Welcome! Here's a 'rewrite' of one of my previous stories from nine years ago. Same characters but the story will be different and more well-written. I'm debating keeping the old one up or not as I finish exporting the chapters, but really the plot will be so different it's not really worth it.
Support is always appreciated, I hope you enjoy the story!
Chapter One: The Letter
"Ladies and gentlemen! The Victors of this year's Hunger Games! Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!" She could still hear Caesar's voice booming throughout the Capital as he introduced the Victors. That announcement marked the beginning of her grace period. Albeit short, it was extremely welcome for the Victor of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games. Usually, she just sat around at home trying to keep away the demons of her own mind and the thoughts of the tributes they'd just lost. But this year?
This year she had more thinking to do. Because they had two Victors. The notion had kept her up for most of the past seventy-two hours. The whole system of the Capital, how she knew it, was based on threats and fear. But here President Snow, no, she thought, Seneca Crane, had let two tributes be crowned. She knew Seneca was now dead, forced to eat the poison berries that Katniss had threatened them all with.
She brings a cup of hot tea carefully up to her lips, sipping slowly as her dark sapphire eyes lock onto the scenery that flies by outside the train window. Her right leg is outstretched while it's prosthetic companion rests against the armrest of the plush velvet chair she occupies. It's a stark difference, her tanned skin from the fake tan and metal of the prosthetic. Her stump of a left leg always seems to mock her, reminding her of yet another thing the Capital has taken away.
But she knows those thoughts will only grow darker, so she thinks of home instead. District Four. Her District, her home. The oceanside District is a place she's fiercely protective of and she carries it's people and culture in her heart.
As all Victors, she resides in Victor's Village. At the end of the row away from the others, or, as far away as she can get. Right after she won they had planned to put her next to her mentor, but her father had wanted to be closer to the ocean, even if it was only by a hundred yards. The Capital had been all to happy to cooperate, and the Victor wonders now if her relationships with the other Victors would be any different if she lived just that much closer to them. Her relationships with them weren't terrible, but they could be better.
She goes and eats dinner with Mags, Four's oldest Victor, on a regular basis. That's not by her doing, just that Mags invites her on a regular basis, and she doesn't have the heart to turn the old woman down. Of course, she always invites Finnick Odair and he's never been one to turn away a free meal.
He's someone who the younger Victor hasn't voluntarily spoken too in the past four years. At Mags, things are tense, with forced pleasantries and stiff head nods being the norm from everyone except the host. During the Games the tributes are split up, never mentored together. She mentors the boy, Finnick gets the girl.
The now-empty ceramic cup is set back on the side table, her hands folding in her lap. The focus of her eyes change from beyond the train glass windows to its surface, where she can make out her own reflection. A slight frame, broad shoulders, tan skin. The muscles that line her arms are back come from a childhood of working around the docks and then from regular exercise after her games.
She could just make out her ice blonde hair. It was still pulled up and styled into a bubble ponytail from her earlier appearance, but the end of it contrasted nicely against her forest green blouse. It hung loosely around her frame, the top three buttons undone and only one half was tucked into her jean shorts. She cannot make out her eyes, but she knows there's not much there. No spark, no light.
That's been gone for years.
She supposed sometimes she should be thankful for that. The feeling came on its own, the emptiness. Drugs weren't needed, that saved her money. Not that she needed any more money, she had more than she'd ever need.
Finnick had actually been the one to tell her own to get better compensation from her "clientele". She had actually asked him herself upon their first meeting all those years ago, right after she'd been reaped. It was genius, not that she'd ever tell him that, having the Capital elite spill their secrets. It didn't make her job worth it, just a little bit better.
She wondered now if she even had to keep doing her job. After all, they'd just had two Victors. But then again, there were still a few people she cared for, mostly Annie, who she knew Snow wouldn't have an issue killing or punishing. She may not have any loved ones left, but Annie did, and they'd be hurt on her behalf. But what if she tried to just push limits?
The door on the far left of the train car draws her attention as it slides open and she nods to the avox who enters the room. He stands against the wall, awaiting instructions, and her mind almost forgets that he's even there. But she takes a note of his location, of each movement, of the steady rise and fall of his chest. Thankfully, he's not behind her, because that's something that always makes her uneasy now. Not that the public can tell when they're behind her, but they really can't read people. Hell, they even think her and Finnick are good friends. The unbreakable tribute-mentor bond is sacred to them
Her thoughts drift once again and soon she's thinking about how she'll have to return to the Capital in a month. Just for the weekend to meet with clients. Absentmindedly she picks up her cup again, going to take a sip just to remember it's already empty.
Just don't go, her mind whispers. Why was it her job to protect Annie's loved ones? When all of hers were already gone?
Her grip on the cup tightens, knuckles going white as the scene replays in her mind. Coming home to find her parents, both dead on the living room floor. Their limbs had been hacked off, the scene making it very clear that they had suffered. And in the back hall? Her twin brother, hanging from a noose that was tied to the ceiling light. His body was still swaying, back and forth, back and forth.
She had only said no once. Just one little time. Snow had sent a representative straight from the Capital.
Whittier.
That had been his name. He'd told her that certain people in the Capital would be very generous in exchange for…physical services. Obviously, she had refused, ran the pink haired man out of her house after he'd said the President would be very disappointed to learn of her refusal to cooperate
The President himself had showed up in her home a week later, spinning a lie about how sorry he was to hear about the loss of her family. He told her how he'd make sure this stayed between the two of us before making the same proposal Whittier had. That time, she had said yes.
The cup shatters to pieces in her hands, the hardened clay digging into parts of her palms as smaller pieces fall to the floor. Without much thought she pulls the pieces from her hands, watching as blood streams from the cuts. She can feel the avox looking at her.
She stands up on one leg, "Clean that up," Her District Four accent is strong, her pronunciation of the words being soft yet firm, "have someone fetch me when we're nearing the station." She doesn't wait for an answer nor bothers with putting her prosthetic back on; simply hopping out of the room and down the hall to her own bed chambers.
It's simple, by Capital standards. All white. White floors, white walls, white bedspread. She's ruined a portion of the wall near the back corner, behind her bed and away from the tinted window. There, in black paint, is a list of ten names: Lando Faris, Annie Cresta, Vincent Tukhart, Molly Watik, Quinn Stevens, Poppy Sander, Maxx Val, Evelyn Howard, Michael Upton, Jade Xide.
Three on the list aren't crossed out, and the reminder makes her go over to the dresser, taking out a small container of black paint and a thin brush. Moving back to the wall, she paints a line through the last two names, leaving only Annie's untouched. The only child she's brought home, that they've brought home.
That was the only year her and Finnick actually worked together while mentoring. With the way it is now, their tributes still last about the same amount of time. Technically, as the most recent female victor, Annie should be mentoring with him, but she keeps doing it for her. She wouldn't be able to take it; that's a fact they all know.
The paint goes back in the drawer and she take out a roll of clean cloth in it's place, wrapping up her bloody hands.
She moves to her bed once the bandages are secure, lying atop the comforter, her back against the dark oak headboard. Perfectly manicured fingernails drum idly on the white surface, her mind giving her body something to do as she thinks, yet again, about the two Victors.
It gives her a little bit of hope. Maybe things can keep changing, bigger things, more profound things. This could be the end of her enslavement, the beginning of it at least.
The girl smiles, suddenly feeling more like the twenty-one year old she actually is as she wonders, just how much she could push them now. She had been their puppet for the past five years, she was sure she'd at least get a warning before any harm came to anyone else. It was a risky theory to test, but oh how she wanted too.
An hour later, there's a sharp knocking at her door before it glides open, the avox from earlier poking his head inside and nodding at her to indicate their imminent arrival. She swings her legs over the side of her bed before reaching for the prosthetic and attaching it to her knee joint.
She swings it back and forth, cringing only slightly as small shockwaves run up her leg. It always does that, and she thinks it may be on purpose. Deeming it safe and secure, she pushes herself off the bed. The feeling of plush carpet against her bare foot reminds her that shoes are necessary and she finds them easily in her closet.
The ocean is already in view as she enters the main car. When most people return to their district, they have friends or family ready to greet them. She's seen this in passing. Most of the older Victors here have some form of family left and they'll wait for hours in anticipation. But she has no one; it's something she's gotten used to over the past few years. She thinks the ocean waves crashing against the shore and the salty air is welcome enough though, and she lets a slight smile flit across her face as the door slides open.
Like most districts, the train station is positioned in close proximity to the Justice Building and the main Square. Because of that, the roads are paved with slate stones. Her leg makes a distinct clink with every step she takes, drawing some attention her way as she makes her way past the rows of shops and behind the Square towards Victor's Village.
Briefly, she considers stopping in at the butcher before deciding against it due to the number of people around. She can feel their stares, notices how some younger children even point at her as she passes by. She's used to attention, lots of attention, but it's not as appreciated when she's in her District. They aren't noticing because they're obsessed with her or because they love her.
They notice because they're afraid.
Soon enough, the tall, white plaster brick homes loom before her. She scowls as she passes under the entrance archway, keeping her eyes downcast as she makes her way towards the very end. Mag's is home, she can tell because her front windows are open, and she makes a mental note to stop by tomorrow morning to check in on her.
Out of the twelve mansions only seven are currently occupied. It used to be eight, but Sirius shot himself two years ago. His remaining family had been evicted, forced to go back to their old home by the docks. She occasionally missed the middle-aged man, they'd gotten along pretty well.
As she reaches the front steps of her own home, she wonders briefly if she'd even remembered to lock the door when she left over a month ago. It opens easily, answering that question with a resounding no. It bugs her, because she can almost remember doing so.
It all makes sense once she smells the roses.
Her eyes narrow, her left hand shaking slightly as she walks deeper into her home. And then there it is, a singular white rose resting on the desk in her study. It sits in a glass vase, an envelope resting on the front. Her own name seems to taunt her, written in big, loopy, calligraphy writing.
'Miss Stellar Mere'
She opens the letter carefully, frowning at the Capital seal that's in the top corner of the page. And she rereads the letter again, and again, and again. Her initial reaction is shock, which quickly turns to anger. Her shaking hand lashes out at the vase, swiping it off the table so it crashes to the floor, breaking into hundreds of little pieces. The rose sits atop a glistening pile of glass, seemingly unaffected. Stellar stares at it for a minute, seething.
And then she's turning on her heel and once again out the front door, the letter in a death grip of her right hand. Three houses down she turns up the front steps, her fist banging against the front door. There's no answer for a while and a voice tells her that maybe he's not home right now.
Her gut says otherwise, "Finnick!" she's pounding on the door again.
It finally opens, "What the-" His mouth stays half open as she shoves past him and into his home without an invitation. "Stell?" Her name comes out of his mouth harshly.
She throws what's meant to be a smile but probably looks more like a grimace his way, "We have a problem."
His bronze eyebrows go up, "What do you mean 'we'?" His mouth skews off to one side as he narrows his sea green eyes at her. She's pacing, something he's only seen her do a few times in his life.
"You and I," She motions between the two of them, drawing his attention to the letter in her hand. "The both of us," He holds out a hand and she shoves the paper at him, "Together."
He rolls his eyes at her roughness, reading just her name on the front, "My name isn't-"
"Shut the fuck up Odair and read it." He just nods before motioning for her to follow him. They go to the living room, where he motions to the couch. Stell sits, her hands twisting together as Finnick takes a seat in a high backed, plush chair across from her. He smooths the page out and as he does so, she takes the time to glance around the room.
Unlike her house, pictures line the walls here and are situated atop the mantel over his fireplace. She recognizes some people in the photos. His parents, Mags, Johanna and Cedar. Other Victors as well who she knows he's friends with, and Annie. But none of Stell. None of his very first Victor. It causes a pang in her chest and she averts her eyes from the walls, wringing her hands together again before starting to scratch at one of the proximal bones of her hand, right above her knuckles.
He doesn't even look up, "Don't do that."
She wants to break something. But she's already broken two things today and as she's reminded often, it's not appropriate behavior. She wonders what he thinks of the letter, if he's finished it yet or how many times he's even read it.
"Dearest Stellar," Finnick starts to read aloud, ceasing her movements as she listens, "I am sure it's come to your attention that having two Victors in these Hunger Games may cause, let us say, complexities within the Districts of Panem," Finnick glances up at her for a moment before continuing, "Aside from Miss Everdeen and Mister Mellark, you and your mentor are my most influential Victors for the entirety of our beloved country. It seems as though the people of Panem feed off a love story like parasites do a meal."
Finnick pauses, his eyebrows scrunched together, "I don't think that's an accurate metaphor."
Stell scoffs, "Keep going."
He makes a face, but continues, "It has provided the Districts with a sense of hope, and as we've discussed, the only thing stronger than fear, is hope. Let me be clear. Two Victors doesn't change anything. As such, I would greatly like for the spotlight to be taken away from the Star Crossed Lovers from District Twelve. So, my dearest Stellar, it would be a great pleasure if you and Mister Odair would be a distraction, steal the spotlight away. Please consider doing this, if not for me, then for the Capital citizens, who simply adore you both. Consider wisely, I advise you, for we both know what happens when you don't…President Snow."
Chapter Two should be up in a few days!