[MADISON BAILEY, NONBINARY, SHE/THEY] The 74th Annual Hunger Games are upon us and here comes SPARROW GARDNER, a DISTRICT 11 TRIBUTE. Word around The Capitol is that they’re QUICK-WITTED and INGENIOUS but can also be DISHONEST and SECRETIVE. According to sources, they’re 19 and were once described as a hand slipping into a pocket, sticky fingers, apple juice running over your chin, quick footsteps disappearing down an alley. What a character! As we always say, may the odds be ever in their favor!
One of District 11’s many orphans, Sparrow hasn’t the faintest idea who her parents were. Her name was given to her by the old man who ran the orphanage she was left at the door of, with one of the classic surnames given to foundlings around the district tacked on at the end.
While he never mistreated her, old Culler had his hands full with his overflowing house, and little time to dedicate to any specific child. From a young age, Sparrow learned that anything she wanted, she’d have to get for herself, from food scraps to a pallet to sleep on. A nimble climber, she was often found up on the orphanage’s roof, curled up on a blanket laid over the sun-warm tiles, out of reach from bigger, stronger kids who might try to take her findings from her.
Like most of her district’s children, she was pulled from school and drafted to join the workforce before she hit double digits. This was a curse and a boon, as while the work was back-breaking on a good day, it gave her plenty of occasions to sneak off some of the produce they gathered. A scrawny, gangly child, she was deemed too weak to last very long under the merciless sun out in the fields, she was assigned to triage, and tasked with sorting the good fruits and vegetable from the spoiled, to pick out what would be sent to the Capitol and what riffraff would be left for the districts’ residents.
Sparrow became an expert at sneaking apples down her shirt unnoticed, and before long, she’d graduated to picking coins straight out of the overseers’ pockets. She was not the strongest worker, nor the most resilient, but her talent for thieving kept her afloat even after she turned sixteen and Culler shooed her out, to make room for younger, needier children. What she did not eat, she could trade, and while it was nowhere near enough to be comfortable, it kept her from starving to death.
Sparrow likes to brag she was only caught once…though the mistake did cost her. She was lucky enough that the one who caught onto her was one of the district’s gentler Peacekeepers, and where she might have lost her hand at the wrist for larceny, she got away with only losing two fingers on her left hand.
Despite her antics, food alone was not always plentiful, and there were years she was forced to trade tesserae to get by, when winters were harsh and the harvest lean. Even so, her odds were better than most in Eleven, and so her Reaping came as a shock. Though her friendly persona had won her some friends, no one loved her quite enough to volunteer in her place⎯and so off she went to the Capitol, painfully aware of what she lacked but determined to survive all the same.
"my mentor feels sorry for me, i guess." peter shrugged his shoulders, twisting the cigar around his finger before lifting it to take another long draw from it. there was that headrush feeling, the one he had only experienced a few times before when he'd taken a hit from something that wasn't mostly hay and had a real kick. his cheeks puffed out for a moment before he blew that smoke out, both through his nose and his mouth, and then twisted it to offer the end to them with the smallest bow of his head.
"peter. and i appreciate the gesture, though i will admit, this is probably the only thing of mine you'll be sticking in your mouth. i've got a proclivity for uppity, high strung guys, i'm afraid." there was a wry smile as pete lifted his arms above his head in a long, cat like stretch, feeling a few things pop and crack as he went before settling back in to standing at his full height. "it's almost a shame that it's so nice, here, huh? like i almost wanted it to suck more so i could feel better about not wanting to be here." there was a chuckle, and he shook his head. "then again, i guess when you're on the chopping block, not wanting to be here should be par for the course."
they needed no further prompting to take the cigar, holding it somewhat gingerly before bringing it to their lips and mimicking the other’s gesture, sucking in their cheeks to take a drag from it. it wasn’t their very first time ; they didn’t know a single kid in eleven who hadn’t given in at one point or another, if only out of curiosity -, but they’d never gotten into the habit, mostly because the local chainsmokers’ hacking cough promised nothing good. the harm seemed minimal now, though. what did a few puffs matter, when they were liable to die in the following weeks ? that was the thought, at least, before the smoke hit their throat and sent them into a coughing fit, nearly dropping the cigar before catching it and handing it back to peter.
❛ nice t’meet you, ❜ sparrow wheezed, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand. their eyes felt uncomfortably watery, but then again, a little embarrassment didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. ❛ you’re a funny guy, aren’t ya ? guess you’re in luck, though. you’ve come to a place that churns out guys like that. ❜ as far as they could tell, anyway⎯the only capitolites they’d had a chance to talk to so far had been from district eleven’s team, but if they were an accurate sample of their peers, sparrow was pretty sure they were right.
❛ it is a nice view, though. nicer than all the concrete down below. ❜ from this height, the city seemed made of glass, glittering in the dawning sun. shame it wouldn’t shatter so easily. ❛ and you’ve got your fancy cigar an’ everything. it’s basically heaven. ❜ they threw him another glance before tilting their face up to the sky. ❛ think your mentor’ll hook me up too if i ask nicely ? i don’t smoke, but i could use a treat before…you know, everything. ❜
a sleepless night faded into morning, the sky outside the window of the room they'd been assigned slowly turning from the smoky grey- black to something lighter and misty. iza hadn't meant to spend so long curled up on the windowsill, a divinely soft blanket swaddled around them, but they'd found themself unable to move at some point-- and hadn't cared enough to force themself to bed, staring sightlessly at some nebulous point outside.
they needed to practice, to work out. they needed to get dressed, eat something. they needed to quit wasting their fucking time. instead when they finally stood-- they headed to the elevator and hit the button for the roof, still clad in the shorts and tank they'd meant to sleep in.
it was too much to hope that they'd be alone here, too, but iza swallowed the momentary disappointment. they didn't have the energy right now to truly care.
"everything in this city comes at a price," iza pointed out, though they likely should have kept their mouth shut. not everyone was sulking about being here... and to the wrong ears, such words could have been considered treasonous, iza was sure.
whatever. the worst anyone could do at this point was expedite their death.
"hardly," iza answered, a grim smile curving their lips. "haven't slept yet. my bed at home is nicer." it wasn't, in the technical sense-- but all the silk and feather down in the world couldn't beat the comfort at home, the warmth of their puppy curled around their head like a halo, the sound of their family filtering in the crack underneath their bedroom door.
all iza'd been able to think about was that they'd never have any of that ever again.
in some ways-- it felt as if they'd already died.
"well, what do you think?" they asked after a moment, creeping close to the edge with their arms crossed. "city of dreams? personally, i thought it'd be prettier."
the silhouette that ambled onto the roof was still in their pajamas, and sparrow visibly relaxed, scaling them down as a threat ( for now, anyway ). they doubted someone dressed in their night shorts was out to report them. even if the likelihood that wandering out of their room on some random morning was an offense was low, the capitol’s rules changed all the time, so one could never be too careful.
❛ right, right. our lives and everything. ❜ they studied the newcomer from the corner of their eye, making a note of their pale hair, the poise beneath their rumpled look. a beat passed before they returned their smile, but when they did, the gesture was genuine enough. ❛ yeah ? aren’t ya lucky. mine beats the stacks o’ straw back home for sure. ❜ career, then. sparrow couldn’t think of anyone else who could boast a bed even half as comfortable as the one they’d spent the night in, fluffy as a cloud and soft as sin. if so, though, it begged the question of why they’d ever leave such comfort behind. maybe the games really were different in those people’s heads.
they shifted a little to the side, making room for the stranger near the railing. it was a silly gesture, really - the roof was spacious enough to accommodate the two of them about twenty times over -, but unexpected companionship was still companionship, after all. ❛ now you’ve got to tell me where you got those standards, ❜ they chirped. ❛ i think it’s neat. gives me a bit of a headache with all the lights, but it sure is nicer than it looked on tv. ❜ nevermind that the screen they used to watch the games on was grainy on the best of days, and flickered in and out with the district’s frequent electricity shortages. ❛ what’s your ‘better’ like, then ? ❜
nobody's stopped me yet. aphrodite laughed softly-- wry. she doubted the capitol cared about snagging views for free, about tributes jumping, maybe. curiously, she grabbed the first flat stone she could find in the gardens and threw it towards the horizon, like a skipping stone. only there was no water for it to skim across, only a forcefield that it crackled against, then bounced back at full force. "duck!" aphrodite pulled sparrow's shoulders down as the stone flew back, then helped her up when the coast was clear. figures, she thought.
back home, aphrodite would rise with the sun and help her father prepare everything he needed for a successful day of fishing. nets, bait, hooks, and spears. it was always a lot of work, but often worth it. but instead she answered, "i don't think anyone sleeps well here." she sat on a barrier beside the garden, linen dress splayed out around her, and long, tanned legs crossed in front of her. "does it remind you of home at all? not the view but...the plants?"
sparrow’s eyebrows rose towards their hairline as they watched the newcomer bend over, scooping a stone up from the side of the path and hurling it over the railing seemingly at a random point on the horizon. they felt the impact a fraction of a second before their brain registered it, every hair on their arm standing on end before the girl grabbed them by the shoulders, pulling her down just as the projectile came hurtling back towards them, crashing into some of the shrubbery a few feet behind them. momentarily struck speechless, sparrow stood and dusted themselves off, glancing between the stone’s point of impact and the ripple it’d made in what they could now see was a force field, surrounding the roof just over an arm’s length from the railing.
❛ is this how you make introductions back home ? ‘cause you really need to work on that. ❜ there was no real resentment in their voice, though, not when their brain was busy filing away this new bit of information. they crossed their arms, studying the girl, noting the eye-catching spread of her dress over the granite bench, the effortlessness of her pose. they remembered now : district four, aphrodite. fancy name, for a district girl. ❛ not the plants, no. we don’t plant a lot of this pretty stuff in eleven. ❜ if greenery couldn’t be consumed, then it had no business growing on arable land ; that had been the thought, anyway. ❛ i like high places, though, so it feels a little nostalgic. you ? i'm having a hard time imagining a place that looks less like the seaside than this one. ❜ not that they'd ever seen it themselves, but that was besides the point.
pete wasn't sure that he'd really slept at all, but he had been wickedly surprised when, after asking his mentor subtly about tobacco, they'd slipped him a cigar, rolled tight and thick, and waved him toward the lift with a mention of the rooftop. he hadn't hesitated to slip away and disappear into the shiny metal box with the cigar and the single match he'd been given to light it. back home, he'd been more of a pipe guy on the rare occasions he'd indulged, but this.... well.
maybe the capitol did have it's perks.
he could practically hear abuela in his head. 'peter michael lopez, you're going to put yourself into an early grave' and it was almost laughable to think of it. he did let out a little chuckle as the lift dinged and those smooth silver doors slid open, letting him out into a milky early morning sky. the view, if nothing else, was incredible.
the figure standing there did startle him, but they didn't appear to be a threat... not right at this exact moment, anyway. this wasn't the arena, after all.
he struck the match against one of the stones next to him, and quickly lit up, allowing the smoke to roll around in his mouth before he quickly blew it out in a huff. "up with the cows. i don't think i've ever slept later than the sun a day in my life." and there was no reason to mention that he hadn't actually slept much at all the night before, anyway. that the bed had been too comfortable, so he'd pulled the blanket and a pillow from it and made himself a little cot on the floor, instead. he would have been embarrassed if anyone had come into his room and seen that. "would you like a hit? capitol tobacco, wildly top tier. not that i expected any less."
as the figure stepped away from the elevator and into the first rays of sunlight, sparrow realized they could place him after all. the male tribute from ten…peeta something ? no, that didn’t sound right. despite rewatching recordings from the reaping obsessively on the train ride to the capitol, they still managed to mix some of their fellow tributes up, and that simply wouldn’t do. they did need to know what they were up against, after all.
they watched in mild interest as he pulled a match out of his pocket, striking it against one of the decorative stones that lined the garden path and using it to light a fat cigar, its burning end a little pinprick of light in the early dawn. sparrow’s experience of smoking was limited to the rolled-up cigarettes culler used to huff in the morning, and those were more than halfway made of grass, but even they could tell the stuff was quality. its shape was smooth and even, nothing like the stained paper they’d seen field workers wrap their smokes in.
❛ same here, ❜ they said, mostly to seem friendly. ❛ a day in the orchard starts bright an’ early too, i guess. how’d you get your hands on that ? ❜ curiosity did indeed kill the cat, as for all their previous wariness, sparrow found themselves creeping closer, eyeing the other’s find. ❛ sure, i’ll give it a try. ❜ a moment’s hesitation, then : ❛ name's sparrow, by the way. feel like you should know that before i stick anything of yours in my mouth. ❜
WHO : sparrow gardner & open.
WHERE : the tributes' center rooftop garden.
the training center was even more impressive than sparrow had imagined it to be. the shack they called home back could’ve fit in their new bedroom five times over, not the mention the rest of the luxurious suite allotted to district eleven. while their first few hours in the capitol had been spent marveling at the comforts allotted to them, the distraction had quickly faded. everything sure seemed less rosy when they started to think that their last meal before the arena would be enjoyed here, or that it might be the last time they slept in a real bed.
once those thoughts had settled in, the place had quickly become suffocating. sparrow wasn’t sure they were even allowed to leave their rooms unaccompanied, but no one had tried to stop them when they’d taken a few steps out the door, and the few avoxes they ran into averted their gazes, hurrying on without so much as an indication that they’d seen them. they took it as validation - what else could the capitol do to punish them, anyway ? -, making their way to the elevator and pressing the topmost button.
the sight of the sunrise greeted them. from below, it might’ve been hard to see⎯but up here, near the top of the skyscrapers, there was enough of the sky to take a good look at the soft pink and orange hues of the new dawn. they lingered, walking back and forth aimlessly across the roof, eyeing the plants that grew in their pots. they were fed plenty enough here, but what could they say ? old habits died hard.
the ping of the elevator startled them, and they turned like a frightened rabbit, half expecting to find a peacekeeper standing there. when they realized the figure who approached wore no white uniform, sparrow breathed a quiet sigh of relief. they shoved their hands into their pockets but relaxed their elbows, deliberately going for a nonchalant stance. ❛ go on. the view’s free, as far as i can tell. no one's stopped me yet, anyway. ❜ they kept the newcomer at the periphery of their vision for a few moments before adding : ❛ early bird, aren't ya ? ❜
WHO : sparrow gardner & penelope valentinus / @ofgildedrose.
WHERE : the tributes' introduction gala.
surely district eleven’s stylist had done the best they could - sparrow assumed so, anyway, from the look of them -, but no amount of goodwill could shake the fact that she simply wasn’t used to this attire. the intricate dresses that seemed to be all the rage in the capitol felt ungainly and impractical at best, downright restraining at worst. in eleven, she’d taken pride on her nimble movements and light-footedness, but they were near-impossible to show off now. could you give your stylist suggestions for future events? some pants would already be a huge improvement on…whatever was going on here. if she was possibly going to die, she didn’t want some of the last shots of her living self going around to show her tottering about like a newborn duckling.
straightening her spine as best she could, she wove her way through the crowd, eyes darting to and fro, trying to pick out her fellow tributes from the guests. they weren’t the only ones in attendance, though⎯some of these people were too well-dressed, too haughty-looking to be anything but capitolites born and bred. her gaze had just landed on one such attendee - an elegant woman, so put together sparrow might’ve believed her to have stepped out of a picture - when it was drawn by a glint of crystal, a swirl of dark liquid sweeping over the rim.
❛ oh⎯hey! ❜ her hand shot out before she could think, snatching up the glass at the base before it spilled its contents all over the lady’s dress. her own outfit was less fortunate, and she stared down at the wine stains that marred the cuff. well, that’s that. it was as good an excuse as any to request a quick change of clothes. ❛ sorry about it…ma’am, ❜ she added cautiously, because the situation did seem to warrant some formality. ❛ good thing i’m quick, huh? ❜
When Sparrow was little, the Reaping had been an ordeal and a half. Despite the day off the Capitol granted them for the occasion, Culler would wake up his brood up at the crack of dawn, rousing them from their beds by clanking a wooden spoon against an old cooking pot. They’d all hated the sound at the time, but now that she was older, Sparrow understood it took nothing less to wrestle nearly two dozen brats from their mats into a quick spray-down and their nicest clothes, which were often only slightly cleaner than the usual. Then he’d serve them breakfast (boiled barley, more often than not), and they would line up in rows of two that, by the time they got to the plaza, would have invariably dissolved into chaos.
She hadn’t walked to the Reaping with company since she’d turned sixteen, though. She did miss the bustle sometimes, Sparrow thought as she pulled on her least musty set of clothes, shaking the dust from the sleeves. It took less than a minute for the fabric to start clinging to her skin. Even in the shade of the little shack she’d claimed for herself, the heat was sweltering, the sun already high in the sky. Soon enough, she’d have to head out and take her place among her peers, sweating her ass off as they all waited for some poor sod to be reaped and for that little show to be over.
Six more years. She’d made it more than halfway through her eligible time already. Six more years, and while she’d be far from free, the Hunger Games would become the least of her worries.
Her stomach grumbled, and she indulged in the last peach from her stash. Today had few good things going for it, after all, and while she was running low on supplies, it wouldn’t do to show up to the town square on an empty stomach. Some people always ended up fainting in the oppressive summer heat, and she didn’t intend to make a fool of herself this year. Sparrow bit into the fruit, slurping up the juice before it could drip down her chin and onto her clean shirt. She ate the last of it on her way to the main square, tucking the pit into her pocket. Who knew where she could muster enough room to plant it, but maybe she’d find a way.
She slid into place on her row just in time. Only a couple of minutes passed before she heard the Peacekeepers’ sharp whistle and everyone fell silent, enough to hear a fly buzz by. Sparrow tucked her hands into her pockets, keeping her eyes on the ground. It was a silly ritual, but if the Capitol was like a great eye watching over their lives, she felt as though not meeting its gaze might save her. She was still staring a hole into the dirt when the escort’s voice rang out.
“SPARROW GARDNER!”
She didn’t budge, even as her brain registered the words. This wasn’t happening. Gardner was perhaps one of the most common names in the district, and Sparrow⎯well, maybe she’d misheard. Maybe it was all a fluke, and the escort would laugh and pick another paper slip out of their great glass ball. Any second now.
But no one was laughing. Instead, a murmur ran through the ranks of prospective tributes as her neighbors looked at each other, then at her. The nearest two stared at her then shifted away, as though her misfortune would somehow rub off on them.
“Sparrow Gardner,” the escort said again. “Please make your way to the stage.” Did they sound impatient? Sympathetic? She couldn’t tell. Why couldn’t she tell? Her ears were full of white noise. Her throat burned. The peach threatened to come back up in a trickle of bile.
She didn’t know where she found the resolve to move. Breaking down into tiny steps helped. One foot in front of the other, again and again. A few more, and she was on the wooden blocks that led up to the stage, then on the stage itself, facing the crowd. A camera flashed in her face, and the sunlight glinting off the lens brought some of her senses back to her. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and attempted to stand up straighter, even though her knees felt like jelly. “Mighty bad luck I’ve got, huh? I bet no one’s hankering for a ticket to this show.” Her voice came out croaky and shaking, but surely anything was better than cowering in fear when the Capitol was watching.
The rest of the Reaping passed in a blur. She should’ve made an effort to jot down the name of her fellow tribute, how they’d behaved themselves in front of the crowd, but every thought she tried to have drained out of her head as if out of a sieve. Next thing she knew, she was sitting on a ratty velvet couch set up in one of the train station’s waiting rooms, still shaking. People were still talking outside, but their voices were muted, though she couldn’t tell whether they were muffled by the closed door or if her ears were still buzzing.
Then the panel swung open with a creak, and old Culler was standing in the doorway. The last three years had worsened his limp, which he now had to remedy with a cane, but he looked exactly the same as he did when Sparrow had last seen him, sending her on her way with all her life stuffed into a ballot over her shoulder.
She’d never been a particularly affectionate child, even when she was little, but here and now, she had to resist the urge to throw herself into his arms. Instead, she stood as best she could, propping herself up on the arm of a couch. “Didn’t take you for the sentimental type, Pops.”
He reached out and cuffed the side of her head, as he’d used to when he’d walked into the kitchen to find her wrist-deep in the treats jar. “And I didn’t take you for the quakin’ type. Guess you’re not as good as getting a read on folks as you thought, eh?”
As if to prove him right, she felt her eyes water. Before any tear could flow, she swiped at them with the hem of her sleeve. Who cared about clean shirts now, when she might die in the coming week? “Yeah, well, you’d best hope you’re wrong if you ever wanna see my mug again.”
“Who wants to see it again, you lazy little scamp?” Even as he spoke, she could hear his voice catching, the rust of years grinding to a halt. “You best make it back in one piece, you hear? If you kick the bucket out there, the young’uns are never going to let me hear the end o’ it.”
For the first time since her name had been called, Sparrow laughed. When she stumbled forward and held out her arms, he didn’t push her away, instead tugging her forward by the wrist until she was pressed snug against his old vest, scratchy and smelling of old straw. Home. Her home, right here⎯shabby and desolate, but it was the only one she had.
“Uh-huh.” She sniffled, then took a deep breath. Alright. Get your shit together. “I'd better not disappoint, then. Keep an eye out for me, yeah?”
SPARROW GARDNER (madison bailey fc) the odds are in your favor! Please report to your nearest Capitol Agent to be prepped for the 74th Annual Hunger Games!
