Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new chapter for The Gamemakers Plan: Part I: The Winning Mistake, where Head Gamemaker Wyatt Crane devises a new chessboard, Colby experiences some trouble, Jonathan converses with an enemy, and Lucas forges a new path in himself. Last chapter, the Careers have been whittled down to one tribute, Leeane from District 1, and Katie has also met her end as well, leaving Jonathan alone. All of this and more inside Chapter #12: Warriors of the Night. Enjoy!
This is not good.
None of this is going the way he has wanted it to go. That is the unpredictability of the games, he suspected, but he has always thought that being Head Gamemaker presented itself in the ability to control it at least somewhat. Unfortunately, this was not the case, and it was biting him in the ass. Dammit. Damn it all to hell.
Head Gamemaker Wyatt Crane, son of the infamously executed Seneca Crane, his father having been Head Gamemaker in times past, leaned up against the metal railing of the Gamemakers control room and stroked his chin. His hair was glistening and shimmering darkly with water still dripping off of the tips, having just gotten out of the shower, for he wanted to be in the center as quickly as possible. People were losing interest, he could feel it, riding the air, the way the world sneered and shouted at their gilded screens. Four days in, and there was only ten tributes left, an arena moving at a much faster pace than he expected. He knows the Games don't last forever and ever, if it gets any longer than eleven or twelve days, he's rushed to end it by a very cross President Lee, but when an arena moves too fast paced... that meant things were bad for everyone. Him. Louis Grande. The other Gamemakers. Even the Capitol populace, generally.
These games very… uneventful, boring even, if Wyatt wished to be so bold. Mainly due to one alliance, and in that faction, one tribute. Where no one else in the arena had their guard up, so one said tribute could steamroll over all of them. The Career pack getting three kills before being effectively wiped out is something Wyatt had never seen before, and with Lone's alliance practically taking that spot... he bites on his lower lip, frowning, doing a headcount. All five Careers besides Leeane, the girl from Seven, the girl from Eleven, and the girl from Twelve, eight tributes killed by members on that alliance, and Wyatt was pretty sure the victor would come from that gang of five, he had his money on one of the District 6 siblings, despite not being allowed to bet.
"Maybe if Lone didn't kill everyone these games would be better, it is just his alliance and no one else," Wyatt thought to himself. "And if there was no Lone to lead, then perhaps the Games could change entirely..." he muses to himself. Wyatt had been entirely too caught up in his own mind that he didn't notice someone else sneaking up behind him playfully, said person leaping forward and clamping a hand down on his shoulder. He jumped a bit, scared out of his wits, turning around wildly, eyes searching for an intruder, narrowing in.
"Don, don't do that to me. How many times have I told you not to do that to me? You just scared the shit out of me," Wyatt scowled, directed towards Don Terio, fellow Gamemaker of his, and a victor of the Hunger Games, having won the 85th Hunger Games from District 2, and due to his strength and prowess and unmatched attitude, President Lee Snow requested he be placed on the council. Don was a man in his late thirties now, starting to bald, dredges of brown hair fading away to leave a bald crop circle on the top of his head, with a hawkish nose, piercing blue eyes, and a bulk that most victors begin to lose at his age, but not him. Out of everyone in the Snow administration, Wyatt had to admit that Don would be his favorite person in said group, and he'd be brave to call themselves friends.
Don laughed heartily, moving likewise to stand beside him on the railing. "You are too high strung."
"What if it was an assassin?" Wyatt asked, raising an eyebrow.
"If it was an assassin," the victor ventured, "They wouldn't touch you and let you get your bearings. Knife to the throat or shot to the back of the head," and Don looked at the Head Gamemaker, a piercing shot racing through him. "Simple and easy as that. Besides," he gestured at him, the way Wyatt's hands were clenched around the railing so hard his knuckles were turning white, "I could tell you were caught up in something, and it doesn't hurt to have some fun."
"I wouldn't call that fun," he muttered to himself, and then his gaze returned to the ground level of the center. The workers and Gamemakers bustled about in all white, sitting at their holographic screens and monitors, cameras plastered everywhere showing snapshots and moments in time of the arena. It was fairly early, around ten in the morning or so, and with ten tributes left, there weren't many opportunities at getting the ball rolling. His eyes fell on the largest screen, which housed Lone's alliance, as they were, again, the largest group, they deserved the most attention. District 6, such a forgotten about place, must have been rejoicing in the fact.
He locked his jaw, fingers strumming on the metal. What to do, what to do...?
Don furrowed his eyebrows together, leaning forward slightly. "What's up?"
"I'm thinking," Wyatt hissed through gritted teeth.
The victor looked at the screens, following the Head Gamemaker's line of sight, nodding his head. "You can read it on your face. You're thinking about Lone and his alliance."
He blinked, frowning, stepping back slightly, fingers unhooking. "What?" Wyatt didn't know how Don was able to do it, but he somehow could always tell what he was thinking. It never failed him, able to pinpoint it exactly.
"I know exactly what you're thinking. You're thinking that these Games are uneventful. Very boring because of one alliance killing everyone," and Don threw his head in the direction of the largest screen. "Because of them. We're giving it to them, practically, Lone and his alliance getting the most screen time because they're killing the most people, and because they're killing the most people, it means they're able to kill more and more and in the end it is super boring because they took over everyone and everything," he crossed his arms together. "At this rate, for the first time in Hunger Games history, we'll have five victors on our hands."
"I don't think Lee would be happy with that, there being five victors," Wyatt bit on his lower lip. "Even though it was his idea in the first place to implement the 4th Quarter Quell twist this year."
"He read the card?" Don asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Unfortunately," the Head Gamemaker nodded. "Whatever the president says is what goes."
"You're right about that..." A pause, where he righted himself, straightening his back. "Something must be done, though. It would be bad for us to have that many victors come out of the arena. Three or two would be preferable, and of course, maybe even one with extenuating circumstances."
Wyatt smiled. "You read my mind, good thinking. What do you suggest we do?"
Don drummed his fingers on the rail in a familiar, but hard to repeat rhythm, one that causes Wyatt's right eye to twitch. "How about you send someone in to the arena? Someone to physically deal with them... and it'd be cheaper than sending a mutt."
Wyatt cocked his head. "What do you mean?"
Don shrugged. "Send in something..." Then his face lightened, as if he had been struck by lightning with a brilliant idea. "Send in someone. Namely me!" he exclaimed.
The Head Gamemaker felt bad, but he laughed regardless. That had been an answer he did not expect, truthfully, it coming entirely out of left field. Never, never ever, in the history of the Hunger Games, has anyone ever been sent into the Hunger Games that wasn't a tribute. The extraction process would be too difficult, costly as well. When a mutt was sent into the arena, designed solely for that purpose, and did its work, it would be exterminated in the long run. Mutts didn't need food or water or oxygen like normal animals in many circumstances, and if the situations proved fruitful, the mutt would be recycled a few arenas later when the populace had forgotten about them.
Not a human being though, especially one that belonged to the Capitol. He could picture the protesting crowds, hearing the chants and screams of degradation that pleaded for mercy.
"You're crazy! Send a Gamemaker into the arena? They might get killed..." and then Wyatt rewound what Don had specifically said. To send him. He upturned his head. "Don, I will not authorize sending you into the arena. Have you lost your damn mind?"
Don gave Wyatt a stern look. "My mind is intact, thank you," and he placed a gentle hand on the Head Gamemaker's shoulder. "I was thinking the person kills one tribute and then exits the arena, any tribute, doesn't matter who..." and another bright idea glowed on his face. "Or they kill a specific tribute and then they're done. I was thinking the leader of that one alliance you don't like."
Wyatt paused, frowning. The idea sounded a bit better, but the aspect of Don including himself didn't sit well, none of it did, honestly, but Lee would demand a solution sooner than later and that sooner than later would be soon. "That's not a bad idea..." What would be wrong with using a deranged criminal in the Capitol prisons? "Why are you suggesting yourself though? It could be a death wish for you." It sounded ridiculous the moment it left his lips, but Wyatt felt compelled to throw the notion out regardless.
Don smiled back. "I am the only Gamemaker who has been in the Hunger Games, Wyatt. I have prior experience unlike the formers. I'm pretty sure the rest of you have never been in a war, have you?" A perceptible shake of the head. "Besides, Wyatt, do you really think any of those tributes in the arena are going to best me when caught by surprise? None of them could fight me head on, and they were all alive when I became victor. They'd have seen the tapes."
The Head Gamemaker blanched slightly, leaning on the railing for support. "No, you're right. You're going to need a weapon."
The victor pressed his lips together wryly. "Already ahead of you. I have the perfect one..." he trailed off. "It's one of the weapons used in the training center, about three, almost four feet long. I call the weapon Mesa. It strikes down rock and human alike," the pun and name was a bit distasteful, as Wyatt winced inwardly on Don saying that, always needing to prove himself, to one up the conversations and game. "I've been practicing with it for awhile, just because I wanted to, and that's the weapon I want to use."
Wyatt stepped back some, hands out, a loose smile dancing across his lips, faint yet fake. "You also need some form of transportation, Don. You can't just blow up the arena to get there."
Don laughed again, a glint in his eyes. "I was thinking of using a hovercraft, and being sent into the arena at the Cornucopia. I'd make my own way from there," and he took a step forward in the Head Gamemaker's direction. "I just need your go away. Get in the arena, end Lone's life, get out, and maybe the Games won't end in a disaster this year."
"And Lee doesn't know about it..."
"And Lee doesn't know about it," Don confirmed, with a nod of his head.
Wyatt chuckled to himself, laughing. "You have my permission, then, Don. I want that Lone guy dead in three days, tops. I'll see you then."
This could prove to be interesting, or it could prove to be a total disaster, Wyatt knew, as Don stepped away from the railing to get ready and go prepare himself.
All about legacy, where his father's legacy had meant he lost his life.
That couldn't happen here, Wyatt couldn't lose his life, not in the same way Seneca did. If Don did his job, he could be lauded rather, for coming up with the idea.
He wouldn't lose; he'd go down in Panemian history as the best Head Gamemaker Panem would ever host. Better than his father or Plutarch Heavensbee, or any of the predecessors, or any of his successors after him. It would only be a matter of time till his greatness was expected.
Hours and hours of sadness dripped by inside my mind. When birds chirped, they sounded like gargoyles chanting and laughing to themselves, mocking me, mocking whatever walked along their path. I found my way back to my creek, exhausted and cried out, unable to form even a sigh when my feet laid out as I rested against the tree, bow heavy in my hand. I didn't know what to do anymore, to be honest. Katie was gone. Killed, in the last moment, by that damn boy from Nine. Lone and Rachel may have murdered other alliance members of mine, and Leeane might have shot Lyon in the stomach while the District 6 siblings abandoned him to die, but Thatcher killed my district partner, someone I have known for years and years, someone who confided in me her worst secrets, and I to her. Gone.
Snuffed out like a candle, and here I am to carry the burdens the rest of the way, to try and win this by my lonesome, with an alliance that we were all not in every way except name, members I couldn't even find, against a group that knew where we were at all times, coming out of nowhere, somehow able, somehow able to kill whoever they wanted to, and I was getting tired of it. What if they were able to experience loss? To experience tragedy? The Careers, reduced to rubble in days, days... and what was I to do? When I awoke the next day, still wanting the planet to burn around me, for the arena to dissolve into acid and flames, smoke and ash to run in my hair and ruin my strands that slipped beneath my fingers, I knew I couldn't just sit here and expect things to change.
An ally of mine gone, other potential threats I could link up with gone too, meaning it only made Lone and his sister and Thatcher and District Ten stronger, I had to be on my A-game. Only Thatcher, it seemed to me, would ever hunt by himself, perhaps being the fastest, while the others would travel in a pair of three. It had been Lone, Rachel, and Thatcher with Lyon in tow who attacked the Careers on the beach, but it was Lone and District 10 who surprised the Careers yesterday on the mountain. If I could eliminate Thatcher... perhaps the others would be too scared to venture by themselves elsewhere... perhaps.
I stayed in my crook, with the water stream, for a majority of the day, until the sun started to go down. No one hunted at night, it seemed, when it would be the most advantageous to do, exhausted from a whole light day of working and moving, but not for me. That would be my time to shine, under the shroud of darkness, a killer lurking in the shadows with a bow in hand, notched arrows that'd find their mark. A shiver ran through me at the thought of it being so easy to think about, but truth be told, I was sick of being on the run. I was sick of being taunted by the others doing all the murdering in the arena, trying to stay alive, yes, while I lost my allies. No one would plead to reason, no one would listen. Why couldn't we all become one alliance? That'd absolutely confound the Capitol and if they were forced to rescind their offer on the Alliance Rule going into effect, it'd absolutely ruin them. The districts would be in uproar, and the Capitol might too, for no one likes being lied to openly, when they can feel the rug ripped out from underneath them.
The bright shine of the sun was beginning to sink beneath the sky, azure blues vanishing into a plethora of pinks and oranges and purples, where I threw my bow around my shoulder, quiver placed opposite that where I could grab one with my left hand. Venturing out into the arena at night was an entirely different animal, exposing myself to sounds and shadows I had not yet experienced before. My feet crunched leaves that sounded like broken fingers underneath the soles of my shoes, and after awhile, I took my bow off of my shoulder, holding it on the defense. The arena came alive at night, in a different way than what it had been during the day. The sky ran in those racing colors, an almost amber glow shining from the clouds, giving the arena a haziness to it, smoggy, an orange and red mess.
My stomach was growling, as it had been awhile since I last ate, finishing off the dried meat in the package from the backpack I took at the Cornucopia, the little bit that remained after I shared it with Katie. I balled my tongue inside my cheek, I couldn't help it, it happened every time her name crossed my thoughts. I couldn't save her, and she's gone, and I have to win and I want to do nothing else but burn the entire world around me while I do so, trying to save her. I wouldn't want to be in an alliance with them anyways, with Lone's group, even if I was given that power. Why would I want to ally myself with those that have murdered my friends? None of us are forced to kill, but even as I think that, I know I am a hypocrite. I shot and killed the District 9 girl without hesitation or remorse, to save Katie's life... and look where it got me, huh?
There was a snap to my left, and I whirled around in its direction, loading an arrow to the bow, drawing back on the string in case I needed to fire. I pushed on a bit, another sharp crunch sound following that, as I was standing in a field of flowers, white daises and dandelions, an odd mix, and there were branches and bramble underneath my feet that made noises depending on how hard I stepped. Something bright and colorful blipped by my vision, way too bright for the hazy sky, and nothing green, back up against a tree I was circling around. I quickly darted to that corner, yanking back on the string even more, and the tribute I startled dropped her hands, having reached for something in a bag.
"Leeane," I croaked, almost out of surprise, as this must've been the first time I've spoken all day.
The girl from District 1 looked up at me, blonde hair blown everywhere, that having been the brightness I had seen when she ran past me. Her diamond eyes were ghastly in the haze, searchlights from a Capitol hovercraft looking for runaways and thieves, people to take away and to turn into Avoxes. Something about Leeane made me gasp, taking a slight step back, as her hands were covered in scarlet, some dripping off of her neck, and some also splattered across her face. She had a look of wild, reckless abandon in her eyes, not the same steeliness I remembered back when she told Arman to go screw himself, after the interviews.
"Leeane," I said again, but this time much gentler, lowering my bow. Probably a stupid idea to do, but I trusted her, she didn't seem to be on the offensive strike me mode, and her hands were both clear with nothing in them. "Are you dying?" If someone was bleeding as much as she seemed to be, they'd be a dead person very shortly.
"Not my blood," she shook her head back and forth, and it has been a long time since I heard her last speak; her voice sounded different to me than it did four days ago. Less confident. Shaky, as if someone ripped away all of her personality. "It'd be the deer's," Leeane said, pointing to our left. I followed her finger, and sure enough, dead on the ground, surrounded by the fields of white and yellow, was a dead deer, a knife in the animal's throat, an arrow that pinned two of its hooves into the dirt. "I had to kill it and the blood got on me."
"There are deer in the arena?" I have only found lizards, tiny birds, and some smaller animals like a mouse, or a wild fox I shot earlier this afternoon. Nothing as large as the deer she's killed.
"One every hour here in the flower field," she told me, and then she stood up straight, hands still clear, and she definitely didn't take anything out of her bag. "I'm ready."
"Ready?" I frowned. "Ready for what, Leeane?"
"You're going to shoot me. Aren't you?" the Career asked, and I then realized how defeated she looked. The wildness didn't happen to be just because we were in the wild; she was gone, out of it entirely, ready to give up. Perhaps she had already given up. "I'm ready to go. At least you'll make it quick and painless, unlike Lone and his barbarianism..." her lower jaw quivered, and Leeane bucked her chin some, eyes widening as if she was trying to fortify herself.
My hands did not raise, I did not raise my bow or draw an arrow. I simply stared at her. I had no quarrel with her, Leeane had done me no harm. She shot Lyon, sure, but for what it had been worth, I do not know why Lyon didn't flee the moment the group started to run at the Careers, to flee for the woods and leave them behind. Perhaps- it doesn't matter, I guess, what I think he should've done, for he's gone, and Leeane was alive instead. It was nothing I would kill her for, I was under no direct threat.
I shook my head as visibly as I could in the haze. "I'm not going to do that, Leeane. I won't hurt you."
She raised an eyebrow, and the pretense fell, her composure rapidly fading as her shoulders slumped together. "What?" she said, her voice visibly shaken, where I could hear the reverb along it. "Jonathan- why?"
"Because you aren't my enemy," I said. "You're not District 6 or Thatcher. I have no reason to harm you."
Leeane wanted to say something, but instead she reached for her bag, and this time, there was another knife sticking out of one of the pockets, the bone handle clear as day in the haze, its whiteness jarring to the eye. I warily took another step back. Just because I wouldn't kill her doesn't mean she'd extend me the same kindness, and I didn't expect her to, truth be told. I wouldn't expect that of her, as killing has been instilled in her blood since she was young, as per Henry's instruction. She'd be bred to kill, and here I am, allowing myself to be wide open.
Perhaps I wanted it. Perhaps I wanted her to attempt it, to see if I would readily go on the defense or not. Or maybe I want that knife to twist inside me, to rip me open and let me die. Let Lone and his group win, just maybe. An entire conditional here.
She looked at me as if I wasn't even real, lips parted, eyes narrowed in and focused. "Thank you, Jonathan," she said, and then, as if I wasn't even there, and as if she didn't just kill a deer, most likely to eat it, Leeane turned from me, walking in the opposite direction from where I was headed. Nothing else was said, just that, and it was as if we didn't even communicate to one another, regardless if it had been meaningful, that I just saved her life, that she, a Career, was left without guard, as they have been so many times in this arena.
I stilled, and then, when she had vanished further into the brush, where her blonde hair was no longer visible in the sheen of daises and dandelions, I realized how stupid I was. I didn't even broach the subject of possibly wanting to ally with her. If we were to be united against a common enemy in that being Lone and his alliance, then what am I wasting my time doing?
I put my bow back over my shoulder. I was feeling exhausted, and I didn't want to trek on any further, for the remainder of the arena ahead of me was unknown, an unknown force of uncertainty, and I hated uncertainty. With Leeane gone in one direction, I went in the opposite, back the way I came.
No matter where I went, it seemed that brooklet would call me home over and over again.
Colby looked up from his meal, scraping the chicken guts from his mouth with a sharpened branch, knife hooked to his side, his bamboo dart gun hanging on a peg rested against a tree. A chicken leg was dripping juice onto the tweed of the hammock he built, he swinging back and forth between two massive oaks in a secluded part of the arena, where every noise was documented by the thick underbrush. He dropped the chicken leg onto the grass, muddled in the dirt, but there was only a bite or two left on it in the first place, nothing needed to save. He could go hungry with a bite or two.
He got up from his hammock, feet landing on the soft grass, one hand going to the knife, and looked around. He heard a sound, but unsure of how to describe it. He had been alone these four days in the arena, all by himself, where the only sounds were the chirping of birds here and there. He had seen, through the trees, a marvelous animal with a glimmering white coat of paint briefly just for a second, last evening, but nothing beyond that. When the animal had fled, out of terror, it seemed to not even make a sound as its hooves landed on the ground. This sound was different. It was mysterious, heavier, as if someone with bulk was trailing a weapon in the dirt, and even someone muttering.
He had seen Altha, Zelina, and Katie in the sky last night, and that brought the tribute count in the arena down to ten, ten souls, and he couldn't even believe he was one of them. Rested against one of the trees were his two crutches, crutches for a leg that wasn't broken, but he kept them to keep up the illusion, and if it mattered, the crutch could be used as a weapon. He spent months following his father around, who had his own broken leg from a large electronic solar panel falling from a high veranda and landing on his leg while his dad had been at work. It had been for something else entirely, the practice, of learning how to walk with a 'broken' leg, but when the Reaping came round, Colby couldn't pass the opportunity up. It was a golden one, truthfully. And he was reaped, and his father screamed, and Colby smiled to himself. He wasn't happy that he had to go to the arena, devastated moreso, but he had a gimmick. If Johanna Mason of District 7 could have one, and win all those years ago, certainly he could too, and he was just as athletic.
Colby's heart was for Jonathan, however, when looking up at the sky, he must have felt crushed loosing his district partner like that. He had seen the way the older boy's eyes alit when talking about her, at how they had been friends for the longest time in District 12. Not the best of friends, but good enough where losing her must have mattered. He was alone, now, just like Colby. He didn't know his district partner at all, a seventeen year-old girl who didn't know manners, with mousy brown hair and a stare that always seemed to be a more sharply connected sneer. He had seen Ramon kill her, but it had been entirely on accident, for the girl had run directly into the line of his sword swing. Colby let a tear or two fall, but he had to move on. He didn't want to, but he wasn't close to her, and nothing he did would force him to be close with a girl who was no longer here.
Colby hated that heartlessness, but he knew he had no other choice. It had been made for him, forced like someone wedged a thumbtack between his shoulder blades, forcing him to stand up straight. He went to go for the dart gun, a weapon he hadn't practiced with in training, but it didn't require too much work. His fingers had just barely encircled the bamboo when another loud sound reverberated to his right, but it was directed moreso as it had been immediately behind him. Colby wrenched the dart gun free, digging into his pocket and loaded a poisonous, but not lethal dart into the tube. He had barely enough time to turn around and face the noise when a figure lunged out at him. Colby fired and the dart snapped in two, missing the intruder, it hitting a tree and the projectile snapping in two on impact.
The boy from Three backed up and pulled out his knife from against his leg as a long sword swung into the air and bared down on Colby's body. He scattered to the left and the hammock fell to the ground in a snap as the weapon cut straight through one of the bindings, and his good handiwork collapsed into the dirt, a soft putter. Colby cursed silently to himself, ducking under another swipe, and then stopped against a tree, one that had been in his way, and he turned around, bamboo gun dropped in the dirt, and he didn't feel confident enough with throwing the knife.
He couldn't get an amazing look at the guy in front of him, shadows causing a darkness to fall on their face, but the person was tall, at least over six feet, where Colby was still barely breaking five feet, the sword in their hand menacing and terrifying, his heart beating fast and erratic.
"Please don't kill me, whoever you are... Please don't," Colby whimpered, hoping whoever this was, they'd be merciful. A fairytale, but one he wanted to believe in.
The figure laughed heartily. "I won't kill you, I promise. You're not the target. However,when you wake up please warn the others, the Capitol is here to make sure the Games run much more smoothly..." there's a pregnant pause, and Colby considered if he should run for it. "Well, that is if you wake up." the figure then raised his sword, turning it upside down and holding it by the hilt, and slashed Colby upside the jaw with it.
Colby felt a sharp hit of pain to his head, and then nothing, as blackness rushed to meet him while his body slumped to the ground. He was out like a light.
Lucas tightened the string around the arrow and drew it back, looking at the apple a some yards away, about ten or so. Since Jonathan was gone, and wasn't doing so well, it was time to learn how to help Bailey support both of their families. He knew what his brother did, and what that meant, the illegalness of his activities, but it always fascinated him. On the off chance his brother wouldn't come back - a fat chance, a fat chance, and he knew that possibility was really just the worst seeds of doubt in his head thinking that - he needed to be prepared, for Bailey couldn't do all the work just for one person, essentially helping two families. They started the very afternoon Jonathan was reaped and went into the Games, against his mother's wishes, and it had been eight days of practice since then.
He released the string and the arrow flew at the apple. Bullseye. The apple broke off of the tiny branch holding it up, falling outwards an angle, which sailed into the basket that Bailey held out.
"Nice job Lucas! That was awesome!" her eyes were bright with happiness. "You're getting better by the minute," Bailey praised.
He didn't know her all too well, enough from being around them since he had been around four or five, but he truly didn't know Bailey Resel the way he should. He had seen the way his brother would talk about her, how he smiled slightly, gaze extending a bit farther than normal as if he was stuck in a different world, thinking of her. Lucas had to admit that she was pretty, with her long dark hair, olive eyes, a fairer skin tone than most that lived in the Seam, as it wasn't because her arms were stained with the soot and charcoal from the mines.
All of this had a purpose though. No one in the Capitol - the mentor, escort, or anybody else - was doing enough to help him. He knew Jonathan was on the outs with Katie gone, devastated just by looking at his face, and they weren't even trying to brush together funds to send him food or anything. There was a plan, and sometimes Bailey and Jonathan would do it if a close friend they knew had been sent in, such as the year before, the 98th Games, but their efforts ended up falling short as the tribute they were rooting for died two days in.
Lucas has seen death, watching the screens and seeing the blackness when he shouldn't as his mother and Jonathan demand he stay away from the television screen, or to not watch it when a videotape is played in the Square. He has to shy away from most of it, but the killing of animals for survival hasn't bothered him the way he thought it would, for it is mostly Bailey doing the main firing and harming; he isn't. He must do what he needs to do for his family.
Lucas smiled, drawing another arrow. That movement has become rather second nature for himself, doing it so often, where Lucas finds himself sitting in his bed at night, holding the makeshift bow in his hand, fingering the string, putting the bow away should their mother stir. The process was going to be simple, why they were collecting apples and other produce. Sell the items, bring enough coin to the Sponsor Shop erected just off of the Justice Building, only open when the Games were in session, and buy Jonathan a sponsor. "I want to collect enough stuff so we can sell it," he keeps the smile on his face. "And if we have enough, we can use it to buy a sponsor gift and send it to Jonathan."
Bailey locked gazes with the blonde, her eyes darkening. A hard line set her mouth straight, and the girl looked away for a moment. The sun was going down, fleeting into the shadows, where scarlet blips leaped across the sky. They needed to get back before it came fully dark, and Lucas was pretty sure he just cut the trip short. "If he's still alive by the time we get back..." and the moment of praise raced off. "He was in such distress over his girlfriend, he seemed to give up," Bailey said with venom.
The boy noticed the pain in her voice, the human woes not lost on him. Jonathan and Bailey's relationship may not have been something he understood fully, this vague concept of love, but he knew it well enough in the idea that the two were best friends at the very least, and she felt pushed to the side. He hoped. He knew he wasn't a great philosoph. "Bailey, I don't think Jon was in love with her. I think he was just pretending for cameras..."
"They kissed!" Bailey snapped.
"I dunno then..." Lucas protested, he dropping the bow by his side. "Bailey, I don't think you know how much my brother cares for you. I know he cares a great deal about you. All he talks about is you, when we're together," and he took a step forward towards her. "He is fighting in that arena to live, so he can get back to me, and my mother, and to you. I know it."
That had to mean for something. It had to.
Bailey shook her head, unable to meet Lucas's eyes. "I want to believe that, Lucas." When their eyes did meet, there was a coldness to them, one that sent shivers up Lucas's spine. "He won't live. Lone is going to kill him in the end. We shouldn't fool ourselves."
Lucas stood by numbly as Bailey stormed away with the basket of apples, off to the direction of the fence, where the electricity would be off, hopefully. Though it had been off for years and years and years, there was always that chance that it could be back, just slightly.
"You'll realize it in the end," Lucas sighed to himself, and then made the effort to follow behind her.
Tribute List (Boy - Girl)
District 1: Leeane (District 1 Female)
District 3: Colby (District 3 Male)
District 5: Felice (District 5 Female)
District 6: Lone (District 6 Male) - Rachel (District 6 Female)
District 9: Thatcher (District 9 Male)
District 10: Huron (District 10 Male) - Amelia (District 10 Female)
District 11: Ramon (District 11 Male)
District 12: Jonathan Crimson (District 12 Male)
A deathless chapter for the arena, but we're extending the scope and view to what happens and takes place outside of the arena, bringing characters back into the fold. Head Gamemaker Wyatt Crane and victor Don Terio, also a Gamemaker have now begun a development that will surely lead to consequences... Jonathan and Leeane have had an encounter, but he is still by himself... Colby met the angel of death, but was spared... and will Bailey have a change of heart? Next chapter, #13: Mechanical Warrior. See you all then! Love you all! Bye!
~ Paradigm