A/N: Just a note: To keep things realistic I have been and will be sending some sponsor gifts to certain districts that would be popular in the Capitol, yet aren't getting that many gifts. Enjoy a shorter chapter, with our second mentor check in!
~You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away~
Atlas Hall, 37, District 6 Mentor
Day 6, 10:15 PM
Mentor Room, The Games Center
Over the past ten years of mentoring I'd begun to fall into a pattern. It's an easy thing to do when faced with the same failures year after year, to repeat the same safe mistakes rather than try to experiment, with the possibility of making things even worse than they already are. When for ten years straight I was faced with the same type of tributes every year, it was really no surprise that I begun to adapt to it.
Every single year would be the same. Harmless, in no way stand-out tributes that all fell in the bloodbath, with the occasional cold and distant boy who would brute force his way to the final eight before crashing and burning. The only exceptions to that rule weren't exactly inspiring, either. Poor Heather went completely insane in that horrible arena, and Mako. . . probably the best tribute I could ever hope for, and it just so happens that eight days into the games the only ones left are her and a full strength Career pack. Nineteen days she survived on her own being hunted by both mutts and a deadly group of Careers. The most impressive thing any tribute of mine has ever done, and what's her reward? A prolonged torture from a bloodthirsty group of psychopaths. Why wish for something out of the ordinary, when that was the alternative?
That was why, no matter how much I wanted to, and as much as I acted otherwise, deep down I didn't believe that this year would be any different. No matter how well Zarach did in his Private sessions, or how many sponsors flooded Amara, I couldn't bring myself to think they really were special. That Amara wasn't just a bloodbath, that Zarach wasn't another simple brute. It's been getting easier and easier to hope that this year might actually be the one.
Seeing Armie go down was tough, but as terrible as I feel about myself for even thinking this, it really is for the best. Zarach and Amara, they can do this. They should do this. And as much as it hurts to see Amara so broken up, they never had the option of both coming home, and it's better him than her. I just hope that Amara can get over Armie's death. Those two were really close, and it seems like she had some feelings for the boy. The girl is tougher than she lets on though, and I have faith in her.
And now it's my job to start pulling my own weight. The past week I've been putting in more work to find sponsors than I ever have before, and it's paid off. Quell or not, we've set records in terms of sponsorship, and now is about time to start cashing in on it. Since the pair left their supplies on floor seventeen after their run in with District Nine, the two have had completely nothing but the clothes on their backs and the ammo-less (and now broken) bow for a few days now. Now that's about to change.
Taking one last look at my screen, I read through the sponsor gifts I'm planning to send. Right now the two are huddled over towards the window, Zarach fast asleep, Amara lying next to him, her eyes wide open as she stares up at the ceiling. Earlier she was pretending to be asleep, but has seemingly given up on that now, and as long as she's awake I might as well send the sponsor gifts.
The first thing on the list is by far the most important, a weapon. With our money, I was able to afford a revolver, but only two bullets with it for now. After that is another large meal, hopefully enough to last them through all of tomorrow. The arena is starting to get empty enough that they should hopefully stumble onto some more food soon. The final item could be considered a waste, but with the money we have I'm not too worried about that. The final gift is just a simple pillow, a harmless little item that will hopefully cheer Amara up a bit.
Even with all of those gifts, there's still a bit of money left, but I decide to save it, not wanting to find myself suddenly realizing there's something I need to send a day from now-and not having the funds to do so.
Taking a deep breath, I reread the list yet again, and then hit the send button. In just a minute the window is already creaking open, Amara jumping backwards from it, while Zarach groggily climbs his way to his feet. It takes the pair a minute to both collect themselves, but when they finally do, they make quick work of the package, tearing it open greedily.
Zarach's face shows relief as he pulls out the pistol, though he does look a bit worried when he finds only two bullets in the chamber. Clicking the safety on, he straps it on his belt, moving on to the large meal with a look of determination locked on his face.
Amara isn't interested in either of those things though, already having the pillow in her clutches, hugging it tightly against her chest as she leans against the wall. The image throws me for a loop, the picture on my desk of my own daughter catching my eye. The same bright blue eyes just barely covered up by the bangs of her brown hair, even in the same pose, my own daughter clutching her favorite stuffed animal close to her chest.
The comparison hits hard, and I immediately purge the thought from my mind.
I can't afford to start getting sentimental. Not now. Not when I'm so close. This year is going to be it.
It has to be.
Dalton Faux, 22, District 3 Mentor
Day 6, 10:20 PM
Mentor Room, The Games Center
For a District known for its technology and inventions, District Three has had a serious lack of intelligent tributes the last few years. I've had competent tributes, brutes, and completely bat-shit insane tributes in my first four years of mentoring, six out of eight even managing to make the top ten. But smart? Not a single one of them. And while of course every rule has its exceptions, it tends to take more than just brute force to win the games. It takes a combination of cunning intellect and a willingness to do whatever it takes to win.
Alt is the first one of my tributes to possess that quality. Right now, back in Three, people are probably hating her for what she did to her 'poor little district partner,' but they'll forget about her 'betrayal' as soon as the food from her victory starts pouring in. They always do.
The people in this room are just as much a 'monster' as Alt and I are, as much as they like to all separate themselves and think that they're somehow morally superior. But all of these people are just as willing to kill as we are. The only thing that separates us is we don't try to pretend otherwise.
I won my games by taking on the role of a charming, but not battle ready leader. I put together a five man alliance and twisted and manipulated my way into the finale with my only remaining alliance member, Aspen. And when she, against all odds, managed to overtake the boy from one and kill him, she took a dagger to the back. She was my only real kill, since they technically don't count me tripping that bitch from five and letting the Careers take her down. Girl was on to me, and almost ruined my entire plan- but we can see who got the last laugh there.
The others may not like how I won my games, but I think it's rather hypocritical of them to criticize me for it, especially considering the things they did in order to escape those games alive.
Achilles strangled a thirteen-year-old girl who was just trying to run from the bloodbath. Caleb won his games by locking his own district partner out of the safe room during a nuclear meltdown, letting her be tortuously turned into a liquid mess. Tristan stabbed a fourteen-year-old in the eye. Atlas kicked a poor, sobbing girl's fingers until they broke and she was dropped from a mile up.
Abandoning your district partner fits quite well into that list, really.
While Alt's strategy is much more rough than mine, her acting skills thoroughly unimpressive, she still has found her way into very possibly the best situation of anyone in these games. Completely unattached to a useless child, willing to do what it takes to win. When push comes to shove, Alt will be ready-I'm not sure if the same can be said for the others here.
The pair from One was dangerous at first, but they've both softened up as the games have progressed. Zarach and Amara may be popular, but that doesn't change the fact that the two are a complete and utter mess. District Eight has only gotten this far by chance, and luck never lasts forever. The only duo that really poses a threat to Alt is District Two, but that's only if those two manage to not kill each other first.
Looking around the mentor room, this year certainly is different. I've been here for the final eight every single year, and it's never before been this quiet. Usually it's this time of the games that the mentor room begins to heat up. There's strategizing and hushed whispers, yelling matches and fits of rage when a tribute dies. But looking around the room, every single mentor is locked in on their screen, dead silent and a glint in their eyes.
This year is different. This room is filled to the brim with losers. Drunks, addicts, and failures. This is the chance to turn that around, to have a new hope. To do something right for once in their worthless lives.
But I'm not going to give them that chance.
Caleb Ainsley, 39, District 5 Mentor
Day 6, 10:25 PM
Mentor Room, The Games Center
Armie's death hit Audra hard. There really isn't anybody to blame but myself. I knew that the kid wasn't going to win, and I freaking knew that the Capitol would go and pull that crap, too. That they would send some mutts in to kill him for the 'shock value' of seeing the happy little alliance broken apart. Every inch of me knew that it was going to happen, and yet I did nothing to try to prepare Audra for it. Guess it makes sense that a failure of a mentor would fail at helping even the tributes he miraculously does bring home.
He had to die like that, too, didn't he? At least last year, it was about as easy as possible on her. The tributes were two bickering, unskilled, and not very sympathetic teens that died relatively easily in the bloodbath. But Armie's death. . . even I felt a bit queasy from that one. I've mentored forty-seven tributes to their deaths now, and while I can't say that this is the hardest-hitting death I've had so far(I'll never be able to forgive myself for how horrifically I failed Pam), seeing Audra's reaction only made it all that much more raw.
She was at her desk when the death happened, watching nervously as the lights turned off and mutts began to attack the group. And when Armie caught that blade to the stomach. . . Audra just about fell apart. You know that it's particularly bad when they don't even cry, instead just frozen in shock and disbelief, a spacey look in their eyes as if they aren't even really there. It's been over an hour now since her death, and she still has barely even blinked, locked in her seat, staring blankly at the screen. Part of me just wishes for her to break out in tears, to just let it all out.
I can see that look in her eyes, and recognize it well. She's blaming herself for Armie's death. Why she would possibly think there was anything else she could have done to save him, I can't figure out for the life of me. It's not as if I've never blamed myself for a tribute's death, but. . . in those cases I was usually right to. Audra's done as good a job at mentoring as you could possibly expect from a fifteen-year-old who has a drunkard like me for her 'mentor.'
The avox arrives with the drinks I ordered, and I take the two from the man, raising one of the mugs in his direction and nodding. Once he's gone I turn back over to Audra, gently setting down one of the mugs in front of her, rolling my chair over to her side. "Drink up," I tell her casually, nursing my cup as I watch her ignore it completely. "You should get it while it's hot."
"I thought you said I should cut back on coffee," she monotones, still staring red-eyed at the black screen in front of her.
"Hot chocolate," I correct her, flashing a half-smile. "Your favorite," I remind her, smiling back at the memory of her trying the drink for the first time. Her eyes lit up and she was just about floating in joy, walking on clouds for the whole rest of the day. I remember finding it funny how she found so much joy in such a small thing. Her winning those games. . . I needed it. I can't even say for a fact that I would still be in the land of the living if she hadn't won. A man can only take so many losses in one lifetime.
"How do you do it," Audra whispers, clutching the mug with both hands and bringing it up to her mouth, but not drinking it down, leaving it hanging by her quivering lips.
I don't have to ask her to clarify, knowing fully well what she means. "I know it may not feel like it right now," I tell her, dragging my hands down my cheeks with a loud sigh. "But you just learn to cope with the pain."
She glances over at me, seemingly not expecting this answer. Taking that as my queue, I continue along. "I'm not going to lie to you and say it ever stops hurting, because it doesn't. My second year as a mentor. . ." I shudder as I recall the memories of that year, but force myself to keep going. This isn't about me, it's for Audra. "One of my tributes was a girl named Pam. A complete sweetheart, funny, genuine, and so kind she couldn't harm a fly." My voice cuts off, and I struggle to continue, bringing my hand up to the bridge of my nose.
"What happened?" Audra asks softly, inching her chair closer to me.
"The boy. . . her district partner. . . he didn't like her. That was my fault, really. I ignored him and put my full attention on Pam and he got jealous and at the bloodbath he ran straight over to Pam and. . . well," I sigh, rubbing my temples, "he was a big guy, snapped her neck like a toothpick. Just like that, she was gone in an instant. . . still see her in my nightmares, no matter how black-out drunk I get," I mutter bitterly. Shaking my head, I drop my hands back to my side, recollecting myself as best as I can. "Pam was the first one to die, and then it was Amara. Elysia, Jed, Addison, Julian. . ." I trail off, numbly reaching out for the mug of hot chocolate, if only to hold something warm. "It hurts like hell to lose them," I tell her with a hoarse voice. "I know. But trust me when I say that bringing back just one kid makes it all worth it."
This manages to eek a smile out of her, the tiniest hint of one forming on the corners of her lips, before quickly dissipating as she looks down into the mug clutched in her hands. "I don't know if I can survive twenty more years of this," she admits shakily.
"It isn't about whether or not you can survive, because I know you can," I tell her with a weak smile. "It's. . . it's about finding something to live for. Something to get you up in morning, and keep you from falling flat on your face during the day."
Audra takes a moment to digest this, taking a small sip from her mug, a soft giggle escaping her lips as she brings it away, setting it down on her desk. The smile doesn't stay long, though, and now she's looking at me confused, as if something finally clicked in her mind. "Why are you telling me all of this?" She asks, a look in her eyes pleading with me to tell the truth, telling me she knows there's something more that I'm not telling her. She always was good at reading me.
"Because you looked like you needed to hear it," I tell her half-truthfully.
She seems to accept the answer, giving a small nod, her solemn look being traded out for her careless smile as she picks back up the mug, extending it out towards me. "Well," she says brightly, only a drop of sadness slipping into her voice. "Here's to. . . finding reasons to live."
I lightly clink her mug, and she draws hers back for a swig, myself taking a small sip before setting it back on the desk, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. A part of me feels guilty as I watch Audra greedily gulping down her drink, giving me flashbacks to my first time meeting her on the trains. . . but I quickly shake it off, elbows rested on the table and forehead bowed down over my folded fists. "Cheers," I murmur, shaking my head and slinging my bag over my shoulder as I hop out of the seat.
Audra lets out a loud, satisfied sigh as she slams down the mug, giggling lightly as she does, earning more than a few blank stares from the remainder of the room. She hops out of her seat, her own bag being carelessly tossed onto her back.
"You got a talent there," I tease her, earning an eye roll as she brushes past me.
"Learned from the best," she prods back, walking backwards to face me, a half-smile fighting past her attempted dead-pan.
"Yeah," I snort, slinging an arm around her shoulder as she turns back around, "you sure did."
A/N: So not a ton happening, but this is some background and development for some characters you guys will be seeing a lot of in the sequel. Hope you guys enjoyed the shorter, relatively laid back chapter, and I'll see you guys as we hit the one week mark next time! I have a poll on my profile, and submissions are still going, so be sure to send 'em in!
Trivia(1 point): How did Caleb win his games?
Current Alliances:
Measures: Alt
2 Knives, Dwindling supply of food and water
Location: Floor 1
Careers: Gloria, Glory, Rio, Fiona
Katana, 7 Knives, 3 Walky-Talkies, 2 Hunting Rifles, dog, Large supply of food and water
Location: Floors 16 and 17
Our Keepers: Zarach, Amara
Revolver, 2 Bullets, Dwindling supply of food and water
Location: Floor 19
Real or Not Real?: Noa, Fey
Bow, 1 Arrow
Location: Floor 20