Silver Words

by EchoFallsFromGrace

Foxxay Hunger Games AU. Three parts.

1. Chapter 1

This will be in three parts.

Rated M

Headcanoned and beta-ed by Grace

Myrtle Snow's grasp on her wrist was tight, but she barely felt it, numb as she was. Her blood was running cold and she wasn't sure that she was breathing, though maybe she didn't want to. The crowd in front of her was hushed, and she could almost hear their one, solitary thought. A week away from her nineteenth birthday. She let her blue-green eyes rake over her District, the forests standing tall a hundred meters away, and she let out a tight gasp.

The redhead beside her pulled on her arm again, and she turned away, mouth open in utter disbelief as a small round of applause was tugged out of the District's citizens by the Peacekeepers on the outskirts of the gated clearing, their guns held up and back. Myrtle was talking to her, but her ears were far from functioning, her gaze blurred over as she was lead into the Justice Building by incessant tugs.

She was seated into a leather armchair, the fabric beneath her fingers nicer than anything she'd ever felt, the carpet under her feet of such quality that it only brought more tears to her eyes. She began gasping in and out, knowing the boy across from her kept his dark eyes trained on her, worry in them, but she didn't acknowledge him or his words.

How was he so calm?

Her fingernails left marks in the supple leather as she struggled to hear him talk over her heart hammering against her rib cage, but she only stared at him, unable to understand the phrases falling out from between his lips as he leaned forward. He reached out to take her hand, but she brought her knees up to her chest, snatching her arm away, and closed her eyes tight. Her ears roared.

A smooth voice broke through her defenses, garbled in their sense but incessant nonetheless.

A gloved hand landed on her shoulder. "You will be given time for your loved ones to send you off before we board the train."

Her leg jiggled nervously as she watched the boy across from her stand as his name was called, and he was ushered into a side room, a woman and a girl that looked too much like him to be anything else but his little sister engulfed through the door seconds later.

She waited silently, her breathing echoing through the white walled room, but nobody came for her. Even when his family left and his friends entered. Even when the school headmaster stopped by, gave her the hint of a nod. But none dared stop to talk to her.

The boy came back out half an hour later, counted by the heartbeats echoing through her fingertips. He'd been crying heavily but he was doing his best to look tough, to look like he was handling the situation like the man he would never be. He glanced sideways at her, but she looked away.

Myrtle Snow appeared again through double doors, noise of the outside world following her and shutting away as the door clicked close.

"I won't be frivolous with my words, chickies, as I figure you're too upset to understand much more than the basics. I will be your mentor through these next crucial weeks."

The girl looked up into ice blue eyes.

"What?"

"I am your mentor."

The tribute stared at the victor.

Her name had been chosen.

Misty Day was District Seven's choice for the Hunger Games.

OOOoooOOO

The high speed train rushed past coniferous forests into the darkening night and the wild blonde stared out of the windows, knees tucked beneath herself as the boy across from her, her district mate, tried hard to hold a conversation with her.

But she ignored him rather easily, his voice monotone compared to the colorful thoughts running through her head, even though they were steadily turning black and white as her blue-green eyes scanned the horizon.

"You're gonna have to talk to me at one point."

She glanced sideways at the dark skinned boy and grimaced. "Am I?"

"We're tributes of the same district. Yes."

"We're tributes of the same district until we're in the arena." Misty corrected. "And I expect ya to treat me like anyone else once we're in there."

"You'd want me to kill ya?"

"If ya get the chance?" She let out a bark of laughter and let her question hang there as she turned back to the scenery whizzing past them.

He shifted in his seat, squirming in the silence that permeated. He opened his mouth again. "I'm David."

Misty let her head loll back with a deep sigh. "Are ya gonna talk the whole way there?"

"We're goin' to die, do ya realize that? Maybe I want to get as much talkin' done as I can before my throat gets carved out."

"Who says your throat's gonna get carved out? It might be your spleen, your heart. Maybe you'll die of starvation. Dehydration." The wild blonde closed her eyes. "You're kinda borin', thinkin' wise. Maybe ya shouldn't blabber after all."

"I've always wondered why no one visited Misty Day. Now I know."

Misty's blue-green eyes snapped open and she whipped her head up to look at the boy. "What did ya say?"

He shifted again and looked away. "Nothin'."

"Have courage in your opinions." She snarled. "What did ya say."

"I said you're a fuckin' hardass. And that you're alone for a reason. And ya know what? They call ya a fuckin' animal around town and if my nose wasn't workin', I'd have no problem figurin' it out with just my eyes."

"Yeah, because ya smell like a flower, Danny boy." Misty sat up. "Listen to me. We are not friends. We are not allies, or teammates. We won't ever be. We are tributes and we care about our own skin. And if it comes to your survival against mine?" He gazed at her defiantly, and she tilted her head smugly. "Well, at least you'll have a family to cry over your body."

He slumped back in his chair, defeated. "It's David." The tribute muttered.

"I don't give a fuck."

"You're tryna scare me."

"Get over yourself kid." She glanced back outside, chewing on her bottom lip. "I'm not the scariest out there."

He turned in his seat and hugged his knees to his chest, facing into the train, his spine arching at her. She fiddled with the edge of her blouse, content with the silence yet rattled by the constant hum of the anti gravity tracks.

The doors to the car opened with a slide a few silent minutes later, the stainless steel flashing in the dying lights.

Myrtle's bright red hair was a sight to behold in the silver train, and Misty couldn't help but notice, as close as she was to the victor now, how much the capitol had changed the elder.

The wild blonde hadn't been alive when the redhead had won her games, far from it, but she'd known the woman from her birth. Everyone knew her. She'd seen pictures and videos and whenever the games went on, she was shown and relisted and highlighted from every angle possible.

The only living District Seven victor. She'd been young and spry and deadly. Now she was a former shell of herself, hiding behind makeup, bright wigs, and outrageous glasses. Smoke screens and lies.

Though from what she'd seen of the atrocities of her games, Misty didn't blame her for reacting, for living, the way she did.

"Darlings."

David snapped his head up and stood to attention, scrambling to his feet. The redhead's lips tugged into a small smile, and Misty couldn't help but think that there was a hint of smugness behind it.

"Your trials begin now."

The dark skinned boy gazed at her, puzzled. "But, we're not inside the Capitol. We're not even outside the district yet."

"If you don't think we're not watching you already, then you're mistaken."
Misty noticed she'd lost their district's distinctive accent.

David nodded and stepped back to lean on the armchair, fingers finding hold.

"We'll need to dress you both for your arrival. You simply cannot arrive in garments such as-" She paused and waved her hands at them, a grimace on her face. "These." Misty glanced down at herself and frowned, but didn't argue.

"Your wardrobes have been filled with fashions from the district, a touch of class added to them, of course. Misty darling, stay away from the plaid."

"But-"

Myrtle gave her a warning glance, and the wild blonde slumped back down into her chair.

"A dinner will be held for the tributes once everyone has arrived. The parade will be the next morning, and training will begin right after. This will give you a few hours to loosen yourselves up, as the train from District Twelve has a much longer journey to travel." She paced the floor and dipped down to smell a flower, one of many that had been put up in abundance around the cabin.

"When are ya gonna train us then? I heard mentors aren't allowed inside the gymnasiums." David said quietly.

"Do you honestly think there is anything I can do to save you?" Myrtle asked, blue eyes cold. "If you survive, I won't take any credit. Be happy with that."

The boy visibly swallowed.

Myrtle turned to leave, but paused to glance over her shoulder. "I will return in an hour. Try to have an outfit picked before then. And Misty?" The wild blonde looked up. "Find something with pockets. I know how much you like hiding bottles, and I wouldn't want your mood soured because you were wanting." She left with a flourish, the silent doors rather unremarkable to her exit.

David turned to stare at Misty. "Ya drink?"

The wild blonde looked away, smirking. "Is that what she meant?"
"Don't play stupid with me." The boy snapped. "Look, we're gonna be spendin' time together. Get used to it. How bad is your problem?"

"Problem?"

"My dad used to drink. Do ya get violent? Do ya yell?" He took a step towards her, narrowing his eyes. "What is it?"

"I get belligerently drunk. As I'm supposed to."

"That it?"

"What do ya want, a doctor's note? Fuck off." She stood to her full height, towering over him. "I'm gettin' changed. Ya should do the same."

He snapped his chin up. "Don't tell me what to do."

She brushed past him. "I'll remember those words once we're in the arena."

Her bedroom was fancier than the one she had at home, and she shook her head at the thought that this was only the train to their ultimate destination. Their final destination. She tssked at the lavish furniture, turning over various metal objects and pausing to feel the silk bed sheets run against the pads of her fingers.

She crossed to the closet and her mouth gaped open at the sheer amount of clothes. She walked into the room, finding it without end and let her hands wander over the different fabrics. Most outfits were too garrish for her, but the deeper she went the more earth colored shirts she founds.

She paused by a tan bomber jacket and buried her fingers into the fabric along the hood. Satisfied, she hefted it out of the closet and passed it over her shoulders, trying it on. It fit perfectly, as she guessed everything in the wardrobe did. She found a tight pair of jeans that definitely accented her already tall legs and she couldn't help but find some satisfaction in turning in front of the mirror, though she'd deny it later. Trapper boots that laced up to her knee finished her off and she finally came out of the closet close to half an hour later. She left her hair down, too lazy as she was to find a hairbrush.

David had opted for something more sober. He stood outside his room, his hands at the lapels of his night black sports jacket, his mountain boots open and his laces undone.

He smirked. "Ya managed to keep your hand off the plaid."

"If I remember well, I didn't want ya talkin' to me." Misty growled. "It still stands."

"Why do ya act like you're my spiteful grandmother? You're not much older. Get off my back already." He grouched back.

"I've been told I'm an old soul." She smiled sweetly at him and threw herself onto the sofa, leg dangling over the side.

It was a few hours before David spoke again, Misty having dozed off on the couch, hiding in the crook of her arm. He prodded at her with the side of his boot, nose pressed to the glass. "Misty."

She roused in a panic and when she realized where she was, turned to glare at him. "I swear to god if ya don't have a good reason for touchin' me with your shoe-"

He shushed her with a wave of his arm thrown back at her. "Misty, we're here." She stood groggily and nudged him aside to stand by him, both their faces peering out into the morning sunrise.

The Capitol glinted in the sun, as silver as the train was, sleek and bare. Futuristic.

"Hey, kid." Misty pushed David with her elbow. "Breathe." He snapped out of his trance to look at her, and frowned.

"I'm fine."

"Ya look like a fish out of water." She moved away from the window. "Enjoy the view. It'll be gone in three weeks."

"What do ya mean?"

"Sorry. You'll be gone."

"That's harsh."

She sat down heavily. "It's reality." She was sure he stuck his tongue out at her reflection, but she didn't respond.

He shifted, his palms against the glass, leaving dirty fingermarks as he let his dark eyes wander the scenery as they bulleted past it.

"How old are ya anyway?" Misty asked.

"Are ya talkin' to me?"

She raised her eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. "I turned fifteen three months ago."

The wild blonde chewed on her bottom lip. "Was it well spent?"

"What, my birthday? Yeah. My mom baked a cake and my friends brought enough money together to get me new shoes." He glanced down at his boots, smiling softly. He sobered. "Though I don't see why ya care. Ya said yourself that we're all gonna die." He paused. "I should probably donate these."

"Ask Myrtle to have them sent to your mom."

David looked up at her. "Ya think she would?"

"It's the least she can do."

He nodded and turned back to stare out the window, his chin in his hands as he leaned heavily on his elbows.

"I hope you're ready."

"Miss Snow."

"I see you're dressed. You'll have to forgive me for not visiting like I said I would, I had matters to attend to. But I'm glad you look sharp." She let her ice blue eyes rake over their outfits. "It's rudimentary, slightly basic, but we'll work with the idea."

"Ya want to make us look rugged." Misty narrowed her eyes. "David's fifteen. He ain't rugged."

"The children of District Seven start work sooner than any other children in Panem. He is already more rugged than most of the other tributes." She looked to the dark skinned boy. "Flex." The boy smiled smugly and brought his arms up to do as he was told, showing off his well defined muscles. As retaliation, Misty brought her right hand up past her head and tugged her jacket down to her shoulder and did the same, her own contracting past the width of his.

She brought her arm down as his smile left his face. "He ain't rugged." She repeated.

"We can work this."

"Work what?" Misty asked, annoyed. She stood and crossed to the bar, throwing a scathing look over her shoulder.

"The tough, protective older sister."

"I didn't even know he existed before his name was called."

"I knew ya existed." David protested. She rolled her eyes as she drank from the bottle of bourbon.

"It doesn't matter if you don't exist in each other's worlds." Myrtle said harshly. "The crowds watching you fight won't know that. We can find you sponsors if you, Misty, act like all you care about is David's survival."

"I won't do it."

"Is that your final say?"

"Ya know what?" The wild blonde turned to face them, polishing off the end of the bottle. "Yeah. It is."

"Ya suck." David threw at her. "We could get out of this alive!"

"We?"

He fell silent and Myrtle clicked her tongue.

"We'll work out another angle. Get ready. We're arriving." The redhead turned away and David ignored Misty's deep gaze as he puppied after her to the door.

The dying sun blinded the both of them as they stepped off the train, immediately immersed in noise as the Capitol crowds in their favor acclaimed their arrival. Lightbulbs flashed at them and paper was thrust into their faces, begging to be signed. With the word 'rugged' in both their minds, Misty and David ignored them and held their heads high as they walked the short distance from the station to a luxurious car waiting for them at the edge of the sidewalk.

Myrtle was already seated in the backseat when they engulfed themselves in.

"Good first impression." She nodded. "On Misty's part."

"Hey-"

"You're fifteen, David. Act your age, act vulnerable. Make them weep for you." The woman said, fitting a cigarette into a jet black holder. "All they want is a good show." The boy grimaced and turned to stare out the window.

"I still ain't doin' it. I ain't vouchin' for him." Misty added from her corner.

The redhead ignored her, continuing on as the wild blonde grimaced. "Who knows, maybe I have a chance with you tributes. Last year's were..." She paused. "Deplorable."

"I saw." David said softly. "He was my friend. He never was any good at runnin'."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence as the car took them deep into the city, past tall buildings and crowded streets.

OOOoooOOO

"Would ya look at this place." David opened his arms wide as he took in the apartments. Misty watched him from the doorway before letting her own blue-green eyes rake the place. The bay windows faced out into the city, and night had long since fallen.

The place was garish, the furniture angled and made out of metal, the colors bright. Misty hated it as soon as David let out a squeal at the food sitting on the dinner table. He rushed over to it, unable to pick the first thing to eat.

As for herself, the wild blonde threw her jacket into a corner and headed out onto the balcony, leaving the dark skinned boy to stuff his face.
The night air was cold against her skin and she breathed it in, enjoying the hint of rain in the wind.

"What district?"

Misty turned to look sideways at another balcony, a dozen feet off. A dirty blonde stood there, her elbows on the metal railing, her cigarette lit as she looked out over the Capitol.

"Excuse me?"

The girl turned to stare at Misty. "I said, what district? Where are you from?"

"Oh." The wild blonde shifted her weight. "Seven. Up north. Lumber. Ya?"

"One." She said simply, dragging on her cigarette.

"It musn't be very different here then."

"Not really. Though the caviar is better."

Misty cocked her head to the side. "Caviar?"

"Nevermind." The dirty blonde shifted to the edge of the balcony as Misty did the same, a few feet of emptiness between them. "I'm Madison."

"Misty."

"Nice to meet you. I think." Madison laughed lightly. "My mentor told me to be nice to the tributes. Which is stupid. We're all going to be killing each other in two short weeks."

Misty glanced over her shoulder. "I think my mentor gave up on me."

"Are you being a jerk?"

"I don't want to be here. Do ya?"

The dirty blonde looked away. "I volunteered."

"Why do ya sound so resentful?" The older tribute raised an eyebrow. "That's unusual for a volunteer."

Madison took one last drag of her cigarette and they watched the embers burn low before she flicked it over the side of the building and into the abyss below. "Good talk." She vaguely waved her hand at Misty and stepped back into her apartments, leaving the wild blonde to herself.

Misty stepped back into the salon of the District Seven quarters and was immediately accosted by David.

"Misty, ya have to try this. They have this thin' called ice cream? It's fuckin' magical." He said, his hands full with a big bowl and an even bigger spoon. "It's cold and sweet and it's like ice but not."

"Good night David."

OOOoooOOO

"The District Twelve tributes will be here sooner than expected." Myrtle announced the next morning. David looked up from his cereals, his fingers already reaching for a stray pancake. "Which means President Goode will be holding the tributes dinner tonight. We'll have to dress you for it, and have you fitted for the parade tomorrow." The redhead sighed deeply as she turned to look at the wild blonde across from her. She closed her eyes and took in a sharp breath. "Misty, do you know what a hairbrush is?"

Misty looked up, mouth full, and wiped at her face with the back of her hand. "Yeah."

"Do you know how to use one?"

Misty scowled as David laughed from behind his stack of waffles.

"I suggest you learn how to, if you don't. Otherwise the hair team will have a field day with you, and we both know you don't like being touched."

Misty slumped in her chair, defeated.

The costume team walked around her for more than ten minutes, looking at her curves and at her height and mostly whispering between themselves as they eyed her dubiously. Myrtle watched from the corner of the room, arms crossed.

"We might try a short dress." One man finally said. "For the legs."

"Legs?" Misty echoed.

He smiled tightly. "You're quite tall. We can work with that."

"I don't like dresses."

The three standing around her sighed heavily and they turned to face Myrtle.

The redhead pursed her lips. "You don't like dresses."

"They're awkward. Ya can't walk in them."

"Find her a suit."

The man's eyes opened wide. "Miss Snow?"

"You heard me. A suit. One that matches David's."

"One that matches-" He paused. "Yes, alright. Okay." He turned to his team and ushered them into the closet. Misty watched Myrtle, her eyes narrowed.

"Ya agree with me?"

"You might as well be comfortable. But you are wearing heels."

The wild blonde groaned, but said nothing more.

OOOoooOOO

Misty Day nursed her drink, it being her second, and her fingers itched to reach for a third one. David sat to her right, his hand tight around his fork as he ate silently, his eyes up on the tributes sitting around them.

For a room full of teenagers, it was rather quiet.

Misty tilted her head to look to the front of the table, where the president of Panem sat in her white throne.

Fiona Goode. Older than time herself yet with an look of youth to her, a look of transcendence that gave off its own light. And as often as Misty had seen her smile softly to the cameras, transferred to the television in her home as that little smirk that scared her as a child, it was the scowl on her features now that made her blood run cold.

Seated to her left, Myrtle nudged her elbow and jutted her chin at the girl's plate, silently asking her to eat. But Misty shook her head. She wasn't hungry. Far from it. David ate enough for the both of them anyway, and she nodded to him as he reached for her plate discreetly, under the watchful eye of an older tribute sitting stiffly across from them. She lifted her gaze and met his, and he looked down into his lap.

District Four. I think.

From the head of the table came President Goode's soft twang, her laugh light, her manner apologetic. "I would have thought my daughter would be here already." She glanced sideways at the man sitting at her side. He shifted awkwardly and looked to the empty seat at her other arm. "But she must have been held back."

"You know how ladies are." A deep voice growled from the other side of the room. Across from her, at the other end, sat the head gamemaker.
He'd been introduced to the welcomed tributes as nothing else but "the axeman", known for his over-excessive use of sharp instruments in the games' cornucopia. His gray eyes unsettled even the strongest that met his gaze, and Misty now couldn't help the shivers that ran up her spine and settled in her shoulder blades.

He grinned. "They take their time to look pretty." Fiona smiled back, but the wild blonde noticed the flash of warning in her light hazel eyes, that the axeman no doubt ignored.

"Maybe she'll get here for the after party." The president raised her glass to the room, and the tributes, mentors, and past victors followed suit.
Misty drank heavily from her wine glass as they toasted, and she groaned as David nudged her with a sharp elbow in the side. She glanced sideways at him and he raised his shoulders, frowning heavily at her.

"Please don't embarass us by gettin' hammered." He hissed.

"I'm nowhere near wasted." She replied.

"Don't make me cut ya off at the source." He threatened. "Hold off on the drinks, at least until the soirée."

She set her glass down rather grouchily, but didn't touch it for the rest of the dinner. She kept her eyes trained on her now empty plate, her fingers tapping randomly on the white tablecloth, her heels clacking on the marble beneath them as she worked her knee. Myrtle's hand came to rest on hers, and she stilled.

Once the plates were taken away and the tables cleared by avoxes in sharp suits, they all stood and followed President Goode and the axeman to the ballroom annexed to the side.

The bay windows were tall and the ceiling higher, dotted with crystal chandeliers that gave off a hazy light. Food was strewn about on tables set against the sides, and David let his eyes rake over them, already headed there in his mind as Misty tried not to vomit at the simple thought of eating.

But the room was already full with people, socialites of the Capitol and sponsors alike who began clapping and hollering as soon as the head gamemaker waved his arm over the tributes to acknowledge them to the crowd.

The music began, played by an orchestra in a corner of the room, and David stuck to Misty's side even though she tried hard to lose him in the throng of people, Myrtle watching from not far behind.

Suddenly, the redhead was tugging on both of them, holding them back by the back of their suit jackets. They paused and turned, puzzled, and she waved a man over, the one who'd been sitting by Fiona Goode during the dinner. "We have to make good impressions." Myrtle sing sang in a whisper.

The man grinned momentarily as he shook the tributes' hands. "Hank Foxx. Gamemaker."

"And District Six victor." Myrtle added graciously.

"That too, yes." He smiled widely, his canines sharp. "You must be Misty, and David?"

The dark skinned boy nodded.

"I must say, your mother's tears at the reaping will make for amazing footage once the games start." The gamemaker said brightly.

Misty watched David freeze, his eyes fixed on Hank's. He opened his mouth to speak, but found nothing to say.

"Hmm." Hank drank from his glass and pointed at the wild blonde as he swallowed. "I can't say you're helping us much though, Miss Day. You'll have to let us know if you have any family at all, cousins twice removed or something. Or friends? Lovers, past and present?"

Misty stiffened. "Sorry, no. The remains of my family are somewhere in Capitol vaults."

Foxx's smile didn't leave his face. "I'll have to look then."

David, still shaken, lifted his arm to tug at Misty's elbow. He looked up at her, dark eyes now black. "Come on, I want some ice cream before it gets taken away."

She narrowed her blue-green gaze on him and nodded softly. "Mr. Foxx, it was a pleasure."

"As it was for me. I'll see you at the parade?"

"We have nowhere else to be."

She pushed and pulled David towards a table by the wall, and hefted a bowl of lemon sherbet doused with vodka into his hands, which he took with bleary eyes, his fingers closing around the spoon she handed him.
She turned as the room suddenly grew silent, breaths baited as the large double doors opened slowly.

"I apologize for being late, mother."

The sweet voice made Misty's ears perk, and she struggled to find who it belonged to, the men before her too tall to overlook. She glanced sideways to watch Fiona stiffen and place a fake smile on her face.

"It's quite alright, join the festivities. It's a party." Those around her laughed. Misty finally gave up and turned back to David, who's slumped against a wall and was on his second bowl of ice cream, apparently oblivious to the alcohol in the dessert. Or maybe he was aware. She reached for a tumbler.

The District Seven mentor was suddenly at her side, fixing her jacket and tugging it down. "Won't you look presentable?"

"I can do it myself." Misty griped. Myrtle took her hand and began to walk her away from David.

Her voice became rather loud, as if she was trying to prove a point. "Misty darling, there's someone I want you to meet."

The tribute opened her mouth to protest, but the redhead's grip on her wrist didn't leave much room for arguing, and she followed the victor to a corner of the room to stand before a tall blonde, her hair falling down her back and her dress as black as night.

Myrtle left her with the woman, passed her hand over Misty's shoulders, and walked away, legs taking her farther into the dining room as she saw familiar faces. The two women left alone stood apart and Misty couldn't help but stare into the shorter blonde's eyes.

One was black, the other ice blue, and she was fascinated by the way they seemed to stare into her soul. If not unnerved.

"I'm Cordelia Goode." The older blonde held her hand out, but the taller girl didn't take it.

"Misty Day. District Seven."

"Do you announce yourself like that to everyone?" Cordelia cocked her head to the side, smiling.

"I was told to by my mentor. Apparently, y'all like labels. Especially the ones that mark hunted meat."

The woman shifted awkwardly and her smile fell a little, but she faked another as she tightened her grip on her glass. "Well then, it's nice to meet you, Misty."

"Ya, ah," Misty paused to gaze the woman up and down. "You're the president's daughter."

"That's right."

The tribute nodded heavily, her eyebrows raising.

"Does that intimidate you?" Cordelia asked.

"Nothing intimidates me, Miss Goode."

"And I believe you. How are you liking the capitol?"

"It's a weasel's nest." Misty answered easily. "And even though some of the vermin can be cute," She tilted her head at the woman. "I can't help but think that this is all some elaborate plan to make it look like the tributes are winners for gettin' picked against their will for a fight to the death in an undisclosed location with kids they've never met. It's like we have to be thankful for this grand opportunity you've given us. We're gettin' fed and dressed and we're smilin' for the cameras. Did you know the District Eight girl literally cannot sleep? She just screams and cries and honestly, it's fuckin' annoying'." She paused to take a sip of her vodka and nodded. "I am thankful for the pot roast though."

The president's daughter laughed lightly, taken aback. "That's not quite the answer I expected."

"Why, because ya don't know what's goin' on in your backyard or because you're closin' your eyes to what you're doin'?"

"Are you always this blunt? This rude?" The older blonde asked.

Misty snapped her drink back and slammed the tumbler down onto the nearest table before looking up into blue and black eyes. She grinned. "Defense mechanism. Or blame the drink, if nothing else."

Cordelia watched her, a certain hint of wonder on her face before she finally grimaced and turned away, high heels clacking on marble.

Misty watched her walk away, slightly dejected. Her elbow was tugged on and she turned to face Madison Montgomery, who had quite a smirk on her face as she too followed Cordelia Goode's retreating figure. She turned back to the older tribute with a knowing look in her eyes, but didn't mention it.

"I would have sat down next to you at dinner if we hadn't been assigned seats by district number." The dirty blonde said easily. "Don't tell him I said this, but the axeman smells like a fucking attic." Misty laughed, and the younger tribute held out a flask. "Drink?"

"I really shouldn't. I've made enough of a mess of this evenin' already."

Madison fixed her with her dark hazel eyes. "We're going to die."

"Pass it over."

The two leaned on the wall, sharing the dirty blonde's whiskey.

She stumbled outside a half an hour later after having dropped the dirty blonde off at the elevator, tripping in her boots as she struggled to breathe in the wind whipping past her. Even out here, the air was different than at home, and she wasn't sure she liked it. It was fabricated. It had a big red "capitol" stamp marked on it.

She glanced sideways as she heard a rustle, and found Cordelia Goode leaning back against the edge of the building, eyes closed and head tilted back, her champagne glass forgotten at her feet. She frowned and shifted as Misty paused, but she didn't acknowledge the wild blonde, even though she knew she was there.

"I can leave, if ya want." The tribute tried, stammering over her words.

"Can you stay quiet?"

"Yeah."

"Then stay."

Misty nodded, even though Cordelia wasn't watching, and bit at her lower lip, looking up at the moon in the sky. The fire in her veins, mostly due to the alcohol running through her system, made her feel slightly dizzy and she found it hard to stay in one place, tittering in her heels. She turned towards the older blonde despite herself and opened her mouth to speak.

Cordelia's raised hand stopped her. "Stop."

"Do ya not like talkin' to tributes? Is that it?" Misty suddenly snapped, her frown deep. "Too good for us?"

Mismatched eyes opened. "Blunt, rude, egocentric too?"

"Ya don't have to lie to me. I get it. You're too high and mighty." The wild blonde slurred, taking a step towards the older woman. She brought her arms up to rest them on the wall on either side of Cordelia's head. "Is that why ya couldn't keep a conversation with me?"

"Of course it has nothing to do with the fact that you're so drunk you're swaying on the spot, as you were then."

Misty let her lips hover against a sharp jaw. "Casualties happen. I swear I'm great at small talk."

"I'm sure."

The tribute's blue-green eyes opened and she looked down into the president's daughter's face. She let her fingers run down a smooth side and she pinched at a hip. "Do ya have somethin' against tributes then?"

"Yes."

"I like your eyes."

"Get off."

Misty let her head loll forward but she did as she was told and took a step backwards, hands held up by her shoulders in a show of surrender.

She felt the woman move past her and when she finally opened her eyes, Cordelia Goode was gone.

OOOoooOOO

"I like what you've done, Quentin."

"Well, Myrtle, you did ask for something different, for once." The man laughed lightly. It was the same man that had dressed Misty and David the first night, and she couldn't help but try to glance over his shoulder to see what he'd come up with for the parade. David stood by her, shifting his weight from foot to foot awkwardly as he too waited to see.

"Come here, chickies." Myrtle waved them over, and she stepped back to show off the mannequins that Quentin and his team had set up in a corner of the tributes' penthouse.

David's mouth fell open as he circled his outfit, his fingers reaching out to touch the fabric.

The short man had managed to make an armor out of intricate leaves. Like chainmail, they overlapped each other and glinted gold in the light, even though they were glazed green. The mannequin's arms were covered in bark like gloves that ran up to its elbows, and it was paired with cream colored woolen pants. David's managed to show off his chiseled torso, running down to his navel, while Misty's showcased her sharp collarbones and her powerful arms.

The dark skinned boy whistled softly and glanced up at the wild blonde, grinning. She smiled back, but couldn't help her fidgeting.

"Alright, fit it on. The parade's gonna start soon and we can't be late." Quentin quipped, pushing them towards their bedrooms. "My assistants will help you. Go on. Go."

It took a good ten minutes for all the metal leaves to be crosshatched and fitted onto her body, but she managed to fit into the costume, narrowing her eyes at the brightness it eluded whenever she hit one of the lights.

Her and David were marched to the bottom of the building and driven to the parade hall, black cars in front and behind them, filled with the other tributes. They were engulfed into a hangar, where night black horses awaited them, chariots attached to their bridles, their heads shaking as they waited impatiently.

"Oh, I love your outfit!"

Misty turned and smiled softly at Madison, trussed up in gold and ribbons. "Thanks. Ya, ah, goddess of war?"

"My stylists aren't original. This has been done so many times I could hurl." The dirty blonde scrunched her nose as she looked herself over. "Oh my god, you should see District Six though. They're dressed as train conductors, and I almost pissed myself." She pointed a manicured nail over at a corner of the hangar, where the two tributes stood awkwardly in bright blue outfits, angular and square on their bodies, almost as if they'd been ironed around them.

The wild blonde shook her head, smiling softly.

"And District Four-" Madison paused to giggle, and she held up her hand as she couldn't control herself. She walked away, unable to subside her laughter, and left Misty with David before their own chariot.

"She's a riot." David deadpanned.

"Oh hush. It's her way of copin'. Yours is eatin', hers is makin' fun."

"And yours is drinkin'?"

She glanced sideways at the dark skinned boy, but didn't answer him. They both mounted onto the open top carriage as a voice above them called for the tributes to do just so, Misty to the right, and she kept her gaze on the chariot ahead.

She couldn't help the smile that overtook her face as she raked her eyes over the District Four costumes.

The national anthem began and the tributes simultaneously raised their heads, chins held high, as the horses began to trot out onto the parade walk. The citizens that had gathered went into a frenzy, ignoring the music that played and the respect that had to be shown.

Myrtle had specifically asked them not to hold hands or to wave, and had instead given them both spears to raise into the air, to lean on heavily once they came to a halt. They did just that, and the crowds seemed to get a little louder as they rose the weapons into the air, glinting in the bright sunlight.

Misty looked up into the tribunes, eyes narrowed defiantly as David tightened his hold on the horses' reins, as they came to a stop with the music.

Fiona Goode watched them from a hundred feet high in her white throne as always, her chin in her hand as she let her eyes rake over the tributes below, coming to a halt beneath her for her inspection.

The wild blonde couldn't help but feel the disdain rolling off the woman in waves.

The crowds around them yelled and screamed and shouted district names, the noise unbearable. They waited and waited and watched President Goode, but the woman didn't move from her seat. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the axeman and Hank Foxx exchanging glances behind her, and that was when Misty noticed.

The throne besides her was empty.

"What's goin' on? Why aren't we done already?" David whispered.

"Cordelia Goode ain't here."

It took a few minutes, the citizens of the Capitol falling silent as they all waited, before the president's daughter finally arrived. Her face betrayed no emotion, and she easily ignored the nasty looks she received from her mother and the gamemakers alike. She whispered something quickly, and the president dismissed her with a wave of her hand. Her daughter looked down at her feet as she sat down, and Misty could have sworn she saw her slap Hank Foxx's hand away. The president stood.

"Welcome to the 86th annual Hunger Games." Fiona Goode boomed. She waited for the noise to die down. "And welcome to this year's tributes, ready to lay down their lives for the good of Panem."

OOOoooOOO

Billie Dean Howard had been officiating the Games for ten years now, her nail polish more and more gaudy as time went by, her hair a platinum blonde that hurt to look at too close, and her dresses so tight it was a wonder she could still breathe. She was the Games' sex appeal, and in another world, if Misty and David hadn't been both biting their nails as they waited to go up onto the television plateau, the two would have been deep in conversation about her current color and the way her breasts were pushed so high she could have poked someone's eye out.

Madison had already been through, and had been pegged as the aloof one, the snarky one, the one so sure of herself that no one could touch her, but Misty knew better and she couldn't help but start pacing as the District Two tributes were called up and as the girl from Eight began crying softly again, her sobs stifled behind her hand.

Slightly annoyed, the wild blonde fixed the lapel on David's suit as she watched the line move up, his an almost identical one to hers, both in black with emerald green accents. The boy from District Three was wild haired and shy, and wanted nothing more than to become an engineer if he survived. He still had dreams.

She walked inside a little circle as David watched her with his dark eyes, too upset to move himself. He cast her long look as her name was called and managed a small, encouraging smile, that she returned as best as she could, adding a pass over his hair as she walked out into bright lights, her heels clacking on the polished floors. Myrtle's words rung in her head. Don't make a fool of yourself.

The crowds were in an uproar, and a quick glance confirmed her thoughts. Videos of the parade were being diffused behind her, and she slowed down to watch herself as she and David slid by on their chariot, their armor glinting in the sunlight, the rays catching the gold and green leaves.

A laugh pulled her out of her reverie and she shook Billie Dean's hand firmly, and took the seat that was offered to her.

"I guess you're just as enamored with the look as we were!" The platinum blonde teased, crossing her legs. Misty copied her after a moment, nodding softly. The woman across from her took on a conspiring look and leaned in, almost as if she were telling a secret. "I heard that when you first came to the Capitol, you were somewhat untamed. You look absolutely docile now, have we gotten to your heart with the finer side of things?" She winked.

"I must admit, I was a little," Misty paused. "Confused, when my name was called. And the opportunies given to me had not come to the forefront yet. I'm not usually angry, just alone. I've met more people this week than I have my entire life." Up where she was perched up in the stands, Myrtle nodded softly at her, as Cordelia's mismatched eyes watched her intently. She swallowed heavily. "I was just out of my element."

"Confused! That's right, you've just turned nineteen."

"I did, a few hours ago."

"What a great honor to be able to join the Games before your birthday ruined the opportunity." Billie nodded her head enthusiastically.

"Yeah."

"Now tell us about this armor of yours, it's just magnificient!"

"Our mentor's idea." Misty said quietly, glancing back over her shoulder at the pictures that surfaced again. "And with the help of Quentin, our stylist. They were both a little tired to see our District dressed up as trees."

"As we all were, am I right?" The crowd joined Billie in a hearty laugh. She sobered, and Misty hated the time limit on the interview. She didn't have time to wrap her head around the questions. "What do you want most out of this?"

The wild blonde shifted in her seat. "Out of what?"

"The Games. What will you do if you win?"

Misty glanced back up into the stands. "I haven't thought about that."

"Not at all?"

She met the woman's black eyes with her own blue-green ones. "There are quite a few skilled tributes here."

"Like your fellow tribute?" Billie leaned forward again. "Do you care about him?"

"There's gonna be one winner, Miss Howard." Misty shook her head. "I don't have time to."

OOOoooOOO

"That last answer will cost you."

"I told ya I wasn't protectin' him." Misty replied, pulling at her jacket, itching to get it off. "And I meant it. And I kept my word."

"They're going to think you're heartless. Pessimistic. You're going to lose the sponsors' love!" Myrtle continued.

Misty rubbed at her forehead with the palm of her hand. "What does it matter?"

"Sponsors can save you, you ungrateful child."

The wild blonde threw her balled up jacket into a corner of the room angrily. "Sponsors won't be in the arena with me!"

"Have you not watched any of the Games since your birth?" Myrtle rounded the couch to block the girl. "Sponsors could save your life with their gifts, and you're spitting on those chances by not working any angle whatsoever. You're boring, 2D, unworthy to win."

Misty bared her teeth. "Then I'll die." She walked to her room and slammed the door shut behind her, listening to it echo as she threw herself face down onto her bed.

She couldn't have said how long she fitfully slept for, still dressed in her suit, but when she awoke, the sun was long gone and the moon up, and someone was knocking on the penthouse door. She waited and waited, her face down in her pillow, but no one went to go and open and the knocking continued. Annoyed, she stood and left her room to cross the penthouse.

She opened the door. "This is ridiculous, do ya know how late-"

Cordelia's mismatched eyes looked Misty up and down, and she let her tongue lick at her dry lips before speaking. "Am I bothering you?"

The wild blonde paused to glance over her shoulder, and stepped out into the hall. She found it difficult to remember what she'd been brooding about, and she shrugged softly. "Ah, no."

"Can I come in? It's not that I don't like the hallway, but," Cordelia cocked her head to the side, trailing off.

"I mean, it's your place, not mine. Do what ya want. But quietly. David and Myrtle are sleepin'." The girl stepped aside and the older woman stepped through and walked to Misty's open room without question. The younger blonde followed, frowning softly.

Cordelia's gaze wandered over the clothes strung about on the floor and on the furniture as Misty closed her bedroom door. "Haven't the avox been here to clean?" She asked, grimacing.

"I didn't let them in. This is my sanctuary for the next few days, I don't need bad vibes."

"I can leave, if you want."

Misty shook her head. "No, you're fine." Cordelia picked at a shirt hanging on a lamp and let it fall to the floor before sitting down on the bed.

"What does the president's daughter need?"

"Maybe I want to spend time with you."

The tribute glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "At three in the mornin'? After ya so nicely told me to get lost a few days ago? Why do I feel like you're lyin' to me?"

"You were drunk then. Why would I lie to you?"

Misty climbed up onto the bed, crawling to Cordelia's side to hover above her, blue-green eyes narrowed. "My daddy use to call it a defense mechanism, lyin'? Mine is bein' brutally honest. And yours is not." She paused. "Why lie to me? I'm no threat to ya."

"Tributes are always threats. That's what my father used to say."

"When he was alive."

"That's a low-blow."

"Your father killed mine."

Cordelia looked away. "He killed a lot of people. Don't take it personally."

Misty sat up to her full height, staring down at the woman. "What do ya want?"

"I wasn't lying. I do want to spend time with you." Mismatched eyes glanced up. "There's something about you, Misty Day."

"Explain." Misty asked, watching as Cordelia's fingers played with the covers. Suddenly, the woman stood up.

"You know, a lot of citizens call the Capitol 'pity central'." She picked up a pair of boy shorts and stretched them out before letting them drop onto the duvet. "Pity friends, pity favors, pity fucks. If you come in, you're going to suffer one way or another, so you might as well enjoy your time here. Since it's so short and all."

"Cut to the chase."

Cordelia turned to watch her, mismatched eyes blazing, and Misty found herself squirming beneath her gaze. "I like you."

The wild blonde blew air out of her nose. "Do ya? I wouldn't have been able to tell." Cordelia nodded as she stepped closer to the girl.

"Your mentor pulled you to me that first night, and honestly I didn't care to look at the others. You were magnificent at the parade. At the interview."

"It was probably the outfits. You'll have to thank Myrtle Snow." The wild blonde took a step back despite the blood thumping in her ears.

"It was you." The older woman said, her fingers hovering above Misty's blouse.

"Are ya sure?"

"Why are you so hesitant right now? You weren't before."

"Ya aren't exactly the nicest person, Cordelia Goode."

"What did you say my mechanism was? Lying?" The older blonde grimaced and crossed her arms over her chest. "I guess masks are another. You have to have a few when you live in the Capitol. But you know that." She paused and looked away. "I'm actually very docile. I just hate being dressed up and paraded around for my mother to use."

"Ya and me both." Misty shifted her weight. "Ya know, if I wasn't about to be sent off to my death next week, I'd have loved to get to know ya."

Cordelia stepped closer to her. "We still could. We have some time."

"Ya think?"

Cordelia smiled and tilted her head as she let her hands run up the tribute's side, her eyes wandering over smooth skin as she let her lips hover over Misty's. "Yeah."

The air between them was palpable and charged with electriticy and sparks that left both of them breathless as they exhaled together, against each other.

Misty gasped in a breath, flexing her fingers against her sides, itching to lay her hands on the vision before her. "That's, ah, that's good to hear."

"Is that a pun on my name?" Cordelia asked, laughing lightly, her fingers wrapping around the wild blonde's loose tie.

"Are ya gonna kiss me?"

The president's daughter grinned as she pulled the younger girl down to meet her lips, kissing her soundly. They both threw caution to the wind as soon as they moaned into each other's mouths and as Cordelia's arms snaked around Misty's neck to anchor in her curls. Misty's own fingers fell to the dip in the shorter woman's back and pulled her in until they both fell onto the bed.

Lithe fingers tugged at the bottom of the older blonde's shirt and Cordelia let Misty run it past her shoulders and throw it to the side as her own fingers found white shirt buttons to undo.

The older blonde hovered above her, coming down to place sloppy kisses down the wild blonde's neck, pausing to nip and bite as Misty breathed heavily into her ear, her own hands coming up to grasp at her ribs, inching past to her breasts. Cordelia faltered as the tribute's hips jutted into hers, and she let out a little groan as she sat up to rest on her lower stomach, grinding down.

Cordelia couldn't help the question falling past her lips. "Is this your first time?"

Misty nodded, pants coming out in waves and her fingers tight on Cordelia's thighs. The older blonde suddenly looked away, letting out a light, broken, laugh. She crawled off of the girl beneath her and threw herself onto the other side of the bed, arms out wide as she gazed up at the ceiling.

Misty sat up on her elbows, confused. "Why did ya stop?"

"You're a virgin."

"I, well I know how it works. I know what to expect." The tribute blurted out, frown deep. "Ya can't start and then not finish."

"It wouldn't be very fair to you."

"I'm gonna die, Delia."

The older blonde frowned softly at the sudden nickname, but didn't mention it. "I've heard that one before."

"Ya can't lie to me and tell me ya didn't enjoy that as much as I just did. Whatever that was. However short it was." Misty paused, and her voice was suddenly soft as she found Cordelia's fingers in the sheets. "Is this because of Hank Foxx?"

"It's about Hank. And it's not." The older blonde muttered, suddenly sitting up. "I'm supposed to get married to him, you know that?"

"Yeah. I watched the engagement tour."

"I keep trying to push it back but mother's going to catch up to me at one point."

"It's obvious you don't like him, so why are ya marryin' him?" Misty asked, sitting up too. She watched as Cordelia reached for her shirt and hoisted it above her head.

"Because he was a tribute that I took a liking to, and I took that liking too far. And he happened to live." The president's daughter answered. She ignored Misty's burning gaze as she pulled her blouse into place, tucking it into the waistband of her skirt. "And mother didn't want word of my indiscretions getting out. So I'm marrying him."

"So this was nothin' more to ya than what you had with him all those years ago. I'm a copy, revenge, in some way? Or I was, until ya grew a conscience right then."

"Misty-" Cordelia paused, suddenly annoyed. She turned to face her and leaned back on the bedroom door. "I, no. You're not revenge. You pulled me to you, alright? I didn't lie. There's something about you, something that I never had with Hank, that I never will." She looked down at the floor. "I do like you."

"Even though I was rude? Egocentric?"

The older blonde pushed air out of her nose, fighting a smile that would mirror Misty's own small one.

"Are ya worried about your reputation, or your mother?"

The president's daughter didn't reply and instead chose to chew on her bottom lip.

"Because you shouldn't be worried about either of them. I'm not comin' back to snitch. I'm gonna die in there."

"That's what Hank said."

"I'm not a liar."

Cordelia's hand fell from the doorknob.

OOOoooOOO

Misty and Cordelia awoke with a start as the wild blonde's bedroom door was knocked on.

"Rise and shine, Misty Day. Training starts in an hour. You should get dressed and consider eating breakfast. Will you need help with the zippers on your training combination?" Myrtle called through.

"No-!" Misty scrambled to stand, untangling herself from Cordelia's grip. "No, don't come in, I mean, I'm not dressed. I can do it myself. Worry about David." She could almost see the grimace the redhead must have been pulling, but a few seconds later she heard retreating footsteps. She turned back to the older blonde still rubbing sleep out of her eyes, and she smiled apologetically.

"You're gonna have to go."

"Is District Seven always this kind to their guests?"

"We'll both get killed if you're found here." Misty reminded her, throwing her her skirt. Cordelia caught it easily.

"It's not like we did anything. You fell asleep." The older blonde teased. She reached out and tugged Misty to her, kissing her softly. "Not that I tried." The wild blonde shook her head as she pulled away.

"Come on, Delia."

"I like that." Cordelia smiled softly as she laid back against the pillows, stretching our her muscles.

Misty glanced back at her as she ruffled through her closet. "Like what?"

"That nickname."

The wild blonde blushed.

"Alright, I'll get going. As much as I like sticking it to my mother, I don't want to get into trouble, and I'd rather you not go in to the games with a disadvantage."

The tribute turned to watch her as she hobbled into her uniform. "She can do that?"

"What, fix the games? Sure."

"That's terrifyin'."

"Welcome to the Capitol." Cordelia fixed her blouse and leaned over the bed to pull Misty to her once more, kissing her soundly, tangling her fingers in wild curls. She pulled away reluctantly and rested her forehead on Misty's. Her breathing was ragged as she spoke. "Can you distract David and Myrtle?"

"David's always distracted."

Cordelia laughed lightly as Misty tugged her to the door and peeked outside. She waited a moment before pushing the woman out of the room and into the salon, running her to the penthouse's lobby as Myrtle scolded David for the milk running down his chin.

Misty opened the door and let Cordelia through and out into the hallway, who turned and placed one last kiss against Misty's cheek, her touch lingering. The older blonde opened her mouth to say something, but frowned as she chose not to and instead waved at the girl before disappearing around a corner.

"Misty, is that you darling? Come eat."

OOOoooOOO

"I want this in the arena."

David glanced up at Misty, his own hands around a short sword. He let his dark eyes rake over the double ended ax she held gingerly in between her fingers. She motioned for him to keep watching and she pressed her thumb against a button in the middle. It clicked as it came apart in two, one end in each hand.

He whistled in appreciation.

"This is really fine craftsmanship. This is the sharpest ax I've ever seen, even though we've been choppin' up wood all our lives."

"Maybe ya can ask Myrtle to get a word in."

Misty glanced up at the gamemakers in the stands above them. "Maybe." She looked back down at David. "What did ya find?"

"Nothin' much." He admitted. "I'm afraid for the scorin'. If I don't get a good score the sponsors won't take me."

"Your personality will win them over enough."

"I need a skill, Misty." He grouched. "I can't shoot a bow. And I can't swing as well as ya." He trailed off as he noticed a career watching him from a corner of the training hub. He whispered angrily now. "I'm gonna get eaten on scorin' day."

"There ya go, there's your skill." She teased. "Eatin'."

He scowled at her, but turned away as he tried his best to hide a small smile.

A loud explosion made them both whip around, and they watched as a large plume of smoke clouded up into the air. The wild haired tribute from District Three stepped out of it, slightly ashen at the edges and smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry guys. Just a minor setback. Nothing to see here." He waved the curious girl from Nine away.

Misty spoke to David, but kept her eyes on the other boy. "Have ya been makin' friends? We're gonna need some in the arena."

"That girl from Eight is pretty nice."

"She's useless."

"Yeah. So I made nice with the two from Eleven." He leaned in to whisper. "Bastien's pretty weird. He just grunts a lot."

"He's got bull horns attached to his necklace. That didn't ring weird to ya in the first place?"

David smirked. "What about ya? Any friends?"

"Well I've got Madison, and she's been trainin' for a while. But honestly she's too busy makin' flirty eyes with the boy from Six to pay attention right now." Misty scrunched her nose. "He's obviously got a thing for his fellow tribute, so I don't see why she's even tryin'."

"She looks kinda oblivious in general." He narrowed his eyes. "Oh no."

"What?"

"You're thinkin' about talkin' to the boy who just set himself on fire."

"He can make explosions, David. That can be useful."

"It looked accidental to me."

She set her ax back on its pedestal and carefully made her way over to the raised platform where the sun kissed boy was sitting cross-legged. He looked up and smiled warmly.

"Misty Day, District Seven. Lumber, strong arms, most likely to use an ax." He stood and held out his hand. "I'm Kyle."

"Are ya keepin' a notebook on everyone here?" She shook his hand firmly.

"I like knowing things." He blushed. "But it doesn't look like your friend has a skill yet. He's rather scrawny compared to you."

"How did ya-" She paused and glanced around. "How did ya know he's doesn't have a skill? We just started, and you've been over here all mornin'."

"I told you, I like knowing things."

She followed him with her eyes as he sat back down. "You're the one who wants to be an engineer."

He motioned for her to sit by his side. "I'm from Three, I have wires instead of blood. Watch." He reached his arm up to grab at a screwdriver on the table above them and brought it down to use it on one of the metal panels they were sitting on, unscrewing the corners until it came off easily. He scooted back to hide the hole he'd made from view and reached behind him to grab at a see through screen.

"Have you used these yet? They're all over the penthouses. They're like mini computers. My grandfather helped design them."

"I, ah, no. I didn't know they turned on." Misty admitted.

He shrugged good naturedly as he grabbed at a wire inside the panel and brought it out, unrolling it from its case. He played with the frayed edges before attaching them to the opening inside the screen's own openings.
It suddenly turned on in a bluish haze, the same blue the Capitol was known for using. He used his finger to scroll over the screen, zooming in and out of menus as Misty watched with wide eyes. He finally smiled, satisfied, and handed it to her. She took it gingerly and let her mouth drop open.

"That's, that's David!" She glanced back over her shoulder and watched avidly as the boy on the screen did the same thing as her fellow tribute, but from another angle. "How did ya-?"

"I got in through the camera system, that's how I knew he didn't have a skill." He grinned. "That'll be my 'thing' for the scoring session."

"You're bound to get one hell of a score." She paused, suddenly thinking of Cordelia's words the night before. "But ya have to be careful. Ya don't want the Capitol mad at ya. If they know ya can get into their systems...Listen, ya might find yourself at a disadvantage inside the arena, they'll make it happen. You're dangerous to them if they know ya can do this."

He glanced sideways at her. "Me? Dangerous?"

"Ya bypassed their systems without alertin' anybody."

He squirmed besides her and grabbed at the screen in her hands, suddenly shutting it off and slamming the panel back onto the floor quickly. "You're probably right. I can't do that. I'll have to find something else." He looked up. "I'm no good at physical stuff."

"I can help."

He narrowed his eyes at her as he mulled his thoughts over. "Are you suggesting an alliance?"

"Are ya?"

He grinned.

OOOoooOOO

"Hi."

"Miss Goode."

Cordelia tilted her head to the side in question at the sudden formality, but grimaced knowingly and turned away halfway, her hands tight behind her back as a District Twelve tribute passed her. She glanced over her shoulder and waited until he was well out of earshot before turning back to Misty, a small smile on her face. "Let me try that again." She paused. "Hi."

"Hi Delia."

The older blonde let herself grin, a small blush creeping up her neck. "How was training? Make any friends?"

"A few. But I wouldn't want to tell ya, ya might tell someone and screw me over." Misty taunted, taking a step closer. Cordelia's breath got caught in her throat at the sudden invasion of privacy, but she didn't pull away.

"And here I thought you'd add something hurtful to that sentence, like a horrible nickname."

"Like?"

"Like 'Capitol', or 'First Daughter'."

Misty wriggled her nose. "I think 'Delia' is enough." She giggled as the older blonde feigned hurt and slapped her softly on the arm. She retreated into herself as another tribute passed by and crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned on the wall with one shoulder.

"Are you doing anything tonight?"

The wild blonde faked thinking, letting her wrist go limp as she explained. "I mean, I have a hair appointment, and then David wants to talk over our manicures. And I think Madison suggested a wine tasting class out at the-" She trailed off as Cordelia began laughing. "I'm free."

The president's daughter let her mismatched eyes rake over the tribute. "Myrtle won't miss you for a few hours?"

"I don't think she cares where I get off to, as long as I come back alive."

"I'll try to keep you breathing then." Cordelia leaned in, tilting her head back, eyes bright. She found Misty's fingers with her own. "Come on."

The wild blonde let herself be tugged down the hallway by an incredibly excited Cordelia Goode, her own smile rivaling the older woman's.
The president's daughter and the tribute ended up on the rooftops, overlooking the Capitol as the sun began to dip down. They had a few hours before it disappeared behind the mountains, and they sat down by the roof's edge to enjoy it. Cordelia let her chin rest on the wall as she crossed her arms in her lap.

Misty watched her.

"I like it up here. It's quiet." The older blonde laughed lightly. "And there's literally no way you can jump off or fall off, so it's pretty safe."

"Why do I feel like you've tried?"

Cordelia turned to smile at her. "I didn't. I threw an apple first, to try and see what I'd look like when I reached the ground. It bounced back and hit me in the face."

"Forcefield?"

"Something like that." She tuckered down into herself and threw Misty a wry grin.

The wild blonde cleared her throat. "I like ya and all-"

"But?"

"But ya didn't say hi properly." Misty shrugged. "And here I thought the Capitol had manners."

The older woman cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Misty smiled and hesitantly leaned in to kiss Cordelia, her lips soft on the other blonde's. Fingers tangled in her hair and she grinned into the kiss as Cordelia replied easily.

"You're going to be the death of me, Misty Day."

"I think that's your job, actually." The wild blonde kissed her again, slowly this time, humming despite herself.

Cordelia pulled away to gaze into blue-green eyes.

"That's not how I meant it."

"I know, Mist. I know." The older blonde tugged her down to her again. She breathed against her. "Just forget about the Games. Forget about the world outside and just think of this moment. Us on this rooftop-"

"-With a vengeful apple-throwing forcefield."

Cordelia laughed breathlessly. "That too. Yeah. You don't hate me, do you?"

"I don't see how I could."

OOOoooOOO

"Come on, try again."

"People are staring, Misty."

"Let them. Think of the target, nothin' else."

Kyle Spencer nodded, breathing hard as a bead of sweat ran down his forehead. He lifted the bow in his hands again. "You know, I've never done this much exercise."

"I would never have guessed."

He ignored the quip. "I could always get a system running in this, get the accuracy up, maybe a fail safe target shot."

"Would ya have time to do that in the arena? The resources?"

He glanced back at the wild blonde. "I guess not."

"Shoot, Kyle."

He nodded and turned back to the target about twenty feet off, the wall behind it filled with protruding arrows. Missed shots. He bent his arm back and aligned his bow, breathing lightly as his muscles screamed. He flinched lightly as the arrow slipped past his ear and soared through the air. It hit the edge of the target and he turned to Misty, a full blown grin on his face.

"I got it!"

"Yeah, ya did. Try it a hundred more times and you'll get to the center. Maybe."

He frowned at her but picked up another arrow as she moved to stand besides David who was watching avidly.

"I tried, ya know?" He began, eyes on Kyle. "I tried shootin' and I almost impaled the girl from Ten."

"Well then it's not your thing."

"Then what is? Scorin' is in two days. I'm fuckin' screwed over here."

"Ya can climb real well."

"So?"

"So show that off. They might be partial to addin' trees or ledges if they see ya monkeyin' around." Misty shrugged. "And ya can make one hell of a bonfire."

"Great. Trees and fire."

"It's better than nothin'."

David nodded glumly as he followed Misty's gaze as she fixed the girl from Eight.

"I guess I can do that." He looked up. "I'll use the riggin'."

"Exactly. Try to camouflage too. If they can see ya still while they're watchin', you're screwed."

"I can do that. I used to sneak up on people in town all the time, ya know?"

"I know."

He paused and turned his dark eyes on her. "What was that?"

"What?"

"Ya know? What do ya mean ya know? Ya said ya didn't know me." He called after her as she began walking away. "Misty!"

But she ignored him as she broke from the little crowd that had gathered to watch Kyle shoot and made her way to Madison, leaning up against a wall with her hands in her pockets.

"Hey Seven." She smirked. "I see you've trained Three's pet to do something else than blow shit up."

Misty raised an eyebrow and the tribute from District One slumped her shoulders.

"Sorry. I guess I hit the whiskey too early this morning."

"Have ya hit anythin' else? Like trainin'?"

"No. I'm keeping myself a mystery, so these assholes don't hit me in the back with a well placed knife because they saw my moves out here." She narrowed her eyes. "You haven't been doing much training yourself either. You're just helping the others."

"A few days of extensive ax wielding won't save me now."

"Look at you, acting like a saint when in reality you're just saving your own ass. I like it."

"I really don't think I'll survive. And even if I do, I don't think I'd want to. A victor's life isn't all that great, is it?" Misty crossed her arms. "I don't know about your mentor, but Myrtle Snow is fucked up in the head."

Madison nodded slowly. "Yeah, ours is...interesting. Though I've heard that Four's demands to be called 'madame' all the time. I think she drank too much sea water."

"Madison."

The girl looked up, hazel eyes blurry. "Yeah?"

"Join the alliance."

The career laughed loudly, bitterly, threatening to start a coughing fit. "You're fucking crazy if you think I'll do that." She giggled. "If you think us making friendship bracelets and hanging out and drinking is going to change the Games, it's not." She picked up the bottle that she'd hidden behind her boots and began to walk away.

She glanced back at the wild blonde over her shoulder. "There's only one thing I'll promise you, Misty Day. I won't be the one stabbing you in the dark."

OOOoooOOO

Cordelia's fingers played with the edge of Misty's shirt and the wild blonde couldn't help the goosebumps that ran up her spine. She tilted her head down so that she could watch the older woman's mismatched eyes shine as she peeked at tanned skin, as she let her nails rake over her abdomen.

"You're not really respectful of art pieces, are ya? You're not supposed to touch." Misty teased, resting her head in her hand as she brought her elbow up to balance on it. She turned so that she could watch Cordelia properly, and they now lay facing each other in the tribute's bed.

The older blonde glanced up and grinned. "You think highly of yourself."

"Egocentric."

"Narcisstic."

Misty laughed and bent down to kiss the woman, her lips trailing down to catch Cordelia's jaw.

"Hank's wondering where I am right about now."

"Let him wonder." The wild blonde growled, securing her hold on the other's waist. She continued down to sharp collarbones and threatened to leave hickeys, but Cordelia pushed her off, giggling.

"Don't, I'll really get in trouble." She laughed softly. "I wear low shirts, silly."

"Can I go lower then? No one will see those if I do."

Cordelia opened her mouth, shocked, but just gasped out a bark of laughter as Misty grinned up at her, her hands running down a smooth stomach until she gripped at strong thighs. She brought the older blonde closer to her and placed a kiss against her chest.

Cordelia bit her lower lip. "You can."

"Hmm, what?"

"Go lower. If you want to." The older woman stammered over her words. "I mean, sorry, I-"

Misty pushed herself up the bed and stopped Cordelia from speaking anymore, her lips fitting easily to the woman's as her fingers hiked up her blouse.

OOOoooOOO

Madison had barely thrown a glance at Misty before she'd entered the training grounds, the metallic doors sliding shut behind her as she went before the gamemakers to be scored for the Games. And Misty squirmed in her seat, David frozen besides her.

She gave Kyle a broken smile as he was called an hour later, and he gave it back, an easy smile that radiated like a thousand suns, but it only made her feel slightly better.

David choked out a sob as he was called to begin the second half of District scorings, but a reassuring hug from Misty gave him enough of a mask to stop the tears from ever leaving his dark eyes, and he strode out onto the grounds head held high, already headed for the riggings, from what she could tell.

Ten minutes later, she was called.

She walked into the room, finding it rather empty, save for the weapons racks on the walls and the training dummies in the corners, and her eyes found the ax she'd been using during sessions, but she didn't immediately go to it.

Her blue-green eyes looked upwards until she was fixing the head gamemaker, the axeman, straight in the eyes, and he smirked back at her from the raised platform as she glared, inviting her. Next to him, Hank Foxx watched her, and she couldn't help the insurmountable want to scream up at him that Cordelia Goode had panted out her name until she couldn't anymore. But she held her tongue, held her spark.

She'd told herself that she'd sit down and not show them anything, she'd told herself that she'd fight the system, but now in the heat of the moment and with Foxx's eyes on her figure, she wanted to do nothing more than show what she was made of, to prove that she wasn't some hood rat that deserved to be drowned and wrung and thrown into a maze, even though she wasn't going to be. She just didn't deserve it.

She crossed to the ax in just a few steps and picked it up easily, finding the weight against her hands pleasant. She glanced around, unsure of what to begin hitting at, the dummies almost staring back from their positions. She glanced up at the gamemakers again, her fingers itching.

She dropped the ax on the ground with a loud clang and grabbed at a dummy, wheeling it to the farthest part of the room. As she walked back, she picked up the weapon from the floor and clicked it open into two, letting the pieces dangle from her arms, inches from the marble she walked on. She squared down her target, thirty feet from where she was and flexed her fingers around the grips she held.

Her muscles were already screaming.

She took a step, then two, turned on herself and threw her first ax as she faced the front again, sending it over her head, not caring where it landed as she switched her last weapon to her right hand. She turned on herself again and threw that one sideways, past her hips, palms up, and watched it join its twin in the dummy, both embedding deep in its chest.

OOOoooOOO

"Alright settle down you two." Myrtle commanded, waving her hands at her tributes, begging them to sit down onto the couch. "Please, Misty, sit properly, like a lady. David, is the ice cream necessary?" The wild blonde tucked her feet beneath herself despite her demands, and the dark skinned boy raised an eyebrow as he dug down into his bowl again. The redhead sighed heavily as Quentin shrugged behind her. "Fine. Just watch then. You're lucky no cameras are watching your reactions, as uncouth as you two are."

David snorted from behind his spoon, and Misty nudged him slightly, warning in her blue-green eyes.

"Here we are, three days into training and the gamemaker's scoring has been officiated." Billie Dean blared on screen, her hair blinding the tributes as they watched silently. "I'd like to remember all who are watching that these scores will help many sponsors here in the Capitol make their choices on who'll they choose to save, if anyone. May I have the scores?" She was handed a stack of envelopes from offscreen and she let out a tight squeal as she excitedly picked up the first one.

"First, District One." She opened up the lip of the manila folder as the boy tribute's picture flashed up behind her. "Harrison Renard, a score of eight." She flipped the card. "Madison Montgomery, a score of, ooh, eleven."

Misty let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding in. She barely listened as the District Two tributes were called out, and leaned forward as Billie Dean held up an envelope with a three on it.

"Kyle Spencer, beautiful blonde from Three, with a score of, eight. Good job Kyle. As for his partner-"

"Eight is good." David murmured.

"It is." Misty nodded.

Both District Four tributes, Nan and Luke, received generous nines from the gamemakers.

"District Seven. David, lovely boy, with a score of, also, an eight."

Myrtle let out a happy cry of joy from behind them and rounded the couch to take the boy into her arm, pressing him to his chest, tears falling down her cheeks from behind her cat eye glasses. Misty ignored his cries of help as she stood and took a step closer to the television with baited breaths.

"District Seven, Misty Day, with a score of ten." The platinum blonde smiled and reached for a new envelope as David finally escaped Myrtle and sicced her onto the wild blonde, eyes wide as she watched a ten appear next to her picture.

"An eight and a ten, oh my lovelies, oh happy day!" The redhead gushed, her hands on David's cheeks again, pinching. "We can work with that." Next to her, Quentin nodded frantically. "Oh, we can work with that. I have calls to make!" She grabbed at her purse with clawed fingers and practically jogged out, the stylist hot on her tail.

The girl from Eight received a three that both tributes cringed at as they stayed to watch the rest of the scores. The black girl from Eleven, Queenie, received a six, and Bastien an eleven.

Misty shut off the program, Billie Dean's voice grating on her, and David shuffled on his feet, his spoon dangling from his mouth.

"This is good." He murmured, dark eyes glazed over. "Maybe I'll live." He let out a bark of laughter as he shook his head.

"I'm sure you will. I'm proud of ya."

He glanced up at Misty and blushed hard as he turned away.

OOOoooOOO

Cordelia had been watching Misty over her plate the entire farewell dinner, her black and blue eyes boring into the tribute's blue-green ones intensely. The wild blonde did her best to ignore the woman, but found her foot incessantly tapping randomly beneath the table, and she suffered through the looks that Madison (who'd decided to join them after all) and Kyle gave her as they sat across from her and David.

The tributes had been given the chance to sit where they wanted, this being their last night of friendship, and their newly formed alliances had quickly taken seats as far away from the gamemakers and the president as they could so that they could whisper amongst themselves, but for more than ten minutes, with their dinners becoming cold in front of them, Fiona Goode had been talking.

Misty barely listened, her breath hitching every time her eyes met Cordelia's across the room, her memories clouded with lust from all the time they'd spent together while no one was watching.

Dinner passed in a timeless blur, yet longer than eternity itself, with Kyle and David exchanging jokes across the table and Madison trying hard to get the wild blonde's attention, scowling when she failed to do so.

The plates were cleared away and the president stood to give one last toast to the tributes, her words blurred over by the fire coursing in Misty's veins, her gaze clear as she stared Cordelia down.

Her fellow fallen were led out of the room by the avox until only one remained, a tall man with long greasy hair and yellowing fingernails, but Cordelia nodded at him and he left after giving Misty a rather dirty look.

It was a miracle either of them had held out this long.

Fiona Goode's speech had left a tarnished mark on Misty's soul, even though she'd only half-listened, but it was now being steadily erased as all she could feel was Cordelia's mouth trailing down her stomach. The older blonde had cleared the dinner table, glasses and knives and forks falling to the floor in a clatter, and sprawled the wild blonde onto it, fingers grasping at her pants and throwing them back over her shoulder.

"I'm glad you went commando."

"Myrtle said it would leave panty lines if I didn't." Misty breathed back, fingers wound tight in blonde strands as Cordelia nipped at her hip.

"God bless Myrtle Snow."

Misty was about to retort but the president's daughter ripped a tight yelp out of her throat as she licked a long trail up her center. The tribute let out expletives and gasps and tightened her grip in the woman's hair, back arching off the stainless steel table beneath her. The first daughter didn't try to silence her.

OOOoooOOO

Misty fit her boots on and scrunched her toes in them, staring at them, trying to wrap her mind around everything going on, all the words that'd been thrown at her and all the information given to her last minute.

The shoes were steel tipped work boots, with hard soles and with grips, and she tried hard to think about what they could be for. Uniforms helped the tributes in the games, and she found herself hoping for a good mountain. She didn't know much, but she knew those.

She whipped her head up as the door opened, as her sanctuary was broken.

"Cordelia."

"Hi. Do you mind if I stay with you until you-? I'm not technically allowed to be here, since I'm Fiona's daughter, but-You don't mind if I stay, right?"

The wild blonde shook her head, throat dry. "No, no of course not." She laughed lightly as she reached for the warm jacket she'd been given as part as of her uniform. "Ya wouldn't know what to expect out of this arena, would ya?" She fitted her arms into the sleeves.

"No. And even if I did, I'd most likely get my tongue ripped out for telling you."

"David's cryin'."

"Oh."

"Yeah, Myrtle had to drag him out here. She's with him now, in the other room. Quentin wanted to stay with me, but honestly, he's not exactly the last person I'd want to spend my last free moments with."

"And I am?"

Misty looked away as she pulled her hair out of her collar.

"It was," Cordelia paused. "It was nice getting to know you, this past week." Misty smiled despite herself. "I'm sure if things had been different-"

"But they're not."

The older blonde looked away. "No. They're not."

"Promise me somethin'."

Cordelia glanced up, questions in her eyes.

"Have a good life, will ya? Do things you wouldn't have done otherwise. Get married and have kids and find a new love because Hank is an asshole. Have affairs. Stick it to your mother, be late to everythin'. Have fun." Misty took a small breath. "Do things I won't be able to do."

"Misty-"

"Promise me."

"Yeah." The president's daughter nodded with some difficulty. "Yeah okay."

The bell went off above them, and the countdown began, starting at thirty seconds. Misty moved past the older blonde and climbed into the tube designed for her. She turned into it to face out, to watch Cordelia stand rigidly across the glass. She pressed her palms to it, and Cordelia hesitated but a split second before bringing her own fingers up to mirror Misty's.

The cold voice above them counted down from ten.

"Misty."

The wild blonde tilted her head to the side, the woman's words muffled, yet clear.

"Goodbye."

And the last thing she saw were Cordelia's mismatched eyes.