Quotations: Anything in italics is in the hobbits' own language, and italics accompanied by underline is English spoken by the hobbits that is directed towards someone else.
Newt decided that with no functioning society, the next best thing from regrouping everyone- which in this scenario, to be honest, he thought was a lost cause- was to stock up on anything him or Minho would need in case of a crisis. He hadn't intentionally thought of this, but as he stared at the bright green apple he'd brought back to his too-white room for a bit too long he decided that it was really for the best.
He also realized that there was no way he would be able to sleep at night without eventually going insane unless the room became somewhat colorful. He told this to Minho.
"Food stocking it is, then." Minho gave a small sigh and clapped Newt on the back.
From that point they had slowly built up a well-to-do supply of assorted items, taking care not to be too obvious in their endeavors. Newt actually found it slightly odd. The first time he'd brought something back to his room, one of the other kids stared him down. But the next time, he found himself faced with less attention-from the kid or anyone else, for that matter.
And then less.
By the sixth or seventh trip Newt was certain he would be classified as 'that one teen who walks around the hallways,' and started feeling more comfortable.
Then, on the way to what he called the Storehouse (he tried to keep trips seem as casual as possible by going in random intervals) he was faced with a different predicament.
Social interaction.
It was the kids he'd seen the first time he and Minho went to eat. They seemed friendly enough, but came to him in a ruckus of motions and he immediately bolted.
He did, however, remember to, at the last moment, semi-shout at them, "Wait a min." He ran down the stairs, muttering under his breath. When he reached his location (his room, which had somehow also become Minho's room), he whispered the code as quickly as possible and flung the door open.
Minho was sprawled on the floor. He sat up. "What gives?"
Newt set himself inside, closing the door but setting his hand in the key space for a quick reopening. "The small kids wanted something."
Minho thought a moment, doubtless recalling the figures into his mind. "What did they say?"
"I told them to wait. I thought it'd be easier if there was more than one person hearing."
"You volunteered me?" Minho looked aghast, although part of it was in mockery.
"Well, it's a whole lot easier for you to be there than to have me explain everything after the fact." Newt paused. "Also, yes, I did volunteer you. Quit whining about it." Minho sighed.
"Fine." He pushed himself up and stretched. "They better still be there."
...
Footsteps.
Katniss looks up to a Cheshire grin and a sloping gait. Finnick. In his hand is a white, shiny little granulated cube of sugar.
"Want one?" Finnick asks, dimples showing. The last time he'd said that, they'd been in District 13. She'd denied it then, too.
"No, thanks." Katniss can't help but smile., but even then something weighs on the back of her mind, a little nagging point that she can't ignore.
He can't see her thoughts, though, and pops the cube into his mouth. The crunch is evident of that. "I found a little bag in my room filled with them. Present from our sponsor." His mouth twitches as he says the last part.
Katniss eyes him. She doesn't want to wish the games on anyone. But she's glad, at least, that she's not facing this alone, whatever this is. "I can't believe- Finnick, you're still alive. How are you alive?" She laughs, and there it is, the thought. "I thought you exploded at the Capital sewers."
"I told you, I'm not exactly sure myself." Now that she's focused, Katniss immediately tells something is off. The light in his eyes dim, his smile strained, and both of them pick up the beat of hesitation before he had started to speak.
"Finnick..." Eyes of scrutiny and concern keeps his gaze locked with hers. Katniss doesn't say anything else, though. She leaves it for him to decide.
His body does a little slump as his smile finally retreats. "The explosion wasn't close enough."
"What?" Now the look is only of concern, because Katniss can still clearly remember the moment where she slowly repeated 'Nightlock' one, two, three times before closing the sewer grate and running as far away as possible. "How could it not have reached you?"
"It was too far away, Katniss." Finnick looks pained as he runs a hand through his dark blonde hair. "The top of the ladder was more than 100 feet away, and it only hit the surface of the water. I was already down deep. The lizards diving after me got fried, though." Katniss suddenly realizes that the uneven way he walks isn't simply a sauntering gait.
"I took the triton and fought, screaming all the while, but in the end, I still m-made it out." He grimaces. "Got some pretty bad burns, though. Everything above the water was hot, and the triton- well, I used my shirt to hold it, but only so much someone can do to ward off the inevitable, right? Heh." The lack of mirth in his laugh is not lost on her. "It slid through the mutts a lot more easily once it absorbed the heat from the explosion."
But I didn't. The unspoken words. Because somehow, through the explosion, and the mutts, and the war, and being trapped underground (The door was, of course, welded shut), Finnick O'dair still survived. Katniss can't tell if he finds it as good or bad. Disgust at the memory is the only expression evident on his face.
"I went back to the closest door I could, since the grate was welded shut. I still had the pill, Katniss."
Katniss looks up, studying him. "And you didn't take it?"
"I couldn't let myself take it when Annie was still alive. I was no use for the rebellion at that point, but Annie...she was still out there. She is still out there, Katniss." He says it with...determination, like he's convincing himself of the fact.
"Yes, she is." Her voice sounds raw, but Finnick nods, a small look of hope on his face.
"Thank you." She realizes he had no way of knowing. So she tells him about the letter Annie sent her, about their son.
A strange look of crossed feelings stretches his face into an eventual semblance of determination, although this type, Katniss notices, is different.
"Katniss, we will make it out of here."
Yes. She nods. Yes, they will.
...
It was about the same time Minho and Newt arrived that Pippin and Merry realized they literally had no idea what to say. The two teenagers found the hobbits poring over their translation paper/letter, twofold trying to find the library and a coherently relatable sentence.
"Hey," said Newt, with a raise of his hand. The hobbits looked up, startled.
"So," Newt continued, "you required our help with something?"
"Merry," Pippin stated nervously. "I think he's talking to us."
"Pippin, this was your idea!" Merry turned to Pippin and saw flashing eyes of panic before sighing. He turned to the two folks and craned his neck, attempting to meet their gaze.
He pointed at himself. "Merry." He pointed at Pippin. "Pippin." He wanted to add an 'at your service' quite badly, but it would only complicate matters, for one thing, and for another, they were the ones asking for service, not giving it.
Minho shrugged. "Eh, I've heard weirder. Name's Minho." Merry and Pippin stared. "Minho." Merry suddenly whispered something to Pippin, and both frantically looked at their sheaf. Slowly, Pippn met eye contact with the boy across from him. "Newt," he said.
Newt did a double take. "Wa- how'd you know my name?"
There was a small discussion on the hobbit's side before they turned the paper over. Newt leaned over, grabbed at the end, and felt the tension from its opposite end. He met Merry's gaze.
"May I?" Newt pulled slightly, and Merry let go.
His eyes scanned the page quickly, breath hitching. "Minho, come take a peek at this."
Minho glanced over the pile of names and frowned. "Where did they get this?" He searched for the hobbits' names, and his forehead creased in further perplexment.
"Middle-earth? What's Middle-earth?"
"Maybe it's some...sanction of sorts." Newt's brain told him otherwise, and he thought back, chest sinking, to all the times he'd heard them talk.
Not one conversation in any of those times he'd listened had he understood a word. Not one single word.
Minho waved the paper. "Where'd you guys get this?"
"Minho."
Two slightly panicked expressions slapped him back in the face, and Minho scowled. "Are you spies or something? How'd you get your hands on this information?" His voice started to shift a few degrees.
"He's going to make a ruckus, Merry. What about running?"
"We can't run; he still has the paper!" Merry looked intently at Minho. "We've got to duke it out."
"Minho!" Newt was exasperated at his friend's quick escalation. "Calm down! I don't think..." he glanced at the kids, who were starting to assume fighting stances. "I don't think they understand."
There was a sound of disgust on Minho's part. "How can they not understand?"
"I don't think they speak English." Newt took a closer look at the paper. "These marks, here. They aren't...decorative. I think they're at a loss."
Minho humphed but consented to look closer at the markings next to each name and location.
Slowly, Pippin and Merry lowered their fists (they figured they could easily try a hit-and-run if the need be). Now, the hard part.
...
Percy Jackson was restless. Hazel and he had visited all the floors (there was a lot of time on their hands) and at least glanced in most of the rooms.
There was an entire room dedicated to karaoke. Which, to be honest, he scoffed at the first time, but it was still karaoke. So he hitched a ride on the elevator and took a closer look around. The whole room seemed state-of-the-art in tech. It was set to a purplish hue, but he spotted a sound booth that could probably manipulate the lights.
On one side was a long stretch of table with song books- which he discovered were placed alphabetically to song title- and a stage cornered each end off. Percy opened a book and scanned one of its thick manila pages, trying not to let the words make a mess in front of his eyes (which he failed at). The dates swam all over until they stated years that didn't exist. It happened again and again and again.
Next thing he knew, Percy was back in the elevator- with the book. Not that he believed any of it, he told himself. He just wanted to make sure.
...
"Where is the book bathroom?"
"What?"
If the word didn't go through, Minho's expression sure did. Pippin and Merry sighed, then tried again.
"It has to be the long word. Try replacing the syllables."
"Where is the bath...book?"
Minho sighed. "Lemme have a look at that." He came alongside the hobbits, bending over them at their translation guide (which, unfortunately, was all in Westron). Minho was a large teenager, and his reaction from earlier made the hobbits wary to his imposing shadow. Nevertheless, they allowed him to see it, but they weren't going to let him touch it, not when they weren't sure they could get it back.
A few seconds later he sighed in frustration and backed away, putting both hands to his hair. "If only we could get a translation or something."
"Where is the book...room?"
Minho's forehead creased, then smoothed out as he whirled around. "What?"
At first the hobbits balked, but figured it couldn't be any worse then anything they'd previously said.
"Where is the book...room?"
A strange look crossed Minho's features, and Newt moved himself from the wall he had been leaning upon.
"Where is the book room?" Newt said the words slowly, never losing contact with the double sets of eyes gazing up in slight hope.
"Where is the book room?" Pippin's words began to fill with excitement. Newt nodded.
"That's what they've been asking?"
"Apparently so." only then did Newt break contact in favor of glancing at Minho. "Have you seen a library anywhere?"
Minho snorted. "As if."
"The runes must be in their language, then."
"Alright." Merry started to shuffle the papers, causing the teenagers' focus on him to return.
"What are you doing?" The only word that stuck out to the hobbits was 'what,' which they came to understand more or less as the meaning it defined.
Merry wordlessly showed them the maps. There were a lot of them. Newt's eyebrows raised, while Minho whistled, then shot them a narrowed glance.
"How'd they get all this stuff?"
"If they can't understand English then they were probably more clueless than the rest of us. Thus, extra information. A compensation."
"'Still don't trust Fletcher," Minho remarked. Markings in both Westron and English lay underneath each room, and the top page from the pile revealed the library to be on the ground floor about a hallway down from Fletcher's quarters. "Obviously. But boy, this guy can compensate."
Newt followed with a silent nod, laced with caution.
"Fletcher?"
"I hope he doesn't mean to ask Fletcher himself." Pippin and Merry had absolutely no idea what would happen if Fletcher found out they were going against his strong suggestion, or what it would mean for those they roped along. There was no way to warn Minho or Newt about any of it.
All they could do was hope they didn't make a mistake.
...
I really wanted to finish this mini-arc in one chapter but I guess that's not happening (some variation of writer's block), so I hope you enjoy and I'll try to update soon.
The Hunger Games trilogy is written first person in present tense, and I wanted to try to match that. Switching from third to first and back again seemed too strange, though, so I made it third and present, which might still be too noticeable, but I hope it didn't detract too much from the story itself.
Fandoms mentioned: Lotr, Hunger Games, Percy Jackson, and Maze Runner.
Also: I was thinking of deleting Tris' prologue (Ch. 1) because now that I look back at it, it doesn't really seem to flow with the rest of the story, and it makes more sense for Katniss (Ch. 2) to start off a Hunger Games themed fanfiction. It would, however, make all the author's notes seem really weird. If you have any objections, speak now or forever hold your peace.
Please review! Thank you for reading!