Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. They belong to Suzanne Collins.
Note: Here we are, another canon and another career. So, Gloss, what do we really know about him? He's close as can be with Cashmere, he's really powerful and he killed Wiress… that's more or less it, honestly? In other words, as always it was just enough for me to make a story out of! Much as with Enobaria, we saw how the character ended up… but how did they start? How did Gloss get there and become a career victor? The answer may or may not surprise you. Hope ya'll enjoy!
Katniss silently gazed down at Gloss' imprinted face on the ground, guilt filling her facial features.
"They say hindsight is twenty-twenty," Katniss murmured. "If Gloss had come to me and told me what I know now… I'd have assumed he was lying. I would've assumed just about all the career tributes were lying. I was so close minded."
"We were a long way home from Twelve. We'd only seen what the Capitol let us see," Peeta assured her. "We know now, that's the important thing."
"It doesn't change the fact I kill him," Katniss replied, one hand over her face. "I shot him with an arrow. Right in the heart in just a second."
"What else could have been done?" Peeta asked. Katniss' silence seemed to be enough of an answer. "I agree… plenty of other things."
The pair from Twelve stood in silence, paying their own personal respects to Gloss. Truthfully, once upon a time in a dystopia that was ever so unfair… he'd not been all that different from Katniss.
63rd Annual Hunger Games
Name: Gloss Lord
Gender: Male
District: 1
Age: 17
Kills: 6
If somebody were to think of District One then they would probably think of wealthy socialites and the elite among elites. Rich people who wanted for nothing, except perhaps a second helping of caviar with their morning toast. People like the long dead families of what used to be the Flawless Estate, survived only by Harp Victory.
Most would not think of those in poverty, least of all homeless and living on the streets. District One did have poor people, but most were not poor in the same way people in District Twelve were. They normally had homes and at least one and a half meals a day, sometimes even a job that didn't pay only in food stamps.
The Capitol did its best, after all, to hide the existence of those forced to live on the streets from the eyes of other districts. It prevented inter-district cohesion a whole lot better when District One appeared to be a wonderful place to live, no poor people in sight.
Gloss Lord and his twin sister Cashmere would beg to differ. Homeless people existed and they were among them.
Neither had ever met their parents, having been alone in the world aside from each other for as far back as they could remember. They had no money, almost no food, no place to call a home aside a few boxes behind a particularly nasty gem factory and, to top it all off, they were forced to wear rags.
They had pretty faces under it all, but the district was not inclined to care when they were otherwise at the absolute bottom of the pecking order.
It was a week or so before reaping day when Gloss made the decision that would forever change the lives of himself and his sister.
Gloss was the de-facto leader between the Lord twins. Every action, every word, every single decision he made… all of it was done to better the life of his sister. When all was said and done he did not care what became of him – he'd long given up on himself at the tender age of ten – but he wasn't ready to give up on Cashmere just yet.
He was on his way back to their 'home', not that such a word could describe their boxes, with stolen bread hidden under his rags when he saw the news.
Even the pain inducing hunger didn't prevent him from having keen senses and an awareness of what was going on around him. The television in the window of a local tech store was displaying a news report. Most of it was stuff that he gave no particular care about – Capitol trends, rebellion crackdowns, executions for those found to be treasonous – but there was one thing that had him pause.
The weather report.
Gloss always needed to know when it was rainy or cold. Planning ahead for such things was the only way to survive being homeless, especially when District One tended to be the coldest of Panem's districts. He could handle rain, mostly, and sometimes the cold didn't reduce him and Cashmere to tears.
This time… was different. The incredibly advanced weather prediction technology of the Capitol was able to confirm weather months in advance and, with zero room for error, had confirmed that the coldest winter in decades was on its way. Staying indoors was the only way to avoid frostbite.
Gloss shuddered. He knew there was no way they would ever survive such weather. They'd freeze to death before December was even halfway over. Sure, they could try and find a new place to live, but in all likelihood any slightly passable places would be claimed already or patrolled frequently by Peacekeepers.
Gloss was aware of their habit of shooting the homeless on sight.
"Shit… shit, shit, shit…" Gloss went from walking to running. "Fuck it all, what do we do!?"
Homeless as Gloss may have been, he was not weak. Keeping himself active and occupied had helped him become quite the strong, swift young man. Alas, not strong enough to survive winter. Only strong enough to win a few dozen street fights since he was thirteen and outrun peacekeepers half as many times as that.
On his way back home Gloss passed a group of teenagers – all well off and in cadet uniforms. Certainly youths training for the Games from Gaudy High – and, though they paid no mind to the ragged teenager, Gloss certainly kept his ears open for anything useful they may have been saying.
All they spoke of was the reaping that loomed one week away.
It gave Gloss the idea of what he could do to avoid himself and his sister wasting away over the horrible winter. The only idea that had any chance of working out.
The problem would be getting Cashmere to agree to it.
The pair had argued long into the night. It all started after they ravenously wolfed down the stolen bread and Gloss explained his last gambit to her. The one thing that would ensure they'd never go hungry ever again. The one way they'd both survive the winter.
"I'm volunteering for the Games."
"Are you crazy?! Gloss, our lives are hard enough when we're together… if you were gone… no, you hear me? No!"
"It's this or we both freeze to death in a few months! If there was any other way for us to survive I wouldn't do it."
"There must be another way, there must!"
There was not. Cashmere came up with a hundred ideas for what they could do instead of Gloss volunteering to risk his life for them both. Gloss provided at least three reasons for why each idea would not work.
It was win the Games or die, whether in the arena or out of it.
Neither twin said much that night. They were similarly silent for the next few days. Gloss was too focused on how he would win the Games that his district had failed to win for nearly twenty years and how his death would ensure Cashmere's own. Cashmere was too focused on fear for his beloved brother's life and all the terrible ways he could meet his end… and how she'd not be there to say goodbye if the worst did happen.
She hardly even thought about how his death would seal her date.
It was the night before the reaping when, while in their boxes and trying to bare the rain shower filling the night outside, Cashmere finally spoke.
"Good luck Gloss," Cashmere moved to give her dear twin a hug. "Please come home safe…"
"I will," Gloss said, as if such an outcome was nothing but certain.
"How can you be so sure?" Cashmere asked, huddling closer to Gloss as a roar of thunder boomed across the sky.
"Because I don't even want to think about what will happen if I'm wrong," Gloss replied, unable to hide the scared look in his eyes.
The reapings in District One were, for all intents and purposes, a formality. There had always been volunteers at the ready ever since Crown was reaped due to Kingsey chickening out. Indeed, there were always multiple back-up volunteers. Nobody would ever face the arena if they were truly not ready for it.
Anybody could volunteer if they wanted to, of course, but the fact was that nobody did. Nobody saw a reason to mess with the academy's rules and fine tuned systems. Their first victor Peridot, now quite elderly in her seat on the stage, loved her district… enough to harshly punish anybody who dared mess with the precarious balance that One hung in.
Whether it was wise Peridot, foul Bronze, chatty Crown, oddball Dollar or soft spoken Platinum they all agreed that letting the role of tribute go to the one picked by the academy was the best idea. It simply made the most sense and why mess with something that was not broken?
Gloss did not care for any of this. His long term survival required that such a longstanding system of his district be broken at least once. He could only hope that, whoever his mentor was, they'd be cooperative and give him the leg-up they were supposed to.
"Fantasticus Keir!" chirped the escort, obviously dressed as a 3D Printer. It was only the latest in fashion, after all.
The boy, some stocky lad from the fifteen year olds section, didn't take a step before Gloss called out the sacred words a fraction of a second before the chosen volunteer could do so.
"I volunteer as tribute!"
The square went silent, save for a few gasps and the snarling of the boy whose chance of glory Gloss had stolen. The cameras centred on Gloss as he confidently made his way to the stage, dressed up in a fine suit.
The finest suit he'd been able to steal in the small time frame before the reaping. Rags would simply not do.
Gloss gave a charming introduction to the escort, claimed himself to be the sort who 'makes the best of any opportunity offered' and even tried to make a pass at his district partner. The girl, Rainbow, could only look at him in annoyance.
Gloss just kept a confident grin on his face. If this deadly plan was to work he couldn't let the cameras see any weakness. Not a single bit of his fear could show.
He just hoped Cashmere could keep herself together over in the girl's section of the square.
She didn't. Not fully.
She similarly failed to stop herself from weeping when she came to say goodbye to Gloss within the judgment building, his only visitor. There was so much to be said, so much they should have done in the hour they had left.
A silent, strong embrace would have to do. It was all either of them could manage, aside four words from Gloss.
"I'll be home soon."
Gloss could only sigh when dinner came to an end on the train. Of course the male tribute was going to be mentored by Bronze that year, why would his luck allow for anything else? Bronze had taken one look at him and, while admitting he was nowhere near as bad as Crown nor as seemingly feeble as Crystal had been, he was still not worth his time. Bronze would only do the bare minimum his job enforced him to do, nothing else.
Gloss was gonna have to go it alone, not that he minded such a thing. He'd been alone for basically all of his life anyway. No parents, no distant relatives, no friends… well, he had Cashmere. But she was only one person, he could make it without her.
Being without her turned out to be harder than he expected. The ride on the train was the worse night of his life. But, if it spared Cashmere from freezing to death, so be it. He'd bare far worse than this and he knew he was going to have to sooner than later anyway.
He sat with his back against his bedroom door, trying to keep himself calm and his ears alert. Any scraps of information from those still awake were scraps he anted to hear. Anything may be the vital clue to save his life. Alas, it was just the victors talking about himself and Rainbow, stuff he pretty much knew already.
Peridot was neutral, torn between being a little annoyed the system had been broken but admitting that Gloss seemed like he had skills in him. He gave her a good gut feeling. Bronze felt the opposite, feeling that it was obvious that Gloss was hiding something – his suit still had the damn price tag attached and didn't exactly fit him. Crown liked him better than the chosen volunteer and chattered over Gloss' mysteriousness. Dollar had very little to add, but claimed it was beyond obvious that Gloss was a born survivor just like herself. Platinum thought he was nice enough, but her loyalty had to go to her assigned tribute first and, as it happened, she and Rainbow were getting along really well.
It was hours before sleep finally claimed Gloss for the night, feelings of sorrow and like half of himself had been taken away never quite leaving him alone.
"All for you Cashmere…" Gloss whispered to himself. "I'll be a career. I'll be anything I have to be. All for you…"
The parade had gone well, far better than Gloss could have hoped for. Being dressed in a golden tunic and more rubies than he thought possible for one outfit to contain had the crowd cheering his name. Flexing and putting on what he hoped was a fearsome look practically doubled the cheering.
He was dubbed 'lean and mean' by the Capitol crowds, none of them able to comprehend the fact his lean physique was due to sheer hunger. The Capitol citizens couldn't even figure out what starvation was to begin with, so Gloss hadn't expected anything else.
Training was where Gloss got the first true test of his resolve. He knew that if he wanted to stand the slightest chance in the arena he needed to join the most powerful alliance of them all – the career pack.
Having three members of the pack to convince would be one thing. But, with this being another year where District Four had offered up two murderous volunteers, Gloss had his work cut out for him. Rainbow felt moody towards him, both Xantor and Cindra of Two were sadistic beasts, Galley from Four was a hulking beast standing almost seven feet tall and his female counterpart Submerge was one powerful gymnast.
Gloss tried not to let his nerves show.
"What do you want?" Rainbow asked him, noticing that he'd moved to stand with the rest of what would surely become the yearly career alliance.
"I'm part of the alliance, aren't I?" Gloss replied, shrugging. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't the male from One always been a member of the career pack ever since the first quell? The only exception I remember is Crown and, well, seems like he did alright for himself."
"Go it alone then," Rainbow scoffed.
"I'd rather not. He got lucky. I'd rather not put my fate in luck's hands," Gloss looked away for a moment, cold. "I've never had enough of it."
"You want in?" Xantor looked Gloss over, appraisingly. "Well, the Capitol is right about the lean part."
"So? There have been careers shorter than I am," Gloss replied, shrugging. "Some of them from your district."
"Okay, true," Cindra admitted. "But what can you do?"
"Kill," Gloss said, simply. "Can you?"
"Oh, you better believe I can," Cindra replied, cold like snow.
"You never attended the career academy back home," Rainbow added, already suspicious.
"Didn't need to," Gloss said, smirking. "C'mon, let me train with you. Call it a trial run, you'll see I'm worth having around."
The pair from Four both nodded, neither minding this idea. "We're in."
Eventually even Cindra and Rainbow relented. The burly girl from Two shrugged, knowing democracy outvoted her. "Fine, cool. But screw up and you're out."
"Fair enough," Gloss replied, cracking his knuckles. "So, throwing axes first?"
Gloss had done enough on day one of training to be allowed into the career pack. Of course, that was only the start of what was sure to be the hardest month of his already hard life. He needed to become more like his sadistic allies and not lose himself completely in the process.
Training with throwing axes, maces and generally working out was one thing, and a hard thing at that.
Joining in on bullying the outliers was another thing, and one that Gloss had not been looking forward to doing.
But between that and losing his place in the alliance Gloss sucked it up and joined in. Not like they were going to be alive a month from then anyway, and he may as well do whatever kept himself safe in the meantime. For the start of the mockery he stood at the back, content to just throw his best snide grins and intimidating growls towards the prey.
Alas, he couldn't escape the fact his own turn to lead the 'hunt' was coming soon. Still, if he couldn't mock them he couldn't kill them. Gloss just forced himself to accept it was practise for the inevitable and to move on.
"How's it feel to have no hope of anything but oblivion in a week?" he called to the tiny boy from Twelve. "We're gonna cut you until all your blood is on the outside and nothing's left of you, not even memories. You're alone!"
The boy was reduced to tears and ran off not long after that. Gloss accepted the bro fist from Xantor and the minor compliment from Rainbow, but otherwise remained passive. It was almost spooky how easy such things had come to him.
Perhaps he could have it in him to kill people and be the last one standing, finally set for life and safe from the winter's fury.
"All for you Cashmere," Gloss whispered while training alone with the throwing axes an hour later.
Gloss earned a name for himself as a solid contender for the Games ahead, scoring a nine. In terms of pure statistics he was fifth overall, behind Rainbow, the Twos and Galley, but managing to outrank Submerge and all of the outliers.
He earned a second name as the bully of the training centre. He'd lost count of how many of the outliers he'd reduced to tears or at least caused to run away with despair in their eyes. He knew the boy from Twelve had gotten the worst of it, but whatever way it was dressed up Gloss knew that he certainly looked like a sadistic bastard to the other tributes.
So be it. It that kept Cashmere safe then he'd do it again. Not like he hadn't done worse on the streets of One already.
His interview played with the savage angle, mixed with a bit of mysteriousness in regard to his past in One. Gloss was ever so tight lipped about where he'd come from, only saying he'd 'graduated the school of hard knocks with top marks'. The audience absolutely loved it.
The outliers did not. They hated and feared Gloss.
As good as his odds of 4-1 were, Gloss needed time to himself for the last night before the Games. He couldn't sleep and did not want to be in the main room of the District One floor, not when Bronze was watching adult movies with a few women of his harem.
The roof would have to do.
With the elevator unguarded and nobody coming to stop him from riding it to the roof Gloss soon found himself atop the incredibly tall building, gazing out at the district horizon.
He had to admit, it was beautiful.
Far more beautiful than what he was becoming and what he would continue to turn into once the gong rang and the bloodbath began.
"Oh, it's you."
Gloss cursed his luck, having a vague idea who that voice belonged to. He had, after all, seen several televised interviews growing up and one such interview was with the owner of the voice, merely six months ago. Gloss was never the sort to forget a voice.
That was why he knew Seeder was behind him before he turned to face her.
"Oh, hi Seeder," Gloss replied, giving the middle aged victor a nod of acknowledgement.
"I'm not even talking to you. I'm going back down," Seeder turned on her heel to leave. "I'm not wasting my time with the latest selfish, arrogant, murderous boy from One of many. Maybe you'll end up like all the boys in your district since Crown have. I can only hope."
"Hey, what the hell?" Gloss got to his feet, particularly pissed. "Hoping for my death? Who do you think you are?"
Seeder just narrowed her eyes. "You've been tormenting every tribute outside your alliance, saving awful things you did not need to say. Who do you think you are?"
Gloss had no instant response to this. It was a few moments before he had any idea what as to what he could say.
"It's that or lose my spot in the alliance. Logically they're going to die anyway," Gloss replied, distant.
"Doesn't make it right," Seeder replied. "You volunteered to be here. You weren't the chosen volunteer either, I overheard that much from Bronze."
"I didn't want to be here," Gloss paused, sighing. "I needed to be here."
"Honestly, I have no idea if that is better or worse," Seeder replied, blank. "How so? What could you need to be here? You didn't volunteer to save somebody and-"
"I did. That's literally the entire reason I'm here," Gloss exhaled deeply. "My sister, Cashmere… this. Everything so far, everything I still have to do… it's for her. It's awful, sure, but the alternative is so much worse."
"How much worse than children being killed in an arena?" Seeder asked.
"Depends who you ask, but I'd say much worse. In One there are poor people, same as any other district. At least, I'd assume so. We're homeless, the pair of us literally live in boxes and live off of stolen bread. How do you think I'm so 'lean and mean', huh?" Gloss sat down again, staring off into the horizon. "It was literally let both of us freeze to death during the winter or me risk my life to win the Games and get us both a warm house. I'll take this over dying in the cold… then again, if it's a tundra arena, perhaps I still will."
It was Seeder's turn to become silent and have no idea what to say. What Gloss said and the sincerity, if not outright vulnerability, in his tone had already began to flip some of her opinion on the boy from One.
"Can't you… live in a care home? District One has those, right?"
Gloss stared out into space, his eyes narrowed into a dark grimace. "Not again. Not after last time. I'm not putting Cashmere through that again."
Seeder didn't push it. She instead moved to sit beside Gloss, letting time pass by until either of them thought of something to say.
"It seems life just isn't fair. Panem just isn't fair," Seeder said, sighing. "I have no idea how Orion thought the Hunger Games would cease rebellion. If anything it's just making people desire a second rebellion even more."
"He was an idiot. He deserved what he got," Gloss said, shrugging. "I'm not really fussed about that. I just want my sister to be safe."
"And yourself too?" Seeder added.
"Honestly, I don't care what becomes of me. I just want Cashmere to be able to have a good life," Gloss admitted. "That's all I want… seems fate was feeling more twisted than normal this year. I mean, trading twenty three lives to assure one life is spared and wants for nothing? What a mad world."
"You know, you might be one of the least greedy and selfish boys from your district I've ever seen. I think only Crown has you beat," Seeder noted. "I'd say best of luck to you Gloss. I hope the best for your sister, but I have tributes to… and, well…"
Gloss idly waved his hand at Seeder. "I get it. Eleven comes first, it only makes sense. You know, if I end up dead… one of your pair winning wouldn't be the worst thing ever. Your district is overdue a victor."
The pair maintained small talk like this for a time before they left for their beds. Seeder partially hoped Gloss would end up winning if her tributes died, and perhaps not lose himself in the process. It would be nice having another man on the inside of District One if all went well.
Gloss thought Seeder seemed like a nice person. They both knew what poverty was, as thus hunger and pain. Gloss wouldn't call it inaccurate to say he felt more like an outlier than a career when all was said and done.
Alas, the Games were looming. He had to become a career whether he liked it or not. Whether Seeder liked it or not. Whether Cashmere liked it or not.
"All for you, Cashmere…"
The first thing Gloss saw when his launch plate clicked into place was the silver cornucopia gleaming from the sunlight cast upon it. The first thing he smelled was the thick scent of sea salt. The first sound he heard was the light crashing of waves upon a tropical beach.
The arena was a massive tropical island, the cornucopia set upon a beach covered in soft pale sand and everything else deeper within the forest that loomed nearby. The sounds of birds were easy to discern as was the distant breeze cast through the island.
The sounds of sobbing were equally as unmissable. The small boy from Twelve was on the pedestal directly to the right of Gloss' own, scared out of his mind. Gloss blocked off all emotion and played his part well, snarling at the small boy. It was a wonder the miner boy didn't fall off of his pedestal when he recoiled in terror.
That was only the first of many terrible things Gloss knew he'd have to do if he was to make it back home.
Back to Cashmere.
The gong rang and Gloss charged from his pedestal towards the cornucopia. It wasn't remotely hard to reach the horn of plenty mere moments behind Rainbow and the Twos.
It disturbed Gloss to learn that it was similarly easy to throw an axe into the face of the girl from Five. She fell to the ground, her face coated in tears and thick blood, all life within her eyes thoroughly extinguished.
That was merely the first death of the eventual twenty three, with the gruesome deaths of the pair from Nine following moments later. Rainbow and Submerge didn't even flinch as they hacked the pair apart with daggers.
Gloss retrieved his axes and sent one of them right into the back of the skull of the boy from Three. He turned away from his initial target, the boy from Eight, to where Xantor had been tackled to the ground by the boy from Seven.
He made his choice in an instant. Loyalty to the pack would serve him better than letting a big threat die so soon. Gloss ran over, bringing his remaining axe down onto the lumberjack boy's head, killing him near instantly. As the boy slumped over Gloss grasped Xantor's beefy hand and pulled him to his feet.
"Fancy meeting you here like this," Gloss joked.
Xantor couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks mate. I owe you one."
The bloodbath came to an end mere minutes later when the severed head of the boy from Ten made contact with the ground. Gloss hadn't made any further kills in that time, not that he minded. It was getting to be a tough effort to hold back his vomit.
Killing was far, far harder than mockery or savage street fights. The scent of blood that filled the air was horribly noxious, the broken bodies of the twelve dead tributes were terrible to observe and the way Rainbow and Cindra were snickering to each other really rubbed him the wrong way.
Gloss didn't let any of this slip. Outwardly he seemed, by all accounts, completely unaffected by what had just happened.
Rainbow clapped to get everybody's attention. "Nice work guys. Not a single one of us dead. I have a good feeling about this pack."
"Same here," Submerge agreed, grabbing a water bottle and drinking down the contents. "So, now what?"
"We gear up and head out. There's only six of them left, they won't get far," Rainbow said. "Let's sort the supplies, figure out who stays back as a guard and get hunting."
Nobody disagreed with the plan and so it was that Gloss found himself put to work on sorting all the water bottles. He carefully arranged them at the back of the cornucopia, the hardest spot for would-be thieves to claim them.
At least there his alliance wouldn't be able to see the tormented look in his eyes nor how he used up one of the bottles to wash away the blood on his hands.
"I'm not sure what's worse," Gloss muttered to himself as the cannons started to fire. "How gross it is or how I don't know whose blood it is."
The careers ended up leaving Galley behind as a guard, making their way deeper into the tropical island. Gloss bought of the rear, a belt of throwing knives around his slender waist and a throwing axe in each hand. At this early stage he was more than content to just let Rainbow and Cindra lead the pack.
Better they take the early scrapes and wounds rather than himself.
Nightfall soon arrived and with it the need to set up a camp. The anthem began to play by the time the careers had got their sleeping bags set out and their soup properly heated up. The was little reaction as the faces of the dead were shown in the sky. Just the odd snide remark or comment of who actually killed each tribute and how.
Gloss kept himself staring up the sky until the anthem ended, wanting to know for certain who else was left. He wasn't about to assume the only threats to his life were his own allies come the time for the pack to collapse. Not when several outliers had scored above a six this year.
The faces of both from Three, the girl from Five, the girl from Six, the boy from Seven, both from Eight, both from Nine, the boy from Ten, the girl from Eleven and the girl from Twelve filled Gloss' vision one by one. He couldn't help tilting his head, confused.
"Hm, I guess the pipsqueak from Twelve made it after all," Gloss said to himself, surprised.
"Didn't think he had it in him," Xantor agreed, sitting himself down beside Gloss. "Not like he'll last much longer, but by the standards of a Twelve tribute he's doing alright."
"So basically, by the standards of literally any other district besides maybe Six he's doing badly?" Gloss guessed.
"You got it," Xantor paused to laugh. "Anyway, if you ask me our sixth biggest threat out there is probably the girl from Seven. She scored a nine, same as us. You don't get nines for nothing in the Games."
"Yeah, that makes sense… wait, sixth biggest threat?" Gloss replied, quirking up an eyebrow.
Xantor gestures to the other careers and then back in the general direction of the cornucopia.
"Our alliance is filled with the strongest tributes. Makes sense that we're each other's biggest threats later down the line," Xantor stretched out, taking out a knife to start carving away at a shard of tree bark. He lowered his voice. "But you know what, I said I owe you one… so, tell you what, when it comes time for the pack to break, I have your back. Deal?"
Gloss didn't hesitate to fist bump with Xantor. "Deal. It's no love lost with Rainbow."
"Dude, same. Cindra is…" Xantor trailed off, making a face. "We got this."
A few days passed by without issue. The careers returned to the cornucopia twice, swapping out Rainbow for Galley and later letting Rainbow back on the hunt and leaving Submerge as the guard. In that time only one cannon had fired, though the death of the boy from Five had been nothing to do with the careers.
It had been something far worse.
The careers were returning to the cornucopia on the fifth day, their hunt to the eastern beaches proving fruitless, only to see Submerge running towards them in a mad panic.
She was missing a hand. Where it used to be was, instead, a hastily thrown together cluster of bandages. All the fisher girl could do was babble nonsense, panicking over some sort of reptile mutts.
A desperate dash to the cornucopia answered everything. Hideous reptile mutts were gnawing away at sleeping bags, some of the lesser value weapons and, worst of all, most of the career pack's food supply. By the time the pack were close enough to start fighting the monsters it was looking unlike that there was any food left.
By the time the final scaly mutt met its end the damage was done and surely wouldn't be repaired any time soon. Plenty of the pack's equipment was missing along with almost all of their food. Only three tins of soup had survived.
"What the hell?!" Cindra screeched, punching the side of the cornucopia in frustration. "Why would the gamemakers do this?! What is this shit?"
"This is called evening out the odds a bit," Gloss replied. "Seems they don't want things being too one sided. Six of us allied and well stocked versus five stragglers with barely a weapon between them… it'd be boring otherwise, right?"
"If you think of it from an audience viewpoint Gloss isn't wrong," Galley admitted.
It was at that moment Submerge fell to the sand, finally too drained of blood to remain standing. Mere seconds later a cannon fired, confirming her death.
"…Fuck," Rainbow stomped her foot, bitter. "Whatever, everybody just grab up everything that's left. Let's get out of here. If we kill the rest fast the lack of food won't matter."
Gloss did as Rainbow asked without complaint, but he knew that she was wrong. There was sure to be severe hunger pain striking the pack in the coming days.
Pain that, to his own smugness, he was incredibly used to feeling. If the gamemakers intended for this to fuck with his chances it had only achieved the exact opposite.
Two days and one cannon later – specifically, for the boy from Six when Cindra and Galley bludgeoned him with spiked maces – the careers were all in very bad moods. Hunger pains were making most of the pack bitter and spiteful as they trudged through the tropical island in search of their prey.
Gloss was mainly just annoyed by the rain that hadn't stopped in almost half a day, though he knew it was really nothing compared to the mutts, powerful tributes and whatever the next threat to his life would be.
At least it was kind of funny to pretend to be hungry, letting out the most ridiculous sounds as he did so. The way Cindra looked at him, only to look away when she realised calling him out would be hypocritical, was giving him no shortage of amusement.
"Do we have any plans beside wandering around aimlessly?" Galley eventually asked.
"Split up and cover more ground?" Rainbow suggested, dull.
It was soon decided that Gloss and Xantor would go left and the rest of the pack would go right. They'd meet back up in a few hours. A simple plan, but Gloss had no issues with it.
All was uneventful for a while as he and Xantor made their way alongside a crystal clear river and several clusters of plants and boulders. Xantor groaned every so often from the hunger while Gloss made sure to fake a whine just as often.
"Think the others are having more luck than we are?" Xantor eventually asked, helping Gloss up a steep dirt slope.
"Well, there's been no cannons, so they can't be having the worst luck possible," Gloss replied. "Thanks."
"No prob. But you know, if there were cannons it might not be so bad. Might just be an outlier biting it, though if Rainbow or Galley bit it… eh, it helps us," Xantor paused to gulp some water from his bottle.
"Not Cindra?" Gloss asked.
"District loyalty," Xantor stated. "I can't do anything to her unless it's just us left or a mercy kill. I'm not like that piece of shit that won the Sixty First Games, dude."
Gloss had no direct response to this, merely shrugging his acceptance and continuing to follow Xantor through the tropical wilds. Eventually the distant sounds of screams entered their ears, perking both of them up.
"Think the others found somebody?" Gloss asked.
"Either that or a mutt attack is going on," Xantor took out his sword. "Let's check it out!"
The boys ran through the tropical overgrowth as quickly as their legs could carry them, the screams of despair and pleading for mercy getting louder with every passing second.
Then, suddenly, the screams came to an abrupt end. The noise was replaced by the booming of a cannon.
Gloss and Xantor arrived at the site of the screams, both flinching at the sight they saw. Between the two it was Gloss that was moreso effected by the sickening sight on the ground. The corpse of the boy from Eleven was hardly recognisable as having been a perfect. Organs and bloody entrails were everywhere, the small teenager nothing more than a pile of gore.
Even after the murder being completed Rainbow and Cindra continued to strike at the bloodied body with their weapons. Galley stood back, leaning against a tree, but seemed indifferent to it all.
Gloss felt like he was going to throw up. How was Seeder going to feel about this? Surely she was crying at that moment, perhaps wailing and sobbing like the boy had been in his final moments.
"You alright Gloss?" Xantor asked, curious.
"I'm fine," Gloss lowered his voice to barely a whisper. "Get ready, I think it's time for the pack to break. Not many left, so…"
Xantor grinned. "Right there with you, bud. Just say the word."
The boys approached the girls and Galley, spotted long before they were in range for a melee battle. Their allies greeted them with indifferent nods, not many words needing to be said.
"Made any kills?" Rainbow asked.
"Uh, you do realise no cannons fired right?" Xantor replied.
"You guys sure made one… gee wiz, what the fuck Rainbow?" Gloss asked, shaking his head. "That was just unneeded. You only need to stab, like, two or three times. This is just sick."
"We were bored," Rainbow replied, rolling her eyes. "This island sucks. The hunger sucks. We needed an outlet. What, you getting soft on us Gloss? It was just an Eleven."
"Perhaps I am getting soft," Gloss replied. He went silent, taking a few steps back.
"Whoa, so soft you can't even stand near me when you're giving me lip?" Rainbow asked, sneering.
Gloss' response was to smirk smugly. "I'm a ranged fighter."
Gloss threw his axe a moment later, the blade burying into Cindra's chest and knocking her down to the ground. In moments the life within her was rapidly fading away. Before Rainbow and Galley could react Xantor, with a mighty cheer, made a flying leap at Rainbow and bought his sword down towards her neck.
Moments later Galley was running for his life deeper into the tropical island's jungle while Gloss and Xantor looted the bodies of their former allies. There wasn't much food between them, but it and the weapons up for grabs would do for the time being.
"Should we go after Galley?" Xantor asked.
"Nah, leave him. He won't get far, and even if he does we've got him outnumbered," Gloss replied, sipping from what was once Rainbow's water bottle. "Let's go explore. Still a few outliers left and plenty of places to explore."
"Ha, sounds like a great plan to me," Xantor agreed, laughing heartily. "I'll be right with you after a quick shit."
"Urgh, gross," Gloss muttered, a hand over his face as Xantor vanished into the overgrowth.
As soon as Gloss was certain he was completely alone he turned to the nearest camper.
"I can't bring your boy back Seeder, but… I hope that eases some of the burn," Gloss said, lightly nodding to the camera. "I did the best I could."
Gloss never ended up learning what Seeder thought of this, not even in the years leading up to their eventual demises in a deadly clockwork jungle. But, in point of fact, she felt a grim sense of satisfaction and would admit that Gloss winning would hardly be the worst outcome possible at this point.
Days passed as Gloss explored the arena with Xantor at his side, the pair searching out interesting landmarks and any signs of the remaining tributes. Gloss had a keen memory, knowing that beside himself and his ally it was just Galley, Bromley from Seven, Oda from Ten and poor Fastoon from Twelve.
Gloss was also keenly aware that he'd done many terrible things and was far from being finished with them yet. How was Cashmere going to react to this?
What had she said about him during the family interviews? The possibility of her being ashamed of him scared Gloss far more than any mutt possibly could.
"You seem quiet," Xantor noted. "What's up?"
"Just thinking about home," Gloss replied. "Thinking about my sister. Just hoping all the stuff I've been doing isn't too much for her to take, you know?"
"I get you mate," Xantor said, nodding. "Lots of careers tend to feel that way, believe it or not. From Two, anyway."
"Wait, really?" Gloss could only stare, stumped. "I thought you guys liked tearing off tributes' arms or something?"
"Yeah, you'd think so… and you'd be right. We're strong! We're mighty!" Xantor laughed for a moment. "Still, I was talking to my stylist and she said it's not really uncommon for careers to just… let out a few tears or panic a bit in the launch room. They get it done before the Games, not during them. Most of us, those that have families anyway, care what the people who raised us think."
Gloss couldn't help but take the unspoken offer. "You have a family?"
"Yeah man. Three brothers, two sisters with me being the eldest. Parents and grandparents on both sides too," Xantor smiled, idly tossing up a knife and catching it as they walked along. "Plus, got my girl Tuscan waiting for me too. Call me crazy, probably true, but… turns out we're already expecting. Winning these Games, that'll make us and the baby want for nothing."
Gloss wisely tried to ignore the sudden throbbing in his heart and pit in his stomach. "Sounds like a great group of people."
"You know it. It's really thanks to you that I have a chance of seeing them again, you got that lumberjack boy off of me back in the bloodbath," Xantor stretched out as he and Gloss passed by a large tree. "But if I don't win… I hope you do. You're alright. So… what's your sister like?"
Gloss didn't hesitate to answer. "Wonderful. Nothing less."
A cannon fired. The career boys exchanged a glance before they climbed to the top of the tall tree. By the time they poked their heads through the canopy of the tropical forest they could see that the hovercraft was descending to pick up the body of the dead tribute at least three miles to the east.
"Who do you think that was?" Xantor asked as he and Gloss descended to the ground.
"It could only be Galley, the girl from Seven or the boy from Twelve. Maybe the killer is still over there – wanna check it out?" Gloss suggested.
Xantor smirked, baring his teeth. "Let's do this! …And maybe find some food, I'm starving."
Gloss nodded in agreement, not willing to admit the fact he was hardly bothered by the hunger he'd had years to get used to.
The anthem confirmed that it had been Galley who died. By the time the career boys made it to the kill site and began to explore the surrounding area the killer was already gone, but they'd not bothered to hide their trail when leaving the area. All the pair had to do was follow the disturbed tropical forest floor until they came across whoever it was.
"Sure hope it's a tribute and not a mutt," Gloss muttered.
"Think it's Seven or Twelve?" Xantor asked.
"Seven, she scored high. Twelve scored a Two, who is he gonna kill?" Gloss replied.
"…Point," Xantor conceded. "Think she's close?"
"No idea. Let's just assume she is and be careful," Gloss said. He frowned at the darkness around him. "It'd be so much easier if I could see more than a few feet away."
One moment Gloss was calmly walking through the night with Xantor right behind him.
The next moment Gloss had been yanked off of his feet by a vine. It was fluke alone that caused the spear thrown from the darkness to miss him by an inch. Xantor similarly dodged the spear and ran off into the darkness.
"I got this! You just focus on cutting yourself down!" the boy from Two ordered.
Gloss wasted no time in obeying the instruction. With one of his knives he made short work of the vine, dropping down to the dirt in under five seconds. It wasn't long after he picked himself up when a cannon fired throughout the arena.
Xantor's cheers of triumph confirmed he wasn't without any allies just yet. Gloss soon made his way to where Xantor was looting the body of the girl from Seven, not that the tough lumberjill had many supplies to speak of.
"Nice work," Gloss said, a small sweat starting to form on his face. He knew what he had to do. "So, is that everybody? I think it's… just us?"
"No, I'm sure there's one more out there mate. Gimme a second," Xantor quickly counted on his fingers. "Yeah, boy from Twelve. No idea how he's still alive, but that's the timeline we seem to be in. What condition to you think he's in?"
"Hard to say for sure, but… I'll assume he's probably wounded?" Gloss said, moving to stand behind Xantor. "So, we kill him and then, like, catch our breathes back and duke it out?"
"Sounds like a plan. Honestly, you've been the best ally ever Gloss," Xantor couldn't help but chuckle as he rose to his feet. "When I win, I'll make sure you're never forgotten."
Gloss winced. "Same here, man."
Gloss bought down his axe before Xantor had even turned around, the blade burying into his skull for an instant kill. Gloss watched as Xantor fell lifelessly to the ground, dead without even realising it had happened. As nice a death as he could've gotten in the tropical arena.
"Sorry Xantor, but I'm winning these Games. I need to win them," Gloss flinched as he wiped away the blood on his axe. "The boy from Twelve isn't strong, fearsome, cool, full of spirit… you are. Were. Just pragmatism."
Gloss tried not to make it obvious just how torn up h was over what he just did. He forced the most devious look he possibly could as he left Xantor's corpse behind, leaving it to the Games Editors to make him look 'lean and mean'.
He tried not thinking about Xantor's family and what they would be feeling. He tried not to feel like a guilty bastard. He tried not to think of what Cashmere must have been thinking.
"Almost over. C'mon Gloss, you can do this. Head in the Games," Gloss firmly told himself. "…All for you Cashmere…"
It didn't take long for Gloss to find the boy from Twelve. The poor kid was laying almost motionless in a patch of tropical weeds by the time Gloss crossed his path during the afternoon of the next day. Gloss winced at how the small boy was cut in numerous places, ghostly pale, covered in blood and excrement and had lost an eye.
"…Do you want me to kill you?" Gloss asked, not quite having the steely heart to mock the boy to keep up his image.
The miner boy could only weakly nod.
Gloss made it quick.
Gloss didn't care for how the Capitol citizens loved him.
He didn't care that he'd broken District One's losing streak.
He didn't care for how the Games Editors had made him appear to be an unfeeling sociopath for the audience.
He didn't care that he couldn't look at his own reflection without wanting to scream at the monster who looked back at him.
He cared a little when Snow recalled the family interview with Cashmere, calling her a lovely girl 'wasted in the Districts'.
He certainly did not care that Olga and Brutus felt his kill of Xantor was cowardly and low. Nor did he pay mind to how Bentley, Arendellian and Cecelia were plainly afraid of him.
He admittedly cared and appreciated the fact Anchor liked him, seeing a bit of himself in Gloss… for better or for worse, Gloss did not know.
There was only one thing that Gloss cared about. His sister. Was she safe? Was she appreciative of their newfound fame and fortune? …Did she still love him?
Gloss was riddled with anxiety up to when he stepped off the train and saw her waiting for him, mere steps away. Gloss paid the massive crowd no mind, Cashmere being the only thing in his world that mattered.
"Cashmere…"
Cashmere let tears fall freely, opening her arms for a hug.
"You stupid… foolhardy… reckless… give me a hug brother!"
Gloss did, and he never wanted to let go. Who needed all the adoring crowds when he was back home with his sister, the pair off of the streets forever?
"I was so worried. You… you could have been," Cashmere was reduced to sobs of relief, unable to form words.
"I know, I know," Gloss hugged his sister tighter. "Everything's gonna be alright. I'm home, I'm safe… we're safe. We're going to be alright sister."
Gloss was right.
He was right for a month until Snow demanded he agree to have his body sold or a bullet be put through Cashmere's brain. The aging president had big plans for the Lord twins and wasn't about to stop any time soon.
'All for you Cashmere…'
Sad as it may be, the story of the Lord twins did not have a happy ending. Especially not for Gloss – he blamed himself for bringing them into public eye and getting them into this whole mess.
Acting as the perfect, ideal career tribute had turned the outliers away from him. All good traits of his were edited out, only a sociopath remaining to be seen by the cameras. He was no Rhyder nor was he a Crown. Gloss was deemed 'just another career, just another thug'.
He'd have been alright with that if it had just been him the Capitol sold again and again. But for Cashmere to have such a fate too…
Only Seeder had showed him kindness in the years leading up to the quell. She'd gotten to see some of who he was on the inside before his final gamble paid off, and then went horribly wrong. Gloss couldn't lie to himself – he'd have gone insane if she'd not been there to show him compassion and comfort.
Little wonder that, come the third quarter quell and locked away from any sort of rebel plans or alliances, Snow ordered Gloss to kill Seeder or be forced to watch Cashmere be torn apart by mutts.
Gloss stood at the cornucopia, arming himself with throwing knives and trying not to look at the many bodies strewn around the silver horn. Neon, Bentley, Woof, Cecelia, Tabbock, Laurel, Pasture, Seeder…
"Good work guys," Brutus said, claiming a sword. "I don't think this is going to be a long Games, what with the lack of food and water. If we move quickly we should be able to hunt down at least three more by nightfall."
"You sure?" Cashmere asked, looking winded after her brief altercation with Chaff.
"More or less. I think we can agree that Arendellian won't get far," Brutus replied. "Skinner was always a weird one too, he should be easy to catch."
"Let's get him fast. Fucker got my arm," Enobaria hissed, bandaging up a cut on her left arm.
"Fine by me," Cashmere said, finally getting her breath back. "Gloss, you alright?"
Gloss lightly nodded. "Just feels weird to be back, that's all. I'll be fine."
The careers soon set out to hunt with Gloss bringing up the rear. He knew in his heart that he was not going to make it out of the arena a second time.
That was fine. If this was his penance, so be it. He was willing to face it and own up for all he'd done.
He just hoped that Cashmere would be the one to make it home. Was it likely? Maybe not. But was it possible? Gloss would right tooth and blood nail to his final breath to make it so.
He just hoped, if both of them were to die, that he'd be the one killed first.
He didn't think that he could see his sister's corpse and not go insane.
Katniss and Peeta held a respectful silence for Gloss and continued to walk down the street. It was only a few moments before they reached the next face on the Walk of Victors.
The face imprinted into the ground was that of a young woman with shoulder length hair filled with a few stylish ribbons. She smiled elegantly, almost mischievously so. It was as if the imprint was made specifically to make her appear as beautiful as possible to passers-by.
"Cashmere…" Peeta trailed off, closing his eyes tightly. "The things they did to her."
"We dodged a bullet Peeta. That could have easily been us," Katniss looked pale faced and suddenly short on breath. "Just how many victors were sold… just how many of the Capitol citizens we've seen today had a hand in it?"
"I'd rather not imagine," Peeta said, a little green in his cheeks.
There we go, Gloss' story has been told! Canon gives us little to work with, but somehow he ended up being a lot easier to craft a story for than Enobaria. Perhaps, in part, due to his connection with Cashmere? I thought it was an interesting idea, having Gloss come from a pitiful background and volunteer for noble reasons, only to become trapped within villainy without escape. He got what he wanted, ensuring he and Cashmere survived the winter that 100% would have froze them to death, but at such a terrible price. Certainly a portrayal I feel might not have been expected, or at least one that I hope you all enjoyed reading. Cashmere's next up, and hers has a format that I'm eager to get started on. See you all ideally sooner than later for the next chapter!
Stats
District 1: Peridot Gaudy (8th Games), Crystal McCree (14th Games), Bronze Marley (19th Games), Crown Martins (24th Games), Dollar Dettwieller (32nd Games), Mascara Court (41st Games), Platinum Twist (44th Games), Gloss Lord (63rd Games)
District 2: Baron Overwhill (4th Games), Runa Peace (7th Games), Olga Machete (10th Games), Rook Valiant (17th Games), Boulder Atherston (20th Games), Vercingetorix Carnby (25th Games), Dragon Batofel (27th Games), Rhyder Overwhill (39th Games), Mercy Gregor (46th Games), Brutus Gunn (49th Games), Lyme Rabe (51st Games), Enobaria Golding (62nd Games)
District 3: Honorius Perthshire (5th Games), Pi Orbit (22nd Games), Beetee Latier (37th Games), Wiress Plummer (47th Games), Yohan Fairbane (58th Games)
District 4: Museida Selkirk (3rd Games), Mags Flanagan (11th Games), Tide Luther (23rd Games), Librae Ogilvy (35th Games), Anchor Paddock (52nd Games)
District 5: Shunt Gaspar (12th Games), Isobel Sparks (18th Games), Crimson Flanders (29th Games), Porter Tripp (38th Games), Neon Erg (48th Games), Wattzon Holmes (55th Games), Arendellian Spinner III (57th Games)
District 6: Chassis Macalister (31st Games), Bentley Corduroy (54th Games), Porsche London (56th Games)
District 7: Pliny Aransio (2nd Games), Fir Buzz (9th Games), Jack Tylos (21st Games), Snag Nakamura (34th Games), Blight Jordan (53rd Games), Logger Barlow (61st Games)
District 8: Woof Casino (16th Games), Paige Murphy (30th Games), Spool Nylon (42nd Games), Cecelia Mog (60th Games)
District 9: Mizar Aldjoy (1st Games), Gwenith Rosebud (13th Games), Teff Withers (28th Games), Laurel Flamsteel (36th Games), Tabbock Summers (43rd Games), Trevy Vex (Escaped 55th Games)
District 10: Stallion March (26th Games), Lammy Phyronix (40th Games), Pasture Gallows (59th Games)
District 11: Bear Redfoot (15th Games), Seeder Howell (33rd Games), Chaff Mitchell (45th Games)
District 12: Duke Saint-Rose (6th Games), Haymitch Abernathy (50th Games)