Anakin woke up to an empty bed. Still warm and still smelling faintly of a shampoo that wasn't the kind Anakin had used amongst the Capitol's various arrays of hair products, but still empty.
He told himself that he couldn't have expected anything more or less.
He had to get up.
Anakin swung his legs off the bed and looked out the window. The sky was still dark, with only the barest glimmers of a dawn in the distance, and he knew that he had to get out of the room soon. Anakin had only just started to look around the room for—clothes, he had to wear new clothes when going into the arena, didn't he?—when there was a gentle knock on the door.
Anakin looked up. He already knew who would be on the other side, but his throat constricted anyways. "I'm up," he said.
"Are you changed? The clothes should be in the closet."
Anakin turned. He pushed himself off the bed, made it to the closet in two quick strides. He found the typical games attire—they weren't always the same (one year it had been chainmail, another year it had been swimsuits), but they were always some dark color. Anakin didn't know why. He figured that it probably hid the blood better.
He tugged out the black pants first: long, made out of a material that was only slightly thicker than the kind of pants that he would wear back home. The shirt was a little different, though. Made out of a glossier material that felt cool and slick against his skin. If that had any purpose at all, Anakin figured it would only be a matter of time before he found out.
And below, waiting for him on the floor of the closet, Anakin found a pair of socks. Thick wool, much thicker than the ones he would ever get at home. A pair of boots: not like the ones Anakin would wear at home. These were black as well, but they felt oddly...heavier. Clunkier.
Anakin wondered if that was a mistake. Or maybe everyone got these heavier, clunkier boots on purpose. Maybe that was a part of the game maker's fun. Look at them trip and fall and run for their lives—look at them go, their shoes don't even fit properly—
Anakin tied up the laces of his boots and said, "I'm dressed."
The door opened, and Anakin looked up to find Padmé already dressed and fully awake. Her hair was pinned up to the back of her head, her eyes steady and shining even in the dim light of the room. She was, Anakin discovered with some surprise, dressed similarly to how he dressed now. Black pants, a black shirt, the same clunky black boots, and for a disorienting second, Anakin wondered if she was going into the arena with him.
But she was already walking into the room. "Your shoelace is untied," she said.
"It's...yeah." Anakin ducked down, re-tied his shoelace, stood back up.
Padmé looked up at him. "Did you sleep at all?"
Anakin lifted his shoulders. "Better than I thought I would," he replied. He meant for his tone to be light. He was glad that it sounded light enough to his own ears, even though Padmé didn't laugh. She just looked him over, took a step back.
"The others…" She gestured outside. "They wanted to send you off too."
Anakin blinked. "You sure about that?" He craned his head over Padmé's shoulder and, sure enough, he saw the familiar golden suit and the flashy silver one hovering outside the door. He looked back at Padmé and, loud enough for them to hear, he asked, "They're not planning to pull any tricks on me last-second, are they?"
"As if," Artoo called from outside.
A corner of Padmé's lips twitched, but as fast as it came, it was gone. "Come on," she said, nodding out the door. "Before we're actually called."
Anakin nodded. He followed Padmé out the door, where Artoo and Threepio were waiting for him.
"Too bad I didn't design the outfits," Artoo said, tilting his head distastefully at Anakin's attire. "You look boring as fuck."
"Not enough flash for you?" Anakin asked.
"Just too dark," Artoo replied, gesturing at Anakin up and down with his hand. "And what the fuck is up with the boots? Did they not get your fucking size? That's gotta be a violation." He looked up at Threepio, waved a hand in front of the taller man's face. "C'mon, that's your job—any of that admin shit working in there? Hello?"
Threepio stiffly batted Artoo's hand away. "We were strictly instructed to not interfere with this part of the games," he said, although the look he gave Anakin was an apologetic one. "Although it certainly isn't fair for you to have missized boots. I am terribly sorry." And even though Anakin had gotten used to (and grown tired of, frankly), Threepio's chatter and anxious fretting, he couldn't help for—at least in this second—to feel something that wasn't actual exasperation.
"Come on," Anakin said, rolling his shoulders. "Don't act like I'm already dead. That's bad luck."
"Oh, I didn't mean—"
"We know you didn't," Padmé said. She turned to Anakin. "Besides, he's right. He'll make his own luck when he steps into the arena." Her tone was casual, but Anakin caught the slight edge in her gaze as she looked back up at him.
Anakin wondered if she still had the token that he had given her last night. He hadn't been able to keep track of where it went — everything was a little difficult to keep track of last night, after the his-lips-on-hers and her-lips-on-his and then hands and falling asleep hearing breaths that weren't his own.
"Right," Anakin heard himself say.
There was a quiet chime then, and then Padmé cleared her throat.
"That's us," she said.
Anakin nodded. He looked at Threepio and Artoo. Threepio's eyes were comically wide and comically wet, but he gave Anakin a watery smile that made Anakin wonder if perhaps the escort just had the misfortune of being born in the Capitol, because he hadn't been as sadistic as Anakin had first thought. And Artoo, Anakin was surprised to find, had a smile that was a little less mad and a little more crooked, and Anakin realized that this was what Artoo looked like when he dropped the mad stylist act.
"Good luck, Anakin Skywalker," Threepio said.
"Don't die," Artoo added. "Got it?"
Anakin looked at both of them.
The chime sounded again.
"Got it," Anakin replied. He gave them a crooked smile of his own and, with a little nod to both of them, he turned around and walked after Padmé.
And she didn't say anything, not as he reached her side. They didn't say a single word, not as they were escorted down the halls and then underground and then back through another set of halls. And then they were both in the little cell that would transport Anakin up to the arena. His arm was pricked so that the Capitol could implant a little tracking device. Wouldn't want to lose the entertainment.
Anakin tried to listen for anything that might give away what the arena would look like—not that he thought even having that information would necessarily help him at this point, but still…
"You'll be going up soon," Padmé said, eyeing the cell warily. She looked at Anakin. "People will be desperate to get their first kills in. Distance yourself. Don't bother going too deep into the Cornucopia—it's not worth it, no matter what you see."
"What happened to me being bigger and stronger than most?" Anakin asked with a halfhearted smile.
Padmé didn't smile back. "Don't take any chances."
"Well," Anakin started to say, but he stopped at Padmé's expression. After a beat, he asked, "Why're you wearing that?"
Padmé looked down at herself. Then looked at Anakin. "When you step in the games," she said quietly, so quietly that Anakin might not have heard her if they were anywhere else, "you never really leave. The Capitol wants you to forget everything that ever happened in the arena—so they'll dress you up nicely and make you laugh and smile and dance for them." She lifted her eyes up to Anakin's. "If they want me to forget, then they're going to have to try harder. I've never left those games."
Anakin suddenly saw Padmé clearer in his own mind—not the Padmé who stood in front of him now, but the Padmé who he had watched walk slowly up the steps of the platform. She had been the same age as he was now, Anakin realized. That should have been strange, but it wasn't.
"Sixty seconds," the overhead speaker announced. "Fifty-nine…"
"That's you," Padmé said.
Anakin turned around to the cell. Really nothing more than a clear tube contraption, one that seemed too small and too narrow.
He turned back around to Padmé. "Do you still have…"
Padmé reached into her pocket. Withdrew the piece. She nodded.
"Thirty...twenty-nine—"
Anakin started to walk back to the cell. He made it two steps before stopping, then turning back around to Padmé.
She still had her hand curled around the piece.
"When I get out of the games," he said, "I'm going to make sure we leave it behind forever. So make sure you hold onto that, okay?"
Padmé looked at him. And then she nodded. An incredulous nod, but a nod all the same. Anakin decided that counted.
And then he stepped inside the cell.
Ahsoka woke up hours and hours before it was even time for her to get dressed. She was too alert to go back to sleep, and a part of her wondered if maybe this was a bad idea—maybe she really should try to get some more sleep while she still could, because she knew there was a very strong chance she might never get proper sleep ever again, at least not while she was still in the arena, but she couldn't.
She sat at the edge of the bed and simply waited.
And waited and waited and waited.
Her stomach growled eventually. She got up and ate an apple, only to throw it up in the trash can a minute later. She settled for crackers instead, drank some water. Sat on the couch and waited some more. Each tick of the clock, each turn of the digital numbers told her that she was getting closer and closer to the hour where she would finally get up to the arena.
She might have fallen asleep once. She wasn't really sure. Just that she had closed her eyes, and when she re-opened her eyes, fifteen minutes had passed.
She waited some more.
And then it was time for her to go back to the room that wasn't really her room. She reached inside the closet, found the outfit that she was supposed to wear.
Black pants, black shirt made out of a shiny material. Ahsoka rubbed her fingers over it. She wasn't sure she had seen this kind of fabric before, not even amongst the Peacekeepers. She threw it over her head, reached for her shoes a moment later.
She found socks already tucked into them. The socks fit.
The shoes did not.
Ahsoka frowned. She wasn't sure if it was a mistake, but with a cold start in her stomach, Ahsoka realized that the Capitol didn't make mistakes. Not with everything else so meticulously and obviously carefully planned—everything else, from the shirt to the socks fit Ahsoka freakishly perfectly, but the boots …
Ahsoka looked around the bedroom, wondering if there were papers that she could somehow stuff into her boots. Wondered if the people who would take her to the arena would even notice.
Ahsoka walked into the bathroom. Found the tissues and plucked a few out. Balled them up, stuffed them into her boots. Better. Much better.
Ahsoka nodded to herself in the mirror. Despite the fact that she hadn't slept too much, she looked weirdly alert. She widened her eyes a little bit to the point that she frightened herself. And then she rocked back on her heels.
"Make them sorry," she whispered. Her words echoed around in the bathroom, in her head. " Make them sorry." And then she blinked. Smiled at herself in the mirror.
She walked out of the bathroom, then walked out of the bedroom.
When she walked into the main living area, she found Rex, Riyo, and Ventress were already there and waiting. Ventress looked sourer than usual; Riyo looked smaller than usual. And Rex — Rex looked exactly the same, except he was wearing the same clothes as Ahsoka. Black pants, shiny black shirt, ill-fitting boots.
Ahsoka's throat closed for a moment. "Are you—"
Rex looked down at himself. "No," he replied. He looked at Ahsoka. "But District 11 has to represent somehow."
"You didn't have to…"
"Spare us the tears, sweetheart," Ventress said. She swung her legs off the couch, made her way to Ahsoka. She put her hands on her hips, looked at Ahsoka up and down. "Let's see...no wrinkles? No lint? That's good." She looked down at Ahsoka's shoes. "Do they fit?"
"They don't," Riyo said from the couch. She stood up too, her luminous eyes blinking down at Ahsoka's feet. "Do they?"
"No," Ahsoka replied. "At least, they didn't." She tapped her foot against the floor. "I used some tissues. They fit better now."
"Playing dirty, I see," Ventress mused.
"I'm using my resources," Ahsoka replied.
"You'll need to do that more later," Rex said. "It's good that you've started now." He gave Ahsoka a small smile. "You've already got a head start."
Ahsoka tried to smile back.
"You're very smart," Riyo said. "And very clever. And very likable. That'll work in your favor." She made it to Ahsoka's front, gently nudging Ventress aside. The escort only huffed, folded her arms over her chest. Riyo, however, ignored her. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a scrap of—
"Is that from my skirt?" Ahsoka asked, staring down at the red fabric in Riyo's hand.
"I pulled some strings," Riyo replied. "Most of the skirt wasn't salvageable, I'm afraid, but this...I was able to save this." She slowly spun Ahsoka around, sat her down on the edge of the couch. "May I?"
Ahsoka nodded mutely.
She felt Riyo's cool hands skirt over her temples, then back to her hair.
A slight tugging sensation, and then Ahsoka felt the scrap of fabric wind itself around her hair. She waited until Riyo stepped back. "There you go," the stylist said. "Now you don't have to worry about your hair getting in your face, at least. It happens more often you would think."
Ahsoka turned around. "Thank you," she said, not just talking about the hair.
"You're welcome," Riyo replied. Ahsoka knew that Riyo knew what she had meant.
A chime sounded through the apartment then.
"That's your cue, sweetheart," Ventress said.
Ahsoka nodded.
They were quiet for a moment—all of them, and then Ventress said, "You're smarter than you look. Much smarter. I don't have to tell you to keep that up, now, do I?"
Ahsoka shook her head.
"Good girl." Ventress held up her hand, examined her nails. "When you get back, we'll see to it about that skirt. Riyo could only get a scrap because she's too soft." She lifted her eyes up to Ahsoka, and Ahsoka realized that Ventress' eyes were actually paler in the light. Like ice, or like the diamonds that Ahsoka had seen so many people in the Capitol wear. "I'm sure I can talk someone into saying something ."
"I'd like that," Ahsoka said at last.
Ventress hummed, looking back down at her nails. "When you get back, sweetheart. Just remember that."
When you get back.
Ahsoka wished that she had been able to spend some more time speaking with Ventress, after all.
When you get back—Ahsoka hadn't thought that Ventress would be another reason for her to want to stay alive, but she decided that she might as well add her to the list of names that had already been forming in her head.
"Let's go," Rex said. He nodded out the door. "After you, kid."
Ahsoka bobbed her head once. She turned back to Riyo and Ventress. Riyo gave her a sad little smile, and Ventress remained looking at her nails. She decided that that would have to do. She managed a small smile back and walked out the door.
She let herself be led away, away, away, and she was glad that Rex was at least behind her. If anyone was surprised by Rex's attire, no one said anything.
Ahsoka let herself be led even farther away. At one point, she lost track of how many twists and turns she was led through, but eventually she walked into a too-bright cell. There was a pinch at her wrist, and then the soft murmur of someone saying something about a tracking device. Don't want to lose the entertainment.
Ahsoka rubbed the area where the tracking device had been implanted, and she tried not to think about how that tracking device was probably making its way through her veins as she just stood there.
"The others were right," Rex said now. "You're likable. Try to make allies if you can. At least, in the first half."
"But they'll have to die later."
"Separate yourself. Make it hard for them to catch you again." Rex looked at Ahsoka. Paused. "There might be some things you have to do even if you don't want to."
Ahsoka nodded. "I know."
"You remember what we talked about last night?"
Ahsoka nodded. "Make them sorry," she said.
Rex nodded back. "That's right." He paused again. "Even if you do something you don't want to do…"
"I know."
"Sixty seconds," a cool voice said over the speakers. "Fifty-nine…"
Ahsoka turned back around to Rex. "Thank you," she said. "For everything."
"Thank me when you get back," Rex replied.
Ahsoka nodded. She took a step towards the little cell. Really a tube. A clear glass tube that Ahsoka thought couldn't fit enough air.
"Rex," she started to say.
She turned around again, turned around quickly , because suddenly she was afraid that —
But he was still standing there.
Ahsoka swallowed hard.
And before she could lose her nerve, she ran forward. She wrapped her arms around Rex's neck, buried her face into his shoulder. She heard a small, surprised exhalation of breath—felt the sudden stiffness in his body, but then, a moment later, she felt a warm hand pat her back.
"Thirty, twenty-nine…"
Ahsoka waited until there was fifteen seconds left before she finally let go of Rex.
"See you soon, kid," Rex said.
Ahsoka tried to reply. She almost couldn't.
But then she smiled.
"See you soon," she said.
And then she stepped into the cell.
Obi-Wan woke up to find that Qui-Gon and Satine were already awake and speaking in the living room. He could hear their low tones even with his bedroom door closed. He wasn't sure if they knew he was awake or not—they must not have, because their voices were so low, but still, Obi-Wan was sure to keep his steps quiet as he slipped out of bed.
He took a few steps to the door, hovered there as he made out more snippets of conversation:
"But are you sure he could… "
"He will. "
A silence, and then Satine's voice: "I'm sorry that it had to happen this way."
A dry laugh. "We all knew this would happen eventually. The president was never one to take insults lightly."
Obi-Wan paused. He looked down at the doorknob. Somehow, his hand had already crept its way over it. He considered opening the door then, just to interrupt the conversation and make it all stop, but he decided against that. Let them talk.
Obi-Wan turned back around to the closet instead. He might as well get dressed.
He wasn't surprised at the arrangement of clothes: a sleek black shirt. Water-resistant, from what Obi-Wan could tell. He turned it over in his hands. Most likely water-resistant. Obi-Wan tried to think of reasons why. Some place that might be rainy. A jungle? A mountain?
Obi-Wan looked down at the boots and socks waiting for him. A mountain, most likely.
He slipped the shirt over his head. Tugged on his pants. Slipped on the socks and then his shoes. They were comfortably snug, which Obi-Wan appreciated. He paused, looked at the door. The conversation had settled down, he knew, because he couldn't hear anything beyond.
He decided that was his cue to walk out.
Obi-Wan turned the doorknob and walked to the living area.
Sure enough, Satine and Qui-Gon were both already awake, and they were sitting on the couch. Qui-Gon had dark circles under his eyes, and a strand of Satine's blonde hair had come loose and fallen down the side of her face. But Obi-Wan hadn't expected Cody—he realized that he should have, because the stylists usually were present to see off the tributes, but Cody hadn't said a word. And Obi-Wan didn't think that Qui-Gon and Satine would speak about the matters they were in front of Cody, but…
Well, he decided this day was as good as any for surprises.
Cody, as though sensing Obi-Wan's thoughts, looked up from his spot on the couch with a little lift of his eyebrows, as if to ask, what?
Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows back.
"And he wakes," Satine said, noticing the exchange. "We were wondering when you'd come out."
"Oh, yes," Obi-Wan replied dryly. "I heard I have a big day today, after all."
"That's one way to put it," Qui-Gon said. He stood up. He was wearing, to Obi-Wan's mild surprise—again with the surprises—clothes that were nearly identical to Obi-Wan's own. A black shirt, black pants, a pair of black boots. Obi-Wan tried to think of why his father might be wearing this outfit now: there was something political about the message, and everyone knew that politics should be the last thing on Qui-Gon's mind, given the current affairs of the games and the president.
"A wardrobe change?" Obi-Wan only commented.
Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan a wary smile. "I thought it appropriate."
"Appropriate," Obi-Wan repeated.
"Well, you two are father and son," Satine said, setting down her pad on the coffee table. "It could be interpreted that way." She stood up from the couch. "It looks like the clothes fit you, at least. Do they, Cody?"
"Perfectly," Cody replied.
"You're not even looking."
"I know they fit perfectly."
"Very well," Satine said with a sigh of resignation.
"Do my ears deceive me?" Obi-Wan asked as Satine made her way over to him. "Did the great Satine Kryze surrender?"
"Don't call it surrendering," Satine replied loftily. "We all pick our battles."
"I'm honored to be a battle for you to not pick, ma'am," Cody called from the couch.
Obi-Wan lifted his eyes over Satine's shoulder. Cody lifted a shoulder. Obi-Wan almost smiled.
"Well, it looks like things are all in order," Satine said, her eyes flicking up and down Obi-Wan's attire. "The shirt seems water-proof."
"That's what I thought," Obi-Wan replied. "My guess is that I'll be somewhere...with condensation."
"That's good," Qui-Gon said. "If there's rain, that might work as a water source."
"So long as the rain isn't poisonous," Obi-Wan said.
"So long as that, yes," Qui-Gon agreed.
"If it comes to that, I hope you'll know to stay out of the poisonous rain?" Satine asked.
Obi-Wan actually did manage a smile this time, albeit a sarcastic one. "My dear Satine," he said, "I would hope you know me better than that by now."
"I was only making sure," Satine replied. But she smiled back too, though Obi-Wan noticed that it wasn't as nearly as sharp as the ones she used before. Her expression faltered for a moment, and then she cleared her throat. "The bell should come any minute now—"
A chime sounded.
"There we go," Satine said, nodding. She looked at Obi-Wan. "Off you go, I suppose."
Obi-Wan nodded. He looked at Cody, who had pushed himself off the couch. He was making his way to them now, his hands hanging at his sides. "Well," he said, "I already know you know how to make impressions."
"Indeed," Obi-Wan replied. "Although some of that was thanks to you as well."
A corner of Cody's mouth quirked upwards. "Make a good impression out there, then," he said.
"Whoever would I be without one," Obi-Wan replied.
"That's the spirit."
"And speaking of getting in the spirit…" Qui-Gon nodded pointedly to the opening doors. A few Capitol attendants were already waiting in the doorway.
Obi-Wan nodded. He looked to Satine and Cody again. "Well, then," he said. "I best be off."
"Be careful." Satine. Her voice was quieter than Obi-Wan had heard it in the last few days. When Obi-Wan looked at her, she gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Don't tell me that you know."
"I wasn't planning to," Obi-Wan replied. He tipped his head to Satine, then to Cody, whose smile had faltered a little now too. "Goodbye, then."
And then he walked out of the apartment with Qui-Gon — walked out, out, out and into the darkness, where there were nothing but musky smelling hallways and just barely flickering lights to guide them. Obi-Wan suspected that the lights were to keep the tributes confused, should they try to make a run for it now. And he wondered if there had been any tributes who had actually tried to run away from the games. He knew about the force fields that kept the rooftops protected, but…
They reached the cell eventually. Obi-Wan sat down for the woman who inserted a tracking chip. She smiled at him, and Obi-Wan managed a brief smile back. Probably not his best one, but it would have to do. Wouldn't want to lose the entertainment.
Obi-Wan withdrew his arm the moment the tracking device was implanted. He rolled his sleeve back down, looked around the cell. Looked to the glass tube that would bring him up to the arena. He could have sworn the cell was colder than it had been a moment ago, though he wasn't too sure if that was his imagination or not.
"What do you see?" Qui-Gon asked.
"Nothing that'll be of use to me when I enter the arena," Obi-Wan replied, still looking at the tube.
"Try again."
Obi-Wan sighed through his nose. He looked around the cell. At the white lights and Qui-Gon's boots and the glass door that separated the cell from the room where the scientist now activated the tracking device. Obi-Wan looked back to the little tube.
"A pressure plate," Obi-Wan replied, tilting his head down to the tube. "Right there. It's supposed to be hidden, and it's small, but it's there."
"Good. And you know that…"
"Don't step off the pressure plate," Obi-Wan supplied. "Not before the timer ends. I know."
"What else?"
Obi-Wan looked around the room again. He stepped towards the tube, tapped on the glass. Looked down at the platform and knelt down. "It's…" He frowned. "Different."
"Different how?"
"They're not going to bring us up," Obi-Wan replied. He turned around to Qui-Gon. "This plate—it's not the kind that goes up." He glanced back down at the plate. It was shimmering a little. Not by a whole ton, but just enough for Obi-Wan to know that there was something else present. "What—"
"Sixty seconds," a voice said over the speakers. "Fifty-nine…"
"It's good that you've noticed," Qui-Gon said. His voice was quiet. "Make sure to remember that when you enter the arena."
Obi-Wan frowned. "What do you—"
"And make sure you're surrounded by people who have noticed those things too," Qui-Gon said. "I know you don't want allies, but you'll need them. You'll want them."
Obi-Wan frowned. "I already told you," he said. "I hardly see Maul and Oppress as—"
"Not them," Qui-Gon said. He straightened. "And from the way I see it, I think you've already made up your mind about who you want to ally yourself with, too."
Obi-Wan paused. "I'm not…"
"Thirty," the voice over the speakers said.
They were both quiet.
"Go," Qui-Gon said at last. "You're an observer, Obi-Wan. That will save your life. Count on it."
Obi-Wan paused. He had a feeling his father wanted to say more—and suddenly, Obi-Wan wanted to say more, too. He wasn't sure exactly what—there had been many words wanted to be said since the games started. (And not just the reaping. Even before the reaping, when Obi-Wan first learned that he was going to be in the games, no matter what he wanted.)
"I will," Obi-Wan replied. He paused, turned to the cell that wasn't quite a cell. He turned back around.
"I don't blame you," Obi-Wan said at last. "For why I'm here."
Something flickered across Qui-Gon's face. And then he bowed his head. "I will see you soon," he said simply.
Obi-Wan nodded.
And he stepped into the cell.
Anakin knew from the moment he stepped on the plate that there was something very weird about the whole situation. Because he had expected the plate to go up , but nothing of the sort happened. And he realized a second too late that he should have known, because there was some odd little shimmer over the plate, but when he looked up, a bright light was already shining down on him, and then—
Anakin felt the heat first. A blistering, fiery heat that burned at his skin and carried with it the smell of something smoky and sour and rotten.
He opened his eyes then, and he almost jumped back because in front of him—
A deep crater filled with lava that spat out flames. A few blackened rocks that worked as stepping stones to what Anakin realized was the Cornucopia: the center of the arena where there would be items necessary for survival. Weapons, medical kits, clothes, water, food. Things everyone needed. Things he needed.
Another flame hissed out of the crater and landed precariously close to Anakin's boot. He would have jumped back if he hadn't known to stay still on the plate: one step off, and he'd be blown up a mile high. One games had gone like that: a boy had dropped a ball, and the games had been delayed a few minutes so the Capitol could scrape his insides away.
Anakin looked around. The other tributes had materialized: they had all materialized. They were all wearing the same clothes he was, and for a few seconds, they all blinked, their eyes getting adjusted to the sudden lights around them. Anakin watched the panic and fear on some tributes' faces as they registered the lava and the crater, while others looked wary and were already looking away—
Away —
Anakin turned his head around and breathed out a sigh of relief.
So not everything were rocky volcanoes and lava — below, in the distance, he saw a forest of pine trees. In the distance, something that looked suspiciously like snow. No, Anakin realized, squinting, that was definitely snow.
Snow and lava in one place. The game makers must have had their fun.
Anakin turned back around in time for the great boom of the clock somewhere above him.
He hadn't been paying attention. Fifteen seconds until the pressure plates would deactivate, and everyone would either run for the Cornucopia or run away.
Anakin looked around the tributes again. He saw Maul beside him. His yellow eyes were already fixed on the Cornucopia with a hunger that Anakin knew he didn't want to see up close. On his other side, Savage was looking at the Cornucopia with the same predator need.
Anakin looked farther down the circle of tributes. He found Obi-Wan looking at the Cornucopia, but there was nothing on his face. He couldn't tell what that one's move would be. Maybe run for the Cornucopia, maybe run away. Maybe grab one of the other items…
And then somehow, Anakin found Ahsoka. District 11.
The girl was staring determinedly at one specific thing sitting at the edge of the Cornucopia. From his angle, Anakin couldn't tell what it was, but it must have been important. And Anakin's chest tightened. A kid like Ahsoka, jumping through all the lava…
You shouldn't care, a voice whispered at the back of his head.
Anakin turned. And then he saw Maul's eyes fix on Ahsoka, and then drift to whatever Ahsoka was looking at. Anakin still couldn't tell what the fuss was about, but he saw Maul's eyes light up briefly, and he knew then that Ahsoka was Maul's first target.
You shouldn't care —
When the cannon went off, Anakin didn't think twice.
Too much happened at once. He heard rapid footsteps everywhere around him, heard a sharp scream even before he took his second jump on the rocks. They weren't planted in the lava—they were floating, Anakin realized, and for a heart-stopping second, he thought he would slip off and end things right there, when—
"Look out ," he heard, and then someone was grabbing back his shirt, and Anakin looked up in time to see Obi-Wan's stormy eyes—huh—before the tribute was speeding his way to the outskirts of the Cornucopia.
And Maul was already running to where Ahsoka, Anakin saw, was now speeding to—
A rope.
The kid was risking her life for a rope?
Anakin didn't know how to make sense of that, but he didn't have enough time to figure out District 11's motives. He just ran forward, jumping over the rocks. He heard the hiss of flames, heard another distant cry somewhere. Anakin didn't look to see what was going on. If there was a death, the cannons would tell him later.
He saw Ahsoka step onto the rock holding the rope first.
He saw Maul hop to the rock a moment later.
He saw Maul's hand reach out—
And Anakin landed right behind him.
"Don't think that's yours," Anakin said, and he kicked Maul as hard as he could.
The good news: Anakin watched Ahsoka grab the rope and scamper away.
The bad news: Maul didn't slip off the rock.
And Maul was angry.
Maul spun around, his yellow eyes narrowed and teeth bared, and Anakin staggered a quick step back as Maul swung his fist. Anakin ducked, jumped to another rock. He balanced on it precariously, heard Maul's angry roar behind him, and he knew it was time to go.
Ahsoka had no idea what District 3 was thinking when he helped her. Or if he had even meant to help her. But it didn't matter, because she had a rope, and she was already skirting around the rest of the Cornucopia. She could hear District 2's angry roar, but Ahsoka wasn't worried about him. He was distracted.
But District 3…
Anakin. That was his name. Anakin had been the one distracting Maul.
Stay focused , Ahsoka thought. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and she leapt in time to avoid what looked like a small dart from—
District 10. The one who had chewed on a piece of grain during his interview. The one who drawled out all his words. He was looking almost bored right now, holding a small tube that Ahsoka realized held all the darts. She could guarantee that just one of those darts could kill her on the spot. How did he get that already? And has he already killed other tributes?
Ahsoka ducked as another dart flew her way. She jumped to a rock, saw something glint in front of her. Yes, knives—a weapon, she needs a weapon—
Ahsoka landed on top of the rock, swept the pair of knives up with her hand. She spun around in time to see a dart coming her way and ducked—
She heard a cry behind her, but she didn't look to see who had gotten hit instead of her. A knife, rope, that was all she could risk now. She had a weapon and she had...something she could use at some point later. She hadn't really known why she wanted it, just that she had, and that had gotten her the 9 during the trials, so who was to say that rope was useless anyways?
She clambered over the rock as another dart came spinning her way. Can't he pick on someone else?
Ahsoka dove for the other rocks. She jumped on one, then the other, then the other. She could see the edge of the Cornucopia area now. Just a few more jumps, and she could run down the edge of this volcano and go right into the pine forest and hide out there—
But then she heard another shout, and this time, Ahsoka came to a stop.
She turned around to see District 8—Barriss—crash to the ground just as a dart flew over her head. The hem of her pants leg was already torn and singed, and there was already ash streaked across her face, but when she looked up, Ahsoka didn't see any other injuries.
Ahsoka found Barriss' eyes, and for a moment, they just stared at each other—
And then another dart came flying past.
"Get up," Ahsoka said, grabbing Barriss' elbow. She yanked as hard as she could, and before she could think better of it, she started tugging themselves down the side of the volcano as more darts came flying past. Ahsoka found Barriss' hand in the chaos, and to her surprise, Barriss' hand was warmer than she thought it would be.
"Forest," Barriss panted.
"I know!"
Their feet and legs seemed to tumble over each other as they sprinted down the side of the volcano. Rocks came flying up under them, and once or twice, Ahsoka thought for sure that either Barriss or herself would trip, but they seemed to tug each other up at the exact moment any of them were in danger of falling.
They crashed into the forest together, hands still gripping each other's.
Darkness enveloped them both, and for a moment, Ahsoka couldn't see beyond the trees directly in front of her. Whatever light there was or had been was completely blocked by the tall pines, and yet, Ahsoka still somehow knew just which trees to dodge. Nights working the fields at night had taught her that much back home—and for a brief moment, she thought that her dad and her brothers might be proud, and then she remembered that they could be watching her right now.
That information made Ahsoka's legs move faster, her tug a little more insistent on Barriss. "We have to lose him," she said. She looked over her shoulder. It had been a few seconds since the darts had stopped firing, but still, she couldn't be sure if—
"I think we already did," Barriss replied, but she didn't stop running either. "He has to—ah—he has to be looking for something at the Cornucopia by now."
"Or other tributes," Ahsoka managed. "Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning to," Barriss replied.
They ran.
So Obi-Wan had been partially correct. They had been on top of some form of mountain, although he hadn't expected the volcano. That was new. And there was some form of condensation nearby—the snow in the distance was proof of that. As well as the trees…
And then he had spent the remaining seconds of the time both observing the other tributes—some tributes, he knew, were going to ignore the Cornucopia entirely and bolt for the trees. Other tributes had been looking steadily at the weapons or at the kits laid around on the rocks. They probably wouldn't go straight to the center of the Cornucopia, but still. They would be satisfied with whatever they got, if they got it at all.
And then Obi-Wan had seen movement out of the corner of his eye. He had watched District 3—Anakin Skywalker—suddenly tense up, and he'd seen what Anakin saw.
District 11, right across from them. She was looking at something Obi-Wan couldn't quite see, but he already had the feeling that she had made up her mind about what to do as well.
Interesting. And yet, Obi-Wan wasn't at all surprised.
When the cannon went off, he found that he wasn't surprised when Anakin lunged forward.
Always on the move , Obi-Wan thought. The idiot hadn't paid attention to the fact that the rocks weren't actually grounded in anything. They were all hovering close over the lava—but not enough for it to actually be stable.
So when Anakin lunged, Obi-Wan was already just a rock away. He reached forward and dragged Anakin back before he could topple over the edge. "Look out ."
Anakin let out a sharp breath as Obi-Wan yanked him back. He looked up at Obi-Wan briefly, and Obi-Wan only shook his head. Whether more to himself or to Anakin, Obi-Wan didn't know.
He let go of Anakin and leapt his way to the Cornucopia. Just as he'd suspected, most of the tributes had either skirted the edges or were already on their way to the forest. Obi-Wan grabbed a bag—he didn't know what was in it, but he could hope for the best—and had only just started to make his way back out when he saw movement.
He turned quickly, but no, there was nothing coming after him—just District 11, Ahsoka Tano, jumping away at full speed. Obi-Wan watched a dart come hurtling past her, but she ducked her head. She leapt over the rocks with a certain agility and grace that Obi-Wan had a feeling might have attributed to her 9 in the trials.
But the darts—
Obi-Wan re-shouldered his bag. He decided he didn't want to stick around to find out what those darts could or would do, given the chance. And he certainly didn't want to stick around to discover the chances.
Obi-Wan turned around. He was just about to make his way out of the Cornucopia when he instead came nearly face-first to an oncoming sword point.
Obi-Wan leapt backwards at the last second as Savage leered at him. He had his hands gripping two swords—feeling greedy today, I see, Obi-Wan thought—and he didn't so much have to jump as to just step across the rocks to make his way to Obi-Wan.
Not turning around, Obi-Wan jumped backwards to another rock. A flame hissed nearby him, and the air shimmered around him in the heat. But he could still see Savage advancing, his yellow eyes cold and hard.
Obi-Wan briefly wondered if he had enough time to check his pack for some weapon—a knife, maybe, but no, that took too much time. But if he could get to the center of the Cornucopia...he could find something there. Then again, he could also very well find another opponent, but Obi-Wan knew he was running out of other options.
Obi-Wan spread out his arms. Well?
Savage lunged.
And Obi-Wan turned and bolted for the center of the Cornucopia.
He could feel Savage's steps thundering after him, but he didn't dare turn around. His eyes skirted around the center of the Cornucopia—still some weapons, he found, but would they be enough—
Obi-Wan caught sight of something then: another sword. When Obi-Wan picked it up, he found the grip light, easy. Wondered if it had been left there for him, but there wasn't any more time to linger on that: he spun around in time to meet Savage's blades.
Somewhere, he heard the clash of other weapons—lighter weapons, but they were coming close. Obi-Wan knew that there would be more company soon.
He shoved back at Savage's blades, started to move out of the Cornucopia—and felt something, no someone—ram into his back.
"Fancy seeing you here," Anakin said, breathing hard.
"I was about to say the same," Obi-Wan replied. "What are you—"
Maul came into view a second later. Obi-Wan had been right: Maul was carrying a lighter weapon, a double-tipped spear.
Ah, Obi-Wan thought. Not good.
A/N: My laptop broke over the weekend, so as of now, I'm mostly relying on my school's chromebooks to write! As of now, that might interfere a little bit with my writing process, since all of my files are saved on my laptop (and I never used Google Docs, RIP), so that adds a bit of time when it comes to formatting issues. However! I'm hoping to get a new laptop in the near future, so hopefully, things will be back to normal.
As always, reviews/follows/faves are greatly appreciated!
(And oh, yes. You can fully expect the chapters to be significantly longer from this point onward.)