Chapter Text
If the Capitol was anything like the train that they sent, Annabeth thought she might have been wrong about Jason lying when he spun tales about the grandeur of it all. The train itself was a feat of craftsmanship, with dark oak-paneled walls and row after row of delicate golden trim. It was a nice change to the stark white power plants puffing out grey smog in District Five. She only wished she were able to see it under different circumstances. It proved difficult, she figured out, to really appreciate it when she was so certain it would be the one and only time she’d be able to.
She still hadn’t seen Jason. She’d been led straight from her room onto the train, where she was sat next to the other tribute with explicit instructions not to do any harm to each other. She didn’t think she would’ve, even if they hadn’t told her. She had no desire to make enemies before she even arrived in the Capitol.
“–Beth?” A voice broke her from her thoughts. The boy beside her must’ve been repeating her name for a while.
“Oh. She blinked, looking at him. His brow was creased in worry lines she thought he might die with. “Sorry?”
“I was asking if you remember me.”
She took the chance to study him. His face was still boyish, with full lips and a crooked nose. She did recognize him, but recognizing and remembering were two fully different things. “I know that I’ve seen you before.” She settled on.
“Well, yeah,” the boy laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were in school together when we were little, then I went to work in the plant.”
Oh. “That’s right.” She nodded. “I remember now. Remind me of your name?”
“Malcolm.”
“Mm,” she hummed. It was coming back to her. A little boy with holes in the toes of his shoes and hand-me-down clothes a few sizes too big. He’d been the youngest of five, and Thalia worked with his sister. “That’s right. It’s nice to see you again.”
He laughed, “Is it? This feels pretty shitty to me.”
That got a chuckle out of her, even though it felt foreign, bubbling up from inside of her. “Yeah, I guess I wish that the circumstances would’ve been different.”
“You and me both,” he grumbled, wringing his hands together.
They sat in comfortable silence until Jason joined them a few minutes later, Piper hot on his heels. His jaw was clenched so tightly that she was worried he’d crack a tooth. “Piper? Would you mind grabbing a few drinks?” He asked gruffly. Piper nodded and scurried over to the bar cart, which was alight with bottles filled with liquids of every color–some Annabeth even thought she might be seeing for the first time. She looked down at the cart blankly before gathering several bottles in her arms and bringing them all over to the table, setting them down with loud clinks.
Jason reached for the one closest to him, a fluorescent green that smelled like apples as he uncorked it and filled his glass. Annabeth followed suit, picking up one filled with swirling pink liquor. She figured she might as well enjoy Capitol offerings while she could. It went down smoothly and warmed her from the inside, a pleasant bite of alcohol taste following instead of the harsh stuff in Five.
“Do you like that?” Piper asked, kaleidoscope-like eyes bearing into her, looking desperate to break the silence. Annabeth had half the mind to ask if they were naturally that color.
Annabeth licked her lips. “I do. It’s sweet.”
“Well, yes.” Piper grinned, pouring her own glass, her voice chipper. “Most liquors are in the Capitol. I’ll make sure you try them all before your games, and maybe we could even–”
“Piper.” Jason cut her off. “We don’t need to worry about getting our tributes drunk.” She didn’t miss that he referred to her as a tribute rather than a sister. “We have bigger things on our plate.”
“Yes.” Piper agreed, a bit bashfully. “Of course. The games.”
Malcolm sighed. “Yeah. The games. You guys got any ideas?”
Jason ran a hand through his hair. “Competition is stiff this year. Lots of heavy hitters, especially from the career districts. That doesn’t mean you don’t have a chance, though. We just need to figure out what you’re made of.”
Annabeth finished her glass and slid it towards Piper for a refill. She did it happily, even when Jason shot her a stern look. “Well?” Annabeth asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You know me. What do you think I’m made of?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Nothing we need to talk about just yet. I would prefer to train you separately.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Malcolm muttered under his breath. The entire table pretended not to notice. He wasn’t wrong. Jason would be picking a favorite tribute this year.
“Well, what advice can you give us?” Annabeth prodded. “I’d prefer to be as prepared as possible.”
Jason frowned into his glass. “The games are tough. You don’t know who you’ll turn into in there. There’s no way to tell. You need to find something hopeful and hang onto it. I don’t care what it is. Family, a girlfriend, a meal you really want to eat again, that goddamn liquor,” he gestured to the group of bottles. “Whatever it is, keep in mind that there’s something waiting for you on the other side, and whatever it is doesn’t care what you have to do to get back to it. Pretend the cameras don’t exist.” Finally, he met her eyes, they were wrought with desperation, and half drooping from exhaustion, “You have to remember that there will always be something waiting. No matter what.”
Over the course of her first week in the Capitol, Annabeth grew to really like Piper. Sure, she was clearly Capitol, with her manicured fingers and bright lipstick, but she seemed truly sympathetic over what was happening as she led Annabeth from place to place, hoisting her onto the parade chariot, and walking her all the way to the door of the training facility. It was comforting to have someone who hadn’t known her before but who was still so deadset on doing right by her. It was why Annabeth was glad to have the company as Piper walked her to her stylist's room, plucked and feeling rather skinless. Her stylists had studied the scars on her hands, frowning as they turned them over, chattering about the best ways to cover them up. In the end, they decided that they’d have a long discussion with her stylist about giving her gloves to wear.
She was dressed simply in a dress whose hem landed uncomfortably high above her knees, and frilly sheer tulle gloves that made the skin between her fingers itch.
“Remember what we talked about,” Piper said, hurrying her through the halls, shouldering past other tributes and stylists. For such a petite woman, Piper had no issue bowling over people in her path. “Jason's win last year can be an advantage or a disadvantage. It’s all in how you swing it.” She knew that already. They’d spent the entire exhausting day before discussing what to do about it. They’d settled on neutral. Confident enough to remind the audience that she’d been raised around last year’s reigning victor, and innocent acting enough for the careers not to target her any more than she knew they already planned to.
Her training score should help her. She’d (in her eyes, and at Jason’s firm direction) underperformed. She was lethal with a knife. Growing up on the streets of a struggling district had forced her to be. She could throw with deadly aim and gut a rabbit with no more than a flick of her wrist. She hadn’t shown the gamemakers much: a few tosses that hit the target on the outer rings, and a knotted trap Thalia taught her. They’d seemed unimpressed enough for her to have gotten away with him. She was given an eight. The audience could still root for her, but she wouldn’t be expected as a prodigy. Not like Jason, with his set jaw and astounding ten. She still didn’t know what he’d done to earn one so high.
The first few interviews of the night were painfully similar to how they went every year. Both tributes from one took the “tough guy” approach. Two gloated, Three scurried around the stage like they were nervous, and the boy from Four did his best impression of Finnick Odair’s charisma without any luck. The audience seemed bored, which Annabeth hoped could work out in her favor.
Before she knew it, it was her name being called. She steadied herself on her heels, reminding herself that it wasn’t much different than walking on her tippy-toes, and strutted onto the stage to thunderous Capitol applause. She knew that her entrance was anticipated. Everyone was fascinated by her and Jason’s dynamic, and he was well-loved by his patrons.
The lights were so blindingly white that she had to blink a few times to see Caesar’s shiny pink hair and the little lights dazzling his night-sky navy suit. His smile wasn’t much dimmer.
“Annabeth, so very nice to meet you!” He exclaimed, overly happy to see a stranger.
“You too.” She replied kindly. Jason wasn’t known for his charisma, instead as rather stoic and untouchable. It had given him an edge, but Annabeth had chosen a different route. She thought she would just come off as unlikable. “Jason’s told me a lot about you.”
“Oh!” Caesar chimed, clapping his hands together, “How lovely! You know I knew that boy was going to win the second he stepped onstage.”
“Yeah?” She asked coyly. “And what about me?”
If Caesar was taken by her bluntness, he didn’t let it show, letting a conspiratorial grin grow on his face: “Well, Miss Chase, I’m meant to be impartial.”
“Alright, I understand.” She winked. The audience cheered. She had them right where she needed them. She needed to be nice and likeable, but also clever enough to hold her own. She wouldn’t be a victor just because she was related to one. She’d be a victor because she was willing to do what it took. She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t let herself.
“Now, Miss Chase, your brother took home his victory in what truly was a breathtaking arena.” It had been. Mountain views and poppies, and mutts that tore your body to shreds. It had broken a record for the most deaths because of mutts in a single game, with nearly half of the tributes being mangled by them. “Has he given you any pointers for your games that you’d be willing to share?”
“Hm,” she pretended to think, “No big secrets that I can give away just yet, but I do know that I’ve got lots of tricks up my sleeve. It’s going to be a good year.”
“I’m sure.” Caesar nodded. “If you’re anything like your brother, we’re in for a real treat!” The buzzer interrupted them, and she hurried off the stage to thunderous applause. She already had a fanbase because of Jason, and she felt like the interview had gone well enough to grow it.
“Great job!” Piper exclaimed, wrapping her in a feathery hug. “Really, they loved you.” She lowered her voice and leaned in so closely that Annabeth could smell the scent of the colorful alcohol she’d been supping on, “Even some of the other escorts were talking about how charming you are. I think everyone was worried you’d be a statue like Jason was–”
“Your ass at whispering.” Jason interrupted, sarcasm dripping from his tone. Piper jumped back, flustered.
“Oh, I’m sorry–”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, shaking his head. It took a lot more than that to offend him.
“Good job, Annabeth.”
She tugged at the bottom of her dress, doing what she could to pull it lower. “You think so?”
“Oh yeah, they were eating out of your hand.” He rubbed the back of his neck, likely massaging the tension from it like he did when he was stressed. He’d done it since he was a boy, but never so much as he had in the past year. “I’ve already got calls for sponsorships coming in. They’re small–the bigger buyers will take more convincing, but it’s a start. In the arena, anything helps.”
She felt something turn in her stomach; she couldn’t tell if it was pride or disgust over the fact that people were betting on her the same way they bet on chickens in a cockfight. She spared a glance at the monitor, where Malcolm was just finishing his own interview. “What about Malcolm?” She asked tentatively. He’d been a nervous wreck before the interview, and although they’d practiced together, he’d never gotten through a full round without stuttering or messing up his cues.
Jason sighed. “Malcolm…” He chewed the inside of his cheek. "Malcolm’s a good guy.”
“But?”
He glanced at Piper, who was suddenly transfixed by her shoes. Annabeth didn’t like the idea that they’d been strategizing behind her back. “But I don’t know how much you should rely on him during your games.”
She blinked. “Why not? He’s smart, he’s been working at the plant since he was a kid–”
“Smart alone won’t do it.” Jason said. “You have to be smart, strong, resilient, and about a hundred other things. You’ve got what it takes, and I don’t think he does. It’s simple.”
“It’s not that simple,” she gritted out. In the back of her mind, she agreed with him. Malcolm was clean-cut and jittery. She really didn’t know if he could take a life, even if it was threatening his own. Still, he was good, and not much older than her, and had just as much of a life to return to as she did. Siblings, parents, and people who really counted on him. It wasn’t fair for Jason to write him off before he had a chance to prove himself.
“You don’t have to listen to me.” Jason said sternly, “Though I’d recommend it. All I’m telling you is that I’ve got people begging to sponsor you, and if I start trying to have them sponsor Malcolm too, you’ll lose them. And I’m not doing that to you.”
“That’s not fair to him,” she argued weakly, knowing that with Jason as their mentor, poor Malcolm would’ve never gotten a fair chance. If she died first, she wasn’t even sure that Jason would keep up the gig.
“It isn’t.” Jason agreed. “But you’re my sister, and I’m going to do what it takes to get you home. No matter what.” She might’ve been reading too far into it, but she almost heard a twinge of guilt in his tone.
She opened her mouth to reply, but Malcolm was walking up to them, drying his hands on the tops of his trousers. “Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey Malcolm,” She smiled. “You did great.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
“You did well, Malcolm,” Jason chimed in. “We wanted them to think you were smart enough to survive, and they did. That’s all that matters. They don’t have to like you.”
“It helps,” Malcolm grumbled. Annabeth wondered if he knew how unfavorable his odds were. He probably did. She didn’t know if many non-career tributes even expected to make it past the bloodbath.
“It does,” Jason said. “But it doesn’t make or break a victor. Look at Johanna Mason. Half the Capitol thought she was a crybaby, and now she can curse out the whole city and people still want to be her.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Malcolm said, shaking off his nerves. “You’re right.”
“I always am,” Jason replied, even though his eyes were on Annabeth, conveying a silent message. See? His look seemed to say. He doesn’t have what it takes. You just have to make peace with that.
If she survived her games, which seemed more and more unlikely every time she stepped foot into the training facility and caught sight of the District 2 and District 4 boys fighting like animals, with strength and agility that would surely crush her, she didn’t know how much peace she’d have left. At least Jason would have company in his sleepless nights.
When she was a kid, she’d had a dog. It wasn’t really her pet, since she lived on the street, but it followed her around, and she fed it scraps when she could. She loved that mangy thing, and when it had died–probably from old age, judging by the milky film over its eyes and the grey fur on its snout- Annabeth had been so distraught that she hadn’t been able to look at its body. She wondered how she would kill a person. How she would ever get over the thought that they had been someone’s Annabeth. She probably wouldn’t.
“Alright, kids,” Jason said, frowning at the monitor. “You guys need to get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”
“Shouldn’t we watch the rest of the interviews?” Malcolm asked, and Jason shook his head.
“They’ll only make you nervous. Besides, almost no one gives away anything during them. I’ll watch and let you know if anything important comes up. Your sleep is more important.”
“Alright,” Annabeth said easily. Even though nervousness threatened to swallow her when she thought about the next day, she was exhausted and knew she wouldn’t be getting a good night’s rest again for a while. “You’ll get us up in time for breakfast tomorrow.”
“I will.” Jason nodded.
She stood underground in the getting-ready area where Jason had left her. Their goodbye hadn’t been as tearful as she thought it would be. Jason had a cool determination about himself, like her win was inevitable. Like there was something he could do on the other side to get her out. Annabeth thought of herself as more of a realist. Sure, sponsor gifts helped, but at the end of the day, it would be up to her to get herself out.
When he had just gotten through with his Victory tour, Jason had told her about how before he went into the arena, he made a mental list of things that he would die before he would do, to ensure that he never went too far in order to ensure his survival. Annabeth didn’t think she could make any promises like that to herself. She had a desperation to survive. A longing that had kept her alive through her hungry childhood and scary teenage years. She’d been living like an animal for too long, desperate and scrappy, and she didn’t know how far she would go.
Her stylist circled her, scanning the suit she’d been given up and down. It was simple: a plain black shirt tucked into cargo pants. Her stylist seemed unable to make heads or tails of it. “Not a tundra, I know that,” she tutted, rolling the sleeve of the shirt between her manicured fingers. “Not anywhere too hot, either. They wouldn’t use cotton if it were.” She continued thinking out loud. “I’d say it would be a forest of some sort, but the shoes aren’t sturdy enough. They wouldn’t perform well on rocks, either.”
Annabeth didn’t like the sound of the unknown arena, and her heart was pounding with ideas of what it could be up until the moment she stepped foot onto the rising platform. She’d never gotten on it herself, but she’d seen plenty of tributes rise through the tunnels over the years, blinking in the sun of whatever torturous arena the gamemakers had thought up. As her chute began to rise, though, no sun shone through. The darkness was unchancing, to the point that Annabeth was wondering if there’d been some sort of malfunction. That was, of course, until the robotic voice began the countdown, and a row of torches was lit, dully illuminating the twisting hallways of an endless labyrinth.