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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 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.
“Yeah, ‘s not mine either. Can play a flute or sew a wound or tear in a shirt well enough, but this stuff?” They shook their head. “Still, good enough spot to see everyone else.”
Maybe he should have cared more about why Oliver wanted a good place to see everyone, and maybe sewing wounds was a more useful skill, but he couldn’t help but perk up at the mention of a flute. “You can play music?”
“Little bit, and people seem to like it well enough,” they shrugged off and faced him, holding out their free hand. “Prefer if you’d call me Oliver Rook to anything else, and yourself?”
He shook their hand. “Mica.” He didn’t remember the name Oliver being used in any of the reapings, but it wouldn’t be his place to question it. Especially not while he was also going under an alternate name. “Are you looking for someone?” He turned, eyeing the rest of the training hall. “You mentioned this was a good place to watch people from.”
“No one in particular no, just watchin’. Be impossible to know everyone by the Games, but watching now let’s ya remember some little details about ‘em anyway. Think it’s important to remember what you can, ‘specially with things like this.”
Had they done this before? “Theres a lot of them, aren’t there?” He mumbled, watching the hall a moment longer before turning back to Oliver. They spoke as if they knew something he didn’t about these games. “How are you feeling about it?”
“Like nothin’s changed in the last few years. Think you’re past one horror only to stumble into another.” They paused, studying him. Not unfriendly, not judgemental in the way Day looked others over. Only curious. “You look like you might know somethin’ ‘bout that too.”
He glanced at them. There was something about this one… “How so?” Could they tell who he was? Another tribute going by an alternate name, who seemed to understand more than they let on… Most couldn’t see through to who he really was but every now and then, someone could.
But they only gestured to their own scars, crawling up and down their body. “Scars. Course, could be wrong, hope I’m wrong, but not gonna pry when we all have histories and secrets.” They smiled, barely.
So that was what they meant. He nodded. “That, and then some.” Oliver didn’t know the half of it. He only kept the scars that hadn’t killed him, and each very well could have if he hadn’t been lucky. “It could be worse though.”
“Can’t it always?” They looked out at the others, shifting more weight to their cane. “Don’t know if I can fight anyone when we get in there, thought it was all done with. But hope, well, is it foolish to hope for another friend in there? There’s talk of more than one of us making it out but talk and people are two different things and you seem a good person.” Oliver turned back to him with a smile more real than the last.
So Chess or one of her friends had gotten to them too. Good. “Don’t worry about the fighting. If I can find you, I’ll protect you.” He offered a smile. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Think the least would be nothing. But if you’re offering… Rather you’d protect someone else in my place. Adrestia’s a good candidate though doubt she’d let you, and Evan,” their voice skipped, stumbling over the name for just a second, “means well enough despite himself. And sure the rest are good too. Maybe we can help each other in that task?” They tilt their head with a growing smile and hold out their hand a second time.
Moraine nodded and took their hand. “I hope I can find you and the others quickly then.” Before someone else with worse intentions. Before the traps and mutts and hazards.
“Good. Hope to become better friends and see you past the end of all this.”
He laughed, surprising himself a little. As if Day would let him out of his sight once he dragged him back home. “After this I’m probably going to be in a lot of trouble, so I may be busy a while.”
Oliver looked curious, but not enough to pry. “That sounds like a story there, but hopefully not for too long?”
“No, not too long.” He paused. “Probably.” It was always hard to judge with Day. Though maybe he would be in a good mood.
“Good.”
He smiled, relaxing his shoulders now that the hard part was well past. “Then I’ll see you again. Take care.”
He turned, and Oliver called out after him. “You as well.”
He hadn’t expected to make a friend here. Only to go in and try and keep as many safe as he could, but he smiled to himself as he walked away. Oliver seemed well intentioned. They didn’t deserve to be killed.
No one did. But he couldn’t save all of them.
---
The third day and the training hall was still as busy as ever, potentially even more so as the reality of the looming games drew nearer and nearer. He only just reached one of the stations, not quite sure what it was teaching, when someone approached him with a wave.
“Hi! Do you mind company?”
“I don’t mind.” He turned to her. She looked like the one from Oliver’s district. The one who’d been friendly towards them at the chariots. Good. He’d been meaning to catch her somewhere. “My name is Mica.”
She held out a hand to shake. “I’m Adrestia. How’re you doing?”
“I’ve been better,” he sighed. He hadn’t spent this long in his old body in a long time. He’d forgotten how stiff everything was getting out of bed.
“Yeah.” She winced. “It sucks. Perhaps we can find a way to distract each other? I thought I heard a rumour that we have access to the chariot horses, and we can pet them.”
“Horses?” His eyes widened a little. The only horse he’d ever been close to was Harmony, and she didn’t exactly count. The others he’d seen every now and then at the mill were never very friendly. “The ones from the chariots, they looked big. Are you sure about them?” They looked like they could crush him if they wanted too.
But she nodded, confident. “From what I’ve heard, they’re sweet.”
He sighed and some of the tensioned faded. “Oh that’s good.”
“Would you like to see them?”
How she figured out where to see them, and how to get there, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. “If you don’t mind.” He nodded. “I… I haven’t met a lot of horses.” Especially not ones that didn’t try to bite and kick whenever he got anywhere near them.
She nodded and hurried off to consult with Chess before waving for Moraine to follow. Of course it was Chess. Something told him he’d have to keep and eye on her in the arena. Especially if she were willing to take risks like this just to play with horses.
He followed Adrestia through hallways and out into quieter and quieter wings until she opened the door to the barn. Stalls lined both sides of a long hall and the horses all watched them with curious eyes and ears pricked forward. Moraine hung back behind Adrestia. He eyed the nearest horses. They couldn’t get him from there, could they?
Adrestia didn’t seem nearly as nervous, walking up to one and gently petting the nose of a massive black horse. “She’s sweet.” She glanced at Moraine, then nodded at some hay. “You can even feed them some of that.”
He glanced at the hay, back at the horse, and shuddered. There was no way he was offering his hand to that horses’ teeth. “I, I don’t know about that.” But its nose looked soft, and she hadn’t bitten Adrestia, so he slowly inched closer and closer until he could reach out and just barely brush against it’s nose.
The horse noticed him and he nearly took his hand back before she swung her massive head to push into his hand. He stiffened and held his breath as the image of her biting and breaking his fingers flashed through his head but she didn’t. She nickered softly, and slowly he started petting her up and down the front of her face. His shoulders fell and he melted just a little. She was so soft. So warm.
Adrestia reached up to pet by her ears. “Horses are good creatures. They’re just prey animals, so they’re cautious. But at least these guys seem to be well cared for. The one good thing the capitol does.”
Just prey animals. Maybe they weren’t so different. “They care for the things they value.” He wasn’t sure if she heard him, mumbling his words. “It’s always been that way.”
She nodded. “It’s awful how they treat people. I can’t stand it.”
“I know.” He nodded along. He knew. He knew too well.
“But we’ll give the Capitol a big ‘fuck you’.” Adrestia said. “I heard you talked to Chess about her plan? I’m glad you’re coming alone. I’ll protect you.”
“I have.” He mumbled again. Something didn’t sit right with how she seemed so keen to stick it to the capitol. As if that would do anything to help anyone he knew back home. As if they wouldn’t forget all about it before the very next games. But he couldn’t really fault her for that. Anger was a powerful motivator, and she seemed otherwise a kind person. She must have her reasons. “I told her I would protect you and the others as well.”
The horse nudged his hand and he gasped, stiffening a moment, but she just nudged him again. He hadn’t noticed he’d stilled his hand and started petting her again. She seemed to like it.
Adrestia nodded at him. “You’re a good person. And she can tell.”
“Can she?” He glanced between her and the horse. “Can horses notice that kind of thing?”
She smiled. “I like to think so. Animals seem drawn to nicer people, I’ve found.”
“Really?” He hadn’t met a lot of animals, but he’d always noticed when dogs would keep away from the crueler bosses whenever they came around. “That would make sense though, I think.”
She nodded. “Animals are so nice to be around. They generally genuinely like being around you, and if they don’t they’ll leave. No having to guess what their motivations are.”
All he could do was nod along. He didn’t know what to say, and it felt like there was something hidden behind her words that he couldn’t quite pick apart. He didn’t know enough about animals either to say anything, but as the quiet stretched on it was gentle, nice, instead of the heavy kind at the reapings. Nice compared to the fear and noise of the training hall too. He was glad to stay here as long as she liked.
---
This time coming back to his floor, he wasn’t going to forget the fancy bathtub he’d seen in one of the bathrooms. One with fancy jets and strange buttons. He’d heard of things like it but never had the chance to try out himself. After a quiet dinner he rummaged through the cupboards in the bathroom and pulled out handfuls of what he hoped was bubble bath. He turned on the taps and poured a bunch of it in, leaning over the water as it started to bubble. Despite the reason he was here, with the games looming over his head, he couldn’t help but smile at the bubbles. He'd never done this before.
He got in as it filled and only noticed too late that he may had put in more bubbles than he was supposed to. They piled up until he guessed this was as close to what being in a cloud felt like as he could get. His head barely came up over the top of the bubbles and some probably spilled out onto the floor before he figured out how to stop adding more water but it wasn’t like the Capitol didn’t have the funds to deal with the damage themselves.
He sunk into the water and layers and layers of fragrant bubbles. It was warm and nice and big enough for him to stretch out his legs. Did everyone here have stuff like this? They could do this whenever they wanted? He closed his eyes and with a contented smile. This was nice.
“Having fun in there?”
Harmony laughed and Moraine startled. He could kind of see her leaning against the counter, casting him a glance and a smile before facing the opposite wall.
“I apologise for the unfortunate timing but I won’t take too much of your time. I had a moment and thought it would be nice to check on you, and potentially offer some advice, if you would like.”
He nodded, then remembered she might not be able to see that over the bubbles. “Okay.”
“How have you been?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been well.” He paused, thinking, and Harmony gave him time. “One of the other tributes, she has a plan to flee the arena with as many as possible. I told her I would join her.”
Harmony hummed to herself, nodding slowly as she went over his words. “Interesting. I take it you feel her plan is feasible?”
“She seemed to know what she was talking about.”
“Did she? Well, that may be a good sign. However, I warn you not to put all of your faith in what anyone says.” She glanced at him again. “What if she fails? Dies before the right time? What if she has been lying to you this whole time? Do you have a plan for that?”
He sank deeper into the bath with a long, long sigh. “I don’t know.” There was a chance that Chess was lying. In the back of his mind he always knew that. But what else was he supposed to do about it all? He’d never been in the arena before. He didn’t know how to get out with everyone else. He could leave whenever he wanted but that would mean leaving everyone else behind.
“Take care then, and watch your back.” Harmony took a breath and tucked red hair back behind her ears, revealing freckles scattered across her skin like burning embers. “And perhaps she will be true to her word but if she doesn’t it will be up to you to decide what to do next.” She softened with a faint smile. “And Moraine, I do trust that you will make the right choice. Even if you fail to save a single life you can decide your next move knowing you did what you could, knowing that you may have made their struggles just a little easier while you could. Of course, I wish you every success but as I’m sure you know it is not guaranteed.”
Quiet fell after she spoke and she gave him a moment to think about what she said. Harmony probably would have been a better candidate for this than he was. She knew how to make harder choices, how to burn what had to be burned to the ground even if lives had to be lost. Eventually, he nodded. He didn’t know what else to do.
Harmony smiled, soft and warm. “If I didn’t trust that you could do this, I wouldn’t have worked to convince Day to let you stay. It will be good for you to undertake something like this on your own. And if it does all go south we’ll still have your back.” She nodded once and then straightened her back. “However, I do want to go over a few things for your interview. I know it’s a couple days away, but if you would like, I do have some pointers.”
He settled in a little more. “I would like that.”
“Good.” She thought a moment. “So, I’ll be brief, but…”
She was not brief but Moraine expected nothing less.
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 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.
He crept up behind him, watching him read the instructions over his shoulders. To his credit, the instructions didn’t seem all that clear. Mostly pictures, and old ones at that. “What are you up to?”
“Apparently trying to build a structure, or at least that’s the claim the station makes, the instructions leave something to be desired however.” He looked up to his wavering structure, leaning as if the force of a gasp would knock it over. He moved, and a flash of magic steadied the tent.
Interesting. Moraine tilted his head. “What was that you just did there?” Maybe he wasn’t the only one with some hidden powers up his sleeve.
“Nothing grand, just pulled a bit of Cast to solidify the pieces together,” His words said nothing, but his tone said otherwise. Whatever a Cast was, it must have been something impressive. “Have you come over to try your hand at this as well?”
He nods, settling down to sit beside him. “I’ve never set up a tent before.” Even if the tent wasn’t the primary reason he was here, it wouldn’t hurt to learn a thing or two. It was almost exciting. If the circumstances were different, it might have even been fun to get to learn so much.
“I’m not sure you will by the end of this.”
“If your attempts are any indication…” He smiled a little and turned to him. “My name is Mica.”
He bowed his head, the movement stiff. “Evander Moore of the… District Four.”
“Right, Districts.” Moraine laughed a little. How could he forget? It seemed such a critical detail when Evander said it. “I’m from seven.” He watched Evander. He seemed friendly so far. Genuine at least. “What are you going to do? In the arena?”
“My best not to die as I suspect we all will. At least until…” His eyes drifted off, but he shook his head and looked away before Moraine could tell what he was looking at. “I admit no desire to get my hands bloodied, though. I can’t fault those who were forced into this mess.”
Fair enough. If he didn’t want to kill, and he was telling the truth, he might be able to work with that. “I see.” He lowered his voice. “If you can find me, I will protect you.”
Evander cocked his head, eyes narrowing as if trying to find a kind way to express his doubt. “I’m not sure I’m the one that needs protection. That’s a noble goal from you though. District…Seven you said? I seem to recall one of the tributes volunteering from there.”
Moraine nodded. “I did.”
“No offense, but you don’t really seem like you’re in it for the glory and prestige of it all.”
“No, I’m not.” He sighed, casting his eyes down. “There’s no glory in it. I’m here to protect who I can.” It started with one, and now he had the chance to save as many as he could. He didn’t know how he would get them out but he could keep them alive until he could.
“On that we can agree, but you’re forgive me if the nature of the Games doesn’t lend itself too well to protecting everyone.” Evander sighed and used some kind of magic that tidied his clothes. “One person likely will prove itself a challenge.”
He nodded. “I know.” As much as he didn’t like it. “It’s the least I can do to try.” He paused. “Why did you do this willingly?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I said the glory of it all would you?” An empty smile crossed his face only to be replaced by a glare. “Let’s call it a foolish sense of loyalty and attachment that has brought nothing but heartache for myself. In truth, I’m not even sure why I’m here.”
Did he regret it then, volunteering? Something about his tone stopped Moraine from asking. The last thing he wanted to do was prod an open wound. “I hope coming here resolves whatever brought you pain. Either way, you can trust me out there. My offer still stands.” It wasn’t right for him to have to die here, not when he didn’t seem to wish anyone any harm.
“Very well.” He nodded. “I wish you the best of luck no matter what happens though.”
“Thank you.” He stood, wincing at the stiff ache in his leg. He braced against the ground with his arm and pushed himself up, shifting his weight to his left leg. It was probably a bad idea to sit on the floor like this. “Good luck with your tent.”
Evander frowned but nodded before turning back to his disaster of tent. He seemed nice. Hopefully he could figure out his tent and shelter building before the games. The magic would be something to keep in mind though. Not every being with magic was a god or a demon after all. It might not be a bad thing to have someone else to help him look after people.
But Evander was only one person. If something happened to him before he could get to him then he would have no one else he knew was safe enough to look after. He paused, looking over the rest of the training hall, but his heart sunk. Everyone was so far away and all he wanted to do right now was sit down. Sighing, he picked a random guidebook from the plants station and took it to a bench along the wall. He opened it but didn’t read anything. Not that he knew most of these words anyway.
There was a bathtub in one of the bathrooms on his floor, maybe he’d try it out when he got back tonight. He’d heard baths were good for soreness. Maybe it would help. Hopefully he’d have time, but then again, what else was there for him to do?
He didn’t notice the tribute approach until she leaned right against the wall beside him. “How’re you doing? Isn’t it so much fun to be a tribute going into a death match?”
Moraine looked up, unease simmering in his stomach. This tribute, she looked confident. Like she was here on purpose. “Not really.” What was she doing here?
But then she smiled, holding out a hand while tucking the other out of the way. “True enough. My name’s Chess.”
He nodded and shook her hand. Her skin was warmer than he expected. “I’m Mica.” If she were talking to him maybe she wasn’t a career tribute after all. It wouldn’t make sense for one of them to waste their time with someone who looked like he did. So he moved over a little, making room for her in case she wanted to sit and chat.
She did, glancing at him only a moment before speaking again. “Since this is totally not fun, would you be interested in the opportunity to escape?”
What? “Escape?” He blinked, blindsided. “How so?”
“I’ve got a friend who will send in some weapons that can get rid of the forcefield. And then there are others in this group who know how to disable cameras and trackers. And I’ve got a hovercraft that will be waiting for us.”
Moraine tried not to stare, not sure if he succeeded or not. What was she doing? She didn’t seem to be lying. Why would someone lie about this? But to talk about it in open plain air like this? Maybe she did know what she was doing. Not a career, but something else entirely.
“Are you saving others besides me?” What if she was just trying to get his hopes up? Playing the game in a way he’d never thought anyone would think to play it? How demoralized would it be, to be a regular tribute going in with the thought of escape only for it to all be a lie. She would gain the upper hand in minutes.
But she nodded so eagerly he couldn’t believe she would do such a thing. “As many as I can.”
He smiled. “Then I will protect you until the time comes.” If she was truthful, a partnership would be the perfect scenario. It solved his problem of not knowing how to get out. He could keep them alive and she would handle the escape.
“I think it might be better the other way around. I’ve already been through this before, while you haven’t.”
Moraine shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about me, trust me.” She would find out soon enough. They all would.
Chess cocked her head. “Doesn’t mean I won’t try to protect you.”
“Just don’t push yourself for my sake.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not planning on dying.”
“Good,” Moraine smiled at her. “Because I don’t plan on loosing anyone.”
She eyed him curiously. “Would you like to spar?”
“Spar?” He blinked, surprised at the switch in topic. “Like, fight?” It had been a while since he’d practiced against anyone who wasn’t Ripar, and he’d never done anything close to sparring as a human.
She nodded. “You sound so confident, so I’m curious.”
Moraine laughed. “I think I’d last a good few second against you right now.” At the same time, warmth spread into a smile. She saw him as an equal. He’d remember that.
“Aww,” She laughed too, “Even if I was going easy?”
“Probably.”
“Okay, well, some other time.” She leaned back, stretching out like she owned the place. “You wanna hang out at all? You’re cool?”
“Me?” He blinked again. “You think so?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I mean, you want to protect people. And you seem stronger than you look. So, you’re cool.”
Moraine softened. She was too kind. “You want to protect people too. I’m glad I’m not the only one.” He never considered he might not be the only one here with a goal in mind. A goal to ease the suffering of everyone trapped in this game.
“Me too.”
Maybe everything was going to work out better than he thought.
---
When the training center closed for the day Ripar was waiting for him. Taking the form of a sleek river otter she stood in the foyer of his floor. She raised her head with a chirp and trotted forward, nipping at his ankles to herd him back into the elevator.
“What are you doing here?” Moraine hissed, looking up and around the elevator to try and see any hints of cameras peering back at him.
Ripar ignored him, hopping up and hauling herself up onto the bar running around the edge of the elevator walls to press a button with her snout. The doors closed and the elevator climbed. She watched him from her perch on the narrow bar, tail braced against the side for balance until the doors slid open to a plain room with a staircase leading up.
He followed her up the stairs, slowly as she had to hop up each step individually and he had to grip the handrail for support. Her claws clicked and scratched against the plain painted concrete, echoing in the little corridor. She stopped at a door at the end, turning round to watch him with her back arched like a curious weasel.
Moraine opened the door and they stepped out onto the roof. Wind blew cold and quick through his hair and he shivered.
“How did you figure this out?” Moraine turned back to Ripar, smiling back at him in her usual body.
She shrugged, strutting across the empty space dotted by vents and fans and cooling units. “I had some time on my hands.” Blue hair danced in the wind, whipping against dark skin as she turned back to him. “How’ve you been?”
“Busy.” He sighed but couldn’t help but smile. Something about Ripar being around always put him at ease. “But its going well enough.”
“Oh good.” She came up to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in with enough force to make him stumble a few steps. “Look at you taking on your own little project. Wish I could help you with it but Day’s all set on leaving you to figure it out on your own.”
Right. Day. Moraine swallowed. “How is he about all this anyway?”
Ripar rolled her eyes with a snort. “Oh, you know how he is. Came back ranting and complaining but like a day later he was mostly over it. He’s a little frustrated but he’s not out for blood or anything.” She gave him a pat on the back and stepped away. “I was wondering if you wanted a little more combat practice before the games. You know, warm up a little?”
“Now?” He blinked, looking over the roof of the tower. They were very high up. Sure there was a fence around the perimeter, but looking over at the street and cars and lights below made his stomach turn.
Ripar came up to his shoulder. “What, afraid of heights?” She grinned, probably already knowing the answer. “I won’t push you on it, just thought I’d offer. I’ve seen you in combat before anyway. You’ll be fine.” She gave him another reassuring pat on his shoulder.
He softened, leaning into her touch. “Thanks, Ripar.” It was nice to know that at least she seemed to be on his side even if Day was against all this.
“Of course, anytime.” She smiled. “Now, I suppose I should let you get back before anyone realizes you’re missing.”
“Maybe.” Not that they would think he’d get far on his own. “I remember the way back.”
Ripar laughed. “Good! Because one otter sighting could be called a freak event but two? Might bring up some questions.”
He hadn’t thought of that. How often did wildlife find it’s way into the seventh floor of a tower? Whatever the frequency, he could plead ignorance. It wasn’t like they’d expect anything more from him. But all the same, he rode the elevator back down to his floor smiling. Things were going well.
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---
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.
She gave her orders and the team dissolved into their own tasks. Finally the head stylist turned to him. “Alright what do we have to work with here…” She took his chin and tilted his head up, turning him left and right to inspect his face in different lighting. Pausing, she tapped a scar along his cheek. “What’s this from?”
“A saw blade snapped.” Moraine didn’t look her in the eye as he spoke. She didn’t seem the type who would take kindly to it.
“And you didn’t think to do anything to try and reduce the scarring?” She huffed, all but rolling her eyes as she dropped his face. “You’re not giving me much to work with here kid. For your sake I hope you clean up better once we get you a proper haircut.”
He nodded. What else was he supposed to do? So he sat still and let them cut his hair shorter than it had been in years. It fell to the floor in dark locks only to be swept away and out of sight. He couldn’t help but peek though, at all the tools they used. Back home they’d all take turns trimming each other’s hair with a pair of scissors. Whatever these were called, some of them anyway, were wired and plugged into electrical sockets. Was this how everyone here got their hair cut? With scissors and buzzing tools and then yet another that blew warm air to dry it all off? He closed his eyes. Admittedly, it felt kind of nice.
In the end the hairdresser left some length, the ends falling just at the nape of his neck. He’d thinned it out, and styled it, and put something in it that made it softer than Moraine had thought hair was supposed to feel.
“Stop touching it!” The head stylist batted his hand away from his hair for the third time. “You’re going to mess it up like that.”
“Sorry.” He quickly folded his hands back in his lap.
She pulled up a stool and sat in front of him with a notepad. “So, now comes the hard part…” She trailed off, looking him over. What she saw in him, Moraine almost didn’t want to know. “Because of you we’ve had to change the whole theme of the district you know. We were going to go with woodworkers, tough and glistening and hot but now… So now we’re going with woodland creatures instead. Your district mates are going as a wolf and a bear but you didn’t seem like you’d live up to the predator look.”
Moraine looked up. “What about a deer?” It would be too convenient. Maybe it was meant to play out that way. Maybe it was more than luck.
“A deer?” She frowned. “Why on earth would you want that? It’s just a prey animal, something to hunt for sport.”
“I like them.” And it would be perfect, though she wouldn’t realize for a long time yet. “And you said I wasn’t predatory.”
She sighed. “That I did…” She glanced down at her notes. “Fine. I don’t have time for this anyway.”
Without another word of discussion she got to work giving orders to her team and coordinating his costume. They played around with clothes and accessories, finally deciding on a creamy brown suit jacket adorned with the kind of shimmering glitter that seemed to find its way onto everything around here, a white shirt, pants, and shoes with just enough platform to make him look taller.
“If they see you’re short everyone’s going to think you’re weak.” She’d said as she laced up the boots. “So I’m doing you a favour.”
As a final touch, she arranged two antlers crafted from golden wire with wisps of green gems dangling from the points into his hair like a crown.
“Now don’t fuck around with that, okay?” She stepped back and admired her work, adjusting his coat when she noticed it crooked. “Good enough. We’re short on time anyway.”
She waved him off and Moraine made his way toward the chariots. Slowly. He stumbled a little on the shoes with soles way too big and heavy, earning him a sharp yell of be careful! From his stylist as she packed her things. At least he would just have to stand on the chariots. If he had to walk all that way he might not have been able to stay right way up the whole time.
Most of the other tributes looked like they had been ready for a while, some standing alone and others already starting to try out alliances with each other. One stood with her hair dripping wet with makeup running all the way down her face next to one of the horse troughs with an oddly triumphant look on her face as she spoke. Strange. Another tribute stood near her, cane in hand. They seemed to be on friendly terms with each other, from the same district if he remembered correctly. If they were friendly with their district mates, perhaps those two would be friendly towards him too. If they were friendly towards him, then perhaps he could save more than the one life he’d spared at the reaping.
Could he save all of them? Moraine swallowed, eyeing the rest of the tributes. Apparently there were some who trained all their lives for the chance to fight to the death. Was there any hope for them? Maybe he should focus on those who could be trusted not to take out the others behind his back…
His shoulders fell and he sighed. Harmony would know better. If only she were here. Maybe he had made a mistake. Had he bitten off more than he could handle on his own?
No. He forced a breath and shook himself off. Gently when he remembered his stylist’s warning about not fucking around with his outfit. He could handle it. Probably. Hopefully.
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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.
The Ochieng family headed to the reapings as one big pack, only separating once they reached the town square.
Neuron hated the reapings for reasons beyond the expected. The games had been hell for his family, and no one wanted to remember them. The reapings, and the victory tours between them, were an awful reminder.
But it was more than that. Neuron could control his powers - most of them, at least. But the empathy was always there, and while he could usually tune it out, the intensity of the emotions felt at the reaping was too strong to ignore.
It was like a weight, the annoyance, anger, despair, and numbness surrounding Neuron. It was why he never took up his father’s passion for medicines - he couldn’t stand the desperation.
Even among the crowd, Neuron could feel his sister, confident and unwavering. She was really going to go through with this, wasn’t she?
Up on the stage was his father and aunt, dressed to their best, simmering in nervousness and annoyance. His mom was off in the crowd somewhere, concerned and worried.
The worry and the nervousness and the concern and the everything was too much. But what was worse was the one person who wasn’t miserable.
District 3’s escort took the stage, her usual bubbly self. She was genuinely excited for the games! And Neuron hated it!
The first name called didn’t register - the person called did come up to the stage, before the escort asked for volunteers and she was replaced with Ad Lib.
“Oh, the child of a victor!” The escort said. “So exciting!”
Irritation burned through Ad Lib before she regained her composure. She didn’t like the escort either.
“I just can’t wait to make my family proud,” Ad Lib said, trying to sound convincing.
The escort wasn’t surprised, but she was touched. She placed a hand over her heart to show how touched it was.
But there was something else, a sense of excitement, like she knew something else. Something bad.
Neuron’s stomach turned in nervousness.
The escort didn’t even read the paper, she just said his name.
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
They must have known Ad Lib’s plan. Or at least suspected something was up. And this was there way of what, revenge? Just like his aunt being reaped the year after his father won.
Anger ran through the crowd, as people recognized the name and what just happened. It was a pulse, pushing through the shock, turning Neuron’s surprise and fear to anger.
But none of that would play well with the Capitol. Neuron took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. Confident, in control, like his sister - that’s what he wanted to come across as.
His father’s and aunt’s faces were blank, from practice, but Neuron could feel the emotions forming in them.
Ad Lib smiled as Neuron walked onto the stage. She was shocked, but still confident. After all, she had a plan.
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---
“Moraine what the fuck were you thinking?”
Day stood in front of him, glaring from his one eye and arms crossed tight across his chest. Moraine looked up from the chair he’d found in the visitor room to meet his stare.
“Was I supposed to do nothing?”
He growled and grabbed the front of Moraine’s shirt, forcing him up to push him against the wall. “What they do to each other is none of our business, how many times do I have to tell you that before you get it through your damned head?”
This time Moraine held his tongue but kept his glare. Nothing he could say would change Day’s mind now that he was pissed.
“I will not allow you to go through with this.” He snarled. “You’re coming back and I swear you’re going to regret pulling this stunt.”
“And let them drag some other kid into the fight in my place?” He shook his head and tried to push Day’s hand from his shirt with no success. “I will do no such thing!”
“How dare you speak to me like that! You ungrateful little—”He drew his hand back to hit him but a hand closed around his wrist.
Darren stood at his side, holding Day back. His dog ears, soft and tawny, pinned back ever so slightly until Day stood down. He glared still, seething but held back by Darren’s presence. Moraine shook himself out and sat back down. He wasn’t leaving. He’d made his choice.
“Are you sure about this?” Darren didn’t look right at him when he spoke, eyes wandering over the empty walls.
Moraine nodded.
Day huffed. “This is ridiculous, there is no way that I—“
“He can make his own choices.” Darren cut him off. “Be they good or bad.”
“Fine.” Day spat. “But don’t expect any help. You’re on your own Moraine.”
He nodded, but he didn’t believe a word he said. Once he calmed down he’d probably sent Harmony, or maybe even Ripar. Whether to try and convince him to change his mind or to help him in the arena wasn’t as certain.
The door opened and Willow slipped in. She didn’t seem to notice the two gods until she closed the door and turned around with a surprised squeak. “Sorry, sorry, I can go.” She reached to grab the door.
“No, it’s fine.” Day waved her back into the room. “Are you a friend of Moraine’s?”
She nodded, keeping her head down.
Day watched her, looking her up and down. “Kind of you to see him off.”
“The others, they wanted to come too but the peacekeepers wouldn’t let us all in so we decided I would come for all of us.” She peeked up at him, then relaxed a little when he didn’t react. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“We were done talking anyway.” He glanced at Moraine with a barely hidden scowl before looking back to Willow. “I won’t take any more of his time here so you can say your goodbyes.” He gave her a nod and vanished.
Darren remained, moving to stand by the wall without a word. He kept his eye to the door. Willow paused a moment with a cautious look at the god of life and death before taking a seat with Moraine.
“Nick wanted me to thank you for him.” She folded her hands in her lap, picking at her fingernails.
So that was his name. “I couldn’t let him go, not when I could help.” One day maybe he’d be strong enough, smart enough, to do something to end this all but for now the least he could do was save one life.
Willow didn’t respond right away and when she did it was barely a whisper. “Are you going to be okay? I… I don’t want to see you die again Mica.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He knew that was easier said then done. Willow had been there for him in his last days. She’d fed him, kept him warm and comfortable as she could while he faded in and out of consciousness until his injuries got the best of him. “I’ll be okay.” For all his anger, Day wouldn’t just let him die out on his own.
Probably.
“I sure hope you’re right.” She leaned forward and threw her arms around him, holding him tight. “Good luck Mica.”
She didn’t let go until a warning knock echoed from the door. Time was almost up. She drew back and stood, trying her best to hide the way her lips pressed together and fear hardened her eyes.
“Until we meet again.” She tried to manage a smile.
Moraine returned it as best he could. “And we will.”
She lingered a moment longer and then she was gone. Quiet returned to the room even as Darren remained. He slowly turned his gaze to Moraine with an unreadable expression.
“You can’t be surprised about this, right?” He asked, looking up at him through the corner of his eye. Darren knew him better than Day. He knew he would be here today.
“I’m not.” He pushed off from the wall and took something from his pocket.
Footsteps approached by the door and Darren stepped forward. He pressed something into his hand and vanished as two peacekeepers opened the door. Moraine knew what it was before looking. A little figurine of a rabbit carved from smooth wood, the kind Darren always seemed to be working on. This one sat in the palm of his hand perfectly lifelike. He held it gently on his way out of the visitation room and onto the train
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---
No one paid Moraine much mind, limping as he made his way with the others to the check in line. At his shoulder, Willow stood with her usual wary eye cast over the heads of the potential tributes at the empty for now stage.
“This is your last year, isn’t it?” Moraine whispered. It never felt right to speak any louder standing in line here.
She nodded. “It is. I’m trying not to think about my odds though.”
Moraine swallowed. She’d always been a bit of a leader, and a risk taker for the sake of others. She’d rather put her name in an extra time than someone else and no one had ever been able to change her mind. Willow was right to worry about her odds.
“It’s fine though.” She kept going. “I made my choices and I stand by them.” She paused as they all took another step forward, casting him a glance. “Why keep your old body? Surely it must be easier not to keep changing back whenever you come around.”
“It’s familiar.” Even if it were easier to move as a god it felt out of place whenever he came back home. Wandering the mortal world didn’t feel right sometimes without the stiffness and odd aches that came with it. “And I don’t want to make anyone feel like they should defer to me. Not here.” If anything, it was because of all of them he lived as long as he did.
Willow snorted, rolling her eyes. “So sentimental. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Next!”
It was his turn to step up to the table. A bored peacekeeper sat there waiting for him, holding out a fingerprint scanner attached to a shiny computer. An upgrade from last year. Maybe it was to ward off some of the fraud he’d heard about in some of the previous games. Not that the ground level guards cared. He held his finger to the scanner. It beeped, the peacekeeper clicked something, and she frowned.
“Mica?”
He nodded.
“Says here you’re dead.”
“It does?” He tried to lean over to see the screen but quickly flinched back when the peacekeeper shot a glare. “I… I don’t know anything about that.”
The peacekeeper leaned back in her chair, eyebrows furrowing as she stared at her screen. She glanced at the clock in the center of the square, back at her screen, back at the clock, and finally back at the screen as she sighed.
“Must have been misfiled.” She waved him off. “Go on.”
He nodded again and left for the waiting area. Before now he hadn’t thought anyone actually filled out a death certificate for him. Huh. Did it have a cause of death included? Was that cause of death how he actually died, or a convenient lie spun by the supervisor who’d beaten him?
Standing in the square was just like he remembered. Heavy silence, averted eyes, and time that seemed to tick by far too slowly until finally the opening video played and broke the silence. The escort came out as it finished and made her speech short and to the point before her hand entered the bowl of papers and the silence fell again.
She opened the paper and read the name. Moraine didn’t recognize it, but he recognized the boy that stepped out. Twelve years old, a quiet kid he’d seen around for years. He’d seen that boy grow, seen him mourn the death of his sister, nursed him when he fell ill in the winter…
“I’ll go instead.” Moraine raised his hand and the boy froze in his spot.
The camera panned from the tears already falling down the boy’s face to Moraine, watching the nearest peacekeeper for permission to step out of line. He nodded, and he kept his head down as he made his way down the center aisle. The boy still hadn’t moved, standing scared in the middle of the path. Moraine paused as he passed with a gentle hand on his back. He gave a little nudge and the boy stumbled back to the crowd. He gripped the handrail going up to the stage for balance and tried not to notice all the eyes on him as he crossed the platform.
The escort looked him up and down, doubt apparent even past the layers of make up. “And who might you be?”
“Mica.”
“Well, congratulations Mica!” She clasped her hands together in front of her in a clap loud enough to echo through the speakers. “We have our first tribute!”
