Author's Note: Apologies. I kind of had writer's block, but I did update, so, uh... Enjoy, now that it's finally here! :3
To APH fans: Don't be confused by the male tribute's last name! It's only because of the preceding story in this series.
Raivis Lithu, District 12
I look around my room in the Justice Building. Deep, soft carpet. Chairs with velvet cushions arranged in a sketchy semicircle. A couch—where I'm sitting now—the same colour as the cushions. A few carelessly-placed matching throw pillows.
Just the same as it was two years ago.
Two years. It's weird to think it's been so long since my brother was reaped. Me and my other brother, him 15, me 14, sitting on the chairs trying to cheer him up. Him trying not to look as gloomy as usual, and even flashing a brief smile from hearing our funnier anecdotes.
We barely had any time before we were escorted out. And the next time I saw him, he was kilometres away, standing stiffly on a chariot and not bothering in the least to respond to the Capitol audience.
I didn't see much of him once the Games started. I guess the only thing he did "interesting" enough to merit screentime was die.
My thoughts are interrupted by the door opening with a creak.
I don't mind. I'd rather not keep thinking on that subject...
Pivoting on my seat a bit, I watch as my remaining brother steps into the room. He glances at the chairs, but decides to sit next to me instead.
"...Hey."
"Hey."
We sit in silence for a moment before my brother throws an arm over my shoulder.
"You're going to come back home, okay?" he says confidently. He starts to grin. "Has there ever been a time more than one of us has gotten caught?"
I crack a smile. "Well, that candy store raid..."
"Oh, that doesn't count! We were trying to get caught!"
"Are you sure we didn't just come up with that excuse later?"
"I'm pretty sure we didn't."
My brothers and I squat behind the taffy shelf. We have to squint to peek over the thing since the store's lighting is a bit dim. A young, blonde worker paces behind the front counter. Faint, metallic music chimes in the background, and the sickeningly sweet smell of sugar is everywhere.
"Are we really going to do this?" Toris whispers.
"It was your idea!"
"I know!" Toris rubs his arm with a jerky smile coming on. "Just kind of hard to believe we're actually going to do this."
"Well, we are. Is everything ready?"
I peer over the clusters of candy and toward the counter, where the young, blonde attendant is pacing and twirling around boredly.
"Yeah," I whisper back, ducking down again. "She's forgotten we're here."
"All right, let's go!"
And minutes later, arms full of the cheaper sweets, we were sprinting away from the worker—who was actually one of Toris's best friends—as well as her father, somehow summoned from the back room by the chaos. Toris ended up being the only one of us not caught; my other brother and I could escape the girl, but not her father.
We weren't honestly trying to get away with the candy. No matter how cheap the contraband is, stealing's still a crime, you know? We just... wanted to have some fun. Since we had to relocate to the Seam a few years ago, we haven't really been able to do anything fun. And then two years ago, chances for joy were dampened by my brother's death. And now...
They're dampened by the possibility of my own.
Celladora Talith, District 12
I cross my legs, unhindered by my reaping dress's very short skirt, and try to keep my composure.
I've been reaped. Big deal. Forty-four people have been reaped and lived to tell the tale. I don't see any reason I wouldn't be one of them. I could fight. I don't have any experience with a weapon, but… How hard could it be? I get three days in the Training Centre to work with whatever I want to.
It won't be easy to kill people, but… I could bring myself to do it. I mean, we'll be in the Hunger Games. If I don't kill them, odds are someone else will. And I have even more justification if I do it quickly. I've seen my share of Careers and avengers making the deaths far more painful than they should be. I can make sure less of that happens.
I cross my legs the other way and fold my hands in my lap. It's kind of cold in here.
"Celladora?"
I perk up at the voice and look over at the door.
"Avian!" I respond with delight as my boyfriend walks in and takes a seat next to me. He shuffles a hand through his chin-length, dark blonde hair before reaching over and enveloping my hand with his. Looking down at our hands for a second, like he's trying to decide what exactly to say, Avian takes a deep breath, and then his brown gaze comes up to meet my eye.
"Celladora… About… the Games…" He exhales, still not quite able to get his message out.
Avian never was that good with words. But I can usually figure out what he means before he has to say it.
"Don't worry about it," I start, smiling. "I'll come back."
"…That's not what I'm worried about," he mutters.
I do a double-take, and he suddenly seems to realise what he just said.
"I mean, I definitely want you to come home, all right? Don't get me wrong. I just…" He squeezes my hand. "If you come home… I want you to still be… you."
"What? Of course I'll be me, silly," I laugh. "Who else would I be?"
His visage darkens a bit, and I find myself averting my gaze.
What's wrong with him today? For once, I don't seem to understand him.
"Here's… what I'm trying to say," Avian finally exhales, meeting my eye level again. "I want you to come back. I really do. But, more importantly… I don't want you to lose yourself out there."
I blink. "All right…"
Knowing he's yet to make me understand, Avian continues. "You know I love you, Celladora. And only you."
I nod.
"So, if you come back, not acting like yourself…" He can't seem to figure out the rest of the sentence.
"Don't worry," I reiterate. "I'll come back as 'me' as ever, okay?"
"Just… be careful," my boyfriend responds, not completely convinced. "Most of the Victors… They let themselves become monsters out there just to get back home. Don't do that, Celladora."
I turn the slightest bit away from him. "But, you know… To come back, I will have to kill some people."
Avian looks down. "I know. Just…" He looks back up. "Whatever you kill… don't let it be your conscience."
"All right," I reply. But I honestly don't know what he's talking about. How am I supposed to kill my conscience?
Avian seems to be satiated by my answer, though; he looks less worried and more like his normal, cheery self now. And just in time—the Peacekeeper arrives to escort him out. We have just enough time to exchange "I love you"s before the door is shut behind him.
I fold my hands back together. The one Avian was holding is much warmer than the other now. My hands have always been colder than his. Colder than most people's, at that. I squeeze my fingers together to warm the chillier hand up.
So… The Games. I have to come back, for Avian. And my parents, of course, who've already said their goodbyes. But… What was Avian talking about? Of course I'll come back as myself.
I just have to come back.
