Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CORIOLANUS SNOW I

THE CAPITOL

THE EVENING BEFORE THE REAPING

The sun is beginning to set over the city skyline and into the mountains. Taking a sip of his wine, Cornelius Snow watches as the lights of the Capitol glow in the twilight and the city comes to life. The drink burns against the sores of his mouth, a pain all to familiar to him. It had grown easier to ignore over the years. At times, he even found himself lazily dragging his tongue over them without even realizing.

The Reaping will occur soon. In two days time, twenty-four fresh faces will greet his at the opening ceremony and, in a few short weeks, one of them will emerge the Victor. The thought brought a wicked pearly white smile to his face. They’d been lucky these past couple of years. The last few Victors have been deemed Gods on earth by Capitol Citizens. Each one a beautiful in their own right, bringing more revenue than he could have dreamed. Well, most of them.

It's not like when he was a boy. When the games were more of a free for all than a show and the Victors were never heard from again. The Gamemakers in these years had learned how to give the citizens what they wanted. A story. A story filled with romance, friendship, backstabbing, betrayal, and, finally, victory.

"President Snow," He hears his secretary say behind him, "Bellona Euvandrus is here to see you."

"Send her in," He tells him. Bellona Euvandrus has been the Head Gamemaker for the past several years with her arenas spawning the best line up of Victors the Capitol's ever seen. However, after the events of last year, it doesn't appear as though she and the President are on the same page anymore.

"You requested to see me, sir?” She asks, making her presence known. Wordlessly, The President gestures to the empty seat next to him.

“I don’t want a repeat of last year.” He announces once she’s sat down. He looks over to see her face glaze over.

“No one predicted that Finnick Odair would do away with his competition so swiftly.” She repeated in defense of herself for what seemed like the hundredth time. He slams his glass down so hard that the majority of the wine spills out of the sides and onto the table. He watches her body jerk in surprise.

“I don’t recall asking for your predictions, Euvandrus! Millions of dollars wasted on an arena that majority of went unexplored,” He shouts, bloody saliva flying out of his mouth, “Not to mention the money we wasted on unused muttations. And for what? A Victor I can’t even sell for another year! The fact that your head isn’t hanging on my mantle is a blessing in and of itself!”

To her credit, Euvandrus doesn’t appear to be as raddled as another would be by his outburst. After working together for so many years, it is only expected that she’d have grown accustomed to these frequent fits of rage. He swallows the blood that had gathered in his mouth as attempts to he regains his composure.

“What are the steps you’ve made to ensure we don’t see the same thing this year?” He questions in a forced calm as an avox wipes down the table and another refills his glass.

“We’ve decided to redo one of the older arenas that hasn’t received any visitations from the general public in years.” she informs as another avox hands her a drink. “It’ll save costs and, after the games, bring us more money than it was just sitting there taking up space.”

He nods slowly, “Which one?”

“The frozen tundra from the 49th games.” He raises a white eyebrow at this. What a travesty that arena had been. It raked up the largest number of tribute deaths at the bloodbath than ever before in the history of the games. Those that did survive either froze to death or were killed by a pack of wild wolf mutts. The games didn’t sit well with Capitol viewers but, lucky enough, they preceded a Quarter Quell and were quickly forgotten.

“Improvements have been made.” She rushes out once seeing the look on his face, “A woodland modification has been installed along with alterations to the weather machine allowing for it to be warm enough during the day for the travel of the tributes.”

He nods at her words, “I want a usable victor.”

“That can be arranged.” She assures him, knowing the underlying message of his words. Despite the popularity of their newest Victor, Finnick Odair, he is still unusable for ‘escorting’ for another year. They’d managed to make some money off of him from interviews, appearances, and photoshoots but that’s nothing compared to what they could be making if he were just another year older.

“I want to give the people a show this year, Euvandrus.” he says, “A true show.”

“Trust me, sir,” She starts with a menacing smile, “The people are in for quite a performance.”

Chapter Text

LACELEAF I

DISTRICT 12

ONE NIGHT BEFORE THE REAPING

The day before the reaping is always filled with more tension than the day of. It’s the last day of normalcy. Laceleaf Jaeger didn’t like to think about it much. Neither did her mother Rooba. Rooba Jaeger was a strong woman, but there were some things even she couldn’t handle. Her children being reaped while all she could do was watch was at the top of that list.

Rooba Jaeger made it through twelve years worth of reapings and didn’t lose a single one of her boys and, after this one, her daughter would finally be safe as well. Lace had always figured they were luckier. Despite living in Panem’s most impoverished district, the matriarch of the Jaeger family had made a life for her family as the District’s butchers.

District 12 is small enough for the family to not have much competition when it came to business, allowing for the Jaegers to join the few people of the mining district not to be permanently covered in coal dust.

“I feel like I’m doing all the work.” Lace hears her brother, Pax’s, strained voice complain. She realizes she’d been letting her half of the deer carcass drag along the ground. She hoists her side up.

“All the work?” she questions, “I could have sworn I was the one who shot an arrow threw its head.”

“Details, details.” he responds. Their mother was going to be pleased. She hated having to haggle prices down at the Hob. The deer would bring them a good profit and, if they were lucky, relieve some of the tension that had settled in their house.

They continued to hide in the shadows and duck behind trash cans as they made their way back to the shop. Peacekeepers are rather laid back in District 12 but pooching is still illegal and punishable by public whipping. No need in tempting fate by flaunting their blatant crime.

The siblings eventually found their way through the back entrance of the shop, the sound of rapid chopping and smell of meat instantly filling their senses.

“Brought you a present, Ma.” Pax jokes as they lay the carcass down on the table. She lets out a grunt of acknowledgement and barely looks up from her chopping as she says, “There’s some dishes in the sink waiting for you, Pax, and clean off the arrow you’s used while your at it.”

Pax sucks his teeth but does as told, snatching the used arrow out of the deer’s eye. Typically, washing up the dishes was Lace’s job, however, their mother had always became more lenient with her kids who are facing the possibility of being reaped. Since it’s only Lace this year, she’d practically become a Capitol Heiress while her brothers were nothing but avoxes expected to wait on her every need.

“I washed your dress for tomorrow, Laceleaf.” Her mother tells her, “It’s on your bed.”

“Thanks, Ma.” She responds, placing a kiss on her cheek. She places the bow and arrows in the cabinet before joining her brother at the sink.

“Has her majesty actually has deigned herself to help us lower folk out for a change?” He mumbles to her and she splashes some water on his shirt.

“Shut up, Pax,” she brushes him off, “This time last year your feet barely touched the ground.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t respond. For the past six years, her brother would act like he was practically bound for the arena despite his low odds. Still, their mother and father waited on him hand and foot along with making their elder brothers, Jared and Moose, act as his personal servants.

“Are you nervous?” He asks her suddenly, midway through finishing the dishes. His voice devoid of all traces of his usual sarcasm and replaced with one of seriousness. The question catches her off guard. It takes her a few moments to respond,

“I’m not sure.” she answers, “Just trying not to think about it.”

“On the bright side, after this year, we won't have to worry about this for awhile.” he breathes and she nods in agreement, not mentioning the unspoken words lingering between them. Jared, the eldest of the Jaeger children, has a five year old daughter named Lottie and another baby on the way. Why Jared would even have children in a world like this was beyond her. He’s such an idiot.

“Why don't you two head upstairs for the night?” Their mother says out of nowhere. She and Pax turn to face her but all they are met with is her back. “I'll finish up down here.”

“You sure, Ma?” Pax asks, “We don’t mind.”

“It's fine. Big day tomorrow. You’ll both need your rest.” She mutters. They say nothing else as they make their way up the stairs, knowing there’s no use in pushing the matter. Their house, like most other merchants in the area, resided in an apartment above their shop. What once felt so spacious as to Lace as a child now felt as though the walls were falling in around them.

Lace’s eldest brother, Jared, had to move back in along with his pregnant wife and daughter. Their parents said that they needed some space of their own. That they were too old to have to share a room with anyone.

‘They’re too old to still be living at home,’ Lace had thought knowing it was a mean thing to even think. She had to move into Pax and her other brother, Moot's room. She tried not to complain. Her parents work hard and it's not (entirely) Jared’s fault that his family fell on hard times. However, she would give anything to not have to listen to Pax and Moot’s loud snoring every night.

Moot’s asleep by the time they enter the room and Lace’s does her best not to wake him. The same can’t be said for Pax who stomps around the room noisily as he changes his clothes.

She can’t find it in her to do the same. So, instead, she lays down in her bed in the same clothes she’d been wearing all day that still smell strongly of the woods.

The blankets shifts next to her and suddenly she is face to face with wide brown eyes.

“Couldn't sleep, Lottie?” She says and her niece lets out a tiny giggle. It wasn't an unfamiliar thing to find Lottie waiting for her in her bed. Lottie was the best thing, if not the only good thing about Jared moving back in.

“Daddy was snoring again.” she says.

“Louder than Uncle Moot?” Lace wonders and she shakes her head yes in response. Lace wraps her arms around her and pulls her tiny body in close.

She lays there for awhile just listening to the sound of her niece’s breathing. She can’t imagine what she’ll do in a few years when it’s Lottie’s life on the line and not hers. What if Lottie is reaped? What will be done to save her? It’s not like their district had the best track record with winning. District 12’s only ever had two Victors. Haymitch Abernathy, the drunkard of whom Lace occasionally saw slinking into Victor’s Village, and Tully McKinnon, that mean old witch who finally had the decency to die a few years back.

“Promise not to leave tomorrow, okay?” she hears Lottie mumble quietly into her chest. She wasn't aware she was still awake. Lace can't find it in my heart to respond. Promising not to leave could turn out to be a lie. So, instead, she places a kiss to her niece’s head and hold onto her tight.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..

Minutes pass like seconds as the Mayor stands at the podium and reads the same story he should probably have memorized at this point. America. War. Fire. Storms. Droughts. Ever growing seas. And, eventually, a shining beacon of hope known as The Capitol. Lace barely paid attention to it anymore. It wasn’t like it was ever going to change.

“Happy Hunger Games!” A sultry voice announces, “And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

Antonia Belarus’s time as District 12’s escort is almost up. While some districts appeared to have the same escort for years on end, District 12’s changes like the seasons. Antonia’s not so bad. Lace could recall their escort from a few years ago who’s un-human like appearance and sickly sweet voice sent chills down her spine. Antonia was a bit more tamed. Well, at least by Capitol standards.

“Since the ladies went first last year,” Antonia’s words come out like silk, “Why don’t we start with the gentlemen?”

Lace can’t help but roll her eyes at the casualty in Antonia’s speech as the woman reaches into the gigantic ball stuffed to the brim with names. Lace can’t help but breathe a slight sigh of relief when the name that is drawn is not someone she knows. However, she can’t help the slight shot of guilt that runs through her as a twelve year old boy, who looks like a strong gust of wind would blow him away, takes the stage. No one claps. They never do when they’re that young.

She remembers when she was younger and all her brothers were of reaping age. How’d she cross her fingers and pray that their names wouldn’t be called. Hopefully, they’re doing the same for her right now.

“Now for the ladies?” Antonia asks as though there’s an actual choice as she reaches her hand into the other ball. Lace looks out to where her family is lined at the perimeter, under the mounted cameras. She briefly makes eye contact with Pax. His face is solemn but he doesn’t hesitate to send a reassuring wink her way. She jokingly sticks her tongue out at him. It’s almost over.

“Laceleaf Jaeger!”

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

LACELEAF II

DISTRICT 12

DAY OF THE REAPING

Lace has been inside the Justice Building before. She use to be so excited to see the most beautiful building in the District. When they were younger, and the summer days were unforgiving, she and Pax would go there and pretend as though they were going to sign up for tesserae just to feel the air conditioning for a couple of hours. They’d ride the elevator up and down. They’d race through the halls. Play pranks on the unsuspecting Peacekeepers. She never realized how much she misses those days.

The Justice Building has lost its beauty. The room they’ve put her in would have marveled her as a child. Deep carpets, flowing drapes, velvet couches and chairs. But now it bears a striking resemblance to a stockyard.

She hasn’t cried. She thought the tears would be flowing by now but they just won’t come. They aren’t even beginning to well in her eyes. She just feels...numb. Her mother and father come in her first. Her mother’s not crying either but Lace knows why. If Rooba Jaeger cries, they will all cry and what will that accomplish?

Her father is different. He cries openly. He holds her so tight in his arms that she feels like she might break. He keeps whispering how much he loves her into her hair. She can feel it growing wet. Her mother holds her as well and soon they’re all holding each other up.

“You come back to us, girl,” her mother demands firmly, “I mean it!”

She can do nothing but nod silently at the nearly impossible request. They’re soon ushered out and it takes everything in her not to cling onto them for life. Jared and his family are next. Her niece, Lottie, comes running in first, jumping straight into Lace’s arms.

“You promised!” The little girl cries, “You promised you wouldn’t leave! Now you’re never going to come back! They never come back!”

It’s then that she feels the tears beginning to form and she quickly blinks them away. She can cry tonight on the train but right now she has to be strong. She kisses her niece’s cheek and apologizes for breaking the promise she couldn’t keep. Jared has to pull Lottie off of her when it is time for them to go. Her brother gives her one last look as they are escorted out of the room.
‘I love you,’ he mouths.

‘I love you too,’ she replies.

They bring Moot in next. He wastes no time with tears and ‘I love you.’ They talk only strategy.

“Get a bow and some arrows,” he instructs, “Find high ground and start picking them off one by one. Stick to the trees. You can live off the bark. Only come down for water.”

“The arena might not have a bow,” she informs him, “Remember the year where they only had maces?”

“Make your own.” He replies, “You know how. That’ll earn you bonus points with the sponsors and place you higher in the betting. It’s not just about who’s the strongest. It’s who can outlast the rest. Remember, if you’re unsure about a certain root or berry don’t risk it. You can survive without food for a couple of weeks. And, if need be, don’t risk the Cornucopia either. Just run off. Got it?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out before giving him a hug.

He kisses the top of her head, “You got this, Laceleaf.”

Pax comes in last. He doesn’t say anything at first and neither does she. They just stare at each other. She can’t help but study his features that are so similar to hers. The same head full of curly blonde hair. The same deep green eyes. The same cheekbones. The same freckles. The same nose. The ears. She remembers a time when they were children and the kids at school thought they were twins. She didn’t see it then. Hell, she didn’t see it before now.

“Stop looking at me like that!” He shouts suddenly, startling her.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to save me to your memory!” He closes the distance between and, again, she is pulled into a tight embrace, “You’re coming back!”

Whatever dam that was holding back her tears suddenly burst. Her hands cling desperately to the back of his shirt. She’s not sure when he starts to cry or when her body rakes in sobs. When they finally do pull apart, he takes off the bracelet their parents bought him for his nineteenth birthday. It’s made from real black leather that’s been woven in an intricate criss cross pattern. There’s writing on it. Some lost language they’ll never understand but is still beautiful to look at.

“Ma and Pop paid a heavy penny for this,” he sniffs as he hooks it around her wrist, “I want it back. Promise I'll get it back?”

“Pax...”

“Promise me!” He demands as he places his on her shoulders and shakes.

“I promise.”

Lace and Pax spent the rest of their few moments together doing their best to make sure it didn’t look like she had been crying before he's shuffled out the room. The Peacekeepers then place her in a car and she's taken off to the train station. The train station’s swarming with reporters. The last thing she needs is to look like the scared child that she is. She smiles for the cameras and blows kisses at the reporters. Most people think the games start in the arena but Lace knows the games began the second her name was called.

Apparently, no one ever informed her district partner, Whent, about this. He’s small for his age with the darker looks and skinny built of every other Seam kid. He doesn’t even come up to her shoulders but he pushes through the crowd of reporters with the ferocity of a boy three times his size.

“No more pictures!” He screeches as he runs ahead of Lace and onto the train. Lace shrugs at the confused crowd before giving them a final hair flip and following behind Whent. It moves almost immediately after they get on. They’re each given their own private chambers that’s equipped with a bedroom, private bathroom, a dressing area, and more clothes than Lace had ever seen in her life. Antonia advies her to change before dinner. She hasn’t seen Haymitch Abernathy since leaving the Reaping Stage and, by the looks of it, it didn’t look like she’s going to.

The first time he does make an appearance is at supper. He reeks of alcohol and eats his food savagely. She can’t help but notice how annoyed Antonia is by this though she doesn’t say it. Antonia Belarus looks different up close. She’s still beautiful and young. She’s not as crazy looking as some of the other Capitol citizens Lace has seen over the years. Still, Lace spends most of dinner trying to count the number of plastic surgeries she thinks the woman has had. She’s definitely had a nose job and her breasts sit a little to flawlessly to be natural.

“It’s impolite to stare,” Antonia’s smooth voice states. Lace hadn’t realized how obvious her staring has been.

“Sorry,” she blushes, her eyes returning down to the food on her plate.

“It’s impolite to send children off to their deaths!” Her young district partner screams at the top of his lungs. He pushes most his dining ware off the table before running out of the compartment leaving the rest of them in a shocked silence.

“Imma go talk ta him,” Haymitch slurs out before stumbling out in the same direction as Whent. Lace wants to go after her young partner. Try and offer some words of comfort to him but she doesn’t. She can’t get close to him. She knows that if she does then she might as well kiss the thought of going home goodbye.

“We should go watch the Reaping recap.” Antonia says after a few minutes of deafening quiet.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Haymitch?”

“Trust me, he’s not coming back.” They have to go to a separate compartment to watch the recap. She sits next to Antonia and together they watch her competitors take the stage. Lace takes notes of everything. The tributes, the escorts, the mentors. District 1 has volunteers (per usual). The girl’s pretty but her pretty is completely overshadowed by her hulking beast of a district partner. If Whent looks to young to even have his name in the reaping ball, then this man surely has to be way too old to volunteer.

She’s surprised when she feels her District escort take her hand in hers and says, “Just because he’s big doesn’t mean the games are his. Anyone can win.”
Lace feels herself nodding and grips onto Antonia’s hand tighter as they watch the rest of the reapings. The tributes from District Two, while volunteers, don’t seem as physically formidable as they usually do nor are they anywhere near as big as the boy from District 1. Still, she’s heard the rumors of the ‘special academy’ that District Two is infamous for and can tell by the cold look in their eyes that the pair from Two are far more deadly than they appear.

There are few more notable reapings. They boy from District Four is the first non volunteer that looks as though he stands a real chance and the girl from District Seven could rival any career tribute. The pair from District Ten both stand strong while the girl from District Eleven has an unmatched determination in her eyes.

Finally, they get to District 12. She watches as Whent stomps up the steps of the stage looking as though he’s ready to pounce at any given moment. She watches as Antonia announce her name and the image she sees nearly makes her fall out her seat. They focus on her sticking her tongue out at the camera.

“Well, someone certainly thinks she can win!” one of the commentators jokes as other laughs in agreement.

“That’s not what happened.” Lace sputters out, “I was sticking my tongue out at Pax. Not the camera and it was before my name was even called!”

“It makes you seem confident.” Antonia assures her, “The sponsors will like that.”

“And the other tributes will kill me for it.”

After she recaps over, she finds Whent on the way back to her room. He’s curled up in a ball on one of the plush silk couches. She knows she needs to ignore him. Just head to her room and go to sleep. The boy has to look out for himself if he is ever gonna stand a chance in these games. But that thought doesn’t stop her from taking a seat next to him.

“You missed the reaping recap,” are the only words she can manage to get out.

He doesn’t even look up as he responds. “Imma see ‘em soon nuff.”

They don’t say anything after that. Whent keeps his head buried in his arms and Lace sits quietly beside him. To his credit, he doesn’t cry. He hasn’t looked like he’s exhibited much emotion other than anger and when he finally does remove his head from his hiding spot, the expression written on his face is far from sadness. His dark gray eyes hold an emotion that should be foreign to a boy his age and it makes Lace want to cry for the both of them.

“I hate ‘em!” he cries, jumping up out of the seat, “I hate ‘em all! I hate Antonia! I hate Haymitch! I hate the Capitol! And I hate you!”

Lace can do nothing but watch as, once again, the boy runs off into the next compartment leaving her alone with her thoughts. She can’t find it in her to return back to her silent room. She suddenly wants nothing more than the obnoxiously loud sound of her brother’s snoring. So, instead, she lies down on the expensive Capitol sofa and let’s the hum of the speeding train lull her to sleep knowing that there won’t be many nights like this left.

Chapter Text

ENOBARIA I

THE CAPITOL

NIGHT BEFORE THE TRIBUTE PARADE

Enobaria looks out the window and onto the city that never seems to sleep. The people below seem so happy. So content. So uncaring that twenty three children would meet their fate in only a few short days. The ferocity and aggression of the people of her district is often spoken about as though it is their nature from birth but even they don’t take such joyful delight in the slaughter of children. The Games are a necessary evil to the people of District 2. Not a true means of entertainment as it is for the Capitol.
She sighs. The Training Center is unbearably quiet the night before the Tribute Parade. Most of the other tributes wouldn’t arrive until the following day. The only Districts ever there the night before are Districts 1 and 2. District 1. Enobaria knows that tomorrow she’ll be forced to be sure that she and District 1’s mentors are on the same page this year. The last thing any of them needs is a repeat of last year’s games.

“Ajax! Pomena! We’re starting the reaping recap with or without you!” Her fellow mentor, Tassos, shouts for their tributes.

“Still speaking to them like they’re children?” She jokes, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She makes no move to turn and face him as he goes to stand next to her. He towers over her as most men do. For a brief moment, she considers knocking him down to remind him of who’s really in charge. Perhaps, if they were back home, she would have. But this is the Capitol where their childish games will not stand.

“One of them will earn the title of man or woman when they exit the Arena,” he states, matter of factly. “Until then they are a boy and a girl no different from their fellow tributes.”

“Just years of training under their belt.”

“If years of training meant anything here then we’d bring home a tribute every year wouldn’t we?” He poses. She knows he is right but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of her agreement. It is true. District 2 has the largest pool of Victors but they don’t win every year. There’s arena always throws a curb ball their way. The early breakdown of the career alliance. A contamination of the water source. Little to no food. Rabid muttations. A golden trident. Something.

“And look who has finally decided to join us!” Tassos mocks as their tributes, Ajax and Pomena, finally enter the room. They could almost pass as siblings or, at the very least, cousins. They stand around the same height with the same midnight hair, piercing dark eyes, and olive tone skin. The two didn’t look like the tall and foreboding careers that their tributes that their district produced year after year but, then again, neither had Enobaria during her games. It could work in their favor. The sponsors won’t think much of them at first. Not until the training scores are out. Then they’ll prove the might of District 2.

“Have you started the recap with us?” The girl, Pomena, jokes as she plops down in one of the five arm chairs that face the television. She isn’t nearly as big as their usual stock of female tributes. A bit easier on the eyes as well. Well, at least to Enobaria she is. Most of their girls have permanent scowl etched onto their face even Enobaria herself. But Pomena seems to always have a smile playing on her lips and a glint of mischief in her eyes. If she’d been from District 1, that would have worked in her favor but Pomena is a daughter of District 2 and was trained to be a killing machine in the arena. Not a good night in the bed.

“Don’t test us, little girl!” Enobaria snaps with no real threat behind it as she sits down in the seat beside her. Pomena winks before turning her attention to the screen and Enobaria figures she’s going to have to teach the girl a lesson after the recap. Tassos raises an eyebrow at her as he and Ajax take their seats. She ignores him. It’s none of his business.

The reaping recap starts with District 1, per usual. The screen shows images of one of The Capitol’s favorites. District 1 better known as the place where the sun never stops shining. Their ceremony is a celebration yet much more uncivilized than the celebration in District 2. There are no formal volunteers in District 1 just an unorganized rush to the stage before the Capitol Escort’s hand can even leave the reaping ball. The first to reach the stage this year is a blonde girl. Fast. Beautiful. And a clear favorite for the sponsors.

“I don’t like her.” Pomena states, glaring at the screen as the girl announces her name into the mic. Something stupid and typical of District 1.

“Because she pretty?” Enobaria inquires as she watches the screen less intensely as her.

“Because she’s blonde.” She replies simply as the boys of District 1 repeat the mad dash to the stage. The male tribute for that year is clear. The cameras focus on a boy who is nearly the same size as Tassos who makes his way from the eighteen year old section viciously knocking many out of his way.
“He may prove to be a problem.” Enobaria finds herself admitting as they watched the screen in a tense silence as the boy found his way onto the stage.

“For some.” Pomena shrugs smugly.

“He’s slow and lacks balance.” Ajax speaks for the first time with casual indifference. He looks so relaxed despite the tense circumstances. If Enobaria didn’t know any better, she’d have thought it was an act but she knew that boy from the second he was first brought to District 2’s Training Center, the place where all District 2 orphans were brought to train for the Games. A little boy of only eleven years old, Ajax de Cabana came to the Training Center covered from head to toe in blood that wasn’t his own. She wanted him as her own tribute trainee the second she saw him but Tassos got him first, “Eliminating him will be simple for me.”

“What have I taught you about complacency, boy?” Her fellow mentor barks at his tribute, hits him upside the head.

“There’s never a ground for it.” The boy repeats as though for the hundredth time, “Well, unless your opponent is a District 1 dimwit.”

The recap for their district follows. The commentators harped on how short Ajax was compared to their usual stock of tributes. She thinks the boy would be angered by the clear disrespect but he laughs as though it is the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
“Guess I’ll have to show them in the arena.” He jokes and Enobaria could help but smirk. She has witnessed first hand what happens to people that underestimate Ajax and none of them are still around to tell the tale.

The commentators place most of their attention on Pomena during the recap.

“A child of two Hunger Games Victors?” The female commentator gasped with delight, “Has there ever been another?”

There has been but no one in the room dares to mention it.

“Pomena Diaz,” The other commentator stated with excitement, “The daughter of Hunger Games Victors Aridius Diaz and Jocasta Lovato. That’s a lot to live up to. Do you think she can handle it?”

“She can handle it just fine.” Pomena answers as though the commenters could hear her. Her tone was fierce. Angry. Being the child of a Hunger Games Victor means living your life permanently in the shadows. Enobaria Salazar knows it all too well.

District 3’s reaping passes in a blur. As expected, their tributes look like a strong gust of wind would take them down. That what happens when you shoved your children in laboratories instead of teaching them to wield a sword. The District 4 male is the first non volunteer to look as though he stands a real chance. He’s big. Not as big as the man from District 1 but certainly bigger than Ajax. He walks to the stage with a haughty look of annoyance rather than fear as if everyone was beneath him. Most, if not all, non volunteers could never accomplish a look like that but District 4 has never been like the other districts.

“He looks just like Finnick Odair!” The female commentator on the TV squeals.

Pomena growls, “And that makes him number one on my kill list.”

“Get in line, Diaz.” Ajax responds in a similar tone. District 4 had made a mockery of their district the year before. Both of their tribute betrayed by their fellow careers during the bloodbath in a twist of events spearheaded by Finnick Odair and his bitch of a district partner. Enobaria can remember vividly when Odair came to their district on his victory tour. The anger in the air was palpable. No one clapped. Not for a boy like him.

“Work on dismantling whatever alliance District 4 may have with each other.” She finds herself saying as the female tribute from four made her way to the stage looking far too similar to Odair’s district partner for Enobaria’s liking. Perhaps it was fixed. Odair and his partner caused quite a commotion in the Capitol last year. Maybe they hoped for a repeat of that same excitement for the 66th Games.

“Can’t we just get rid of them during the Bloodbath?” Ajax poses with a twisted smile as the screen moved onto District 5, “You know, return the favor from last year?”

As much as she loves the sound of that she knows it’s unrealistic. While she didn’t doubt her tributes ability to make quick work of the tributes from four, she knows the cycle of retribution would be dangerous for the career alliance in the years to follow. It seems like Tassos is thinking the same thing as her as he responds to his tribute suggestion with an equally menacing smile of his own.

“The career alliance is needed in the execution of the leftover tributes but feel free to give the country a show once the alliance breaks.”

Much like District 3, the tributes from Districts 5 and 6 aren’t much. The boy from six is tall and broad but he lacked any sort of muscle. She’d figures he’d make it to the top eight if he’s lucky. District 7, however, is a different story. Their female tribute instantly caught they eye of everyone in the room. She’s tall with a willowy figure and waist length hair. A forest worker no doubt who had probably been handling axes since before she could walk.

“I’d sponsor her.” Pomena jokes as she watched the girl from seven make her way to the tribute with a look that clearly indicated she wishes the Hunger Games wasn’t the place they were meeting. Enobaria tenses and wanted nothing more than to show her tribute how much of an idiot she’s being.

“Aspen was it?” Ajax muses, saying the girl’s name as though he could taste its sweetness, “Strong name for a strong girl.”

“A girl that wouldn’t look twice at you.” Pomena tells him with a light and airy laugh.

“As though you’d fare any better with a girl like that, Diaz.”

“This isn’t a joke!” Enobaria snaps, “ District 7 has proven to be a threat in the past. Don’t let her get away from the Cornucopia. At least not unscathed.”

It isn’t t a lie. District 7 has the largest victor pool outside of the career districts. They were the Capitol favorite amongst the outer districts. Their tributes were almost always the same size as the tributes from two and almost as deadly. The last thing Enobaria needs is her tributes intermingling with them, especially Pomena.

“She poses no threat to me.” Pomena states simply, immune to her mentor’s harsh tone of voice, “None of them do. But if her death means so much to you then I’ll personally introduce her to the sharp end of my sword.”

She knows her girl isn’t lying and this gives her temporary relief. The other reapings seem to merge together. Pathetic. Useless. Ugly. Dead before the bloodbath even ends. The pair from District 10 manage to catch her eye along with her fellow mentor. She and Tassos watched the screen intently as the girl and boy take the stage masking any feelings of fear with icy indifference.

“Watch them during training.” Tassos instructs, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“Any particular reason?” Ajax asks, sounding bored.

“Open your eyes, boy.” Tassos scolds, “They’re hiding something. They’re darker, taller, stronger. Stockyard workers no doubt.”

“He’s right,” she agrees, “Offer one of them a spot in the alliance. Kill the other during the bloodbath.”

“And the reason this invitation can’t be extended to District 7 is…?” Pomena inquires and it takes everything in her not to slap the smug look off her girl’s face.

“If you want an axe in your back then go right ahead,” are the only words that leave her lips.

District 12 is the only district that year to have a tribute that looks too young to even be considered for the reaping. The angry little boy stomps on to the stage and looked as though he might attack the Peacekeepers that stood near him. It’s sad. Had he been born in District 2, then his foot would have never even touched the reaping stage. His anger would have been put into training to compete in the games when he was older. Honing his skill. Mastering his craft. Maybe Enobaria herself would have been his mentor. She has a knack for collecting angry things.

As she watches the little boy take his place beside his district escort, glaring at the back of her head with the intensity of a burning funeral pyre, Enobaria found her spitting out, “Make sure his death is quick.”

It’s times like that that she truly hates the Capitol.

The boy’s district partner is a different story. A little blonde thing that looks as though came from District 1. She actually has the nerve to stick her tongue out to the cameras as her name is called causing Enobaria to raise an eyebrow.

“She could be a problem.” she hears Ajax say and finds herself nodding in agreement.

Tassos scoffs, “A tribute from twelve? When was the last time one of them survived past the first day? Not being malnourished and covered in coal dust means nothing.”

Ajax smirks, “Weren’t you the one who told me to open my eyes? Watch how she moves. She’s like the girl from 7.”
“A discount version.” Pomena interjected, “She’ll make excellent target practice for you, Cabana.”

The recap was over. Tassos orders their tributes to bed. They have a big day ahead of them. The morning would be spent introducing them to the tributes of District 1 for an early practice session before they would have to be dressed for the tribute parade. Enobaria knows that she would have to be the one to secure the alliance between them and one. If it were up to Tassos, there wouldn’t have been a career alliance that year. Not that she blames him. District One had betrayed them during the 65th Games in favor of an alliance with District 4. She wants nothing more than to have her tributes return the favor but she knows more than ever after watching the recap that it isn’t a real possibility.

“I have to go.” She hears Tassos say as he grabs his jacket and headed towards the door, “Got an appointment across town.”

“A bored housewife?” She jokes. A smirk is the only response she gets as he heads out the door. He’s good at hiding it. His true hatred at what they make him and so many other Victors do. They don’t tell you about that when your at the Training Center back in Two. She often wonders how many of their tributes would still pounce at the opportunity to volunteer for the games if they knew about what happens after. Maybe that is why the Victors of her district were forbidden to breathe a word of it to their tribute trainees.

She’s lucky. She knows that. There are many Capitol men with dark twisted fetishs who have love to fuck a woman with the teeth of a monster. But President Snow has another job for her. An alternative that he only offered to two Victors before her: Kill his enemies. And she so happily obliged. Killing is what she does. She killed long before she set foot into the Hunger Games and she knows she’ll be killing long after.

She is left in an unbearable silence after Tassos’ departure. Silence is a comfort back home but it is unsettling here. It makes thoughts that she believed she had suppressed long ago come out to play and she hates it. Her feet have a mind of their own as they make their way to Pomena’s door. It’s stupid. It’s wrong. There are a million reasons why it wouldn’t work. Still, she pushes open her tribute’s door and is met with an expected sight.

“I thought you might have actually been serious when you said you wouldn’t touch me again.” Pomena giggles as she lay nude on the bed. The blinds on the ceiling high windows are open and the artificial lights of the Capitol illuminate the room in a dream like display. If Enobaria had been one of the Capitol’s glorified sex slaves, then she wouldn’t have let things with Pomena get this far. It started out as just teasing. Slight flirting. The graze of a hand. But it soon became so much more.

She isn’t in love with the girl. She knows that for sure. Maybe if the girl survives her games then she could but she refuses to until then. She’s seen to many Victors fall in love with ghost and she refuses to be one of them. But Pomena is beautiful and tempting and a much needed escape.
“Really?” She asks as she makes her way over to the bed, “Is that why you’ve lain yourself out for me like this?”

She climbs on top of her and lets her hand drag slowly against her curves as if trying to remember every little detail about her. The freckles on her shoulder. The scars on her back. The dimples on her bottom. She pressed a kiss to her lips and savored the taste.

Pomena hummed, “You were so jealous of the beautiful girl from seven and I know what happens when you get jealous.”

“I’m not jealous of a dying bitch.” She snaps and all Pomena did was laugh in response. Enobaria lightly scraped her pointed teeth down the girl’s neck and smiles at the sound of moans that escape the girl’s mouth.

“I could kill you right now.” She taunts breathily into the girl’s ear and is met with the same words she’s heard a hundred times before.

“And I would die happy.”

Chapter Text

ENOBARIA II

THE CAPITOL

DAY OF THE TRIBUTE PARADE

It’s not clear to everyone that Enobaria Salazar is in a bad mood. To those that don’t know her, she seems virtually the same. She wears the same scowl that is rumored to have been on her face since the day she was born. Her posture is perfect, her fists are clenched, and there's the same callous glint in her eyes. She walks through the Remake Center with an air of sadism as many stylists, tributes, and even a few Victors practically jump out of her way to as she and her tribute, Pomena, pass by.

However, her tribute girl knows better. Pomena can see that her fists are clenched just a little too tight. Her eyes are almost too hard given the lack of immediate threat around them and that she purposely flashes her sharp pointed teeth at those she wouldn’t usually spare a second glance. Enobaria can sense her tribute’s want to ask her what’s wrong and what has put her in such a fowl mood. By the expression on Pomena’s face, it is clear that she thinks she is the cause of it.

In truth, Pomena has done nothing wrong but it’s best she thinks Enobaria is mad at her. What happened between them last night was a mistake and they can’t afford to make mistakes in the Capitol. But that wasn’t what was irritating her. No, what has put Enobaria Salazar in a bad mood are the idiots from District 1.

They’d made a fool of her. It's a tradition that the tributes of Districts 1 and 2 meet in the main gymnasium of the Training Center the morning of the tribute parade. Enobaria made sure her tributes arrived bright and early but the tributes of District 1, and their mentors, were nowhere to be found. Tassos, District 2’s other mentor that year, told her not to think too much of it. That it’s just District 1 playing mind games with them. She knows he is right but she couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to make them suffer for it.

‘They’ll suffer soon enough in the arena.’

Enobaria has to suppress the urge to vomit as she and Pomena walk through the Remake Center. Do the people of the Capitol have any idea how inhuman they look to the rest of Panem? Neon dyed eyebrows, over the top wigs, tinted skin embedded with jewels? Her teeth suddenly feel more out of place in her mouth as she remembers just how inhuman they have made her as well.

“Are you staying?” Pomena asks her shakily as they round another metal corridor that's filled with stylists, mentors, tributes, and reporters. She feels Pomena walk in step a bit closer to her than before. It’s overwhelming. The Training Academy back home teaches its students how to navigate the Games not the hoopla that leads up to it.

‘What’s it like being the daughter of two Victors?’ ‘Did your parents know you were going to volunteer?’ ‘Why aren’t they your mentors?’ ‘ Do they think you can win?’ All questions Pomena is being attacked with that she ignores, attaching herself to Enobaria’s side. The people of the Capitol truly have no shame. Still, Pomena couldn’t afford for the other tributes to see her look so uncomfortable. She needs to act like she owns not only these Games but the Capitol itself and sticking to her mentor’s side like a scared child isn’t going to accomplish anything.

“Do I look like your mother to you?” Enobaria hisses causing any look of apprehension on her tribute’s face to be replaced by a scowl. Better.

“Not even close,” is the reply Pomena gives.

They finally arrive at the assigned remake room. District 2 has had the same styling team helmed by a woman named Tigris since long before Enobaria’s own games. Tigris is a strange woman and another Capitolian that unsettles even her. She speaks in growls and purrs with movement far to similar to a cat. However, her designs over the years were part of the reason that District 2 was able to gain such attention from the audience and the sponsors. It’s Tigris who had given them the fearsome warrior persona. Before her, designers had dressed the tributes of District 2 in basic Masonry work uniforms with very few alterations.

Those tributes had never been given much attention in the days leading up to the games not even after the training scores and interviews. It was never until the games began and the true bloodthirsty nature of their tributes was shown for the entirety of the country to see. When Tigris first became their district’s official stylist, she decided to play up their tributes warrior like nature in her designs dressing them as gladiators, knights, samurai, and amazons. Tigris is essential to their team that is why Enobaria is shocked when she is greeted by three unfamiliar technicolored faces she has never seen before.

“What happened to Tigris’ old team?” She demands, pulling Pomena behind her when they buzz over to try and take her away.

“Demoted,” one of the technicolors says. “All the way down to District 10.”

“Can you believe it? All over a few surgeries.” another one chortles in delight and Enobaria resists the urge to roll her eyes. She didn’t care much for Tigris but she and her prep team were an essential part to their victory. A stylist can make or break a tribute’s chances with the how the whole of Panem sees them. Just the year before District 12 became a laughing stock when some new designer thought it would be a good idea to parade them out naked and covered in black chalk.

“I want to see the designs for this year.” she tells them.

“That’s not allowed.” The last technicolor snarks in their grating Capitol accent. “Julius will be most displeased if anyone sees his work before the big reveal.”

Enobaria bares her teeth at them and hisses causing them all to jump back with a gasp. She hears Pomena laugh at their fear. It’s times like these that the teeth aren’t so bad.

“You were saying?” she inquires before they all scramble over each other to grab the designs off a nearby desk. When they show them to her, she hates to admit that she’s slightly impressed. It’s reminiscent of a design Tigris had done in the past for a games that Enobaria can’t quite place. A silver knight design that’s that the perfect mesh of fabric and metal. Whoever their designer is this year has truly outdone themselves. She turns to Pomena who tries to catch a glimpse of the designs over her shoulder but she’s already given it back to one of the technicolors. “I’ll see you before the parade.”

She leaves the room without so much as a glance back. The hallways are less full now. Most of the tributes and stylists have found their way to the designated rooms leaving only a few wandering reporters that shrink back from her in fear. There should be a car waiting for her outside to take her back to the Tribute Center.

She almost makes her way out the front door before she stops dead in her tracks and the anger she’d been suppressing begins to bubble to the surface as she sees the man who caused it. He leans against a wall with his back towards her but she can still see his ever present insouciance. He’s seemingly oblivious to her rapid approach but she’s seen his games and has known him long enough to know that no one sneaks up on Gloss Tourmaline.

“What the hell, District 1?!” She shouts as she walks towards him. He turns around at the sound of her voice and grins as though they were old friends but the slap across the face she gives him knocks it right off. “Where were you this morning?”
“Nice to see you to, Salazar.” he says as he rubs his reddening cheek.“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cut the crap, Tourmaline.” she barks, not in the mood for the District 1 ‘hospitality.’ “Why weren’t your tributes at the Training session this morning and the excuse better be legendary!”

“No excuse.” he shrugs indifferently. “My sister and I just figured it’d be in our tributes best interest for them to meet the citizens of the Capitol first. You know, show the people who they’ll be sponsoring.”

She can’t help but feel a bit annoyed that Gloss’ sister, Cashmere, is the other mentor this year. Cashmere Tourmaline is nothing but Gloss in a wig. Beautiful, alluring, and the perfect femme fatale during her games that had been won two years prior. Luck alone had been the reason for her victory yet she still sauntered around as though she’d been the strongest competitor that year. As though her victory weren’t as big a sham as Odair’s.

“And where is sister dearest?” she drawls. “Gathering sponsors by warming their beds?”

She sees Gloss tense and she can’t help the sick satisfaction she gets from watching him squirm. Cashmere Tourmaline would be a whore whether or not Snow forced her to be. It’s how people like her got by in the world. It’s their bread and butter. Meanwhile, those who did the actual work were given nothing but scraps.
“Cashmere’s whereabouts are none of your concern.” he replies, his overly formal tone letting her know that she truly has struck a nerve. “Besides, that’s not what you really came over to discuss is it?”

She gets straight to the point. “There will not be a repeat of last year. If your tributes even think about betraying the alliance this year I swear I’ll make you and sister dearest-”

“No need for threats, Salazar.” he cuts her off with a raised hand. “There will be no repeat of last year. At least not on our end. You have my word that the alliance will remain until it’s inevitable breakdown after the leftovers are done away with. Cashmere and I have already instructed are tributes of what’s to be expected of them.”

“And they listened?”

He shrugs. “They seemed to. What will happen when they get to the arena is anyone’s guess but we aren’t pursuing a separate alliance with four.”

This satisfies her. She’s about to head for the exit when she suddenly notices the sea of swarming reporters that she’s no where in the mood to deal with. The brick red street car of District 2 is nowhere in sight and she’s forced to wait for its arrival next to Gloss in the relative safety of the Remake Center. He smirks at her as he takes note of her predicament but says nothing. Good. She doesn’t trust him or his slut sister. Not by a long shot but there’s not much else to be done at this point.

She can’t help but let her mind wander back to the 65th Games as she waits. She wasn’t mentoring that year but she remembers her district’s tributes nonetheless. She’d seen them around the Training Academy and remembers the fearsome reputations they had garnered in their time there. The fights they’d won and the kills they’d made. They both looked well over reaping age with grim expression permanently stuck on their faces. The boy scored a ten and the girl scored an eleven making them both favorites to win. In their interviews, they appeared as deadly as ever. Cold, calculating, and ready to kill without so much as a second thought. Little did they know they had done nothing but paint a target on their backs.

She can remember the shock the entire nation felt when the boy was killed by Odair’s district partner with a knife in the neck. The girl did her best to fend them off, taking all four members of the career pack at once. She struck both tributes from District 1 down and even managed to get the bitch from four. It was just her and Odair left when their girl caught a knife in the back from Odair’s district partner before being finished off by Odair himself. The cannons of District 2 fired on night one for the first time in sixty five years and Enobaria would be damned if this year was the second.

Perhaps Pomena and Ajax have a bit of an advantage. They are nowhere near as physically foreboding as the pair from last year. The commentators even harped on Ajax’s lack of size. Any other year that would have been a disadvantage but this year it could work in their favor if everything goes as planned. Still, Pomena being the daughter of two victors could still lead to trouble especially if the pair from four want to make a big of a splash as their district did last year.

“Have you seen Odair?” She asks Gloss, breaking the silence. His head is resting against the wall and his eyes are closed. He looks almost angelic with his wispy pale blonde hair and strong jawline that’s inked with stubble. You wouldn’t even guess the killer that lies beneath.

“Of course.” He answers, not bothering to open his eyes. “He’s mentoring this year.”

“Seriously?” She snarks. “They’ve got a fifteen year old mentoring The Hunger Games?”

Finnick Odair may have been a Victor but he’s still a boy who’d only survived his Games off luck and public support. He couldn't mentor a fish on how to swim, let alone mentor tributes that were several years his senior. If anything, they were probably telling him what to do versus the other way around. She wondered if Snow had introduced the boy to the other requirements that victor-hood entails.

“His district’s always been a bit backwards but I heard the command came from higher up.” Gloss tells her. “Odair’s popular and just because they can’t touch him yet doesn’t mean they’re going to let him run back to District 4 to bury his head in the sand. Snow’s gonna get all the money he can out of him, even if the boy’s not legal yet.”

She looks at him sharply, fearing he may have said too much. This is dangerous talk. People who said President Snow’s name in anything but total admiration usually end up on his hit list. And, just because listening ears can’t be seen, doesn’t mean they aren’t there. It’s not like she cares what happens to Gloss or Odair but she’s not in the mood to get wrapped up into more of Snow’s messes than need be. She’s got people to protect. More than she wishes.

She redirects the conversation back to the games. “I don’t trust Odair or his tributes.”

Gloss snorts. “You shouldn’t trust anybody here.”

“Don’t you think I’m aware of that?” she snaps as she punches him in the arm.

He glares looking as though he wants nothing but to hit her back. “I only meant that the tributes from four this year aren’t the same ones as last year. Are your tributes you and your district partner?”

She rolls her eyes, refusing to think of the man she was forced to call a district partner. “Not even close.”

“Then give the pair from four a chance to prove themselves before making them pay for a crime they didn’t commit.” His features soften and he looks as though he wants to say more but looks out the door and passed the reporters to see the pearl white street car of District 1. He straightens himself, fixing his collar and cuffing his sleeves. Before he leaves, he turns to her. “Goodbye for now, Enobaria. Unless you wish to join me?”

She has refrain herself from smacking him again. “In your dreams, Tourmaline.”

“And what beautiful dreams they will be.” He winks at her before exiting the building and she wants nothing more than to spit where he just stood.