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WHG Prompt 4 - The Train Ride
WHG Tag List: @concealeddarkness13 @maple-writes @ratracechronicler @childrenoflight-darkness-nothing @pen-of-roses
The food tasted like Capitol food.
That wasn’t to say that it was bad - really, it was good - but Ad Lib’s bitterness made her hate it either way.
WHG 17: Interview
whg tag list: @concealeddarkness13 @pen-of-roses @ratracechronicler @childrenoflight-darkness-nothing @knmartinshouldbewriting @starryeve88
---
His stylists didn’t seem very interested in him again today, the day of the interview, but this time they seemed a little less annoyed. They’d dressed him well, still along the deer theme. Perhaps because they didn’t feel the need to think of anything new for a tribute they didn’t think would last more than a day or two. In fact they kept the same antler crown from last time instead of thinking of a new way to dress his hair.
Waiting in the hall by the stage he half paid attention to the screens hanging on the walls. District one were up first, as per tradition. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to any of them. Being a career district he hadn’t had high hopes that he could get through to them anyway. Next came district 2, and for a moment the cameras dimmed.
WHG 17: Training pt 2
(apologies for the length of this)
whg tag list: @concealeddarkness13 (thanks for Adrestia) @pen-of-roses (thanks for oliver) @ratracechronicler @childrenoflight-darkness-nothing @knmartinshouldbewriting @starryeve88
---
One of the tributes that had been friendly with their district mate, the one with the cane, lingered around one of the stations. It looked like something for camouflage. If they were friendly enough to be on good terms with their district mate, then perhaps they would be a friend to him too.
They waved as they noticed him and then he had no choice. He nodded his head politely. “Hello, may I join you?”
“Be my guest. Any good at this sorta thing?”
“Not really.” He looked over the supplies, most of which he didn’t recognize and some he did. Tree sap, clumps of moss and leaves… “I’ve never had to before.” Even when he’d hidden he’d never thought to disguise himself with the things around him.
WHG 17: Night One
Tagging: @concealeddarkness13 @written-in-gold @whgmasterofceremonies
Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!
Night One— Meilan Liu
The winds are merciful tonight, so building a fire is a much easier task than usual, especially for a wilderness novice such as myself. I suppose my newfound companion's ability to shoot flames out of her palms helps too.
Chess raises her arms and a plume of flame wells up from the kindling. Amara and I gasp in the blast of heat. Amara's still holding the bottle of alcohol she pilfered from the Cornucopia. I'm assuming she intended to use it for fire-building. Maybe she can throw a cocktail party instead.
Chess turns back to us and grins, her lime-green hair dappled by the orange firelight. "All in a day's work."
Amara tosses her the groosling while I fish out the foldable tripod I found in Dep's tent today. Chess suggested we build the fire at the base of a large oak to escape detection. Seeing the smoke disappear into the foliage, I'm quietly impressed.
We settle around the fire as the groosling sizzles on the spit. The flames make my eyes water but I stare into them anyways. I don't dare look up.
Unfortunately, both Chess and Amara seem morbidly accepting of the colossal holograms of the dead that flit across the night sky. Chess, I'm sure, is familiar with the sight.
"I knew Zazu," says Chess, and her voice is impassive, the voice of a veteran fighter. "Nice kid. Always hungry, but I guess we all are, back in Twelve."
I hunch a little more, my cane digging into my side. I've never slept on an empty belly for a day in my life.
"Everyone's hungry," mutters Amara. "If not for food, then maybe for wealth, or power."
"Or revenge," Chess mutters. At this, I slide her a glance, but her violet eyes are still roving the sky, as if searching for a divine message. I've never seen her look so subdued. Back in training, Chess was the type of girl to dole out punches like playing cards, then blow you a kiss as your nose meets the mat. Here, under a sky that flicks through the faces of the dead like some grand, somnambulant blooper reel, her usually coy expression has melted into sorrow. I wonder who, or what, she's thinking about.
"I guess it's called the Hunger Games for a reason," I say finally. The others murmur their agreement.
The fire crackles. The groosling has turned a mouth-watering shade of golden brown. We don't even bother with cutlery; we just dig in, the meat piping hot between our fingers. After a few bites, my hunger dissipates, and I realize just how bone-tired I am. I could stretch out on the earth right now and sleep for days. But I know we're not staying here tonight. After dinner, we'll kick soil over the fire and steal away somewhere, perhaps to a copse of trees with branches thick enough to sleep on. By dawn, I'll be setting off alone. I'm not planning to make lasting friends here.
"I wonder what tomorrow will bring," I mutter, more to myself than to the others. By nightfall tomorrow, how many more faces will join the Capitol's vile exhibit? How much of their blood will linger on my knife? Will I see Amara's face up there, still smiling and resolute, even in death? Chess, with locks of green hair still staging an anti-gravity mutiny? And Safia, my old friend Safia, who once mistook a lotus-shaped hairpin for a bug and ended up gashing her hand trying to kill it, how is she faring? She's probably built another ridiculous contraption, the genius that she is.
Then my thoughts turn to someone else. "Have any of you heard news about Kito Faraji?" I say on impulse. A knowing smile quirks on Amara's lips and I immediately want to high-five the fire with my face.
"He elbowed me in the nose in the Cornucopia," says Chess with a shrug. "He grabbed this massive bag of fishing gear and just took off, leaving me with a jar of bait. Now neither of us can fish."
Amara snorts. "I had a tentative alliance going with him earlier today. But we split up to search for resources and afterwards, he just disappeared. Probably got mauled by a bear or something. Bleeding out in a ditch somewhere, too weak to cry for help."
I only observe them silently, but the other two burst out laughing. "Aww, Meilan, I'm just kidding!"
Suddenly I'm really thankful for the red firelight over my face.
"Would you save him if you could?" Chess asks.
I clench my cane a little tighter. "Why would you ask such a thing?" I can sooner sprout wings and fly than change how the game works. Only one of us, at most, will make it out alive.
Chess only retrieves her waterskin and takes a long swig. "Here, I've purified it." She presses it into my hands, and I'm about to tell her I'm not thirsty when I notice the tiny black script she's etched into the lining. Writing this here so the cameras don't see— maybe we don't have to play by their rules.
WHG 17: Training Part One
whg tag list: @concealeddarkness13 (thanks for Chess) @pen-of-roses (thanks for Evander!) @ratracechronicler @childrenoflight-darkness-nothing @knmartinshouldbewriting
---
The training hall was busy even by the time Moraine got there. People minded their own business, training or talking or just standing there and staring just like he did. Most weren’t standing around for long though, at least managing a lost looking walk down the center of the training hall. Moraine joined them, wandering between stations and eyeing the competitors. He paused, watching one attempting to put up a lopsided tent and snatching the instruction sheet from the ground with a bit more force than necessary.
So, he probably wasn’t one of the tributes who’d trained all their lives to be here. If he were, he would have known how to do this already. And if he were, he might have been a lost cause. From recordings of the reapings, he volunteered though, if he remembered it right. But then again, so had Moraine.
Prompt 3 - The Last Visit
WHG Tag List: @concealeddarkness13 @maple-writes @ratracechronicler @childrenoflight-darkness-nothing @pen-of-roses
Neuron watched the door, wondering who would be the first to visit him.
He and Ad Lib shared many friends, and the same family. How would they choose who to see first? Their dad wouldn’t be saying goodbye - he’d be accompanying them to the Capitol, as their mentor. But their mom and cousins would have to say goodbye here.
Neuron’s heart hurt at the idea of having to say goodbye to his family. Would he see them again?
His mom was the first person in the door, hugging him and telling him to eat. Then his girlfriend, talking strategy and telling him things to keep in mind. She was still giving advice as the peacekeepers led her out.
His best friend came next, sitting besides him on the couch. But instead of focusing on the games, he delved into the story of his morning. By the end of it, Neuron was laughing.
For a little bit, the stress of the games lifted off his shoulders.
WHG 17: The Chariots
skipping the train ride just because lol
whg tag list: @concealeddarkness13 @pen-of-roses @ratracechronicler @childrenoflight-darkness-nothing @knmartinshouldbewriting
---
The escort pushed him out of the train an into the custody of the styling team. They tugged him along and sat him down into a tall chair surrounded by mirrors and lights. Moraine swallowed, shying away from all the noise and commotion as the team discussed and debated about what they wanted to do with him as if he wasn’t there listening to every word that they said.
“We have to change the plan.”
“Aw why, it took ages for us to come up with the concepts and plans and clothes…”
“Yeah but look at him,” The speaker, probably the head stylist by the way she seemed to talk down to the others in her team, gestured to him with a look of near disgust. “He’s way too skinny. Who would look at him and think he could pass for a lumberjack?”
The others grumbled but didn’t argue. Moraine looked up from the ground to watch the head stylist. She didn’t react, as if him watching her was nothing. Like he was nothing more sentient than a dog. He should have expected as much but it still hurt, just a little bit.
Prompt 2 - The Reaping
WHG Tag List: @concealeddarkness13 @maple-writes @ratracechronicler @childrenoflight-darkness-nothing @pen-of-roses
Ad Lib had picked her outfit out weeks ago. A pretty black and white dress with a bright pink belt, nice black flats, a beaded pink necklace, and some light pink eyeshadow. She looked very presentable, very put together, very in control.
Neuron grabbed the first shirt out of his closet, pulled on a random pair of pants, and grabbed his usual pair of sneakers.
