Notes: I'm not really sure if I liked Mockingjay; so many people died in Catching Fire and even more died in Mickingjay. I loved Finnick, and Prim. AND CINNA. Holy crap, Cinna. I loved him. And I can't believe that Katniss agreed to have another Hunger Games with the Capitol children; she was contradicting her former beliefs. And Peeta. Peeta changed so much, he was unrecognizable even in words. It was mainly just…sad. Even the end was rather emotionless; I was spoiled, so I thought I'd be ecstatic over the fact that Katniss and Peeta had children, but the way everything played out it was so bleak and spiritless.
Anyway. I was sort of indifferent towards her prep team until Catching Fire and Mockingjay, because you learn that they care for her quite a bit. And when Katniss finds them chained to the wall in Mockingjay, my heart really went out to them.
So here's a little fic for Venia, Octavia, and Flavius. Mainly featuring Venia, because she's the only one who talked during the scene in chapter four and Katniss describes her as the strongest.
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Candleflame
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There is nothing to hear here, except maybe the guard occasionally shifting his position and Octavia or Flavius's whimpers and sniffles. But they've learned to keep quiet after the bread-stealing incident; or rather, they are too afraid to do anything at all. The room stinks of…ourselves, in the worst possible way. It's absolutely degrading, but there's nothing else we can do but wait. Guards come in sometimes, to hose down the walls and to wash the place. But it still stinks. Octavia, Flavius and I have all been hosed down from out Capitol ways.
It's cold here, and disgusting, but none of us are going to open our mouths. There's no one here to hear us anyway.
But today, we hear other things, voices, the banging of the elevator. There's the voice of a girl, somehow familiar, but it's hazy and I can't place it like I can't place anything else…
Octavia lets out a whimper at the noise, and after a few moments the door bangs open. The three of us look up, and then I place the voice with the image of the girl.
Katniss. The Girl on Fire.
Octavia and Flavius cringe, shrinking back, as if trying to push themselves into the wall to become part of it, because she is the symbol of rebellion, she is the Mockingjay that is the symbol of hatred against the Capitol, the Capitol that we are from.
Katniss stares at us with a sense of growing horror at our conditions, but I don't even know what we look like. I am so tired. But she comes to me, slowly and delicately as if she might break me, takes my hands. Hers are so warm, and I am trapping her hands in a death grip because I am so cold and the Girl on Fire is what is keeping me alive at this moment.
"Venia," she whispers, "What happened, Venia? Why are you here?"
I have not spoken in days, but Katniss is here and I tell her. And Katniss is all I am betting on to keep us alive.
The man behind her speaks, and I flinch at his voice. "We thought it might be comforting for you to have your regular team. Cinna requested it."
Cinna. Cinna. Cinna. The three of us loved and admired him, and he was gone. We have been doing nothing but shedding tears since the Quarter Quell, where we sent Katniss back into the arena, barely managing to finish our jobs because we could not bear to see her go.
"Cinna requested this?" Katniss snarls. It's deathly and harsh, but the three of us don't flinch at her voice. Her voice protects us. Octavia won't look up and Flavius is hunched over as well, but I know that inside they are gaining hope. Katniss's voice is the icy fire licking over the chains, spreading wildly in her anger. "Why are they being treated like criminals?"
She learns of the bread. Octavia still won't look at her even when she crawls over to her, to assure that everything will be alright.
"I'm bringing you to my mother." Her mother, a healer. "Unchain them," She says to the guard, who begins to refuse. "Unchain them! Now!"
Her voice is the fire the eats up wood within seconds, smoldering them to ash. The fire licks away at the chains, letting our wrists and ankles breathe. She and the two men support us as we stumble on the linoleum floor, following the path that the fire has burned for us.
The Girl on Fire was simply a beauty in the beginning. Then she was the quiet, innocent glow of embers in the menacing presence of President Snow. Last time, she was the deadly, unforgiving flame of purple and black terror. Now, as she supports me, she is the gentle flame of a candle; warm, relaxing, mesmerizing, melting the wax away.
Katniss Everdeen cannot keep everyone alive, but she will keep everyone she can before her flames die out.