Disclaimer: Hunger Games does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Suzanne Collins, etc.
Written for Starvation Forum's May prompt, 'What don't you understand? I won'.
Warnings: Enobaria being a boss, my freakish attempt at humour, also violence and death.
Winning.
It's when she realizes she'd rather spend the rest of her life with her obnoxious district partner (that she decided she hated more than anyone in the world about five seconds after meeting him) than the handsome guy with a killer smile who is totally her type, that she knows something's seriously not right with her life.
This is what Enobaria tells herself, anyway.
Marcus Clout (the obnoxious district partner) and Gillette call-me-Gil Beach (the handsome guy with a killer smile – literally; it's just too bad he can't keep his damn mouth shut) are arguing, again. She just wants to tell them shut the hell up, weren't you arguing about this like ten seconds ago and this is the Hunger Games for God's sake, have some dignity, you're on national television.
Her life, Enobaria tells herself, would be so much easier if someone would just slit their throats. Rip out their vocal cords. Sever their tongues à-la-Avox. Hell, a good old-fashioned gag would do.
Unfortunately, this is only day two of the 62nd Hunger Games, and the Career Alliance is already down two members thanks to an unusually vicious bloodbath.
Enobaria thinks that Platinum Reveil (also handsome, but blond and definitely not her type no matter how he tries to come on to her) could probably shut them up, if he wanted to. Sadly, he seems more interested in getting into her unflattering Capitol-issue pants.
Enobaria wonders if she's the only Career who realizes that the point of this competition is to kill twenty-three other kids and be the last one standing. It certainly seems like it.
She steps away from Platinum's oh-so-stealthy I'm-just-stretching-oops-my-arm-somehow-wrapped-around-your-shoulders manoeuvre (this is the tribute that earned the highest training score this year – she wonders if the Gamemakers were on some kind of fancy Capitol drug when they were assigning scores) and tells herself, just a little longer; soon I'll be able to make them shut the hell up. For good.
...
'Just a little longer' ends up being over two weeks.
Despite a high death toll during the bloodbath, the combination of Platinum focussing most of his attention on her and Gil and Marcus' constant arguing (mainly about Marcus' insistence upon calling Gil 'Gillette' and Gil freaking out because he hates that name so much) ensure that, even if the tributes they're hunting don't hear them coming courtesy of the latter, Platinum always gets in Enobaria's way before she can properly slaughter them.
Finally, finally, after seventeen days with these absolute idiots, the tribute count has dwindled down to the girl from Six, after the Career Alliance takes out the pair from Twelve.
By then, Enobaria has somehow managed to tune out the incessant arguing from Gil and Marcus. She isn't sure if she should be happy about this development, or if she should feel a combination of extreme rage/depression that she has been stuck with the pair for so long that it's nothing more than background noise. She doubts she will ever be immune to the increasingly desperate attempts by Platinum, and she tells herself that as long as she remains annoyed and resistant, she is at least partially sane.
Enobaria's so used to the status quo though, that she doesn't really notice that, hey, there's no more reason for the Career Alliance to stick together.
It's disturbing, really, but it's a good thing she's still wary of Platinum's creepy come-ons, because she notices when he suddenly adds a sword to his attempts at wooing her.
Enobaria slits his throat with her own sword automatically. The cannon blast echoes in the sudden silence, and she realizes that, mercifully, Marcus and Gil have shut the hell up for the first time since the Games began. Both are staring at her in shock.
She raises an eyebrow, like, what did you expect you stupid brats.
"What the fu-" Marcus starts to demand, advancing towards her with a hand on his knife. Gil's spear through his heart effectively stops the action from continuing.
For one long moment, Enobaria thinks that, now that Marcus is gone, Gil will finally keep his mouth shut too.
No such luck.
"It's just me and you now, Eno," Gil says, nonchalantly pulling his spear out of Marcus' back.
Enobaria smiles back coldly. She hates that nickname. Thinking well if you can't beat them, join 'em, she responds, "That's what you think... Gillette."
As expected, Gil's eyes narrow in anger. "It's Gil! GIL! WHAT DON'T YOU DISTRICT TWO IMBECILES UNDERSTAND!"
Enobaria stares at him. "The only reason Marcus called you Gillette is because of the way you reacted to it, you do know that."
Gil just looks confused.
Enobaria thinks that he's the imbecile here, but she's not about to make a big deal out of it. For her, silence speaks volumes. If only it was the same for everyone else.
If only she could throw a knife to save her life, too. Then the Games would be long over, her only obstacle would be tracking down the girl from Six, and she could have some peace and quiet.
Unfortunately, she can't throw a knife to save for life, so when Gil turns tail and runs, disappearing into the forest with a skill that belies that many, many days he spent noisily crashing around the arena's forest, Enobaria can only follow futilely.
Enobaria decides that, screw Marcus, Gil is definitely the most annoying, obnoxious little man-brat that she has ever had the distinct displeasure of knowing. And any misconceptions she had vis-à-vis Gil's appearance being attractive were major errors in judgement on her part.
...
Sometime later, the last cannon goes off, signalling the demise of either District Six girl, or Gil. Enobaria prays for the latter, but deep down knows that the cannon was for the girl.
That night, after the anthem plays, Claudius Templesmith makes an announcement: a feast is to be held at dawn tomorrow, at the Cornucopia.
Well. Enobaria should probably be happy that the Gamemakers didn't decide to send mutts to drive the final two tributes together.
Enobaria makes her way back to the golden horn which had been the Careers' base of operation, and arrives a bit before dawn. Nothing is moving, and she doesn't see any sign of Gil. When the 'feast' (parachutes of food, like she needs that damn it) happens, there is still no sign of Gil.
Enobaria takes a step forward, sword drawn, wondering what sort of trap this feast was supposed to be-
Only to be hoisted in the air with a shriek. A rope trap. Her ankle is sprained, probably broken, but more importantly she has dropped her sword in the process. Upside-down, she sees Gil shoot out of the Cornucopia.
Muttering a litany of curses, Enobaria fumbles for the knife in her belt and somehow arches up to saw at the rope. It cuts through just as Gil throws his first spear, and it would probably be amusing to see how the projectile just misses her if she hadn't actually been living the experience.
Hitting the ground knocks the breath from Enobaria's lungs, but she rolls to her feet anyway, sword in one hand and dagger in the other.
Of course, she forgot about her injured ankle, and it gives out on her. Enobaria stumbles, conveniently causing Gil's second spear to just miss her, again.
This is getting ridiculous.
"What the hell!" Gil screams, like it's Enobaria's fault she has insane luck.
What Enobaria wants to know is how he managed to carry three spears, because he has another in his hand and this time he lunges at her. She bats it away with her sword, but Gil's already let the weapon go and tackles her to the ground.
Gil, Enobaria decides, is the most infuriating person in the world. He's built compactly, all slim lines and lean grace – exactly the kind of body that, normally, she'd be drawn to. Except he's ridiculously strong on top of his compact build, and manages to wrench her two weapons away from her.
For reason beyond her, he tosses them away and just pins her down, smirking in a decidedly deranged manner.
It's disturbingly reminiscent of Platinum's next-to-last attempt at seducing her, and Enobaria is understandably suspicious.
"Scared?" Gil taunts, easily overcoming her struggles to get away.
"Pissed off, more like," she spits at him.
"Don't worry, you're not my type."
Enobaria glares, though inwardly she's cheering at the news. Because putting up with Platinum was far more than she ever wanted, and if Gil was going to follow his pattern... Ugh. "Really? And here I thought all those arguments with Marcus were just, well, arguments."
Gil's eyes flash and he backhands her viciously, pinning her wrists in one hand. She spits the blood in his face.
"Shut the hell up, you don't know anything," Gil snarls.
"'Shut the hell up'? I think that's my line!" Enobaria snaps back, kneeing him in the groin.
Gil grunts in pain, his grip on her loosening slightly. Enobaria pulls free and lunges for her knife. Gil digs his elbow into her stomach, and she almost vomits all over him.
Then regrets fighting down the bile because it would have been so worth it to see his reaction.
Enobaria flinches when Gil breaks her wrists, but she continues to struggle despite the pain and the despair that comes with the knowledge that she can no longer slit his throat like she'd been fantasizing about for the past eighteen days.
"What don't you understand?" Gil gloats, grinding the shattered bones in his grip. Enobaria grits her teeth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. "I've already won."
Enobaria realizes in that moment that, if Gil was any other tribute, even Marcus, she'd actually be somewhat ok with her imminent death and Marcus(/other tribute)'s subsequent victory.
But as for this smug asshole, with his infuriating smirk that is no longer appealing in the slightest... The thought of him winning makes Enobaria seethe. She's going to win even if it kills her.
... Or something like that.
"I'll make it quick, I promise," Gil sneers tauntingly, drawing back slightly so that his free hand can reach her fallen knife. (Again, why did he throw it away in the first place? It makes absolutely no sense.)
"Aren't you going to thank me?" he adds teasingly, abruptly calm. His head is tilted back slightly, a smirk playing across his features. Completely assured in his victory. Cocky. The knife is within his reach.
Enobaria snarls at him, ignoring the blade in his grasp. "Never." She lunges at his exposed flesh, her teeth sinking into the tanned skin with surprisingly little resistance. Dimly, she hears Gil's startled, strangled cry, but she ignores it.
Enobaria rips out his throat with a jerk of her head.
Gil jams the knife into her neck, or tries to, but it bounces off her collar bone and she manages to shove him off before he can do more damage. Scrambling a safe distance away from him, Enobaria spits out the chunk of flesh with a look of pure disgust.
The thought of having any part of that pathetic annoyance in her mouth is revolting, really. Even if it means that, finally, Gil can no longer speak.
Gil's sea-green eyes bore into hers. He seems to be trying to say something, the sounds coming out all wrong thanks to his mangled throat. It's music to Enobaria's ears.
"Don't you understand?" Enobaria drawls, baring blood-stained teeth at her opponent. "I won."
A few minutes later, the trumpets heralding a Templesmith announcement sound once again.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the winner of the 62nd Hunger Games – Enobaria Rigid!"
A/N: This is my attempt at humour. I have this sinking suspicion it failed miserably. Did it? Comments or good old concrit are much appreciated ~ ;)