for the 2023 syot verses victor exchange
for em, with love
If he looks out the window of the train, Oskan Kemal swears he can see the entire district.
The doors of the train slide shut behind him, cutting Oskan off from anything he's ever known. For a moment, he wonders if he could spot even just the tip of the roof of the red barn back at High Valley Farm. But before he can get close enough to the window to have a chance at spotting it, the train lurches forward, ripping Oskan's world away from him.
(Somehow, Oskan is not crushed. He doesn't feel like sobbing, like his younger District Partner did the moment her name was called, nor like sinking into his bed and hoping that, if he opens his eyes, everything will go away. No, Oskan feels… hollow.
Emptiness is not a new feeling for Oskan Kemal. He's all too used to the fact that life can tear everything away at a moment's notice. Perhaps, in this moment, that's a kindness.)
His body floats over to a seat next to the window, as if pulled by a lasso tied around his waist. His face presses up against the glass, leaving little bits of condensation on its pristine surface. His eyes dart back and forth, trying to keep up with a world outside that passes by faster and faster.
Soon enough, there's nothing left to focus on; the world becomes little more than a green and yellow blur. But Oskan still can't tear himself away. It's only once the yellow fades away entirely, giving way to the lush greens and deep browns of the woods that separate the districts, that he even allows himself to perceive the train car once more.
"Oskan, yes?"
The boy nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of Abel Zelalem standing across from him. How did his mentor get here? When? And how did he manage to wait to speak until precisely the moment that Oskan opened himself up to reality again?
"Oh, I didn't mean to startle you," the man apologizes. "But now that we're further from Ten, I think it would be a good time to get to work."
Oskan cocks his head, furrowing his brow without realizing it. "Work on what?"
"Your angle," he replies. "How we'll present you to the Capitol and its citizens once we get there."
"What do you mean?"
Abel sighs, taking a seat opposite Oskan. "So here's the thing about the Games. From the moment your name gets pulled out of that bowl, the Gamemakers are looking for the role you're going to play in their story. They're going to spend every moment of the next week trying to cast this cast of tributes into the drama they're concocting for the Arena. Not every kid will fit perfectly, in part because not every kid they've cast will survive long enough for them to play their role. But your odds of making it far in the Games get significantly higher the quicker you can find a way into one of the roles the Gamemakers have picked out – or, the quicker you can make a role for yourself that makes you stand out so much that the Gamemakers have no choice but to write you in. My job is to help you find that role."
"So… so I have to pick a character?"
"In a way, but not quite. Because your character needs to somehow be grounded in who you are. And that's where I want to start." Abel leans in closer, looking Oskan right in the eye. "We know that you are seventeen. We know that you are from District Ten. It's mostly safe, I think, to assume that you're a boy. But that doesn't tell us anything about who you are.
"So tell me. Who are you, Oskan Kemal?"
There's something almost refreshing about the quiet of the Capitol.
Yes, the Capitol is nothing like Ten. Buildings, taller than any Oskan has ever seen, shoot up into the heavens; people of all shapes and colors flood every inch of its busy streets. Neon lights drown out the twinkling stars Oskan loved back home, and any of nature's sounds that might permeate this metropolis are easily overtaken by blaring horns and blasting music and cheering crowds and...
To call it overwhelming is an understatement. Oskan has never felt more cornered and claustrophobic than he has since arriving in this metal hellscape. From the minute he stepped off of the train, he's been handed off from person to person, poked and prodded and molded and modeled into…
into…
(He was supposed to… Abel insisted… but he couldn't seem to… and then his stylist tried… but Oskan… Oskan…)
Oskan takes a deep breath, inhaling the sounds of the Capitol. Noise floods his mind, horns and music and jeers and cheers rushing through his mind. He may be ten stories up, but the sounds are still loud enough that, if he lets them, they can drown out Oskan's thoughts.
He can't remember the last time he was able to not think.
The boy leans his head on the window, looking out on the streets below. The Capitol does look quite pretty from the District Ten floor. Lights bounce off of metal and glass, casting the entire city in a neon glow; windows mirror glittering pinpricks from streetlights and cars, projecting galaxies of stars onto any surface that can reflect them in turn.
Oskan had wondered why anyone would choose to live here, surrounded by steel and stone, when there's far more beauty in the natural world. Sitting up here, watching the world from high above, he can almost understand why.
There's also the fact that those who live here will never have to worry about dying before their time.
What a luxury that must be.
With a sigh, Oskan tears himself away from the window. Time is another luxury Oskan doesn't have here; he really should start preparing with Abel for training tomorrow. But when he returns to the common space, he finds it empty, not even their escort in sight.
"Hello?"
Oskan nearly jumps out of his skin. "Who's there?" he calls back.
"Just me."
It takes Oskan's brain a moment to catch up with his heart rate and place the voice he hears. "Daciana?"
"Yeah, that's my name."
"Where are you?"
"Over here." She pops her head up from behind the back of the couch. "Wanna come sit? I have snacks."
Oskan thinks for a moment. He's still not quite sure how he wants to interact with the other tributes – or, for that matter, how much. But he figures there's no reason not to spend some time with Daciana; after all, they are District Partners.
(He can't help but feel something weird twist in his stomach as he goes to sit next to her. But Oskan ignores it – he's been feeling anxious around people for months now.
Besides, there's nothing he wants less right now than to be alone with his thoughts.)
"It's nice to finally see you without all that wool on," Daciana says, holding a bowl of popcorn mixed with some small, colorful circles out to Oskan. "Those chariot outfits were really no fun."
"Nope," Oskan replies, gingerly taking a small handful. "At least the sun wasn't out, though."
"There was enough light that it might as well have been. And they were really bright, too."
"Well, at least we weren't black sheep."
"True say."
Daciana takes another handful of the snack and pops it in her mouth. "Anyway, I'm sorry we haven't had much chance to talk so far. I feel like I haven't been able to breathe since I was Reaped."
"I understand," Oskan replies. "It's been… a lot."
"Yeah. I wish I'd managed not to cry at the Reaping though. It's gonna make it so much harder to get sponsors that way."
Oskan's heart sinks. "Already?"
"Yeah. They've got their eyes on us from the moment they show our faces for the first time. Most of them have already picked out two or three they want to sponsor just based on how they did at the Reapings. There are a few that take pity on the sad kids, but not many. Plus, I don't want to be pitied by them. I want someone to pick me who actually thinks I have a decent chance to win."
Daciana pauses to grab more of her snack, giving Oskan just a moment to get his head to stop spinning. He thought it was only the Careers who'd be so set by this point. But no, it seems like everyone is far, far ahead of him.
The scariest part is, he's not sure he could possibly have enough time to catch up.
He knows he should go pick a weapon.
It's not like Oskan doesn't know how to defend himself. Back in Ten, knives are commonplace. Everyone learns how to use a knife from the moment they begin to work – not just butchers or slaughterhouse workers, everyone. After all, a farmhand may be the only line of defense between a coyote and an entire flock of sheep.
His eyes drift over to the sparring station, where the Careers have camped out for the day. Oskan watches in horror as the biggest one, the boy from Two, rips through multiple training dummies at once with what look to be a set of claws strapped onto each hand. Fake blood sprays all over the boy, who turns back to his allies with a vicious grin on his face.
(Oskan can't bring himself to even think about a weapon. It's one thing to kill a rabid animal. It's quite another to murder a person. And the idea of being the one to end a child's life just… it doesn't sit right with him.
He knows he'll have to get over that thought if he wants to win.)
(Key word: if.)
He glances up at the clock; there's probably enough time to hit one more station before the end of this training block. Most of the stations he's hit so far are those that he already knew quite a bit about – building fires, purifying waters, making snares, tracking prey. He'd hoped that he might learn something new at one of them, something that would give him a key to the Arena, but the trainers didn't have much to share that Oskan didn't already know. The only one that made Oskan raise his eyebrows was the tracking one, where the trainer spent an unusual amount of time emphasizing how tracks might be covered up. Oskan's still not sure what the trainer was implying.
Oskan scans the room, looking for a station that's at least mostly empty. Even if he doesn't finish everything there now, there's still some more time to come back before private sessions. After debating for a moment, he decides to go to the plant identification station. Sure, he's got some sense of what to eat or what not to touch from living in the most rural areas of Ten, but that's only one possible environment out of many. If Oskan wants to survive, he needs to cover as many of his bases as possible.
(Not to mention that, if Abel asks, he can say that he learned how to use a weapon: if Oskan learns what's safe, he'll also learn what's poisonous.)
He sits down at the station and takes a tablet from a trainer, preloaded with an identification quiz. Oskan doesn't expect to do very well, but it's better to get a sense of what he knows before he wastes time studying something he doesn't need to. And maybe, if he's lucky, the quiz will give him a sense of which biomes to focus on.
Oskan gets about halfway through the quiz before he notices a faint humming sound coming from somewhere to his left. His eyes flick in the direction of the noise; they barely focus back onto the tablet before he does a double take, focusing his attention on the sprite of a girl who now sits beside him.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaims, dark brown eyes sparkling. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just heard you humming and wanted to join in!"
"I… I don't anymore…" Oskan mutters.
"I'm Ismeria," the girl continues, completely oblivious to whatever Oskan said. "But you can call me Issy for short. I'm from District Seven."
"Hi? I'm… Oskan. Ten."
"Nice to meet you! Do you want to work together?"
Every bone in Oskan's body screams at him to say no. He's not sure if Issy means work together for now or work together for the Games, but either way, Oskan cannot afford to get himself attached to the youngest child in the Games. He knows… he knows too well what he would do if something happened to her.
(Her lively eyes… her bright smile… they're all too familiar…)
Perhaps that's why he scoots over and helps her up onto the bench. Perhaps that's why he allows her to choose which biome they'll focus on first.
(Perhaps she's why he finally resolves to go visit a weapon station.)
So far, Oskan has done absolutely nothing special.
He knows that his Reaping made no splash. He knows he had no presence on the chariots. He knows that knives are the least exciting weapon to choose, and he knows that he spent most of training at the survival stations. It's really no surprise to him that he scored a six, a score as smack dab in the middle as you can get.
Abel claims not to be worried. He insists that there's still time to make an impression, that the interviews are more important than anything he's done so far. As long as Oskan can make a lasting impression at his interview, everything will be fine.
Of course, that requires picking an angle. Something Oskan has thus far proven incapable of doing.
"Maybe we should pivot for a bit," Abel suggests. "If we can find answers to the questions that you're going to be asked on stage, we might be able to find a way to combine them into some sort of angle."
"Worth a shot," Oskan agrees.
(They did something similar on the train. It didn't go very well, but Abel assumed it was because Oskan was tired from the Reaping. Oskan doesn't expect it to go much better this time, but there's no reason not to play along.
After all, Abel is only looking out for him. Oskan hasn't exactly had someone like that in a long, long time.)
"Alright. Tell me about your family."
"I don't… I don't know if I can."
"You need something. Any kid who can't seem to talk about their family probably has something to hide. You don't want that to be what the Capitolites assume."
Oskan considers that for a second. "They're… kind. Loving. We're a big family, and everyone has a part to play on the farm. It's nice to be around them."
"And what's your job on the farm?"
"Oh, I haven't worked there for a while. I've been… elsewhere in Ten. Making my own keep. I get good work that way."
Abel pauses for a moment, then continues. "That's quite impressive, to have a steady job of your own like that at your age."
"I wouldn't say that. I wander quite a bit; I'm rarely at the same farm for more than a few months."
"Either way, your parents must be happy to have another source of income."
"I don't know if they know where I am anymore."
Abel sighs. "I don't understand," he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leans back into his chair. "Every single answer you've given me sounds like it's coming from a different person. You're contradicting yourself left and right. We're getting nowhere!"
"I don't want to lie," Oskan replies matter-of-factly.
"What do you mean you don't want to lie? Nothing you've said sounds like you're telling the truth."
"But it is true! It's what's happened to me!"
"Oskan. How is it that one person can have a loving family but then leave them without contact? How could they make steady keep, but not be in the same place for more than a couple of months? None of your answers sound like they come from the same person. It's like you don't even know who you are."
"That's because I don't."
Abel opens his mouth to continue, then stops short. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… I mean that. I don't think I know who I am anymore." He hesitates. "I think… I've been lost for a long time."
The air grows heavy between them. Abel leans forward, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his legs. He tries to speak a few times before he finally ekes out, "That's the first time you've said that out loud, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"And the Games are not… most people don't find themselves in the Games."
"No."
"And the interviews are tomorrow."
"Yeah."
There's another pause, longer this time, as Abel starts to think. The boy allows himself to sit in the silence, but its weight grows uncomfortable the longer he sits with it on his chest. Eventually, in the smallest voice, the boy asks:
"So what are we going to do?"
"That's… I guess that's the question. What are we going to do."
He sits along the edge of the roof, allowing his legs to dangle off of the edge. Wind whistles around him, weaving between his legs and whipping against his skin so harshly that he can't tell if the breeze is warm or cold. Carefully, he peers over the edge; the pinpricks of light look smaller, as if the stars themselves are fading away from him.
His interview could not have gone worse. No answer that he and Abel prepared felt right, no story that could possibly combine his experiences felt honest. The boy could not bring himself to lie to the whole country.
But he also could not find it in himself to go against Abel's wishes.
So instead, he said nothing.
He didn't even stop at his floor after the interviews. If he waits up here for long enough, maybe Abel will go to bed, and the boy won't even have to face his mentor. If he tries hard enough, he can avoid Abel until tomorrow when his stylist will bring him to the catacombs under the Arena. And then…
and then…
He hasn't figured out what comes next.
The Games still don't seem real to him. He understands that, in a matter of hours, he will launch into the Arena to face his fate. But what that means, exactly – what he will have to do if he wants to come out alive – none of that has sunk in.
(None of it will until he sees the first body fall.)
(And if the boy doesn't know who he is, or what he's supposed to do… is there any reason he shouldn't fall beside them?)