Chapter 69: Sprout Skhosana
A/N: The arena idea for this chapter was from Fanimaniac4ever101
Katniss chuckled softly, remembering Sprout's relatively recent Victory with ease. "The boy who got a three in training, huh?"
Peeta couldn't resist a smile. "Yeah, here we were, getting our sevens and elevens en route to victory. And then Sprout here just waltzes in with a three and somehow still wins." He shook his head, an incredulous look on his face. "It's astonishing, really."
"To be fair," Katniss murmured. "Beetee did it too. But even then he could rely on his electronics skills to claim a victory. Sprout went in there with very little going for him."
"Well he did have one thing," Peeta remarked. "Luck."
Katniss nodded. "Plenty of it, surely. And really, you can't deny, every Victor's got to have more than their fair share of luck to even come close to winning. You can be as strong or skilled as you want, but Sprout ticked that one box no one else did, so kudos to him."
Sprout Skhosana
District 11
Aged 17
2 Kills
X marked the spot.
Sprout held up the old, dusty map closer to the lantern on the wall, peering carefully at it in a bid to dig up more clues. The map had belonged to his uncle Shaddock, who had once been on course to become the most incredible treasure hunter District Eleven had ever seen, until he was killed in the arena of the 60th Hunger Games. A tragic end to what could've been an exciting tale, but that was exactly why Sprout was here.
Shaddock's legacy would live on in him.
His aunt Audrey had been Shaddock's best friend growing up, and he'd taken her on all of his treasure-hunting shenanigans over the years. Later on, she'd inherited all of Shaddock's prized collection of maps, notebooks and journals, arguably the most extensive of any regular District citizen.
And now, those maps were in Sprout's hands.
Growing up, Sprout had spent plenty of time with his aunt, who, despite being from a whole other generation, wasn't actually that much older than him. He'd often met up with Shaddock too, and he recalled being a young kid sitting across from the wily teenage boy with a devilish smile as he spouted a fountain of stories. That boy was a treasure trove of tales and myths and legends, some of which turned out to be false, but still others turned out to be at least somewhat true, and many more remained unknown for Sprout to figure out on his owns. Tall tales of golden chalices hidden in secret rebel caves and lost artefacts tucked away in abandoned ancient ruins from the time of the old republics that preceded Panem.
Sprout traced his finger along a thin red line that demarcated a border of some sort. Two spiral markings had been made along the red line, which he'd deduced to indicate some sort of landmark. Judging by the scale indicated on the bottom left corner of the map, the two landmarks were approximately 200 metres away from one another. A swirl of trees had been drawn on one side of the red border, presumably a forest, and a shaded circle sat in the middle of the tree drawings. On the other side was a large trapezium shape with three apples within it. An apple grove, perhaps? This place had to be located somewhere along the border with District Twelve, which had a large forested area on Twelve's side and three towns on Eleven's side.
The only problem was, none of those towns grew apples.
Sprout's attention shifted to one of Shaddock's journals, a thick red one with a dusty gold binder. He whipped it open and flipped to a specific page, in which Shaddock, in his intricate handwriting, detailed the history of two towns in particular, said to be located 'along a small stream' and 'close to the border with Twelve'. They had once been a singular town responsible for growing apples, before they'd been split into two different towns growing plums and dates respectively approximately fifty years before the Dark Days. Considering the fact that this map had been created sixty years before the Dark Days, this description was fitting.
Next, he scooped up an old photograph of what Shaddock had thought to be those towns dating back to approximately seventy years before the Dark Days. Sure enough, it showed workers hard at work at an apple grove, but what was truly interesting was a dark stone obelisk in the background. It was faint and barely visible in the fading photograph, but it was there nonetheless, standing right in front of the fence that barricaded the forests of Twelve. The obelisk wasn't mentioned anywhere else, so Sprout figured it must have been brought down soon after the map's creation. Approximately 200 metres away and even more faint in the photograph was another structure standing tall amidst the apple groves. It had a large, circular head and a wide base. Perhaps a watchtower or an oversized scarecrow? Amidst the trees, Sprout could also see a darkened shadow. Maybe it was nothing more than a blemish on the old picture, but Sprout had a feeling it had something to do with the shaded circle from the map.
A steady smile crept across Sprout's face as he giddily scribbled down his findings and theories on a separate notebook of his own, a lovely grey one gifted to him by his mother on his twelfth birthday.
"Huh, looks like I've got some travelling to do after the Reapings."
Well, Sprout technically wasn't wrong when he said he'd have some travelling to do after the Reapings.
He was, however, heading in the opposite direction than he'd originally intended.
Instead of taking one of Eleven's (in)famous weasel vans to the border towns near Twelve, he'd been dumped on a one-way train barrelling its way straight to the Capitol.
Not exactly the adventure he'd imagined he'd be going on, to say the least.
Sprout let out a dejected sigh as he sat in his room, his head tilted longingly towards the window, where Eleven's signature landscape of vast fields was quickly shifting into a more rocky scenery. If his estimates were correct, this was District Eight, the textile District where, supposedly, Peacekeepers had opened fire on rioters with sickles, scythes and pitchforks right after the Reapings.
The world was tossing and tumbling all around him, and for most of his life, Sprout had assumed he could escape it all on his treasure-hunting escapades. But now, he had been tossed headfirst into the tumbleweed of fate. Straight into the Hunger Games, from which point onwards there was no going back. He was smart enough to realise that even if he did survive and win, there was no escaping the fate of a Victor, and his life would drastically change and he would be thrown into the spotlight forever, just like Demeter, Augustus, Ampere and all the rest of the bunch.
He rested his chin against his hand. This was going to be one heck of an adventure, that much was certain.
Someone knocked on the door.
He lifted his head as Chaff sauntered in, his hair a wild, untangled mess, a tinge of alcohol gassed up in his breath. Ringo, Ragnar and Franc had all passed away recently, and Chaff had supposedly been close to them, so naturally, he hadn't taken the sudden natural purge of his Victor buddies very well. Not the most encouraging sight, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
"How you doin', kiddo?" Chaff asked, pulling a chair to sit down.
Sprout nodded vaguely. "Not exactly alright, but not too panicky either."
Chaff hummed approvingly. "You know, I recognise you, kiddo. Shaddock told me about you, that little toddler who never did shut up about treasures and adventures. Didn't imagine I'd meet you here of all places."
Sprout's eyes widened. "You remember Shaddock?" It'd been nine years since those Games. Tributes had come and gone, how on earth did Chaff, a man renowned for his drunken escapades, still remember a completely random tribute from a completely random year and his completely random words from all those years ago?
"I was sure he was going to win, that boy," Chaff said, his voice getting a little softer. "Guess I was wrong 'bout that. But anyway, I assume you've grown to be one heck of a treasure hunter?"
Sprout bobbed his head in confirmation. "I've got all of Shaddock's old stuff and my family's relatively rich, makes hunting for treasure fairly easy."
"So I hope you've got at least some skills from doing all of that?" Chaff asked.
Sprout bit his lip. In all honesty, he was far from the most skilled person around. Sure, he was quick and agile and could wield a pitchfork and use a knife but those weren't exactly the skills that were very decisive in the Games. At least, not compared to the physical prowesses of Augustus, Finnick, Demeter and the Irvine twins or the medical genius of Ampere or the seafaring knowledge of Nemo. In his mind, Sprout didn't really feel like he stood much of a chance, and he told Chaff just as much.
Chaff simply laughed. "Well kiddo, I've seen much worse tributes win the whole damn thing, I'd fancy my odds. Now come on, let's talk strategy."
Reyna took her seat in the Mentoring Room, her movements slower and frailer than ever. Time had not been kind to the elderly Victor, and the past year had been even more bitter. An earthquake had struck District Two, wreaking havoc across its capital, Salt Lake City and many of the surrounding towns and villages. While Reyna herself typically lived a reclusive life, she still knew of those whose families had suffered tragedies during this event. She couldn't step foot out of her house without seeing the devastation caused, the lives ruined, and the neglect of the Capitol in helping the most vulnerable. There had been aid, sure, more aid than any of the other Districts would have ever received, but it had mainly been given to the families of Peacekeepers and notable Capitol loyals. The rest of the populace had, for the most part, been left to fend for themselves.
And worst of all, Ragnar wasn't there for her anymore. Her husband of many, many decades had passed, old age and a life of stress and rebellion having caught up to him and rendering him terminally ill. She sat in her chair, fiddling with the small, wooden figurine she'd made just last night in a bid to cope with the shifting thoughts in her mind. The figurine was that of a young man, with slick hair, a bold expression and a raised sword in hand. Ragnar himself, from back when he was a strong, healthy teenage Career, one who'd been forced into the Games and had, over the years, been framed as a hardened Capitol lapdog, which couldn't have been further from the truth. She'd carved out a small crest on the back of the figurine's shirt, with the number '14' chiselled intricately on it, a small reminder of where Ragnar's true loyalties lay, not with the Capitol, not with that outright suspicious District Thirteen that her daughter Lyme had been getting increasingly involved with recently, but rather with Oakette Mason's District Fourteen, living in the shadows in the far north, waiting for the right time to pounce and rebel.
Reyna knew she was nearing the end of her life. And frankly, she was ready to be at rest for a change. The timid toymaker girl from the Dark Days had endured countless trials over a long, tiring life, and she'd never come close to recovering mentally from the trauma of the arena. She was ready to rid herself of her morbid nightmares and freakish hallucinations and sudden panic attacks.
But not just yet. She wanted to see how this year's Games would play out. Recently, more and more Victors had turned to the ongoing rebellion. Finnick was spending more and more time in contact with Alma Coin in Thirteen, Demeter was arming rebel riots across Panem via the underground system of Masked Merchants and Nemo was off purchasing supplies and new maritime technology from Bahamian Islander merchants to help combat the Capitolite navy. Reyna herself helped to finance some of these initiatives and sent coded messages hidden in her toys to pockets of rebel groups in the staunchly loyal Two, particularly after the earthquake in a brief moment of animosity towards Two's Capitolite overlords.
She'd be lying if she said some of the tributes this year wouldn't make good candidates for either Thirteen or Fourteen's rebel movements.
The boy from Eight, in particular, caught her eye as a light, jovial character who hid subtle hints of that infamous Eight rebelliousness in his interview. She made sure to set aside some personal sponsor funds in case he needed them. Her own District's pair were, to her knowledge, of the middle class that could realistically be moulded into rebel material, but she wasn't quite sure, having been kept away from them by the watchful eye of Draco Hadley, who would spit on her every time he got the chance to do so. Lyme was his mentoring partner this year, and she'd been on the receiving end of some harsh verbal abuse from him, not to mention more than a few highly misogynistic comments. Heck, that bit made Reyna wish she could punch the living daylights out of him. Not many things ticked Reyna Boudicca off, but mistreating her daughter was the big red line for her.
Lyme sat across the room, staunchly focused on the arena being revealed on the screen, a complex labyrinth of tunnels and caverns, all made out of trampolines. Some of those trampolines could even launch tributes fifty metres into the air, not exactly the kind a tribute would want to play around with. There were numerous levels of trampoline tunnels connected by several ladders made of nets, and haunting memories of Reyna's own arena, filled with underground tunnels beneath a jungle pyramid complex, crept into her mind.
She did her best to shake them off just as the tributes came into view on their pedestals, some scared, some determined, all very confused at the sight of this unorthodox arena. "Bring it on, folks!" Draco cackled loudly from his seat, chugging down a glass of some drink that didn't look like beer or wine or even vodka, yet smelled like an unholy combination of those three beverages. Some of it spilt across his desk, some splashed across a very annoyed Lyme's face, and some still managed to make its way onto a dejected Cartier's shirt. Cartier opened his mouth to protest, but was instantly met with a glare that could melt even the toughest of souls. It was fair to say he wisened up and shut up.
The gong rang and the chaos was on, both in the arena and the Mentoring Room. Tributes started dashing forward towards the Cornucopia on narrow rubber spokes within a moat of black foam boxes. A couple, such as the girl from Eleven and the boy from Six, darted in the opposite direction, tumbling over one another as they tried to run across the trampolines. They both managed to make it to safety though, and Reyna felt a small sense of relief knowing that her old friend Orchid still had a shot of bringing a tribute back from the arena.
To Reyna's left, Haymitch let out a groan as both of his tributes found themselves struck down by the pair from One. "I told those bastards to run!" he moaned, slamming his flask of whisky hard on his desk.
"Maybe next year, Haymitch," Reyna offered, but Haymitch wasn't really listening. He got up and stomped out of the room. Marie soon followed him out, a clouded look in her eyes as her own tribute lay dying in the foam pit, having been speared in the gut by the girl from Four. A crumpled-up drawing fluttered from Marie's back pocket. No one dared to pick it up, the crumpled-up drawings tended to depict some horrifying stuff. Reyna's eyes moved towards the boy from Eight, who'd managed to pick up a backpack stained with the blood of the girl from Ten and a small dagger. He was making his way towards one of the spokes, a panicked look on his face as right next to him, his District partner crumbled to the ground, the boy from Two's knife in her skull.
"Come on," Reyna murmured. The boy, who, judging by Woof's grumbles at the other end of the room was named Lesela, managed to dodge a rogue dart whizzing through the air as he practically flew across one of the rubber spokes, before carefully treading across the trampolines and into a tunnel lined with blue trampoline walls. He nearly bumped into the boy from Eleven, who had with him a standard orange backpack, some food and, for some reason, a ball of yarn as he stumbled and tumbled over some particularly bouncy trampolines. Well, Reyna had seen tributes exit the Bloodbath with stranger choices of supplies, with rather exceptional results, and from the corner of her eye, she spied Chaff smiling at his screen, so the boy must have something up his sleeve.
Her attention was drawn back to the ongoing Bloodbath chaos as the loud, agonising scream from the boy from Seven rang through the air.
Reyna shook her head. Getting up, she hobbled to the door, ignoring some rather nasty remarks from Draco and some liquid being splashed onto her face. She'd check back soon later, but now, it was time for some much-needed rest.
Coral fiddled with her necklace nervously. The Games had drawn on for about four days with hardly any incidents, owing primarily due to the fact that the trampoline park arena proved extremely difficult to traverse quickly. She could bet on her prized pearl collection that the Gamemakers were about to do something very big very soon to bump up the entertainment factor and quite literally save themselves from President Snow's trusted wood chipper.
She just wasn't sure what that something would be.
It was like a sudden change in the weather of the seas. Everyone knew something was brewing out in the ocean, but no one could predict what, when or where the big thing would happen.
Dressed in an oversized jersey and a pair of starfish-patterned pyjama bottoms, she was certainly quite the anomaly in the Mentoring Room, looking out of place, but bloody whales, who were they to judge her? She had her eyes fixed on her tribute, Ostryga, a volunteer girl of pirate descent who surprisingly wasn't as much of a handful as she'd appeared to be based on her background. She was relatively polite and for once, listened to Coral's advice. Damned barnacles, that last bit felt really satisfying. Ostryga was mostly content with following the Career pack around, biding her time and not putting much of a target on herself among the Careers. This was definitely the safe option Coral had recommended for a relatively uncharismatic person like Ostryga who had a tendency to be quite impulsive with her words. However, this had also meant that in a resource-scarce arena, Ostryga wasn't getting too many sponsors. Neither was her District partner Ikatere, mind you, but Finnick had managed to carve up quite the funding pool for him courtesy of his involvements in the, well, she didn't like mentioning the horrific nighttime activities Victors were forced to go through. Coral herself had been forced to be sold to a few nasty people, but she'd largely been sheltered from the worst of it and barely received any orders these days. And no, she was not going to sell herself for any sponsor funds, and she'd made that decision quite clear right from the start.
Luckily, the Careers had stumbled upon a small drinking fountain lying perched atop a flight of steps, all of which were incredibly bouncy of course. It dispensed potable water, so Ostryga need not worry about dehydration. They'd camped near it for the night, and it was Ostryga's turn to keep watch, which only increased the shiver-me-timbers running down Coral's spine.
Just then, she heard something snap. Instantly, Ostryga got to her feet, spear in hand, her eyes scanning the area for the source of the sound. Coral held her breath as Ostryga did a small patrol of the vicinity, making sure to be wary of her every step across the trampolines. There was another snap in the distance and this time, Coral's attention was drawn to another screen showing the girl from Three looking around in a panicked state. Suddenly, out of the blue, a third snap echoed through the tunnel, and along with it, the girl's screams as the trampoline she stood on collapsed, sending her plummeting straight into a lower tier of the arena, the one the Careers had positioned themselves on. She fell to the ground with a crunching thud, her face contorted in pain. Over on Ostryga's screen, Ostryga had spun around, facing the girl from Three, a stunned look on her face, the girl having seemingly materialised randomly in front of her. Her eyes narrowed and Coral knew she sensed a trap. "Damned barracudas!" Coral cursed as Ostryga nudged the boy from Two with her shoe to wake him up and draw his attention to their new companion.
What no one expected was for the trampoline nets to snap again once more underneath the girl's feet, sending her plunging straight into a mutt den. Gadget let out a guttural scream, reeling away from the screens that showcased her tribute getting mutilated limb by limb in the most horrific ways possible. Beetee grabbed her by the arms, murmuring something in her ear to try and calm her down. Coral just gaped ahead, her hands cupping her mouth in shocked horror.
But it wasn't over just yet.
One by one, the trampoline nets began to snap, breaking apart in a quick chain reaction that barrelled its way towards the Careers' camp. Instantly, shouts began to erupt from the other Career mentors.
"Wake the f*ck up!" Draco howled.
"Go, get moving!" Valkyrie hissed.
"Hmph!" Lyme grunted, unable to open her mouth courtesy of receiving a faceful of Draco's spit but getting her point across quite well.
Coral stared intently at the screen, her heart throbbing against her chest at a million beats per second as the Careers began to groggily realise the situation at hand and grab as many supplies as they could before tailing off. The trampolines, however, stopped them. One trampoline launched the girl from One high into the ceiling, before she bounced straight into the mutt den. Luxe slammed his fist against his desk in frustration as her cannon boomed. The rest of the Careers tumbled about, trying to get away as quickly as they could. Ostryga had been the most alert and awake, and she carried the least supplies, so to Coral's sheer temporary relief, she was moving the quickest. Meanwhile, Coral noticed similar events occurring across the arena. A net ladder joining two levels collapsed with the girl from Eleven sleeping on it, sending her plummeting to the ground, injured, but not dead.
Well, she had predicted that the Gamemakers would stir up some sort of excitement to keep things moving, after all.
Thankfully, the arena event didn't last long, but it still left Coral shell-shocked. Ostryga was fine but the pair from One had perished and the girl from Two's wrist had been injured having been catapulted straight into a ball of foam and landing awkwardly. The only tribute to have completely evaded the catastrophe was, surprisingly, Sprout from Eleven, who'd gotten a mere three in training, a score that made Coral feel bad for him. She'd noticed Sprout frequently touching the individual trampolines and laying tiny pieces of string here and there. Maybe he was on to something, that boy, but for the love of seaweed, Coral needed a strong drink.
Audi gazed blankly ahead, only barely concentrating on the screen in front of her displaying her tribute in action. Her mind was a blurry mess, her thoughts a nebulous cloud of dizzy randomness. She could hardly even keep her eyes open, she was so dizzy and so weak, Audi felt as though she could pass out at any given moment. On the desk in front of her sat a box of watercolour pencils, a tiny cup of murky water and a half-filled sheet of paper. She didn't know exactly what she'd drawn on it, it looked like nothing more than a meaningless blub of violent red and raven black sloshed haphazardly together, but to her, it looked beautiful. It looked close enough to art and to many of the contemporary art-loving upper class in the Capitol, there would be some sort of meaning behind it. If anyone ever asked her, she would probably say that it represented the damage of morphling addiction on her brain, and to be fair, in a way, it did. Ever since her Victory, Audi had fallen into the trap of drug abuse, well-supplied by the most powerful drug cartels that ravaged the slums of Six. Away from the Capitol and on the days farthest from a Hunger Games, she had more control over herself and could utilise her love of painting as a form of distraction in a vain attempt at a recovery. Yet, as the days to a Reaping drew closer, her anxieties grew larger and larger by the minute, and the ever-ready stash of morphling she'd hidden in a camouflaged box from those around her would beckon her forth. Consumption of the drug brought her a form of peace, a way to cancel out the noise in her head, and especially now, with her tribute in the final eight, the noise had grown louder and louder.
And the morphling addiction had worsened to a terrible extent.
On her screen, she could faintly make out Dash trudging through the arena, ever so weary of his steps ever since the massive arena event (she couldn't quite remember exactly what had happened, Kimi mentioned something about snapping?) a week ago or so. Dash was a nice kid, had some strength since he'd spent half his life working in a manufacturing plant that handled heavy materials and was decently smart. She just wished she could have done more to help him before the Games. Maybe a little more advice would have done him good. Maybe actually advising him instead of being high on drugs all the time might've been a start.
Audi groaned, dragging her fingernails along her scalp. Her forehead buried itself in her elbow as she mourned her shambolic mentoring skills. She was checked out of things for the most part, but she had just enough clarity in her eyes to see the furious look in Dash's eyes every time the pair interacted. She had barely said anything to him, even when she'd tried to give advice, it'd come in the form of simple notes and vague illustrations on a scrap of notebook detailing places to go in Training. The odd 'good luck here and there and one very soft 'stay safe' rounded up her woeful sessions with Dash.
He'd looked so lost going into the arena.
She had one job and she had screwed it up as badly as was humanely possible.
The very thought of it made her reach for the morphling, which she injected discreetly into her body, sending her a new wave of bliss that washed over her doubts, swept aside all of her anxieties, and most importantly, dusted all of her insecurities regarding her mentoring of Dash under a thick rug of drugged ecstasy. She whimpered slightly as somewhere near her, Draco shouted something incoherent, perhaps in her direction, she didn't know, she didn't care. A feel-good shiver coursed through Audi's veins and she slumped into her seat, a silly smile sprawled across her ghoulish face.
Blurry flashes seared across the screen, and Audi could vaguely make out Dash flying through the air. Hazily, Audi recalled there being trampolines that could launch tributes high in the air. Perhaps Dash hadn't been careful enough and had stepped on one of them?
Her heart began to race. Perhaps it was an adrenaline rush from the morphling? Audi began to take quicker, shorter breaths as her lungs seemed to be caving in. Maybe she needed more morphling to soothe herself but at the moment, her arms wouldn't budge to reach for the all-powerful drug. Her blank, glassy eyes cleared a little just as Dash landed somewhere, she couldn't quite tell, but he was barely moving. She let out a soft gasp of despair. Her fingers twitched, inching towards the sponsor bar but there were barely any funds, and certainly no use in sending anything over to Dash. A shadowy figure was making its way over, a boy it seemed, with dark skin. He was from Eleven, if Audi remembered correctly, although her memory was far from reliable these days. There were some other sounds she couldn't make out, but the distinct boom of the cannon?
Audi heard that loud and crystal clear.
For the first time in a long while, Chaff was confident. So what if Sprout had merely gotten a three in training? Those scores only put a target on people's backs anyway. Sponsor funds? Pfft, all Chaff had to do was transfer some money to Eleven's escort, Trish Meeleheide, who just so happened to be an ally of Fourteen, and then she passed the money to her cousin, also a rebel ally by the way, and bam, Chaff had a sponsor with cash, locked and loaded, ready to go.
Besides, the kid was doing just fine on his own. Sprout, by the fourteenth day, had made a full map of nearly the entire arena, complete with several little hidden traps and pods that could pose a threat if he were to come across them again. He'd also (with Chaff's help via secret codes in sponsor messages) deduced the last known locations of every remaining tribute and their rough trajectory and current locations so as to avoid them or plan an ambush. Oh, and he'd marked out those ballistic trampolines with his yarn, smart move from the kid if Chaff was to say so himself.
The little crevice in the wall behind a foam pit he'd hidden himself in on day fifteen when he was venturing near perceived Career territory had also come in handy. Sprout had discovered it purely by digging through a foam pit, thinking there had to be something hidden underneath. Well, he'd found a tribute, who'd promptly fled, and also a nice little hiding spot to get a good bit of sleep.
Sprout had this win in the bag, and no matter how many times Haymitch told him not to get too overconfident, Chaff had a gut feeling that soon enough, those victory trumpets would sound out for Sprout Skhosana.
He sat back in his mentoring room, blissfully taking a sip of wine that Haymitch and Geneva had so kindly purchased for him. Wine was a celebratory drink for Chaff, one he didn't particularly liked unless there was a reason to be cheery and fancy. And this indeed was one of those moments. It was day twenty of a rather long edition of the Hunger Games and the tribute count had dwindled down to three, just Chaff, Ostryga and Ikatere. And both Ostryga and Ikatere were wounded (guess who's yarn traps had somehow managed to do the trick? Heck even Chaff was surprised it'd worked) so Sprout definitely stood a better chance than he normally would've. Sprout had come out of his hiding spot for fear of being on the receiving end of some nasty Gamemaker actions and had slowly navigated his way to the rough radius of where he thought the pair from Four might've been. Knife in hand, club in his belt (salvaged from dead tributes, of course), Sprout looked ready to face the feuding pair from Four.
He didn't need to find them, they came to him guns blazing.
At each other though, not at him. It was truly a sight to behold, two teenage Careers tumbling and bumbling down an inclined path of trampolines, routinely bouncing along the way, locked in a tight deathmatch of pirate vs pirate. They'd come from rival families, supposedly, something they'd managed throughout their tenure with the Career pack but tensions had finally reached the boiling point. And Chaff understood that, the arena did mess with people's conscience and drove them to their primal rages. But their appearance in the area had come so suddenly that Chaff had barely had enough time to blink and refocus on Sprout. He could've sworn their last on-screen appearance had shown them some distance away from one another, but oh well, here they were. Sprout hopped to the side, bouncing carefully on a rather small trampoline, his eyes glued to the brawl ensuing right in front of him. Neither tribute from Four seemed to even acknowledge Sprout's presence, they were too busy ripping each other to shreds. Both were unarmed with anything but their teeth and nails and Chaff grimaced as they continued to claw mercilessly at one another as blood continued to splatter about in sheer abundance like a red spring of pain and death. He could see the horror right there on Sprout's face too, his eyebrows and lips contorting in a show of utter disgust, the horrified darkening on his eyes, the way he continued to bounce on his trampoline as a result of his legs shaking so badly.
This was the moment of the Victor, the moment the Victor is traumatised for life is the moment they win the Games.
Chaff shook his head in dismay as another sip of wine squirmed down his throat, tasting bitter as ever due to the tension and chaos unfolding right in front of his eyes on the big blue screen that showcased battle and torture.
Ostryga dug her fingernails deep into Ikatere's sensitive parts and even Coral, her mentor, winced terribly. Chaff gritted his teeth, not daring to look yet unable to look away as Ostryga ripped chunks of skin off of Ikatere with her bared teeth.
Gruesome was the only way to describe it.
Draco, despite having no tributes left to cheer for, was hollering enthusiastically. "Do an Enobaria!" he cheered. "Rip Fisher Boy's neck off!"
"Shut up, Draco," Finnick growled, but Chaff had a feeling Finnick knew it was no use talking back to someone who had plenty of leverage over the rest of them, especially Finnick. Ikatere have a final fight as he slammed his boot against Ostryga's rib cage as hard as he could, and Chaff could hear a faint cracking noise which was soon drowned out by Ostryga's screams. That wasn't good for her, but Chaff's confidence simply rose. Now all Sprout had to do was march over and finish the job on these two injured pirates.
Which was exactly what he did. Ikatere gave Ostryga a final blow to her wounded rib cage before Ostryga drilled her fingernails into his neck and used her other hand to snap Ikatere's neck. The cannon boomed soon after but before Ostryga could relax, Sprout had charged over and that was the moment Chaff could raise his glass of wine in celebration.
One knife blow to the chest was all that was needed to seal the deal.
A smile crept up the side of Chaff's face. He nearly stood up to cheer but one look across the room at the dark, bleary-eyed faces of Coral and Finnick gazing dejectedly at their screens and he thought the better of it.
But as the trumpets blared to announce the new Victor, Chaff silently drunk it all in.
Finally, he'd gotten a Victor!
Lucky.
He'd been so lucky and everyone knew it.
Sprout sat himself on the hovercraft as it whizzed its way back to the Capitol. A nurse tended to his arm, which had several cuts and bruises but nothing to serious. Even in safety, his mind constantly drifted towards that final showdown against Ikatere and Ostryga. It hadn't taken a rocket genius to figure out that they had both clearly lost their minds and weren't exactly thinking straight. And they'd practically walked past him at least twice over the last couple of days, with a solid mind, Sprout had absolutely no doubt that he'd have been spotted and killed long before day twenty. And they'd finished each other off for the most part, leaving Sprout with pretty much nothing to do to earn his victory, it had all been pure luck.
But if luck meant that he was getting out of here alive, then screw it, he wasn't going to care about those silly old Capitolites who were going to no doubt stink all over his Victory. Even the greatest of treasure hunters and adventurers ultimately need a little bit of luck to find their coveted riches.
And he'd been able to finish exactly what Shaddock had started all those years ago, when he'd been thrown mercilessly into the arena. Gazing up at the puffy white clouds outside the hovercraft window, he couldn't help but think of his former childhood mentor and wonder if he'd be proud of what Sprout had achieved. A cloud in the distance distorted itself, forming a distinct shape that Sprout could've sworn looked like that of a teenage boy. Despite himself, Sprout let a small smile crack through his bitter lips. Perhaps Shaddock had been watching over him all this while, guiding him on, giving him that extra bit of luck he'd needed to get through the horrors of the arena.
The nurse injected something into his arm and Sprout winced. Damn, did that needle really have to go that deep into him? "What was that," Sprout murmured, feeling a little lightheaded.
"To help you get some rest," the nurse replied, her voice much softer than the strict looks she's been shooting him and the rest of the medical team would've suggested.
"Oh..." Sprout mumbled, his mind swirling around itself as his eyelids grew heavier by the minute. Slowly, he began to drift off into a deep, long sleep, but not before ever so faintly, he heard the sound of Ostryga's final, crazed scream ring through his ears.
And Ostryga wouldn't let him get a full rest anytime soon, it seemed.
"Go ahead, eat something, you'll feel better," Trish urged him, gesturing towards the towering piles of food that adorned the three tables right in front of him at the Victory Ceremony.
But Sprout didn't feel like eating at all. His appetite seemed to have vanished over the recent days following his Victory, thanks to a whole host of nightmares involving Ostryga, Ikatere and that poor boy from Six, Dash, who he'd killed. They'd shown up all over his dreams, chasing him across empty hallways, sending him crashing through nets, hurling him into extreme trampolines, all in all making his stomach lurch every time he closed his eyes. By the time he'd woken up, Sprout had the irresistible urge to rush to the bathroom and hurl.
Nausea wasn't exactly a fine feeling to have when eating food.
Sprout shook his head and declined politely. Trish simply nodded in understanding and whisked off to grab some water for him, the most she could get him to ingest in light sips. Sprout tapped the crown that sat upon his head. It felt like such a heavy burden, and it felt so horribly wrong, as though it had been sprinkled with the blood of all twenty three children who'd died in that dreadful arena. Sprout ripped it off and slammed it on the table, his lips curling in a tight grimace as the jewels on it sparkled a bloody shade of red. To his terrified mind, the sparkles almost seemed to liquify into real blood, but he told himself that this was purely the work of his mind, nothing more. He sighed as he accepted Trish'a goblet of water and took a small sip. Even this felt like a heavy burden, a refreshingly bland sip that those kids would never again be able to take.
Someone pulled up beside him. Thinking it was just another pesky journalist, Sprout rolled his eyes and murmured a curse word that, prior to the Games, he never would've uttered but oh well.
"Hey buddy, um, you know, if you're not up for it we can always chat another time."
Sprout turned and to his surprise, James Silva was sitting right beside him, dressed in a simple green shirt and matching dark green jeans that Sprout vividly recalled him wearing at every public appearance both before and after the Games. "James? What are you doing here?"
"Just uhm, checking on you," he replied, clearly not one for conversations at the moment. "You know, Shaddock's mentioned you before and well, guess you remind me of him and I, well, never quite thought this was how we'd meet but here we are."
Half of what he said sounded like a quick-paced stutter for Sprout but he nodded anyway out of politeness. He eyed James cautiously. He'd looked a lot more unhinged than he'd been all those years ago, a lot less bright and a lot more awkward and messy. Sprout imagined that had Shaddock won, the same thing probably would've happened to him too. "Here we are, yeah." He pulled out a crumpled old map from his pocket, something he'd found stashed in a small, leathery book in his room at the Tribute Centre. There had been no signatures on it, but there was no doubt as to who'd created it. A map of what appeared to be some underground tunnels leading from the Tribute Centre to some place in the city. Perhaps Shaddock had been able to explore them at night during his time in the Capitol. But one thing was for sure, it could prove to be extremely valuable.
James leaned over, a curious look in his eye. "What's that?"
Sprout almost let out an uncharacteristic sneer. "Oh nothing, bet the folks in Fourteen will love this though," he whispered softly yet excitedly."
James's eyes widened. "You know about all that?"
"Of course I do," Sprout replied. He wasn't going to sit there and let the Capitol get away with their crimes, nor was he going to let his nightmares get the best of him. Something inside him knew that the only way he was going to get rid of those visions of his fallen fellow tributes was to avenge their deaths.
And so the hunt for treasure became a hunt for revenge.
"You think he made it out of the Rebellion alive?" Katniss asked, tapping Sprout's picture.
"I'm sure he's managed to find some secret cavern to hide himself in for the long haul, he's got both the luck and skills, wouldn't be surprised if he showed up absolutely scot-free," Peeta replied with a chuckle.
Katniss cracked a smile. "Huh, I'd bet he's got a map of some tunnel leading to a whole other country. He might not even be there to begin with if that's the case."
The pair dwelled on Sprout for a little longer before Peeta flipped the page, revealing a very familiar face. A girl with distinct flowing brown hair gazed back at them with her terrified sea green eyes. Her demeanour was undoubtedly nervous, and her hands were a blur in the photograph from far too much trembling. Katniss and Peeta could practically feel her fear and anxiety radiating right through this old time capsule as the poor girl's panicked stance epitomised her awful time in the arena.
"Annie Cresta."
VICTORS
District 1-Sapphire Huntington(4), Onyx Hibonite(9), Franc Montgomery(14), Crystal Montgomery(21), Sterling Jones(25), Luxe Carmichael(36), Geneva Cooper(37), Cartier Cooper(44), Valkyrie Montgomery(54), Gloss Irvine(63), Cashmere Irvine(64), Augustus Braun-Montgomery(67)
District 2-Ragnar Sveinsson(5), Reyna Boudicca(6), Draco Hadley(10), Scipio MacAllister(17), Freya Carson(22), Hercules Nichols(28), Julia Dawson(39), Brutus Gunn(42), Lyme Sveinsson(45), Evan Fortis(55), Enobaria Golding(61)
District 3-Nikola Johnson(13), Gadget Schroeder(24), Beetee Latier(40), Wiress Jansen(47)
District 4-Marina Bluebell(1), Mags Flanagan(11), Jolien Fisher(31), Timmy Fisher(32), Iris Fisher(33), Rafael Fisher(34), Coral Thiller(41), Poseidon Nakamura(58), Nemo Williams(62), Finnick Odair(65)
District 5-Shocker Crimson(8), Switch Kim(19), Flash Morrison(27), Porter Tripp(38), Marie Meredith(52), Ampere Chang(66)
District 6-Ford Hamilton(20), Kimi Bentley(51), Audi Lando(59)
District 7-Hassan Greenwood(2), Jill Wilson(15), Olive Sanchez(26), Birch Davison(35), Blight Gavin(53), James Silva(60)
District 8-Woof Casino(16), Calico Pepper(48), Cecelia Rheys(56)
District 9-Gwendolyn Whitfield(18), Laurel Flamsteel(29), Miller Thompson(49), Demeter Jarvinen(68)
District 10-Ringo Alvarez(7), John Gatwick(23), Mare Trybull(43), Colt Dias(57)
District 11-Orchid Bloom(12), Seeder Crue(30), Chaff Mitchell(46), Sprout Skhosana(69)
District 12-Axel Millar(3), Haymitch Abernathy(50)
Victors that are underlined are deceased.
