Ruby Montmartre, before the 2nd Hunger Games, viewed herself as pretty fortunate.
Born into a relatively well-off family as far as One was concerned, living north of Centre City in the sleepy city of Napa, perched on a hill overlooking the great bay, around the shores of which lay almost 60% of the District population. Her father, and his mother before him, and so on, had owned fur farms, and with One being relatively loyal during the insurrections they'd been able to stay that way. Hell, she'd even been in the Junior Cadet Corps, because even if those fourteen-year-olds in Eight, and Ten, and the outer districts had been fighting and dying, for One it was enough to play (under the supervision of retired peacekeepers) at being a soldier.
She was just about every role she could apply for. She kept some of the books for her family, children had to help out their parents even in the most prosperous district and if all she had to do was some sums then so be it. She'd left Cadets at the end of the war, primarily because it was dissolved, but she kept up with making sure she at the least remembered everything she'd been taught. Even carried the flag at the memorial, back when Peacekeeper's day was allowed to have big celebrations, when the war was almost over. Before it had been replaced with... nothing. After all, excessive holidays took away from the work which the districts should, had to do.
It was about as good a life as one could receive in the districts, and certainly one she wasn't unhappy with.
Which was why, when her name had been tugged out by the mayor with a hand ceremonially gloved, she resembled a trapped animal, like the ones she'd been brought up among. Blue eyes wide, breaths shallow and panicked, head turning from side to side, even as her father promised he'd intervene, that he'd sort this out. The four peacekeepers, all with brown eyes identifying a heritage not from this part of One. As one of them opens the door, and the other three look down at the pair of blonde children shivering on the platform, before the tributes both feel the barrel of a rifle prodded into their backs and clamber into the train car, a door slamming with a clang as the smell of misery hit them. The slammed door contained much of the darkness, meaning it took a few minutes before they noticed the two from Seven, already in there, huddled at one end of the carriage as the train began to chug away from the Station.
Ruby shuffled as far opposite the Sevens as she could, hoping to spend the entire journey in silence. Hearing the ringing of the train against the tracks as it chugged along through the desolation of the desert, feeling the uncomfortable warmth of a metal train car heated by the sun, and waiting for the expected death in the arena. Instead, in an interaction she hadn't expected, her district partner (Zircon, if she remembered correctly) rested a reassuring smile on his face, shuffling slightly closer to her. "Hey, now, don't worry. You have a better chance than you could, at least we're not from one of the rebel districts." He didn't make any moves past that, no moves that could be construed as possibly problematic.
He really was trying to reassure her, and that was why Zircon was just so surprised when she yanked her hand away, glare on her face near invisible in the darkness while she scooted herself to the other side of the carriage from him, blonde head back against the wall of the carriage. "Don't touch me! Just, don't touch me!" The darkened carriage, save for the flashes of the sunlight as the train ran south through the interior of the district, couldn't conceal the shock he felt. A shock that only deepened as, regardless of what happened, Ruby kept away from him, from the Threes and the Fives as they were loaded in. Huddled into herself for much of the journey, burning sun beating down on the carriage, before the train pulled into the Capitol.
Without further ado, all six of the Tributes locked in the carriage were tugged out, armed peacekeepers watching as the six teens were led into the arena, under the same bright lights and standing on the same podiums as last year. The others, eighteen others, were guided out by similar armed escorts, often arriving in groups as the train pulled in. Sobbing girls from Four and Nine, a definite twelve year old looking about half that from Six clutching the hand of her district partner until she was dragged away in hysterics. Red lights glowing around each platform as the landmines, crude things from the Dark Days, snapped on. They could recognize the pit, and while thankfully there were no siblings this year, that didn't mean the bloodshed would be any better.
The arena was by now filled with stimuli. The wails of several tributes as they took in that in an hour or less, they'd almost zero chance of still being standing. The taste of fear in Ruby's mouth, visceral as she eyed the silvery blades with lust. After all, even if she hadn't been expecting this, her time in the Cadet Corps, useless as it was, had seen her do some sword drill, with wooden sticks. It was deemed safer than any weapons (which district brats, even from One, weren't allowed) with range. Which was why, before he was promoted for keeping order in One, Field Marshal Verona had even come down himself once or twice, deciding it was better to cultivate good relations by working with the children of relatively trustworthy families.
Thunder rippling throughout the arena, bouncing off roof and walls, as the huge boy from 11 slipped a second too early and set off the landmines under his feet, leading to a column of smoke and a rain of blood that fell on the tributes to his immediate flanks. A blast that set off more panicked crying from the competition, because if there was one thought they all unanimously had, it was that they didn't want to die. Not a bad thought as such, but given the situation they were in, it may not have been the best idea to make so much noise.
When the pistol shot went off, though, it wasn't like last year. There was no hesitation from some of the circle of twenty three tributes and one hole in the ground, no need to wait for the first move to be made. Several still sobbing on their podiums, Ruby, eyeing the Four Boy, lunged forward, as did he and a scattering of the other tributes. Sure, there was those you'd expect waiting, the crying figures waiting on their podiums, but the rest. Well, they'd seen last year. Didn't want to entertain the possibility of what'd happen should they choose not to fight.
A rapier. That was what she grabbed, fingers grasping the handle like a drowning man grasping for life, to the extent she was surprised there wasn't dents in the handle. Swung it in front of her, barely fending off the trident stabbing towards her with a cry that came out as a strangled yelp. Heard the clash of metal on metal, watched the slight boy from Four bounce back and forth, tossing his trident from right hand to left and then back. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Don't you know that's a boy toy."
She could taste blood a second later, her sword blocking his strike, but the edge grazing her lip. A red creek, winding down her lips and off her chin, even as the sword in her hand sung again, coming up and blocking the trident, in an act of sheer desperation grabbing his weapon just behind the prongs. Hand strong for the second it took for a silver river to flow straight through his chest, dragged out again in a spray of crimson. Without further ado, she released the trident and stepped back, pretty reaping dress at the base dyed by a mixture of sand and blood as he collapsed. Just a boy now, dying on the sand while Ruby spun on her heel, ignoring his dying gasps.
The rest was a blur. She remembered the crying girl from Nine, and maybe they could have understood each other in a different world, but for now her blade flashed, and she closed her eyes.. She remembered the taste of blood, as the flow ran into her mouth, and she spat it out, some of it. She even remembered the smell, of horror, and violence, and effort, and a thousand other things she couldn't, wouldn't, name. She remembered a second pistol shot, and peacekeepers coming into the arena to guide her out of the sandpit and to her debrief.
She remembered the dead eyes, staring up at her. Of the Four boy, she didn't know his name. Never wanted to know his name. Of the girl from Nine, eyes still wet with tears and a red trench dug into her chest. Of Zircon, that boy who at the least had tried to be nice to her on the train. Being nice hadn't saved him in the end,
It was over quickly. There was no ceremony, not even a congratulation from the woman who eyed her with that electric blue eye, before she was hauled back on a train to One, still in her bloody dress. It was at least the fast train, skipping the stops in Five and Three it had made on the way there, giving her an unceremonial deposition back at the station, mother and father waiting. After all, even if she was that killer she'd seen on the big screen, she was still their daughter. Still their child, and they were going to give her the love she deserved, needed. So, ignoring the gore and dirt, Cillian Montmartre embraced his only daughter, her mother, Marilyn, not soon in following.
The next week, she was mainly content to stay at home. After all, she didn't want the reminders. And, while she'd rationalized to herself that his family probably lived somewhere out on the basin, she didn't want to encounter family of a boy she'd known for a few hours, if that. Who knew what they'd ask, what they'd want to know?
One's still mostly native government, eager not to be like Ten, sent a representative to her door later that week. The mayor himself, carrying the golden-topped staff of redwood that marked his position. He'd used it to rap on the door. Ruby, blonde hair bouncing behind her, opened the door, a nervous smile running over her face. And, to his credit, he did look a little bit embarrassed, because
"Ah, Miss Montmartre. A pleasure. Now, may I come in?" She nodded, mutely, before opening the door, guiding the man through the house before sitting opposite him, at one end of a dark wooden table. Ruby's voice was soft, even as she put a question to him. "So, Sir. Why are you here? I'd assume this isn't a social visit, or..." She trailed off, looking over at him with those glittering blue eyes, waiting for a response. "Well, it isn't. Miss, I've got to be honest here. I'm a father of two, everyone here has a family. I'm, as surely all of us are, concerned by the prospect of my children ending up in that Arena. So, well..."
A duck of the head, before he continues. "I'd like your help in teaching our children not to do it. Not to panic and die. To have more than the 1 in 24 chance that they get through this. The more returns, the better, and the more happy and productive citizens we have, the more chance we might be excused from the games. Surely they can't keep this up for decades!"
"And what do I get in response?" She was slightly stronger-voiced now, posing her own question. "I have work to be getting on with. I keep the books, because sales are up while reconstruction rolls on. Why should I take time out of my work to slightly raise chances? I don't want to remember what I did, yes?" Her eyes were wet now, clearly not happy with the direction of discussion and wanting to move on.
There wouldn't be a response for a few minutes, even as the man leant back, before his response came back, shaky. "Because they're our children? Because One needs a better chance, and because we have no way to secure that chance? But, if that isn't enough, we had a vote. We do have some budget we can distribute ourselves, you'd receive a salary for doing so. Not for training, not officially. For advice, yes? For motivational speaking on how anyone can serve the Capitol like you... do?"
She shook her head, blonde hair rippling and those striking blue eyes filled with something he couldn't quite place. "No. Even ignoring my own lack of desire to take part in such a scheme. It's not allowed, and I don't think the Capitol would want to have any bending the rules so close to the creation of the Games. If they ever make winning better than just survival, then I'd be more than happy to help some children survive for the District. Until then, I'm sorry."
No further words were exchanged, Ruby instead standing and leaving without so much as a goodbye, even if she did take the card he'd offered. And that was the end of it, because she was legally completely in the right, and pushing the matter further would have been impolite. Instead, the Mayor left, giving a nod to the door closing behind her as he did so.
Still, that didn't make her refusal any less galling when, two years later, that horrendous boy from Two had all but torn Garnet limb from limb on live television. Three solid years of golden boys and girls dying in the sandpit, and twelve minutes later, the Fourth 'games' had been called.
Fifty two minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Mayor Weston opened it with a sigh, expecting to see parents, siblings, whichever grievers had this year decided to storm his porch and press for some kind of revenge. What he saw instead was Ruby, looking up at him with those same blue eyes, now filled with a certain steel. He took a half-step back, the smile on her face wider than last time they'd spoken, taking her own step forward, voice still polite as she nodded towards the television, which had switched back onto the usual programming. The Capitol programming.
"I've reconsidered. Do you still want my help?"