Morning of the Games
Just Breathe

Trigger Warning: Brief mention of abuse in Basil's POV.

Clementine Acres, 18
District One

Clementine rolled over as the bell sounded, somewhat surprised that she'd actually managed to fall asleep. In fact, she'd slept much more soundly than she would ever have guessed. Despite the stunt that Eight had pulled during the interviews the night before, the plan was the same as it had always been. If the other Careers had any sense, no one would be stupid enough to turn on the pack. And if they were … well, that would just make it even clearer who their first target should be.

Clementine stretched, changed into a plain shirt and pants, and headed out to the kitchen. No point in getting all dressed up. They would be changing into their arena outfits soon enough, anyway. And once they were in the Games, it wouldn't matter what they looked like – not really. Even the Capitolites weren't silly enough to expect tributes to be able to stay clean and pretty-looking during the Games.

Argent was already at the breakfast table, along with Angelo and Jerica. Clementine nodded politely as she took a seat and filled her plate with pancakes, eggs, and an assortment of fruit. There was no telling when her next full meal might be. Sure, Careers usually had access to plenty of food at the cornucopia, but even they had to ration it in case the Games lasted longer than they thought they would.

Not that the Games usually lasted that long. A week or two was the norm. The record was twenty days – two years ago, when Jasmine had won. But the year after that, Jerica had won in less than half that time. This year, though … Would the Gamemakers want to draw things out longer, because it was a Quell? Or would that mean they would want things to be bloodier – and therefore shorter?

Clementine wolfed down the last of her pancakes, trying to clear her head. Wondering how long the Games would last wasn't going to do her any good right now. The important thing was making sure that she was the one to survive them. Whether she made it out in a matter of days or four weeks wouldn't really make a difference, as long as she came home alive.

"Try not to eat too fast," Jerica advised. "The last thing you want is to throw up on your podium. That'd be a lousy way to go."

Clementine chuckled, but took the hint and slowed down a little. She still had plenty of time before they would have to head to the hovercraft that would take them to the arena. She could afford to savor her food for now. She just hoped she would live long enough to eat this well again.

Kekoa Palu, 18
District Four

It was Mags' idea to go meet with his Apple and Ethan one more time before the Games. Both Apple and Ethan looked a bit surprised when he knocked on the door and interrupted their breakfast, but they quickly invited him in. "Have you eaten yet?" Apple asked.

Kekoa nodded. "Yeah, but I wouldn't say no to a little more." He helped himself to one of the muffins on their table. "Given what happened last night, Mags thought it would be a good idea to talk about what we plan to do in the bloodbath if…"

"If one of the Careers decides to go through with joining us?" Ethan finished.

Kekoa nodded. "I want it to be a group decision, but … well, I think we could certainly use the extra help, if it ends up going that way."

"Any idea who it might be?" Apple asked.

Kekoa shook his head. "Could be anyone. Could be no one. Probably, the pair from Eight were just trying to cook up some drama, but that doesn't mean it didn't put the idea in somebody's head. Doesn't mean somebody won't decide to run with it. If I had to take a guess … probably not Clementine or Argent, despite what the kids from Eight said. Clementine's plan to intimidate the other tributes during training was the reason I left the pack in the first place, and Argent was behind her all the way."

It hadn't taken long for the other Careers to back them up, of course, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Any or all of the others could simply have been trying to save face, not wanting to appear soft or look like the weakest link in the pack. He shook his head. "Like I said, it might not happen. I just thought we should be prepared in case it does."

Apple nodded. "I think we should let them. The Capitol would probably love it."

"They probably would," Ethan agreed. "But are we really going to be trust somebody who would be willing to leave the pack just like that?"

Kekoa shook his head. "I didn't say we should trust them. Trust only goes so far in the Games, anyway, no matter when an alliance forms. Even—" He cut himself off before he said it. He didn't need to put that idea into their heads. He didn't need the two of them thinking about what would happen – what would have to happen – when their own alliance came to an end. Right now, they had to worry about surviving the bloodbath. Everything else could wait until after that.

Basil Larch, 15
District Seven

Basil stretched his arms, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he and Narra headed for the hovercraft. He'd slept better than he'd expected to, but he'd still been drowsy all through breakfast. Maybe that was normal. Chances were, he'd wake up just fine once the adrenaline began to kick in. He just wasn't quite there yet.

That surprised him, really. He'd expected to be afraid. He was about to be fighting for his life, after all. But now that it came down to it, he wasn't scared. Not really. Certainly not the same sort of terror he felt when his father walked in the room and took off his belt. Not the same fear that had driven him to spread enough rumors to get himself voted into the Games. Whatever was waiting for him in the arena, it couldn't be worse than what was behind him.

Basil caught Zion's eye as he boarded the hovercraft. Zion nodded reassuringly, and Basil smiled back. For now, at least, they would have each other's backs. It was an odd feeling, really – having someone there that he could count on, at least for a little while.

He knew better, of course, than to think that would last long. Basil buckled in as the hovercraft lifted off, trying not to look at the other tributes. Eventually, Zion would have to die if he wanted to make it out of the arena alive. So would everyone else on the hovercraft with him right now.

Well, except the Capitolites. One of them inserted a tracker into his arm, then moved on to the next tribute. All very clinical, very professional. There was nothing about the way the Capitolites acted that suggested the twenty-four of them were bound for a fight to the death. It was a bit … odd, in a way.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, really. But ever since they'd arrived at the Capitol, everything had seemed so cheery. The audience, the host, the lights, the music – it was all designed to make the Games look exciting. But now … Now all of that was stripped away. It was just the twenty-four of them flying together to the arena.

And only one of them would be flying back. Basil leaned back in his seat, letting that sink in. In a few weeks, either he would be alive, a Victor, a killer … or he would be dead. But either of those things was better than what he was leaving behind. No matter what happened, he knew he'd made the right choice.

Sienna Ledger, 18
District Twelve

The hovercraft landed with a gentle whirring noise. One by one, the twenty-four of them were led off the hovercraft and down a hallway. They were underground – that much was obvious. No windows. No sunlight. No hint at all of what the arena might be once they rose up into it.

Breathe. They would find out soon enough what the arena was. Now that they were so close, she almost caught herself wishing that they could just hurry up, already. Sienna kept pace with the Capitolite who led her down the hall and into a small room, where her stylist was waiting for her with her arena outfit.

It didn't look like anything particularly fancy. A lightweight, dark grey jumpsuit with a hood on the back and an abundance of pockets. Good for camouflage in pretty much any kind of arena. Well, except a desert or something similar. Not that she'd really been expecting a desert arena, anyway. They'd done a desert fairly recently, she was sure. Not recently enough for her to remember it well, but she remembered seeing footage from it. She was pretty sure District Four had won that year, strangely enough. An arena with no water, and District Four had won.

Calm down. Sienna shook her head as her stylist helped her into the outfit. "Waterproof, it looks like," the older woman remarked. So it definitely wasn't a desert. Maybe some sort of shoreline? Or a swamp? No, they'd done a swamp recently. That one she remembered. Maybe something with lots of rivers. A rainforest, maybe.

Or a sewer. She remembered footage from that one, too. Tributes slogging through a maze of underground pipes flooded with raw waste. Tributes trying to fight while hip-deep in the muck. Hopefully, the fact that the boy who had survived didn't even make a kill had been enough to convince the Gamemakers that was a bad idea.

"You'll find out soon enough," her stylist assured her, as if she'd read her mind. Sienna nodded and slid on the pair of boots her stylist offered. They were thick, hard-soled, with a good tread. "I wouldn't count on a smooth surface to sleep on," her stylist offered. "These were made for gripping."

Okay. Nothing smooth. That didn't rule out much. Well, maybe an ice rink. Not that she'd really been expecting an ice rink.

Breathe.

"Tributes, take your places."

Shit.

Sienna took a deep breath as she made her way to the platform. "Good luck!" her stylist called, as if she were simply going off to play a game of cards or something. She was about to be fighting for her life. She would have to be a lot more than lucky if she wanted to make it out alive.