What's this? An update a week later? Gasp! (And it's four pages longer than the last update, too...)
If I haven't responded to your reviews, I apologize! I tried to get them all, but if I missed yours, it's nothing personal! I promise!
Also... due to the fact that I move in to college on Saturday and start classes next week, I probably won't be updating for a while... but this story will be finished. I promise.
The Mutant Games
Chapter 5: Dark Days
"You did what?"
To say that Effie was outraged about what Charles had done was to say that life in District 12 was easy.
They were all gathered in the dining room. Food was laid on the table, but no one was eating.
Haymitch and Effie were seated on opposite sides of the table. Cinna and Portia sat next to them, and Katherine sitting next to Portia.
Charles sat far away from everyone else, with his arms folded across his chest and a heavy scowl on his face.
"It's their own fault," he muttered. "They're the ones who weren't paying attention to me."
"That isn't true!" Effie protested, though she was cut off by Haymitch's laugh.
Charles turned toward the older man, somehow unsurprised that he found this humorous.
Haymitch was smiling. "You've got guts, kid," he said, raising his glass toward the young telepath.
Effie sniffed righteously.
"That's all good and well, but what about the consequences?" she demanded. "How is he going to get sponsors when the Gamemakers give him a low score for his disobedience?"
She whirled, pointing a finger as she glowered at Charles.
"You made a serious mistake!" she all but shrieked. "Endangering the lives of the Gamemakers like that…"
"I wasn't aiming at them!" Charles exploded, his anger finally getting the better of him. "I was aiming for the pig, which I hit, by the way. They weren't in danger!"
"That's not how they're going to see it!" Effie retorted. "They're going to think you made a lucky shot! And don't think you're the only one this is going to affect!"
Up until that point, Charles had been feeling rather defensive over what he had done. Now, though, cold, hard terror flooded through him as he realized what she meant.
Hank and Alex were in danger, and it was all because of him.
He was hardly aware of the yelling and heated conversations going on around him until, very suddenly, Cinna's face was inches away from his own.
Charles jumped, flinching when Cinna placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Relax," the stylist said calmly, a soft, understanding smile on his face. "Your brothers aren't in danger."
Charles looked at him to Haymitch and back again, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.
"What?"
He couldn't believe that was his voice that came out as a harsh whisper.
Cinna glanced back at Haymitch, who started talking.
"The Game rules state that everything that happens during your exhibition is kept a secret," he said. "For the Gamemakers to punish you, they would have to reveal what you had done. And they won't do that for two reasons. One, it's against the rules. Two, it would make them look weak and might inspire an uprising in some of the further out Districts."
Charles stared, stunned.
Haymitch smiled slightly. "Your family's safe, kid," he surmised. "The only way they can punish you is by giving you a low score."
Effie made a disconcerted sound, one which Charles ignored. He felt calmer, now that he knew that his brothers were safe. Whatever the Gamemakers decided to do to him, he knew he could take it, so long as his family was safe.
(0)
Scores would be announced an hour before the interviews would begin. Until then, the tributes were supposed to be practicing for their interviews with their mentors.
Katherine and Effie disappeared not long after the heated discussion about Charles' behavior ended. Effie looked absolutely terrifying with glee while Katherine looked almost frightened.
Portia and Cinna left soon after to go work on the interview outfits. Before he left, Cinna paused to give Charles a comforting clap on the shoulder.
"Everything will work out," he said softly, before following the woman stylist out of the room.
Haymitch stayed in his seat, studying Charles thoughtfully.
The young telepath opened his mouth to tell him to stop, but then, another thought occurred to him.
"How did you know I was worried about my family?" he wondered.
Haymitch blinked, momentarily confused. He recovered quickly enough.
"Well, I doubted you were worried about any of us," he pointed out. "It also didn't help that you were projecting."
That, more than anything else that had happened that day, stunned Charles. Very few people, outside of telepaths and those who spent a lot of time with telepaths, knew what projecting was. Even less people knew what it meant.
He stared.
Haymitch let out a soft chuckle. "When you've been around mutants as long as I have, you pick up a few things," he said.
There was something about the way Haymitch didn't meet his eyes that told Charles this wasn't particularly true. For one, it was a generally unspoken rule that most telepaths didn't reveal their powers unless absolutely necessary, and for another, District 12 hadn't had a telepath in the Games for as long as Charles could remember.
He mentally sighed, knowing that asking would be futile. Haymitch wouldn't give him a straight answer , and besides, it wasn't as though it mattered in the grand scheme of things anyway.
"So what do we do now?" Charles asked.
Haymitch shrugged. "We get you ready for the interview," he said. "And hope that the Gamemakers aren't feeling too vindictive."
(0)
Effie and Katherine appeared a few hours later, with the latter looking exhausted and angry, and the former looking fed up.
A quick glance into Katherine's mind showed Charles that her training session gone well.
Charles', on the other hand, had gone fine. Haymitch had seemed pleased that when Charles wasn't trying to be a moody teenager, he was actually quite pleasant, and so, they had wound up spending the past two hours discussing various strategies for the Games.
Cinna and Portia arrived a few minutes later, carrying two black garment bags. They said little, while casting each other covert glances.
There was a loud beep, which signified that a broadcast was about to start.
Charles and the others gathered around the large TV in the main room of the penthouse as Panem's anthem played out.
There was a brief intro, announcing that this broadcast would announce the scores of the tributes. Then they cut to the picture of District 1's male tribute, with the number 10 underneath it.
That was hardly surprising, nor was the female's 9 or District 2's pair of 9s. They were Career tributes, after all, and they generally got some of the highest scores.
District 3 earned a 6 and a 5 respectively, which weren't great scores by any means, but nor were they too terrible.
The male tribute from District 4 earned a 10. The female earned a 5, which was very surprising, given that she was part of the normal Career alliance as well.
Charles barely paid any attention to the next several, not really caring about the scores. None of it mattered, in the end.
Effie coughed slightly, clearly catching his inattention.
The young telepath turned his attention back to the screen, making a momentous effort to pay attention to what was going on.
They were now on District 10. Both tributes got an all time low score of 3, which had never been heard of before. Charles distantly wondered what exactly they had done to get such a low of score, and wondered if he would get an even lower one on account of what he had done.
The District 11 male tribute received a 9, which was abnormally high for such an outlying District. Usually, Districts 9-12 received the lowest scores.
The young girl who had been following Charles and Katherine received an 8, which was also another surprise. Charles couldn't help but smile, though. From what he had glimpsed in her mind during the training sessions, she was smart and clever, a dangerous combination.
It was time for District 12's scores to be revealed. Charles was fairly certain no one in the room dared to breathe as his picture flashed on the screen.
His mouth fell open at the glittering gold numbers beneath his picture.
There was no way possible that was his score. The Gamemakers had not given him an 11.
Excited, and slightly relieved cheers filled the room. A feeling of relief, not entirely his own, swept over him as Haymitch's hand clapped Charles' shoulder.
Before the young telepath had the chance to shake it off, Katherine's score was announced. She received an 8, which was a fantastic score.
Still, Charles didn't miss the faint stem of jealousy that came from Katherine, even as she accepted the praise from the stylists and Effie. Clearly, she didn't like being upstaged by Charles yet again.
He mentally sighed, wishing not for the first time that week that Katherine wasn't the jealous type. He hadn't asked for this anymore than she had.
Effie shut off the television and turned to Katherine and Charles.
"Well," she said with a smile. "That went better than expected. We should have sponsors lining up to sponsor you in no time!"
(0)
It was a common characteristic of the interviews that they played to the tributes' strengths. Caesar Flickerman, the host, was very adept at bringing those out, as well as making a strong rapport with the tributes.
The outfits also helped, adding to the overall impression the tribute made. For example, the boy from 4 was wearing an extremely well-fitted black suit that showed off his sharp lines and angles, making him look positively dangerous. Charles, on the other hand, was dressed simply in a long sleeve, light blue button up and a pair of dark slacks, which Cinna had said would make him look a gentleman—in other words, perfectly harmless. It was a rather bold look to be going for, especially given that Charles had received the highest score in the history of the Games.
However, his outfit was nowhere near as bold as Katherine's, who was dressed in a sleek, dark red dress that shimmered in orange and yellow, making her look as though she were a walking flame. Clearly, Portia had wanted to accent just how dangerous Katherine could be.
Charles found himself unusually nervous as he waited in line behind Katherine for his turn to go up on stage. He realized that he would rather be back in the Training Center after his stunt with the Gamemakers than speak in front of the huge crowd that waited for him on stage.
Katherine was silent, which wasn't really all that uncommon as of late. She seemed to be embracing the whole 'enemies, not friends' thing already, which Charles had to say he didn't entirely mind. It was better than having to be careful about what he said around her all the time.
Cinna, Portia, and Haymitch stood off to the side, along with all of the other mentors and stylists. Effie was nowhere in sight, which Charles was grateful for. He always felt physically ill when he was around her, with her enthusiasm for the Games rolling off her in hot, thick waves.
Cinna caught Charles' eye and smiled comfortingly. Charles attempted to smile back and failed rather spectacularly.
On stage, the first tribute—the girl from District 1—took a seat. Charles barely paid her any attention, nor, really, any of the rest. It wasn't as though they were going to reveal anything useful, not with all of the other tributes watching so closely.
However, Charles was entirely unable to remain completely out of what was going on. He picked up bits and pieces, both from the minds of the other tributes that pressed on his fragile shields, and from the interviews themselves. Most of it was trivial, like pride in what score they had gotten, but some of it was useful, such as learning that the girl from 4 could not only fly, but spit fire as well.
The one interview that really caught Charles' attention was the girl from District 11.
She was dressed in a simple, white dress that was clearly designed to play up her youth. Combined with her wide blue eyes and her hair in two simple braided pigtails, it was a very heartbreaking effect.
"Please welcome, Jean Grey, all the way from District 11!" Caesar announced with a broad smile on his face.
The girl, Jean, smiled slightly, clearly nervous as she took her seat across from Caesar.
A deeply ingrained habit of always sending a wave of comfort to a nervous Hank took over Charles' mind, and without realizing the implications of what he was doing, sent one to Jean.
It was received with a very grateful thank you, which startled Charles, who had barely even realized that he had done it in the first place.
He cast a swift glance to the stage, where Jean momentarily met his eye and sent him a slight smile, which he was quick to return.
Jean was instantly a crowd favorite, which was hardly surprising. In the Games past, the audience had always loved the innocence of the younger ones, which only added to the hatred Charles felt for the Games. And here was one who looked more innocent than anyone else, and had also received one of the highest scores of the Games.
Caesar asked a couple of introduction questions, about how she was liking the Capitol and such. She giggled with every response, which only served as a harsh reminder of just how young she truly was.
"How did such a little thing like you earn such a high score?" Caesar asked, looking to the audience. He gestured to Jean. "Wouldn't you all like to know?"
The crowd responded with a loud yes.
Jean blushed. "I can climb really high," she said. "And I'm also really fast."
Her shy, yet proud smile reminded Charles so much of Hank in that moment that he was forced to look away. He couldn't bear the resemblance.
He turned, fully intent on walking away—while contemplating what would happen if he missed the interview entirely—when Cinna intercepted him.
"Charles," he said softly. "What's wrong?"
The young telepath shook his head.
"I can't—I can't go out there and tell them my life story," he told the floor. "Not about Hank, or Alex, or anyone, not when they sit by and force her to compete in the Games."
It was a testament to just how well Cinna knew Charles that he didn't have to ask who the telepath meant.
The stylist sighed. "This is perhaps the ugliest part of the Games," he said. "But it's necessary."
"Why?" Charles demanded in a whisper. "Why is it necessary to let them ogle us? Why do we have to do these Games in the first place?"
The last question slipped out of his mouth before had the chance to fully understand what he was saying.
Cinna pressed a gentle finger to Charles' lips and shook his head.
"You know as well as I do," he said. "But it's dangerous to talk about. Especially here."
He cast a pointed glance around to the guards that were standing at all of the doorways, and the other tributes that surrounded them.
Charles sighed.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I just-."
He trailed off, but Cinna understood.
"Would you be willing to talk to me about your family?" he asked. "Forget the rest of the audience, and just act like it's you and me out there?"
The young telepath hesitated for a moment, before nodding once. That, he felt like he could possibly do. The audience hadn't earned his trust, but Cinna had.
Cinna squeezed Charles' shoulder once and gave him an encouraging smile.
"Just talk to me," he said. "Be yourself, and talk to me. They'll love you."
(0)
Katherine, surprisingly enough, was a happy-go-lucky sort of person in front of an audience. She made instant friends with Caesar, and seemed to take great delight in telling the world about herself.
It seemed to Charles that this was perhaps the first time where Katherine had the attention of others. Even when she was with the rest of the District 12 team, she was constantly being overshadowed by Charles' presence. That, combined with the small facts Charles had gleaned from her mind about her past in District 12, painted the picture of a very lonely girl who wanted some attention.
And now, she was getting it, and absolutely glowing with it. In fact, her dress was literally glowing, making her look like a human candle.
She was beautiful as she stood and twirled slowly, much the delight of the crowd. When she smiled—truly smiled, the way she was doing now—she was actually very pretty.
Charles couldn't help but notice as she left the stage, positively beaming with happiness. It was the first time, he realized, that she had smiled like that in all of his memories of her.
It was sad that it took for her to be a lamb for slaughter to look that content.
He shoved that thought out of his head as he stepped on to the stage.
"And now, our final tribute of the night, all the way from District 12, Charles Xavier!" Caesar announced.
The crowd roared, momentarily disorienting Charles as he took a seat. It was like the day of the Reaping all over again, with all of their excitement and near-lust hammering on his shields.
Caesar was talking, though Charles missed most of what he said as he vainly attempted to shore up his shields. Lack of sleep combined with stress and wrecked havoc on them.
The young telepath only noticed he had been asked a question when the crowd fell into a hushed sense of anticipation.
Rather than lose face by asking Caesar to repeat the question, Charles merely picked it out of the older man's head, momentarily suspending his usual rules of morality.
The question had been what impressed Charles most about the Capitol.
It took him another moment to respond as he realized that nothing had truly impressed him.
"The food," he decided on at last, with what he hoped was a decent smile. What he didn't say was that it sickened him more than impressed him.
Caesar shared a knowing glance with the now laughing audience.
"Yes, the food here is excellent," he agreed. "Now, about your opening ceremony costume—that was astounding! My heart literally stopped when I saw you."
There were a couple of murmurs of agreement in the audience.
"Mine did too," Charles admitted. "I was worried that the flames would kill us."
"We're glad to find they didn't," Caesar said with a smile. "We wouldn't want you to die before the Games began, now would we?"
Charles resisted the urge to say that he didn't want to die at all. Instead he made a noncommittal noise and Caesar moved onto the next line of questioning.
"I think I speak for all of us when I say your volunteering for your brother was one of the most heartbreaking moments in the Games so far," he said. "The good-bye must have been hard. Tell us, what were your final words with your brother?"
Charles froze, momentarily at a loss of what to say. He let his gaze wander for a second, his eyes locking with Cinna's.
Talk to me, Cinna's words from earlier floated through Charles' mind. Just be yourself.
The young telepath looked back to Caesar.
"I told him I would win," he said, his voice far more brave than he felt. "I told him I would win the Games for him."
There was a collective sigh of admiration from the audience, and even Caesar looked a little teary-eyed as he reached over and took Charles' hand.
"And try you will," he said. "And try you will."
(0)
Charles stumbled off the stage, feeling disorientated from the sudden loss of contact with all of those minds. A gentle, yet firm hand stopped him from doing a complete face-plant.
"Easy, there, kid," Haymitch muttered from somewhere above him. "You're fine."
The young telepath took a deep breath to steady himself, grateful for his mentor's support.
Nearby, Katherine was watching him curiously. Charles wasn't exactly sure if he liked the look on her face—it looked dangerous.
Cinna and Portia came up behind Haymitch, both with broad smiles on their faces.
"That was excellent!" Cinna said. "You two were a hit with the crowd."
Charles glanced up at Haymitch, who gave a slight nod of agreement.
"Right," Effie said, appearing from nowhere. "Those interviews went over splendidly. But we all have a big day tomorrow, so let's get off to bed!"
Charles and Katherine exchanged slightly irritated glances that were softened by smiles. Effie was beginning to grow on them after all.
They all headed back to the Training Center penthouse, where Effie sent them immediately to bed.
(0)
Charles gave up on the pretense of sleep about an hour later. He knew he should be taking every opportunity now to do so, given that starting tomorrow he wouldn't be getting really any, but his mind was racing far too much to rest.
He slipped out of his room and down the hallway. Cinna had mentioned a special doorway to the roof earlier, and the young telepath decided that would be as good as place as any to find solitude.
He found the doorway with little effort and climbed the stairs. He was almost up them when a wall of emotions slammed into him.
Charles paused, not expecting anyone else to be on the roof, especially not a person with such powerful emotions. The telepath could practically feel every single thing the other mutant was thinking about.
Too tired to think about boundaries or the rights and wrongs of what he was about to do, Charles lowered the barriers around his mind and gave up the fight of keeping the other mutant out.
He immediately wished he hadn't as pain and anger swept over him in blinding waves.
This mutant, whoever he was, had lost his parents to the Peacekeepers when he was nine years old. Three years later, his best and only friend was chosen for the Games and never returned.
There were other memories there, too, all equally as dark. Memories of plagues and fires and floods that took away the people this mutant cared about.
Then, a dark, twisted relief as he shut himself off from the world, and an even more twisted desire to become a member of the Games, just so he had the chance to destroy himself.
These dark thoughts were strung together by one underlying message: I'm alone.
"You're not."
The words were out of Charles' mouth before he realized what he was saying.
He found that he was suddenly face-to-face with the male tribute from District 4; the tall, fair-haired boy with a trident.
This mutant was without his trident now, and dressed in the familiar training gear that Charles, too, was wearing.
Erik. His name was Erik. And he was the metal bender the young telepath had discovered on the first day of training.
This information came to Charles very quickly as the metal around them started vibrating.
"Come again?" Erik asked, his voice dangerously soft. His face was carefully blank, but his gray-blue eyes betrayed his surprise and anger at being disturbed.
Charles swallowed hard, having momentarily forgotten that he had spoken in the first place.
"You're not," he repeated. "You're not alone."
Erik snorted and turned away. "I'm in the Capitol, on the eve of what will probably be my last days in this hell hole," he said. "I can't rely on anyone except myself. Tell me, how am I not alone?"
Charles shrugged. "You're not the only one here," he said. More softly, he added, "You're not the only one who has lost everyone they've ever loved, either."
He instantly regretted his words as distrust and suspicion flashed across Erik's face.
"How do you know that?" the taller mutant demanded.
The telepath pressed his lips together, trying to think of a way of getting out of this without revealing his secret.
"When you lose someone you care about, it leaves a mark," he said. "Anyone who's experienced the same thing knows what that looks like."
It was the truth, in a way, but it wasn't the entire truth.
Erik looked suspicious for a moment, before accepting Charles' words with a shrug.
"What are you doing up here?" he asked. His voice was still hard, but there was a certain softness to his face that showed his change in demeanor.
Charles leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
"I couldn't sleep," he admitted. "How did you get up here? I thought it was only accessible from the penthouse."
Erik grimaced.
"There was a fire escape that I… I used," he said hesitantly.
A mental image of his powers effortlessly manipulating the fire escape into a ladder that brought him to the roof floated through Charles' mind and the young telepath had to fight against the urge to smile.
"All right then," he said. He turned. "I'll leave you alone, then."
He was about to take a step when the other mutant stopped him.
"Don't," Erik said. Charles looked back, surprised by the openness. It was uncharacteristic, given what all the telepath knew about his new friend.
The metal bender shrugged, a gesture that was almost shy in nature.
Charles couldn't resist the faint smile that tugged at his lips.
"This is a bad idea," he cautioned, settling himself against the wall. "We're supposed to be enemies in the morning."
Erik looked away. "But we don't have to be," he muttered, so quietly, that Charles almost missed it.
The thought was so close to what Charles had been thinking his entire life that it was almost as if the other tribute was a telepath as well.
Charles sighed softly. "We don't have a choice."
Erik's mind flashed a brilliant red anger. The strength of it took Charles' breath away.
"We always have a choice," the metal bender growled. He softened slightly and cast a swift look back at Charles. "You proved that."
Charles blinked, surprised. He wasn't aware that others knew what he had done for Hank. Yes, it had been a televised event, but most tributes didn't stand around and watch what happened with the other Districts. It had something to do with the whole impending doom thing.
A very small part of himself that he refused to acknowledge also glowed at the idea of Erik considering him to be somewhat of an equal. That was a very dangerous thought.
"What can we do, though? In the morning, we're supposed to try and kill each other," he said.
It wasn't that Charles supported the idea—quite the opposite, really, for he positively loathed the idea of killing another mutant—but they were all pawns in the Capitol's sick and twisted game.
Erik sighed wearily, as though he had had this argument many times.
Charles knew the feeling—he actually had had this argument with Hank on countless occasions.
An idea was forming in the metal bender's mind, one so powerful and so distinct that it was impossible for Charles to miss it.
He gasped at the possibilities that it contained.
"You're not in the Games to kill yourself," he realized out loud.
Erik looked back, his eyebrows raised in suspicion. Too late, Charles realized that he had no way of covering that up.
They stared at each other, one guiltily and the other calculative, for the longest of moments.
Not to Charles' surprise, he looked away first. He had never been good at stare-downs.
Erik shook his head, clearly guessing what had happened, and not liking the implications.
"You shouldn't have to hide who you are," he muttered. "None of us should. Not unless we want to. It should be our choice. Not the humans'."
The angry red cloud took over Erik's mind once more as he glanced back at the telepath.
"I'm not scared of you."
Charles shrugged once. "You shouldn't be. I'm perfectly harmless."
It wasn't the truth, not by a long shot. Charles was very aware of what his powers allowed him to do.
Erik snorted. "Right. Sure you are."
There it was again, that sense of friendship, that seemed all too natural between them. It felt to Charles as though they had known each other for more than just a few minutes.
Silence fell between them, but it was far from uncomfortable. It felt peaceful, and for the first time since Charles reached the Games, he felt himself relax.
This is bad, he told himself. We can't be friends.
Instinct, however, told him it was far too late for that.
"I should go," Charles said again. "It's late."
Erik studied him for a moment, before shrugging.
"You're right," he said at last. "No sense in dying of sleep deprivation."
Charles snorted.
"Not when there are so many other ways to die," he said acidly.
A small smile formed on Erik's lips, one that faded quickly.
"It doesn't matter how you die, so long as you die on your terms," he said, looking back out to the night sky.
Charles shook his head, thinking of the promises he made to Hank and Alex.
"I can't afford to think like that," he said softly.
If Erik was surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, he merely shrugged.
"If you don't, then it doesn't matter if you are the last one standing," he said quietly. "The Capitol will have won."
With that, he turned, and walked away, disappearing down the now warped fire escape, leaving Charles in a state of wonderment.