-Lindsay's POV-
Ottilie has to physically drag me out of bed that morning.
I don't know what I was thinking. The rational part of me knew that hiding under the covers wouldn't prevent this day from happening. The passionate part held onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, it would.
I act with my heart, not my brain. Because of that, my intelligence has been invalidated. I do have a brain, and I do use it in school, but I don't act with it. My brother has called me dumb before, I've been called an idiot, "stupid girl," because my heart is more powerful than my brain. I've tried, and I can't change that for myself. I woke up this morning ready to throw up, accepting that it really is my last day of living.
How do you walk into your own death? I'm doing it and I still don't know.
I was hiding in the darkness, the warmth of my covers, curled up into a little ball of Lindsay. Inspektor is soft-spoken and awkward, and didn't want to enter my room for fear of, well, barging into a teenage girl's room without her consent. Instead, he decided to ask Ottilie, our only living mentor and Victor of the 34th Games, to come get me. And she did just that.
The 25-year-old opens the door forcefully and I hear her heavy footsteps stomp into the room. She turns the light on with a loud click and says, "Come on now, time to get up!" She pulls the covers off of me, causing me to be temporarily blinded by the light. I feel one of her rough, calloused hands grab my ankle and pull, trying to get me out of bed.
The first sob tears out of me before I can stop it. It's practically a scream, pleading with her to not make me do this. Please. Please don't make me do this. Please. She lets go of my ankle in surprise, and I pull my foot back, drawing my knees up to my chest and sobbing pathetically. I can't do this. I'm going to die today. I'm not going to make it out of this. I can't possibly. I can't kill. I can't witness death. I just can't. Just thinking about it draws bile to my throat as I choke on air, sobs escaping me.
I feel a weight on the bed as Ottilie plops down. I unleash sobs, not even trying to hold them back now. Maybe I figure that if I look pathetic enough, I won't have to go. My heart believes in miracles. My brain knows better.
"So, you're really afraid, aren't you?" she asks.
I can't respond. Even if I'd try, I can only make choking, sobbing noises right now.
"I was scared too. Everyone's scared. Even the biggest, baddest Career is scared."
I sob louder thinking about them. After all, my life isn't the only one on the line here. My brain is focused on myself, but my heart aches for the others, for these people that are just as lost and afraid as I am. Some, like Monterey, are completely ignorant. But that doesn't change the fact that a tremendous number of people are going to be dead very soon. I stay curled up, sobbing loudly, not caring what Ottilie has to say to me. After all, she's here now. She's the one out of twenty-four that is here now, still breathing. She's the one that lived. Twenty-three others are dead.
"You're not just a statistic yet," she says.
I let out another sob, because I know that no matter what she says, that's how she sees me. After all, she put all of her energy into Hartwin because he's older and stronger, he scored well, he actually has a chance. I'm just that 15-year-old girl that scored a 3 out of 12 and can't make herself use her brain. I just can't.
"You're not. The Victor is almost never the tribute everyone expects to win."
I don't answer her, even though I could. I just don't want to.
Ottilie keeps talking. "Tributes have been able to make it out of the Games without taking lives. Or just taking one."
"No." I can't listen to her talk like this anymore. I just can't stand it. I know that I can't win and she's not going to be able to convince me that I can. I know that I'm going to die and come home in a grave. I know that my friends are going to mourn me. I know that I'm a walking corpse. She can't convince me that I'm not.
"If you think like that-"
"Even if I think positively, that doesn't mean anything!" I say miserably. "So why waste the energy!?"
"You've had a personality change," she says.
"I never thought I could win," I say quietly. "I just tried to convince myself that I did."
"You thought you could, you acted like you could, why?"
"Because I promised my friends." I say. I think I'm starting to see her point.
"That's right. You promised them you would try, didn't you?"
"I tried!" I sob again. "I tried to try! And I failed."
"You don't fail until you give up."
"I failed."
"You have allies, don't you?"
"Yes," I say miserably.
"That's two more people that think that you're worth it. They think that you're worth keeping around. That you're worth travelling with. They think highly of you. They think you can do this. You're the only one that's stopping you. You're the reason your friends are going to lose you. You're going to let them down if you do this."
"I'm going to let them down either way."
"Don't say that. You're letting them down when you do that. I'm not your friends, I don't know you like they do."
"That's because you gave up on me from day one," I say irritably. I just feel mad again. I feel so full of hate, it's practically exploding out of me. It's the worst feeling. I know that I can't go on like this.
"I was stupid to. It wasn't fair of me and I'm sorry."
I glance up at her round face, brown hair in a braid down her back. Her brown eyes lock with my blue ones and I know that she means it.
"I needed you," I say quietly. "I needed someone to have faith in me when I couldn't have faith in myself."
"I know."
"I felt undesirable."
"You're not."
"I felt that way."
"I'm sorry."
"Thanks for the apology."
She's quiet now. There's nothing left to say.
"If I could stop this, I would. But I can't. I can't make you believe in yourself. But I'm asking you to fake it some more. You'll be surprised how far it takes you. You really will."
I swallow hard. "Fine."
Ottilie stands up. "There you go. Up at at 'em."
"Yeah," I say weakly. I try to fake something, but it's harder than you'd ever imagine when you're so full of dread. I go to the bathroom and wash my tear-stained face with cold water before I braid my hair in two pigtails and brush my teeth. I try to enjoy these luxuries, as soon I won't have them anymore, one way or another.
When I go out to the kitchen, Inspektor has papers spread out across the table, punching away numbers on a calculator, casually, as if they're easy to come around in the Capitol (which they probably are). Hartwin just looks awkward, though interested, watching Inspektor type numbers on the device and write equations down on paper. When I enter, they both look up at me.
"Morning," Inspektor says cooly.
"Hi," I say quietly, sliding into a seat.
Ottilie squeezes my shoulders and sits next to me, a determined smile on her face.
"Eat up," Inspektor says, pushing a plate of food towards me. I don't feel hungry, but I eat a good deal, knowing that soon food will be hard to come by.
"There we are," Ottilie grins. "Now I'm positive that District 10's going to get ourselves another Victor this year."
~.~.
-Yin Kozart, Head Gamemaker-
Kelley sits on the edge of the bed. We mindlessly flip cards over, whoever has the higher card taking both. When we have the same card, we wordlessly flip another over. There is no fun in our game. It's all to get our minds off of everything we've lost.
The boys are both sleeping, and I know that this is a rare opportunity for rest, but I know that any sleep I try to get will just be plagued with nightmares. It's just better to stay awake.
Kelley's naturally brown hair is sticking up everywhere, as usual. His eyes are naturally green, and they glance between the cards and me every once in a while.
Our relationship was really tense after Solitaire died; he heard those things I said about Avoxes all those years ago and was filled with fear. But the truth is, I probably couldn't function without him. I can't keep a house, work a job, and raise two babies all on my own. Maybe Solitaire could've, but I can't. I'm far too finite. Kelley's been so good, probably too good to me.
He has dark circles under his eyes and looks tired, but insists he isn't tired. He's wearing an oversized sleep shirt and short shorts. I can tell he's still wearing his binder into the night, and my suspicions are confirmed as it gets later and he starts to shift uncomfortably.
"You can…"
He just shakes his head and we keep going, though I'm still concerned.
We flip cards mindlessly. It was just kind of an unspoken agreement to play the game. A way to eat up some time so we're not just sitting awake.
We flip cards, nobody getting a definite majority. We play for a long time, but when I flip cards I don't only see the numbers and the suits: I see faces, faces of tributes that were associated with each card in Solitaire's Games. She worked so hard… She bounced so many ideas off of me. I helped her decide which card went with each tribute.
It's about 2:10 in the morning when I flip over the Ace of Spades and Kelley the 8 of hearts. The game ends abruptly, as I see their faces in my mind and think about Solitaire. Damn, I miss her. I miss her more than anything.
Kelley drops his hand, gets out of bed, and leaves quickly. His footsteps are light and silent, like a bunny, as he goes. I don't have the heart to go after him and know that he needs his space. He cared for Solitaire too. A lot. When everyone else (including me) shunned him and dehumanized him, she dared to treat him with respect and kindness. Give him a support system. A home. She dared to be patient and kind. She dared to reach out to him. She was the only one that ever did that for him as far as I know, besides Edward O'Callaghan himself. It must be a nightmare, losing both of those key people in the same way.
I let him go and clean up the cards off the bed. Solitaire knew how to shuffle them in all these cool ways. She tried to teach me how to bridge, but I could never do it like she could. Since she was killed, I stopped trying.
I put the cards in the drawer of my night-side table. Next to it is the cards that still have her handwriting on them. Sometimes I look at them when I miss her, but usually it brings too much pain. I still have no idea why she's dead. I don't know what not to do to avoid the same fate. I can't let my twins be orphans. I can't let Kelley go to a household that will abuse him. I can't afford to die now. This Games has to be good, but not too good.
A tear wells up in my eyes. Never too good.
I take my thick glasses off of my face and put them on the bedside table. Yeah, I've cried since she was killed. A lot. But I thought I was getting past it, finally. Now, I realize that I'll never be okay. I'm always going to miss her. This hole in my life isn't ever going to be filled, not by the boys, not by any friends or family, not by anyone. I will always be missing her. I will always wish she was here. I will always think about what she would do if she were back by my side.
Tears roll down my cheeks and I choke, trying not to sob out loud. The last thing I need is to wake the boys and the Avoxes.
The shadow she casts as a person, a Gamemaker, and a parent, is one I will forever linger in. The boys deserve her here, they deserve better than me. I don't know what I'm doing. I was never shown an ounce of love from my family by blood. My parents were harsh and put pressure on me to become a Head Gamemaker. Unhealthy pressure. Screaming-in-my-face pressure. My older brothers weren't as intelligent or strategic as myself. I was the constant target of all the hatred my family had.
That's why I was so bitter when Solitaire beat me out for the position. I guess I thought that if I ended up a Head Gamemaker, everything would turn around and my family would celebrate me. I guess I thought that I'd have everything I always wanted if I got here. Then Solitaire entered my life and brought everything into color, and showed me that I didn't need to have status to have everything I always wanted: she showed me love, and family, comradery, friends, mentors. She showed me happiness, laughter, brightness, generosity, kindness. She took it with her everywhere she went. She radiated vibrancy.
She loved me well, and goddammit how I loved her! She showed me that it didn't matter where I came from. Everyone can be anything. Anything is possible.
She poured her heart out into everything she did. She loved the boys so tenderly and always knew what to do for them. Compared to her, I'm a mess. Deck and Singe deserve her here. It's not fair, and if I could do anything to bring her back I would do it without a second thought.
I let the sobs out quietly. I'm afraid that tomorrow, or, later today, is going to crash and burn. I'm afraid that I'm going to die tomorrow. The same fear of my 24 tributes is hidden in my heart. What happens to my boys if I'm dead? They'll grow up in an orphanage and have no idea who their parents were and why everyone is so interested in them. I can't do that to them. I can't afford it.
And yet, the control I have over my own fate is limited. I'm powerless. All I can do is hope that it goes smoothly tomorrow.
I close my eyes, squeezing tears out of them that glide down and hit my pillow. Tomorrow's going to be a hard day. One of the hardest days since losing her.
I try to get my mind off of it and try desperately to let myself fall into blackness.
.
I've had about three cups of black coffee and still don't feel awake. Instead, I just feel like shit. My head pounds, and my heart beats fast and hard, though I don't feel energized at all, just sick. I go around, giving final orders to the other Gamemakers as the tributes are currently in the hovercraft now, and I watch as the trackers light up on the screen, one by one.
"How's the weather system functioning?" I ask Cicero, fidgeting my hands nervously and trying not to look as horrified as I feel. I bounce on my feet from the coffee, causing the boys to giggle.
"Looks fine," he says, crinkling his nose as Singe gurgles happily. "Just keep those slobber-buckets away from me. They spit in my hair the other day."
"That's kind of what babies do," I say, but remembering that work needs to be done, keep milling about.
"And all of those plants are in place?"
"Exactly where you wanted them," Floris says.
"Mutts on standby?"
"Do you even have to ask?" Makvala says confidently.
"I think everything's ready." I swallow hard. I'm living the dream I always had, and I'm in hell. I feel slight tears push at the corner of my eyes, tears of fear for my family, for myself. Tears of grief for Solitaire, remembering how confidently she always strode when she was in this position. Maybe for the tributes, who were certainly just as afraid as I was.
I watch the screens as the stylists say goodbye to the tributes. Some are in the tubes after a short goodbye.
Tomer takes the jacket and puts it on himself, uncomfortably inching away from his stylist, in his tube early. Winchester from 3's goodbye is reserved, and he enters the tube as soon as the jacket is put on his broad shoulders. Static's stylist is an older woman, and they don't appear to have the best of relationships because Static chooses to zip up the jacket herself and enter the tubes early.
Aaron from 12's expression stays just as hollow, almost dead, as it's been since he was reaped. He and his stylist just stare at each other before the woman mutters about how she wishes she could move up to a higher District.
Even a Career from 4 like Branden has a stylist that is very short and sweet in terms of the goodbye she gives. Branden promises to do his District proud and enters his tube.
Bellona, another Career, looks calm and proud as her stylist zips the thin, waterproof jacket up and flips her hair over her shoulder. Their goodbye is slightly more reserved, but still well-wishing and kind.
Isa from 6 stays just as confident as she was at the reaping, and promises her stylist, a middle-aged woman, that she's going to make it back and that she'll see her soon.
Her ally Amy's eyes are full of tears, that roll down her cheeks out of her eyes as her stylist tries to reassure her, to no avail. Eventually, the snobby woman gives up trying and sends her away, sneering.
My attention is drawn when I hear a high-pitched voice saying, "You're Whimsy Chandler! You got this!" Whimsy's stylist, a woman with purple hair and a bright smile, is pep-talking her tribute. She gives Whimsy a confident smile and sends her off to the tube. Alma's stylist is an older man who is retiring next year, that gives him a pep talk not nearly as animated but still just as well-intentioned.
There's a commotion as a couple of Peacekeepers are sent into the room to subdue Abigail. The young girl from District 8 tries to run, tugging at the door and screaming, but is eventually dragged to her tube, her stylist watching and looking annoyed.
Some of the tributes have slightly more positive experiences saying goodbye to their stylists.
Fifteen-year-old Lindsay's eyes hold tears in them but she tries to keep a brave face as her stylist tries to convince her that she still has a good chance. Elias from 11 fidgets nervously as his stylist, a middle-aged man, wishes him well.
Trekker takes his jacket from his stylist and puts it on himself. He appears as if he's trying to listen to his stylist's attempt at a pep-talk, though. Linnea's eyes bubble with tears as her jacket is zippered and she enters the tube after a solemn goodbye and a weak pep talk from her stylist.
Wyatt's stylist is a middle-aged man, who puts his jacket on for him and pats his head, wishing him well and trying to give him a pep talk, though the boy from 6 looks terrified. Hartwin just listens and nods politely to his stylist, an older woman who loves to chatter and is talking about how proud she is that 10 has a chance.
Sondra from 3 listens to her stylist give her some last-minute advice on how to upkeep her attractive appearance in the Arena, and how to play it to her advantage. I wonder if she's going to sway Beo or not.
"No, not Beo! Jack!" he's so loud that my attention goes to the Disrict 9 monitor, where a middle-aged man with raven black hair and dark eyes is scowling and gritting his teeth.
"To think that District 9 actually has a chance this year and it lies in the hands of this lunatic," he says, sounding annoyed.
"I'm Jack Merridew!" the 18-year-old says cheerfully, putting the jacket over his shoulders and zipping it up. "Sucks to you!" he says as he enters the tube. "Sucks to you all!"
He laughs as he enters his tube.
Some tributes have longer conversations with their stylists. Ezekiel from District 2 talks with his stylist, a young chatterbox of a woman who talks excitedly, albeit mindlessly.
Monterey snuggles into the black jacket of District 12. You can tell right away that she's changed. She's no longer the smiley, delusional child we saw. It seems that reality has finally caught up to her.
"Am I gonna die?" she asks quietly, glancing fearfully to the corner of the room.
"Most likely," says her stylist, a bored woman who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else than there, any other District.
Monterey lets out a whimper. "I don't want to die." She looks around. "Aaron said I'm not gonna die."
"He's going to die too."
"No. Please." Her eyes are wide and pleading, filled with sadness as she glances at the corner of the room and abruptly shouts, "SHUT UP!"
"Just get in the tube," the woman says, pointing to the glass tube.
Monterey goes there, constantly looking nervously behind her shoulder.
The glass closes around her and a tear slips out of her eye, rolling down her cheek slowly. Her voice is wobbly and barely above a whisper when she speaks next.
"Well… At least if I die I'll join my friends."
Sequoia's stylist is a younger genderfluid individual who chatters endlessly with her as they're zipping up her jacket. They have dark blue hair with pastel pink tips, and reassure her about all the faith they have in her. They look like they want to go for the hug but just take both of her hands instead, giving them a squeeze.
Tempest's stylist, a man with hair different colors of blue and a prosthetic hand, gives her a pep talk, louder than the others. Tempest bounces excited on her toes and shouts back at him, as if he's a coach and she's a football player. He does eventually calm down enough to give her a hug goodbye and promise that his bets have never been wrong before. Tempest is the next-to last into her tube.
However, the last one into their tube is Torque of District 5. Their stylist, who has orange and navy hair and an attractive, gentle face, gives them a tight hug, which the 16-year-old returns. The two of them stay like that for a while, swaying slightly. It's not until the timer is on fifteen seconds that Christer lets go and puts his hands on his tribute's shoulders.
"You have so much to return to, Torque. You have so much potential. You can make a change. You can inspire people that have historically never had a voice. For Ree."
Torque's expression doesn't change, but their voice cracks when they quietly repeat, "For Ree."
Torque walks into the tube and Christer puts a hand up in a wave goodbye. Torque does the same as the countdown hits zero and the tubes start to rise, taking the tributes into their Arena.
"It's time," I say, biting my lip nervously. My heart pounds, pumped up with nerves and caffeine.
Floris puts a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry," he says. "We did everything just as you asked."
"That means there's no one else to blame if this implodes."
"We're not going to let those babies be orphans," Makvala says decidedly. "I'll be damned if we do."
"Thanks," I say gratefully.
"I'm not touching those things again," Cicero says.
The countdown is running and with each second I feel the same adrenaline and nerves that the tributes must be feeling. I barely feel excitement, though. Just cold, dark fear.
The tributes are blinded temporarily by the sun, which is currently shining pleasantly. They are in an arc around the Cornucopia. However, the golden horn looks horribly small this year compared to the main body of it. The entire perimeter of the Arena is surrounded by enormous rocky cliffs. The tributes are currently placed on the edge of the Arena, the cliffs infinitely tall behind them. In front of them, the sound can be heard of a waterfall that flows through an opening at the top of a cave. The main attraction of the Arena lies in front of the tributes.
I watch little Monterey's eyes go up in awe at the great temple that lies in front of them, carved into the side of the mountain. The temple is huge, intricately decorated with patterns of people that are so far removed from history only few remember them. The temple is shaped like half of a pyramid, the gray steps going up and in. The temple is large but not so big that the tributes will easily be able to hide. The waterfall flows into one of the rooms, the only accessible water source. The tributes will have the choice to take shelter or stay out here, in plain sight, and be slaughtered. This Games is going to be interesting, that's for sure. For light, we've put in lots of flint and a lot of torches in each room. However, the temple isn't very flammable, we've ensured that. It will be up to the Careers: and any other bloodthirsty tributes: to gut each room. However, some rooms do have tricks, nasty tricks at that.
In terms of an Arena, it's actually fairly complex, a bit of a risk for me. Solitaire's Arenas were simple and to-the-point, but her concepts and main ideas were more complex. This was a complex Arena, and if the tributes didn't explore this Games would end quickly: and bloodily.
I swallow a nervous lump in my throat as Deck sleeps and Singe babbles and wiggles happily.
"Three… Two… One."
The gong rings, signaling the start of the 42nd annual Hunger Games.
As soon as the gong rings, Elias from 11 takes off, arriving at the Cornucopia and meeting Sequoia from 7. The Careers arrive just as they've had the time to grab their bags, and the two of them run away with their bearings, meeting Trekker from 8. Together, the trio escapes cleanly. That doesn't appear as if it's going to be the case for anyone else, though, as the Careers have weapons as soon as they can.
Some tributes decide not to risk it and weigh the consequences. Wyatt from 6 runs into the temple alone, and close behind him are Torque and Static, who link arms to stay together as they run.
The first casualty is Tomer from District 7, who goes into the horn in search of food and is taken out quick and easy by Ezekiel's katana. Winchester from 3 runs to get something from the outside edge, and is hit on the shoulder by Bellona's sword while he's grabbing a backpack. The girl from 2 challenges him further, but he takes off running and when other tributes come, she goes to help her allies against them.
Not soon after, an alliance of four younger girls arrives, under the leadership of Isa from 6, and they all take different approaches to sneak in and get something. The leader is, as they usually are, the first to die when they're noticed and Isa is taken out by Whimsy's spear cleanly to the back. Lindsay screeches in horror, but it's cut off when she's stabbed clean by Bellona's sword. Amy fares slightly better, at least making it inside of the horn, but she's gone into shock at seeing both of her allies taken out and is soon taken out of her misery by a scythe wielded by Alma from 1.
While this is happening, Linnea from 9 tries to sneak around, looking hesitant.
Her District partner Beo shoots past her, immediately pulling his fist back and punching Tempest square in the face as she had just finished stringing a belt of knives around her waist. Branden is about to go after him when he notices Linnea starting away and starts after her. The boy from 9 cackles as he runs with a backpack and a sword on his back. Tempest is momentarily distracted, setting her sights on the boy from 9 and failing to pay attention to anyone else, screaming profanities after him, throwing no less than three of her knives in his direction and getting more frustrated each time she misses.
In her distraction, Sondra is able to grab a backpack from the front of the horn and run to catch up with Beo, her speed working to her advantage. Hartwin grabs a couple packages from the front of the golden horn and takes off unscathed.
As Sondra and Beo start up the steps together, they eventually catch up to Abigail from District 8, who had stopped to collect herself halfway up. Beo gleefully swings the sword and takes the girl out of her misery before she can even scream.
Tempest keeps screaming until Ezekiel runs out to meet her and says, "Hey, calm down, Punk, we'll get 'im later." The pair is about to start back to the Cornucopia when they see the tributes from District 12 running together and go for two last Cornucopia kills. Aaron looks behind his shoulder and sees the Careers approaching. Monterey doesn't notice. Tempest aims and, with a simple flick of the wrist, sends a knife flying at Monterey. The knife doesn't hit the 12 girl, though. Instead, it hits dead-center on her District partner's back, who had seen the shot coming and stepped in front of her, giving her a shove forward.
"Go!" For the first time since he got here, he actually raises his voice, though it's strained. He's dead before he can see if Monterey will make it.
She doesn't leave, though. Instead, she collapses onto her knees by her District partner's side, shouting out his name and letting out a wail as Ezie easily takes her out, biting his lip as she collapses with a screech, bleeding on her District partner.
The Arena goes into silence. The Careers survey their supplies and kills, organizing their stuff and choosing what to bring with them into the temple. Since the Cornucopia is on the outside, the tributes can't make it a base or a hub. They choose wisely, though, in my opinion, as nine cannons shoot off. An impressive bloodbath, if I do say so myself. Not to say I expected anything less than great with six trained Careers working together.
"Good job team," I sigh, feeling relieved. "We made it. Show the survivors."
The cameras show the pair from District 5 first. They stay close, huddled together, as they walk and take note of which way they came. After that, Beo and Sondra, who have found a room and started a couple of torch fires. Then, the trio of Trekker, Elias, and Sequoia. Trekker starts some fires while Sequoia and Elias go through their backpacks. Wyatt sits by himself, making sparks with flint but unable to start a real fire yet. Hartwin moves along in the darkness, never looking back. He's plenty capable of lighting a torch, I'm sure, but chooses not to. Hopefully these Games go by fast (but not too fast) and smooth. The sooner I can be left with my boys, the better.
I watch as the Careers take their weapons of choice and put large hiking backpacks over their shoulders.
"Time for the real adventure to begin," Tempest says with a grin. The Careers all agree, and together the group starts up the steps.
~.~.
A/N: I'm back! Who missed me? Nobody? That's alright. XD
Here's the bloodbath. It's kind of long and I hope you didn't feel like it was too much of my OCs, but I thought it wasn't fair that I give Monty an extra POV because she's a bloodbath and not give Lindsay one too. I just wanted to keep that on the down-low for as long as possible. Sorry.
So, there's the bloodbath. I hope you liked it! I hope you thought it was fair and realistic. It was a hard choice, I wanted everyone to keep going. Thanks so much to those that submitted bloodbaths specifically. I'll probably try to get around to an afterlife AU for this story. And drawing the tributes, I should do that too. Someday. Hopefully soon.
Also, there's a poll up for your favorite tributes, so if you haven't voted already please do! You can choose up to 4 so if you vote for your own you can vote for someone else's too. Shit, I have to do point values, don't I? It's almost 2 A.M. Ugh. Alright.
Prices:
Battery (for flashlight/lanterns): 10
Small Canteen (Empty): 15
Large Canteen (empty): 20
Bandages: 20
Blanket: 20
Compass: 25
Simple foods (bags of jerky, crackers, or dried fruit): 28
Pillow: 30
Basic First-Aid Kit: 35
Socks/shoes/shirts/extra articles of clothing: 35
Functioning Flashlight: 40
Small Canteen (with water): 50
Iodine (to disinfect water): 55
Well-functioning Lantern: 60
Matches: 68
Large Canteen (with water): 70
Night-vision goggles: 75
Functioning Sleeping Bag: 75
Knife: 90
High-Quality Food (bread from a District, meat, broth/soup): 90
Tribute's Favorite Capitol Meal: 100
Medicine: 100
Complex First-Aid Kit: 103
Tribute's weapon of choice: 120
Arena Map: 200
There. The only thing I ask is just that you sponsor reasonably. I'll only send one item at a time, and since this is the 42nd Games I'm trying to keep it at least somewhat canon so just... Keep it down a bit. Occasional gifts are better.
Chapter Question: Any of the BB deaths (Isa, Tomer, Abigail, Linnea, Lindsay, Amy, Monterey, Aaron) that were surprising to you? Who of them will you miss most?