Bourbon Jaque, 17

District Nine Female

2031 - June 14, 124 ADD.

Bourbon barely waits for the door to close behind them before she punches Kodo square in the jaw.

And god, does it feel fucking good. She should've done this ages ago. A little getting the shit beat out of him would've done this guy wonders. She doesn't know how it didn't happen sooner – isn't this a goddamn theatre kid? Aren't those fuckers prime bullying material?

Kodo appears to be surprised for once in his life. He presses his hand against his jaw, which Bourbon definitely hit hard enough to leave an ugly bruise. She'll be pleased to watch the colors seep in over the next several hours.

"What was that for?" he has the audacity to ask.

"You are such a fucking asshole," she seethes. Her hand itches with the desire to hit him again, but Kodo takes a wary step back.

"Come now, Bonbon, that's now how lovers tal-"

"Oh, fuck off with that shit. It's the night before the Games and I'll talk however I damn well please."

Kodo's lips turn down. "Fine, then, if you insist on being crass. What have I done this time, besides keep us alive?"

A laugh tears out of Bourbon's throat. She was stupid to think Kodo had any idea what he got both of them into. "Really? A goddamn proposal? You couldn't stop with Panem thinking we were dating; no, you had to stain the rest of my godforsaken existence with your presence by making us engaged?"

Kodo sniffs and dusts off his shirt. "Well, yes. It's the obvious next step. We can't just stagnate and let someone else steal the show."

She stares at him, dumbfounded. "Are you fucking listening to yourself? Is this all a game to you?"

"It is called the Hunger Games. So, yes, I suppose it somewhat is."

Bourbon lunges towards him, and Kodo barely manages to get out of the way. His eyes narrow, like he's finally realizing she's pretty damn serious about the matter. Bourbon isn't sure how he didn't come to that conclusion after getting punched in the face, but she's not in the mood to question it now.

"Shit," Bourbon mutters to herself. "There's thousands of people in Nine and I got stuck with the one shitface whose only talent is running his goddamn mouth."

"A talent that has gotten us far, might I add."

"You might fucking not. Sure, you've gotten us plenty of attention, but aren't you aware that everyone is paying attention to us now?"

"Wasn't that the plan?"

"The head fucking gamemaker, Kodo! Not to mention the other tributes. You've put us on the map for all of them."

Kodo waves his hand dismissively. "It's not my fault if they're jealous that we have a better sponsorship scheme. The Games are all about learning how to market yourself, and that's what I did. For us."

"Right. Because you're such a team fucking player."

Kodo sighs in exasperation. "If you hadn't noticed, Bonnie, I'm the only one of us making moves here. I made the offer to you on the train. I broke into that little interview session of yours. I took us from dating to engaged. What have you done besides go along with it all?"

"Oh, you are so fucking full of it," she snaps. "You think you're a goddamn genius, huh? That there's no way this plan of yours will fail and knock both of us on our asses?"

"It's a calculated risk, as everything is when it comes to life and death."

"Right, because you know so much about stakes. This isn't some audition for you to fail or line for you to screw up. We could fucking die."

Kodo sighs heavily, as if she's the problem.

(Bourbon is sort of starting to regret that she started this conversation with a punch. She thinks she could hit a whole lot harder now.)

"I'm aware of that," he insists. "I've seen the Games before, you know, and I have no intention of dying at the hands of some Career brute."

"Well, neither am I!"

"Then I'm afraid I don't see why you've decided to pick a fight with me over nothing!"

"This isn't nothing, Kodo. This is you deciding to just do shit without talking to me about it! You just can't fucking stop, can you? You can't fucking help yourself. You keep throwing us into situation after situation without regard for anyone but yourself. You think I want to die with everyone thinking we were engaged? You think I want to die and the only way people remember me is because of my relation to you?"

Kodo wrinkles his nose. "It's not exactly ideal for me, either. Your attempts at furthering this romance have been… passable, at best. Not to mention my hope that my partner would be less…" He gives her a once-over. "Well, never mind."

Bourbon bristles. "Less what?"

It takes him a moment to search for the word. What he lands on is "Unsavory."

"I'm fucking sorry?"

He gestures to her form. "You clean up well, but… have you ever heard of a shower before coming here? Or how to properly use eating utensils? Or manners in general? And do you really have to be so vulgar all the time?"

"Oh, what, like you're any fucking better because you can't say 'shit' without stroking out? You think showering five times a day is gonna save your ass from getting beat in the Arena? You think you're better than me because you can say please and thank you like a goddamn suckup? Be so fucking for real, Kodo. The second we step foot into that Arena, you'll start wailing like a baby because your skinny ass can't do shit. You're all talk, but when it comes down to it, you're a coward. You really think that'll get us out of the Arena alive?"

Kodo straightens, and there's something strangely cold about the way he carries himself. His eyes are hard, staring right through her like she's not even there. Like she's just a piece he can use to get what he wants.

(For half a second, Bourbon could swear she's talking to his father.)

"I don't know if you noticed, Bourbon, but there is no us getting out of the Arena. Only one wins, remember? And fine, sure, I've done all of this for my own benefit, but that's because I actually want to get out of here alive. Can you say you wouldn't do the same?"

"I am saying that," she hisses. She jabs her finger into his chest, hard enough to leave another bruise. "I'm saying that the only reason I've gone along with your bullshit at all is because I don't have another choice."

And finally, Kodo's brows wrinkle. "I gave you an out. Several, even. One right before the proposal, where we skew the narrative towards bitter ex-lovers-"

Bourbon cuts him off with a laugh, one that grows increasingly high and manic. "God, of course you don't get it. Privileged little Kodo, who's always handed whatever he wants whenever he wants it. You have every choice you could ever hope for, don't you? Because your daddy has all the money to make it happen."

His expression turns dark. "Don't go there, Bourbon. That has nothing to do with this."

And there it is. Bourbon finally has a leg up on him, a sore spot she can press over and over again until she finally has a win against Kodo Hotakim. She grins savagely. "Doesn't it? Doesn't that have everything to do with it? Because if I recall, the only reason I'm here is because your sister had someone to cover your ass, and you didn't. You don't think that's relevant right now?"

Kodo's fists clench at his sides. "No," he insists. "I think the only thing that's relevant is that I kept asking and you kept saying yes."

"Because I don't have another choice! Is your head too far up your own ass to get that? Because every 'choice' I make is the one where I get to live another day, regardless of the part where it risks fucking over the rest of my existence. Because if your harebrained plan actually works and gets us those sponsors, then that could be the difference between me and going home. Because I have people at home who actually fucking need me to get back to them." Bourbon sneers at him. "Can you say the same?"

"Fuck off," he hisses, and Bourbon's smile turns gleeful. "You don't know anything about me."

"Really? I don't know anything? You don't think I've seen you waltzing around school like you own the place? You don't think I've noticed the way your only talent is slipping into any role besides yourself? You don't think I've noticed the way you couldn't do anything at any of the stations we went to? You seem pretty damn desperate, but who's really gonna miss you? Your sister? That boy you're always with – what's his name? Da-something?"

"Knock it off-"

"Or fucking what?" Bourbon steps closer to him. "What are you gonna do about it? Hit me? If you're unaware, daddy dearest isn't here to bail you out anymore – oh, wait. He didn't do that in the first place."

For once, Kodo appears to be genuinely speechless.

But Bourbon can't revel in that victory, because he takes the opportunity to shove her - hard. She stumbles back a step, tripping over the bedpost and twisting her ankle, sending her to the floor. Bourbon grits her teeth to keep from making a noise and glares up at Kodo, who seems genuinely surprised. The sight of his face makes her so enraged that she whips her arm out, latching onto his ankle and dragging him to the ground with her.

The thud he makes when his body hits the floor is enough to make Bourbon smile gleefully. Kodo may be better at talking out of his ass, but in a fight, Bourbon could beat him anytime. He doesn't even stand a chance. And sure, the Games are tomorrow, but there aren't any cameras here – nothing can stop Bourbon from punching the smug look off his face.

He's got no coordination to his movements, but he's frantic enough that Bourbon does have to actually try to subdue him. She doesn't manage to land a punch, but she does manage to elbow him straight in the nose. Kodo yelps and pulls away, one hand reaching for his nose, which is already starting to bleed.

Bourbon jumps on the opportunity to grab him while he's distracted. It's a move she's utilized against her siblings time and time again, but she doesn't really bother to curb her strength. One of her hands grabs Kodo's wrist, and the other shoves at his shoulders until he's flat on his back.

There's a knock at the door, and both of them tense immediately, Bourbon's forearm braced against Kodo's throat. Kodo tries to take advantage of the moment to throw her off, but she just tightens her grip on his wrist.

"Kodo? Bourbon?" Giavanna asks, the worry clear in her tone. "Is everything alright?"

"Just fucking peachy," Bourbon snaps. "Lovers spat."

"That… sounds like a little more than a spat."

"Then maybe it's none of your business. We're handling this."

There's silence from the other side of the door, and when Giavanna's voice returns, she sounds much more annoyed. "I know you two have been up to something, and I've stayed out of it because it seemed like you had it under control. But I need you to open this door, now, before I do it myself. And I really don't want to have to get anyone else involved."

Bourbon stays in place for several seconds, until she hears Giavanna start counting down. She curses loudly and relinquishes her hold on Kodo. Her ankle twinges as she gets to her feet, but she focuses on opening the door before Giavanna can make good on her threat.

Their mentor is standing on the other side of the door, arms crossed and very unamused. She's also several inches shorter than the both of them, a visual that would make Bourbon laugh if she was even slightly less pissed off. Without waiting for an invitation, Giavanna steps inside and closes the door.

Bourbon can only imagine what thoughts race through Giavanna's mind as she takes in the scene in front of her. Kodo is still on the floor, but he's sat up and started wiping his nose. He coughs and keeps his head strangely down – if Bourbon had to guess, he's trying not to cry. Whether it's because of the shot to his nose or one of the many barbs she threw at him, she can't say.

"There's not supposed to be violence between tributes," Giavanna says. "I could report both of you for this."

"He started it," Bourbon says flatly.

Kodo's head whips up to glare at her. "That's not true! You hit me as soon as we got in here!"

"Yeah, once! And then you knocked me to the ground."

"You could've just stayed there! You didn't have to drag me down with you!"

"Are you fucking serious? You can't-"

Giavanna pinches the bridge of her nose. "You don't even like each other, do you?"

They both pause. It hadn't really occurred to Bourbon before now that they weren't the only people on the floor, and that maybe someone else could hear them.

"Um," Bourbon says.

"It's not what it looks like?" Kodo offers weakly.

"Maybe not, but that's definitely what it sounds like." Giavanna sighs. "Really? The night before the Games?"

"It's none of your business," Bourbon snaps. "We've got it all under cont-"

"Nice try, but we're not playing your little game right now. I heard yelling from the room of my two supposedly engaged tributes, and I walked in to see them fighting. You're explaining this to me. Now."

Bourbon stays stubbornly silent, not looking in Kodo's direction. Kodo sighs. "Sponsorship ploy. You weren't supposed to know."

"Why not?"

"Realism. We didn't want to break immersion."

"Well, you're doing a really excellent job of it," Giavanna says drily.

Kodo shoots Bourbon a filthy look. "Well, we were until someone decided she was displeased with my methods."

"Well, someone decided to not ask me before making life-altering choices."

"And someone decided to punch me instead of talk it out."

"And someone-"

"We're not doing this again," Giavanna snaps. "You two are going to sit down on that bed and explain to me why I should help you instead of reporting you straight to whoever the hell is in charge. If you keep squabbling like children, I'll throw you straight to the wolves."

They glare at each other again. Giavanna snaps her fingers. "Now, please."

Bourbon wisely chooses to keep her mouth shut, despite how badly she wants to grumble about Giavanna's fucked up manners. No use in saying please when she's being that much of a bitch.

"I will help you," Giavanna says, "if you can convince me it's worth my time. You're not going to be a particularly convincing romance if you're at each other's throats all the time."

Kodo sits down on the edge of the bed gingerly. He snags a tissue from the bedside table and starts cleaning the blood off his face. "We've been fine until now," he insists.

"I don't care," Giavanna says flatly. "You're clearly in over your heads. I'll need the stylist to fix Kodo's face in the morning. And if the public figures out you've been lying, they'll turn on you in an instant and take away everything. Is that what you want?"

Neither of them say a word. Bourbon carefully takes a seat as far away from Kodo as she can get. Giavanna takes their silence as answer enough.

"Now," Giavanna smiles pleasantly, "are you both ready to listen?"

Xander Luman, 16

District Five Male

2048 – June 14, 124 ADD.

It rains on the last night, because of course it does. Xander can't imagine a more miserable way to end the last day of his life.

It's not like he expects to die tomorrow. It's more… well, Xander sort of expects tomorrow to be the end of everything. Whether he lives or dies, things will be different in a way he'll never be ready for.

The rain beats against his window, slick and cold, and Xander stares at it and pretends he doesn't hear Akira and their sister in the other room. They're yelling again — they're always yelling — and he wishes the quiet was back. The quiet is lonely, a word Xander is becoming increasingly familiar with, but it's better than the tense silence between bouts of screaming.

(Once the interviews finished, all Xander wanted was to make a cup of something hot and curl up in a window to read. But there was nothing particularly of interest in the library downstairs.

(At this point, Xander is sort of used to finding disappointment in the Capitol.)

(Xander wants to go home. He wants to be anywhere but here. But home isn't necessarily better, and the only other place waiting for him is sure to kill him.)

(Maybe instead what he yearns for is nowhere. A blissful in-between where he can just be. No expectations, no talking, no anything at all. Just Xander and whatever he wants to do.

… That doesn't sound particularly feasible, either.)

He could always go and find Marri again. Xander has done that before, visiting her floor and pretending it was somehow sheer coincidence. He doesn't even think Marri believes him – but Xander can ignore that part. They both can. It's for the best that they stay distant. Allies but nothing more.

So Xander finds himself stuck – not that that's any different from normal. It's almost amusing how similar the Capitol is to home in the ways that really matter. He's not awed by the food or the finery like the rest of the tributes. The expansive apartment is similar enough to home that it's not jarring. Xander supposes it's even sort of an upgrade in some manners – at least he doesn't have to practice the violin, and Odette's grating voice is hundreds of miles away.

And then there's the less fun stuff. The more he thinks of home, the more Xander wonders if anyone will miss him. The more he has to act for the Capitol, the more Xander realizes this is no different from Five. The longer he spends alone, the more Xander wonders if this is all he was meant for.

Facing his own mortality has made Xander ridiculously sentimental. He doesn't know where this attitude is coming from – it's far too little, far too late. His father would certainly be amused, though. Father has always been entertained by humanity's constant, fruitless search for companionship. The only thing that will follow you through life is your achievements, and so far Xander has accomplished nothing.

(Nothing to be noticed by, nothing to be remembered by. His mere existence will be short and quickly snuffed out, like hundreds of children before him.

Oh, how disappointed his father will be.)

It finally occurs to Xander that wallowing in his own self-pity is probably the single most disappointing thing he could be doing with his night. Even contemplating the various ways he could die would be more productive, because then at least he'd be preparing himself for something.

With a sigh, Xander stands and dusts himself off. It's not late enough for him to go to sleep just yet, and besides, he's not even a little tired. The one favor he can do for himself tomorrow is be well-rested, so he needs to find something else to do.

The answer is easy enough to reach, even though Xander tries to come up with several alternate paths. Despite his efforts, he finds himself in the elevator headed up to the seventh floor.

At this point, the common areas of the seventh floor are more familiar to him than the ones on his own floor. Witnessing one of Madoka and Akira's "spats" isn't exactly his idea of a good time, and Seven is at least quiet. It's usually just him and Marri, who makes for surprisingly decent company. But tonight, she's not who Xander first sees upon entering the floor.

Zephyr blinks at him in surprise, and then their face splits into an easy smile. Xander tenses at the sight of it – he'd really hoped not to run into Seven again.

"I remember you," they say. "Xander, right? You're Marri's friend."

"Ally," Xander corrects sharply. "But… yes. I am. You're Zephyr."

The grin widens. "Sure am. I'm impressed you remembered."

"With a score like yours, I'm not sure anyone could forget," Xander mutters.

"That's the hope," Zephyr jokes. "Forgettable til the end, for better or worse. Preferably better."

"Right."

"And congratulations to y-"

"I don't need your pity," Xander snaps. "It was an adequate score at best. Certainly nothing to be congratulated about."

"I didn't mean for it to come across that way."

"Why are you talking to me?" Xander asks suddenly. "You have no reason to. I have no connection to you, nor any way to offer my assistance. I provide no tactical advantage."

Zephyr blinks at him, and something in their face softens. "To be nice, mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Well, that and Marri."

Xander frowns. "What about her?"

"It's just… she's just a kid. And you are, too. I know I'm not allied with her myself, but she's still my District Partner. So just… watch out for her, okay?"

Something bitter rises in Xander's throat, and he has to swallow it down to keep from saying something he can't take back. He doesn't know why that sentiment makes him feel so… so…

(Weak? Helpless? Alone?)

Xander smiles for the first time in ages, the expression feeling particularly forced. "I'll do my best."

Even though his promise is entirely empty – what is Xander's best, anyway? – Zephyr simply nods and steps back. Xander is relieved by the sudden distance between them.

"I'm glad," Zephyr replies. "And I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but considering my company in the Arena, I hope I don't see you again after this."

To that, Xander laughs – he can't help it. "I feel the same."

Zephyr smiles and nods his head. "Goodnight, then. And rest well, whenever you get around to it."

"You, too."

"Her room is first on the right, by the way."

Xander just waves a hand at them, walking in that direction. He's trying not to let himself linger on what he's doing for too long. The elevator is further away than Marri's door, and yet it seems like the far easier option.

(But for once, Xander doesn't let himself turn back.)

Marri lays in the middle of her bed, staring at the ceiling with her arms and legs spread like a starfish. She pays no mind to Xander entering the room. For several long moments, he's not even sure she's aware of his presence. It's enough to make him doubt his decision to visit at all, but just as he wraps his fingers around the doorknob, intending to leave, Marri speaks up.

"I didn't think you would come tonight."

He hesitates, not letting go of the door. "I didn't mean to."

"I know. But I'm glad you did."

"I don't know why."

"Why you did? Or why I'm glad?"

"Both, I suppose."

"It doesn't matter much to me either way." Marri's voice is strangely melodic as she speaks. "The first part, I mean. But I'm glad to not be alone on a night like this. Can't you say the same?"

"It's a terrible night."

"The last one."

"I've never been a fan of endings."

"Me neither." A smile stretches across her face. "I much prefer beginnings, or maybe even the middle. But an ending is so sudden, so concrete. In the beginning, it's a fresh start. In the middle, you can be anything. It's strangely relieving, is it not?"

"You're losing me," Xander says drily. But he takes his hand off the door and steps further into the room.

"We all end someday," she hums. "What a hopelessly frightening concept. But the darkness is much more comforting when you have a hand to hold."

Xander sits down at her desk. "You're strange," he says, but for once his words hold no bite.

"That's a different kettle of fish."

Xander snorts. "That doesn't even make any sense."

"Sure it does. You just don't know how to make sense of it."

"Then would you care to explain?"

It occurs to him that asking is the kindest thing he could do in this situation. It opens a door that has been closed for him for a long time. Xander finds himself strangely stiff in anticipation of an answer, even though Marri has always been remarkably easy to predict.

"I would love nothing more," she says, like she really does mean it.

And somehow, that alone makes Xander's night get just a little better.

Svelte Rasa, 17

District Eight Male

2116 – June 14, 124 ADD.

Night is lonelier than Svelte remembered.

Even though Svelte would always find himself in bed alone, the circus was a lively place at any hour. Sure, Monsieur Vaurien kept him as corralled as possible, but everyone around him was so vibrant that… well, Svelte doesn't know how to explain it. He slept a little easier. His room was a little warmer. Everything was, somehow, a little better.

But in the Capitol, everything is cold and clinical. The fluorescent lights are enough to illuminate the backs of his eyelids even when he closes his eyes. There aren't very many dark corners to hide away in. Someone is always watching Svelte.

Always.

If it's not Ariadne, it's Guinevere. If it's not Guinevere, it's Akira. If it's not Akira, it's another tribute. If it's not another tribute, it's a trainer or a gamemaker or unseen eyes or a vague feeling Svelte can't escape.

If it was a better night out, Svelte would try to make his way up to the roof, just to give himself some reminder of home, a way to decompress. He would let his feet carry him to the rhythm in his head – a performance that exists only to himself.

Instead, he's stuck indoors, with only the agonizingly slow passage of time to keep him company.

Svelte sighs. It's not that he's lonely, he's just… bored, maybe. He didn't exactly expect to face the last night before the Games without anything on his mind.

Well… that's not quite true.

Svelte can tell she's heard the news, but he doesn't know what Ariadne thinks about it. He wishes he did. Her hair is the color of blood, and when she smiles, Svelte can swear he sees it staining her teeth.

"So," Ariadne says, checking her nails. "That's it, then?"

"I suppose," Svelte replies stiffly.

"And there's no changing your mind, is there?"

"No."

"I really do enjoy it when my tributes make things easier for me." Ariadne dusts off her pants. "Listen carefully, then, because I'm only going through this once."

Svelte wrinkles his brow. "What're yo-"

She holds a finger to her lips. "Listening – no talking. You had your chance for that, and now it's my turn. Understand?"

Svelte crosses his arms and doesn't respond.

She smiles wider. "Good. Now, remember that conversation we had forever ago? When you told me you wanted to win? Well, I don't believe you anymore. I think Guinevere finds herself in a far more optimal position for that – because she's thinking like a Victor, and not someone too scared to die."

Svelte bristles and opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Ariadne just holds up a hand to silence him. "I'm not really interested in excuses. In the Arena, you either prove yourself to be a winner, or you don't. There's no room for waffling around or finding an easier choice. There's not one. Every choice is hard and leads to consequences you don't want to face. So if you're not willing to do the simple task of finding an ally, then I don't think you're actually ready to win."

"I don't understand why it's so important to you," Svelte says. "I got a good score on my own. I've been fine on my own. I don't need someone else to rely on."

"Which is good! Genuinely. I want you to be self-reliant. I don't want you going into that Arena feeling like you need the support of another person. This isn't about you."

"Then I don't understand what this is about."

"Don't you see?" Her smile widens. "Trust."

She must see it on his face, then. The doubt. It's impossible to listen to a lecture about trust from someone who's broken it numerous times.

She tilts her head to the side. "You don't believe me."

"If there's one thing I learned from your Games, it's that you didn't trust anyone and made it out perfectly fine. I don't see why going at it alone is suddenly a limitation you're placing on me."

"I suppose that's not very fair of me, is it?" Ariadne concedes. She leans back in her chair. "Only fools make the mistake of trusting me, so who's to say you aren't the next one?"

Svelte's jaw tightens. "Who's to say," he agrees.

"I'll lay it out for you, then. It's not about who you trust, it's about who trusts you. I didn't win because I believed my ally would take a blade for me. I won because he believed I would do the same for him – and he believed that all the way up until I finished the job. I won because loneliness is frightening, and a single girl can't possibly be more terrifying than a monster lurking in the dark. Trust is near unbreakable if you nurture it properly – and it's a damn good weapon as long as you ensure you're the one that shatters it."

"So, you want me to…?"

"At this point, I don't want you to do anything. I'm telling you why this was my suggestion in the first place. You can make any assumption you want, do with this information what you will, but you've made it clear that you have no interest in finding an ally. So I'll leave you to it."

Ariadne stands up, and Svelte follows her, world spinning. "You're leaving?"

"I don't waste my time with people who don't want to hear what I have to say. So if you want to do this alone, then you're on your own. Let me know when you change your mind."

So alone he's been. The other occupants of the floor have mostly respected his wishes, except for Guinevere, who still comes too close for comfort. She acts like she knows something he doesn't – and Svelte is too afraid to ask what.

It's late by the time he goes out into the common area, looking for something to eat. Svelte's been hoping that he would be the only one out there, but Guinevere is sitting on the couch. He doesn't see Akira, which he takes as a win, and studiously avoids making eye contact as he starts rummaging through the cabinets.

Though he doesn't hear her do it, he knows she slides into one of the stools across the counter from him.

It would be easy enough for Svelte to leave the kitchen, but he doesn't want Guinevere to think she's gotten to him somehow. So instead, he sets his jaw and sits down as well, leaving one chair between them.

She's at least kind enough to not say anything at first, and even though she keeps glancing at him, she's not outright staring. It's a low bar, but Svelte is glad she's managed to clear it. He's not sure how much more it would take for him to snap tonight.

"Why are you here?" he finally asks.

"No reason not to be. You haven't asked me to leave yet."

"What if I want you to now?"

She laughs, and the sound is almost kind. "You're only clamming up because you're afraid I pose a threat to you somehow. Like we're enemies. But I don't want to be your enemy. Is that so hard to understand?"

There she goes again. Svelte hates the way she just knows everything. She sees too much. He's not one for psychics, but Guinevere could really be one for all he knows.

"You'd have every reason to kill me tomorrow."

She tilts her head to the side. "Do I?"

"We're opponents. Maybe not enemies, but obstacles. Isn't that reason enough?"

"Maybe for some," she concedes, but doesn't elaborate.

"… Right."

"I don't want to be your friend."

"Okay."

"Really. I know that's hard to believe, but it's true."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Why are you here?" he asks again.

Guinevere hums to herself. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it? I find those are best enjoyed with a bit of company."

"It's raining. And isn't that what Ak- your ally is for?"

A ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. "They've got a sister to say goodbye to. That felt more important. All my important farewells were said nearly a week ago. We're all that's left."

"Do you not think you're coming back?"

"I wanted the chance to say goodbye as I am now. I feel confident that, no matter the outcome of the Games, I will not return home the same. I want them to remember me as I am, not what I'm turned into."

Svelte supposes that makes sense. He still doesn't know what to say in response.

"What about you?"

His spine instinctively stiffens. "What about me?"

"Do you think you'll come back?"

"I hardly think it matters."

"I think it does."

No, it doesn't, because Svelte had always hoped he'd at least die on his own terms, and now he can't even manage that. Freedom is an elusive concept, and it's clearly something that was never meant for him.

(No matter how badly he wants it.)

"I'm tired," Svelte says abruptly.

Guinevere asks, "Are you the sort to dream?"

He gives her a strange look. "Not typically."

"Then I hope you rest well, and that any dreams that find you are kind. Even if it's for the last time."

Guinevere holds his gaze for a little longer than he's comfortable with. Svelte turns his head to the side and nods once. "You, too."

And even though she doesn't say anything more, Svelte could swear she smiles. He doesn't look back to check.

Somehow, he just knows.

Sagan Pomare, 15

District Three Female

2201 – June 14, 124 ADD.

Sagan isn't really sure how she got here.

The living room of her floor has turned into a complete disaster. Blankets and pillows are strewn everywhere, haphazardly coating the entire floor. It's sort of comfortable-looking if she squints, but then her fingers start itching with the urge to clean all of it up. God, her mother would hate this sort of mess.

She stands stiffly in the middle of it all, watching with a wrinkled brow. Naturally, Aleksei is the one orchestrating the chaos. It looks like he's done this sort of thing before. Sagan has a hard time imagining what his home life is like – many siblings, all under the same roof? Full of joy and laughter and nothing bad ever? Everything her mind can conjure is ridiculously childish, but it certainly makes his general attitude make a lot more sense.

Then again, maybe it's not all light and love. There are parts of him that Sagan recognizes – like the general scrappiness of his appearance at the reaping – that make her think his reaping could be the cause of a tesserae or ten. She hasn't figured out exactly how many siblings he has, but she's pretty familiar with the story of parents having more kids than they can afford solely to sell their chances for tesserae.

Aleksei is just a little too… happy for that to be his story. Sagan doesn't get it.

And then she realizes she's staring, and Aleksei's grin has gone lopsided in that way it does when he's really happy about something. Sagan tries to scowl, but she's not sure if it comes across as genuine or not.

"You like it, don't you?" Aleksei spreads his arms wide. "It's a sleepover! I haven't had one of these in ages – a couple weeks, really – and I thought it would be fun!"

"Fun," Sagan repeats.

"Yeah! And not lonely!"

"But we both need sleep."

"And we'll get plenty of it! I promise! After the other sleepover activities."

She stares at the mess warily. "On the floor?"

Aleksei beams at her. "Yeah! It's super comfy, I promise! Way better than a lot of the other places I slept. The bed's almost too comfy, actually. This is way better."

Sagan has no idea how to process any of that. "Um… right."

"Here, let me think." Aleksei taps his chin exaggeratedly. "If I had to put it on a scale… definitely more comfortable than under a bridge, but not as comfortable as a couch. But you can sleep on the couch here if you want!"

"... Thank you?"

"You're welcome! I'll take the floor!"

Sagan purses her lips. "What do you even do at a sleepover?"

His grin is agonizingly bright. "Talk, mostly. Sometimes watch shows, if I'm with someone who has working cable. Or sometimes I'll sneak out with friends and we'll roam the streets for a while. A slow night would probably be best, though, since it'll be a long day tomorrow."

Sagan's frown deepens at the mention of the word tomorrow. Long doesn't even begin to cover it. The Games loom over them both, a threatening end to the world they know. Sagan can hardly imagine what horrors await. She's been watching the Games for years – maybe someone will carve open her throat, or she'll die a slow and painful death, or her ally will turn on her and she'll be left for dead.

(She glances over at Aleksei at that last part. He doesn't seem the type, sure, but his insistence on staying is still enough to give her pause.)

(Her siblings promised to stay once, too.)

Somehow, Aleksei is still talking. The sound of his voice is a strangely comforting white noise that Sagan has come to appreciate. When Aleksei's around, everything seems so… manageable.

(How did that happen?)

Sagan sighs and sits down on the floor, back against the couch. She tries to ignore the way Aleksei appears downright delighted. And, really, it is quite comfortable – turns out the layers of blankets and pillows do make a difference.

"Okay, then," she says. "A sleepover. Show me how it's done."

Aleksei settles in next to her. "There aren't any set rules as long as you have fun. Isn't there something you do for fun?"

Well, not really. Sagan doesn't often have time for things as inconsequential as "fun." Most of her days are consumed by work or chores or taking care of her mother.

"Sometimes I play ball," Sagan says quietly. "I made up my own game for it."

"Oh, that's cool! Can I join you?"

"It's kind of a one-person game. But… I guess we can tweak the rules. I don't think it's something we can do in here, though."

"I guess that's true." Aleksei frowns. "Maybe later, then?"

She hums. "We can try."

Aleksei's head drops back against the couch. "You're worried about the Games, aren't you?"

Sagan tucks her knees close to her chest. "Aren't you?"

"Sort of. This still doesn't feel real though, yanno?"

"Yeah," she whispers. "I get it."

"I wanna be home again. Or back with my family, at least."

"Yeah."

"Who do you miss back home?" Aleksei asks innocently.

And maybe it's the way the night is stretching late, or the way Aleksei has been so unrelentingly nice to her, or simply the distance from Three, but Sagan finds herself sniffling. "My mom."

A soft smile settles across Aleksei's face. "Tell me about her?"

Sagan is less sure how to accomplish that. Her mother is many things, and admittedly not all of them are good. But she's the most important person Sagan has in the entire world. That's the only part that counts.

"She used to fix my hair a lot when I was little," Sagan says, voice hushed. "Braids and fancy clips and things like that. Sometimes before bed, as a way to wind down. If it was a really special day, she'd tell me stories or sing. She doesn't have the loveliest voice, but she knew all my favorite songs. It helped that they were usually her favorite songs, too."

"That sounds really nice," Aleksei admits. There's something wistful in his tone that makes Sagan pause.

"What about yours?" she finds herself asking.

Aleksei hesitates, which surprises her. She's not used to him picking his words wisely, or searching for something to say at all. It's a strange look on him, one that makes her briefly regret asking.

"I don't think I have any nice memories," Aleksei says slowly. "Not like you."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "It's not your fault. It's pretty common in Six. The drugs, I mean. So she's never really been my mom, she's just been… well, you know."

Sagan doesn't really know, but something in her does understand the concept of a mother being stolen away from her by something outside her control. Her throat tightens.

"I still want to go home to her, though," Aleksei admits. "None of my siblings understand that part, but I do. I'm worried that she'd be gone even if I got back, though. And I didn't get to say goodbye."

That sounds familiar. "Oh," she manages.

"My siblings visited me, though." Aleksei smiles a bit. "That was nice. It's not often we're all together these days. Even though it might be- well, never mind. What about yours?"

"They visited me," she says faintly. "But I didn't really… it wasn't…"

"You don't have to share unless you want to."

Sagan presses her lips together. Aleksei takes that as answer enough.

"You'd like my siblings," he decides. "They'd like you, too. Especially Ivan – he plays soccer with me sometimes, and I bet he'd do the same with you."

"That might be nice."

"It is! He's even getting a real job as a mechanic! Which means it's getting harder for him to have spare time for us, but he figures it out anyway. If everything goes well, he promised he'd make me his apprentice. It'd be nice to have an official position."

Sagan tilts her head. "Do you work now?"

Aleksei coughs a bit. "Sort of. I run… stuff all over Six. Like a delivery person, I guess. Do you work?"

"Yeah. Basic factory job. Nothing interesting."

"A real job," Aleksei says, slightly awed. Sagan can't say she understands why he's emphasizing the phrase. "That's really cool!"

"I guess so."

Aleksei waggles his brows at her. "See? Aren't sleepovers nice? I know like three more facts about you now! This could keep going the whole night!"

Sagan opens her mouth, and then closes it. She supposes he's right – this is the most she's willingly let someone learn about herself in ages. She's not sure what it is about Aleksei, but he's downright infectious. It's like she can't help herself.

(And something about that feels… dangerous. But this is the lightest Sagan has felt in a long time, and she can't bring herself to break away just yet.)

Instead of saying anything, Sagan merely sighs and reaches for one of the blankets. She pulls it over their legs, letting herself get comfortable. When she looks over, Aleksei is giving her a particularly discerning look, and Sagan doesn't know what to make of it. "What?" she asks, a bitter edge seeping into her tone.

"Sorry," Aleksei says sheepishly. He can't hold back his smile any longer. "It's just… I knew I liked you for a reason."

Her cheeks grow warm, and Sagan ducks her head into her knees. "Thanks," she mutters, the words feeling strange in her mouth. "You too."

And even though it doesn't feel like much, Aleksei's responding smile is bright enough for her to know she said something right.

Thessaly Akaste, 18

District Four Female

2349 - June 14, 124 ADD.

"Okay," Bastian says tiredly. "Tell me about the others."

The night is dragging on – the last night. Sleep is strangely insurmountable, which is how Thessaly has found herself in the common area with Ibai and Bastian. A capitolite show runs in the background, but it's been dialed down so low that the sound is nothing more than white noise.

(It's been like this every night; even if they wound up in different places throughout the evening, they've all found their way here. On Thessaly's end, she hates the loneliness of her own bedroom, and this has by far been a better alternative. She can't say what's going on in their minds, but she assumes it's something similar.)

The silence has stretched for too long, so Thessaly speaks up. "The others?"

He nods. "Your allies, primarily. And then anyone else of note. I want you to tell me about them – both of you."

Ibai's head pops up in confusion. "Both of us?"

"That's what I said. I heard the group has split up a fair amount during training, so you've been exposed to different dynamics. Tell me everything you've gathered."

The two of them exchange a glance. It's true, Thessaly supposes. They've never quite worked as a whole team, but Thessaly has at least spent time with pretty much everyone. She's not quite sure why this is what Bastian's finally asking about, but surely he has some sort of reason.

She's seen a lot more of him since that first night. He still can't quite make eye contact with them, but he doesn't hole himself away like he's the one readying himself to die.

(Something Thessaly has noticed is that when he doesn't think anyone is looking, Bastian presses the heel of his hand against his chest. He takes in a few shallow, shuddering breaths, and then relaxes. It's almost like something is trying to escape, like he's trying to keep it inside.)

(Thessaly is never sure if it works.)

"Right," Thessaly says, lounging back on the couch. She puts her legs over Ibai's, and he rests his arms on them. "Right, they're very-"

"One at a time. Start with the Ones. The girl?"

"Saccharine," Thessaly says, staring up at the ceiling. "Very quiet. She keeps to herself a lot."

"She is nice, though," Ibai says, quieter. "And she's good at healing."

"Helpful, then. Sounds like she's going for a more supportive role?" Bastian asks.

"I… guess so?" Thessaly thinks about it for a moment. "Yeah, I guess. That would make sense."

"Sorry, I'll save my thoughts for the end. Just… keep going."

"Callum is also nice," Ibai says. "They're both like that. Quiet. Nice."

"Yeah, but he's nervous in a way that she isn't," Thessaly points out. "I can't tell why. It's better when he's around Zephyr. The rest of us… it's like he wants to talk to us but can't for some reason."

"He's talked to me," Ibai says. "They both have. They just don't like big groups."

Thessaly nods wisely. Neither does Ibai, clearly, which is maybe why they're both more willing to open up to him than her. "They're just… very lowkey. Saccharine's more self-assured. She smiles a lot. Callum does, too, but it's more anxious."

"Fascinating," Bastian mutters. He doesn't offer up any elaboration. "Okay, the Twos. Nerissa?"

"She is only interested in Thess," is Ibai's immediate deduction.

Bastian raises a brow. "Is that true?"

Thessaly grins. "Probably. She's pretty frigid with everyone. Our very own ice queen. She's talented, though. I'm glad she's on our side."

"Your side," Ibai points out.

"Your side is my side."

Ibai frowns at her, then turns to address Bastian. "She's rather standoffish to most of us," he clarifies, "but she's got a soft spot for Thessaly. Zephyr told me he thinks something happened between them the other night, so that would explain why."

Thessaly gapes at him. "They told you that? How'd they know?"

"So it's true?" Ibai's eyes widen. "What happened?"

Thessaly coughs a bit. "Well, she came to visit after the game, and-"

"Please don't continue that," Bastian groans. "I really don't need to know. I guess… do you know what you're doing with that one?"

"Yeah, totally."

"Good. Then… we're moving on. Pa- Theo?"

"He is very loud." Ibai hesitates. "I don't think he likes me."

"Aw, why?" Thessaly frowns at him. "He liked you perfectly well during our origami night. He is loud, though, and he really likes showing off. That's probably why he wanted to be in charge. He was kinda in a weird mood at the party, though."

"Was he? He was acting the same as always."

"Yeah, he snuck off and talked to his Mentor for a while. And he was really mad when Kodo proposed to Bonnie."

Ibai wrinkles his nose. "Their grandiose display was entirely unnecessary."

"It was romantic!"

"We have entirely different definitions of romantic."

"I'll make a note that you're not a public proposal kind of guy. Are you more into a quiet beach with roses? Or completely laid back at home? Or-"

Bastian coughs loudly, and they both quiet. "Who was that last ally you brought in? Zephyr?"

"Yes!" Thessaly brightens. "Isn't he great? They did, like, way better than I was expecting. They get along with everyone, and got a really good score – even though he won't tell me how – and he's gotten close with Callum. Which is good, because it makes them both more likely to stick around."

Ibai frowns at his hands. "I think he's… strange. They keep talking to me."

"They like boats," Thessaly points out meaningfully.

Bastian gives the two of them a strange look. Thessaly can tell he doesn't understand the importance of a fine appreciation of boats.

"Okay," Bastian says slowly. "Is that… all?"

Thessaly taps her chin thoughtfully. "I think so. That's everyone. And then us, obviously."

"Well, what about you two?"

Thessaly blinks. "Huh?"

"Do you trust each other?"

That's a bit of a loaded question. Thessaly's surprise makes her hesitate, but she does manage a, "Yes." Ibai's own agreement echoes after hers.

"How much of your alliance do you trust?"

Thessaly doesn't have to think on it for long. "Two people."

"Just one," is Ibai's quieter reply.

"Okay," Bastian says, nodding. "Then here's my take on your alliance: stick close together, but not so close it's noticeable. If the rest of them learn how close you are, it could lead them to turn on you later. Thessaly, you and Nerissa will be a good pair if you can convince her you're worth sticking around for. Ibai… I'd suggest Zephyr, or maybe Saccharine."

"What about Callum and Theo?" Thessaly asks curiously.

"Let me think for a second," Bastian mutters to himself. "I'm trying to sort this out."

"Sort what out?" Thessaly probes curiously.

"The narratives. There's a lot of threads here, I'm trying to see… which ones are helpful."

"I… am afraid I do not understand," Ibai admits.

Bastian sucks in a breath, his hand pressing against his chest. "It's like this. The Games are televised, right? So everything comes down to narrative potential. What's most interesting. You saw the scene that Nine boy made at the party, didn't you? He knows what he's doing. He's marketing himself, and his… whatever she is by extension."

"That's so cool," Thessaly whispers.

"That depends on who you ask. Gaining attention like that is a double-edged sword. Remember the Two girl from last year?"

Both of them cringe. It's hard to forget a scene like that – getting cornered, dragged into fight after fight, her resolve slowly wearing down.

"Ibai… I would actually consider you to be in a good spot. You're laying low, but you're not invisible. There are a lot of angles you could make work for you from here. You're not the biggest target from any angle, which works to your advantage."

Ibai blinks in surprise, like he didn't expect Bastian to say something complimentary. "Really? But I-"

"You're doing well," Bastian affirms. "Really. Zephyr or Saccharine are good choices for you because you'd be evenly matched. You don't want to ally yourself with someone weaker than you that could drag you down, but someone too strong could become a threat down the line." Then, Bastian sighs heavily. "Thessaly, you're the one I'm worried about."

She frowns and sits up, swinging her legs off Ibai's lap. "What? Why?" she demands. "I've done well, haven't I? I brought Zeph into our alliance, I got predicted first, I-"

"That's exactly why I'm worried," Bastian says gently. "You've successfully drawn quite a bit of attention to yourself. That could always work in your favor, but it could work against you, too. The higher you are, the longer the fall."

Thessaly frowns at him. "But I've worked my whole life for this! Isn't this just proof that I'm doing things right?"

Bastian runs a hand through his hair. "The issue is that I think you've placed yourself as a direct competitor with Theo. And from the looks of it, he's not the kind of guy you want as your enemy. Keep him close enough that he doesn't defect, but not so close that he has the chance to lash out."

"I guess I'm following," Thessaly says. She's not really invested in the idea of crippling herself for someone else's ego, though.

"I'm just here to give my suggestions," Bastian says, raising his hands. "It's up to you to follow my advice or not."

"So you want me to… lay low with Nerissa?"

"I want you to let Theo reclaim his spotlight and keep yourself from getting targeted."

Well when he puts it like that, it makes a little more sense to Thessaly, even if she isn't particularly happy about it. It's a little jarring to think of her allies – of any of the tributes, really – as her enemies.

(She supposes this is what she signed up for, though.)

"Well," Bastian says, standing up, "I think that's all I have for tonight."

"Really?" Thessaly asks.

"The Games will decimate even the best-laid plans. My recommendation is to keep a close eye on where you stand with each other and the others. Knowing your allies is good, but knowing who you can trust is more important. And besides, you need rest. You should both get to bed. The next few days are going to be incredibly long."

Right – because tomorrow she's going into the Arena.

The thought is a little dizzying. She's enjoyed the past week or so with her allies.

Thessaly just… forgot that it was all leading to something bigger.

(It's hard to look at the others and remember that to get home, to win, they have to be gone. But Thessaly hardly has another choice – unless she wants another kid to end up like her. She has to get back for Euna.)

(This is the only path that exists for her.)

Before Bastian can leave, Thessaly surges forward to throw her arms around him. Just like last time, he stiffens before patting her back awkwardly. She doesn't let go quite yet – something tells her they both need this.

When she pulls away, Bastian avoids looking at her directly. "Sleep well," he says. "I'll see you both in the morning."

Thessaly gets ready for bed in something of a haze. She throws on a pair of shorts and the shirt she stole from Ibai's closet several days ago, and then stares at her bed for a long time. It looks so big and… empty. Sleepovers with Euna were a common enough trend that it feels wrong to be by herself on a night like this, where tomorrow could be the most important day of her life.

(Or the last.)

She taps her foot on the floor a few times, thinking. There's an obvious fix for this, and it's right across the hallway.

Thessaly slips out of her door a mere ten minutes after she said goodnight and knocks thrice on Ibai's. "Who is it?" he calls.

"Thessaly."

The silence stretches on for a while before he replies. "You can come in."

The room is dark when she enters, save for a lamp on the nightstand. Ibai is in bed, reading a book. Thessaly isn't sure where he got it from.

"Can I join?" Thessaly asks, gesturing to the bed.

"Sure." Ibai isn't quite looking at her as he says it.

Still, Thessaly is very certain of what she was asking for, even if Ibai isn't. She slips into the other side of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It's nice to have someone else in the room with her, even if he's currently staring at her like she grew a second head.

"You should really go to sleep," Thessaly points out.

"So should you?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"You didn't have enough time to try."

"It appears we are at an impasse," she says gravely. "You should turn out the light, at least."

Ibai gives her a strange look but complies anyway. It's strangely soothing to watch the whole room be plunged into blackness - and even more so to know she's not alone in it.

"What are you thinking about?" Thessaly whispers into the dark.

"What drowning feels like," Ibai whispers back.

"That's morbid."

He shrugs. "Do you think it ever goes away?"

"The feeling?" Thessaly thinks on it for a while. "Maybe not. Maybe it stays with you forever. Dizzying and thrilling, terrifying and all-encompassing. I can't say for sure. I wouldn't know."

They both know who would, but there are some questions that probably shouldn't be asked, even if Thessaly is desperately curious. She hopes that dying is something like a warm embrace, but the pain that comes before will be anything but. There are some things that training can't possibly prepare you for.

"No boats?" she teases.

"I am always thinking about boats. Do you know the difference between port and starboard?"

Thessaly smiles. "No. You should teach me in the morning."

"I will," he says, and Thessaly knows he won't forget. "What are you thinking about?"

There's something about the darkness that makes secrets feel more manageable. If Thessaly speaks the truth into existence, the darkness will mask it and cradle it, shield her and comfort her.

(And, she supposes, she really does trust Ibai. Maybe that's what makes this easier.)

"I'm glad we didn't meet until now," she admits.

Ibai stills beside her. "You are?"

"Yeah. Because… because things don't always last around me. And if they have to end, I want them to end well. With you, not against you."

"We trust each other," Ibai murmurs.

"Sure sounds like it." Thessaly squirms under the blankets. "Can I spend the night?"

"If you would like."

"Of course I would like. That's why I asked."

"Then yes, you can stay."

And even though Thessaly is miles and miles away from anything close to home, she knows this is as close as she's going to get for a long while. When she closes her eyes, she knows she'll fall asleep quickly.

(She wonders if Euna will be able to sleep tonight.)

well. pregames is finally almost a wrap.

it's been slow going, but it's been going! thanks to everyone who's been sticking around. thanks to goldie for editing as always. thanks to cran and billy my new ghost writers (read: my cats) for uh... not impeding this process as much as you could have! and for not eating my pizza while i edited this and wrote this a/n. i see you eyeing it cran. stay off my counters.

three povs left before we hit bb! i usually expect my subplot povs to fly way faster than tribute povs so hopefully the turnaround for this one will be fast. i'm optimistic! reyna/alila/bastian all have shit to say. also i've defeated the 200k before bb allegations. thank fuck. if you see that wc on ffn: it's not real. it's lying to you. i'm not the monster you think i am i promise.

lots of fun ahead! feel free to drop predictions i actually eagerly await them. i've got a few things up my sleeve that i've been waiting to show y'all for aaages.

~de laney is out