Mercury Harrigan, 16
District 7 Male
Something is up.
Mercury can tell. He knows that Macy and Larken were left the apartment last night. He knows that someone that are not his mentors entered as well. It certainly did not make the night any easier. But he wasn't sleeping anyway, so what difference does it make?
His hands shake as he gets dressed. As he puts his arm through his shirt sleeve, he freezes. These could be his last moments here, his last moments alive. In mere hours, just two left, one-hundred, twenty-minutes, he could be dead. No, scratch that—he will be dead.
He will be dead. Mercury Harrigan will be dead.
It didn't used to scare him. In fact, it used to entice him. It was, really, all he wanted.
What changed?
Mercury ponders this as he leaves the bathroom, possibly for the last time, hands still trembling. He finds Macy and Larken seated at the dining table with Eris and their escort. Macy is nursing a steaming mug of coffee and Larken sports of fashionable pair of dark circles beneath his eyes.
Eris looks decidedly worse-for-wear than she did at the interviews. Her hair is carelessly pulled away from her face, and she seems to be playing with her food rather than eating it.
"You should eat something," Larken says. "If you think you can."
Mercury nods stiffly and takes a seat. He swallows thickly and says in a small voice, "What happened…last night?"
Macy and Larken exchange a glance. "…nothing," Macy says slowly.
"I-I heard you leave," Mercury mumbles, trying to work up the courage to say what's on his mind. If these are going to be his last hours in Panem, he has to use words.
There are so many things Mercury wants to say and so little time.
"Oh," Larken says. "I went out last night…visited with some of the other Victors. That's probably what you heard."
"Yes, that must be it," Macy agrees, nodding fervently.
Mercury shoots them an odd look and carefully picks up his fork. He finds himself staring at the food on his plate, unable to even think about eating. He knows he should. There may not be easily accessible in the arena. But he can't make himself put any of it in his mouth.
Instead, he looks up at Macy and says, "…Can I…can I say something?"
"Feel free," Macy answers, looking at him uncertainly.
Mercury takes a long moment to compose himself and glances at the clock. So many words, so little time.
"I used to love words," he says, eyes screwed shut. His voice is the most confident he can ever remember it being. "I used to love words."
He doesn't open his eyes. "I had so many things—things to say. So many things to say."
His eyes tick to the clock again. So many words, so little time.
"I-I lost…lost all of them." He absentmindedly rubs his arm, eyes still shut. "I c-can never get them back."
After a long moment of silence, he opens his eyes and surveys the table. Eris is staring at her plate like it is the most interesting thing in the world, fork empty but poised over her food. Their escort is nervously messing with his fingernail, seemingly trying to avoid looking at Mercury. Macy and Larken are both looking at him, eyes uncertain yet slightly pained.
"I've read about you, Mercury," Larken says carefully. "I've heard about everything that happened to you."
"W-what difference does it make?" Mercury says aloud, his voice returning to its usual quiet tone. "Words or no words, I'm still going to die."
Eris looks up. Their eyes meet from across the table, and her lips part. "You've got a better chance than I do."
Macy and Larken exchange another glance.
"…why do you say that, Eris?" Larken asks, voice uncertain.
Eris shrugs like it should be obvious. "He's older than me. He's probably stronger. I'm sure he isn't afraid of heights in the slightest. He's got a leg up already, but even then, we're still both going to die."
Mercury swallows and adds, "She isn't wrong."
His eyes wander back to the clock. So many words. So little time.
Macy shuts her eyes and says, "It's your lives, anyways."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Eris cries, getting out of her chair.
"It's not my problem nor is it my fault if you die," Macy says matter-of-factly, leaning back in her chair.
Eris balls her hands into fists and says "I—"
"Well, would you look at the time!" Larken says loudly, standing up. "It's time to head up to the hovercraft!"
So many words. So little time.
Macy and Eris continue to argue as Mercury follows Larken to the elevator. Mercury and Larken end up alone in the lift, while the escort wrangles Macy and Eris into the staircase.
Mercury simply starts talking. He starts talking and he doesn't stop.
Larken fixes him with an odd look, but doesn't say anything. He stands there and seems to listen as the elevator ascends the tower.
Mercury doesn't look down. He doesn't look, at all. He closes his eyes, and he talks. He talks and he doesn't want to stop. He won't stop, not until something he has to say is heard. Anything. He will not silent.
There is so much to say. So many words, and so little time.
Ottilie Blackwell, 15
District 4 Female
The sound of the hovercraft cuts out most conversation as she walks beside Arthur toward the ladder. It seems like a mighty long walk; the roof is only so big, yet the time she spends tramping across it feels like an eternity. She wants to get into the arena already, to prove who she is and what she is capable of. There is so much to do. So much to wait for.
She just has to be patient. She's waited her whole life for this. Surely she can wait another hour.
They stop below the ladder. Bayou has already gone up, leaving Chance waiting alone for Arthur.
"So, I'll…see you on the other side?" Arthur says, his voice loud yet uncertain.
Ottilie glares at him, but secretly appreciates the sentiment. "I suppose I will too, although I'd rather you sound a bit more confident."
With that, Ottilie grabs onto the ladder, head held high. She watches as Arthur shakes his head and follows Chance inside, and can't keep the thought from her mind:
Will she see them again?
Is there another side waiting for Ottilie, or is the only thing she is headed for beyond the curtain?
She steps into the hovercraft and shakes her head. Of course she will see them again. Nothing could keep her from her ultimate goal: victory. Making history. Ottilie Blackwell becoming a household name. It's all she's ever wanted, and it is what she will be getting.
As she takes her seat, she realizes that only the pairs from 7 and 1 are missing. It makes her unreasonably happy to know she got here before Calista and Shad. It's hardly a place of superiority, but the child in her is pleased nonetheless.
After a few minutes, the pair from 7 appear, quickly followed by Calista and Shad.
The hovercraft sputters into the air, and Ottilie overhears the girls from 11 and 8 talking to each other.
"There's really no going back now," the little girl with the broken arm says shakily.
"No kidding," the girl from 11 agrees. They both appear tense, which is unsurprising for a pair of small children with no experience in combat about to go into the Hunger Games.
"I don't want to die," 8 mumbles.
Ottilie scoffs. She has half a mind to tell the girl that she's twelve, from District 8, currently sports a cast on her arm, and believes in a God of all things. There is no God; Ottilie knows that well. Why, if there was a God, Ottilie's hard work would have been rewarded a hell of a lot more.
And, there is no way that that girl could ever win the Games. For the reasons stated previously, and because that would mean Ottilie fails. Which she is smart enough to know will not happen.
"I know," answers 11, leaning back against her chair.
The hovercraft shudders slightly, and the girl from 8 grips the arm of her chair with her free hand.
Ottilie rolls her eyes and looks away from them. Pathetic, they all are. None of them stand a chance against her. Hell, they don't stand a chance against half of her allies. Bayou is questionable, and Shad is just outright overconfident.
Overconfidence kills. Ottilie is well aware.
The hovercraft ride takes no longer than twenty minutes, but it feels like several geological ages have passed by the time they touch down. Ottilie is antsy. She is ready to get into the arena and spill some blood.
It's not the thought of killing that excites her; the contrary, in fact. Killing sounds gross, but it is necessary. No, what really excites her is the thought of victory. A kill is a victory. If she gets a kill, she triumphed over someone, and can prove herself from there on out.
The tributes file out of the hovercraft, where they are greeted by their stylists.
Bayou walks off with his, but Ottilie's is noticeably absent. Instead, a perfectly put-together woman approaches her and extends a hand. "Ottilie, yes? I'm Sidra. I'll be escorting you to your launch pad today."
Ottilie wrinkles her nose but shakes Sidra's hand. "Where is my stylist?" she asks snidely as they start down the long, bleak hallway.
"Aurelie is fine," Sidra assures her. "I simply asked her to step out this morning so we could talk."
"…about what?" Ottilie suspiciously.
"Well, Ottilie, we have a problem," Sidra answers. "Navarro Lune is a rebel operative in disguise. We need him taken out—discreetly. We would blow him sky-high if we didn't already have a rebel issue in the Districts."
Ottilie stares at her, wide-eyed. "Navarro? The one from 8 who stabbed the trainers?"
Sidra blinks for a few seconds. "Yes, that one. We need him taken out."
"He's a rebel?"
"Yes, I said that already," Sidra says impatiently. She stops in front of a door marked with large, orange 4. "Here, let's finish this discussion inside."
Ottilie follows Sidra into the launch room. She shuts the door, and when she turns around, is greeted by the strangest outfit she's ever seen.
The shirt is light purple, short-sleeved and wide-necked. In the center is a design of a white and gold castle, covered by the words "I conquered It's A Small World!" in a loopy font. Beneath that is a pair of short denim shorts and pair of dark red tennis shoes. They look good for running in, but not great for anything else.
And then the strangest item of all is a headband with two large circles on it. It is a combination of light purple and dark red, Ottilie's favorite colors, and has a few layers of lace wrapped around the circles. Ottilie looks at it with disgust. "You're kidding, right?"
"I didn't design it," Sidra says defensively. "Well, get dressed."
Ottilie dejectedly puts on the shirt. "So…I'm supposed to kill Navarro, who is a rebel in disguise, that's what you're saying?"
"…yes," Sidra says slowly, as if uncertain of what she is saying. "We'd appreciate it if you could do it in the Bloodbath."
Ottilie smiles lopsidedly as she pulls on the shorts. Wherever she is going, she guesses it must be warm. "This is important, yeah?"
"Very."
She kneels down to tie her shoes. "And I'm the only one who has been trusted with this mission?"
"This particular mission? Yes."
"So, what you're saying is…I'm trustworthy? And an important asset?" Ottilie stands up, trying to delay putting on the headband.
"I suppose so, yes."
"Whose order is this?" Ottilie asks, her voice getting progressively higher as the excitement takes control.
"My boss—the Vice President, and of course his aunt, Graciela."
Ottilie nearly jumps for joy. "And you trust that I can get it done?"
"We wouldn't ask you if we didn't. Now put on the headband."
Geo Stryker, 15
District 12 Male
"Did you design this?" Geo asks, looking down at himself.
His stylist, Katianna, scoffs. "Honey, I wouldn't be caught dead beside that thing." She gestures to his headband, which is the same shade of blue as his shirt. There is some sort of cartoon character on one of the circles, sporting green-and-white armor and a clear helmet. The other circle has a cartoony-version of space with the words "To Infinity, and Beyond!" written in large, white letters.
The rest of the outfit is no better. The shirt is decorated with a line of smartly-dressed ghosts, all hovering above the words "The Haunted Mansion". He has on a pair of jeans with several rips in them and a pair of all-black tennis shoes. It's no outfit he's ever worn before, or barely even seen. Only the wealthiest kids in District 12 wore jeans, and they certainly didn't come ripped.
"It's…not what I would expect to go into the Games in," Geo says, glad to know that Katianna hates it as much as he does.
"That headband makes it look like you have ears," laughs Katianna. She hands him a small mirror, in which he notes that it does, in fact, look like he has ears.
"Huh," he says quietly. "Weird."
Silence envelopes the room. Geo nervously sits down on the couch, wringing his hands. Only a few moments after he sits down, he stands up. He takes to pacing the length of the room but returns to the couch a few minutes later.
"Geo, honey," Katianna says. "Decide whether you want to sit or stand, please. All of this movement is making me nervous."
Geo takes a deep breath and says. "I just can't sit still."
"That's fine, honey, just stop sitting down so much."
He nods resolutely and tries to lean against the wall. All of his movement was bothering Katianna, so he may as well stop. He doesn't want possibly her last memory of him to be an annoyed one.
"I didn't mean stop moving completely," Katianna says with a laugh. "Although it's very hard to take you seriously with that silly little headband on."
Geo almost tells her that she's currently wearing a bright orange tunic, which clashes very badly with her puke-green hair and makeup, but he keeps his mouth shut and simply nods.
Any minute now, he will have to step into the tube. He will step onto the launchpad, and the glass will close around him, and there will be no going back. He will enter the arena, and he may very well die.
Just to think, that in ten minutes, he could be dead. Just to think that…well, it makes his brain feel like a smoothie and his head pound. To simply stand here and think…to think that in ten minutes, there could be no more Geo Stryker. He would be gone. Nothing, not even a consciousness trapped in a body. Nothing more than a corpse, unceremoniously draped across the ground of whatever Panem-forsaken arena he is about to enter.
He wonders if there will be blood, when he dies. He wonders if he will see any of it.
It's not like he hasn't seen his own blood before. He's gotten scrapes and grazes before. Hell, he once cut himself on a rusty nail and everyone thought he would die of Tetanus. He is no stranger to blood, especially not his own.
Despite this, despite all of his blood that he has seen, he does not want to see anymore. You do not bleed in the Hunger Games and survive. Once your blood is spilt, you are as good as dead—at least, that's what Geo's seen. He never paid the Games much attention before. They were a bloody, bloody sport, and Geo has no interest in watching other people die.
Well, he has no interest in watching himself die, but that's not the point.
"I'm…scared," Geo says quietly, so quiet that Katianna nearly misses it. He braces himself for her answer, afraid that she will be mad or anguished or unhappy or sad or anything other than what he hopes she is.
"I know," she simply says. "Only a fool wouldn't be."
It is, really, all Geo could have asked for. It isn't grating, it isn't judgmental, it isn't anything but careful and supportive.
And she certainly isn't wrong. Anyone with more than a potato in their head knows that the Games are something to be feared, not celebrated.
"Thank you," Geo says, his voice quiet but genuine. "I…appreciate it."
"I mean it, Geo," Katianna says, one hand absently messing with her curls of vomit. "Don't be a fool."
"Five minutes until launch," says the pleasant voice in the ceiling.
Geo sucks in a breath and holds it. "I'll try."
He takes a cautious step toward the tube. It looks so innocent, almost innocuous. He wishes, as he sizes it up, that he didn't know where it was going to take him. Maybe it would be easier to just take the step, enter the tube, if he didn't know it would lock him in a death match.
Another long breath comes through his lungs. He holds it for a moment before letting it go. Five minutes. Five minutes, and he could be dead.
He takes another breath.
In five minutes, he could be stabbed in the chest, have his head cut off, have his innards be spilt across the ground. Only five minutes. Five minutes left that he can breathe as a free man. Five minutes left that he can simply stand here, and not fear for his life every second.
It does not feel like long enough.
It is not long enough; Geo can tell already. It will never be long enough.
"Four minutes until launch," the pleasant voice says, acting as a countdown for the clock that hangs over Geo's head.
Four minutes.
It is not long enough.
No amount of time could ever be long enough.
"Good luck, Geo," Katianna says. "I hope to we meet again, whether in life or death."
Geo nods once, without turning his head away from the tube.
"Three minutes until launch."
At last, he takes the last step. He pulls himself into the tube, feeling as if he is pushing through molasses. He turns back to Katianna as the voice announces two minutes. Two minutes left.
Geo takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He refuses to open them until his plate starts to rise.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "for everything."
"Of course," Katianna says, sounding almost perplexed. "It is my job, after all."
Geo can't find it in himself to answer.
Lana Meadows, 14
District 3 Female
"Three minutes until launch."
A strangled sort of laugh chokes its way out of Lana's throat. It sounds like a laugh, and her face contorts like it's a laugh, but there is nothing humorous about the situation.
Here Lana stands, wearing a mustard-yellow sweater and a pair of ears. Ears. She's going to die wearing ears.
The ears themselves don't look terrible or anything: being completely white and shiny isn't so bad. But it doesn't really compliment the rest of the outfit: the aforementioned mustard-yellow sweater is decorated with the white outline of a castle and the word "Disneyland" in an almost difficult to read font. The rest of her outfit is simple; white, nearly pocket-less denim shorts and canary-yellow tennis shoes.
It's not necessarily a bad outfit to die in. But there could be better.
"I'm not ready."
"You have to be," says her stylist, Wulfric. His voice is high, even higher than Lana's, which makes it rather hard to take him seriously. "Only five minutes, after all!"
He is far too cheery for Lana's liking, but she affords him a forced smile nonetheless. As she nervously turns to look at the tube, the smile drops from her face, leaving her looking grim and almost solemn.
The tube sits in the back corner of the room, in a little alcove of its own. The walls around it shroud it in shadows, giving it a look of foreboding it wouldn't have otherwise had.
Lana takes a step toward it. She keeps her head held high as she looks at it, knowing that once she steps inside, she will be trapped. The glass will close around her, and that will be that. No going back. The plate beneath her feet will rise, and suddenly she will be in an arena and fighting for her life.
It doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel real, and she's not sure if it ever will.
Even when there is a knife in her stomach and she lays on the ground, surrounded by her own vermillion puddles, will it feel real? Or will it be like a dream, simply drifting through it and waiting to wake up?
It is not a dream.
Lana knows that. This is real, and she knows—she simply isn't prepared to accept it.
"Two minutes until launch."
She reaches out and touches the tube. The glass is cold.
"I'm not ready," she repeats, shoving her hands into the pocket of her sweater. If there is one silver lining to all of this, it's just how comfortable her sweater is. The inside is lined with fleece, as is the pocket. It happens to be her favorite color as well, but it certainly is not good camouflage.
She hears the sound of Wulfric shifting his position. "You'll be fine," he says, sounding almost annoyed with her.
"You see how you like it," Lana says in a low voice. "to know that in less than five minutes, you could be dead."
"Hmph," Wulfric answers. "I sure hope you win. That way I can get promoted to a better District."
"That's despicable."
"What? Hoping my charge wins?"
"There is one minute until launch. At this time, please step into the tube."
It says please. As if Lana has a choice. As if she could say, "No, not today" and that would be that. She wonders if the voice will thank her as well—maybe they'll send her family a card when she dies. Just to be polite.
Lana snorts. After a moment, she takes a deep breath and steps into the tube. For a long moment, nothing happens. She stands there, staring at Wulfric, wondering if, perhaps, this is the last moment their eyes will meet.
The glass suddenly seals around her and she sucks in a breath in surprise. She only lets it go when the plate begins to rise, leaving her less and less light. She bends over, trying to keep Wulfric in her sight for as long as she can, until she is quite literally kneeling and her head is touching the ground.
She is plunged into darkness, leading to her rocketing to her feet in fear.
These are the last moments, she thinks, almost shaking with fear. The last moments.
The tube bursts into the arena, blinding her with momentary sunlight. She quickly begins to look around, trying to take everything in and find a place to hide, and is met with, possibly, the strangest place she has ever seen.
Directly in front of her stands an enormous castle, not unlike the one on her shirt. Before that is the golden Cornucopia, shining in the early morning sun. To the right stands a mountain, tall enough to have—snow, on top? It's far too hot for snow, Lana notes, but not hot enough to be an issue.
On the other side of the castle, she can see two gateways, one marked with Adventureland and the other Frontierland. Directly to her right are large, gray rocks all pointing to a sign that she can't make out. She peers over her shoulder for a moment and sees, oddly enough, a quaint row of shops leading to a square.
"Forty-nine!"
She locates Ashe, standing three plates away from her in dark green shirt and shorteralls. In front of the entrance to Frontierland stands Ainsley, and near the mountain and castle she sees Eris and Lyndie, luckily standing close to each other.
After a moment, she gains Ashe's attention and gestures slightly towards the rocks. Ashe nods, and Lana can only hope she got the message.
"Thirty-two!"
She takes a deep breath and tries to keep her head. Spilling for the Cornucopia, she can see weapons and backpacks of all kinds. They need those. They need weapons, and they need supplies.
She will just have to risk it.
"Twenty-six!"
Eris and Lyndie seem to be communicating somehow. Lana watches them, hoping they notice her, but they never do. Her eyes stick to them for a few moments. Her little allies. Both of whom could be dead in a minute.
"Nineteen!"
After quick consideration, Lana decides to go after a pair of dark red backpacks leaning against each other. There has to be something sharp in there, right?
"Thirteen!"
The seconds tick past. Lana listens to them carefully as she leans forward, trying to take a running stance. She has to get there first, has to get to those bags before anyone else can. She can regroup with her allies—those that survive—once she secures supplies.
(And doesn't die.)
"Eight!"
Another deep breath. She looks to her left and finds that Quinn Bayers is beside her. To her right stands Liesel Leenheer, who is looking at the girl from 6 with utter contempt.
"Three!"
Stay focused, stay focused, Lana thinks, trying to stop herself from wondering what's wrong with Liesel.
"Two…!"
Everything will be fine. All she has to do is survive the Hunger Games.
A/N: And there we go. The Pre-Games over and done with, and now the fun part begins.
1. Will Mercury survive the Bloodbath?
2. Will Ottilie's mission impede her chance at victory?
3. Does Geo stand any chance?
4. Will all of Lana's allies make it out of the Bloodbath alive?
Random Question: what are all of tributes' shirts based off of?
My answer: well, they're real shirts that they sell at Disneyland. Or, well, technically on the Disney website, but same difference.
ALLIANCES:
We're Still Extremely Volatile This Year: Shad (D1M), Calista (D1F), Scoria (D2F), Bayou (D4M), Ottilie (D4F)
Flower Power: Lana (D3F), Eris (D7F), Lyndie (D8F), Ainsley (D9F), Ashe (D11F)
Sad Lesbians: Jayce (D6F), Ishtar (D12F)
Disaster Lesbians: Liesel (D5F), Tam (D10F)
5'6 Gang: Darwin (D3M), Sterne (D5M), Mercury (D7M)
For Peace of Mind: Everett (D9M), Geo (D12M)
-Amanda
