CW for culty/religious stuff in second POV
Roman Calder-Morcant, 17: District 6 Male
Oh
I'm doing it all for love
Doing it all
I'm doing it all
July 7, 73ADD: 30 minutes after Reaping
Roman sits silently in the Justice Building, watching as the rest of District 6 goes on about their day. From the window, he can see families and friends embracing each other, relieved they got through another Reaping unscathed. Boy, does he wish that was him.
The shock of hearing his name called still hasn't worn off. Roman doesn't think it ever will. He could never wrap his head around the thought of possibly dying, despite how much struggle he's experienced. But now, it's his reality. He's going into the Hunger Games and he might not come out alive. Roman's scared. Holy shit is he scared.
Roman hears a knock at the door.
"Mr. Calder-Morcant," a gruff voice says. "You have visitors."
"Let them in," he responds. A peacekeeper opens the door, and Georgia and Spark come barreling in, concern written all over their faces.
"Roman, I'm so sorry!" Georgia says, wrapping Roman in a back-breaking hug. Roman clings onto his best friend, trying hard to stop his body from trembling.
"This is so fucking crazy," Roman says. "Why did it have to be me?"
Spark approaches Roman, his face wrought with a mix of anger and fear for his friend. Roman has always known him to be cool and calm under pressure. He hasn't always been the best at reading body language, but even he can see that Spark is fighting to maintain his composure.
"Roman, listen to me." Spark's voice is firm. "You're gonna need to stay focused. Those other kids will do anything to survive. You need to do the same. You're gonna have to fucking fight for your life."
Roman knows this already, but it's much easier said than done. The Hunger Games is a fight to the death. Sure, Roman's been in a few fights before, but those are merely minor scuffles compared to what goes down in the arena. Fighting over drugs and money is much different than fighting to stay alive.
"Spark's right," Georgia agrees, teary-eyed. "Only one person makes it back. You better be willing to do whatever it takes to get home."
"I'll try my best," Roman says. Deep down, he knows that trying his best will only get him so far. He's seen the Games year after year. Sometimes, it doesn't matter how hard one tries. One wrong move and it's game over.
"There is no try, Roman," Spark says. "Just do. You have to make it back."
"We need you, Roman," Georgia says. "Do whatever you have to so you can make it out alive."
Looking at Spark and Georgia, Roman realizes that he needs them just as much, if not more than they need him. He can't even imagine life without his two best friends. Now he's being ripped away from them and being forced to fight for his life. There's no telling what horrors he might face, or the types of people he will encounter. Most of them are in the same boat as Roman, being whisked away and thrown into an arena against their will.
"You have to make good decisions," Spark advises. "No one in that arena is your friend."
"I understand," Roman says.
"I mean it," Spark says. "You can't trust anybody like you do here. We won't be there to bail you out."
Throughout his young life, Roman has counted on Georgia and Spark to save him when his impulsivity got the best of him. Once he leaves, they won't be there to cover for him when he says the wrong thing. They won't be there to even the numbers if he gets jumped. They won't be there when a knife is held against his throat, prepared to slice his neck wide open. They won't be there when his dead body is hoisted out of the arena by the metal claw of a hovercraft.
"Just think before you do," Georgia says, grabbing onto Roman's shoulder. "It only takes one mistake for you to get–"
Georgia pauses, unable to continue speaking as she chokes back a sob.
"You don't have to finish that sentence." Roman wipes a tear from Georgia's cheek. "I get it. I'll be careful."
"Good," Spark says. "I know you can do it."
Spark hugs Roman, holding his friend firmly in his grasp. Roman returns the gesture briefly before the door to the waiting room swings open.
"Time's up," a peacekeeper barks.
Spark reluctantly releases Roman from his arms. Their eyes lock as they separate.
"You come back to us, okay?" Spark says.
"I love you, Roman," Georgia adds. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you guys too." The door slams shut as those words leave Roman's mouth, and he's alone again.
Roman sits back down, dropping his face into his hands. He wishes so badly that he could've left with Georgia and Spark, going back to the streets he's come to call home. But he's trapped. All there's left to do is wait for the peacekeepers to take him away to the train station.
Roman hears another knock at the waiting room door. Roman stands up, expecting the peacekeepers to come in and escort him to the truck he knows is waiting for him outside.
"Mr. Calder-Morcant," the same peacekeeper calls. "You have more visitors."
More visitors? Roman wasn't expecting anyone else to visit him. Did Aunt Zola feel well enough to come and see him? Was she even sober enough to know that her nephew had been reaped?
A man that Roman has never seen before walks into the room, followed by a woman and a girl that looks a couple years younger than him. They're all clean-cut and well-dressed, a far cry from the usual unkemptness of the street urchins he's familiar with.
"Roman," the man says, approaching him. "I wish we could've found you under better circumstances."
"Found me?" Roman is thoroughly confused by the man's words. "What do you mean, 'found me'?"
"Dad!" The girl nudges the man with her elbow. "He obviously doesn't remember you."
"I'm sorry, Roman," the man says. "I'm Lachlan Calder-Morcant. This is my wife, Enora, and my daughter Adriana."
"We have the same last name?" Roman's still confused. Calder-Morcant can't be that common of a surname in Six. How did they end up with the same name?
"Well, Roman," Enora sighs. "That's because we're your parents."
Nothing makes sense anymore. Roman doesn't have any living parents. They both died in the fire that Aunt Zola saved him from. So who the hell are these people and how do they know his name?
"What are you talking about?" Roman's incredulous. He doesn't know what to believe at this point. "My parents died when I was a baby."
"That must've been what Zola told him," Enora says. "That crazy witch."
"Aunt Zola isn't crazy!" Roman interjects. "She's just a little…troubled, that's all."
"Roman, listen to me." Lachlan locks eyes with Roman. They're the exact same shade of brown. His hair, albeit graying slightly, is the same dark chestnut color. "My sister was never mentally stable. When she miscarried eighteen years ago, that only made things worse."
"She was jealous that we were able to have a healthy pregnancy," Enora says. Looking at her, Roman sees the same tan skin, the same sharp jawline, the same slim build. "She took you away from us when you were only three months old. We've been looking for you ever since."
"This can't be real," Roman says. "Aunt Zola is the only family I have."
"She was lying to you," Enora says.
"Aunt Zola never lied to me!" Roman raises his voice, quick to defend his aunt. But the somber expressions on his supposed family's faces bring him back down to earth. "She—she wouldn't lie to me, right?"
"She lied to us too, Roman," Enora says. "She made us believe she was sober up until you were born. Then she disappeared and took you with her."
"You've got to believe us," Lachlan says. "You're about to go into the Hunger Games, Roman. They wouldn't let three total strangers visit you."
Lachlan is probably right. The peacekeepers wouldn't let just anyone into the waiting room.
"I guess that makes sense," Roman thinks out loud. "So you're really my family? Why did it take you so long to find me?"
"Well, we didn't have enough money to fund a real search until a few months ago," Enora says. "Your father just inherited the family business."
"It's called Calder & Co.," Lachlan adds. "You're supposed to be next in line to run it, but…"
Roman's heart sinks, suddenly overcome with grief over the life he could have lived. He never hated living on the streets. After all, it's all he's ever known. But the thought of living a life without all of the hardship he had endured still dances in his mind. Oh, how different that life would've been.
"I'm so sorry, son." Enora hugs Roman. Her touch is oddly familiar, yet still so different from the cold, desperate grasp of his aunt. She wipes a tear from her eyes. "I wish it didn't have to happen this way."
The peacekeeper outside pounds on the waiting room door. "Time's up!"
Adriana runs up to Roman and throws her arms around her older brother.
"You go out there and win this thing," she says. "We have a lot of catching up to do."
"Indeed we do, Roman," Lachlan affirms. "We'll all be rooting for you."
Lachlan hugs his son. Roman immediately melts into his embrace. It feels just like Georgia and Spark. Just like the streets he grew up on. Not because it feels dirty or dangerous. No, it feels much better than that. It feels familiar, comfortable even. It feels like home.
"Thanks, Dad."
Roman's father releases his son from his arms. He gazes into his eyes, the ones that look exactly like his own, and gives the boy a soft smile. A peacekeeper ushers Roman's long lost family out of the waiting room, leaving him alone once more.
Now he has something worth fighting for.
Rosetta Clure, 15: District 8 Female
He said "Come here, sweetie, I can make you a star
I just wanna see you flourish and I know you'll make it far"
What she couldn't see
Was he was in it for the money
Rosetta is stunned.
She sits still in the waiting room. It's silent, save for the constant incessant thumping of her heart. Her hands and feet have gone numb, her throat is bone dry. She's never been more terrified.
Rosetta closes her eyes, rocking back and forth, something she's always done in those rare moments when life is too much to bear. She likes to envision herself somewhere safe, like the Church or at home with Preacher Zil. Too bad that this time she only sees herself alone, lying in a pool of her own blood with a gaping hole in her stomach.
She opens her eyes. Staring at the door of an empty room is much better than being confronted with visions of her imminent death. Never in a million years would Rosetta think she'd be in this predicament. No one from the Church of Nefta has ever been reaped. Whether it be divine protection or just pure luck, whichever one it was, it must have run out.
Don't question the Gods' plans. Rosetta thinks to herself. Everything happens according to their wishes.
But if this is the Gods' plan, then why her? Was she being punished? Had she not been faithful? Rosetta is one of the most devoted young members of the church, or so she thought. She prayed to each Nefta, Larin, and Chancle daily. She attended all worship services. She lived her life virtuously. Where did she go wrong?
Rosetta simply can't wrap her head around it.
The waiting room door swings open, giving Rosetta a momentary reprieve from the thoughts swirling around in her head. In walks Dominick, face wrought with remorse.
"Rosetta." Dominick's voice is strained with emotion. Rosetta knows it all too well. He's trying to stay calm for her.
Rosetta doesn't let Dominick speak any more. She throws her arms around him. Her tears fall, deepening the blue on the shirt Rosetta had advised against him buying. How much money Dominick spent is the least of her concerns now.
"You're gonna be okay," Dominick says. "Everything's gonna work out."
Rosetta pulls back, wiping the tears from her face, but they continue to fall. "I'll miss you while I'm in the afterlife."
"Hey, don't talk like that." Dominick gently rubs Rosetta's arms, a gesture that provides her with some comfort. But some doesn't feel like enough. "You could win. You're definitely smart enough."
Rosetta is fairly intelligent, or at least she thinks she is. But brains would only take her so far. She's going up against twenty-three other kids. A lot of them will be much older, stronger, and faster than she is.
"Plus," Dominick continues. "You'll have the Gods on your side. I don't think anyone else will."
"I know," Rosetta says. But doubts creep into her mind. Were the Gods really on her side? Certainly they wouldn't allow her to be Reaped. That's what she had been led to believe. If she devoted herself to the Church of Nefta, she'd be divinely protected. That's what the Gods promised to all of their followers.
"Just have faith," Dominick says. "This is all part of the Gods' plan."
Rosetta has faith, but this being the Gods' plan is perplexing. The Hunger Games goes directly against the divine promise of safety and justice. How could her involvement in such a pageant be part of the Gods' plan?
"In fact, Preacher Zil should be here soon," Dominick says. Rosetta lets out a sigh. Preacher Zil is the wisest man she knows. He should know all the details of how this terrible situation is part of the Gods' plan.
Right on cue, the waiting room door opens. Preacher Zil enters, his usual serene expression has been replaced by one of sadness. Nonetheless, she's grateful for Preacher Zil's presence. Her nerves finally ease.
"Preacher Zil, thank Nefta you're here," Rosetta says, hugging the man that raised her.
"Rosetta, I'm sorry this happened," Preacher Zil says.
"Please tell me you know why." Rosetta is desperate for answers. She needs to know what went wrong. "Did I do something to displease the Gods?"
"No, my child." Preacher Zil's voice is calm. "You've done nothing wrong."
"Then why was I reaped?" Rosetta questions. "I thought the Gods were supposed to protect all their followers."
"They do protect all their followers," Preacher Zil says. "That is their promise."
"But don't the Games go directly against that promise?" Rosetta asks. "I don't understand how a member of the Church could be picked."
"The Gods created the universe long before the Hunger Games were made," Preacher Zil says. "They are a human creation and have no association with the Gods' plan. Remember, Rosetta, humans are deeply flawed. Some of us are easily corrupted. That's how the Hunger Games came to be. Humans who strayed too far from the Gods' plan became corrupted by power and tyranny."
"How far could they have strayed to make something so cruel?" Rosetta says. "Most people, even those outside of the Church, aren't that terrible."
"The creators and those who run the Games have strayed too far for redemption," Preacher Zil answers. "The Gods will punish them in this life and the next."
"So what will the Gods do about Rosetta?" Dominick inquires. "She hasn't done anything to warrant this type of punishment."
"Rosetta is not being punished, Brother Dominick." Preacher Zil places a hand on the boy's shoulder. "The Gods are testing Rosetta's faith."
Testing my faith? Rosetta thinks to herself. Why would the Gods need to test the faith of one of their most loyal followers?
"Why is my faith being tested?" Rosetta asks. "Have I not been faithful?"
"The Gods must test the faith of even their most steadfast believers," Preacher Zil says. "I trust that you will be rewarded handsomely if you keep your faith, Whether it be in this life or the next."
"It'll be in this life," Dominick says firmly. "I know it. The Gods will protect you."
Rosetta wants to believe Dominick. She wants to believe Preacher Zil. She especially wants to believe in the Gods' plan. But thoughts of unfathomable pain and suffering being inflicted upon her challenge her faith. Humanity's cruelty seems poised to wrap its claws around Rosetta, never to let go. How much protection could the Gods provide under such dire circumstances?
"I surely believe that will be the outcome of this trial," Preacher Zil says. "But we should pray to the Gods to ensure a safe journey and return."
Preacher Zil places a hand on Rosetta's forehead, as is customary for prayers on behalf of another in the Church of Nefta. Dominick rests his hand on Rosetta's shoulder, bowing his head along with Preacher Zil. Rosetta follows suit, bowing her head and closing her eyes.
"I call upon Nefta, Creator of the World, to protect Sister Rosetta Clure on her trial of faith through the Hunger Games," Preacher Zil begins. His voice is clear and reverent. "May no great harm come to her as she embarks on her journey."
Rosetta sees herself, standing on the podium, facing the mouth of the Cornucopia. The countdown hits zero and she leaps off, running towards the metallic horn for anything that may aid her survival. But when she gets there, she sees nothing.
"I call upon Chancle, Creator of the Sun, to ensure that Sister Rosetta awakens again each morning. May your light guide her during her great struggle."
Rosetta looks around frantically, hopelessly searching for something that isn't there. She senses a presence behind her. It's approaching quickly. She turns around, but she sees nothing.
"I call upon Larin, Creator of the Moon, to watch over Rosetta as she rests during the night hours. May your soft glow bring her comfort in times of darkness."
Rosetta feels something hit her. A searing pain erupts from her abdomen, spreading quickly throughout her body. Her knees buckle, and she collapses to the ground. She looks up, expecting to see the being that caused her such pain, but she sees nothing.
"Praise be to Larin. Praise be to Chancle. Praise be to Nefta," Dominick and Preacher Zil chant. "We trust that you will watch over Sister Rosetta, for she is one of your most faithful disciples, praise be."
Rosetta sees herself lying still, a pool of blood seeping from her stomach. Her eyes are empty, devoid of any life that may once have existed. Around her, there is nothing.
Rosetta feels three taps, one on her forehead, one on her left shoulder, and one on her right marking the end of the prayer. She opens her eyes to the sight of Preacher Zil and Dominick.
"The Gods will protect you, Rosetta," Preacher Zil says. "I'll see you on the other side."
"Goodbye, Rosetta," Dominick says, hugging her tightly. "I'll miss you while you're gone."
"I'll miss you too," she says.
The heavy waiting room door slams shut. Rosetta isn't expecting any other visitors, so she's left alone to wait until they collect her for the ride to the train station. Rosetta never thought her time in District Eight would end like this. She longs to go back to the Church of Nefta, where she feels safe and secure. She doesn't feel safe anymore. And she may never feel safe again.
Cypress Albano, 17: District 12 Male
The harvest left no food for you to eat
You cannibal, you meat-eater, you see
But I have seen the same
I know the shame in your defeat
It just had to be him.
It just fucking had to be him. Not some random kid who took out too much tesserae, not a guy from the Merchant sector. No, that damned escort just had to pull the name of one Cypress Albano. Just his fucking luck. Now he's about to be shipped to the Capitol where he'll be paraded around like a fool before being sent off to die. What a way to go out.
Cypress's jaw is clenched so hard that his teeth might grind to dust. He's never been more pissed off. He wasn't even this angry when a peacekeeper tried to shortchange Catalina thinking he'd get away with it. Cypress feels beside himself in his anger, an uncomfortable feeling that he can't share with anyone.
"This is such fucking bullshit." Cypress paces back and forth in the waiting room, his irritation growing with each passing second.
Suddenly, the waiting room door opens, stopping Cypress in his tracks. In walks Catalina, looking just as furious as himself.
"This is such fucking bullshit," Catalina echoes the words Cypress uttered just moments before.
"Tell me about it," Cypress scoffs, voice laced with sarcasm. Catalina's expression softens, seemingly aware that her best friend is in a much more precarious position.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm just totally pissed the fuck off."
"And you have every right to be," Cypress reassures. "Who wouldn't be mad if their best friend got picked to go be flaunted around like a circus animal before being sent off to slaughter."
"It's fucking sick, I tell ya," Catalina simmers. "No one deserves that."
"Except the Capitolites," Cypress says. "Those fuckin' weirdos deserve even worse."
"I feel you there," Catalina says.
"Every one of them can kick rocks," Cypress grumbles.
"Our plans are all fucked up because of this shit too," Catalina says. Cypress's eyes narrow. Being reminded that all his rebellious schemes would most likely not come to fruition only adds to his frustration. This was supposed to be the year he started his quest to liberate District Twelve. Cracks in the peacekeeping force had begun to open. Then Cypress's name was called, putting what feels like a water tight seal on any rifts in the platoon.
But Cypress would not give up without a fight. He can't just lay down and let the Capitol win. No, he's better than that. Better than those ignorant, hedonistic bastards could ever be. He actually has something to fight for unlike them. Cypress may not have the power or influence of those in the Capitol, but he has something they'll never have. He has toughness, grit, determination, and a hell of a lot more intel than the average District Twelve citizen.
"No they're not," Cypress says resolutely. "Our plans are just getting started."
"What do you mean, 'just getting started'?" Catalina asks. "You're about to go into a glorified death match."
"But where will I be the week before that death match?" Cypress asks back.
"The Capitol?" Catalina raises an eyebrow, not entirely sure where Cypress is going.
"Exactly," Cypress says. "Just imagine all the information I could find."
"But what will you do with it?" Catalina inquires. "You're going into the Hunger Games."
"Guess I'll just have to win," Cypress shrugs.
"You do know that there'll be twenty-three other people trying to kill you, right?"
"They're not all gonna try to kill me," Cypress says. "Some of 'em will be dead before we even cross paths."
"Okay true," Catalina digresses. "But still, I don't think winning the Hunger Games is that simple."
"You don't think I have a chance?"
"No, that's not what I said," Catalina says. "Hell, you have a much better chance than most kids from Twelve."
"So what are you saying?"
"You have to be smart, Cy," Catalina advises."Everything you do leading up to the Games has an impact on your chances."
"I know, I know," Cypress says. "I'll be smart. I won't do anything too crazy."
"Please don't, we need you here," Catalina says. "Who else is gonna make sure I get paid?"
"I don't know, maybe Cole can," Cypress suggests jokingly.
"Cole Hardy?" Catalina says. "That guy can barely tie his shoes."
"I'm just kidding," Cypress laughs.
"But seriously," Catalina starts. "What happens if you don't make it back home?"
"Then the plan is in your hands, Cat." Cypress is confident that Catalina can do just as good of a job leading a revolt as he can. "You know it just as well as I do."
"You think so?"
"I know so." Cypress hugs his best friend tightly for what he hopes is not the last time. "But you won't even have to worry about that. I'm coming back here with so much info that there'll be no chance in Hell we fail."
"I really do hope so," Catalina sighs. "Goodbye, Cypress."
"See you soon, Cat." Catalina gives Cypress one more soft smile before exiting.
Silence falls upon the waiting room, leaving Cypress with only his thoughts to accompany him.
You still have a lot of work to do, Cypress. It's not over yet. You're gonna—
Cypress is pulled out of his own head by the sound of the waiting room door creaking open.
"Cypress?" Evening Albano's voice is soft, but filled to the brim with emotion. Cypress's mother steps in, eyes red from the tears she has shed. She clutches a wadded up tissue in her right hand.
Cypress wraps his arms around his mother. She softly cries into her son's chest, filled with grief for her son's probable death.
"It's gonna be alright, Mom," Cypress soothes. "I'm gonna be alright."
Evening softly sobs for the better part of a minute. Cypress feels his mother's pain seeping into him. His own eyes start to water, but he doesn't dare let a tear fall. He won't give the Capitol the satisfaction of his tears.
"Mom, we don't have much time," Cypress says.
"I'm sorry, Cypress." Evening takes a moment to compose herself. She wipes away her tears and pulls away to get a better look at her son.
"There's nothing to be sorry for," Cypress says. "This is just as hard on me."
"I know," Evening sighs. "I just can't believe this is happening."
"Me neither," Cypress says. "It pisses me off."
"I understand, Cypress," Evening says. "I'm angry too, but there's nothing you can do now but try your hardest to make it back."
"I'm gonna make it back," Cypress doggedly says. "I have to make it back."
"You've always been so determined, Cypress," Evening says. "Don't ever lose that." Cypress's mother pauses for a beat. "But in case something happens, there's something I need to tell you."
"What do you need to tell me?"
"Let's sit down, Cypress." Evening guides her son to the plush sofa that sits against the back wall of the waiting room. She holds Cypress's hands in hers.
"What is it, Mom?" Cypress doesn't have the slightest clue what his mother is going to tell him, but by the look on her face, it doesn't look too good.
"Before I tell you," Evening begins. "Just know that I love you very much and I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you."
"I know, Mom," Cypress says. "But we don't have a lot of time left. What do you want to tell me?"
"You know how I always told you that I didn't know who your father was?" Evening looks at Cypress, eyes filled with remorse. "That wasn't the truth, Cypress. And I'm sorry for that."
"You lied to me?" Cypress has never been a fan of liars. They remind him of his own secrets. Ones that he keeps from the very same person he's talking to right now.
"I only did it to protect you," Evening says. "If I told you any sooner, neither one of us would be safe."
"Why is it so dangerous to know who my father is?" Cypress is puzzled. Why would knowing who his other parent was be dangerous?
"Because of how I became pregnant with you, Cypress," Evening answers. "I was young and desperate. I needed the money."
She's not about to say what I think she's gonna say.
"Cypress," Evening continues. "Your father is a peacekeeper. His name is Basilius Burnham."
Cypress feels like he's just been stabbed in the chest. He feels his stomach tying itself in knots. His mother has to be joking. There's no way that Peacekeeper Burnham, the man who pays to have his way with teenage girls, is his father.
He doesn't speak right away. Evening has no clue about Cypress already has extensive history with Burnham. Nor does she know anything about all the intel he's gathered for his rebellious plans. He intends to keep it that way.
"I know that this isn't the most… ideal way to find out," Evening says. "But I wanted to give you some sort of closure."
"I never would've thought that a peacekeeper would be my father," Cypress says, trying his damndest to stay calm. "And it's so messed up that he'd take advantage of you like that."
"That's in the past now," Evening sighs. "I've moved on from it."
While Evening may have moved on, Cypress doesn't think he can ever come to terms with such a revelation, and it's not just because he now knows that he's related to a perverse boot-licking creep. His mind immediately goes to Catalina. What if she were to suffer the same fate as his mother? What if that sick fuck put a child in her? Cypress wouldn't be able to live with himself.
"I know it's in the past," Cypress says. "But I'm still not okay with it."
"I never expected you to be," Evening replies. "I just thought you deserved to know."
"Well—"
"Time's up!" A hoarse voice calls. Evening takes her son in her arms one last time.
"I'm sorry, Cypress," she whispers. "If I could make it up to you, I would."
"You don't need to make it up to me," Cypress says. "It's not your fault."
Evening bids her son farewell and leaves the waiting room. Cypress sits, still shocked by what she told him. He stares across the room into an oval-shaped mirror. He shudders. The dark brown eyes staring back at him look eerily similar to Burnham's. His tanned skin, his dark hair, his square jaw—it all looks like Burnham's. It's unsettling, but there's no denying it. Cypress Albano is a product of the very thing he hates the most.
I'll be back. He thinks to himself. And I'm gonna kill that sick son of a bitch.
Nova Petersson, 16: District 3 Female
Just imagine being human
Hating your confusion
Denying 'til it's proven
Laughing at illusion
Nova has never been good at accepting affection.
But here she is, in the waiting room being held by her mother as she blubbers on about how 'this can't be happening' and 'not to my little girl'. Nova doesn't know of any way to possibly soothe her mother. The only option is to accept the reality of the situation—Nova Petersson is now a tribute in the Hunger Games.
"It's okay, Mom." Nova awkwardly pats her mother on the back, waiting for her to release her from her grasp.
"My baby girl is going into the Hunger Games," Miku Petersson laments. "How could that possibly be okay?"
"Well, maybe not okay," Nova admits. "But there's not much that can be done now."
"And that's what's so terrible!" Miku exclaims. "I won't be able to help you out there." Miku squeezes her daughter hard, causing Nova to emit a small squeak.
"Miku, honey." Kaj Petersson's voice is low, just audible enough to grab his wife's attention. "Let Nova breathe."
"I'm sorry, dear." Miku finally lets go of Nova. "I'm just scared that this is the last time I'll see you."
If Nova's being honest with herself, she doesn't feel the same way. She isn't scared at all. The Hunger Games has never been something that struck fear in Nova like it might have for other kids. She's never paid too much attention to them over the years, even though their viewing is mandatory. The Games just aren't engaging enough for Nova. She always found her attention drifting towards whatever experiment she had planned and not what was going on during the Games. In fact, she can't even recall what the arena was last year or the names of either tribute from her district.
"I promise you it won't be," Nova says. "I really think I could win this thing."
"You think so?" Miku asks.
"Well I know I'm plenty smart enough," Nova confidently remarks. "I just have to make the right decisions."
Nova knows her limits. She knows there will be tributes that are much bigger and stronger than herself. Some of them will be trained, and others might have useful skills they've picked up from their district's industry. But none of them have the sheer brainpower that Nova possesses. That's where she shines, and she intends to shine brighter than the sun.
"You've always been so sure of yourself, Nova," Miku says. "Don't ever lose that confidence."
"I won't, Mom," Nova grins. "I already have some ideas of how I'll make it back home."
Ideas of how she'll go about surviving have been floating around in Nova's head from the moment she heard her name echo through the town square. She hasn't seen all of her competition yet, so nothing is set in stone. Besides, it wouldn't be smart to solidify a plan before gathering all the necessary information, and there's going to be a lot of information.
"Nova, listen to me." Kaj steps forward, brushing his hair back so his daughter can see his eyes. "I know you probably have a million ideas, but this isn't one of your experiments. You only get one chance."
That's one thing Nova doesn't appreciate. Her usual experiments allowed for trial and error. If anything was amiss, she could go back to step one and start all over. In the Hunger Games, that is no longer an option. If anything went wrong, Nova wouldn't be able to restart. Failing this experiment would mean only one thing–death.
"You're gonna go up against some stiff competition," Nova's father continues. "You have to do whatever it takes to get back." Kaj's voice grows unexpectedly husky. "I don't care what it is you have to do. You'll still be my little girl no matter what."
Nova is suddenly reminded of a time when she and her father were much closer. Back when Kaj Petersson was a man full of energy and fun. Back when he used to talk to Nova about anything and everything. Back when he used to hold Nova so tightly in his arms. Back when Nova felt like his little girl.
The mugging took that version of Kaj away from Nova and left her with a father that was a shell of himself. Over the years, Nova had watched as the injuries he suffered that night stole away his dexterity. A dexterity that was required for his many great engineering projects. Without it, all his projects failed, and Nova watched as each failure took away pieces of the man she came to know as her father.
"I understand, Dad," Nova says.
"Good," Kaj says. "I knew you would."
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
"Our time is up now," Kaj says. He and Miku hug their daughter one last time then exit the waiting room.
Nova is left conflicted. It's been years since her father has said anything that remotely conveyed care for his daughter. She had grown accustomed to the uncomfortable feeling of being ignored and forgotten by her own father. Did Kaj actually care for Nova more than she thought? If so, why couldn't he show her?
Nova has no time to dwell on the matter as the door to the waiting room swings open. Nova's closest friends—Elias Stark, Talia Rhodes, and Laius Kinslinger file into the room in quick succession. Nova stands to greet her compatriots.
"Hey guys," Nova says, her tone rather upbeat despite the circumstances. "Crazy day, huh?"
"Can't get much crazier," Elias says. "How you feeling?"
"I feel okay," Nova answers. "I've got some ideas on how I could possibly win."
"I don't doubt that for a second," Elias says.
"You should know better than to doubt me by now," Nova remarks. "I always have something up my sleeve."
Nova is naturally quite proud of her ability to find solutions for even the most complex problems. That's really all the Hunger Games was anyways. Nova just had to apply herself to the problem at hand and she'd be golden.
"I bet you do," Laius says. He leans his short frame on a table, posture calm and relaxed. "Those other kids won't know what hit 'em."
"They certainly won't," Nova says.
"We know you're capable of things the Hunger Games have never seen before," Elias adds. "You've got a chance to put your name on the map."
Nova finds immeasurable excitement in the idea of finally being able to put her name on the map. While it may not be for a revolutionary discovery due to her experimentation in chemistry, the end result will be the same. Nova will be known to all of Panem. That's what she wanted at the end of the day anyways. The allure of the spotlight draws Nova in like a moth to a flame. She longs to hear her name in the conversations of all of the citizens of Panem.
"And then you'll be absolutely rolling in dough," Laius says. "And you could let us in on all those celebrity perks."
"You bet I will!" Nova has often fantasized a life where she could reap all the benefits of celebrity status, especially in the Capitol. She'd have access to anything and anyone she wants. Her mouth practically waters at the prospect of being in cahoots with the Capitol's most brilliant minds. Not to mention all the expensive equipment she'd have available to her for experimentation. And all the chemicals. Oh, boy the chemicals! There truly wouldn't be any limits to what she could do. The only thing standing in her way is the Hunger Games, but that was just another hurdle that Nova could effortlessly leap over, she's sure of it.
"Hell yeah!" Laius says, uncharacteristically energetic. He earns amused looks from all three of his friends. "I mean, yeah that'd be pretty cool."
"More like really cool!" Nova exclaims. "Just imagine all the stuff we'll have!"
"It's gonna be great," Elias says. "You're gonna be able to do even bigger things, Nova."
"I know," Nova says. "Bigger than you could ever think of."
She can already see it. Sure, winning the Hunger Games sounds nice and all, but the real fun starts when she can use her Victor status to join the ranks of the greatest minds of Panem. Who knows? Maybe they'll let her start studying at the Capitol's university early? After all, Nova will be a Victor. Who wouldn't want to have a Victor studying in the Capitol? Oh, the possibilities are endless!
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
"Looks like our time is up," Elias says. "Be great, Nova. I know you can do it."
"Give 'em hell, Nova," Laius says.
Lastly, Talia walks up. The girl who hadn't spoken a word seemingly floats towards Nova. Her heart flutters as Talia approaches. Her strawberry blonde hair frames her round face perfectly. Her green eyes gaze softly into Nova's, who suddenly feels butterflies in her stomach. Talia reaches out and hugs Nova.
"I hope I see you again soon," Talia whispers. "Stay safe."
Talia joins Laius and Elias, exiting the waiting room. Once again, Nova feels conflicted. What were these feelings she felt when Talia spoke to her? They rested somewhere outside of Nova's realm of understanding. Nova doesn't do well with things that couldn't be understood. The world was meant to be studied, analyzed, and categorized. How was she supposed to study these new feelings? She doesn't even know where to start. Luckily, Nova will have all the time in the world to study such things after she wins the Games.
Hysteria Warring, 18: District 1 Female
I'm never goin' back, never goin' back
No, you can't take me
Never goin' back, never goin' back
They'll never take me
She actually did it.
Hysteria Warring is now officially District One's female tribute. This is what she's trained all those years for. The countless hours spent at the Academy honing her craft led up to this moment. Obviously she's proud of herself. She's worked so hard to get to this point. However, she still feels incomplete, like the job isn't done yet. Of course, the Hunger Games is still ahead of her, but that's not it. No, Hysteria still feels like she's missing something.
"There's my girl!" Desi Warring whoops as he enters the waiting room, followed by Skip and Leonara. The short, stout man envelops his adoptive daughter in a bear hug. "I'm so proud of you, Hysteria!"
"Thanks, Dad," Hysteria says. She returns her father's embrace, albeit much less firmly.
"I can't believe you actually followed through with volunteering," Leonara jokes. "I was betting on you chickening out."
"Now you know better," Hysteria says. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime. How could I ever pass this up?"
"You're right," Desi says. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime. I know you're gonna do great."
"I'm gonna do better than great," Hysteria boasts. "I've been waiting for this my whole life."
"I mean so was I," Skip says jokingly. "But I guess I wasn't good enough."
"Skip, I thought you said you were fine with not being the male volunteer," Desi says. "What changed?"
"Skippy's just salty that Vintage kid just barely edged him out," Hysteria says.
Vintage Zahavi was the name of Hysteria's district partner. She's seen the boy around the Academy, but their circles never interacted with each other. Hell, she doesn't even know if Vintage has a circle. All she really knows about the guy is that he's quiet and good with a bow. To Hysteria, Vintage is still a mystery. One that she needs to figure out soon. She doesn't work well with people she doesn't know.
"Yeah, he was grumbling about it all morning when we were getting ready," Leonara piles on. Skip's pale face flushes bright red.
"No I wasn't!" Skip retorts. "Dad, don't believe them. They're making this up!"
"Dude, chill out," Hysteria says. "We know you're cool with it. Besides, I'd rather not have to kill you at the end of the Games. I actually like you."
"Believe it or not, I actually like you too," Skip says. The truth is that Skip and Hysteria are extremely close, even closer than most siblings are. Having been adopted just one month after Skip was, the two have spent their entire lives together. Where one would go, the other wasn't far behind. Their garage band started with just two members—Hysteria and Skip. They trained together, played together, lived together, but now for the first time in their lives, Hysteria and Skip Warring would not be together.
Hysteria has tried not to think too much about not having her brother around. Skip keeps her grounded. He reels her in whenever she gets too worked up. Once she leaves District One, Skip won't be there to keep Hysteria from flying off the rails. The Hunger Games will be the most taxing experience of Hysteria's life, and she needs to keep it together if she wants to come out on top.
"You guys just never stop with the ribbing, do you?" Desi's sentimental tone makes Hysteria's heart swell. He's given her and her siblings the best life he could provide them, and Hysteria can't thank him enough.
"We learned from the best," Hysteria says, gesturing at her father. Desi Warring was known in his family for his quick wit and sharp tongue. Naturally, Hysteria, Skip, and Leonara picked up on his sardonic words and playful insults. It's how the family bonds together. Although it may look malicious to outsiders, the Warring family's shared sense of humor has only brought them closer, which was definitely needed given the losses Hysteria and her family have suffered.
Hysteria would rather not think about loss either. She's already experienced too much of it. People always seem to just…walk out of her life. That's why Hysteria appreciates those who can stick it through difficult times, those who can tolerate intense emotions, those who keep their word. Those types of people are rare in Hysteria's life. In fact, the only three people she trusts are in the room with her.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
"Time's up!" A peacekeeper on the other side of the door yells.
"Well, Hysteria," Desi says. "Time for us to go. Good luck. You'll do great."
Hysteria hugs her father again, then Leonora. The two of them file out of the waiting room, but Skip lingers behind.
"Skip, why are you still here?" Hysteria asks. Her brother doesn't answer her question. He wraps his sister in his arms, burying his head into her shoulder.
"Stay safe, sis," Skip says. "Come back to us alive."
"I will, Skip," Hysteria whispers. "You have my word."
"I'll see you when you get back." Hysteria watches as Skip exits the waiting room. She said her goodbyes to her friends before Reaping day, so all there was left to do was wait to be escorted to the peacekeeper truck that will take the tributes to the train station. She gazes out of the window, seeing that the town square is nearly empty. The only people that remain are the crew sent from the Capitol to set up and break down the stage.
"Hysteria?" A familiar voice says. Hysteria's blood runs cold. She turns around to see Ryland Chase, her other adoptive father.
"What are you doing here?" she asks coldly.
"I came to see you," Ryland says.
"Well I don't want to see you," Hysteria spits. "Get the fuck out of here."
"Hysteria—"
"I said get out!"
"Just listen to me!" Ryland shouts. "I need to talk to you."
"What could you possibly need to talk to me about?" Hysteria asks. Ryland hesitates, struggling to find the right words. Hysteria just glares daggers at the man, her impatience mounting with every passing second.
"I—I wanted to see you before you go, and—"
"And what?"
"I wanted to make amends," Ryland says.
"Make amends?" Hysteria repeats incredulously. "You want to make amends?"
"Yes, I want to make amends," Ryland says.
"Why now?" Hysteria asks. "You've had all these years to come back and apologize but you choose now? Get the fuck out of here."
"Hysteria, there's no need to be this hostile," Ryland says. "I haven't done anything to you."
"Oh, you haven't done anything?" Hysteria scoffs. "The guy who literally just up and left the family didn't do anything to me?"
"Okay," Ryland relents. "I can see how that could hurt you, and I'm sorry for that. Will you accept my apology?"
Hysteria can't believe her ears. Is this guy serious? He can't be. Ryland has to be delusional to think that she'd ever forgive him for what he did.
She'll never forget that awful day when Ryland left. She was only thirteen. Evie had suddenly passed away just a week prior. It was obvious that Hysteria's older sister was Ryland's favorite, but nothing could prepare the Warring kids for what Ryland would say to them before he left.
None of you are Evie, and none of you will ever be what she was.
Hysteria's whole world was shattered that day. The realization that one of the men she called her father never loved her tore Hysteria's heart to pieces. Ryland abandoning her sent a very clear message—Hysteria would never be good enough. She was not worthy of his love. No apology would ever suffice for the heartache Ryland put her through.
"Will I accept your apology?" Hysteria laughs. "Why the hell would I ever accept an apology from you?"
"Hysteria, please—"
"You told me to my face that I would never be good enough for you," Hysteria hisses. "Well guess what? No apology will ever be good enough for me."
Ryland's face turns beet red, contorting into a furious scowl.
"You see, this is your problem," Ryland says. "You can't just let things go."
"Why the fuck would I?" Hysteria argues. "You obviously don't think I'm worth your time. Otherwise, you wouldn't have left us."
"That's not true!" Ryland disagrees. "Would I be here right now if I thought you weren't worth my time?"
"For all I know you could be here so that you could get in good with me before I go off into the Games," Hysteria says. "That way you can reap the rewards of my victory."
"I would never do that to you, Hysteria," Ryland says.
"Oh yes you would," Hysteria counters. "You're a sorry excuse for a man who abandons ship the moment things get too tough. Then you think you can just waltz back in when it gets better."
"No, Hysteria—"
"Let me finish!" Hysteria shouts. "You're not just gonna pop back into my life after leaving the way you did. I don't want anything to do with you. And after I win, don't reach out to me or anyone else in the family. You're not welcome around us."
"Is that how you really feel?"
"Yeah, that's how I really feel," Hysteria says. "Now get the hell out."
"Fine," Ryland says flatly. "I'll leave. Good luck, Hysteria. Knowing how you are, you'll definitely need it."
The waiting room door slams shut, and Hysteria's entire body tenses. She's beyond frustrated. She can't stand talking to Ryland, let alone being in the same room as him. However, she finds herself still wanting something from him. No matter how much she tries to push the man away, no matter how wrong he may have done her in the past, she still seeks Ryland Chase's approval. She wants so desperately for him to love her like he loved Evie. If she can win the Hunger Games, then maybe Ryland will love her.
Hysteria shakes her head. No, she'll prove to herself that she doesn't need Ryland's approval. When she wins the Games, she'll have the adoration and approval of an entire nation. That'll be more than enough for her, and Ryland will fade away, just like he did before.
Miami Saffridge, 18: District 4 Female
So long
You made a ***** wait for some, so long
You make it hard for boy like that to go on
I'm wishin' I could make this mine
Miami sits alone in the waiting room, listening to the rhythmic ticking of the clock that hangs on the wall. Bisque had just left, giving his best friend some last minute advice. Advice that wasn't that good in Miami's opinion, but she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. She's expecting much better advice to come once she finally leaves District Four.
Miami never thought she'd be so eager to leave, but the Reaping is over now. She volunteered like she was supposed to, but now she had to wait for her parents to come and say their goodbyes. She wished they would visit her together, but that possibility was taken away from her six years ago. Miami's parents' incompatibility proved to be insurmountable when she was just twelve years old. One messy divorce later, and the Saffridge family was no more.
Now she's left to wait, not knowing who would be the first to visit. Miami doesn't even know which one she'd rather see first. Her mother would probably try and lecture her about making a good impression on the Capitol, which she can see the logic behind. Making a good impression could get her a great deal of help while she's in the arena, and could very well be the difference between life and death. But still, hearing her mother drone on and on about the subject is something she'd rather not deal with. On the other hand, Miami's father will probably just tell her to look out for herself, which she also already knows.
"Ms. Saffridge," a peacekeeper calls from outside the waiting room. "You have a visitor."
"Let them in," Miami says. The door slowly opens, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room runs ice cold.
In walks Narissa Huynh. She's in an outfit that Miami thinks is way too professional, even for Reaping day. Narissa's gaze does not soften, even upon seeing her oldest daughter. Miami finds herself standing up with perfect posture.
"I wish you would have had such great posture while you were on stage," Narissa critiques. "It would've made for a much better first impression."
"A 'good job, Miami,' or 'I'm proud of you' would've sufficed," Miami says acerbically.
"Let's not do this now," Narissa says. "We don't have that much time."
"Other than my posture, what did you think?" Miami asks.
"You did fine," Narissa says. "I'll admit that you did look comfortable up there."
"That's kinda what I was going for," Miami says.
"If that's the image you want to put out then I guess you succeeded," Narissa sighs. "It wouldn't have been my first choice."
Good thing it wasn't you then. Miami thinks to herself.
"On another note," Narissa proceeds. "Have you started planning for your time in the arena? Have you thought of how you'll train beforehand? What about your mentors? How much information are they going to give you?"
"Well," Miami starts, somewhat overwhelmed by the bombardment of questions from her mother. "I'll have to figure out things in the arena on the fly. That's what the Academy taught me. Same with training to an extent. I hope the other Careers are easy to get along with. And I'll try to learn as much from my mentors as possible."
Narissa does not answer immediately, which concerns Miami. Whenever her mother stops to think, that means another lecture is bound to follow. She can only brace herself for what Narissa is going to preach about next.
"I guess I'll trust you on that, since I don't know too much about what you tributes do once you leave home." Miami is thoroughly surprised by Narissa's response. She almost always has something to say, some sort of lesson to give. Is this a sign of approval from Miami's mother?
"You can trust me on that," Miami says. "I'll do what I can to be sure I'm ready."
"I really hope you do," Narissa says. "The Hunger Games aren't something you should take lightly. You can't just mess around like you do with everything else."
"I know," Miami says through gritted teeth. "I won't mess around."
Miami knows all too well that she can't just fuck around like she does in other aspects of life. Truth is, the Academy is the only place where Miami excelled. As much as she doesn't want to admit it, she's painfully average at everything else. The Hunger Games are Miami's one and only opportunity to prove herself. If she hadn't been chosen to volunteer, she'd have no future ahead of her. The very last thing she wants to be is a disappointment, and this is her only chance not to be.
"Miami, I don't have much time left," Narissa says, glancing at the clock on the wall. She fishes something out of her pocket. "I want you to take this with you."
Narissa presents a ring to Miami, but it can barely be called a ring. It's a matte black band made of what looks like an oyster shell. Miami takes the band, examining it in her hand. It's cool to the touch, despite being in the warm confines of a pants pocket for at least a few hours.
"It's something to remind you of home," Narissa continues. "And so you remember your responsibility to make it back here alive."
"Thank you." It's all that Miami can say. She slips the band on her left ring finger.
"Goodbye, Miami." In a move that shocks Miami, Narissa pulls Miami into a quick embrace. "Make good decisions."
"I will, Mom," Miami says. "Goodbye."
As Narissa leaves the waiting room, Miami fiddles with the ring on her finger. Although the ring is small in size and fairly smooth, it still feels uncomfortable for some odd reason. It feels cold, unwelcome, almost like her hand wants to reject it. Miami slips the ring off, examining it again.
"Miami!" the familiar voice of Miami's younger sister captures her attention. Quickly, she shoves the ring into her pocket before Tampa runs into her arms. "Dad says we had to come and say goodbye. Where are you going?"
"I'm going on a trip," Miami says, putting the six-year-old down. She locks eyes with her father as he enters the waiting room. "Didn't Dad tell you?"
"No," Tampa replies. This earns Maverick Saffridge a disappointed look from her oldest daughter. "When will you be back?"
"Hopefully in a couple weeks," Miami answers.
"Weeks?!"
"Yes, but it'll go by really fast," Miami says.
"You promise?" Tampa asks.
"Yes, Tampa," Miami reassures. "I promise." Miami looks past her sister, seeing Maverick standing with his hands clasped in front of him. "I think Dad wants to talk to me too."
Tampa wanders off, looking for something she can play with while she waits for Maverick to finish talking to Miami. Maverick steps forward, approaching his daughter. He hugs Miami tightly then releases, but still holds her by the shoulders at arm's length.
"You looked great up there," Maverick says.
"Thanks, Dad." Miami definitely appreciates her father's words more than her mother's nagging. It's a stark contrast to the onslaught of criticism just minutes earlier.
"Miami," Maverick says. A brief pause follows. He brushes his hair back, drawing in and releasing a breath. "This is real serious stuff, y'know. The Hunger Games…they're pretty damn intense."
"I know," Miami says. "They go through all of that at the Academy."
"I get that," Maverick says. "And I know you were chosen to volunteer. But I still can't wrap my head around it."
"Wrap your head around what?" Miami presses. "The fact that I was chosen?"
"Not necessarily just that," Maverick answers. "I just…I just never thought you'd be the type to actually go through with it."
"Why not?" Miami asks.
"Miami, the kids that volunteer for the Games are ruthless and brutal," Maverick says. "I never thought that you'd turn out like that. Are you sure this is something you want?"
"Well, it's kinda late to ask that," Miami notes. "It's not like I can back out now."
"I know, I know," Maverick says. "But still, is this something that you want to do?"
The brutality of the Games haven't been something that Miami agrees with, but rather a necessary evil. They were a means to an end. Something that she'd have to participate in to ultimately prove to herself and her mother that she's not a disappointment. That she's worthy of adequate attention. In order to earn those things, Miami Saffridge had no other choice. She would have to subject herself to the extreme brutality of the Hunger Games.
"Yes, Dad," Miami responds. "I want to do this."
"Okay," Maverick sighs. "Just know that if you're gonna come back home, you really have to want it. Otherwise—"
"I understand," Miami interrupts before Maverick can finish. She knows how that sentence will end, and she doesn't need to hear that right now. Miami knows that a great deal of grit and toughness will be required in order to make it back alive. Where will she find it? She doesn't know.
"I want you to have this before you go." Maverick pulls off the necklace that has rested on his chest for as long as Miami can remember. It's a simple accessory—a black string with a singular turquoise clay bead. It feels light in Miami's hand, and comfortable when she dons it on her own neck. "It's to remind you of home."
"Thank you," Miami says. She makes no effort to mention Narissa's black band that lies in her pocket, even though she knows she'll only be allowed to take one of the items with her. "I really appreciate it."
"I want you to hand that back to me yourself," Maverick says.
"I'll try my best." Miami hugs her father. She feels tears welling up, but she stops them from falling.
"Time's up!" the peacekeeper calls.
"Tampa, let's go," Maverick says. Tampa scurries towards her father, but not before stopping to give her older sister as big of a hug as her little arms will allow.
"Bye, Miami," Tampa says. "See you later!"
"See you later, Tampa," Miami says. "Be good."
"I will!" Miami's younger sister replies. She grabs onto Mavericks hand and the pair leave the waiting room.
Once again, the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall is the only sound accompanying Miami. She pulls out the ring in her pocket, eyeing it along with the necklace that now adorns her. She knows she must make a decision.
"Ms. Saffridge." The same peacekeeper opens the waiting room door. "Your district partner has finished his goodbyes, you will now be escorted via peacekeeper caravan to the train station. Please proceed in a timely manner."
Miami hastily obeys the peacekeeper's command, exiting the waiting room. Her district partner, Shizuka, joins her as they are led through the Justice Building and into one of several peacekeeper trucks. Once she and Shizuka are in, the doors slam shut. The truck lurches forward, headed towards District Four's train station, where Miami will depart her home for the first and perhaps the last time.
I've dropped yet another chapter on time! Everyone clap again.
I guess you can consider this the first official pre-Games chapter, and I hope you enjoyed. During the pre-Games, each tribute will get at least three POVs before they enter the arena. So that means at least two more POVs for this batch and at least three for everyone else. Hopefully I'll have a consistent schedule for writing and releasing these chapters, which also hopefully means the next chapter will be out towards the end of December. The next chapter will be the first half of the train rides.
Until next time,
Ty