A/N: I doubt this will be an issue since all of you guys are pretty awesome about this type of stuff, but just as a reminder, the ideas and thoughts that tributes have are THEIRS, not mine. Just because I write something doesn't mean I agree or disagree with, I'm just portraying the characters. Again, I don't think it'll be a problem, but just putting this here just in case.
Also, another doozy of a chapter length-wise, so be prepared for that.
~Oh memories!
Where'd you go?
You were all I've ever known!
How I miss yesterday!
And how I let it fade away?
Where'd you go?~
Coira Thompson, 31, Hunger Games Announcer
Day 7, 9:05 AM
District Five Suites, The Games Center
Nothing can quite match the smell of a steaming cup of coffee in the morning. After all the stress of yesterday, finally being found a temporary place to stay and being able to go to sleep was a relief. I was out the moment my head hit the pillow.
I have a strict schedule to adhere to though, and so as much as I'd like to just lie bed all day, Connie curled up next to me, I'm forced to crawl out of bed and get myself ready for the long day ahead. Luckily the commute to the announcers booth isn't far, just an elevator ride away, and so after completing my morning routine, I still have a half-hour to kill before work.
The warm mug in my hands, I lean back in my chair, letting my eyes drift shut. While I'm not much of one to waste time doing nothing, there really isn't anything to do right now. Connie is still asleep-and will most likely be until noon, and the television is completely off limits. Practically every channel is covering the games in some way, and the announcers are supposed to stay blind on what's happened while they're off their shift.
They make us do it in order to make our reactions to the night-time highlights authentic, not that there's been anything to react to this year. With such a splintered Career alliance and no benefit to hunting at night-or mutts that keep you awake- the nocturnal hours have only been used for sleeping. As odd as this whole situation is, it really has been a good games for an announcer's first year. Plenty of interesting tributes to talk about, not too much confusing to explain, and no hectic bloodbath to attempt to commentate.
"Mornin'," a light, feminine voice yawns out.
Drifting my eyes open, I unsurprisingly find a very tired looking Audra trudging out in a full set of white pajamas, her bare feet dragging against the carpeted floor as she drops into a dining chair opposite of mine. "Morning," I reply simply as her head drops onto the table unceremoniously. "Not much of a morning person?"
"I was," she yawns out again, groggily rubbing her eyes. "And then after thirty days sleeping on dirt, you guys gave me these comfy beds. How am I supposed to ever get up out of those things now?" She asks with a quiet giggle.
"I know the struggle," I smile back.
An avox hurriedly walks up to Audra, gently placing down a coffee mug in front of her. "Thanks," she says gently, smiling warmly at him before downing the cup with impressive speed, somehow managing to avoid burning her tongue. She sees my look of confusion and shrugs sheepishly. "I know I don't have to say thanks, I just like to."
"Oh, I was more wondering about you chugging down a scalding cup of coffee faster than Caleb downs his alcohol." She laughs at the joke, her cheeks going just a bit red. "Speaking of the devil-"
"He already left last night," Audra pipes up, any signs of tiredness gone. "They want me to stay here for some interviews and stuff, though, so I have to stay here a few more days."
Humming in acknowledgement, I take in a deep breath through my nose, enjoying the warm smell of my still in-tact cup of coffee. Never could stand the taste of the stuff, but there's nothing quite like that smell. "Speaking of interviews," I breath out, trying to think of how to word this as gently as possible. "I was thinking of what you told me. . ."
She seems to know exactly what I'm talking about, her expression falling as the smile drops from her lips. She looks down into her empty cup, anxiously twiddling her thumbs.
"I was talking with Jaycen, and he wanted to have a chat with you. It's nothing formal, and nothing would be on the record." I hold my tongue from saying anything else, knowing that what he told me was in confidence that I would keep it secret. The terrorist attacks have been getting out of hand, and Jaycen isn't the only one starting to get suspicious that something bigger is happening here.
"Isn't he busy with all of the attacks going on?" Audra asks wearily, nervously twirling a strand of hair.
"He. . ." I think carefully on my next words, "has some suspicions that he'd like to investigate."
The avox arrives again with another cup of coffee, Audra silently thanking him. She doesn't guzzle this cup, instead just slowly sipping from it, her hands shakily clutching onto its sides. "I don't know-" she breaths out shakily.
"It's your decision to make," I tell her in the most encouraging voice I can muster. "Just do what you think is right."
Audra goes silent at that, looking down thoughtfully at her mug as she nurses it. After a couple of minutes have passed she looks back up at me, a wobbly smile forced onto her lips. "Whoever wins this year. . ." she trails off, choking out a breath. "I can't. . . I can't let that happen to them," she resolves, looking back down into her cup. "I'll do it," she says quietly.
I smile at her wordlessly, nodding my head. We aren't in silence for long, the sound of a door opening and shutting coming from the hall. Reaching over to her, I pat her hands, and she looks up from her cup with a sad smile.
One way or another, this is all coming to an end. Change is in the air, everyone can feel it. I can only hope that tomorrow will be a better future than yesterday's.
Noa Jacquard, 15, District 8
Day 7, 9:30 AM
Floor 20
Nearly two-thirds of the tributes are dead. The big guy I talked with before our interviews, the boy I nearly allied with, one of the kids that Fey became friends with during training. . . all of them are gone. In just seven days fifteen kids have died. Yet here I still am. The insane chick from Eight that everyone pitied because she was going to surely die in the bloodbath.
Last night was nearly my last. When the metal doors came down and the lights went off, I thought I was just hallucinating. It wasn't until Fey was woken up by the every-increasingly loud whispers and started screaming that I realized it was real. I was barely able to get my hands on the bow in time, the arrow lodging itself in the humanoid mutt's eye as its blade was just inches from my neck.
The rest of the night there were a couple more mutts, but nothing that I couldn't easily handle. It seemed to me the whole time that the Gamemakers were trying to drive us insane more than they were looking to actually kill us. Maybe put all of us on even footing.
The Gamemakers can't shake me, though. The fact that this was real doesn't diminish the fact that I deal with that same type of terror every day. It's been in the arena that it's all gotten particularly bad. It wasn't until they jacked me up on those meds, and I had that one blissful night of calm, that I realized just how horrible the normality I'd fallen into really is.
I don't see Calico anymore. He stopped appearing yesterday morning, my hallucinations instead taking on a darker turn. Scratching against the door, whispers alike the ones made by that mutt, even blood dripping down the wall. A constant barrage of things that I know can't be real, yet can't reconcile with my senses. It's hard to convince the breathing on the back of the neck is fake when it feels so real.
Fey has been a blessing in that aspect. If I didn't have somebody to remind be of reality, to reign me back to earth before I get lost in my head. . . I'd be right back to where I started, and the one good thing that's come from this whole experience would be gone.
"Noa!" Fey's voice brings me back out of my thoughts, and I look over to ensure that it really is Fey calling to me before I respond. Once I manage to lock onto the voice standing next to the doorway, and spot the short, tanned girl with golden flakes in her dark brown eyes, I allow myself to reply.
"What's up?" I ask casually, drumming my fingers on the table like some hot-shot executive.
"This door wasn't here yesterday. . . " she trails off, head tilted as she looks bemusedly at the door.
I had noticed the door earlier, but hadn't even entertained the thought of bothering the then-sleeping Fey with such a seemingly obvious hallucination. Who knows what else I may have missed. . .
"Noa?" Fey snaps me back into reality, and I vigorously shake my head.
"Sorry, just thinking," I tell her as I hop to my feet, taking a hard look at the door as I walk towards it. The door is unlike any of the others I've seen in the arena, a silvery slab of metal stuck on the wall, a fingerprint scanner next to it and a golden nameplate displayed prominently at my eye height.
"What does that say?" She asks inquisitively, peeking up as she stretches out on her tip-toes.
"Presidential suite," I read, a slight smile forming on my lips. "That sounds promising."
"How do we get in?" She asks, the door not budging so much as a millimeter as she shoves against it.
My gaze falls on the fingerprint scanner again, and hoping that I'm not about to just stick my thumb into thin air, I press against it. The screen lights up, an outline of my thumb appearing as a green line slides up and down. After a few seconds, the screen fades to black, and I step back from it, the door opening just a moment later, the metal sliding apart from the middle and into the walls.
"Huh, didn't expect that to work," I murmur as I step through, Fey hot on my heels.
As soon as I step into the room, my jaw just about drops, my eyes bulging out of their sockets. The room is one massive square, the floor covered in velvet red carpeting, the walls clean white of some material that looks half-plastic and half-metal. Crystal chandeliers hang throughout the room, a massive flat-screen television covering an entire wall and a king sized bed in the dead center facing towards it. Mini-fridges line the wall opposite from the television, and there's a landline phone on top of the counter sitting next to the bed.
None of that is what catches my eye, though. No, that would be the far wall, or the lack thereof, the entire wall replaced by glass. I tentatively step towards it, now able to make out a sliding glass door in the center of the wall. Through the glass the view is nothing like it was on the other floors. For the first time in a week I can see the bright blue sky, a fusion of brilliant bright orange and a deep red blending together towards the bottom of the sky, reaching downwards and peeking through the lush green forest.
The view is less like reality and more like the type of sunrise you would imagine as a kid, pure and untainted by the smog of nearby factories, so picturesque that I question whether or not something so beautiful could even really exist.
"It's real," Fey breaths out, slowly walking past me, awe shining in her eyes, a pure smile on her lips as she steps forward. She places a tentative hand on the glass, her fingertips brushing against it lightly, as if even she's questioning her sight. "I hope that it's real."
Amara Ekkal, 7, District 6
Day 7, 10:25 AM
Floor 19
I don't want to be in the games anymore. Before, everything was just about having fun. The whole time was just swimming, playing with Armie, teasing Zarach. . . I had no idea what was really going on. Armie. . . he-he's. . . .
Burying my head into my knees, I choke out a sob, no more tears even left in me at this point. I'll never hear Armie's funny little giggle that he does, never get to tease him for whatever silly thing that he does, never get to sit up late at night and just talk about stupid stuff, trying our best to not laugh too loud to wake Zarach up.
All of that time eating lunch together, learning how to swim with him, making up games to kill the time. . . none of that ever again. The whole thing hits me harder than I can take, the thought really hitting me fully for the first time. He's dead. And now I just want to curl up into a ball and cry myself back to sleep again and never wake up again. Never have to deal with this aching pain in my chest, not being able to stop myself from sobbing, everything that I try to think of to distract me leading me back to the same place.
My best friend is gone, and he'll never even know so many things about me. I'll never know so much about him. I still hadn't managed to squeeze out of him who it was he was talking to at the party the night before we came to this arena. He still hadn't found out what that stupid question was that I chickened out of. And he'll never find it what the answer was. . .
Another sob comes from me, this time a stream of tears pouring down my cheeks with it. I feel so cold suddenly, completely and utterly alone. My hand brushes up to my cheek, wiping away a tear, but as I do another memory pops in my head. Armie lying in my lap, dark red pooling out of his gut, barely gulping in air as he shakily brings his hand up to my cheek, creating a swirl of red and blue that stained my cheek as it mixed with my tears, only a faded remnant of it still in place.
He was trying to say something, but as much as he fought he wasn't able to let out more then just a pained squeak. His final moments were him crying, wanting to tell me something but not being able to. I asked Zarach last night, after it was all over, where he was now. . . now that he wasn't here anymore. He started talking about him being happy, in a place where he was never hurt again, but I could tell he didn't believe it. When I told him that he just sighed and lowered his head, and told me that he didn't actually know, but he sure liked to hope that it really was true.
When I asked him what he thought really happened, he didn't answer. All last night I tried to convince myself that Zarach was wrong, that Armie really was in a perfect place, but. . . every time I tried to tell myself that, the image of Armie lying lifeless in my arms would force its way into my thoughts, and I thought of how much he was hurting, and how much I'm hurting now. . . and I can't even imagine a place where nobody ever hurts. If a place like that really could exist. . . then why would anyone send us here?
"Hey," Zarach coos, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as he loudly takes a seat next to me. "How you holding up?"
"I want to go home," I choke out through sobs. "This isn't fun anymore," my voice cracks, and yet again more tears are drenching my cheeks. I don't even have the energy in me to try to stop the tears, and I just let them all out, crying until there's nothing left in me, curled up like a baby, forehead pressed to my knees.
"I know," he says softly, rubbing circles in my back. "I do too."
"I miss him," I squeak out.
"I know," he repeats, not offering any further encouragement. No telling me that it's all going to be okay, that he's happier now. No attempts to distract me, or to cheer me up, just an empty silence thickly filling the air.
We sit there for what feels like ages, the same string of thoughts running through my head on repeat. Armie is gone. The thing I never got to tell him. Armie is dead. I don't know where he is now, and I'll never see or hear him again.
It's like a loop, only finally being interrupted by a high-pitched beeping, slowly increasing in volume. Zarach is up on his feet, and I manage to connect the sound to last night, recognizing it as the sound that came before gifts arrived through the window. I peek in between my arms, not having the will to get up, and feeling too embarrassed to show my bright red, tear-stained cheeks.
Zarach slowly unwraps the box, and opens it up, peeking inside. He stares at it for just a few seconds before silently picking it up, a blank expression as he sets it next to me. "It's for you, buddy."
"I don't care what it is," I mutter, feeling too broken to feel bad about snapping at Zarach.
He doesn't even flinch, though, just walking away from the box. "I think you will."
I don't react to that, waiting until I can't hear his footsteps anymore to slowly lower my arms, shakily reaching over to the box and bringing it to my chest, clutching onto it like its my lifeline. After a minute of sitting like this I steel up enough to raise my arms to uncover the box, wearily peeking inside, bracing myself for the absolute worst.
But when I glance down, the only thing I feel is complete confusion. Pulling the chocolate bar out of the box, I turn it over, trying to figure out what's so special about it before my eyes land on the note that was hidden beneath it. My fingers are quick to search it out, gripping it tightly as I hold it up to my eyes.
Do it for him.
-Audra
The second that I finish reading, the memory comes rushing back to me. The night we saw the scores. I was in the elevator, crying about how bad I was going to do. Armie, being the selfless, adorable guy that he was, made me a bet to cheer me up. He told me that he bet that I scored higher than him, knowing full well that I did worse. But he said it anyways, because he couldn't stand seeing me sad. . . and the thing that he bet. . . .
My eyes land back on the chocolate bar, and I half-expect myself to burst into tears again, but none come this time as I reach out for the candy, pulling it tightly to my chest. I'm never going to get to see Armie again, but. . . if he could talk to me right now, then what would he say? He'd probably crack some dumb joke, tease himself to try to make me feel better about myself. To try to stop me from crying, and get me to smile again, no matter what else in the world is going on.
A smile quivers onto my lips at the thought, and I hold back a sob, letting out a deep breath. I'm going to go home, and I'm going to go there with a smile. No matter how much I want to breakdown and cry, just curl up into a ball and fall asleep and never wake up again. . . I'll keep on smiling.
For him.
Fiona Graham, 7, District 2
Day 7, 11:10 AM
Floor 18
These games are officially the most boring ever. I've spent seven days having to look at Rio's dumb face, only seeing the same three people all week. The only time I've run into anyone else was that dopey boy from Eleven, who was wandering around in a daze. He never even realized that I stabbed him in the back, and my first kill was thoroughly disappointing.
Now there's only eight other tributes left in this arena, just seven more chances to get an actual kill. The pair from Eight won't be any good, but shutting up that chirpy girl from Six would be nice. I was a bit sad to see that Lei got killed already, but his partner will be an okay replacement. But none of those are the kill that I really want.
My eyes lock onto Glory as she sits cross-legged next to Gloria, the two apparently chummy now, giggling together like little girls. I want nothing more right now than the chance to sink a knife into her throat. Or maybe I'll go for just a slit, that always seemed like it was more painful. Whatever draws out her pain as much as possible, without giving her actually competent partner a chance to take me out.
It wouldn't have to come to this if we actually did something, but since everyone else here is happy to just sit around doing nothing-I'll have to make some action myself. We were even just sent a revolver this morning, for Snow's sake. Yet instead of going out and hunting with it, and bringing us to the final eight already, they're just sitting around twiddling their thumbs.
Rio took the pistol and is holding it carefully, so stealing that isn't an option. Luckily they haven't managed to pry my knife collection from me yet, as much as Rio has tried to. My four knives are still safely held at my belt, my fingers tracing over the handles impatiently.
I don't understand why Rio isn't more grateful, really. He talks all the time about how much he wants to go home and become a Peacekeeper, yet he's doing absolutely nothing to make sure he wins the games.
But while he may be willing to sit on his butt and just hope that he gets home by pure luck, I'll be doing everything I can to get back. My dream has always been to be a victor, and to get to be the youngest of all time would just make it that much sweeter. To get to live in Victors Village with Achilles, Livia, Brick, and Garen? I get giddy just thinking about it, and now I'm so close to making it a reality.
Alerio steps out of sight, murmuring something about counting our supplies, and my eyes fall back to the pair from one. I can't really tell who's who, but one of them is facing towards me while the other has her back turned. The one facing me seems completely sucked up in the conversation though, and doesn't seem to have a weapon on her. Gloria's katana is sitting harmlessly a few feet away, and both of their knives are with it. So unless Rio gave them his knife, they're completely unarmed.
My hand wraps around the handle of my blade as I quietly slink up to my feet. Her neck is completely exposed, just a few yard away from me. This has been a long time coming now, and I'm going to enjoy every moment of this.
One step closer to victory.
Glory Fairfax, 9, District 1
Day 7, 11:10 AM
Floor 18
"So you never explained your token," I bring up to Gloria, pointing towards the gold star sticker on her chest.
"Our academy, up until your twelve, measures your success with giving you these stars. This was the first one I ever got," she says absently, rubbing her finger over the star. "What about you?" She asks suddenly, glancing up at me and dropping her hands to her sides. "You bring a token?"
"No," I respond with a shake of my head. "Never really had anything super memorable that somebody gave me," I say truthfully, shrugging.
She falls silent at that, seeming to be remembering something, and my thoughts wander as well. The past week, or two weeks really, have been a roller-coaster. The moment I was reaped was the most terrified I've been in my life. The only thought that was echoing through my mind was that I was going to die. That if Concord couldn't win the games, how could I?
Things didn't get much better from there. Lucian, Aurum, and Helix all ignored me, only occasionally taking the time to berate me for doing something wrong. And now every single one of them are dead. Gloria told me about the aftermath of the attack yesterday, and it was an odd feeling to have-to know that everyone who told me that I would be lucky to get past the bloodbath, were all gone before the games even started.
The true rock bottom came after the run in with Nova, though. That first time I met him on the rooftop, he was there to try to cheer me up at my most vulnerable. While I fought back tears, he was there to help me feel better. Then when I saw him in the arena, it was like none of that even mattered, and I sent that knife into his forehead without a second thought. It's funny how fast you can turn into the exact type of person that you thought you would never be.
But if the sinking feeling in my gut and aching pain in my chest wasn't enough to convince me that I'm no killer, then talking with Gloria yesterday was. Seeing how someone who was so similar to me turned into somebody so different. . . it made me realize just how easy it would be to fall in her same path. So I promised myself yesterday, that no matter what happens, no matter how scared I am, nobody else will die because of me.
I don't care if my family is ashamed of me, or if the Capitol forces me to become a killer if I want to win. I'm not going to let myself be turned into something I'm not, however tempting it might be to take the easy way out of the games.
"You ever wonder what you'd be doing right now, if you didn't get reaped?' Gloria asks out of the blue.
"I don't know," I reply truthfully, shrugging. "Same thing I always do, I guess."
Gloria goes to respond, but pauses with her mouth open, eyes narrowing in confusion. Her eyes widen in shock, and she leaps out towards me, shoving me to the side. I roll over, just barely catching a glance of a knife stabbing into the carpet as I spin onto my side.
I quickly kick out my feet, crawling myself away from the fighting, turning to see what's happening. Just as I turn around, Fiona pulls the knife out of the ground, shooting daggers at me as she attempts to charge towards me. I'm frozen in half-shock and half-fear, sitting still as she runs towards me. Luckily for me, I don't have to defend myself, Gloria diving at her and tackling her to the ground.
The two wrestle for just a short second before Gloria manages to grapple the knife away. She stabs at Fiona's head, just barely missing as she rolls out of the way. Gloria slashes at her neck this time, and Fiona just barely gets her hands up to defend, letting out a scream as blood squirts out from wrist, writhing in pain as she pulls her hands to her chest.
Everything is happening so fast, and in another instant the knife is buried in Fiona's head, the screaming and squirming stopping and being replaced by a dead silence.
Boom!
The canon slices through the thick air, and I can feel myself shaking, hyperventilating as I sit, frozen in shock. Gloria has a surprised look in her eyes, letting the knife clatter to the ground as she pulls it out, dropping down to the ground. Her body looks completely calm, the only evidence of any sort of turmoil shining through her eyes. "I had to," she breathes out, running a hand through her hair.
Alerio runs up to us, and for the first time I remember the twist, a sick feeling in my stomach as I watch his expression morph at the sight of Fiona. His face goes pale as a shudder runs through his body, shakily taking a seat on the floor, the three of us all seated in a triangle, Fiona's lifeless corpse in the center.
"Oh god," Gloria chokes out weakly, covering her eyes with her slightly bloodied hands. "Oh, god."
Rio's whole body is shaking now, and he slowly climbs to his feet, whispering out something inaudible for before collapsing back to the ground face-first, his canon echoing off as his body thumps against the carpet.
Boom!
"I'm so sorry," Gloria shakily chokes out, eyes peeking above her hands and up the ceiling, a tear dripping past her hands and rolling down her cheek. "I'm so sorry."
9th: Fiona: I had so much fun with this girl. She was spunky, unafraid to speak her mind, and a tiny little villain. Fiona was a pleasant surprise for me, a type of character I never realized how much I wanted until I got her. While it's easy to look at her as a completely evil bad guy, you can't forget that in the end, she was only just a kid, a fact that I feel I didn't do a good job developing with her. I originally had a much bigger arc planned out for her, but it fell through for reasons I can't explain yet-in order to avoid spoiling the finale. Nonetheless, above all else, Fiona was so much fun to write. Pine, thank you for this bubblegum princess who proves that looks can be deceiving. RIP.
8th: Alerio: Okay, so, again I can't go too far into this to avoid spoilers, but Rio originally had much more planned for him. He was one of the first characters that I got, and the instant I got him I said to myself: "this is my victor." He was a wonderful, unique, complex character that I had so much fun writing, and the words just came spilling out when I sat down to write his chapters. There's so much more I want to say, but I'll bite my tongue for now to avoid spoilers, and just leave it at this. Midnight, thank you for this stoic, brave soldier with a warm heart. RIP.
A/N: Things are shaking up this chapter, and we are SO CLOSE to the end now. Next chapter will be the Final Eight interviews, so we'll get a slight break from the games before getting back to wrap them up! Make sure to tell me what your thoughts on the developments this chapter, and I'll be seeing you guys soon!
Trivia(1 point): Who's final 7 interview are you most looking forward to?
Current Alliances:
Measures: Alt
2 Knives, Dwindling supply of food and water
Location: Floor 13
Careers: Gloria, Glory
Katana, 3 Knives, 2 Walky-Talkies, 2 Hunting Rifles, dog, Moderate supply of food and water
Location: Floors 18
Our Keepers: Zarach, Amara
Revolver, 2 Bullets
Location: Floor 19
Real or Not Real?: Noa, Fey
Bow
Location: Floor 21