Chapter Text
Chip woke up in his bed, the morning light streaming through the window and hitting him right in the eyes. He groaned and moved his head a little to the side. Why hadn’t Arlin woken him before- Oh. Right.
Today was reaping day. Arlin was probably already down at the square. Chip got out of bed and quickly pulled on the clothes he’d left out - clean, white shirt, and the black trousers with the least holes in them, then messed with his hair for a moment before heading downstairs.
It was probably about ten, judging by the position of the sun in the sky (and a glance at the clock on the wall; he’d never been as good as Arlin at stuff like that). He should get going. Chip grabbed a slice of the brown bread on the kitchen side and, pulling on his jacket hanging by the door, walked outside and onto the road.
Shortly after passing the illustrious Victor’s Village sign, Chip made it to the square, where lots of people were already crowded. Stuffing the remainder of his bread in his mouth, Chip made his way through to the section of kids that could be picked, stepping through the crowd with practiced ease, and took his spot near the front. He was 18, after all, just one year left before aging out of the range to be picked. He just had to make it through this reaping.
He hadn’t been entered many times. He’d taken tesserae for himself and Arlin, but Arlin wouldn’t let him take too many. “Let’s not tip the scale too much, eh, Chip?” he’d said in a light-hearted tone, but Chip could see the worry behind his eyes at the statement. Arlin had barely survived his own games, winning basically by chance after wolves weakened his final opponents, and he had many scars to show for it along with his left arm now ending in a stump just below the elbow. When he was younger, Chip used to trace his stubby fingers over them, and Arlin would refuse to explain exactly how he got many of them, simply telling him they were relics of the game. Knowing now how some of the particularly nasty ones had come about, Chip was glad Arlin hadn’t recounted those to a child of that age.
So, he’d been pretty well warded off from thinking being chosen was any kind of noble or fun thing. Even watching the careers fight for the chance to be picked, he was struck every time with the sense that only one of them would make it out.
Squinting up at the stage, the sun in his eyes and the last bite of his bread in his mouth, Chip took in the pair stood up there. Stella “Malice” Sforzando was the Capitol escort for their district and had been for as long as Chip had been alive. Her skin was perfectly smooth, though - wrinkles came in and out of fashion very quickly a few years ago, causing a brief phenomenon where every Capitol broadcast featured deep artistically-painted wrinkles on every forehead - and Stella didn’t look a day over twenty. Stella wore a figure-hugging red bodysuit, a golden snake scale pattern covering the fabric and spilling over onto her arms and legs. As she smiled at the crowd, Chip caught a glimpse of her sharpened canines and a flicker of her split tongue. He shuddered and looked away, to her left.
Arlin was wearing pretty much the same thing Chip was - white shirt, black trousers, and a sour expression. He was smiling, sure, but his eyes were dull. He’d said once after a couple drinks that it never got easier mentoring these kids to go to their deaths. There were a few other victors from District 3, so he only had to go every few years, but Chip always worried for him when he got back home. That was usually the night he took all the money he’d saved up from buying only the food he needed, and cooked Arlin a full roast dinner, with fresh meat and everything, and asked about the stupidest things he’d seen at the Capitol that year. He always came back with some story of some fresh new body modification trend or some combination of expensive food that tasted garbage, and Chip would catch him up to speed with some of the district gossip. They both tiptoed around the topic of that year’s Games.
The sound of Stella clearing her throat at the front of the stage shook him from his reverie. It was almost time. He swallowed.
“Happy Hunger Games, citizens of District 3!” She smiled brightly not at the crowd, but at the camera aimed at her and Arlin. “This is our 55th Game, meaning I’ve been here for 27 years! Would you even believe?”
This speech usually went on for far longer than it really should, Chip thought as she continued speaking, pausing for the meagre laughs from the crowd and performing big hand gestures to emphasise her points. What more needed to be said than “Aren’t the Capitol so generous? You should die for us!”? Chip wondered if Stella was able to produce a sentence without an exclamation point at the end of it, whether she’d altered her voicebox in some way that rendered her unable to say anything without that cheery tone. It wouldn’t be out of character for her.
Stella finally stepped back from the front of the stage and made her way to the two bowls. “And so, without further ado, let us pick our first tribute!” Her hand, adorned with rings and long red acrylic nails, reached into the bowl full of girls’ names, stirring it a little before picking up a tiny piece of paper and opening it. “Jay Ferin!”
All eyes went towards the girls’ crowd, and someone near the front stepped forward. Chip recognised her - wasn’t she related to someone? A Peacekeeper, maybe? She was one of the more well-off in this town, wearing fancy clothes and carrying around that bow. Chip remembered wondering why they let her carry her weapon. He’d never seen her use it, or even take it off of her back. She was wearing it as she stepped up to the stage now.
The tribute turned to look out into the crowd of those ineligible to be selected, and as she did, the sun caught her face in such a way that Chip finally recognised her. Jay Ferin, of course! Sister of Ava Ferin, a girl who’d lost her Game a few years back. Jay seemingly found who she was looking for, and she nodded seriously in that direction before turning to face Stella again. Jay was taking this remarkably well, Chip thought.
Stella shook Jay’s hand, a delighted expression on her face, and stepped over to the other bowl. “And, for our other tribute…” She fished around once more before grasping another slip of paper and exclaiming “Oliver Mason!”
Chip turned, along with the rest of the boys stood in his section, trying to figure out where the chosen one was, and as the path cleared to the back he saw the figure of a tiny boy.
Fuck.
Chip knew him. Not by Oliver Mason, but by Ollie. The little kid he’d say hello to on his way to the market, always surrounded by siblings chasing one another, or skipping along at his mother’s side talking a mile a minute at her. Even in the winter, when finding food was tough, Ollie would share out some watery broth with his siblings and they’d sit cross-legged outside and laugh so loud birds would fly out of trees.
His birthday had been yesterday.
The barely-twelve-year-old took one step. Chip heard a mutter of “get the fuck on with it” and he watched Ollie get shoved forward, then begin to move faster, brushing past Chip on his way. Ollie only came up to his elbow.
Arlin, stood by Stella’s side, took a couple steps down to grab Ollie’s hand and help him up. Chip could see now that Ollie was trembling as he walked up and took his place next to Jay up there. He was so small. Skinny, too - Chip could see his collarbone standing out harsh against his skin. Stella moved in front of him to continue talking, and Chip watched a tear roll down Ollie’s face. Ollie squeezed his eyes shut and sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and obviously trying to will the tears away, and something in Chip broke.
He yelled his sentence before his brain caught up. “I volunteer!” he shouted, pushing his way past the boys near him, making his way to the front. Stella, caught mid-speech, turned his way with that plastered smile on her face.
“Oh! How delightful! A volunteer!” Stella gestured for the Peacekeepers to fetch him, and flapped her hands to shoo Ollie off the stage. Chip didn’t look at Arlin as he made his way up and over to Stella, where she looked him up and down. “Chip James? Oh!” Stella looked over to Arlin. “The son of our champion, Arlin James! Isn’t that sweet? You’re looking to follow in your father’s footsteps, prove yourself to him?”
Without looking, Chip could picture Arlin’s stare boring through Stella. He felt a familiar, warm hand on his shoulder and tried not to melt too much into the contact. Up here, under a thousand lights and cameras, all Chip wanted was to run behind Arlin’s leg like he used to when he was little, feel Arlin squeeze his tiny hand and whisper that it was alright. But he was almost as tall as Arlin was, now.
“Our two Jameses are taken by emotion, I think,” Stella commented. She clapped her hands twice. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, if there are no further volunteers-” She narrowed her eyes playfully and scrutinised the crowd “-please celebrate your tributes for the 56th Annual Hunger Games!” Stella began clapping politely, and the crowd followed suit.
Chip squinted at Jay, trying to size her up. She seemed happy, even smiling a little at the crowd applauding them, but he saw the doubt in her eyes as she cast her gaze toward that spot she’d nodded at before. Before Chip could register anything more, a hand grabbed his arm and the two of them were marched away from the stage, to the large Justice Building where they’d say their goodbyes to District 3.
The room he was deposited in was sparse but neat, with functional grey walls and a few plastic chairs in the middle. Chip sat in one, and it wasn’t long before he heard footsteps in the hallway. Arlin burst in, with an unreadable expression on his face, somewhere between upset and worried and shocked. He sat down opposite Chip and reached over to take Chip’s hands in his own one. They were shaking, Chip realised.
“Chip.” Arlin said. He squeezed Chip’s hands once before continuing. “We were- we were so close to being free of this.”
Chip was suddenly aware of how fast his heart was pounding. Everything had been a blur since he’d volunteered, busy focusing on watching Ollie make it to his brothers safely and then making sure to walk in line between the Peacekeepers, not give them any reason to shove him. But this moment was clarity. A sinking feeling made itself known in his chest, along with a lump in his throat.
Arlin let the silence hang for a moment, then spoke again. “You know how slim the odds are. You know how lucky I was to win my game.” He shook his head, almost in disbelief. “Fucking hell, Chip.”
There wasn’t anything Chip could say. He let go of Arlin’s hand and instead stepped into his chest for an embrace. Arlin wrapped two large arms around him and put his face in Chip’s shoulder, and they stayed like that for a moment until Arlin cleared his throat. “I- they’re waiting to see you, I should go. I’ll see you in a bit.” One last hand squeeze, and Arlin was gone. Chip sat back down and put his hands over his face.
A tiny knock on the door made him look up and meet the gaze of Ollie, who ran over to Chip as soon as he realised Ollie was there. He had obviously been crying, red puffy eyes and a damp face, but he wiped a sleeve over his eyes and got as far as opening his mouth to say something before he started crying again. Chip just brought him in for a crushing hug. He could feel his shirt getting a little sodden from the tears but he didn’t mind. He was trying to quell his own tears, feeling the heat behind his eyes. Chip couldn’t cry in front of Ollie.
Ollie pulled back from the hug and looked Chip in the eye for a long moment. “You have to win,” he said, quietly. “You have to.”
Cracks were forming in the floodgates, but Chip held on. He just nodded and tousled Ollie’s hair. “I’ll try.” He leaned forward and hugged Ollie again briefly, then asked “Is there anyone else out there?”
“Just my mom.”
“Okay. Be safe.”
Ollie sniffled once more. “Bye, Chip,” he said. He looked almost like he wanted to say something more, anything more, hovering for a second, but he shook his head and walked quickly off. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Ollie’s mother poked her head in. She walked over slower than Ollie had, getting to the seat next to Chip and sitting down silently.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and the first tear rolling down her face matched pace with Chip’s. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Chip shook his head. “It was my choice, you don’t have to bear any blame for this. It’s just how it is.”
“I’m just- I’m so thankful for my boy, for my boys, for-” She broke off to sob, and Chip was struck by the realisation he didn’t know the woman’s name. He tilted his head. She looked like a Jean, or maybe a Sarah.
“Ms Mason,” he started, but she cut him off with a melancholy laugh.
“Emma, please.”
“Emma.” That did fit her. “I promised Ollie I’d win.” He wrung his hands in his lap. Chip really didn’t want to be asking this, not now as she wept and thanked him, but he knew time was ticking low on the hour allotted to saying goodbye. “Could you- could you not let him watch me die?” The last word came out hoarse.
The corners of Emma’s mouth turned down: she was visibly trying to hold back her tears. She nodded. “I’ll- I’ll do what I can.” Her hand came up to Chip’s forehead and she brushed some of the hair there to the side. “Please, don’t give up this early. Arlin won his game. Maybe it’s in your blood.”
Chip swallowed down a bitter retort and tried for a more genuine smile. “Maybe.”
A knock on the door signified the Peacekeepers were outside again, waiting to escort Emma back to her family outside. She looked at Chip mournfully, then stood up and walked to the door. Chip blinked hard and wiped his tears on his sleeve. Arlin would be back in soon. Then the train, then the Capitol, then interviews, then training, then- No. Focus on the next thing first. The train there would be full of Capitol luxuries, delicious food, beautiful clothes, wonderful views…
Chip was going to fucking hate it.