~I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing
Just prayin' to a god that I don't believe in~
Audra Lee, 15, District 5 Mentor
Morning of the games, 11:00 AM
Mentor Room, The Games Center
My shaky hands clutch around the warmth of the cardboard cup of coffee, downing another gulp of the stuff, more out of habit than actual need by this point. To say I'm a complete and nervous wreck would be an understatement. Last year was already nerve-wracking as it was, being my first year, but even that experience can't hold a candle to the stress of this year.
Between Caleb giving me more responsibility, his increasingly worrying alcoholism, the insanity of navigating finding sponsors, the mountains of paperwork for said sponsors, being the mentor for a five-year-old, this whole mess with the. . . business that I've gotten dragged into, and then a bombing the night before the games start. . . Thank the maker for the existence of coffee, because without it I don't think I'd be alive right now, much less awake.
Helping to relieve at least a fraction of the stress is the fact that half of the room looks no better for wear than I do, though the Career Victors, and, oddly enough, Dalton, all seem to be doing perfectly fine. Never mind the fact that the District One mentor died, or in Dalton's case- his co-mentor. Caleb always has told me that I'm the only non-psychopath Victor, and even though I disagree with that for the most part, it isn't hard to see where he'd get the idea.
"Another coffee?" Caleb's gruff voice calls out from behind me, loud enough for the entire room to hear(well-those that aren't passed out at their desk at least). Spinning around in my chair, I chug the rest of the cup, letting out an exaggerated sigh when I finish, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt.
"Another beer?" I reply sarcastically, motioning to the bottle held shakily in his left hand.
"Liquor," he slurs, "For your information."
"Even better."
"Seriously though, kiddo," he sets down the bottle on his half of our shared desk, sliding into his chair. "I'm cutting you off, stuff is bad for you."
"Thanks, dad," I reply with an over-dramatic eye roll.
"Makes ya act nasty, too, why don't you get some rest, I haven't seen you catch a minute of the stuff the past few nights. What are you running on- two hours in the last two days?"
"Four, actually," I mutter in response, spinning back around, straining my eyes to make sense of the words on the screen ahead of me.
"I'm not kidding, Audra," he says, with one motion of his hand clearing my screen, sending all the forms over to his own instead. "Get some shut eye, I'm not about to let you turn into an insomniac. They don't tend to be very helpful." He whispers the last sentence, motioning over to the pair of District Four, winking at me dramatically with a goofy grin.
"Pfft," I exhale, shaking my head, resting my chin on the table. "You're such a dork," I murmur, letting my eyes rest for just a moment.
He doesn't respond, the only sound coming from him the constant tapping of keys, interrupted only occasionally by a long gulp of his drink. No matter how hard I fight to keep my eyes shut, the adrenaline(and caffeine) rushing through my systems doesn't allow me to drift off to sleep, and after what feels like an hour of fighting, I allow my eyes to slip back open, keeping my chin on the table as I steal a glance over at Caleb. His face is set in a determined expression, completely oblivious to anything outside of his work, and I shift my eyes to the other side to see the District Four pair both in the same zone.
"How we doing?" I yawn out, switching to resting the side of my head over my crossed arms.
"Decent," he replies, attention still fully on the screen. "Fox is rolling in sponsors, and Armie may not be getting many himself, but his ally is starting to set records."
"Less paperwork for us," I murmur.
"Amen," he mutters.
The two of us fall silent at that, and I turn my head the opposite direction, deciding to at least pretend like I'm trying to fall asleep, for Caleb's sake. He has enough to worry about as it is- even more than I do- and the last thing he needs is me adding any more unneeded stress.
In the distance I make out a clock, and my breath catches for a moment, a wave of worry rushing over me that I quickly dispel. Just under an hour left until the bloodbath. Memories of last years games rush over me, the sweet boy that I was mentoring. His head rolling away from his lifeless body, the screams that escaped my throat, the mixed looks of pity and annoyance from the rest of the room as Caleb carried me out, kicking and screaming.
Swallowing heavily, I let out a deep breath, and pray to a god that I don't believe in, that this year will be different. That I won't spend a train ride back to District Five with a coffin. That I won't have to sit up on stage during the Victory Tour, unable to look at the families who I failed. That I won't spend another sleepless night, the dying screams of the kid I couldn't save haunting me.
Please.
Tristan Bay, 27, District 12 Mentor
Morning of the games, 11:20 AM
Mentor Room, The Games Center
They took Nova and Dakota just over an hour ago. Factoring in time to put in implants and board all the tributes, that puts the travel time to the arena at. . . not much. Which makes sense, given the fact that it's a quell arena, and as such is probably not just some random area of nature they quarantined off. Only forty-five minutes now until I get to see exactly what that arena is. As long as they put Dakota and Nova close to each other I won't even care whatever hellhole they decide to put them into, just give them that one thing.
I've mentored twenty tributes to their deaths now. Out of them, only one measly one even managed to make their way to the final eight, and he got taken down immediately after. That fact would be bad enough on its own, and not combined with the knowledge that was told to me by a particularly. . . 'close' sponsor, that the higher-ups are still a bit iffy on District Twelve due to our history of tribute's actions in finales, and do their best to avoid that particular situation. Not that I can particularly blame them for that thought(one of us hid in a cave where their tracker's signal was jammed until they were the last one left, one used a force field to win, one was. . . well, Katniss, and then of course there's my dazzling finale), but it still hurts nonetheless. Living with the knowledge that all of my tributes will be actively targeted. . . and it's not like I can just not get attached to them. Especially with this years twist. . . .
I spam the refresh button on my screen, checking for any sponsors, but none show up, and after a minute I slump back, groaning in frustration, resisting the strong urge to fling the whole screen backwards. Deep Breaths, Tristan. In. . . Out. . . In. . . Out.
Opening my eyes, I take a tentative sip from my water bottle. It's been a long time since I've gotten this stressed out about. . . anything, really. It's just frustrating to have tons of Capitalites gush over your tributes, promising to sponsor them, and then never hear from them again. I was at least hoping for a few sympathy sponsors for Nova, but instead the only thing I got are the regulars. Which in District Twelve's case consists of two old men with sympathy for a District that makes underdogs look like powerhouses. Last year the list of regulars was four, but one of the trio of senior citizens passed away, and the 'close friend' has moved on to other, most likely younger, women. I shudder at the thought of who he's targeted next, and don't allow myself to dwell on the thought, deciding that to be a question I don't want the answer to.
My thoughts are(thankfully) interrupted, as the rest of the room immediately goes silent, the Career mentors all snapping out of their seats in the corner of my eye. Following their gaze, I spot Apollo entering into the room, though instead of stopping at the entrance to make an announcement, he continues walking wordlessly and expressionless, all the way to the District One desk, where he seats himself.
A soft buzz spreads through the room, and Caleb glances over at me, the two of us exchanging shrugs. Caleb taps Audra on the shoulder, whispering something into her ear, the effect on her being instantaneous. She shoots up from her previous position of(seemingly) sleeping, backing up to steal a glance at Apollo, who is still calmly setting himself up at his station, setting down a few photos and notebooks from a bag onto his desk.
Audra jumps out of her seat and hastily makes her way over to Apollo, while Caleb glances back to me, dumbfounded, earning another exchange of shrugs. Hesitantly, he climbs out of his seat and over to me, stealing a currently unused chair from District Eleven and rolling it over to my desk.
"So," Caleb starts, beginning to take a drink from his bottle, but after remembering who he's speaking to, setting it down wordlessly. "That was interesting."
"Quite," I reply, snatching the bottle from Caleb, dumping the rest of my water bottle into it, earning a childlike "aww" from him.
"You done being my mother?" He teases lightheartedly after a moment of mourning his drink.
"Not until you stop being a child," I reply in kind. Rolling his eyes, he turns around to steal a glance at Audra, who has now dragged a chair over to the District One table, talking animatedly to Apollo.
"Looks like Audra found a friend."
"You don't sound very enthusiastic, weren't you the one who was all worried a few months ago that she was being un-social and all that?"
"I was worried about that five minutes ago, and for good reason, she hasn't spoken a single word to anyone outside of her family, tributes, or us two in the last eleven months."
"She seems pretty chatty right now," I comment, glancing over to see Audra still talking. "I don't think I've seen her say that many words since. . . ever." A silence falls for a moment, and I shrug. "Maybe she bonded with him during the mentor interviews."
"Ya," he murmurs, mind clearly in another place. He begins to walk back to his station, but I yell him down before he gets too far, and toss his bottle to him.
"Take your trash, ya alcoholic," I joke, earning a smirk from him, though no response as he turns tail and heads back to his desk.
Sighing, I kick the now-empty chair back over to Eleven's station, leaning back into my own. Something about this year is different, I can just feel it. It's all I can do but hope that it truly will be.
Apollo Thompson, 44, Fill-in Mentor for District One
Morning of the games, 11:30 AM
Mentor Room, The Games Center
". . . because even though he said that he didn't, I totally knew that he did. . ." I nod my head absentmindedly, attempting to keep up with verbal vomit that has been coming from Audra from the last five minutes. Finally she pauses to catch her breath, and I take my chance to jump in.
"Whoa, hold up there, you're giving me flashbacks to Noa's interview here," I joke, holding up my hands. "How many cups of coffee have you had?" I ask, motioning towards the empty cup clutched in her hands.
She shrugs sheepishly, cheeks rosy in embarrassment. "Six, I think, maybe more."
"Let's stop it at six then, alright?" I suggest, noticing the heavy shaking of her entire body. "I know District Five mentors have a storied tradition of entering detox, but I'd suggest waiting a few years before going down that path."
"Ya, probably a good idea," she admits. "I was just really tired, and didn't want to sleep through the bloodbath."
I have to physically bite down on my tongue to avoid the next words from coming out of my mouth, instead slowly nodding in agreement, instead settling for a safer set of words. "Couldn't fall asleep after last night?"
"Yeah," she says in just above a whisper, hugging herself in an attempt to hide the shudder that runs through her body.
"Me neither."
A thick silence fills the air for a moment, Audra staring down at her feet. While she gets lost in her thoughts, I wander through my own, thinking over the past few hours.
My interaction with Gloria certainly went different than I expected to, not that I should have really anticipated anything else. I should know better than anyone else how good the Career Districts are at brainwashing kids into being enthusiastic about the games. With her parents it's really just more of a surprise she lasted as long as she did.
But that doesn't mean that I'm gonna give up on her. She doesn't really buy into any of the crap about her bringing honor or glory(dammit- I forgot to do that pun during the interviews, didn't I?) to her District. She's doing this for revenge for Mercy. Why she feels that winning the games will avenge her is a mystery I'll never fully understand. No matter why, though, I'm still going to do my best to get her home. People like her- once they get out of the games, they tend to come back to their senses. Another thing I know better than anyone else.
"I've just been so stressed out about. . . well, everything," she says exasperatedly, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"You're forgetting to sleep, new mentors always do that. Makes the whole experience about ten times worse than it really is."
"When am I supposed to sleep though?" She exclaims in frustration. "What if they need me and I'm asleep, I-"
"You can't think like that," I interrupt her. "You can't help your tributes if you're running on fumes. C'mon, you should get some rest."
"No," she resists, shaking her head rigorously, unable to hide the heavy droop in her eyes. "I can't miss the bloodbath," she murmurs drowsily, clearly in desperate need of sleep.
Glancing around the room, I drop my voice to a whisper. "Insider information: trust me when I say that your tributes will be fine for the next few hours."
She stares me down wearily, battling internally on whether or not to believe me. Eventually the fatigue in her seems to win out, her body drooping back into her chair. "You wake me up if anything happens though, right?"
"Of course."
"Alright," she murmurs, eyes slipping shut right as the words slip past her lips. It isn't long until she drifts asleep, her head slumping onto my shoulder. Sighing, I lean back in my own seat. I'm really going to do this, aren't I? I sure am good at getting myself into messes.
Oh well, retirement sounded boring anyways.
Coira Thompson, 31, Fill-in Hunger Games Announcer and ex-CDA agent
Morning of the games, 11:50 AM
Announcing Booth, The Games Center
"And the clock is now 11:50 AM, we are just ten minutes away from the moment you have all been waiting for all year: the beginning of the games. With so little time left until starting time, what are your last minute predictions for the arena?" Alexa asks, a broad grin plastered onto her face.
"I'm not sure," I stall, trying to rack through my brain for why in the world Alexa would ask that question when both of us already know exactly what the arena will be. Or at least, I do. Maybe she doesn't? "But whatever the Gamemakers have pulled together, I'm sure it'll exceed any expectations we possibly could set."
"Definitely, they always do tend to do brilliantly with quells, just take the 25th Hunger Games for example-" I zone her out as she rambles on about every last detail of all three quell's arenas, instead stealing a glance at the sleeping form across the room, slumped over on a beanie bag, out cold. Given everything that happened last night, it's a miracle that Connie has managed to get any sleep at all, though I guess the sheer stress of everything just wore her out completely.
I bite my lip nervously, still unable to shake the worry from my system. She's perfectly alright physically, thank god for Jaycen, but who knows the impact that the whole mess could have made on her emotionally. There's nothing I'd like more than just being able to relax at home with her right now, fall asleep for the next twenty-four hours or so- but that isn't an option anymore. While I don't full understand why Apollo had to leave to fill in as the mentor, I know enough to let him do what he needs to. He loves to be all cryptic and enigmatic, but once enough time has passed, he always spills the beans to me on his real reasoning. I just have to be patient.
For now I'll just focus on two things: priority one being Connie(aside from the obvious problem at hand, she also grew worryingly attached to Armand, who, frankly, doesn't have the best odds of coming out of this whole thing alive), and second being this job. Everything else can wait until afterwards to be dealt with. Well, aside from the whole mess with Audra- which I've sort of forgotten about during all the craziness of the past day. I'm sure Apollo is dealing with that, though. Hopefully.
". . . and what about you, what do you like to see in an arena?" Alexa questions, finally finishing her rant.
"Well-" I start, though before I can answer, the screen directly ahead of me, showing us on air, goes to static, cutting quickly to a news channel, breaking news flashing in bold red letters at the bottom of the screen.
I glance over confusedly at Alexa, who seems just as lost as I am. The confusion doesn't last long however, with the simple sentence appearing at the bottom of the screen chilling my bones, stopping my breathing, Alexa clutching onto my arm the only thing stopping me from falling straight out of my seat.
Breaking News: Nerve Gas bombing at Snow Elementary School, initial reports expect full casualties. . .
Breathlessly, I shake free of Alexa's grip, stumbling out of the booth, sliding against the door as it shuts behind me. My gaze slowly, nervously shifts over to Connie, allowing myself to let out a bated breath upon seeing her. My eyes stay locked on her, afraid that if I look away for even an instant, she'll be gone.
Slowly, I make my way over to Connie, dropping down into the beanie bag next to her, running my hand through my hair roughly, my breathing moving from non-existent to hyperventilation, only slightly calming down with time. As gently as I can with my wildly shaking hand, I run my hands through Connie's soft hair, the physical contact serving as another reminder to my panicking self that Connie is completely, perfectly fine. She didn't go to school today. She's right here, resting, completely unharmed.
I can feel eyes on my back, and turn around to see a small assembling of men and women, producers and tech people for the broadcast, all glancing at me worriedly.
"I'm alright," I choke out unconvincingly, forcing a weak smile.
"Coira-" one of the producers starts, "if you need some time-"
"No," I answer, shaking my head, calming my breathe, digging my nails into my palms to stop the shaking. "I'm fine.
"Let's do this."
A/N: AHHHHH NEXT CHAPTER IS THE GAMES ARE Y'ALL AS HYPE AS I AM! So this is a bit of a filler chapter, developing some characters, and pushing the plot along. Just as a note for future chapters, I'll be leaving eulogies at the end of the chapter where the character dies, so don't scroll too far down absentmindedly(*cough* Celtic *cough*).
Also, since the games are next chapter, I've finally had to put together a sponsor list :P
As to not give away anything about the arena, it'll be posted on my profile once next chapter is posted.
Trivia(1 point): You get to give one District(not counting your own tributes) immunity for the Bloodbath, who do you choose?
Current Alliances:
Careers: Gloria, Glory, Rio, Fiona, Marina, Celeana
My Keeper: Armand, Zarach, Amara
The kids Are Alright: Kieran, Spark, Oake, Mabel, Dakota, Nova
Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures: Alt, Lei, Fox
District Loyalty: Otto, Izaak
Since We Have To: Shadow, Amandine
Imaginary Friends: Fey, Noa