The Scores
Tyree
District 11 Male, 12
Herbert is my best friend. Herbert is my only friend.
I'm convinced of that now, because they forced me to go in front of other people, and that was really mean of them! I haven't been this nervous ever, I think.
I pass a hand through my short hair, scratching and scratching until it feels like my scalp is on fire. Maybe that's how these characters from the cartoons feel. The ones that have fire instead of hair, they're … superheroes.
They're all so cute!
I hug Herbert, biting his ear on reflex. It's really comforting to have him with me.
I knead the soft material of his belly with my fingers. I've seen cats do that, on television. It's always the babies that do it, because they've been separated from their… moms. And they feel lonely. That's what helps them be happy again.. that's what the lady said on the television, so it must be true.
Speaking of happy... I tried being nice to Casmir, but it just. It didn't work out. He's not a happy person.
He's not like Daddy at all. It's really confusing, and I don't know what I have to do.
He asked me so many questions, but I'm not really used to talking that much so I stayed quiet.
Did I have any friends back at my house, or if I saw any other kids around Daddy, and like… of course not! I was Daddy's favorite. I was the only one, because I was lucky!
Always stuff like that, he kept asking me. I complained to Herbert about it later, because I don't really like the way he asked them. It wasn't really fair of him.
I hear a knock on the door, and a tiny squeak as it opens. Like a mouse.
"Tyree, darling, do you want to come eat with us?"
It's Elora, the weird-looking colorful lady.
I blush immediately, because I'm not really used to talking to ladies.
I shake my head. I don't want to eat. I have been eating too much these days… too much.
It was never like that with Dad-
"Aw come on, darling, you need to eat something. Tell you what… if you eat, we can watch cartoons together. Would you like that?"
The lady might be a mind reader! I'm telling you.
How did she know I'd like to watch cartoons? I mean, of course I would. But Casmir would never let me, on the big television in the room where we eat. They always have weird stuff playing there… and the lady called Jessamine keeps watching it with Casmir. They have such long discussions sometimes, it drives me crazy.
Once, I'm not even joking: I left the room, played with Herbert and then when I came back, boom! They're still there, talking about the same stuff.
I laugh a little bit at the memory, and Elora approaches me, clearly picking up on my good mood.
"You like that idea? Come on, let's go give it a try! I promise the food is great."
I take Elora's hand, which tenses up under mine, and we walk together.
"Are you a mommy?" I ask her, as we're walking down the hall.
She sighs, and I get scared for a second that I said something wrong. Not again!
"Yeah, I am actually. I have a little boy, exactly your age, and a girl who is four years old."
"They must be very beautiful," I reply, pointing at her hair. "Do they have the same hair color as you?"
"Thank you Tyree, darling," Elora says, and pats me on the head before quickly retracting her hand when I tense up. She didn't answer my question though. I pat my own head, feeling out my curly dark hair.
"You're not my mommy though, right?" I ask curiously. I don't know, maybe she is! That's the weird thing with mommies… it's that you don't know.
"No honey, but we can still watch cartoons together," Elora assures me.
She's sad, I can tell it from her voice.
She lets go of my hand momentarily, to make me a plate with some food. My stomach gurgles, and I tell it to stop. It's not polite, to do that.
I observe her, as she fusses around the table, pink strands of hair obstructing her eyes from me. That's what mommies are supposed to be like.
"Is the lady watching television with Casmir again?"
"Yes, your district partner Jess is with Casmir. They're discussing Games' stuff." She pauses. "Do you know what the Games are? Why you're both here?"
I think she's trying to tell me something. Her voice is hesitant, unsure. I don't answer her.
Elora sits down on the couch, with her legs crossed and I scurry towards her, because her question makes me stressed.
I don't know. I don't want to know, so I ignore that.
If I ignore it, it'll go away.
"Are you sad because of me?"
I try to sit on her lap, but Elora squeaks a little.
"Tyree, I'm sorry, can you please go sit there?"
She points to the other side of the couch, shifting uncomfortably behind me. She still didn't answer my question.
I try to sit again, because I don't really understand what she means.
"Tyree, you can't just sit on people, you're twelve, not five!"
"I always used to sit on Daddy," I muse as I sit down elsewhere, scratching my chin and dangling my feet off the couch.
Elora makes another sad little choked noise, and takes my hand.
"Tyree, darling, whoever hurt you is going to pay for what they did, but you're safe here."
I'm so lost, and again I suddenly want to cry so much that my lower lip starts shaking.
"Don't cry honey, here, here, what's your favorite channel?"
She's fussing again, reaching out for a napkin, but I don't need one because I don't actually cry, even though I come close.
"Do you want to watch the one with the cats?"
I nod, sniffling a little bit.
Elora is definitely a mind reader, because she finds the channel almost immediately, and we both sit together. I keep my eyes on the screen, because I don't want to miss a single thing. I love cartoons so much!
And I also don't want to accidentally see Elora looking at me, with her big sad eyes.
No sadness allowed, for Herbert and I.
Orla Ferraris
District 4 Female, 17
Shrimpie and Mags are already seated on the couch.
She ruffles his hair in a motherly gesture, and he giggles.
"What's so funny?" I ask, a little bitterly. I still haven't gotten around to liking Mags enough. She's been nothing but belligerent, ever since I met her. That's crazy, considering I'm in the Career alliance and I've played this whole thing by the book, so to speak.
She probably just sucks as a mentor, and that's the end of it. I mean, deciding to help out Shrimpie, rather than spending time with me? Yeah… as I said, something's not right in her head.
"Oh, nothing much," Mags says, smiling all the while.
"I might have a chance to ally with the older girl, the one from Eight," Shrimpie gushes, and I laugh in earnest.
"Wow, you really think that's gonna be your saving grace, Shrimpie?"
"His name is Scout. Do you really have to be so nasty to him?" Mags asks me, and I perceive venom seeping into her voice. "He didn't have to tell you this, you know."
"Whatever," I answer, rolling my eyes. I sit on the couch without another word.
The television bursts to life, and I lean in excitedly, some of my cool demeanor disappearing momentarily.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome! Everyone, welcome to the most exciting news since the Reaping! Shortly, we will be announcing the scores achieved by this year's cohort of fantastic tributes! Let's give them all a huge round of applause!"
I smile at the screen. The announcer is doing a great job hyping this up. Even I feel the little bursts of nervous energy going through my body, although I don't have much to worry about.
"Let's begin with District 1! Ambrox Linden kicks off the night in style with a stupendous 11! And Cira Dupont, not doing too bad herself with a 9!"
It seems as though the television screen vibrates from the noise that erupts from the audience. I can't even tell if it's pre-recorded, or if my allies really did elicit such an intense response.
Ambrox might be an asshole, but he's clearly decent enough.
I inspect my cuticles, as Mags writes stuff down on her decrepit-looking sketchpad.
"Your allies are starting out strong," she comments neutrally, without bringing her eyes up from her writing. "Ambrox is the one who doesn't seem to agree with you on many things, you better look out for him."
"Up next, Luther Szeto and Seeva Andino from District 2! Both enter the stage with matching scores of 10! Absolutely breathtaking!"
Not bad either. I kind of hoped Seeva would get an 11, to match Ambrox's score. I don't want him peacocking himself all around. But no matter, I guess I'll have to pick up the slack where she clearly couldn't.
Strange, because I pegged her as our de-facto leader. I wouldn't want to be leader, because I know they're the first ones to get killed.
"District 3 is represented by Cassius Fleur who got a 4, and their volunteer Salamandra Mitch with an 8! Impressive."
I scowl. The girl just keeps on fucking up my vibe.
Her cocky expression on the screen makes me even angrier.
Did she really have to volunteer the year that I did?
She just keeps stealing my goddamn thunder, the dumb bitch. I grind my teeth silently together, and make fists with my hands to release some pressure. I'm up next, and even though Three's score wasn't great, it just would have made a bigger impact if she had truly and utterly screwed up.
"For District 4, there's our favorite Scout Trrrrrinian, with a Trrrree, excuse me, 2…"
I smirk at Shrimpie who is cowering on the other side of Mags, momentarily forgetting the District 3 girl.
"… and Orla Ferraris with a score of 4. Lagging a little behind this year, aren't we, District 4?"
What the fuck?
The actual fuck?
For the first time since I came to the Capitol, I feel like I'm misunderstanding something terribly important.
I … I punched the dummy, just like I did with Tanisha back home. It hurt my wrist, but I still did it, multiple times.
I did so many things that showed off what I was good at, and what I had learned throughout training. The only thing I didn't do was climb stuff, but that's for useless and boring people. I was supposed to score so much higher. Like… at least a 9? What is going on? This must be an elaborate joke.
I scored the same as that boy from Three, and he's tiny. Nothing makes any sense.
Mags stifles a laugh, and that's what sets me off.
"What's so fucking funny?" I whip around to face her. I feel my face heating up from righteous anger.
"First off, don't talk to me that way, I'm your mentor. And secondly, I'm not laughing," Mags blabbers, a smile very clearly tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"You're a disrespectful asshole, and … and you've done nothing to HELP ME!" I scream, finally letting the simmering rage come to the surface.
Instead of knowing her place, Mags starts chuckling, unrestrained.
"I'm the disrespectful one? You've done nothing but intimidate Scout, and refused to listen to my advice. If you don't understand that it's a matter of life and death here, it's too late for you. Your score won't change the fact that you're up shit's creek without a paddle Orla, and your abysmal score won't help you."
Honestly, screw this to hell. I'm not listening to another second of this bullshit.
Without a word, I throw the glass of water that is in front of me on the floor.
The shatter is satisfying, the glass offering no resistance as it disintegrates into hundreds of tiny crystalline pieces, floating in the thin sheet of transparent liquid. The shards scatter on the ground, and I eye them with disdain for a second, before sauntering off to my room.
These assholes can clean up that mess if they want to, or they can cut themselves for all I care.
I slam the door to my room, and jump into bed. My frustrated screams are muffled by the fluffy pillow that is jammed in front of my face. I just need to let out all of this indignation and fury, because it's making my head throb and hurt like some kind of pulsating angry machine.
I hammer my fists into the pillows around me, continuing to scream wordlessly.
I don't understand how anyone in their right mind would give me a 4. A fucking 4!
It's like they don't understand why I'm here. I never thought that Capitol people could be this dumb, but I guess people are no different, anywhere you go.
The majority will always be disgusting hypocrites.
It's as though they're oblivious to the fact that I'm one of their own, and I volunteered for this. What kind of absolute moron gives a volunteer a 4?
Abruptly, I stop screaming, because an idea hits me. I understand something… it's a freaking conspiracy.
That must be it. They probably gave me that score because they didn't want me to be a prime target. That's… that's the only reasonable explanation.
Now that I think back, many people who scored very poorly actually won their games. Maybe it's a way for the Gamemakers to keep us out of sight, out of mind. Just before we pounce on Victory, like the lions that we are.
That… makes sense. Still, I wish they had warned me. I breathe a little easier, now that things are back in place.
I flip onto my back, and get up from the bed. I'm glad that I'm a little calmer now, no longer shaking from outrage.
As I approach the mirror, I see my hair is a mess, from the way I thrashed in anger in the bed.
So, I brush it. It's back to being straight and sleek in mere minutes, like black curtains framing my pale face. A face so similar to my mother's. I take out the photograph, crinkled only a little bit from staying in my pocket all day.
I smoothen it out, and get the holopad that I requested for this specific purpose.
Regardless of my score, the Games are only secondary to my real mission here: to find out about my real parents. The Games themselves are just an obstacle to coming back here and seeing whether my parents had any family left…
I've read at least a dozen files on missing Capitol persons, who were in the army.
I skimmed through them, more like. So far, no pictures of my real mom and dad. I just have to keep looking.
"Officer General, Capitol 260704," I intonate, having memorized that inscription ever since I found it, in case my photograph went missing.
"Where are you Officer General? Where are you, mom?"
Logan Arteficavitch
District 7 Male, 15
We agglomerate all together at the front door of the District 8 common lounge.
They don't have a mentor, so no one really told us we couldn't, per say.
I asked Suhndit and she gave me the green light, so as far as I'm concerned, there's no harm done. I think she saw how nervous I was about the score reveal and she had her hands full with Morgana already.
"Are you even allowed to do that?" the one and only Bexley Ward scoffs as I enter with Geoff in tow when Jean lets us in, nervous excitement coming off of him in waves. I've steered clear of her, because the girl just exudes this menacing energy on a regular basis. Right now, she looks positively pissed off.
I panic and my mouth opens and closes, as I try to figure out just how we're supposed to explain this whole get-up.
"It's okay guys," Jean ushers us in despite his district partner's disapproving glare. "Bexley doesn't mind, and Lucretia told me it was fine. My house is your house, y'know."
Bexley seems to mind a whole lot, but doesn't do anything apart from crossing her arms across her chest. She doesn't sit with us as we all gravitate towards the couch.
Lucretia, the escort for District 8, comes in smiling meekly at us, and then at Jean. "I can get you fellows chips or something!"
Jean beams at her. "Thanks Lucretia! You're amazing."
She scurries away, no doubt searching for the closest Avox to get us finger food to enjoy as we're watching our scores displayed across all of Panem. Not that I can eat much of anything right now…
To be completely truthful, my stomach is doing the most complex acrobatics and flips and my heart feels like it's going to escape its ribcage prison. I am so nervous, almost more so than when I was actually performing in front of the Gamemakers.
I'm worried I'll have the worst score out of the three of us, and my allies will realize they don't need me on their side to win. I know I shouldn't be thinking that way, but the thought has been slowly eating away at my sanity. Being alone… I don't think that's something I could live with.
And I know, objectively, that our alliance isn't like that. The two of them are my friends and it would never go that way, but a small insidious and ever-nagging part of me keeps whispering at the back of my mind… what if?
What would I do, alone and abandoned?
I just wish I could talk to Dahlia right now. My sister always knew how to spin a shitty situation into something advantageous. How would she spin this?
"Guys... guys, it's already started, come on!"
Lucretia hurries in, balancing three bowls with chips of different flavors in her arms. I quickly get up to help her, and she smiles brightly at me as I grab two of the bowls and give them to Geoff and Jean.
"Can I stay with you guys, to watch?" she asks timidly.
I smile encouragingly at her.
"Of course, the more the merrier!"
Bexley huffs, leaving the room. Clearly, someone is in disagreement with that statement.
"Please don't leave me to die, if I get the worst score," I murmur half-jokingly, but Geoff immediately picks up on my unease.
"Okay, first off, no matter our scores, we stick together."
I smile sadly. "I know that, but I'm just… I hope you guys still include me even if I suck."
"The scores don't matter Logan," Jean offers, supportively.
"But they kinda do… and I hope you guys can look past that."
Both Jean and Geoff roll their eyes good-naturedly at my self-doubt and I smile at them, trying to force the negativity out before it does any damage.
Jean puts up the volume on the television as they just finish announcing the scores for District 3. I make a mental note to relisten to the first bit that we missed, since it might give us some precious insight on who we're up against.
I almost bring it up, but judging from the intensity in both my allies' faces, they want to see their scores first. There's no harm in analyzing the competition later.
"For District 4, there's our favorite Scout Trrrrrinian, with a Trrrree, excuse me, 2, and Orla Ferraris with a score of 4. Lagging a little behind this year, aren't we, District 4?"
"They're not doing too hot," Geoff agrees, scratching the back of his head.
"The girl isn't super nice, but the kid… this sucks," I agree, as Jean nods. He just seems so small and withdrawn on the picture that pops up on the television.
"District 5 brings us Andrew Vickens, with a 2, and Mara Griffith who did much better with a 7! Congratulations to Mara, I think she holds the record for the scores in District 5, so far, surpassing their last year's victor."
"Imagine living in a district where 7 is your highest score…" Jean mutters, and I nod absentmindedly. From training, I remember the two District Fives staying together. The girl is definitely a contender, but who knows how far she'll go to protect her ally.
"For District 6, we have Roizer Loudon… with a 5, another welcome surprise! And Daisy Jackson, with a 4!"
Pre-recorded thunderous applause erupts again from the screen as two pictures, one of the boy and one of the girl, appear side by side with their scores.
"Not the strongest, but definitely respectable, for one of the younger district pairings, am I right?" the announcer gushes, white teeth glistening on-screen.
"It's us, soon!" Jean whispers loudly, stuffing a particularly orange-looking chip into his mouth. My stomach churns, and I feel like I'm about to vomit. I'm gonna suck so bad…
"Next, our darlings from District 7… give it up for Logan Arteficavitch, packing a punch with a 6! And Morgana Foster with a 9! Stellar results, especially for their age and district, I mean, absolutely stellar!"
My jaw drops. The sound is muted in my ears as the announcer comments on both mine and Morgana's performances, and I can barely feel the claps of my allies on my back. I didn't even dream of getting a freaking 6! I mean… it's not perfect, but it's miles better than what I ever thought I'd deserve. I rub my eyes with my knuckles, unable to stem the genuine smile that spreads across my face.
A freaking 6!
"Following, we have District 8's Jean Taylor, with a 4 and Bexley Ward, with a 6. I personally expected a little bit more from these two, but that doesn't mean they're out of the competition yet!"
Still reeling from my success, I chance a look at Jean, who is trying his best to hide the disappointment that spread across his features. I look back down, because I don't want to embarrass him.
"District 9 offers another slightly disappointing result, with 5 allocated to the volunteer Geoff Windsor and a 3 given to Mona Tillery!"
Geoff shifts next to me, sticking out his tongue at the man on-screen.
"Well at least I don't disappoint my wife in bed every night," he mimics with a pretentious Capitolite accent right back at the announcer, who has moved on to District 10.
I chuckle quietly to myself.
And I realize something important. I actually…
"You got the highest score out of the three of us!" Geoff announces with enthusiasm, clapping me on the shoulder. "Congrats, man!"
"That was a bit weird," I admit, blushing, but he laughs at my modesty. I hook my thumbs together, trying to relieve the pressure that has spread to my hands. It's always something that happens when I'm stressed, but I… I actually did well.
"Nonsense, that's awesome! Bask in the glory dude, you're the most competent out of the three of us."
I risk a quick glance at Jean again, and see him pointedly staring at the floor.
He raises his eyes at me, and I'm taken aback by the visible animosity in his gaze that he gets under control almost immediately.
"These scores mean nothing anyways," I try to de-escalate the situation, my cheeks heating up.
Secretly, I am happy that I was able to show my allies that I'm not worthless. These scores mean nothing in the grand scheme of things, but they mean something to me. I hope Dahlia and Damon are watching. I hope they realise how much they have taught me.
Damon swinging his axe, the satisfying thud the axe made as it embedded itself into the oaks native to District 7, showing me his technique and nurturing my love for learning… it's all important. Suddenly I'm overtaken by a wave of uncontainable love for the people that raised me. I hope they know that.
"What did you end up doing in your session to get that?" Geoff asks, putting up his feet on the small coffee table in front of the couch. I'm acutely aware of Jean jutting out his chin at the periphery of my vision.
"Not much," I shrug, and Jean snorts next to me.
"Well, your 'not much' is better than our best, so better spill the beans, partner."
Once again, the hostility in his tone makes me turn around and look him in the eyes in earnest. He isn't taking this really well, and for once, something akin to annoyance momentarily fleets across my mind, like a sparrow flying through your field of vision on a sunny day. It's just a second, but you still notice it.
Jean keeps going.
"Well, you're the one who kept going on and on about how you'd feel like shit if you got the lowest score, but now you just conveniently forget that. How do you think that makes me feel?"
I gawk at this question, my mouth opening and closing uselessly for the second time today.
After a few moments I gather myself.
"Look Jean, I'm sorry you're upset about your score."
"I'm not upset."
He's facing me now, a little bent over his bowl of chips, but staring directly at me.
The seconds that stretch afterwards feel like an eternity, but I keep my eyes on my ally.
Jean deflates after our stare-down, which results in him lowering his eyes in shame. "It's fine, I'm just stressed out. I'm really happy for you Logan."
I want to explain to him that I didn't get the highest score on purpose, but I also know it might not be the right thing to do, now. Another part of me argues that I shouldn't be justifying myself to him at all.
Why should I be justifying myself to him, if he's the one who didn't do well?
It just feels weird right now, that's all.
I hope that weirdness goes away.
Sparkle Aire
District 12 Female, 18
I need another smoke.
I can't seem to find one, conveniently.
All of this garbage just got me all worked up, and I'm actually worried about Daisy.
I turn on the television again, my nails dragging up and down my palm in an effort to calm the animosity that will bubble over at any instant.
I need a fucking cigarette.
I missed the announcement, in my quest to find anyone who could help me with my predicament, but it's as though all Capitol personnel has magically disappeared. Like little scurrying rats, burrowing themselves in their tiny holes to watch our sorry asses displayed on national television.
Like… how hard is it to find a decent smoke in the Capitol?!
You'd think they would have these things lying around for us to take. Kills us district scum faster. Like, fuck, if I want to die from lung cancer, just give me my damn cigarette and let's get this charade over with!
I say it out loud, just for good measure. The empty room doesn't grant my wish instantaneously, so I mentally proclaim this a failure, and try to move on with my life.
You don't always get what you want, Sparkle.
Actually, scratch that, you never do, so might as well get used to it.
I flip my hair indignantly, just to punctuate the point to no one in particular.
Two of my fellow contenders appear on-screen.
"Valentino Ricci and Aderyn Klossner from District 10 earned themselves a 7 and a 4, respectively! Well done, tributes!"
The announcer babbles on about how attractive the pair from 10 are, which makes me want to gag. The girl looks barely fifteen, and it makes me physically ill to think of the way these assholes objectify us.
It's been happening all my life, but I'm used to it.
With absolute revulsion, I think about how their parents must feel, dehumanized and stained, when they hear these commentaries on television. Their children's images forever tarnished with these vile comments that mean nothing to these monsters… at least my family is dead, and they don't get dragged through this shit.
They don't deserve this…
"Second to last, District 11 brings us… Tyree… what's that Eliza? Oh, our tribute mononymously known as Tyree scored a measly 1! That's a bummer! And Jessamine Law does decently with a 5!"
I squint at the little boy on-screen. Tyree.
Weird little fellow in training, and I'm guessing his peculiarity did not strike a chord with the Gamemakers.
Pity.
I'm next on the chopping block, I think humorlessly.
"From District 12, Abel Collingwood finishes off the male tributes line-up with a 6, and Sparkle Aire scores a 5!"
I smirk, even though there's nobody to judge me.
Wow, well if all it takes is to wiggle my butt around suggestively, twirl a spiky baton and smash a few things around me to get a 5…
The entire line-up is visible now. All of the scores are displayed on the screen again with the announcers trilling on and on about some particularly spicy gossip. My eyes naturally gravitate towards Cira Dupont. A 9, for her.
Maybe my competition is weaker than I thought.
I think about it for a second.
I wonder just how these scores work. Just imagine if it's all purely proportional… you double the effort to get a 10, like those assholes from the Career districts. Or that bitch from One who couldn't even manage to get twice as high as I did.
I know for a fact that she worked her ass off, while for me, it's always been a big fat fucking joke.
They all probably trained for this since they were toddlers. Must be disappointing.
If you ask me… absolute losers, the lot of them.
Although they've practiced and worked their asses off, our differences are what… 4, 5 points? That difference is certainly not what's going to end me… it just seems so absurd.
They'll still die in the end, same as me. Same as little Tyree who got a 1. It's all wishful thinking, but it still makes me feel better.
Who will care, in the end?
I'm no expert at these Games, but deep down I know that's not how the rankings work. The effort to get a better score is exponential the higher you go, or some equally bullshit algorithm I couldn't hope to comprehend. So I'm just kidding myself, and these 4 or 5 points of difference will maybe end up biting me in the ass.
Or maybe...maybe they just slap a number on you because they feel like it, to screw with your head.
Whatever their way of judging us is, it still makes me happy to think that on paper, the golden boys and girls of these games could barely manage to get twice the score that I got. And I did it all with a thumb up my ass, metaphorically speaking.
Twelve, maybe thirteen people got the same score as me, or lower. And I know for a fact that I'm smarter and a better survivor than most of them, anyways.
That's… that's pretty good odds. And Daisy got the same score as I did.
I'm actually surprised by that. I'm proud of her.
She was scared shitless, and I thought she was going to collapse in there, and start crying. But she didn't.
That means something. Either my absolute shipwreck of a pep-talk worked, or she has inner strength I hadn't noticed before. Either way, we're together, and it's fitting we both got identical scores.
Even though she probably tried her best while absolutely terrified and I couldn't give less of a shit if I wanted to. Semantics, am I right?
I keep scratching at my palms, getting frustrated by the very distinct lack of cigarette in my hand, just as Abel walks in.
I lazily turn towards, him, and am surprised to see him extend his hand.
"What? Now, you need some comfort?" I pout at him, extending my bangle-adorned wrist dramatically towards his hand. He didn't want anything to do with me during training, and I'm surprised he even decided to approach me now.
"Don't be stupid," he huffs, dropping a solitary cigarette in my outstretched palm.
"You heard me," I say, stating a fact rather than asking the question. Has he been lurking around all this time?
"Yeah, you were railing about it pretty insistently," he mutters under his breath, ready to retreat back again.
"Wow, fancy vocabulary for a Twelve boy… hey… wait, where did you get it?" I ask, now genuinely curious.
"Nowhere, just drop it. Don't make me regret getting it for you," he responds threateningly, turning back to face me. The effect would be intimidating if I didn't know he was an inch shorter than I am, if I stand up.
In my heels, granted… but when am I not in heels, is the real question?
"You know," I start, going over to the scented candle on the coffee table, and prying off the glass encasing with my fingers, "you aren't nearly as mean as you think you are."
I inhale a deep breath, and the familiar swirls of smoke penetrate my lungs.
I feel free again.
I toss my head back, and smile, enjoying the bitter taste in my mouth. This would have rotted my teeth and blackened my gums, but now that I am going to die here, that's never going to happen. It's almost a relief.
"You aren't either," Abel retorts, quietly.
"Well, I guess we're just two losers faking it," I sigh melodramatically, releasing smoke in the stuffy room.
He hums, a sad melancholic noise escaping and circling through the room. I imagine the noise intertwining with the smoke that I release.
I don't know his story and he doesn't know mine, but it's nice to spend that part of the evening, me smoking in silence and him sitting on the couch, his eyes fixed on the carpet.
That is, until the smoke alarm goes off, blaring uncontrollably.
Notes: Hey guys! Writing scores was uh... not my favourite, because it's not the most interesting bit to read about but there you have it. Hopefully it was still worth your while, so I'd love to hear any thoughts. Now that that's out of the way, we have the interviews which will be covered by the Gamemakers, and then the night before the games.
So, things will be picking up pretty quickly after this.
On another note, because of the coronavirus pandemic and yours truly working in a hospital, I get to stay home for a lot of the upcoming 2 weeks since all unnecessary experiments are thereby suspended (so apart for a few little things, I'll be staying at home!). That means that I will probably have a lot more time to write, meaning you will get more content! That's exciting!
Here's a summary of the tribute scores, if you ever want to revisit this chapter for that purpose:
D1M: Ambrox Linden - 11
D1F: Cira Dupont - 9
D2M: Luther Szeto - 10
D2F: Seeva Andino - 10
D3M: Cassius Fleur - 4
D3F: Salamandra Mitch - 8
D4M: Scout Trinian - 2
D4F: Orla Ferraris - 4
D5M: Andrew Vickens - 2
D5F: Mara Griffith - 7
D6M: Roizer Loudon - 5
D6F: Daisy Jackson - 4
D7M: Logan Arteficavitch - 6
D7F: Morgana Foster - 9
D8M: Jean Taylor - 4
D8F: Bexley Ward - 6
D9M: Geoff Windsor - 5
D9F: Mona Tillery - 3
D10M: Valentino Ricci - 7
D10F: Aderyn 'Addie' Klossner - 4
D11M: Tyree - 1
D11F: Jessamine Law - 5
D12M: Abel Collingwood - 6
D12F: Sparkle Aire - 5
Stay safe everyone, wash your hands like a madman, and keep smiling.
Peace and love.
