Day Twenty-Eight: Worth Protecting
"Is it worth it?" That's the question he asks, that's the question his mentor is shaking her blonde head at. She's nice, if a little (from what he's seen) disappointed to be stuck with them and more than a little rude when they . It's her first year, though, and who can forget last year? Who can forget that horrible first year, watching their boy and girl from people he knew, everyone knew had been fighting in the war, had survived with no injury.
Maybe they wished they had died, were it to keep their children safe and sound and away from all the danger. Instead, they got to watch them both get slaughtered by the pretty girl younger than him standing there with a shake of her head. "No. Stay away from that, it's poisoned honey." "Poisoned honey?" She rolls her eyes, gives a sigh, and shakes her head. "What do they teach you lot? No Panemois?" Of course not, they learnt to speak but speaking whatever messed up language the Capitol, Thirteen's old enemies spoke? It just wouldn't do.
"Poisoned honey is..." The woman, girl, waves her hands and tries to explain. "You know honey's sweet, yes? You are that smart?" "Yes..." He's hesitant. Has to be. Never tried honey back in Thirteen, after all you couldn't exactly keep bees underground and what they had topside was reserved for more important luxuries than bees. Still, they'd heard of honey. No child in Thirteen didn't know the little song about a bee and her honey, it was a good song and it was a song that you had to learn else you didn't pass second grade.
"It's sweet. Poison kills you, yes?" "Yes." "So it's sweet, makes you come in. Gets you stuck to it, because honey's sticky. And then you die." The smile she gives is filled with a murderous intent, the kind of intent he'd only expect to see three days hence. "But, this is the first day, and you're here from Thirteen of all places. I didn't expect we'd be seeing your people again, Thirteen was underground long enough. Still, glad you're in the Games." Another flash of that smile. "You're dead, though, kid? You know that, right?" He doesn't. Ventures the only answer he can offer.
"No?" She barks back a laugh, and leans forward. "Did they even give you my name?" "No." It's true, they hadn't. Just shoved Tolles, and Maisie (though she's crying in a corner) into the room with this possibly deranged girl. Told them their lives depended on her, and now he's being told he's dead no matter what. One of them is wrong, at the least. "Crystal. Crystal Lyre, thought you would have seen me enough. Now, as for you. Thirteen ran away. Skipped out on seventy-five years of Games. Hid away in the dark and let us rise to the top. If you'd come with, we would have had fun. You were Peacekeepers, maybe it would have been Thirteen in line to back up One and Two. Instead, until further notices, it's just us. Well, Four as well, but they're more for being executed later, if you catch my drift."
He does. He wishes he hadn't, and she offers another of those grins, tinged with something else. "One likes to play. So, umm. Mentoring, mentoring, mentoring. I don't think you need sponsors." That's a box crossed off, Tolles wants to protest. Maisie creeps back to the table, the blonde. Crystal. Gives a clap and a giggle. "Hello, kid. Maisie. We're just talking about how to do this. So."
The pen slips between her lips, and she's thinking. "If you want it to be guaranteed quick? Pick up a weapon, wait until the Twos are armed, rush them. They should try to get you done, move on others. Or Our boy, One's boy. Not the girl, though, I knew Marinette from last year. She was below me, yes?" "Below you?" "In training! Learning to be a good little bodyguard, plausible deniability should we ever go into the Games. We do. We always do." Leaning back in her chair, clapping her hands. This kind of cheer isn't what Tolles expects from a... a killer. Maisie runs off again, and Crystal does nowt but yell after her. "Dinner's at seven!"
"And if I try to live?" A more genuine smile, Crystal nods. "I think you're fucked no matter. But, this time? I'll go out, try and clap up some sponsors for you. Least I can do, you seem an ok kid. Got anyone back home?" Tolles nods at this. "My brother. Carl. He's a bit of a twisted kid, got." "Twisted kid?" "He got the disease. Back when it hit Thirteen, end of the Sixties. Messed up some kids, name kinda stuck."
She's looking at him with genuine surprise, confusion. "And you aren't nicer? Unfortunate, ill, hell just normal kids. He's just a kid." "I know, but... we all just call them that." Crystal's shaking her head, but she goes on. "I'll pass on anything you want passed on. If you do pass bloodbath, I'll look for sponsors, some support. I think I could get something. You go get some rest now, else you need something I'll be working."
He goes for the bread. There's Eight and Eleven near him, nobody else worth giving a damn to. He gets a scratch across the face for his trouble, a thumb in his eye that leaves him reeling. He can hear high, high pleas from Maisie until she goes silent and a cannon fires, and the girl from Two gives a cruel laugh. Nods at him, and then goes. Without thought, when Eight and Eleven meet, Tolles throws himself over the loaf of bread. Protecting it with his own body as the others scrap in the dirt. Trying to run, when there's a hiss and then something in his back and he can move but it hurts so bad and it's digging into his back. There's a sickly-sweet taste pervading his mouth, Tolles doesn't quite know what it is. Doesn't want to know what it is. It wasn't worth it, just to get the piece of bread. Crystal had said so.
He feels a boot on his back, the thing comes out, and then a sudden pressure on his neck, sharp and biting. Then nothing.