V.

subvenio — to come to the aid, relieve, help, assist

Nico Morrissey, 22
District Six Mentor

An official summons with a Presidential seal, and a time: that's all they received this morning.

Their orders have always come in the most vague ways, and often when they least expect it. Nico certainly hadn't seen it coming this morning of all of them, when her tribute was one of four remaining, perhaps the most obvious choice to take it. He had age on his side, strength. It was more than possible.

She was supposed to be watching him. Nico had scraped together the last little bit of sponsor money they had left in preparation for this moment—the note was already primed to go, had been since the last cannon went off.

But she couldn't send it. Not yet. She had to be there to see the ramifications of it arriving, ugly though they may be. For now she was trapped in this car and the driver wouldn't tell them a damn thing, predictably, though it was more likely he didn't know at all. That hadn't stopped Everus from grumbling.

Keeping an eye on him has never been easy. No one prepared her for the Games, that much is true, but no one prepared her for wrangling a fifty year old man with a horrendous drinking problem, either.

She had rid his jacket of its hidden flask before they even got in the car. It was still in her pocket, and Nico was starting to see its appeal. As much as she loathed every part of it—the stupor it so often put him in, the people who sold it to him, the very containers that housed it, how could Nico fault him for it?

He was still muttering obscenities under her breath. Nico pressed her cheek to the cool pane of glass that separated her from the outside world, though the window was so dark she could hardly make out the city beyond it. Still, the rumbling was enough of a distraction. Nico had hardly slept these last few days and for good reason. If the car ride was longer, she almost thinks she could have slipped away for a few moments.

Without a clear view, though, it's over far too soon—even sooner than Nico expected. She braces herself for the onslaught of oppressive heat, instantly wishing once again for the sanctity of the car. It takes a moment to tug Everus out after her, who squints against the blazing sun as if its very existence offends him. She lashes her arm through his, yanking him after the security guard that beckons them forward. It's easy to ignore his stumbling feet; she's had years of practice, as has anyone who has ever had the pleasure of meeting him, but there's something familiar about it too. Comforting.

Nothing could ever make her hate this place less. From the end of her own victory tour to the numerous conversations that have been held here, the President's mansion has never become any more intimate. There has never been even a speck of dust to be seen, the cloying scent of something vaguely floral yet antiseptic tainting each hall.

There are even less people than usual. No avoxes. Somehow that doesn't reassure her.

"Wait here, please," the guard requests, gesturing to a bench along the wall. Ornamental vase on one side, long table on the other. Everus untangles his arm from hers and throws himself down on it so hard two of the legs lift from the floor, though he doesn't seem perturbed as he lets his head fling back so hard it hits the wall with a thunk that echoes down the hall.

The guard watches him for a moment, ensuring he's still conscious, and then turns to her. "Someone will be out to get you shortly."

He seems awkward, stiff, unsure of his role. Nico doesn't even have the time to muster a nod before he spins on his heel, hurrying away from them as if chased by a horde. She forces herself not to pace even as Everus begins to tap his foot against the tile, the beginning of an unnerving melody.

"What could this bitch possibly want with us now?" he mutters. Venom bleeds into his eyes, the downward turn of his mouth.

It's a look she is unfortunately familiar with.

"If you can be capable of anything, let it be keeping your mouth shut," she pleads. "Until we get out of here."

"Why?"

Nico crouches down before him, internally cursing her choice of heeled boots. She grasps at his knees to keep herself from teetering over. This isn't how it's supposed to be, her slipping down to eye level with him as if he's a petulant toddler. "You may have forgotten," she says under her breath. "That we still have someone alive in that arena. I'd prefer he stays that way. The only thing we can do for him now is not give them a reason to decide he shouldn't be."

He hasn't forgotten, but the blow—harsh though it may be—has made him reconsider. "I didn't forget."

"Good," she says, rising up to take a seat beside him. "Think of it this way. If he comes out, you can stay home every summer from here on out and drink yourself to death, for all I care."

"You'd care," he fires back. "You'd miss me too much, kid."

"Debatable."

A part of her would. A part of her would also be somewhat relieved, glad that he was no longer walking the path to assured destruction, managing hardship with the dregs of a near-empty bottle. Her fingers itch to free the flask from inside her jacket, but Nico doesn't dare—she's just gotten him to be quiet.

It feels as if they sit there for eons, the guard's promise of shortly having fallen through before he even made it to the next hall over. It gives the tendrils of worry in Nico's gut room to grow, her eyes flickering down to her watch more and more often. There are people watching over him—she'll know if anything happens. That doesn't mean she'll be able to act in time to stop it.

Her heart has a mind of its own by the time a door creaks open to their left, one no different to the rest of them. It takes everything in Nico's power to remain seated, trying to look the part of perfect prisoner, managing their golden chains as well as everyone else. Her insides seem to coil together as Khione walks out first, talking in hushed tones on her phone, followed closely by Sarain. Neither of them are surprised by the presence of the Sixes in the hallway, but Nico is relieved. It's not just them.

An equally alike security guard is trying to usher them both past as quickly as can be—Nico's eyes flit to the rapidly closing door, a gaggle of what she knows to be the President's closest advisors circling around the table like a flock of vultures. The President herself stands at the head of them, shuffling papers back into a neat pile. They look as if they're recollecting themselves, preparing to start over.

She's supposed to wait, but Nico can't help herself. She lunges up, grabbing a hold of Sarain's sleeve just before she's out of reach. "What the hell is going on?" Nico hisses, drawing the other woman closer to herself, the two of them nearly locked in an embrace they're not close enough to warrant. Sarain isn't close to anyone, really, unless your name is Isa and you're up for screwing around. Literally or otherwise.

Sarain's voice is uneven. That scares her almost more than anything else. "The Games," she says quietly. "They're going to—"

"This way, please," the guard requests, his voice rising to an almost-panicked tone. Sarain manages a noise of frustration before Khione tugs her away. Even Everus has forced himself upright, looking more curious than he has in years.

Knowing she is soon going to have answers does nothing to quell her fears. In one direction, the Fives are pulled away. In the other, the door closes. Nico has a feeling it won't be that way for long before they're brought inside.

Something is happening with the Games. Whatever it is has enough power to rattle even the most unshakeable of them all.

The Games. They're going to what?

Cress Cassidy, 21
District Twelve Mentor

They're going to end the Games.

At least, that's what they're being led to believe. It's not something Cress trusts in the slightest no matter how official it looks.

It still doesn't feel like she was truly in that room earlier, bracketed by Ravi's fearful silence and Vesrin's curious, glimmering eyes. She knew he was thinking the same thing—why did so many of them have to die before they came to this decision? How many more were they going to take before it truly went away for good?

They were told just enough to be placated, the details of which are yet to be ironed out, and somehow she is supposed to be okay with that. Go home once the Games end and not tell her dad, Tarren, Raisa or Ceph. Surely the President isn't so stupid as to think they'll keep their mouths shut for as long as it takes for her to figure it out.

"He's leaving," Ravi says quietly, and Cress blinks into focus long enough to register what's going on on the screen. Aidan drifts down the hill away from the group—they see what is still too far away for him to know. A parachute drifting gently through the sky, awaiting this very moment. She finds Nico across the room, but the other woman is resolutely focused, back to them.

Cress doesn't get the sense Nico would look her in the eye even if she had the chance. It's been coming to this for too long.

There is something terrifying about how fast it happens considering how long they've already waited. The camera doesn't get a good look at the slip of paper Aidan unfurls—he keeps it close to his chest and crumples it before scarcely a second passes. By the time he begins to ascend the hill once again her stomach has opened up into a pit.

The knife is quick, a mere flash of a blade in the light. Just before Aidan draws the knife across Mady's throat her own hand launches out, fingertips brushing against the sleeve of Ravi's coat a hair too slow—he's already on his feet, shoving away from the chair in a manner much too violent for his person.

A hand slams down on her shoulder hard enough to keep her sat in her own chair. "Let him go," Vesrin instructs. On the viewing screen, from the corner of her eye, there's enough blood to warrant the reaction.

If Cress hadn't seen it so many times already, she'd likely be doing the same. "You think that's smart?" she questions, trying to swallow away the lump in her throat. Four runs. Albie takes off stumbling down the hill, but she already knows his fate.

"Give him a minute," he advises. "We all needed one."

Cress is certain she still needs one, but that's no longer her role. She has to be stronger than that, focusing on the hard pressure of Vesrin's calloused hand holding her in place. It hurts just enough to be grounding.

She forces herself to watch the pathetic chase into the woods, all the way until Albie reaches the edge of the concealed pit. He totters for a moment, arms windmilling almost comically about, before he falls with an ear-piercing, animalistic howl. Cress looks down at her lap before the impact occurs, but she hears it. That's enough.

"Now?"

Vesrin releases her. "I'll get started on the preparations. You two can head back upstairs."

She squeezes his hand before it can get too far, but otherwise finds herself fleeing as fast as she possibly can. This part has always been the worst, something Cress has been unable to navigate. The coffins, the bodies, making sure they got home safe… a hysterical part of her figured Ravi would be good at it. She can't even imagine making him look at the two of them now.

Even as she exits the room, she can't help but notice that Nico still won't look at her. Cress probably wouldn't either, if their situations were reversed. She can't even be angry at whatever the note said, the words that spurred Aidan into action. That's just how this is.

She finds Ravi in the adjacent hall, barren to the point that he looks woefully small in the otherwise unoccupied corridor. Instinct tells her to throw herself at his back and squeeze the living daylights out of him, the way she would nearly everyone else in her life, but those instincts are wrong in this case. Cress makes her feet fall deliberately, loud enough that he can prepare himself for her before she eases herself beside him and rests her head briefly against his shoulder.

"Albie?" he asks, head down, eyes shut.

Cress nods, just enough so that he can feel it.

"Who won?"

"Four took off. Might be a few more hours before we know."

He nods, too, solemnly. Steeling himself before he raises his head, blinking hard. There are no tears, but the threat of them is all too worrying.

"The first year is the hardest," she tells him. "Not that I'm the most… shining example of that. You sort of gave me an early break, you know. Probably wasn't due for one for a solid twenty-five, at least."

She doesn't expect him to smile—would be frightened if he did, to be honest. "Lucky you," he says.

"Very lucky," she emphasizes, pressing a little harder into his side. "Might just be us for the next twenty-five."

Unless…

"Do you believe it?" Ravi asks, each word slow and careful. Sometimes it's easy to forget they're being watched, monitored, but not in this wall. Everything is too cold, too informal. There are Peacekeepers outside both doors, eyes everywhere you look. He's learned quickly that nothing you say here can be obvious—he's been better at it from the start, leagues better than Cress herself.

"I want to," she murmurs. "For our sake."

For all of them, really. They've lost too much already, and there's still so much to lose. It's too late for Mady and Albie, of course, and the hundreds of other dead kids the Capitol has shipped back home the past century, but perhaps they will only have a handful of graves left to dig.

To voice that to an undertaker of all people would be a kindness, but that level of hope is dangerous. As much as Cress wants to believe it, she doesn't think the truth will sink in until the day they close that final coffin.

No more reapings. No more Games. No more burials.

As much as it conjures a peaceful future in her mind, no part of it seems real.

So, yeah. That was certainly a break. Kinda funny I called my last chapter 'absentis' ha ha he he.

I can't say I'm surprised because this has literally already happened in the past, but I have convinced myself not to trip over myself apologizing. I'm a human being and occasionally (often) I blue-screen. I can't promise it won't happen in the future. What I can say, with full confidence, is that the rest of this fic will be up very soon! So at least we have that.

Thank-you to everyone who tunes in and those who have always stuck with me, I appreciate you more than you know.

Oh, and also Dyl wrote me the best fic in the world. Go read it please.

Until next time.