Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. They belong to Suzanne Collins.
Note: Ah, number thirteen, a number long known for the reputation of being unlucky. I guess, whatever number Hunger Games it is, you'd have to be very unlucky to get reaped. Then again, who says Volunteers can't have their own sort of bad luck? Been looking forward to writing this one, so hopefully it's turns out alright. Time to say hello to Gwenith!
"So, what's the story with Gwenith?" Katniss asked, surveying the face upon the sidewalk. "She set any trends?"
"Well, not so much a trend as being the sole person who ever did something," Peeta said, scanning his eyes upon Gwenith's stats. "She was the only volunteer District Nine ever had."
"She's only fourteen. Why would she volunteer for this kind of sick deathmatch?" Katniss asked, stunned. "...Stepping up for somebody she loved?"
"Can't say I know," Peeta said, shrugging. "I'm sure she had her reasons. All volunteers do, right? "
"I bet the Capitol didn't like her much," Katniss muttered, her arms crossed. "They people here see any sort of 'ugliness' or hair out of place as a disease."
"Yeah, you're not even wrong," Peeta admitted.
13th Annual Hunger Games
Name: Gwenith Rosebud
Gender: Female
District: 9
Age: 14
Kills: 2
"Come on, do it."
"I don't know, it seems like a bad idea..."
"Come on, do this and you're in our gang. For reals. You're not a chicken, are you?"
"No, I'm n-not..."
"Then do it. We're doing it to, Gwenny."
Gwenith stands in the fourteen year old girls' section of Nine's central square. The thirteenth reaping is due to start at any minute and presently she finds herself stood with a trio of girls she's been trying ever so hard to befriend for the past three years. Always so close to joining their gang, but not close enough.
Norette, Kernelly and their leader Maraline. The popular girls in school. Pretty, much loved, respected and getting whatever they want.
They're exactly what Gwenith wishes to be. What she might be if not for her birth defect upon her face making her the absolute bottom of the pecking order at school. But today... today, it will change they tell her. No more menial, often humiliating requests. No more doing their work or carrying their supplies. No more dangerous dares.
Just one game of reaping chicken and she's officially one of them.
"Just one game?" Gwenith asks, as if to be sure.
"Yep," Maraline confirms. "Watch who gets reaped and then when that doofus Escort asks for volunteers you put your hand up and down real quick. We're doing it too, as I said. She'll not even see."
"Yeah, it's harmless," Kernelly adds. "She'd not see you and even if she did you have to actually say you volunteer to get the spot."
"R-really?" Gwenith asks, still a little bit unsure.
"I mean, you've seen the recaps on TV sometimes right? Nobody ever volunteers without saying so. It's never without words," Maraline assures her with the slyest of silver tongues. "Trust us, we're your friends."
"We will be for life after this," Norette says.
Gwenith's stomach churns with worry and fear over the what-ifs of this game of 'reaping chicken'. But the desperation for any form of friendship and acceptance begins to override the concerns and scepticism bought on by common sense.
She quietly agrees to the game as the mayor of District Nine finishes reading the Treaty of Treason.
"And so I shall now list the names of our Victors, spared through the generosity of the Capitol," the mayor says, his tone perfectly emotionless.
He pauses for a moment as, all at once, the citizens of Nine look towards the young man seated on stage behind the mayor. Their only Victor back from when this nightmare had first started. Their one source of hope before eleven constant years of gruesome death and defeat.
"Mizar Aldjoy, Victor of the First Annual Hunger Games."
Gwenith can't help but frown, feeling bad for the broken looking man on the stage. So far he's had to mentor twenty two children and all of them have ended up killed in a variety of nasty ways. Nothing suggests that the twenty third and twenty fourth kids under his care will end up any better. Guilt fills the eyes of Mizar as he gazes out at the crowds of children, his expression truly haunted.
"Poor Mizar," Gwenith mutters. "He must have one tough life."
"Yeah, yeah, just remember the game," Maraline says with a snap of her fingers. "Hand up and then down once the call for Volunteers is raised."
Gwenith mumbles a quick agreement, her mind fully focused on how she will finally have friends and become part of the group she's longed to be accepted by for so very long. She becomes so filled with tunnel vision of no longer being at the bottom of the chain that she doesn't hear the name of the reaped girl exiting the eighteen year olds section nor see how her District's sole Victor has to swallow his vomit.
She almost misses the call for Volunteers, only bought back to reality when Maraline flicks her nose.
"Hand up," she hisses. "On three we all do it. One... two... three!"
Gwenith doesn't miss her cue, but the popular trio do. Indeed, they don't make a move to raise up their hands, instead trying to hold back giggles as for all of two seconds Gwenith has her hand raised.
"Ah, we have a volunteer!" the escort sings out, delighted.
It's only when the Peacekeepers begin making a beeline towards her that Gwenith realises what has happened. Terror in her eyes she can only stammer, hopeless and betrayed, at the trio she thought had wanted her as a friend.
"Have a fun trip to the Capitol," Maraline teases before breaking out into uproarious laugher alongside Norette and Kernelly.
"No! No! Please, I didn't mean it!" Gwenith wails, pleading and screaming as she is dragged up to the stage, howling in despair. "Please, let me go!"
"Oh, how nasty..." the escort mutters, dismayed at the appearance of the Volunteer. "Well, rules are rules. Maizie, you can go."
The girl who was the tribute barely a minute ago babbles something inaudible as she staggers off of the stage, looking about ready to faint. Gwenith stands, tears streaming down her face as all the nation looks upon her. She doesn't even look up at the cameras, more focused on the fact the girl she desperately wanted as her friends cared so little that they sent her off to die as a prank.
Her despair only grows worse when her District Partner ends up being a massive, muscular boy from one of the busiest wheat fields. Having such strong competition before even seeing the other tributes has Gwenith rapidly falling into depression, realising that no matter what she does she is going to die.
As Gwenith and big, burly Hawklin are made to shake hands and enter into the Judgement Building the District's lone Victor finds himself staring after them both.
Specifically, staring at the sobbing girl who Volunteered. Unlike most others he doesn't stare due to her tears or her deformity.
He stares in wonder because she just spared his sister from being thrown into the arena.
In that moment Mizar makes his choice. As he does every year he'll fight to bring one of his tributes home safe and sound... but as the best he can do is bring one of them back, he vows that no matter what he must do, he'll make this a year for District Nine.
He'll make sure that the girl identified as Gwenith Rosebud comes home.
Gwenith locks herself in her room on the train from the moment she is on board. She doesn't come out for dinner, she doesn't come out for the reaping recaps and she doesn't come out to talk to anybody. She spends the day weeping into her pillow, cursing herself for being so stupid to believe somebody out there had, even for a moment, wanted to be her friend.
A knock on the door at midnight gains her attention, even if only slightly.
"Gwenith, are you ready to talk?" Mizar asks, quietly. "I don't know what's going on exactly with this volunteering you did, but I have a promise to make for you."
Mizar takes a deep breath, thinking a subconscious apology to Hawklin and his family, one that he knows won't ever be accepted.
"I've made my choice," he continues. "I can only bring one of you back home at best. Normally I split my focus between two tributes, but as Hawklin is clearly powerful as he is and you are in need of help most of all... I've made the choice to put my efforts towards saving you."
Gwenith can't help but quietly gasp, awed by this. She can't help but hesitate, wondering if it's a just another trick.
"I'm not sure if you made the connection," Mizar keeps going. "But the girl you spared when you volunteered? That was my younger sister, Maizie. I've been in fear for years she'd end up reaped, and thanks to you she can live life without ever going into the Games. I understand this doesn't help you now, but whatever made you volunteer the fact is you saved her and I'm in your debt."
A silence passes for some time. Mizar isn't sure if Gwenith is even listening, but he continues to try in hopes she might meet him halfway.
"If you feel like giving these Games a shot... I'm willing to start mentoring right now. I'm never able to sleep during the train ride anyway," he says, letting out a deep sigh. "I guess I just-."
Mizar is cut off as the door opens, Gwenith stepping into the light. For a time both Mentor and tribute are silent.
"Do you really mean it?" Gwenith asks, sniffling. "You want to help me? Nobody's ever wanted me. Not when I look like a beast."
"Looks don't matter when you're in the arena," Mizar says, firm as he kneels down to be level with his comparatively shorter tribute. "No Victor looks pretty when they're taken out of there, whatever they went through. Come on, how about you tell me all about what happened over some hot chocolate."
"Hot chocolate?" Gwenith asks, uncertain. "What's that?"
"One of the few good things you'll find within the Capitol," Mizar replies.
Over the next several hours until dawn looms near Gwenith tells Mizar everything; about the bullying, about the way people looked at her on the streets, about how Maraline and her gang had tricked her into being in the Games and how they had laughed over it. Mizar has never felt so disgusted at people from his own District, his grip on his mug hard enough to make it form a small crack.
Hearing this confirms to Mizar that he has made the right choice in who to help. So, after hearing all of this and providing what comfort he can the original Victor shows Gwenith a late night repeat of the Reaping Recap and gives her pointers of who to avoid, who to charm and how to present herself in the days ahead. The arena hasn't arrived, but the Games have begun nonetheless.
"Get them sleep," he eventually tells her, gently leading Gwenith back to her room. "It's a big day tomorrow, far bigger than when I was in your spot over ten years ago."
Gwenith doesn't sleep much that night, but she does at least feel a bit better. In the most unexpected of places she has found somebody who cares about her.
The parades often have a star and this year it was not District Nine. Gwenith obeys Mizar's advice to wave to the crowd and put on a smile, happy tributes always getting more potential sponsor interest, but it's hard to pull it off when dressed in a corn stalk costume. Especially as her prep team and stylish did not bother hiding their disgust at how their tribute looks and covered her face with a flower mask.
"Don't let them get to you," Mizar whispers. "The second they see they've gotten to you, they'll never back off. You did great."
"Do you really think so?" Gwenith asks, glum behind the mask.
"I do. Besides, you did better than me. I fell off the chariot when I fainted," Mizar says, embarrassed at the memory. "I won this thing, and you're already doing better than I did."
Neither wants to bring up that all the other dead tributes from Nine also made it through the parade without fainting off the chariot.
Gwenith soon sees, however, that unlike what she and Mizar had assumed... the boy from Two is not the biggest threat this year.
It's drop dead gorgeous, glamorous and grisly Cleopatra from District One. Well endowed in looks and fighting skills, nobody argues that so far she's the audience favourite.
Gwenith is glad that she has the mask to hide her terrified eyes. It suddenly seems like looks may play a role after all.
When training begins Mizar tells Gwenith to learn as many survival sills as she possibly can. In an era of Careers and Sponsors, he's been around long enough to notice that Careers generally hone their combat abilities for the Games ahead, leaving food and water in the hands and wallets of their loyal Sponsors.
"Should I try to form any alliances or... um... learn a weapon?" Gwenith asks, timid as Hawklin walks by her.
It doesn't take a genius to know that the boy from Nine has worked out he's second fiddle and isn't at all pleased about it. Gwenith doesn't blame him and would willingly let him scream at her for it. Mizar feels the same way.
"If somebody wants to talk to you, then let them. It might lead somewhere. It's all about finding somebody that you really get along with... that you feel 'something' for. I felt that with Sophie all those years ago," Mizar trails off for a moment, a depressed look entering his eyes. "Just be careful who you trust. Now, as for weapons... got any experience with anything at all?"
"I've used sickles in the wheat fields since I was seven," Gwenith says. "Does that count?"
"In the arena everything counts," Mizar tells her. "Survival skills, sickles and potentially allies. Above all, do not do a thing to make yourself a target in the eyes of the tributes from One or Two. They train for this and are not the kind to show mercy to tributes from Nine. Don't go near them, or anybody they may happen to recruit."
Gwenith promises that she won't, already running through what little she knows about forest fruit as she boards the elevator to the training centre.
She keeps her promise, avoiding the pack entirely as she spends the first half of the training day learning about what fruits and flowers are safe or dangerous to eat. This and lessons on finding water make up a productive morning.
It's the afternoon when Gwenith's promise is broken, though not through her own actions. Indeed, she had been going over edible flowers once again.
But that didn't help a bit when she was sought out by the pack. It was one of those years where the pack would go around and intimidate the younger, weaker tributes. Some years they would just stand back and only sneer at those who came near or made an obvious blunder. This year they were circling around the training centre and mocking those not in their own pack.
What makes matters worse is that the pack of the Thirteenth Hunger Games is the largest yet at an impressive seven members. While normally at a default total of four people it is generally an unspoken sort of rule that if a tribute portrays notable power and a skill the Careers can benefit from then then will have a spot in the pack. Unless, per Olga Machete's firm orders, they come from District Six.
That's why when the pack come over to mock Gwenith she finds herself faced not only by those from One and Two, but also the muscular whaler boy from Four, the silent lumberjack from Seven and the brash, crass cowboy from Ten.
It is nothing she hasn't heard for years prior so she is able to mostly just ignore them. But in the Hunger Games, the threats are very real and so it takes all of the years of experience Gwenith has spent enduring bullying to hold back all of her tears from leaking out.
But nothing can help her when Cleopatra, the leader of this year's pack, steps forwards.
"Pathetic. What happened to your face?" the beautiful girl asks. "Maybe we can cut it open and let out all the air and pus trapped under there once the gong rings."
Gwenith tries to get up and leave the area right away, her Mentor's words ringing in her ears, but with seven people in the Career pack she finds all of her possible escape directions blocked off. Cleopatra takes the chance to continue to dish out all sorts of violent taunts.
"How nice of you to volunteer for the role of ending up impaled on my sword," Cleopatra says, her tone a blend between posh and sadistic. "Don't cry too much... or do, because soon you'll not be doing anything at all. You're only good to carry bricks around, like the slaves of my ancestors in Egypt."
On and on it goes for twenty minutes, at which point Cleopatra orders her alliance back to training. The girl is cruel, but smart enough to not waste too much time mocking her opponents when she and the rest can be gaining new skills.
Gwenith ends up fleeing the training centre and running off back to her room, hiding under the bed in a state of terror. She stays there, softly weeping, until Mizar finds her later that day.
"I'm gonna die," Gwenith whispers, shaking like an autumn leaf in the breeze as Mizar pressed a mug of hot chocolate into her hands. "They came after me... I made myself look pathetic! I can't possibly beat all seven of them..."
"You won't have to," Mizar assures her, trying his best to calm his tribute down. "A few days in the arena takes the 'bravado' right out of them. They went after almost everybody; so long as you flee the bloodbath they won't go for you specifically."
"They said they'd cut off my deformity to see what's underneath..." Gwenith whispers, her teeth chattering and her eyes wide. "T-t-t-they're gonna torture me!"
"Not if you can keep away from them," Mizar tells her, firm but gentle. "And as it happens, Hawklin hit things off with the boy from Ten. Either he can steer the pack away from you or perhaps it might create factions with the pack and make them destroy each other. So long as you run, and I mean run, you won't have to worry at the start."
Gwenith doesn't return to the training centre that day, instead remaining in her room to cry it all out. When she runs out of tears she spends her time reading the grim, dismal hours away.
As it happens, her room had a book on edible plants and flowers upon the bedside table. She pours over it, soon able to quote it word for word if anybody would so much as lightly prompt her to do so.
The strong band together, keeping up the mockery on the second day of training up to when the individual sessions begin. Cleopatra leads them as before, finding an easy balance between tormenting the competition and training hard. She's nothing if not a seriously powerful contender for the Victor crown this year.
While the pack of seven keep on doing this, Hawklin continues to befriend the boy from Ten and soon an agreement is made. They ally and the boy from Ten, Bludd, works to gradually wear them down from within while Hawklin helps him along from the outside.
Gwenith doesn't know this, instead trying her hardest to improve her skills with the sickle. It's very much a work in progress, one she doesn't have anywhere near enough time to master.
She finds comfort with the rest of the weak and hopeless. Shrimp from Four and Prongs from Ten make ideal company to starve off loneliness in what in all likelihood are their final days alive. A 'loser alliance' is formed, not that they expect to last long in the arena. Not when there are so many mighty, formidable tributes this year.
They spend their remaining time before private training hanging out at the edible flowers station, balancing socialising with each other against being tormented by Cleopatra and her pack.
"It's strange isn't it?" Gwenith says to her allies, dare she even say friends, in the final minutes before they are to be called to line up for their private sessions. "We finally find people who want us around in a horrible place where all but one die."
"That's what we call irony," Prongs says. "Not that it'll matter but... if I die, I hope one of you wins this thing."
"We're all dead," Shrimp adds, her hands gripping her curly hair. "But I hope at least one of us lasts past the first day."
"Or even the first ten minutes," Prongs says, wiping away a tear.
All of the loser alliance scores a two in training, some of the worst scores yet recorded. The mighty pack all score in the range of eight, nine and ten. Cleopatra alone scores a ten.
"That makes her the one to gun for when the pack turns on itself," Mizar tells Gwenith that night. "You're not her priority right now. All three of you need to run away at the start and find both high ground and water. I'll do what I can to get gear sent into the Games once that happens."
"Do you honestly think I can win this?" Gwenith asks, her hands covering her deformed face.
"Honestly?" Mizar says, thinking it over. "...No word of a lie, I truly believe there is a chance. But heed my words, you need to keep moving and not let them catch you until the numbers fall. Keep yourselves relevant like Shunt did last year. Give the audience a reason to root for you."
Gwenith isn't convinced, but she doesn't intend to disobey the first person who ever showed any care for her in her entire life.
The interviews are either a resounding success or a humiliating nightmare depending on if the tribute on stage was in the pack or one of the losers. Cleopatra talks proudly of her ancestors and of her family's fine additions to the beauty of District One, from marble buildings to a solid gold lake.
"You simply must come swimming there next summer," she tells Mortimer, ever so grandly.
Each of the seven members in the pack receives a standing ovation, all of them having plenty of fans. Even the Outlier recruits are seen as serious contenders this time around. Indeed, Hawklin isn't in the pack and still got plenty of cheers, as do the tough pair from Eleven.
When Shrimp, Gwenith and Prongs have their interviews the tech crew play the sounds of crickets chirping, as there is so very little applause going on.
"I work as a shrimper. It's nice..." Shrimp says, blushing terribly from stage fright.
"I like to read," Gwenith tries to say, drowned out by the howls of disgust from the spoiled audience.
"Um... I, uh..." Prongs is unable to stop herself from fainting, the emotion too much for her to bare.
In comparison, the scrappy boy from Twelve somehow finds himself getting received decently. Anything seems like a work of verbal art after the loser alliance's showings.
"I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die..." Gwenith whispers, sobbing as the night before the Games slowly drags on.
"You won't," Mizar says, holding his tribute close. "You need to run away at the very start. Tell your allies to head directly south of the Cornucopia. If that way is blocked, head past the tail of it instead."
Gwenith tries her best to calm down, but it's physically impossible. As fate would have it Shrimp and Prongs are in the same state that night as well. Mizar runs an idea by Museida, the gruff Victor agreeing easily. Sgt. Rilgar, watching over the Tens until they have their first Victor, is more firm and strict, but nonetheless relents.
He doesn't see the harm in letting a girl so obviously doomed spend her last night hanging out with her similarly doomed peers, so he agrees to Mizar's request. What does it matter, really? Not like Prongs is trying to escape.
Mizar soon has all three of the so called loser alliance gathered in Gwenith's room. The pitiful trio feel a sense of comfort from sharing each other's company, for what little it helps. He tells them they can stay together and to get plenty of rest, but his work is hardly done.
His natural instinct to help goes beyond the borders of Nine.
"I know the odds are not in your favour, but that doesn't mean you cannot win. I somehow won, Pliny won by sleeping, Baron survived when five minutes longer under that sun would've killed him, Duke survived living off of the blood of bats... you're stronger than you think and braver than you feel," he tells then, firm. Somebody has to be the one to help them believe in themselves. "Gwenith, I meant what I said, you can win this. But on the off-chance I am mistaken, and if Hawklin dies too... Shrimp and Prongs, I would love to see you again. Stay close and work to keep one another alive. Your odds will always be higher when you're together. Promise me you'll stay close and not take needless risks."
"We promise," the girls says in perfect union.
"Then, until the morning, my job is done," Mizar says. "I never sleep the night before the Games, so if you need me don't hesitate to come and find me. I'd certainly not blame you three."
The three are left alone, faced with what they all believe not even deep down to be their final night alive. How can a trio of losers overcome a pack of seven people and the other fourteen tributes who are all bigger and stronger than they are? Even the little girl from Eight scored a six and has at least forty pounds on them!
They end up sharing stories with each other, trying to hold back the darkness of night and death with the tiniest candle hope and a smile.
"I always wanted to make candles for a living. Pretty candles shaped like all kinds of things.. people, animals, buildings... is that stupid?" Gwenith asks.
"I don't think so," Shrimp says. "Sometimes I wish I was more than a shrimper. I sometimes wish I was able to be a dancer. I'd love to learn ballet, it's lovely."
"If you get out of here then I hope you can," Prongs says. "As for me... no, it's stupid..."
But, at the insistence of her fellow losers the girl from Ten relents and admits her own little dream, one she's certain will never ever happen.
"I'd like to fly," said the thirteen year old in a quiet voice.
"You can do this," Mizar says on the roof of the tribute building when the Games are mere hours away. He tries to remain unaffected when Hawklin sneers at him on the way past. Mizar doesn't even try to make an excuse. "Repeat it as many times as you have to. You. Can. Do. This."
"I can do this," Gwenith repeats in a soft whisper. "I can do this."
On the sickening ride to the arena on the hovercraft she keeps mumbling this phrase, though when Shrimp and Prongs join in it becomes 'we can do this'. They all quieten down, trembling, when the pack and two of the Peacekeepers on guard tell them to shut the hell up.
"I like underdogs. What's the harm?" a third Peacekeeper mumbles, it being his first day on the job.
He receives a dope slap to the head by one of his superiors and is told to shut up.
After all the complaints from both viewers and the President over the previous arena being too dark the Gamemakers had decided that brightening things up was the way to go. When Gwenith sees the arena she is relieved to see that, if nothing else, she won't die in a horrible, dark cavern.
The relief becomes the tiniest glow of hope, hope she is unsure she is wise for having, when she spots Shrimp and Prongs either side of her and gets a good look at the terrain of the arena.
It's a massive, sprawling meadow. Crisp, vibrant green grass under a gorgeous summer sky with hundreds of thousands of flowers spreads out in in all directions, every colour of the rainbow represented. It's wide and spacious, the only other notable features being large apple trees scattered thinly around the terrain. Two grand lakes exist, not that the tributes can see them at the Cornucopia.
One good look at the flowers and Gwenith recalls her training. They won't starve to death.
Seeing Cleopatra and brutish Osmund from Two several pedestals away reminds her she's not remotely safe despite the fortunate arena terrain this year.
When the gong rings Gwenith shouts for her allies to run and flees for her life into the flower filled meadow without looking back. In an instant Shrimp and Prongs are running alongside her, the trio sprinting with desperation in their eyes. They clear the first hill and exit the fray, scrambling in pure panic, right as the mayhem begins in earnest behind them.
The other twenty one tributes run into the bloodbath and the power of a seven member Career pack – one third of the bloodbath participants – becomes extremely evident to the nation.
Cleopatra lands the first kill, breaking the neck of the girl from District Twelve. By the time the dead girl slumps over Grandiose has finished beating the life out of the boy from Three with his bare hands, the once genius boy sprawled in a bruised, bloody heap against his launch pedestal.
The boy from Five duels against Bud from Seven, blade to blade, the duel cut short when the Five boy himself is cut badly across the back with a sword by Rita from Two.
The pair from Six guard one another as they run in and out, only to get slaughtered by Osmund from Two. By now, it's an enforced tradition for Two to always kill Six first. Olga is very insistent on this.
On and on the carnage goes until the girl from Seven stops twitching, missing an arm and a leg. By then the only battle left is between Hawklin and Shipper from Four. Bludd makes his move, shouting that he sees somebody over a hilltop lugging away two big backpacks. While the rest of the pack look away Hawklin gains advantage and leaves Shipper with his face split open. He's cleared the first hill north by the time Bludd's diversion is over.
"He was weak anyway. Hardly of our status," Cleopatra says to her allies as she pops open a container of water, glancing at Shipper's body in disdain. "Certainly not of mine."
With six members left in the mighty pack and a scattered total of seven Outliers there are clearly a lot more Games left to be played. It's a game Cleopatra refuses to stop playing, leading her allies out after a mere hour of rest and leaving Bludd as a guard.
Five minutes later Hawklin returns to get a good share of loot from Bludd.
"Won't they know it's missing?" he asks, more curious than anything else.
"There's tons of stuff and Cleo didn't take the time to count everything up. I doubt they will," Bludd says. "Saw our District Partners and the partner of the prick you killed go south. Gonna follow?"
"Why bother?" Hawklin says. "They won't last. I'll be north."
Hawklin leaves for real this time, ratings for the Games at an all time high and the fear of the tributes just as high too.
Gwenith learns the issue of a wide, open arena like this flowery meadow by the time the first night arrives. One that presents a very serious security risk for her loser alliance.
There is nowhere to hide. They could be spotted from miles away.
"What do we do?" Shrimp asks, wringing her small hands. "They'll catch us if we can't hide..."
"Well, we've already lasted longer than all of us thought," Prongs mumbles, sitting down as though she's ready to await her death.
Gwenith is at a loss, but not so willing to give up. She promised her Mentor she'd try and, damn it, she's not breaking her word to the man who stands out as the first person to give a damn about her. So she keeps her allies walking and looks out for somewhere to hide. A cave, a fissure, a small tunnel, anything.
All the while she and her allies see that their time spent on edible fruits and flowers is paying off. They know exactly which of the seemingly endless supply of flowers are safe to eat. They won't starve.
Eventually they come across one of the apple trees sparsely spread around the arena. Actually, they saw it from miles away but reaching it took time. The climb it after a few false starts and falls, ready to wait out the night.
Waiting and praying that nothing will come after them.
Elsewhere in the arena the pack of five spot the boy from Twelve from three miles away and chase him through the night, with Cleopatra finally landing the kill shortly before dawn. It's not quick or pretty.
District Twelve lose again, but ironically the death of their boy leaves exactly that many tributes that are still alive.
The losers encounter their first real problem on the third day. Or at least, a problem more substantial than being in the arena in the first place, that is.
With the main pack having power, Hawklin gradually being able to steal from them and the losers being a trio, it leaves two stragglers lacking any allies or sponsors at all. The stout boy from Eight is one of these tributes, the other being the girl from Eleven.
Having nothing in the world besides his clothes and a belt of knives he grabbed at the Cornucopia he's suffering starvation, oblivious to the edible nature of the flowers around him. Seeing the trio of the hands down weakest tributes in the Games he makes the choice to impress sponsors using his knives.
The girls were going to die anyway, weren't they?
That's how he tries to justify it as he barrels towards them. Having no weapons and only several big, red apples in hand from the apple tree the losers are quick to flee. But desperation can drive a boy to run for longer than his normal limit and so it becomes impossible to evade the boy from Eight, Needle. Even if they did pull ahead he'd spot them from miles away.
"What do we do?" Shrimp asks between frightened sobs.
"Run!" Gwenith squeals, pale faced.
"He's catching up!" Prongs wheezes.
The breakthrough is both unexpected and sudden. Gwenith tosses an apple back at the boy with all her, admittedly not amazing, might in hopes it may slow him down a little. Instead the apple, heavy and ripe, smacks Needle on the nose hard enough to draw blood and almost break it. As he pauses to howl in pain the girls know what has to be done under the setting sun.
Tributes would die from being stoned with rocks and pebbles over the decades, but this marked the only time a tribute was literally apple'd to death. Having been the one to land the final hit with a particularly big and rough apple it's Gwenith who has to live with being a murderer.
For however long that might be.
The trio feel awful, but with a belt of knives to share out between themselves they also feel a little safer. The water sponsored to them after the deed is done also helps with lessening guilt, slightly.
Very slightly.
From miles away the losers see the pack break on the fifth day in the arena, all perched carefully in another apple tree. With so many allies the Career pack is safe from harm, but have very few targets. With no trace of the losers just yet and Bludd doing his part to subtly throw the pack off of Hawklin's trail their only other possible target to hunt for is the girl from District Eleven.
They find her an hour or two after noon and show no mercy. The girl is strong, perhaps the strongest tribute to come out of Eleven since the Games started, but six on one is too much to ask of anybody. It's little surprise when the tall girl lays in a bloodied heap amongst the flowers in the meadow.
Though perhaps it's a surprise that she has left Grandiose with two less fingers and Rita clutching her bloodied hip in pain.
From their perch miles away Gwenith and the losers see the pack break into an argument that grows ever more volatile as the minutes pass by. They cannot hear the shouts from so far away, of course, but they can certainly see that a problem has arisen.
Osmund and Rita are pissed that there are too many allies and too few targets to hunt for, especially mad that the losers and the big guy from Nine have been evading them. Cleopatra and Grandiose brush them off, more concerned with having numbers and claiming the stragglers will be found eventually, especially as they can be seen from miles away.
Bludd tries to side with the Ones and lie that he thinks he saw somebody over a hill two miles East – he didn't – but is told to shut his mouth by Osmund, the boy ever angrier.
Bud just stays silent, being mute. If he could speak he would probably say he thinks the pack need to get a God damn grip.
The pack soon get into an altercation, one that has Bludd jogging off in search of Hawklin and Bud casually walking away with a shake of his head. The Ones and Twos part ways, all besides Cleopatra with at least one or two nasty cuts.
Just like that it becomes a Hunger Games filled with many smaller alliances. The losers, the Ones, the Twos and Hawklin and Bludd.
Bud is alone, but enjoys the silence. He also enjoys swiftly breaking the neck of the fox mutt sent his way that night, not breaking a sweat.
Disaster falls on the sixth day when a snake in the grass bites Prongs. She falls prone, whimpering from the nasty, painful venom starting to spread within her. None of the losers know a thing about poisons and antidotes, but they correctly assume Prongs has thirty hours left at best.
No antidote is sent in, so the choice is either find one or leave Prongs to die.
Things get worse when Bud spots the weak trio from a mile away and heads towards them, axe in hand. Gwenith scrambles away, but Bud feels fine over simply taking two of the trio out. Not like the other will get far on her own.
He has no issues when he gets near and sees one girl is poisoned and the other points a single knife at him.
He does, however, have an issue when Gwenith – who had gone over the hill and circled around behind him – frantically lunges and sinks two knives deep in his back. Fear and desperation power a girl up, after all.
Bud had been carrying an antidote he found at the Cornucopia, one that turns out to be exactly what Prongs needs. The girls weep, relieved and scared, having survived another day in the meadow.
"Don't go near it," Gwenith says, gulping. "That's a tracker-jacker nest."
The hive is up in an apple tree, buzzing with life and potential causes of death. Gwenith has seen those nasty wasps in Nine and seen what they have done to field workers who went too far out and got far too careless. She makes her allies steer clear of the nest, telling them of the dangers in the hive.
Shrimp and Prongs are glad for her advice, having both been about ready to storm the apple tree for the fruits in the branches. No apple is worth death.
Hunger and pain can do things to a person's mind, however, and that's why Osmund finds himself fleeing for his life and abandoning hungry, hurt Rita to the wrath of the evil wasps. She'd only wanted an apple, just one.
The losers hear the Career girl's screams from far away and make an extra note to keep an eye out for tracker-jacker nests.
They spot seven before the day is done.
The eighth day brings about a skirmish at one of the two lakes. The losers had been gathering water to use with their iodine tablets Bud had been carrying previously when they are flanked from both sides.
Cleopatra and Grandiose on the left.
Hawklin and Bludd on the right.
The trio are seconds away from wetting themselves and screaming for mercy when the Careers and the tough Outliers ready their weapons, facing each other instead.
"Take out the bigger threats," Cleopatra tells her fellow Career. "Those three can't fight, but these two can. Think long term, like my ancestors."
"Understood," Grandiose says, his grip upon his mace tightening.
Hawklin and Bludd stand their ground, weapons at the ready. Whether it's simple pragmatism or a one time showing of District loyalty Gwenith doesn't know. All she knows that Hawklin tells her to get out of there and she obeys without delay.
She, Prongs and Shrimp do not dare look back at the cries, yells, shouts and clashing of blades and other weapons fills the air behind them.
If they had, the images of Bludd being decapitated by Cleopatra right as Grandiose is gutted by Hawklin would have probably drove them mad by sundown.
The losers only allow themselves to focus on fleeing through the flower filled meadow, tears spilling down their faces. They know all too well that all it takes for them to die is Cleopatra deciding to chase after them. They'd never be able to outrun her with such a small head start.
As it happens, however, Cleopatra decides to take a few moments to catch her breath and then chases after Hawklin. She knows the losers won't pose her any sort of threat, so it makes sense to take out the tougher tribute first. With a battle cry in the name of Anubis, she pursues Hawklin.
She only loses him when several fox mutts get between them, the Gamemakers wanting to draw things out a bit longer.
Day nine is Mizar's ultimate test as a Mentor, a test of just how far he would go to help a tribute under his care.
He watches the screens, quaking from nerves, and keeps a constant track of where each of the six remaining tributes are located. All of them cause him awful paranoia, even his own pair as he simply cannot read minds. That's not a Mentor's job, and hopefully not a job in the Capitol either.
Hawklin has settled down in an apple tree, tending to his wounds with bandages and eating apples. Presently, he's doing fine and is in no need of any help. Not that Mizar can really get him anything with the sponsor funds donated to him at the moment.
Cleopatra runs across Osmund, the boy from Two nursing a fox bite, but no fight breaks out. The beautiful, formidable girl from one convinces him to restart their alliance due to the fact they are outnumbered. They head out to hunt together, moreso focused on finding Hawklin than the 'cannon fodder.
Mizar's heart stops as he sees the trio come across a snake. They kill it just fine with their knives, but not before it bites Gwenith in the ankle. In an instant his control monitor, hooked up to her tracker, starts to go haywire as the poison begins to spread throughout her body. This time there is no miracle of finding an antidote on a fallen tribute. There is nowhere near enough sponsor money left to send in an antidote.
The item is on the list but he is ten thousand caps short.
Unless everybody but Gwenith drops dead in the next twelve hours she will die, no question about it.
"I'll keep an eye on her," Mags promises him from her own control monitor in the mentor area. "She's been a big help to Shrimp so far. I owe her for that."
Mizar thanks her, his voice rapid-fire as he frantically throws on his coat and tears out to the only place where he will be able to find a sponsor.
The sponsor square, the one in the gaudy gardens of the Capitol.
The issue becomes blatantly obvious after roughly five point nine seconds. Nobody particular wants to sponsor the 'ugly creature' from Nine when the beautiful young woman from One is still there and, to a somewhat lesser degree, the muscular boy from Two.
It's all Mizar can do to keep trying and not strangle the prejudiced, loathsome Capitolities. He keeps his temper in check just fine in the end, but time ticks by without a sponsor being found. All the while the screens that show the live broadcast of the Games display Gwenith's suffering to the nation.
Mizar's heart breaks at the sight, but it does at least tell him he's not out of time yet and neither is Gwenith herself.
It's only when he allows himself a fifteen second break to grab a bottle of water that he manages to find a women around his age who is willing to give Gwenith a chance. But the ten thousand Caps won't come free, nor cheap.
"What would you do for my money?" the woman asks, admiring her reflection in a hand mirror. "I don't see her as a Victor, so I'd need something in return for this."
"I can pay it back," Mizar tells her, desperate. "I can't sponsor her myself, it's a rule, but I can give you the money back as soon as the Games end."
"Hmmmm... not bad, but not really what I am looking for," she says, a devilish sort of smirk on her face. "But, perhaps there is another way that you could convince me to part with the money and keep the beast alive."
"I'd do anything," Mizar says, honestly.
The ninth day of the Thirteenth Hunger Games isn't just the day that Cleopatra and Osmund start a four hour long chase after Hawklin, the boy keeping away from them with impressive speed.
It is also the first occurrence of what will later become known as Victor Prostitution. Mizar leaves the sponsor square feeling like even a thousand showers can't cleanse his soul of what he has just been through and how utterly wrong it felt.
He also leaves with ten thousand caps, and a 'generous bonus' of two thousand more.
He makes it back to his mentoring station with an hour to spare, the antidote bought and sent down to his suffering tribute. Shrimp proves herself as a loyal ally, not hesitating to save Gwenith for even a moment. Mizar let out a deep, haggard breath as his station shows Gwenith's vitals stabilising. In an instant she looks much better on screen.
But now the money is gone and she's on her own. With prices getting higher, the leftover two thousand caps cannot buy her anything.
He saved her and it was worth it. He thinks this thought over and over again.
"What's wrong Mizar?" Mags asks, her gaze looking between her own tribute and the original Victor.
"I don't want to talk about it. Just... I don't," Mizar says, sick on the inside.
He doesn't sleep at all that night.
Hawklin ran far, but eventually even he has to stop running and start fighting. By then the Careers are worn out, their advantage lessened enough for him to have a chance at fighting them. A chance he won't waste.
He dies after a long, gruelling half hour duel. By that point he's left Cleopatra and Osmund scratched, cut and bruised all over. The Careers pant tiredly, knowing that in hindsight they had vastly underestimated this boy. Their meagre medical supplies they had with them do nothing to cease the pain, merely quell the blood seeping from the cuts.
Both remember how Randolphus was weakened by blood loss the year before and know to take steps to avoid this befalling them.
"Who's left now?" Cleopatra asks, still getting her breath back.
"Hmm... just those three pitiful girls," Osmund says, just as tired as the powerful woman from One.
"Shouldn't be hard at all for either of us to take them out. I give them thirty seconds in a three on one fight against either of us," Cleopatra remarks, her confidence rising.
"Agreed, they're pathetic," Osmund says as he quickly wraps a bandage around his left arm. "Let's take a break. After that we can-URK!"
Osmund never finishes his sentence nor gets to join the final hunt. Cleopatra is correctly aware of how the loser alliance cannot fight very well and that being outnumbered no longer matters with the big boys dead. She knows if she gets close to them she wins.
Cleopatra sets off, trying to find her last three opponents. The corpse of her ally is left crumpled and forgotten already.
Six miles away the loser alliance huddle together, afraid from the cannons they heard and wondering who their last opponent will be.
When the anthem confirms Cleopatra is still out there and surely on her way to kill them it becomes hard to hide the hopeless sobs and frightened hiccups.
They resolve to keep moving and at least delay the inevitable battle by a few hours.
For two days Cleopatra stalks around the meadow, assured of her victory but impatient over how long it is taking to find any trace of the trio. She starts to wonder if they may end up dying from the elements or the mutts and leave her as Victor by default. The thought makes her move faster and search harder.
For two days the loser alliance walk, sharing stories and what few happy memories they can recall. Most memories are of each other, funnily enough. They accept their fates and say they were glad to have met each other, having come to see each other like family.
Like sisters.
Cleopatra spots them from two miles away on the twelve day and is quick to make a beeline for them. The landscape makes it easy for the losers to see her coming, but the lack of a surprise attack doesn't help them. They know they cannot beat her in a straight up fight, so they turn and run away.
They know they won't get far before Cleopatra catches up to them or the Gamemakers use some kind of a trap to force them together. Only the Capitol's love of the predator chasing the prey keeps their fleeing being tolerated.
They pass by a tree, one that Gwenith knows for a fact has a tracker-jacker nest in he branches. In the time it takes Mizar to mutter a quick prayer for his tribute Gwenith manages to form a final plan.
The last stand of the losers.
"We only get one chance at this," Gwenith tells her sisters in all but blood. "Whatever happens... we're together until the end."
"Together," Prongs and Shrimp reply.
They all reach out, holding hands tightly. None among them expect the plan to work, but at least this way they can die and be able to say they tried.
Well, assuming anything lays on the other side of the curtain at least.
Cleopatra smirks at the way the losers held hands and stand still. She figured it was a final display of friendship before they faced their deaths. Not like she was going to judge for that. If it made their final moments happier, what did it matter? She knows she wins either way.
She pauses for a brief moment, shielding herself when the losers began throwing things her way. Seeing it's only rocks, most of which came nowhere near her and simply hit the tree trunk and the branches above, makes her laugh.
She should have known that the losers wouldn't be able to fight her.
She's right.
But the way the losers are fleeing again and the furious buzzing that fills her ears tells her that something else is more than able, and willing, to fight her.
Cleopatra's agonised screams fill the arena as the nest falls after being hit by Shrimp's final rock. She finds herself swarmed by hundred and hundreds of horrible genetically engineered wasps. As she falls to the ground, bloated and horribly disfigured from the many, many stings the Capitolites flinch away and suddenly start to see that, perhaps, the beast from Nine isn't quite so beastly after all.
At least, when put into a direct comparison anyway.
"We're the only ones left," Gwenith says as she sits upon a flowery hilltop in between Shrimp and Prongs, watching the sunset.
"How did this happen?" Shrimp asks, feeling confused. "They all hated us, called us worthless and pathetic. We're the losers, how did we win?"
"I mean, I don't mind it," Prongs says. "I... I know it can only end one way, but we won. Our alliance won, sisters."
"...I guess we did," Gwenith says, starting to lightly smile. "...I think we won because people saw us as worthless. There was always somebody who was more worth the killers' time."
She's right, of course. With the pack of seven having in-fighting and working hard to take out the strongest of their foes it left the losers with a list of threats that was a lot shorter. Even when they were cornered by the lake they had been deemed so weak as to not be worth killing. So allegedly weak that Cleopatra had killed Osmund pre-maturely, assuming him as her final true threat. Only Needle and Bud had come close, both falling due to either a number advantage or being snuck upon behind... and some luck for the losers, too.
But they know it'll be goodbye soon. No other tributes are left besides them. Only one of them can go home, not all three. But Gwenith won't kill her sisters. Shrimp won't kill her sisters. Prongs won't kill her sisters.
"How do we decide this?" Gwenith asks. "I don't think I can hurt you two."
Prongs and Shrimp feel the same. For a while they sit quietly, watching the beautiful sunset and wondering what to do. Surely the audience are getting annoyed by now. Surely they're howling and whining for blood.
"Maybe we should just let the arena decide," Gwenith says as she stands up. "Just... lay down our weapons and walk away. May the best loser live longer than the others."
Shrimp and Prongs agree. And so, the losers lay down their knives in a pile never to be touched again. They all embrace tightly, sharing one tearful and loving hug amongst the girls they have each come to see as family.
They walk away in three different directions under the golden sunset, fighting the urge the look back. They know it's the last they'll see of each other and they ended things as great as they possibly could have.
The losers, in the end, were the winners.
A massive thunderstorm is unleashed that night, the rain hard and the lightning formidable. It's a true hell on earth as the storm wrecks havoc upon the arena, destroying many of the flowers that were once blossoming ever so plentifully.
When the sun rises on the thirteenth day the sole survivor of the twenty four tributes slowly walks out of the Cornucopia, having spend the night huddled under blankets and laying upon a rubber mat.
Gwenith lived to see the most beautiful sunrise of all.
Gwenith is quiet on the train ride home, missing her sisters dearly. She won against all the odds, but she has no idea at all what will come next in her life. Especially as the Capitol found the ending of the Games a boring, far cry from the gory endings they love the most.
But a small faction insist that the emotion and drama was a wonderful thing to witness live. They claim it was the best Games yet.
Even her fans, however, wish that Gwenith's deformity could be removed without killing her in the process.
"Feeling ok?" Mizar asks. He's not moved away from his new Victor ever since they boarded the train home. "Anything I can do? Just name it, I'll get it done."
"...I want Shrimp and Prongs back," Gwenith says, quietly.
Mizar cannot raise the dead, but he can at least keep them close. After all, a picture of Sophie is inside his wallet at that very moment. The girl who made the day at the training centre somewhat bearable all those years ago.
"I can't bring them back," Mizar says, apologetic. "But I can be here in their stead. I can make sure you're never alone again... I can, in a sense, help keep them close."
Mizar passes Gwenith a locket. When it is opened, she sees a picture of herself sharing a group hug with her fallen sisters. Her eyes water, tears welling up.
"Thank you," she says, fighting the urge to cry. "Mizar... thank you. You saved me. I don't know how you did it, but... you saved me."
She sobs, burying her face into his shoulder as hugs her mentor tightly, thanking him over and over again. Mizar is more than happy to return the hug and tell her she is very welcome, that he truly regrets nothing.
He decides not to tell her exactly how he afforded that antidote.
He focuses on the grateful girl who idolises him. At long last, after over a decade of defeat, he did it. He has a Victor now. A Victor!
"Do you want me to talk to those girls who sent you to the arena?" Mizar asks when the train is almost ready to pull into the station back in District Nine. "What they did was so wrong. It's nauseating they would do something so vile."
Gwenith considers this. Even with how she met her sisters and befriended Mizar, the fact is that the terrible trio wanted her dead and hated her enough to send her to the arena to accomplish this... all because of how she looked.
She tries to hate them... but after the arena, she finds she no longer gives a damn what those horrid little monsters think of her.
"No thanks," Gwenith says. "They're not worth it. I'd rather spend my time with the hero of District Nine."
"Who might that be?" Mizar asks.
"You," Gwenith says, smiling.
Mizar absolutely did not start sobbing after he heard that, thank you very much. No way, no sir, he certainly did not.
Gwenith may have moved on from what those girls had done to her, content to never again cross paths with them... but the thing is, fate sometimes has a very twisted and cruel sense of justice.
Maraline, Kernelly and Norette were coincidentally reaped for the Fourteenth, Fifteenth and Sixteenth Hunger Games. Gwenith chose forgiveness, trying her best to save the trio who had been perfectly willing to send her to die as a cruel, thoughtless prank.
It didn't help one bit in the end.
Maraline was impaled within a spike pit by the Cornucopia.
Kernelly was left crumpled by a huge boy from Eleven.
Norette puked off her pedestal, triggering the landmines.
"You know, now that I think about it, I recall this girl being mentioned in a recap once," Peeta said as he continued looking at Gwenith's face imprinted at his feet. "I think she got the second lowest score ever recorded for a Victor. Just a two."
"Really? A two? ...So, you mean somebody scored a one and won?" Katniss said, somewhat bemused. "Here I was thinking it was a wonder that boy who scored a three ended up winning."
"I don't think it really counts in Spud's case, given who his last opponent was," Peeta replied, awkward at the mere thought of the sixty sixth Games. "Nice to see Gwenith rose above the odds, whatever her reasons for volunteering were."
"Makes you wish they went over more of the old Games in school instead of showing the first and then focusing on those past the sixtieth," Katniss said, before pausing for a moment. "...Actually, no, it doesn't. The less Games, the better."
"True that. Still, it feels important to remember the actions of the other tributes, living or dead," peeta said as he and Katniss walked on to the next Victor along the sidewalk.
The face of a perky girl with luscious, shoulder length hair looked back up at them. She seemed energetic, practically bouncy by the look in her eyes.
"Crystal McCree," Peeta read. "Huh, I was wondering when we were going to see the next Career."
"She seems pretty happy for somebody who went into the arena and killed people," Katniss remarked. "Can't imagine why. I mean, I've never heard much of anything about this one."
That was a fun, if emotional, chapter to write! Victor prostitution, an unwilling Volunteer tribute, the losers somehow triumphing... suffice to say, plenty was going on here. I found Gwenith a lot of fun to tell the story of. I've always had a sort of natural attachment to the underdogs of society – so, basically, I have the opposite view of President Snow lmfao – and her tale of finding some form of hope amongst fellow losers and banding together against the strong and the scary made for a compelling tale in my author's view. Plus, Mizar being a Team Dad gives me life. Anyway, hope you guys liked thus one. Stay tuned for more!
Stats
District 1: Peridot Gaudy (8th Games)
District 2: Baron Overwhill (4th Games), Runa Peace (7th Games), Olga Machete (10th Games)
District 3: Honorius Perthshire (5th Games)
District 4: Museida Selkirk (3rd Games), Mags Flanagan (11th Games)
District 5: Shunt Gaspar (12th Games)
District 6: N/A
District 7: Pliny Aransio (2nd Games), Fir Buzz (9th Games)
District 8: N/A
District 9: Mizar Aldjoy (1st Games), Gwenith Rosebud (13th Games)
District 10: N/A
District 11: N/A
District 12: Duke Saint-Rose (6th Games)