Hello, people!
Yes, I am alive! I am not fully settled in my new life yet (far from that) but I finally finished this chapter!
I've had some troubles writing it to my satisfaction, I have to admit... And frankly, had I had the opportunity to discuss it more with AlbinoWings, it certainly would have been different but here is the version I like most and which is most aligned with the whole story.
Anyways...
Oh! Sorry to say, but don't get your hopes up for a quick update of the next chapter. I'm not done writing it yet and I basically have no time to myself for now...
On the positive side, this 10th chapter is quite long so it should keep you going until the next one ;)
Oh! Last but not least: thank you all so much for your support, reviews, favoriting and following! This is so nice!
Enjoy!
(PS: I'm typing on my tablet so there might have some spelling mistakes or even weird words due to autocorrect... Sorry! I'm trying to correct everything, but some mistakes may pass by me)
They Watched - Chapter 10
Gloss
Regrets.
There are a lot of things that Gloss regrets.
There are also a lot he doesn't.
If Gloss had to admit to having one regret, his biggest one, it would be his regret not to have lived his life fully. Not really.
Don't get him wrong, he has enjoyed his life. Some parts less than others but he has enjoyed it.
But as his blade slits open the throat of a woman who has always been nice to him, he knows that he hasn't really lived.
He isn't sure regret really is what he feels though.
He has always been told he didn't have the mental capacity for any complex emotion. Or for anything complex for that matter.
He knows it isn't true when he regrets never proving those who told him this that he is more than just muscles and a pretty face.
All his life Gloss has been treated like the Victor that he is.
All the children in District 1 are.
They are treated like Victors because that's what they have to be. Victors. Anything less would be a disgrace.
There have never been a lot of children in District 1. Having children puts too much strain on the mothers' body. It damages it too much. Makes it ugly.
In a district where beauty is everything, getting pregnant is something people pity you for.
Fortunately all the children are beautiful (Gloss has always made it a point not to ask if this was natural or if one look at the pregnancy rate and the kindergarten records would reveal a darker truth).
The names are also a way to make the children beautiful.
Gloss knows what the other districts think of District 1's names. They find them ridiculous. He finds them ridiculous too. But in 1 parents name their children after beautiful things in the hope that they will become beautiful too; that such beautiful names will compensate for the ugliness of the pregnancy and labor.
Families are required to have at least one child so that the population doesn't dwindle.
Gloss and Cashmere are an exception. Two children in one family is almost unheard of.
Gloss doesn't know why his parents had her sister. He doesn't know if she was intended or not. He's never asked.
It never mattered.
He loves her.
Their childhood hadn't been a happy one. Not really. Their mother had resented Cashmere for "ruining her body". And yet she had always paraded both of them around. For their beauty.
Even by District 1 standards Gloss and Cashmere have always been beautiful indeed.
When he turned 5 Gloss was entered in the Academy. Like all children were. Finally liberating his parents from the burden of taking care of him.
He would only see them again when they would come to bring his sister when she would turn 5. And never again after that.
In the Academy he was to be groomed to be a Victor.
Despite the low number of children in the district, competition is fierce. There is nothing more important than volunteering for the Games and coming back victorious.
Victorious is the only way to come back, anyway.
At age 6 Gloss was happy to see his sister again after one year.
The other trainees made fun of them.
Freaks.
What had their mother do to deserve a second pregnancy?
Gloss and Cashmere had clung to each other. They did not care what the others thought. They had each other.
And they would get the others' respect soon enough.
For District 1 respected power and beauty more than they despised pregnancy.
And Gloss and Cashmere were nothing if not beautiful and powerful.
They soon became the best of their respective age groups.
Gloss received the permission to volunteer for the 63rd Hunger Games. He was deemed strong enough to be allowed to represent the district.
Losing was not an option. He could not lose. Not when Cashmere would be the one to take the fall if he did.
So he had won.
He had won by ripping through the other tributes with his knives like diamond cut through glass.
Gloss had always been the best in the Academy. He was the perfect tribute.
He had reveled in his power. He was a god in the arena.
When he was crowned it was only natural. After all, he was the best.
He reveled in the glory, in the attention.
People desired him.
He graced them with his presence.
One year of celebration and pleasure later Cashmere had volunteered.
She could never not volunteer.
Gloss hadn't really been proud of her when she had won: he had known she would.
It was only natural.
She had been magnificent in her arena.
Pride wasn't what he had felt.
Smugness was closer to it.
It hadn't last long.
In the middle of the celebration, when President Snow had crowned Cashmere, he had congratulated her and told her that people desired her. She had thanked him.
She hadn't understood.
Not yet.
Gloss too had been blissfully oblivious, too high on the adrenalin of her winning and the hands caressing his body.
He had only understood two days later when he had found Cashmere scrubbing herself raw in the shower, her yells and sobs barely muffled by the scalding hot water pelting the floor and her skin.
Worry had been the first emotion Gloss had felt.
Disbelief had been the second one when he had managed to make sense of her sobbed and hashed sentences while he draped her in a large towel and carried her to her bed.
Then emotions had warred inside of him at the same time.
Rage.
Sadness.
Betrayal.
Regret.
Anger.
Rage for what they had done to her. To his baby sister.
Sadness also, for what had been done to her.
Betrayal at the Capitol.
Regret for not having been able to protect her.
Anger for having been too stupid to understand, to see, to let himself be used without even realizing it.
How stupid had he been never to realize that he was the one being played? Not the women he ditched after a few days. But him.
Reality had slammed into him like the tribute train.
How could he have not seen it?
That night he had held Cashmere in his arms as she fell asleep, exhausted.
The very next day Gloss had demanded an audience with President Snow. He had obtained it and stormed his way inside the audience room.
When he had finally expulsed the last breath of air out of his lungs in a plea not to do this to her the President had laughed.
"-Oh but be grateful you didn't have to mentor her. After all, you have been quite good at your… profession for a year now, it would only be logical for you to show her the ropes, don't you think? That is what mentors are for, is it not? And you are her senior Victor, which makes you her mentor, if I am not mistaken. Fortunately for me her inexperience until yesterday was highly valuable. I was assured you that you sister was as high class as all that your district produces. She can be proud to perpetuate the good reputation of your industry. As her colleague I can only advise you to make sure she remains the best. And as a mentor I can only advise you to set a good example. Wouldn't it be tragic if one of you was to get hurt because the other is unreliable?"
Gloss had never let himself forget that monologue.
And even if he had wanted to, how could he ever?
Left without a choice, he and Cashmere had bent to the Capitol's depravity.
Women, men, it didn't matter.
Gloss had never really minded what was done to him. His body had never truly belonged to him anyway. But he resented that it was imposed to his sister.
He knew Cashmere wasn't happy.
What a joke.
Cashmere was the furthest from happy one could get.
The year of the 67th Hunger Games was the first time Gloss had felt disgusted with himself.
Not that the choice had been his. Not at all. But it didn't make it any less wrong.
The year of the 67th Hunger Games was the year one Finnick Odair turned 16.
That year, Gloss had been asked to mentor him.
Gloss had been raised to admire beauty. It was inevitable that he would see it.
Finnick was beautiful. More so than Gloss and Cashmere put together. Tragically so.
The young Victor had been doomed from the moment he volunteered.
The kid had been raw. There had been so many emotions in his eyes when Gloss had seen him in private. The victorious teenager from the Victory Tour two years before was nowhere to be found.
Finnick was also strong.
So strong despite his age and most of all, despite what was happening to him.
He had quickly schooled his features into his Victor face.
Gloss never knew who Finnick was protecting by accepting this but he knew he would never dare threaten this person in any way, shape or form. Because even if Finnick Odair was like a twig compared to Gloss' massive muscular frame, there had been no mistaking the fierce look in his eyes when he had looked at Gloss square in the eye and said Let's do this.
Gloss has always respected Finnick immensely for that. For his strength.
There was no mistaking that Finnick was a Victor. He was one through and through.
Gloss had felt even more disgusted with himself when he had swallowed the green liquid he had been advised to drink and that would take control of his body and make it impossible for him not to touch the young Victor.
The taste of bile had stayed on his tongue for a long time after that. Gloss hadn't been able to keep anything down for weeks.
Gloss had rubbed himself raw after teaching (touching?) Finnick. He hadn't even been allowed to keep his blisters longer than the time it took his prep-team to see them.
Gloss never knew who had been designated for the female part of Finnick's formation. It hadn't been Cashmere. He never asked.
One week later the 67th Hunger Games had started, along with Finnick's new career.
Like in everything he did, Finnick was a natural.
Gloss and Finnick never touched again. And they never spoke about that day.
They developed a strong bond. A friendship and understanding forged in harshness, injustice and common suffering.
They never talked about their work as prostitutes.
They actually barely talked at all.
Their bond wasn't one made of words.
Despite the fact that Finnick had been a Career tribute too, a distance remained between them. It was often the case between Victors from Districts 1 and 2 and the others.
Gloss knew it was because of the districts' relation with the Capitol.
Gloss was pretty sure he was an exception in his District for resenting the Capitol. The other Victors were everything that could be expected from Careers. But they hadn't been betrayed like Gloss had been. They didn't have a sister who was forced to whore herself out.
Nevertheless, Gloss never went against the Capitol. He wouldn't risk Cashmere's life. And what good would it do to go against them anyway? What could an ant like him do?
And really, as long as he and Cashmere complied, life wasn't that bad.
But there had been a few close calls..
Gloss remembers the two times he almost rebelled.
The first time had been about an offer. He had had to perform together with another Victor.
Who was rich enough to afford two Victors at the same time?
Gloss had almost declined despite knowing the risks. He had sworn to himself that he would never touch another Victor after Finnick.
Not Victors.
Women, men, young, old, it didn't matter. But not Victors.
Victors should be respected, not used. And certainly not against one another.
When Cashmere slipped on the stairs on her way back from one appointment and broke her arm, Gloss had accepted.
He couldn't risk her.
In the end, he had had to perform at the same time as Brutus from District 2 but not together or with the same person (there had been enough people in the room for them to be thoroughly busy and never come close to each other anyway).
The second time Gloss almost rebelled had comeyears later. Very recently, in fact.
The time he had rebelled occurred around the 72nd Games.
Recent Victor Johanna Mason had just lost her entire family. That move had been a sloppy one on the Capitol's part. They had left no one to use against her.
Cashmere had been offered her contract instead, since the Victor from 7 refused to perform.
A join contract.
A join contract with Gloss – that had been news to him, too.
They had refused.
The depravity of the Capitol may have no limit but they did. And this was it.
Gloss was threatened with Cashmere's death if he didn't comply.
Cashmere was threatened with his if she didn't.
They had chosen to die.
The contract had been retracted.
They were too valuable to die. For now.
The couple who had extended the offer had been given Finnick as compensation.
It had been a good compensation. A lot less people could afford Finnick Odair than Cashmere and Gloss. Even together.
In the last few years Finnick had made himself one hell of a luxury good.
As punishment they had had to watch.
The clients had had special tastes; and despite the fact that they had been offered Finnick Odair, they had wanted two people.
So the clients had dashed out on Finnick for two.
He had had to stay on bed rest for two days and have a full body polish after that.
Gloss and Cashmere had thrown up more times that they could count while nursing him back to health.
Gloss hates and admires Finnick for never resenting them.
The next couple of years had passed by without anymore incident or anymore join offer.
Or anymore rebellion on their part.
Then had come the 74th Hunger Games.
Gloss could honestly say that he did not think anything special about those Games. For him it was just one more year of dead tributes (or at least one of them). He would only have very few appointments this year: it was his turn – and Cashmere's – to mentor.
It was also Brutus' and Enobaria's for their district.
Gloss was fine with that: they were all on friendly enough terms, and Career mentors were used to working together.
Even as soon as the Reaping it was made evident that District 1 wouldn't win this year. Marvel and Glimmer were finely trained but Cato had more rage.
This year Career pack would be limited to the tributes of 1 and 2: no one had volunteered in 4, which meant the tributes weren't Careers. Even though the girl from 4 seemed strong, she wasn't up to the Career standards.
Gloss hadn't been worried about the Games. His tributes would most likely be killed by natural causes or by their fellow Careers. Like always. It was very rare for a Career to be killed by a regular tribute.
Gloss, Cashmere, Brutus and Enobaria had been in the common viewing room to watch the recap of the Reapings. Their tributes had deemed it unnecessary and a loss of time and had preferred to stay in their respective rooms.
Gloss couldn't care less: he was just there to get sponsors. Training the tributes and telling them how to behave was the Academy's job, not his.
Of all the tributes, none had really stood out. Maybe the big guy from 11. And the girl from 12 for volunteering.
Brutus and Enobaria had laughed at her.
Gloss and Cashmere almost had too: she wouldn't last a day in the arena. She was petite and thin. A twig.
But she had volunteered to save her sister. They respected that. Even if she was most likely going to die in the bloodbath, they would at least respect her for her bravery and not mock her.
The Opening ceremony had been more interesting than other years, what with the flashy entrance of District 12.
Other than that nothing really had stood out of the ordinary.
Marvel's and Glimmer's account of the first few days of training had revealed few surprises. The tributes from 2 were as skilled as could be expected. One boy had a limp – bloodbath. The girl from 5 was smart and fast. The guy from 11 was strong but kept to himself. District 12 was nothing special and kept to themselves, too. All in all, a fairly normal batch of tributes even though Gloss knew not to rule out anything.
As the days passed by Gloss could feel a certain excitement buzzing around. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but there was a little something in the air that wasn't usually there. He put it down to the refreshing and unusual presence of some sort of backbone in the poorer districts' tributes.
The male from 12 revealed himself to be stronger than anticipated. After discussing it with the other mentors, they had encouraged their tributes to include him into the Career pack. The teenagers had been less than thrilled.
Soon it had been time for the individual training scores to be announced. Gloss had been quite satisfied with his tributes, although Glimmer was definitely not the best District 1 had ever produced.
Gloss had frowned when Katniss Everdeen had received an 11. That definitely had been a surprise. Marvel and Glimmer hadn't been happy with that.
Gloss had been intrigued. What had she done, that girl from 12 of all places, to get such high a score?
He had warned his tributes to look out for her. They had sniggered.
For all that was said about the poorest district, an 11 was nothing to scoff at.
The only times 12 had produced Victors were the Quarter Quells, something people tended to forget. That had to mean something. District 12 might surprise them yet.
Gloss had remembered his visit to the coal district during his Victory Tours, so many years before. It had been a drab and dull place. At the time, he had been more disgusted than anything by the poor quality of the feast and of the whole town.
But.
There had been a 'but'.
There had been a latent hostility in 12 that he had not truly managed to shake off during his stay.
An energy in people's eyes. Oh, not the people at the feast. Those had been empty blue merchant eyes. But the grey eyes of the streets. Those eyes had looked at Gloss with hidden contempt.
Who were these people to dare look at him, a Victor, a Career, with anything but admiration in their eyes?
Gloss remembers being so stupid, so naïve, so vain.
Haymitch Abernathy had been obnoxious at the ceremony. Gloss had despised him. In his young Career mind, he had associated the contempt people in 12 seemed to held for him with the sad excuse of a Victor the drunkard was.
Now, years later, Gloss had gotten to know the man a bit better. Not by much, mind you. But Gloss had matured and he had now been around enough to recognize the Victor in Haymitch.
The man was a drunk and a moron, there was no doubt about that.
But he was a dangerous moron.
There was an edge to Haymitch Abernathy that new Victor Gloss had been unable to see.
Gloss vaguely remembers watching the Second Quarter Quell but he had been too young to fully understand what was happening.
One day Gloss had managed to get one of his clients, the wife of a Gamemaker, to give him an uncut copy of the 50th Games. He had watched it alone, curious about whom Haymitch Abernathy was.
He had come to view the drunkard in a whole new light after that. His victory hadn't been particularly spectacular (except maybe the part about him literally spilling his guts all over the place).
No. What had made Gloss weary of Haymitch Abernathy was everything before that, from his Reaping to his laugh when the rock had come flying back from the force field.
Gloss had realized that Haymitch Abernathy had been mocking the Capitol for years, camouflaging it behind his drinking.
For all the scenes Abernathy had ever caused, Gloss had seen how sharp his eyes actually were. How sharp his sneers.
Haymitch Abernathy was a Victor through and through.
A score of 11 with Haymitch Abernathy for mentor definitely promised a surprise in the arena.
The first day of the Games had arrived two days later.
Almost all the mentors had been in the common viewing room – even though they would watch the rest of the Games in their private viewing rooms, they liked to be in the common one at the very beginning.
The Games would start soon.
Brutus had made a mocking comment about the coming bloodbath.
When the camera had zoomed in on Katniss Everdeen's face Claudius Templesmith had made a comment about her burning out.
Haymitch had snickered.
Gloss had frowned.
The gong had boomed and blood had started to flow.
The Careers had dominated the field.
Gloss had vaguely noticed the girl evading one of Clove's knives and running away from the Cornucopia with a backpack – and the knife.
The next few hours had been nothing unusual: the Careers had stayed at the Cornucopia and had taken their pick of the weapons before starting to hunt down other tributes. Just as they had been getting ready to go, the male tribute from 12 had marched up to them, unarmed but confident and asking if the offer for an alliance still stood. After a few exchanged glances they had given him a weapon and left, all five of them. It was already getting dark by then.
The four mentors of the Career pack had gone into one of their private viewing rooms. Career mentors tended not to stay with the others since they already were in an alliance. Also, the others were generally not too fond of them and their coldness towards the tributes.
Cashmere had scoffed when Glimmer had left the tribute for dead but no canon had sounded. Gloss had had to agree: this girl was no District 1 material.
The four of them had watched intently as the pack passed just under Everdeen's tree without noticing her.
That girl could become a problem.
Gloss had amended that thought when she had stayed away from everyone. The Gamemakers would get her.
They almost did.
They got her leg.
And had driven her straight to the pack.
She had managed to evade the five of them and had quickly climbed up a tree.
She had taunted them, had mocked them, had made a fool out of their training and districts. Even more so when Glimmer shamefully missed her with an arrow – seriously who had authorized that girl to volunteer back in 1?!
Hours later Gloss had been jerked awake from his nap by Cashmere's yells of What the Hell?!
His attention had snapped back to the TV screen only to see a swarm of trackerjackers angrily swoop in onto his tributes.
His mind had been torn between anger at the girl for having killed Glimmer and admiration for her sheer nerve.
She definitely had become a problem.
Although he had been angry at the loss of a tribute, Gloss had known that Glimmer would never have made it.
And come on, how long had it been since someone had dared attack the Careers like that? Had anyone ever even done that? The girl deserved some respect just for that.
Gloss had decided to seek out one Haymitch Abernathy. Marvel would be out of commission for the next couple of days, there would be no point in staying in front of the television.
When he had found him, Haymitch was sipping coffee – undiluted coffee - in the buffet room, sprawled on the sofa.
The older mentor had smiled into his mug when Gloss entered.
"-Hello, One."
His tone had been mocking. Gloss had had to fight down a frown.
"-Twelve.
-Why the long face? Need a drink to take the sting out of the long night?"
Gloss had just known that he was trying to get a rise out of him. It had almost worked.
"-Interesting tribute you have there.
-Which one?
-You know which one."
Abernathy had just smiled. Gloss would have to be the one taking the first step.
"-Who is she?
-Who is she, indeed?
-Abernathy.
-Why do you wanna know?
-Call it curiosity about who just offed my kid.
-Aah. That one stung, hm? The tribute from 1 getting her pretty little face up in the sky because of a girl from 12 of all places."
Gloss had wanted to answer with something definitely not nice but this was the Victor of the Quarter Quell he had been talking to. And Gloss wanted to get answers from him.
"-It certainly was unexpected.
-I'd say!
-So…
-So?
-Are you gonna answer?
-Answer what?" Gloss sighed. "Will you stop that! Who is she?
-Katniss Everdeen, female tribute of District 12 for the 74th Hunger Games…" Abernathy had drawled his sentence out, looking at his mug of coffee like it held the answers of the universe. He had started talking again just before Gloss snapped and left. "Also known as the Girl on Fire and soon-to-be known as the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games.
-Ok, never mind." Gloss had moved to leave
"-Oh I'm not joking." Haymitch had snapped his eyes onto Gloss. The taunting smile gone from his face and voice. "You Careers just watch her. She's gonna blow these Games.
-What makes you so sure she can kill Cato, Clove and Marvel?
-See, that's the thing with you, Careers. You think in terms of kill. And that's exactly what's gonna get'em, those pretty little killers of yours. She thinks in terms of survival. She doesn't need to kill them. She just needs to outlive them and, believe me, Sweetheart is nothing if not a survivor.
-Sweetheart?
-Oh she's a peach! You would actually like her, I'm sure. Almost chopped my fingers off on the train.
-Right.
-Fine, don't believe me. But I'll tell you now because you probably won't be around when the time comes: I told you so." Abernathy had left right after that, murmuring about getting sponsors for Little Miss Sunshine.
Gloss hadn't known what to make of this conversation.
As predicted the next couple of days had been quiet.
Unlike usual Gloss had decided to make a few appearances in the common room. He needed to feel up the atmosphere.
He remembers being confused by how friendly Katniss had been with the little girl from 11. Why would she take care of her like that?
Gloss had been in the common room when Katniss Everdeen had decided to pulverize the Careers' supplies.
If it had been in his temperament Gloss would have laughed at the stunned silence in the room. At his own face too, probably. At the sheer nerves of that wisp of a girl. At Cato's almost comical rage.
But he hadn't laugh.
You Careers just watch her. She's gonna blow these Games. The gruff voice of sober Abernathy had rung in his head.
She had done just that.
Gloss had been back in the private viewing room with only Cashmere when they watched Marvel sneak up on the little girl and Katniss. He had thrown his spear in a perfect movement. His arm was still in the finishing part of the throw when blood had started spurting out of his throat.
What the hell?!
How fast had she fired that arrow?
She hadn't even waited for the canon to sound before turning back to the girl, sure of her kill.
It had been quick.
Gloss was sure Marvel hadn't seen that one coming. Gloss certainly hadn't.
Gloss and Cashmere hadn't stayed long after that. They had no reason to stay in the Capitol. Doing so would be asking to get clients.
Nine days later Gloss had been astounded to watch the girl from District 12 get crowned together with her male counterpart.
And soon-to-be known as the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games.
I told you so.
Who the hell was this girl?!
Six months later Gloss still hadn't found an answer. He had hoped to do so soon, when she would visit for the Victory Tour.
The first stop had been District 11 and the most recent Victors had once again done what nobody had ever done before.
Could the guy actually give away a part of their winning to those families?
Gloss just knows something had happened after that that hadn't been shown on the television: the following speeches had all been Capitol-perfect.
Not one Victor was to be seen in the attendance of the ceremonies. District 1 had been no exception.
Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark had had their Capitol faces on the whole time.
Gloss still didn't know who she was but whoever that had been had been crushed by the Capitol. She was by then a soon-to-be married perfect little Victor.
Gloss had lost all interest in her by then.
Nothing of interest had filtered anyway. All that he had heard about her was that wedding gown number 15 through 11 had been eliminated and she would soon reveal the pictures of her in the 10 remaining competing dresses.
Then one day she had stopped a lashing by taking one to the face on national television. The broadcast had been cut so fast Gloss wasn't sure whether what he had seen had actually happened.
Who was this girl? This girl who dropped trackerjackers on the Careers, who blew up their supplies in broad daylight, who survived a pack of mutts and a Career out for her blood at the same time, who brought back her fellow tribute out of the arena with her and who opposed a Head Peacekeeper in the town square in front of the cameras?
This girl the whole Capitol had been waiting to see in her wedding dress.
The day these pictures finally had come out was also the day Gloss almost rebelled for the second time.
Not because they would have to go back into the arena. No. There were enough Victors in District 1 anyway that they might not even be Reaped. And the arena was not such a horrible place, not to Gloss.
Gloss had almost rebelled because Cashmere had wanted to go back in the arena. He wouldn't have minded about going or not but his sister, his baby sister, his strong Victor of a sister who actually preferred volunteering to a glorious and bloody death rather than keeping on living the life of a sex toy in a gilded cage.
Cashmere's pleading eyes had been the only thing keeping him from snapping that day.
What had they done to her?
What had they done that she was actually happy to go back into the arena?
He had never been afraid of the arena. And he knew she wasn't either. They had been groomed to be Victors after all. Killing was what they did best.
But this time they wouldn't be trying to get back out.
Because getting out of the arena would mean being alone for one of them.
And that had been unthinkable.
They would volunteer and never get out of this arena. But they wouldn't go down without a fight.
Weeks and months had passed and soon Reaping Day had arrived.
Without any surprise nobody had opposed their volunteering. Of course not. They would make too good of a show to pass up.
Without surprise either Enobaria and Brutus had also volunteered. Gloss hadn't known their reason but he was glad they had: the Victors from 2 would kill them with respect.
Gloss had almost laughed when the Victors had gathered and prepared themselves for the Opening ceremony. They were grotesque. Ugly. Not meant to be paraded like this.
They were all turned into some kind of joke up until the last moment. Finnick had been just a piece of juicy meat to be ogled and disrespected even as he rode to his death. Mags and Woof were too old to be put in costume with any hope of retaining even a shred of dignity. The Morphlings had barely been aware of what was happening.
Gloss had been disgusted by what was done to them.
Gloss has always respected all the Victors for their strength to survive where and when 23 other people couldn't. He had been raised and taught to respect and honor strength and vigor; qualities all Victors should show.
Few of them had earned Gloss' profound respect. Cashmere, Enobaria, Brutus, Finnick but also Beetee and Wiress, surprisingly enough.
At first Gloss and Cashmere had despised them but year after year the siblings had discovered in the weird tandem an inner strength that they had grudgingly come to respect. These two had always been nice to Gloss and Cashmere despite knowing what they had to do and the fact that they came from 1; and for that Gloss respected them tremendously.
Gloss had already slipped deeper into his Victor mode by then and decided to forget his friendship with Finnick, the only one he felt true and deep friendship for. He knew he would be returned the favor. But Gloss never forgot his respect for him. Finnick was a perfect Victor. Strong and fierce and the epitome of what a Victor should be. He ought to be respected, not exposed to the raving eyes of fools who couldn't see honor when it slapped them in the face.
When District 12's chariot had come out of the stables and flames had engulfed the Victors Gloss had instantly respected them. They had been fierce and detached from the crowds that were so far beneath them they hadn't even deserve a glance.
They were what Victors should be like.
Her in particular.
She had been breathtaking, clothed in her fire.
Not particularly beautiful – Gloss knew a lot about beauty; but breathtaking anyway.
She had outshone them all.
Whoever that mellow girl on the Victory Tour had been she was nowhere to be seen then.
Gloss couldn't help but think that Katniss Everdeen would have made a perfect District 1 Victor.
He had wondered if she would still be that strong in the arena. After all, she was so new it wasn't even funny.
In the following days Gloss and Cashmere had learned a bit more about the young couple. Peeta was decent with a spear but was definitely no Brutus. Katniss was quiet and reserved, distrustful of others.
Cashmere had quickly lost interest.
Gloss had kept observing her, though.
She was really good with knives and in survival skills. Not with making friends. He could see that. She wouldn't have lasted a year in the Capitol with that attitude.
Her or her family, whichever would have given first.
When people had gathered around the shooting station to observe her, Gloss had followed. He had watched her as she completely lost herself to the thrill of the hunt.
He could see it now. She was a hunter. A true hunter. She was meant to have a bow in her hand. He could see it her movements and her face and her eyes.
She hadn't won by accident.
She would definitely have made a great District 1 Victor.
Brutus and Enobaria had requested her as an ally.
Gloss and Cashmere hadn't. The only allies they had agreed to have were Brutus and Enobaria. They were the only ones they trusted enough to kill them when it would be time.
A few days later Katniss Everdeen had made Gloss frown once again when she pulled a 12 at the training score. A 12!
Who was this girl?!
What had she done to get a 12?!
That petite girl had become more than a problem. Or even a surprise.
In that moment, out of the blue, when Cashmere was still gaping at the "12" on the screen, Gloss had thought of Haymitch Abernathy.
How he had snorted when Claudius Templesmith had commented on Katniss burning out in her first Games.
That crafty old man had seen it all even before the gong of the 74th Games had sounded.
Almost chopped my fingers off on the train.
Gloss hadn't believed him.
He definitely believed him now.
Haymitch Abernathy had seen a year ago that this girl would make the world burn.
Before even knowing it Gloss was smiling at Caesar Flickerman, all eyes and cameras on him. On this stage, in that moment, Gloss was not a tribute. He was not a whore, he was not from District 1, he was not a mentor.
He was Gloss, Victor of the Hunger Games; and he was forced to voluntarily go back into the arena.
As he watched all the Victors walk and talk to Caesar, he couldn't help but feel something awake inside of him. Something from deep within. Something smoldering and boiling.
He had paid close attention to his fellow Victors and tributes.
Gloss had, for the first time, felt a deep connection with the other Victors.
Betrayal.
They had been betrayed by the Capitol. All of them.
And they weren't happy.
Then there she was. In her perfect wedding dress, covered in pearls and diamonds from District 1. The perfect bride. The perfect Capitol Victor. The perfect puppet.
Gloss had felt betrayed by her in that instant.
Then she had twirled.
She had twirled and twirled and twirled and the pearly diamond dress was on fire.
Gloss had been electrified. Like one the Victors had inhaled a sharp breath when she had opened her wings.
She had set them free.
In that beautiful, perfect moment, Katniss Everdeen had burnt Gloss' slavery away and breathed life back into him with her chin held high and her unwavering eyes staring straight at the camera, deep into the heart of anyone watching.
Gloss hadn't been too sure what he was doing with his hands in the air on Caesar' stage but it had felt right. So deeply right. More right than anything he had ever done in his life before.
His insides were soaring.
He was alive.
More alive in that one moment than in his whole life.
As Gloss' blade slits open the throat of a woman who had always been nice to him, he knows that he hasn't really lived.
Not really.
Not compared to that feeling he had felt so deeply two days before, breathing as one with all the Victors, the eyes of Panem fixed on them, on their joined hands.
Gloss sees her notch an arrow on her bow even before he is done opening gentle Wiress' throat, cutting her sweet song as it floats away on the stifling air of the arena.
Gloss, warm blood covering his hands, realizes that he has been played again.
He was never free. He was never strong. He has never lived.
He has been a Victor but never a winner.
He had thought he had been set free by the burning bird on the stage full of light.
But he has locked himself up in his cage again when he cut gentle Wiress' song for the eyes of a government that had all but killed his sister the day she was born.
He wishes, hopes that Cashmere will forgive him.
He knows he won't have to wait long for her, wherever they were going.
If Gloss has one regret as the arrows flies through the air, it is to never have lived, truly lived his life.
As the tip of the arrow enters his temple Gloss cannot help but be happy that he is dying at the hands of Katniss Everdeen, strong and respected Victor of the Hunger Games, whoever she is.
