A/N
I would put some words here, but I have none. Enjoy the finale, I guess?
(a big shout-out to my boy Ben for doing another live reading! You are a legend, and I'll send you some throat soothers in the post)
Hesmina Caspum, District Seven Female
The light stung Hesmina's eyes as she stepped through the open double doors at the end of the corridor. She squinted, trying to peer through the curtain of brightness that stood before her. Raising her free hand to shield her eyes, her other hand still gripping onto the moist handle of her axe, Hesmina took a few cautious steps forwards.
Hesmina's body broke through the wall of light, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to her surroundings. They were still damp with tears.
She could still taste Barric's muskiness on her lips; still feel his rough skin against hers; still hear those three words whispered between breaths. Hesmina had always dreamed of being in love, but now she wished she'd never known it. The pain in her heart was almost unbearable, and she wondered what was keeping it beating beneath her ribs.
Hesmina's eyes widened as she looked around her. The courtyard outside the manor was decorated in a manner fit for an exclusive party for the high ranking members of society. Large balloons filled with colour-changing lights were scattered around like the wild daisies that popped up in the forests back at home; and there were various spectacles that attracted attention such as exquisite water features and their fiery counterparts. In the centre of the courtyard stood an impressive golden rose, very much like the cornucopia, but instead of being the proud centrepiece of a fountain, it graced what looked to be a dancefloor.
"Hesmina," the sound of the Head Gamemaker echoed into the otherwise silent evening. "How nice of you to join the party –fashionably late as well."
Hesmina bit her lower lip hard, drawing a droplet of blood, as she tried not to react to the taunt. Her eyes stung as fresh tears pricked at them.
"Please stand in the remaining corner of the dancefloor," the Head Gamemaker instructed.
She obeyed, like a slave, her steps unstable as her body still trembled in the aftermath of the murder she had just committed.
Murder.
Hesmina had taken a life. Worse; she had taken the life of someone she had cared for deeply.
A small indescribable sound came from her right. Hesmina glanced over and saw Piken standing in a corner of the dancefloor, his eyes heavy and looking exhausted. He offered Hesmina a tiny flicker of a smile as she walked past, but Hesmina could barely manage to twitch her lips in return. Her gaze returned to her feet, watching her boots take uneasy steps on top of the dancefloor which seemed to almost move beneath her. It was though the floor was made of rippling water, though the surface felt solid and flat. It seemed to change colour; turquoise seeping into a dark ocean blue, which in turn trickled into a deep purple hue.
Once she reached the designated corner, Hesmina turned around to face the central rose.
In the two opposite corners stood the other survivalists of the duels. The girl from Four's presence was unsurprising; though she appeared a little more dishevelled than the last time Hesmina had seen her, standing at the foot of the staircase inside the manor. She still had her two weapons, though where one of them had been strapped to her back earlier, they were both now firmly in her hands. Risa –as Hesmina remembered her name –avoided eye contact as Hesmina's gaze drifted in her direction. Her eyes appeared focused directly forwards, staring straight into the golden rose, displaying not a single flicker of emotion.
The last tribute standing with them was the boy from Twelve. Hesmina couldn't quite remember his name, though she couldn't quite remember much about the boy at all. That was probably how he had survived so long, she thought. The boy didn't strike her as a deadly killer either, though she knew that each of them standing in the courtyard would have at least one set of blood on their hands. This was, after all, an exclusive event by invitation only –and the entry fee was murder.
I'm finally at peace, Hes.
With the last remaining shred of hope she had left, Hesmina prayed that Barric was at peace. He deserved all the peace the world, and what waited beyond, could offer. Peace that Hesmina would never feel again, not with the guilt that was beginning to consume her, knowing that the memory would never leave her mind for as long as she held breath in her lungs.
"Congratulations," the voice returned. "You have made it to the finale of the Eighty Sixth Hunger Games. In special memory of our beloved President, we have prepared this celebration in his honour. Drinks, canapes and decorations."
There was an eerie pause.
"Though of course, we were so very hopeful that you four would provide the…entertainment, for our party tonight. It isn't a party without entertainment, is it not?"
Hesmina drew in a deep breath, her lungs aching from her prior screams.
"One of you lucky tributes is about to become a Victor," he drew the short speech towards its conclusion. "So fight well, as your lives depend on it. And, as always, may the odds be ever in your favour."
There were a few moments of silence as the four of them remained as still as the night around them.
As Hesmina drew in a breath she was cut short as something suddenly pierced through the air in front of her, like a bullet firing from a gun, only larger.
A gasp sounded immediately afterwards.
Hesmina's eyes darted to where the object had come from; the opposite corner where she saw Risa standing with one arm extended in front of her… down to just one weapon when seconds earlier she'd been holding two.
Slowly turning her head, Hesmina retraced the flight path of the object, her gaze landing on the resting place of the first of the Career's weapons.
"Piken!" Hesmina screeched, though barely a whisper came out as her throat was raw and her lungs tired of screaming.
Her district partner looked down at his stomach, where the spear-like weapon had skewered him like a piece of meat, the tips of the prongs jutting out cleanly from the back of him.
There was an echoing silence as Hesmina turned and began to run towards Piken. Time seemed to slow to an agonising pace as her boots skidded across the glass floor, racing to reach her ally before his knees hit the ground.
Piken's weight was substantial as Hesmina hooked her arms underneath his, keeping him on his feet. He was far larger and heavier than Hesmina, so her slim, toned arms quaked beneath his weight.
"Come on, Pike," she said to him desperately, her voice breaking. "Help me out here –you're not done yet."
The slightest amount of weight seemed to lift from Hesmina's tense grip as she heard Piken grunt. She half-dragged, half-guided, her friend off the edge of the dancefloor, spotting a bar nearby.
Out the corner of her eye, Hesmina could see Risa racing towards the boy from Twelve, who was trying to shield himself behind the solid structure of the golden rose.
Hesmina knew Piken had been afforded a portion of time whilst the Career was otherwise distracted, but she imagined it wouldn't be long enough to patch Piken up to a stable level where he had a chance to outlive the other tributes.
"Behind the bar," Hesmina instructed, encouraging Piken to force his body behind the temporary cover of the counter.
Piken muttered something under his breath before releasing the tension in Hesmina's arms by supporting his own bodyweight. He stumbled towards the bar, clutching hold of the weapon that was still puncturing his body to keep it from tearing his flesh further. He managed to reach the bar, but his legs buckled beneath him shortly afterwards.
A panic rose within Hesmina. If Piken died, there would be two final deaths standing between her and home; yet she felt compelled to make every effort to save her friend, as he would have done for her.
Hesmina couldn't save Royal. She couldn't save Cambric, nor Dalton.
She couldn't save Barric.
But she would save Piken. Or she would die trying.
As Piken dragged himself behind the bar, Hesmina turned her attention back to the dancefloor.
The boy from Twelve was still hanging on, managing to dodge Risa's attacks as they circled the golden rose. It dragged back memories of the first few minutes of the arena, when Hesmina had narrowly escaped the boy from One, dodging his clawed attacks whilst water gushed at her ankles—
A sudden thought entered Hesmina's mind.
Perhaps the rose was more like the cornucopia than she had initially thought.
She sprinted back to the edge of the dancefloor, looking straight down at it. The lights continued to swirl beneath the glossy surface, just like the way the shallow waters of the fountain around the cornucopia had rippled. An idea began to form in Hesmina's head.
If time was what Piken needed, time was what Hesmina would give him.
Kneeling down, Hesmina took her axe in both hands. She raised her arms above her head, squeezing her eyes shut as she swung downwards in a swift, strong cut.
She winced as the blade of the axe smacked against the solid flooring, but she had helped in the forests of Seven before and was no stranger to the brutalities of an axe.
She swung again, bracing for the impact.
As Hesmina lifted her axe for a third swing, she noticed that a crack had formed in the glass dancefloor.
Her eyes fell closed. Behind her eyelids, painted across the background of darkness, Hesmina could see the faces of the people she had lost.
Her sister, Ivy, whose face she had only seen once on a screen yet felt as though she had known it for her entire life. She wished she could have met her older sister; she wondered if Ivy was like her.
Hesmina remembered Royal's sweet smile next; not the one she had worn as a mask to face the world alone, but the one she had let slip at moments when she'd momentarily relaxed among those she would like to have called friends.
She then thought of Cambric's ever-thoughtful face screwed up as he sat beside the waterfall, lost in deep ponderings; his dark curls tickling the side of his gentle face.
Hesmina even found herself thinking about Dalton's charming smile, with the small dimples in his golden cheeks. Despite his wrongdoings, he had still brought a laughter to Hesmina's belly and a grin to her face, and she still clung onto the belief that he hadn't a bad person; he had simply lost his way.
By the time Barric's face appeared in her mind, the axe had chipped quite substantially into the dancefloor.
I love you, Hesmina.
A combination of passion, despair and agony imbued itself within Hesmina's body as she poured all of her strength into one final swing.
The loud sound of cracking forced her eyes open.
Hesmina watched as the cracks in the glass spread, running across the rest of the floor like a gushing river that split into hundreds of tiny streams.
There was enough time to take a momentary breath before the dancefloor collapsed; glass shattering and sinking into the water beneath it, dragging both Risa and the boy from Twelve down with it.
Piken Halbrik, District Seven Male
Piken flinched as he heard the sound of cracking –it was the sound of a thousand mirrors shattering at once. The sudden jolt in his body caused an eruption of pain, sending shockwaves through the rest of him; his stomach muscles tensing around the metal prongs of the weapon that was intruding his body.
It had happened so quickly that Piken only now was able to process the pain. After the Head Gamemaker's words had faded into silence, it had been barely a fraction of a second before Risa had sent her weapon soaring straight into Piken's torso.
It had seemed like a dream –or a nightmare, rather –and Piken found himself pinching the skin on his wrist. He felt a small twinge. So it wasn't a nightmare.
He supposed it made sense; Risa had taken advantage of the element of surprise, employing her fast reactions from her years of training, to stake her claim on Victory. Piken wasn't really surprised that he had been her first target either; being the first to arrive at the party, Piken had seen the look on Risa's face as she had walked in a short while after him. To Risa, Piken must have appeared her largest threat. He was certainly physically the largest, and Luca was no longer around to challenge her skillset, so it made complete sense for the girl from Four to start by wiping out her biggest competition.
Piken wondered what the cracking sound had been. Sat behind the bar, his back leaning against an intricate glass structure of shelves filled with an impressive array of bottles, Piken couldn't see what was happening beyond his own cover.
All he could do was wait for Hesmina to return, or for Risa to finish off the job she had started.
Piken allowed his eyelids to flutter shut as he concentrated on his breathing, attempting to soothe the pain that stemmed from his punctured body.
There was a sturdy knock at the front door. Piken glanced at the rusted metal clock that hung a little lopsided on the kitchen wall. 7:42am. Or, rather 7:38am as the clock was four minutes ahead. Piken made a mental note to wind the hands back later on.
"Pike, can you get the door?" the gentle shout from upstairs carried itself down to the kitchen. "I'll just be a minute!"
"Sure!" Piken called back, standing up from his seat at the kitchen table which was also a little lopsided. He made another mental note to try to fix the table later.
Piken strolled to the front door, a piece of wholemeal bread that was unevenly toasted hanging out of his mouth. He swung open the door with a cheerful force, already knowing who would be standing on their doorstep.
"Morning, Piken."
"Mornin' Trent," Piken replied through a mouthful of half cooked toast that almost definitely required more butter.
Trent was his sister Petra's friend from work. Recently, since he had moved to a house closer to their side of the district, Trent had been showing up at the Halbrik's home each morning to walk with Petra to the flower shop. He and Piken had shared very few words other than friendly greetings and the comment about the weather, though Trent seemed to be a nice guy. Petra seemed fond of him at least.
"Petra will just be a minute," Piken told him. "You wanna come in for a bit?"
"Yeah, sure," Trent smiled warmly as Piken stepped to the side, welcoming him in.
"Toast?" Piken offered, walking back into the kitchen.
Trent followed behind him, thanking him for the offer and picking up a piece of toast from the plate in the middle of the wonky table. Trent looked down at the breakfast suspiciously, turning the toast around in his hand.
"You call this toast?" he laughed, taking the slightest nibble from the corner. "It's terrible."
Piken faked a gasp. "You're a guest for a whole thirty seconds before you start insulting my cooking? I hope you don't treat your customers at the shop in such a way."
"Not all of my customers are as good at taking constructive criticism," Trent replied with a small smile, his eyes running over Piken with a quick sweep that made Piken feel a little hot under the collar. "Nor are they quite as cute."
Piken couldn't find any words in response so he simply stood, his tall structure reaching nearly the full height of the ceiling. Out of his control, he found his eyes wandering over Trent as the boy had just done to him. He had always noticed that Trent had a handsome face, though he had never realised just how handsome until he was standing a few feet away from him, insulting his toast and complimenting his appearance.
It was enticing.
"Sorry for keeping you, Trent," Piken's older sister Petra walked into the kitchen; battling with her hair that seemed to object to being tied back. "I'm sure my sweet little brother was keeping you comfortable."
Trent smiled at his colleague. "He sure was."
"Right, should we go?" Petra patted her pockets for the keys to the flower shop. "See you later, Pike."
Piken raised a hand in goodbye to the two of them.
"I'll swing by to pick you up at say, eight?" Trent said to Piken, turning back.
Piken stared at him, confused.
"For what?" he asked, dumbfounded.
"For your cooking lesson, of course," grinned Trent. "Can't have you serving Petra such foul toast."
Piken's eyes fluttered open as the memory faded. He had gone round to Trent's that evening, and Trent had actually given him a helpful cooking lesson. He went back the day after, and each evening after that for a week until the sexual tension between them had become so suffocating that Piken had taken his first taste of Trent. After that? Well, it was one of those romances from the novels.
"Piken!" Hesmina's sweet voice pulled him back into reality, with it returning the agonising pain that was throbbing in his stomach.
"What happened?" he asked his ally, his calm eyes finding her glistening ones. It was clear from the puffiness of her eyelids and the bloodshot veins around her forest green irises that she had been crying.
"The dancefloor –it was glass," Hesmina replied. "There was water beneath it so I smashed it with my axe –Risa and the boy from Twelve fell through it. I think we have some time, though I suspect Risa can swim, being from Four…"
Piken shook his head. "I meant what really happened –before?"
Hesmina's eyes dropped to her hands; her fingers were trembling.
"Barric," she whispered, a tear breaking down her cheek.
Piken's heart ached at the sound of their ally's name. He knew Barric was dead, as he hadn't walked through the doors into the courtyard, but he hadn't expected his killer to be crouched in front of him now.
Poor Hesmina. Poor, sweet, loving Hesmina.
"Oh, Hes," Piken's eyes filled with tears for his friend's agony. "I'm so sorry."
Hesmina sucked in a long, shaky breath.
"It was what he wanted," she said, though Piken could tell that she hadn't shared the desire. "He made me do it; he told me to live."
Piken bit his lower lip, trying to hold back more tears.
"But Pike…" Hesmina sniffed. "I don't think I want to live. Not knowing what I did."
Piken tried to lean forwards to comfort his friend, but he soon fell back again, the pain excruciating.
"Do you have anything to patch it up?" Hesmina turned her attention to Piken's wound. "Or is it best to leave it in there?"
"Just leave it," Piken said, trying to control the pain he could feel. "It'll be ok."
"Piken?" Hesmina looked at him. "Promise me you won't leave me?"
Piken nodded slowly. "I promise."
That was the first lie Piken had ever told.
He wasn't sure what death felt like, but he was sure that he could feel it now, slowly inching up his body from the intrusion in his stomach to where his heart was struggling to continue beating. Each beat felt a little slower and a little weaker than the one before, and he could feel a sort of coolness seeping into his veins.
"I need to see where Risa is," Hesmina said, holding her axe firmly in her hand. "I'll hold her off as long as I can for you."
Piken nodded, nudging his axe that he had dragged behind the bar with him.
"Take mine too," he told her. "You're good with two."
Hesmina looked at the axe, and then to Piken. "But you need it for protection."
"I've got you to protect me," Piken smiled at her, hiding the pain he could feel beneath. "I'm safe here; I'll be waiting for you."
Hesmina chewed her lip, but then nodded in agreement and reached over to pick up Piken's axe. As she leant beside him, she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.
"I'll be straight back, I promise," she whispered. "Don't go dying on me, yeah?"
Piken shook his head. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Seeming content with his reply, Hesmina rose to her feet, the two axes relaxing easily in her grip. She stepped out from behind the bar, giving Piken one final smile, before running off back into the centre of the action.
Alone again, Piken gritted his teeth through the pain as he moved his arm, trying to retrieve Trent's letter from his jacket pocket. He felt for the paper and tugged at it gently, but he felt it tear as he drew it from his pocket; the prong of the trident-like weapon having cut straight through it.
Piken held up the torn piece of paper in front of him. He could make out a few words, though it didn't matter that the letter wasn't whole as he could remember the words in their entirety anyway. He had read the letter countless times.
Piken, my love.
I've never been one for words, you know I'm more of an action guy. I do the flowers, the cakes, the new shirts. You're the one who says the sweet stuff. I guess that's what makes us work. We fill in each other's blanks.
I know it's typical for the ring to be presented during the proposal, but I guess I skipped ahead to the ring part already. I hope you don't mind this not being the traditional way, but I promise I'll get on one knee when you come home.
Will you marry me, Piken Halbrik?
I hope you say yes. If not then I suppose that will make working at the flower shop with your sister a little awkward.
I love you.
Yours always, Trent.
"Of course I'll marry you," Piken whispered as his last breath left his body.
Scout Summers, District Twelve Male
There was water everywhere. It was soaking into Scout's clothes; pouring in through his mouth, his nose, his eyes.
He was drowning.
Limbs flailing, Scout knew he couldn't swim. The weight of his backpack was dragging him further into the depths, so he struggled, trying to free his arms from its straps. He eventually managed to slide his arms out, taking a gulp of water down his burning throat as he starting to push towards the surface.
He could see a faint light above him as his stinging eyes squinted through the cool water. Kicking his legs underneath him and propelling his large arms beside him, Scout rose upwards, feeling his lungs crying out for oxygen he couldn't provide.
Just as Scout felt himself on the verge of giving up, his head popped up through the water's surface. The first gulp of air was both painful and blissful. His entire body was exhausted, but the taste of oxygen filling his lungs once again was so, so sweet.
Getting to the surface was only the first obstacle; remaining there was another challenge in itself.
Beneath him, Scout's legs kicked wildly, trying to keep himself afloat. His chin continuously dipped past the surface of the water and sometimes water seeped into his mouth as he gasped for more air. His head turned from side to side, looking for where the Career girl was. She was from Four, so no doubt she knew how to swim.
Scout's panicked eyes skimmed the top of the water around him, but the girl was nowhere in sight. As his body started to slip under the water again, Scout decided it was time to get to solid ground or else he would simply drown.
Turning somewhat on his front, Scout splashed his arms in front of him, trying to drag his weight through the water. He had no technique at all; simply flailing limbs and panic was all he could manage, though he did seem to be drawing closer towards the edge of the dancefloor, even if just an inch at a time.
He had no idea what had caused the floor to break beneath him. Scout had been too busy trying to dodge the golden weapon of the Career girl when all of a sudden he had felt the ground beneath his boots disappear and he had been plunged into the icy depths. It wouldn't have surprised him if it had been the Gamemakers, seeing that they knew Scout's chances of being a competent swimmer were close to zero, whereas Risa would likely have very little trouble escaping the trap. The Games seemed rigged against him, so it wouldn't be an unexpected move. Scout had no idea, in all honesty; he couldn't understand the minds of the Capitolites, nor did he ever wish to.
Reaching out his hand, Scout's fingers slammed down on something solid –ground.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Scout began to wriggle his body closer, sliding his arms further along the ground until he was able to pull himself out of the water, landing on his back with a sigh of relief.
His body was seeping with fatigue as he lay on his back for a few moments, trying to catch his breath. Scout could feel his clothes clinging to the outlines of his body, which was quite an uncomfortable feeling, though by far not the worst feeling he had experienced in the arena. The various wounds across his body stung, though he supposed a silver lining to all the shit that was happening was that his open wounds had been cleaned. Although he admitted it wouldn't really matter anyway; he hadn't the time to die from infection in his current circumstances.
Fuck. He had no time to lie down either.
Suddenly realising that he was still in a fight to the death against far stronger and more skilled tributes than himself, Scout rolled over and scrambled to his feet. He looked over his shoulder back at the pool of water, which surrounded the unaffected golden rose in the centre.
He spotted the Career girl on the other side of the pool, having also pulled herself from the water. She looked a little disgruntled, but less damaged than Scout was by their little dip. Scout wondered why she hadn't swum after him and killed him in the water, like some sort of deadly sea creature (not that he knew any, being from Twelve), but then his eyes cast over what must have prevented her from doing just that: a large sheet of glass. It protruded out of the surface of the water; the coloured strobe lights catching the razor sharp edges of the shard as it displayed itself with menace. A shiver ran down Scout's spine.
Suddenly, a canon fired.
Scout's heart shuddered. One of them was dead. He had a strong idea of who it was, remembering Risa's instant reactions that had sent her weapon soaring into the stomach of the District Seven boy barely seconds into the finale.
His thoughts were confirmed as the fiery redheaded girl came storming out from near what looked to be a bar, standing at the edge of the pool, her body physically shaking which Scout could see from all the way on the other side of the party.
Following Hesmina's line of sight (Scout recalled her name from her earlier entrance to the courtyard), it was clear that the redheaded girl spared no attention towards Scout. Her eyes were firmly set on the girl who had claimed the life of her ally, giving Scout the opportunity to sneak away from the collapsed dancefloor and retreat further away from potential exposure.
As Scout crept towards the manor, water oozing inside his boots and sloshing at his toes, he heard a large splash from behind him. Quickly glancing over his shoulder, he spotted Hesmina with just one axe in her hand –the other looking as though it had been thrown in the water, likely towards the Career who must have dodged the throw. The glint of the Career's golden weapon reflected off the rough surface of the water as ripples cascaded out from where the axe had been plunged. She stood, her back also facing Scout, much to his relief, and her body poised in both a defensive and offensive stance as she faced Hesmina. All the while, Scout was taking advantage of the distraction and was slowly backing away, further and further.
Scout was now at the edge of the party, standing beside what looked to be a sculpture of the dead President Snow, crafted from a dark marble with his hands cupped in front of him. Scout peered at the figure before a sudden ball of fire shot out from the palms in a lavish display, the heat slapping Scout in the face as he gasped and jumped backwards, his back crashing into something behind him that he felt wobble before it toppled over.
Scout's entire body froze as the glass table, which had been laden with alcoholic beverages, shattered on the ground beside him. Pieces of glass scattered themselves at Scout's feet, scratching at the tough material of his boots. His heart nearly tore through his ribs as he looked over at the two girls, expecting their attention to be drawn. However, it was as though neither of them had even flinched; they were so entirely focused on each other that they hadn't even heard the results of Scout's clumsiness.
He breathed a sigh of relief, which turned into a choking gasp as he watched Hesmina launch herself towards the Career, knocking the sharp end of the golden weapon out of her range as she skirted around the side, heading straights towards the Career's unprotected body.
Scout held his breath as he watched; he couldn't help but stare at the two girls fighting. Out of both curiosity and also foresight so that he would know which one of them would eventually come to claim his life and subsequently their Victory.
The Career girl was a little surprised, but she handled the attack well, counter-moving it with an elegant side step, followed by a swift swing of the pole of her weapon, which hit Hesmina's side and sent her skidding backwards. The redheaded girl tried to catch herself, but there was no ground left behind her. Scout bit his lip as he watched Hesmina fall backwards; he supposed that was game-over for the District Seven girl –yet she had more up her sleeve.
As she fell, Hesmina flung her arm in front of her, lodging the blade of her axe between the prongs of the Career's weapon. Certainly not expecting it, the Career had little time to react before her weapon was dragged down with the falling redhead, and with her hand still holding a tight grip of it, she was dragged down with them.
A large splash sent water gushing over the edge of the dancefloor, washing into the rest of the party venue, the miniature wave stopping not too far from Scout's toes. Then, the water settled.
It was quiet for a short while –too quiet. The surface of the water was still; neither girl having come up for air. In a hopeful moment, Scout's hands began to shake, wondering if perhaps both of the girls would drown, making him Victor.
The prospect of returning home, to see Ebon and his parents, brought a tear to his eyes. A small, exhausted smile formed on his split lips as the reality of his survival became more and more possible with every passing second of silence.
He could go home.
The second canon of the finale sounded. Scout held his breath as he awaited the next, and final canon.
There was no sound, though the surface of the water was finally broken by a black-clothed body, their face looking into the depths so only their back was exposed to the evening's air. A mass of dark and wet auburn hair spread out around the body, floating atop of the water delicately as waterlilies would. Scout's eyes traced down Hesmina's body, to where he saw three golden spikes protruding from the back of her jacket, slicing through the number seven that almost glowed under the neon lights.
A moment later, the golden spikes disappeared, and a head popped out of the water.
The Career girl was still alive.
Her eyes found Scout within seconds as she pushed the floating body of Hesmina away from her, the golden weapon still in her grasp. Cutting through the water with ease, even just using one arm to swim with, the Career made her way to the edge of the broken dancefloor.
Scout felt a burning acidic taste in the back of his throat. He knew his luck had ended.
His eyes scanned the area desperately, searching for somewhere to go. There was nowhere to hide; not that hiding would do him much good now. He backed up, feeling the solid doors of the manor slam against his back as he couldn't step any further.
Meanwhile, the Career had freed herself from the water, looking with regret at the dead body of Hesmina, before turning her attention back to Scout. He fumbled for his hammer, knowing that it would be useless against the golden weapon, but still wanting to go down with a fight. Sure, the Capitol wanted him dead, but he wouldn't want to make it so easy for them.
His hand reached at thin air.
In a panic, Scout looked down and realised that his hammer was missing.
Fuck.
He must have dropped it in the water.
Scout's heart was knocking against his ribs as he turned around, facing the doors to the manor. He bashed on the solid surface, tears streaming down his face as he realised that death was literally approaching. About twenty five yards away, actually.
Scout's hands trembled as they slid down the door. He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his forehead against the door, trying to summon the courage to face the inevitability of his imminent death.
Without warning, the door opened.
With a gasp, Scout fell forwards, toppling clumsily inside the manor. He managed to catch himself before he could fall to his face, stumbling a few staggered steps ahead.
He looked around him. As ever, the interior of the manor looked different to how it had looked when he had walked away from Listra's punctured body towards the courtyard. A sickening feeling gurgled in the pit of his stomach as he remembered watching the girl from Six die. She had died quickly, much to Scout's relief, but the images of her body being shredded by the shattered crystals of the chandelier wouldn't die in a similar timely fashion.
In front of him stood a spiral staircase. Nothing else; no other doors or corridors, just a single set of spiralling stairs.
Without hesitating any longer, Scout dashed towards the stairs, grasping hold of the railings tightly as he ran up the stairs as quickly as his aching, sodden legs would allow.
As he reached the top of the stairs, he heard the door opening below.
Scout backed away from the top of the stairs, his eyes flicking frantically from side to side. He seemed to have come into a library; large bookshelves lined the walls, each individual shelf fully stocked with an abundance of books in varying coloured covers. A few lavish chairs were scattered around the room, as well as small display tables and cabinets hosting trinkets and ornaments.
Scout searched the room with his eyes for something he could use as a weapon, his hands thrust into his pockets for something –anything.
He stopped as his fingers folded around a small, thin object. Drawing it out from his pocket, Scout looked at the tiny match that he held between his forefinger and thumb. He had forgotten he'd swiped it from the body of the boy from Four and whilst he had managed to kill Listra without using it, he figured it would make up for his lack of weapon now. Scout remembered from his days back in Twelve, when they had little firewood left, they would often use scraps of paper they could scavenge from the streets to keep their fire lit and prevent themselves from freezing to death in the harsh winters. There was certainly plenty of paper around him now.
With a small spark of hope alight in his heart, Scout grabbed the closest book he could reach, striking the match against it. But the match did not light. It was too damp.
No, no, no, Scout's eyes filled with tears as he tried to strike the match over and over, hearing the footsteps of the Career girl making her way up the stairs.
His attempts became more frantic, until the match snapped between his fingers. Scout let out an exasperated scream as he dropped the broken match; watching his chance of evening the odds fall to the floor as his lifeless body would undoubtedly be doing in the approaching minutes.
The dark, wet hair of the Career girl was the first thing Scout saw of the Career as she reached the top few stairs; followed by the glistening gold of her weapon.
Scout looked down at the book in his hands –he could hardly use it as a weapon, though he supposed throwing it at her might distract her for a moment. As Scout went to raise his arm to throw the book, he noticed something jutting out from his jacket pocket.
Ebon's note.
Scout's hand fell to the note, tucking it back inside. He frowned as the paper felt stiff; as though it was wrapped around something.
Quickly, Scout pulled out the note.
As the Career girl stepped into the library, she suddenly stopped, her eyes growing wide as she looked around. She seemed a little shaken, though Scout supposed that she had just killed two people in a short amount of time, and was one kill away from becoming Victor.
Taking advantage of her temporary distraction, Scout opened up the note, which tore easily under his handling due to the dampness of the paper. He sucked in a sharp breath as he saw a second match sat inside the paper. The note seemed to have soaked up most of the water; the match looked damp, but not as sodden as the first had.
Scout's eyes passed over Ebon's smudged handwriting as the scraps of wet paper fell from the match, and he held it against the book in his unsteady grip. With a sharp flick of his wrist, Scout drew the match across the rough cover of the book.
Risa Delmare, District Four Female
Risa watched in horror as the boy struck the cover of the book.
She heard the swift sound of the birth of a flame before she saw its orange glow light up the shadowed room.
"No!" her voice cracked as she screamed, lunging forwards as the boy dropped the book in front of his feet, letting it land onto an ornate rug that lay over the solid wooden flooring.
Startled, the boy jumped backwards, his grey eyes reflecting a fiery glow as he stared at the fire at his feet. The tiny flames that licked the cover of the book leapt onto the decorative rug, seeping into the fabric's fibres and running along the carefully woven threads.
Risa skidded to a halt as she was hit with a wall of heat that bounced off her skin. Between her and her opponent stood a barrier of fire; knee-high in height, and a stride in width. With her damp clothes, there was a chance that she could leap over the flames and not catch the alight herself, though she found herself rooted to the spot as she watched the fire grow at an alarming speed.
Risa could remember the smell of smoke before it even reached her nostrils. The bitter, choking smell that clung to the inside walls of her lungs and to the outside fibres of her clothing, hair and skin. It was a consuming smell, one that devoured everything in its vicinity and one that lingered long after the embers had dulled.
Smelling that harsh smell again sent a wave of nausea through Risa's body.
Seeing a dark figure standing behind the ever-growing flames sent a pulsation of rage through her veins.
Risa broke into a run.
Seeing her hurtling towards him, the boy turned to the side, his large hands clasping hold of the side of one of the bookshelves. With a heave, he flung his body backwards, using his weight to unsteady the bookshelf and knock it off balance. Stumbling on his heels, the boy fell as the bookshelf crashed to the floor in front of him.
The flames, spreading quickly across the rug, swiped at the fallen bookshelf, enjoying the taste of the flammable wood and the fragile paper of the books encased beneath it.
Her pathway blocked, Risa stopped herself from running straight into the flames, though that didn't stop her from feeling their heat. Through the rising smoke Risa could make out the boy, who had quickly gotten to his feet. The glow of the fire made his grey eyes look almost brown, similar to the colour of Risa's brother's eyes; the eyes that had looked into her own as she had walked out of the burning Delmarian library with her father, only to watch her father be pushed back into the building by her brother's forceful hands.
Rex.
The flames were everywhere now, and any gaps in the air were filled instead with a thick smoke that scorched Risa's throat as she tried to search for oxygen. She had lost sight of the boy; his dark figure shrouded somewhere in the burning library.
Risa felt movement beside her.
There was a tug on her ranseur as the boy from Twelve held his two hands on its end. Risa pulled back, but the boy had a strong grip, likely from working in the mines judging by the way his shoulders tensed as he matched Risa's strength.
Risa could feel the smoke pouring into her lungs. She coughed, feeling the lack of oxygen in her blood slowing down her movements and weighing down her limbs. She feebly tried to free her weapon from the boy's grip, but he proved stubborn, so she turned to a new tactic.
Risa released the ranseur unexpectedly, the sudden loss of resistance knocking the boy off balance and causing him to stagger backwards. Chasing after his figure, which was quickly being lost in the smoke, Risa threw a swift kick at his wrist. The boy promptly dropped the weapon, but as Risa turned her attention to it, he swung his booted foot at it, sending it clattering across the floor where it landed in the greedy hands of the fire.
Her mind in chaos, Risa ran for her weapon, flinging herself to her knees to retrieve the golden ranseur from the flames. Tears streamed down her face as she threw her hands into the fire, wrapping her fingers around the pole of the weapon. It was already scorching hot. Risa cried out in pain as she felt her hands bubble against the hot metal. She retracted her hands away from the flames quickly, looking down at her palms which were trembling as blisters began to form on her soft skin.
The two of them both now weaponless, Risa slowly got to her feet. She coughed, her throat raw as the smoke ravaged her insides. She could feel her senses wavering; her steps were shaky and her vision hazy. Her first punch thrown towards the boy, who was also struggling against the smoke, was poor, though it did connect with the edge of his cheekbone enough to disgruntle him.
He threw a punch back, which Risa managed to dodge by a slim margin; feeling the slight movement of air particles against her cheek as his clenched fist moved past her.
Risa squeezed her hands together into strong fists, wincing at the pain in her burnt palms, but powering through nonetheless. She adopted her combat stance, altered slightly to make up for the lack of weapon. The boy raised his fists in front of his face, though his body was slumping as he breathed in more and more of the smoke.
Risa threw her arm forwards, using her core strength to increase the power in her strike. She felt a crack in her knuckles as they collided with the boy's face.
As if unlocking a hidden door within her mind, Risa felt herself instantly exposed to a flood of memories. She tried to keep her head above the surface, but she was dragged down with the current of her own ocean of thoughts.
She could see Rex, his eyes flickering with menace as he pushed their father into the flames, a grin forming on his lips as he watched the fire engulf the man who had given life to him and raised him for seventeen years.
Risa remembered the heat of the fire as she had run back into The Delmarian, taking hold of her father's weakened body and hauling him out into the open night. She remembered the flash of madness and fury in Rex's eyes as he had launched himself at Risa, sending them both tumbling back into the library.
He had done this. Rex had started the fire that had reduced Risa's beloved library ashes and had bound their father to a wheelchair. And why? Jealousy towards someone who didn't even want the gifts she possessed.
I never wanted to be the best! Risa cried out in her mind as felt her fist meet her brother's throat.
I never wanted to be chosen! Her fist caught the side of his jaw.
I never any of this! Risa's knuckles crashed into his nose.
Rex fought back.
Risa stumbled backwards, tripping over a loose piece of furniture that hooked onto the heels of her boots.
Her brother pursued her.
Risa raised her arms to protect herself, meeting his punches with her forearms.
I never wanted to fight you, Rex. You were my brother!
Hot tears stung Risa's eyes as she simultaneously fought with both her past and her present.
"Please…" she sobbed, her words coming out in a raspy whisper through the smoke that was clogging her lungs. "I didn't want to kill you."
The punches stopped.
The boy, who Risa could see through her blurred vision was in fact not her brother, held his bloodied hands up and stumbled away, his dark figure soon lost to the thick, shadowed smoke.
Wheezing, Risa struggled for breath as she rolled onto her stomach. She could see coloured lights in the distance, likely from the party in the courtyard. If she could make it to some fresh air…
Risa's arms ached as she dug her elbows into the floor, hauling her aching body across the library. Around her, the flames crackled, devouring everything in their path.
Taking a moment to pause for breath, Risa reached into her inner pocket and clasped her fingers around the smooth, white seashell she had brought with her into the arena. It had been the perfect shell, found on the beach as a child, and she had continued to feel a fondness towards it through her adolescence. It helped her now, as a reminder of what she stood to lose if she didn't keep moving forwards.
A gentle breeze disturbed the dense air, the sense of freedom drawing nearer. With a groan, Risa gritted her teeth and dug her nails into the wooden floor, dragging herself closer to where she could feel the fresh outside air.
After a few more yards, Risa could make out double doors, one of which was ajar. Forcing herself to her feet, Risa managed to support herself as she lurched towards the door. As she drew close to it, she felt her knees buckle beneath her and she fell forwards, her limp body pushing the door further open.
The crisp taste of fresh air filling her lungs was like injecting morphling directly into Risa's veins. She clawed at the air for more, retching as she tried to force the smoke out of her lungs. As she looked up, her heart shuddered as she saw the District Twelve boy, leaning with his hands placed on a low white wall, staring into the courtyard below. He didn't seem to notice Risa on her knees behind him, or he was ignoring her.
Risa was still unarmed, and her body was weak, but with enough of a force, she could send the boy toppling off the edge of the balcony that they found themselves on. Just one more kill and she could go home.
One more kill for the rest of her life.
How hard could it be? She already had five lots of blood on her hands. Rex. Senna. Kai. Piken. Hesmina.
And soon, him.
The weight of her body was almost impossible to overcome as Risa pushed herself to her feet, staggering towards the boy. But as she approached, she could see that his mouth was gaping open as he stared down into the courtyard.
Curious, Risa followed his gaze. The air left her mouth as she let out an unstifled gasp.
The rose in the centre of the courtyard had opened up, the petals curled to the side in a delicate fashion.
In the centre of the rose there was a person. Dark hair, milky skin, rose pink lips.
Risa brought a hand to her mouth.
President Aurelia Snow.
It was a scene of unnatural beauty.
A rose bush blossomed in the centre of the golden rose; the young president the prized bloom. She was displayed in the crown of the bush, the thin stems that extended out from the roots were woven between the fragilities of her pale skin, making the plant a part of her, and she a part of it. White roses appeared to grow from parts of her body, their petals contrasting in a stunning display against her dark hair that cascaded down her neck and across her breasts. She was naked, though her modesties were covered. A crown made of thorns rested upon her head.
Moments later, the strobe lights cut out, the pyrotechnics simmered and the miniature fountains dried. The arena was suddenly plunged into complete and utter darkness.
Risa fumbled around in the dark, unsure of what was happening. She felt her fingertips brush against something warm and solid as she found herself slipping into oblivion…
...Risa felt a coldness against her back as her eyelids slowly lifted.
She blinked, her eyes instantly squinting as a harsh white light shone down on her.
With a groan, Risa pushed herself onto her elbows, her body seizing with fatigue as soon as she started to move. Her throat felt coarse as she tried to swallow, her mouth void of moisture. She coughed harshly, hearing a wheeze in the back of her throat. The back of her hand was coated in a host of tiny droplets of blood, like a splattering of freckles across her dirty skin.
"Hello, Miss Delmare."
Risa flinched at the sound of the voice. It was a smooth voice, with a strong undertone of excitement and pleasure. It was one she did not recognise.
Risa turned her head to look at her surroundings. She was in a small, white room. It was minimal; no furniture, and the only thing that broke the block of colourless walls, ceiling and floor was a metal door in the far corner of the room, which Risa supposed was locked.
In the corner of the room sat a huddled shape.
"Who are you?" she asked, looking up at the corners of the room where she suspected a camera may be. "Where am I?"
"My name is Rawlins," replied the voice. "And you are below the arena, Miss Delmare."
The arena.
Her memories returned to her. The library, the fire, the President.
"What happened to the President?" Risa asked, her stomach twisted in knots at the image of the rose bush that had grown through her body.
"She was murdered," said Rawlins, adding a small sniff to the end of his sentence. "An utter tragedy. It seems as though there was a secret plot to overthrow her. I am ashamed that I did not see it sooner –perhaps…perhaps I could have done more to save her."
Risa could hear the drama in his tone.
"But that is not my concern for the time being," he continued. "It is my job to see to the ending of the Hunger Games."
The ending? Risa looked over at the shadow in the corner of the room. It moved slightly, just enough for Risa to recognise the boy from Twelve. He was still alive.
"What happened to the arena?" Risa questioned, still looking at the boy who refused to turn around.
"We had to shut it down at once," Rawlins told her. "We couldn't continue to broadcast the death of our beloved President! You were rather unconscious when we found you on the balcony; it did make things easier to transport you down here."
Risa bit her lower lip. She felt it split between her teeth and tasted blood on the tip of her tongue.
"What happens now?" she asked tentatively.
"In the centre of the room you will see a single knife," announced Rawlins. Risa's eyes immediately looked and spotted the said knife. "As with every Games, there can only be one Victor. May the odds be ever in your favour."
The room fell silent.
Risa stared at the knife, a lonely blade lying on the white tiled floor. Across the room the boy stirred, turning around to look over. There was a dark dusting over his face from the fire, mixed with dried blood that crusted over his skin. One of his eyes was badly bruised, his upper lip split, and his nose was slightly skewed to one side.
He did not look at Risa.
Instincts taking over her, Risa scrambled on her hands and knees towards the knife, gritting her teeth through the pain that erupted throughout her body. Her hand slammed down on the handle, the blisters on her palm stinging as she squeezed her grip around the weapon.
She rose to her feet, slowly.
Taking a few shaking steps towards the boy, Risa could feel her hand trembling. She had taken life before, though this felt different –it felt wrong.
Risa approached the boy, looking down at him as he sat on his knees. As Risa looked down at him, she remembered his name from seeing his face in the sky inside the arena: Scout.
"Go ahead," he whispered, not raising his head to meet her eyes with his. "I'm dead anyway."
"Don't you want to at least try to fight me?" she asked in a hushed tone, her morality forcing its way to the forefront of her mind.
Scout shrugged.
"Why bother?" he replied bitterly. "Even if I did manage to kill you then they wouldn't let me win. Not a boy from Twelve winning the President's memorial Games."
Risa couldn't find any words to reply. He was right, she supposed. After the events of the failed second rebellion, it would be a slap in the face for a tribute from Twelve to win the Games held in honour of the President who battled so hard against the coal mining District. The Gamemakers had made their opinions clear enough when they had announced the feast that had driven Risa to hunt Senna for Luca's medicine.
Risa squeezed her eyes shut, trying to dispel the reminder of Luca's headless body she had seen in the manor.
"Come on then," said Scout, filling the silence. "Kill me already, let them have their Victor."
He raised his head, finally looking up at Risa with his sad, grey eyes.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"You look like their perfect Victor," he said with a slight snarl. "You'll fit right in to the Capitol."
Risa's gut tightened.
Rex had always scorned her for being 'perfect'. It was his jealousy of her achievements that had driven him to bring a match to The Delmarian that night.
Despite what Risa had done, she had continued to train, her and her father covering Rex's death as a tragic accident. She had gone through with volunteering, performed well for the Gamemakers and had made it through to the end of the Games. She had killed in the name of the Games and received the Capitol's gifts with gratitude as though she deserved them.
One more kill and she would take the Victory, return home to Four and live a life she had often wondered about.
You're a victim of societal expectations, Risa Delmare.
Kai's words rung in Risa's ears.
She didn't want to be a victim anymore.
Risa dropped the knife.
"I won't kill anyone else," she said firmly.
Scout looked at her, surprised, but made no move to reach for the knife that sat just in front of him.
"B-but you have to," insisted Rawlins, his voice interjecting. "There can only be one Victor!"
"Then it won't be me," returned Risa.
At once the door in the corner of the room opened and three Peacekeepers walked in, followed by a middle aged man in a peacock-green suit with colourful feathers peering out of his blazer pocket.
Two of the Peacekeepers marched towards Risa, each grabbing one of her arms firmly. She winced at the pain in her tender muscles, squirming in their grip.
The other Peacekeeper unholstered his gun, walking beside Scout and pressing the barrel to his temple.
"You will be our Victor, Miss Delmare," said Rawlins harshly, standing between her and Scout. "I will not be undermined by your feeble attempts at heroism. Not when my career is at stake."
And your life, thought Risa, fully aware of the past trend of Capitolites who displeased their superiors and then mysteriously disappeared.
There was a click as the Peacekeeper removed the safety from his pistol.
Scout closed his eyes.
"Wait!" Risa cried out, her voice raspy, a sudden strong desire to protect the innocent boy battling her common sense. "Don't kill him."
"There can only be one Victor, Miss Delmare," reminded Rawlins, nodding to the Peacekeeper.
"No! Please!" she called out again, causing the Peacekeeper to hesitate.
"Miss Delamare, stop with all the fuss," complained Rawlins. "We are letting you win; you will have all that fame and glory! This boy will simply die like the rest of them."
"But that's murder," said Risa. "We aren't in the arena anymore; you'd be killing him outside of the Games."
"And?"
"I will tell everyone that you killed him," she warned, looking at the poor boy who was trembling on his knees, the barrel of the gun still pressed to his head. "If you let him live then I'll tell Panem that I killed him in the fire after the arena went dark. I'll say whatever you want me to say. I can play the Career Victor you want."
Rawlins seemed to consider Risa's proposal, looking between the Peacekeepers.
"If you tell everyone that I killed the boy then I'll have your family killed," he threatened.
Risa flinched.
"Won't that look suspicious?" she returned, desperate to bargain for the boy's life. "Besides, President Aurelia Snow would never have done such a thing –if you did that then it could make you look guilty in her assassination."
Rawlins tried to cover his anxiety at Risa's words with a small cough. It wouldn't have surprised Risa if he had been closely involved with the President's murder.
"It's the best option you've got," Risa tried to persuade the Capitolite. "If you let him live then I'll be your perfect Victor, I promise."
"Hm," Rawlins muttered. "I suppose I could arrange for the boy to live out his days away from the public eye. It has been done before, though not for a tribute I admit, but I suppose there could be an exception."
Scout's eyes looked up at Risa. Tears glistened over his grey irises as an overwhelming variety of emotions swarmed him.
"Fine," Rawlins said sharply. "The boy can live, though it will be under my rules and it must remain strictly confidential. You, Miss Delmare, shall be my perfect Victor and do everything I ask of you. Do we have a deal?"
Risa looked once at Scout, and then back at Rawlins.
She nodded.
"Then congratulations, Miss Delmare. You are the Victor of the Eighty-Sixth Hunger Games."
A/N
Piken Halbrik, 18, District Seven Male. Submitted by Remus98
Placed: 4th
Manner of Death: Impaled by a ranseur thrown by Risa Delmare
I AM SORRY REM, I AM SO SO SORRY! This death hit me so hard; I absolutely adored Piken. He was both the softest bean, yet also a strong young man who stood up for his values. He had such a strong presence throughout the story, and I think it would be impossible not to adore him. His friendship with Hesmina was one of my favourite pairings in the arena; they always had each others' back, right until the end. For me, it was always a fitting ending to have these two close together, despite the heartbreak caused. Piken was in a way the glue of the abs squad; he tried to bring Barric and Dalton together, and was always there for any of his allies who needed a helping hand. He lived his life with such honour and respect, even when he killed Dalton he was acting in defence of Barric. I particularly enjoyed exploring his love with Trent; despite barely seeing much of Trent, he played a significant role in the way Piken continued through the Games. The reminder of the ring on his finger and then his note, which was finally revealed at the end. I decided to have Piken's final POV slow things down a little, as both a narrative method to handle the tension of the finale, but also to delve a little more into the core of Piken: his love for Trent. (I suppose it also made things a little more cruel for Rem, which I am truly sorry for, but I'm assuming I won't be forgiven for... guess my tributes in ITA better watch their backs.) There are so many more words I could say about Piken but I am anxious not to miss the specified time for posting this chapter! Thank you Rem for submitting such a brilliant tribute; I adored Piken so very much, as I am sure most readers did too. Rip Piken.
Hesmina Caspum, 18, District Seven Female. Sumitted by IAmYourTribute
Placed: 3rd
Manner of Death: Stabbed underwater by Risa Delmare
I always had a soft spot for Hesmina since the very beginning. She brought such a happiness to these otherwise grim Games and she was an utter joy to write for. She brightened up any room she walked into, and her friendships with all of her allies were so genuine. Of course, her friendship with Piken, as mentioned before, was a key highlight to me. Her desire to protect him as he would for her in the finale was such a wholesome moment, and it really showed how strong their bond was. Of course, Hesmina had a romantic connection with Barric. For the two of them, this relationship brought out the best in each other. For Barric, Hesmina helped him to deal with his demons and finally come to peace with his past. For Hesmina, Barric helped to show her the strength she had within herself and showed her the impact her light had on the rest of the world. Killing Barric was certainly a turning point for Hesmina, and despite her continuing to fight against Risa, firstly to protect Piken and then to avenge him, I didn't see her having any strength left in her to make it to the end. She had lost so much by the end that she would have been haunted by the memories of her friends, which would have likely broken her elegant fragility that had been so loved by all who met her. Hesmina would have been adored by the Capitol, though her victory was not to be. Thank you to IAmYourTribute for submitting Hesmina, I am sure they would have been proud of her. May Hesmina be reunited with Barric, her sister Ivy and her fallen friends.
Okay, so a lot to digest there... We have our Victor: Risa! A few people may know that I considered a lot of different victors for this story, but every time I kept coming back to Risa. I'll write a proper piece about her, similar to the eulogies, after the Victor's epilogue, but for now I wish to congratulate My-Mental-Mind on creating such a brilliant tribute! I adore her so much and I cannot wait to continue her post-games story.
And then we have Scout. He was always an underdog, keeping to himself yet rising through the ranks. He is the perfect protagonist and I am aware that he was hot favourite for Victor, which I can totally understand! I had him in mind for Victor for a while, and was constantly tossing between him and Risa at the end until Goldie planted the seed in my mind that I didn't have to kill all twenty three tributes. And so that birthed the idea, which tied in quite well with the twist I had planned, that being Aurelia's death. I have such plans for Scout, which I am beyond excited to be able to explore alongside Risa's!
Finally, a moment for Aurelia. This was the initial twist I had planned from the very beginning of planning CoT. I suspect this may have come as a surprise? If not, then wow, go you. There are many questions arising from her assassination -who was behind it? What will happen next? How will Panem react to the loss of another President, and who will take her place? All things to set up for Mask of Shadows...
A huge thank you to everyone who has been reading this! I cannot believe that we have our Victor (plus survivor); time has gone so quickly and I am amazed each and every week by the insane amount of support I am receiving. You guys are all incredible and I really hope that this finale lived up to your expectations, or at least wasn't too disappointing. I would love to hear your thoughts on both the finale and the story as a whole!
As for the rest of this story, there will be two concluding chapters. The first shall be wrapping up with our subplot characters, following the fallout of Aurelia's death. The second, and final chapter, will focus on Risa and Scout in the aftermath of the Games. After that will come MoS, so please start preparing your submissions! I will be revealing the final question on the tribute form after the final chapter in the next couple of weeks. I will then provide a deadline for submissions to be sent in. If you have any questions please ask -there is an interest list on my profile if you want me to add your interest!
That is it for this week. This has been a wild ride and I'll see you next time! The drama is far from over, I promise...
~Firefly