Hello all, and welcome to the final prologue chapter of Long Way Down! Next chapter I'll start introducing tributes... hoo boy. This SYOT is still OPEN, but I'm only looking for one more tribute. I'll mark the story as closed as soon as I get them, so if you're seeing this and the story still says OPEN, no one's submitted one yet and I would love it if you would! Thanks fam
Also, to everyone who's had a reserved spot for a while, I would greatly appreciate if you could get your tribute in to me very soon! I've been writing ahead, but I can't do that anymore until I get the rest of my tributes in. Thanks so much!
Hope y'all enjoy this chapter! Get hyped to meet your tributes next chapter!
You're watching Victor's Village, where your favorite Victors live together, laugh together, and bounce back from incredible trauma together! In last night's episode, Allen Morphol of District Three did his best to welcome newest Victor Vascula Phalanx to the program. In this episode, we'll see Jetta Greene of District Twelve give it her best shot!
Vascula Phalanx, 18
District Two Female, Victor of the 147th Hunger Games
Vascula opened her front door before the person behind it could get more than a few feet away down the front path. She leaned on the door jam and crossed her arms over her chest. "District Twelve," she said, looking at the woman who'd swiveled around with wide eyes. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"What?" said the Victor from District Twelve, whose name escaped Vascula at the moment. "No." She turned more fully around. In the twilight, all Vascula could see were the whites of her eyes and her sticklike silhouette. "You should watch out, though" she said. "I left a cake on your doorstep. Don't trip on it." She took a few steps towards Vascula. "I'm not Abraham," she said. "I wouldn't try to kill you for ratings." She let out a short, bleating laugh. "Actually," she said. "I don't think Abraham was even trying to kill you. You'd be in worse shape if he had been."
"I don't know about that," said Vascula. She crouched and felt in the darkness for the cake tin. "Thank you," she said, standing.
District Twelve waited in the darkness. "Sorry," she said. "I wasn't… I thought you probably didn't want to socialize so much after the day you've had. Allen Morphol visited you, right?" She rubbed at a spot on the back of her neck. "That must've been something."
"Yes," said Vascula. She pressed a hand to her side. Her wound throbbed at the pressure. "He did me a service."
"Oh boy," said District Twelve. "I'm not sure I want to know what you mean by that."
"He stitched a wound for me," said Vascula. She sniffed at the cake in her hands. It smelled like chocolate. "What did you think I meant?"
District Twelve walked closer. They were now at a conversational distance. "Allen is… You're new here. You'll figure it out soon. Once you've met us all." She thrust her hand into the space between them. "I'm Jetta Greene. District 12. 130th Games."
"Vascula Phalanx. District Two. 147th." Vascula balanced the cake tin one hand, shook Jetta's hand with the other. Jetta was now close enough to see through the gathering dark. Her brown hair was a mass of curls that framed a face so white that Vascula could see the veins in her cheeks. Dark liquid dripped from one of her nostrils and gathered on her upper lip. "Your nose is bleeding," said Vascula.
"Oh shit," said Jetta, swiveling to face the street. Her spine bulged through her thin cotton shirt. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a white cloth square, which she pressed to her nose with one hand. When she turned back around, the handkerchief obscured the bottom half of her face. It was hard to make out her expression. "Sorry," she said. "I have a disorder. It makes me bleed."
"They didn't fix it for you," said Vascula.
"No," said Jetta. "It's a hereditary illness. I didn't acquire it in my Games. Also it made me something of a fan favorite, so once I won nobody wanted to correct it." She pressed the handkerchief more viciously into her nose. "Sometimes I cough up blood," she said, voice muffled by the cloth. "But I don't think I'll die from it. That wouldn't make for good television."
"I suppose not," said Vascula. She glanced over her own shoulder, into the cavernous darkness of her parlor. "Do you want to sit down?" she said.
"Oh, no thanks," said Jetta, rolling her wrist to dab at the blood. "I didn't want to impose. It's only your first day. This place can be overwhelming." She peered around Vascula, into the empty house. "You know they film everything, right? Everywhere. This whole conversation will be on television. Minus this bit where I acknowledge that fact."
"I know," said Vascula. "My mentor told me." She drummed her fingers against the cake tin. "There's only one camera that I can see."
"That one's probably for show. There are more, believe me." Jetta grimaced, tilted her head back, and pinched her nose shut with the handkerchief. "Sorry," she said. Her voice was nasal and distorted. "The bleeding's getting worse. Sometimes that happens."
"You can come inside," said Vascula, but Jetta was already backing away.
"No," she said, "You should rest before the others try to welcome you. It'll be a weird month." She stopped walking for a moment and smiled. Vascula could just about make out the expression from under the handkerchief. "Enjoy the cake," Jetta said. "Welcome to the Victor's Village."
When Jetta was far enough away that Vascula felt confident she wouldn't collapse on her way home, Vascula closed her door and brought the cake into the kitchen and ate the entire thing with her fingers. Then she went to the bathroom and threw up three times. It's all on TV, she thought, wiping her lips clean of vomit with the back of her hand. Until I mentor a winning female tribute from District Two. All on camera. All the time. Her stomach roiled, and she clutched at the toilet seat until the spasm passed. Happy Hunger Games, she thought, and welcome to the Victor's Village. Somewhere in the corner, she thought she saw the flash of a tiny camera swiveling and zooming to catch her expression. Just for a moment.