tw. the last pov features language implying a suicide attempt. if you would like it summarized, reach out to me. again, don't relapse over a syot.
xiii. kinfolk
✦ ✧ ✦
a group of people with common ancestry
sabine kasabova
eighteen / / district four
—
She may be an only child by nature, but if you asked Sabine, she'd say she has five older sisters.
It's late on a Friday night, or maybe by now it's Saturday morning, and the lights are still on in her bedroom. The sound of raucous laughter can be heard from down the hall, but Sabine knows her parents don't care — they're just happy she has friends.
And Sabine is equally thrilled, lounging against one of her bright blue bean bags with five white cards in her hand and a black card in the center of the circle she's formed with her friends. They're playing a game called Humanity Against Cards, a Capitol exclusive that some rich tourist left behind at the beach one day, and Mairenn snatched it up.
The card in the center reads, "Here lies Coriolanus Snow, devoted friend and lover of," and then there is a long blank line. It's Sabine's job to find the funniest way to finish that sentence using the cards she has in her hand.
Her friends quickly place their cards in the middle, giggling to themselves and drawing new white cards from the deck. Meanwhile, Sabine is stuck. She only recently started hanging out with these people, and she needs to impress them, making her think that even though she's hardly thirteen, she's cool enough to hang out with them.
She looks through her cards: Anal pearls — she has no idea what that means. The moon — that wouldn't make any sense. This boring ass white bitch from work — if anything, Snow's the boring ass white bitch, or so she's been told. Just the tip — again, she doesn't know what it means. Blood farts — okay, yes, absolutely perfect.
Trying not to laugh too hard, Sabine places the blood farts card in front of her and draws a new one — a cranky prince with a wonderful butt hole.
"Ugh!" She groans. "This one would've been way funnier than the card I put down."
"It always happens like that," Simora says, brushing back a strand of her long, blonde hair. "That's just Humanity Against Cards for you."
Sabine giggles. "Yep, that's just how this works."
Next to Simora, Evanthe counts to ensure five cards are in the center, then licks her lips and says, "Alright. Let's read these bad boys off." She shuffles the cards and lays the first one down. "Here lies Coriolanus Snow, devoted friend and lover of lesbians."
"Weren't his former Gamemakers two lesbians way back when?" Paradista asks with a soft smile.
"Sure were," Mairenn says, her cheeks bright red and one of her hands on the verge of touching Paradista's leg. "Based on the rumors, though, I'd say that he was the exact opposite of a lesbian lover."
"A shame," Nezera deadpans. "I think we're fun."
"Lesbians are great," Sabine exclaims, desperate to fit in. "You know, I don't think I've ever said this before, but les-be-honest, I'm also a lesbian, by the way." Is she? Sabine's yet to discover that, but if all her friends are lesbians, then she is too!
"Congratulations," Evanthe says, somewhat ignoring the severity of the situation even if Sabine only "came out" to be more likable. "Let's read the next card now." She places it on the floor. "Here lies Coriolanus Snow, devoted friend and lover of blood farts."
The entire circle erupts into laughter, and it makes Sabine slightly shy. These people really like her, huh, even if they don't know the card is hers. She never thought she'd have a group of friends, much less one as wonderful as this, yet here she is.
Part of Sabine wants to cry tears of joy. The other part is so worried that all of this will change with the blink of an eye.
—
"What do you mean you're dropping out of training?" Sabine asks a few months later.
She's sitting on the beach nearest the CRAP, next to Paradista, who nervously rakes her fingers through the sand. It's a beautiful day, as is every day in Four, but as soon as Paradista opens her mouth, the fluffy white clouds overhead start turning gray in Sabine's mind.
"I'm just not good enough," she says.
"That's nonsense!" Paradista's the best person she knows, complete and utter perfection in everything she does. If she's not good enough for the Games, then nobody is. "You're great, remember?"
"Apparently not. I just feel so weak all the time, ever since Mairenn."
Last month, Mairenn took a nasty fall when she was climbing a wall, shattering her leg and dooming her to crutches. She's been a recluse ever since, only leaving her house to lend Sabine mystery novels or playfully tease Paradista. That's never made much sense either — Mairenn always told Sabine that no matter how hard she thought she fell, she could always get back up again.
"Are you still going to hang out with us?" It feels stupid that Sabine has to even ask that, but after Mairenn, she just wants to be sure.
"I'll try."
—
It's hard for Sabine to pay attention at the Reaping this year.
She could hardly believe it when it was announced that Evanthe was chosen to volunteer, and it still doesn't feel real as she squishes between Simora and Nezera, trying to tune out the escort's boring rambles.
"I just wish we got to celebrate with Mairenn and Paradista," Nezera admits, a solemn look on her face.
Last night, the three of them and Evanthe hung out on the dock for hours on end, laughing under the stars and sharing precious memories. Sabine even got to try a beer for the first time. It was really yucky, but after a while, it made her feel happy.
(But Evanthe didn't seem happy at all, now that Sabine really thinks about it. Usually, she's more than happy to geek out about boats and various other aquatic equipment, but she seemed almost haunted, especially when anybody mentioned the Games.)
"I'm sure they're proud of Ev," Sabine offers. "I know we all are."
"That's true," Simora says with a nod. "I still wish Evanthe showed us her outfit, though."
They all knocked on her door this morning, but her mother quickly rushed out and said that Evanthe was taking too long getting ready and that the girls would just have to catch up with her in the Justice Building.
"I'm sure she looks beautiful!"
Nezera and Simora both nod in agreement.
But then… nobody raises their hand when the escort calls the first name.
"I bet she's just trying to be a feminist," Nezera says. "Besides, it doesn't matter who volunteers first."
Her district partner, a boy named Bisque, rushes to the stage. That's fine — it just means Evanthe will be the next to volunteer. Sabine hardly worries until the escort calls the following name, and again… nothing.
"Where is she?" Sabine asks, brows furrowed in immense confusion.
Simora takes a deep breath. "She was joking about dropping out a few days ago, but I didn't think she meant it."
Sabine remembers that, and she also thought it was just a joke. Besides, why would anybody not want to go to the Games? It's such a huge honor!
Could it be that Evanthe was afraid? No. That can't be possible!
—
She hasn't left her couch in days, eyes glued to the TV.
Sabine has no idea what Nezera and Simora were thinking — both entering the Games the same year. She's already seen them kill people, innocent people, and the only person she had to sit by her side in support is her nanny, Meira.
"They're going to be fine," she assures Sabine for the ten-millionth time. "They trained for this, remember?"
"But it won't be enough for one of them," Sabine replies.
She was excited for them when they were selected to volunteer, but the shock wore off as soon as she realized one of them is going to die, and that's if she's lucky. Not just disengaged like Paradista and Mairren or missing like Evanthe, dead.
The arena is a jail, which is ironic because Sabine feels like a prisoner having to watch this. This year, there are six female members of the trained alliance alongside Nezera and Simora, and she doesn't trust any of the other four.
Vanya from Three has been off the deep end ever since one of the now-dead One boys poisoned her District Partner, Eden, and though Scoria from Two has a friendly exterior, Sabine didn't miss the way she was so callous in the bloodbath. Neither of those three scares her as much as Catriona does, though. She's been watching Simora like a hawk, and Sabine almost gets the feeling they know each other, even if it wasn't in this lifetime.
Seven days into the Games, it turns out that Sabine was right to worry.
Meira wakes her up in the middle of the night, furiously tapping her shoulder, and tells her, "Something's happening."
Still on the couch, Sabine sits back up, only to see Scoria with a giant machete pointed in Nezera's direction.
"W-what?" She can hardly believe what she's watching as the Two girl tears through her friend, her sister's guts like they're made out of paper, a cannon firing as she falls. Sabine has to cover her eyes when they zoom in on her lifeless expression.
She takes comfort in the fact that Simora seems even more devastated than Sabine is, slicing Scoria's head with her gigantic claymore. Her face has a soft look of retribution, but it doesn't last very long.
"Now it's just you and I, pretty girl," Catriona says with a smirk. "Be careful; I'm sure you've realized by now that I like to play with her food."
Simora seems mortified, but she steals herself and charges toward Catriona. Again, Sabine closes her eyes. Again, she hears a cannon fire and then sees one of the worst things in the world. There are still tears in her dead eyes.
"I'm sorry," Meira says, clearly at a struggle for words.
Sabine doesn't know what to say, either. For the first time in three and a half years, she's back where she was as a child: alone.
—
A year and a half later, she's still alone, sitting on the same dock where she spent so much time with her friends, watching the sunset.
Tomorrow, she'll be off to the Capitol to avenge them all.
She knows she should be more excited. After all, she was so excited for her friends when they were in this situation, but it's hard to celebrate when the only people proud of her are her parents.
Everyone in Four is probably rooting for Adina instead of her. She's more popular, more fun, whereas Sabine spends most of her time accompanied only by silence. Why bother befriending people if the world has taught her that close connections are ephemeral?
If Paradista were here, she'd have some incredible advice for how Sabine can pull herself together. If Mairenn were by her side, she'd suggest they tell ghost stories that would somehow lighten the mood, even if her stories were always incredibly scary. Evanthe would recommend testing out one of her newest inventions for traveling across the sea. Nezera would have the perfect joke, and even if she and Simora got into a fight, it would be out of love.
But they're not here, and instead, Sabine is forced to listen to the laughter of Nim, one of Four's victors, and her friends from across the beach. They seem to have formed a family, the same way Sabine did; only theirs cannot die out.
It must be nice.
Sabine was expecting to be more nervous about tomorrow, but strangely, that isn't the case. She's learned how to be strong, brave, and brutal when necessary. She's learned how to stand her ground physically and mentally.
The only thing she hasn't learned is how to be alone, but maybe, just maybe, she won't have to be. There's still time for Sabine to find her people again, still time for her to feel like she belongs.
She's just not sure how long it'll last.
song-yi bright
eighteen / / district ten
—
She's beginning to think she's going to need to put a fuckin' leash on Min-yi.
They're home late again, and this time with a fancy leather bag that Song-yi is a thousand percent sure doesn't belong to her, and their signature arrogant smile.
"What are you staring at?" their sibling barks at her. "I'm home, and I didn't get killed, okay?"
"Like that's an accomplishment," Song-yi spits back, spinning on her barstool by the wooden kitchen counters. She's not entirely sure why she stays up so late to ensure Min-yi gets home in one piece, yet she does so every night. Must be a habit or something — if they've made one thing clear, it's that they're sick of her. "Get your ass to bed. Yancy wants us to come in early tomorrow."
"I'm sure she does." And Song-yi's sure that Min-yi's not going to come to work on the goat farm anyway, so why does she bother? Again, it must be a habit.
Min-yi starts to trail away, presumably toward their shared bedroom, but Song-yi doesn't let them get too far. "Hey," she says in a low growl. "You going to tell me where you got the bag?"
"Does it matter?"
"Probably not," Song-yi admits. "You can tell me if you stole it, though. I'm just curious."
It's not like she'd tell Mom or Dad — they're too busy being dull or worried, and she wouldn't tell a 'Keeper either. Song-yi knows that Min-yi and her friends are shitheads that are going to get their asses busted eventually, so she's just going to keep this information locked away for when she inevitably has to rat them out.
"Okay, well, I stole it," Min-yi says, and Song-yi immediately groans. She hops off her stool, barreling toward them, but doesn't quite get close enough to lay a hand on them. Something in her mind forces her to stop short. "Don't give me that look. What were you expecting me to say?"
"I dunno." Song-yi shrugs. "Maybe that you committed to a job, even if it's not with Yancy, and are going to consider giving a fuck about this family instead of being an ungrateful little cunt?"
"That doesn't really sound like something I'd say."
Of course not, but can't Song-yi dream? "I love you," she offers, and she's being entirely true. "I'm glad you didn't get arrested. I'd miss 'ya."
"Would you really?"
"Eh, probably."
Min-yi lets the bag drop to the ground and chuckles. "Okay then, I guess I love you too." Not even bothering to pick it back up, they head to the bedroom.
They don't talk to each other again for the rest of the night, but Song-yi refuses to close her eyes until she can confirm her sibling's fast asleep. That's a third habit of hers.
—
The pitcher on the other team's ass looks great in her tight navy pants, not that it means much to Song-yi. It's just an observation — she bets the pitcher specifically chose those pants as some sort of an intimidation tactic, one that'd get one of the horndogs on Song-yi's team to fold for her immediately.
How cute. Song-yi arches her back, both feet behind home plate and her baseball bat raised high. This chick really tries so hard. If Song-yi were a professional, she'd suggest the pitcher spend less time trying to be hot and more time getting better at baseball, but she's not one – at least, not yet.
She doesn't swing at the pitcher's first throw — it's damn lousy, not even close to the batter's box. The referee shouts "ball," and Song-yi gives the pitcher a devious smirk, one that says that she knows she ain't shit, and she's about to pay the price for it.
Even though it's the beginning of December, it's a relatively nice day to be in Foxworth. The sky's a cinematic shade of baby blue with just a few perfectly placed clouds, and the field must've been recently mowed. If Song-yi squints a bit, she can almost pretend she isn't in Ten at all. That she's on a field in the Capitol, playing for one of their big league teams.
A girl can dream, can't she?
The pitcher throws the next ball, a nasty changeup, and Song-yi's bat makes immediate contact with it, a loud thwack invading her eardrums. She drops her bat, tears off her batting helmet, and throws it to the ground – perhaps a bit too aggressively – and then she runs, not looking at where her ball may or may not be.
She blitzes past first base, dust flying toward her, and her eyes tear up in response. Song-yi doesn't even bother to wipe them away, too focused on the exhilaration of scoring her team, and herself, a massive win. By the time she's close to second base, everybody is cheering, so Song-yi slightly lifts her head to see that the referee is holding a sign that reads "home run."
"Nice," she says to herself, then proceeds to take her sweet-fucking-time when running past the second base, then the third, and then finally back home. Everybody is clamoring at the fences, shouting her name repeatedly, and it's a feeling that she doesn't think she'll ever legitimately tire of. A wise woman would take a minute to soak it all in, perhaps even interact with a fan or two, but Song-yi just doesn't have it in her. She's just too talented to engage with these normies or some bullshit like that.
She'd much rather just soak up the sunlight in the dugout and wait until she has to take the field once more. Baseball's honestly the perfect sport for anybody who's looking to relax since a bit less than half of the game can be spent sitting on one's ass.
When she does actually play, it's an incredible rush, one that distracts her from work and Min-yi's nonsense. In a lot of ways, baseball's honestly the best thing that Song-yi has.
Maybe it's the only thing.
—
Holy smokes, how could Min-yi be this fucking stupid?
Song-yi was walking back home from practice when she heard the alarm go off in the local saloon, and low and behold, it was her sibling running out the door, a 'Keeper trailing behind her.
Is it wrong that Song-yi isn't even surprised? She knew that Min-yi would fuck up eventually, but having to be actively chased down the streets is next-level embarrassing. She doesn't even want to think about what their parents will say, how they'll be so disappointed – not just in Min-yi, but in Song-yi, too, because she couldn't stop them.
"What kind of a sister are you?" her dad will probably ask, and Mom will be right there beside him, probably coughing up a lung and definitely just as pissed as he is. "Letting your sister get in trouble like that…"
'Keepers in Foxworth are aggressive too — Song-yi doesn't want to think about what'll happen if they get their hands on Min-yi. Her sibling may claim they're hot shit, but she knows how easy it'd be to make her crumble.
So, in the split second when they're dashing past Song-yi, she makes a decision, one that she hopes will teach Min-yi a lesson.
She chases behind them, her heart pounding out of her chest like bases are loaded, and she's three balls and two strikes into an at-bat. Even if most people around her are minding their own damn business, Song-yi dashes as if all eyes are on her, like this moment is one of the most important of her life.
Like a bat out of hell, she speeds so fast she eventually catches up to them, calling out, "Min-yi, it's okay!"
"What do you mean?" they scoff, turning a corner. Song-yi follows suit, quickly stopping to pick up a cement brick that's come loose from one of the buildings and is now lying casually on the ground. She's not sure if it'll have any use, but it just might.
"Who are you?" The 'Keeper snaps their head backward, finally close enough to wrap one hand around Min-yi's wrists. They try to run away, but the 'Keepers grip is tight, and it's not long before they're pinning Min-yi to the floor with their obnoxiously large foot.
"That's my sibling," Song-yi shouts, trying to make a swing at them. "You'd better let them go."
"Or what?" the 'Keeper scoffs. "I don't know who you are or why you think you can talk to me like that, but you'd better get out of here."
And for a long moment, Song-yi considers that, but then she takes one look at Min-yi's eyes, and something in her stomach turns. Even if they aren't saying anything, their eyes are sad and filled with tears, like they're begging her to stay. "Please," they eventually whisper. "I'm sorry."
"Shut the hell up," the 'Keeper scolds, slapping down on Min-yi's wrist. It's in that brief second that Song-yi sees red.
"Don't you fucking hit them," she roars, lifting the brick. "Don't you fucking dare!"
Before Song-yi can command her body to do something different, her hand slams into the Peacekeeper's helmet, the material cracking a bit too quickly. It's not enough. She hits them again, twice as hard, and hears a crack followed by their screaming.
Is it still the helmet, or is it their skull? Either way, Song-yi hits again. And then again. The helmet snaps in half, and the 'Keeper collapses to the ground, screaming and shouting and kicking their feet.
When Song-yi finally stops, they look at her with sheer terror in their eyes — it looks really good on them. A part of her wants even more damage, consumed by fury because even if there's hardly any blood, all she can see is red.
But, after one more strike to the 'Keeper's skull, someone wrenches Song-yi's hands behind her back, a pair of cuffs locking around her wrists, and Min-yi runs off free.
—
"Have you come here to apologize?" Song-yi weakly croaks from the corner of her cell.
She's been drowning in pitch black for the past forty-eight hours or so, with nothing but a cot and the phantom feeling of the brick in her hands to keep her company. Nothing about this feels real. She's still expecting to eventually wake up, this having been nothing but a dream.
"What do I have to apologize for?" Min-yi pushes their face against the iron bars separating Song-yi from the rest of the world. "I'm not the one who nearly killed a man."
"Yeah, well," Song-yi scoffs, her voice throaty and dry. "I wouldn't have rocked his shit if you weren't being an idiot and trying to rob a saloon in broad daylight."
"Did you try telling that to the 'Keepers?"
"Didn't bother," she admits. "What's done is done."
"I am sorry, though, just not for that," Min-yi admits. Song-yi can't tell if she's crying or otherwise emoting — too fuckin' dark. "I'm sorry for being a shit sibling."
"Took you long enough to realize that," Song-yi barks. "Don't tell me you've been staying home and rotting in your guilt."
"I can s-stop doing that—" Okay, so she is crying. That's warranted. "If you want."
"It doesn't matter what I do and don't want. It matters that you get your shit together and take good care of Mom and Dad because I doubt I'll be seeing you again, at least not for a while."
Word is, they're going to ship her off to Twelve as soon as they're done dealing with the Reaping tomorrow. Song-yi's heard that you don't come back once you go to Twelve, but she'll have to test that theory out for herself.
"I'll try," Min-yi says weakly.
"You'd better do better than just try. Understood?"
She wishes she could say she regrets any of this, but she doesn't. 'Keepers are pigs, and the one Song-yi turned braindead probably would've gotten what's coming to them at some point, just like they all do eventually.
Besides, it felt good having somebody entirely at her disposal. Nobody ever warns you about how great the rush can be from being in control, even if it's dangerous for anybody to try to fight for.
Is it wrong that she already misses it?
"I understand, Song-yi. I love you."
She doesn't say anything back. There's not much of a point in that.
tyrian stone
eighteen / / district two
—
If he was raised to be one thing, it would be a rock, a stone even.
Tyrian was raised to be strong, to look horror in the eye, and to stand his ground. He was raised to be rough around the edges at times but not let those bad parts show. Each of his sixteen years was spent forging himself into somebody noble and loyal, somebody unbending in even the strongest of storms and blackest of nights.
Yet, everything that he's supposed to be slips through his fingers like sand when he's in the Artemis Tectumque and the woman working at the reception desk tells him, "Ophelia was actually adopted by a Capitol family last week."
"What do you mean?" Tyrian's heart nearly falls out of his stomach. "How was she adopted when I'm right here?"
The receptionist's face is painfully neutral like she doesn't care that she's just told Tyrian information that's left him completely unmoored. The people at Cooper Peaks made him a deal — he stays and trains until he's eighteen and joins the military, and then he gets his sister back from the orphanage. A place to stay and a future career path with the promise he'd be reunited with Ophelia once he had the funds to do so.
Was he just lied to?
It isn't his fault his sister was too goodhearted to stay at Cooper Peaks. In fact, Tyrian almost preferred that she failed her first Atonement Day at the time — she doesn't need to become a terrible person to survive, unlike Tyrian. Everything was supposed to finally go right in his life, but this is beginning to feel like an all-time low.
"Capitol families take precedence when they're looking to adopt," the receptionist clarifies, as if that'll even remotely help Tyrian. "They wanted Ophelia and had just made a sizable donation to keep the lights on here."
"But she's my sister!" And that should be what matters, right? "I was told that once I had the income to care for her, we'd be able to reunite under the same roof."
"It doesn't matter what you were promised." She solemnly shakes her head. "If the Capitol wants something, the Capitol gets something. That's the rule."
(And for a split second, Tyrian begins to doubt everything he's been taught, that the Capitol is a holy land, a place he should fight for without daring to surrender. Being on their side is an honor like no other, and he should be immensely proud that he'll someday follow their orders directly, just like his Father did.
How could a place that's supposed to be so wonderful take away the only family Tyrian has left, the only reason he exists?)
(He doesn't let the thought linger — he has more important things to worry about.)
"Are they treating her well?" The gears in his brain start to turn. There has to be a way he can fix this. After all, he was taught not to give up about anything, so why should he falter now?
"I honestly don't know," the woman answers, and that's what hurts the most. "We can't really keep track of kids once they're adopted."
That's when it all clicks.
All this time, he's been at Cooper Peaks to train for the military, to be a loyal Peacekeeper like his father, but that's not why most people train. They want the Games, a chance to be a hero or a martyr, to bring glory to themself and watch their name shine in lights. They want to go to the Capitol.
And if that's where Ophelia is, Tyrian must go there too.
—
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
It's the morning of Atonement Day. Tyrian's dressed in all white, and Eclipse keeps pacing around their shared dorm like a drone. The boys have been roommates forever, but judging by the way they present their living spaces, the average person would assume they want nothing to do with one another.
While Tyrian's side of the room is perfectly neat, covered in posters of the Capitol, of Peacekeepers, and all the training accolades he's received over the years, Eclipse's is a bit of a mess, textbooks scattered on the ground and pictures of Panemian historical figures on his walls that are slightly crooked. Despite the clear differences, they're Tyrian's best friend – aside from Ianthe, at least.
"I don't get why you keep asking me this," Tyrian says, sitting on the bottom rung of the ladder that goes up to his lofted bed. "I've told you a million times, I'm absolutely positive."
"I still worry for you," Eclipse admits — lord, he always worries even when he doesn't have a good reason to.
"I know you do, and I understand why."
The Games change people; that goes without debate. Even if Raptor Voinov was always a little bit off-kilter, Tyrian doesn't think anybody was expecting him to completely lose his hinges a few months ago. Still, he won't let them change him; he can't let them.
(Some may say Tyrian's already changed.)
"Can I still try to convince you to change your mind one last time?" Eclipse asks, stopping in one place and staring Tyrian in the eye. "Will you at least give me that?"
Tyrian clenches his jaw in an attempt to force himself to not roll his eyes. That would be unbecoming, uncharacteristic of him and all that he stands for. He doesn't need to hear Eclipse's attempts to sway him off his path, which he set for himself two years ago, because it's all he can do. This is the only way he reunites with Ophelia, even if being in the same place as her for half a year without being able to see her will hurt like hell.
"You can try," Tyrian offers.
"Right, okay." Eclipse's hands start to shake, as they often do when they're nervous. "Killing in the Games. Are you sure you can—"
"Yes. Atonement Day has prepared me well."
"Atonement Day forces you to kill adults for the most part, and they're criminals. In the Games, you'll be up against innocent people who are children."
"They're not people." Tyrian's shocked by the words that come out of his mouth, but he knows deep down that he means it. His opponents in the Games are obstacles, things he'll cut down without showing any mercy. If he starts to view them as people, then there's a chance he'll regret what he has to do, and Tyrian can't have any regrets.
Eclipse pleads, "You know what I mean."
"What else? Are you worried I'm going to die?"
"You know I think you can win—"
"Then why are you panicking?"
"I don't want the Games to turn you into something you're not."
This is what it always comes down to and why he and Eclipse will never completely see eye to eye. Eclipse doesn't have something to fight for. That's why he plans to purposely fail today. Tyrian has everything on the line.
"They won't," Tyrian says, stopping one foot on the ground.
"But what if you do win and Ophelia doesn't—"
"I'm stopping this right here." He stands up and walks past Eclipse, slightly brushing against his shoulder. "I'm going to talk to Ianthe. She actually knows what's best for me."
"You say that, Tyrian, but you know deep down that I'm right."
(That he does, and it's exactly why he walks out of the room without saying another word.)
—
He presses a quick kiss on Ianthe's lips before walking into Cooper Peak's gymnasium.
"Knock 'em dead." She pulls away and flashes him a subtle smile, the same one Tyrian's fallen for so many times over the years, then chuckles to herself. "Actually, that sounded kind of fucked up, huh?"
"I love when you say things that are kind of fucked up." It's true — she makes him feel more normal about everything he is and everything he needs to be. "I love you. I'll see you when I'm done."
"I love you too."
Honestly, being away from Ianthe may be the most difficult part of his six months in the Capitol. She's the only one who understands him, after all. The only one who knows what it's like to have something to fight for, even if Raptor cut her plans short at the end of her Mock Games.
He takes a moment to stare at her before an alarm bell rings, reminding Tyrian to get himself inside. Check-in goes without any complications, and soon, he's given his favorite halberd and led to the alleyway he's already seen being used as a slaughterhouse for nine years in a row.
Nothing about Atonement Day phases him anymore – or at least, that's what he tells himself until he arrives at his target for the year, and the figure with a veil on their head is nearly a foot and a half shorter than him.
He sighs — Ianthe warned him that Two likes to be a bit personal when it comes to cadets' final Atonement Day sacrifices. After all, they forced her to kill her own mother. Something about how she was a traitor, so Ianthe had to prove she wasn't one, too. Of course, they'd give him someone young because they know about Ophelia.
"My dearest cadets," Petra Messier's voice booms through the speakers. It's always weird hearing her sound so official when he's spent dozens of evenings having dinner in her home. "Welcome to Atonement Day."
The bound figure in front of Tyrian starts to squirm and whimper. Usually, sacrifices are gagged, but whoever it is under there has somehow removed theirs. "So, you're really going to kill me," the figure, who Tyrian now thinks is a girl, sneers. "You're really going to kill a little girl?"
There's a playful lilt in her voice that Tyrian recognizes immediately. It sounds like Ophelia, even if it can't be her, because the girl's arms are pasty and pale. He doesn't know how he's supposed to feel about that, so he chooses to not feel anything.
"If you wish to continue training or be considered for the Mock Games if you're of age," Petra continues. "Please unveil your sacrifice."
Without hesitation, Tyrian inches toward the girl and rips the veil off her head. He gets one good look at her before he feels something sharp in his wrist: her teeth. Tearing himself away, he scoffs at her, "What's your problem?"
"I could ask you the same," she says, shaking her head. Her black hair has faded streaks of purple and orange, reminding Tyrian of all the times Ophelia begged him to bleach and dye her hair, and the one instance where he finally got Ianthe to do it for her.
"Stop it," he mutters under his breath. He can't fucking think about Ophelia, not now.
(Not when he thinks she'd have a hard time justifying what he's about to do.)
"I have a brother, you know," the girl continues, making Tyrian's stomach churn. He has no idea if any of this is true, but he still hates listening to it. "I wasn't even selected for Atonement Day. I thought I could break free, actually. I just want to see him again."
"Stop it," he repeats, now louder. Suddenly, his halberd feels heavy in his hand — that's never happened before.
"You're going to kill me and ruin all my chances." She laughs, but it may just be because she's horrified. "I'll never see my brother again, and it'll be all your fault."
He briefly wonders if Ophelia has said similar, that she wants to see Tyrian again too. Who is he kidding – of course she has!
… hopefully.
"3, 2, 1," Petra counts down. Tyrian readies his spear. "Let Panem's traitors atone."
"Oh, you're really doing it," the girl says as Tyrian charges toward her. "Okay then, have fun. I hope you feel like shit about it."
He won't let himself, not if he wants to see Ophelia again.
She tries to say something else, but Tyrian's blade slices through her neck before she can. Using all his might, he tears through the girl's flesh until her head falls clean off her tiny body, and her blood splatters all over Tyrian's shirt.
(The look on her face is the exact same one that Ophelia had on her face when Tyrian had to tell her that their mother died. Shock, horror, uncertainty, fear.)
But he doesn't let himself think of that as he walks away.
balor sciarra
eighteen / / district five
—
The bathroom still smells like bleach when Balor gets home.
"What are you doing in there?" He peels back the door and pokes his head inside to find Stella perched on the sink, painting a thick purple stripe in her hair. "I thought we were done with the hair-dying thing for the day. And weren't you just doing orange?"
"I wanted purple, too," his sister says, crossing her arms. "D'ya have a problem with it or something?"
"Why would I have a problem with it?" Looking a bit closer, they notice some small purple splotches against the white tiles. "Just clean up your mess when you're done, yeah? And knock it off with the attitude."
"I can do whatever I want." Stella hops back onto the floor, something akin to anger in her eyes. "You kind of lost the privilege to boss me around when you decided you only care about fucking Dardy."
"That just isn't true!"
Sure, Balor's in love — sue him. It's not their fault, though. Dardanos didn't give them much of a choice. Either he loves him, or he leaves him, and why the hell would Balor leave the one who's given him everything he's ever dreamed of?
"How many times were you home last week, huh?" Stella's brows furrow. Before Balor can respond, she spits out, "Three. Three times, Balor. What the fuck?"
"You know how Dardanos gets. I don't want to ignore him."
"You mean how he's clearly using you?"
Balor sneers, "He is not."
"Really?" She practically shoves them out of the bathroom — she's way stronger than any fourteen-year-old should be — and inside the kitchen of their dingy little apartment. "You don't think it's kind of suspicious that he wants to be around you every second of every day? You don't think it's weird that he pays for everything?"
"I think it's romantic." But Balor knows that's a damn lie. Dardanos Hildebrand Jr. is just about as weird as it gets sometimes. They know it's wrong to date somebody who only sees them as a bird in a cage, a plaything to be spoiled and then abused, but a guy gets lonely sometimes — what can he say?
"How is him acting like he owns you romantic? I get that gay people are passionate or some shit, but please."
"At least he pays attention to me!" Balor nearly bites his tongue but realizes he's already said the thing they vowed not to. "At least he doesn't go running off with his friends, hacking shit, and potentially getting into trouble the way you do."
"Really?" Stella huffs. "Is that what this is about?"
Is it bad that he doesn't really know? Nothing in Balor's life has made any sense since his father died. One minute, the two of them were standing on a windmill tower. The next, Father was a crimson stain on the ground.
Balor stumbles over to the nearest chair and slumps down upon it. "I can't say I have an answer for you, okay?"
Maybe he was wrong for expecting Stella to be at all considerate, to see that he's struggling and reason with him, but of course she doesn't. Instead, she stomps her feet and hisses, "I'll tell you this. The answer isn't Dardy."
"Well, what do you want me to do about it then?" Balor clenches his teeth, doing his best to ignore the tears starting to form in his eyes. "I can't break up with him. He's the one who pays our rent." Which is ultimately what makes him "worth it," so to speak. Balor will put up with all his nonsense if it means a job at Dardanos' father's nightclub and a salary high enough to keep a roof over his and Stella's heads. He's the provider, after all—the protector.
"I'm only fourteen." Of course, now she decides to play that card. Stella lunges toward him, shakes her head so that purple splatters on his cheeks, and starts walking out of the kitchen. "You figure it out."
"Hey," Balor leaps, catching her by the collar of her shirt. "Are you leaving? What are you doing?"
"I'm seeing my friends," she says. "Don't bother chasing after me. I'll be home when I want, and you better be there too."
"Okay," they reply. "Stay safe, please. I love you."
"Yeah, whatever."
She runs out the door and slams it shut, leaving Balor alone with his thoughts. He wonders what he could've said differently and if it would've led to a different outcome. He wonders if this even matters because they argue all the time, and she'll be back eventually.
Still, something feels final about this for reasons Balor can't quite place. He gets up, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to find her, but when they open the door it's Dardanos that stands there with his arms crossed.
"Is everything okay, sweet boy? Here, let me take care of you."
As always, Balor gives in.
—
He hasn't seen Stella in over a month.
Balor swears he's chased every city street and asked every government official about her whereabouts, yet there's no sign of her. He looks like hell, with bags under his eyes and probably a few missing pounds because he was too nervous to eat or sleep.
He paces back and forth on the rooftop of the Serpent's Spine. This used to be them and Dardanos' hiding spot, where they'd tell each other everything. It's where they had their first kiss, where they made their relationship official, and so much more.
Now, though, the black cement and yellow lights on the ground are nothing but a vantage point where he can see if there's somehow been a miracle and Stella can be spotted. Ridiculous since he's so high up, but paranoia's gotten the better of him these days.
She has to be somewhere. He has to be able to find her.
"Don't you want to go downstairs?" Dardanos asks him, voice unfairly sweet like honey. "They're playing heavy metal. And then maybe we can go to the bathroom and—"
"No," Balor grunts.
"Why are you no fun anymore?" The other boy walks behind him and wraps them in his arms, swaying side to side. "We used to be happy, you and I. Don't you remember that?"
"We can still be happy." They tear Dardanos' arms off of them. "We just need to find Stella first."
"Really?"
Balor turns to face him. "Yes, really. She's my sister, for fucks sake."
"I told you she's probably fine, and you shouldn't worry."
"That was weeks ago, and she's still nowhere to be found."
"She's probably still mad at you. You know how kids can be. Maybe she's just trying to prove a point because she complained about how you always leave for days at a time."
"Wait…" How does Dardanos know what Stella was mad about? Balor tends to keep the nature of their arguments a secret — he doesn't want him worrying that Stella hates him. "Who told you that's what she's mad about?"
And Dardanos just laughs like he's some twist villain in a horror movie. "Oh, Balor… it took you long enough to realize this."
"Realize what?" They back away from them, feeling their face contort into something ugly. "You heard our conversation, didn't you?"
"It seemed like she really was bothering you, and I had a solution."
"Which was?" There's a sick sensation in Balor's stomach, like his guts are trying to tear their way out of their body. "You didn't…"
"I did." Dardanos licks his lips. "She was already up to a lot of petty crime. It was easy to get her locked up and sent to Twelve."
Without thinking, Balor lunges forward and wraps his hands around Dardanos' neck. "You what?"
"I wanted you all to myself," he says, trying to pry their hands away. "She was gonna get herself in trouble eventually, sweet boy. Why delay the inevitable?"
"Because she's my sister?" They feel their own brain throbbing in his skull as he squeezes Dardanos neck, tighter and tighter, even as he tries to resist. "What the fuck – she's my sister?"
"Whatareyou—" Dardanos gasps for hair, his words slurring. "Tryingtodo?"
"She's my sister," Balor repeats, unable to stop constricting Dardanos, trying so hard to crush his windpipe inside his throat. He doesn't know if he's doing a good job, but his face is starting to turn blue, and his croaking sounds are getting shorter and shorter.
Still gripping his neck, Balor drags Dardanos to the floor, slamming his head on the cement and not paying attention to the blood. He doesn't stop squeezing and throwing him around until he falls slack against the floor, his eyes wide open.
Balor stands up and takes a look at what he's done. Dardanos, the person he thought was the love of their life, is dead on the ground, and he doesn't even feel sorry.
Death has always followed Balor around like a dog with a bird. This isn't too surprising.
Except that it is because Stella's gone, and there's nothing Balor can do to see her again. Somebody's going to find Dardanos eventually, and when they do, they probably won't even make it to jail because Dardanos' father will try and kill him back.
Yes, jail is where Stella is, but if he makes it there, what is he even supposed to tell her? That she was right — Dardanos was a terrible person, and now the two of them are going to suffer in prison cells forever?
Everything that's gone wrong in Balor's life has been because of themself, but this is the worst it could ever possibly get.
His mother is dead, and it was Balor's fault. His father is dead, and Balor should've done something to stop him from falling. Stella's gone, and it's because Balor had the nerve to get involved with somebody so sinister and cruel.
Why do they keep fucking up like this? Has anything they've done even mattered when everything was doomed to go wrong from the day they were born?
But there's still a way Balor can end this curse that life has placed on him. He may fear death more than anything, but nobody gets to enact it upon him, not Dardanos Sr. or anybody else.
(He would much rather do it on his own terms.)
(It'll be so easy. He can go home, take all of the pills in the medicine cabinet, close his eyes, and be taken away somewhere where he doesn't have to think, breathe, or feel.)
(It'll be so, so easy.)
—
He wakes up to the sound of somebody pushing through his door and heavy footsteps raging toward him. He's passed out on his kitchen floor, his breaths short and quick, and they feel like they're about to fucking throw up.
It didn't work. It didn't work because of course Balor is so bad at everything, he can't even successfully kill himself.
Figures dressed in gray surround him. After squinting, he realizes that they're Peacekeepers.
"Are you Balor Sciarra?" One asks him.
He nods.
"Do you know what today is?" The Peacekeeper continues.
Balor doesn't even get a chance to answer.
"Reaping day," another says, dragging Balor by the wrist. "You weren't in the City Center, but your name was called. Get up, Sciarra — you're going to the Capitol."
Surprise Phobie! Tyrian killed Balor's sister and neither of them know the connection, but we readers do! Surely this won't come up ever… right?
N e waze… we are done with intros! It's been less than two months since I posted the first intro chapter, so I see this as a massive W. Thank you to RB for Sabine, Ren for Song-yi, Erik for Tyrian (fucking finally), and Phobie for Balor! Thank you Kindle for beta-ing because Erik wasn't allowed.
Okay what's next… how about a reaping re-cap with Vangelis, except there is sort of a twist? Sound good? Great, because that's what's happening because I'm in charge.
After that, there will be a goodbye chapter, two train rides chapters, and a chapter documenting Capitol arrivals! Then another interlude, and we're rolling live on TV, and formatting will be hella unconventional but it will be fun, I prommy.
As a note of like… what day everything takes place on.
Dec 25th - Reaping Recap/Goodbyes/trains 1/first 4 povs in arrival chapter
Dec 26th - Trains 2 / last 3 povs in arrival chapter.
Because some districts only take one day to get to the capitol and others take 2. Okay, thanks.
Yeah! Thank you for all of the support so far; it means so much to me. There is now a poll on my profile, too, for you to vote for your faves. I will be hounding everyone for opinions.
Q: Make a tier list of everyone so far. Not optional. If you already have, write a 100 word or less drabble in which we kiss.
See you maybe next Monday, maybe later in the week. Depends what my life is like since I'm home for thanksgiving and ig I should see my family.
Linds. Laugh. Love.