Lots of mentor interactions. You won't see games so detailed again. Except maybe Finnick's, but I won't promise anything yet^^.
The title is inspired from Agatha Christie's novel "And Then There Were None"
Thank you for your reviews.
Date: Day one of the 10th Games
"I'll be taking a drink and checking on Harmony," the escort from Twelve said, casually reapplying gel to his golden hair as he stood up. "She's much too sensitive. Please keep an eye on my tributes for a sec, Apollonia."
The escort from Eleven nodded at her colleague. "Sure."
Mags deduced Harmony was the escort from Eight. The young woman had left in tears and had not come back, unlike the muscled Apollonia who had come back to watch after her initial fit, an eager glitter to her emerald eyes.
"Twelve doesn't have much to work with, do they?" The escort said, her purple lips curling. She chuckled wryly."I wouldn't have sponsored them either…"
Mags brought her eyes back on Petrel and Sable. Her head pounded fiercely. She wasn't used to look a screen so intently for so long but the alternatives were worse. Denial, distraction, an urgent need to find a gift that would meet Petrel's needs, urging sponsors to fund his survival, everything contributed to postpone the moment the deaths would sink in. She was a sailor in a drifting boat, and would be sucked down at any moment.
The arena protected the untrained, for progress was slow on the net bridges, but the stable lower paths too few to provide escape from the relentless hunters. A myriad of bridges linked the higher branches, a tantalizing promise of safety, but the ladders and ropes to access them were steep and chafing.
Mordred and Barclay had been given a resin-like paste enabling their shoes to stick to bark and pursue the large alliance, despite the five methodically cutting the paths behind them. Unless sponsors tipped the odds, the last to tire would win.
Mags decided weapons could come second. Petrel and Sable had knives already and were far enough from any other tribute to make harnesses, draws and safety ropes the priority. They wouldn't be able to climb to the upper levels through sheer muscle alone.
"That's clever," Two's escort said as Petrel strapped himself on. "Hey, why can't I –" the man started cursing as he realized harnesses were now unavailable.
It had been the same with the resin. The Gamemakers wanted mentors to be inventive.
"Would be a bore if everyone got the same thing," Rye said, erupting into raucous drunken laughter. There was no mirth in it. "Tough, pal, I feel for you." The unwashed man suddenly brought his fist down on his table. "Aw shit, how d'you undo on these ruddy things? I didn't want to send her that! My thumb slipped. Where's the undo?"
"Don't worry, no sponsor gift kills," Apollonia said, smirking at Rye's misfortune.
Three minutes later, a white box landed next to the brown-haired tribute who, like Cally from Ten, had decided to climb as high as possible, where the bridges became thinner and more perilous, but also more numerous. The way Demerara's almond-shaped eyes lit up in hope upon seeing the gift was heart-breaking.
The young woman furrowed her brow when she unwrapped a beacon-light the size of her head. "Is it going to get really dark? Cold maybe? Should I turn it on right now? But won't the light make me a target? Do I need it to chase animals away at night? Bats?"
Seeing the eighteen year old confusedly enumerate the possibilities made Mags seriously debate sending Demerara a note herself, telling her that her mentor was a clumsy idiot, but Mags couldn't send notes without a gift. What did the girl need that Mags could afford? More water? No, water was much more expensive then weapons...
"She might find a way to put that to good use…" Vicuña said, her dismayed expression belying her words.
"What's special about Onyx? Why him?" Apollonia said, chewing on her tactile stick thoughtfully.
"Most of those who sought me out were immature and lacked the skills, or even the true will to train. They wanted easy glory," Vicuña answered, "Onyx the right character and purpose. You remember his interview. He lost everything, he has everything to gain."
Mags remembered quite well. Onyx's family had lived a small but luxurious timepieces workshop until it was burned down by a jealous competitor. They'd been on the streets for months until Onyx had decided to train. How much was staging and how much was true?
"Even if he dies, his family will get enough to rebuild the workshop," Vicuña pursued, "but he fears death with a passion that will keep him alive."
"Why would his family get money?" Rowan snapped with a fierce scowl. "That doesn't happen to us."
"Because I asked the bigger sponsors to give a twentieth more for that purpose, promising to take their suggestions for gifts into account first," Vicuña said with a bright smile that didn't fully reach her eyes. "I take care of my tributes."
Hence the cape with those awful skulls. Was Vicuña taking care of Sable too?
"And why has he been following Lemma specifically for the last half hour?" Comet said, her face tight with rage. "How does it feel Vicuña, to mold innocents into killers?" She kept her eyes on her lap, her fingers trembling over the portable screen.
"You're a hypocrite, Comet," Vicuña replied, scorn infusing her calm voice. "Were you sincere in your desire to save Lemma, you'd dress like a human being in public and talk to sponsors, try to make them like you and like her. You don't want the responsibility, so don't come whining when they die."
"Volunteers die too," Comet spat, wrapping her colored rags tighter around her body. "There's no trick to beating the Games. Too many parameters, and only you are arrogant enough to believe luck is a mere facet of skill."
"The odds are acceptable to some, real life isn't always rosier than the Games," Vicuña replied, "training-"
"Is illegal," Mattock interrupted. "Peacekeeper Districts are getting a pass because you're favored. We'd risk our lives training kids, and for what? The joy of saving one in five? Yours will always be better prepared. We all won because of flukes."
"You –"
"This conversation is over," Mags cut in. "And don't tell me your sanity hinges on insulting each other."
"Just Vicuña," Comet mumbled, her glowering eyes still not leaving her lap.
Mags had never had the urge to spank an adult woman before. "Stop making it all worse, it's bad enough as it is."
"It's hard to be friends when they're out to kill your kids," Bianca pointed out.
"Your kids?" Mags said, her throat tightening. Yes, the Capitol did everything for them to feel so. "They're strangers who were made to spend time with you precisely so you would start to care. They're all people, all twenty four of them. They all have a story. Rye asked me who I hated enough to see win, well, if that's your opinion too, don't curse Vicuña when they die."
Mentors couldn't afford to keep tearing at each other like this. It wouldn't save lives and the poisonous atmosphere was sapping the last of Mags' strength.
"Why'd you hate the winner?" Apollonia said. "Victors from other districts mean mentors that will be competing with you, I can understand, but your own district?"
Mags snapped her mouth shut. Her eyes fell back to Petrel and Sable, unseeing. She'd stupidly forgotten that they weren't alone. How could she have? She couldn't fix everything. Kyle had taught her that. She couldn't allow the Capitol to have to teach her the lesson again. Mags forced the mounting scream of rage back down her throat. She couldn't. She couldn't stand by and watch those people, her colleagues, people who'd gone through the same hell as she had, alienate each other like this.
They needed the escorts somewhere else. They couldn't wear a mask all day long, not in these conditions. They'd go insane.
The escort from Two snorted. "Because they're all bonkers, can't you tell? This circus is better than the Games. You should listen to each other, guys."
Circus? From a man who strutted around half-naked to show his glistening abs and brushed body hair? He could go hang.
Apollonia wasn't satisfied with the answer. "Mags, I asked you a question."
Vicuña blessedly came to her rescue. "Winning the games does not necessarily mean you have the strength to be a victor, which is why I try to make sure mine are prepared," she said. "It is like entertainment, how many stars succumb to drugs? It's the fame, it's too strong for some."
Mags' jaw dropped slightly when she saw the escorts' faces light up with understanding. Fame? They believed it was the fame?
"No, no, don't turn it on," Rye exclaimed, shouting at the screen, "Damn it, Dems, don't turn it –"
The wail of sirens blared through the speakers. Mags hands flew to her ears, grimacing in pain.
Startled, Demerara let the lit beacon go, jumping backwards out of instinct.
Her feet missed the rope. The mesh was too wide to restrain her.
Time slowed, chairs were pushed back, but outstretched hand could only graze the unyielding screen, helpless to break the fall.
Demerara slid, her screams unheard amidst the siren's wails. Her head struck a lower platform.
She was dead before she hit the ground.
Mags squeezed her eyes shut, stifling a sob with her hand. Why hadn't she sent that note!
Why would she have bothered to try to save that girl? Fickle and sharp, reason only made it worse.
The siren stopped. A mutt had destroyed the beacon.
"Fuck, damn it," Rye shouted, kicking his chair aside, "how can there not be a fucking undo button on this piece of crap?"
The screen exploded as the red-faced man threw it down. He slammed the table backwards, upturning its contents. Scotch spilled all over the floor, like a pool of maroon blood spreading towards them.
"Watch out," Two's escort exclaimed, grasping the smaller man in a headlock, "are you mad?"
"Mad? You joking, pal?" Rye roared, twisting and tearing at the Capitolite in a effort to break free.
Suddenly, Rye's eyes rolled backwards. He fell on his knees, a stunned, unfocused look on his face. A needle was sticking out of his shoulder.
Vicuña removed the syringe and pointed towards the open emergency medical box. "Sedatives," she said, her face grim.
Sedatives for mentors who got upset for having accidentally murdered their own tribute? Truly the Capitol had thought of everything. Anger seared through Mags' limbs. She forced herself to sit when she realized she was standing. Could they not display even a sliver of humanity?
"The scrawny girl isn't worth you getting killed over, Man," Two's escort said seriously, "She had no chance."
"That's what they said about Fife Chican too," Rye slurred, locking eyes with Mags, "Last time I checked, she got pretty far, huh?"
Mags looked away, blinking back tears.
A cannon blast tore through the air.
Onyx had caught up with Lemma. There had been no fight, just a man with a two handed ax against a cowering girl who had made the mistake of wishing for death on Reaping Day. She tried to beg. He didn't let her, his morbid cape billowing in the wind.
Comet slunk to the floor and brought her knees to her chin, hiding her face from view.
Apollonia gave a dramatic sigh. "She shouldn't have kept going straight, it's obvious the lad was faster."
"We already warned you about the running commentary," Rowan said icily.
The escort wilted against the first victor's gaze.
Laxis still hadn't said a word since Maple's death, his eyes never left the screen.
Mags felt burning shame rise to cheeks. Her eyes stayed dry and she hated herself for it. She didn't even know all of the tributes' names and she had forgotten most of the interviews, most of the personal facts, without even trying. Not caring, growing detached, was instinct, born of the brain's wish for self-preservation, and yet the youngest victor loathed the thought of growing so desensitized to death that she could shrug off the cannon blasts.
"To Lemma," Rye said, drowning a mug-sized glass. His hands shook as he wiped his dribbling chin, alcohol drawing a mockery of a smile on his unshaven face.
The man was twenty years old. Twenty. Mags swallowed, terror crushing her in a bear-hug. Slipping would be so easy. Without her mother, Esperanza, Glynn, Marlin, Marquise... all those who had faith in her, who steadied her when she stumbled… Mags didn't want to imagine what she'd have become without them.
She didn't need to imagine. She saw it all around her.
The large alliance had managed to stay out of reach of Barclay and Mordred, using the huge cutting pincers Skye had received in addition to medicine for her knife slash, but they'd cut a bridge too many. The five tributes were stuck on a platform with only one way out and Mordred was waiting at the other end. Him and Barclay couldn't reach them, or Skye would cut the bridge and make him fall on the mud invested ground, but they would suffer the same fate were they to try to get close enough to hit their pursuers with a knife.
"He he, sorry guys," Two's escort snickered out of the blue, "this is too good."
Mags held her breath. All she wanted was to stand up and leave, to run far away from the tower, to go where the air was fresh and the sight of death a bad memory. A lead weight on her stomach kept her glued to her chair.
The exasperated-looking volunteer ripped open the package. Mordred's patience had evaporated after an hour of breakneck chase in the treacherous ropes.
Barclay read the note with a growing smile. "Aim for the lower branches, they will catch fire. We've got them, Mordred. If they go down the mutts will come."
A rocket. An exploding rocket. Mags paled.
"Why not a frigging flame thrower while you're at it?" Five's escort said.
"Get over yourself. Skye is a cutie, but Mordred's a winner."
A hiss chilled the room. "You kill Jack, I'm tearing your eyeballs out."
The bare-chested man eyed Comet warily. "Cool it, it's the game."
A game of flesh and blood. A game no sane man should wish to play. "You'll set fire to the whole arena," Mags said hoarsely.
"Nah," the escort replied confidently.
Yes. The rocket sailed straight for where the bridge was tied to the bigger branches. The five trapped tributes dived for cover, soon swallowed by a deafening blast of fire.
Bianca yelped when the screen cracked and went blue.
"No one ever broke a camera before, my hat is off to you," Apollonia said with a laugh.
The mentors were too shaken to say anything.
When the picture reappeared, the ropes and leaves all around the platform were burning brightly.
"It'll spread fast," Rowan said grimly.
The body-built escort shrank on himself upon hearing the former wood ranger's prediction.
"We need to get the dogs away to use the ladder and get to the one over there," Jack said urgently, scrambling back to his feet. The heat sucked the water out of them, and tears of fear and shock mixed with rivers of sweat on his long face.
"You know animals," Skye said, turning to Brandus. "How'd you chase a dog away?"
"With a stick, hold it before you when it jumps," the boy from Ten replied promptly. He lowered his voice and bowed his head. "but these dogs aren't real dogs. They're bad."
"How'd you chase bad dogs then?" The brunette pressed, wiping her flushed face with the back of her glove.
Brandus crossed his arms, shaking his head furiously at the ground. "I don't know."
"Try harder," Skye snapped, wiping sweat from her face as she tried to assess the rising flames.
"I don't know," the disabled boy bellowed. He broke off a branch and began beating the burning rope with it, grunting with every blow. His beating grew more and more frantic as he failed to stop the fire.
"Stop it, Brandus. You'll poke someone's eye out," the blonde from Twelve exclaimed.
Mags winced, feeling terrible for them all.
"Bingo," Five's shapely escort exclaimed. "Found you, dog repellent. Take that, Roman."
Her colleague from Two rolled his eyes. "You can try, but you'd better just admit defeat."
Mags was aghast, and not just by the casual banter. The dog repellent was fireworks. The five trapped tributes shared similar horrified looks when they read the note.
The gangly youth from Twelve was the first to step back. "It's advanced stuff, your call, Jack."
"Advanced?" The boy from Three coughed smoke out of his lungs. "No, fireworks is basic, really basic, they don't do that in the mines? Hurry to get the box down before it explodes."
His ally jumped back further. "It explodes? See, it's advanced."
"You cowards," Skye snapped, "I'll do it."
"Nope, you don't, you're the only one who knows weapons," Jack said, grasping the girl's wrists before she could lift the box.
"I can –"
"Fine," the Twelve boy huffed, cutting Brandus off. "I'm going to need a hand, Delly."
His district partner nodded, terror and determination warring on her freckled face.
"I said I can -,"
"You can't, Brandus. Just do what we say," Skye ordered.
The hounds began to run as soon as Delly had put a foot on the undergrowth. Luckily, the fireworks were ready, with just a fuse to be lit.
"This had better work," Skye said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to run as the charging mutts' growls grew nearer.
The night exploded in a shower of colors. Green, blue and purple flowers reached out for the stars, blossoming in a shower of glittering sparks. Mags couldn't help staring in awe, momentarily forgetting where she was. She had never seen fireworks before.
Reality was quick to sink its fangs back into her flesh.
Desperate shrieks filled the air. "My hand, Delly, MY HAND," the boy from Twelve screamed, his voice covering several octaves as he clutched the burned limb. He tripped, howling in pain.
Skye grabbed Jack before he could slow. "Follow the simpleton," she said harshly, jerking her head towards the panicked Brandus who had accelerated upon hearing his ally's screams, "don't think or you'll die."
Delly hesitated and doubled back to help her district partner. Mags shut her eyes, inwardly weeping at the girl's foolish bravery. No human being would run fast enough to escape the fanged monsters now.
Two cannon shots soon tore through the air, followed by five hovercrafts. The fire brigade.
"The Games will last less than three days if this goes on," the horrified escort from Twelve said. "Maybe we should limit the sponsor gifts to simpler things, make it a little more challenging for them."
"I'm sure the gamemakers will catch on," Mattock muttered.
A knock caused them all to start.
A smartly dressed young man opened the door. "The genius who ordered the rocket is urged to refrain himself in the future," he said with a tight smile.
Roman squared his shoulders, trying to keep some dignity despite the burning shame. "Yes, Gamemaker Crispus, it won't happen again."
"Are you certain, Mags?"
"Absolutely. Now hurry, they won't all be sleeping for long."
Mags repressed a yawn. The clocks had chimed one o'clock, she needed sleep herself. No wonder mentors abused of sleep-regulating pills. Surveillance was inhuman. She knew she had the right to ask Lucian to replace her for a couple of hours, but he'd probably fall asleep in front of the monitors just to spite her.
"I'm not sure Evadne will, -"
"Vicuña, we must try. We need privacy. Lucian and all the other escorts have their own room. The mentor-escorts can get one too. The President doesn't want the image of victors to be as unsavory as reality is."
The Career shook her head. "I think a lot of Capitolites are happy to know victors are broken. They admire us, but the hate left over by the Dark Days isn't all gone. The escort's won't like what they'll see as a privilege taken away."
Mags couldn't care less about the escorts' feelings on the matter. She couldn't let them flaunt their popularity with sponsors and engage in revolting contests, using the tributes as pawns, and do nothing. The Games had stolen her illusions and with victory had come an invisible gun pressed to her head every minute of every day, but she would not let them shatter what remained of her pride.
"The only reason there hasn't been an assault is because you keep the others' aggressiveness focused on you instead of the escorts and were fast enough to sedate Rye," she said tersely.
"Why do you keep defending me?"
"Because they're being ridiculous and we should show some solidarity with each other. We've all been through the Games, it should mean something."
Vicuña chuckled. "You're cute, Mags."
The eighteen year old punched Vicuña's shoulder in annoyance. Cute. She'd show Vicuña cute. It was too easy to dismiss decent people as naive because you wanted to feel all tough and real when all you really were was rude and bitter.
"Ladies, I was about leave, what do you want?"
Mags froze upon seeing the President in the corridor. She schooled her features, swallowing back her anger. "We need to change things before we have a situation," she blurted.
"That sounds very serious indeed."
Achlys was making fun of her. Brilliant. Mags took a deep breath and started explaining. The woman had to see that having escorts and mentors in the same room was wrong.
"So you are telling me that if all those hateful rebels can't express their hateful feelings, they'll assault the sponsors in public?" The President summed up.
Mags was confident she hadn't phrased it quite like that.
"They're not rebels, Ma'am. I mean, I don't know, they just hate you because they were reaped and they can't turn their lives around, it's got nothing to do with organized uprisings. They need psychologists but obviously they can't go talk with the district ones. They need to be kept at least outwardly sane and it's hard when the escorts keep asking why we're upset when a weak tribute dies. We can't act every minute of every day. Vicuña and I can adapt, but some of the others are too fragile and they're getting worse."
"You're very direct when you're exhausted," Achlys said with a small smile.
Mags blushed, sudden fear making her hair rise on end. "I just want to avoid avoidable problems, Madam President. It'd all go smoother if we had some space."
Achlys laughed. "I'll have the escorts go to another room. Enjoy your freedom, I'll have cameras placed by next year. I'll need to find people who won't be tempted to leak the live Game files before the replays and won't be shocked by the contents of your… therapeutic… conversations." She turned to Vicuña. "Had you not spotted this?"
"I had thought it inevitable," Vicuña said, reddening. "The victors are adults, they should learn to deal with their problems like adults."
"Such faith in people, Vicuña," Achlys said, almost affectionately. "Well, you can't be both a soldier and a builder. Mags, send me a full report on the advancement of your academy by the end of November."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Vicuña eyed her oddly when the President had gone. "You're training Careers?"
"No, no, no," Mags hastily said, "it's to form highly-qualified professionals."
"Of course it is," Vicuña said with a grin. "Neat. I'll have to watch out." She glanced around and lowered her voice. "Evadne sounded in a great mood, no?"
A strangled laugh escaped Mags' lips. "I'm not complaining. Next time I have a brilliant idea after midnight, force me to wait until I've slept. She's right, I talk too much."
A yawn escaped her mouth to stress the point.
"Such beautiful tonsils you have," Vicuña quipped.
Mags threw her a dark glare, stifling a second yawn. "Keep your voice down, I want to sleep."
"Aw you delicate flower, Mags." Vicuña's small smile froze and slowly spread into a delighted grin. "I need to send Onyx-" She broke into a run.
"Send him what?" Mags said, struggling to keep up with the Career mentor.
A trumpet.
Vicuña had sent Onyx a trumpet and the noise was awful.
"Onyx can spend a night or two sleeping just a couple of hours, but the others -" Her proud smirk fell as she took in Mags' stony expression. Vicuña had the good grace to look guilty.
"I'll walk you to your room," she said with a strained smile.
Mags was so sick of it all. She wanted to sleep and never wake up.
Date: Day two of the 10th Games
A million pairs of eyes were riveted on the four tributes about to unknowingly collide.
Quiet as squirrels, Alexandra from Two and Dove, the youngest surviving girl, barely made leaves rustle as they slowly made their way between the giant weeping willows.
Petrel and Sable had forsaken discretion for haste. After a night of trumpeting with his ridiculous cloak, Onyx had reached the Western part of the arena, where the austere pines gave way to concealing willows. One glance exchanged with the lean killer patrolling the lower path, and Sable had grabbed Petrel and scrambled off on the narrow bridge as fast as their security harnesses allowed.
The bridge squeaked and swayed. There was not enough space to overtake or cross another tribute without risking a forty feet fall.
Her eyes ringed with shadows, Alexandra lifted her curved blade, prepared to meet the threat front on. The glint of sunlight on metal betrayed her position.
Sable and Petrel froze.
"They must have water, we need that, don't worry," Sable whispered, a hungry smile blooming on her pale face.
Mags took the cue. She had been hoarding like a miser.
"Look, take some," Petrel said, his smile tearing a small sigh out of Mags. She knew the warmth would be short lived, but that instant of hope and joy was like a drop of warm honey down her throat.
Sable finished half the bottle in less than a minute and swiftly handed the rest to her ally.
"They have weapons we need, I'll handle it."
Mags chose a knife with a retractable blade and a sawtooth edge, including a foot long dagger-spike for Petrel.
This time Sable shut her eyes. She clenched the knife, looking upset. "Mags, I respect you, I do," she said, her voice trembling, "but do you mind letting me play? It's not your Games anymore. I didn't need you there for weapons. I'll get them myself."
Mags breath blocked in her throat.
She slowly pushed her chair away from the tactile screen, Sable's words bringing tears in her green eyes. Why? Why did she seek to kill?
"You can't stop her, let it go," Bianca whispered, her breath thick with alcohol, "it will go as written. My Dove was never meant to beat the odds."
Mags simply stared at the ground. Player, observer, she didn't know who she was. She knew that for one minute, she had let herself be sucked in too deep.
Dove didn't look eager to fight. "Let's go, Alex."
"Ooh, scared are you? Think I won't chase you if you run?" Sable said, advancing with her brand new weapon.
"Stop strutting," Alexandra said, holding her knife out menacingly. "You're just an ugly nutcase."
Sable bared her teeth. "Mutty, mutt, mutts," she called, whistling sharply as she threw the empty weapons case down, attracting the roamers of the undergrowth.
Not just the roamers. Onyx stood ten feet below, partially hidden by the branches.
"Hold on," the blonde said with a cruel smile. She severed the nearest rope, one of the three maintaining the long narrow bridge balanced.
Petrel, Dove and Alexandra screamed, letting go of their weapons, as the bridge upturned. Petrel was left flailing in the air, struggling to climb back up using his safety rope, but the bridge was much too unstable to provide grip. Sable seemed unconcerned by her very precarious position. Her pale eyes glittered as she saw the screaming Dove fail to hold on. Alexandra was stronger, her arms bulging as she struggled to support her weight.
"Tributes from One like murdering young girls, don't they? Do you think they has unresolved issues?" Comet said.
Mags winced. Lemma's death had revealed a nastiness in the nineteen year old that she wouldn't have imagined.
"The mutts have not attacked Dove," Bianca said, slowly revealing cards before her. "The undergrowth is very soft. The hangman has yet to reveal himself."
Mags forced air into her lungs. Even breathing was painful. "Death is everywhere already."
"The hangman is not death, Mags," Bianca answered in brittle tones, pouring herself another glass, "it is change, sacrifice. Enlightenment has a price."
"Shut up, it's all superstitious nonsense," Comet snapped. "Enlightenment, here? Please. I'll ask the Gamemakers to fetch me a spare piece of rope if this is enlightenment."
"Thank you, Mags, Vicuña, for allowing us to bare our souls in the privacy of this room," Mattock interjected. "It's so much friendlier now," he joked, weariness rather than malice in his tone.
"You believed her, about it being safe to talk this year?" Comet scoffed. "Ha. There's no safe."
Rye raised his glass. "To the nice guy who'll brain her almightiness Achlys with one of those shimmery sparkly chandeliers." The drunk man paused, oblivious to the chill that had descended on the room with his words. "I'd also like to see her naked," he admitted, flashing his horrified colleagues an uneven grin. After a few seconds, Rye nodded thoughtfully. "Look at that, I'm alive," he said. "The greatest murderer of them all didn't lie about the surveillance."
Rowan burst into thick laughter, and many mentors found themselves cracking a smile. Mags couldn't find it in her to share their mirth.
Alexandra from Two, with a desperate hip movement, had let go in the hope of landing on the bridge underneath.
She succeeded.
And saw Onyx waiting less than a yard away, ax in hand.
"No, Onyx. You really need an ally, trust me," Alexandra quickly said with an extra bright smile.
The young man stared down at her, but his hesitation meant volumes. "You dropped your weapons, and your ally."
"Ally, whose ally? You're my ally," the girl replied in the same forced tone.
The lean volunteer hesitated, he then lowered his large ax slightly. "I can use an ally for a time."
"Don't play like that," Vicuña whispered crossly.
"What did that girl ever do to you?" Larix said, speaking out for the first time in days.
"I'm thinking about what losing an ally will do to Onyx," Vicuña snapped.
Vicuña didn't have to think long. Blood soon spilled from Alexandra's lips. She fell forward, caught by her ally of forty seconds, a simple knife sticking out of her back. Her gasps turned into thick labored groans. She couldn't even breathe well enough to scream.
Sable clapped her hands to snap Onyx out of his stupor. "Put her out of her misery, I can't aim so well twice."
As if she'd done something as mundane as squishing a bug, Sable used her safety rope to lower herself behind the agonizing sixteen year old before cutting her harness off.
"She betrayed her ally without a thought, and you'd trust her?" She said with wide eyes. "We're District partners, Onyx. It's not the end yet. District One taught me loyalty."
"Don't trust Sable," Mags muttered, the words leaving her lips unbidden. She didn't want the young man to bring yet more death to the arena, but she couldn't bring herself to want him dead.
Seeing Sable now unarmed, Onyx snapped Alexandra's neck, putting an end to her hoarse screams. "You killed her," he said, a darkness Mags hadn't seen before clouding his stiff features.
"You killed more," Sable pointed out with a shrug. "Are you not loyal to your District?" She giggled. "Petrel can come, he won't hurt you."
Petrel's face scrunched up in outrage, but he had the sense to clamp his mouth shut and not reveal what he thought of such an association. Still dangling in midair, his life depending on the solidity of the harness and safety rope linking him to the upturned bridge. He knew it was not the time to be clever.
Uneasy, Onyx finally nodded. "The boy is no threat, chasing him would be a waste of time." He raised his voice. "Come on, Four. We need to cut the bridges and trap the tributes together."
"Then we set fire to them," Sable slowly said, her whole face illuminating.
Onyx's face fell, replaced by utter horror. "That… takes time, they... they could jump down and be saved by the mutts," he said, looking relieved to have found suitable Career-worthy excuses.
Mags swallowed, finding him rather naive on that. At least there were lines he would not cross...
He cleared his throat. "We'll see. You need a new blade to cut the ropes or we must climb down to get yours back."
A parachute fell next to Sable. She pulled the note out. "Just what I needed," she said, delighted.
What? Mags stared. Where did that come from? Vicuña?
The wrapped package contained no blade, just an opaque rod.
"Mags?" Vicuña asked, agitation creeping on her face as she realized Petrel's mentor hadn't sent the gift.
Mags held her breath. It wasn't a rod but a pump.
A burst of soporific gas knocked Onyx out in one single breath.
Sable's lips bloomed into a grin as the young man groggily struggled not to fall of the supporting wooden beam. She took his shiny ax and lifted the weapon over her head.
With all the strength in her lithe body, she buried it in Onyx's torso. The prone tribute couldn't even attempt to dodge.
Her uniform splattered in blood, she smiled grimly at the corpse when she realized the ax was too deeply embedded in flesh, sinew and wood to be removed.
"I lied," Sable said, her face twisting in a vicious grimace. "District One taught me hate. The person who taught me loyalty would have wanted you dead. Home sweet home taught me people will throw mud in your face and laugh because they can."
The blonde laughed pointedly before skipping back to where Petrel was, hanging in midair by his harness, to direct him down next to her. The boy's face had lost all color, but he did as Sable said.
I will come back to haunt everyone who was mean to me. Mags wondered what she had done, for the haunting high-pitched laughter still resounded in her ears, chilling her whole body.
"Showy sponsor gifts." Bianca sighed. "We do what we must to follow the Capitol's orders. Just like you did last year, when you blamed the train crash on my little ones," the victor from Six said, her eyes on her cards once more, but not before Mags could see her tears. "It's nothing personal," Bianca finished, her voice breaking.
Bianca? Bianca had sent the gift? Mags blinked, overwhelmed.
Vicuña was furious. "Your tributes had no chance! Onyx started out favorite."
"Which is why the crowds must be wild to see him die so soon after his flawless set of kills," Bianca replied, "The Games are fickle and I've just proved how much power sponsors have by tipping the odds with a simple poison gas."
"Sable is from District One, I am in charge of her sponsor gifts, not you!"
"Maybe you should bring that system flaw up to President Achlys, tell her to instate rules," Bianca said with forced calm, taking a sip of her glass of rum.
"Vicuña," Mags warned as the wrathful blonde stepped too close to Bianca for comfort. She put an arm around Vicuña's back, whispering in her ear. "It's unfair and inhuman, it always was and always will be, don't have them make you mentor in another room, alone, it'll break you."
The Career snapped towards her. Her jaw tightened, her lips opening but the words blocked in her throat. She stepped away from the other victors and strode out of the room.
"It hurts when the person you really to win dies in such an unpredictable manner, doesn't it?" Larix called, slouched on the sofa next to Rowan, who mentored Barclay alone.
"Larix, shut up, Vicuña didn't kill Maple," Mags snapped. "Stop being so horrid to each other."
Vicuña slammed the door behind her.
Date: Day three of the 10th Games
Mags stood up when Vicuña left for the bathroom and followed the blonde. She tensed when the stone-faced Vicuña held the door for her.
"About Bianca sponsoring Sable, I…"
"Don't," Vicuña said,"you were nice to Bianca, nicer than any of us, and she had the opportunity to repay you and kill the big evil trained tribute. I get it. I don't blame you."
She glared when Mags made a move to speak. "I don't want to talk about it."
Mags squeezed her arm. She knew Vicuña had cared more for Onyx than she'd ever want to admit. Of all the mentors, the blonde was the one who had truly believed she'd be taking someone home.
"Look, the retard. He'll be easy."
Sable's loud cruel words drove Brandus into a rage. The burly boy, already out of his mind from stress, lack of sleep and dehydration, charged towards the two armed tribute with an animal roar.
He cried out as his foot slipped and his ankle twisted in the ropes.
Sable had him at point blank range.
"No!" Petrel jumped on her, desperate to tear the knife out of her hand. "You can't kill him," he exclaimed, struggling against the stronger girl. "It's wrong to take advantage of people like him, you can't!"
"Get off, I'll hurt you," Sable said, elbowing him in the gut to get her weapon back.
Panting, Brandus had forced himself back up. With a grunt, he bodily launched himself on Sable, his huge fist collided with her face. A sickening crunch filled the room as her jawbone exploded. Her head lolled at an impossible angle.
Pale and fragile as a doll, her pale eyes frozen in eternal surprise, Sable Lockley fell.
"Mags," Vicuña said, struggling to keep her emotions under control, "if your kid doesn't protect his ally, there's not much I can do."
Mags was too depressed to say anything. She'd known Sable would die, but a part of her had craved to give meaning to it, at least for Constantine.
"You're not supposed to hit girls," Petrel told Brandus angrily, tears spilling from his eyes. "You weren't supposed to hit her," he repeated, grasping the ropes next to him as he stared down at the mangled body lying fifteen feet below.
"She tried to kill me first."
Petrel scowled, shock sending tremors in his whole body. "She was my ally, though," he said, so upset he was barely intelligible.
"Sorry," Brandus said, his face crumpling.
Petrel's shaking stopped when he saw the burly tribute from Ten curl up and start sobbing, clutching his ankle disconsolately. It was at that moment that Mags truly saw Brandus as a child. A lost young boy trapped in a man's body.
Petrel must have seen it too, for he wiped his tears and straightened, a set expression replacing his previous horror.
"Hey, don't cry, it's okay, it's the Hunger Games," Petrel said, grasping Brandus' shoulder, "you gotta do what you gotta do. Come on, we have to stay together."
Mags nodded, impressed. So much potential. This time, she couldn't stop the tears.
"Why d'you quit your old alliance?" Petrel said after a while.
"We fought. They wanted my weapon," Brandus said, taking out his gleaming sickle. "They said I was too stupid to use it proper. Skye kept telling me what to do."
"That's mean."
"Yes, very. We fought and I left. I was scared they'd hurt me."
"I won't hurt you."
Brandus' breath hitched again. "I'm real sorry. I didn't mean to hit her, she scared me."
"You gotta do what you gotta do," Petrel repeated, slapping the boy on the arm as he stared at his feet moodily, careful not to twist his own ankle on the ropes.
Dove, turned febrile by the days' events and desperate for an ally, had forgotten that mutts and treacherous ropes were not the only danger of the Hunger Games.
Mordred and Barclay found her first.
Date: Games 10, Day four
Long spikes now covered the undergrowth, and all knew the merry jumping down days were over.
In exchange for shielding Barclay from the chore of killing, Mordred treated him like a servant. Mags objectively found Barclay was getting the better end of the deal, since the two boys shared supplies equally, but Barclay soon began to take it as an insult to his manhood.
When he declared loud enough for every camera in a fifty yard radius to hear that he would gift the Capitol with a kill, Rowan turned to Mattock, his jaw clenched with disgust.
"Do you want me to sponsor Cally or Brandus?"
"The hypocrisy," Vicuña whispered, too low for the others to hear.
After a heated argument with Mordred -in which Mags found that Mordred gave in very quickly - Barclay ambushed Skye and Jack, confident that his ally had his back.
Mordred didn't move, proving Mags' chilling suspicions right. He remained shielded behind a tree trunk, as Skye, woken by Jack's dying screams, slashed Barclay's throat.
Skye, Petrel, Brandus, Mordred and the elusive Cally from Ten. It would be over soon.
The attractive brunette from Five slowly advanced, a gleaming chain-mail covering her whole body, branding her as the crowd's favorite.
"It's convenient to have a girl kill your ally, it avoids making you look bad, huh?" She said, tightening her grip on her throwing knife. "You're nothing but a traitor. Murdering filth, no better than the thugs left to rot in the sun."
Mordred stood stiff, his whole body trembling like a bear about to charge. Mags waited for the moment he'd snap and rush towards the fifteen year old.
"Did I frighten the fight out of you, big boy? It's fine when they're unarmed, but when there's a real fight to be had, you tuck tail and leave," Skye taunted, clutching her throwing knife in her right hand. "Aren't they proud and tough the men of District Two. Is that what your mother taught you? To flee like a pussy cat in face of danger?"
Mordred shook his head, a snarl escaping his lips, but, to everyone's surprise, he turned away and fled.
Rye booed.
"He's going to win," Vicuña declared.
"We go now," Brandus insisted, his voice hitching with panic as Petrel refused to accept 'this tree is cursed' as an excuse to leave their hideout.
The nerve-wracking situation had gotten the better of Petrel's temper. The twelve year old snapped. "It's just creaking, shut up now, Brandus. You're being stupid," he said.
Brandus balled his fists, his face growing purple."I'm not stupid," he shouted, his face streaked with tears of rage, "I'm not! We go down now."
Petrel could do nothing as the crazed tribute grabbed him and forced him down the steel ladder. By pushing him forward. Petrel had no way of finding a grip. Merciless gleaming spikes broke his fall.
The disabled boy cried out when he saw Petrel flail and completely miss the platform. His features deformed by horror, Brandus rushed towards the corpse, his desperate screams of denial echoing in the whole arena. He jumped down, running between the foot high spikes, and fell to his knees next to Petrel.
"I'm sorry, don't die! Come on, Petrel, get up!" Brandus pleaded. "He needs sponsors," he shouted, sobs choking his voice, "come on, Petrel! You must get up. I didn't mean it, get up, please!"
It seemed forever before a mutt silenced him.
Something died in Mags that day.
"A boy like that should not have been reaped," Apollonia told Mags when the victor ran into her while looking for Lucian. The muscled woman looked pained for the first time since the initial bloodbath.
"Who should be reaped then?" Mags whispered, her voice trembling. She didn't wait for an answer.
Nothing was worse than having to watch as the Games dragged on, helpless with acid failure consuming your insides.
Mags would not be made to watch. She hadn't slept in four days, and let herself slide into a blissful drug-induced sleep in the middle of the mentor room. Vicuña would shake her awake if there was a victor.
Date: Day five of the tenth Games.
"Mordred won. Skye -"
"I don't want to know," Mags whispered, mourning the blissful haze that now left her at the mercy of their depraved reality. "Not of her, not of Cally."
"You cannot avoid the recap and the interview," Vicuña said, he eyes compassionate as she wrapped her arms around the slighter victor.
No, she couldn't.
Please review.
And I promise I will never write such a long chapter again. ;D