Ishtar Marmaduke, 18
District 12 Female
It comes as no surprise to Ishtar that no one comes to visit her.
It's not that she expected it or anything, but one small part of her was hoping that maybe, just this once, her parents would notice? That they would notice that their only child just volunteered for the fucking Hunger Games? That the sole heir to their everything just chose to enter a death match which she likely will lose?
But noooo.
It's no secret that Ishtar's parents could care less about her. Most often, Ishtar doesn't really mind. She's fine with being alone! She doesn't mind the isolation! She works best alone! Of course she does. She doesn't need anyone. Anyone aside from Jayce, that is. But she's used to being alone, and she likes it! She's used to Jayce's absence, and she's…she's just fine with it, thank you very much!
Sure, Ishtar is tired of being ignored. Any sane person would be after so many years of being treated as nothing but a ghost. Ishtar may not mind the isolation…but she does mind spending the rest of her existence like that.
She slowly brushes her hand along the velvet-covered window seat. She's so close to seeing Jayce again that she can almost taste it. The feeling of Jayce's lips on hers is on the tip of her tongue, a shallow imprint on her mouth of a time long lost. God, she can't wait. She'll be there soon, and so will Jayce…
…as long as Jayce kept her promise.
Ishtar immediately scolds herself for ever thinking that Jayce would stray like that. Jayce loves her, and she loves Jayce! She's willing to go to any length to be reunited, and surely Jayce feels similarly!
It angers her to no end that she dares to think that, maybe, possibly, Jayce would stay in District 6. After everything they've been through together, of course Jayce volunteered! She made a promise, and Ishtar knows that Jayce never breaks her promises! She'll be there, or Ishtar will eat a bag full of termites.
And, even if she didn't…well, Ishtar likes to be in control. Volunteering is just another desperate bid for that. Because, yeah, Ishtar is desperate. She's desperate to see Jayce. She's desperate to remember what it feels like to be loved. She's desperate to be in control. She's desperate to be remembered. She's desperate to show her parents who their child is. And volunteering is a perfectly acceptable way to achieve all of that.
Ishtar stares out the window, watching as the bleak people of District 12 pass by, each likely more relieved than the last. She practically here their thoughts regarding her—provided she hasn't already been erased from their heads, as that seems to be a common theme in her life—that she's a monster, or perhaps a savior. That she's insane, or perhaps extremely courageous. That she'll lose immediately, or perhaps give 12 a chance at Victory again.
That last one is the one that strikes Ishtar the most. It's the one thing she has never really thought about; what is her plan? To die? To win? If it were a choice between her and Jayce, of course it would be Jayce but…if Jayce were to die, what then? Would Ishtar want to win to keep Jayce's memory alive? Or would she want to die, in order to be with Jayce forever?
"Nope," Ishtar says aloud. "Not even touching that one."
It's a bridge she'll cross if—and it's a very, very big if—she gets to it. Perhaps there is another path across the river—one that doesn't involve Jayce's untimely demise.
Long before Ishtar met Jayce, when it felt like it was just her against the world, she used to think that you'd have to be crazy to put someone else before yourself. Of course, she could have never foreseen Jayce. Jayce changed everything, and continues to change everything to this day.
Ishtar finds herself wondering if anyone out there, in all of Panem, knows just what she would do for Jayce. That's what keeps her going everyday: Jayce. Each day that passed was one less she would have to spend alone.
Don't get her wrong! Being alone is…fine. She's used to being alone! But that doesn't stop her heart from aching every day. It's just Ishtar against the world, but soon, it will be Ishtar and Jayce. In less than twenty-four hours, they'll be back together, like they were always intended to be…
I wonder what Jayce's chariot outfit will be…Ishtar muses as she continues to stare out the window. I hope that, whatever it is, it looks good on her…After a moment, she sits up, shaking her head. Who am I kidding? Jayce looks good in anything.
Of course Jayce will look good in anything she wears. She's Jayce fucking Dotter, for crying out loud!
A peacekeeper pushes open the door and leads her out of the room. They meet up with her district partner—she either didn't catch his name or didn't pay enough attention to remember it—as they file out of the Justice Building. Ishtar notices that he's eyeing her oddly, making her only glare back in annoyance.
She can't wait to get on the train. After all, it will be her first sighting of Jayce in years. She's practically shaking with anticipation, her heart pounding in her chest as if fighting to be freed. Almost as if it's begging to return to Jayce.
The prospect of seeing Jayce again, of being reunited with the love of her, has been the only thing keeping her going for so, so long. And at last, at long, long last, Juliet will be reunited with her Romeo.
Most people would likely have begun to fall out of love by now. Ishtar didn't. She doubts that she could ever fall out of love with someone as amazing as Jayce is. Besides, Ishtar is loyal. So is Jayce. And if Ishtar never fell out of love, then surely Jayce didn't either.
Liesel Leenheer, 17
District 5 Female
"If you're going to win, you're just going to have to—"
"Let me stop you there," Liesel says, holding out her hands. "Tena, trust me. This is fine. I'll be fine."
Tena scoffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Oh, please. You'll be dead in five minutes."
"Well, thank you for your vote of confidence," Liesel growls. "You can go now."
It's no secret that Liesel and Tena have never been the best of friends. Tena comes home with a different boy on her arm every other week, and Liesel has never really gotten behind that. It's also no secret that Liesel doesn't exactly approve of sleeping around, not after what happened with Noor.
"This is likely the last time we'll ever seen each other," Tena says. If she feels at all hurt by that notion, she doesn't let on. "Don't you have anything you want to say to me?"
Liesel considers it for a moment. "No. Now fuck off. Chop-chop."
For a fraction of second, Tena looks almost hurt. She quickly composes herself, however, and says, "Fine, then. Don't bother coming home."
With that, she sweeps from the room, leaving Liesel momentarily alone. No sooner has she sat down on the velvet couch do her parents burst into the room, faces tear-streaked and panic-stricken.
"Oh, Liesel!" her mother coos through her tears, quickly grasping one of Liesel's hands. "You have to come home to us. Promise us, please!"
Liesel sighs. "Of course I'm coming home. Don't be silly."
Her father, slightly less of ditz in her opinion, takes her other hand and says, "Liesel, you do know that winning the Hunger Games isn't easy."
"No shit, Sherlock," Liesel says tiredly. "Dad, really. I know that winning the Hunger Games isn't easy. Anyone with half a brain cell knows that. But I'm going to try, I promise."
"That's all you ever can do," her father agrees, pulling Liesel into a hug. Liesel wraps her arms around his back, feeling her hand brush against his ring of keys. An idea coming to her head, she slips them off of his belt, and, once she pulls away, carefully tucks them into her pocket. She'll never be allowed to bring a bunch of keys into the arena, but leaving them in the Capitol would serve as a reminder of her existence should she fail to survive.
With one last hasty goodbye, her parents are gone as well, quickly replaced with Dyna.
Liesel bites her lips, wondering what to do with Dyna.
Dyna throws her arms around Liesel's shoulders and pulls her into a tight hug. Once Liesel realizes that her shirt is getting wet, she comes to the conclusion that Dyna is crying into her shoulder. She awkwardly pats Dyna's back, unsure what exactly to do now. Maybe breaking up with her isn't going to be as easy as it sounds.
"So, Dyna…" Liesel says, pulling out of Dyna's hold and toying with the keys in her pocket. "These past few months have been…some of the best of my life. But I can't keep you in a relationship when I may die in a few days…it would just be too cruel."
She can see Dyna's face falling further and further with each word that comes out of her mouth, but she doesn't stop. "So, as much as it pains me to do this, I'm breaking up with you."
For a long, awful moment, Dyna is completely silent. And then she takes Liesel's hands and says, "I-I…"
"I'm sorry but—"
"Time's up!" Suddenly Dyna is pulled out of the room, leaving Liesel standing in the center of it with her eyebrows raised. She's not exactly sure if what she did was the right thing—it's the best for her, obviously. If she comes back, she doesn't want to be tied down to Dyna forever. Being petty is only so much inspiration to stay in a relationship when there is nothing there. And if she dies, it's probably the best for Dyna—but, then again, Liesel has never really understood Dyna—
When the door opens again, the person who comes through nearly makes Liesel start screaming.
"Liesel, I—"
"What are you doing here, Noor?" Liesel growls, sitting stiffly in one of the plush armchairs.
"I just came to try one last time," Noor mumbles, looking at the floor. "I know that sorry doesn't change the past, Liesel. But I'm trying to make amends, one last time. I don't know about you, but I don't want you to die when both of us still hate each other. Is it too much to ask for you to forgive me?"
Liesel seriously considers Noor's words. After a moment, her face turns stony and says, "Yes. It is."
Noor's face falls, but it quickly turns angry. "You know what, Liesel? Fuck you. I've tried and tried and tried to apologize, but it's up to you to forgive me."
"Well, it's never going to happen," Liesel says tartly. "You'd think you would have realized that by now, but no. You really are stupid, aren't you?"
"I'm persistent," Noor says in that tone that Liesel used to adore. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life hating you, and if you're dead, it's impossible to make amends. Just, please…if you ever really loved, won't you do me this one justice?"
Liesel stares at the floor by Noor's shoes for a long moment. Eventually, she looks up and meets Noor's eyes. God, she used to love those eyes. They were so easy to get lost in… "I can't forgive you, Noor. I'm sorry, but I just can't. Not after what you did. I loved you. I really did."
"And I did as well," Noor says, reaching for Liesel's hand. She pulls it away before Noor can grasp it. "I just want you to know that I'm truly sorry for what I did. I love you."
Noor turns around and leaves the room quickly, never sparing Liesel one last glance.
Scoria Primer, 18
District 2 Female
"Good. Good."
Scoria doesn't bother to look up. There's no point in trying to meet her father's eyes—she hasn't been able to ever since the Favio-incident. Despite how long it's been since the "incident", the wound is still fresh. It's not like Scoria knows how to bandage something like this.
"I suppose we'll see you back in here in…two weeks, shall we say?"
"Of course," Scoria replies emotionlessly. It's not like she knows what emotion is anymore, anyway.
"Less, if you can manage it."
"Of course," Scoria repeats, staring blankly at the ground. She's just tired. Tired of everything.
"Well, goodbye for now, then," her father finishes. Scoria watches his feet disappear from her view, wondering if she'll ever see those black boots again. It's not that she cares. As soon as she can get the chance, he'll be gone. They can't prosecute a Victor, especially not one with the popularity that Scoria expects she'll gain. Careers usually have that kind of popularity.
Now, the weird ones don't. The ones who aren't supposed to be there don't.
But, Scoria figures that an exception will be made for Wonder Hammerfort.
Scoria has seen the last Quarter Quell so many times that she practically has Macy Barker's interview memorized. Of course, that means she remembers Wake Hammerfort. She was the kind of Career that everyone knows should realistically have won, but somehow didn't.
Now that scares Scoria. Not the fact that, if that were her, it would make her dead. It's been a long, long time since Scoria has feared death. No, she doesn't want to fail.
She knows that she is the "perfect Victor". Beautiful, skilled, disciplined to the T. She is the tribute that everyone will place their bets on, and she's not saying that because of her ego. Sure, she hasn't seen the other Careers yet. But if Wonder is anything to go off of, the Capitolites will be predicting her Victory.
It feels good. It feels like, for once in her life, something is going right. But, at the same time, she doesn't want to be the person everyone projects to win. She's seen the statistics. The one who everyone bets on almost never wins. After all, no one likes a predictable ending, and Scoria coming out on top is definitely predictable.
That doesn't stop it from being plausible. Winning the Hunger Game is all Scoria has worked toward since she was a toddler. She will be damned if she loses her chance to fix everything.
Well, not everything.
Some things just can't be fixed, but Scoria hopes that she can makes amends.
No matter what she does once she escapes the arena, she can't be prosecuted. As long as it can't be considered "treasonous", she's home free. All she has to do is get out alive. She knows it will be easier said than done, and the last thing she wants to do is get cocky. Pride is fine, in moderation. Too much of it is what lead to the downfall of so many tributes, and Scoria refuses to be added to that roster.
If she can keep her head on straight, this will be so much easier. It doesn't matter how many people she has to kill. It doesn't matter how much blood she sees. It doesn't matter what she has to do. After all, Scoria has already done the unthinkable. What's it to do it again?
Silence has fallen over the room, laying thick like a blanket over Scoria as she takes a seat in one of the chintz chairs. She can't help but think of another person who should be here to say goodbye to her. But, of course, he isn't here.
It's the only certain comfort that Scoria can cling to: if she dies—and it truly is a big if—he will be waiting for. Either that or Scoria will go to hell, which is a place that Favio certainly isn't. Maybe it isn't a certain comfort at all, but it makes her feel better. Small comfort is better than no comfort.
Scoria doesn't like to feel uncertain. For her whole life, the one constant has been the looming threat of the Hunger Games. And now that she's here, having sealed her fate to perhaps certain death and perhaps certain Victory, she doesn't really know what to do next. All her father ever told her was to volunteer for the Hunger Games. He never said a word of what to do afterward, and frankly, no one at the Academy did either.
All she knows is what not to do. Which is useful, to some extent. It is, of course, nice to know that making friends or falling in love is most likely a poor decision, but Scoria definitely could have figured that out for herself. Any person with half of a brain could.
Still, Scoria never realized just how uncertain her future is until now. Now that she completed the one thing she was always told to do, she isn't exactly sure what to do next. Go in the Games, obviously. But then what? Kill people, of course. That is the extent of what she was told to do.
Volunteer.
Go in the Games.
Kill some people.
Come on home.
Sounds easier said than done, Scoria decides, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.
No one ever said winning the Hunger Games was easy. But what about Scoria's life has been easy?
Lana Meadows, 14
District 3 Female
Well, she certainly won't be writing that essay.
If there is one good thing about Lana's entire situation, it's that. At least, while Lana is away in the Capitol, being groomed for slaughter, everyone back home will be writing essays.
That's good, right?
Lana certainly got the larger of the two evils, but she can handle it. She's a fighter. She will not stop until Victory is hers, even if it's the last thing she does. She's just a kid, with a life she'd still like to live. She's ready to fight for that life, no matter what she has to do to get there.
How hard can it be? It's just…just killing some kids in a televised death match. That's…fine. Perfectly doable. Totally fine to expect a fourteen-year-old to do it.
"Lana, you had better come back to us." Her father's stern voice is almost welcome as Lana stands wrapped in his arms. She wishes he would never have to let go.
"I will," Lana says, her voice surprisingly firm and level. "I swear it."
"We can't lose you," her mother adds.
"I know," Lana says, exhaling a deep breath. "I promise I'll come back. I'll fight tooth and nail and…and I'll be back soon. I promise."
Lana steps out of her father's arms, wondering if, perhaps, this is the last time she'll ever speak to them. Will the nation soon know about her family? Will she survive long enough for Panem to know their names? Or will she fall in the bloodbath? It doesn't matter, she supposes. After all, twenty-fourth place is just as dead as second.
"I don't want you to go!" Rosie cries, throwing herself into Lana's arms and clinging onto for dear life, as if she could save Lana from the fate she has been condemned to. "Please! Can't you stay here?"
"I'd love to," Lana says, slowly rubbing Rosie's back. "But I really don't have a choice."
"I-I know," Rosie mumbles, burying her face into Lana's chest. "I j-just wish you didn't have to go…"
"I do too," Lana says solemnly. "I do too."
Lana wishes more than anything else that in this moment, time could stop. That she could spend an eternity with her family, that they would never have to leave, that she never would have been Reaped in the first place.
But time doesn't stop. Time stops for no one, for no reason, and it certainly won't make an exception for Lana. So, before she knows it, before she's ready to accept it, a Peacekeeper slams open the door and drags her family away from her. Lana stares at the door long after it closes, wishing that she could just tear it open and run after her family. She wishes that she could beg them to stay, that she could turn back the clock and see if she did something wrong.
Marta comes and goes, leaving Lana feeling only more melancholy than before. She finds herself feeling almost jealous as she watches Marta's back retreat from the room. Marta walks free. Lana does not. Lana could be dead in less than two weeks.
She drifts over to the window and sits on the ledge. The people of District 3 pass by below, no one sparing her an extra glance. She spots a group of kids who are in her math class sitting on the curb in a clump. Are they thinking of her? Are they wondering how she will fare in the Hunger Games? Or are they just grateful that it's her and not them?
Will they go into math tomorrow and realize that she isn't there anymore? Are they aware of just how lucky they are?
Because they are lucky. Those kids have no clue how lucky they are to be out there. It could be one of them sitting in Lana's place, having said goodbye to their family friends for possibly the last time. Had the escort pulled out a slip an inch to the left, it could have been one of them.
Do they realize that it was the girl who sits next to them in science that is now marked for slaughter? Do they know that Lana is sitting here, preparing to win or die trying, while they sit by and feel relieved that it wasn't them? Do they realize that it could have been them?
Do they have any clue just how lucky they really are?
Lana sincerely doubts it.
She doubts that anyone across all of District 3 is thinking of her. They'll all have marked her as a bloodbath, someone to fall immediately. Surely all anyone is thinking about is how relieved they are that isn't them. After all, the districts only start caring about their tributes once they get so far in the Games, and for all Lana knows, that might never happen to her.
After all, chances are, she's going to die. It doesn't stop her giving her all towards Victory, but she could fight and fight and fight and still die.
But Lana will fight, and she will fight, and she will fight. She doesn't care who she has to kill, who has to die, who she has to cut through to get home. Because she will get home, damnit!
Victory is not yet hers, but goddammit, it will be. She doesn't have to be a hero to make it home. So many Victors were some of the worst people in the world, and as long as Lana can avoid sinking that low, she can get home. And once she does, everything will go back to the way it was. She'll be back to writing essays in no time.
Eris Rowan, 13
District 7 Female
"Oh, Eris." Erato shakes her head, her eyes crinkled with regret and sadness. "Why would you do it?"
Their father lays a hand on Erato's shoulder, his head cocked slightly to the side as if he's looking at Eris in a new light.
Eris shrugs, partially unsure herself. "I already ruined your life once. I didn't want to let it happen again."
"You never ruined my life," Erato assures her, but Eris has a hard time believing her. After all, if it weren't for Eris's stupidity and recklessness, Erato would be standing beside her, not sitting. "I promise that I am perfectly happy as is."
"That being so," Eris says, staring at her shoulder like its done her great personal wrong. "I couldn't let you go into the arena. You'd be dead in two seconds flat! You'd never even get off the launch plate. Me, on the other hand…I can make it. And if I don't…well, I promise I'll be fine. If Macy Barker could do, why can't I?"
"That's different and you know it," Erato says seriously, her voice fast and firm. "I can't fathom you going up against highly-trained, eighteen-year-old Careers."
"They'll have to catch me first," Eris says proudly. "And they'll have to see me! I'll be in the—" her voices cracks. "trees."
"There might not be trees, Eris!" Erato exclaims, making Erebus jump from beside them. "There might be sand, or frozen ponds, or—or—or—"
"I got this, Erato!" Eris says loudly, looking up to her father. "You believe me, don't you? That I can win?"
For a long, dreadful moment, Eris thinks he's going to say no. "Of course I do, honey."
As if you even still remember my name, a small part of Eris thinks bitterly.
"And when I do, you won't have to work so much," Eris says, pointing to her father. "and you two can just go to school." She moves her finger toward Erebus and Erato. "And, if I don't come back, that's one less mouth to feed. I wasn't doing anything but weighing you guys down, anyways!" A slightly-hysterical laugh bubbles out of Eris's mouth. It's as if the weight of what she's done is slowly pressuring in on her neck and her shoulders, pushing her further and further toward the ground.
But she doesn't regret it. She doesn't regret it.
What is she doing for her family except for sucking up money? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She doesn't work. She doesn't bring in anything. She just takes and doesn't give back.
Well, she's giving back now. She's giving back with her life in exchange for Erato's, who actually provides the family with Caps to put food on the table.
With one last hurried "I love you" and a promise to return home, her family is dragged from the room.
Eris stands in the center of the room with her arms crossed across her chest, staring down at her shoes with a stormy expression on her face.
It only takes a few moments for Vera to burst into the room and wrap Eris in a hug. "I'm going to miss you so much," she says into Eris's hair as Eris awkwardly pats her back.
"Hey, I'll be back," Eris says, her voice as level as she possibly can make it. "Promise. Heh."
"You'd better," Vera says, still not letting go of Eris. "That was a brave thing you did, volunteering for Erato like you did."
Eris shrugs and pulls out of the hug. "It's the least I could do after paralyzing her."
Vera glances at the ground. "No one blames you for it."
"Well, they should," Eris says matter-of-factly. "It is, after all, my fault. I'm just paying back for what I did."
"I don't think that it equates to volunteering to replace someone in a death match at thirteen-years-old, Eris," Vera says quietly. "I really don't."
"Well, I do," Eris says in the same tone. "Besides, I can totally win this thing. Trust me. It's in the bag. I got this."
Vera shifts on her feet for a moment. "Eris…just be careful out there, okay? None of us want you to die."
"I don't want to die either!" Eris exclaims. "Nobody does! But it's better me than Erato, right?"
"…is it?" Vera asks.
"Of course it is!" Eris cries defensively. "Erato deserves the world, Vera! After what I've done to her, this is the least I can do to pay her back! Erato deserves to live, deserves to be successful, to grow old! And if I have to die for that to happen, then so be it."
Vera seems practically stunned into silence.
The only thing Eris feels is anger. Anger at Vera, for attacking her reason to volunteer. Angry at herself, for letting any of this happen. Angry at gravity, for pulling Erato down with her. Angry at the trees, for simply existing. Angry at the world, for everything.
But how can Vera say that Eris is wrong to volunteer for Erato, even if Erato doesn't want it? She saved Erato's life, only after ruining! Eris has every right to volunteer to take Erato's place!
Who cares if she dies? Erato won't be dead. Erebus won't be dead. Hell, even her father won't be dead.
Even if Eris is, at least Erato will get to live her life.
A/N: This chapter is ten-ish days late! Would you look at me, being amazing at updating like a normal human being?
Also, does anyone think that seventeen-ish pre-games chapters is too many? Because that's what I have planned and even if you do, I'm not going back on it.
1. Saddest goodbye?
2. Easiest goodbye?
3. Which of these five tributes is your favorite?
4. Which of these fives tributes is your least favorite?
Random Question: have you figured out who Lanai needs to get on a train yet? Here, I'll give you a hint: it's not Ezra, but it is someone from one of my past stories.
So, next up is the train rides, where the shit really starts to go down. I, for one, am really excited to get into the pre-games, even if I'm dreading writing more training days.
-Amanda
