Olive Pearce || District 11 || 22 || Victor of the 29th || FC: Neelam Johal
Weapon of Choice: Spells
Private Training Score: 3
Number of Kills: 1
Arena: Tropical Jungle with Pyramids
Olivia has been described as Intuitive, Charming, Diligent; Possessive, vindictive and secretive.
Olive wasn’t always different. There was a time in which she fit in with the other crowds of little girls, played with the same toys and sang the same happy songs. Trying to found out where and when things changed would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack -nearly impossible. Instead of attempting to tell her story through traditional narrative, it is best to explain it straw by straw, needle by needle.
-
The apothecary’s smell was what she remembered above all. Intoxicating, pervasive, it filled the room of anything and everything, and once someone left, it followed them into their homes to infect their households as well. A snake. Growing with each person who walks through it’s doors, once, twice, three times. How many times does a person have to bleed before they were finally cured? Olive wondered. Since when did hands heal headaches, since when did alcohol allay ailments? Her mother wouldn’t tell her and her Dad was six feet under before he could protest. A secret of sorts
.Olive had only been in there once before, but even during that one time, she noticed the jars of fluid lining the many shelves on the walls, the crystals glinting in the darkness, shining in her eyes as if asking to be removed from the darkness. She examined the jars closely. Before she could react, the doorknob was rattling, she whipped her head back in response only to be met with an angry glare from her mother and a disoriented gaze from the man she was escorting inside.
Her mother was clearly trying to hide her anger, “Olive. Out!”
-
Olive’s mother was wise and determined, a soft spoken women who believed in what she was doing. She told Olive one day that the people who came to the apothecary were very sick and had no alternatives, what she gave them was the next best thing. Sure, the Capitol could heal their problems within minutes, but would they? No.
Olive had asked how people in the district could still go hungry considering the fact that they’re always harvesting and making food. Even during the winter, things were still growing, people were still harvesting, It didn’t add up. Why would the ‘Capitol’, whoever they were, let the citizens of their districts go hungry? They were working very hard, in fact, Olive had seen people even collapse from the exhaustion and the labor. Her mother couldn’t give her an answer and instead just patted the top of her head and heaved a long, tired, sigh. Her mother cared for the people in the districts as if they were her own children, that being one of the main reasons she decided to continue using her Craft to try and heal them.
-
The day of the reaping was a frightful one. Ursa, Olive’s mother, had been receiving threats because of her work at the apothecary.
The note argued that by educating the workers on and practicing witchcraft, she was giving the district’s citizens a false hope. Hope, they argued, was something to be given only by the Capitol. Despite this, she continued. She couldn’t let them down, they bled for her, they trusted her to make them better, and when she told them the stories of Hecate and Uma they listened with intent and focus.
She couldn’t stop now, she had to keep going. She didn’t have a choice.
Ursa expected something to happen, a public whipping, more hours of work, anything. But nothing came, and when the day came closer she had a growing feeling that this would be her punishment. The ultimate punishment.
And it was.
-
Olive didn’t cry.
They had to check her multiple times to make sure that she was breathing.
“She’s beautiful…” Breathless, Ursa held Olive in her hands.
“Our little girl.” Her father stared lovingly at the pair, wishing that he could be frozen in this beautiful moment forever.
-
“Olive Pearce!”
The crowd roared.
-
“We interrupt today’s daily broadcast to bring you the latest on information on District Eleven” The Capitol newswomen pressed lightly on her ear, listening intently as someone feeds her information. “I’ve just received word that rebels have infiltrated our beloved District 11 and have interrupted the day’s ceremonies, it is with great sadness that I announce that the footage from District Eleven’s Reaping ceremony will be postponed until tomorrow. Thank you and have a great day.”
-
Olive didn’t fight in the arena. She survived, and she didn’t even do that very well. In fact, when she was found by the only career left, she was on the verge of death. He just couldn’t do it to her. And Olive will always be thankful for his mercy. Justin Thirwall, she’d never forget his name. Not after what he did, or rather, what he didn’t do. After all, he had earned it more than anyone in those games. He trained for it, got the score he worked hard for, met up with all the right people and betrayed them at all the right times. He made all the moves that were expected of him until the very end - when it truly mattered.
Olive, she did nothing.
By the time the 22nd cannon sounded in the arena, she was reduced to nearly nothing. Her body hadn’t had anything of nutritional value for days, leaving her curled up in a ball under a nearby tree, and her clothes were reduced to rags. It was Justin that found her there, wondering how long she’d been laying there and how no one seemed to notice her small body running away from the cornucopia fast enough for her to get targeted.
He approached her, his muscled body towering over her small one, casting a long shadow over her.. He bent down over her and slapped the face of her near-lifeless body once, gently at first, and commanded her to get up and fight him. Olive whimpered in response, dehydration refusing to let tears fall from her sunken-in cheeks. He slapped her again, harder this time and gave her space to comply with his requests. She didn’t move. After a moment, it became clear to him that she couldn’t bring herself to her feet and that any more damage to her would kill her.
And for the first time since he’d entered the arena, he questioned himself.
Wrong move.
It happened so quickly he couldn’t even process it himself, his world became a blur of color and didn’t settle until he found himself tangled upside down in netting that was hidden obscurely by a pile of leaves. When his vision settled, he realized he was staring at the eyes of the same twelve year old girl he towered over just moments ago. Blood was pouring from where he slapped her, but her face didn’t look phased. In fact, she looked eerily calm.
“I am sorry to do this.” She said, struggling to slowly bringing herself to her feet.
He looked back at her in disbelief, wondering how a model tribute could have gotten outsmarted by a tiny girl from an outlying district. Out of all the times he decided to listen to his conscience, this time would be the time it would kill him.
“I will make your pain quick.”
A cannon sounded in the distance.
-
Olive was met with considerable resistance in the Capitol. She was not the one they pictured winning, she was a filler tribute, a dummy to be done away with within the first couple days, a plaything to show off the might of the career districts. They did not cheer for her the way they cheered for the other victors, instead they gave her obligatory claps and sideways glances. Her mentor seemed to be the only one happy for her.
Her tour of the districts was short, and when it was finished, she immediately went back to her home to meet with her mother. Except, when she went back, everything was gone. The house where she lived was gone, the apothecary, it’s smell, everything, as if it never even existed. Her world was broken.
“Olive?”
Olive whipped around, tears falling from her cheeks. She didn’t recognize the man approaching her, “I’ve been waiting for you, come.” She followed the man blindly, hoping that he had some sort of explanation, some sort of answer. Instead, he lead her through a winding path that looked long forgotten to a house that looked like it would fall apart at any moment. He gestured for her to wait, and after a couple moments, returned to her with a book and a pendant.
“Everything your mom taught is in here, everything. Do not let them see you with this.I wish I could give you more of her, but this is all we have.” From that moment, Olive vowed to learn her mother’s Craft. She vowed to take revenge on the Capitol and anyone who got in her way while she was doing it.
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