Chapter Text
It was raining when he last got off the train to District 6. Grian was used to looking at the same desert landscape with disinterest, yet now all he could feel was an overwhelming sense of home.
The florescent gaudy parties of the Void which marked the end of his ‘Victory’ Tour had been anything but dark and dreary, except they had felt so foreign that all Grian wanted right now was to go out in the rain and just be cold and hungry and uncomfortable for just a moment. A moment to remind himself he was human. But with the cameras watching, all the victor could do was walk cheerily back to his house and recite one last speech on his doorstep before finally being away from it all.
Rain was a blessing in District 6, Grian thought, only a year ago he would’ve been thanking all that was good in the world that there would be clean drinking water for the week. Not that he had to think about that now his house had indoor plumbing. Most of the district was a barren landscape with small bundles of huts every few miles along the main river. The district provided dyes to the Void, made from all the flowers and cacti only found in the surrounding landscape, so they could create the luxurious clothing the Watchers wore. The clothes Grian himself wore now.
The mansion Grian had been given sat atop a steep hill on the outskirts of his home village, where all the victor’s houses were. Before his games the Victor’s Village was celebrated by their community. Since Victors had to walk through the streets, sometimes being filmed as Grian was now, the villagers were given a few amenities that other places in District 6 wouldn’t have. They were kept just above starving. Which wasn’t much, but Grian knew other kids in his district would have killed for just that.
That was probably why District 6 was a “void-walker” district. A lot of their tributes for the Life Games were volunteers, though unlike say District 1 or 2 it wasn’t due to being trained for the games, but from being so desperate to bring any semblance of food or money into their village, the children are willing to kill for it. Die for it.
That wasn’t why Grian volunteered though.
When Grian had heard Mumbo was volunteering he begged his friend to reconsider. Grian didn’t have anyone else. Mumbo was volunteering since his little brother needed medical care that not even their entire village’s annual pay could afford, Grian knew he was being selfish asking his friend to choose him over Tommy.
So he didn’t.
“Grian you can’t do that for me!” Mumbo had said when he’d delivered the news.
“Yes, I can. And I will. And I have already put my name up so there’s nothing you can do about it.” Grian fluttered around their house finding what little medicinal herbs they had left to give to the boy coughing up his lungs in the next room.
Mumbo snatched the leaves and forced Grian to look at him, “Grian, this is my fight, I won’t be able to forgive myself if-“
“… if what Mumbo? Have you so little faith in me?!” Grian joked.
Mumbo shoved Grian’s shoulder, unwilling to laugh at a time like this, “You know I think if anyone here can win it’s you but… you can’t just take that risk Gri. Not for me.”
“Of course I can. You’re all I’ve got.”
Since there were so many volunteers each year in District 6, they had a separate reaping bowl full of only names that were willingly put in. First, the ceremonial bowl was read from, two random kids would go up nonchalantly and wait for the second names to be called for their replacements. Grian waited in the sweltering heat, praying for the first time that his name would be called. He had the best chances this year of them all, not only was he finally in the older half of the age limit, but he’d been taking on the more laborious jobs around the village for the year in preparation; a poor man’s training academy. Tommy’s life could hang on his name being called. Even if he didn’t come back at least the compensation could help. Or at least make dying a bit more comfortable.
“And now for the first volunteer.” The Void citizen’s name rang out through the auditorium. He was a new tribute escort or “admin” after the last one was promoted to one of the more successful districts. X-eye-zooma? Something like that? Grian thought.
“Grian Xelqua”
Even with the suspense, hearing his name projected through the microphone stung a little in Grian’s heart. This was it. In a month he’d probably be dead. Or he’d finally be able to give his friend his brother back, more than that. Mumbo and his family could come and live with him up in Victor’s Village, they’d want for nothing. Grian stopped himself from skipping up to the stage, thinking it would probably look a bit strange. He had to think about the games now.
Win sympathy, but don’t look pathetic. Be strong, but don’t seem like a threat. Be smart, but not clever.
Grian didn’t even hear the second name being spoken, not until it reverberated around the room, wall to wall and then back into his ears again.
“Mumbo Jumbo.”
—————
“It’s only me!” Grian heard when his front door opened. It had only been a few weeks since the last Victory Tour had ended yet the next games were already coming up. Gem, the last District 6 Victor and Grian’s mentor was probably here to make sure he didn’t run off into the desert to get out of mentor duty this year. He had been let off for the past year after all, “I brought announcement day snacks!”
Gem was a veteran at the whole mentor business already, Grian could tell from when they first met. She’d ‘compartmentalised her games years ago’, was what she told Grian, which he guessed she had to eventually, as would he. Grian was the first Victor from District 6 in a decade and there weren’t many winning streaks in their district either.
“Is everyone coming round for the stream?” Grian asked, he’d learned last year that the victors took turns hosting for the Reaping, making sure they were all together so strategies could begin being formed straight away. However this year Grian was hosting the Announcement Day and the Reaping in a few weeks. This year would be the 50th anniversary of the games’ inception. That meant that to “celebrate” the Watchers chose an alternate way of playing for the year. Year 10 meant the players would be voted in. 25 was when the amount of players got doubled. The victors could only guess what the new rules would be, left speculating until the Watchers announced it tonight.
“Yep! The Watchers themselves requested that we were all there for the stream, they’ll be bringing in their cameras later to film our reactions.”
“As if they need to bring in cameras...” Grian muttered under his breath.
“Shhhh!” Gem pushed him playfully but there was a deeper, serious look in her eyes that was telling Grian to settle down. They both knew he couldn’t afford to speak like that.
“I mean you’re kinda just confirming my point.” Grian breathed out, hopefully just enough to only be heard by his mentor. “You’ll have to help me move some more chairs into the lounge if everyone is coming over!” He plastered a smile on as he returned to his normal speaking voice.
Gem helped him set up the room, finishing just as the camera crew arrived and set up base in the corner. Both the victors went upstairs to change for the event, followed by a small production team to aid in the endeavour. As one of the newest, sparkliest victors, Grian’s outfit would take the longest to put on. He was seen as a “Voidwalker”, popular among the people of the Void and as such he was shoved to the front of most of this game’s promotional material. It didn’t help that last year’s game was a total mess, the poor girl who had won had done so without killing anyone herself. It was a massive blow to the Watchers as they practically had to strip her games from the air the moment they finished, instead replaying older games, mostly Grian’s.
So being in the spotlight for another year meant Grian had to be the Watcher’s little doll this time round as well.
His outfit was gold, as it always was in his televised appearances. A small cape flowed over his shoulders, chained together at his neck, just loose enough to not look constricting. A white undershirt tucked into a dark red corset, laced at the front, with gold detailing around the edges. The white tunic then continued beyond the corset, billowing out in the back, stopping about an inch above the floor to not disturb the white fabric. He wore more gold sewn into his trousers, one leg skilfully tailored to end at the knee, as Grian’s actual leg now did.
The beautifully carved prosthetic also maintained the gold theme, of course, with the only deviation being in the green gems embedded in the sides, perfectly matched to the exact shade of Grian’s irises, apparently. The foot on his other leg was covered in a simple red boot, matched to the corset.
Finally, he was shoved back into his victory crown: a gold tiara, encrusted with green jewels, bursting away from his face in a sun motif.
When he was eventually allowed back downstairs it was clear the cameras had begun rolling. All of the victors from his district were there, dressed up but not to his extent. They weren’t wearing their victory crowns for one. If Grian had dressed himself he’d feel overdressed or embarrassed, but as the cameras turned to him as he descended the stairs, he knew it was all intentional.
That rotten smile was back on his face as soon as the light on the camera facing him turned red, even if he felt that he had all the elegance of a baby deer as he padded down to the ground floor. The camera operators made sure to get shots of him interacting with all the victors, smiling and laughing at jokes no one had told, they were just speaking gibberish. It didn’t matter what they said anyway, this would just be B-roll in the background of the commentators for this year as they explained to an all-too-aware audience how this year was going to work.
Eventually, all the victors settled in front of the Grian’s television screen, sitting back in a taught ease and pretending that the commentator’s jokes were the funniest things in the world. Even if most of the words exchanged were thrown straight out of the door, a few words stuck in the victors’ heads like mites: “fifty”, “surprise”, “Watchers”.
Grian had practically zoned out by the two-hour mark, retreating to a place in his mind where his body would look pleasantly interested while he could be somewhere, anywhere else. When it hit midnight they’d announce the twist, not a moment before or after. He’d probably only be in the room for that minute, then he’d be back cosied up in his head until the Reaping. It’s what Gem had told him to do.
At around two minutes until the announcement would be made, Grian re-inhabited his body and leaned forward, feigning a mild interest that was clawing at him under the skin.
The Watchers appeared on screen for the first time of the night, their drawl of an opening speech could’ve been discussions of the weather for all Grian cared. He was just waiting for those words which would no doubt condemn so many children to death. It was only when a small white envelope was withdrawn from its confines within one of the Watchers’ cloaks that Grian’s ears switched themselves back on.
“To mark this most salient anniversary, we are to remind ourselves of how even the strongest among us can fall victim to the Void.” The first Watcher said.
The second Watcher slipped a small piece of paper from the envelope and read from it, “As such, this year’s players will be reaped from the existing pool of victors.”
And the world went into a deafening silence once again.