Title: Awake and Sing
Author: A Crazy Elephant
Summary: Or "Let the 10th Annual Hunger Games Begin!"
Category: Action/Adventure/Drama
Chapter Word Count: 2,997
Disclaimer: The Hunger Games universe and related characters do not belong to me.
Author's Notes: I apologize for the slow start. I'm still looking for a beta so there has been very little content editing, just some general proofing. If anyone's interested in betaing for me, I'd certainly love the input.
Otherwise, Mags has a bit of a 'false start' stammer, meaning she repeats sounds at the beginning of words and phrases, particularly when under severe stress or in times of anxiety. I had to share that. You have no idea how much time I spent reading up on communication disorders this afternoon.
Let me know what you think. = )
2 – Train
Minerva has said my name wrong is all I can think. You don't hear the 't' at the end. Like every schoolteacher I've ever had, she has said my name wrong. Someone, Mayor Vincour, I think because my brain is still processing consequences of Minerva Holmes saying my name at all, corrects her.
"Oh! Margaret Benoit!" She corrects herself. "My mistake! Come on then, Margaret!"
It's unmistakable now.
My name has come out of the Lottery.
The anxiety in my belly is gone. Replaced by a dreadful numbing terror. I'm shaking again. So badly I can feel it in my bones. I can hardly form any sort of coherent thought. None that matter anyway.
Things happen around me.
Fillipa is hugging me. The other Sixteen girls have taken a step away. Distancing themselves. A pair of Peacekeepers appear to lead me to the stage. The Justice Building. Vaguely I'm aware of Minerva welcoming me to the stage, the Tribute from District 4. The thousands of eyes of District 4 and the Capitol audience on me.
It doesn't feel real.
I am going to my death and it doesn't even feel real.
From the stage, I can see my brothers. Gram and Grandfather. Jackie looks on the verge of tears. Willie is almost there too. Danny's face is stony. Grandfather has his head in his hand. Gram looks nothing but angry.
I can't even imagine how I look.
"Gentlemen!" Minerva trills. There's a paper in her hands again. She calls out, "Flynn Moses!"
Flynn Moses. I know him, but only just. He's one of the bigger boys in the year above me. Tall. Strong. Got a dozen brothers and sisters, older and younger. His father's a lobsterman. Up the coast.
He'll have to kill me, I think as he makes his way to the stage because there is no way I'd ever be able to take on all that muscle and live.
"Shake hands now!" Minerva encourages us. Flynn and I shake dutifully. He seems to be in about as much shock as I am. "Ladies and gentlemen, this year's District 4 Tributes! Margaret Benoit and Flynn Moses!" Minerva calls. No one applauds. The anthem plays anyway. We are led out of the rain into the Justice Building.
It strikes me that I've never actually been inside the Justice Building before. It's like nothing I've ever seen. Thick carpeting. Enormous frescos on the walls and ceiling. Gold everywhere. Beautiful. A thousand leagues from anything else in District 4.
I should be impressed. I should marvel. But this is the last place I'll ever see my family. I don't have time to be impressed.
It all feels real now. Every nightmare I've ever had about the Lottery ends on the stage with the presentation of the Tributes. I know I never could dream up such an ostentatious place as the Justice Building.
They stick me in a chamber off the main hall. It's small, but there are still sprawling paintings of the sea across the walls and the ceiling. Even the paint smells fresh. I don't know where they take Flynn. The scared, selfish part of me doesn't even care where they've taken him.
"Family first." A Peacekeeper tells me. The door closes. I try to compose myself. Squash the all-consuming dread that rattles my bones. I'm not worried about my family without me. Gram is the toughest person I know. She'll hold them together. She did it after Papa died. And when she can't anymore, Danny will. It won't be easy. It isn't certainly fair. But no one should starve, even without my tessera rations.
And then the door opens again and there's Gram and Grandfather. The boys. The twins are crying now and Grandfather is only just holding back. I try to garble out something coherent. Meaningful. Something so that they'll know how important they are. How they can get through this. That they can't let this ruin them. All that comes out is a sob and a whole lot of stammering.
Gram manages to bring me to my senses with a good smack across the cheek. It stings. It's enough. I pull myself together, if only to at least pretend to be brave.
"Now you listen here, Margaret Katherine. You listen real good, little girl. We ain't got much time." She says. Her finger is in my face. Like this is could be any other scolding. Rather than the last day I ever see her. "Don't you dare let them change you. You stay Margaret Katherine Benoit of District 4, you hear me? If you let them change you, then they'll have won again." She tells me. "Your papa didn't die so they could turn you into their plaything."
For a moment, I forget where we are. Why we're here. I'm shocked.
Gram does not talk about Papa. Grandfather will sometimes. Around our birthdays maybe. To tell us how proud Papa would have been of us. But Gram never mentions Papa. Certainly never the Rebellion. Really anything remotely related to his death. The boys are stunned too, because they fall back a little.
"Do you hear me?" I stutter a poor excuse for assent. The stammer I banished as a child has come back with a vengeance. The general stress of Lottery Day compounded with the fact that I have actually been chosen has me tripping over words like I'm five years old all over again. It's not good enough for Gram. "What was that?"
"Y-y-yes ma'am." I get out. Gram nods, certain I've gotten her message. Pats my stinging cheek where she struck me. Steps back for Grandfather to get in a word.
Grandfather smiles sadly. Gives me a hug. Kisses my forehead. Presses his little gold chain into my hand. The one with the cross like the mast and sails of a ship. "Hold onto this for me." He says with another hug. "Be brave, little bird."
The twins have recovered from Gram's outburst. There's more crying and they cling to my arms like they did when we were small. Willie begs me to win. Jackie says he knows I will. I don't tell them I haven't a chance. Instead, I try to put up a brave face for them and watch my stammer. Tell them to behave. Listen to Danny. Be careful on the trawler. They buy it.
"D-Don't ever let Willie or Jackie take tessera." I tell Danny when he hugs me. "N-Never."
"Never, Magpie." He agrees.
"A-And w-when . . ." I have to pause a moment. It's almost too horrible to say and my voice is having quite a time working anyway. "D-D-Don't let them watch. None of them. P-P-Promise me you won't let them see me d-die."
"I promise Magpie." There's a waver in Danny's voice now too and it nearly undoes me again. But then the Peacekeepers are back and my family is herded away for the last time.
"Remember what I told you, Margaret Katherine!" Gram calls back. "If you die, you die Maggie. If you win, you best be coming home as yourself, little girl." She warns. And then they're gone and I'm left with Grandfather's chain and the frescos.
They send in Fillipa next.
"I-I-I told you I was in there more times than I cared to think about." I say. The words come in a bit of a rush. Like a joke. Fillipa doesn't smile.
"It only takes one." She echoes, sitting down beside me. "You will come back." She says after a moment. It isn't a request like Willie's. It's an order. "You'll make them love you and then you'll come back." And then she's hugging me again and we're snuffling and then there are the Peacekeepers again.
No one else come to see me.
Just Minerva Holmes, handing me a handkerchief. Bustling me off to the train station. I can still feel tears burning in my eyes. My hands are still shaking. At the very least I've composed myself enough to follow her instructions.
Flynn's at the station too, looking cold and distant. Thom Argon, the Victor and Mentor, is with him, looking his usual charming self. Cameras have followed us the whole way. Reporters shout questions to us. Flashbulbs go off. Even though the rain is still coming down in torrents, Thom and Minerva smile and wave to them and hurry us into the train.
And then there's the warm and dry of the train car and the door slides shut on District 4 for the last time.
"Well!" Minerva announces. She's handing her umbrella to a Capitol attendant by the door. Other Capitol attendants appear to take our dripping coats. "That was certainly exciting! First year we've ever braved a hurricane on Lottery Day!" She says brightly. Flynn looks like he wants to correct her. Hurricanes are far worse than today's storm. But Minerva doesn't give him the chance. "How about something warm to drink then? Come, come!" She herds us deeper into the train car.
If possible, it's more extravagant than the Justice Building.
Everything is rich, with loud colors and intense detail. Like the Justice Building, it's still sea-themed. Like we'd forget where we came from without it. Blues and greens with crystal that shines like sun on the water. Soft fabrics whose names I don't know are everywhere.
A single curtain tie from this car could surely feed my family for a month.
"Sit down! Sit down!" Minerva encourages. She waves us into matching overstuffed armchairs. She's picked a sofa. Flynn and I sit uncomfortably. More Capitol attendants appear to present us with an array of teas, coffees and a sweet smelling drink they call hot chocolate. Flynn takes a coffee and Minerva picks a tea. I don't take anything. I can't trust myself to hold any cup of hot liquid steady. A scald is the last thing I need.
Thom Argon takes a coffee too and tosses himself down next to Minerva. Props his feet on the table for good measure. His smile for the cameras is gone. A nasty scowl is in its place. "Thom! Manners! And for goodness sake, cheer up!" She scolds.
It occurs to me that I have never seen Minerva Holmes look anything but cheerfully surprised. Thom Argon is always smiling devilishly. Away from the cameras, they've got nothing but matching snarls for each other.
"Got a good reason for me, Minnie?" Thom asks her. His smile is decidedly not devilish or charming. It's cold and insincere. This is not the Thom Argon I'm used too.
Before his Games, he was in Danny's year at school. He and his father lived down the coast from us. Farther out from the docks in a ramshackle house shabbier than even ours. He'd walk to school with us. Make jokes with Danny. Tell the twins all sorts of fantastical stories since they were still small enough to believe anything. Tease me. His name was called for the Games three years ago. He was all ready handsome then. His hair like wet sand and his eyes like a stormy sea. Sharp features. Clever to boot. Sponsors had adored him. His Arena had been an island filled with all manner of poisonous plants and hungry beasts. He spear fished his dinners and his competition. Ended up crowned District 4's first Victor.
Since then, since he and his father moved up the shore, to the Victor's Beach and the grand homes the Capitol had built there for our winners, I have only ever seen him on television. Occasionally in town. But always, always with a perfect smile on his face. Always charming. Always polite. The Capitol and the cameras love him like that.
Thom Argon is not polite to Minerva Holmes.
"We might have us another winner this year!" I notice Minerva looks pointedly at Flynn when she says this. I don't hold it against her. With his overall mass and muscle from hauling up lobster traps, he's double the size of me. I would have put money on him too.
"That right?" Thom does not sound at all like he believes her or cares. "Think you can win, Moses?" He asks Flynn. Flynn shrugs.
"Good a chance as any I suppose." He says.
"Can you kill her?" Thom asks him. He nods at me. "Can you even let the others kill her, knowing everyone from home is watching?" Now Thom's just being mean. I'm not used to this part of Thom Argon either. I've heard him tease. Poke fun. But never mean. Never spiteful. I don't like it.
"Well, I –" Flynn flounders. I don't blame him. We both know it has to happen. For one of us to live, the other and twenty-two of our fellow Tributes have to die. It's just a lot more difficult to say to the other's face.
"You'll have to do better than that." Thom sneers. "Hesitations get you killed."
"A-A-Aren't you s-s-supposed to help us?" I ask. My voice shakes. I'm stuttering again. More today than I have in years. But given the events of this morning, I'm a little bit proud I can even get this out.
"Am I not being helpful, M-M-Margaret?" Thom asks me. He mimics my stammer. He did that once before. Long before his Games. Before any Games. Papa had only just died. I couldn't speak without tripping over every word. Thom had never heard anyone fail so miserably at basic communication. He'd thought it was funny. Danny had punched him. Thom didn't think it was funny after that. But Danny isn't here to hit him this time.
"N-Not t-terribly." I admit.
"Maybe you aren't paying enough attention." He snarls.
"You are positively ghastly this morning, Thom!" Minerva's had about enough of Thom's attitude. Somehow I get the feeling it's less that she's overly concerned for our morale and more embarrassed to be associated with his abysmal manners. Capitol people are all about manners. "Why don't we go on and dress for lunch then?" She suggests. "Perhaps he'll be in a better mood with some food in him," And we are shooed away into different cars.
Sleeping cars.
The car I am led to is the size of our family's whole house, covered porch included. Still sea-themed, but things are softer here. Lighter. The colors less saturated with fewer things to break. Attendants appear and offer me a dry dress. It's white, like the one I'm wearing. But it's not canvas. It's linen. Hilly Vincour, the mayor's daughter, has dresses like this. Shoes are presented too. But not boots. Shoes. Almost slippers. Also white. I wonder at the fit of it all. Like they were made for me when surely this morning they couldn't have known which girl would be getting on the train.
Regardless, I change dutifully. Clasp Grandfather's chain around my neck so not to lose it. Fold my Lottery dress, which made it to my last Lottery year after all. Set my rubber boots aside. But I leave my hair.
It's still in its gull's nest. The curls have seized up even more since this morning and I know it looks absurd. But Gram did it for me. And I can't bring myself to comb it out.
In the hall, the attendants have gone. But Thom is there. Dressed in a fresh suit. Fighting to close the door between cars in wind. When it's closed and the howl of the wind muffled, he notices me again.
"M-Mr. Argon." I greet.
"M-Miss Benoit." He shoots back. His sour mood has not gone away even with the promise of a meal.
"Y-Y-You don't have to be so m-mean." I remind him. It's a pitiful retort. I sound five years old again. Even without the stutter.
"I really do." He tells me. "It's easier this way." I must look confused because he spares me the question. "If I don't like you, I don't have to care when you die." Thom continues and then I understand.
Thom is our only Victor. According to the rules, previous Victors must mentor incoming Tributes in their district. Districts without Victors are stuck with Capitol representatives. The Capitol reps are notorious useless. They want a good show as much as the rest of the Capitol. Regardless of the survival of their Tributes. A Victor with district ties would seem a superior choice. Experience in the Arena. District pride. Motivation to keep their Tributes alive.
Maybe it will work someday. When our Victors are proper adults. Maybe it all ready does in the Districts with older Victors. But it certainly doesn't work for Thom. He doesn't just send strangers' children into the Arena. He sends his classmates. His playmates. His friends. Off to their deaths.
That being said, the selfish part of me still hates that he's being so awful.
"Y-Y-You'll still have to look Danny in the eye. W-When I'm dead." I say, pleased there isn't too much of a waver in my voice. It's a low blow, of course. The selfish part gloats a little that I can hit this one nerve. "I-I-It might be easier if you can say you tried to h-help."
Thom looks for a moment like he might strike me. For saying something so awful. There's a rage that slips into his eyes. Like I've figured out his secret. But either it passes or he buries it and straightens up. "What do you think I can do exactly?" There's still a snarl in his voice. "I can't get you out alive."
"T-That's my job isn't it?" I say. I'm trying to be brave. Like Grandfather asked. To sound in control. Even I don't believe it. "B-But you do know what it will be like. T-That isn't nothing." Thom studies me a moment. He still looks angry. Spiteful. But there's something like curiosity too.
"Fine." Thom agrees. "But I make no promises to get you home, you got that?" I nod.
"I-I-I won't ask you to."