A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay; I just got back from moving my aunt to Mississippi, so I wasn't able to do a whole lot of writing. But now that I'm back, I should be able to update this a lot faster. There will probably be about 7 or 8 chapters, and I haven't decided if I want to do an epilogue yet. It just depends on how I feel once it ends.
In any case, thanks to everyone for reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing the first chapter! Also, thanks for all the flattering comments stating that you trust me to write a good HG story; no pressure, right? Hahaha. I'll do my best! I'm a huge fan of the books/movies, so I'm trying to make it as accurate as possible. Thanks for placing your (undeserved) trust in me! XD
I'd also like to thank Dakota (Perfectly Censored) for being the best Wall to ever Wall, and my good friend Tiger (get-higher) for being a bitch and not writing my fics for me even though I beg her to every single day. I'd also like to thank my Kill Consultant, Lighthouse (NegativeSpaces) for helping me come up with the shit that makes my stories so ~meaningful, lmao, and also for helping me figure out how to creatively kill people.
Well, there you have it. Enjoy!
As soon as you leave the stage to the sound of thundering applause and head inside the Capitol building, you're greeted by two Peacekeepers who pat you on the back and congratulate you. You recognize them as friends of your father- your father is friends with all the Peacekeepers, actually- and their enthusiasm only serves to hype you up even more. You're beyond ecstatic that your name was called, and even though you were expecting it, you're still in such shocked disbelief that you're kind of floating through reality at the moment. You're floored that your District actually voted for you to be the female tribute. You feel honored to be chosen for such an important job, and you're determined not to let them down- you're determined to win.
As the two Peacekeepers lead you down the hallway and into a lobby to wait for your family to appear so you can say your farewells, you flash them a winning smile, letting them know you're grateful for their support. When you reach the small lobby, carpeted with a plush, round blood-red rug emblazoned with the seal of the Capitol, District 2's Head Peacekeeper, Couter, greets you with a dumb grin, shooting you a double thumbs-up from his spot near the window. You send him a small wave back, and then your father comes around the corner and meets you, crushing you to him in a hug that steals the air from your lungs.
"I'm so proud of you," he mutters, and you feel your heart pounding at his words. You're still flying.
You smile against his shoulder and hug his waist tightly, glad for his approval. You're over the moon, dancing on air, pleased with yourself and excited all at once. You've made it. You've been training for years to reach this day, and now it's here. You don't think about what's coming, or the fact that you'll have to outlast twenty-three other kids- one of them Jesse- you only think about how thrilled you are to be among those selected to compete in the most important Games in existence. You only think about your family's honor, your District's reputation, and how grateful you are to be serving the Capitol.
You will come home as a Victor. There's no other option- not when you've worked so hard to get here. Not when your father's got that glowing look in his eye. Not when all the Peacekeepers are still giving you obvious supportive gestures.
After your father releases you from your hug, he stands back, digging into his pocket for a moment. He reaches for your hand, and you blink at him as he places the object he'd pulled from his pocket in your palm.
"I want you to have this," he says, his voice low and hoarse with emotion. "Wear it as your token."
You nod absently, studying the set of metal tags, attached to a thin chain, your father's just given you. They look like military ID tags, and they're engraved with a string of eight numbers and your last name- Pierce- on one side. On the other side is an engraving of what looks like a jabberjay, and at your questioning look, your father chuckles.
"During the Rebellion, my job was in espionage," he explains with a half-hearted shrug. You swallow thickly. You knew he'd been part of the group that worked with the jabberjays, but you'd never even seen any of his old Peacekeeper stuff before, and the fact that he's entrusting you with his old ID tags means more than you ever thought possible.
"Thank you," you whisper, still shocked to the core that you're holding something so precious.
Your father smiles. "You've earned it, Britty," he tells you, taking the necklace from your hand and carefully guiding it over your head. The tags settle against your breastbone, and the cool metal quickly warms against your skin as your heart pounds with a myriad of different emotions. You struggle for what to say when your mother and sister come in, all smiles, and each take a turn hugging you.
"Don't lose," Ashley comments nonchalantly, offering you a shrug, and you shake your head, grinning triumphantly at her.
"She won't," your mother interjects before you have a chance to answer. She cups your face and strokes a thumb over your cheek, gazing kindly into your eyes. You soften your smile for her. "I know she won't." She taps the tags hanging around your neck, letting you know that she sees them, and she offers you a knowing, proud look; you nod.
"Make me proud, Britty," your father adds, and you straighten up as he places his familiar hand on your shoulder. It both comforts and intimidates you normally, but today, combined with the tags resting against your chest, you draw strength from it. "Make our District proud."
"I will," you promise, and then Couter waves his hand, gaining your attention from over your father's shoulder. When your eyes meet his, he nods, and you swallow your nervous excitement.
It's time.
"I've gotta go," you mutter, stepping back from your family. Your family who all watch you without a shred of sadness or regret or worry. They're all confident in your abilities, in your win. Which means you are, too.
"That's my girl. Knock 'em dead!" your father calls as you turn away.
You pause, processing the truth of his words, and throw over your shoulder,
"I will."
Couter guides you to Sugar, who enthusiastically leads you onto the silver train that will take you to the Capitol. You've never been there, but your father has, and he's told you stories all your life. You're eager to see what it's like in person, and when you win the Hunger Games, you're sure you'll visit it regularly. You can't wait.
On the train you meet April, the Victor of a previous Games and assigned to be your Mentor this year. There's other Victors, of course- the winner from last year, Hank, who's assigned to Jesse, and the other three, who are just along for the ride- and to offer advice.
All of them are drunk when you arrive.
You've seen April before, but you've never actually interacted with her- you've never had reason to. You know she was on the stage when your name was called, but you were far too busy being distracted with nerves, excitement, and the proud look on your father's face to notice. She's usually always drunk, but at least she's the happy kind.
You cast Hank, who's sitting in the corner staring off into space, a fleeting glance. His face is blank, and he's swaying a little even sitting down, which clues you in to how plastered he is. You know he's just finished his Victory Tour, and that he had a particularly rough time in the Games. The female tribute from last year, a girl named Harmony, had been a close friend of his in training, but you know he should've known better than to get attached. You'd hooked up with a few people in the Academy, but you knew it was just to take the edge off of training, that it was just for fun. There wasn't anything beyond relieving your own tension and satisfying your own needs. You weren't there to meet people.
You were there to learn how to eliminate them.
You look at Jesse sitting in a chair across from April; you definitely won't make the mistake of befriending him.
As you approach April, the first thing she does is offer you a glass of wine from a box. You politely decline, instead wondering if you should discuss your strategy with her, if she could offer you some tips. If anyone could offer you some tips; not that you need them, but it can't hurt. You look around the room at the other Mentors, all in similarly incapacitated states, and decide you're probably not going to get much help from any of them, which is fine with you. You're completely prepared. You volunteered for this, after all. You settle down into a chair at the table and grab yourself a sweet tart.
It's not a very long ride to the Capitol, considering your District borders it, but it's long enough to allow for a conversation. You decide it can't hurt to see if April can offer you some advice, or give you some inside perspective. You ask her if she has any of either, and she downs her glass of wine in response.
"Pssh," she scoffs loudly, bending to pour herself another glass. You wonder how many she's had. "You don't need me. One of you is definitely gonna win- and my money's on blondie over here." She waves her hand at you, and you sit, stunned, at her words. Is she talking to you and Jesse, or just you? April cackles and takes a sip of her new glass of wine, and you glance over at Jesse, who has his eyes narrowed from April's words as he scrutinizes you, sizing you up. Making you a target. You'll have to take him out quickly, you decide. He could be dangerous.
"I'm glad you brought that up," Sugar says, bored, from across the table. You almost forgot she was there, she'd been so unusually quiet. She repositions herself in the chair she's lounging in, reaching to grab a small pastry off a plate piled high with them. She pops the sweet into her mouth and shrugs as if she's talking about the weather. "Obviously, one of you is going to win, so I'm really not too worried about it."
April nods, the gesture much bigger than it should be because of her inebriated state. "It's gonna be Betty," she slurs.
"Brittany," you correct with a lopsided smile. You hope you're as carefree as she is when you're a Mentor. Somehow, you feel like you'll take your job a lot more seriously, however. You look over at Hank to see if he will refute April's statement, but he sits in the same position staring at the wall. The other Mentors present don't even look like they're listening or paying attention, and why should they? In their mind, either you or Jesse is going to win, regardless of whatever they do. You've both trained hard and spent years preparing. It's out of their hands now, but still… Jesse looks furious at April's declaration, and at Hank's incapability to deny it.
You guess you'd be pretty upset if someone told you you were going to lose despite everything, too.
"Whatever," April says with a smile that makes it impossible for anyone to be angry with her. Not that you were to begin with, but Jesse seems pretty angry, and- "she's gonna be the Victor."
"You don't know that," Jesse snaps.
April shrugs, sipping her wine, and Sugar leans forward.
"Jesse, why don't you share your strategy with us," Sugar offers. Jesse hesitates for a moment before he squares his shoulders and his eyes turn colder than they were. (You didn't know that was possible.)
"Slaughter everyone," he says with total seriousness, and you almost laugh.
April nods. "A classic approach," she encourages. "Obvious, dull, and lacking in creativity, of course, but classic. I like it!"
Sugar shrugs, noncommittal. "Meh; it's good, but it's nothing I haven't heard before," she starts slowly, sounding disappointed. "What about you, Britt?"
You startle slightly at the nickname; you're not used to anyone but your father calling you something endearing, but you decide not to correct her. You don't mind. Instead, you smile and say in a deadpan, "Wait for Jesse to slaughter everyone."
April and Sugar laugh like you told a joke. Jesse glares at you calculatingly; he doesn't buy you, not for a second, and you know it. He sees past the carefree, bubbly façade you present, and that only cements your earlier decision to make him a priority. You keep your emotions in check and smile politely, but Jesse doesn't return it. His eyes are like steel as he challenges you with his gaze, and you refuse to back down, wondering instead how he'll try to kill you and wishing you'd paid more attention to his stats in Academy.
"Well, now," Sugar interrupts, and the sound of her snatching up the remote for the television breaks the heavy tension in the air; you refocus your attention to the TV as it comes on, studying the faces that greet you.
The Reaping happens at different times in each District so that the other Districts can watch, usually with the Districts farthest from the Capitol going early in the day, since their tributes have to travel the farthest. You watch the names for the current Reaping in District 3 get called, and the tributes react in typical fashion for those who don't live in a District operated with a volunteer system like your own- they cry, and blubber, and you can't help but roll your eyes. Both of the tributes wear glasses, and you shake your head a little at what a disadvantage that is.
"These are your opponents," Sugar says, gesturing to the tear-stained faces on the television. You're definitely not impressed.
"They don't stand a chance," Jesse sneers, saying what you're all thinking, but you know he's not just talking about the other tributes- not with the way his gaze is still burning holes into you. He's talking about you, too, and you ignore his attempt to intimidate you, staying quiet as the Reaping highlights cut to the next district, District 9.
The boy is a few years younger than you, you can tell by the shape of his face. His skin is tan, probably from working out in the fields. District 9 produces grain, so you know they have a lot of farmlands for-
Your thoughts pause mid-sentence as the camera cuts to the girl tribute. You feel like maybe the air has left your lungs. The girl who takes the stage is probably the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. Her expression is blank and cold, but something in the brown of her eyes tells you that she's devastated, and the tightness of her jaw conveys that she's also furious. Without realizing it, admiration creeps into you; admiration that this girl can keep her composure even when faced with certain death, because honestly, you know that neither of them stands a chance against Jesse, let alone you.
The camera doesn't linger long, and within moments, the familiar voice of the Capitol's most famous announcer is recounting the Reaping in District 6. You don't spare another troubling thought for the beautiful girl from District 9, instead reaching up to touch the tags around your neck subconsciously, hearing your father's voice.
They deserve this.
You reach for another sweet tart.
You arrive to the screams and cheers of thousands of Capitol citizens who'd come to see your train. You wave to them, smiling winningly, and Jesse plays his part right beside you, looking handsome and charismatic, and if you didn't already know what a lethal scumbag he is, you might be fooled yourself by his boyish charms.
Sugar escorts you- waving, herself- into the Remake Center, to a room where you're greeted by two rotund women, one dark-skinned, and one pale. "This is your prep team," Sugar explains. "Your stylist will be along shortly. Be good!" She leads Jesse away to meet his own team, leaving you in the care of the two women.
"Hi," you say, and the two grin at each other silently, exchanging a glance that makes you slightly uncomfortable, if only because you feel left out. After a long moment watching them communicate with each other with just a look, the dark-skinned woman looks at you.
"I'm Mercedes," she offers. You look her over; she's dressed in a bright, lime green dress, with matching-colored eyelids, lips, and long, curled eyelashes.
"I'm Brittany," you say in return.
"We know," the pale woman chuckles. You're not sure how to respond, when Mercedes rolls her eyes.
"This is Lauren," she says, and you look over the large, paled-skinned woman. She's wearing a yellow dress with patches of white fur at her shoulders; you think she looks like a lemon meringue pie. A delicious lemon meringue pie. Your stomach growls, and you wish you'd eaten more on the train. You wonder if there will be any pie at dinner later.
"Nice to meet you," Lauren says cheerfully, drawing your attention back. You nod in response, and Mercedes smiles enthusiastically.
"Let's get started," she says, clapping her hands. "Kurt will be here shortly."
You nod again and move to lay down on the stainless steel table Mercedes guides you to. You wonder if Kurt is your stylist, and you hope he's the same one who did Harmony's outfit last year. Her dress was phenomenal.
You let your thoughts wander as Mercedes and Lauren get to work. You're not in bad shape- at least, you don't think you are based on the comments Mercedes and Lauren make as they wax, tweeze and rip at your body hair, then set to rubbing some awesome-smelling lotion over your tingling skin.
"To soften it," Mercedes tells you, then adds, "though your skin is very soft already."
"District Two's always are," Lauren comments as she brushes out your long, blonde hair.
"What does that mean?" you wonder.
Mercedes and Lauren exchange another look, but don't answer. After some unknown amount of time, they step back, nodding in approval. Lauren offers Mercedes a low five, and you feel your skin prickling all over, but not in a bad way. You feel clean and a little rejuvenated. Also, completely naked. But you don't really care. You're not shy, and you feel pretty confident about your body. Besides, Mercedes and Lauren don't seem the slightest bit interested in anything but their job. They make one last sweep over your body, then, satisfied, they exit, leaving you standing in the center of the room. Waiting.
When the door reopens, a young man, maybe a few years older than you, enters. He has brown hair which is longer on top and swept over in a sort of wave, highlighted with gold. He wears a velvet vest which is such a dark shade of purple it almost looks black; beneath is an off-white dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the pale skin of his forearms which are adorned with swirling black-and-gold tattoos. Around his neck, he wears a handsomely-striped scarf. He looks- well, crazy.
But you recognize him as the stylist from the past few years, and you let out a small sigh of relief.
"Brittany," he greets, clapping his hands together in front of his chest. His eyes scan your body, and you do your best to smile at him. After he makes one circle around you, he moves closer, reaching up to cup your face. He tilts your head to the side, examining you.
"I saw your Reaping," he tells you enthusiastically. "Your dress was divine- it really brought out your eyes." He catches your gaze and smiles. "Your eyes are beautiful, the perfect shade of blue. And that's what we'll focus on."
You don't argue, instead following his instructions as he begins to dress you in a variant of a Peacekeeper uniform. "Because your father's a Peacekeeper," he says as he works, fitting pristine white tactical plates to your shoulders. You feel awkward wearing a uniform you don't think you deserve, but again, you're not one to argue. You trust Kurt.
After an hour or so, you're standing dressed in a very scant version of a Peacekeeper outfit, with a tight white top that cuts off just below your breasts, skintight white pants with a black stripe down the side, and black boots that rise almost to your knees. Across your chest is a white ammunition belt, with a second one hanging loosely around your hips. Your blonde hair is in a ponytail, keeping it off your face, and the make-up Kurt has chosen is glittery around your eyes, accenting them, as planned.
"The Peacekeepers are what won the War for the Capitol," Kurt tells you as he fixes your collar. "They are very well-loved and admired here. The Districts, however… well, let's just remember that we're not here to win the Districts over. My job is to get the Capitol to favor you, and in this outfit, they will."
He steps back to give you one more look, then reaches into his bag.
"One more thing," he says, pulling out a white, automatic weapon. He hands it to you, and you take it hesitantly, unsure if you should be handling something you're definitely not allowed to even have. "It's not real," he assures you. "It's just for show."
You nod, feeling a lot better as you sling the strap of the shiny white gun over your shoulder, and Kurt looks at his wrist, where there's no watch attached. You wonder if his tattoos are a watch, but you have no idea how that would even work.
"You're ready," he says with a grin, and you take a deep breath.
When you climb into the chariot that will lead you to the City Circle, you find Jesse in a matching Peacekeeper outfit, though he is completely shirtless, with just the shoulder plates and ammo belt across his broad, muscled chest. You have to admit, he looks good, and when he flashes a charming smile to the crowd as your horses move, you definitely can see his appeal.
You smile, yourself, and wave, hearing your name chanted by the crowd. You catch sight of yourself on the larger-than-life television screen broadcasting the parade as you pass it, and you're impressed with how blue your eyes look. It's the only color on you, and they definitely stand out.
Kurt's kind of a genius.
When the Parade ends at the City Circle, and President Sylvester makes her appearance from the balcony of her mansion, you feel your stomach tense. The woman is even scarier in person, but you make sure not to let your unease show on your face, keeping your dazzling smile in place.
Then, your chariot leads you into the Training Center building, slowing to a stop. You dismount, and your prep team greets you, cheering at how splendid you were. You can't help but smile and thank them, and then Kurt finds you. He takes your fake weapon- don't want anyone getting confused, he says- and tells you to wait for Sugar to find you.
You stand near the chariot, petting one of the dark horses who'd pulled it, and look around. You can see the other tributes, dressed in various costumes. None of them look as cool as yours, though. The tributes of District 5 look like light bulbs or something, and as your eyes slide over to the right, they land on the girl from District 9.
You swallow, tracing your eyes over her. She's even more beautiful in person, and you're startled by the way your mouth goes dry at the sight of her, at the way your heart gives a slight leap. She's dressed in overalls, and if it was anyone else wearing them, they'd look silly, but on her, they look charming and endearing. You can't help your smile, and some of the admiration you'd felt earlier as you watched her Reaping returns.
That is, until you notice her expression.
She's glaring at you, looking disgustedly horrified, and you wonder if maybe she thinks you're an actual Peacekeeper, and not a tribute. You look down at yourself, and at the way your entire midsection is bare and exposed, and realize that no one could really mistake you for an actual Peacekeeper. She has to know you're a tribute. Didn't she watch the Parade?
When you look back up, she's shaking her head, and you wave at her, almost automatically. You know you shouldn't interact with her, but something in you is drawing you to her, and you forget to think about the consequences. She looks shocked for a moment as you mouth hi to her. She shakes her head more firmly before turning away. You stand, stunned for a moment, wondering why her reaction was so strong and so negative, but then you snap back to reality, and remind yourself not to care. She's probably just intimidated by how awesome you are. She knows better than to let her guard down. That must be it.
Your eyes automatically slide down to her ass as she meets up with her Escort, a tall, blonde woman wearing a hideous black dress, and you can't help but think that she really is beautiful. It's kind of a shame she's been chosen, that she'll have to die. You wonder how that happened- because District 9 doesn't have a slew of volunteers. Their tributes were actually voted for by their Districts, and you know that the Games are not held in the same esteem as they are in your District.
What did she do to earn her place here?
You shrug your concern and curiosity away, reminding yourself again that it doesn't matter. You reach to touch your token, which is still around your neck. It reassures you as you watch the girl from District 9 walk away with her Escort.
They deserve this.
Oookay. So next chapter will be Training, and Brittana will actually have their first real conversation. GOODY!
Review if you feel like it, but if not, that's okay. You can hang onto your words until the end, lol. Or forever. I mean, they're your words. You can do whatever you want with them! :*
See you next time, pals!