Very very short update this week. I've had literally no time to write anything properly, so I hope you enjoy this little mess of POV's and arguments!

We also pay a visit to Troi, who, if you have forgotten like I totally did... is a young child from District One who held hands and supported Luster at his reaping, and was so excited to watch his first Games. As I said, this is such a messy, random chapter, but I wanted to get something up because I don't know when I'll be able to update next week.

Troi- District One

He had watched the old man die on the first day. He had watched the little girl get blown to pieces. He had watched the girl get her throat slit, just before the man got stabbed. He didn't know their names or their stories, but he knew that what had happened to them was wrong. Troi's fascination with the Games was changing. The young boy had followed from the start, completely engrossed in the excitement and the adventure of it all. The reapings of children from such a young age had enlightened the six year old to the horrors of the Games and despite knowing exactly what they entailed, he had been so excited to watch it all play out in front of him.

It was like Christmas Day everyday.

That was until the old man from District One had died. Troi had known that man. At Luster's very weakest point, the small child had been there to support him, doing more for him than Troi would ever realise. And now he was dead. Troi had been so separated from the other tributes, he had never known them, and realised that he would never get to know them. But Luster was different, the boy could remember the feel of the old man's dry, cold skin, wrinkles spread across the back of his hand like paths on a map, each one telling a different story of loss and betrayal, of love and happiness. He remembered the man's voice, the kind yet assertive tone, he remembered his warm blue eyes, that seemed to know everything with only one look. Seeing him die, those eyes closing for the final time, had alerted Tori to just how real it was. These weren't characters in the cartoons he watched, they didn't have a new life that would spawn them again when the last one ended, like in his video games. This was it, this was their one shot, and Troi was watching them take it, sometimes missing or stumbling at the last second, or just giving up completely. Even at the young age of six, he could tell that this wasn't right.
Which led him to his next problem- if he knew it was wrong, why did it happen, why couldn't the adults understand what he had?

When he had posed this question to his mother, Chiara, she had almost fainted in happiness. The fixation her child had had with the Games had scared her more than anything, she feared that he would become desensitised to the world, like many of the people that surrounded them in the District, or decide that he wanted to train and compete professionally in the Games. His sudden change in heart to the whole thing had come as a shock, but not one that was unwelcome.

"Troi, I don't know why they still do it." She reached out, ruffling the young boy's hair. "But let me tell you about someone who tried to stop it."

That night, Chaira and Troi sat up for hours. She told the boy about Katniss Everdeen, and Peeta Mellark and the people that had helped them and fought with them and died with them along the way. Lastly, she told him about a man she had never met, a man whose name she had only ever mentioned in passing, knowing that if she focused on it too much, she would break.

"He was the bravest of them all." Chiara smiled, she had heard all the stories about how strong her grandfather had been, dwelling everyday on the sadness that she had never known him. "Finnick Odair fought to his very last breath, he fought against everything that the Capitol and the Games stood for. He fought to make a better world for his son Magnus, my father."

Troi smiled. He knew Grandad Magnus well although they rarely saw each other. He visited a month every winter, and called in whenever he could, still affected by Chiara's decision to move to District One after falling pregnant at 18.

"I miss Grandad." The boy mumbled sleepily, as he laid his head against his mother's chest.

"I do too." Chiara replied, embracing the boy. Her dad spent his time in District Four, fishing and doing everything he could to recover from the death of his mother Annie, years after. It had always been the three of them together, Annie, Magnus and Chiara. Chiara had never known her mother, much like Magnus and his father, and the pair had always shared a close bond. She had hated leaving her father and grandmother to move to One, but was desperate to give her child a life of luxury.

"Mummy?" Troi asked tentatively. "I want to be like them."

"Like who sweety?"

"Like Katniss and like Peeta. I want to be like your Grandad Finnick."

Day Eight- Morning

A gentle hand shook Salome awake. Her eyes snapped open, her arm instinctively drawn towards her weapon, but as she came back to her surroundings, she let it fall, the smiling face of Alfred standing next to her, a few feet away. "Oh, morning!" She stretched out her arms, reciprocating the boy's grin. "I wasn't going to stab you or anything, I promise." Salome continued, pushing herself into a sitting position. "I've actually been meaning to talk to you, and thank you for saving my life."

"Oh, it was nothing." Alfred felt himself blush. He had never thought he would be any type of hero, he wasn't the person that saved other people's lives and protected them. But the warm happy glow he felt within himself was strangely good, a feeling he knew he wanted to hold onto. "I could never have left you there. And even if I had wanted to, your dad would have killed me the second he found out…" He joked, the humour falling flat as he saw the stale look on Salome's face, making a mental note to himself to never say anything like that again. "Anyway." Alfred's plan was to change the subject as quickly as possible. "It's good to see that you're doing well."

"You too, Alfred." Salome squeezed his shoulder gently, before turning to walk over to Jordan. Their camp was now almost non-existent, all the sleeping bags rolled up and packed away, the dying embers of the fire destroyed and washed away. And, by the looks of it, Salome had also slept through breakfast. She cursed herself for being so foolish and caught up in her dreams, but it was so nice to have been able to sleep the whole night. More than food or water, sleep was what she needed, and although Salome would never admit it to her father, last night was the first time she had slept for more than an hour since they had been parted. No matter what state their relationship was in, Salome knew that her father would protect her endlessly, there was nothing he wouldn't do for her, and as long as he was close by, the girl could rest easy.

"Here." Jordan held out a small package as the girl approached. She unwrapped it, a piece of bread and fish, still warm to the touch, presented to her. He smiled lightly, confused at how he had become this type of person. On the outside, Jordan would always be the first to help kids. But anyone over the age of ten? They were not his responsibility. He had fended for himself from that age, why should it be his problem to help them? But something about this arena had shown him that no matter what age, or how strong minded and independent you were, no one should ever have to go it completely alone. Even if it was something as simple as saving some breakfast back, Jordan knew that this simple action was one step in changing who he was for the better. "No one wants to walk miles on an empty stomach."

Almost on queue, Locke spoke up, beckoning the group over to him, Salome nudging Jordan and she saw him roll his eyes. The tributes were a sorry sight, so few of them left now, and those that remained, were hardly in any state to fight. Salome was covered in burns, and purple bruise covering her face where she had fallen in the woods a few days prior, Alfred's muscles ached more and more with every step he took, Florence's leg was still badly sprained and she could barely move herself without help, Jordan's body was broken and cut from his fall. They were a sorry bunch. But worst of all, was Locke. Physically he was fine, but inside, he was constantly tortured by the things he had done, or had forced others to do, the person he had become in the Games was someone he didn't recognise, someone he never wanted to know.
"We need to get going, if we want to make it out of this place before we have to spend another night here, we have to move. I suggest we split up."

"Who died and made you king?" Jordan spoke under his breath, receiving yet another, slightly more aggressive this time, nudge from Salome. "What?" He protested, shrugging his shoulders.

No matter how much Salome wanted to defend her father she couldn't. This was him all over, in situations he often just took the lead, without any discussion about it. That was a trait that had always existed within him, for as long as Salome could remember- the Games couldn't be blamed for this one. She smiled slightly, shaking her head so her hair covered her face, hiding the grin from her father.

It didn't go unnoticed, and neither did Jordan's comment. What was weird, and very out of character for Locke, Salome concluded, was that her father didn't argue, he didn't reply, he simply stepped aside, and waited for someone else to speak up. No one did, however. They all knew that when it came down to it, no matter what he had done, Locke was the best man for the job. If someone had to take control, they wanted the person with the most experience, the man whose life had been building up to the Games.

"Okay, so we split up?" Florence asked tentatively after a few moments of awkward silence. The whole time she had been holding Alfred's hand, standing towards the back, trying so desperately to try not to laugh. The macho show of strength between Jordan and Locke was just so funny, the way neither of them wanted to set their pride aside and realise that the most important thing here was the obvious: not dying. "Then what happens if someone finds the exit? Do we go back and get the others? Or do we just run and hope the rest find their way out?"

"Neither." Alfred nodded his head as a plan formed in his head. "Here." In one swift motion, Alfred swung the bag from his back, Florence taking hold of it as he rummaged around, pulling out two of the white blankets the Capitol had provided for them. Next, he took a few of their precious berries from Florence, crushing them into a thin paint in his hand. Across one of the blankets, he smeared the berries, stanning it a light purple. He handed that one to Salome. "We split into two groups." Another nod, as Alfred checked that the others were still listening. They were. "As we go, every now and then we tie part of this to a tree-"

"What if there is no tree?" Jordan spoke up, sarcastically, obviously embarrassed that instead of formulating a plan like this to overshadow Locke, he had been too busy figuring out more comments to throw at him. Another nudge from Salome, and Jordan was back to his silent self, staring intently and curiously at Alfred.

"Or leave it under a rock, as long as you can see it. We agree to meet back here at sundown, we can follow the cloth to get back here, and then, if anyone finds an exit to the place, we have a record of the way. Even someone as stupid as Jordan can follow a few pieces of blanket, even in the dark." Alfred concluded, his face bright red, partly because of the awkwardness of being stared at, but mostly through nervousness, anticipating whether or not Jordan was about to smash his face in.

Jordan starred on for a few seconds, before he started to clap slowly, walking closer to Alfred as he did so. No matter how much he tried to stand strong, and show Jordan he wasn't scared, Alfred could feel himself shrinking away from the older male as he advanced on him. At the last moment, instead of punching him, Jordan held out his hand for Alfred to shake. He obliged, still nervous that it was some sort of trick, worried that he was about to be thrown to the ground.
"Well played, Brainiac." Jordan said, with surprisingly little venom in his voice. "Well played."

This time Florence couldn't help but smile. Alfred wasn't part of the competition between Jordan and Locke, but somehow he had just beaten them both. She lent in, kissing him gently, before a new problem presented itself.

"I don't want to be anywhere near him."

"And I'm not letting you go anywhere with that asshole."

"You're my daughter, you do what I say."

"Oh God." Alfred let out a sigh, the high that he was on quickly destroyed, the problem of how they would split more prevalent than any joy he would allow himself to feel. Florence placed a hand on his chest, urging Alfred to stay out of the argument between Salome, Locke and Jordan. Whatever happened, the pair would be together, the question of whether or not they would be alone was not theirs to worry about. As much as Florence would have loved to be alone with Alfred, she knew that it wouldn't be a sensible idea. She was still wounded, although her leg was healing, and neither of them were fighters. Heading off into the unknowns of the Labyrinth with only each other for protection was hardly the best idea. Not that they would have much say in what happened, they knew that as the arguing died out between the group of three across from them, whatever they had decided was set in stone.

Salome was the first to speak up, clearly not happy with the outcome. "It's you two and us three."

"But-" Florence tried to interject and voice what they were both thinking- it wasn't fair for the three best fighters to go together. It was clear to see, however, that no matter how much they tried to forge some sort of group mentality, it would never be real. They were still clearly divided, no matter the loss and challenges they had faced together. Jordan and Locke only cared for themselves and Salome, and the young girl cared for everyone, her voice was just over powered by the dominant males.

"Look, I'm not happy with it either. I would much rather Locke went with you. But this is the only way it will work without everything falling completely apart."

Despite Salome's words making total sense, for Alfred, everything already was falling apart. There was no way he would be able to protect Florence and himself, and if she died and he lived, he would never be able to forgive himself. If he died and she lived, he couldn't bear the thought of her being in this thing completely alone. Whatever happened, Alfred's could not see a clear way out. It was becoming more and more common, his clear straight thinking mind becoming clouded and clogged by thoughts and decisions that he couldn't muddle through. He longed for something so much simpler- a maths equation or a scientific experiment, something that made sense, unlike this mess of confusion and wandering.
Florence could see Alfred's mind spiralling, and she reached out a hand to place tentatively on his shoulder, trying so desperately to ground him in reality once more. Focusing on Alfred was doing wonders for her own head, that threatened to go down exactly the same route, questioning every little thing, jumping to worst case scenarios.

"Maybe we should just all stick together?" Florence suggested, figuring it was the only way out.

"No." Jordan snapped, as he and his group prepared to leave. "This is the only way any of us get out of here alive."

Salome walked over, embracing Alfred and Florence quickly. "Stay safe, see you at nightfall."

Florence and Alfred were left with little time to object, not they would have had much success if they had tried, as the trio exited through the right side of the maze. "I guess that means we take left." Florence shrugged, linking her hand with Alfred's.

Mox

Mox didn't know the name of the naked man lying next to her in her bed. She didn't have any wish or intention to learn it either. She knew that it wasn't Clem, and that was enough.
The days since Clem's death had been a constant line of new men and false promises that she knew she would never keep, Mox had made a promise to herself to keep busy at all moments of the day, she wouldn't allow herself to stop and dwell on Clem. Emotions made her work sloppy, and these Games failing any more was something none of the Capitol needed to see. So Mox threw herself into work, and drinking and men, and just about anything other than thinking about the person she had loved so completely and unconditionally.

"Out." She picked up the clothes of the unknown man from the floor and chicken them against his chest. He jolted awake from the light sleep he was in, but within seconds he was on his feet and exiting the room: he knew the drill. Mox hated this time of day, the only time that she was alone. At times like these she had to fight harder to not think about Clam, about the way he always slept wrapped completely in the duvet, or the light snore that always filled the room whenever he slept there.

She kicked off the blankets and walked over to the closest, opening it for the first time since she had watched her boyfriend die. His shirt were still hanging on the rails, his trousers folded neatly at the end, his shoes lined up along the floor like soldiers. Mox pulled out a pull button up, one that she had seen Clem wear on multiple occasions. It was his meeting shirt. She held it to her nose and inhaled deeply, the musky of Clem filling her senses. Mox had seen people do this in movies countless times, but never had she thought that it would have the same effect on her. It was almost like he was standing next to her, embracing her and lecturing her about going to bed. It felt so completely real, and Mox had to use everything in her power not to turn around and kiss a man that wasn't there.

Mox sat down on the side of the bed, holding the shirt close to her chest, allowing herself to think of Clem for the first time. Memories of love and longing and loss filled her mind. For a second nothing existed but him, and them and the love that they had shared.

"Clem." She breathed out his name against the scent of the shirt as the tears began to fall. "I don't know how I'm going to do this without you." She rested a hand on her stomach tenderly. "How am I supposed to raise our child without you?"

Oop so Mox is pregnant with Clem's baby :( I planned this from the start, but I wasn't going to put it in this chapter, until I started writing about Troi and Finnick (which was not planned in the slightest,,, it kind of just happened as I wrote it) and thought that the little connection between the whole fatherless children thing was a good place to add it.

So yeah, this was a very random all over the place chapter, which I don't hate us much as I originally did!

I hope everyone is well and still continuing to enjoy whatever this SYOT has become.

Until next time,

Alice xxx