"The things that I lost here, the people I knew
They got me surrounded for a mile or two."
Yomi Nishikaze, 23, Victor of the Twelfth Hunger Games (She/They)
Yomi is starting to think she will never get away from train rides.
It's not that they hate them; that would be utterly unfair. The train holds no blame for the trauma Yomi associates with its presence. Still, it's hard not to look across the compartment every five seconds in search of him. Roe.
Every time Yomi thinks the wound has closed, they ride the train again. And it all comes back.
Her dear friend, with his soft green eyes and gentle voice, has been dead for four years. He still remains fever-bright in her memory, stitched in everlasting thread on the tapestry of her mind. Telling his story helped to keep him alive, in a way. But the pain still hasn't gone away. Yomi supposes that's the nature of grief all over again, pain and joy intertwined and inseparable. It still paralyzes them sometimes, especially on a train to the Capitol.
Yomi blows out a breath. It's killing her, a little, to be in this consuming silence. But they remind themself that it won't be silent for long. Soon, she'll be with the Victors again.
The Capitol brings its own kind of nightmare, but Yomi is coming back on Reaping Night for a reason.
Well, two reasons.
They miss Mirabelle, Linnet and Chalet with a surprising ferocity. It's been a year, and while she's not exactly overjoyed to be back, there's a kind of pensive tranquility in returning. Seeing the specter of her younger self drawn against the wisdom they've gained now, and all her dearest friends beside them throughout.
(Well. Almost all of them.)
The second reason is that Twelve has still yielded no Victors, and Yomi is Eleven's first. Which means they're still juggling two Districts. Four Tributes. And as much as it hurts to Mentor, they can't let four kids down.
She shivers, thinking of Alessio and Britta and Darla. Thinking of Fen, the boy from Eleven, who'd died so quickly last year. They cannot help but think of Roe every time one of her Eleven boys dies.
Yomi has tried so hard to keep them all alive, but she knows now that death is under no dominion. Making peace with that is a longer, more perilous journey than she'd expected, but it's one they must take. Yomi has been holding countless funerals over the past four years, not just for the kids in Eleven but for every Tribute. Makeshift memorials, even if they're just for her and Cassian, who both mourn friends lost in the Games. When the Games weren't publicized, it was impossible to know names or faces outside Eleven, but Yomi has still held a kind of vigil for each Tribute who'd lost their lives.
Someone has to care. Now Yomi knows they're not the only one.
She picks up the remote. "Fine," she whispers. "I'll watch the recap. But only because I want to see my kids, not because I want the Capitol's views to go up."
A new age has arrived. Yomi is starting to feel downright ancient, a grandparent in the face of all these changes. It's all Signet's doing, they know, but it's still strange to see these Reapings in the public light, no longer a secretive affair.
"Hate it here," Yomi mutters as they try to remember which channel the Reapings air on. She scrolls through baking shows and Capitol models, muttering to themself, and by the time they find the right channel, One is already panning out before their eyes.
There's something highly discomfiting—which is saying a lot from Yomi, she's seen some pretty strange things and been strange herself—about these Reapings. When Yomi was Reaped, people tried to fight back, at least. Now they all stand in eerie serenity as two of their own are taken, right before their eyes. Even the Capitol's honesty does nothing to stoke the Districts' bravery.
Yomi sighs. It's done the opposite, in fact: made them all the weaker.
Razzma Taz, District One's escort, makes her way to the girls' Reaping Bowl. "Lira Monet!" she calls, only to be cut short by an authoritative voice.
"I Volunteer as Tribute."
It's not that Yomi ever forgets the Grape Eaters—or the Careers, as they're now officially called—but part of her always hopes they'll fade away one year. But now they only seem to be growing, no longer spineless rich children with too little to lose. No, they're actual trained killers. It sends prickles over their arms to know that children are now being openly groomed for murder.
Yomi has to remind herself that death is not theirs to control, never has been. Not all miseries can be cured, and not all endings can be peaceful. But it doesn't stop them from wanting that, even now. Even after all she's been through.
The girl that mounts the stage is undeniably striking, in a slightly terrifying way—not that Yomi is afraid of her, but that cruel-cut figure calls images of Dresden and Medea to their mind. They'd almost killed her before Yomi had taken Dresden's life. A shudder runs all through Yomi's body and they press a hand to her face as if to suppress the pain...
But then they remember that emotions can never escape if they are stifled. So she simply breathes and allows herself to feel all the weight of that week over again, if only to be reminded that it wasn't all for nothing.
(Their best friend Cassian had squeezed her tight before they'd left. He, too, had lost someone to the Games. He knows the innermost pangs of her sorrow and feels those rare splashes of joy when they come. Yomi can't imagine a better best friend. If anything, she will always take joy from that thought.)
They look back at the screen in time to see the dark-haired girl rush to the microphone. "My name is Ithaca Dominica Marquesa Sotavento," she says, and the edge to her voice reminds Yomi, with a sudden all-consuming rush, of Raina.
This girl is not black in white but painted in varied shades of color, wholly redeemable as all souls are... and yet Yomi cannot help but laugh into their hand for just a moment. Raina would've loved this girl and her steadiness, if only she wasn't a Career.
"Four names..." they mutter with a kind of morbid fascination. They're torn between being impressed and amused. Maybe a bit of both.
Asphodel Lyceum is called to the stage. Yomi waits for the expected Volunteer, boisterous and jolly like Marquis from last year or cold and removed, but no one comes. Just a rail-thin boy, shaking from head to toe, who carefully picks his way to the stage. He sends Ithaca a petal-soft smile, as if she's the one who needs comfort, but Ithaca pointedly looks away. The boy looks anxiously into the crowd, just once, before setting his jaw and turning back to Ithaca.
Yomi closes her eyes briefly. Somehow, it hurts even more to see these kids' stories in vivid detail, from beginning to end. It makes Yomi want to learn all they can know of the kids before their time runs out, no matter how much it hurts.
But there's only so much one person can do, even a full-fledged funeral home director with enough money to fill the river of forgetfulness in her Arena.
Two boasts not one, but two Volunteers. And if Ithaca Something-or-other Sotavento (Yomi already feels bad that she forgot hy name, they'll have to ask in the Capitol later) was striking, Arya Steele is piercing. Her hazel green eyes are cold and calculating, as if she's not just convincing the world that she's worth it, but herself as well. Her hair is dyed blond and close-cropped, though it's puffed out in curls around her ears, displaying the dark roots. Yomi can't help but to compare her to a dragon or a goddess, mesmerizing and utterly unforgiving. The boy, Zean, is dripping with charm, his warm brown eyes sparkling as he reaches out a hand to shake Arya's, though she merely eyes him with disdain. Yomi stifles another giggle. There's something refined about him, from the nice jeans he wears to the distinguished way he holds himself, but all of it feels just a hint below genuine to Yomi.
They distrust him immediately; not that the Careers are her problem anymore. It's hard not to see all the kids as new friends, even now. It's not their job anymore to catalogue and preserve them in case no one else does—the world will see them, moment by moment—and yet Yomi finds herself memorizing details out of habit.
District Three comes next, and Yomi is immediately intrigued by Donna Waterloo. As soon as Mercutio Yates calls Donna's name, she goes off like a cannon, spitting curses at the Peacekeepers as they haul her onstage. She kicks and claws before finally settling down, going limp in their grasp. But just as Mercutio begins to call the boy's name, Donna bucks like a wild horse, curls flying, and liberates the microphone.
"I hate you! I hate all of you suck-ups in the Capitol, watching us die like it's all some game to you. You think it's a game? You wanna try me? I'm not afraid of you... come at me! I'd love to see your faces after I'm done with them—"
And just like that, they've dragged the perfect storm of Donna Waterloo from the stage, while she screams curses all the way. Yomi can't help but grin ear to ear, utterly shocked in the best way possible. It's good to see a girl who isn't afraid of the Capitol, who doesn't hesitate to scream her opinions for all the world to hear. Not exactly Yomi's tactic—she'd rather grin and read poetry than start a riot, that's more Mirabelle's thing. Still, they're not opposed to witnessing one, or even joining it.
There seems to be some confusion about the boy from Three, as the escort whispers to the mayor, whose brows pucker. "There must be some mistake," the Mayor mutters, though her voice is picked up and carried over the crowd by the microphone.
"What's it say?" someone calls.
Mercutio frowns and shakes his head. "It just says 'Rat...'" His face hardens. "This is not a joke. I don't know how it is where you come from, but in the Capitol we take ceremonies very seriously—"
"That's me!" The crowd shuffles and a small boy bursts through the crowd, crawling on all fours until he gets to the stage, which he leaps atop, facing the crowd with a cheeky grin. "I'm Rat. Legally and all. You can check, I really am Rat—"
"What the..." Yomi is wholly transfixed by this child, no older than thirteen, whose eyes are almost wild with light.
and Yomi thought they were one of a kind, the strangest thing to ever grace Panem. This is another goblin entirely.
After checking that there is, in fact, a boy named Rat in Three's database and the slip wasn't just a piece of trash which had gotten mixed into the bowl, they begin to take Rat away. He giggles uncontrollably while Donna looks on, her face a bit softened as she takes him in with similar fascination to Yomi.
There's just something so admirably obnoxious about him that's difficult to even put into words. Yomi hopes the little one gives the Capitol a run for its money; with him and Donna together, they'll surely have their hands full.
Yomi can't help but smile. She's not happy that children are being taken—of course not. But it's good to see that so many still have so much life in them. It reminds them of days when they were that young, mocking the Careers and antagonizing random Tributes, practically forcing Raina to become friends with her, though they both knew Raina had needed someone. Yomi had always felt estranged from the world in so many ways, her splendor and vibrance seen as a curse or abnormality in the midst of Eleven. Now they see the span of these kids and understand that she was never truly alone; others have come beside her, and they will come after her.
There's a part of her that feels they have no right to be so strangely bereft by the ceremony—they're always trying to remind themself that their life can be simultaneously beautiful and overwhelmingly haunting.
She struggles to distance herself from the Reapings as some other Victors do. Yomi cannot view the Tributes as brief smudges, rough sketches of archetypes that will soon be forgotten. No, Yomi sees beyond the simple concept of them; she sees colors and depth and sometimes it feels like a curse. Even so, it's fascinating and lovely to see so many unafraid of death, to know that so many perspectives exist beneath the sun. It gives the whole ordeal an unexpected sheen of hope.
District Four has another combination of one Reaped, one Volunteered. Malibu Mokarran is a vision of summertime with their golden-brown skin and sunny shorts, their curls dyed vibrant turquoise. When their name is called and no one steps up to Volunteer, Malibu looks affronted, as if they can't believe the world had the audacity to choose them. They hurry up to the stage, and Yomi can see their effort to stay calm and cheerful despite the obvious distress they're in. Yomi feels an inexplicable kinship with them, and can't help but remember her own Reaping, where it felt as if everything was slipping from their fingers.
Sammy Kalakari Volunteers quickly, and there's something awfully vacant about him, like he's made of seafoam and sandstone instead of being a real person. There's something sad and beautiful about him, in the way that a painting is beautiful. His gaze is remote as he takes the stage, and Yomi thinks they can glimpse a softness to his eyes that he's desperately trying to conceal. Maybe it's just a trick of the light, but she's not usually wrong about these things.
The girl from Five Volunteers, not a moment of hesitation, as if it's nothing. The prospect of Volunteering never ceases to baffle Yomi, especially in the outer Districts. She might've once joked about better-trained kids being over-privileged and shallow, but now they can't help but wonder if there are more layers to it, as there now seems to be for many things.
Sera Velasco has a kind of determined set to her jaw, a deep thoughtfulness in her eyes. When Enzo Rivers, small and pale and dark-haired, is Reaped after her, he gives her a shaken look, quick enough to miss. It's clear from that miniscule exchange that they know each other well. Yomi's heart gives a pang, and all she can think is that at least they won't be alone. At least they'll have each other.
Her throat gets suddenly tight and she has to take a few deep breaths. They focus determinedly on Six and their two Reaped Tributes. The girl from Six, Scout, is bright and diminutive and bursting with color. She dances onto the stage and watches the District with just the faintest spark in her eyes, like she's never been more ready for the world. Like she's refusing to dim her smile, not for anything that happens to her. Yomi is at once jealous of Blade and grateful it's not her who must send this girl away, not when they feel almost like twins.
The boy, Concorde, has a kind of forced bravery to him, a desperately maintained courage that cracks only for a split second. Yomi catches his mouth moving in what can only be a curse, and then his sky-blue eyes grow steely and he walks to the stage without so much as faltering.
Seven has always been wreathed in a kind of ethereal sadness, something at once melancholy and gleaming about the ghostly trees, and the Tributes seem to match. Arden Hornbuckle sways for a moment as she walks to the stage, young and lovely with her long dark hair. Something about her is reminiscent of the beautiful flowers that blanket the fields of Eleven. Yomi is overcome with the powerful and inescapable urge to scoop all of the Tributes into a hug—if they asked for one, of course. Some of them would probably bite their head off, but maybe it would be worth it if it gave them some kind of comfort, whether they knew it was needed or not.
Oriole Morgenstern is all pensive loneliness, and there's no other way Yomi can think to put it. Maybe she's reading into it a bit too much, and it's probably not in their best interest to grow immediately attached to every living soul being Reaped, but it doesn't mean she'll stop anytime soon. From the elegance of his cheekbones to his blue-gray eyes, to the way he walks silently and softly to the front of the stage, Yomi's heart cannot help but twinge when she looks at him. It's like he's given up already. Besides, they've been seeing Roe and Raina in so many of the Tributes' faces, and she doesn't know exactly why.
(She does. It's because they're still here, and they always will be. Funny how that can be comforting and mournful all at once.)
Eight is a portrait of monochrome, but the girl—Tarisai—manages to counteract all that with mere presence. She struts onstage like she's owned the place for years and always will. Yomi's lips tug upward to see her, so statuesque and alive on that stage, until she waltzes to the microphone and announces, "My name is Tarisai Delphina, soon-to-be Victor."
Yomi can't imagine wanting to be a Victor. It was something they had to come to terms with over time, understanding that it was her burden to carry but that they could never forget the ones who died while she lived on. She's accepted their role as valuable, just as everyone's is, but for someone to plan their victory... to laud it... it unsettles her in a way they can't quite name.
Nylon and Tarisai could not be more different. Yomi watches solemnly as Nylon squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment before walking unsteadily up to the stage. He's skinny as a rail, but there's something in the way he sets his shoulders that lets Yomi know he's not quite lost all of his light. She realizes she's reaching toward the screen without meaning to, like they can somehow take these kids by the hand through the miles that separate them, where chains can't bind them. They laugh, a bit of a watery sound, and attempt to pull themself together.
Somehow, laughing at a ceremony like this seems blasphemous. Yomi can always find happiness in her own life and amplify it for others, but they can't choose joy for everyone else. They have to remember it, even if it hurts.
Two decrepit and hollowed children make their way to the front of the crowd in District Nine. Willow is fierce as a winter storm, her posture thorny and her fingers white-knuckled by her sides. Usually Yomi would be all for this, but there's a certain lack of joy to the girl, an absence of light and an overabundance of venom in her snake-green eyes. Leland walks to the stage, robotic and empty of soul. Yomi searches his eyes for a long time, glad he can't look back at her and call them creepy—which he'd have every right to, even if it's not their intent. But she can't find a thing in them, other than the deep hunger of a long, endless night. It's the kind of thing an average person, not Yomi, would think of when they heard the word 'death.' The kind of thing that would thrive down in the Capitol's Underworld she'd emerged from.
The Nine Tributes could not be more different from Asa and Luz, the two from last year who'd singlehandedly reinforced Yomi's love for life and shattered their heart like a piece of pottery. Nothing in them suggests that they could be rebellious against the Capitol, that their own joy could be an act of resistance. And beyond that, they are everything that Linnet Llamora, Yomi's dear friend, is not.
Any district for these two, even Yomi's own, would have been preferable. Still, they're not one to judge by first glance. Maybe things will turn out alright after all. Or... as alright as they can be. Besides, none of this is Willow and Leland's fault. There's just something about them that sets Yomi's teeth on edge.
The girl from District Ten can be no older than twelve. A shiver runs down Yomi's arms as she watches the little girl skip up to the stage, her face slowly scrunching up as she watches a girl in the audience struggling to hold back tears. Yomi's trying not to cry themself. Pandora is the kind of person who deserves to be running down the streets with an armful of flowers, her laugh leaping between buildings and echoing over rooftops. Yomi realizes she's shaking and tries to steady her hands with little success.
They murmur a poem beneath their breath, trying to stay calm. She can't let these last moments of the Tributes be wasted... but it's not really in their control. For all that she tries, she can't seem to come to terms with it.
The dark-haired boy Reaped beside Pandora is a dead ringer for Jacqueline Baylor, and their matching last name is enough to confirm it. Yomi has seen siblings pass on to the next life, or twins separated by death, one hollowed half left behind. Once, Yomi might've said something gentle about peace and reunion. Now they listen despairingly as Rivel's sister wails ceaselessly behind the lines.
"Not again! Please, not again..."
In the eerily silent square, the last Baylor sister's screams are as piercing as a siren call. Yomi listens and lets the tears catch on the tips of her lashes.
It's time for their kids, the last two Districts delegated to them for the past four years. With no one left to care for them but Yomi, they resemble cast-offs to many others. But Yomi loves them fiercely; Alessio Spades and his closeness with death, Darla and Britta and the closeness of their bond.
This year, Yomi watches Sequoia Caishen grace the stage. What strikes Yomi most about Sequoia is the way her smile never falters, even as they stand beside the Escort. Her choppy black hair billows gently in the wind as they dance from foot to foot on the stage, giving the audience a silly smirk all the while.
Yomi loves her immediately. Which is great, because it means the next few days will be wonderful. They usually don't shrink away from death, but the very thought of an awful fate in the Arena befalling Sequoia is enough to make Yomi teary. That's the awful part—still, it doesn't diminish Yomi's joy at meeting them.
"Oleander Cress."
The camera lingers on the boy's face for a brief instant before his name is called, so Yomi gets a good look at him before the Reapings steal his joy. He's smiling wide enough to display shiny teeth and full dimples, talking animatedly with his friends, so fast and loud that his rosy cheeks become even rosier. His red curls bounce around his face as he jumps up and down. Yomi laughs sadly to herself. Oleander is just their type of energetic and slightly annoying, so it's even harder to see his face go blank and white, his legs taking him mechanically to the stage. He stands beside Sequoia and blinks as tears weigh down his lashes.
Yomi suddenly finds it hard to see the screen through the mist in her own eyes. She blows out a shaky breath; these kids will need them to be brave. It's possible she may be the only joyful, trusting source they have.
Twelve has yet another Volunteer this year. But where Alessio was gloomy and grey (not that Yomi would change him for a heartbeat), Elysande is soft and graceful. She takes the stage with a strange tranquility, as if she's been waiting to do this for years. And while many Twelves suffer the strain of starvation, Elysande is lithe and muscular like a ballerina. Whatever Elysande needs, Yomi likely won't be able to give it to her. With Alessio, it was different. They were bound by their kinship with death, even if it was in a very different sort of way. But Yomi feels as remote from Elysande as an island. Maybe it's for the best.
Flint Kayode is an entirely different story. He's actually pretty muscular and well-built, which comforts Yomi somewhat. But when his name is called, Flint's face crumbles for just a moment, shoulders shaking, before he blows of a long breath and walks slowly to the stage. Yomi watches, remembering that pendulum swing between grief and strength she'd struggled with for so long before finally allowing themself to feel. It hurts to see an emotion so akin to their own in someone else's face, mostly because they know exactly how it feels to be in such pain. But maybe she can help him, at least, or bring him some sort of peace.
Yomi stares at the screen for a long time after the Reapings end. It's unlike them to be so remote and listless, but there's something incredibly overwhelming about seeing a situation they can't change or smile away. All she can do is gently look into their stories and try her best to ease their pain, but she should be able to do more.
The Capitol's close now, which means she'll be able to see Chalet and all the rest soon. There are certainly haunting and heartbreaking things about the Capitol, but thinking about their reunion lightens her spirits considerably. They imagine the pranks they might pull on the Career Victors—completely harmless and pre-Bloodbath, obviously. Maybe they'll even rope their kids into it, just to remind them that life's not all made of darkness. She'll admire the cool outfits in the Parade and send Cassian pictures of the pretty statues and try to remember how to be happy in the midst of despair.
And when three or four of her Tributes die, they'll commemorate them the best they know how and comfort their friends and the cycle will begin again.
Why does she still accept the invitation to the Capitol every year? It's a little bit of everything. It's Mirabelle's smile and Linnet's laugh and the solemn look in Blade's eyes. It's her butterfly ring and the dinner conversations and the idea that she could be what Mirabelle and Linnet were to them all those summers ago.
But most of all, it's because someone has to keep the kids safe, for as long as they can be. And Yomi will be that person, even if it hurts.
...
Chalet O'Shea, 32, Tribute Stylist
He's finally mustered the courage to ask for assistance.
Of course, he has a few helpers who powder the kids' faces before the parade, but doing everything alone is beginning to take its toll. He's already started tailoring clothes for each Tribute, since the team sent him measurements as soon as the Reapings culminated. Sleep has been scarce, and for many reasons, chiefly because he's been worried about meeting his deadlines. The sketches have started to blur, though, and his hands are shaking too much to draw the patterns. It had taken a lot of deep breaths and eyes squeezed shut, convincing himself that he wasn't going to be executed. And if so, at least it had been a good run... well. One that involved losing scores of kids every year and slowly drifting from his roots in Seven, complete with bone-shattering exhaustion and occasional breakdowns.
Everyone had directed him to the President, for some reason, as apparently he's the greatest expert on all things Hunger Games. Another twelve and a quarter minutes of hyperventilating and nearly falling asleep, and he'd managed to knock on the door.
"Hello, Mr. President." Chalet had been proud that his voice refused to shake and betray him. "I had a... something of a request for the upcoming Games, but if you don't have time or it's too much—"
"No, not at all!" Signet had regarded him with an innocent, bewildered expression, surprisingly vulnerable for the leader of the country. "Who are you again?"
"I'm Chalet... the Stylist..."
"Oh, right! You look, um—exhausted—"
"I just wondered if you could give me a few extra stylists so I could have a bit of help with making twenty-four costumes, not to mention reserves, and I know that's somewhat of an overstep so please forgive me if it's not feasible but I really could use some extra minds." He had said this all in one breath, so as not to lose his nerve.
And Signet had done the very last thing Chalet expected of him: he smiled, all shy and sincere. "Oh! I'd never even thought of that. I'm so sorry, it must be so difficult. I've been a bit occupied lately with my sister being ill... anyway. I'll have scouts sent out immediately."
And so it was. Now he sits in a crowded workplace that was once simply his, sketching and sewing and toiling away with three or four others. He's been assigned Districts One through Four, while the other two take the remaining Districts. Chalet is immensely grateful for the lightened workload, though he still finds himself peeking over everyone's shoulders just to make sure they aren't doing anything uncouth.
It's all a bit more overwhelming than he expected. And he doesn't want to be ungrateful, but... well, paranoia is a cold-hearted master. It sneaks into his ear and breathes chills down his neck and tells him that the more people he comes in contact with, the easier it will be for them to discover. To know what he's done.
He'd sworn to be neutral. He had enough going on without the complicated juggle of a fledgling revolution. It's always been easier not to ask questions, to keep to his work and not cause a stir.
But allowing Blade Cassidy to keep a knife which he would later use to attempt an assassination on President Graymore is by no means neutral. Not by a mile. And it's sent him into a kind of chaotic spiral that's most unusual for him, one that he has never quite been able to shake. One that refuses to be ignored.
Chalet still wakes up shaking and choking back tears in the night, dreaming that he's been found out. That they've taken his studio, that they've somehow hurt Yomi or any of his few friends in the Capitol. What kind of loyal Panemian servant looks away while the Victor tries to kill their ruler?
No one can know. Nobody has discovered that Signet almost died, and that Blade was nearly executed. The President has kept the secret air-tight, and by all accounts, it would be impossible for someone to discover it.
But there's always the possibility... and that thought slithers into the deepest corners of his mind and reminds him that he is never truly safe.
Chalet used to think trauma was the greatest dictator of his life, the most wondrous and terrible thing to ever assail him. Now he marvels at how one moment of kindness can turn everything wrong.
Does he regret it? Some days, he wishes with every bone in his body that he had reported Blade. But some days, when he thinks of all the beautiful souls he's crossed paths with and remembers that sad-eyed boy in the Parade, now the latest Victor, he thinks he'd never change it if he could.
Blade is happy, at least for the most part. Chalet likely won't ever cross paths with him again, and he's perfectly alright with that.
But is Blade's well-being worth Chalet's torment? Especially because Blade never ended up killing Signet... if Chalet had acted, both President and assassin would be gone. Just another secret the Capitol swept under the rug.
It's only that this kind of burden is impossible to carry, like the needle-sharp aches in his back after being bent over a sewing machine for six days straight. But even that pales to the heartache of the memory.
He should be braver. But instead fear circles him relentlessly. And he wakes up with images of Capitol officials taking him away once and for all.
"Yomi's back. Thought you might want to know."
Chalet flinches so badly he almost drops his dyes, threatening to spill them all over his desk. He looks up to see Rima Raevsky the Victor, his hands extended peaceably.
"Oh. Thank you." Chalet smiles, a bit shakily. It lifts his spirits to know his friend is here. If he were to tell anyone what happened in that split-second impulse, it would be them.
But he can't burden her with that. He wouldn't wish such fear on anyone.
"You shouldn't be here," Chalet says.
"And why not?" Rima grins crookedly down at him. Can he see the remnants of revolution clinging to Chalet's skin? Is the shrapnel of insurrection still lodged in his heart, lurid and unmistakable?
"You—it's not—" Chalet stammers for a moment before looking away. "Never mind."
"I'm just leaving," he says brightly. "Just thought you should know. See ya 'round."
"Yeah." Chalet fidgets with his skein of fabric.
"And Chalet? Take care of yourself. You look exhausted."
If there were a contest of understatements, Rima would win the grand price. But Chalet doesn't say that. He just watches him go and wonders what it must feel like to be courageous.
...
Hey friends! Umm past Miri really thought she'd be able to get this chapter out before 2024... haha... happy late new year, I guess! Can't wait for another year of angst and shenanigans with you all. :) Anyway, here is the Reaping Recap! It took me a really long time to write and I hope it wasn't too boring LOL but now we've caught up on all the Tributes again and seen how they reacted to everything... not only that, we get to see Yomi again! I missed my little bean so much LOL, she was given to me in July by Linds for Victor Exchange (thanks again Linds!) and they're now part of my Verse so I'm super excited to introduce them! We also got to see Chalet going THROUGH it as per usual lol... I'd love to hear your thoughts!
We are now fully into Pre-games, although I've counted Goodbyes and Train Rides within that, which will be next! There will be ten chapters before the Bloodbath and each kid will get two POVs within that time frame! I'm super excited to get into it and start writing alliances, which I've loved everyone's speculation on so far!
The chapter title and lyrics are from The View Between Villages by the lovely Noah Kahan! And yes, I have finally broken my Broadway streak... I'm so sorry lol, but you know me, it'll be back soon hehe! With that I think I've said everything that I wanted to say; thank you all SO MUCH for the reading and support, it has been incredible! I'll see you next time with Goodbyes!
Much Love,
Miri