Akira Hinode, 16

District Five Tribute, she/they

"Fucking Madoka," Akira mutters, pacing back and forth in the hallway outside the elevator. "Stupid sister. Stupid useless sister. Stupid dumb useless sister."

Their stomach grumbles loudly. Akira pouts and wraps her arms around themself. They'd given Madoka one job for dinner, and Madoka couldn't even do that much. Sure made sense after the big stink she made about trying to "make things right" or whatever the fuck.

Ugh. Typical. And now Akira has gone without lunch and dinner, so she's fucking starving and annoyed and a whole other jumbled mess of emotions that are all stuck together in her head.

It's not even that the rest of the day was bad. Honestly, Akira would consider it to be largely a success. They got to talk Itara's ear off for ages, and the interviewer was positively enraptured the whole time, and then they made friends! But then she had to go back to Madoka and they didn't even get her vegan chicken nuggets.

Vegan. Not regular, which is what Madoka made. Which made Akira lean their head back and cackle because god, of course Madoka would miss something so easy. For all her preaching about wanting to be better, to do better, she still fucks up the simplest shit and then tries to act like it's all Akira's fault somehow.

Isn't it always your fault?

"No," Akira mumbles. "Not my fault."

The elevator dings. Akira launches herself into it, stabbing at the button for the eighth floor. Gwenny made the offhanded offer earlier that day if Akira was interested, and boy are they interested now. Akira may like to talk mad shit, but they still have to admit that meeting the Eights was the best part of her entire day, and therefore those two are the only thing that might fix what's left of it.

As the elevator goes up, Akira sticks her tongue out at their own reflection in the metal doors. Then she sighs, wishing the head trainer hadn't gotten wise and made Akira empty their pockets before they were able to leave earlier. She had a couple tubes of paint left, and they'd make for something real good in this shiny, lifeless elevator. Akira is something of an artist, after all, and they love leaving their personal touch everywhere they go.

Something that Madoka has never appreciated.

They pout and cross her arms. It's been a day full of critiquing their sister, and Akira feels like they still haven't said everything on their mind. Maybe she should invest in a journal or something…

She snorts. That's stupid. Akira's not organized enough to maintain a journal.

The elevator soon opens on the eighth floor and Akira steps inside, glancing around at the space. It looks almost identical to the fifth floor, except… except…

They sniff.

This is familiar.

Akira wanders farther into the apartment. They don't see anyone yet, and that makes her a little nervous, but it's not enough to stop her. Especially not when she's hungry and that smell-

Their stomach growls loudly enough to alert anyone on the floor to their presence. Akira frowns and prods at their abdomen in an attempt to quiet its rumbling. Undeterred, it makes an even louder noise.

She sighs. "Fuck," she voices aloud to the empty room.

Still no response.

Akira begins to hum to herself, mixing in a few beats by slapping the furniture as she walks by. She's sure as hell making a lot of noise, so why hasn't anyone shown up to greet them yet? Did Gwenny not mean her invitation earlier?

Of course not, no one would want to hang around with a little freak for long.

She plugs her ears with their hands. Much quieter this way. The voices know this means it's time to be silent for once.

Akira finally happens upon the kitchen, which is tucked in a different corner of the apartment than it is on the fifth floor. Akira's not exactly stellar at cooking, but she sure knows how to make art out of it. That's the most important part. But as she gets closer, she realizes that the pristine-looking kitchen has been recently used, albeit by someone with a higher degree of cleanliness than Akira.

Finally – signs that someone is actually alive in this place.

They take her fingers out of her ears and spin in a circle, taking in their surroundings. In the center of the room stands a counter, with three barstools on one side. Three place settings sit out on the marbled countertop, untouched. The walls are lined with cabinets, each one a rich brown color and far fancier than anything Akira has seen in their life. They can only imagine all the food stored in there.

There's an empty box standing up beside the stove, which has a sheet of something cooling on top. Akira side-eyes it while scanning the list of instructions on the box. Chicken nuggets, clearly, but what kind?

Four words catch their attention: vegan breaded chicken nuggets.

Her breath catches somewhere in her chest, and their eyes widen in awe. It's practically meant to be.

Akira eats an entire nugget in one bite, scalding the inside of their mouth. She nearly chokes, eyes watering, but this is still too good to be true. This is the best meal Akira has eaten since they got to the Capitol. Painful, sure, but Akira can handle a little pain as long as it means quieting the ceaseless noise coming from their stomach.

The next one gets ripped in half before Akira shoves it in her mouth. They don't like having to slow down, but she figures it's best if her tongue remains unburnt for the rest of her meal. This way, they can eat more of the- actually, how many are there? Akira forgot to count before. They shrug and eat a third. Doesn't matter if they're all going the same place.

"Akira?"

They freeze at the sound of their own name, voices running wild in her mind. For some nonsensical reason, all Akira can think is that Madoka found out about them getting food on another floor and now stupid sister's gonna drag her all the way back to the cold and empty fifth floor where she's gonna starve until… well, until Akira doesn't know when. This entire place has been so anti-Akira from the start that she's beginning to be convinced it wants her to starve to death even before they reach the Games.

Is that why they call it the Hunger Games?

"What?" Akira asks, though her question comes out garbled around a mouth of food.

"What are you doing here?" Gwenny asks carefully. Behind her, a petulant frown plastered on his face, Svelte crosses his arms and watches.

"You invited me," Akira points out.

Gwenny pauses, contemplative. "Oh yeah. I did do that."

"Why are you eating here?" Svelte asks, taking a step forward. His gaze focuses on the dwindling number of nuggets. "Isn't that-"

"Vegan chicken nuggets!" Akira declares proudly. "Not quite my favorite brand, but these will do. Still better than the shit Madoka tried to make downstairs. Did you know she never listens to me ever? The regular kind-"

"Yes, your sister is terrible, but why are you eating those?" Svelte asks, impatience tinging his voice.

"I was hungry." They're on their fourth nugget now – maybe fifth. Akira is starting to lose count. They're also not scaldingly fresh anymore, so she can eat as many as they want.

If this is the grandeur of the Capitol that everyone raves about, then sign Akira up. This is proof that Madoka's just been doing it wrong. Not that Madoka knows how to do anything. She's just a stupid bootlicking girlkisser, and-

"Oh, I see you two really did make a friend during training."

Akira doesn't recognize this voice, so she turns to see who it is. The newest addition to the room is a woman with bright red hair tied into a braid. There's something almost familiar about her, and Akira has enough context clues to gather that this is a Victor, but they have no idea who. Hopefully this isn't the kind of silly Victor whose pride gets bruised over a minor infraction like not knowing her name. If it was someone really important, Akira would remember. Everyone should ask her for advice on that.

(The advice is always blowing shit up.)

"Yeah," Gwenny breathes, radiating a sudden nervousness. "Yeah, um, sort of."

Akira pouts and looks over at her. "Only sort of?"

It's only fitting – did you expect anything different? First you intrude during training, and now at night, a little jinx ruining everything for everyone.

Their skin crawls, and Akira's shoulders hunch. The woman merely tilts her head to the side, as if inspecting a curious insect. She gestures towards the dwindling number of nuggets on the stove. "You ate those?"

They shove another bite in their mouth. "Yeah," Akira mumbles through a mouthful of food.

The Victor tilts her head at Akira, and they feel a strange mix of shame and doubt curdling in the pit of their stomach. She'd been so hungry that they hadn't thought twice about snagging something to eat, but maybe it was actually wrong and bad and they weren't supposed to.

Gwenny and Svelte share similar expressions of horror and anticipation, so Akira can only assume they're completely and totally fucked.

"Are you… hungry?" Eight finally asks, voice shockingly gentle. "I can make you something if you're interested."

Akira's eyes widen. "Like pasta?"

"Yeah, like pasta. What kind?"

"Cheese and olive oil!"

She laughs warmly and heads over to the cabinets. "Whatever you want, kid. Any specific kind of pasta you like? These cabinets are stocked with anything you could possibly want."

"Anything?"

"Almost anything. And whatever you want, if it's not there, I'll make sure to get it for you. How does that sound?"

"Perfect!" Akira declares. They hop up onto the counter before pausing, tapping their chin. "Can I come back tomorrow?"

"For more food? Sure, if that's what you want."

"Fuck yeah," Akira says, beaming. A thought suddenly occurs to her, and she grows warm. "I'm Akira, by the way."

"The Five kid with the paint bombs. Don't worry, I remember you. I'm Ariadne."

Akira nods wisely. The name only barely rings a bell – they haven't watched many Games in the past. "You killed a lot of people."

"A few, I guess," Ariadne replies, amused. "Got a problem or something?"

"Not really. I think it's cool."

"Cool?"

"Yup. Would've been cooler if you blew 'em up though." Akira mimes an explosion with her hands, complete with accurate sound effects.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time." Ariadne leans against the counter next to Akira, gesturing at both of the Eights with a spoon. "Alright, what about you two?"

The two Eights blink in confusion, only startled out of it by the sharp bang! of Akira's heel hitting a cabinet. She quietly snickers, and they swear they see Ariadne crack a smile as well.

"What about us…?" Gwenny asks cautiously.

"Pasta night – what do you want?"

"I'm not sure." Gwenny hesitantly wanders around the counter, standing next to the oven. "What do you have?"

"Anything you could ever want," Ariadne says, opening a few of the cabinets. Akira openly stares at the array of foods inside – it's more than they've ever seen. There are about a million different kinds of pasta, crackers, candies, and chips, but Akira's eyes instantly spy a box of fruit snacks. She springs off the counter and clambers up towards the cabinets, victoriously pulling her prize down. Her excitement is immediately dulled when she sees that they're regular fruit snacks, so she turns to Ariadne with a pout.

"Do you have the sour ones?" Akira asks.

Ariadne quirks a brow. "Sour ones? Not that I know of. If you want, I can try to stock up for tomorrow. How does that sound?"

"So I can come back tomorrow?"

"Yeah, that's why I just invited you, kid."

"That was a shit invitation."

"Do you want a better one?"

"I already invited you up here," Gwenny says, turning from where she's gathering up pots. "Isn't that enough?"

"I need a guarantee for a return visit."

"Fine," Ariadne says, swiping the box of fruit snacks from them. When Akira tries to protest, she ruffles their hair, immediately shutting them up. "Let me know whatever you want to eat. That's your ticket to come back. If I don't already have it ready for you, we'll make it together. You wanna finish these nuggets?"

Akira hardly lets Ariadne finish her sentence before she snatches the last two. Gwenny is still gathering up supplies from the cabinets, surprisingly knowledgeable in the unspoken rules of pasta making. Akira watches wide-eyed, curious about this new insight into their ally's life.

Ariadne turns and rests her forearms on the counter, looking directly at Svelte, who hasn't even moved. "You just gonna stand there, or do you want to make pasta with us?"

"It'll be fun!" Akira adds.

Somehow, this has initiated a staring contest between Svelte and Ariadne. Akira widens their own eyes in an attempt to play along, but neither of them notice. Maybe it's the sort of thing Madoka would get up to, where she'd have "adult conversations" that Akira wasn't allowed to be a part of.

Svelte's lips flatten into a thin line. "Fine," he bites out. "But I want some kind of bread with it."

She smirks. "Sounds good to me."

They don't know how, but Akira has managed to find the best substitute for the tense conversations on the fifth floor. Even better when she thinks about how they'll be allowed back tomorrow night too. Ariadne and Gwenny are both plenty nice, and though Svelte keeps himself at arms length from everyone else most of the time, Akira swears she can catch him smiling sometimes.

And, just for a night, the voices are quiet.

(Akira has missed the quietude of their own mind.)

Callum Cadogan, 17

District One Male, he/him

There are many things that Callum discovers he is rather ill-prepared for.

This doesn't exactly come as a shock, considering Callum hasn't gone through the same extensive training as the rest of his "allies." And while he can wield a sword and manage to not kill himself with it, they all use their weapons like it's a natural extension of their body, something they've been honing for years. The part that does surprise him is how easily most of them mesh together.

The Fours are attached at the hip half the time – or, really, Thessaly hangs around Ibai and he doesn't tell her to go away. Pantheon joined their duo, and then, barely halfway through the day, they showed up with a new ally; Zephyr seems nice and all, but he's already caught up in Pantheon's orbit.

Callum has not gotten the same treatment. For reasons unknown to him, Pantheon has deemed him to be unsavory in some way, and he spent the day with Nerissa and Saccharine instead. That wasn't a bad deal, but it was rather boring, as Nerissa clearly has no intention to make friends. If she had even the slightest inclination that friendship was a worthwhile endeavor, then she'd be dragged in with the rest of them, and Thessaly would be over the moon. Then again, friendship might not be the only thing Thessaly is looking for from Nerissa.

As for his District partner… Callum can't quite figure her out. She seems nice and sweet and… not much else. He hasn't been able to glean much of a personality for her. She's sort of like the poster child for District One: pretty and talented and perfect in every way, ideal for any parent to project their own wishes onto.

That all sounds mean when Callum admits it to himself, and maybe it is, but he's never been able to wrap his head around being born to throw your life away, all for the chance of power and glory or whatever the hell his allies are searching for. It's the sort of thing he's always been curious about, but the only thing they'll really do in the Games is murder helpless children, and Callum isn't sure that the tradeoff is worth it.

Now, though, as he sits in front of Alila Perwane, he can't bring himself to ask any questions about that matter.

Given his options, Alila is his preferred mentor. While it might make more sense to want Estelle, who just successfully mentored someone, Callum figures the one with more recent practical experience is the better pick. And besides, given the new head gamemaker's tendency for mind games, Callum wants as much of a leg up on that as he can get.

"Okay," Alila says, looking over at him from the desk, "what's your plan?"

"My plan?"

"Yes, your plan. You volunteered. I'm hoping you had some idea of what you intend to do to survive these Games."

"I was hoping to split off-"

"No," Alila cuts in sharply. "Not unless you have a death wish."

"Why not?" he asks indignantly. "You asked for my plan, and this is it. I already don't fit in-"

"Which wouldn't be an issue if you hadn't volunteered."

"-but I'm not helpless on my own. There are other alliances forming, and I could try to join one of those."

"Key word try," she reminds him. "But alright, I'll bite for now. Got a group in mind?"

"The boy from Six and the girl from Three have paired off." Callum saw them together most of the day, hopping from station to station with hardly a care in the world.

"Aren't they fifteen?"

"Yeah."

She sighs. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Isn't that what all this is about?"

Alila fixes him with a look. "Is it even your intention to get out of this alive?"

There's too long of a pause before Callum finally says, "Yes."

"I don't believe you."

That's fair. Callum can't exactly say his intention is to die, but he'd rather it be him than Rhydian. In every way. If Callum wins and goes home alive and miserable, if he dies and goes home dead in a box… as long as it's not Rhydian.

Tapping her pencil on the desk, Alila leans back in her chair, barely suppressing a sigh. "I can only help you so much here if this was all a grand plan to die."

"That's not it."

She raises an eyebrow. "It's not?"

"I did it to save my friend, Rhydian. I volunteered so he wouldn't have to."

"Rhydian Magnusson," Alila mutters. "So he wouldn't have to… was someone making him?"

"Well, no one was twisting his arm, but his dad's always put a bunch of pressure on him, and I'm sure part of Rhydian felt like there was no other choice. And even though he's trained, there are five others that have similar training, and there's every chance he won't win at all. His training might all be for nothing. Even if he does win, then the Games will just chew him up and spit him out on the other side. I can't let something like that happen to the person I care about most in the world."

Alila sucks in a slow, deep breath, and then lets it out. "I," she says carefully, "am going to try not to be offended by that. You won't get many others that will offer you the same kindness."

He furrows his brow. "I don't-"

"No. It's my turn to talk. I trained for these Games for years – training was my entire life – and half the reason I made it out at all was sheer luck. So you're right. There's no telling what might have happened to Rhydian. He might've died on the first day, or he could've made it all the way to the end, or he could've been cut down by a gamemaker's trap – we'll never know. The fact of the matter is that you're here now, and if you have any intention of getting out alive, you need to listen to me very carefully."

His jaw set, Callum nods once. "Okay."

"Do not repeat any of what you just told me to anyone. Not your allies, not the interviewer, not anyone that asks why you volunteered. It won't make you any friends, and it will probably only get you killed. Understand?"

"Can I ask why?"

"Because I need you to stay with Two and Four for at least a couple days. You need time to get resources together before you strike off on your own. They're going to hang around the Cornucopia as long as you can, and as long as they think you're on their side, you can take whatever you want. Your goal is to fly under the radar. Downplay any abilities that you might have. You have to make it clear that once you strike out on your own, you aren't a threat."

"Why can't I just leave now?"

"Because if you go into the bloodbath the way you are now, I think there's every chance they'll kill you where you stand."

The blood in Callum's veins turns icy. "You think so?"

Nodding, Alila looks him over. "You're underage, you stole a position that was rightfully someone else's, and your skills are completely unknown. If you decide to lend your abilities to someone else, you might get yourself and your new allies killed before the end of the first day."

"Are you sure?"

"Nothing is certain," Alila says, laughing. "It's the Games. I'm talking in theoreticals, and based on my years of training and learning strategy and watching every Games I could get my hands on, this is my plan for you. If you think your plan is better, then be my guest. But however it ends, it won't be pretty."

Callum knows she's right. He knows that this is probably his best shot. He still doesn't want it to be true. If he had his way, he'd go find allies that he liked and maybe actually enjoy the time he has left.

"There's one more thing," Alila says. "I need you to make a friend in the alliance."

He bites his lip. "Why?"

"If you're too much of an outcast, they might kill you anyway. I don't care who it is, or how close you get, just make sure there's someone who can vouch for you if the situation calls for it."

A friend.

Callum suddenly finds himself understanding. He isn't much for watching the Games, but he certainly remembers a sweet girl with auburn hair and the way she resolutely stuck by Alila's side, no matter what.

"I can try," Callum says. He's never been bad at making friends, but this task is somehow the most daunting one. "I'm not sure who, though. I got paired off with Saccharine and Nerissa today, and neither of them are the friendly type."

"I'll do whatever I can to help, but I'm not in training with you. You'll have to figure this part out on your own."

"Is that all for today?"

Alila looks down at the papers in front of her. This is the first time she looks unsure of herself, but she quickly purses her lips and nods. "I think so. Unless you have anything else you want to cover?"

"No," Callum says instinctively. He can't quite figure out what else to say.

"Alright." Alila begins gathering her things. "Dinner is soon. Don't be late. We'll cover everything else tomorrow."

Before his mentor walks out, something occurs to him. There's one thing he's wanted for Rhydian above all else. "Alila?"

She pauses and turns to look at him. "Yes?"

As he opens his mouth, his chest feels tight."Are you… happy?"

Alila contemplates this for a moment. She doesn't appear surprised that this is what he asked.

"There are good days," she muses, "and there are bad days. But at the end of every single one, I'm glad that I'm still around to experience all of it. I won't deny that things are different, that I am different, but I've chosen to embrace that and make the best out of the hand I was dealt."

Callum swallows. There are several arguments that he wants to bring up, but he doesn't know which one would be best. Finally, he settles on, "But that's not true for everyone."

"Maybe not," she agrees, "but isn't it best to let them figure things out for themselves?"

While Alila isn't wrong, Callum can't agree that she's right, either. "People are made to help others."

"And that's what you're doing?"

"All I want is for him to be happy," Callum insists. "Why is that some sort of crime?"

"What did he want?"

"To volunteer, but-"

"Listen," Alila says, sighing. "We can have this same circular argument as many times as we want, but the facts will never change. You care about your friend. Your friend wanted to volunteer. You stepped up and took away any sense of agency he had in the matter. If you can't wrap your head around why he might never forgive you for that, then I don't think you were ever really his friend in the first place."

Callum stares down at his hands. He's not the type to sit on his moral high ground and insist that his actions were good and correct, but he knows they were born purely out of the love and care he has for his friend. He hates that his intentions continue to be misconstrued, but… maybe there's some merit to what Alila is saying.

"The last thing I want is to sit here and continue debating this. And, quite frankly, I think it would be wise for you to avoid mentioning this story altogether from here on out. We can discuss your cover story tomorrow as well. Understood?"

He nods, and the tension in Alila's shoulders slowly relaxes. She graces him with a quiet smile. "Good. Make sure you're ready for dinner, then. I'm sure it'll only be a few."

And then she leaves, the door silently shutting behind her, leaving Callum in the wake of their discussion with his head still spinning.

He leans back and covers his face with his hands. This really is far more than he signed on for when he volunteered. But there's nothing Callum can do now. He can't turn back time, and Rhydian isn't even here to explain himself again so that Callum can try and understand.

It's far too late for an apology.

(And even now, Callum still can't say he's truly sorry at all.)

Aleksei Court, 15

District Six Male, he/him

It's quiet on the floor. Quieter than Aleksei is used to.

Back in Six, there's always some sort of noise. Trains whoosh by, and even blocks away, they rattle him down to his bones. People chatter amongst themselves, and depending on what alley you look down, they do a little more than talk. Birds flock high on rooftops, screeching out in search of something, eyes focused on scraps of food in the hands of starving children. Cars drive by, honking at kids playing in the streets, irritated that their drivers are being made to wait.

Here in the Capitol, Aleksei can stare out his window and see pieces that remind him of home. The buildings are nowhere near this big and grand, of course, but there's something comforting about the way they're all squished on top of each other. If he had any way to open the window, he would, just to hear the street noise below. But inside his room, on a floor so silent you could hear a pin drop, Aleksei feels as if he's been enclosed in a metal box, so solid that the world cannot touch him and he can never get out.

(Is this what it's like to be buried alive? To be buried at all? Six feet deep in a coffin, no coming back.

Maybe he can ask Poe soon.)

(Maybe Poe can ask him soon.)

Being so cooped up is starting to make Aleksei antsy. Back home, he has the freedom to go wherever he wants. Sure, that also means he spends most nights on the street or on the floor of someone's house, but even that's better than this.

It's lonely. Aleksei doesn't do well with lonely.

He misses Sagan. She doesn't talk as much as him (Avana often reminds Aleksei that no one talks as much as him), but she's good at listening. Mostly. She hasn't completely left him yet, so Aleksei is going to consider that a good thing.

Does she miss him, though? Aleksei can't be sure. He's well aware that she's the type that prefers being on her own, but… well, Aleksei really does hope he's made a good impression so far.

Sighing, he shuts the curtains. Maybe he should go try to find her, or at least see if anyone else on the Six floor is out of their room. Or maybe he could go… anywhere that doesn't make him feel like he's living in a box.

The third floor, maybe. That's where Sagan is, so that's his best chance of finding company. And if that doesn't work out, then Aleksei will cross that bridge when he gets to it.

When he steps out of his room, he's humming quietly, a jaunty song that Mera sings around the house. Aleksei doesn't remember many of the words for it, considering he doesn't live with them, but he remembers the tune, and that's enough to bring his spirits up.

What he doesn't expect is to immediately run into someone, his shoulder crashing into theirs. Aleksei stumbles back a couple steps, an apology already falling out of his mouth. Avana always tells him to watch where he's going, and now he's run right into-

He pauses. Cadilla Saito wavers where she stands, the same limp hair and gaunt frame since she won back in the nineties. Her gaze is foggy, and even though she's staring directly into Aleksei's eyes, he knows the woman isn't seeing him.

It's a familiar sight. Addicts are everywhere – they litter the streets and dwell within Aleksei's own home. He runs drugs to them every day just to make a living. If Cadilla wasn't a Victor, she would be out on the streets like the rest of them. Maybe she already is.

One of her hands stretches out, as if she means to touch him. Aleksei backs away. A flicker of hurt flashes across her face.

"Moretti?"

If that's a name, then it's one Aleksei doesn't recognize. He shakes his head slowly, making sure to keep his voice soft and steady when he speaks. "No, it's… Aleksei."

"Aleksei," she repeats. "Not…"

She trails off again, and Aleksei can tell that her brief moment of clarity is gone. She won't come back for a long while.

Aleksei hesitates long enough that she starts moving again on her own. Whatever memory – or hallucination – is propelling Cadilla now takes her straight back to her room, the quiet snick of the door the only sign she was there at all.

He stares after her, the only Six mentor he's seen at all. There are at least a couple more Victors back home, so surely Cadilla can't be here all on her own.

(Is she lonely too? Or is she content with whatever hallucination – or memory – is keeping her company?)

(Aleksei tries not to linger on it much.)

He heads out into the living area with a spring in his step, putting everything behind him. In front of the television sits his District partner, who looks bored out of her mind.

"Hey Kassiani!" Aleksei greets her with a wave and a wide grin. He jabs at the button for the elevator with one finger.

"Where the hell are you going?" Kassiani calls from the couch. She's got her legs stretched out in front of her, and it's clear she doesn't plan to go anywhere anytime soon.

"Third floor!" he chirps. "That's where Sagan is – she's from Three, I met her at the parades. We hung out all day at training, so-"

Kassiani cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "Yeah, yeah, don't tell me your whole life story about it. Good for you or whatever."

The elevator still hasn't shown up. Aleksei pushes the button again. Kassiani has done a good job of avoiding everyone since they arrived in the Capitol, so he's tried not to take it personally. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Did you meet anyone yet?"

She laughs, the first mostly pleasant noise Aleksei has heard from Kassiani since he met her. It makes him grin, even as she rolls her eyes. "Nah, and I don't plan on it. I've never bought into that whole alliance bullshit. If I die, it won't be because someone else is dragging me down."

"What about company? Isn't it lonely up here?"

"Aw, I don't give a shit about company. Not like it'll matter when I'm dead in a few days.

"Kas?"

"I don't do nicknames," she replies, giving him a sharp look. "What do you want?"

He falters, his easy smile slipping from his face. Aleksei isn't sure what he was going to ask in the first place. "... Nevermind."

"Have fun with your friend," Kassiani says. Aleksei isn't sure what her emphasis on that last word is supposed to mean, but he doesn't think it's a good thing.

He steps into the elevator, and as he stares at the selection of buttons, the door closes in front of him, sealing him off. He knows there can't be much time for him to pick before someone else commandeers the elevator. While Aleksei's original plan was to head to the third floor, he finds himself pressing the button that will take him to whatever the top floor is. The thing he finds himself wanting most is some fresh air.

He's never been in an elevator before. Not in his memory, at least. Aleksei is sure that anything back home wouldn't be as nice as this one, though, which is completely pristine and free of any jolts. Lyssa has told him stories before about rickety elevators that feel like they're one wrong move from dropping you ten floors. Aleksei can't imagine that happening here.

The door opens on a rooftop, and Aleksei immediately sucks in a breath of fresh air. The sun hovers just above the horizon, bathing the plants on the roof in the remnants of a golden glow. Aleksei is instantly the most comfortable he's been in days.

By some miracle, Sagan herself sits on the very edge of the roof, hair mussed by the wind. Her knees are tucked close to her chest as if she's trying to make herself as small as possible. Even though the elevator has surely made a noise alerting her to the presence of someone new, Sagan doesn't even bother to turn her head and check.

The sight of a friend is enough to make the tightness in Aleksei's shoulders dissipate entirely. He hadn't even realized how tense he'd been.

"Sagan!" he calls, watching as her head whips towards him. "I found you!"

She's far enough away that whatever she says next is carried away by the wind. Aleksei weaves through the planters to get over to her, grinning broadly all the while.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to find you!"

"I came up here to be alone."

"I can be quiet!"

Sagan looks at him, unimpressed.

"I can try to be quiet?" Aleksei amends quickly.

She sighs, but doesn't make a move to leave. Aleksei counts that as a win. "Fine, just don't make too much noise. I get enough of that on my floor."

"Why?"

Sagan looks at him warily. "Are you going to start asking me a bunch of questions?"

Somehow, that doesn't seem to be a good idea right now. "No."

Twisting her lips, Sagan shakes her head. "At least sit down and quit hovering over me."

He'd been hoping for some sort of invitation. He barely hesitates before lowering himself down a couple feet away. Aleksei dangles his feet over the edge, swinging them back and forth.

Beside him, Sagan tenses up. "Quit doing that."

"Doing what?"

"You're too close to the edge. You could fall."

He brightens and looks over at her. "Are you worried about me?"

"No," she answers swiftly. "I don't care about that. I don't want to get in trouble for being up here if something bad happens."

"You were up here first."

"So it's my fault?"

Aleksei laughs. "Nah, you can blame me. Hey – watch this!"

Sagan makes a startled noise as Aleksei leaps to his feet, balancing on the very edge of the roof. He takes a few steps, making sure to stay balanced and light on his toes.

"What are you doing?" If he squints, Aleksei can almost hear a hint of concern in her tone. "Get down!"

"Join me!" he pleads, extending a hand. "Don't you wanna have some fun?"

"What, like I can't do that on my own?" she snaps.

His eyes widen. "Well, you can, but-"

"Did it ever occur to you I don't want to have fun? And if that's what you're looking for, then you should go find someone else to bother."

"Oh." Aleksei hops down from the ledge. "I'm sorry, I didn't… mean to bother you. I just wanted some company."

"Right," she mutters flatly. "Whatever. Just knock it off."

"Sorry," he says again. "I can go if you want?"

A noncommittal hum.

"I'll still see you tomorrow, right?" Aleksei asks softly.

Sagan stays perfectly still. She won't look up at him. "If that's what you want."

"Do you want to?"

Silence. Aleksei is starting to get the sense that he overstepped, but he doesn't know how to take it back. Nor does he really want to.

(Somehow, this is more than Aleksei not wanting to be alone. He can't explain it, but all he wants is to stay right here, with Sagan.)

(And if he managed to mess that up so early, where is Aleksei supposed to go from here?)

Her shoulders slump. "We'll see."

"Sagan?"

A sigh, this one quieter. Whatever bite was in her words is gone now. "Yeah?"

"Can I stay up here? Just for a while? I promise I won't talk. Much."

She finally glances up at him, worrying her lip. Aleksei can't tell what she's about to say, and from the way he's bouncing on his heels, she can probably tell he's nervous.

"Fine," Sagan says. She leans forward until her forehead is touching her knees. "As long as you don't bother me much."

"I won't, I promise!" He pauses. "Can I talk and you just listen? Or don't listen?"

"No questions."

"No questions," he agrees.

She sniffs. "I guess that will suffice."

That's not a no, so Aleksei sits down on the ground, leaning back against one of the planters. One of the purple flowers hangs down low enough for him to grab, so he carefully plucks it and begins spinning it between his fingers.

Being away from home is hard, but Aleksei hopes he's starting to get the hang of it. Or, at the very least, he hopes he won't go into the Arena alone.

Nothing would frighten him more than that.

Ibai Zubizarreta, 18

District Four Male, he/him

There are many things that Ibai does not understand about Thessaly Akaste. At the moment, one question remains prevalent in his mind.

How can one girl take up so much space?

She's positioned herself upside down on the couch, with her arms outstretched and her hair brushing against the floor. Her legs are slung over the back of the couch, and even though Ibai cannot imagine how that's comfortable, she looks strangely at peace.

That's the other thing. Ever since they got back from training, Thessaly has been unusually quiet, acting as if all the energy was drained out of her body. She has remained in the exact same position for the last thirty-eight minutes.

Ibai counted.

There hasn't been much to do on their floor. Ibai showered and changed as soon as they got back, and so did Thessaly, but that did not prompt either mentor to come out of hiding. Thessaly tried knocking on their doors, but no one answered, and they decided to give up after that. The only sign of life has been Thessaly herself, and right now she's the equivalent of a sunbathing cat. Ibai has considered breaking the silence to see if she fell asleep, but somehow he cannot bring himself to do that.

He can't seem to find a way to occupy himself either. Normally, this is about the time Ibai would go off on his own to begin the research part of his day, but he has not discovered anything suitable in the Capitol yet. He's been wondering if there's some sort of formal complaint he can make about that.

Ibai notices that his leg is bouncing. He wills it to stop, but it keeps moving, setting some relentless pace that only continues to fray his nerves. His eyes constantly dart between the clock on the wall, Thessaly's still form, and his hands, which are clasped together in his lap.

Usually when Ibai gets this restless, he can recite facts to himself, giving him something to think about so he can relax. Now, his mind is strangely empty except for the spray of blood and the morbid thought of what death is like.

(Ibai looked it up once. What death is like – more specifically, what drowning is like. Givens the trend of Four tributes, then Ibai wanted to be prepared.

Many report it to be peaceful. There's a struggle at first, as your body instinctively tries to keep water out. You try to reach the surface, to gain your bearings, but the lack of oxygen makes you dizzy. Your chest hurts. There's no relief. Once you breathe in, everything burns, and then it dissipates. You're calm. You fade. The end is in sight, and it's not so bad.

This sort of imagery used to serve as a comfort to Ibai. Before. Now, he can't get rid of the sight of blood and pain and defeat and anger. It's not peaceful. It's an ending, one that Ibai himself is terrified to meet.)

(More than that, he doesn't want to be the cause of it. Ibai doesn't know if he can stand to see it happen again.)

Thessaly shifts beside him; Ibai turns his head to see her hands drop down beside her head, and she kicks her legs up into a handstand. She stays there for a moment before sighing, pushing herself back onto her feet. It's as if she's been totally rejuvenated.

"Okay," she chirps, stretching her arms high over her head. "I'm bored."

"Okay," Ibai replies blankly. He stares at her. "So…?"

"So we should go somewhere!"

"Like?"

Thessaly begins to pace, pivoting on her heel an instant before she runs into a piece of furniture. She rubs her chin thoughtfully, the sort of gesture that Ibai has learned means that a person is trying to imply they're thinking, not necessarily that they actually are. "Not here, obviously."

"The training center is closed," he points out.

"There's always the roof, but there's no guarantee it has other people. Maybe another floor then?"

"Which one?"

She snaps her fingers and points at him. "The Twos!"

"What about them?"

"Their floor! I'm sure things won't be boring up there."

Ibai wrinkles his nose. That's certainly true, but he's more concerned that their floor will be… loud.

"Do you not like the Twos?" Thessaly asks, pausing in the middle of the room.

He mulls this over. "Nerissa is easily annoyed. You seem to enjoy antagonizing her."

Thessaly grins widely. "You've noticed, huh? She's good fun, isn't she?"

Ibai is not sure what he's supposed to say to that, so he merely shrugs. "Pan- Theo is just very…"

Somehow, Thessaly seems to pick up on exactly what he's saying. She nods enthusiastically. "I get it. He's got a lot going on. Well, I totally don't get it, but I sort of do. Sometimes it's like there's a whole other world going on inside his head."

Ibai did not pick up on any of that, but he nods regardless. "Two is fine," he clarifies. "We can go."

"So you'll come with me?"

"The definition of we includes myself, so-"

"That sounds like a yes to me!" Thessaly spins in a circle excitedly. "Oh, I bet there's all kinds of things we can do there…"

Truthfully, Ibai worries that the Twos are in a similar position, but he doesn't say that aloud. Instead, he gets to his feet and brushes off his pants. "So?"

"Let's go!" Thessaly darts past him, fingers grazing his wrist as if she momentarily considered grabbing his hand. Ibai cannot decide if he wanted her to or not.

He follows her to the elevator, all of his nervous energy disappearing. While he's still not completely at ease, this is far better than sitting and wondering about death.

The ride to the second floor is brief, and they step out into an apartment much like their own. To the left are the kitchen and dining areas, and to the right is the living area. Ibai can see a couple of doors closed down the hall, so perhaps Theo or Nerissa are already occupied.

Looking to the right again, Ibai sees Theo sprawled out on one of the couches, looking like he's waiting for something. Thessaly coughs, and Theo blinks, finally registering that someone has arrived.

"Aha!" Theo jumps to his feet and points a finger in their direction. "You're here! Though you are late."

Ibai blinks. Late for what? As far as he knew, they hadn't been invited at all.

"Fashionably late, I hope," Thessaly says, grinning. "I was hoping you had something going on."

Theo pauses, silently calculating something. "Yes," he says slowly. "I definitely have plans for our evening."

"Incredible," Thessaly gushes. "What are they?"

"A surprise?"

Laughing, Thessaly launches herself onto the couch. "I love surprises!"

"Theo?"

Ibai freezes at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He turns to see Callan Levisay, who must be Theo's mentor. Ibai has scrolled through pages and pages transcribing past Games, and Callan's always stood out for a couple of reasons. First, there were no weapons in the Arena. Weapons could be sent as a sponsor gift, but many Capitolites preferred seeing the tributes tear each other apart with their bare hands or whatever blunt object they could find. Second, Callan boasts the highest kill count in recent memory. The latest Games trend is for kills to be evenly spread out, with several tributes getting a few each, but some didn't have the strength or skill to kill without a real weapon.

Usually, Ibai likes to watch the Games alongside their transcriptions, but he skipped this one. The descriptions alone were enough to paint a pretty clear picture in his mind.

"Oh," Callan says, looking between the three tributes in the living room. "You have company."

"I told you they'd be here," Theo says proudly.

"I never said I didn't believe you." Callan fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve. "I just figured they'd be here later. After mentoring, maybe after dinner. Have you eaten yet?"

"No," Thessaly replies. "And no mentoring, either."

His brows furrow. "No mentoring?"

Ibai clears his throat a bit. "Faye and Bastian were both gone."

Callan stills, eyes darting over to stare directly at Ibai, who glances away quickly. "Gone?"

Shrugging, Thessaly looks to Ibai for reassurance. "Either that or hiding in their rooms. We're not really sure. Neither of them answered their doors, and we didn't want to intrude more."

There's a beat of silence, and then Callan sighs deeply. "Right," he mutters. "Well, you're welcome on our floor whenever you want. I have to leave, but Rhosyn will be around if you need anything."

"You're leaving?" Theo cuts in, looking strangely anguished. "What for?"

"Business."

"When will you be back?"

"Late."

"But you'll be back tomorrow, right?"

"I'll see you before training, yes."

"Will you leave again at night?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Theo frowns, looking somewhat put out. "You look nice," he offers quietly.

"Thank you," Callan says, and for a moment, Ibai could swear he sees the older man smile.

"How soon do you have to leave?" Theo asks.

"Probably now. Thessaly, Ibai, it was nice to meet you."

The three of them remain silent until the elevator doors close behind him. Ibai isn't entirely sure what to make of him, but he doesn't seem bad for a guy that killed nine people.

"He's not much for small talk, is he?" Thessaly turns to Theo.

"Not really. Probably thinks it's a waste of time." Theo pauses. "But he really is good at what he does. And he's great at listening."

"At least he's around." As if something has occurred to her, Thessaly blurts out, "Where's Nerissa?"

Honestly, Ibai is impressed she held that in for so long.

"With Rhosyn," Theo says. "They'll probably be in there until dinner. Nerissa is pretty thorough."

"Damn," Thessaly mutters, looking put out. "I was hoping she'd join us."

"That's alright, you've got me now!" Theo points at himself. "You can't be tired after hanging out with me all day."

That's an incredibly debatable point. "We could go get Zephyr," Ibai suggests.

"Tomorrow night," Theo insists. "We can invite the Ones over too. Play some kind of party game."

Thessaly sits upright, excited. "We should play truth or dare! I'm really good at that one."

Ibai isn't sure how one can be "good" at truth or dare, but somehow he believes Thessaly anyway. Besides, with her and Theo leading the group, he's relatively certain he won't get asked too many questions.

Theo grins and snaps his fingers. "That's perfect! But what about tonight?"

"A craft?" Thessaly suggests.

Ibai is suddenly thrown back several years, when he spent all of his spare time folding paper. He's sure that if he tries, he could still remember most of it. "I know origami."

Theo stares at him, perplexed. "Origami? Isn't that a little… boring?"

Pausing, Ibai reevaluates. He's not entirely sure why he spoke up in the first place. This whole 'being social' thing isn't really his cup of tea, and he's not sure what activities people enjoy doing in groups. "It's been known to improve fine motor skills and enhance logical thinking."

Luckily, Theo does not outwardly critique this point.

"How about we do that and throw on some trashy Capitolite show until dinner?" Thessaly rolls off the couch and snags the remote off the coffee table. "I think folding paper sounds like a great way to pass some time. Besides, my room is looking pretty bare."

"Will notebook paper work?" Theo directs the question at Ibai, grabbing a notebook from underneath the table.

"Well enough. It's not as thick as I want it to be, and the lines don't make it as attractive, but it will do. Do you have scissors?"

Theo returns with a pair in a flash. Ibai blinks and accepts the scissors, using them to cut out three even pieces of paper, and hands them out. "Now what?" Thessaly asks eagerly, focus trained solely on Ibai.

The next part is easy. There's no question about what Ibai is going to make. His movements are fluid, and within moments, Ibai is already holding a carefully folded boat in his hands. Theo and Thessaly both squint at him, trying to figure out how he did that so fast.

Gingerly, Ibai places it in the middle of the table. "Should I go slower next time?"

"Actually," Thessaly says, sly grin crossing her face, "can you make a bird instead? God, Euna would love these."

"A crane," Ibai mutters to himself. "Yes, I can do that."

The table in front of them is soon littered with paper, and the television chatters away in front of them. Even Theo finds himself intrigued eventually, requesting an origami rose; he doesn't seem to mind that Ibai fumbles a couple of times before managing to correctly create one. Ibai finds himself becoming more and more relaxed as time goes on, and the strangest part of the night is that Ibai feels like he might truly be in the company of friends.

He only worries how long that will last.

unfortunately i missed easter so my i'm alive joke isn't as funny

happy year and a few days to alila winning odwh! i also missed that but she's important enough to be acknowledged anyway. also she was in the chapter so #alilarights. (i also believe in alila wrongs)

my ass is absolutely crawling to the finish line buuut we're halfway done with pregames! [crickets] yeah i know there's still a whole eight chapters left. i'd say i'm sorry but i'm not. i am going to have fun and hopefully everyone else will too! so next time is training day 2 i have barely started it and i'm taking my nclex in a little over a week so don't expect to see me for like a month. kay bye love y'all !

~ de laney is out