Chapter Twenty-Nine: "Back In The Saddle"

I feel something touching my face.

Latching onto the offending hand, my eyes snap open. I see nothing but grayish blobs dancing through my vision. I don't need to see them to kill them. If they're gonna get me, mise well try and' take 'em with me. While the hand tries desperately to get away, I keep them pinned while I fumble for the gauntlet activation button that isn't there.

The owner of the arm squeals. "Clancy, help!"

While maintaining my grip on the squirming tribute, I frown. Clancy?

Before I could connect two and two together, another dark blob enters my vision, their hands latching onto my throat. The pain is immediate, their hands a piping kettle and my neck a bare, clumsy hand.

I let out a gasp, the pain enough to rip me out of my daze and focus my attention squarely on a dark-skinned boy who looks less than amused.

Wasn't he white and bald just a second ago?

"Wait what?" I rasp hoarsely. "What…Who're-?"

Maintaining his grip, he yanks me upward so that my blues are level with his bulging browns.

"You're safe now, okay?! You aren't helping anyone by freaking out," the boy bellows with a deep, Capitol accent. "If you make a threat towards my sister again, it'll be the last thing you'll ever do, and I don't care who you are."

"Sister?" I repeat, canting my head ever so slightly to the left. A much younger dark-skinned girl stands idly by, eyes wide, a silver pistol in her trembling grip aiming directly at me.

My eyes shift between the pair three more times before It all comes flooding back. The brief glances during training, their individual interviews. I immediately remember them to be Clancy and Emery Smithson, the Capitol sibling duo representing District 12. They're still alive and kicking.

And someway, somehow, they saved my ass.

A slight shake from Clancy pulls me out of my head. "Am I clear?"

Slowly, I flicker my vision from Emery to him, feeling as helpless as a newborn. As much as I want to counter his grapple and place a blade to his neck, I am in no shape to do it. I give him a firm nod.

"Crystal." I grunt out.

"Good," he replies. "I hauled your ass up twenty floors. Killing us as repayment wouldn't be the nicest thing, I reckon."

He releases me as I let out a sharp moan of pain. a wave of discomfort washes over me from head to toe. And then the coughing comes, dry, annoying hacks that cause my entire body to go through the motions. Luckily there's a canteen right next to me as I grab it and take a swig. That helps. Over on a sofa, Paulus chuckles to himself like an idiot.

"Saved again?" he tuts, grinning at me. "That's what, two for two now, sis?"

My cheeks growing hot, I stare at my feet. "Shut the hell up."

"I'm sorry?" replies Clancy, startled.

Glaring at Paulus who continues to snigger, I shake my head. "Nothing..." they continue to gawk at me as if I have seven heads. "I said nothing!" I repeat.

What follows next is a spell of awkward silence consisting of me trying to regain my bearings and the siblings settling on either side of the room, continuing to gawk and exchange weary glances.

Emery breaks the silence, sauntering forward as she drops down and sits on the balls of her feet beside me. With chapped lips, she grins from ear to ear, extending a hand forward.

"Sorry about the whole pointing the gun at you bit," she says with a shrill, Capitol cadence. "I don't believe we've properly met. I'm Emery Smithson," her cheeks grow red as her eyes shift to anywhere but me. "I believe you've already met my brother, Clancy…"

From the hulking young man polishing his kukri while gazing at me, I train my eyes back onto the hand jutting into my vision and the grinning young girl that holds it there. For someone who's spent days in an arena, she seems awfully chipper. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought she had twenty kills under her belt given how upbeat she seems.

"Do I really need to introduce myself?" I grumble, eyeing the distinctive pink headband that rests in her poofy updo. "This ain't a playground…"

Withdrawing her hand and caressing it as if I had bit it, the young Capitolite frowns. "Well it's only right, being your new friends and all-"

I scoff. It's obvious they are but I can't help it. "'Friends'?"

"That's right," Clancy adds. "Our holographic intermediaries thought you could use some new ones after your…predicament."

Just as he says that, my brain throbs as the day's events come flooding back to memory. The ambush, the quake, Syndra's bloody body, that Thirteen damn near choking the life out of me…chasing after a home that no longer exists. It hits me like a sack of bricks. I almost fucking died.

I let out a dry scoff at the absurdity of it all. I don't want to believe it, I won't believe it. I had that Thirteen where I wanted him. If not these two, I would've found a way.

"We walked in on Greer and you," Clancy continues, casually waving his kukri around. "He's gone. You must've killed Quinn before then."

I nod, remembering the ambush as clear as day. The scene of me gunning her down is quickly replaced with Syndra agonizing over her wounds. "Where's Syndra?"

My head swivels toward Emery as she drops to her bottom from her heels with an audible thud. That pleasant grin on her lips is long gone now. "Syndra didn't make it. She was dead when we came in."

I'm overcome with a sudden urge to shift, sighing as I adjust my seating. Well shit. I had a feeling she was dead, right when I pulled the trigger near Greer's head. The bang was too loud, must've been her cannon. I didn't want to believe it, though. An image of her, bloodied and slumped against the couch comes to mind as clear as day. "Why…? Why leave…? They're…They're all dead now…"

With a quick shake of my head, the image of her disappears like smoke into the ether. It was going to happen sooner or later. Better to die that way then die a worser death as the numbers dwindle and people get more desperate. It was a given, forget her.

But I can't.

Noticing the siblings gawping at me, I sigh. "What about the others?"

Clancy gives me the rundown of what happened. I've been out for nearly two days. Max, Daphne, Gem and Quartz are dead. Max lasted longer. With them are three Twelves and some others thrown into the mix. I can't help but grin at the mention of three Twelves - Thirteens - dying. Tit for tat. I lose some pawns, he loses some too.

Freezing in place, confused, my eyes trail up toward the dilapidated ceiling. Did I just think of them as 'pawns'...? I mean, I established that since before the pedestals rose, but I can't say they were downright 'awful' tributes…

"That's what alliances are, Zenny. No matter how you try an' shake it," Paulus drawls, fidgeting with his lighter. He lights it, and then extinguishes it with a dramatic flourish. "Pawns. They serve a purpose till they don't. Then you get rid of 'em…or they get rid of themselves, either or."

I nod. That's right. I think, immediately remembering Viondra's conversation. They were cushioning, a soft landing for the inevitable fall.

Emery lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. It might as well be molten hot, as I whip my head towards her. With a sharp, quiet gasp, she retracts it quickly.

"I'm sorry," she says. "It's just…It's been a crazy few days. How are you feeling?"

The melee with Greer replaying in my head, my hand immediately flies toward my nose, hissing as I make contact with it, padding it down three times before blinking tears away. I can't help but notice the two pieces of tissue lodged into my nostrils. Emery sheepishly explains it was to "stem the bleeding" before handing me a compact mirror.

For all intents and purposes, it doesn't look too bad. Just tender and slightly bruised.

Noticing my hand through the mirror, I then glance down at my fingers, inwardly cringing as I recall Greer's teeth clamping down on them as I reach through the cuts on his cheek to cause him further pain. My fingers are bandages but the multitude of brown streaks - dried blood - seeping through tells me all I need to know. Even flexing them causes me to wince.

I turn my attention to my shoulders and up. My neck is discolored and tender to the touch. Same goes for my face besides my nose. My ear, grazed by a bullet, is neatly and expertly bandaged. I can't help but notice my fingers are bandaged the same way, too. My clothes, once soiled with mud, are as clean as they were on launch day, boots and all. I glance up at Clancy and quirk a brow.

"Don't worry, I didn't do the changing..." he says wryly. "Emery did that."

"How did you get all of it?" I ask him, turning my attention away from Emery's pursed grin and burning cheeks. "The mystery crates? I had some saved around here somewhere…"

Clancy responds by tossing me a piece of balled up paper. Landing in between my legs I pick it up, unraveling it and immediately feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth at its contents.

"From the people of District 2, organized by your brothers and sisters in arms."

Grinning, I fold the note and place it into my arm pocket where I assume it would be safest. Where would I be without my friends? Probably would've tried to end it all again. My eyes follow Clancy as he gestures towards the various pieces of loot strewn about our dwelling.

"Finnick Odair has nothing on you," he boasts with a grin.

I tilt my head to the side. He raises a good point. If - when - I get out, I can't help but wonder how all this will compare to arenas prior. It'd be a real shame to garner all this fame only to die.

I motion towards my wrapped ear. "And the dress job? Who did that?"

"Don't look at me. At the Academy, they called me "The Machine" - because I was the workhorse. First Aid I could do, but that's her domain, not mine. I get things done, Emmy is my sober second thought."

My vision trails over to Emery, who blushes at the praise, shrugging. She opens up a purple book, revealing the emblem of the Young Nationalist Pioneers - Panem's national eagle upholding a torch in between the tips of its outspread wings.

"I'm a first class Pioneer, one of the handful in my age range," she explains proudly. "I never thought my skills would be put to the test this way..."

"Well hot damn," says Paulus, clapping his hands together. "We have some useful Capitolites on our side. A decent trade off if you ask me."

Overwhill was mostly separate from the Pioneers, but before enrolling in the Academy for ninth grade, I recall spending many summers at local jamborees. Remembering the good times I had, I can't help but grin.

"Semper Prorsum," I say to Emery.

Emery offers up the Pioneer's salute. "Always forward. So, despite the dings…are you okay?"

It's as if she jinxed it. I feel a wave of discomfort wash over me like a smothering blanket as I attempt to adjust my seating. Other tributes have faced worse, however. I could be all alone with a deep laceration in my leg, or missing a hand entirely.

"I'm gonna have to be okay," I tell her. "Anything else means death."

Falling back onto my Academy training, I perform a series of stretches to work the kinks out.

It's obvious my days of dodging bullets and outrunning pursuers have caught up to me. I'm barely the well-oiled machine Overwhill cadets are advertised as. Every elongation of my legs, every twist of my trunk, every turn of the head has me hissing in pain. self-conscious , I try to put up a brave face for Emery and Clancy, but I know for a fact they know I'm hurting more than I let on.

From the footage I've reviewed back at the Academy, my throat would've been slit a long, long time ago by my 'fellow' Careers if these were normal Hunger Games.

When I finish, Emery saunters over with a MRE and a tiny, orange container. Confused, I quirk a brow, inspecting the container to find out it has a bunch of white tablets housed within. Painkillers.

"They were sponsored along with everything else." Emery explains, a puzzled expression on her face as she collects her own ration and joins me on the ground. With a hushed voice she says, "That's a lot of pills…I wonder what the going rate is?"

"Don't remind me," I warn her, my mind immediately flashing back to Finnick Odair's little speech on President Snow's apparent 'practices'. Sponsorship for access to the victors? Sexual access? Why would President Snow do such a thing? The Rebels are a bunch of good for nothing dregs, I know this. Still, something tells me his words carry some weight.

I pop one of those pills and carry on eating. Whatever Viondra sent me must be potent, because as I sit and eat, I feel the knots of pain slowly beginning to unravel, so much to the point where I have to stop and stretch them out. It's a 'good pain' that I'm feeling, the type of pain that I get after a morning PT session with Claudia and the NCOs.

"Are you alright?" Clancy asks me.

"I'm fine," I reply. "Why?"

"I've never seen anyone eat lamb stew like it's liquid garbage, is all."

"I was exposed to the vapor. Everythin' smells like sulfur an' mold." I give the food another taste. Savoring it a while. Taste and smell is coming back, gradually. I'd rather this than be that Eleven, drowning in his own liquids.

Clancy's eyes bulge. "You've been through a lot…"

"Literally as soon as my pedestal clicked into place," I say.

I can't help but notice that as I eat, Emery continues to eye me occasionally behind those round eyeglasses of hers. It seems I have an admirer. From her packet of fruit salad (how fitting), she would glance up at me, look back at the pouch, and then cast another glance back at me again. Her older brother seems to mind his own, however.

She reminds me of a freshman cadet, or a kid that isn't in the system yet or at all, gawking at you in your uniform as you go about business off campus. I liked the eyeballs.

Now, after what happened on the road…I don't care much for attention anymore.

I return her gaze with a pointed one of my own, quirking a brow. "Somethin' the matter, city mouse?"

Emery frowns. "Huh?"

"You like to stare, is all," I explain, shrugging. "'Preciate it if you stopped."

I quickly turn my attention to a shifting Clancy, who reclines back on the ratty sofa he sits on. For a moment, I thought he was going to rise up and wrap his hands around my neck again.

"Can you blame her? She's sitting next to Panem's most enigmatic figure…" he says dryly.

I roll my eyes. "Well, I didn't ask for that title, it was given to me."

"City Mouse?"

I turn my attention back to a frowning Emery. "Yea, like the story. Haven't ya read it?" I reply, "You're from the Capitol, the Games ain't exactly your forte and I betcha you're not likin' it too much…oh, and you're small, so it fits-"

"Can you not call me that?"

"I like the name."

"But I fixed your arm," she replies flatly, pointing off to her big brother. "He killed two tributes and numerous mutts. The idea that these Games aren't our forte compared to any other tribute-"

A drawn out yawn from yours truly cuts her off. The pill is really working its magic now. Resting my arms behind my head, I recline against the old, drab wall. "Still fits if ya ask me."

I peer at her through one eye, nearly breaking out into laughter at the cutting glare she lobs at me. I opt for a grin instead. She glances at Clancy. Looking for assistance perhaps?

He shakes his head and shrugs, murmuring something under his breath. No getting up and throttling me, it seems.

Squeaking out a noise of annoyance, she takes her things and collapses on the opposite end of the sofa next to her brother, discarding her fruit salad and replacing it with a purple book of all things. I watch in disbelief as she takes out a pen and writes furiously onto the pages.

A journal in the Games…never thought I'd see the day.

A comfortable silence takes over the apartment. I trust the Capitol siblings enough to even allow myself to drift off and let the pills continue to work their magic. It's so good, the clarity that replaces the fog in my brain, the ever growing fluidity in my movements that I go ahead and pop another pill. I wouldn't be surprised if by the same time tomorrow I was fully functional.

Our silence is interrupted by gunfire. It's enough to wake everyone up. I find myself scrambling for weapons I don't even have. Where the fuck are my gauntlets, my rifle? I hiss out a curse but quickly turn my attention back to the skirmish that occurs not far from our position. Maybe a couple hundreds of meters away. I hear a voice or two among the increased rate of fire. An inhuman shriek pegs the fight as a mutt attack.

"Mutt probably found its next meal," I say. "No need to be alarmed."

Part of me hopes it's a Thirteen being chowed down on. Matix. But the Capitol wouldn't do that. They'd want me and him to face off on an equal footing. I quickly remember that District 2 has a near-full roster of tributes left alive. Rabe. Gibbs. Shadd. All are just a tier lower than Matix.

They would need to be dealt with too. I think. By me rather than anyone else. It seems I have all the time in the world to continue the fight. We're getting up there in Games duration.

Despite my toning down of the events outside our little home, the Capitol siblings still seem on edge. A quick check of my communicuff, coupled with the darkening sky tells me that it's unlikely the Gamemakers will try something now. I figure I'm right when the commotion outside stops and the arena is quiet again. The thought of fighting again so soon makes my stomach twist.

It's too soon to start up again.

And speak of the devil, my wrist vibrates. It's not just me, the siblings also glance down at their wrists as their individual cuffs light up. The holograms choose to appear from my communicuff, projecting smack dab in the middle of the living room for everyone to see. I hiss at Emery to secure the blinds which she quickly does.

"Good evening, tributes," greets Pax.

"Although for many of you, this evening is anything but good," says Vi.

"Why wouldn't it be? I'd say a tentative congratulations are in order!" Pax beams, launching his hands into the air in a celebratory motion. "They've survived the equivalent of two whole Hunger Games! They've reached the halfway point."

"Well, for starters. I think everyone would agree that in this arena, you are only as strong as the number of allies surrounding you," Vi counters.

"You have a point, my dear colleague," says Pax. "Speaking of numbers, it seems that many are missing that…'familial' security that's brought them this far."

Vi nods. "In addition, due to the recent…seismic activity, it seems that many of you are…worse for wear. In light of this, the Gamemakers would like to offer up a chance for you to…remedy these deficiencies."

"Keep an eye on those communicuffs," warns Pax. "Success in this endeavor banks heavily on the individual strengths of your partners."

I exchange the briefest of glances with Clancy. A feast. The Gamemakers are hosting a feast.

As if in a classroom, Emery's hand shoots upward. "And what happens if we don't come?"

The holograms pause, exchanging casual glances with one another. There's no doubt that our opponents are asking the same question from whatever crevices they call home in this arena.

"For those of you electing to choose the lonesome path, it is heavily advised that you reconsider."

Clancy and I continue to hold each other's gaze. Why, though? Surely there's a considerable amount of loners stalking about.

"Why?" asks Emery. Much to my surprise, the holograms don't disappear but instead exchange knowing grins.

"One of your competitors asked 'why'," says Pax.

"The answer is simply put: change," Vi replies with the widest of grins.

"What better way to weather change than with a loyal ally by your side?" adds Pax, bowing as he says "See you when we see you."

"Good luck," chimes Vi, complementing Pax's bow with a curtsey. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

And with that, the holograms disappear, casting the apartment into darkness. The anthem comes and goes without a portrait in the sky. It seems that the skirmish outside yielded no deaths. A shame.

Clancy has a portable lamp that coupled with a heavy blanket, gives us enough light to maneuver and not be seen by other tributes. Only a minute passes when my communicuff vibrates again, prompting me to quickly raise my forearm into my vision.

I receive a hint in the form of a waypoint that hovers on a school-like building a little ways south of our position. A timestamp, 1300 hours, flashes overhead. I glance around the apartment proper, taking note of a faint red dot nestled in between the overhead kitchen cupboards. I give it a solid nod.

Much obliged, Viondra. My eye in the sky…

"So," Clancy drawls, clapping his hands together as he rises from out of his spot on the sofa. "Now that we stumbled past the introduction phase, let's talk strategy."

I eye him now as he plops down onto the ground beside his sister who seems to perk up at the word 'strategy', sitting cross legged with her head resting on her fists, ready to hear me out.

Who said there was a strategy to be discussed…? My lips twitch into a small frown as a singular word reverberates in my skull. Cushions. Cushions. Cushions. With Forty-odd tributes about to descend on what's to be the biggest feast in Games history, who's to say these two won't join my other allies?

"Unlike them, sis, these two're PK brats," Paulus says. "I'd discount 'em too, if it weren't for that fact. Give 'im a chance, 'specially the Clancy guy." towering over Emery, he frowns. "The pipsqueak on the other hand, well…"

"Well?" I whip my head towards Clancy, who frowns in confusion. "In order to beat the feast, we need sleep. Before we can sleep, we need to strategize first…or do you think we're incapable?"

Grinning, I fold my arms. "So you're a cadet?"

"Mhm," the large boy replies, folding his arms. "I was RMA bound, until the bloody war came along and mucked things up…"

"What program?"

"Strategic studies," he answers. "Why? Would we be peers in a better world than the one we currently inhabit?"

I hum and nod in approval. If my curriculars, grades and aptitude test all aligned, more than likely I would be in the Capitol attending Ravinstill Military Academy in a perfect world, maybe even catching his eye while walking down the hallway or even attending a class together.

In a better world.

"He's got plenty of awards and is on plenty of teams," Emery gushes. Seemingly staring off into space, she frowns, shaking her head. "Mother was so proud…"

She fingers her headband in an almost possessive way. That, coupled with the longing look makes me think the garment belongs to her mother or was at least a gift from light from Clancy's lamp reflects off her dark skin, allowing me to see the dampness on her cheeks. An uncomfortable warmth washing over me, I ignore Clancy as he offers his brotherly love, pulling her into his embrace as I consult my communicuff's minimap. Something inside me twinges at her comment. Mother was so proud…I never heard it from mine. Ain't it obvious that she was? She didn't say it, but she had her ways of showin' it, I think. Mom? Are you proud of me?

It makes me feel angry, watching the younger girl cry as she's comforted. Confused. Jealous. Clancy seems to notice something's off with me as Emery's cries become a little more audible. If she weren't pressed against Clancy's side, the whole arena would hear her. She's inconsolable.

"I'm sorry, Zenobia. It's been rough, more than you can imagine…or maybe you can. I…" he gestures towards his sister. "Do you mind if I just…for a little bit-?"

"Sure…" I drawl dryly, eyeing the younger girl while I rise up onto my feet. "I'll be outside."

With heavy feet, I lumber my way out of the apartment and onto the roof. Rather than risk tumbling twenty stories to my death, I opt to relax against the rooftop entrance, taking in the cool fall air and the forcefield's lights. I glance up to see Paulus drop himself next to me, a cig dangling out of his mouth as he smiles wryly at me. I turn my attention back to the evening sky.

"Were they? Were they proud?" I ask him. "I mean…I was just the girl, the…the 'ideal Panemian girl'. Be smart. Be pretty. Be hard working. You were-"

"You really like to dwell on things, don'tcha? We've been over this before," says Paulus. "I don't matter anymore, Zenobia…this is your show. Quit comparin' yourself t'me."

"You are my big brother…It's only natural," I say. He could fluff me up all he wants, but this year was supposed to be his. They yearned for him, Mom and Dad. Cheered for him. I was just supposed to be Randall Pilsner's girl. I had to fight to even get on the commissioned officer's track. Even though I went to their graveside the morning of the reaping and told them I was volunteering, would they have told me to stay put? Keep my head down and continue the Rivendell bloodline instead of tossing myself into the Games? We share a moment of silence before Paulus pipes up again.

"For all intents and purposes…I think they'd be pretty proud. I'd be pretty proud too," he says to me. "You know what'd make us prouder? If you came to do what you said you were gonna do, kill Justin Matix.'Morrow's your chance."

Grinning, I rise up from off the ground and stretch out my aching body. That's right. Tomorrow I have the chance to rub out Matix. Not just him, but his buddies too. Gibbs is still alive. Rabe, Shadd. Everyone else that isn't Clancy and Emery. Mom and Dad are as loyal as loyal Panemians can be. They'd be damn proud.

I march myself back downstairs to the apartment. I have a feast to strategize for.

Coming up Next...

I whip my head towards the long-paneled window where I hear muffled screams and snarling barks. A figure, a tribute, teeters into view across the street, mongrel mutts nipping at his heels as he fires aimlessly at them. I see the flashing barrel turning my way and I duck, whimpering as bullets pierce through the glass, shattering it outright as they loudly whizz and skitter throughout the office. My brain tells me 'run', but I don't. Instead I find myself turning to get a closer look at the tribute in question.

I may not have known him long, but I know that green hair from anywhere.