From across his ornate, mahogany desk, Captain Onassis eyed seven-year-old cadets Rodriguez and Noriega as they sat down on opposing chairs. He stifled his smirk as the two children held their steely gaze toward him. The transition from sniveling orphan to child solider was always interesting to watch.
Onassis then glanced up at the Seaman who stood at parade rest just feet away. He looked worse for wear, his face battered like a bruised tomato which was made to look worse with that angry glower on his mug. Onassis was also surprised that he managed to get his arm – which was in a sling – into position for a proper parade rest.
"Cadets," Onassis said. "Explain yourselves."
Cadet Noriega nodded. "Joyceta doesn't speak English good, sir."
Joyceta rubbed at her cheek, which welted from the baton that struck it.
The Captain nodded. Despite the added remediation, many cadets struggled mastering the English language beyond the basics. For next year, he may immerse them fully in English. "Doesn't speak English well you mean. And...?"
"The Seaman hit her, which was very rude –"
"She was falling behind the other students..." the Seaman groused, which earned a hand from the Captain – his way of silencing the NCO.
The Captain raised an eyebrow. "So you attacked the seaman, why?"
"Because, Agnes said that you can't leave your partner behind while they get hurt! District partners during the Games might not have a chance to win if they don't help each other out!"
He turned toward Joyceta. "Is it true Cadet Rodriquez, did Cadet Noriega help you?"
She nodded. "Si Capitan. And I helped him because were partners."
"What about your other squadmates? Aren't they your partners too?" Onassis inquired.
"Mhm, but since the first day we met we promised we would help each other." She explained with a bright smile, something Francisco returned with equal earnest. "He promised me."
...
I promised her.
"Francisco!?"
Francisco, dejected, angry and just pain tired, watched as the cat mutts enclosed on Joyceta. Steadily, she scooped up a spear and a rapier and sheathed the latter. Hunched low, she jabbed out at any mutt who tried to make a move on her. His mind was literally torn. What could I possibly do? We're in the Hunger Games, two partners go in and hopefully one comes out the victor. And that would be him.
That's the way it had to be.
Joyceta cried out again as the mutts prowled closer from all sides. "Francisco!?"
While his hand twitched around the sheath of his bowie, he tapped his foot against the steel of the horn.
Or was it? Am I really going to stand by and watch her get mauled to death?
What can you do...? There's no way you can fix this situation...
She was my friend, mi acere, maybe even more than that, if our interviews counted for anything. It was a spontaneous ploy to appear more typical, but I knew better than to believe that. The constant giggling with her friends every time I walked by them, the constant staring...Marceline was right, there was something there!
Well, you can live as a broken victor, or you can tough it out with your fireteam partner. See where things go.
He shrugged as he picked up a discarded spear and his short sword. Acere por siempre.
"Joyceta!" He shouted as he leapt off the horn and bolted toward the pack of mutts. He singled out one and jabbed his spear into its side as it cried out and collapsed immediately. He gave it one more jab to the eye for good measure.
He could hear his petty officers from his time in training in his head barking at him to haul his ass back onto the cornucopia so he could give Snow Island a win.
The mutts immediately retreated as he barreled over to the center where Joyceta stood and jutted his spear toward them menacingly. Slowly but surely, they inched their way to the mouth of the horn, where more obstacles lay between them and the mutts.
"What are you doing?" she gasped. Her hands gripped the sides of his shoulders like no tomorrow. It was as if time froze still...The mutts had yet to make a move, as if they were waiting for them to finish. He wanted to look away, though he didn't know if it was because the mutts could maul them at any moment, or because her mud brown eyes bored into his in a way he couldn't decipher.
"I promised that I would protect you and you would protect me." He nodded as a tired smile twitched across his lips. "I don't feel like giving up that promise just yet. Acere por siempre, remember?"
Joyceta cupped his jaw and kissed him full on the lips. He didn't even have time to close his eyes like they did in the movies as she was on him in an instant. She tasted of blood from her cracked lip and sweat from days of exertion but he didn't care one bit. His chest burned like no tomorrow. She quickly pulled back, her hand lazily dragged from the top of his mottled quaff to his ear.
Joyceta nodded, her lips pursed. "Acere por siempre." She repeated quietly.
He nodded just as a growl from one of the mutts brought them back to reality. Back to back, they braced themselves for the oncoming storm. He could feel Joyceta's heart beating a mile a second, not to mention his.
"So...What's the plan?" Joyceta asked.
He gulped as he tightened the grip on his spear. "Just keep fighting till we can't anymore..."
It started with one mutt from his side as it pounced toward him, fangs bared and claws extended. A quick jab of its spear into its chest was enough to put it on its back, followed by a jab to the stomach to finish it off.
They came in ones or twos, never the whole pack, which formed a sea of grey around them. The Gamemakers must be trying to draw this out. Soon enough, all his actions became mechanical. A grey blurr streaked across his vision, he would jab out until that blurr stopped moving.
Watch, wait until they got close, jab, jab, dead.
Watch, wait until they got close, jab, jab, dead.
Watch, wait until they got close, jab, jab, dead.
Watch, duck their pounce, jab, jab, dead.
Watch, duck their pounce, jab, jab, dead.
Watch, backpedal, jab, jab, dead.
Clamber onto crate, kick, jab, jab, dead, jab, dead, jab, dead, jab, dead.
Retreat from crates while covering our backs, move to mouth of horn, jab, dead, jab jab, dead.
There was a moment or two where the mutts would score a hit. His left leg was bleeding from a cat sinking its fangs into him and there were three bloody claw marks on Joyceta's back.
He didn't know how long they were at this for. Their spears ran dull some time ago, so now he was onto his bowie knife and sword and Joyceta was onto her rapier and those were losing their edge. They only sure way they could tell about their progress was the heap of mutt bodies that piled up at the mouth of the cornucopia.
Those bodies held the fresh ranks of mutts at bay who were waiting to burst through and make a meal out of the both of them.
He could do a hundred reps of pushups or sit ups or run the pacer test until level twenty, but this was too much. He knew Joyceta could do the same and probably better. Their unit didn't call her la conejita – the bunny – for nothing. The bunny had no energy left how however as he watched her while she toppled onto her fours. He tugged her to her feet, to no avail.
"Come on Joyceta, you gotta keep fighting." He pleaded. The top half of the mutt bodies toppled over to reveal a multitude of jaws snapping toward them.
It was no use, as Joyceta huffed and puffed in response. Her skin was as pale as the snow on the ground and her eyes held deep, unsightly bags under them. She was spent and he was too.
Nonetheless, he shook his head of the cobwebs and took up position before the downed Joyceta with his blades brandished. But he'd keep fighting for her – for the both of them. Just like when he did against that seaman, the other cadets or throughout these past couple of days in the area.
He his breaths grew shorter and shorter by the second as more and more bodies were being pushed aside until there were no more bodies to be pushed aside. Three mutts entered and snarled at him as they slowly prowled forward, the middle one roared so loud he wanted to drop his weapons and submit to them right there and then.
He was about to charge at the middle one when the trio suddenly halted their advance toward them. He glanced at Joyceta to make sure that he wasn't just seeing things. She shared the same shocked expression as he. So I'm not seeing things.
He nearly jumped when the Horn of Plenty began to blare. He turned back to the mouth of the horn, only to see the remaining mutts retreating back into the woods. He immediately scooped up Joyceta as they both hobbled over the bodies and out of the mouth to cheers and fireworks.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Victors of the Ninety-Fourth Hunger Games: Joyceta Rodriquez and Francisco Noriega of Snow Island!"
He immediately turned to Joyceta, who gasped with elation as she enveloped him in a hug. They both crumpled to their knees, which stung him but he didn't care one bit. They won. They brought pride to Isla Nieve after ten years of Games and he kept Agnes' lesson in his heart all the while.
Never leave a partner behind, not if you can help it.
He did what he was supposed to do, like a good soldier ought to do.
His grip intensified around Joyceta. "Acere por siempre?"
Joyceta breathed into his neck. "Acere por siempre."
What the hell happened?
Joyceta smiles faintly in an attempt to keep up appearances. Though she wasn't sure what type of appearances she was trying to keep up, what, with Francisco being Panem's "Newest Playboy" with other girls drooling after him everywhere he goes, a wedge gradually ruined their relationship. There was no explanation. One day, he just decided to allow different girls of the week in the crook of his arm – like a real wanderer.
Believe it or not, she yearned for her days back at the Academy, back when things were simple. Back when she was with her old unit training up to be a Peacekeeper and defend Panem by land, sea or air.
Chronologically, she barely lived the life of a victor. At seventeen years old, she was already tired of the fancy clothes or the luxury cars or the constant tabloids about her being 'jealous' of him...She was jealous – and angry – but it didn't make the rags right in the way they always exaggerated things.
She was glad that she served Isla Nieve well, pushing the island above its already coveted status in Panem's system. On the other hand, she was still wide-eyed by the whole experience. She blames her victory at an early age for that. The adoring fans, the fan clubs, the commercials...She secretly hated it all, very much content with her house in Victor's Village.
"Lo hiciste muy bien. Estoy orgullosa de ti." Melanie chirps into her ear.
There were other things that made the experience worthwhile. Melanie was one of them even though she gave Nine's escort –Sindy Wellington – a run for her money in terms of...silliness.
She smiles when Rafaela cranes an arm around her neck. Where would she be without Rafaela – her unofficial big sister? Being in such a regimented place as the Academy, Joyceta wasn't really versed in the nuances of being a young woman...especially with Francisco around. Raf came in handy when it came to a plethora of issues and to have her win right after they did was the greatest feeling that they were still riding high off of.
Joyceta accepts cordial greetings from the other victors. Gwen, the Sixes and the Ones...All of them were fairly decent people, but they weren't familia – family.
She just wishes that Francisco was back with her...Then maybe things would be more tolerable.
He wished that she could understand.
Up in the presidential box, Francisco waves out to his adoring fans. On the opposite side of the fence, he enjoyed the life of a victor. His tenure at the academy – its ethics and purpose to him – was for the most part dissolved. He kept some parts, yeah, but he was a victor now, there was no need to be so regimented. He did his duty, he brought pride to his Island and to Panem. He deserves to relax now and hopefully bring more victors under Isla Nieve's belt.
There was so many people he was exposed to, singers, actors, fans...He took it all in stride when he was lifted out and wasn't planning on stopping. Still, he glances out toward the first row where Joyceta sits, hoping that she would turn around and face him, to no avail.
The president's niece, Saoirse, waves toward the crowd as if she were the center of attention. She then lays her head on Francisco's shoulder, sighing as her free hand roams the entirety of his right bicep.
"Let's get outta here..." she coos. "My parents won't be home. They'll probably be partying the night away until 4AM."
I pat her bubble flipped hair. "I'll join you soon. I have Games duties to do."
She whines. "Can't Rafaela and...Joyceta handle it?"
Francisco shakes his head no, but in truth, yes. Francisco just wants to finally explain things to Joyceta. Maybe after finally telling her why things were the way they are, she might understand.
He didn't know why, maybe a nervous habit, Francisco glances over to President DeWynter herself, who seems to have been watching him prior to his turning to him. Winking at him, her ruby red lips curl into a smile, a smile that he returns out of necessity rather than pleasantry.
"How about a special thanks to Snow Island mentor Aristotle Onassis, who advised Snow Island tribute for ten years before bringing home the trio we've come to adore!"
Rear Admiral Onassis waves lazily toward the crowd. Like Prime Minister Gideon Montresor famously says, he's not really in it for the adoration. He's a Peacekeeper first and foremost – a soldier.
He was given an order and he carried out that order to the best of his ability. Though, he couldn't help but relish at the fact that he was right after all about yearning Joyceta and Francisco to volunteer – separately and privately without either one knowing of course.
Of course there was so much that could go wrong with two emotionally attached tributes volunteering at the same time, but Aristotle likes to think that the training helped immensely. Training them up from such a young age offered that maturity to the relationship that pushed them above the competition.
At best he was expecting at least either one or the other to win...not both. Maybe Agnes was right about the duo.
As for the twenty-odd tributes that didn't make it back. Well, they still serve a purpose in death. Those an observer would call 'innocent' are spared another year because of his Career program. They played their role and played it well.
Aristotle smirks as he politely embraces Joyceta, Rafaela and Melanie, who lead the crowd in a standing ovation.
It was all in their hands now. They were young, ambitious...mature? Mentoring was a game of trial and error. They would swing or miss but again, he was sure that they had it all down pat.
A/N: Forgive my horrible Spanish...Acere in Cuban Spanish is friend...The rest is Google Translate.
Why is this one so long? I think its because out of all the victors I conjured up in 2015 when gearing up to make my first SYOT, Joyceta and Francisco were the only ones with actual thought planned into them. If anyone is into sci-fi, you may know where I adopted Joycisco's training regimen from.
For those of you who voted, I think you find them interesting due to the little dynamic you may have seen from time to time, that and the age in which they won at, makes them all the more interesting.
Same goes with Gwendolyn Faraday. Age plus the current plot plus her method of winning, which I hope people liked...
Rafaela because she won the first SYOT, of course.
That blog I have on my page, is pretty much null and void at the moment.
Onto the last moment...