Luxx Mortem, 18, District One Male
He smirks as he's moved through the hallways and towards the stairwell that will take them back to the tribute tower, the escort muttering under her breath about how they've lost their chances at sponsorship. It doesn't really matter, does it? As long as they take the cornucopia, they'll have control of all of the supplies. And unless one of them does something stupid, they won't need any sponsor items in the Games.
And if they really need to get a sponsor item, they can always grope each other until some horny Capitolites reward them.
Taffeta curses as she slowly tears off her outfit, pieces of the rose headband and other bits of the dress being discarded on the ground. "Thanks a lot, bitch."
"Anytime." He walks ahead of Taffeta and towards Headmaster Quick, trying to sidle alongside the quiet victor. He hasn't gotten a chance to speak to him yet. Granted, he did betray his trust by taking the place of Vexx, but Vexx was a foolish little boy who wanted to play a man's game. And Luxx is the man to play.
"Headmaster? Do you have any tips for tomorrow?"
"Don't die." The disgruntled headmaster moves forward, leaving Luxx behind with their escort and Taffeta. Ben Quick is still angry. It looks like the man holds a grudge.
Taffeta laughs cruelly, stepping into the elevator as their mentor opts to take the stairs. "He hates you, you know. He wouldn't mind me killing you off in the bloodbath. I don't think anyone would mind. Especially after that shitshow of an interview."
"Shut up." He presses the first number, the elevator rising quickly to their floor. He should go to bed. It's going to be a long night.
He steps out of the elevator and into the room, grabbing some food and eating it quickly. He doesn't really care what it is, as long as it's good. He's pretty hungry right now. Taffeta delicately picks at her own food, spooning herself pieces of apple. Apple! She's probably anorexic. "Don't overeat tonight. Don't want that pretty little body to get fat."
"Shut up, clone."
"Big mouth from our little doll here. She even comes without a brain!"
"Vexx is twice the man that you are, clone. Now shut up and let me eat in peace."
Luxx leaves the table, slamming his bedroom door and jumping onto the bed. He looks over at the buttons adorning his wall and slams the ones promising food, liberating a pack of chips and some cookies.
He can't wait to kill Taffeta himself in that arena. Maybe that will teach her to keep her pretty little mouth shut.
Keelan Spinnaker, 17, District Four Male
He doesn't know how well the careers will do this year.
They have pretty strong individuals: Zora, despite her lower training score, is one of the more intelligent tributes in the Games, and Ajax was a good fighter, despite a bit unconfident. Two knew what they were doing when they sent both of them into the Games. One had strong fighters as well, despite the fact that they despised each other, and Monique was a copy of her brother in terms of fighting skills. But with the fights between One, and the way that none of them opened up too much to one another, he's not sure how much he can trust them. If anything goes wrong, he'll be the first to jump ship.
It's too bad that there aren't any swimming pools around here. Whenever he's stressed like this, he likes to just dive into the water and swim away all of his worries. It's nice to be in the water. It's cleansing.
He looks over at Monique, watching the girl fidget next to her brother. Yep, she wants to go in the water as well.
Mags beckons him over and points at pictures of tributes that she's managed to collect, each of them with their training score and her personal prediction of their death. It's a little frightening to see how she thinks: Mags has placed Keelan in position number six. But she's on his side. "Keelan, who are you aiming for in the bloodbath?"
He points at the pictures of the girl from Twelve and the girl from Five, nodding as he looks at their pictures. "I'll be aiming for the girl from Five, but if she escapes, the other one is next."
"And if things don't go to plan?" Mags presses, her lips pressed together tightly. Her silver hair shines in the light, and he notes how it highlights her fine features.
"I leave. No point in getting a kill if you die in the first place."
Mags nods in approval, gathering up the pictures. "Watch out for your allies as well. I don't trust the pair from One. Both seem… unhinged. Be careful of how much faith you put into your allies. One false move, and you all fall down."
Keelan agrees, picking up a knife and twirling it around on his fingers. Yes, One shall not be trusted.
He can only trust himself in this game.
Paxton Webb, 13, District Nine Male
The elevator's going to be crowded by all of the other districts.
He's been stuck going out with the last few districts, Twelve and Eleven hurrying ahead of them as Dimmy managed to break her high heel. We stopped and waited as she hobbled along with us, waving us on as she attempted to keep up with Falcon's brisk pace. He wants to be further ahead, but he can't leave Falcon. He'll just get in trouble.
Another district flows to meet them, and Pax grins in happiness before realizing that it's Five, of all districts. Their mentor slows down to greet Falcon, and they kiss before walking side by side. Both Pax and the boy from Five make retching sounds before grinning at each other, while the girls shake their heads at the younger boys and walk ahead. Maybe they aren't so bad. But he's not going to talk to Five. He's such an annoying little child.
Five slows down to let Pax catch up, but Pax runs ahead and towards Giovanna. She gasps in surprise as he squirms ahead of her, causing the girl from Five to growl. For a girl who's only five feet and two inches, she's awfully intimidating. He'll watch out for her in the arena.
The girl's pink dress brushes against him, and he can't help but utter a small cry of disgust as the itchy fabric brushes past his face. "Ick!"
The girl whirls around and growls, her eyes flashing in anger and hatred. "You're one of those people who would be greatly improved by death. Hope to kill you myself."
She spins around and walks away in a huff, her district partner hurrying to catch up to her. He stops at Pax, nodding apologetically. "She says a lot of stuff like that. You should just run."
Five leaves, the mentor giving Falcon one last squeeze before hurrying back to her tributes. Pax hates lovebirds. He just wants to go to his room, get his teddy bear, and go back to sleep. But the line stubbornly remains long, and it's a few minutes before he finally enters the giant glass machine along with District Twelve.
The girl watches him with angry eyes as the elevator rises through the building, scratching her neck and spitting on the ground as he departs to his floor with Giovanna. What is with everyone? Why do they all seem to hate him?
Maybe they just need something to direct their hate onto. But they'll see what happens in the Games. Oh, they'll find out what he's truly capable of.
He just has to get his bear and perform a little surgery.
Pepper Maywell, 16, District Eleven Female
She scratches the side of her head as Cornelia comes out of her room in a nightgown, giving a thumbs up to her escort. "It fits perfectly!"
The escort beams, hugging both of her tributes tightly. "You are going to be wonderful tomorrow! Remember, you did me proud."
The lone victor of Eleven nods as well, his fair skin glistening in the light along with his hundreds of freckles. Sean's been working to find sponsors for the pair ever since they reached the Capitol, searching endlessly for money for both of them. "You'll do well. Just remember you have to get something from the bloodbath, Pepper, while you should just run out of the bloodbath. No use in losing your life over a few supplies, but Pepper can hold her own in there."
The two nod, Pepper breathing in deeply as she looks towards the window. She doesn't want to die tomorrow. She just wants to survive the bloodbath.
Maybe she should run with Cornelia. It'd be much simpler, and perhaps a kind Capitolite will take pity on them and give them a sponsor gift. There's usually something to find out in the arena, something that an intelligent tribute could use.
But she'll listen to Sean. He knows best, after all. He's one of only fifteen to make it out of the arena alive.
A sudden commotion occurs around a phone, and Sean picks it up and talks intently with the person on the phone. He suddenly hangs up, his blue eyes gleaming in the dark. "Vanilli, Pollux is suffering from a stroke."
"The grouchy man from Twelve?" Vanilli asks, flecks of glitter falling off of her hair. "Oh, thank Panem. He's such an annoyance."
"And Ashira's coming to mentor her tributes."
"What? The Twelve victor? She's coming here? But I thought she had agreed to not mentor!"
"Plans have changed. Pepper, Cornelia, I've got to go and meet up with a few other victors. You two stay here, and just go to sleep or do what you need to do. I'll see you tomorrow." The adults leave the floor, talking to one another excitedly and hurrying to the elevator. She's alone with Cornelia.
Cornelia leaps onto the couch, grinning excitedly as she grabs a remote. "Want to watch a movie? I've never seen one. Are they good?"
"I haven't really had the chance to watch one either. We'll find out together." Pepper presses all of the buttons on the couch and watches the junk food fall to the ground, Cornelia taking some and pushing it into her mouth. They might as well enjoy themselves now. They'll be dead in a few hours anyway.
Ajax Hollix, 17, District Two Male
He's seated on the floor of his apartment with Zora, talking strategy with little forks and knives representing tributes in the arena. Zora moves the four spoons representing the outer-district alliance to the side of the plate that's their cornucopia, pointing at the alliance. "If we get a chance, we'll eliminate as many of them as we can manage to do so. But we'll only do it if we have at least three fighting against them. We can't let them have the power of numbers. We've got to be careful."
"I know, Zora. Just focus on our goals. I'm going to be fine." He says that as much to reassure her as he does himself.
Bean decides to squirm out of his shirt at that moment, and Zora coos in delight as she picks up the confused turtle. "Who's a good girl? Who's a good girl?"
Ajax laughs and pats Bean, the little turtle sticking her head inside of the shell. "I hope she isn't too upset when I enter the arena. Caleb should be good with her… I hope."
"Hope she doesn't escape him. After all, the man's blind. Not that being blind is bad." Zora taps her bad eye meaningfully, smirking at Ajax. "She'll be just fine. Just make sure that she doesn't somehow get into the arena. We don't need a twenty-fourth death in there."
Ajax shudders, scooping up his turtle and clutching her tightly to his chest. "She's not going in. I'll bring her to Caleb right now."
Zora follows him as Ajax maneuvers the turtle through Clay's and Natalia's chess game, setting her in front of Caleb. "Do you have a terrarium for her? She likes having pools of water as well."
The blind victor chuckles deeply, feeling for the turtle before starting to stroke her shell. "I've got everything I need for little Bean here. You two focus on getting out alive."
Zora nods, pushing back her hair and taking a deep breath. "I better go to bed. Only so many hours before the Games officially begin. Can't go in there with no sleep!"
Caleb laughs, handing Bean back to Ajax. "I went in there with only a few winks, and look at me now!"
Ajax sets Bean down on the table, Natalia scooping her up before moving her knight into Clay's defenses. "I've got to go to bed as well. See you all tomorrow!"
The victors wave absently to Ajax before he vanishes into his room, closing the door and falling into his bed. He's going to sleep.
And when he wakes up, he'll be ready to fight for his very life.
Hollister Cuero, 14, District Eight Female
She whimpers in her room, unable to sleep. She doesn't want to die tomorrow. She doesn't want to die.
But she's going to be tortured by some career in the bloodbath until she's dead, isn't she?
Her mind can't get off the topic of death right now. She's been awake for hours, just thinking of what it is to be dead and how her corpse is going to be displayed for all of Panem to see tomorrow morning. She doesn't want her death to be painful. She can't stand the thought of pain right now. If she does die, she wants it to be quick and merciful.
Maybe her Da is thinking of her right now, hoping that his little girl will come back to him. But he's more likely drowning his pain in alcohol, trying his best to forget the games before she dies on television. Whenever a child in Eight is reaped, bars open up instantly for the family members of the tributes. They're willing to lose a bit of profit to help ease the losses of the families. After all, the boy in the Third Games was the son of the man who owned the largest bar in Eight.
She turns in her bed, the soft down of the pillow unable to let her fall asleep. She hasn't been able to fall asleep all night. The rest of the floor is silent, a sure sign that they've all gone to bed. Maybe if she goes out to the main part of the apartment, it'll feel less foreign.
She tiptoes out of the room in the slippers that the Capitolites issued for every bedroom, stepping silently towards the room and peeking inside with caution. There is Tomas at the table, silently writing something out with a quick and able hand. Maybe he'll be able to quell her fears tonight.
But then the man starts to sob, hard, silent tears that splash onto the table and onto the floor. His body is wracked with sorrow as he cries, shaking his head and burying his face in his hands. Hollister backs away slowly, letting the victor suffer in silence. She doesn't need to disturb him. He's got enough demons tormenting him right now that he doesn't need any of hers.
She goes to bed and dreams of nothing for the rest of the night.
Isa James, 15, District Six Female
Tony's drinking again.
She pounds on the door of her bathroom, screaming at Tony to get out, but all she can hear is the sound of him gulping something down and slurred sentences. Why is there alcohol in her bathroom? And how did Tony manage to find it? He's an incurable alcoholic. Ah well, he could die tomorrow with a hangover. There's no rest for the wicked in the Hunger Games. "Let me in, doofus!"
"No!" is the childish reply, the sound of something slipping off of the counter and shattering onto the floor. Tony curses before taking another long sip, and Isa bites her tongue to stop herself from cursing. She's not even going to deal with this, this, this, this cannon fodder.
She turns away from the bathroom and groggily turns back to her bed, collapsing into the mess of pillows and blankets as she struggles to fall asleep. Why the fuck does Tony think it's a good idea to drink at three in the morning?
She better be able to survive the bloodbath. If not, it's all on his ratty little shoulders. Not that he could hold anything at this point after the alcohol he's been drinking. She'll have to step away from him and do it all by herself, like she always does.
He better die in the bloodbath tomorrow if there's any justice in the world.
She falls asleep rather quickly, waking up to the sun rising over the horizon. Somehow, she got blessed with a good sleep tonight. Thank Panem, she needs every piece of her mind that she can grab today. She's going to win the Hunger Games.
She jiggles the handle of the door, and, sure enough, it's still steadily locked. "Doug! Tony's stuck in the bathroom!"
Doug comes running and jiggles the lock before withdrawing a long pick from his sleeve, twisting it around in the lock until it clicks and opens the door to reveal a slumbering Tony. He looks up when the door opens, shielding his eyes from the light streaming into the tiny room. "Why is the sun in here?"
Doug shakes his head in regret, hauling Tony up to his feet and out of the bathroom. "I'm sorry, Tony."
Tony holds his head as he starts walking, shaking it firmly as he tries to remember. "My head… hurts… did I drink?"
"You drank yourself to death," Isa cuts in, smirking at the boy. Oh, he's dead tonight. He's not making it through the bloodbath in that state.
There is justice in the world.
Nehemiah Bunting, 15, District Eight Male
He brushes away his tears as he walks out of the floor with Holly, their escort leading them towards the elevator and piling in with the pair from Nine. They silently descend in the glass elevator, Hem seeing several tributes walking out of the building and towards the helicrafts ready to take them towards the arena.
Oh Panem, he's going to die today.
Holly shivers when she sees the pair from Four walk past them, the girl looking around at her surroundings with a cold gaze. Her red hair looks glossy today, obviously the result of conditioner and other care products in the apartments. Only the best for lambs heading off to the slaughter.
"Do you think the arena will be cold?" he whispers to his ally, Holly shaking her head firmly.
"They don't like watching cold arenas. Did you watch Falcon's Games?"
"I haven't watched many Games. Who's Falcon?"
"The victor from Nine." Holly turns towards the helicraft before hugging Hem, tears streaming down her face as she sobs in fear. "Oh, oh, I don't want to die."
He hugs her back, rocking back and forth in front of their escort and the rest of the tributes. They'll cry in peace right now.
That's the least the Capitol can allow them to do.
Holly lets go once an avox leads them into the helicraft, and brushes away her tears as she is strapped into her seat. Hem is next, and he shivers as he looks at the tall boy from Four sitting next to him. But the career doesn't notice him, looking for his allies and making hand signals to them instead. He doesn't care about tribute's who will die in the bloodbath until it's time to kill them off.
A few game makers - what are they doing here? - walk into the helicraft and grab tributes by the arm, sinking two needles into each of their arms. "Trackers," one whispers through clenched teeth as Hem gasps in surprise before moving on to the next tribute, letting the used needles drop into the bag of an intern. One with curly brown hair oversees it all, her face contorting in what seems to be nervousness as she talks quietly to other game makers.
Tomas said that they would get the trackers at the arena. Maybe they changed the procedures this year.
Or maybe they want to see the tributes one last time in person before they all die.
Mira Bevoire, 16, District Three Female
She yelps in surprise as the needles sink into her arm before the game makers walk away with the needles, dropping the ones used on her into a bright yellow bag with hazard signs on it while continuing to do the same to the remaining. None of the tributes cry out except for a few, one the little boy from Nine and another the girl from Eight. The girl from Seven giggles when she's pricked by the needle, and soon the game makers converse with each other before leaving the helicraft. Then, they're up into the air and towards the arena, ready to fight to the death.
She doesn't want to fight today.
Maybe she'll run. She could run out of the bloodbath and towards safety in the arena, wherever it may be. That would be the smartest thing she could do. But if she does, she'll abandon her alliance. She doesn't want to hurt her allies, she needs them in the arena.
Her hat is comfortably on top of her head, and she pats it with reassurance as she watches the rest of the tributes gear up for the games. The careers are alternately whispering and yelling to one another, while other tributes seem nervous of them. Only the girl from Five seems oblivious of their banter, seemingly in a daze. If Mira didn't know better, she'd think that the girl's going to fall asleep. But no, no tribute would be this calm before the Games. They're all too hyped up on adrenaline to succumb to tiredness.
She looks out into the sky to see the clouds shine in the morning light, turning colours of gold and silver. She smiles at the sight, poking Shawn to look at them. "Aren't they nice?"
Shawn nods, pushing back his hair and yawning. "So, we're going to go get supplies while Wyatt gets the wire. Got it?"
"Got it." She nods and yawns as well, blinking her eyes as she tries to stay awake. Why is she so tired? The rest of the tributes seem tired as well, some of them falling asleep on the shoulders of others, who are at first annoyed, then tired as they succumb to the tiredness as well. She gasps, trying to stay awake. Is this what's in the tracker? Is there some soporific substance making them all fall asleep?
The girl from Six still seems alert, as well as the boy from Ten, but they'll likely fall asleep as well. At least they have the human decency to look worried for the rest of the tributes. Or maybe they're just realizing what's going to happen to them.
She soon drifts off, her eyes fluttering lazily before closing one last time. Why… is she… so tired?
And by the time she opens her eyes, she's next to the tube that will transport her to her death.
Marshall Furr, 16, District Ten Male
He wakes up next to the tube, widening his eyes rapidly as he realizes that he's minutes away from the games. "What happened?"
The stylists shrug their heads as they outfit him quickly, zipping up the uniform and handing him the cow whistle that's his token. He fingers the silver object before tucking it under his undershirt, breathing in deeply and looking up to the tube. Almost time to go.
Can he trust his allies? He knows that Ryker's a good guy, but something's just… well, off with District Nine. The boy seems to be hiding something; he knows that the kid isn't that scared of the Games, and Giovanna's blinded by her role as a teacher or whatever she is to his secrets. He's not going let his guard down when the kid's around. Even he can be as deadly as a career if you give him a chance. The panicked ones are always the ones who fight the hardest.
"Good luck in the arena! Make sure to drink lots, and remember your edibles!" one of the stylists chirps, and the rest nod and cheer like little birds. Marshall nods and touches his hair, watching the stylists leave and let the lead stylist remain. They look at him firmly before shaking his hand, patting Marshall on the back. "You'll do fine."
Marshall nods, then jumps in surprise when a voice drifts into the room. "Please enter the tube in the next twenty seconds. This is a warning. Please enter the tube in the next twenty seconds. This is your final warning."
He steps into the glass tube and waves goodbye to the stylist, looking up at the top of the tube towards the arena. All he can see is light and the sounds of… birds? What could be up there?
At least it seems like it'll be warm. The thin uniform isn't built to protect his body from wind chills, and the short sleeves suggest that it'll be a warmer climate in the arena. With any luck, there'll be a few fields in there. He knows fields. Better than woods.
The tube starts to rise and he grits his teeth, readying himself for the arena. He can't slip up anytime soon. Only logic and strength will get a man through the arena, and he's going to make it.
And if he can't?
He won't think about that right now. He'll just close his eyes one last time, and prepare for the fight of his life. He might lose a piece of his heart in the process, but he's going to come back home.
He promises.
Another chapter! Surprised by the speed after the last one? You should be XDDDD kidding, I'm just very happy to finish this one! Tomorrow is the bloodbath, and that will be truly exciting. You guys ready to see who dies in the Games? Probably not yet, but I am! I wrote this chapter in less than a day so I could finally get there!
I made good on my promise on three povs for each character, so now I can finally relax XDDD It might seem a bit rushed, but that's the way the cookie crumbles. The arena povs will be longer, I promise! Also, that was the serum doing its good work. You'll find out what it does next chapter ;)
Any predictions for deaths tomorrow? I've still got the bloodbath poll open, but I'd love to hear what you guys have to think! Good luck to all of you submitters, and hope that I don't forget to upload the bloodbath tomorrow XDDD Until next time, TheAmazingJAJ
