The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five
Chapter 9: Secrets, TV and Broken Tables
"Are you a fool, Pitch?"
The Head Gamemaker leaned back in his ebony marble chair, his hands resting against his chest and his fingers pressed against one another to form a diamond shape. It was a gesture he commonly adopted every time he engaged in conversation with the President, especially when the latter irritated him.
"With all due respect, Mr. President, the girl deserved that score. She was a perfect shot."
"Yes." The old president glared at him through the projector. "A perfect shot at your heads."
"She never meant to kill. Not yet, anyway," Pitch mused the last part quietly to himself.
"You know well what's happening in District 5, Pitch. You reward such behavior then-"
"-then nothing, sir," Pitch interrupted, quite deliberately contemptuous. "Neither the girl nor the Gamemakers can disclose the happenings. There is nothing the rebels can from it." Had he performed something as such in public, there would be no option for Lotso but to have him executed at once. However, in private quarters, Pitch was well aware that his actual worth more than compensated for his lack of respect towards his Command-in-Chief.
The president narrowed his brows, but Pitch could see that he knew that the Gamemaker was right. "Well, as far as you're concerned, Pitch, there had better not be any more favors for impulsive girls - or clumsy boys."
The holographic projector flickered off as the President's face disappeared from the walls. Pitch gazed down at the papers he had before himself, gathering them up and sliding them into their respective files; Haddock, and Dunbroch.
There was a rap on the door, and he said, "Enter."
An avox entered, bearing a tray of documents, and he held it out to the Head Gamemaker.
"Thank you," Pitch murmured as he removed the papers, "but is there anything else?"
The avox peered cautiously out of the door, before shutting it carefully behind. Turning to Pitch, he made some gestures with his hands.
The Gamemaker nodded to show he understood. "Excellent." He noted the disturbed countenance of the golden-haired avox. "Don't worry, you git, you won't get punished for this. I have no interest in torturing someone who can hardly scream. Now," he waved at the door, "get out."
The avox took a deep bow before leaving, leaving Pitch alone with the paperwork.
Flitting his hand from both new files, he eventually settled on the 'Arendelle' file first. Slitting open the envelope, he nodded as he processed the text. Yes, the District 12 girl was a splitting image of her late mother - that's how he had recognized her - and yet carried the regal mannerism of her father. Interestingly, her health report mirrored neither that of her parents; her body temperature has always been consistently lower than the healthy average, yet she appeared well. Another curious point was that her habits of wearing gloves seemed to stem from some childhood illness plaguing her, - or he wondered, some childhood trauma.
He quickly lost his interest at the end of the file, so he proceeded to next girl. As he had noticed earlier, it was curious that the District 8 girl had no family name. Every child of every district have always been carefully documented, as such was essential for the reapings, but Rapunzel's file was surprisingly thin, even for an orphan. A few school reports revealed that her name had always been single-worded. The only interesting piece in the whole accursed file was that her medical reports always kept track of her hair length.
At the back of the health book, there was a small card clipped to it, which Pitch carefully removed. The doctor's small handwriting was difficult to decipher, but the Head Gamemaker could read it well enough. Then something that had long ago hidden at the back of his head resurfaced.
He swore fervidly. In his rage, he picked up his marble desk and flung it against the wall. Shrieking curses at the top of his lungs, he growled in frustration as his mind taunted him of what he already knew.
The door creaked open and the sand-haired avox peered through, his usually passive face expressing surprise at the outraged Head Gamemaker and the cracked table.
The pale-man collected himself, resuming the calm demeanor he usually bore. "Clear this mess, and straighten out the files," he ordered the mute servant. The younger man immediately went for the debris, expressionless as he swept up the broken shards and stones.
Pitch straightened his coat, his face as terrible as thunder. "Subordinates," he snarled bitingly, "can't trust them to do anything."
He marched out of his office, determined to right this. But while Pitch Black was a powerful man, there were well many things that were out of his control.
The Lucky Cat Bar
Her birth name was Leiko, but everyone called her Gogo Tomago. Or just Gogo, when she was amongst friends.
First was because her primary sponsor, Fred, had promoted her as such during and after the Games. Secondly, after she was crowned the 73rd Victor of the Hunger Games, her adopted 'talent' – a pointless official occupation or hobbie that apparently every victor had to have - was racing. It could be on skates, or a bike, or a car; she was only seventeen at that time, but she already earned her notoriety as the fast-loving adrenaline junkie of the technological district.
She had also the reputation of taking herself rather seriously, not talking much, and being especially harsh on members of the opposite sex.
That was why the gentleman – in her vocabulary, the sad cad – standing by her right was very close to be pummeled with the glass base of the soda in her hand, or if she was merciless, pummeled by the sharpness of her tongue.
"Hey, that violet streak's comin' on real good. Really fits your eye colour," he was saying to her, leaning back on the bar table, giving her what was supposed to be a dashing grin.
She slurped noisily through the straw, completely unamused.
The brown-haired idiot before her seemed uneasy by her bored reaction, but he brushed it off, remarking, "You know, they call me fast-" he gestured arrogantly at himself "-and you love fast, so you and I should-"
"-grab some fast-food fast-idiously together?" She interrupted coolly, returning to sucking the soda from the straw, crossing her legs while balancing herself on the barstool. She watched on boredly, unchanged as confidence ebbed away from the moron.
He sighed, rolling his hair back, muttering to himself. "Hey," he told her now, the false come-hither manner turning serious, "I'm just trying to make a connection here, but you're not helping."
In reply to that, she slammed her empty glass on to the marble bar table, causing everyone in the bar to turn and stare at both of them. The older guy was now feeling increasing uncomfortable with her manners, goggling at her as she calmly removed an aluminum packet from her waist pocket, unpeeling a fresh slice of bubblegum and popping into her mouth.
"Rider, right?" She said between chewing teeth, her garbled words echoing in the quiet joint.
"Yep," he admitted nervously, recoiling as if afraid of some imminent attack – which was not unreasonable, considering Gogo's reputation.
She went on chewing ominously, every crunch and splat sending shivers down the man's spine, piercing him with her black eyes. Finally, she said, "One, you're too under-qualified – academically, at least. Two, you're too fickle. So," she shook her head, "no."
With that, the other customers of the bar lost their interest in the matter, while Gogo blew herself a bubble through the gum. Rider was really ill at ease, but finally he gave up. Retrieving a thin slip of paper from his coat vest pocket, he slid it to her defeatedly. "My number, if you ever change your mind."
Gogo narrowed her eyes to slit at him, but she still took the paper. Doing a two-finger salute at her, the man finally left.
With that, her bubble burst, and she sucked the gum back, chewing all over again while reading the slip cautiously.
District 12 Living Quarter
"Don't let them in, don't let them see, don't let them- oh, hello Pabbie."
The venerable grey-headed elder stood met her at the office table. There, he made himself comfortable in the fur-covered armchair across the blonde girl.
"I supposed you're here to help me with the interviews tomorrow, aren't you?" she asked, unconsciously twisting her gloved hands together. She settled herself down in an armchair as well.
"That is what I'm supposed to do now, but I don't think that's what's important now." He gazed at her with kindly but worried eyes. "Elsa, I think we should talk about you."
"M-me?" She stuttered, and she felt like kicking herself. Once again, another Anna move. She never stuttered, never apologized. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes as she allowed herself to inhale slowly. She supposed this conversation would have to come eventually.
She peered down at the gloves in her hands. "I've been trying to keep it under wraps. You know I have," – Pabbie nodded encouragingly –"but it's been getting harder." She pressed her hands against herself, bending over, as if trying to shield herself from the world, or maybe, the world from herself.
Pabbie shook his head. "You're abilities are an issue, Elsa, but they are nowhere is an important as something else."
She tilted her head in askance. "I don't understand…"
Pabbie gazed straight in her eyes. "Fear, Elsa."
"I'm not afraid," she declared, even sounding haughty, but her darting eyes betrayed her.
He obviously didn't believe her words. "Everyone is afraid, Elsa. The only difference is what you fear, and more importantly, what you do about it." He rose from his seat, going straight to hers. She shifted back uneasily, her eyes downcast.
"Elsa, you fear for your sister, don't you?" The question raised her head.
Her throat was dry, but she could answer, "At the reapings, yes. And,"- she turned shamefully away again, - "every other part of my life."
"And all for the noblest of intentions," he assured her, as his firm hands rested soothingly on her shoulder. She seemed like she would flinch, but Pabbie went on. "A little fear is good, Elsa – it remind us of what's important to us, and gives us strength to do fight for it. But never, Elsa," one of his hands gestured down her gloved ones, "let fear stop you from doing what you need to do."
"Even if it means I hurt someone?" She asked before she could stop herself, then bit her lip. This was the Hunger Games – not hurting someone was taboo here.
"Especially if it means hurting someone, Elsa," he told her firmly. "Remember, there are many ways to hurt people."
His words brought her to painful memories of long ago. It was just a week after the 'accident'. Anna's concussion was great enough that she didn't remember anything, and Pabbie's 'treatment' ensured that she never would. The white lock against the redhead remained an accusing reminder of her mistakes, and she had, as much as possible, reduced her contact with her sister. It was subtle things; like offering to go shop for groceries just when Anna asked her out to play, or refusing to go parties under the guise of doing homework. Her sister had never questioned her actions – well, not that often, at least – but Elsa could never forget the crushed expression on the usually freckled, optimistic face, as Elsa shut yet another door behind her.
The girl swallowed. "I'll try, Pabbie."
"Good, now," he returned to his seat. "We need to decide on your angle for the interview…"
District 11 Living Quarters
"S-U-G-A-R,
jump into your racing car!
It's a Sugar Rush!"
Clap, clap!
"Sugar Rush!"
Clap, clap!
"S-U-G-A-R,
jump into your racing car!
It's a Sugar Rush!"
Clap, clap!
"Sugar Rush!"
The monster-sized boy had to plug his ears stop the terrible noise she called singing from bursting his ear-drum. "Kid, what is your problem!" He demanded over her terrible 'vocal expressions'.
"I wan'na play, and you're hoggin' the TV!"
"There are millions of TVs in this place!" Ralph cried, gesturing vaguely at behind them.
"Well, I want this one!" Vanellope insisted, lying in the seat next to him upside down, such that her legs were sticking up.
"Well, I'm tryin' to watch TV here," he said, pushing her off the sofa. "So go away."
"Hey!"
Both their mentors weren't the responsible type, so today, Vanellope and himself were very much on their own in preparing for the interviews tomorrow night. He knew himself well enough that he wasn't the best stage person, so he was watching past records of interviews, trying to get a sense of how to portray himself as grim and intimidating. The pre-teen lolling around on the carpet was not helping.
Staring up from the ground, she drawled, "Why are you watching all this boring stuff?"
"Rep building. I need to pick an angle to promote myself," he explained irritably, fast-forwarding through the show, then dropping the remote by his side.
"That's easy." The girl rolled over, got up and purposely hopped in front of the television screen. "Now, say after me." She pointed at herself.
Ralph huffed in annoyance, glancing up and around her to try to watch the show
"Hey! I have the remote!" The girl raised the device threateningly overhead.
"How-" Ralph searched around him, before slumping back in defeat.
"Now, say after me," the girl tapped herself proudly. She spread her legs apart, holding two bent arms under-shoulder, before saying in a deep voice, "I'm gon'na wreck-it!"
Ralph raised his eyebrow. "Wreck what?"
Vanellope frowned. "Don't ask so many question. Taglines aren't suppose to mean anything."
"Oh, yeah?" The boy glared, folding his arms. "What's your tagline?"
"Sweet mother of monkey milk! You don't know my tagline? I'm so misunderstood. " The girl made a melodramatic sigh, causing Ralph to pull a face of disgust. "Now, listen' 'ere, Stinkbrain." Her tone suddenly became business-like. "Do you wan'na be as popular as that 'ice girl' from District 12 or not?"
"What that got to do with you?" He grumbled, dejectedly glancing down at his overalls. He wasn't the sociable type, nor was he particularly good with people. He was going to mess up the interviews, whether he liked it or not.
"You want it, or not?" The girl repeated exasperatedly. She obviously didn't believe the same things he did.
"Yes! I want it!" Ralph yelled exasperatedly at the irritating little imp
The girl shouted back, "Good!"
"Fine!"
"Now keep that volume!"
He barked, "Then what!"
"Say after me!" She shrieked, doing the 'mighty-gorilla' pose again. "I'm gon'na wreck it!"
He got to his feet and copied her. "I'm gon'na wreck it!"
"Louder! " Vanellope screamed. "Can't hear you!"
"I'm gon'na wreck it!" He growled as menacing as he could, even taking on a fearsome expression.
"Still not getting it!" The girl cried. "Can't you wrangle out those vocal cords in the fat-folds of your neck, you numbskull!"
"I'M GONNA WRECK IT!" He bellowed so loud that even the rafters shook. With a terrifying cry, he brought his hands down, crashing into the wooden coffee table, splitting it into splinters on the ground.
The small girl stood gaping at him for several seconds, her jaw hanging wide. Fearful that he had scared her into shock, he asked, concerned, "Hey, you okay?"
She still didn't move, except for her arms, which twitched a little. He waved his hand in front of her eyes, but they didn't even blink.
As suddenly as she had stopped, Vanellope bounced on her feet, cheering and clapping. "That was totally awesome! You should have seen yourself. You were fierce, bold," her voice dropped into a fascinated whisper, "and absolutely terrifying. Ralph, my man, you'll have the Capitol grub shaking in their boot – hey, what's you're staring at me like that?"
He didn't reply, but something in his face must have given him away, because the next second her face fell, her waving arms dropping.
"It happened, didn't it?"
He nodded, not knowing what to say.
Vanellope snorted, tucking her hands into a pocket, kicking away the wood piece near her feet. "How many times now?"
Ralph answered with much reluctance. "This would be the third since we left home." He hesitated, before saying, "Kid, do you wan'na see a doctor-"
"No!" That response was quick enough. Unconsciously, she drew up her green hoodie, over her head. "I'll be fine."
Ralph sighed. He supposed she was back to normal, but for how long? That couldn't be told. But he guessed that even a doctor couldn't help her at this point. They were all being driven to their graves, anyway.
"Now that we've got your stupid angle, can we play some games? I'm bored." She gave a yawn and rubbed her eyes, but the bigger boy could tell she was just covering up for the tear in her eye. "I found this thingy on the TV."
"Sure," he conceded willingly. Leaping over the broken the table, Vanellope grabbed the remote as she and Ralph set themselves down on the sofa.
"Great!" She was jumping and up down again, back to her bubbly, crazy self, and for that, Ralph smiled gladly. "It's this car racing game with a lot of saccharine."
As she hit the buttons, the program that Ralph was watching disappeared from the screen, replaced by a pink screen, sparkling cursive words and a hugely aggravating Japanese theme song.
Ralph groaned, as he covered his ears once again.
District 8 Living Quarters
When he arrived at the eighth floor, Flynn burst out the elevator, almost crying out it relief. The sun was already setting in the horizon, and outside had been terrifyingly cold. Still, that didn't stop him for sweating buckets. He wisely decided that he would add District 3's most recent victor on the 'No-Flirt' list, after all. She could frighten a corpse back to life, he was certain.
Most of the lights on the floor had been switched off for some time, so he wondered if everyone had already turned in. He had left for the bar rather late, since he could only go after running through the interview content and presentation with Rapunzel. The girl had rather been distracted lately, and Flynn had suspected more than not that it had something to do with the judging the previous day. Her score was high – too high actually, but considering that she could still be mad at him for not pushing through the alliance, he had decided not to pry.
Passing through the dining hall, he found a lone avox still waiting at the table. Seeing him, the avox picked up a plate of donuts and handed it to him.
Glancing around to ensure that no one was nearby, he muttered to her, "Thank you."
The avox only remained impassively silent as ever, head bowed low.
He could hear a television playing some rooms away, so he headed there, with the plate tucked held by one hand, and with the other he began his teeth digging into the hot dough.
At the lounge, he recognized the blonde head resting against the sofa, with her seventy feet of hair loosely draped over other chairs, tables and rugs. On one of the armrest, his keen eyes caught the shape of a purple chameleon, curled up asleep. The girl herself was leaning back, relaxed against the velvet covers. The coffee cups on the table proved that she had tried to keep awake , but her eyes were shut and shallow breath showed that she had failed.
Flynn couldn't help but smile and shake his head. She was a stubborn little woman.
He supposed that he could have just left her sleeping there – the couch wasn't that uncomfortable – but it came to him automatically to drop the donuts, pick up her snoozing form and return her to her bedroom.
When he started dragging her off, he immediately regretted it. She had lain her hair everywhere, and tugging her out of the room just allowed the golden ropes to catch on the furniture, and he knew that something fragile would be bound to get broken sooner or later. Alternatively, the hair could have gotten tangled up in too much stuff, and all that yanking on her scalp would wake her up.
Grudgingly, he set her down in an armchair, muttering as he marched through the living room, gathering her hair bundle by bundle, unhooking it from strangest of places. He was surprised at how smooth and light it actually was; Rapunzel maintained it surprising well. Dropping them all into a neat pile, he picked the girl up again and this time managed to make a smooth exit as he took her back to her room. Slipping her under covers, he then went back to the lounge to retrieve the reminder of her hair, hauling it back to the room, then placing the pile not too far from her head.
He then returned to the living room again to get the girl's sleeping reptile, when he took a clearer look at the program that was running. He almost choked when he saw a familiar young boy - with bright brown eyes, high-cheek bones and an angular jaw - scampering through the jungle, boldly yelling taunts at his pursuers though he was really shaking in fear.
Flynn felt a sinking pit in his stomach as he flicked off the screen. It wasn't just that she now knew the truth – that he had allied with the Careers in his year, she'd bring that up tomorrow - but more importantly, he had been trying so hard to forget, and this unfortunate clip had brought back many great haunts. He still had very bad nightmares about those days – some nights he'd wake a sweating like a pig, barely able to stand without his knees turning to jelly. Something like what he was doing right now.
Dropping the dozing Pascal onto his best friend's pillow, Flynn quickly headed back to his own room. He was breathing too quickly now and that was especially unhelpful, especially since he was starting to see spots in his vision. He shook his head, struggling to focus as he dug through his luggage, desperately looking for the only thing that could drive the demons away.
Halfway through ripping his clothes out of the bag, he suddenly drew back when he found his hands running red. But with a firm shake of his head again, the red stains vanished. At the back of his head though, he could still hear piercing screams of both the innocent and the much less so; all whom he ended with the end of his blade. His breaths accelerated unhealthily.
He was trembling like a leaf when he finally drew out what he was seeking for; a flat, polished wooden box, with a small keypad on its front. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he filled the six-letter code, and gasped in relief when he removed the leather-bound book inside.
Flipping open the cover, his eyes gladly fell onto the words on the title page.
The Tales of Flynnigan Rider.
For another two hours, he returned to innocent boyhood; when he still had dreams, and his hands were a lot cleaner.
District 3 Living Quarters
The technological district had no shortage of geniuses, but Honey Lemon was too humble to ever consider herself one. Certainly, she was greatly passionate in chemistry, and she enjoyed working in it, but a genius? That was reserved for only the best. Like the Hamada Brothers.
Being an expert in a field of science, however, didn't automatically mean that she was socially dense. For instance, at this very moment, she knew that Hiro had been deliberately started from the bottom of the list to avoid confrontation.
"-how she got that nine. She looks so petite! I'm not meaning that we're big-size either, but hey, we've got brains-"
"I talked to her once. She seemed nice," Honey added in, but she kept her eyes on the wiry boy instead of the scribbling.
"Okay, tentative then," he muttered in reply, scratching a question-mark next to the District 8 girl's name. "Now, the Stabbington kids? Too dense, too violent – probably non too bright either." He marked an 'X' at District 7. Biting the pencil for a second, he did the same for District 6. "The guy from there is way too creepy, and the girl's too spoilt. Alright, so what do you think of 5?"
Honey hesitated, glancing down at the slip. They were hitting pretty close already. Perhaps it was time. "Hiro-"
"The girl's a fighting type, so I'd doubt she'd do peaceful," the spiky-haired boy didn't wait for her answer. "The guy's super chill though – maybe he'll listen-"
"Hiro."
"-I guess I'll put him on 'tenta' too," Hiro rambled on, marking on the District 5 boy's name the way he marked on the District 8 girl, then stopped his pencil at the girl's name. Honey noted that for a brief moment, his eyes flickered up at the four districts on the top of the list. He then made a question mark on District 5 girl's name, then marked a huge cross on the first four districts.
"There!" He flung up his hands and stretched out. "All done! Ten people! Excluding present company, of course."
"Hiro," Honey pressed more firmly, " I think we need to talk-"
"Uh-huh?" Hiro murmured, as he dropped the list and returned to reverse-engineering the small camera on his table. Shoving a screwdriver over his ear, he used the thin pliers to dig out the wires from the device. "Sorry, hold this up for me, won't you?" he said, grabbing a flashlight and handing it to her.
Honey obligingly switched it on, shining it into the hole that Hiro working on in the camera. "We need to talk about Tadashi."
For a moment, the fourteen-year-old boy froze up. Sighing, he continued with his work, though his usual energy was gone. Plaintively, he replied, "Tadashi's gone, Honey."
"He isn't. Well, he is physically, but that's not the point." Honey watched the boy's sorrowful expression as he pried out the flash capacitor from the camera. "Hiro, you need to let go."
"I have," the boy protested, but his eyes didn't meet her when he said that. They were staring down at the band looped around his right arm.
Honey caressed his hair fondly, though wistfully shaking her head as she did. "No, you haven't," she contradicted.
"What's the point of this?" He snapped, drawing his head roughly from Honey's hand. His face was grim when he agitatedly started attacking the wires, slicing them up and soldering them to the soldering them to shutter button.
She tapped on the sheet."The District 2 boy, Hiccup. I think he should be on the list."
"He's a Career," Hiro responded shortly. Then he ended with a growl, "And he's from District 2."
"He isn't the one who killed Tadashi," Honey defended. Her voice was soft, but resolute.
"Does it matter? They're all hard-core killers," the boy retorted heatedly. "They don't deserve to be saved."
Honey stared sorrowfully at him. "You know that isn't true-"
"- all the time, but in my defense, that District 2 girl really didn't." A familiar dry voice echoed down the corridor.
The tributes found themselves in the presence of the young bubble-gum-chewing victor. Her eyes were as hard as agates when glared down, though her anger was not at them. "I'm not proud about smacking down people, but I can take it," she told them, her voice acrid and cold. "However, Tadashi couldn't. He was too compassionate." She paused to breath, her hand rubbing her temple. "He had always wanted to help people. Look where that got him."
She snorted a bitter laugh, wiping the stray tears from her eyes. Addressing Hiro, she said, "If you don't want to put this boy on the list, then don't. Besides, you've got to do some cutting to do. Pronto."
With that said, she handed the boy as slip. Before he opened it, Hiro hit one of the buttons on his armband, reading the numbers off it. "We're got thirty seconds."
Spreading out the slip of paper, he and Honey hunched over the table, reading it together. Gogo continued chewing on the gum, brushing back her black bangs as she allowed the news sink in for the two.
Hiro was the first to speak. "Five?" He gasped, grasping anxiously at his hair. "Only five?"
Honey was just as perplexed as he was."But they promised at least twelve."
"Obviously, they lied," Gogo said, dripping with cynicism. "To be fair, it wasn't as if we could save everybody."
Honey could see that Hiro was still costernate about the message, so she helped him gently back into his chair.
"Only five," he repeated breathlessly, his eyes still fixed on the new message. "How are we ever going to choose?"
Honey desperately tried to think of anything that could be of comfort, but she was a just chemist, not a problem-solver. "I don't know, Hiro."
"Well, you guys better get to it eventually," Gogo told them drily, but even Honey noticed her tough girl's weary expression. "I'll go and tell your useless mentor. Where is he, anyway?"
"Wasabi's working out the sponsor details with Fred," Honey informed her, but her eyes never left the boy.
Gogo rolled her eyes at the mention of the latter's name. "Why do we even work with that guy," she mumbled scornfully as she made her way out of the room, but not before crushing the slip she had given them, then flaming it with a lighter. The ashes, she chucked into the bin.
Hiro pressed the button on his armband again, then folded his arms and leaned back. Seeing how forlorn he looked, Honey Lemon wound her arms around Hiro's slumped form, taking him into a firm embrace. "It will be alright, Hiro," she said soothingly, patting his head. "There, there."
He didn't say anything, until in a biting tone, "The odds are never in our favor, are they?"
"They're never in anyone's favor," she morosely admitted to him, stroking his hair tenderly, "but the Capitol's." She wondered if this was exactly how Tadashi had felt when they placed him here; crumbling in despair, unwilling to accept the fact that so many had to die for himself to live. Few people gave him credit for such, but Hiro's empathy could easily match his brother's.
The black-haired boy picked up the list on the paper, his eyes running over all the names again. "Five," he murmured bitterly. "Just the odds of five."
S/N:
Hope you liked the new POVs. Besides Elsa's POV, it's all supporting character POV today. If you like these characters, enjoy this chapter, because you may never get their POV again from here on.
A bit of backstory for Gogo and Flynn – what do you think?
Some things that may puzzle you: What's Pitch mad about? What's the matter with Vanellope? Flynn and Gogo - huh? What the hell is with 'the list'? Just to assure you it's part of the story, and will be answered in due time. Some of you may have already guessed what they mean.
Up next: Interviews! I'm so excited! It'll take about 2-3 chapters, because it's gonna be fun!
"-Twirl for me-"
"-I'll make you proud, I promise-"
"-I'm sorry that I've only ever disappointed you-"
and…
"-winning won't help in my case."
"Why not?"
"Because she's here too…"
But who? Stay tuned!
A/N:
Hey guys! This would be my last update till to mid-december. I'm flying off tonight. Hurray, but sorry guys.
Today's a kind of trademark day for me, because this story has just reached 50 reviews (Okay if you read the reviews properly, you'll realize it's not actually 50 reviews, but I don't care)! I'm so happy! In the words of Hiro, "I fail to see, how you fail to see, that this is awesome!"
Last chapter is also the highest number of reviews I have ever got for a chapter! Thank you guys so much your responses!
Mailbox:
AliceInNeverland95: Yay! The characters are still in character …so far. I'm glad that you didn't find my story too dramatic. I love drama a lot, something I'm afraid it'd impair the story. I love your account name – excellent combination of two highly-engrossing English classics. I wish I could use the Genie – he'd be so pumped and running as Caesar, but I placed the post-2010 limit on myself so…urgh… But yes, Genie would have been a wonderful addition here. Thanks for reviewing
Queen Elsa Frost of Arendelle: Hey again! Thank you! Hope you like this chappie (but I think I'm right in saying that next one would be better.)
NaomilovesJelsa: Thank you! Hope you didn't hurt anyone in that short moment. I'm glad you like the replies. I like them too.
DauntlessDemigod: Scores are but scores, my dear Dauntless. Okay, to be honest, one reason why I gave them such low scores is because I was tired of giving everyone high scores (if you think about it, all the characters are remarkably talented – most of them are main characters in their movies, c'mon - so it's actually really difficult to decide who's gets higher.) Keeping low scores however can also be a really good strategy. Come the games, the table will turn very rapidly. Thanks for reviewing, and have no fear; Hans will keep his share of the story.
Guest: Thank you! I did write this because most THG AU fics weren't meeting my expectations, and I really wanted a good ROTBTFD one. One good one (Beneath a Sanguine Moon by Solemini) there I've been reading only featured Rise of the Guardians characters and hasn't been updated recently. Yeah, sometimes I get frustrated at handling all the characters and the numerous subplots (this happened lots in Chapter 7-8), but it's worth it.
ElvisRules41: Yeah, it isn't a plot twist, but I'm still glad it surprised you. Initially, I was planning to give Hiccup a low score for the accident, but then I thought – if a guy could build a mini-catapult in seven minutes without metal, who wouldn't be impressed? Here, I made Pitch a somewhat 'fair' Head Gamemaker, so tada! Hiccup the Useless gets pretty good.
Awsomaniatica: Interviews are so exciting, right? Sorry they'll only come next month, but I hope this chapter serves as a good appetizer. Or maybe it'll just ruin your day with more questions…I dunno.
Anastasia 1234: That's really sweet! Thank you! I'm really glad you love this. I really am.
Guest/SmilingStarcat: Thank you! It's a bit difficult to keep remember what I've written and what I haven't sometimes, so I apologise if I do end up making any repetitions. Elsa's powers are going to play a huge deciding story here, and yes, I'm pulling a huge twist. I've been dropping hints every now and…I'll shut up now.
That's all for now. See you in aroundd two weeks people!
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