Redress
Disclaimer – I still do not own the Hunger Games.
Polls – I am updating the poll. Please pick who you think will die in the bloodbath. This will not affect the outcome, but, in a similar way to my sister's poll, if you're familiar with Elim9's stories, makes sure that what I've got in mind is a mix of surprising and predictable.
Thank you for all the feedback and reviews.
Steric Tarthan – District Ten
"The worst part is almost over," Steric muttered. Glade and Alorea had returned and now both were anxiously looking about. Steric knew, though, the interviews that had already passed were nothing compared to what was to come.
She wanted to take Nina's place, to take all of their places, if just for tonight. Once the adrenaline of the Games hit, who lived and who died was beyond her control, entirely beyond anyone's really. That was where things became fair, or as fair as the fight could be. But here, under the bright lights and shiny humiliation dressed in phony costumes and regurgitating insincere words that didn't belong to them, none of their inner selves could fight.
"If I were up there, I would just ask them what they would do if they were to die tomorrow," she muttered. She caught Aeden's eye from across the room and that was enough. He sighed, but said nothing. Beside her, however, Esthelrir put a hand on her shoulder. Though he said nothing, in the silence she knew she had been understood., by both of them. And there was a power in that.
Nestor Graham, 17, Candice Graham's brother – District Nine
How had it come to this? Even now Nestor couldn't believe his little sister was about to come onstage. It was wrong, so wrong.
"Nestor?" his younger sister's voice startled him.
"Ary, you're supposed to be in bed."
"But I want to see Candice," the little girl argued. "I want to see her happy ending."
Nestor fought, biting his tongue. He wanted to tell the ten year old the truth, that there were no happy endings, that she'd already said goodbye to her sister and seeing her dressed up, like a princess, one last time before her death was only going to pour salt in the wound. But looking into her little eyes, he couldn't do it. He couldn't crush her spirit, not tonight. He would let the Games do that for themselves tomorrow, but tonight they could pretend.
"Just for her," Nestor agreed, "then you go to bed." He put his little sister in his lap, despite the fact that she was growing too big for that, as Candice took the stage. She looked truly splendid, adorned in a dress as dark blue as the night sky.
"They look like stars," Ary whispered.
"Candice, welcome. I suppose you've seen a lot of new things since you've been away from home. What has been the most impactful moment for you so far in your time here in the Capitol?" Candice was smiling, but wasn't saying anything.
"Candice?" Calpurnia pried.
"Sorry," Candice apologized, flustered. "The night. All of the lights out my window look like stars. I've never seen anything like it. But, you wanted a moment. It was when all the lights went out in the training area."
"That sounds scary. Any number of things could have happened in the dark. You could have been skewered by a spear, run into any number of pointy objects."
"The darkness itself is scarier than anything in it."
"It's like in one of her stories," Ary whispered and Nestor nodded, wishing that Candice were right.
"So being so far from home, in the dark about what you'll face tomorrow, what do you imagine the arena will be like tomorrow?"
"Well, I can only imagine . . ." Candice trailed off dramatically. "But no, I think I'll keep that to myself, Calpurnia."
"Candice, you strike me as an imaginative type. If you were to be any type of animal, what kind of animal would you be?"
"I'd be a gargoyle, one that comes alive at night."
"That certainly is imaginative, Candice," Calpurnia laughed. "Does your family at home love your imagination this much?" Ary's face lit up and the answer would have been crystal clear to anyone who saw her.
"Yes, I tell my sister stories all the time."
"What sorts of stories?"
"Stories with happy endings," Candice declared, simply. And there, Nestor thought was the lesson. He took one last look at his sister, truly beautiful in her dress, as she left the stage.
"Okay, off to bed," he shooed Ary off as Brody took the stage. He still had a cap, well, rather a new one that the stylists had given him, not the same doofy thing he'd had at the Reapings and the top couple of buttons of his white shirt where undone. He wore navy slacks on bottom and a navy suit top.
"Calpurnia, give me a five, bro," he greeted the announcer with a fist bump.
"Good evening to you too, Brody," Calpurnia retorted good-naturedly.
"You're looking bea-utiful tonight! Whoo! How is all of the Capitol not getting on that?" he smiled and Nestor hid his head in his hands. He couldn't believe the nerve of this kid, coming on to the announcer.
"Thank you, Brody, you look handsome yourself," Calpurnia answered graciously, utterly unfazed by Brody's attitude.
"Yeah, but all this elegance goes away bro-morrow. Bro-ing it in the arena, that is. But you can catch me on the bromera. But hey, let's be serious for a second. You're the best bro-fessional bro-nouncer on any Brogram in all of Panem, so it's a real bro-nor to be here with you."
"Well, Brody, you're the bro-iest tribute I've bro-ever seen. And believe me, you've had some competition" Calpurnia returned. Nestor scoffed. Bro-iness wouldn't win the Hunger Games and everyone knew it.
"And talk about the Capitol. It's the Bro-iest bro-city in all of bro-istory. Let's re-bro-risten it to be the Broapital! Can I hear you, Panem!" Brody shouted out at the audience. Calpurnia was fighting to keep from bursting out in laughter. The audience was eating it up, roaring.
"And my stylists, any bro-s who dress a bro up as an alchoholic drink deserve a bround of applause. Broank you from the brottom of my bro-art." This was utterly ridiculous. Nestor couldn't believe this guy was from his own district, taking the interviews like they were a joke. He was practically speaking his own language too. With so many bro-s every other word it was nothing short of astounding that Calpurnia could understand him.
"So Bronnouncer Calpurnia, what questions can I answer for you?" Calpurnia didn't jump on that immediately ; she was too busy trying to catch her breath from laughing.
"So, Brody, you don't seem worried at all about tomorrow. Do you have a plan?"
"Calpurnia, I've got better than a plan. I've got a Brolliance and tomorrow you all are going to see the bros in action. We're going to be going in strong, like a bunch of Brometheus guys, sticking together and bringing it to the arena and all of Panem! And I don't mind telling you our strategy! We're going to make the Cornucopia the Bronucopia so look out anyone who wants to challenge us!" Brody declared, a fist raised up high.
"Do you have anyone special back in District Nine that you want to say hello to?"
"Brovick, little bro, Marvil, Caster, Shawn, Tristan, Harzic, mom and dad, I'll see you soon. Bro-night from the Capitol, Panem." Brody called as he left the stage. Nestor sighed. "Bro-night" and shut off the screen.
Matthan Virtu, 16, Nina Quivers' friend/neighbor District 10.
There was nothing he could do to fix this. Whenever Nina freaked out at home, which was just short of constantly, he had been there to fix the problem, quell the fear. Now there was nothing he could do but watch, and hope a merciful death would find her quickly.
He had no delusions. Nina wasn't coming back home. Now he would see her one last time onstage.
"And now, the little girl from District Ten, Nina Quivers," Calpurnia introduced her, finding nothing beyond a simple introduction to say. No fancy words would be spoken for the girl who had broken down in hysterics at the Reapings, who, no doubt had spent every day of training hidden in a corner.
Nina emerged and for a split second, Matthan hoped he had been wrong. He barely recognized the girl on the screen. Her hair was curled, gracing the collar of her frilly light green dress. The girl took a couple of hesitant steps toward her chair and then Calpurnia came and took her hand, bringing her the rest of the way.
"Nina, welcome."
Nina's face was already contorting, though, barely fighting the hysteria that was undoubtedly covered her.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please keep it quiet," Calpurnia urged. "Nina, tell us something about home." She redirected, clearly desperate for this interview to not fall apart. She could tell Nina couldn't talk about the Games, about strategizing, about anything.
"Come on," Matthan whispered, his eyes fixed on the screen as Nina struggled to get the words out. "Just say anything. Anything."
"I . . ." Nina tried, but then the tears began to come. Her lower lip quivered and Matthan could tell her breathing was racing. "I want to go home." She curled up, burying her head in her hands, her hair further obscuring it. Matthan hoped maybe her stylists had been merciful enough to not put any make up on her, anything on her face was undoubtedly smudged by now.
"Nina," Calpurnia tried, placing a firm hand on her shoulder, but to no avail. Nina only began shaking even more. Calpurnia nodded off to the side and in came one of the Escorts. Nina shrieked as she put put her hands on their shoulders.
"Enough!" A voice came from offstage. Steric Tarthan raced onto the stage, scooped Nina up in her arms and marched off with her. "To hell with all of you," she declared as she disappeared. Nina wasn't fighting her, Matthan noticed. She'd just gone limp in her Mentor's arms. Matthan brushed away a tear as he silently thanked Steric for ending Nina's last humiliation. It would be over soon.
Matthan sighed. He felt sorry for Mobie, having to come on after Nina's disaster. At least one of District 10's tributes should have a chance. Even Calpurnia was flustered.
"My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. Some tributes just have severe stage fright," she tried to comfort the audience, who must have at least been somewhat moved. Who sent someone like that into the Hunger Games?
"Let's welcome District ten's male tribute. You've seen him as a little lamb, but maybe he's really a wolf in sheep's clothing. Mobie Calp!" A flashy introduction, no doubt to compensate for Nina. Calpurnia was clearly hoping that at least one of District 10's tributes had some fight in them.
Mobie stepped tentatively on the stage, all dressed in dark red. Perhaps the stylists had collaborated to ensure no one thought they were working together, to ensure that Mobie wouldn't be brought down.
"So, Mobie," Calpurnia fumbled, trying to find a question that wouldn't upset him. "What do you miss most about home?"
"My parents," Mobie answered in a beat. "I've got about the best mom and dad a kid could have. They made sure I never had to work a day in my life, never had to take tessarae."
"Are you an only child, Mobie?"
"Yes."
"So, in your wildest dreams did you imagine you would be a tribute?"
"No, I never thought of it until my name was called. I really do admire Steric, though, so following in her footsteps, bringing District Ten another Victor, that's all I want to do."
"Are you afraid, for the Hunger Games?"
"Of course I'm afraid," Mobie almost whispered, as though he could see the arena before him already. Matthan almost feared he too would break down. "I keep going over it in my head, wondering what the arena will bring, wondering if I'll have what it takes. I don't have the experience that a lot of these tributes have, but I have something special. That fear is part of that something special. Most of the other tributes you interviewed, they said they weren't afraid, right?"
"Yes. Do you think that gives you an advantage?"
"I do. People who are wiser and older than me told me that I'd be stupid not to be afraid. Fear can make people do stupid things, but it can also make them do amazing things. Does that make sense?"
"It does, Mobie. I hope the fear doesn't get the best of you tomorrow."
"Thanks," Mobie answered, grinning his boyish grin, spreading ear to ear as he left the stage.
Matthan tried to smile. Maybe Mobie had a chance, even if Nina didn't.
Sussanah, 75 Ridge Therne's friend, District 11
"He has a chance," Susannah insisted, her hand clutching Eden's. They had to believe that, for Eden's sake. The girl had barely eaten since they'd taken her brother and, if the worst were to happen, she feared for Eden's life.
Eden didn't respond, just stared at the screen, waiting to see her brother.
Marune took the stage first, dressed in a deceptively innocent pink dress. Susannah knew better, though. The girl never worked in the trees and always lashed out whenever she was confronted for her laziness; she was far from any definition of innocent. Whether she'd convinced that Capitol of that or not was no concern of Susannah's.
"How do you interview sniveling teenagers year after year? I would have thought a successful person would have been promoted by now," Marune snapped Calpurnia before the announcer had a chance to speak at all.
"Well, we're not here to talk about me."
"Why not? You certainly aren't doing a good job of showing off the outer district tributes, so it seems as though I need to take matters into my own hands. Are you going to conduct my interview at the end, too, after I've become a Victor and interview my family when we're at the final eight?"
"Speaking of your family, what are they like? I'm glad you're so confident that I'll be meeting them," Calpurnia tried to butter Marune up.
"What qualifications does someone have for your position, anyhow? Is it a punishment?"
"Well . . ."
"Nevermind, that's not important. Do you know what the arena's going to be tomorrow?"
"I'm not privy to that kind of information. What do you imagine it will be?"
"It must be sad, knowing that you have to do all the dirty work, mess with all the crying tributes, ask them all the sentimental questions about a home they'll never see and you never even get information beforehand. Doesn't that seem unfair? If I were you, I'd quit. Or get more power. Power is everything. I'd have thought so many years of Hunger Games work would have taught you that."
"Well, Marune, if you're so expert, why was your training score so low?" Calpurnia demanded, clearly irritated with the tribute.
"As one of the meeker, soon to be dead tributes put it, the Gamemakers only see what they can see. As much as they'd like, they can never know everything, only what I want them to. It's almost like they're blind, only seeing what they're supposed to see, even though they think they're in control. Do you ever feel blind, Calpurnia?"
"Well, Marune, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that's all the time-"
"I decide when I'm done," Marune declared, standing, but not leaving. She stood stock still for a moment, staring threateningly out at the audience for a moment before turning on her heel and leaving.
"Well, let's see how cool, calm and collected our next tribute is. Ladies and gentlemen, Ridge Therne!" Calpurnia seemed relieved to see Ridge smiling as he emerged onstage.
"There he is," Susannah whispered, tearing up as the camera caught Ridge's full outfit, a stunning black tux, adorned with falling autumn leaves. Beneath the tux Ridge sported a gold shirt.
"Rough night, Calpurnia?" Ridge asked, turning on the charm.
"It comes and goes."
"Well, I'm practically the last. So the party can start now that I'm here. Trust me, I won't be a downer." And there it was, the smile Susannah didn't know how he kept on his face. Despite everything he'd been through he still had that smile.
"It's nice to see someone's keeping their spirits up. What's kept you going through this, Ridge?"
"There's a phrase I heard somewhere, the closer you are to danger, the farther you are from harm. I'm going on that 100%," Ridge joked and the crowd applauded.
"Do you really think that's true?" Calpurnia asked.
"Well, it can't hurt to dream, can it? Besides, eagerly going into danger is about the last thing anyone would expect. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, right? Gotta keep people on their feet. Makes things more interesting." Susannah saw the glint of something in his hand. He'd kept it, even during the interviews.
"I have to ask, Ridge, what's the significance of the coin?"
"You don't think it's a weapon?" Ridge joked, jabbing it flippantly in her direction.
"I'd be surprised, but you said expect the unexpected, right," Calpurnia laughed.
"It can be whatever you want it to be. It can be a metaphor for chance, it can be something that's kept me entertained through the last 21 tributes' interviews. It can even be something that I'm holding onto, nothing more and nothing less."
"Is there anything at home that you're holding onto, Ridge?"
He took a breath and for a moment his smile faded, only to return as he spoke. "Everything."
District Twelve – Cindy, Gloria's teacher.
She had to get through this.
Cindy knew it was foolish, that there was barely any hope, but still she clutched her husband's hand, waiting for that little girl to come on the screen.
Then Gloria emerged, looking as sweet and innocent as she truly was in a pale yellow dress, almost the same color as the one she'd worn at the reapings.
"Good evening, Calpurnia," she greeted the interviewer, sweetly. When she spoke, she bit her lower lip, smudging her lip stick and making her cleft lip more apparent.
"You look beautiful this evening."
"It's like a dress I've always dreamed of," Gloria whispered innocently. No doubt it was. Gloria had never had any dresses that fancy.
"Gloria, this may sound indelicate, but I want to ask about your lip."
"That's okay. I was born with a cleft lip and my parents have never had the money to get it fixed."
"That's something we don't often hear in the Capitol. It's just a sharp reminder of how underprivileged the districts, particularly twelve are. Gloria, if you could take one thing from the Capitol and bring it back to District Twelve, what would it be?"
"I'd bring all of the food back and share it with everyone else who needs it. There are a lot of people who are less fortunate than my family is. There are kids who don't have anyone to stand up for them when they're bullied." The covered her mouth, all of a sudden afraid she shouldn't have mentioned that.
"You were bullied back home?" Calpurnia pried. Gloria only nodded her head. "I can't imagine that. You seem like such a sweet girl."
"My teacher always said the same thing. I think it's only because of her that I have allies." So she did have allies, either that or she had gotten a lot better at lying than Cindy would have expected. She was glad. No matter what happened, she wouldn't want Gloria to be alone.
"Now, you're one of the youngest tributes in these games, paired in the same district with one of the oldest, quite a combination, to be sure. And having a first time mentor, some may say this puts you at a disadvantage."
"Don't count me out yet," Gloria declared with a smile. "I may be just a little girl from District Twelve, but I'll surprise you. I know I'll need help to come out alive, but I'll work hard and earn your help and your hearts. I know I can deserve it and I appreciate every bit of it." She batted her eyes and Cindy couldn't help but laugh. Her mentor must have told her to put that in.
"You said surprises, Gloria. Any final insights?"
"You'll have to keep me alive to see," she replied, with a hint of spunk. "Don't underestimate what I can do."
Then she was gone and Tanner took the stage. His dark suit stood in stark contrast to Gloria's attire. Night and day.
"Welcome, Tanner. You're our final tribute of the evening. How are you feeling about being on the verge of the Hunger Games?"
"I'm certainly prepared. I've transformed from a Reaped tribute from District Twelve to one who is ready to realize his potential tomorrow. These three past days couldn't have benefitted me more." Tanner smiled, very comfortable in the spotlight.
"So you have changed a lot. What would you say the biggest change in you has been?" Calpurnia asked.
"Well, your world completely changes when you know what's at stake. I know who I am now more than I ever did in District Twelve because I have to. I know that the rest of my life hinges on these next couple of days and I don't take that lightly," Tanner said, his face serious. "Besides, I also know everyone wants to see a good show, so I've learned as much as I can," he admitted and the audience cheered. The boy knew how to work a crowd, she would certainly give him that.
"Tanner, what would you say your greatest strength coming into these Games is? What do you bring to the table?"
"I know myself and, Calpurnia, I'm not afraid to be realistic. I'm not kidding myself. These Games are going to be tough and only one of us is coming out. I want it to be me, so there will be tough choices that will ultimately have to be made. I'm prepared for that."
"Confidence. I like that. Especially from District Twelve. What makes you so sure?" Cindy clutched the edge of her chair, finding herself on edge awaiting his response.
"Well, Calpurnia, this may sound terrible, but I'm certain because I'm out for myself. I've been raised that way and I'm very comfortable with the decision to put my best interests, my life in front of someone else's. That's something no one from Twelve has really grasped before. That's why we don't have a Victor yet. I hope to be the first."
"With your strategy, namely putting yourself as a priority, do you have any allies going into this?"
"I do and I'm very grateful. Don't mistake me, Calpurnia. I would be terrified to go into the Games alone. Having allies allows me to thrive, have friends, and have someone whose back I scratch and who will scratch mine. We can get further in a group than I could by myself. But we're not fooling anyone, none of us are. there is only one winner. Everything until the Victor's crown is temporary."
"Ladies and gentlemen, our final tribute, Tanner Amori. Goodnight and Happy Hunger Games from the Capitol!" Calpurnia announced.
Ava Ermingard – District Nine Female Mentor
"So many promises," Joran whined as the two of them began saying their goodnights to the other mentors. His foot was still tapping as they stood in place.
"One of them will follow through," Ava encouraged, envisioning nothing but one of their two tributes with a crown on their head. Esthelrir caught her eye as he made his way through the crowd, greeting both Mentors and Capitolites alike. She wanted to speak to him before they parted that evening.
"Twenty three of them won't. Isn't that the point rather than the one who will?" Joran asked. His voice sounded tired, but Ava gave him the benefit of the doubt. From the impression she had gotten, the past couple days had been difficult with Tavia. Joran always got impatient with his tributes, thinking they weren't learning quickly enough or were making foolish decisions. In the past Ava had tried to mitigate this, when their tributes had trained together, but not this year. This year, though, neither Joran nor Tavia had shared anything with her, preferring to keep their secrets, perhaps worried about their chances. They saw each other as enemies already, something none of her past tributes had. Then again, none of her past tributes besides Joran had made it out of the Games.
"Twenty four promises," she sighed, almost agreeing with Joran. She wished there was something she could do to make this better, but she was almost as helpless as those tributes.
"I just hope everyone remembers them," Esthelrir commented, finally joining them. "Twenty three of them will not come home, of course; that's a given with the rules. But even in that tragedy, all twenty four of them can be remembered. We can promise them that much, can't we?"
Ava nodded, hoping it would be the last time she would have to be reminded. She didn't want to have any more promises.
—"Speak, strike, redress!" Am I entreated
To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise,
If the redress will follow, thou receivest
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!