Day One: When a tribute becomes a Victor

"Ticello, Ticello, Ticello." the delegation that's come for me are people I can recognize all too well from years of revising for the Games. Thalia's at the front, my mentor. The woman who assured me I was ready, promised that I could do it. I did, I think. But I can't remember what happened to Iris, can't remember whether I stabbed her or slashes her throat of if she's still alive. Iliamna's on one flank, because when neither Ten nor Five had sent in any tribute worth more than a quick laugh? It was Four who picked up the slack, their two were at least hearty and ready. Didn't save them. Didn't keep them away, not when Cary was a traitorous little rat who'd made a run for it and Pin, Pin and that bastard Plutus had run away like a pair of scared little birds.

But we'd found them, hadn't we?

Crystal's on the other. Blonde, beautiful, looking just like Iris... probably would have. They're both One, after all. Her tone is light, but filled with something. Else. "Sorry about Iris. I know she meant a lot to you, she wanted that. Didn't seem like the best choice, but she made it far. And it pays off." She laughs, a bitterly grim laugh that startles and makes me reach for a rapier no longer there. That's alright. I never needed it, especially not with Iris. So I lunge forward, am caught by the restraints that snap against my wrists and keep me from doing anything more than snarling, driving forward. Emulating Enobaria, one of ours. Except Enobaria's dead, shot by Peacekeepers after a killing spree in the Capitol.

But it's the only fight I can give, my snapping teeth and hands clawing at the air and wanting to claw at pale arms. The only fight I can offer to fend off these vultures, these women who are looking at me like I'm a particularly tender corpse. And I want to fight them off, because the vultures back in the arena were nasty things with hooked beaks and strange grim cries. And the words these women are pronouncing, of 'sorry' and 'congratulations', are strange and grim and prove that though they might look like friendly faces. They aren't.

And I'm still in the Games. This may be a different arena, and this may be a different set of mutts, but I'd wondered why there wasn't as many mutts in the Arena as there perhaps should be. Now it makes sense. These are the Mutts, here, to kill me and make sure it looks good for the audience. I can't tell who I failed, who I messed up but there's absolutely no reason for anyone to expect anything different. Why would there be? I'm a Tribute.

Thalia's stepping forward, her tone is placatingly gentle and I hate it. Hate the lies, hate the tricks the mutt is playing to masquerade as my Mentor. "You won." "STOP." I'm yelling, now. Yelling. "STOP. THIS IS ALL A TRICK, STOP IT." Allie tries to reach in, tries to calm me down and I can see Thalia push her away. "Where are they? I know I killed Atlas, but then what. Where's Iris? Where are you hiding her? Why didn't you let us." Or did they let us? I'm sure I killed Iris, sure I put my rapier across her throat, But the mutts are still here, so maybe she is still alive and the other 22 are dead. And the Capitol picked her over me to win, picked her over me.

"You won." Iliamna, offering a smile. I never got to know her that well, she won before I was born and that's not the kind of time frame that lends itself to knowing her well. I've heard of her, seen her games but that isn't knowing her. Nothing near. But she was always nice when we came round, on the night after our second Training session because everyone has to rotate who's hosting. It's tradition, and she's from back when Four was still a staunch Squad district, Four as still a friendly ally and partner we could rely on as opposed to a backup district. A District we rely on when the rest of our mainstays are too useless to rely on.

"You won." That's Crystal, offering a polite smile and leaning in. Like she didn't look just like Iris, and I struggle again against my restraints as if that will keep her away. As if it will allow me to defend myself, allow me to use the best defence I know (a good offence). It's a struggle that leaves my wrists raw and my arms painful and my eyes flashing because I just want to go home. If I have to fight, if I have to attack to do so I'm not going to whine or complain because I promised them, promised him back home that I'd come back. I'm not going to break that promise now, even if I'm not sure he'll want me to.

"You won." That's Thalia, and when she nods I can feel my resistance to that idea melt away in seconds amongst winds of Victory. Melt into the sterile air of the hospital, never to return.

Because I did win. It's getting less hazy, putting my rapier through Iris' throat. Standing over Atlas' broken body, sword out and chest heaving because he was her friend and he always tried to help her, always tried to keep as allies. Two sticks together. That's his repetition

And then I slump back against the mattress. Chest heaves, and I can sigh. Let out an exhale, and know that I might want to kill but I can maybe keep that part of me muzzled unless I really need it. Especially with the syringe a doctor comes in holding.

"Was it worth it?"