TW: Less-vague mentions of prostitution

Chapter 3: A Hard Hit

"Riin!"

Janus's voice rang out into the still evening air, disturbing a lone bird resting in one of his hedge trees.

"Riin!"

Not long after they'd returned to Eight, she'd asked — no, demanded — that Janus refer to her by the nickname. He'd felt almost honored by the sense of trust she'd seemingly placed in him with the request. Well, whatever trust he'd previously earned by bringing her back alive, he'd surely lost it just now.

Only the echoes of his call disturbed the twilit neighborhood, not a flicker of his charge in sight. Janus sighed in frustration.

In the time it had taken him to chew Barnabas out for that comment, she'd disappeared. Somehow, he doubted she'd returned to her home. In her semi-common bouts of temper, his own house tended to be the target for her untimely appearances. Having been the location of her upset this time, she couldn't exactly run to his place to vent her frustrations. Apprehensively, Janus's gaze turned towards the gates isolating Victor's Village from the city beyond.

He could hardly place the blame solely on Riin's state of mind, not that he would in the first place. I really should've told her earlier. His reluctance on the matter may be their undoing.

Janus let out a sigh through gritted teeth. It was sickening, the way these people looked at a fourteen year-old girl. Absolutely no shame with their intentions. He'd never felt more visceral disgust for his fellow human beings than he had when gathering sponsors for his charge, the fact that he could do nothing about it. He'd sworn off of violence since his Games — not that it had ever been an issue beforehand — but god, if he'd had the chance, he wouldn't hesitate to grant these people a knife in the gut if it wouldn't mean the immediate execution of himself and his family.

A shuffling of feet heralded Barnabas's approach. "That went well."

"I think I blame you," Janus said nonchalantly.

Petty of him; Barnabas knew it too. "You should've picked a different tribute to care about."

"She's not a tribute anymore, she's a Victor."

"That's the problem."

Janus shot him a glare. The stout man shrugged unashamedly; of course, he'd never brought a Victor home, and sometimes, Janus doubted he ever would. It would take more luck, Janus mused, than it had for Coraline to get him out of the arena.

"Where the fuck did she go, anyways?" Barnabas grumbled, scanning the now-dark skyline, the glittering lights of the ever-busy industrial district.

With a sharp exhale of finality, Janus tore his gaze away from the horizon. "I think I know."

He left Barnabas on the porch, hoping the man would take the hint and crawl back to his own empty mansion.

CRACK!

The flimsy piece of wood splintered in half as Riin's fist drove straight through it, the skin on her knuckles stinging where she made contact with the board. Absently, she set up another, squaring her shoulders and slipping into a fighting stance.

CRACK!

Her hands were shaking. Probably the impact.

CRACK!

The pieces of wood clattered to the floor, catching the attention yet again of Mr. Taffeta, the self-defense class instructor. Riin didn't pay attention to his concerned expression, nor to that of his sparring partner, Hiro, who took the opportunity to sweep the instructor off his feet and pin him to the ground.

Aside from the three of them, the makeshift gym behind Mr. Taffeta's cobbler's shop was empty. As a precaution, he usually restricted his classes to people outside of reaping age to avoid trouble with the law. Riin and Hiro were the exceptions.

Hiro, thanks to a signed letter from the wrestling team's coach saying he needed remedial practice. And Riin, well. Victor's privileges.

"You've got debts to pay, kid."

CRACK!

"Riin?"

Ignoring Hiro's questioning tone, Riin reached for another slab of wood, only to find the stack depleted. With a growl of frustration, she whipped around, eyes peeled for another board hiding somewhere in the gym.

"That's the last of them, I'm afraid," Mr. Taffeta said. "I'll have to think of something else for the Saturday class to do."

Again, Riin's smarting knuckles clenched into fists. She wasn't done.

"Riin…? Hey," Hiro's waving hand caught her attention. "I was wondering if you wanna spar. You look like you need to take some anger out."

Blinking, Riin examined the kid in front of her. Hiro, full name Hiroto Shinengu, stood a solid few inches taller than her, though not as tall as her brother if she had to guess. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead, glistening on his bare, fairly muscular arms. Clearly, he'd been here for a while, as usual. More often than not, it was Riin who ended up flat on her back at the end of their sparring sessions.

That didn't stop her from launching herself towards him without so much as a word.

Hiro grunted when Riin's heel struck him square in the chest, driven back a few steps. To his credit, he recovered quickly, maintaining his balance and retaliating with a flurry of punches she barely managed to block.

Bouncing on her toes, Riin danced out of Hiro's reach, the kick he's been aiming at her side swiping empty air. In her peripheral, the door to the gym entrance swung open, and she caught sight of neatly polished Oxfords clacking on the wooden floor. Astutely, she ignored the newcomer, maintaining focus on her opponent. Those shoes could only belong to one person, and Riin had zero intentions of speaking with him right now.

She threw herself at Hiro again, her bare fist aimed for the side of his face, the blood pumping in her ears drowning out the sound of Janus's voice.

Blocking the blow, Hiro sent her flying with a well-placed kick. The padded floor caught her in a rough embrace, driving the air from her lungs. No doubt she'd be covered in bruises tomorrow.

Janus's face appeared above her. "Are you finished?"

Glowering, Riin pulled herself to her feet, forcing her breathing into even, rhythmic hisses. Again, she charged at Hiro, only for him to swat her away like a bothersome fly. "Come on, you can do better than that," Hiro taunted lightheartedly, shuffling back and forth in the balls of his feet.

Frustration boiled in her blood, hot and venomous. This wasn't what she wanted when she came here, to be tossed around and toyed with by a kid twice her size. Baring her teeth, she dragged herself up from the mat, huffing the stray hairs from her eyes. She won the Hunger Games, for fuck's sake; she deserved the right to kick someone's face in.

With more caution this time, Riin lunged again, feinting in hope of tricking him into dodging and leaving an opening for her to strike.

Instead, Hiro merely absorbed the weak hit, bruntly jabbing a fist into her chest. Before she could fully process the turn of events, he'd swept her legs out from beneath her, pinning her to the mat. The same tactic, she realized with mounting indignation, that he'd used against the instructor just now.

Riin struggled fruitlessly under Hiro's hold, feeling desperation creep into her movements. No. It's not fair, she thought, attempting to throw him off. I won already. I won! Any second. Any second now, his hand would wrap around her throat and rip the life from her body, or pull a knife from his belt and drive it through her heart—

A knife. She still had one, in her pocket from Janus's.

"Alright, I think that's enough." Her mentor's voice sounded oddly distant, far away.

Hiro nodded in assent. "Nice, Riin; I think you're getting better."

Riin felt his grip loosen as he released her; in an instant, she threw her weight into her unexpecting opponent, tackling him and drawing the knife in a swift motion. Hiro let out a shout of surprise, his hands catching her wrists as the blade angled towards his throat.

Ignoring the vague shouting in the background, Riin pressed her advantage, straining against Hiro's defense until a rough hand yanked her backwards by the shirt collar.

The knife fell uselessly from her grasp, and Riin cried out in protest, choking on the neckline of her shirt. With a safe distance between her and her opponent, the pressure loosened, but didn't fade completely, and she wrenched her head to see her mentor's stony expression, his dark eyes hard as flint. "What are you thinking?" Janus hissed.

"Let me go," she demanded. He didn't; Riin jerked out of his grasp, only for his hand to grab her shoulder, pinning her in place.

In front of her, Mr. Taffeta knelt next to a wide-eyed Hiro, helping the still-stunned kid to his feet. "I'm fine, really," Hiro insisted, brushing the instructor off.

Seeing that he was indeed uninjured, Mr. Taffeta turned his attention to Riin, his countenance severe. "You seem to have forgotten the rules of this gym," he said stiffly.

Beneath Riin's skin, nameless emotions still simmered like acid. None of it would help her now, however, so she wrested them beneath a mask of apologetic shame and bowed her head. "I didn't mean to," she said softly. "I just sort of—panicked."

Unlike most of the other adults, Mr. Taffeta didn't bother treading delicately around her. "You very well could've killed Hiroto. I am very tempted to ban you from this establishment." Riin's eyes widened in dismay. Clearly, he wasn't as much of a coward as the schoolteachers. "I won't," he said through clenched teeth, "but you are not allowed back without an adult escort." Riin opened her mouth to protest, but a squeeze to her shoulder from Janus silenced her. "This will not happen again, do you hear me?"

Riin nodded curtly, her mouth suddenly too dry to speak. It wasn't fair.

After a muttered apology to both Taffeta and Hiro, Janus guided her out of the gym. Funny, she hadn't realized how cold it was until now. Outside, flurries of snowflakes began to descend into the city, reinforcing Riin's latent trembling with cold-induced shivers. Janus wordlessly draped his jacket around her hunched form as he pulled out his cellular to call a cab.

Their ride back to Victor's Village was silent. Riin had opened her mouth to yell, to argue, but Janus shook his head, subtly indicating the cabbie with his eyes. Over-cautious, probably, but Riin shut her mouth. She certainly didn't want this to be the talk of the town.

The cab pulled up to the gates of Victor's Village, where Janus and Riin stepped back outside into the growing snowstorm. Whose house would bear the weight of the coming discussion, Riin wondered. Janus's contained only Zhara; she doubted Barnabas would've lingered after their conversation. Behind Riin's door waited her parents and brother. The idea of them eavesdropping on whatever her mentor might say was unbearable.

Janus stopped at her house, and Riin gave him a look. He handed her the keys she'd left on his table when she'd walked out of their meeting, which she snatched from his palm.

The opening of the door summoned Riin's mother like a vulture to a dead body. "Thariin!" She must've just gotten off a shift in town as she still wore her Peacekeeper's uniform. Riin tried not to flinch. "You'd better have a good excuse for being out in this weather, young lady; I swear—" She cut herself off upon seeing Janus in the doorway.

"Valdora. A pleasure to see you, as always." There wasn't even a hint of sarcasm in his voice; Riin was impressed. "Good evening, Iden, Hanada. I do apologize for interrupting your dinner, but I must steal Thariin away for an important discussion."

Riin briefly met Iden's questioning eyes where he sat at the dinner table with their father. She shook her head ever so slightly, and he frowned.

Valdora grumbled, but said nothing as Janus and Riin traipsed upstairs, past the second floor, and into the attic, which housed a spacious study that Riin claimed as her own. Her father had tried to secure it as an extra space for his embroidery projects, but Riin won that argument with a harsh glare and a reminder that the house was hers, after all. She sat now with her legs curled up in a comfortable plush chair, similar but not too similar to the ones that had been in her apartment at the training center.

"They shouldn't be able to hear us up here," Riin said neutrally from her perch. Janus stood across the room with his back to her, absently gazing out a circular window. "Well? Spit it out," she demanded.

Janus obliged. "There are rules to winning and mentoring. What Barnabas said was… true, unfortunately," he admitted, the weariness heavy in his tone. "The Capitol will sell you to the highest bidder, and you will comply if you want your tributes to have a ghost of a chance."

The cold feeling of dread was back, bubbling in Riin's stomach. She hadn't felt this way since… since being in the arena. "When you say 'sell'..."

"Prostitution," Janus said flatly. Riin's eyes widened.

"Not all sponsorship gifts come from this," he continued, pacing across her expensive carpet. "Sometimes the Capitolites like an underdog. But if your tributes aren't…" He trailed off, struggling for a word.

Riin interrupted him. "What's the point?" she hissed. "If they're going to die anyways, then why bother?"

Janus stopped pacing to stare at her. "Let me rephrase my earlier statement," he said, the warning evident in his tone. "They do not take kindly to being refused. And right now, you have a brother still within reaping age and two parents of whom their exact location is known to many people at every hour of every day."

Oh.

Riin's breath hitched in her throat. So that was the game now. Instead of "kill or die," it had become "let them do whatever they please with you or they kill your family."

So effective in its simplicity.

It felt unreal. Riin recalled the haze of her banquet, how the people had felt the need to touch her, to tug at her arms, her dress, her hair. Back then, it had merely annoyed her; now the notion made her heart flutter with dread.

Below her, she could imagine the sounds of her family sharing dinner together; maybe her mother had finally changed out of her uniform to relax with her loved ones. Her father, outlining the details of his next embroidery project; she hadn't remembered what he'd decided on earlier. And Iden, no doubt staring off into space as he pondered what Riin and her mentor could be discussing.

But within, the fear spread like Widow venom, expanding from the pit in her stomach into her chest, her limbs. She curled in tighter around herself, trying to focus on her breathing. The prospect of losing her life in the arena had instilled a terror within her bones, a determination that carried her throughout the Games to emerge as the Victor.

She hadn't imagined that there could be something more daunting than that. Riin wasn't prepared for the way her body shook like a leaf at the thought of what Janus was proposing. "I won't." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Riin…"

"I won't."

There was a pause where Janus glanced out the window at the building snowstorm. "They usually wait until you're sixteen," he said, choking on the words like poison.

"'Usually'?"

"I can buy you until then. To figure things out."

Riin bit her lip to stop it from trembling. Shit; she'd forgotten about her teeth. The taste of blood filled her mouth, and Riin wordlessly wiped it with her sleeve. Unbidden, tears pricked at her eyes, and Riin caught them as well before they could roll down her cheeks.

Janus noticed; of course he did. "I'm sorry, Thariin." Sorry doesn't even begin to cover it.

It wasn't Janus's fault; she knew that. Directing her fear and anger at him would be pointless. Directing it at the Capitol would be just as fruitless. But damn it all if Riin didn't wish for a weapon in her hands — a knife, a bottle of poison, anything — and someone to kill for her troubles.

Riin's control over the situation — over her life — had flipped in the matter of few careless words. No doubt it had been an illusion to begin with; she knew that now.

Fortunately, she had time. A month and a half, before her Victory Tour. A month and a half to learn her new opponents. And a month and a half until she faced her dead ones. That was a whole other beast in itself.

She needed control, sooner rather than later. She'd be joining her family for dinner shortly, after all. Right now, she needed to pull herself together.

And so she did.

Riin's family had nearly finished their meal by the time she and Janus emerged from upstairs. To her parents' irritation, Iden had offered Janus a plate, which he gratefully accepted, imposing his presence upon the Kres's for that much longer.

Riin didn't understand her parents' mistrust of Janus. He'd brought her back alive, after all; they should be grateful. Maybe it was because Janus tended to defer to Riin rather than them on matters regarding her house, her future, etc. Either way, Janus seemed to take some small entertainment from their annoyance, which Riin found amusing.

"So, what were you guys talking about?" Iden asked as Riin and Janus settled themselves at the table with fresh plates of steaming chicken stew.

Riin tensed, shooting her mentor a furtive glance.

There was no need for her to worry. "We were just discussing Riin's talent," Janus lied smoothly, and Riin exhaled a silent sigh of relief. "Unfortunately, we haven't settled on anything yet."

"What about embroidery?" her father suggested for the third — or was it the fourth? — time.

Riin ground her teeth on her fork. "I don't feel like doing that," she reminded him. Sure, she could handle the skill, but she had zero interest in spending hours staring at the same piece of fabric, as evidenced by her unfinished embroidered strawberry project.

"But you've got such a talent for it, darling," her father insisted.

Riin pondered the thought again. "It could be a backup," she relented. "If you finish the pieces you've been working on, I could just use those." Hanada frowned at that.

"You will not," her mother said with a stern glare.

"Maybe you could choose something a little more… applicable," Janus suggested.

"Like what?"

Janus didn't have an immediate answer for her, swirling around the stew in his bowl. "Cooking, maybe?"

Riin wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Nah, that's no good," Iden said from where he stood in the kitchen washing the dishes. "She can barely make pasta," he teased.

"Not true!" Riin protested, shooting him a glare. "I did some cooking in the arena."

"That doesn't count," Iden said with a laugh.

"Sure it does."

"What about singing?" her brother suggested. "You've got a nice singing voice."

Oh hell no. "Absolutely not," she said out loud. Iden knew how she felt about singing in front of people; it simply did not happen.

"Really?" Janus asked. "I wasn't aware of that."

"It's not important," Riin said dismissively. "What did you do for yours, anyways?"

"Clothing design," he said as if it was obvious. And it was; Riin remembered he'd told her that he'd made his own Reaping day suit the year he was chosen. "I was infinitely better with men's clothes than women's, but I've improved a bit because of Zhara."

It must've been an easy decision for him. Useful too, since he clearly still practiced the skill.

"What about knitting?" her mother prompted. "They taught you how to knit at school, right?"

"Yes, but I can't knit a sweater in a month," Riin said tersely, stabbing at her stew with her fork.

"I still think you should do embroidery," her father said.

Riin smiled at him, wide enough to make her eye twitch. "That's great," she said sarcastically.

"I've got an idea," Janus said, replacing his fork in his now-empty dish. "What about tea making?"

Riin stared at him incredulously. "How is that useful? That's not even a talent."

"Sure it is," He shrugged casually. "There's a wide variety of plant combinations you could choose from, and numerous different styles of preparation. And then everyone will be forced to drink whatever you put in front of them."

A contemplative silence met his words, her parents shooting each other uneasy glances. Slowly, a smile began to spread across Riin's face as she took in the meaning of his suggestion. Meeting his eyes, Riin knew Janus's thoughts were still on their earlier discussion. He was aiming for two birds with this stone, thinking three steps ahead of the game, and he offered a small smile in return.

"I'll do it," Riin decided. "How do we start?"

Janus stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hm, there was only a small description on it in the catalogue we were sent. I think we'll have to order some supplies from some of the farming districts."

"Tea making," Iden mused, plopping down in the chair across from her. "That's only one step behind making pasta. Do you think you can handle that?"

In response, Riin used her fork to launch a pea into his hair.

A/N: *cringing noises* I hate it here. I rewrote the beginning half of this chapter like 2 or 3 times because. Meh. Difficult.

Also, would it be helpful if I included POV headers for each time I change characters? I try to make it fairly obvious who's speaking, and while the main focus will be on Riin, there will be more parts from both Janus and Iden's POV.

Anyways, for personal reasons, there will most likely not be a True Vengeance update this week, unless, by some miracle, I can spit the entirety of it out in a day. But I doubt that; plus it's an important one, and I want to do it justice, so. Yeah. There's gonna be more interruptions to the schedule soon, but I'll just bring that up next week lmao. Hopefully I'll have an update for both TSAW and TrV then ! Bye

- Nell