Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I wake up to the sour smell of stale sweat and beer. Like every other reaping day Haymitch has began his birthday celebrations early; by cracking into the worst white liquor money can buy you. Not that I didn’t encourage this pre-emptive partying last night when we sat together on the same manky sofa I lay on now, watching the Capitol’s predictions for this years games, throwing bottle caps at the TV as if they were popcorn.

For all their high-tech spreadsheets and experts, there is one thing that the Capitol cannot predict. This year, District 12 will be receiving it’s very first volunteer. Me. For all I’m sure I could mooch off of Haymitch’s riches for years to come, and he isn’t that old just yet, I know that there’ll come a day when his liver lets out it’s last pathetic cry for help before drowning itself in the 70% alcohol that’s Haymitch’s blood.

Of course as there isn’t an academy to train us in 12 I’ve been trained by a mixture of myself, Haymitch, and Effie, when she’s in 12 anyway. This has left me with a skill set that Haymitch refers to as “piss poor” - essentially that means it’s not great. I can bleed someone out with the flick of a hand, once I’ve spent 5 minutes remembering how to hold the knife, and I can shoot to kill, as long as the targets within about 5 meters of me. My hand to hand combat skills are my best asset, over the years I’ve become a near even match for wrestling with the Mellark boy, but the chances of a weaponless tussle in the arena are slim to none.

A creak in the floor announces the arrival of Haymitch, who saunters into the room with two drinks, double whiskey on ice, each sporting a frilly pink umbrella.
“Hair of the dog sweetheart?” He asks, his seam drawl seeping through his speech.
“What happened to the white liquor?” I tease, my hand already clasping around the glass. It probably isn’t good form to drink on reaping day, but if there was ever a reason for drinking the reaping might be it.
“Ain’t a man allowed somethin’ fancy on his special day?”
He sinks back in next to me and we sit in silence with our drinks and our thoughts. Once the last dregs of whiskey whet my tongue I push myself up with a groan, it’s time to wash off the grime of last night in the shower.
“Now I’m goin’ for a shower Haymitch, s-h-o-w-e-r.” I spell to him slowly. “A shower is something you might like to consider taking before Effie rocks up.”
I get halfway to the door before the signals in his brain finally get moving and he gets hollering.
“WHY YOU CHEEKY LITTLE-”
The bathroom door slams as a glass smashes into it. I truly hope he never grows another brain cell one day, just one more little neuron in there and he might actually manage to hit me.

As today is a day that I’d rather not be surprised by sticky astringent lemon foam or water hot enough to boil me alive in, I stick to my carefully choreographed button press routine which promises me a perfectly mediocre nice smelling shower. A couple of years ago I spent an entire day in there, figuring out what all of the buttons did. Then I labelled all of them, so I didn’t forget. Unfortunately some of Haymitch’s stupidity must have rubbed off on me at that point because I did manage to forget that adhesives and water don’t exactly mix.

I don’t bother to do my hair and makeup, Effie will do that for me. In fact since Haymitch doesn’t even let her go within 3 miles of him, I’m pretty sure that dressing me up is the highlight of her year. At least this year her work will be caught on camera instead of rubbed off in a haze three days later.
My reaping dress is a blue denim patchwork jumpsuit, I asked Effie for blue denim in order to blend in, but apparently patchwork is a big, big, big trend in the Capitol right now. It’s "retro", which I think is code for so old that no one really remembers when it was last popular.

The muffled sounds of the yearly screaming match and high heels announces Effie’s presence to the house, and sure enough as soon as I slip out of the bathroom door I spot an incredibly well manicured hand pushing Haymitch into the room I’ve just left.
This year Effie is in a magenta dress, and if my outfit can be described as "retro", then a fitting descriptor for Effie's may be "ancient".
“Well!” Effie smiles brightly. “It’s just us girls now for a little while. Touch ups before the reaping?”
Effie’s idea of a touch up is my idea of a full face, but under the hot lights and lenses of the Capitol a lack of sleep can look like a black eye, so I let her do whatever she wishes.

She jabbers on about Capitol gossip and new trends while her brushes deftly dip into pots and pallets, sweeping product onto my face with a practiced ease. This year however, Capitol gossip is more important to me than ever.
“Oh and you will never believe it! District 12 has a new stylist, his name is Cinna, and he has the most wonderfully dreamy eyes. So I said to myself, Effie you must make sure that poor Rose isn’t left in coal dust and rags, and so I told him, without giving anything away of course, that he really must try this year, because I believed it was going to be a big, big, big year for 12.” She spills to me with a beam.
“Thank you Effie, I do hope to make a splash at the parade.” I reply, truly meaning my thanks. A good stylist is the difference between a fool and a fan favourite.
Once Effie has finished, I spend a suitable amount of time with her, admiring myself and pouring over Capitol magazines until she’s thoroughly satisfied that I know the difference between tassel and fringe (I mustn’t wear tassel that would be a fashion disaster, but fringe is so, so, so in), I head towards the door. I want to talk to Katniss before the reaping.

" Hey sweetheart, don’t I get a goodbye?” I turn to see Haymitch giving me a faux bummed out look.
" I thought you were still chasing the hair of that dog.” I quip.
“You got me.” He holds his hands up mockingly. “I feel like a darn dog now I’ve been doused in that shower.”
“You do hold a striking resemblance to one right now actually, maybe one of those sad ones with the dour faces and dangly ears.”
Haymitch looks at me, his eyes softening slightly. He now looks even more like the sad eyed dogs dancing across my vision.
“Are you sure that you want to do this?” He asks.
This is it. This is my chance to back out. If I’m going to do it I have to do it now.
I think it over for a moment before smiling gently.
“Can’t let you wallow about being victorless forever” I state in a matter of fact way.
" I suppose it is sweetheart. Have fun with your friends.”
Haymitch envelopes me in a damp, awkward hug and I exit the house, starting my walk towards the seam.

Flashback:

It had been 3 months since both of my parents died in the mine accident.
The money that had been provided to us by the district had only lasted me 2 months even with the most desperate stretching of it, only using it for a cup of Sae’s broth a day in the last week. Once it had run out I thought about going to the community home, but decided against it; I would rather starve than go there, where I would starve anyway, just slower and with more beatings involved.

And now here I was, actually starving. For the last few weeks I had survived on luck and kindness, but now my luck had run out and the kindness had gone with it. My classmate and fellow sort of orphan Katniss had offered to help me, to let me into her home, but the Everdeen’s were thinning out just as quickly as I was, and I wouldn’t be responsible for their starvation too.
And that’s how I’d ended up at the very edge of the seam, right at the gateway to the Victor’s village. I’d been waiting here all day, hoping to catch Haymitch on the way back from the hob, hoping that he might give me some pity, give me a few more weeks.
I’d only seen him around a few times, but I hoped that it was enough for him to save me.

" Who’s this sorry looking kid blocking up my gate?” He grunted.
I didn’t need to even look up to know that it was him. I could smell the liquor on him, hear the raspiness of his voice.
I looked up, not even needing to put on a pathetic face, desperate was already stamped all over me.
" Can you help me, please… Just stop me from starving.”

My voice sounded weaker than I thought it was. He crouched down so he was at the same level as me.
" Sorry kid, but if I helped everyone who came begging, I’d have to have a whole Victor’s village worth of houses to house them in. "
He said it in his usual flippant manner, but I could see a hint of sorrow in the corner of his eyes.

" Please, I can do anything, I can clean, I can cook too! My mamma taught me.”
“Where’s your mamma now sweetheart? Maybe I can haul you back t’ her.”
My lip trembled, and the floodgates opened up, salty hot tears pouring hard and fast cleaning shiny tracks onto his shoes.
“My mamma was down the mine, my daddy too.”

With that the barrier between us was broken, and he pulled me in for a reluctant hug.
“Well fancy that sweetheart, that makes two of us,” He said. “, and y’know what?”
“What.” I whispered out to him my small frame still shaking.
“Us orphans gotta stick together.”

End of flashback.

I run along the edge of the District fence, trying to find Katniss. At this time of day I’ll probably manage to catch her coming out of the woods; it would be cruel to visit her later while she’s preparing for the reaping with her family. I spot her through the wire, a tall skinny girl weaving her way through the grass, Gale hulking behind her. I glance around, eyeing up the angles. I reckon I can sneak up on her, if I’m fast, call it a test for the arena.

I slip under the wire, feeling a graze on my stomach and being grateful I chose a fabric as sturdy as denim. I get three quarters of the way there before I’m spotted, a new record. She shakes her head softly when I go to reveal myself, tilting her head backwards just enough for me to get the hidden signal.
Gale hasn’t seen me.

I wait for them to just pass me, and break into a sprint, launching myself at Gale’s back - the high jump was always my best one. I land on his shoulders, hard, gripping my legs and arms around his neck tight so I can’t fall off as he starts swinging like those funny mechanical bulls I’ve seen on trashy Capitol TV.
“KATNISS, KATNISS HELP, SOMETHINGS ON ME, IT’S ON ME, SHOOT IT.” He roars, bucking back and forth almost causing me to see stars.
His shouts for help are drowned out by our laughter, peals and peals of it coming from Katniss as well as me for once.
“Don’t want to give me a piggy back Gale?” I tease as he grumbles and calms down, likely feeling sour after making such of a fool of himself in front of Katniss.
“Get down Ayla, you’ll fuck up my hunting arm.”

I sigh and get down by using him as a makeshift climbing frame, to the tune of more groans and complaints. I jog up to Katniss and we walk up to the fence together while Gale trails behind us with their catch and his hurt pride. When we get back to the fence, I push myself under then watch her wriggle her way too. Gale comes after her, having a harder time getting free than we did.

Katniss occasionally gives me lessons with the bow during the summer months when the catch is better and she doesn’t have to worry too much about hunting to keep herself fed and can devote more attention to me. I pay her a small amount for each lesson, insisting I’d pay much more for anyone else. She knows there’s no one else who could teach me, she’s my only bet, but she still accepts the coin anyway, knowing it makes me feel better. We’ve made reasonable friends over the last few years.
Gale still hates me.

We hug briefly to say goodbye, Katniss and Gale still having to get their meat to the hob and I wish them luck for the reaping, knowing that at least Katniss won’t need it, Katniss shares her thanks and smiles tensely , Gale just acknowledges this with a nod. He’s not usually very talkative, but this is reaping day, so he’s even less so. I don’t blame him. He must have about 40 slips of paper in that bowl.
Still. There will be some with more.

As I don’t get much chance to visit the bakers normally, I make it my first and last port of call before the reaping. I enter the bakers and the smell of fresh bread and icing sugar wafts towards me enticing me to the racks of warm pastries and pies.
I pick up a cheese scone, and after a moment of thought, a bag of chocolate chip cookies. It can’t hurt to sweeten up a few allies right? Haymitch mentioned me needing them with my, what did he call it again? Oh yes, piss poor skill set.

I go to pay, and exchange a few pleasantries with the Baker, but overall we don’t talk much. Like Gale he’s a man of few words. I pay him a little extra and he pushes another cookie into the bag, nobody in 12 will take extra, even the merchants. Although on second thoughts his witch of a wife would’ve probably spat on my food if I didn’t tip.

Peeta comes out from the back to restock a shelf and shoots a grin at me.
“Prepping for wrestling season yet Ayla?”
“No, but I bet I can best you anyway Mellark.”
“You said that last time till I had you flat on your ass.”
“Language.” The baker chastises softly.
“Sorry,” Peeta mumbles, the blush spreading across his face like a rash, “I should get back to work.”

I leave the bakery to leave Peeta to his work, eating my cheese scone slowly, feeling the soft buttery food melt in my mouth. The reaping whistle is blown, and it’s time for all of to convene in the cramped little cattle cages awaiting the announcement of either our deaths or another year of our lives. I get checked in, not even wincing when they take a bit of blood, and marching with the crowd, go to my section.

They’ve marked it out with yellow tape, a definite upgrade from the metal fences from prior years. Must be budget cuts so they can afford to put more sequins on Effie’s dress. I take my place, at the very start of the section, and wait.

Despite twelves teeny tiny population it takes almost an hour to get us all arranged and neatly ordered for the Capitols cameras; I’ve heard they can do it in 15 minutes in 11. Once we’re all in we get “off to the the races” as Effie would say and the next half hour of speeches, videos, and watching Effie wipe away her tears goes in a flash.

Now it’s time for the main event.
“Ladies first!”
Her body swings unnaturally as she makes her way to the bowl, trying to keep herself upright on the 6 inch stilettos that the Capitol have decided are so fetch this year. The crowd hold their breath, silently begging that they aren’t one of houses that has to draw it’s blinds and accept their losses tonight.
Her hand dips into the bowl, sweeping across the hundreds of little paper slips before carefully pulling one out and brandishing it in the air. A collective intake of breath is heard as she unfolds the slip and taps the microphone in preparation of her announcement.

" Primrose Everdeen.”
Well that wasn’t on my betting book this year.
" I volunteer as tribute!”
My voice rings out, clear as a bell in the dead silence of the square. People shuffle out of the way clumsily turning getting through the rows the worlds biggest trip hazard, especially when my legs now seem to be jelly. As I move out of the rows and into the clearing I hear people’s shocked gasps and confusion.
They were expecting Katniss.

Once I’m on the stage, Effie asks for my name. This is purely for ceremonial reasons of course, she knows my name well enough by now. I collect myself briefly, trying to hide the tremble in my hands. It’s real now, I’ve sealed my fate whether I like it or not.
" Rosemary Ayla.”

I don’t expect any applause, unlike the career districts where the reaping is a point of pride. In District 12 all being a tribute means is that you’ll be dead before the weeks out, and there’s not much celebration in that.
It seems however, that today is a day to expect the unexpected.

It starts with Katniss, a small, nervous clap joined soon by Madge and Prim clapping so hard that I’m sure they’ll wake with bruised hands in the morning. Peeta hollers out my name from the boys section leading to gruff calls from Gale and his siblings too. Before long the whole square is cheering and stomping and clapping. I raise up my fist with a determined expression and the crowd goes so wild that Effie begins struggling to control it.
Haymitch, ever the PR man, succeeds where Effie cannot. His drunken fall off the stage in his attempt to come congratulate me finally ends the thunderous applause, and the show can finally get back on the road.

Hurrying now, having wasted enough of the Capitols precious viewing patience already, Effie rushes across the stage and unceremoniously yanks a name out of the boys bowl. She’s barely read out the first syllable of the poor sods name who’s going to be going up against me before a boy calls out.

District 12 has a second volunteer.

Chapter Text

I should be trying to look stoic, unbothered, uninterested.

That’s what my games strategy has been so far, but the rush of seeing anything at all outside of the poorly fenced-off twelve has my nose pressed so far against the glass that the steam is beginning to obstruct my vision.

Effie has told me that as twelve tributes are reaped last we’re also picked up last, which means all of the other tributes are somewhere on the train with us, this also means that some tributes get on at 5 am, and we get on closer to midnight making for a long gruelling pointless train journey for the first few Districts.
Now we’re on it’s straight off to the Capitol, first travelling in the space between eight and three, then between nine and two, and after that we’re there. Can’t risk us seeing too much of the outside world by taking the faster route through the Districts.

My fellow tribute and limelight stealer sits bolt upright diagonally across from me, to create the most distance possible. He could also fuck off to his room to leave me in peace but I think he’s trying to keep an eye on me, watching for a flaw that he could stick his knife in once we hit the arena.

“Do you have to gawp out the window like you’ve never seen grass.” He asks dryly, eyes unmoving from the point on the wall he’s fixed them onto.

“Trying to broaden my horizons, but I suppose you’d rather stay ignorant wouldn’t ya?”

“I’d rather be ignorant than a Capitol whore.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that.”

I should back down, fighting over minor grievances isn’t worth the potential injuries this close to the games. If I did something like this in the arena, where we were both armed, I’d probably be dead, but he’s struck a cord in me now.

“Volunteering like some Capitol suck up.”

“Then that makes you a Capitol whore too now doesn’t it darlin’.”

Turns out my stricken cord is the same as his, and he launches off his chair in an attempt to grab me. I grapple with the leather on the chair, now sticky underneath me, managing to peel myself off onto the floor last second, and he collides with leather instead of flesh.

Under the table I now have the upper hand, and he still lays sprawled on the seat I’ve just left. I grab his ankle, and pull it, hard, this drags him too off the seat, but with much less eloquence than me. The back of his head hits the table with a sickening thud and I’ve successfully disabled again.

His foot lashes out, whipping around in the air dangerously close to my head, the only weapon he has now I’ve dragged him down here. Still any weapon can be deadly, and he kicks me on my ear causing it to throb and sting.

I let out a small whimper of pain before refocusing, and I quickly scrabble out from under the table and to my feet. He tries to use the same move that I used earlier, and grabs my ankle. As soon as I feel his fingers grasp onto my skin, I grab onto the table and so all his pulling results in is tiring him out, and as soon as he releases me I sprint towards one of the compartment doors, and start jiggling the handle.

It won’t budge at all, so I have to pull a pin from my hair and start picking the lock, something that takes far more time than I have. He’s back on his feet already, checking his injuries but never taking his eyes off me. Wouldn’t want me to get away before he can return the favour on that concussion.
The lock clicks but it’s too late, I can feel his breath on my neck.

“Feel like apologising now, darlin’?” He mocks.

“Unlike some people, I stand by my words.”

He throws himself on me again, clearly not learning from his mistakes and I open the door, making both of us swing with it into the next corridor. One of us however, was prepared for the swing. The one of us that wasn’t prepared ends up thrown on the other side of the wall to me. Scanning my surroundings I see a picture hanging on the wall by a loose screw. Perfect. I pull out the screw, letting the picture fall to the ground with a thud, then a tinkle as the glass shatters.
Before he can get his bearings I stride towards him and twist the screw through his hand feeling the resistance as it pushes through layers of skin and muscle, watching blood trickle out around it.

“We can stop fightin’ if you want darlin’, no apology required.” I smile widely.

He nods as the colour drains from his face, giving him an ashy appearance, ironically fitting for a twelve tribute.

“I’m goin’ to have a wander down here by and try find a first aid kit for you, so you just sit tight in the compartment and resist the urge to pull that out your hand just yet.”

Now it’s my turn to look ashy and frightened, and as soon I get out of Huckle’s sight and earshot, I begin bolting down the corridors, determined to find something to patch him up with before Haymitch, or worse Effie, come back and see what I’ve done.

Flying down the corridors at top speed is working out for me until I see two people coming up in front of me, I try slow down but I’ve gotten up too much speed and I end up crashing right into them instead.

The person I crashed into, a small brunette girl, pushes me over before I’ve managed to get my bearings. My vision swims as I hear the crack of a breaking seal then feel the cold splash of water as it pours over me, soaking my hair and clothes.

“Clove!” The second girl chastises through laughter.

The first girl, who I now know to be Clove, peers over at my face, scrunching her nose in concentration.

“Oh fuck.” She laughs. “You’re the tribute from twelve? The volunteer.”

A warm hand reaches out to help me up. It’s clear what District she’s from even without her honey blonde hair and green eyes. People back in twelve have rough, cracked hands, even the merchants, from the years of labour we all endure to survive. Even Clove has callouses on her fingers, but not this girl. Their smooth soft feel is native to only two areas, the Capitol, and District one.

Once I’m back on my feet Clove begins firing off the questions, clearly not one to waste time.

“Are you trained?” She sniffs.

“Archery, throwing knifes and hand to hand combat, hand to hand is my best.”

“Think she can take on Cato?” Clove smirks to the blonde.

“Hmm maybe, hell we could make it a three vs one.” She replies, her eyes glimmering with a scheme.

“You trained yourself?” Clove continues.

“I was taught archery by someone else, I taught myself with the knife and I wrestle competitively.”

“Why’d you volunteer?”

“Why does anyone volunteer? To find the life of a victor.”

This makes her smile which scares me more than reassures me. She reminds me of a wolf that grins before it tears into its prey.

“You’re almost the same as us.”

This makes me smile which is apparently a mistake.

“I said almost twelve, we’re still better than you.”

“Don’t worry darlin’, I won’t forget my place.”

She smiles again, and this time it seems more genuine.

“Okay I see how it is, you’re lucky though, I like your fight.”

We stand awkwardly for a while, Clove seems to be waiting on some sort of signal from the other girl who’s still standing at me beaming, my hand in hers. Clove coughs and the girl drops my hand and they face each other, their faces intricately twitching. Their demented rabbit performance reminds me of Katniss and Gale, their ability to communicate silently. They must teach something similar at the academy, but it’s certainly to a much less subtle degree.

“Well it’s decided then, you’ll join us, for now. " Clove declares.

The blonde looks me up and down for a second, before sticking her hand out for me to shake.

" Glimmer! District 1.”

I shake her hand. Are district 1 tributes usually this chirpy? Or is it just my luck that I’ve got the weirdly chipper one. I’d still rather be around her than Clove though.
" So where’s your compartment?” Clove asks me.
“Down at the very end of the train.”
Glimmer puts on a sweet, innocent look. Great. What do they want from me?
" Would you be ever so kind and let us stay with you, just for one night. Please, the boys have taken over district one and twos compartments. and it’s just no place for girls, too much lynx y’know.”
I have no clue what lynx is but from the disgusted look on Glimmers face I can only assume that it’s a crime against humanity that only District one and two boys wield. If they stayed in my compartment, it would earn me favour with them and I could use that. I remember what Katniss said last games “They win every year, everyone knows that. Just being in the career pack boosts your chances massively. After all, like as not, the winner will be one of them.”
“Sure!”
“Oh this is so exciting! It’ll be such an experience to see how the lower Districts live!” Glimmer squeals.
I don’t have the heart to break it to her that a compartment on a luxury train probably isn’t the best representation of what starving to death in twelve looks like.
As soon as I re-enter the compartment with the girls in tow I remember the reason that I left in the first place.
“One of these girls is smuggling a first aid kit under their shirts I take it?”
Turns out even getting a nail through the hand isn’t enough to humble some people.
“My bets on the blonde with a look at that cleavage.” He winks at Glimmer.
“You’re a savage you know that right?” I seethe at him, sure that Glimmer will take an offence to this and it’ll be the end of our little rendezvous. Glimmer however seems to take whatever the complete opposite of offence is, and begins to play nurse, doting on him with little strokes to his hair and soft touches to his face.
She uses Effie’s handkerchiefs, something I’m sure hell will be played about when Effie finds out, dipping them into water and carefully washing the blood away from his wound. Once done she rips little strips of fabric from the underskirt of her dress and wraps those strips around tight, but not too tight to restrict circulation. It’s a well practiced feat compared to the previous years careers. They killed one of their own over a sprained ankle that they didn’t know how to wrap. The academies clearly don’t want to make that mistake again.
Huckle acts sweet with her despite his earlier performance thanking her for her hospitality and kindness, and she eats it right up feigning humbleness.
Haymitch still hasn’t turned up yet, but Effie has, and she’s actually happy to be playing mentor for once, even so much as speaking to a District 1 or 2 tribute skyrockets your social status. According to Effie anyway. Despite this I know what she really feels, she knows that one of might have a chance this year. She knows that when the train pulls back into twelve in three weeks they might only have to hire four men to lift the coffins out not eight. She knows that there might only be one coffin.
When it’s time to eat, we all indulge in the massive meal that’s served, I may live and eat with Haymitch but even I’ve never seen so much food in one place. Fresh breads, greens covered in oils and seasonings, meat cooked in thick sweet and salty sauces. The desserts are even more complicated creations, all looking more like small gift boxes than cakes.
Glimmer looks on in awe as they bring the dessert tray out, only keeping her composure when Clove pokes her, but even Clove looks shocked to some degree.
“Effie.” Glimmer says nervously. “Are we allowed to have dessert?”
“Of course you are! I know your mentors don’t approve but it would be incredibly rude not to, you wouldn’t want to offend the Capitol by rejecting our hospitality.” Effie says with a wink.
She can be real cunning sometimes I think.
Effie makes comments on how wonderful all our manners are, especially mine, and Glimmer and Clove completely soak up all the attention, preening under the praise. Huckle doesn’t look quite as happy. After the meal it’s time to watch the reapings. Effie is practically bouncing with excitement about it, she’s missed them all by having to sort me and Haymitch out all morning.
“Proserpina’s been sending me updates all morning but it’s just not the same as watching them.” She sighs discontentedly.
I know it’s common practice to make notes on the other tributes, Haymitch makes his do it every year, but Glimmer and Clove take it to the next level. They make screeds of comments and predictions on every single tribute.
I make notes of a few myself, the pair from seven who look well fed and don’t cry, the crippled boy from 10, with a steely look of determination in his eyes, the ox like boy and his comparatively tiny district partner from 11, and the girl with the fiery red hair and fox like appearance from 5.
When it comes to twelve’s reaping everyone’s eyes are glued to the TV.
Glimmer and Clove praise me on volunteering saying that it “respects the reaping and all it stands for” Its another comment that shows the disparities between us. They come from a place where volunteering is a sign of honour. In twelve all volunteering symbolises is stupidity.
They praise Huckle for his volunteering too, and he raises his glass to them with a smile, the same way I’ve watched Haymitch do sarcastically. He’s playing with them without trying to get on their bad sides. I don’t blame him.
The reapings are over and I’m a second away from powering off the TV, when the screen flickers and President Snows face pops up.
We all jump a little in shock. Effie lets out a scream.
“Why is he on the TV?” Glimmer whispers.
“I don’t know.” I whisper back.
He starts to talk, the room now so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
" Good afternoon Panem, greetings and salutations to you all. Now recently the people of the capitol have been finding the games a little… Boring so to speak. So the game makers have decided to add a little twist. In honour of us being one year away from the third quarter quell, the twist is, that this year there may be three winners to the hunger games, so long as they are in an alliance by the end of the games. "
The TV flickers again and then turns back to Keeping up with the Flickerman's. The only sound in the room is the silent hum of the train as it glides along the tracks.
Clove turns to face both me and Glimmer.
" Alliance? " She offers hesitantly.
" Alliance!” Me and Glimmer agree in unison.
“Eek!” Glimmer squeals. “This is going to be great, I love you two!”
Me and Clove exchange a glance, then a smile.
I think we might just end up getting along.

Chapter Text

The announcement had set off celebrations in the District twelve compartment like never seen before, as Glimmer had immediately set off raiding liquor trolleys and chirping out orders to attendants. After all, she’d remarked, there’s no party quite like a Capitol funded party.

Effie sat in the corner, happily snipping away at a tulle skirt the same horrific shade of magenta as her outfit making streamers and bunting to decorate with sipping her own drink, something Rosemary had never seen her do before.

“It brings me back to my interior design days.” She’d beamed at them, leading me to question both what the standard of home decoration was in the Capitol, and also how useful her degree actually was.

Haymitch had surfaced for the first time today, and had so far busied himself with the whiskey, and Clove, seeing as she was pawing for the bottle too.

“You want to water down the finest whiskey Panem has to offer with glorified frozen water?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“It brings out the notes of it better!” Clove rebutted.

They were surely going to get along like a house on fire, she mused. Haymitch grabbed Clove’s drink from her claws dumping it into a nearby plant and refilling it with whiskey only. Maybe a house on fire that had an entire fire crew attending then on second thought.

Tired of their tirade, Clove sauntered over to her, swiping a few ice cubes to drop into her drink on the way over. The clink of the ice in the glass drew my attention to Clove’s reflection in her drink, giving her face a fiery glow. My eyes now fixed on Clove’s actual face, noticing how sharp her cheekbones were, and the yellow hint in her deep brown eyes, something she’d thought was simply a trick of the light when staring into the whiskey.

“Noticing how much hotter than you I am?” Clove smirked.

“You said to study the other tributes.” She wouldn’t let Clove get one up on her, even if there was some truth to her statement. “You look, um, very District two.” Very well done Rosemary, fair assessment and good excuse she thought.

“My nose looks too three.” Scrunching it up in disgust as if the mere thought of it made her want to cut it off. “Now yours is a proper two nose, roman nose we call it in my District.”

“It’s Seam, Haymitch’s is the same.” I gesture over to him. “Lot’s of poor women makin’ love with peacekeepers for money where I live. You go back far enough, and we’ve probably got more in common than you two’s like to think about.”

Clove shrugs at this, swinging an arm around her shoulder. Clove’s embrace is a lot warmer than it looked on the outside, she must just run hot.

“Look at her.” Clove sighed, pointing over to where Glimmer sat, snipping away glumly with Effie. “She started this whole thing off and now she’s been delegated to making shitty bits of fancy string.”

She paused for a moment and then looks into my eyes slyly. “You know I think if you made her a drink she might cheer up, she certainly seems to like you.”

The blush that had began to creep onto my face when Clove had come into such close proximity with me deepened.

“She looks like a dirty Shirley type of girl.” Clove mentioned, before beginning to pull away.

“What?” I ask.

Clove looks at me confusing, before letting out her clear teasing laugh that seems to follow her everywhere. “I suppose there’s not much to mix up in twelve?” She asks, raising her brow in a way that reminds me so much of Haymitch.

She leads me over to the bar cart, my hand now clasped in hers. I’m sure my palm must feel clammy against her cold skin but she doesn’t complain. It has the same rough feel as the boys I’ve sometimes went with in the Summer, when the days are long and they can sneak from their work for an hour or two.

Not one to waste words on anything that’s not teasing or insulting, another quality that’s much like Haymitch, she leads with her body, guiding my hands to bottles, jerking them back when I’m seconds away from pouring too much. It’s strange to be so close to a woman, but feels so familiar with her.

“There we go.” She winks, nudging me along when I linger next to her just a second too long.

“Rosemary!” Glimmer looks up at me hopefully when I arrive at her table, sliding first into the seat across from her, then sliding her drink across the table.

“I brought you a drink, I really hope you like it.” I stumble over a few of my words, confidence zapped away by… I’m not sure what.

She takes a few long smooth sips from the glass, her glossed up lips closing so perfectly around the straw, then makes a sound of contentment.

“A dirty Shirley?” She questions, not looking for an answer. “They’re my absolute favourite, how did you know?” She smiles bringing forth a row of brilliant white teeth.

“Lucky guess?” I offer.

“Oh then I must make a guess for you! It’d be rude to not make you a drink when you went through the trouble for me!” With a quick flash, Glimmer is off from the table and over to the bar cart, humming and swaying around the bottles, the drink I made her still held precariously between two slim fingers.

She returns to the table as quick as she left holding a simple looking drink with a green lemon wedged onto the side.

“A mojito.” She declares presenting it to me with a wink. “White rum, lime, and mint.”

Apart from mint which grows abundantly in twelve, I’ve never heard of these ingredients before, it tastes cold and soothing, even the alcohol doesn’t burn like I’m used to. She looks pleased with my reaction to it, and I tell her it’s delicious because it truly is. We sit, sip, and chatter on for a while, Effie just watching on at us proudly not interrupting for once. She tells me of her family business in fashion, something I thought was restrained to eight before this. Before her training as a career, now only on weekends or holidays, she would sit for hours sewing gemstones onto dresses for wealthy Capitolite’s to wear, or sometimes even more interesting people.

“I spent a full three days with those sapphires!” She exclaims. “I didn’t think it was worth it at all, and then who do I see wearing it?”

“Who?” I gasp, leaning in further. Her idle gossip doesn’t interest me too much, but it makes her glow and seeing that isn’t something I’m going to pass up on.

“Annie Cresta!” I do remember that dress now, it was a stunning feat of engineering designed to look like a mermaid tail. Unfortunately sitting on that stage after her victory, she looked swamped in it, her tiny quivering face shrinking back into her head-dress.

“It was well worth it in the end then, it looked stunning.” I tell her earnestly.

“Thank you, that means a lot.” She smiles in a much shyer way to her earlier ones.

When the sun outside begins to set and the compartment fills with an orange glow, Huckle re-enters with a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his arms laden with various round discs that Glimmer called records. They sell them in the Hob sometimes, but we don’t have anything to play them on. Madge does, and on a few occasions we’ve sat together in her room, soaking up whatever the latest Capitol pop record is.

“I searched the entire train.” He says spilling his newfound treasure onto the table. “A lot of these are classical I’ve been warned.”

Effie and Glimmer dutifully search through the pile attempting to find anything at least post first quarter quell, and Effie settles on a slightly frayed looking one, not the newest but not the oldest either.

“This was top of the charts during my first year as escort.” She smiles fondly, and Haymitch gestures for her to put it on from across the room. That was a big year for him too, the year after he won the games and had to send his first tributes to their deaths. I hold an image in my mind of a much younger Haymitch and Effie, listening in silence with their tributes in their own orange tinted nest of peace among chaos.

He helps her put it onto the player, their hands touching briefly and their heads close together. I hear brief mutterings before the music cuts in. They sound like fond ones; I wonder how close they’ve become over the years without me noticing.

Glimmer leads me up to the floor space, pressing close to me and guiding me through the steps to some dance I’m unfamiliar with. Only married couples dance this way together in twelve, younger people lean towards the raucous barn-dances that have been known to make the floor shake at festivals or indeed any time an excuse to dance is found.

The music has crooning lyrics to it, another thing I’m unfamiliar with. Singing is more of an individual thing in twelve, people sing to themselves when in work, or maybe to siblings, but festivities are limited to instruments only, the smooth sounds of a cello or a violin; guitars for young miners who don’t have the patience or time for more complicated instruments.

Her smooth hands cling to my hand and waist our faces so close it makes me struggle to breathe. She twirls me around the room with incredible grace, dipping me down, a move that moves my heart beat faster than I knew it could. I could cry when the song is finished, so wrapped up in her gaze that I don’t notice it when a tear actually does run does my face. She thumbs it away, letting her finger linger on my face for a moment. For a moment our faces touch and she presses her lips to mine, I’m too shocked to move as she sweeps away to attend to other duties, leaving only the shiny trace of her gloss on my face.

The next track plays on, a pop hit amongst the deep cuts and Haymitch pushes another drink into my hand to match his own.

“She’ll be a heart-breaker that one.” He sighs.

“Is.” I sigh back and he shoots me a knowing disappointed glance.

“At least the other one would be honest about it.” He shrugs.

“You trying to steer my love life for me?” I quip.

“I won’t make you choose I’m just here for the gossip.” He replies with a wink and tilt of his glass. “Hell with with announcement, maybe that’s the President’s way of telling you to have both.”

I don’t give him the pleasure of my response to that one. I can see how he’s not a favourite among the Capitol if he’s as annoying to them as he is to me, although I feel as though he amps it up just for my enjoyment.

“Haymitch my old friend.” A rich voice bellows out. “One of your tributes has taken the pleasure of unlocking all the doors for me, so I thought I’d make a special visit.”

Haymitch’s favourite drinking buddy Chaff has found his way to our apartment which means my time with him is over as he saunters over to us, greeting Haymitch with his characteristic… Over enthusiasm to say the least.

I join my group of allies who’re chatting and playing cards in the corner of the compartment, blankets wrapped around them by concerned avox’s who’ve clearly never seen tributes drink before. Clove looks up at me, her eyes sparkling with the mischief of someone who’s been clearing out their allies in poker for the last few rounds.

“Want to help me pour this lot another round?” She asks.

I look down at my empty glass, my second drink compared to the four or five everyone else has had. Light drinking for me really.

“Of course, lets go.” I smile and help her up onto her feet, the tray of glasses in her hand swaying as she does.

She helps me again with the pouring, but more clumsily than earlier, with the tendency to lean too heavily into me whenever she forgets I’m not a table.

“You kissed Glimmer?” She grins from over my shoulder.

“A little. Why, you gotta problem?” I respond.

“Maybe if I was into you.” Her face turning more Cheshire each minute. “Or maybe not, Glimmer’s cute isn’t she?”

With that she leaves me to gawp as she walks off back to the group with only the odd stumble, leaving me with the tray of drinks to take back. Typical two. Their female tributes go for the cocky flirty persona every three years at least. They like their sarcasm and wit there.

When I join the card circle Clove starts to lose. I don’t doubt she’s a better player but she also many drinks ahead of me and my minds significantly sharper than hers. Even another drink and a half later she’s still losing and insists we switch to gin rummy. Five games of that then it’s old maid. I’m nearly finishing my sixth when she starts to come to victory again and is pleased enough to stop playing, the rest of us now out of our minds from the endless shuffling of decks and squinting at card numbers. Glimmer sits and idly twists her hair cogs turning, very, slowly in her head.

“Let’s watch a film!” She announces, throwing her cards into the air, and flouncing towards the TV and sofa, Clove dropping her cards too to follow her. Huckle and me clean up the cards as the most sober ones. As he kneels down searching the floor for one of Glimmer’s queens a small, gold, heart pendant tumbles out from it’s place tucked under his shirt.

“That’s a nice piece, it your token?” I ask him.

“Yeah.” He responds. He’s really not much of a talker, liquor usually makes even the quietest people loose-lipped.

“A sweetheart give it to ya?” I press on lightly. He looks up at me with pain in his eyes and sighs.

“Someone I loved a real lot, y’know.”

“The person you volunteered for? I ask.

His eyes have developed a sheen and he has to cough to clear his throat. I put my cards to one side and shuffle to be beside him, holding his hand in mine to try provide some kind of comfort.

“He was just a good friend.” He tells me, shaking me off lightly with a strained smile, going back to picking up the cards, sliding them back into their packet.

That puts an end to our conversation and we go over to the sofa where Clove and Glimmer are stroppily arguing about what film we should watch. Clove’s struggling to grab the remote off of Glimmer who’s waving it around in the air. Clove is strong, and deadly, but she’s also 5’2” to Glimmers 5’7”.

“What about that one?” I suggest pointing to a square displaying a sparkly white man. “He glimmers like your namesake.”

“I love Twilight!” Glimmer squeals, putting it on as Clove goes into a huff, crossing her arms and scowling. We settle into the sofa watching the truly bizarre film a Capitol classic apparently, saying goodnight to Haymitch and Effie as they head off to their compartments, then later Clove and Glimmer as they fall asleep together on the sofa. I turn to Huckle to ask him if he wants to return to our rooms and a raw sounding, “Yes.”, comes out.

I follow him to our room doors, and before I’m about to go in, he turns to me, eyes red rimmed.

“I usually sleep with my sister.” He confesses. Then hesitating, “Would you please sleep with me, I think I’m just a little…”

“Scared?” I offer quietly. He nods and I follow him into the black of the room, settling onto the bed next to him with my blanket wrapped around me like a cocoon. I hold him reassuringly as he shakes and sobs into his pillow, trying not to draw his attention to me too much, so he doesn’t feel self conscious.

As we drift off to sleep guilt has begun to work its way into my conscious, I’ve already agreed to an alliance and he isn’t in it. A record number of winners from a game and yet I’m denying District twelve of its chance to come home with two. In three weeks, I will have indirectly or directly killed the scared boy, scared child, that just wants to go home as much as the rest of us.

This will be a hard games now.