When I wake up, I process two things: one, everything from my toes, tail, arms, and head hurt like hell. And two, I smell bacon.
No. Not bacon. Chicken, roasted chicken.
Through heavy-lidded eyes, I get my first good look at the world around me from my coma-like slumber. I half expect to see the same scenes from last night: blinding pink sky, glass trees, smoky figures, and the pool of blood I had bathed in before blacking out. But instead, I come to find clear blue skies dotted with clouds that resemble stretched cotton, the trees are back to their normal wood selves with normal green leaves; none of the smoky creatures scream, cry, or shoot guns because they're not there; and the blood pool has been replaced with a shallow dip in the jungle floor.
All of those bizarre things that had happened were nothing but hallucinations. Nothing but figments of my imagination induced by the poison in the insects' stingers, designed to torture me into unexplainable agony within minutes. All courtesy of the Capitol.
I'll have to send my thanks.
And yet, if it was never there and if it all was just an illusion from the poison of the mutated hornets, how come I'm seeing a girl tending to a fire not three feet away from me?
At first, I think I'm dead. That whatever god in the heavens had the tolerance to care about me when I was being tormented took pity on my sorry ass and put me out of my misery. Then they had sent this angel to take care of my wounded self before taking me off to wherever dead souls go to in the afterlife. But with the insane throbbing in my head, I doubt that I'm dead. You're not supposed to feel pain when you're dead, right?
Then I realize that I recognize the girl. The brown skin, green eyes, and shiny curls are all a slap to the face for how I hadn't seen it before. It's the girl from last night, the one who had warned me about the mutated bugs.
Did she die too?
I try to sit up only to have what feels like a knife stabbing me shoot up my ribs.
"Shit..." I hiss, squinting my eyes shut at the intensity of the pain.
The girl hears me and rushes to my side, gently ushering me downwards. "You have to lay back down. You need to rest."
I peek at her through my clamped eyelids and see the sincerity in her voice match the concern in her expression. For someone so young, she carries herself as if she's an adult. I notice that she has a strange accent, too exotic for me to place. Barbados, maybe.
Seeing that I have no reason not to trust her (yet, anyway), I do as she says and lay back down. She nods, the baby coils of black hair crowning her brow bouncing like springs. She shuffles back to the fire she has built, a small bowl bubbling over a propped stick and a dead, skinned bird slowly roasting over the orange flames.
"How long have I been out?" I mumble, rubbing at the aching forming in my temples.
"About 12 hours," she says.
12 fucking hours?!
"I thought it would be best to let you sleep seeing the bugs got you pretty good." She halfheartedly points towards me as she stirs whatever is in the bowl with a wooden spoon. I glance down at where I remember the hornets had stung me and I am met with a big-ass lump of fur and flesh blacking my left eye. I gingerly touch the wound where clearly the stinger was punctured and flinch at its tenderness. I know that a couple more lie under my clothes. I can only imagine what they look like in someone else's eyes.
"What are you making?" I ask to make small talk.
I barely know this kid. I've only seen her from television screens and in the training center. Aside from always watching me, she hasn't shown that much interest in me. She has never shown much interest in anything, as far as I'm concerned. From what I've gathered from her shadowing me in the past week is that she is quiet and reserved, only ever talking to her fellow tribute from District 11. She had barely said much of anything at the interview with Caesar Flickerman. And yet here she is, tending to me like a kind woman nursing a sick friend back to health, chit-chatting (what little chit-chat has been said) as if I am not a full-grown ass lion with not one but two knives, needle-sharp teeth, and deadly claws.
"Broth," she retorts simply, pulling the sleeves of her jacket over her hands and taking the bowl off of its perch. She cautiously carries it to me, steam wafting under her curls, perspiration gathering on her smooth forehead. She ladles the wooden spoon into the soup and tries to feed it to me. I scoot away immediately, despite the shock of pain coursing through my body at the movement. She seems surprised at my retraction.
"It's okay. It's good," she says.
"How do I know you didn't poison it just to kill me off?" I respond defensively.
Now that I am awake, my brain is on hyperdrive, overflowing with suspicion for this newcomer. Okay, sure. She may have saved my ass back there when I had leaped into another tree and basically hinted that I could use the hive of mutated hornets against the Careers. And she could've left me to die or waste away in this ditch after last night's fit and could've just ignored me for the rest of the Games. In all honesty, I nearly forgot about her.
But no. Instead, she's here with a fucking bowl of broth and a stupid sweet smile plastered on her face as if she isn't my enemy. As if this isn't the perfect opportunity to slice my throat now that I am weak and vulnerable.
She sighs and takes the spoon into her mouth and slurps up the liquid and swallows.
Well, I guess that's proof enough she isn't trying to kill me.
She starts to feed me like a mother to her child. The broth is warm and flavorless but still filling. I gulp down mouthful after mouthful until the bowl is empty. It's rather refreshing now that I realize just how hungry I am. She then grabs a bottle of water from my bag and helps me drink. I want to inhale it all down the hatch, but she coaxes me to take sips or I'll regurgitate. Aka, vomit. I do as she says.
She takes the bowl and spoon and carries them over to the brook that is amazingly still close by.
With what happened last night, I thought I had run away from it. I guess not.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask, finally giving in to my curiosity.
She stops for a moment, the dishes dripping in her hands mid-wash. She saunters over and sits down, turning the cooking bird over the fire absentmindedly.
"I… " she hesitates. "I don't know. I just saw you, lying there, motionless, and it hurt to see you like that. All swollen and still. I… I thought you were dead."
"So… what? You thought that maybe you could bring me back to life or something?" I ask. I know it sounds dumb the moment I say it, and I immediately want to kick myself for how lame it is.
You fucking moron!
She giggles lightly. "No. I knew you were alive. The cannon didn't go off."
"Then why are you doing this if you knew that I was alive, let alone in fine health?"
Okay, sure. I'm not it the best state of health seeing that I have swelling flesh that looks like fur-coated balloons attached to my body. But I can manage. Trust me when I say I've been through worse shit.
She can't be doing this out of the kindest of her heart. Even the softest of us must put away our good nature in order to stay alive in this arena. You only do certain things that will help you survive. So for her to look after me is not an act of genuine kindness, but of that of selfishness. Of survival.
But what could she possibly offer me if I am to be of some use to me? She may be able to cook and nurse me back to health, but after that, I can easily turn on her. I'm not saying that I will, but the fact of the matter is that she is powerless against me. She doesn't stand a chance in a fight with a walking, talking lion, or any tribute for that matter-
That's it! That's what she's out for!
She is small and weak compared to the others. I've seen her. She is good with plants and concealment, one of the best actually. But when it comes to warfare, she struggles drastically. She absolutely refused to go into the training ring after her first fight where she nearly got choked out by a man three times her size. She cannot fight. If and when she is ever caught in hand to hand combat, she will most definitely lose.
And that's where I come in. She wants me as her loyal protector. Someone who knows their way around the wilderness and can wield weapons decently. Someone who can benefit from her, and she to them. Someone to be her ally.
I'm sure that she knows that I am aware of her needs because she refuses to look at me. She turns to the bird, takes it away from the crackling fire, and takes a bite.
"Have you ever thought about making an alliance?" I ask suddenly.
I have to help her. Try as I might, and I am trying my damndest, I can't leave her. She is truly helpless and chose me of all people to aid her in this sick, twisted journey of the Hunger Games. And me having a soft spot for kids, (I work at an orphanage in my free time. What the hell do you expect?) I have an overwhelming urge to take up the task as her personal bodyguard.
Is it completely crazy? Absolutely!
Is it risky as fuck? 100%
Will I be endangering my chances of getting out of here alive by keeping her company, feeding her, and fighting for her just so we can make it farther in the Games only to leave the other knowing that one (if not both) of us will have to die in the end? Yep.
Am I still going to do it? You bet your ass yes!
Her eyes widen, mouth dropping open into an 'o'. A piece of meat is wedged in a molar, grease smearing her brown lips like chapstick. She swallows, wiping the bird residue from her mouth. "I-I hadn't really thought about it," she stutters.
Oh really? I smirk internally, knowing full well that she's lying for the sake of face.
"Would you want to be my ally?" I ask.
She gasps lightly. I guess she wasn't expecting me to come to her and ask so blatantly. I bet she even had this whole thing planned out, bringing it up discreetly. Me just putting out in the open is unexpected, but she lights up like a Christmas tree at my offer.
"I would like that very much!" She cheers. She holds out her hand as if we were casually greeting one another for the first time. "Gratuity Tucci, but my friends call me Tip."
I grasp her hand, my paw a massive mountain compared to her tiny palm and fingers. I make sure I don't squeeze too hard. Don't want to break my new ally's hand. "Alex Lyon."
I'm not sure how Gobber feels about this, or even if he cares. He would probably say something like, "Don' be an oaf! Use tha' sorry e'cuse of a mellon and don' try ta kill yerself!"
To hell what Gobber thinks! If you don't like it, you're just going to have to deal with it. My mind is made up.
The rest of the day is spent on trying to fix what damage the hornets inflicted on me. Gratuity grinds up powder with leaves and a bunch of other stuff she finds in the dirt into a dusty substance and then mixes it with water, creating a mucky goo. She spreads the slime onto the bloated wounds and immediately I feel relieved of some (if not most) of the pain. In a matter of minutes, the lumps have shrunk down two sizes.
I feel better, and therefore I start to help gather food. Gratuity shows me how to catch the bird she had eaten earlier. She calls them grooslings, turkey-like birds with yellow beaks and grey feathers. She says they have a couple of flocks back in her district, and if they were lucky they would catch some and eat them for dinner.
I make a makeshift fishing pole with some excess string from my jacket and a large branch and teach her how to cast while I shoot at fish with my new bow. We gather plants and berries together while we wait for a bite.
I'm surprised that no one has come looking for us. We're out in the open, plus we have a fire going that practically sends up a smoke signal to the other tributes.
But then I remember that there's only 10 of us. The boy who was brutally attacked by the angry bugs had died, I'm sure. And I'm assuming that the others had made it out alive as I had. Excluding me and Gratuity, there are now four Careers, the fox girl who had gone off on her own, the other tribute from District 11, and Gia. The still-living Careers are probably recovering from last night's incident and the two other individuals haven't been seen for days. And whatever happened to Gia, I have no idea.
We put together the day's findings and make a meal of it all. Roasted fish, two grooslings, a bushel of berries and a batch nutty roots. It all tastes amazing, almost better than some of the meals back at the Capitol. We clean up after ourselves and decide to relax for a little bit.
You know, without all the blood-hungry tributes and the shitload soul-crushing anxiety of fatigue and fear that increases with every near-death experience, the arena isn't so bad. The jungle is nice enough, warm in the day, cooler in the night. There haven't been any feral threats like savage animals--aside from the hornets--and as far as I can tell, no immediate danger lies ahead of us. But that doesn't mean there won't be.
The sky is a subtle orange, blazing with hints of red and pink and yellow. It reminds me of Tigress.
An ache grows in my chest at the thought. I've been too busy to acknowledge it, but I miss her. I miss my family, the woods rimming the outskirts of the Seam. I miss all of the kids back at the orphanage, the traders at the Hob. I miss my home.
"What's that?" Gratuity asks, interrupting my train of thought. She motions at my pin. It gleams in the bright firelight, golden bands of light reflecting in sparkling yellow.
"It's a pin. My friend gave it to me," I pause for a moment, steeling myself, "before I left."
"Is it from the one you volunteered for? Marty?" She asks.
It's just a question. A simple question, at that. And yet it feels like she had punched me in the face with a brick.
"Yeah," I answer after a pause.
"It's very pretty," she comments.
I know she's just trying to be nice, friendly even, but I don't want to talk about this. I had a hard enough time discussing it with the infamous Caesar Flickerman, let alone an entire crowd of Capitol citizens. I don't want to go through that again.
Man the fuck up, Alex! Just try for once in your sorry, weak-ass life to be the badass everyone thinks you are!
"I have something like that, too," she pulls out something hidden under her jacket, hanging on a length of twine looped around her neck. My eyebrows knit together in confusion. She shows me a wooden figure no bigger than my finger. Expertly carved and sanded to an impossible smoothness, nothing out of the ordinary. What it's shaped into is what's so baffling about it. From what I can tell, it's a creature with a pill-shaped body and curled lobes on the sides of its head. A multitude of small pods adorn its lower body like feet as do gangly arms with only three fingers. Bulbous eyes the size of marbles stare back at me, it's goofy grin showcasing teeth almost too big for its mouth.
"What is it?"
Gratuity sensed my confusion before I even asked. She giggles at my bewilderment of the thing hanging off of her necklace.
"When I was a little, I had an imaginary friend named Oh." She states.
"Oh what?"
"No. Not 'oh'. Oh, like as a name." She chides amusedly.
"Oh, I see!"
"Yeah," she chuckles lightly.
She looks more like her age now that she is a little looser, free. I wonder how she was before she was admitted into the Games. Did she play with children her own age or did she have to work with the adults instead?
It wouldn't surprise me. I know of a number of kids back at District 12 who said they were 17 when they were clearly much younger so that they could work in the mines early. No one said or did anything about it. We all knew that they were only doing it to provide for their families. Why stop them if they can do something to help?
"Oh was, according to my mom, an alien from outer space. She said I had described him so well that she was able to carve him out of a block of wood. She gave it to me as a gift." Gratuity says, looking at the fine work of craftsmanship with tender longing.
I know the feeling.
"Your mom whittles?" I ask.
"Whenever she can. She loves it so much that she taught me before I could even talk," she says jokingly. She tucks the wooden charm back into her jacket, her fingers lingering over the string holding her most prized possession.
I look up at the sky again. It has darkened quickly.
"What do you say we get some rest?" I remark.
She nods after a long yawn for an answer. We climb up a tree with plenty of foliage for camouflage (no way am I making that same mistake again) and tuck ourselves in for the night. The sleeping bag was small with just me being its user, now that there's a teenager with me, it will be too tight for the both of us. I give it to her despite her pleading me to take it and I settle for my jacket. She snuggles into my side and sighs in bliss.
She hasn't had anything to protect her from the cold nights. I can imagine how grateful she must be for being relieved of the unbearable chill of the jungle.
The anthem plays and only one name and one picture are shown. The boy who had died from the countless mutated hornet stingers. The boy who had died at my paws. His chestnut brown eyes haunt me and for a moment I can feel them observing me, pleading for help, dying.
I fall asleep to the soft snores of my new ally, Gratuity Tucci, the second tribute of District 11. A woman of a child, and my new enemy.
Author's Note: I honestly wanted this done before Christmas, or even New Year's Day. I got busy, though, and couldn't find the time. Sorry about that. I hope you guys enjoyed it and stick with me, the story continues. Thank you!