Ahh, some subplot goodness + the scores!
We are getting closer and closer by the day. I'm planning a few things for the arena, although nothing is completely realised yet (past Ben was so dumb, I've got some devious ideas now). I'm hoping that by the time I've written the bloodbath, I'll have it all planned out (yes, well, past Ben, I have written the bloodbath and I can confirm, the plans have been planned).
Anyway, without further ado, let us go and get acquainted with two of our mentors, Royce from One (thank you BamItsTyler for him) and Mona from Six, as well as our fabulous Head Gamemaker, Luca Fawkes.
Thanks to contemporarydancer2, BamItsTyler, Remus98 and MeTheFanatic19 who reviewed!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.
"Courage is fear holding on a minute longer." ~George S. Patton
Royce Fendi, Twenty, District One, Victor of the 79th Hunger Games
Life just hasn't been the same since Tiffany died.
It's been a year since I lost her, but the memories of her death are forever burned into my mind. Images of the Nine boy decapitating her taunt me in my dreams at night and the sound of her screaming Roxanne's name continues to ring in my ears, even after it's been so long. Two years ago, I won the Hunger Games. In last years games, Tiffany was killed at the final hurdle. I never thought I'd experience torture any worse than that until I saw her die, an unborn baby in her womb.
Roxanne.
I wanted to be a Father. I was surprised that I was one, but I was prepared to do what needed to be done. Keeping Tiffany alive became twice as important as it was before, and now, nearly consumed by my demons, I'm surprised that I've held on to my sanity for so long.
There's an orphanage in One, a small one albeit. I visited there only briefly to try and find someone in the crowd, a girl that reminded me of Tiffany, but a girl I would call Roxanne. I wasn't there long before I turned away. I'm not ready to be a Father, not yet. There are too many things that I'm fighting with, and I need to learn to control them before I do anything else.
Grief. Anger. Resentment.
Envy. Depression. Sleep-deprivation.
Sometimes it's too much.
The pressure of being a young, fabulous new mentor is something that I didn't think I could cope with, but the last year has shown me how wrong I was. What're the worries of a regular victor compared to a victor who's lost almost everything?
I'm pushing through, taking one day at a time and keeping a smile on my face when I do it. My reddened eyes are swollen and surrounded by deep, dark circles, but that's easily fixed with a little concealer from my stylists. Of course, I have to maintain an image. What sacrifices did I make to get here? Surviving a Hunger Games is only half the battle. Although I guess it all reads the same.
The Hunger Games are different now. It's no longer black and white. There are many strategies…alliances and rivalries, survival and weaponry. There are so many pieces to this game that picking all of them up is impossible. There are so many variables in this world that success is almost punishable. You survive only to exist in purgatory. You fight only to live a life of paranoia. What kind of a life is this, to live in this way? Sometimes I wonder if it's even worth living.
I lean back in my chair, looking at the screen in front of me. Adira, the female I'm mentoring, isn't as popular as her district partner, Austin. The coldness about him overshadows her determination in a way, but we'll wait and see. Personally, I have no taste for arrogant tributes, but I don't know Austin well enough to make that judgement. Either way, the Careers made an impression at the chariots, as they usually do. I doubt the interviews and scores will be much different.
"How are we doin'?" Sorin's voice calls over to me as he enters the room, his brown hair fading into a light grey, and his dark eyes framed by wrinkles. At forty-three, Sorin is deceptively wise, and he's been here with me every step of the way. Sorin's just about the only person I have who I could call a friend, mostly because I've been too busy wallowing in my own self-pity to get to know anyone else.
Ugh, I should get out more.
"We're doing okay," I respond tiredly. "Austin's got a lot more interest, but Adira's funds are fair. I reckon we should wait until the scores and the interviews are over before we make a decision."
Since only one tribute comes out, its commonplace for Career mentors to eventually pour their resources into the tribute they feel is more likely to survive the Hunger Games. As harsh and as horrible as that is, it's a process of its own and nobody makes a decision right away. We weigh up each tribute's strengths and weaknesses and view how they're performing in the Games before we eventually pool our money together when it's needed. Sorin said tributes have surprised him, but usually, he's a good judge of character, so I follow his lead.
"Gotcha," he mutters, his words thick and raspy.
After knowing Sorin for a couple of years, I can understand him fairly well. He has trouble saying things and sometimes it just sounds flat out muffled, but beneath his disability, he's a great guy and a shoulder to lean on. I can't imagine how lonely it must have been to mentor for all of this time alone, to watch the tributes die every year and try not to care. I've always wondered how Sorin, who was so kind, ended up being someone who stuck with the President despite all that he's done. I've never cared to ask him. I'm not sure if I ever want to know.
Stretching in my chair, I stand up and Sorin takes the watch, meddling about with figures and possibilities. Lumbering out of the mentor's lounge, I know I should be with my tributes, and I am headed that way. But the sessions are the sessions and the Careers almost always do well, so I think they'll be able to handle themselves. I stroll over to the coffee machine and begin making myself a double espresso.
Coffee is my saviour.
No, seriously, it is.
Sleepless nights are a commonplace thing when you're trying to get rid of nightmares, and so coffee keeps you awake and stops that from happening. It's almost hilarious how I have to keep doing this to myself, but right now I haven't really found another way to manage, and morphling is not really something I want to get in to.
Coffee in hand, I head over to the elevator, intending to make my way up to District One's floor. Moments before the doors close, someone calls out.
"Wait!"
The District Five mentor, Nate Scourlion, is running towards me, bright blue eyes and blondish hair; a sight one would expect from a Career. He's closely followed by a brown-haired woman with deep brown eyes; the District Three mentor, Leila Caréton. Both of them seem around my age, if not a little older, but I can clearly recognise them as winners from previous Hunger Games. Sighing to myself, I press a button to hold the lift and wait for the duo to get in.
"Thanks," Nate comments, slightly out of breath. "We might be late."
They must be trying to get back to their tributes before the sessions finish and the scores are presented. I raise an eyebrow and glance at my watch. District One should have barely finished their sessions by now, so if anything they're early.
"You're won't be," I remark. "I'm heading to meet the District One tributes and I'm late. Your tributes probably haven't had their session yet."
Nate blinks and appears to take me in for the first time, whereas Leila gives me a kind smile and holds out her hand to shake mine.
"Royce, right? Winner of 79th?" she asks. "I know technically we should be enemies, but since we're not trying to kill each other I'd say otherwise."
I hesitantly take Leila's hand; she's as kind as everyone says she is. They say that Leila didn't kill a single person in the Hunger Games until it was just her and the girl from Four. Even outside of the mentor shitstorm we're all involved in, Leila's still kept her heart of gold. Nate looks at Leila and then smiles at me as well. It's been no secret that the two of them were very close, winning back to back games – the 76th for Nate and the 77th for Leila. Being so young, it would have been natural for them to bond together, and I too, if it weren't for Tiffany dying.
Instead, I guess I've just pulled away.
"Right," I nod. "You're Leila and Nate. Districts Three and Five."
I've seen them around in the mentoring room, but I tend to avoid talking to anyone, mostly because I've been so wrapped up in my own head. Maybe it's time for me to step over that boundary and begin to speak up.
"Bingo!" Nate jokes nervously, and Leila rubs his arm. I smile back.
"Bingo."
The elevator doors open on to the District One floor and I give the duo a nod before walking out.
"It was nice to meet you!" Leila calls after me, waving. "Hope to talk to you so-"
The elevator doors cut her off before she can finish. Even though I know they're both gone, I bow my head, wondering if I should have waved back.
"Likewise."
Mona Derale, Thirty, District Six, Victor of the 67th Hunger Games
Like everyone else, I've always been brushed aside.
I was a typical girl, another speck of dust to be swept under the carpet. I didn't mind.
Sometimes it's best for you to blend into the background and then strike when people least expect it. It's not pretty. I never expected it to be. But it's creative.
They owned me then and they still do now. They tried to break my spirit. They tried to break my soul. They couldn't do that.
What they could do, was break my smile.
When my arena was a museum, I had no weapons and barely any supplies. Thankfully, a simple signpost was all I needed to bash my way to the finish line. I became a fan favourite after that, and once I won my Games, I just lived my life as a mentor like everyone else.
But who cares about pretending to give a damn anymore? I want my tributes to win, yes, but I can't show my true self here, in a world of liars and snitches like Connor, from Eight. One wrong move around him and I'd be reported straight to President Snow. Ugh, he's a colossal dick. I cannot deny that I've spent my twenties enjoying the riches of a victor, although everything comes at a price and effectively I've had to sell my body to a few of the Capitol's hungriest mongrels. It's horrible, but it's an inevitable reality. Still…it's not pleasant.
I'm perched on the lounger with Leigha to my right and Geoni cuddled beside me, and goddammit I'm attached to another batch of kids. I hate doing this, having to mentor another tribute only to watch them die. Every year it's always the same.
Don't get too attached.
Such a premise is so simple, but it's hard when they're living, breathing, thinking human beings. Every year I have another knife to my heart when someone I've mentored happens to pass away. It's exhausting. Yet, cowards remain alive.
Six years ago, my twenty-four-year-old self was settled into my new way of life, so much so, that the idea of rebellion made it all so uncertain. I froze up. I choked when it mattered the most. I could have done something but I was so afraid of that unknown something that the idea of death was too much for me to face.
They tortured me, tested me, trialled me, and yet they found nothing; purely because I knew nothing. I mentored the morphlings and I knew of their plan, but I didn't involve myself. I was too afraid of change back then, too afraid of standing up and fighting for what I wanted to do. I hid it all behind a mask of silence, and that has since changed into a mask of neutrality. People call me the boring victor, and honestly, I welcome it. Anything that allows me to be disregarded or to blend in is the best way for my survival, at least for now.
The Scores are ready, but somehow I don't feel the same way.
I feel as if I'm in limbo, like a spinning top balancing on its point, wobbling this way and that way, turning around and around until it tires and falls. How long have I lived my life in this manner? How many years have I lost simply by tuning it all out? I couldn't possibly answer that question. After the rebellion died, almost everyone else died with them. There's just a handful of mentors left. Half of them are snakes, half of them are newbies, and the few of us left don't know what to do with ourselves.
If I thought we were doomed before, we certainly are now.
Dallas Cornwall introduces the announcement of the scores after another hour of waiting, his familiar silver hair and silver eyes making a reappearance across the screen. Geoni is a mere ball of anxiety in my arms and Leigha's pacing backwards and forwards. At the sound of Dallas' voice, they both begin to pay attention. Dallas' delivery is smooth and simple, and the scores are hard-hitting and factual. Numbers are always that way; they have no depth to them, merely binaries adjusted into an order that we all follow.
Even numbers are sheep.
I watch the screen and take in each score as Dallas announces them. The careers do well as expected, and it's not long before Geoni and Leigha's scores are announced.
"Geoni Proctor from District Six, with a score of two. Leigha Tullson from District Six, with a score of five."
Geoni makes a kind of whimpering sound before curling into a ball, sobbing into the nearest cushion on the sofa, while Leigha breathes a sigh, almost as if she was expecting a score of five. I can't provide either of them with comforting words – there's not much you can do when you're scored on something so trivial. People with scores of two or three have won, as have tributes with ten or eleven. The sessions are so pointless in evaluating the strength of a tribute that I find it almost laughable. Still, I guess it matters a lot to Leigha and Geoni in this exact moment.
In my opinion, the interviews are probably one of the most crucial aspects of the Hunger Games. If you have nobody on your side then nobody's going to fight in your corner, which is why sponsorships are easily the most important things. You can't make drastic changes to your skills in a matter of days, but you can fake a smile and play an angle. A sponsorship of food, water or a weapon can make all the difference in the Games, and one of the key moments for gaining the hearts of the Capitol are the interviews.
Preparing anyone for an interview they don't want to do is an unwanted task, but these things must be done, no matter how long it takes.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I prepare myself for the oncoming migraine.
I'm going to need more than coffee for this.
Luca Fawkes, Twenty-Five, Head Gamemaker
I've got a headache.
Caving in to the occasional coffee craving is never a healthy approach, and that combined with the light of the electronic tablets nearby has been really messing with my head today. Several tablets have been laid out across my desk so that I can analyse statistics on this year's arena. I was originally going for an idea of something to do with stone, but it doesn't seem so feasible. Now I've been focusing on something lighter.
Glass.
When dense enough, it can hold the weight of many things, so I've had to take some precautions and ensure that every little detail is perfectly calculated. Hopefully, President Snow will see my increased efforts and see me as someone perfect for this role. Natalie's sat on the other side of the desk, silently watching me, her hair put up into a ponytail and curious eyes darting between my face and the tablets. She's waiting for me to make some decisions.
"Okay," I sigh, and my assistant avox perks up. She's livelier now that I'm treating her with some respect, and over the last year, she's completely comfortable around me. "I need Ziphandel to manage Faunon and ensure he's managing the weather system he's implemented. The oxygen levels are low and I want them risen."
Natalie nods and picks up a tablet, awaiting further instruction.
"I need Keira to manage the ratio of food supplies and increase items made for shelter," I inform her. "Maine's mutts are a no, tell her to readjust them to suit the climate."
Of course. Natalie writes. Do you need anything else, Mr Fawkes?
"No thanks, Natalie," I respond tiredly. "Thank you for delivering those messages. I have a few last-minute touches before we're completely ready."
I'll be back with some food for you in an hour. she writes on her board.
"Perfect," I mutter, waiting until I hear Natalie's footsteps retreat and the door close behind her.
With a low groan, I lean back in my chair, rubbing the golden stubble on the side of my face. Is it normal for a Head Gamemaker to get less sleep just days before the Games? Even though it's my second year, I don't think I'm quite used to it all. As I lean back, my chair whines slightly. Long, sharp shadows cut across my office, slicing through the pristine white carpet and the picture frames of Kile and my Mom on my desk. My mind always comes back to them eventually. Even in a smart, sleek room in a safe, relaxing work environment, my mind is troubled by things I know I cannot control.
In the light of the sun, flecks of dust float mysteriously downwards, almost as if the sun has trapped them there where they live in near suspended animation. If only I could be a speck of dust, away from all of this madness and all of this pressure. I took this job to be in a financially better position, and if anything it's backfired. Swivelling the chair, my eyes focus on a shelf in the corner of my office, where perched on the corner is Shea's glass button, shining ominously as it has done every time I watch it.
Do I feel a connection to this object because I saw the poor woman die? Do I feel some kind of sympathy for the life she could have lived? These are foolish questions; of course, I feel for her. I don't know her, but she didn't have to die for no reason. All of this for overhearing information about my predecessor…even if the tale was chilling to hear it in person.
Debra Miles, how did you mess up so badly?
The ethereal silence in my office is broken by the sound of a ringing phone.
Groaning again, I sit back up and accept it.
"Hello, Luca Fawkes, Head Gamemaker."
"Hello, Luca."
The voice on the other end of the phone sends ice down my spine. The voice is gravelly, notably distorted, speaking from behind a poor connection.
"Is this some kind of joke?" I question. "Seriously, there's no time for prank calls, I have an arena to plan."
"Listen closely, Luca," the voice continues. "You don't want your poor Mother to be killed, do you?"
My breath hitches as I listen to the voice, and I let out a growl.
"Don't you go near her," I hiss. "I don't know who you are or what you want from me, but stay the fuck away from me and my family!"
"You can call me Finite," the voice answers, unbothered by what I've said. "Let's just say that you're going to be my shiny new toy. You give me what I want, and I don't cause you any grief."
"What do you want?" I ask nervously, my throat dry. The distortion of the voice makes it hard to tell who it is, and their words are making me more and more unsettled by the minute.
"Eighty-one million Panemian dollars," Finite remarks simply, if such a sum was easily accessible. "In a suitcase, ready for me to claim. If you don't comply, you'll come to regret it."
What the fuck? Rapidly, I run through a list of possibilities on how I could get this kind of money, but I pull blanks. Even on my salary as a Head Gamemaker, it would take me years to reach Finite's requirements.
"I can't get that kind of money," I explain. "There's no way that anyone could provide you with that."
"How unfortunate," Finite sighs, disappointed. "I was hoping that the 'legendary' Luca Fawkes could provide. Still, nobody's falling for your arrogant charm or your sweet politics."
"I d-don't know what you're talking about," I splutter, clearing my throat as quietly as I can.
I was hoping that my arrogant mask wasn't one to slip, but this caller has obviously caught me by surprise. Of course, it had to be on a day like today that something like this is happening to me.
"Well clearly, you're doing a really convincing job," Finite answers sarcastically. I can almost hear the smile in their voice and they taunt me from the other side of the phone. "Isn't it a shame that yet another of the Capitol's Gamemakers are so overwhelmingly disappointing? Ah well, I'll call again another time, to see if you'll be more…generous."
"Don't you dare contact this number again!" I cry. "You hear me? What kind of sick joke is this?"
"Don't get too comfortable, Luca," Finite hums, chuckling at my frustration. "You'll be hearing from me again soon."
"You-"
The line goes dead and I stare down at the phone in a mixture of confusion and fury. What the hell was that? Who is this 'Finite' and why are they asking me for money? I run through my list of enemies. In all honesty, I don't think I can think of any names besides President Snow's, and he's not exactly my outright enemy. Something like this wouldn't be his style either. I don't see the old man being the type to anonymously call me; he's got enough power over me as it is to hide away in the shadows. No, this is the work of someone else.
So who is this mysterious person? Why do they want all this money from me? Why are they so intent on terrorising me like this? No matter how long I spend questioning this dilemma, I already know that I don't have an answer.
Eighty-one million Panemian dollars…
Suddenly the shadows of the sweet sunset don't seem so safe.
Austin Ogara – 10
Adira Linett – 9
Landon Caruso – 10
Vanity Genot – 10
Parker Lidell – 3
Naydene Carmello – 4
Orion Trent – 9
Aisha Cain – 10
Shion Qing – 1
Isabella "Izzy" Moire – 7
Geoni Proctor – 2
Leigha Tullson – 5
Ashton Metz – 5
Nova Lupin – 5
Shura Blackburn – 7
Cassia Foster – 3
Barric Roland – 8
Aline Liu – 6
Dathan Corvair – 6
Lenore Van Duren – 5
Cleveland "Cleve" Garfield – 3
Morgana Murray – 8
Lewis Coltsfoot – 5
Filla Amirylis – 3
So there's Royce, Mona and Luca – you've seen Luca before and you've seen Royce and Mona briefly in Seeping Wounds (SW), but I'm welcoming them to my verse as characters who will be involved in the plot. As you can see, there's certainly seeds of something happening, so hold on to your horses, because we'll get back to that later on in the story.
Also yay! We got the summary quote in the story - to me, it felt perfect to put it in here. It's just a clear outline fo Royce's own mentality combined with the current expectations of our tributes.
The scores are not on the blog yet! I'll be putting them up along with the Capitol Predictions after the interviews. Please remember that you're running out of time to vote in the bloodbath poll – next chapter I'll be displaying the results for it before we head into the Games. I know I said I'd close it last chapter but I'm giving anyone reading some last-minute extra time to vote! Thanks for everyone who's voted on it so far! :D
Are you ready for the tribute interviews?
Yay, Royce is finally making friends! Thoughts on that?
Mona is done with it all. How did you find her and her attitude?
Luca's got a mysterious caller on the line. What do they really want? What do you think they'll do next?
What did you think of all the scores? I did switch a couple of them around last minute, but I'm happy with where I'm at.
Hope you're all doing well! Wash your hands, wear your mask, stay at a distance - you know the drill.
I hope that you're enjoying the story as it begins to ramp up! :)
Over and out!
~Mental