Heyo, we're at the meeting chapter! We finally see what Malvolia wanted to talk to the C-District kids about, hoo hoo hoo :3c Also (shameless plug) if you're interested in participating in my partial, Ad Aeturnum, which is set 15 years prior to Ad Mortem, there's a form on my profile that you're welcome to take a gander at! :D
23 - The Value of Honour
Gossamer Wormwood, 17, C-District 10
He's never been happier to undress before. The ugly chicken suit and the itchy feathers are finally off of him as he hurriedly jumps into the shower. It's a quick clean, the makeup off of his face and the itch slowly fading by the time he's come out.
If Gossamer never sees a chicken again, it'll be much too soon.
Dianne is busy talking to Octavia about scouting allies and what to focus on in training tomorrow. Any other time Gossamer would listen in and use it to his advantage, agree with Dianne and hit Octavia with more of the reverse psychology. But a meeting with Malvolia Nero at the very last minute is bound to be much, much more important.
The elevator opens, the space empty of people to Gossamer's relief. He settles in and presses the button for the tenth floor, chewing his lip as he realises it's a long way down from the twentieth floor. This thing is bound to stop at least once, and he'll have to make small talk with someone from the nine Districts below him. He sincerely hopes it's the kid from Seven. He seems like the type to not speak unless spoken to.
Numbers fade in and out above him: Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen… Each one is a floor housing two tributes and their teams, and with each one that passes every second comes more relief to Gossamer. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…
It pauses on the thirteenth floor.
Gossamer groans and tries to plaster his best happy face on as the doors slide open. The teen representing Three stands before him, also looking to have freshly showered and lightly patting at his hair with the towel over his shoulders.
His expression immediately falls. If there's one thing Gossamer can recognise in a person, it's when they're just as pragmatic and scheming as he is. People like Gossamer have a way of holding themselves, a way of meeting someone's eye for the first time. A way of analysing a new face like the way this one does to him.
Gossamer shuffles to the wall and says dully, "Going my way?"
A smirk. Conniving recognises conniving.
"Gossamer, right?" He stands by him and doesn't bother pressing the button to close the doors. So Three wants to stretch this out…
"Yes. Nikostratos?"
"Everyone just calls me Croix." Croix pats at his hair some more. "I'll just cut to the chase right now and save us the chit-chat."
Thank fuck.
"How reliable is your partner?"
Gossamer hums. He toys with the button of the shirt he'd dug out of the tribute closet. Dreadfully plain, a dull grey, but at least it makes his gold locks stand out even more. "Easy to toy with. Too distrusting to even outright ask for assistance. Yours?"
"A bucket of smiles," Croix says with a bitter laugh. "Squeaks all the fucking time. It's annoying."
"Such a shame."
"Can't say she's the worst, though. At least she knows when she's making sounds." Croix rubs at his chin. "You dodged a bullet with Church volunteering for Nine."
"I wouldn't say that for certain," Gossamer sighs. "My name was drawn twice, after all."
The elevator comes to a final stop at the tenth floor. The office right in front of them has everyone else waiting out the front, scoping each other out and seeing who got the better District partner. All eyes fall on the duo as they walk out and join the crowd, and it's not long before they're invited into Malvolia's office.
The room is dark, its only source of light coming from a projector shining against the far wall. Gossamer raises his brow at the setup, at the chairs lining the room, but doesn't make a comment as he takes a seat by the front. He may be six feet tall, but that just means everyone else has to work around it. Gossamer Wormwood never makes allowances for anyone.
Seconds pass, then a full minute, before finally the lady of the hour walks in front of the screen and regards them all with a very serious expression.
"Good evening, tributes," she begins. "I'm sure you're all curious as to why you're gathered here right now."
No one replies. They must all be too curious to bother trying to guess aloud.
"Due to the nature of this Quell, we've allowed some exceptions to the Games. Namely to what the C-District tributes are allowed to do."
A hand rises to Gossamer's right. Church from Nine.
"Are we the only ones who get this exception?" he asks. Malvolia nods. She clicks a small device in her hands, and immediately the projector begins playing shaky footage of Academy training sessions.
"We're all more than aware that some Districts illegally train their tributes," she goes on. "The Capitol loves these tributes too much for us to enforce the law, but that doesn't mean we can't do something about it. The President herself has even agreed on this plan, which I'll sure you'll all use to your advantage prior to the Games launch."
Another click. She steps aside as a contract appears on the wall, a section highlighted in yellow. "We're allowing C-District tributes one opportunity each to sabotage either each other or the District tributes in the leadup to the bloodbath," she says. "The gap between most tributes' abilities are too large to ensure every one of you survives the first day with your own skills, and so we decided this was the best way to make up for that."
Someone from behind bursts out of their seat. Gossamer barely even turns around to see who it is—Wystan Warwick is easy to pick out of a crowd with his voice.
"You're endorsing even more cheating!?"
"Not cheating, Mr. Warwick." She clicks the button again. Picture after picture of past grizzly deaths in the Games flash by. "It's a handicap. If children with only entry-level training wind up like this, how will you fare?"
"I'm different!" Wystan scoffs. "My parents taught me how to defend myself—I'm not some stick of a person from the boonies."
"I have to agree with Wystan, Ms. Nero." Luxor stands up, a very confused expression aimed at the Head Gamemaker. "This isn't fair to the outer District tributes. None of us would use this against each other, since we're the key to winning the Games safely, but this is practically guaranteeing a career win."
There's something interesting about the statement he just made. The way Luxor had pointed out that the Capitol children are the key to winning.
"If you're worried about losing your District partner, Mr. Aricunai, rest assured that you can leave the arena with any District tribute who decides to use you as their escape. The people you represent aren't necessarily the people you'll win with."
No need to stay… Key to winning… Morals be damned, Gossamer's figured out a way to take this entire Quell into his own hands and string everyone along.
"I know some of you may object to this," Malvolia concedes, "but just know the free sabotage is open to anyone up until the launch day. Only one misdemeanour noticed by others will be excused, though. Choose wisely, if you decide to pursue it."
The meeting concludes soon after, and all but Gossamer leaves the room. Croix lingers for a second, almost curious to see what Gossamer is up to, but even he leaves as an announcement for dinner rings out from the speakers above the door. Soon it's just Gossamer and Malvolia, and she seems to know exactly why he's stayed.
"Can I help you, Mr. Wormwood?"
Gossamer raises his brows and looks down his nose at her. He crosses one leg over the other and leans back into his chair. "Just wanted to clarify a few things before I make a demand," he says lightly.
"Go on."
"Us being the key to winning," he starts. "We're valuable to the District tributes, then?"
"Correct."
"And the rules imply that, in some circumstances, C-District tribute deaths may be inevitable?"
"Also correct."
Gossamer smiles. "So I can assume that, if some were to befall such a fate, the others would be even more sought after?"
She smiles back at him, a big, toothy Cheshire grin. Doesn't say a word, but her expression says it all. He's on the right track. Excellent.
"Ms. Nero," Gossamer says sweetly, "I'd like to announce my sabotage for review."
Wystan Warwick, 14, C-District 2
This is all preposterous. Allowing cheating in a Hunger Games? What the hell has the Head Gamemaker stooped to? The President, even?
He hates to say it, but Wystan is ashamed to be involved in something as despicable as this.
All this cheating and sabotaging in an event where everyone is supposed to have a fair shot at making it beyond the bloodbath… It's everything he stands against, and he'll be damned if he allies with anyone who does the same. Wystan will win with his District partner without resorting to cheap tricks, and Head Gamemaker Nero will see just how wrong she was for deciding to allow this bullshit.
Wystan storms through the door to Two's floor, immediately hit with the smell of salmon wafting over from the table on the far end of the room. Felix is already digging into his meal, the large bowl of rice and meat in front of him while Edith frets over something on the other side of the table. Two plates are at the opposite end of the table to Felix, one displaying a fillet of salmon and the other has what looks to be lobster salad.
As much as Wystan wishes he could just dig into one of the meals and forget today has happened, he has a duty to Two to uphold.
He slams the door behind him and shouts, "You would not believe what bullshit they're allowing this year!"
Felix looks up with a start, surprised by Wystan's outburst.
"W—What?" he blubbers.
"It's shameful," Wystan goes on. He walks over to the table, and finally he can see why Edith is so concerned with what's on the other side. Cetronia wordlessly continues her push ups like nothing is even happening. "They're letting Capitolites sabotage other tributes without getting in trouble. It's disgraceful and disgusting—they can't seriously expect us to agree to this."
With a final push upwards, Cetronia stands up to her full height and wipes at her brow. "You're annoyingly loud," she deadpans.
"And your point is?" Wystan could scoff at her right now. "We have more pressing matters than what degree of loud I am!"
"We'll deal with it," she says. Wystan gapes at her. "Academy life for outsiders like me features a lot of sabotage aimed their way. Whatever they come up with, it'll be easy to brush off."
Wystan slides into the seat by the salmon. He's still pouting, still displeased by the announcement and what it means for the next three days of training. Any one of them could use their sabotage to throw someone under the bus—they could even use it on the C-District kids instead of the District kids. No one can be trusted, even if they'd objected at the meeting. As far as Wystan knows, Two is the only one that will follow the rules like normal.
"What if—"
"We'll deal with it," she repeats, harsher this time. She sits down in front of the lobster salad and wastes no time taking a bite of it. Edith at least seems relieved to see her eating. "Trust me."
It's silent then. Painfully silent, like it's been forced after Cetronia's commandeering tone. Wystan catches Edith and Felix's gazes every so often, both of them now nervously picking at their food. Prior to coming to the Capitol, Cetronia must have been a bit more calm with her tone. Wystan's seen her be glib to Edith at the speech for her reaping, but even the escort and mentor look shocked by the change in attitude.
After what feels like an eternity, Cetronia asks him, "What are the rules with these sabotages?"
Wystan furrows his brows at the question. She can't seriously be thinking of using his, can she? "One misdemeanour gets a free pass. It can be used on anyone prior to the bloodbath."
"We'll use ours for defense," she decides. The last of her lobster salad is eaten, her plate shoved away from her. "A Peacekeeper's son and a career are ideal targets for sabotage. We can save ours for the last minute, provided the Gamemakers allow it."
He can feel annoyance rising in his chest. Even if it's to even the playing field for them against everyone else, using this free pass to cheat still feels so… So dirty. So disgraceful. His parents would disown him if they knew he'd done it—hell, Wystan would disown himself for considering it.
But Cetronia's dealt with sabotages before. Cetronia knows how to use it defensively instead of offensively. She must have something in mind that won't make him feel like a failure to his ideals.
"I hate it," Wystan mutters. Cetronia actually looks at him—and she looks almost annoyed. How else is Wystan supposed to take the quirked brow and scrunched up nose? "The sabotage was only given to us, but… But if you have an idea for it, I'll ask if it can be passed on to a District tribute."
"Why?"
"Because it's wrong." Wystan drops his knife and fork onto the plate loudly. "This is supposed to be a fair game for everyone to partake in—you die in the bloodbath because you weren't as good as your opponent, not because some schmuck decided to fuck with you without your knowledge. I can't do that—"
"The Hunger Games doesn't care about what you can and can't do," Cetronia growls. "Do you think I had it fair, living so far from what everyone else—from what this pig—" She gestures to Felix wildly— "got to grow up with on a silver platter? All that matters is giving it your all, and if the extent of your abilities includes a chance to throw someone into the volcano, you do it."
Wystan jumps out of his seat with a snarl. "It's dishonourable!"
Cetronia follows suit, towering over him. "No one gives a damn what's honourable or not!" she shouts. "It's do or die, and I'm not letting you ruin this for me! There's eleven more kids with the same value as you out there, and I won't hesitate to get rid of you come the bloodbath if you don't shape your shit up!"
The silence is back, but this time it's stunned. Incredulous. Horrified. Wystan stares back up at Cetronia. He feels almost uncertain now, doubt rising in his chest as the seconds tick by. He's been nothing but respectful to Cetronia—he'll admit that he can be a prick, even to her, but he's toned it down to her especially—and now she's showing just how much he's worth to her. Cetronia doesn't care about winning with an assigned partner she gets to know. Cetronia's sticking to the only words that ever made it out in Two's broadcast: She'll still kill eleven others if need be.
And Wystan is a solid "maybe" in that group of eleven.
"Am I understood, Wystan?" she says finally. Neither Edith or Felix makes any comment, still reeling from the shock of her statement. They'll be of no help to Wystan if he argues.
As much as he respects her power, there's others competing in this Quell that are just as skilled as Cetronia. She's not the only force he can rally behind—especially when she'd already pointed out someone with ideals similar to Wystan's.
So he works his jaw and lifts his chin, staring down his nose at her with a bored expression. "Yes," he says evenly. "Loud and clear, Cetronia."
He'll win without her. He'll win without the sabotage. He'll make her regret mocking his sense of honour.
And that's the chapter. I wonder what kinds of trouble this will bring to the Games and who will use their sabotage for what huehuehuehue~
QQ #18: If you had a sabotage in the Games, what would you use it for? (Score manipulation, choosing who launches where, etc.)
I'll see you all next chapter, where we check in with Val, Florence and Cyber for day one of training!