The Science of Survival
Chapter Four
"You didn't see her, though, Sherlock!" John wailed, pacing behind the chair meant for him in his bedroom, while his mentor sat in the other, watching him with no movement save for his tracking eyes. "Like she was already dead inside. Why? Why is she here? She's twelve, she's from Twelve, she never did anything." He yanked at his noticeably limp ashy hair.
"Your thoughts are bordering on traitorous, John."
He sent a wicked glare at his mentor. "Does it matter?"
"Yes, it does, actually."
John slumped, sliding into his chair, hands going once again to fist in his hair. "I know. I mean, I think I know. I guess I don't. How am I supposed to feel?"
The question was meant to be rhetorical, but Sherlock, ever logical, answered it immediately. "Grateful, fearful, nervous, excited. About the Games, not about their existence."
"Right. Of course, they're even telling me what to think."
"If you want to live, you'll listen- to them and to me."
John glanced up at him, tired bags pooling under his eyes. "To you…?"
"We have the interview in a few days- and, of course, you must present yourself to the game makers."
The interview? Olive had said something about that, but it hadn't registered until now; now, when he had to stifle thoughts that bordered on traitorous, just to stay alive.
"And you'll have to do more than pass by, John- I'm a well-connected man but you're going to need sponsors, too."
"No one's going to want to sponsor some kid from Twelve, Sherlock."
Sherlock nodded. "Normally, that's true. Someone from Twelve would need a cause, of course. But you don't have any relatives who are sick or dying..."
John flinched at that, mind spinning around images of Harry and the white alcohol, his mother in bed, father spending every hour at the coal mines. And then Mike, who'd gone off to his own death with a mask of determination and resignation fitted over his features. The women he bought the bread and meat from, the children at school, and little Sarah, dying inside already.
"I'm from Twelve," John sighed, dropping his gaze to his knees while his hands continued to twist and pull at his hair. "We're all dying."
Had he been looking up, John would have seen the spark of recognition light up the other's eyes. As it was, the tribute barely flinched when Sherlock spoke.
"That's it, John."
John grudgingly looked up.
"What's it?"
"Your angle."
"Angle." John's flat tone was deadpan and disbelieving.
"Yes. You are now fighting on behalf of your district." Sherlock was now grinning, quickly unfolding his lanky legs and rising, walking behind the chair and gripping it.
"This is it, this is it John! Most people are fighting for the glory, and everyone from the career districts says that they do it to honor the games. Everyone knows what a load of rubbish that is. And tributes from the middle will fight for loved ones- but you, John, you are fighting for all of Twelve. A district suffering from poverty, sickness, and the disease of hopelessness. You will bring your home, your world, back to life, because it means so much to you!"
He jumped slightly, dragging his fists through the air. "Oh, it's Christmas."
His enthusiasm was infectious. The roller coaster of John's emotions started banking again, and a small smile stretched across his lips.
"So you think I have a chance with this?"
Sherlock paused.
"Do you really not see how brilliant this is? I wonder what it's like, being trapped in your dull brain every day." John made a face at that, but Sherlock waved it off. "Oh don't take offence- nearly everyone is dull. But yes, you have more than a chance. With a story like that, that Capital will be appeased, as will the people of other poorer districts, who will understand where you come from. And it will make the Careers look selfish in comparison."
"Well I'm glad you can turn my misfortune into a brilliant strategy."
Sherlock arched an eyebrow at the bitterness in John's tone.
"I thought you were going to toughen your skin against this, John. We do what we must to win."
John nodded. "I know."
"And I know you do. Now I believe you have another appointment with your stylist," the word fell from Sherlock's lips like something disgusting causing John to bristle in defense of Olive, "so go get ready. And I still expect you to disclose what weapon you favor."
Sherlock swept from the room, leaving John alone for a few moments.
"Oh good boy, I think you've put some weight on," Olive remarked happily, as her team went back and forth, giving her measurements that John couldn't really comprehend the meaning of. He wasn't quite sure what numbers were "good" or "bad," but then again he couldn't quite bring himself to care.
"Sorry but, was I laboring under the delusion that gaining weight was a bad thing…?"
"Nonsense. Especially not for you. You were skin and bones when you came to me."
"Hey now! I worked in the mines! That has to count!"
"Oh fine, skin, bones and a little bit of muscle. But look at you now- go ahead, look." With a warmly warn palm she gestured to the full length mirror up against the wall- an item John hadn't paid much attention to.
But now he looked, and looked hard. He saw cheeks more filled in, adding definition to his jaw. Hair that, thanks to proper rest and a great team of stylists, fell in soft chunks and almost glowed in the light. His neck led down to shoulders rounded by years of work, but now they were connected to wiry, muscled arms and a strong torso. Even his legs, muscled from mining, looked straighter, carried him with more confidence.
All in all, John looked to picture of health- a far cry from anyone back home, surely.
"Well dear," Olive politely interrupted his musings, "I think I've got what I need. This outfit will be one of my finest, I guarantee."
"An outfit based on coal? You're just being kind."
Olive grinned, the laugh lines around her face stretching with her lips. John had to appreciate the soft, worn edges of his stylist. Her three associates were so stretched and tattooed and painted and unnatural- disguised beyond recognition- that having Olive was like being home, where growing old was a sign of health and not of weakness.
The Capital seemed to treat anything ordinary like an enemy. Having the scandalous, the warped, the outspoken become the new normal; it was clever, really.
Even Sherlock, the man on whom John had come to almost depend, to see as the weather vane for how he should feel, was extraordinary. He was a genius. Cold, calculating, surprisingly rational- he was just… someone above and beyond the average man.
Olive was close to average. She was still a cut above the rest, but she had a certain contentedness about her that kept her stable and grounded. She was kind, generous, amused- and real artist when it came to fashion which John had discovered looking at past works of hers. But she was simply fine with all of, and didn't strive to outsmart herself which seemed to be an affliction that plagued so many.
John was average. He could accept the fact he was tied to earth, to mundane human emotions, chained to the barest flicker of his instinct to survive. He was someone who worked just to maintain a life. With the effort he put in, he should be living like a citizen of the Capital. But his toiling just kept him at par with the rest of the Seam. Ashy hair, grey eyes, short- even physically he didn't stand out.
Sherlock and Olive- two above average people- saw something in him though. Something, someone, that, apparently, John couldn't see.
Surely people of this caliber couldn't be wrong, could they?
A/N: Okay! So! Done with this part! I'm quite pleased with it. The real stuff actually starts next chapter. I just needed to set up John's angle, and leave room for a little introspection. We're also going to see some familiar faces in the next part, which I'm pretty sure will be the examination before the Gamemakers.
In this, I just wanted to set a sort of… standard I guess? That the "goodness" in the story actually comes from the average, since we're mainly seeing this world from John's perspective. If you go on Wikipedia and read about the reasons Martin was cast as John, then you'll kind of see why I like being in this territory.
Also, any discrepancies/plot holes you see that conflict with the actual trilogy- I see them too. Which means they are there for a reason (one comes to mind right now, seeing as how I was talking about it in the actual part).
Anyhoo, enjoy! AND PLEASE COMMENT. I see I'm getting alerts and faves, which is love, but please tell me what I'm doing right/wrong. Speculate on what you think the arena will be! Or what familiar characters we will see! :D