I saw an AU on Tumblr about Johanna and Katniss being mentors instead of having to re-enter the arena and paired with my friend nagging me, this came about. This chapter is basically setting the scene and I've tried to condense it into a small amount so that the majority of the story will focus on the new Quell and Joniss as mentors.
It's rated M for violence and probably some swearing. Also if I slip into my usual ways, smut, but I am trying to keep it relatively clean. Anyway, hope you enjoy, reviews are welcome as always and I apologize in advance for any mistakes.
Disclaimer: I should probably say that I don't own the Hunger Games, though that will become evident as the story progresses because I definitely would have gone in this direction.
Chapter One - After the Storm:
"Times of great calamity and confusion have been productive for the greatest minds. The purest ore is produced from the hottest furnace. The brightest thunder-bolt is elicited from the darkest storm." – Charles Caleb Colton
I have no idea how I'm still alive.
As if going into the hunger games wasn't enough of a death sentence, I pushed the boundaries; I forced two winners upon the Capitol – that should have been the moment the dripping ink, dried upon the dotted line, sealing my fate.
I should be dead.
Correction. I should have been murdered, for breaking the rules, for making others think that maybe, just maybe, they could break the rules too. But, regardless of impending rebellion I haven't been killed, nor has anyone I love. I suppose the latter is more shocking since, if the rumours are true, Snow has a bit of a fixation on killing the loved ones of those who oppose him. Nothing's happened though, but perhaps that's the point, the calm before the storm, the eerie silence before the flinch inducing scream. Maybe vengeance will occur, or maybe my punishment was simply the victory tour since it seemed to be a fate worse than death and the event hadn't even begun yet.
The second bomb I found myself waiting to explode was named Gale. The boy I'd left behind. The one that had seen the whole situation between me and Peeta, the very believable - albeit fake – act of the Capitol's favourite star-crossed lovers who were pushed together by the Hunger Games. Basically there was no escape from the fallout of the games. Hunting seemed like a bad decision and it was less to do with the laws and more to do with the boy who was currently working in the mines to feed his family and yet I found myself in the woods anyway. I still see him, on Sunday's, but the ease of our relationship has gone and I'm constantly waiting for him to burst, to finally break the silence and speak the words on his mind, that even though he doesn't say, are louder than anything that could come from his mouth. But for now I sat, basically motionless on a rock, staring into nowhere and knowing that really I should move. I should stand up and use my limbs before they went into a current state of paralysis and my luck brought upon an onslaught of wild, vicious man eating dogs to rip apart my pale skin but I couldn't move, I simply sat and continued to think about the mess that was my existence.
As if there weren't enough problems in my life there was the third, to which we will refer to as the bread boy, 'my' bread boy, who had begun sulking around in a manner that meant we hadn't had a real conversation since we got to Victor's Village. It's not my fault he fell in love with me. I mean, it's not like I asked him to love me and then brood when I didn't really return the feelings. I certainly never usually got that kind of attention, perhaps my sterling personality was what he loved or my natural charm? No, definitely not, whatever was that boy thinking?
The icy chill of the air began to dull as the sun started slipping through the spaces between the trees. The day was dawning upon me and it was a day I had been dreading since my return. The Victory Tour. They'll all be at my house soon, endless amounts of people I didn't really want on my doorstep, reporters upon reporter upon reporters each one of them bringing their own camera crew to capture the 'girl on fire'. Then there would be Effie Trinket, presumably sporting some unrealistic hair colour especially for the Victory Tour. Cinna would be there too, but I'm not dreading that like the others though the prep team that would probably accompany him is another matter altogether.
In my dreams I forget the Hunger Games entirely but the reality of the situation means I have to relive the horror all over again. Though that is the purpose of the whole escapade, to remind the districts of the barbaric acts in the games, to keep the fear of death imminent and immediate. It's a way of forcing us into celebrating the iron grasp that the Capitol holds on everyone they view as beneath them, simply pawns on a chess board of their own devising. Only this year, I'm the one who has to stand in front of the public. I'm the one who has to travel from district to district talking to people who only really view me as the one who murdered their family, their friends, the one who had the ability to rip their life away and took it. They must loathe me and truthfully I don't blame them, I loathe me, but I had to survive, for Prim.
I manage to stand from the rock, silently begging my legs to work again as they refuse to be anything but numb, almost as though they were mimicking my soul. I take the animals that are caught in a cleverly built contraption, stuffing them unceremoniously into a bag before wandering back, under the fence, to my home. My old home. To the place before the Hunger Games, before I was stuck in Victors Village with only a drunk man and a silent baker for neighbours. I allow myself a moment to enjoy my old home before I bring some of the animals from the traps to Gale's mother, quietly thankful that he isn't at home.
The next thing I do to waste some more time before having to deal with the Tour is go to the hob. Buying liquor for Haymitch is the least I can do for all he did for me and after seeing him during withdrawal it only seems right to have a supply of it so that he doesn't continue to thrash and scream and shout, scaring Prim and admittedly me. That's the point when I finally admit there isn't much else to do other then return home, back to the ruckus that was the wake of the Hunger Games. I passed Darius on the way back and although my mood seemed to be deteriorating with every passing second I found myself smiling at his jesting about how I look.
Then I find myself in Victors Village, staring at the twelve house that are excessively large, nine of them unlived in, just sitting there surrounded by greenery and falling snow being unused and wasted, sitting there empty when families could have been living in them, enjoying the warmth and space they provided. I walked up to one of the houses that belongs to Haymitch, pushing open the door and flinching in disgust at what's inside. The smell alone is repulsive, the stench of years of vomit, liquor and burnt meat invading my nostrils, giving me the urge to add to the vile odour of vomit that lingers in the air. But I push forward, cursing Haymitch for not letting someone clean his house or at least cleaning it well himself. I find him face planting a table that's coated in liquor and I wonder whether his snores are actually his way of trying to drink the liquor in his sleep. No matter what they were I try to pull him out of his reverie but nothing works and so I go to my last resort. I collect a bucket and watch the blue swirly hue of water pour from the tap and into the bucket I'm holding, before I throw the liquid onto his head and watch in amusement as he jumps up quickly, slashing the air mindlessly with the knife that stays in his hand as he sleeps.
He looks confused during our entire conversation, spending most of his time staring bemusedly at his soaked shirt before he finally poses the question about it. Only it gets worse because then Peeta walks in, the smell of freshly baked bread following him like a sheep with a Sheppard. The sound of his voice makes me squirm slightly as my stomach curls into an uncomfortable knot of guilt, sadness and fear. The atmosphere in the room is intensely awkward and I could practically feel the tension thicken as Haymitch made a witty remark and Peeta proceeded to ask me if I wanted some bread. To say I ran out of there after the whole ordeal would be an understatement, I flew out of the window racing to the 'safety' of my house.
I found myself in the tub before I had even had a chance to process my thoughts. I let the warm currents rush over me and block out the sounds around me. Being around Peeta was horrible, though it was better than being visited by Snow; perhaps our act had been believable enough for him to let us be, at least for a little while. Even under the water I could hear the commotion of people. The sounds of people stomping and slamming car doors echo even as the water rushes around signalling my time to get out of the bath. I only manage to slip my bathrobe on before they burst through the door with exclamations about how I've let myself go.
That's when it began, the poking and prodding and continued scrutinising of my look. Though, even now I don't understand why they put so much effort into making us look presentable to simply throw us into an arena full of filth – both literal and metaphorical. But I had to look wonderful for the Tour if only to appease those who could rip everything I have away from me and it wasn't all that back really having them rush around in excitement, even if it were misplaced. The real buzz in the room comes from the idea of me being a mentor for the first time in a Quarter Quell. I don't know much of them apart from the fact that they occur every 25 years and the Capitol find some sick, twisted way to mark the event which usually entails more people being murdered or some kind of twist of fate that also ends in death. The final touches of my look came from Cinna, who unlike most of those crowding in district twelve I was actually happy to see. My mother hands me my mockingjay pin with cradled hands and Cinna pins in on the knot of my scarf.
I handled the makeover just fine but the real issue came when I found myself being pushed from my house, when I found myself being forced to put on my face and play along with the charade of the games and that meant pulling wistful looks and begging the world to come along in my sickeningly sweet love adventure with everyone's favourite baker boy. We slip onto the snow merrily and share a kiss and underneath the charade I can feel the steadiness of Peeta but I can also feel the shame that I'm the reason the boy has been walking around brokenhearted, that's when I pull him from the floor and continue to keep face for the cameras.
The Tour
The Tour begins in Eleven, only its isn't just another district, it was Rue's home and I found my mind swimming with images of the girl, the girl who deserved to live so much more than I. The images are the reason I find myself snapping at Effie but the result is Peeta coming to talk to me with an apology and an offer of friendship so saying sorry to Effie about my lack of manners doesn't seem like it's so bad anymore.
Eleven is definitely the worst. There is a special podium for the families of the fallen tributes and I can see them clear as day. The sight makes me sick to my stomach. I can feel myself crumbling when my eyes fall upon Rue's family. Her parent's faces are marked with sorrow and I wonder how they'll ever get over losing their little girl. Her siblings stand with them, each one of them looks so much like Rue I can hardly stand to look at their faces knowing I'll never see hers again, at least, not truly, I suppose it'll always haunt my dreams.
Peeta talks of Rue and Thresh, reading the cards he'd been given but his final words are definitely not on them because his generosity shines through the sentiment and the gasps of the audience are enough to conclude that the Capitol would not have been accepting of the idea. The mayor hands us a plaque and I've done my best to stand there but it's finally my breaking point. My first fumbled words are for Thresh because he saved my life and Rue's family aren't the only ones standing on a podium, missing a piece that once made them whole. Then I talk of Rue because I need to let it out, because I need them to know that she will never be forgotten. My last words go to the crowd. Then it was silent. After a moment I heard a whistle – Rue's mocking-jay tune. A three finger salute follows and although I stood small and broken, I find a tiny ounce of hope but only for a moment because everything fell apart then. The bullet clangs from the chamber and I vaguely hear myself screaming.
The rest of the tour is simply a blur. A blur filled with fake smiles, robotic speeches and a weighted conscience. The Capitol is last but I don't enjoy the festivities like I'm supposed to, my contempt is only heightened when it's suggested Peeta and I make ourselves sick to make more room for food. We dance for a while if only to escape the madness but I find myself swept back up in it when Plutarch Heavensbee asks me to dance. He flicks his watch open over zealously and after seeing the print I believe it was his goal to get my attention, the only question was why.
"I like your watch; it seems I'm not alone in my fondness of Mockingjay's"
He grins much like the Cheshire cat before his reply comes,
"You'll find you're not alone in much Miss Everdeen. Now if you don't mind I have a meeting to attend. I believe we'll be seeing each other very soon my dear"
I spend the rest of the night trying to avoid the shallow dwellers of the Capitol while keeping on a smile that anyone could have seen was fake if they took a moment from being self obsessed to actually take note of anything else around them. When I finally escape back onto the train I see something I'm pretty sure I was never supposed to because who would want their precious pawn to see the carnage spreading like wild fire through District 8 and who knows where else. I feel my heartbeat pick up at the sight and not only because of the barbaric manner in which it's displayed. But also because I know it's partially my fault. I know I pushed and pushed until the dam gave way and everything came flooding in and that scares me because if I blame myself, then somewhere Snow must be blaming me too and he's a lot less forgiving of insubordination.
I know at this point my demise is bordering on inevitable and yet I still find myself questioning the rules, attacking the hierarchy in a way that the Hunger Games were supposed to scare out of us. I try to get Gale to run and at first it seems like he'll agree but then he tells me he loves me and all I can reply is 'I know' because maybe once it would have been simple, I would have married Gale and we'd have had a family but I can't have that now, I can't think about that with everything crumbling around me and even if I could there's something missing, something that I know I've never had, never felt, and yet it's absence is so blaringly obvious that it's staring me in the eye begging me to realise but Gale isn't it. He changes his tune pretty quick, poking holes in my plans, telling me I could do more and he's right. I know he's right. I just want to save my family and that's what he is. Family, just not the cousin he is supposed to be. I don't explain that to him and he throws Cinna's gloves to the floor but I can't question him because he's already gone.
The next time I see Gale is the moment I try and get Peeta to run too but it's not the way I wanted to see him. The sound of the whip reverberates through my body, violently crashing through my bones, making my teeth shake with the intensity of the snap. The sight is worse than the sound. Gale's on his knees, slumping against the pole to which he's tied in a position that tells me he's either resigned himself to his fate or he could simply no longer stand the pain, he could no longer stand on shaking legs and let the whip tear into his skin like a piece of meat.
The whips pulled back again and I don't think before I move (much like the majority of my decisions in life). I know it's a bad idea the moment I move but I'm already between the whip and I can already feel it burning across my cheek. The pain is blinding and I fall to my knees wondering how Gale had managed to withstand the many lashes playing out the scene of war across his back.
Haymitch turns up a little after that, talking me out of further problems and we take Gale back to Victors Village to be healed but he looks so weak, so broken and I know I can't run, I can't let this happen to anyone else.
The Mockingjay appears again, on a cracker as though it were a common occurrence. A girl tells me it means she's on my side and I wonder what that means, I wonder at what point I had begun to oppose something so greatly that I had my own side. Going to District 13 makes no sense to me since it's been destroyed for quite some time and yet they seem so hopeful that it'll house their salvation, that they'll find solace after the uprising in their home.
I wonder how they'd even managed to survive this long being from District 8 but I don't question it, I simply ask about what I assume it tea. Twill tells me she's not really sure just that she thinks she remembers someone doing it with pine needles in the Hunger Games. My mind wanders to District 7 for a moment; the place I think of immediately at the mention of pine needles, being the district of lumber it was bound to have been one of them. I don't dwell too much on those in the games I simply give them the food they so desperately need and ask to hear their story. I find myself flinching at their story, at how they'd held victory in their hands and then had it ripped away from them as well as their families. The word hope is what brings me back to my senses, because all of it is simply a delusion, the Hunger Games were designed to rip hope away and in my eyes they were doing an extremely good job.
Hurting my ankle hadn't been my plan of attack as I climbed the newly electrified fence but neither had Peacekeepers turning up in my house, though any further damage seemed to be avoided, thankfully. Everything else seems eerily peaceful for a while after that, though the dark thoughts of everything linger in the back of my mind because I know it's the calm before the storm, the silence before the blood curdling scream and I found myself waiting for the shoe to drop with every passing second.
The peace is disconcerting but what throws me perhaps even more is what I see when I finally venture downstairs on my ankle, a news story. I see the smouldering remains of buildings that once stood high and mighty and I catch a glimpse of a mockingjays wing, but only for a second as it disappears from the frame. It doesn't really catch my attention then; it doesn't prove that Twill and Bonnie's hopes were validated. I only pay attention several days later when the news cuts to what is supposedly live footage of a news reporter in front of the carnage of 13, wearing a protective suit as to not endanger herself, reporting that it's still too dangerous to be anywhere near the area but as they go to turn back to the main news reporter I see the flash of a wing. A mockingjays wing. The same exact wing on the original footage of the broken District 13. She wasn't really in 13, which begs the question, what exactly is? I tell Haymitch what I saw but he seems to react the way I did the first time I heard the theory, but I expected no less.
The next time I find myself on the floor is when the Quarter Quell is announced. There's a nagging voice in my head that's screaming at me that I'm going to have to go back in, that Snow will send me back in as a way to eradicate me but that's not it and I'm slightly taken aback. I wonder who decided on the elaborate Quell that requires a code to escape the arena. My first thought is that they've somehow found a way for everyone to die, in the event that they don't find the right code to escape.
My second thought is that the person who decided upon it is even more sick and masochistic than I originally believed because every tribute is given one piece of the code and that means torture is an inevitability and I'm disgusted that they'd put people through that. That they'd make them beg and beg for death, make them scream in pain till nothing more than a whisper could slip from their hoarse throat, but in truth I'm not that surprised because this is Snow and the Capitol and this kind of vile act occurs on a weekly basis.
My next thought is about the people who will have to watch their children, siblings, friends, neighbours weep for mercy, pray for one more moment or one less. The Hunger Games were already an abomination, they were already taken too far and yet they found a way to push the boundaries, much like I did, though I pushed them for life and they were pushing for submission.
My final thought that comes is about me because at first I think I'm relieved to not have to return to the games, especially with its revamped ideas but then it occurs to me that I'll have to build people up to simply throw them into that place. The place that you can't ever truly be prepared for. The place that messes with your head in way you never could have imagined, even though you watch the carnage every year. The place where you can 'win' but there aren't really any victors, only the dead and the damned, and to be perfectly honest I'm not completely sure which is worse anymore, but I'm beginning to think that death was the best choice all along.