Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a a brand new chapter for The Gamemakers Plan Part I: The Winning Mistake, where the president gives Wyatt a new way of viewing the arena, Lone receives an opportunity, Lucas encounters an individual of some prestige, the world seems much smaller to Jonathan, and an alliance takes a hit... all of this and more inside the next chapter! Previously, Wyatt's plan surmised by Gamemaker and District 2 victor Don Terio did not go the way things were planned, and Jonathan reunited with Colby, the male from District 3... it looks like he has a new alliance member to contend with. Hope you all enjoy Chapter #14: Merits of the Mutations.
Wyatt slammed his fist down on the railing as hard as he could, growling to himself, making the figure standing next to him jump. Damn it. Damn it all to hell. Don went and got himself in trouble. The idea sounded too good to be true, after all, but he had stars in his eyes, wanting to dream of a wonderful and glorious death for the tribute who has caused so much trouble. He did not expect Don to happen across the District 12 Male, that had not been something he saw in the scope. A thousand pings on his pager, and several angrily written letters came across his doorstop that morning on his way to work, but Wyatt could only shake his head. What had happened, had happened. Perhaps just another line of mistakes, a lineage of mistakes.
"Not only did my plan fail, but now Don is knocked out and he attacked two tributes he shouldn't of. I did warn him, but what does he do instead?" the Head Gamemaker bit down on his lip, ripping away some of the skin. "He goes against my wishes," Wyatt thought to himself, angrily. He would go and rescue the victor, someone beloved by half of Panem, and downright hated by the others, but a gentle, yet sturdy voice stopped him, just a few moments ago when he brought the idea up. He thought it was brilliant, the extraction of a Capitol prized asset, but it was the glare he received that caused his mouth to dry up and the plan to die in his throat.
Said person who rejected the offer standing right next to him, as a matter of fact, the one to jump from his bough of anger.
"Mr. Crane," President Lee Snow said, looking at the monitor screens, not taking his eyes off of them, "You're brooding again."
He - the Head Gamemaker - had always wondered why he and the ruling leader of Panem had been given such 'ordinary' names. Those were names of District 10 or 12, not someone living in the prestigious world of the Capitol; that just didn't exist. Wyatt had thought of changing his name, but it is one of the only requests his father, Seneca gave him before being executed by the consumption of Nightlock, almost as if he could sense it forthcoming, a tingle crawling up his father's arms. However, it was the president, just a few moments ago, who shot the notion down. Don Terio got himself in his own mess, it is up to him to get out of it. He'll survive in that arena, knocked out from Colby's non-lethal dart, and there'll he remain. Lee knew of ways to keep the districts at bay, to keep the citizens from Two championing for Jonathan Crimson or Wyatt Crane's head.
Wyatt gave Lee a look of resentment, a brief glare thundering in his eyes. Lee was a rather tall man, in his mid-forties, hair starting to do that thing where it would thin near the top, but it was not to say Lee was bald. His emerald eyes held the societal poise of a viper always daring to strike, but the grace of a crane or flamingo in a ballet pose... a coldness Wyatt knew a member of the Snow legacy could hold onto and inherit forever and ever. That would be a matter for another time, however, as Wyatt licked his lips, admitting a thought freely. He seldom held his tongue when it came to these matters. "I am actually surprised sir that you haven't sent me to be executed, like my father who failed so many years ago at his Hunger Games," in which it caused Lee to look at his second-in-command, an eyebrow raised. "Head Gamemakers have died for less, actually. And here I am, getting a victor trapped in the arena." It was Wyatt's problem, talking when he should be quiet, or else he'd find his head separated from his shoulders before too long.
"It's as I said," Lee spoke, his voice serene, but ready to come down like one chiseling away marble, "That was of Don's making. He'll be dealt with when all of this over."
"And what if he dies in the arena?" That thought had crossed Wyatt's mind, but he wasn't going to tell it to the victor's face. He assumed that the victor would be strong enough to kill any tribute who came across his path, even that bastard Lone and his axe-swinging sister. Lone and Rachel were all ferocity, they lacked a certain dexterity and strategy to their movements. Heathens. Ruffians.
"Then he dies," the president continued. "He knew what he was getting himself into."
"And I allowed it-" Wyatt said, not sure why he was still talking. "I'm just like my father." It has been his worst nightmare, the thought of turning into his father, a failed specimen of society, where grandeur kills him... Wyatt had been fifteen years old when his father died, and that parting advice will never leave his head.
President Lee turned around, his cold green eyes piercing through Wyatt's skull. "You are not like your father Wyatt, just because you're his son. One does not choose to follow their parent's paths without any thought," Lee shook his head, frowning. Coriolanus Snow had been a formidable man, but mortal like any other, yet strong enough to present the man standing there. "My father told me once about how life is the hardest challenge, since it is all of our wants, necessities, and battles crammed into one challenge that takes a long time to wear off," an unspoken moment passed between two men. Lee took a deep breath. "Your father died because my father killed him... and I'm truly sorry for that," it must've been a backwards day, for Lee Snow never said sorry. "But, rules were rules back then and your father let them live which brought on dastardly consequences."
"I know, sir," Wyatt acknowledged, not sure what this had to do with the situation at hand.
"And you aren't a failure, Mr. Crane. You call yourself that one more time and I'll cut out your tongue," Lee's eyes narrowed in, slicing through shadow and flesh. He tapped his fingers on the railing, metallic dings lightly coming from the bar. A steeliness replaced the rather cold stare in the president's eyes. "My father was a failure, and your father was too," and then with a smile, if it can be even called that or passed as such, "But, not you, Mr. Crane. Nor am I one. History will remember us as the pair who saved Panem, unlike our predecessors that destroyed it."
Wyatt's heart welled in his throat. He had been on the receiving end of some pep talks before, but this was wholly different. This was the truth, the happiness he had been missing. Losing his father so young, to find someone of relative status manage to rise to a position held by family... Wyatt never wondered why he latched onto Lee's wisdom so strongly. "Lee, that was absolutely exceptional. Thank you sir." And Wyatt found that he meant it, genuinely meant it.
Lee smirked to his associate. "I am the president; I'm supposed to give courage to those who need it most, like you." He laughed, but his laugh could be described more like the braying bark of a Rottweiler. "If I wasn't a good communicator, I wouldn't have this job."
The Head Gamemaker nodded to himself, stroking his chin, looking at the monitors. Four days in the arena, now on the fifth, and there were ten tributes left alive. A rather fast moving Games, perhaps, but the audience craved excitement after a bloodless day, when the only exciting thing had been Jonathan Crimson nearly dying to Don Terio, and gaining an ally. Wyatt supposed, flipping through the polls, that the most exciting moment beyond that had been Leeane, the District 1 female, having a run in with Thatcher, the spear thrower from Nine. Lone sent Thatcher out hunting every few hours, scouring for tributes, but he'd come back empty, and on screen Wyatt could see a vein in Lone's head become just a bit more prominent than before, and Thatcher would scamper back into the wood to find someone else. He had come across Leeane, but she figured she was being followed, hearing footsteps in the grass that weren't her own.
She had fired an arrow at him, it hitting him just above the shoulder, really only just grazing across the skin, but it had been enough to warrant Thatcher coming to a stop. In her haste to get away, she tripped over a tree root and sprained her ankle, which was going to debilitate her until the injury would heal, but the pitiful state of the Careers left Leeane without much in terms of sponsor money. Wyatt wondered why the male from Nine hadn't continued pursuing the Career, but it clicked. The kid lost an ally to Twelve, he'd make sure Twelve received the end that they were due. It'd be a spectacle for sure. Beyond that, Jonathan and Colby had spent their entire day yesterday hunting for food, catching up with one another, no tribute encounters. Something was brewing between the tributes from Ten, Amelia and Huron, something about feeling like the spokes on the left wheel, without any sort of action to do, besides being Lone's henchmen... Wyatt tasted the blood in the air, it mingling in the back of his throat.
"I want to drop some mutations in the arena..." he said aloud, suddenly. There had been a mutt in the arena, but Lee shut down the idea, as he didn't feel satisfactory with what was presented to him the day before the Launching. Wyatt wanted to wring the man's neck, all that hard work and it ending up with nothing, nothing. "Do we have anything like it?" Whenever a project was scrapped, Wyatt sent it off to a team underneath him to work on, and they'd be the ones to show the president again, in case they wished to implement the idea. Lee didn't like deaths from mutts, something about wasting the technology when a tribute had been much cleaner, since the assets would need to be destroyed after the fact when the arena would no longer be of use.
Lee gave Wyatt a wary glance, frowning momentarily. "We do," he said. "Your technicians worked day and night at that second display I originally vetoed," and the Head Gamemaker looked at a technician sitting just a level below them, nodding. A hologram replaced the tribute map on the table in the center of the room, drawing everyone's eyes to it. "The rats you engineered in the labs just a month ago?" there was a telltale smile dancing on the president's face. "We decided to change it. They are called Merits, a form of flying snakes that spit viscous acid that erodes the skeletal system," and Wyatt took in the design.
Scaly skin, as one would expect for a snake. Two beady halcyon eyes appearing behind what looked like a mask of sorts, a speckled layer of dark skin, which would flap back and forth, almost like a stingray mouth. The projection opened its mouth to reveal a sharp row of fangs, not just two, but four, a sheen liquid glistening off of each spike at the root. As Lee then mentioned, Wyatt's gaze falling down the body of the mutt, two white wings on either side, similar to that of a cherub design, a grotesque piece of heaven created right in the Capitol.
"They're marvelous..." Wyatt said in amazement, losing the correct words he wished to say. "And they're ready to be used?"
Lee nodded again. "With the faith of your team behind you, I was told we have one fully operational, down in the labs. There's a single cage of them, about seven or eight, but the technicians told me they were starting to devour each other. If you prefer, in which I do, I say we let a tribute have them as a sponsor gift..."
"A sponsor gift?" Wyatt's eyes widened. Is- is that even allowed? Is that legal?
"You know me and my apprehensions towards them as is, Mr. Crane," Lee said, with a hint of distaste in the back of his throat. "We can use a hovercraft, attach the cage as a load, and send it in. Drop it wherever we see fit."
The Head Gamemaker rubbed his hands together, lifting his head to the ceiling, and he could see it now, Lone or Thatcher or Rachel coming across the cage, given ownership of the cage, and whatever magic that would come free with such a design... oh how the ratings would skyrocket, and he could lie and say it had all been his idea. He could save his skin. "That sounds delightful, Mr. President."
Lee turned around to his associate, having taken a moment to do a staring contest with the hologram on the display table. "I'm relieved to know you think so. I am sure, as you've told me before, some of the genetics can be changed to instill ownership, no?"
Wyatt grinned in response. "Yes sir," and then with a cheekier grin growing further. "Mr. President, if I can be frank, why do you spend most of your time in your mansion instead of in here with me? I am starting to really enjoy your company. You should be in here with me more often."
It looked like the 99th Hunger Games was going to introduce a new player at this late stage in the game.
Lone looked up at the sound of a hovercraft, a sort of silence that wasn't silent anymore than his own breathing, it sounding very close. Thatcher had just returned from his latest outing, a wide grin on his face, and Lone felt a swell of pride rise in his chest. When he had first met the boy from Nine, after he had his sister surmised what it was they wished to do, he couldn't see the same sort of ferociousness that hadn't been there just a few days ago. Thatcher, rather skinny, rather tall, skin pale like a ghost's, but willing to do whatever it meant to survive. Perhaps he didn't like being the errand boy, but Lone knew it was the truth, the kid was the fastest and had the weapon which could sail the fastest. All of the tributes left, besides that D5 and D11 pair, which were not fighters... who could stand a chance?
The first time Thatcher had spoken up about being forced to run around, it was Rachel, not Lone - he never knew his sister had it in her, either - that placed her axe very close to his neck, with one of her sweet, sweet smiles, and eyes burning with fresh caches of hellfire. From that point forward, it was the District 6 tributes who would run the show. Lone got to his feet as the hovercraft seemed to slow down from its entrance into the arena, as if the vehicle had just appeared out of nowhere. He had seen enough videos of the Games, for Rachel's eyes were sharper than his, that there was some sort of entrance and exit for any kind of Capitol vehicle, but he could never find it. When he stood up, it caused the others to follow suit, ever the little peons. He glanced at his sister, just out of the corner of his eye, but she didn't return the glimpse. The five of them, which included Thatcher, Rachel, Amelia, and Huron were sitting around their makeshift camp when he saw the hovercraft enter the arena.
Lone kept his eyes on the sleek, silver piece of technology, the personification of a deity's creation at work, before it came to a dead stop, near somewhere by the cornucopia, in the smack dab center of the arena. They had all decided that being just near the fringes of the cornucopia worked the best, for they were the Careers now, and it was going to be their territory. The hovercraft might've been directly out in the open, now that Lone thought about it, a hatch opening up, it dropping a metal crate of some sort down below it. Although it had to have been at least half a mile from their vantage point, just out of the trees, luckily for them, Lone couldn't see what it was, a covering on top of it. The crate must've landed when the hatch closed back up, and before his very eyes, the hovercraft vanished into thin air as if it hadn't even existed.
A moment of silence passed over the group.
"What do you think that was?" Thatcher asked, leaning up on his spear. It had been a different spear than the one which killed the Wenshaw girl, to Lone's immeasurable disappointment. The wickedness of carrying around the weapon which caused a kill did numbers to his pride. He'd never wipe off the blood that killed Arman, or the other Career males, nor the blade that sliced Altha's throat open... it was him proving he could work with the big leagues. Rachel had wiped the blood off of her weapon, he looking at her with disappointment.
"I don't know," Lone answered. "It had to be important enough for a hovercraft to drop it off."
"Maybe a sponsor gift?" Rachel suggested. He looked at his sister with a frown. She knew how sponsors were sent into the arena... didn't she? Why would she ask such a stupid question like that.
"Those come in the form of parachutes," the girl from Ten, Amelia, spoke up, and Lone had nearly forgotten that she was even there. It was becoming a habit of his, forgetting about the other two allies in his group. He wouldn't necessarily call them freeloaders, for they did fight and all, and could handle weapons by spending a lot of time in slaughterhouses and such, but even then... they had started to outlive their usefulness.
"Well, if it isn't a sponsor gift, then what is it?" her district partner, Huron brought up, he wiping the sweat out of his eyes. Lone rolled his own, looking away. Such amateurs, unable to handle the heat.
"What if they were mutts?" Thatcher wondered aloud, and Lone snapped his gaze directly at the boy from Nine, who had turned to face the others. "I mean, we all know the stories, right? How President Snow hates mutt deaths? What if he was pressured to create some?"
Rachel's face lit up, she getting to her feet. She had decided to replace her traditional axes, finding a scythe in the cornucopia, almost wedged in the back behind a crate. Lone kept his yell that he wanted to give her down in his throat. She abandoned the past, the weapon she had always trained with, and he'd be lying if it didn't feel like a betrayal to him. "Let's go get it, then," and he saw that look in her eyes, the gleam of madness, and he remembered why she was his sister, the same blood ran in both of their veins. "No one would be stupid to just hang out at the cornucopia if they weren't a large alliance. We could totally use them!"
"And if they aren't mutts?" Amelia pondered aloud. Lone had no idea why he kept her alive. She was always correcting someone, or always questioning their plans.
"It doesn't hurt to check," Thatcher shrugged his shoulders. "And if they are, and one of the other five in the arena find it and use it against us?" He stared down the girl from Ten, but to her credit, she didn't look away. "I'd throw you to the wolves first, Amelia."
Lone stepped in between the two of them. Violence was fine and all, but only he could feel that way about everyone else, the others being peons and such... if the peons ate at one another, like the Capitol wanted them to, his plan would fall apart in his hands like a crumbling sandcastle. "Yeah, Thatcher, you're right about that," and then he looked at his sister, who matched him step for step, and Thatcher, who twirled his spear into his hand. "Amelia, Huron, stay here."
Huron scowled to himself. "It's not as if we are doing much of anything," he muttered, but Lone heard it, the tips of his ears flushing scarlet.
Amelia elbowed him in the side, rather roughly from the way he looked at her. "Do you want to get killed?"
The male from Six would be happy to arrange it, if they were asking for it. Cyran Dole, the victor from District 8, victor of the 80th Hunger Games, he had been the one to have the highest number of kills, somewhere higher than eight, if Lone could remember right. He wanted to top that, to best that like anyone ever could, and he could do it too. District 10 was in his scope, and so was Rachel, and he would cry when he sliced the axe blade up her back, but he'd relish in her screams, absorbing the pain... there'd be a time and a place for that.
Lone clenched down on the hilt of his axe, before taking off in the direction of the cornucopia. With a slight yell of surprise, Thatcher took off too, close behind. Rachel grinned to herself, and then followed the boys, laughing pleasantly into the air. She had kept her eyes on guard, searching the arena as they ran, the blend of green starting to turn into one gigantic mesh, just in case some tribute was stalking them. They'd be idiots, perhaps, but it didn't mean it was impossible. Lone ran as hard, his heart beating in his chest, the brightness of the sun blipping through the trees. It just a couple of minutes, perhaps no more than ten, the line of trees faded away into the open air. Catching his breath as well as he could, Lone then skidded to a stop when he approached the Cornucopia, Thatcher having beat him there for at least a minute, Rachel shortly coming up from behind.
His eyes hadn't deceived him. There was a silent, steel cage placed at the mouth of the horn, but perhaps what made it eerier was the fact that it wasn't moving. The idea of it being some sort of mutts entertained his fancy the entire run, but for there to possibly be nothing? Thatcher took an extra step forward, and gave a wary glance over his shoulder at their leader.
"What do you think is in inside, Lone?" he asked, his voice quavering. That was a surprise, he never took him to be one to find any moment of fear in his voice.
Rachel valiantly took a step forward, pushing past both of them, a scowl on her face. The scythe looked impressive in her other hand as she stepped up to the cage. Lone could tell it was a cage from the shape, as the cloth seemed to part inwards at a few places, like there was an open space for it to take up... he couldn't think of any other sort of design that wasn't built that way. "Well, you won't find anything standing here," she scurried up to the Cornucopia, lifted the covering on the cage, and promptly screamed. She screamed bloody murder.
Lone was at her side in seconds. He may be the only winning the Games, regardless of the alliance rule, but no one else was to touch her. No one else was to ever hurt or frighten his sister, or he'd write their name in blood on his forehead, snarling like some uncaged beast. "Rachel, what is it?" His sister, normally composed, was trembling.
She took a step back, pointing at the cage, dropping her scythe into the grass, her face pale, right hand clutching at her throat. "Snakes, snakes with wings... Lone," and she looked at her brother, a pang running through him. She hated snakes more than anything in the world, something about an every day creation biting people and that their bite could kill. "They are mutations Lone, and that means they were dropped in front of us for a reason too."
Thatcher's face turned into a wicked grin, matching both siblings. "Dude! We need to like, drop these on someone! We could wipe everyone else out!"
Lone gave the boy from Nine a look, widening his eyes. His sister just screeched her head off, and all he could focus on was the Games? "Thatcher, priorities," and then to Rachel, "Do they have a name?"
Rachel didn't step any closer to it, to the cage, but pointed at it from underneath the cloth. "Just on the other side of the cage. They call them Merits," and like they could tell they were being discussed, a merit hissed at her, specifically her. The hiss was chilling to the core, Lone feeling a shiver ripple through him. Rachel shrieked again, before closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Get it together Rach; I am not going to freak out over damn snakes," Then, valiantly again, she ripped off the cloth that had been covering it.
Lone whistled to himself, in pride. "That's the Rachel I know." She promptly went to step behind him, totally ruining the effect. Perhaps not the sister he thought he knew.
"What do we do with them? They aren't attacking us or trying to break free..." Thatcher pointed out.
He had a few ideas, Lone did, and if Huron or Amelia wanted their deaths so quickly, perhaps he could arrange it for them. He went over to the cage, standing over it for a moment. The merits, as Rachel said they were named, all looked at him, seven of these winged mutations sitting in the crate. A lever was attached at the top of the cage, directly in the center, which when he followed its gaze, connected to a flap, it being one of the walls. A lever to release them into the wild, to release into the arena.
"You were right, Thatcher," Lone said, and then he grabbed the lever and twisted, as per the instructions outlined in a print on top. The hatch fell away, and the merits took flight, hissing and screeching, their white little wings fluffing about in the air. Rachel screeched again, dashing further away from them, disappointment settling into his ankles, but he didn't focus on that anymore, watching as the mutts flew out of the cage, all seven in total. They truly were a thing of beauty, and someone in the Capitol, surely Head Gamemaker Crane or President Snow feeling as if they deserved the opportunity to cause more havoc than what they had already unleashed.
"We're gonna set them loose?" his sister asked him, the look of fear still present in her eyes.
"They were put in here for a reason, like you said," Lone reasoned with her, and then looking back at the mutts, the last one vanishing into the trees, having taken a straight line from the mouth of the horn into the forest behind them, into the direction of the snowy mountain. If Lone was right, that meant the beach was behind them, the sands soaked with Career blood. "And their reason is to kill some tributes."
"I feel bad for whomever they come across," the male from Nine said, shuffling his spear between his hands again.
There was power in Lone's voice when he spoke. "I don't; it's the Hunger Games, remember?"
The history books would paint him as the next Cyran Dole, something no one would expect from a sentient district like Eight, let alone an axe wielding maniac - Lone would prefer to paint himself as a passionate visionary instead - out of the smelting and ironworks of Six. Ruthlessness, brutality, and cruelty to an nth degree defined him, a code etched in his soul.
It was up to everyone else to try and survive it, but even then, trying to fight back was futile.
Lucas pushed open the door with a grunt of surprise, it being heavier than he expected. A little bell chime announced his arrival, the man at the counter looking up from whatever he must've been reading, his head angled downwards towards his hands. He had never been inside this building before, an offset of the mayor's office, in where someone from District 12 could send money or items to be pawned off in creating income, the income generating sponsor gifts that could be sent to any tribute, or tributes of their choice in the arena. The shop was only open during the Games, as far as Lucas was aware, but he was going without his mother or Bailey's approval, for they would not approve. He had been forbidden to go, but he has had a few free hours of school, why not?
The shop was rather massive, but he seemed to be the only customer, Twelve seldom ever sent in any supplies to tributes. Jonathan being alive in the top ten was something of a miracle, but Lucas didn't know much about the history of Twelve in relation to the Games. He would find himself lying awake, looking at the ceiling, thinking at how that could've been him in there, alongside Katie Wenshaw, or perhaps another girl entirely. His brother could be sleeping in the bed right aside him instead of fighting for his life. Now he had to fight for their family, with Jonathan gone. A few racks of weapons lined the far wall, in which a Peacekeeper sentry stood, silent, unmoving. Lucas thought it was a wax statue of sorts until the officer clenched and unclenched a gloved hand around the holster of the weapon, Lucas quickly averting his eyes.
He had heard of the mutts that the alliance led by that maniac from Six found, and Lucas knew what he needed to do without a second thought. Jonathan and that kid, Colby, would need all the help they could get, and Lucas could tell that his brother was running out of arrows, counting maybe ten or so left in the quiver, which was not enough to combat the other eight hostile tributes in the arena, or a venomous pair of snakes coming for his life. He didn't bring along the birds he and Bailey had found yesterday, a few pigeons and a couple quail eggs that did not have any hatchlings inside, luckily enough. Lucas had heard of the stories of those back in the older days who would go trouncing in to sell game, only for a Peacekeeper to catch them, and those people never returned to their families.
That wouldn't be him.
Lucas made his way to the counter, which hadn't been too high, or otherwise he would've needed to stand on his tip toes. He set the bag of collected produce and other items on the table with a clunk, a couple of strawberries fresh from the market rolling out. The trader looked up in surprise at Lucas, blinking a few times as if he was processing the very fact that there was a small, wiry twelve year old hoisting a full game bag into a black market. That would have to top the list of the most strange things, ever, but Lucas wasn't an expert on these things. He didn't see it, nor did Bailey or his mother tell him much, but apparently Jonathan had a run in with some sort of Hunger Games celebrity, a victor - Jonathan would be one if he came home, Lucas thought to himself excitedly - and it left his brother slightly injured, and a bit shaken up. He needed all the support he could get.
"What may I do for you kid?" the guy asked, closing what looked like a book over his right arm. The man was tall, taller than Lucas at least, but perhaps not as tall as the Peacekeeper over in the corner. He had a long swooping haircut of dark hair, almost the same color as Bailey's, a vividly bright blue sky colored eyes, Lucas mesmerized by them. It was a color that almost reminded him of his own, as he knew his mother telling him once before bed about their father's striking blue eyes.
"I'd like to purchase a sponsor item."
"I generally don't get people your age in here," the man commented, pulling over something from the side, it looking like a log of sorts with all these numbers and names scrawled up and down the page. Lucas couldn't see much more than a few inches above, but he wasn't about to stand on his tiptoes. He needed to be taken seriously, and someone wouldn't be taken too seriously in that manner. "How old are you, kid?"
"Twelve," Lucas answered honestly. Part of him wondered if he should've said he was nine or something like that, to garner whatever reaction, but he didn't feel like fooling around. He felt like sleeping forever and ever, with his eyes closed, dreaming that Jonathan was back home with him, but dreaming didn't get to change reality. He couldn't give up.
"You close to the kid in the arena?"
"I guess you could say that."
"Well, I am sure he'll appreciate your support," the man said, scrawling something else down with his feather quill pen, looking Lucas in the eyes. "My name is Eden by the way, just in case I see you come round more," and then, with a slight grin, "Something tells me that'll be the case."
Lucas looked at the trader, never taking his eyes off of him, this Eden figure... who broke away his eye contact. The kid bit down on his lower lip, looking over at the weapons rack by the Peacekeeper. He knew Jonathan didn't like melee fighting all too much, so an axe or sword would be out of the question. A knife could help, but Jonathan knew how to create them out of branches, and whatnot. He needed something ferocious, something with power, and something that Jonathan would automatically know who it came from. That mattered to him, though Lucas wasn't sure as to why. His eyes scanned over the collected metal weapons, before landing on the last item on the left. "I need something, a weapon would be nice..."
Eden hummed a sound of approval. "It's not the largest selection, and weapons are the most expensive," and the two looked at each other. "What do you have to sell?"
"I have an three pigeons, six squirrels, two gallons of strawberries..." Lucas reached into the bag, beginning to pull out the items he had brought with him. When he returned home, he knew his mother would have to hell pay, for him taking her bag and filling it with dead animals, but whatever it took to get his brother home, and that's what he would do. Whatever it would take. "There's some spool, some milk, salted pork..." he trailed off, eyes seizing up the weapon and accessory in question. "And with all of that, I'm willing to buy that bow in the corner."
Eden's mouth dropped open somewhat, before he shut it, a slight blush creeping up on his neck. "Yeah, yeah, that is certainly enough to cover it," he pushed the notepad over in Lucas's direction, dipping the quill into the jar of ink resting by his elbow. Lucas wrote down what he had to sell, and the item he wished to acquire, before signing his name. "That's a lot for such a choice. Why are you spending that much on him?"
"It's for my brother, Jonathan Crimson," Lucas said, pushing the notepad back towards the shopkeeper. "I'm his brother."
A brief flash of emotion crossed over Eden's face, causing him to frown. It was one of those blink and you'd miss it type of looks, but Lucas saw it for sure. A look of loss, a singe of hopelessness hiding in those pale clouds. "Uh yeah, you're Lucas, aren't you?"
Lucas nodded, but didn't bother questioning how he knew his name without looking at what he wrote, for he had covered what he was doing with his arms. "Yes," and then rather sharply, "Can I get the bow?" His voice had an edge of steel to it, but Lucas wanted to identify it as a more tactical sort of venom.
Eden hauled the bag over the counter, writing something down, before smiling. "No, Lucas, that should be sufficient enough," and he wiped some excess ink off on his shirt. "Is there anything you'd wish to say to Jonathan, when he receives the sponsor gift? Due to our proximity, the earliest it'll reach him is tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morning?" the blonde boy protested. "But he needs it now!"
"It doesn't work like that, kid. I'm sorry," Eden's words did not match the tone of his voice.
Lucas huffed to himself. Getting mad was only getting to make things worse, and he could feel the Peacekeeper helmet staring directly at him, a cold blackness settling onto the space between his shoulder blades. "If you are somehow able to contact him, give him District 12's wishes," and he paused, licking his lips. He swore he wouldn't cry, but he could feel the prickliness of tears setting in the corners of his tear ducts. "And that his family loves and misses him very much."
"I can most certainly do that for you, kid," Eden smiled, this time the words matching the tone of his voice.
Lucas gave a curt nod, before slinging the bag back over his shoulder. "Thank you," he smiled. "Thank you very much, Mr..." he trailed off, not knowing his last name.
"Forrestor," Eden supplied, keeping that smile and a warm glow in his gaze. "Eden Forrestor."
"Thank you, Mr. Forrestor," Lucas thanked the trader, stepping away from the counter, walking out of the shop and back into the sultry heat of District 12, to choke on the smog and the coal-scented air, while Eden stood inside and wrote off the ends of teenagers that he'd never know.
Eden watched Lucas go, lips pursed together, one hand flinging the quill back and forth, before chuckling to himself, tucking his chin towards his sternum. "Wow, what a kid," he whispered to himself.
He had only heard stories, but to see that same steeliness in person, from someone at such a young age... he could hardly believe it.
It was Colby's time for watch, the sun starting to slink down in the sky, the two of us having shifted camp. We had tracked back a couple of times to the old clearing to see if Don Terio was still there, my ally commentating on how odd it was that indeed he was still lying there, unmoving, although the wound in his arm had stopped bleeding. Colby had a little bit of rope left from some sort of hammock he had made in the part of the arena he was from, and with both of us collectively straining our bodies, we propped Don up against a tree, tying him by the shoulders to it, before tying his hands together behind his back. We were to go by every day and feed him, just to make sure he didn't starve, and to make sure we weren't going to call the collective wrath of the Gamemakers upon us, that was something I didn't want to do.
It felt kind of weird, having a captive of sorts in the arena. I still had no idea why the Capitol hadn't intervened yet, in rescuing him, but perhaps he wasn't even in danger. When the hovercraft had made its brief appearance in the arena, both Colby and I back at my very first camp near that little spring, to refill our water canteens, I thought it was them coming to save the victor, but it had hung out near the Cornucopia, before disappearing into thin air. Our day was rather uneventful, besides a run in with another deer in the section where I encountered Leeane. Colby hadn't run into anyone besides that scare with Don, hunting chickens and creating traps in his private sector, before being snuffed out and knocked unconscious. It looks like I was having the more excitable time in the arena, than him, if losing Katie was what I would call excitable.
However, as we had returned to camp, I lying down on a spot of moss, curling my body inwards on itself, I had only closed my eyes for about a minute when something caused me to snap awake. I righted into a seating position immediately, reaching for my bow. I was getting dangerously low on arrows, as ten wasn't exactly a lot in fighting off a murderous alliance of five, plus a Career who wouldn't accept a handout of pity from anyone again, if Leeane words were to be held true when I saw her two days ago. I needed an upgrade, or otherwise I'd have to resort to - ugh, it made me shudder just thinking about it - melee combat, and I hated melee combat.
I must've been the only one to hear it with a striking clarity, the reverb of someone crying out in surprise, followed by a briefer, yet more terrifying rouse of pain. Colby heard the second shout, he getting to his feet, the knife at his belt swaying from his movements. He went over to pick his bamboo stick out of the ground, it resting up against a tree. I got to my feet, dusting off of my knees, bracing for another sound. It came again, but this time coupled with another voice, another cry of surprise, or maybe pain, but I wasn't sure.
"Do you hear that?" I whispered. It was getting to the point where that might've been Lone and his wicked sister out hunting, or maybe we were hearing the souls of dead tributes...
"Yeah, I do. It sounds like two voices," he said. Good, I wasn't going crazy.
It came again, this time louder, and this time much closer. A feminine voice, and then shortly after that, a masculine voice. Felice and Ramon.
"That sounded like Ramon..." Colby whispered, and he drew his knife out of the loops on his pants.
Colby and I locked eyes, when that same feminine voice wailed out in pain. "That sounded like Felice..." my heart began to beat in my chest. Those weren't sounds of joy, as if they had come across our camp. Allies, by the thinnest metric of the word, but allies all the same back at lunch on the first day of training. I couldn't save Leema or Melissa, and I saw Lyon and Katie meet their ends. This would not be the same. "They're in trouble."
"We don't know what it is, though," Colby said, stepping closer to me.
I slung my quiver over my shoulder, notching an arrow into the bow. His eyes glowed in the dark, for the sun was setting fast in the sky, haunting jades, like those of a lynx prowling the shadows. I could hear the fear in his voice, but the Hunger Games existed to kill fear in its crib. I shook my head in dissent, a lump forming in my throat. "It doesn't matter, Colby. Felice and Ramon are close by, and they're in trouble. We've got allies to save."
I didn't wait for Colby to catch up, I taking off in the direction of the noises. Wind whipped me in the face, my feet colliding on the soft ground, which puzzled me, for it hadn't rained recently as far as I was aware. Colby cursed something unintelligible, following me. A few leaves smacked my cheeks, stinging some, but the more I ran, the more the screams of anguish and terror got louder. Louder, louder, louder. They were close. They were so close. I ran into the clearing where Felice's scream had come from, it being the same section where I found Leeane and the dead deer. Colby skidded to a stop, just behind me, both of us collectively consuming the scene. I gasped, and Colby swore again, for another one of Felice's screams passed over our ears.
There was Ramon, covered in purple blood, cleaving what looked like to be a snake apart with his bare hands, a scimitar hanging just barely off of a pant loop. I was right, snakes, as I saw one of them lash out from behind a bush, Ramon ducking underneath the cry of the beast. It made its presence known, at the very least, with its hiss. I counted four of them, three already dead, wisped corpses to the world. Felice was holding one back with some sort of spear, occasionally striking out with her foot, trying to stomp on any of the snakes that got near her. It looked like she had originally been holding onto a knife, it discarded into the grass a bit away from us. The blade was stained with the blood of the snakes, the metal eroding away in an amaranthine glow, steam rising from the blade. I could hear Colby breathing raggedly in my ear.
These were no ordinary snakes, but some devilish form from the Capitol. Mutts. They had come across the first set of mutts to be found in the arena. Nothing in the Games ever felt accidental to me. Someone pushed them in the direction of these snakes, for sure. Felice noticed us, momentarily, I tightening my grip on the arrow as another two of these mutts slithered out of the foliage, hissing away. She locked eyes with me directly, swearing a rather not so nice word in my direction. I suppose I deserved that.
"Jonathan! Colby! Help us destroy these things!" Felice shouted.
Those six words, unbeknownst to me, cost Felice her life. A snake had lunged, and outstretched its mouth, fangs ready to slice her open. The warning cry had just left my lips, I firing my shot, but the mutt had been too fast for me. Felice wasn't paying attention, wisps of her hair caught in her mouth, a moving shade of a sunset, before the mutt plunged its fangs downwards, slicing open her neck. Another ally I had abandoned gave a weak cry, the mutt having slithered elsewhere now, a gash in her neck ripped open, spilling crimson onto the emerald grass. She was on the ground, poison seeping through her blood at this point, hands trembling back and forth, her spear fumbling out of her grasp.
"NO!" I felt an anger shoot through me and I shot the damned beast, taking fire, my arrow finding the back of the snake's head as it tried to slither away. "Colby, destroy every last one of them," I ordered. She didn't just die... there's no way Felice just died in front of me. I- I couldn't let it happen again, but I just did! Dammit! Damn it all to hell!
I lunged for another mutation near me and ripped an arrow free from my quiver, stabbing the creature directly underneath the belly. The underside of the snake was pale, almost like Lucas's own skin, but the blood it spewed was of the same violet color. Each stab only made the mutt gag, thrashing in my grasp. I slit its throat with the arrow, slicing upwards and downwards before pushing the snake off of me. It collided into a tree, falling into the grass, and it didn't move. Colby was sending his own fatal substance into every mutt in a ten foot radius, blowing darts at those far away. If one would get close to him, he'd smack the stick into its head, decapacitating the mutt for a few seconds. It might only be a few seconds, but these seconds were going to matter in life and death. I couldn't bear myself to look at Felice, but I found my gaze pulling in the direction of her corpse. There had to be at least twenty of these creatures by now, and we weren't making a dent in any of their defenses.
Ramon gave a blood curdling cry, and beheaded a mutt that dared jump at Felice's body, and now she was moaning, purple foam frothing on her lips, her body starting to convulse. Colby raced towards her, diving down onto his knees. He tried to feel a pulse, pressing his fingers against the side of her neck, but she had lost too much blood at this point when the cannon sounded, her death now official. I drove a second arrow into the neck of another snake which hissed so vilely, and so menacingly that I flung it away from me like it was radioactive. In that moment, I found Ramon and I were back to back.
"What are these things?" I spat out, this time firing an arrow, taking one that had begun to slither its way down a tree, the point of my arrow embedded in the creature's left eye.
Ramon wiped the dry blood from his face, dispatching a few more of these foul beasts back into the abyss with his sword. "I dunno!" he shouted, over a roar that Colby had made, diving his blade into the throat of another mutt. "They're mutts of some kind, some form of genetically engineered snakes that can fly, and shoot acid!" To prove his point, another mutt leaped off of a tree branch, a green glob of something shooting from its mouth, but the trajectory had been way off, the projectile sailing elsewhere into the brush.
I sent another arrow into the mutt, it shooting squarely through the creature's throat. A splatter of violet blood soaked the grass, as the mutt hovered in the air for a second, its pitiful wings trying to keep it afloat, before the life of it drained away, the mutt landing lifelessly onto the ground. They were all dead, I think, with that one being the final mutt. Colby closed Felice's eyes, stepping away from the soaked spot on the ground that had turned a putrid vermillion. I put the arrow I had reloaded my bow with back in the quiver, fingering back and forth the few I felt. I was now down to seven. That wasn't good. Seven tributes plus me, and that meant I couldn't miss. "They're gone," I exhaled, and I turned to Ramon."I'm sorry about Felice, Ramon..." I tried to hold back the pain in my voice, my throat feeling like Lone was squeezing it, choking the life out of me. "I- I hope you're all right."
Was Colby alright? Was- was I alright?
Ramon gave a longing look at Felice's body, before shaking his head. "I'm fine, Jonathan," he wiped some sweat off of his brow. "I-"
However, I would never get to know what it was Ramon was going to say next, for his eyes widened to the size of saucers. He pushed me to the side, rather roughly, my body giving way, I collapsing onto my back, and when I took in the next sight, a gasp ripped free from my throat. There was one more mutt... and every snake colony had one. The king, the king viper. The snake's eyes glowed red with fury, and its fangs were tinted purple at the tip. It hissed at me and swooped into the air, leaping off of the highest branch from the central tree in front of us, just above Felice's body. I fumbled for an arrow out of my quiver, but my fingers couldn't grasp onto the feather quick enough. Colby cursed heavily, trying to wrench his knife free from his pants as well. I turned my bow around, bracing for impact, when Ramon gave a great dive in front of me.
His eyes were widely open, and his mouth outstretched in a scream, a near soundless scream. It was one from a man with nothing left to loose, just besides his life. Before I could react, the king mutt sunk its fangs into Ramon's chest, wrenching free with a slice downward. That- that was a wound you didn't come back from. There must have been something combustible with this snake because Ramon's body blew backwards, straight into another tree, some of it splintering off, which then sank through Ramon's back, the fangs dripping venom onto the grass.
Colby let loose an anguished cry and I wrenched forward and stabbed the mutt furiously with another arrow till the grip slackened. Ramon's dead body stood limp up against the tree, something holding him up, and his cannon fired. No. No. No. No. Nonononononononononono... I can't do this. I couldn't do this. Dammit!
I ran away as fast as I could, away from that accursed plain, from that stupid clearing. Colby was calling out my name, perhaps even shouting it, but I couldn't hear him that well over the sound of anger that nearly tore my jugular out of my throat. I had just witnessed the two deaths of two more allies, and because of my foolishness, they were dead... they were dead because of me, and I was too late to save them. I reached our camp site, that not having been a long run, collapsing to my knees at the log in which we slept up against. Colby finally caught up to me, after another moment. I was on my knees in front of the log, sobbing my eyes out, white tears spilling down my face, now leaving an isolated puddle near my feet. My cheeks burnt with the ferocity of a supernova.
Colby stepped up to me gave me a hug from behind, arms hugging my chest, his forehead resting against the back of my skull. I felt his warm breath collect in the nape of my neck when he spoke. "Don't worry Jonathan, I'm here for you."
"Colby, what are we doing here?" I whispered, unable to raise my voice any higher. "We can't do this... everyone is dead except for us. What- where did we go wrong?"
"Jonathan, I don't know," he said, sighing. "But we can do this."
I shook him off of me, and he didn't try to reconnect the connection. "I don't want your comfort Colby..." and I could physically feel the tremor in my throat, a torn snarl of a winged beast, of one of those stupid, stupid mutts. "You can't promise me love, protection, prosperity, you can't promise me anything..." I wiped away at a tear. I was feeling very wax poetic. "We're like a fortress being overrun, and I'm worried about our moat. It's futile..."
Colby smiled sheepishly to himself, but it hadn't been what I would call a pleasant smile. "Nice use of symbolism, Jon," but even his tactile humor failed then, his voice cracking somewhat. The sun had fully sank beneath the sky during that fight, and over the course of the fun back to camp. He and I looked up at the arrival of a heralding trumpet sound, I only able to hold my gaze for a singular moment in time, he keeping his gaze there at the sky to see Felice and Ramon's faces shine in the anthem forever. Their last moment of freedom.
My ally from District Three rubbed the side of his face, sitting down next to me. "Jonathan, I need you to sleep and if you are plagued by nightmares, I will save you from them. Remember the one you told me on the roof? Well, I had a similar one about me and my girlfriend a few days ago, and you know what? I didn't thrash out and scream myself awake..." I didn't look at him. I wasn't going to look at him. "I am thirteen year old boy, and you are three years older than me. I will expect you to take it like an adult, since I'm so young," his tone turned hopeful. "And maybe make a prayer that all of the friends you've come to know will be beside you when you wake up with the sun. Because, it is not what a person does or says but, how long they are willing to stick by a crazy person's side. I will never leave you. And in my heart, I think you know that. That I have your back, and you have mine. Now sleep, and let the moonlight comfort you."
I gave Colby a sly grin, bursting out into laughter, because what the fuck was that? Did Colby just get possessed? Did that mutt venom touch his head? "I didn't hear a single word you just said," I admitted, before falling onto my side.
In a matter of minutes, in which Colby had been babbling something, I had fallen asleep.
Tribute List (Boy - Girl)
District 1: Leeane (District 1 Female)
District 3: Colby (District 3 Male)
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 12: Jonathan Crimson (District 12 Male)
Well, ladies and gentlemen, that was Chapter #14: Merits of the Mutations, and the longest chapter of the story so far! I just, ugh, I love these characters so much. This was our very first introduction, or at least a real glimpse, into President Lee Snow, Coriolanus Snow's son, someone we see in the Mockingjay Part I film, although we never actually catch his name... so I settled for Lee, haha, but truthfully, short for Leonidas. Elsewhere, Lone and his band of ruffians acquired a thing of mutts, a flying band of snakes that could shoot acid, dubbed as Merits, and set them loose. Two more tributes are dead, in the rather very background characters of Felice and Ramon, and the dwindling group has fallen to eight tributes... just four more chapters and the arena will be at its end. Thank you all so much for reading! I hope to see you all again soon with Chapter #15: Rachel's Ultimatum. I hope you guys review, it'd mean a lot. Have a great day guys! Love you all! Bye!
~ Paradigm