to the point that they looked like they’d snap in half down the middle. The children prayed alike, tiny fingers intertwined into a squeezed mitt. The Capitol was right. The Games really did bring people together, but not in the way that would ever be beneficial to anyone at all.
Chris was still dragging it on, whisking her hand dramatically around the bowl. Todd mentally pleaded with her to get it over with. Everyone in the stadium was miserable. He already knew that the worst of his Reapings were behind him, but he could remember exactly how it felt watching his brother walk up those stairs. He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone in the entire universe, though his wishes were as good as dirt. Someone’s Jeffrey was going to get picked, fight, and die. That’s the way it went, that was the way it would always be. Todd at least got to take a bit of comfort in knowing that there had only ever been two names in the bowl he’d cared about and one was already gone. He was privileged enough to know that the worst was over.
Chris finally plucked a name from the bowl. She carefully unfolded it in front of the microphone, its soft crinkle sounding throughout the square.
“Knox Overstreet!”
Todd froze. He was wrong. He was so, very wrong.
Chapter 2: John Keating, Victor
Summary:
The tributes of District 12 meet their mentor.
Notes:
hi everyone!!!
i’d like to take a second and thank everyone who left comments under chapter one! they seriously mean so much to me, so thank you!
also, posting update! i’m thinking that i’m going to post every monday, though that might change w/ my schedule. and chapter 3 will most likely be late because it’s finals week 🥀
enjoy!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Knox wasn’t moving in the first place, but Todd could still feel him freeze. Everyone’s head was turned in his direction, pity etched across their faces. The kids around him backed away as if he was sick.
Knox’s odds were never good to begin with. He’d even had his name entered more than usual in exchange for extra food. The older kids’ names were already entered more than once automatically. If anyone’s name was going to be drawn, it was completely routine that it would be Knox, but Todd still hadn’t seen it coming! It was like Knox said — everyone thinks they’re exempt until they’re picked. Todd had fallen for this twice now.
They’d even had a pact Knox made when they were 13 to never volunteer for the other, had their name been called. It was mostly for Knox’s sake. Todd knew how anxious Knox got about Reapings and told him “I’ll volunteer if it’s you,” attempting to comfort him. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect and scared Knox shitless. So he made him promise not to, and Todd made him do the same in return.
“Knox? Where are you?” Chris’ voice boomed. Knox looked like he wanted to just dart off and hide, but running was far from useful. Everyone knew that since they painted the wall with Albert Cork’s brains at the 53rd. The dozens of heads pointed at him practically served as arrows anyway.
“C’mon up! I don’t bite, y’know!” she giggled.
When Knox took the first step, Todd was hit with several things at once:
- This was real. Knox was going to compete in the Hunger Games. They were going to whisk him away to Capitol, arm him with things he’d never been taught to use, and trap him with trained killers.
- Knox couldn’t fight. He could set traps, and sure, he threw an almost decent knife, but he was still nothing compared to kids he’d be competing alongside. And it wasn’t like you could kill anyone with a snare. Animals, of course, but people were an entirely different story.
- No one knew Knox couldn’t fight. Even their neighbors assumed he was a powerhouse with all the dead animals he raked in. What would the other tributes think? He’d be targeted immediately in that arena, and he couldn’t hide either. His gangly height would seperate him from everyone else, and his clumsy legs couldn’t climb a tree literally to save his life.
- Knox was going to die.
Todd raised his hand. The words were out of Todd’s mouth before he could even think.
“I volunteer as tribute.”
All the eyes had now fallen on Todd. Knox — who hadn’t even taken his second step to the podium yet — whipped around in Todd’s direction.
“Oh, I see we’ve got a volunteer!” Chris crowed in awe. “Well, bring him on up!”
Todd robotically walked over to the Peacekeepers. Knox lunged forward, clutching onto Todd’s arm.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked through gritted teeth. Todd almost winced at the iron-tight grip Knox was applying to his arm. “Take it back.”
Todd just looked back up at him. Knox’s face was still paper white, though his cheeks were slightly flushed with anger. Water was beginning to brim around his bloodshot eyes.
“Knox, let go,” Todd forced out.
“Todd, let go,” Jeffrey stated firmly.
Knox opened his mouth in fury, but the Peacekeeps cut him off with shove. Two of them wrapped around Todd’s arms and led him to the stage.
“Todd, TAKE IT BACK!” The words ripped from Knox’s throat. He was trying to push past the Peacekeepers, but they managed to maintain their sturdy bearing, forming a wall between him and Todd.
The Peacekeepers holding onto Todd let him go at the stairs, allowing him to climb them on his own. His legs quivered as he scaled the stairs up to Chris Noel, who was motioning for him to approach the podium. He quietly plodded over to the stand.
She flashed her smile back at the square “What’s your name?”
“Todd Anderson.” His own voice felt foreign in his ears. This wasn’t actually happening, was it?
“Anderson?” she repeated. Todd stiffly nodded.
“As in the brother of past Tribute Jeffrey Anderson?” she restated. Todd nodded again. He really didn’t want to get into this in front of the entire country, but what choice did he have?
“Oh, Todd … you’ve got to be District 12’s first ever legacy tribute!” she said, not even bothering to look at him. Her eyes were still glued onto the dull audience. She turned the microphone back to Todd’s face. He blinked, confused. What was he supposed to say to that?
“… Was that a question?”
Chris threw her head back in laughter, exposing a long, colorful necklace. Todd didn’t know what was so funny either. He accepted then that there were a lot of things he didn’t know about the Capitol folk, and much less he’d care enough to learn about.
“Now. That boy you volunteered for — Knox, was it? What is he to you? Blood?” She faced Todd. “Perhaps … a lover?”
Todd collected himself. “He’s my friend.”
“Friends,” she repeated. “You two must be really close then, hm?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
Jeffrey cleared his throat. “Uh … yeah, he is.”
“Well, that’s just wonderful!” she nodded, her large earring jingling into the microphone. “And it’s such a remarkable parallel — you are following right in your brother’s footsteps!”
Yeah, to my grave, Todd thought. Though he was aware, whole situation hadn’t fully registered to him yet.
“I think it’s fair to say our volunteer deserves a round of applause!” Chris clapped gracefully next to the microphone. Todd watched as the crowd smoothly kissed three fingers and raised them forward— the same salute they gave Jeffrey all those years ago.
“Now. Time for our second Tribute!” Chris’ hand plunged into the bowl once again. She didn’t make a huge show of it this time, which Todd could appreciate at least. She quickly opened up the new slip.
“Neil Perry!”
Oh.
Todd knew that name— not only from association to Mrs. Perry. They’d met once, and it would haunt him forever.
Todd was scrunched over in a ball of shame outside, leaning against the Hob’s wooden walls. Jeff’s games had just ended, a grave was freshly dug, and Todd had just spent weeks watching his parents’ cheeks hollow. He’d finally gotten an idea of how he could fill their bellies, if even just for a day. Unfortunately, no one wanted his father’s old holed boots or his brother’s raggy clothes. Mr. Perry made sure he’d known that, as well as how stupid it was that he’d ever thought so.
Todd couldn’t go home to his parents, with their skin tight and thin around their bones. He couldn’t go back into the Hob either, it was pointless if no one would bother helping him. So there he sat, clutching at his brother’s clothes, trembling as sheets of rain pelted down on him.
“Psst…” a voice called near the warehouse. “You!”
Todd looked up from his knees. A pair of eyes were waiting around the corner, glued directly onto him. Still, Todd looked over from side to side.
“Yes, you! Wait over there, alright?”
The pair of eyes stepped out of the corner, revealing their owner. Todd immediately recognized their owner as Mr. Perry’s only son. He’d noticed him inside the Hob. Todd tried to stand up, but could barely get his legs to even budge.
The boy held his hands up, as if surrendering. “Wait, wait, I’m trying to help! I promise!”
Todd blinked in confusion. The boy half-jogged over to him on the ground and pulled something shiny out of his pocket. He knelt down in front of Todd, opening his palm to reveal it. It was a clock, attached to a limp, gold band. His father had something similar back at home, but it wasn’t nearly as bright.
“You see this?” the boy asked. He grabbed one of Todd’s hands without warning. Todd oddly didn’t pull away, allowing the boy to place the fancy clock into his palm.
“Go inside and sell it to my dad, alright? It’s really expensive. It’ll definitely get you something.”
Todd looked down at the clock and up at the boy in awe. Todd still couldn’t figure out if it was the delusion from hunger, or the way the light framed the boy against the rain, but a part of him genuinely believed he must’ve been an angel in that moment.
“Neil!” a woman’s voice trumpeted from the corner. Mrs. Perry, Todd assumed.
“Coming, Mom!” Neil turned back over to Todd, giving him somewhat of a smile. “See you at school, yeah?”
With that, he stood back up and disappeared back down the corner.
Todd did as Neil said, and he was right. He’d gotten enough money from the clock — which he’d soon discovered was actually called a “watch” — to buy three full meals for him and his parents.
He didn’t end up seeing Neil too much at school, but when he did, Neil was always looking back. He’d even offer a lopsided smile once in a while. Todd didn’t understand how he could just casually smile at him after that. That watch had very possibly saved Todd’s life, along with his family. The appreciation Todd had for Neil hung over him constantly, as well as the knowledge that he’d never stop owing him for it.
A wail rose from outside the square straight from the lungs of Mrs. Perry. The crowd parted around Neil, whose eyes darted around like he himself was looking for Neil Perry. It took a few seconds for him to start walking forward towards the stage.
Todd knew from his kills that there’s a face animals have when they know they’re going to die. Back when his aim wasn’t as exact, his blades would end up lodged in the animals’ throats or stomachs. He’d gotten a good look at the panic in their eyes once they realized that this was final and there was no going back.
It took one look at Neil to realize humans could make that face too.
Neil stalked up the stage next to Chris. Chris took him carefully by the arm and tugged him to her side.
“Well, there you all have it! This year’s tributes from District 12: Todd Anderson and Neil Perry!” Her hands inched up to their backs like they were all the best of friends. Todd got the strong urge to swat her arm off, but could barely find it in himself to move at all.
Todd looked back over at Neil. Neil was staring very intently at the stairs leading up to the stage, leaving his mother’s loud sobs unnoticed. He was blinking rapidly, trying to suck any approaching tears away from his skin. Todd was just standing rigidly, hands slumped at his sides. He didn’t know why he wasn’t presenting any severe reaction to being selected — well, volunteering — to die. Maybe he was subconsciously holding himself back or the situation had just left him in shock. Either way, he wasn’t complaining. He was already going to die in front of the whole country — he didn’t need them seeing him blubbering as well.
“Happy Hunger Games,” she projected to the audience, “and may the odds be ever in your favor.”
Todd was hunched forward on the velvet couch, hands clenched together. His foot tapped restlessly against the poorly polished floors. He and Neil had been escorted to District 12’s Justice Building shortly after the Reaping. They were both conducted to gorgeous, glossy rooms and told to wait.
Todd was looking numbly down at a bug crawling up the ceramic pot of a plant when the door clicked open. Todd perked up at the sound of creaking wheels. His parents.
His mom gave him a tired smile. “Hey, Todd … ”
Todd scrambled to his feet. “Mom.” He wrapped her into a tight embrace, which she actually matched.
“You looked so much like him there … ” she mumbled into his chest, pushing him as close to tears as he’d gotten since the Reaping.
He swallowed and carded his hands through her hair — the same way she did to him as a child. “I know, Mom. I know.”
She pulled away, and he knelt over to his father, who let Todd wrap himself around him. Todd felt his father’s hands grasp onto his back, a weak attempt at reciprocating, but Todd accepted it wholeheartedly.
His father let his hands drop from Todd’s back and he stood back up. They were both looking at him expectantly.
“I’m sure Knox will take care of you both, but he’s already got his family to take care of.” He turned to his mother. “If you ever start running low, you’ll need to get a job.”
She opened her mouth. “I — ”
“I know. You’re tired. But you’ll need to fight through it, for you and for Dad. I know it’ll be hard, and you’ll want to go back, but I won’t be there to make up for your sickness, alright?”
She slowly nodded, a lack of confidence clear in her face.
“When I go … ” Todd practically choked out. When I go. Not if, but when.
“ … I’ll go fast. I won’t try to fight it when I know I shouldn’t. I won’t suffer … not like he did.”
“Promise?” his father piped up, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his chin.
“Yeah. I swear on my grave.”
Your grave? Seriously? he thought. Nice, Todd. Real nice.
Todd’s mother’s lip trembled. She enveloped him into another embrace. He closed his eyes, taking in her smell. He hoped he’d be able to absorb it onto his clothes and take it with him to the Capitol — a part of home.
The doorknob started to twist from the outside. Their time together was over.
Todd carefully tried to wrench himself from his mother’s grasp. “Mom … ”
“Wait, just wait.”
His mother let go and pulled something out of her dress pocket. She grabbed his palm and closed it around it. It was small, hard, and cold. She planted a kiss onto his forehead.
“I love you,” she managed to get out before the Peacekeepers filed in to retrieve them. One of them grabbed onto his father’s chair.
“I love you too,” he frantically affirmed as they were taken away. “Both of you.”
The door shut and that was that. The last time Todd would ever see his parents. A shaky exhale quivered from his lips. There was no way he’d already spent all the time he was meant to with his parents. There was so much to do, so much he’d never said, so much he’d never heard. If only he hadn’t spent so long hunting …
Wait. Guilt washed over him. Was it possible that he’d spent more time he needed in the woods? He’d thought he was only hunting to survive, but what if he was subconsciously avoiding his parents, his home? Had he been so distracted, he missed out on crucial time with his family? Todd cursed himself. He’d taken the time he could’ve spent with his family and spent it on killing. He must’ve been an awful son, and he’d never get a chance to make up for it.
Todd sunk into the couch and unclenched his fist around what his mother had left him. He was met with a pin, the very same one he’d gotten from Mrs. Perry that morning. Was that really just this morning? It felt like an eternity ago. He was a customer, and she was a mother, both just trying to survive their district. Now he was a dead man walking, pitted to fight against her only son.
Todd glanced towards the door. Was anyone else coming? Probably not. He’d kept pretty closely to himself in the past few years, and he was pretty sure Knox was still furious at him.
Knox. Knox had every right to be mad at Todd. Todd had left him an eternity of hunting alone, after all. To whom would he boast about his snares now? Who would hear his troubles of supporting an entire, starving family and actually understanding? What would happen to all of their inside jokes? Would he recite them to others, or would they just fade away?
The door suddenly unlatched, revealing Knox. Tears had made streaks down his grimy face. Todd stood up, looking for any signs of anger in his face.
“ … Knox?” he uttered, his voice just over a whisper.
“Todd.”
Todd didn’t need to take the first step this time. Knox practically lunged forward and coiled himself around him before Todd knew it. Todd tries to sink his smell in too — wood, earth, and distinct cinnamon from the bread they shared that morning.
“Why would you do that, you idiot?” Knox sobbed, almost pleading.
“I’m sorry,” was all Todd could croak out. “I had to.”
“But you didn’t!” Knox pulled away to face Todd, “You could’ve just let me go! You were supposed to! You promised! Why?” He gripped onto Todd harder, surely moved to anger. “Why?!”
“I couldn’t lose another brother, okay?!” Todd exploded.
The frustration bled out of Knox’s face as quickly as it arrived. Todd swallowed, surprised by his own
“Oh, Todd…”
He enveloped Todd into another firm embrace, locking his arms around him like a protective cage. They stayed like that for a moment — just silent in their early grief. Todd was the first to let go.
“My parents are going to take some time to get their bearings after all of this, so they’ll need to be looked after for a while,” Todd told him. “Can you manage that?”
Knox’s eyes furrowed. “What’re you talking about?”
Is he really going to make me say it?
“I’m just … ” Todd sighed. “When it happens, I need to — ”
Knox shook his head. “No.”
Todd blinked, lips parting slightly.
“‘No?’ You’re not going to — ”
“Obviously I’ll take care of them if anything happens, but I’m not going to stand here and let you act like you don’t have a chance in this game.”
Todd’s jaw tightened. The last thing he needed right now was someone who believed in him. Dying was enough to deal with on its own — the knowledge that he was letting someone down in the process was another thing altogether.
Knox scoffed. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You can fight, you know that! You just don’t want to!” he said accusingly.
“I only throw knives, they probably have classes for that in the career districts. Plus, I’m up against 23 other people, some of whom are literally trained to kill!” Todd looked him in the eye. “Knox, I’m not getting out of there.”
Knox shook his head frantically. “No, you don’t get to say that. You don’t just get to give up after throwing your life away for me. You have to fight,” he demanded. “If not for you, then for me. You need to.”
Todd wanted to scream. Knox couldn’t ask this of him when he knew what little of a chance he had in that game. It wasn't fair. Plus, he couldn’t kill anyone for the life of him. He could seemingly manage killing animals, but people? No one ever left the Hunger Games without any blood on their hands. Winning meant playing dirty, and Todd would happily die clean. Still, he found himself reluctantly nodding.
“ … Okay,” he breathed.
“Promise. Promise me and mean it this time,” Knox ordered. “Please.”
Todd swallowed. “I promise.” He’d been making a lot of them today.
Knox nodded back, seemingly relieved. “Okay,” he said softly. He got one last hug in before the Peacekeeper opened the door. Knox didn’t take the hint, so they moved forward to pry him off of Todd.
“If anything happens, take care of them!” Todd called after him, panicked.
The Peacekeeper was practically yanking Knox out of the door at that point. “I will, I will! Just, please, don’t—“
Slam. Todd was alone once again.
Todd sat back down on the couch, running his hands over its velvet skin. He was surprised to find out he was still relatively calm after everything that had happened. The realization just hadn’t struck him yet. He wondered how long it took Jeffrey to realize it as well.
Who knows? he thought. I’ll probably be able to ask him soon enough.
That did it. Todd grabbed onto the house plant, dumped out its contents, and promptly vomited into the ceramic pot.
The pot's insides were a vibrant orange before being painted with… well, his insides. The shade reminded him of foxes, taking him back to the one Knox had killed that very morning. Narrowly avoiding one trap, only to step right into another.
Much he just did.
Todd, Neil, and Chris all piled into the car waiting outside the Justice Building. Todd ended up sandwiched in the middle between the both of them. He’d never been in a car before, but he assumed that was the worst place to be in one.
Neil turned over to Todd, stretching his hand forward. He’d clearly been crying before — the light reflecting off his wet cheeks showed he hadn’t stopped yet either. “Neil Perry,” he croaked out with a tired smile. Todd couldn’t help but look at him in pure confusion.
We’ll be fighting each other to the death in two weeks and this guy wants to shake my hand? he thought. Is he serious?!
Todd looked down at his hand but didn’t shake it. There was no point. They already knew each other’s names, they were just blared over the speakers of the entire District. He didn’t want to offer a verbal introduction either — his breath definitely reeked of vomit and the freshly dead rabbit he’d eaten that morning. The stench would probably kill Neil, and Todd figured there wasn’t any violence allowed between tributes before the Games.
Neil pulled it back, confused. He folded his hands back onto his lap and stared out the window longingly, tear tracks still prominent on his face. This puzzled Todd even more. What was there to long for in District 12? They were literally living in the worst conditions in the entire country. Death was always approaching whether you were in District 12 or the arena. The Hunger Games was just faster with it.
Chris noticed the rejection and her face went pale. “Oh no … ” she muttered. “I forgot to make you guys shake hands onstage!”
“What?” Todd tried to say, but his throat swallowed his words back up. He gritted his teeth behind his lips. Great.
Todd wasn’t really one for talking in general. His mom always had to tell him, “Use your words, Todd.” But this was a new thing altogether. There would be times, primarily in extremely stressful situations, where he would find himself basically unable to talk. The worst of it was when Jeffrey died. He found himself going days, weeks without talking. He got better after meeting Knox, but sometimes found himself having small episodes every now and then.
She dropped her head into her hands. “They’re supposed to do that every time! How did I miss that?! God!” she wailed. Her voice sounded much younger when she wasn’t booming cheerfully into a microphone over a crowd.
Her head snapped up towards the both of them. “You didn’t notice, did you?”
Todd and Neil both shook their heads.
“My mind was kind of elsewhere at the moment,” Neil added. Todd almost snorted, but caught himself just in time.
He’ll be trying to slit your throat by the end of next week, he told himself. Nothing will be funny then.
“Alright, maybe if you didn’t notice, no one else did! God, I can’t believe I forgot that … well, I hope my boss understands. It is my first year, after all. Could ya tell?” Her face fell as she awaited their response. “ … Wait, could you?”
Neil didn’t dignify that with a response. Todd followed suit, looking down at his hands. Chris didn’t pick up on the hint and proceeded to talk until they finally reached the station. Todd decided then that he wasn’t a fan of cars.
At least you’ll never ride one again.
Todd choked down the leftover fluid climbing up his throat.
The noise of Neil’s foot bouncing relentlessly against the floor was the only thing that kept the room from radio silence since Chris had left. Todd sat still, though he felt himself churning beneath the surface. He still had yet to speak since he said goodbye to Knox. Neil had piped up a few times already:
“Watch out for the step.” Entering the train.
“Fancy.” At the rolling tray of Capitol refreshments.
“Excuse me.” After coughing.
At least Neil knew better than to expect any response, it seemed. Todd could appreciate that.
The compartment door slid open, revealing District 12’s only victor and mentor; John Keating. Todd couldn’t pinpoint when it started, but Keating never really looked like a victor to him. He’d always spotted him at the Reapings and couldn’t help but think of how ordinary he looked. He wasn’t decked out in riches or clearly wasted like the other victors Todd had seen — he was just a guy. A guy who just happened to claw his way to survival at the ripe age of 16.
Keating was sitting in front of them before Todd could process that a door opened by itself. He propped his elbows onto the chair’s velvet arms, leaned back, and laced his fingers together. His eyes glanced right at Todd, slid over to Neil, and landed back on Todd again.
“What’s your story, Todd? Tell me about you,” he said without an introduction.
Todd opened his mouth, almost testing, if possible. A slight sense of relief singed his system when he felt words climb up his throat. “ … What about me?”
“Your upbringing, where you live, what you like, et cetera. What’s the first thing that comes to mind?”
Todd cleared his throat. “Well, uh, I live in the Seam.”
Keating quickly shook his head. “That’s not it. Give me something else.”
“Uh … I live with my parents?” Todd almost asked.
Keating nodded. “There’s more there. What do they do?”
Whatever “it” was, Todd had seemingly managed to reach it. Good for me, I guess, he thought.
“They stay at home,” Todd continued. “My dad’s legs shattered in a mine accident and my mom watches over him.”
“So you’re taking care of them?”
Todd laced his fingers together on his lap. “Yeah.”
Keating offered him a small, closed mouth grin from his chair. “Alright, Todd,” he said softly.
Neil, how about you?”
Todd watched Neil’s head snap up at the sound of his name. He sat up straight against his chair as if activated. “My parents work in both the legal market and the Hob, sir. I live in the town and I work with my parents for now.”
Keating blinked at “sir,” his expression unreadable. “What do you mean ‘for now?’”
Neil’s eyes flicked downward, but quickly flipped back up to Keating. “They want me to become a Healer, make a little more money.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Well, not really, but if it helps them out, I can live with it.”
“What do you like, Neil?”
Neil’s lips parted. “Uh … sometimes, my parents give me the products from the Hob no one buys. Like thread, fabric, sometimes paint. I get to make things out of them, and I think that’s nice, I guess that counts.”
Keating’s eyes crinkled around the corners. “Alright.”
Neil looked at Keating expectantly. “… Is that it?”
“Sorry?”
“Is that all you’ll be doing right now? Getting to know us? I get that you’re our mentor and you’ll be spending time with us or whatever, but sir. C’mon,” he shrugged. “No offense, of course.”
“Anything I can tell you about the Games can wait. For now, you need to focus on making good first impressions.”
Keating looked pointedly at Todd. “So you — you’re an underdog single-handedly supporting his grieving parents. Life has kicked you down, and the Hunger Games is your only chance to get back up. You’re here to win, and — I’m sorry — avenge your brother. You’ll have to play that at some point, but don’t use it too much. They’re stupid, sure, but can still recognize when they’re being taken advantage of. And if you’re ever asked about feelings surrounding his death, don’t blame his death on the Games.”
The idea of using his brother’s death as an advantage was sickening enough, but lying about the blame would just add salt to the wound. “But — ”
“They love the Games, live for them even. To insult them is to insult their livelihood as they know it. It’s wrong, I know, but this could save your life. Don’t forget that.”
Todd’s mouth shut in a tightened line. He sharply exhaled through his nose, frustrated.
Keating switched over to Neil. “You — you’re a creative spirit, yes? You’ve been living off the bare minimum, making art out of other people’s scraps in order to fulfill yourself. You’re bound to live a life you don’t want, in a place you don’t want to live in. A free man surrounded by prisoners. The Reaping was your meal ticket out of there and you’re taking it. That’s what drives you to fight. But don’t act like District 12 is bad because of the living conditions, but the emptiness everyone carries. The Capitol is rich, but won’t admit it for the life of them. You mention any lack of food or money, they’ll seem privileged compared to you and God forbid they be self aware, so they’ll just see you as self-pitying and ungrateful. You’re still poor — not from lack of resources, but spirit. Use that.”
Neil reluctantly nodded. Keating exhaled, resting his hands back onto his lap.
“The Hunger Games isn’t just who can hit the hardest and slice the deepest. It’s also a game of social manipulation.”
Perfect, Todd thought miserably. Todd didn’t want to hit hard or slice deep, but at least he knew how to do so. But if there was anything Todd couldn’t hack, it was people. Everyone automatically had their own set of needs, likes, and dislikes to understand and satisfy. Todd only had a few people fully figured out — how was he going to please a full state into helping him? He could barely even get his own parents to talk to him.
“Sometimes the way out of a den isn’t killing the lions, but wooing the keepers. Simply put, you need to be likable. Those sponsors determine the difference whether or not you live to see another day as good as a knife or crossbow. If you can’t be likable, be intriguing. The Capitol loves a good story. Though I don’t think that will be a problem for either of you — if you play it as I’ve just told you.”
So that was it then. People had to like them or they’d die. If Todd wasn’t doomed before, he most certainly was now.
Keating’s attention suddenly diverted something behind Neil and Todd. His jaw set in place, pulling his chin to a point. They both followed his gaze to the window and couldn't help but gasp.
Buildings stretch up the sky, brushing against the clouds in silver strokes. Specks of light climb down them in rows, shining like organized stars. They looked almost like castles, unlike the building at the center which quite literally was one. It extended beyond any other of the buildings, its slanted rooftops partially covered by clouds. The Capitol truly was beautiful, as much as Todd hated to admit it.
“Is this it?” Todd asked silently. Keating nodded, jaw still wired shut. His mentor looked out the window with such hate Todd almost shuddered. Such a beautiful place, and Keating looked at it like it was hideousness personified. It just went to show that it didn’t matter how much beauty and glory the Capitol applied to themselves, all they were at their core was hate. Pure, animalistic hate — that Todd was about to see firsthand.
The train began to slow, and Todd spotted swarms of people collecting along the windows. The train went fast enough that he couldn’t get a good look, but he could tell where they’re from by the bursts of color darting through his vision.
Neil leapt onto his feet and strode over to the window. Dozens of overjoyed cheers sounded at the sight of his face. Then Neil did the unbelievable: He picked one of his hands off the glass and began to wave at him.
Todd’s mouth went agape in shock. He twisted over to Keating, expecting him to wear a similar expression, but was met instead with an impressed grin.
“What?” Keating asked. “Your friend seems to know what he’s doing.”
Todd swallowed and turned back over to Neil. He was still waving through the glass, flashing them all an effortlessly genuine smile. Todd himself would never guess he was faking!
It’s then when he got the feeling that he’d severely underestimated that boy from the Hob.
Notes:
hi again!!!
i just want to say right now that i wasn’t really on top of my writing a game for this. i was sick this week, as well as sleep deprived, so apologies if this seemed more jumbled than the last chapter.
anyways, todd refusing neil’s handshake is so funny to me for no reason.
neil: why isn’t he shaking my hand? have i done something wrong? does he hate me? omg whar have i done
todd: my breath stinks
todd’s “episodes” are written to be autistic shutdowns, but he doesn’t know that. he can’t really get diagnosed, as i don think there are any doctors for that specifically in this time period that he has access to. but just know that.
chris is going to be perceived in a sort of negative light until todd warms up to her. i’m sorry! i love her, i swear! just think about this from his perspective. this girl is constantly praising the very thing that killed his brother. she’s really brainwashed, but she gets better, i promise.
i’d also like to take this moment to reinstate that CHAPTER 3 IS NOT COMING THIS MONDAY!!! i’m sorry!!! it’s finals week, school still comes first. you’ll have to take it later 💔
anyways, thoughts?
Chapter 3: The Capitol
Summary:
Todd and Neil adjust to the Capitol’s standards while John runs into a familiar friend.
Notes:
hey guys!
i’m just gonna say I’M SOSOSOSORRY RHIS TOOK FOREVER 💔 here are rhe reasons:
week 1: finals preparation
week 2: finals
week 3: first week of summer, burnt out
week 4: first week of honors geo classes, temporarily switched fandoms (got back though)
so yeah 😭 i know it shouldn’t have taken this long, i’ll be back on schedule now! but still, i finally finished my first year of high school! 🥳 ( i am NOT gonna be able to put up with another 3 years of ts, someone kill me)
pls enjoy this chapter, sorry for the wait!!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Open up, dear!”
Todd reluctantly pried his jaw open from the inside. A member of his prep team took him by the jaw and tilted his head from side to side, examining his teeth.
“Clean as ever! You’re good to go, darling!” They gave him a celebratory pat on the cheek and handed him a mirror.
Todd had never really been the picture of beauty. He’d had little-to-no ways to enhance it, and it wasn’t high on his priority list anyway, but his appearance was something of which he wasn’t fond. His skin was rough, his hair was limp, and his teeth — oh, his teeth were nowhere near the Capitol’s standards. Misshapen, crooked, and only able to resemble white if you stood far enough away. But not anymore.
Todd ran his hand over his cheek. The roughness he normally felt beneath his fingers had been sanded into soft, smooth skin. His hair’s limpness had been replaced with an ounce of volume, falling over his forehead in tufts. His teeth were now straight and white, which he was already finding to be the hardest to adjust to.
Todd unhinged and clamped down on his jaw, trying to adapt to the way his teeth now fit into his gums. His prep team giggled at him shrilly. They hadn’t really stopped since he’d arrived. When he flinched as they ripped the wax off his leg, the shock in his face when they took his fucking clothes (why?!), the time they got their fancy soap in his eyes — basically whenever he showed any kind of confusion, they’d snicker away like it was the most hilarious thing they’d ever seen. Todd — naturally — didn’t understand, but he wasn’t really complaining either. He’d already unintentionally made Chris laugh on the stage at the Reaping, and now he’d gotten his prep team into stitches without lifting a finger. Something about him seemed to resonate with Capitol folk, which was obviously disturbing as hell, but could also play out in his favor. Maybe he could be likable, like Keating said. Did he know how? No. Was he succeeding? Apparently. Nonetheless, progress was progress.
“You’ll get used to the teeth in no time, dear. But otherwise, how are we feeling?”
Todd’s looks had obviously greatly improved, but he couldn’t help feeling … he didn’t know how to put it. Simplified, perhaps. They weren’t just enhancing him for kicks, he was being made to be more easily digestible for the Capitol. Here, no one had rough skin, limp hair, or crooked teeth, so Todd couldn’t either. That would make him different, and God forbid anyone from the Capitol exhaust themselves understanding.
Keating had already told both Neil and Todd to reduce themselves from people to heartwarming stories. Todd had just been visually warped into a more simple version of himself, and Neil was most undergoing the same process. What more did they have to change? Did they need to simplify their own names as well?
"Sorry, your names appear to be too complicated for the Capitol folk. We’re going to have to introduce you as Knee and Toe.”
“It’s … different?” was all Todd could say, earning another hearty laugh from his prep team. God, what were they laughing about?
“Very different. We’re sorry it took a while, but there was really a lot to unpack here.”
That was backhanded. At least Todd could recognize that.
*In case you forgot, I never asked for this,* Todd thought — before realizing that was exactly what he did. But no matter. None of this would affect him in two weeks, at least.
“But it’s all paid off! So, unfortunately, this is where we leave you. For now.”
“Oh, uh…”
“Farewell, darling! Best of luck!”
Their scattered farewells found him as they left. Todd offered an awkward wave in return, as if they hadn’t left him naked on a table like one of his turkeys.
Naked. Todd’s blood ran cold in realization. I’m still naked.
“Shit,” he hissed. Todd’s eyes darted around the space, desperately searching for the clothes he came in with. Gone. He looked for gowns, robes, even a spare coat his team happened to leave. Nothing. Of course.
Todd gritted his teeth and stood off the table. There was a curtain scrunched against the wall meant to wrap around the table Todd had been sitting on for privacy (it hadn’t been used since they’d started.) Todd unraveled it, grabbed two fistfuls of the fabric, and directly ripped it off the rails. It slumped heavily down onto the tiled floor, landing in a heap at Todd’s feet. He gathered the edges of the fabric in his hands, wrapped the curtain around himself like a blanket, and sat back down onto the table.
Todd couldn’t help but think about how pathetic he must’ve looked right now. He was going to be dead or a killer in a few weeks, and he was sitting bundled in the fabric like some child.
The door whizzed open, revealing who Todd to be his stylist. The first thing Todd had noticed was how normal he seemed. He had bright blonde hair, cropped a little closer to his head. He wore a simple, dark suit and glasses, behind which Todd could spot a small smattering of eye makeup.
Oh, God, Todd thought, This guy actually looks normal.
“Hey. Todd, right? I’m Stick, I’ll be your stylist.”
Stick? Todd almost laughed. Capitol names just got worse every time he heard them.
“Hey,” Todd replied plainly.
Stick pointed at a scar on Todd’s temple. “What’s this from?”
“Oh.” Todd cleared his throat. “Uh, a rock.”
Stick whistled. “Sick. Must be a story there, huh?”
There was. Two years ago, Knox had handcrafted a slingshot out of animal bones, string, and elastic from a waistband of shrunken shorts. He’d insisted to Todd that it worked — despite never testing it, unbeknownst to Todd — so Todd let him take it hunting. Knox decided to test it out on a squirrel and loaded an oddly sharp rock into the slingshot. Todd was standing directly behind him, but somehow ended up being the recipient of the blow. Knox tried to blame it all on his aim, but they both knew that he had just absentmindedly fired the slingshot backwards.
Todd didn’t bother telling the story, and Stick didn’t bother pushing for it either. Maybe some Capitol folk did have an idea that some things just weren’t theirs.
“You’re really young for a stylist,” Todd stated, pulling the curtain tighter around himself.
Stick shifted the weight on his feet. “So I’ve been told. I skipped a couple grades, landed a few internships, and here I am.” He unclasped his hands behind his back Now. Can we talk for a moment over here?”
Stick drew back a curtain, revealing a loose robe, and walked off without a word. Todd was still adorned solely in the curtain he’d ripped off that rack earlier, so the nonverbal offer was extremely enticing. He stood up off the table and practically snatched the robe off its hanger, allowing the curtain to cascade to his ankles. The material was smooth enough that the robe felt as though it was slipping itself onto his skin. Todd could hate the Capitol all he wanted, but he could at least admit that they knew their textures.
He tied the robe’s belt around his waist and trailed after where Stick had gone — a bland, sleek room only containing two couches, a table between them, and scattered pots holding colorful, exotic plants Todd couldn’t even name at gunpoint.
Stick promptly pressed a button on the table as Todd sat down. The table split and out of the crack emerged a platter of food Todd assumed to be his lunch. The platter held chicken covered in near crimson sauce, fruit sliced into intricate shapes, a bowl of soup they’d somehow stirred into a permanent swirl, and rolls that put 12’s bakery to shape. Forks—multiple of them for whatever reason—were laid carefully across the platter, reminding him not to be too barbaric in his consumption. Not to worry, though. Todd wasn’t looking to eat any of it.
Todd hated being at the Capitol. He’d only just gotten there, true, but he knew what it was going to do to him. He needed an outlet he knew he could control, and he was very aware that he was in charge of how much he could eat, so that was what he was going to do. Just stop eating.
It wasn’t just for the sake of disobedience either. With all the treatment he was receiving, he felt like he was being rewarded. Pampered. He didn’t deserve any of it more than the rest of District 12, so why should he receive it? It was only fair.
Todd leaned further back into the couch. The material was soft. Not as soft as whatever the robe was made of, but soft enough that he had to resist repeatedly running his hands over it. His eyes flitted over to Stick, who was still sitting across from him.
Stick had received a similar platter, though he’d substituted the chicken with a bowl of leaves slathered in something rich. He’d already started digging into his in the time Todd had used to merely take the platter in.
“You can eat, y’know,” Stick told him, forking one of the leaves into his mouth. “This isn’t for decoration or anything.”
With the food’s intricate designs, it wouldn’t surprise Todd if it was. The food at the train had been like that as well, which he’d also refused to eat — at least at first. Neil had also seemed to refuse alongside him in solidarity, but Todd caught him glancing sideways at their various tarts. He soon resigned out of guilt and both he and Neil scarfed down plates upon plates worth of Capitol gunk.
But Neil wasn’t here anymore, so Todd could starve himself as much as he wanted out of resentment. That should be easy — he was more than used to not having enough to eat. He could manage this … though it would’ve been much easier if the food wasn’t right in front of him, its smell wafting beneath his nostrils.
Who exactly would it affect if he didn’t eat what he was offered? It wasn’t like the kids at the Seam would even know about this. They wouldn’t really root for it either. He wouldn’t. He’d deem it wasteful, and there was no justification to turn down a meal. The Capitol would deem him ungrateful, probably, but they weren’t focused on him to care either. Not eating wouldn’t hurt the Capitol. If anything, if he ate, he was taking from them, right? Any food he ate wouldn’t touch any of their mouths — that had to count for something.
So, slowly but surely, Todd began to eat. He poked his fork into the chicken, raised it to his mouth, and bit. He almost fucking gasped, the idiot. Of course it tasted better than it looked, what did he expect? He promptly began to scarf down the rest of the plate, making sure not to meet Stick’s eyes.
“Should I start?” Stick asked patiently.
Todd blinked. Stick was waiting for him. A fancy, rich, classic Capitol rat wanted orders from Todd. It hadn’t even been a full day yet and this had all already been the strangest experience of his life.
Todd nodded, forcing the last of the bite he’d taken down his throat. “Yeah, go ahead.”
Stick leaned forward, propping his elbows onto his knees.“So, I’m here to tell you about your outfits for the opening ceremonies. I’ve visited Neil already, as I’ve already decided your costumes will be nearly identical in your representation of your District.”
“What are you thinking?” Todd forked another chunk out of the chicken.
“District 12 is basically like the forgotten District, right?” Stick pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “No one gives a shit about you guys because why would they? Like, who would choose mines over luxury, technology, or even just livestock?”
It took a beat for Todd to realize the question wasn’t rhetorical. “ … Nobody?”
“Nobody!” Stick parroted. “Because they think you’re boring, pathetic, and not worth the weight of their gaze!”
“What is — what point are you making here?” Todd asked, growing weary of the jabs at his home District. He didn’t like it over there himself, but c’mon.
“They don’t see you, Todd. Not you, or Neil, or anyone back at home. And that pisses me right the fuck off. And we’re going to change that.”
Todd was intrigued. He hated it, but he was. “How’ll we do that?”
Stick smirked. “You scared of fire, Todd?”
“Just the usual, please.”
John factually wasn’t at the Training Center’s specific bar all that often. Just 2 weeks out of the year, actually. He’d visit 2-3 times over the course of 14 days and be on his way back to his home District in no time. That was nothing. And yet, John recognized that bar like the back of his hand. The way the bottles were arranged against the wall by color. How the menu’s coloring got brighter every year. The same lyric-less songs that filled the heavy space through carefully concealed speakers (that John still couldn’t find.) John knew that bar better than most of the heartbeats in the Training Center. And he really, really, wished he hadn’t.
John’s drink was pushed in his direction. He nodded a thank you at the servant, who, as usual, couldn’t meet his eye. He stared into his drink, almost entranced. John didn’t like drinking. He normally flat out refused to touch the stuff, but the Games were a reasonable exception.
John raised the glass to his mouth, drank, and set it back down as soon as the liquid passed his lips. It was silly how strange he was with alcohol since — well. The way he consumed it, which was already rare, you’d think he was scared of it. Maybe he was, John didn’t know. What he did know was that the second the familiar beverage touched his tongue, he became 16 again. 16 and mourning 22 strangers. 17 and waiting for the dreams to stop. 18 and wondering when that feeling would end. 19 and wanting to end himself altogether. John spent years of his life at the bottom of the bottle, he lived them through all over again every time he touched one.
The previous game’s Victor sat hunched over at the counter, raising his hand for another glass. Seconds later and it was in front of him. He shot a wink at the servant who pushed it towards him before guzzling it down.
John blinked. “Charlie?”
Charlie perked up behind the glass. He set it down against the counter with a thunk. “Oh, it’s the Captain! Fancy seeing you here, huh?”
The Captain. John felt his lips curve upward at the familiar nickname, but focused back on Charlie. His shoulders were curled forward, bearing an invisible weight John knew all too well.
John focused on Charlie’s cup, the honey-colored liquid sloshing against the glass. “Are you allowed to take that, son?”
Charlie shrugged, rocking back and forth on the barstool. “Dunno. But they’re letting me, so…”
John kissed his teeth and nodded. The Capitol’s laws forbid teenagers from drinking. Every year John prayed that Victors would apply only to be met with disappointment, much like now. “Didn’t take you for a drinker.”
“Well, it comes with the job, you know?” Charlie raised the glass back up to his lips and took another generous gulp.
Oh, John knew. He wasn’t the only one to have fallen into that hole— almost every single Victor was still stuck down there to that day. Maintaining sobriety after winning was rare, as well as the possibility they’d ever claw their way back to it. John didn’t even remember how he’d managed to himself.
“Yeah … Didn’t expect to be back here so soon,” Charlie continued. “My prep team told me they can’t get enough of me here. I guess I should be flattered. I would’ve been, but … ”
But he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t. Being enjoyed by the Capitol was like a death sentence. They doted on their idols with the love of a parasite, just sucking and sucking on until there was nothing left. But alas, that was how Charlie had survived his games. Winks, witty comments, and a blown kiss every now and then were what got him out of that arena. It was through players like him that reminded John that charm wasn’t a replacement for fighting, but a technique. It had saved Charlie, and if John taught it right, it could save Neil and Todd. Even if it bought them a lifetime of being seen as Capitol’s marionettes, it bought them a lifetime nonetheless.
“So. First year. How are you feeling?” Not the smartest question. John knew that, but Charlie couldn’t drink while talking.
“If you’ve seen my tributes, you know exactly how I’m feeling.”
John looked over the other Districts’ tributes to scope out Neil and Todd’s competition. District 10 had reaped 2 twelve year olds—the youngest age possible to compete—as their representatives to fight. Charlie was District 1, but they didn’t have any Victors capable of mentoring due to age, so he was chosen to take them in.
“Not the best — ?”
“Shitty. Really fucking shitty,” Charlie cut in. He finished off the last of his cup. A servant immediately scampered over to fill it back up.
“Have you met them yet?”
Charlie nodded at the servant. “F’Course I have. They’re good kids! Great, even.” he raised the glass back to his lips and took another hearty swig. “But they’re dead. They know it. You know it. Our snobby fucking advisor knows it. They don’t have a chance out there and — and they’re twins!”
“First time that’s ever happened, I’ve heard.” John didn’t like how used he got to making the best out of situations like this.
“Of course it is! It’s already rare to get reaped at their age, but to be reaped with your own sibling is just … fucking unbelievable! But it just means that one of them is going to lose the other at some point. They can stick together, but I’m sure they won’t die together. That’s too easy. One of them is going to need to live without the other, whether it be for days, hours, or just minutes and it’ll be devastating. But these people are going to eat it up. Like it’s just good television. Like we’re not, like they’re not even fucking real —” Charlie huffed and sucked the last drop out of his glass. “Yeah. How are you feeling … ?”
John blinked. How was he feeling? He’d always thought that whoever he’d been assigned had a possibility of winning. Even the smallest of the small had a chance in his eyes. It was just him who had to tell them how to do it. But whether they listened or not, it was always his fault when they lost, which they had.
John had never taken home a winner 16 games he’d been a mentor and they’d all died one after each other. Every single time. And each of those times, he’d watched. He owed it to them, it was factually his fault. There was always something he could’ve gone, something else he could’ve told them to help. One slip of the mind could make all the difference and it had. So many times. 16 years, 32 tributes. Keating had killed enough kids to fill an arena and some left over. And there was nothing he could do to ever make up for that.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Keating confessed. “But not bad, I don’t think.”
“Yeah? Did you finally luck out this year? I heard you scored a legacy.”
“Yes. Todd. He’s strange.”
“How so?”
“He’s … I can’t quite place it. But he’s quiet.”
Charlie shrugged. “Give him a while and he’ll be fine.”
“No, not that kind of quiet. It’s not entirely timid or stoic, just … still, maybe. He won’t even address me. Not Neil, not Chris, anyone beyond a nod or unintelligible mumble. Neil, on the other hand, insists on addressing me as ‘sir’ every time he talks to me.”
“And they say we don’t have manners.”
John shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s manners. Neil’s a little strange, too. He seems very … scared.”
“Well, no shit.”
“Not of that, of me. But he still trusts me? It’s a mystery.”
“You think they’ve got a shot?”
“Yes,” John finally decided. “Yes, I do.”
“I would root for you, but — ”
“That would mean you lose,” John agreed, nodding.
“Right on,” Charlie stared into his glass. “Wish they all didn’t have to die.”
John took a swig out of his own. “They don’t.”
“I look like a baby angel,” Todd declared solemnly.
Stick snorted. “You know that’s not what you are.”
Todd was adorned in a white, floppy robe that draped over his shoulder apparently called a “Toga.” A silver band coiled around his waist over the toga, which stopped on his thighs to show long, strappy sandals then went up to his knees— also silver. Some kind of shiny dust was applied near his eyelids and cheekbones, as well as some gunk they smeared over various scratches and marks on his body. Two silver bands chilled his wrists, and a surprisingly light crown sat on his head — almost identical to the pin he’d bought from the Hob.
Todd already felt weird in that getup, but there was one glaring factor he would’ve given anything to shake off: his newfound wings. They protruded from his and limply folded out to the sides. He felt them quiver against his back whenever he moved, which he hated. He couldn’t take them off — not even for a second — because they were attached to something beneath his toga via magnets. Todd hated that more. He never thought he’d ever feel like his back was suffocating, but nothing was ever going as he’d predicted anymore.
“I look like one,” Todd countered.
“But you’re not.” Stick plucked another stray feather out of Todd’s wings. It cascaded gracefully onto the floor alongside its fallen siblings.
“Well, you gave me wings, Stick.”
“They’re not angel wings.”
“What am I, then?” Todd hoped desperately that it wasn’t a bird.
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s complicated,” Todd parroted. He shifted himself over to face his wings in the mirror. “What does any of this have to do with District 12, anyway?”
“Are you familiar with any Greek myths, Todd?”
“No.” Most of Todd’s education was based on coal. He barely knew anything about any other country beyond their names, which frustrated him beyond measure. Did he know anything about the planet he lived on besides the fraction he’d happened to land on? Hell no. Did he know how to dig up a lumpy rock? Why, of course!
Stick pushed his glasses up his nose. “There’s this tale of a boy named Icarus. He and his father are stranded on an island with no ways to escape. Eventually, his father crafts these special wings out of wax so they can fly away. But unfortunately, Icarus flew too close to the sun. His wings melted and he plummeted straight into the sea.”
Todd’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are we supposed to be Icarus?”
“No, no. The wings serve as more of reference. If anything, you guys are the sun.”
“How does this relate to District 12?” Todd asked again.
“You guys are known for the coal you mine, but what everyone seems to forget is what it’s used for. Fire. You’re the source and beholder of all their flames. They can take all the fire they want, but you keep on blazing. And they should know not to get too close or they’ll get burnt.”
Todd blinked. Stick had said before that he was going to make District 12 seen, but Todd hadn’t considered that he’d succeed until then. “How’d you come up with that?”
“Right, yeah…” Stick reached into his pocket and pulled out Todd’s pin. “I found this in your pocket from the train. This kind of crown originated in Greece way back when.”
Todd plucked it out of Stick’s palm. “…Do you want me to wear it?”
Stick chuckled. “Pair a gold pin? With silver accents? Who do you think I am?”
Todd didn’t answer. There wasn’t a concrete answer to that, so it must’ve been rhetorical.
Neil was brought to him not too long later. His costume was nearly identical to Todd’s, but all silver accents were replaced with gold. He’d been fussed over as well, Todd could tell by his newly smooth skin and freshly cropped hair. He’d looked good — by definition, at least. But something didn’t quite resonate with Todd.
There had always been a small dot near one of the corners of Neil’s mouth. Todd had registered it over the years through passing exchanges in the Hob — just something he’d happened to pick up. It was just a small mark, something Todd would’ve normally missed, but it had engraved itself into his mental image of Neil. And now it was gone, covered by the same skin-colored gunk smeared over Todd’s face. The Capitol considered it a flaw and eradicated it. Just like they did people. Todd found himself getting more worked up about it than what could even be considered as embarrassing.
Stick led them to the elevator, which Todd liked much more than he’d liked to admit. It zipped up and down faster than anything Todd had ever seen. It was also made entirely of glass besides the doors, so he could watch the floor grow and shrink beneath his feet. He’d almost asked to go on again the first time he’d rode it, but ultimately decided it would make him seem childish.
At the bottom level, Todd and Neil were loaded onto their chariot like cattle and made to wait. Stick had given Todd what was called a remote consisting of one small button at the center.
“Push it when you’re ready,” he’d said.
“Ready for what?” Todd had asked — a perfectly normal question in his own opinion. Stick didn’t answer, because of course he didn’t.
He still hadn’t elaborated on the “fire” he’d been going on about earlier because why would he? It wasn’t like they’d be going in front of the whole country in minutes.
“What do you think it does?”
Todd’s head snapped back up at the sudden acknowledgement. Neil looked back at him expectedly, eyes flicking down to the remote.
“Oh — this?” Todd ran his fingers along the side of the remote. “No idea. S’probably got something to do with that fire Stick was talking about. Did he tell you about that?”
Neil cringed. “Yeah, but I’ve been praying he meant it in a metaphorical sense.”
*Blazing. Flame. Burnt.* Stick’s past words echoed clearly into Todd’s mind, and he found himself praying too.
“But just in case, I’ll rip off your wings if you rip off mine,” Neil added with a nervous grin
“Same to you,” he mumbled back, attempting to return Neil’s beam.
He spotted the concealed dot on Neil’s chin again and frowned. Neil’s smile flicked as he eyed Todd’s expression. “You okay there?”
“Did you eat something on the way here?” Todd asked.
Please say yes, Todd silently pleaded.
“Uh, yeah. This lady had this tray of little tarts shaped like flowers. I just couldn’t resist, y’know?” Neil attempted to joke. “Why?”
“You got a little … ” Todd pointed at the spot on Neil’s face where the dot normally was. Neil’s eyes widened as his hand immediately flew up to his face.
“Shit, really?” he wiped at his chin, attempting to rid himself of the nonexistent frosting. “Is it gone?”
The gunk still stood stubbornly over the dot. Todd shook his head. “No.”
Neil wiped harder. The dot remained hidden. “Now?”
“Just — I’ve got it.”
Todd carefully took Neil’s jaw and tilted it towards him.
Neil’s eyes widened at the sudden contact. “Oh—? Okay.”
Todd felt Neil’s breath hitch against his face and was struck by a pang of hurt. He’s scared of me. Todd had been foolish enough to forget his reputation as a hunter around District 12. Just walking down the Seam was enough to intimidate passing children, he didn’t consider that he’d spooked people his age as well.
Still, Todd—carefully, but fimly—swiped the gunk off of Neil’s chin. The familiar dot was staring at him once again, much to his satisfaction. He drew his hands from Neil’s face and back to his sides.
“Thanks…” said Neil, his voice barely over a whisper.
Todd nodded. “No problem.”
The opening music boomed throughout the stables and Todd felt himself freeze. The realization hit Neil as well, who straightened as if magically activated. It’s starting.
The comically large gates opened before them, releasing District 1’s chariot into the crowd. Todd was in the very back of the line, but he could still see the glitter plastered over their bodies. Cheers soared from the crowd at the mere sight. They were the beautiful District, as well as the richest, so they were the favorites.
District 2 was next, eliciting their own slightly less enthusiastic but still loud hollers. The cheers got progressively lower with every District until Neil and Todd began approaching the gate. Todd made one last prayer to a nonexistent power not to burn before the doors opened and he was faced with the city.
Todd knew whatever audience he’d be confronted with would be large, but he still had to restrain himself from gaping at fucking sea of viewers before him.
The Capitol was never really a physical manifestation to Todd. He’d known it was made up of people, but he’d always just seen it as some kind of evil invisible presence, sort of like an illness. Seeing it for himself gave him the closure that he’d always thought he needed. To realize that at the end of the day, the Capitol was just people — which it was. That point still stood. But it was sure a whole fucking lot of people.
Todd anxiously clenched his fists, completely forgetting the remote in his palm. The crowd’s roars suddenly grew, almost surpassing the music in sound. Confused, he turned around, expecting to see another secret, extremely popular District he was unaware of. Instead, he was met with his wings, now outstretched and flaming before his very eyes.
Todd gasped, waiting for the burns to hit. Instead, he was overwhelmed with a warm, gentle sensation lapping off his back. Relief flooded his system as he and Neil continued to glide down the street, surrounded by boisterous hordes upon hordes of viewers.
He looked back over at Neil, who already had the crowd wrapped around his finger. Waving graciously, blowing kisses — he even caught one of the roses that were being relentlessly pelted in their direction. It was then when Todd was reminded of what Keating has said just hours ago:
“Sometimes the way out of a lion’s den isn’t killing the lions, but wooing the keepers.”
Before Todd could comprehend what he was doing, he grabbed onto Neil’s free hand and lifted it into the air, even raising his chin to exude confidence. The effect was immediate. Whoops and praises of approval loaded into Todd’s ears from all over the audience. Grinning, Todd glanced over at Neil, whose eyes are still glued to the crowd. Todd followed suit and turned over to the stands at his side, waving like he’d owned the place.
Todd only let go of Neil’s hand when the chariots circled the loop before President Nolan’s mansion. He massaged his own, relieving the stiffness between his knuckles. Neil, however, just looked at his palm as if bewitched, much to Todd’s confusion.
Even after their chariot stopped at the end of the semicircle, all eyes were still glued onto him and Neil from all ends. However, one pair stuck out from the rest: A tribute from District 1 was turned towards them across the loop, his glare as unmistakable as the glitter on his skin.
“They don’t see you, Todd. And we’re going to change that,” Stick had promised.
Todd was beginning to doubt that was a good thing.
Notes:
hi again!
1. i’m going to be completely honest. i just made stick the stylist because he serves face 24/7.
2. ANDERPERRY CRUMBS!! neil joining into todd’s hunger strike to impress him is so funny to me
todd: great, he must hate the system as much as i do!
neil (visibly starving): must… impress… fine shyt…
the chariot inner monologue:
todd: his breath hitched when i touched him, he must be scared of me
neil: HE TOUCHED ME OMFG BE COOL BE COOL BE COOL
they’re going to be so dumb, be prepared.
3. CHARLIE!!!!! i was actually going to introduce him in the later chapters but couldn’t resist. i love him ☹️❤️ he’s gonna be going through it though
4. keating! we’re going to be exploring more of his backstory later, but just note that he said he mourned 22 strangers and not 23. that’s important.
5. todd. if you can’t tell, he’s pissed af rn. and he has a right to be, ofc, but that’s sort of going to fade into the background eventually so we can see more of his personality. but rn, he’s pissed.
so yeah, that’s all i have to say for now! thank you for any comments!
Chapter 4: Training
Summary:
Neil and Todd begin training. (kinda self explanatory from the title)
Notes:
hi :)
IM SOOOOO SORRY THUS TOOK SO LING!!!! i just went through a break up before i got to chance to write and suddenly i couldn’t really put up with anything romantic, including writing. i’ve recovered, but still, i’m really sorry. i’m not trying to make you guys wait so long in between. chapter 5 WILL come out in 1-2 weeks, i owe it to you guys
ALSO i was looking in ao3 to see if there were any other dps x hunger games fanfics. turns out there is another which also has mentor keating + past tribute jeffrey. i’d just like to say rn that i did NOT copy tgat author and i did not know of it until recently!!
so yeah thats it enjoy!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first thing Todd did after he got off the chariot was take off his wings. Wait—technically, no, it wasn’t. The first thing Todd did was attempt to take off the wings on his own before very reluctantly asking Neil to, who failed. Then they were both found by Keating, who was surrounded by who he said were sponsors. They all talked for 10 minutes—which Todd could’ve very well used for taking off those wings—before finally retreating to the Training Center.
When they’d arrived at their penthouse, they both immediately moved to change. Stick was there to detach the wings, so Todd’s back could finally breathe again. They were then given satin green pajama sets that they changed into together before finally sitting down to eat.
So really, taking off the wings was the fifth thing he did. But he really wished it was the first.
Something Todd had learned was that he could form opinions on food now. He used to just inhale whatever was in front of him, but now he could really eat, he could finally develop preferences. His current focus was texture. So far, he’d decided he didn’t like anything with seeds or lumps. That was why he was currently sitting, expertly plucking seeds out of a reddish-pink cube he’d been given to eat and setting them into a pile on his napkin. Its juice had found its way beneath his sanded slivers of fingernails — a sensation he did not enjoy — but he kept going. He wasn’t going to give up his first, and most certainly only, chance of enjoying food how he liked.
Todd finally managed to rid the cube of all the seeds. He crumpled the napkin around them to avoid the mess. His eyes darted around the dining area for the trash can. Instead, he found that Keating was watching him, his own fork wedged in the stuff.
“It’s a watermelon,” said Keating suddenly, as if he could read Todd’s mind. “The pink stuff.”
Chris rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so condescending, John. I’m sure they both know what a watermelon is.”
Todd’s eyes flicked over to Neil, whom he could tell had never touched one either. They both looked down, and Todd stuck his fork into the watermelon.
Keating carefully set his fork down and dabbed the napkin at his lips. “Now. I know you’re both exhausted, and rightfully so. Today was huge.” He folded the napkin onto the table. “And successful,” he added.
Chris softly clapped towards the both of them. Todd looked straight down, but he caught Neil offering her a polite closed smile.
“But we need to start talking about training. I’ve talked about the public’s perception a great deal, but this is also a part of this… process you should not neglect.” Keating folded his hands on the table. “Now what can you both do?”
“I hunt,” Todd admitted.
Keating focused on him. “What do you use?”
“Knives.”
“Are you any good?”
Todd shrugged. He didn’t know what good looked like in terms of killing. “I’m experienced.”
“Bullshit,” Neil cut in. Todd’s head snapped up towards him.
“You’re a great hunter,” Neil insisted. “My dad’s been buying his catches for years. He always gets them right
between the eyes, it’s crazy.”
Todd looked down.
Keating shifted towards Neil. “What about you?”
“Me? Oh, I don’t really do anything,” Neil said honestly — or at least, so he thought.
Todd’s eyebrows furrowed. “That’s not true.”
Neil perked up at Todd’s voice, clearly shocked at his interjection. Todd couldn’t blame him. Todd never really did a lot of talking, not since… well. Ever.
“Todd, I stand behind a table all day, I’m not really an athlete.”
“You’re strong,” Todd argued, because he factually was. “You have to move your whole inventory in and out of the Hob like every day, right?”
“Yeah, but that’s just boxes and shelves.”
“You’re probably smart, too. You’re really quick with prices.”
Neil snorted. “What, am I gonna fight the Careers off with long division?”
Keating piped up this time. “Neil, you need to—”
“Guys, I’m not making it out of there alive, okay?!” Neil exploded. “There’s no way.”
Chris’ lips parted in shock at the sudden change of tone. Keating softly exhaled through his nose.
“Neil.”
“It’s fine. It’s not anyone’s fault. Just— don’t try to get my hopes up,” Neil said earnestly. “Please. It’s not going to help anything, you’re just going to waste your time.”
Without another word, Neil pushed himself out of his chair, picked up his plate, and left. Stick raised his eyebrows and sipped from his glass.
Keating closed his eyes and sat still before speaking again. “So. When you get to training, don’t touch the knives—”
Todd scrunched his forehead. “Wait, wait, what about Neil? We can’t just let him—” He said, motioning to the direction Neil had left in. Neil was competition, sure, but Todd wasn’t going to let him go into the game blind. Whatever Todd heard from Keating, Neil should hear too. It was only fair.
“I’ll take care of it later, I promise,” Keating reassured him. “Now did you hear what I said? Don’t touch the knives.”
“What?!” Todd exclaimed, gawking. He surely couldn’t be hearing that right. There was no way Keating was forbidding him from using his one advantage in this game.
“I know, I know. But listen, you can’t seem like a threat. Not to these people. That’s who they go for first. They clean out the competition and knock down the weaker links one by one until they win. That’s the way it’s always been and it works.” Keating explained. “For them, at least.”
Todd exhaled sharply through his nose. “If I can’t use the knives, what can I do?”
“Focus on the survival aspect,” Keating told him pointedly. “How to make a fire, where to find water. You already know how to hunt, so that’ll save a decent amount of time. Experiment with weapons if you please. Look for allies.”
Todd was not going to do that. “That’s — I’ll stick to fires.”
Keating looked him directly in the eye. “Todd. People rarely win the games alone. You’re going to need some kind of ally, whether you’d like one or not. Don’t aim for the Careers. Look for someone strong, but forgettable. Who you can’t quite trust, but you know can rely on you enough to keep you.”
“And the weapons?” Todd asked, desperately trying to change the subject.
Todd was nowhere near social. For the past four years, his interactions had been limited to primarily Knox, his parents, and to buyers/sellers at the Hob. Besides Knox, he never spoke to anyone unless he had to. It didn’t feel necessary. He was managing on his own, why bring anyone else into the mix? Plus, it was just more mouths to feed anyway.
“Swords and spears,” he tapped the table for emphasis. “No arrows or crossbows, they take too long to get right and you simply cannot afford to waste any time.”
“Can I really just stick with knives?” Todd almost pleaded. “I’ll get more allies that way, like you want.”
“This isn’t about what I want. This is about your survival, Todd.”
Todd could’ve scoffed, had he been daring. But unfortunately, he wasn’t, so he just sat in his chair, looking mildly annoyed. “My odds of survival are 24 to 1. I really doubt playing myself up as weak is going to help them.”
“Exactly. The odds aren’t in anyone’s favor, you need all the help you can get here, and I know what I’m talking about, son.”
“Don’t call me that.” The words were out of Todd’s mouth before he could recognize them as potentially hurtful. But no one called him that, not even his actual parents, and no one should be looking to start.
Keating exhaled “Todd,” he corrected. “I know it’s early, but you’re going to need to learn how to trust me. It’s in your best interest. You don’t have to be nice about it, but take what I have to say seriously. That’s all I ask.”
Todd’s mouth tightened into a thin line.
“Okay.”
Keating nodded. “Okay,” he confirmed softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He excused himself and followed Neil’s footsteps up into the loft. Todd, Chris, and Stick sat in silence before Chris suddenly gasped.
“Oh, I forgot! I get to show you your room!” she told Todd. “C’mon!”
Chris pushed herself out of her chair and left the kitchen. Todd reluctantly stood up and trailed after her through the penthouse and up the stairs. Chris stopped at the end of the hall and opened a door.
“After you!”
Todd entered and couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips at the size. Not just of the room, but the bed, window, even the fake plants in the corners were larger than the puny pots at 12. He could probably fit his whole kitchen on the rug beneath the bed alone.
“The basics, of course. Your bed, lamp, table,” Chris motioned to the furniture as she approached the nightstand, which held three of the remotes Stick told Todd about.
“But this…” Chris pulled the curtain away from the floor length windows, slid her hand down the black rectangle and the windows glass revealed itself as a screen. It showed Todd a very vivid image of the bustling streets of Capitol during the day. “Ta da! You just slide it up and down and it shows you wherever.”
She switched it back off and set it back next to the other remote. “There’s no alarm, but you’ll still get woken up on time, don’t worry. Here’s your closet! It seems kinda smaller than mine, do you want me to talk to someone about it?”
Todd blinked, still reeling from the windows. “Oh. No.”
“Ok, no worries!” Chris pointed over to the door across from the window. “Here’s your bathroom, it’s normal there. Here’s your other remote, you use this for food.”
“What do you mean?”
“So.” Chris picked a slip of paper off the bed’s nightstand. “Right here is the menu, and you press the number of the food you want and it appears.”
She handed it over to Todd, who studied it carefully. It was a list of food he’d never heard of, numbered all the way to 100. “Does someone bring it up?”
“Oh, no, that would take ages. Watch.” She grabbed the smaller remote off the nightstand and pressed 3. The table in front of Todd’s bed immediately generated a platter on its surface, the same way the table gave him the chicken he’d eaten with Stick earlier.
She placed it back onto the nightstand. “Do with all of that what you please. Have a good rest, you deserve it! I’ll see you in the morning!”
With that, she left Todd alone to finally gather his thoughts. He slumped down onto the bed, absolutely exhausted. He ran his fingers over the satin sheets, like he’d done just hours ago at the Justice Center.
The Justice Center. God, was that really today? He could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen his family in ages. But he’d just been hunting with Knox that morning, back when his biggest problem was a dead fox.
Knox. Todd missed him so much already. He wondered if Knox’s day had been as long as his. What he would say to Todd eating like Capitol folk, being bathed by a whole team of people, or literally setting on fire in front of the whole country— what Knox would say to anything. Todd would settle for just a word at that point. That was how desperate he was. He realized Knox would probably mock him for that, which just made him miss him more.
After he fully processed his situation, he finally pulled the covers over his legs and up to his chin. He laid for a while, unmoving, waiting for the sleep he craved to finally hit. Nothing. He adjusted his position. Still nothing. Fluffed the pillows. Not a wink.
Todd then took the remote off the nightstand and slid his finger down its screen. He swiped until a forest was projected onto the windows, plopped the remote onto the nightstand, and laid back down. Seconds later, he was out cold.
“I win!”
A body landed at Todd’s feet as soon as he entered the training center, clad in the same skintight jumpsuit. Their vanquisher giddily stood ahead of him on the fighting mats.
Neil moved from his spot next to Todd to help the tribute up. He batted Neil’s hands away, refused to meet his eye, and forced himself back upright on his bandaged knuckles.
Dick, Todd couldn’t help but think of the tribute. Neil, thankfully, didn’t seem all that fazed. He just let out a low whistle as the tribute walked back over to his adversary and stuck his hands into the jumpsuit’s pockets.
Neil turned over to Todd expectantly. “So. Where are we headed first?”
Todd blinked, shocked. “We?” he repeated.
Neil nodded. “Mr. Keating told me we were training together. Said if we look like an alliance, other tributes would want to work with us more. He didn’t tell you?”
Todd mentally cursed. Of course Keating hadn’t told him—he knew he would’ve refused. “No.”
“Hm,” Neil hummed. He quickly brushed it off. “Personally, I was thinking we could head over to survival first. The stations look pretty clear and it seems like something people normally brush aside, so we’d have an advantage if we go into the Games knowing things no one else thought to learn, you know? I kind of know how to start a fire, I tried learning for winter. I haven’t quite got the hang of it yet, but I hope it’s still something—“
Neil was loud. Todd learned that very well in the duration of the hours he spent with him. Not particularly in volume, but in presence— if that made sense. He took up space— not literally, especially not with 12’s diet— and definitely in the persistence of noise emitting from him.
Neil talked the whole duration of their first day in training. The subjects spanned widely. At the fire station, he talked about fishing (which he said he never actually did, but knew enough to talk about it long enough for the fire Todd made to blow out). At camouflage, he talked about school, specifically drama between two kids Todd did not know. Edible plants, he actually talked about edible plants— but not a kind Todd would find in the forest, Neil said.
“You have to bake it,” he had told him. “It goes for a lot of money, I heard about it from these guys at school.”
Confusing, but Todd didn’t push any further.
Neil and Todd eventually made it towards the weapons stations. Todd didn’t need to try anything out, so he just watched Neil fiddle with various swords and hatchets.
Todd was staring over at the knives station, watching the girl from District 1 pelt shot after shot into the targets. He couldn’t help but think about how he should be there alongside her.
Neil followed his gaze over to the knives. “Y’know, I don’t really like knives. No offense, cus I know that’s kind of your thing.”
I don’t like them either, Todd thought. But Neil was right, they’d become inseparable. He never left without his satchel slung across his shoulder, palm resting on the buckle. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t find it in himself to be without him. Maybe he was just used to having them with him.
“You’re going to have to get over stuff like that in the next few days,” Todd told him bluntly.
“I know that, I just mean in terms of weapons, I find them a little less tolerable. They just feel… brutal.”
Todd’s eyebrows furrowed. Was he serious? What weapons weren’t brutal?
“Okay, then, what do you prefer? Spears? Machetes, crossbows…” Todd posed, resisting the urge to lean against the weapons stand. He could only stand up for so long. Some of the other tributes were getting tired as well, sitting slouched over on the mats.
“Guns?” Todd added jokingly.
Neil cringed. “Definitely not guns. I hate those things.”
“Why?” Todd asked.
“With knives, they kill, right?”
Duh, Todd could practically hear Knox say.
“But they’re more personal about it, you know? You have to be in a closer proximity to stab someone, so it feels, like, personal. But with guns, they’re so much more long range. If you were standing in the middle of a crowd with enough ammo, you could shoot everyone without even moving. It’s thoughtless, cold. Like, if you’re gonna kill me, just be up front about it, right?” Neil paused. “…Does that make sense?”
It made a lot of sense. Todd knew that better than anyone. “You can use long range knives, too.”
“I know. But still that takes a lot more precision than just pulling a trigger, so it’s still more… intimate.”
Todd kissed his teeth. “Didn’t know killing could be intimate.”
“Alright, alright, not *that* kind of intimate.” Neil rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on the sword.
“Oh?” Todd raised his eyebrows. “What kind are you talking about?”
“Not what you’re thinking.”
“And what’s that?”
“Like, the… the…” Neil’s hands extended forward for a moment, as if he was about to pantomime an example of what Todd “meant.” They paused and he let them fall back onto his sides. “I’m not saying it.”
Todd let a huff of laughter escape his lips. Neil shook his head. “I’m not saying it because I know you want me to say it.”
Todd shrugged innocently. “What? I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re not wrong there, you haven’t said anything, like, this whole time.”
“So? I’ve been focused, I think that’s justified.”
“I’ve been focused, too!” Neil defended.
Todd motioned towards the knife station. “You literally just went on a whole tangent about the intimacy of knives.”
“I-yeah, this is how I focus!”
“What, talking?”
“Yeah, sometimes! Keeps one part of my brain busy so the other can’t get distracted.”
“Distracted by what?”
Neil stopped, lips parted. “Well—“
He was cut off by the sudden clatter of swords crashing onto the floor. They both twisted to see that District 1’s tribute— Chet— had shoved Charlie Dalton into one of the weapon stands.
Todd had seen Charlie leading his two tributes around since the session started. They’d followed him like ducks, listening closely as Charlie intently explained the significance of each station. They were both now sitting cross legged in the fire making station’s fake forest
Charlie quickly recovered, climbing back onto his feet. “The hell?!” he exclaimed as he approached Chet. Chet grabbed him by the blazer and pinned him up against the wall.
“Say it again!” he yelled, “Say that again, you fucking traitor!”
Todd’s eyes darted over to the guards, who refused to budge. He realized they didn’t have to, they were probably only there to prevent tribute-on-tribute violence.
They didn’t need to intervene anyway, because before Todd could blink, Neil had tossed his sword aside and rushed over to Chet.
“Hey… Hey!” Neil grasped onto Chet’s arm. “Get your hands off of him!”
He yanked Chet off of Charlie, sending him teetering into a table. Chet knocked everything off the table before regaining his balance, creating an even larger racket.
Chet’s jaw tightened as he focused on Neil. “You little fucking—“
Before he could even finish his own sentence, he swung his fist across Neil’s face. Neil stumbled backwards into Charlie, who thankfully caught him. Chet pulled his fist backwards, preparing to swing again, before the guards finally intervened.
“Quit it, both of you!” they barked. “Get back to training!”
Chet stomped to the combat station like a petulant child. Neil turned to Charlie, who was already making a beeline over to his tributes over at the fire station.
“…Are you okay?” Todd asked Neil as he made his way over to him. A stupid question, really.
“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Neil grazed his hand against his cheekbone, where he’d been struck. “Jeez, I don’t know what I was expecting, but that guy can really throw a punch.”
Todd took Neil’s chin and tilted it sideways, examining the already forming bruise on his cheekbone. “Yeah, it definitely looks like it.”
“I, uh…” Neil waited for Todd to take his hand off his face. “I think we should head back over to survival for a while.”
“Good call.”
And there they stood until the end of their session.
“You assaulted another tribute?”
Neil held up his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t really use assault, per se, but… kind of, yeah. Is that bad?”
Keating pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Neil. Yes, it is. The last thing you want right now is to be making enemies, especially with anyone who was raised specifically to kill. I’m sorry, Neil, but this is a very bad spot to be in.”
“Not really,” Todd muttered.
Chris, Stick, Keating, and Neil all turned to him. Keating leaned forward, beckoning Todd to continue.
“Chet’s from District One, he’s a trained killer, like you said. The second he volunteered, he was planning on the deaths of everyone else in the arena, including Neil,” Todd explained. “Nothing’s really changed. Other tributes are just now aware that Neil’s not some weak link. That he’s willing to fight. So if anything, it kind of helped him out.”
“I like that!” Chris smiled. “We could use more of that kind of thinking, right?”
“True, but now he’s probably going to be after me specifically!” Neil whined.
Todd shook his head, upholding his argument. “I really don’t think it’s going to make a difference to who he kills in the Games as long as he’s killing. He’s just going to be thinking about getting home, he’ll probably forget this by the time the interviews roll around.”
Stick raised a finger and directed it at Todd. “You’ve actually got a point there.”
“Actually”?
“It doesn’t make much of a difference,” Stick agreed. “They just kill whoever’s in front of them.”
“It’s how they’re conditioned, let’s remember that,” Keating added unwaveringly.
“Well— what do I do if Todd’s wrong and he starts targeting me?”
“Hide,” Keating stated simply.
Neil raised his eyebrows. “Hide?” he parroted. “That’s it?”
“Unless you form any alliances— ” he looked at Todd pointedly— “hiding is what you’ll be doing 99 percent of your time in the arena.”
“That’s gotta be anticlimactic,” Neil observed.
“They give us a lot of commercial breaks,” Stick informed him.
Todd didn’t get any commercial breaks. No one in the Districts did. The Capitol knew better than to waste their money there, what were the Districts gonna do? Buy the products? Maybe they could’ve— if they weren’t buying pesky things like food or clothes.
“Now just try to lay low. That goes for both of you. Stick to learning essentials, stay away from the knives, and don’t instigate anything else.”
“I wasn’t instigating anything,” Neil argued. “I just couldn’t let him beat up that guy.”
“The guards would’ve taken him off for you. They’re very strict about conflicts between tributes.”
Neil shook his head. “No, no, no. The guy wasn’t a tribute, he was a mentor.”
Keating closed his mouth. “Really?”
“Yeah. Charlie? From last year.”
“Oh.” Keating studied his hands. “Well, then. While I don’t approve of what you did, I can say that was noble of you. Standing up for others is always something I can get behind.”
Neil’s mouth slowly tugged into a faint smile. “Thanks, sir.”
“It’s John,” Keating corrected softly.
Neil nodded. “John,” he repeated. “Right.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a record on our hands! In just a few minutes, District 12’s Jeffrey Anderson will—“
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Todd blinked himself awake. It wasn’t morning already, was it?
He sat up off his bed, scanning over his surroundings. The screen was still set as the forest, but the absence of light peaking over the edges told Todd the sun was yet to rise.
Todd swung his legs over the side of his bed and slipped on the velvet sandals he’d been provided. He groggily staggered over to his door, latched onto the knob, and twisted it, revealing Neil.
“Hey.”
Todd warily eyed him up and down. “…Hey.”
Neil’s thumb jutted out from his fost and pointed backwards. “Can I, uh, show you something?”
No, One part of Todd answered. I don’t know you, you don’t know me, it’s the middle of the night, and we’ll be trying to kill each other in a week so I really shouldn’t want to be with you anywhere, especially not alone!
Screw it, I’m bored, let’s do it, said the other.
“Sure. Yeah.”
Neil seemed to have gotten really comfortable with Todd in the mere day and a half that they’d known each other. Todd couldn’t understand why. He hadn’t really done or said anything. He happened to be present while Neil jabbered on about whatever he’d wanted.
Neil led him out of the penthouse and to the elevator (to Todd’s shameful excitement. He really did like that elevator).
“I just thought you’d want to see this,” Neil explained as the doors broke apart in front of them.
See what? He was then hit with the familiar feeling of fresh air, but a sight he’d never dreamed of.
The Capitol was beautiful. Todd knew that, it was pretty common knowledge. But nothing could prepare him for how it looked at night. He hadn’t seen it from his window, as he used it primarily to display the forest, but it wouldn’t have been the same through the Capitol’s artificially enhancing glass.
The castles and buildings stood before him in all their glory, set aglow by countless lights climbing up their walls through windows. It reminded Todd very vividly of the times he caught fireflies with Jeffrey as a child. The contrast of the building’s lights turned the black if the sky into a wide sea of dark blue, only interrupted by stars.
Stars. Part of Todd wanted to spend the night simply counting them. They spilled across the sky in silver freckles, Todd even heard that people used to say they connected in invisible shapes.
Night was a time Todd didn’t normally see. Back at home, he went down at the same time as the sun. For a moment, he’d considered if he’d missed out before it hit where he was. Nothing from the Districts could amount to the Capitol. As unfair as that was, it was a fact. Their food was better. Their clothes were better. Heck, even their air had a fresher quality than 12. Todd used to think he wouldn’t be surprised if Panem was actually made up of 2 different countries. Now, he wouldn’t be surprised if they slept under two whole different skies.
Neil stepped out of the elevator and motioned for Todd to do the same. Todd followed him to the glass fences circling the rooftops.
“Cool, right? Kea— John first showed it to me last night.”
“Yeah,” Todd admitted. “Yeah, cool.”
Neil leaned against the glass fence on his elbows. “So how are you feeling?”
“About what?” Todd asked, still unable to tear his eyes away from the city.
“Just— things in general. Training. The Games. The Capitol. Anything.”
“Why?”
Neil simply shrugged. “Just wanna know.”
Todd paused to think for the first time all day. “I like the food here,” he answered honestly.
Neil’s eyes sparkled. “Yeah? What’s the best thing you’ve eaten while you’re here?”
“Before the parade, I got this platter of chicken dipped in this red sauce with this soup. I’ve tried to order it again, but I don’t know what it’s called.”
“Is it not just chicken?”
“No, everything here has a really dramatic, complicated name.”
“Maybe just ask someone?”
“I can’t do that.”
Neil cocked his head. “Why not?”
Because it was humiliating. Todd would sooner offer himself up to the Careers on a silver platter than to accept help from Capitol Folk.
“I just can’t.”
“Ooh kay. You can also just order everything off the room menu till you get to it. At least that’s what I’ve been doing.”
“The whole menu? How far have you gotten so far?”
“Bout… “ Neil squinted, fingers drumming against the fence. “15?”
Todd’s eyes popped.“15?! After one day?”
“What can I say, I’m hungry,” Neil chuckled. “Gotta eat while I still can, you know?”
Todd’s smile faltered. “Uh, yeah.” .
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Neil didn’t wait for Todd to answer before saying, “Why do you use knives? To hunt.”
Todd had pondered that himself from time to time. He’d landed on a few reasons over the years:
- They were convenient. Light, portable. Made hunting a lot easier.
- They didn’t need to be replaced if you were careful, which Todd was.
- Jeffrey used to hunt with them and learning an entire new hunting technique would waste very valuable time.
These all took a role in Todd’s decision of using knives, but one ultimately stood above them all
“They’re quick.”
“Quick? What do you mean? Like they’re lighter, so you can throw them a little faster?”
“No. Like, to kill. They kill quickly.”
“Oh,” Neil looked down at his hands. “Yeah, I get it. Personally, that’s how I’d want to go.”
Todd swallowed.
”Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a record on our hands! In just a few minutes, District 12’s Jeffrey Anderson could hold the record for longest death in the history of the Games! He’s been hanging on for just over 5 hours, just staggering around. Really. You can’t help but admire this guy’s resilience. I wouldn’t recommend rooting for him though. He’s definitely a goner.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” he agreed.
Notes:
ok so if it wasnt clear, tge announcement thing at the end was a dream at first, but later its a flashback.
1. so jeffrey’s death/experience in the games and its effect isn’t going to be unveiled all at once. but here’s what we know so far
1. he volunteered
2. he died slow
but yeah, it’s a pretty integral part of todds development so it will be mentioned later2. this is really unserious but neil was telling todd about weed in the training center 😭 i just thought it would be funny
3. chris. i love her. she’s got some learning to do but shes so sweet and shes my princess yall DONT GET IT
4. todd getting mad at the tribute for refusing neil’s hand is lowk funny to me. like at this point todd barely knows/likes neil and he’s already getting mad on his behalf.
5. charlie+neil friendship slow burn is coming!! well it’s not THAT slow. you’ll just have to wait a while. lock in.
6. to knarlie fans, knox and charlie getting mentioned in the same chapter is all thry have going on rn 💔 IM SORRY we just need to finish the game first and then its a go
7. to anyone waiting for the other poets, they’re coming, dw. this chapter was originally going to be cameron and ginnys intro as gamemaking interns, but i cut it to release chapter 4 a lil earlier. they’ll be here soon though. as will meeks and pitts. they’re victors, and they’ll appear in a chapter or 2.
8. anderperry. thars it thats the whole thought.
ok ily bye
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