Dreamers Live to Die
I did the cowardly thing and tried to avoid the future as much as possible, even with all the devastatingly powerful information behind my lips. But alas, fate found its way to bite me in the ass. [SI-OC Gale's twin sister]
Published 2020.08.20
71st Hunger Games
Warning: adult language, non explicit mentioned sex, alcohol and side effects of alcohol written in detail, mentions of some other shady club related shit that I should probably warn you about but I don't have a descriptive enough word for what exactly the warning is, a few mentions of gore related content because of the extreme violence taking place between tributes in the games
Blaire bounced back into her normal self much faster after the seventieth games than what Peeta remembered in the aftermath of her victory tour. Instead of weeks of crying and unexplainable behavior, there were only a few days of complete silence from the Hawthorne family until some of the siblings returned back to school without stress lines or absent words.
He took it upon himself to visit her the Sunday after her return, confident enough that he wouldn't be shunned this time. Rory, one of the Hawthorne siblings who Peeta found awkward to make conversation with, opened the front door.
"She's in the backyard," The ten going on eleven year old said before shutting the door in his face.
Slightly affronted, Peeta circled around the front to enter through the back gate and to the expansive backyard. At first glance the backyard looked empty but Peeta knew better now. He walked across the property towards the line of trees in the back and stared up from the trunk into the top branches. As expected, a fourteen year old girl was hanging from her knees, reading a book upside down.
She was his best friend, someone he felt completely natural and carefree with. They cultivated their hobbies together for an unbelievable amount of money that he still couldn't wrap his head around (and he came to his senses when finally being able to purchase his own art supplies through government request). She was enigmatic and strong, he loved hanging out with someone like her, even through her toughest moments. But there were moments like these when Peeta wondered how in the world they became friends in the first place. Blaire was an enigmatic figure, but sometimes too enigmatic.
"Are you... are you reading a book upside down?"
Blaire tilted her head to acknowledge his appearance. "Oh, hey Peeta. I mean, no? It's the right way up."
He struggled to understand her sometimes. Forgivable, since her mental state wasn't always the best. "Blaire, that's not - yes, your book is facing the right way up, but you're not. You're upside down."
She takes a glance at her reading material. "Oh. That might... explain some things. Anyway, what's up? Nothing too interesting happened while I was away, right?" She tucked the book under one arm and hook the other around the branch, then with a fancy show of acrobatics, spun her body around the branch before leaping off onto the ground next to him. To say that he was used to it by now would be a bold faced lie.
Because he knew she enjoyed background chatter and he enjoyed talking, he went on about his day, the inanities of school, the weird looking rabbit he painted last night, and more.
As the weeks passed and the season changed into autumn and Blaire was still her normal sane self, Peeta let himself relax more and come over more often. They were filled with inexplicable amounts of energy, bouncing between every part of town to the meadows to the sliver of tree line around her neighborhood to even the dregs of the Hob. After school ended, he raced up to the Victor's Village with a skip in his step and a sweet melody on his lips. Rory and Vick hung out on the recess field to play games with their friends at the end of the day and Gale barely attended school in the first place, so he didn't have to oblige to an awkward conversation while walking up to the Hawthorne home. And upon arrival, Mrs. Cartwright, the toddler Posy's babysitter, usually welcomed him in. Then if Posy wasn't taking a nap, she would shuffle over to him and cram a "secret" snack in his hands - usually a vegetable she had been hiding she didn't want to eat - and the encounter would make his day. He hung out with his best friend, went home for dinner, did his homework and paintings, and went to bed.
The days continued in a nice, steady schedule. He ignored his classmate friends' teasing - what did they know, anyway? - and enjoyed every bit of each day. The schedule was interrupted on a chilly December afternoon, when Blaire finally made an appearance on school grounds again.
At first, he was excited. Maybe she would be returning back to classes and resume that promised teaching position? Ms. Milligan already had one foot in the grave by now. No, it was too late in the day to attend anything, school had just ended and children were filing out from their last class or hanging out in the recess fields. He called out her name and waved his hand around while running to the awkward place in the asphalt near the school entrance. Or maybe she had come to visit him? Or her brothers? He already felt proud of her mental improvements, being able to visit highly social areas again to - .
"Peeta, was Gale at school today?"
He blinked. Her serious toned jarred him. "Ummm... actually, I don't think so. Blaire?"
"That's not good," she said slowly. She bowed her head and walked back down the street. He didn't know what else to do but silently follow her back to the Victor's Village. He followed her inside, matching her stiff greetings to Mrs. Cartwright and Posy. They were in her bedroom now, a room he hadn't visited much due to the fact Blaire lived most her days in her woodworking den, consequently him too.
He waited by the door, watching her slow and tranquil movements across the room. She wore a serene expression and her legs moved nimbly, but her fingers trembled and shook when searching through cabinets and closets.
"Do you know where Gale is?" He asked.
She nodded. Okay, today was a nonverbal day.
A few minutes after fidgeting with cabinet drawers, her body finally caught up with her mind and her outward demeanor became frazzled. Her steps were shaky and she couldn't meet his eyes, so Peeta carefully took a seat on the edge of her bed and gently patted the space next to him. She didn't sit down, but she paid enough attention for him to butt in.
"Do you want me to get Vick?" He said. knowing the kind hearted boy would know more about Gale than him. She didn't respond, so he tried again. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"
This time, she nodded, so he kept his distance and went home. That night, he didn't sleep a wink.
Two days later, he noticed Gale return to school with a giant scar on his chin and the quiet rumor spreading around that someone had sold an entire freshly dead bear at the Hob. Peeta waited another few days to visit Blaire, who appeared to have regressed and progressed at the same time. Her hands kept fumbling with a block of wood and a whittling knife even during conversations and social interactions, random parts of her body twitched or spazzed out at strange times, and her conversations sometimes halted mid-sentence without her realizing. But she learned to smile more, laugh more, and otherwise seem friendlier.
He vaguely knew that Gale traveled past the fence to provide game for the community. Everyone knew about his hunting. Everyone also knew about Katniss' hunting, but she was a little more discreet, a little more reserved about it. He didn't know anything about hunting other than hunting could sometimes take up to an entire day, sometimes more. It was during the "sometimes more" periods of when Gale was absent from the Hawthorne home that Blaire's anxiety rose and strangled everything.
Peeta tried to be there for his friend as much as possible, but sometimes he just wanted to punch her brother in the nose without consequence.
Katniss knew hunger. She knew fear. She knew the fear of starving away until only skin and bones were left and even laying down to rest could mark the last of your willpower to live. She didn't stop moving, always steady on her feet and keeping a quick eye on her surroundings. She never stopped hunting to provide for her family, even after Gale's countless protests. "Let me take care of it," he always said. "Let me take care of you," is what he actually meant, she knew.
If she were a smarter, better person, she would've accepted all of Gale's offers and embrace his aid. At first, when his sister came back from the sixty-ninth games, she became swept up in the cheer and gladly accepted his little bakery presents, gifts of new clothes, and more. But seeing Prim jump up in joy at new winter coats or a better furnace thanks to the efforts of someone else made Katniss feel as though she was drowning and losing grip on reality. For so long she had been their sole provider, often helping the Hawthorne family by hunting more game with Gale due to the family's larger numbers, and now? The easier quality of life felt more threatening than mother nature's harshness. Not having to work as much made her feel jittery and nervous, so her solution was to hunt and risk her life outside the fence even more. She developed a stronger bond with Gale, knowing he must've felt the same.
Without the need to provide, where were they? What were they even doing?
So they hunted and ventured around the wild for community efforts in the Hob, trying to avoid losing grip on what made them who they were.
She didn't hate Blaire for this stumble, of course not. Blaire's mind had to be far more displaced than hers and it wasn't like Katniss was about to blame the older girl for winning the games. But more often than not, she didn't know how to behave or react around her. Gale was safe, strong, and sturdy. There were no surprises bursting out from him. Vick and Rory were chatty and the tad bit immature, a childish fun she knew how to handle. Posy was too young for Katniss to know much about other than that the toddler tended to stuff unwanted vegetables down her pants pockets whenever she came over into their house.
Maybe in the future, Katniss would get around to having a stable conversation with Blaire. Maybe, maybe not. Only time would tell.
If there were a way to aggressively crochet, I must be doing it right now.
"How do you mess up so badly your hat turns into a sock?" Triti asked, quirking an elegant eyebrow at my disastrous creation. Mags warbled something half intelligible before straight up laughing at the conglomeration of woolly yarn knotted up into something vaguely resembling a giant sock.
Was I venting my feelings into destroying a fluffy article of clothing? Yeah, sure. The district twelve victors hadn't survived past the first few minutes at the cornucopia and the rush of deep red blood squirting through the field burned into my eyes. A day of carving up memorial wood busts had worn out the stress and guilt, so I had joined Mags in one of the numerous public lounge spaces in the Victor's Spire in harmless crocheting. Triti eventually wandered by - the district eight victors had also died on the first day, apparently - and joined our peaceful duo in crafting.
"It... It was supposed to be a bag."
The most nerve wrecking part of my entire stay at the Capitol had to be the lack of an invite with Bast. There had been no arranged meeting time from President Snow, no mention of Indigo, no nothing. It felt too good to be true, to have the entire games be government meddling free with a chance to relax in the most luxurious city in Panem as a high class celebrity. All eyes and ears in the media were still on me, as the seventieth victor had not made any sort of public appearance at all, not even having embarked on a victory tour. Annie's psych must be worse than anyone thought. But the lack of Annie related content and news feed meant that the public's focus was still on me. Reporters crowded the outside of the apartment, one of the television channels dedicated itself to my physiognomy and the constellations in my freckles, and even Haymitch warned something about being careful outside. Thus, I hadn't stepped outside the Victor's Spire all day.
"I'm fifteen, I don't have the patience to repeat a single needle movement hundreds of times. With whittling, every stroke is different, every piece of wood chipped off is new and interesting," I protested, flicking a stray piece of wool thread at Triti. The district eight mentor, I'd come to realize the more I hung out with her, left a strange impression. At first I thought of her as demure and quiet, but she was just as strange and erratic as me, but in a reserved manner. Maybe that was why she didn't seem to have any friends, or had any relevant news articles written about her relationships.
Mags, by far, had to be the strangest victor I'd met, however. The reason being was that she was the nicest and most calming one so far. The words "victor" and "nice" didn't mesh together very often.
The next two weeks followed like this. I stuck around in the Victor's Spire, mindlessly watching inane television programs, crafting little objects with Mags and Triti (who only showed up half the time), whittling and carving, and doing my damnedest to avoid any Hunger Games responsibilities. Until around fifteen days after the games started, I heard a knock on my door one mid afternoon and the familiar sound of an electric note buzzing a notification.
Ah, of course. The catch. No Bast, then what else must I blearily drag myself into?
Around half an hour later, my entire prep team arrived at my doorstep, their familiar chatter somewhat easing my nerves.
"Oh, it's so hard to get into Temulentus!" Flavius exclaimed, his hands immediately grabbing my shoulders to inspect the fine dust of my clothing. Venia and Octavia shut the door with multiple supply bags in hand. "It's the latest rage. Do you know how hard it is to reserve a private room? My goodness!"
"I've never been to a club before," I confessed, letting my body relax and have the three friendly stylists work their magic.
Venia gasped. "Oh my, it's like the best."
"Okay," I said, letting my mind drift away as they set me down in a chair and stripped me. "Sure, let's go someday."
More squeals erupted, I might've promised something I didn't really want but whatever. Having glittery gels rubbed into my scalp and soft cinnamon lotion lathered all over my body dispensed a sizable amount of stress. Perhaps being the center of attention in the Capitol wasn't a bad thing after all, if my prep team treated me to relaxing beauty treatments all the time.
They zipped me up in a short red dress to compliment the gold glitter highlights and an unfortunate pair of heels. They lifted me off the ground a solid four inches and I hated it.
"This is fun," I lied, wobbling down the room. "Thank you for your hard work."
Arriving at Temulentus was an entirely different matter. Dozens of flashing cameras awaited the glitzy neon entrance and as soon as I stumbled inside hands, fingers, elbows, and tongues - yuck - jabbed me as I made my way into the promised private section.
The scent of sex, stale perfume, and sickly sweet cocktails invaded my senses. Exotic feathers, marble beads, and lavish leather couches lined the private zone of the club. At the far end, a half moon sofa seating area raged as the center of attention. A few other youthful victors were strewn about, half drunken men and women and servers hanging off the edge.
"Remember to smile," someone whispered in my ear from behind. I twirled around, elbow already cocked and ready to protect, but the other person wields a dominating strength against my split second instinctive jab. Gloss gripped my hip and attacking elbow with a bruising grip, but his easy smile and acquainted familiarity allowed me to come back to my senses and relax. Consequently, he also relaxes his grip and let us move onward without hassle.
The club patrons and guests noticed our appearance at last, because the music changed into the jauntier tune and servers immediately rushed over with refreshments. I accepted the glazed strawberry dessert out of politeness.
"I'll do my best," I said. "But I am curious."
His face curled up into a satisfied smirk and - oh. Oh, okay, his appearance definitely helped him win his games. "Don't mind me, lightning girl."
"Hello, arrogant bastard," another voice snuck up behind us. My body reflexively jumped out the way, but us standing in the middle of a peeking dance floor made every nerve in my body panic regardless. Finnick grinned lopsidedly and brushed a hand through bronze hair. "Don't mind me either, lightning girl."
Standing besides two alpha male victors should've sent warning bells ringing in my brain, but surprisingly after the initial panic, I felt safer around the two men than if I had skulked off to a boozy corner in the foreign environment.
"Where's Cashmere?" I asked Gloss, hoping to seek companionship with the young woman who most likely couldn't be an entirely bad person, if she had warned me about Bast. I didn't have a good enough read on her brother, other than hot and arrogant.
Said district one victor quirked an elegantly sculpted eyebrow and smirked (or maybe that was his default expression). "My sister? You lower district victors may not know this, but we tend to switch out mentors in the Career districts, seeing how there are so many of us."
A few pink skinned ladies wearing nothing but leopard print bodysuits sighed dreamily and cradled themselves around us, dragging us to the half moon sofa towards the back. More and more guests came to figuratively drape themselves over us three victors, words carefully chosen and boasting enough to please.
"You're so popular," someone moaned dreamily to Finnick, who didn't show the slightest hint of discomfort in his position. "You've been selected as a mentor for the past five times."
"Aren't there three other male victors in district four?"
"Oh, who cares. Maybe he really does wish to come here all the time and entertain his string of lovers. Did you know...?"
On the other side of the sofa was Gloss, with cerulean blue men and women covered in fine silks and nothing at all drinking away. "I heard Gloss has been voted the most handsome victor from one for the past seven years."
"Didn't he win the sixty-third games?"
"That's the point, he's so dreamy~!"
They were trapped. The two handsome young men were trapped here for the rest of their life due to their astounding popularity. Me? I didn't have a choice to continue to mentor for the games. But those two kept on getting chosen again and again to service the Capitol. But I, too, felt trapped. The heady smells drowned me, the glittery flashes of light burned into my brain, slimy hands from the pink skinned men and women combed through my hair and massaged my thighs as my head lolled back against the cushions, fighting the swallowing emptiness growing inside my soul. The music raged on, switching beats and tempos faster than I could digest. Jarring blurs of techno thrill escaped, sending everyone into slithering dances.
"Why are you crying?" Someone with a sultry voice asked. I refused to lift my head and stare into the depths of the abyss, so I kept my body still for the groping hands to track everywhere.
"Because," I managed to choke out. "You're not. You're not giving me something to drink. I want. I want it."
The monsters leisurely poured a saccharine mixture down my lips. The ceiling tiles blurred and cracked. The music pumped through my veins and I laughed. The monsters licked the tears off my cheeks and I laughed. The monsters fed me more bright pink liquids and sugary snacks and I laughed. I smiled sweet and wide, giggling drunkenly without acting, thriving off the shaking distortions of the world and movement of the dance floor.
I maintained to be sober enough to remember which vehicle outside the club was mine. There were far less camera flashes in the wee hours of the morning, but I made sure to give a wave and a bright smile. My driver gave me a sour drink - for hangovers, he had said - before dropping me off at the Victor's Spire. Gloss and Finnick had stayed at the club, maybe to sleep with the guests or for genuine enjoyment I didn't know and didn't care enough to ask before wobbling off.
The next morning I realized I had lost the four inch high heels in the club. Octavia would be mad. And Flavius. Maybe Venia, but I knew I was buttering up to her enough that I could probably kill one of her friends and she'd laugh it off.
Oh well.
The realization that I had drunk alcohol last night didn't fully set in until I caught a glimpse of Haymitch with Seeder in one of the lounge rooms downstairs. My face flushed without realizing and I ran all the way back to my apartment and cried in the bathroom. I felt - I felt ashamed. And scared. Would I end up like Haymitch after I had locked him out of my world for his irresponsibility? Did he know how much of a hypocrite his fellow victor just...
It engulfed me. But I wanted to do it again, I wanted to let loose and party and drink and let whimpering hands pamper me.
So I trapped myself in the Spire for the next three days out of guilt and to assure my senses I wasn't going to become like Haymitch. My body and mind could be stronger than his. They were stronger.
By the end of three weeks, the finale finally rolled up on screens. Effie had delightfully dragged me to a breakfast place a close walk from the city center as per my request to socialize more. By the time we had finished the meal, blabbering crowds formed outside, alerting us of the final battle ensuing in the games. I made it in time to the Training Center with the other mentors in rapt attention to the large and numerous screens.
"All six of the Careers are duking it out in one last battle," Triti notified me upon my entrance. I took a seat next to her chair and watched the drama unfold.
"I don't know why I'm here," I told her honestly. "Crowds of people outside rushed me to the Training Center."
Triti hummed. "It's an epic fight that's been going on for about forty minutes now. I'm surprised none of them have died yet."
And at her words, the boy from two released an ear piercing scream through the monitors and stumbled to the ground. The girl from one snarled viciously from behind him, her weapon glistening with his blood from having sliced through his achilles heel. With decisive action, she swung her broadsword straight through his neck like butter. Blood spurted out from sputtering veins and cracked structures. I wanted to close my eyes and go back to my apartment, but a vague memory tickled the back of my brain to convince me to continue watching the bloodshed.
"Triti? Isn't the girl from seven still alive?"
"Is she? I don't - ."
Suddenly, the cameras all zoomed to the boy from four pausing in his tracks with an axe stuck in the back of his skull. His back had been to the tree line, a safe distance from the center of the all on war. A wild teenage girl broke out from hiding and let loose a manic laugh with bloodshot eyes. She swore loudly and triumphantly, dislodging the axe from the victim's brains.
Seventeen year old Johanna Mason purged through the rest of the tributes in less than two minutes. I let myself out the surveillance room once Johanna had been declared the victor of the seventy-first hunger games and I could breathe easy.
The victor from district seven only took a day to recover before being thrust into the spotlight once more. Effie told me to attend one of the after parties, so I did. She didn't tell me to drink again, but I did. She didn't tell me to dance with Johanna, but I did. She didn't tell me to flirt and play nice, but I did. I brought Johanna into my suite, my district twelve top floor apartment in the Victor's Spire. We danced some more before letting go of inhibitions.
The morning after wasn't awkward, not really. She embraced her body and walked around in the nude in the kitchen, gorging on the bountiful feast the staff must have provided while we slept (which did not ring alarm bells in my head until much later). We were both barking mad and giggling over nothing and it was glorious.
The other girl was taller and had a more womanly frame than mine so I didn't have any clothes to lend to her. It was fine, she said. I didn't see much of a problem if she didn't have a problem, so I wore a breezy blue dress while escorting the completely naked Johanna back to her suite.
Over the next few days we attended more events. I hadn't known the proper mentor party protocols because last year's game had most of its celebrations cancelled due to Annie not being mentally capable of handling anything other than sleeping pills, but this time around there were more parties, more interviews, and more glitter and jazz in the background. This was why only the popular and relevant mentors kept getting invited back, because being a mentor held almost the same status as a fresh victor or any other celebrity. I'd always known the capitol enjoyed the hunger games, but the continuously glimmering road and indulgences cemented the understanding.
I continued seeking the comfort of Johanna for the rest of the few days left in the Capitol. We were similar ages, had similar experiences, came from lower districts, and had to vent off somehow. She was hot, I was pretty, end of story.
On the last day before heading back home, one final electric note had been left at my door. I greeted Indigo lazily and let him tout me off into another colorful and extravagant setting. At this point I didn't care enough, having guiltily indulged in a little bit of everything this entire game. I was led into a small, private restaurant near the edge of the downtown, where only own stark table was rented out and there were no staff in sight.
Haymitch and a plump middle aged man were sitting down, dining on nothing.
"Hello Blaire," Plutarch Riggsbee said. "Why don't you take a seat. It's about time we included you into rebellion plans."