jsehungergamesau

[jsehungergamesau]

Jameson Jackson, winner of the 26th Hunger Games

[Please check the pinned post on our blog for trigger warnings. This can be read as a stand-alone fic set in the same universe. Sorry in advance :) -Mod Oakley]

°○°○°○°

"Jameson Jackson!" Read the colorful woman from the Capitol.

The young man couldn't hold the gasp in the back of his throat at the sound of his name being called. All heads turned towards him and he looked around with bewildered eyes, but he took a deep breath and stepped out of the holding area for the 17 year olds. A pair of peacekeepers guided him to the stage but Jameson kept his head high and he.. smiled. Not only that but he hummed a familiar jaunty work tune as he neared the stage. He knew he couldn't let them all see his true emotions. No, Jameson was the one who always lifted the spirits through the hard work days, he couldn't let them see how terrified he truly was.

He might have been smiling, yet try as he might, his eyes betrayed him when he scanned the crowd. They were damp with unshed tears that caught the light of the warm summer's day sun. He looked from the crowd up to the treetops, one more time before being led away to the city hall clock tower.

Saying goodbye to his aunt Marry was filled with hugs and tears. Promises to take care of herself and to do what she needs to to survive. The older woman gave her nephew an iron locket with a small picture of his parents inside. A token to remember home while in the games. Jameson held it close to his heart and hugged her for as long as their time allowed, singing a quiet soothing song to Marry before being separated. 

A few friends from the paper processing mill came and Jameson couldn't help but laugh, "Be sure to have a song written for me, would ya, lads?" He joked, playfully hitting one of their arms. Only a few of them smiled. "Buck up now, I've taught you all enough! You can lead the tune without me. Even if Jerry does sing like a broken water pipe." That got them laughing.

This is how he wanted to be remembered. Positive and joyful even in the face of the worst possible thing to ever happen to a young person in this country. He smiled goodbye until the doors closed.

Finally his best friend came to see him, and he let his mask slip. Maria was a slight girl with tanned skin and long frizzy blonde hair she kept up in a bun, and she hugged him tight enough to bruise. Maria was born without a voice in her lungs, so the two taught each other to sign from an old book when they were little. She loved when Jameson would sing and when they would dance together at the harvest close festivals.

Jameson had nicknamed her Maple from her love of the sweet syrup from the trees. They've only had the chance to taste it a few times because peacekeepers would punish them if they got caught dipping their fingers into the collection buckets. But it was Maria's absolute favorite. So the nickname stuck.

Neither of them ever saw each other romantically. They had shared a kiss once but almost immediately decided it didn't feel right. Yet they still remained thick as thieves. In his private thoughts, Jameson wouldn't have minded if they shared a home together. Perhaps not as husband and wife, but it would be theirs and they would be happy. Especially compared to the alternative that was his imminent fate now. 

They stand with their foreheads pressed together in the quiet and Jameson quietly humming from his chest. There wasn't much to say, really. They said their goodbyes this morning when they split into their standing areas. So the two of them try to savor the other's company for all that it's worth.

She kissed his cheek, “Goodbye, Jamie.” She signed, and any idea or dream of a happy future with Maria was extinguished as soon as the heavy doors closed behind her.

°○°○°○°

Everything became a blur after that.

The train ride, speaking with his mentor and fellow tribute from 7, pulling up to the Capitol, the ridiculous outfits, the chariot ride. The whole time he smiled and waved and laughed- he felt unmoored. Floating in his own mind as he watched himself perform the jolly tribute from District 7 act for the entire country to see. 

Jameson came back to himself while in the training center. A pair of identical faces had joined him at the camouflage station without him noticing, and upon realizing he wasn't actually going crosseyed he jumped.

Oh right, the twins from District 8. The brother, Tim, had volunteered as tribute to be with his sister, Tamery, who was reaped from the bowl. Neither of them could stand being separated, so they walked into the games together. Jameson wondered if either would walk out, and if one did, which?

"See, if you add a bit more of the raspberry juice you get a darker mixture." Tamery explained as she took the bowl Jameson was idly swirling around, smashing a few of the red berries into it and mixing it around with a stick. Dipping her fingers in, she painted a swatch on her arm to demonstrate, "See? It's almost black now. If you added some charcoal it would be easier but not everyone can make a fire."

Tamery then began mixing several things together as Tim leaned back on his hands, watching Jameson with a faint grin. When she was done, Tamery had made a color that when swatched on her own skin, basically disappeared. It matched her skintone perfectly. 

"That's incredible! How did you learn to do that?" Jameson was impressed, looking from her arm back to their pale faces and ashy blonde hair. They must not have gotten a lot of sun working in the factories. Jameson could relate since his own complexion outed him for working in the paper press mills back home.

"We worked with the dyes back in 8." Tamery explained with a small shrug.

"We have to figure out how to make everything the exact shades of colors the customers want." Tim picked up from his sister, "Sure there's standard recipes for each color, but most of the time we have better results by eyeballing how much of each dye to use." He grinned, using some moss to paint a deep purple texture onto his arm that made it look bruised. 

"Fascinating!" Jameson exclaimed, truly intrigued by the pair, "In the paper mill, we usually just make white, so we just bleach the tree pulp. But occasionally we use these powders to make colored stationary. It took weeks for the gaudy orange to wash off my skin."

The twins barked similar laughs to each other. 

"Oh tell me about it! When we were dying a batch of red silk, it looked like we had bloody hands for ages!" Tim snorted. Nobody comments about how it might become a reality soon.

"Though seeing the Capitol folk walking around with dyed skin makes me think that they were inspired by us." Tamery rolls her eyes with a smirk. "It took the preps almost two hours to finally scrub us clean. I think they had to take some skin with 'em as a souvenir to make it work. To add insult to injury, one of them was dyed robin's egg blue."

Tim scoffs with a roll of his eyes as well and they all go back to painting, listening to the instructor on how to use stones and bark and other unconventional materials to hide themselves from plain sight. Jameson was okay at it, but when the new trio moved to the traps and snares station, Jameson picked up the skill quickly. 

After learning the basics, the gears in Jameson's mind turned and he fashioned a tripwire that would drop a massive weight onto a test dummy. The weight crushed it's plastic skull and for a quick moment Jameson felt pleased with himself. Then he remembered he had an audience and scanned the room, several tributes had watched him and he could feel his cheeks burn. He was used to people watching him perform, but this was different. This was showing the others his skillset, even if it was new to him as well. Tim and Tamery clapped for him but they all quickly moved on to another station.

Jameson and the twins got on like a house on fire. They were all witty and laughed like the career pack at stupid jokes. And without saying anything, they all decided to team up in the arena. It made for better odds to be in an alliance than staking it out on your own.

It was a good thing too, because Jameson watched Tim wrestle his instructor to the ground and Tamery disarmed her knife wielding instructor in seconds. Jameson had tried to pick up a bow and a spear but they didn't feel right. He found some small throwing axes and hit the targets from a good distance away, but his mind kept going back to the hunting snares.

So while most of the other tributes took their lunch break, Jameson stayed behind a little longer to learn some more complicated traps. Whipping branches, pitfalls, small stone catapults, rope snares that left people dangling 20 feet up. He stuffed his brain with as much knowledge as he could until he was pulled away by the twins, one grabbing each of his arms and dragging him.

“C'mon, pull your own weight, James!” Tamery laughed.

Two days later while showing off their skills to the Game Makers, Jameson didnt hold back. Taking several minutes to construct an elaborate trap from rope and weights and netting. 

When he used a spear to trip the wire, a cluster of ropes with small weights on the ends got flung a few inches off the ground and tangled around the ankles of a practice dummy. And before it could fall over, two weights dangling from ropes were released- and met in the middle to crush the dummy between them.

The people observing him gave a few impressed nods before dismissing him.

He scored a 10.

°○°○°○°

Jameson resisted wiping his hands on his sleek navy blue suit as he walked up the stage to meet Lucky Flickerman, shaking the weather man- turned host's hand firmly with a brilliant smile and having a seat.

"Jameson Jackson! What a very musical name you have!" Lucky proclaimed as an icebreaker, his copper powdered hair shiny and perfectly in place. Jameson quietly admired his mustache as he chuckled at the host's words. "Very bouncy and fun to say!" Lucky then repeats Jameson's name to a jazzy tune a few times that makes the audience giggle and clap.

"Yes well I am actually quite musical myself, according to my mates back home in 7. They can hardly get me to shut up sometimes." Jameson grins cheekily, causing the audience to laugh, "Though, those guys just call me JJ for short."

"JJ! Incredible! So you do sing? Did you put on any performances growing up?" Lucky asks, leaning forward as the crushed velvet of his blue suit shifts under the lights.

"Hah, maybe one or two when I was younger at school. But mostly I sing to pass the days in the paper mills. Keeps the spirits up, yaknow? If everyone is happy while working, then you know the paper you write your love letters on is made with love." Jameson has to resist rolling his eyes. That was corny even for him.

But the people love it, it makes the audience collectively aww and put their hands to their chests at the sentiment.

"Well you can't hold out on us, then! Would you like to sing a little something-something for the people?" Lucky looks to the audience conspiratorially, "What do you think, folks?"

The citizens of the Capitol roared with cheers and encouragement. And Jameson pretended to hide his face in one hand and wave them all off with the other, but this just seems to goad them on until Jameson sighs dramatically and stands, “Alright alright, you've swayed me!”

Lucky shushes the crowd and Jameson took a deep breath, singing from his stomach a tune from back home, his voice rich enough to fill the large room by himself. He thinks of Maria as the people hang on to every note that pours from his mouth.

Stay with me til dusk my dear,

Sway with me til morning comes.

Together we'll sing 'long with the breeze,

And here we'll sleep for eternity. 

Stay with me, my dear, my love.

Stay with me,

Stay.

As he holds the final note the audience erupts into applause and Jameson humbly takes a bow with his hands clasped tightly together. 

"We're almost out of time but Jameson, that was enchanting! Absolutely enchanting! Thank you so much, was that a song from your District?" Lucky Flickerman asks, his stark white teeth gleaming unnaturally under the studio lights. 

"Yes it is. It's sung as a lullaby for many of the children." Jameson lies. Yes it is a lullaby, but its a song about two lovers seeking sanctuary in the forest. He didn't want them all to latch onto the wrong idea about him though.

"Incredible, absolutely incredible. Well, here's hoping that all of Panem won't lose your special gift so soon, James."

"Thank you, sir. I really appreciate that." Jameson smiles winningly.

Lucky gestures for him to take another bow as the timer dings for the next tribute to come on, "Jameson Jackson, ladies and gentleman!" The crowd cheers and applauses again, sending Jameson backstage where his face falls and he heaves a dramatic breath.

"That was a lot." Jameson chuckles faintly, hands on his knees as if he just ran a mile. He felt a pat on his back from Tamery as she passed him to go on stage.

"Thanks for the bode of confidence, James." She remarks, fluffy rainbow skirt bouncing around her hips as she walks on stage when her name is called. 

Tim then helps Jameson stand again, his own suit colored in a bold gradient to match the sunset, “You blew us all away, JJ.” He pats Jameson on the opposite shoulder before lightly pushing to send him back to his team.

°○°○°○°

Jameson lied awake for a long time in his room the night before the games. He should have been sleeping, but his mind was like an angry trackerjacker hive. Staring up at the ceiling, gently rolling the grape sized locket in his fingers, he couldn't help but think of home. Occasionally bringing it up, he clicks the locket open to see the yellowed pictures inside. 

He stared in the dark at the small hand drawn portraits of a husband and wife he never remembered meeting, but shared so many similarities to himself. His father's soft eyes, his mother's nose and faintly rounded cheeks. The same thick curly black hair. Jameson couldn't help but smile at his father's styled mustache. It curled in a funny way towards his nose that Jameson always assumed he must have greased it to keep its shape somehow. He remembers his Aunt Marry using the word “dapper” in a teasing tone to describe the unique look of her late brother.

To Jameson, Aunt Marry was his true mother in every way. But she insisted that she always wanted to be an aunt, so the title stuck like sap. She raised James by herself and never once complained- never complained around him, anyway. She taught him all the songs he knew and so much more about how to survive. How to live and how to smile despite the hardships. He wishes there was a picture of her in the locket, but there was barely room to fit his parents into the cramped space.

The surface of the locket had a relief of a maple seed- a "helicopter" as the older folks of District 7 had described them when they began to shower down in autumn. Twirling all the way down like dancers until they touched the ground safely. Jameson wasn't sure what the nickname for the seed was referring to, but he remembers picking up small handfuls of them and tossing them in the air so they spun back down into Maria's hair. Revenge was swift as Maria got back at him by shoving a handful of the seeds- and some dirt for good measure- down the back of his shirt. Jameson couldn't blame her, it was a nightmare trying to untangle the deceptively spiky seeds from her frizzy hair. The frizz always collected debris so easily when it was let down.

He absently ran his thumb over the polished gray metal as tears rolled down his cheeks. He missed District 7. He missed home so badly. 

Exhaustion finally took over him at some point. The sound of his younger self's laugh and the crunching of leaves under Maria's shoes echoing in his dreams, before they slowly morphed into nightmares.

°○°○°○°

Jameson could hear the blood rushing in his ears as the metal platform slowly raised him up.

He made a plan with the District 8 twins on the last day of training that they would try to meet and stay as a group. Jameson told his fellow tribute from 7 that if she could find them she could join if she wanted to, but she just shrugged and told him maybe.

The cornucopia glared like a raging hot fire against the harsh sunlight, reflecting golden light into everyone's eyes. Jameson tried to get his bearings of the surrounding area but all he could see was white. 

He understood quickly why his jacket was so thick and why his pants were lined with some kind of warm water proof material. He pulled his knitted hat more firmly over his ears as a harsh wind bit through his little exposed skin.

Snow. 

The arena was a snow covered forest of pine trees nestled between three mountains. The sun was dazzling against the brilliant sparkling white of the snow and Jameson had seconds for his eyes to fully adjust- and take in what was directly in front of him.

“Let the 26th annual Hunger Games… BEGIN!” Announced the air before the bongs of the final countdown began.

Jameson knew he wouldn't stand a chance in the middle of the bloodbath, but he did see a small backpack not too far from him. And when the alarm rang out he bolted for it. About half the tributes slipped immediately and fell and Jameson nearly joined them. Catching himself on a knee before springing forward again.

He slid right past the backpack the first time because the entire ground around them was pristine glass-like ice, but he quickly scrambled back up- just in time to dodge a spear being thrown at him. He turned his torso just enough to avoid being stuck like a kebab as the spear stuck into the ice, sending a web of small cracks across the ground. Jameson didn't hesitate, he grabbed both the pale blue backpack and the spear sticking out of the ground. To say the least he was not great with a spear in training, but it was better than no weapon at all as he skated across the ice field- finally gaining traction in the snow at the edge of the field and sprinting for the treeline.

He didn't dare look back as he crashed through the naked brush. The echo of canons followed him the deeper into the sparse forest as he went. He knew he wouldn't be able to easily hide his footsteps, but neither could anybody else without great effort. So Jameson decided to get as much distance as he physically could and ignore the trail he blazed behind himself.

It took about an hour of traveling through ankle high powder before Jameson found a rock outcropping to hide under and take stock of his mystery supplies. He'd never been this exhausted in his entire life. Sure, he sometimes went and chopped up branches when they were too big for the wood chipper, but he worked in the paper mill. He wasn't a proper lumberjack. While he could climb trees and did so often, he was a shop kid who worked in the paper presses. He didn't have the same level of skill for scaling trees like a squirrel, or the stamina from long work days in the forests. Shaking the doubts in himself aside, he carefully started pulling everything out of the bag and laid it all in a neat row.

There wasn't much.

Thick dark tinted goggles, flint and steel, a shiny piece of plastic material that Jameson realized is a thermal blanket, a small pack of jerky, and an empty tin thermos that was already cold to the touch. And of course the spear, which looking at it now, Jameson saw it had something- someone's- blood on it already. 

Okay. Horrifying. But he could work with this. Hell the silvery blanket was already way more than he could have prayed for in an environment like this.

He throughly cleaned the blood off the spear with snow- throwing some fresher powder over the stark red stain when he finished- and slipped the goggles on, already so thankful that he wasn't being blinded by the sparkling snow anymore. He was starting to get dark spots in his vision from looking at the blinding white for too long.

Jameson debated for a while after packing everything away if he should keep waiting for the twins here in the rocks or move on– when he heard the noise of snow crunching under foot. 

Two sets of feet. But was it them?

Jameson tucked himself deep into the rocks, spear at the ready, he strained his ears to get an idea of who was here.

"Are you sure he went this way? I can barely see anything out here!" One person, a boy probably, whispered harshly. Jameson could hear his teeth chattering already from his hiding spot.

"Yes, I'm sure.” The second voice, probably a girl's, snapped. “Besides, we've followed the tracks this long. It's either JJ or somebody else. Let's just hope it's not that little boy from 10. He seemed like a sweetheart." 

“Okay, but if they try to kill us I'm killing you again myself.”

The girl let out a snort for a laugh.

Jameson perked up at the familiar bickering and carefully peeked his head out from his hiding place. Immediately brightening when he saw the matching pair of friendly hazel eyes look in his direction when he called out.

As soon as they get into the outcropping Jameson says, "Are either of you hurt? Did you manage to grab anything before getting out of there?"

"Tim managed to get a few ice picks and some kind of spiked shoe cover things. I grabbed a bag of apples and some rope but that's it. Tim got into a bit of a scrape over the ice picks, but I shoved the girl off and we got away with only a few small cuts." Tamery said, vaguely waving to a thin slash going across her eyebrow and cheek but missing her eye entirely. Tim was sporting a few slashes in his jacket and a slightly bruised eye but that was about it. Jameson checked them over but there wasn't any deep gashes, so they should be fine. He gently pressed some clean snow to Tim's cheek and told Tamery to use clean snow and wash the blood off her eyebrow. They were all incredibly lucky.

Jameson wondered how long the luck would last.

It turned out, not even a day and a half.

The first night was horrible. Jameson and Tim wrapped themselves around Tamery as they all shared the thin thermal blanket. They had dug out a small burrow in the snow with their hands and ice picks, hiding themselves inside for the night. At least they weren't out in the wind or exposing themselves with a fire. Tim poked his head out like a rabbit when the projections of the dead tributes shone across the sky to the tune of the anthem. 

When it finished, Tim snuggled back in, relaying the 5 tributes who were killed today in the bloodbath. He frowns and looks at Jameson, "I'm sorry, JJ, the girl from your District… she didn't make it..." 

Jameson pales as Tamery hugs him tightly, he clings back and hides his face against her jacket, hoping the cameras couldn't see his tears while they were in the burrow.

No fire means no extra warmth, so the three huddle close and fitfully tried to sleep through the night.

As soon as the sun broke over the mountain the three went hunting. They had basic knowledge of snares from their training but not much in the way of hunting with weapons. Jameson took the rope from Tamery, unraveling it into thirds to make thinner cord and setting up some simple traps to hopefully catch some hares. Tim spotted the tracks for them so they crossed their fingers that it would work.

In the meantime they all debated the pros and cons of starting a fire. 

It was daylight so it wouldn't be terribly noticeable like it would be at night, but the smoke could signal somebody to their location. However if they strayed from other tributes for too long the game makers would probably send something at them. Something far worse than getting jumped by a career pack.

They decided to risk it and built a small fire inside their burrow to conceal the smoke somewhat. Jameson shoved as much snow as he could into the cup of his thermos and set it on the coals to melt and hopefully boil. He repeated this several times while Tim kept watch. Tamery used the end of JJ's spear to slice into an apple and passed out slices to each of them.

It was quiet for the most part. They all decided to stick together and have nobody wander off. So when the trio went to go check on the snares for any rabbits, they were slightly more prepared to face off against the boy from District 4. 

The fight was brutal, and Tamery thought her wrist was broken, but Tim got the final blow and used JJ's spear to finish off the other boy. The canon fired and Jameson immediately searched the boy's belongings for any food. Tamery debated shucking off his jacket, but Tim turned it down, queasy about the blood soaking through it. Instead he took the laces from the boy's boots and his gloves which were a little tight on Tim's hands but worked.

They watched the hovercraft carry away the body over the small mountain range and Jameson felt a little sick holding the new knife and small sack of bread. But what else could they have done? The boy was just as ready to kill them as they were. He swallowed back his tears and checked on the snares.

They decided to try and move uphill after making a splint out of branches and one of the boot laces for Tamery's wrist. Tim holds tightly to her other hand as Jameson leads them through the trees. It was when the sun was about to kiss the opposite mountain goodnight when a scream echoed up from deeper in the forest. Another canon sounded. Could have been anyone. They decided to make camp for the night.

About a quarter of the way up the mountain the next morning, they came across a pool of some kind. It was frozen over with a layer of powdered snow so they didn't have a good sight of what was under the ice. Tim tapped the glassy surface with his spear and it chimed like one of the crystal glasses at the dinner table back in the tribute's center. The hairs on the back of Jameson's neck stood up as he whipped his neck around. Something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

"Hey, Tim? Maybe lets leave the weird glass pond alone." He says slowly, trying to pinpoint what changed. The ringing of the ice still sang around them in a sweet tune. Carrying much longer than it should have.

"But nothings happening?" Tim replied uneasily but lifted the spear to tap the surface again.

"Well don't do it again!" Tamery hissed, grabbing the spear to stop it. The twins began to bicker then there it was. 

A low rumbling coming from higher up on the mountain they were climbing. All three heads slowly turned up and in the distance they saw a massive rolling wall of snow. It was somewhat unclear if tapping the lake caused it or another tribute higher up did, but they did not stick around to debate. Sprinting as fast as they could back down the mountain as the avalanche chased them with accelerating speed and hunger.

The avalanche was louder than anything Jameson had ever heard in his life, and he had visited the giant dam in District 7. But this, it was roaring loud and deep unlike anything Jameson had ever known. 

He and the twins were going as fast as they could, but Tamery slipped on a hidden patch of ice so Jameson had to double back and help her up before they all kept sprinting into the trees.

"CLIMB!" Jameson commands as they make it a few trees in, he boosted up Tamery and Tim first before scampering up behind them. Unlike District 7 kids who have an innate ability to scale, it seems that District 8 kids don't have the same climbing ability. But they are going as quick as they could as Jameson looked back to the too-close avalanche. "Hold on! Hold on!" He called, wrapping his arms tight around the trunk of the tree and the twins do the same. He thinks Tamery is screaming in fear but its drowned out by the crashing sounds of the snow rushing into the forest. Jameson is just praying the tree holds steady and the snow doesn't pile high enough to bury them from the ground up.

The tree they cling to as a lifeboat shudders and threatens to give way a few times. Jameson pressed his forehead to the trunk and thought he faintly could feel his fingers bleeding from gripping so tight to the bark as stray snow and ice chunks pelt his back.

Jameson was about to call up to the twins and see how they were holding up- but something hit the back of his head. His eyes rolled in his head and blacked out almost immediately. The last thing he was conscious of was feeling his grip slip from the bark. 

Then nothing.

°○°○°○°

In his dreams he's looking up at the gold dappled light through the trees. The first warm winds of spring blowing through the branches and his hair. He looks to his right and finds Maria- his Maple- using her deft fingers to weave a crown from the fresh green grass they were laying in. He reached towards her but there was some kind of unseen barrier between them. He sits up and touched it again, the invisible surface rippling under his fingers and Maria did not seem to notice him at all. But she did turn her head in the opposite direction, and Jameson followed her gaze.

The trees beyond them were breaking and curling forward, as if they were snapping joints into place to create some kind of rooted mass of a beast. Giant spikes for teeth and claws, the approximation of where eyes would be; burning like hot coals. But Maria didn't move, simply staring at the monster that was coming to kill her.

Panic settled into his bones, he started pounding on the invisible separation, screaming her name to no avail. He couldn't even hear himself. Just the gentle rustling of the leaves over head and the gnarled snapping of trunks and branches barreling towards them.

Maria slowly stood up and turned to face Jameson, and he jumped back in horror. Her eyes were now deep black gouges where sockets should be, her jaw hinged and hung low on her head, broken. She was made entirely out of wood. She was a wooden puppet and suddenly Jameson could see the strings that held her up disappearing into the dark sky above- when did it become dark? He looked back to her in horror, but her empty eyes stared empty into his. A block of wood acting as her hand waved to him. Jameson goes to put his hand over hers but found his hand had also been transformed into timber. Looking down so has the rest of himself, it was all roughly carved into a mockery of a person's body. He wanted to scream but he felt his jaw unable to move. He uselessly paws at his face and found that he doesn't even have a mouth.

James suddenly snapped his head up as the howling tree monster barreled into them both, breaking whatever barrier was there and snapping strings, trampling them both bodies into sawdust and splinters. He could feel the arm-like logs crush every part of him, collapsing what was once his ribcage and knocking Maria's head from her body entirely.

He tried to scream again, but the only sound came from inside his own head, as if he was trapped inside a wooden casket with no hope of escaping.

°○°○°○°

He's not sure how long he was out for, but when Jameson's eyes fluttered open it's a herculean effort to not let them close again and go back to sleep. His head throbbed in pain, but more so than that, he was cold, and his body immediately began shivering. Which in turn did not help his pounding headache and he groaned low in his chest. 

Tim was the first one to enter his vision and the boy from eight's smile was like a ray of sunlight, "Good morning, James. Thought we really lost you out there. Have a good nap?" He laughed shakily, tucking some of Jameson's hair back under his hat and pulled it more snugly over his ears. 

When he managed to push through the pain in his head and ask how long he had been out, Tamery pipes in that it had been about a day. The twins took turns explaining what had happened up in that tree. 

Jameson got knocked out by something- a chunk of flying ice- and Tim leaped down to catch him. Tamery held onto Tim as he held onto Jameson's dangling body over the rushing snow. It was a miracle the branch didn't snap while it held all three of them at once. They used some of the rope to tie everyone to the trunk and they both held onto Jameson, hoping he wasn't dead.

Eventually the avalanche did stop, and weirdly it seemed like the extra snow just distributed itself across the arena evenly. Must have been some weird game maker stuff. They didn't spend too long thinking about it. The twins worked together to lower Jameson's body down and they assessed the damage. The back of Jameson's head was bleeding sluggishly, but after cleaning as much blood as they could they found it wasn't that deep of a cut- but it still left him out cold. 

They loaded Jameson onto Tim's back and they started walking away from the mountain, seeking shelter so they could take care of each other. Tamery's wrist is properly broken now after trying to catch Tim and was sporting a new splint. The twins managed to find a tight cluster of pine trees and Tim dug out another burrow. Tamery held onto Jameson so he wouldn't lose more body heat and Tim started a low fire just outside their burrow. They needed to keep Jameseon warm as best they could.

5 tributes were killed in the avalanche.

Evidently, the fire did attract another tribute, but Tim had finished them off quickly and drug the body away from camp for pick up. 

Jameson felt a bit numb. Already Tim had killed 2 other tributes. He looked over to him and could now see the slight hollow look in his eyes despite his easy grin. 

"Why didn't you let me go?" Jameson asked, "You could have just dropped my body and let the avalanche take me. Why did you risk your necks for me?" 

Tim scoffed like it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, "Because we're a team. And I'm not the kind of man to let my friends go without a fight. You can't ditch us that easily, James.”

Friends. Jameson could feel both his stomach twist and his heart warm at the word. It was wonderful that the three of them had bonded, but then reality crashed back onto him like a dead tree. 

Only one walks out. Only one person walks away from the arena alive.

He swallowed that down and pulled Tim into a hug the best he could while laying down. Faintly Jameson was aware they're on camera, so he reached his hand out to Tamery and pulled her into the hug as well.

That night, after they coaxed him into eating and drinking something, Jameson was squished between the twins. They had extinguished and buried the fire under snow, but Jameson still stayed awake for a while, listening to the world outside their little bubble. 

There were no faces in the sky that night.

°○°○°○°

The next morning, they decided to stay hunkered down and give Jameson some time to recover. 

Tamery checked to see if the coast was clear before collecting some sticks to build another small fire once the sun didn't cast the mountain's chilled shadow over their little sanctuary.

All things considered, they were doing okay. They had food and some water left, a small source of warmth and company.

"I didn't see any names last night. What about the night I was knocked out?" Jameson asked Tamery while Tim was out setting some more snares. They lost their original traps to the avalanche and the jerky and bread were gone. 

Tamery hummed in thought as she set two apples next to the fire to roast them, "Girl from 12, and boy from 11 I think. I didn't really pay attention to all of them but I heard a few more canons during the avalanche so that's…" She paused to count in her head, "13 total? I think?" 

Jameson nods slowly. 13 dead, and he would have been one of them if Tim's hand slipped. He's extremely grateful as he bites into his piece of the last frozen bread roll.

They spent about 2 days in this location. The trees provided cover and they had a good amount of food to ration thanks to the traps. The trio spoke quietly of their lives back home, the family and friends they miss dearly. They even swapped stories to pass the time and keep Jameson from focusing too much on his pain. 

At some point, another canon fired in the distance, and some time later a silver parachute hangs itself neatly on a tree branch. Tim scampered quickly to get it and brought it back into the burrow. 

They're not sure exactly who it was for, but inside was a steaming pot of hot chocolate. Little white puffs still floated around as steam lazily rose up. They each savored one large sip of the creamy drink before they decided to save the rest for later. For a special occasion.

The next morning Jameson decided he's well enough to move again. The twins shared a doubtful look with each other but they packed up camp anyway. The trio decided to head for the opposite mountain. Tamery pointed out that there wasn't snow at the top of one so maybe the rocks were warmer somehow? They didn't think too hard about it, the hot chocolate helped a little but the cold had been slowly getting to them. They needed to move.

Unfortunately they weren't the only ones who had this same idea about the rocks without snow.

When they got to the rock shelf up on the mountain they quickly realized it was occupied. 

A fight broke out and everything happened so fast Jameson barely processed any of it at the moment.

Two larger tributes were cooking at a fire when the trio approached. They had a sword and an axe and they rushed the three of them. Tamery tried using her good hand to swing an ice pick but it was barely any good. Jameson tackled the girl with the axe and wrestled her for it, ripping it from her hands as Tim stabbed at the boy with the spear. Jameson rolled away from the girl and kicked some of the hot coals into the other boy's face- causing him to thrash wildly with the sword. It had cut Tim's arm deep enough for him to drop the spear and the other girl to nab it. Tamery came around behind her however and plunged an icepick into the girl's back. The other boy screamed and turned on Jameson, but Tim stepped in front of him as the sword plunged deep into Tim's side. 

Jameson was in shock and couldn't move- watched Tim fall to his knees clutching his side. Tamery snarled and leaped at the bigger boy. Jameson didn't see what she did because he was focused on Tim, but soon enough two canons fired and Tamery limped back over. Covered in blood. Jameson was just quick to leap and catch Tim as he finally topped over.

Tamery's face broke as she fell to her knees with them and ripped her brother away from Jameson's hands to hold him close herself. She wailed into the quickly cooling night air and Jameson crawled over to be by them. Taking Tim's hand he whispered to him over and over again, "I'm sorry, Tim. I'm so sorry. Why would you do that-? You- I'm so sorry…" 

Tamery tried her best to choke off her tears as she pressed her hand over the rapidly spreading red stain on her brother's light blue jacket. 

Tim coughed faintly, his breathing was shallow but he looked up to the two above him. His lips cracked as he smiled again, "Mind.. mind singing me away, James? Better-" He coughs again, specks of blood spraying out. "Better to hear that than my dumb sister crying." He chuckled wetly.

Tamery smacked him, but it was barely a tap. She pressed her forehead to his and tried to swallow her tears and noises down.

Jameson quickly wiped his eyes and nodded quickly. He took a shaky breath and started to sing a gentle tune, never letting go of Tim's already cold hand. A song about the warmth of home and being surrounded by those who love you most. Jameson cursed himself for letting his voice shake, but Tim didn’t seem to mind. His hazel eyes drifted from his beloved twin back to Jameson and finally settled onto the sky. Strange lights of greens and blues and purples danced over their heads. Tim thought they are the most beautiful colors he had ever seen. 

His hand went slack in Jameson's and the canon fired. 

It took a long time to pull Tamery away from her brother's body after Jameson slipped the other tribute's and Tim's unneeded supplies into his own backpack. 

"Tam, we have to go-"

"No! I'm not leaving him!" 

"Tamery, it's not safe here- more people will be coming soon. We have to move!" He pleaded.

"Fuck you, James! Its your fault this happened! If you had just-"

"What could I have done?! We were both fighting and he stepped in front of me! So much was happening I-"

"YOU COULD HAVE NOT LET MY BROTHER DIE!" She screamed, her voice echoing across the arena. "IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU!" It felt like the whole mountain shook under the weight of her grief. 

Jameson swallowed hard and set his mouth into a tight line. He knew deep down she was right. But there wasn't anything he could do. In that moment he swore he was going to get them off that fucking mountain. The easy way, or the hard way. 

Turned out, to nobody's surprise, it was the hard way. Jameson had to pry Tamery away from her twin's body and practically drag her down the mountainside kicking and screaming. Which was impressive in its own right because she gained a massive gash in her leg to match her broken wrist during the fight. 

It took about an hour for Jameson to find a cave and pull Tamery inside. She was exhausted at that point, refusing to look at JJ as he did his best to clean and wrap her injuries with the new medical kit he took. He handed her a cup of water from the thermus and some rabbit meat and sat against the opposite wall to her. She spent a long time just staring at the objects in her hands uncomprehendingly before she finally took a bite. When she did, Jameson suppressed a sigh of relief as he moved to make a small fire on the stone floor. They're deep enough in the cave he wasn't too worried about their light being spotted immediately. 

Though upon lighting the small blaze he realized they're not a cave. What he thought was the back of the cave seemed to stretch further into total darkness. It was a tunnel. A tunnel that stretches past the pitiful light of the fire and down deep into the heart of the mountain. Jameson swallowed hard then suddenly hoped Tamery didn't notice. What could be in there?

Tamery didn't notice as she pulled her knees close to her chest and buried her face in her arms, effectively blocking out the world. Jameson's heart broke for her. He could not even begin to fathom what must have been going through her head. Losing a sibling was one thing, but your twin? The person you had literally spent your entire life with? That was something else entirely.

"Guess I'll take the first watch." He mumbled to himself half heartedly, warming his hands over the small fire and scanning back and forth. From the pitch black night at the mouth of the cave, back into the pitch black nothingness in the throat of the tunnel. The fire seemed to temporarily protect them from being swallowed with its small bubble of golden light.

He didn't dare to even hum to comfort himself, afraid that a tune would carry farther than he'd think and alert someone- or something, whatever- to their location. 

Jameson watched the coals burn low and wondered to himself if he could have done anything to save Tim. Maybe it should have been Jameson that died on the mountainside with the twins watching over him instead. But no. He stepped in the way, and Jameson couldn't stop stubborn Tim even if he had a chance to try.

Jameson's head was dipping dangerously low when he decided he couldn't stay awake any longer. He got up and gently shook Tamery awake, but she wasn't asleep at all. Her gray eyes rimmed red and her cheeks were damp. Heavy purple bags rested under her eyes as tears quickly cooled her face. Jameson took Tim's- his glove off to wipe them away before they froze to her skin. 

They stared at each other, grief and regret bouncing between them like a hall of never ending mirrors, until Tamery grabbed his jacket front and pulled, hugging Jameson tight. He did not hesitate to return it just as fiercely. 

Backs against the cave wall, Jameson dozed on Tamery's shoulder with the thermal blanket wrapped around them both. They didn't utter a word to each other as the fire flickered out.

°○°○°○°

It was hard to tell what time Jameson was shaken awake. It was still dark outside the cave's mouth and Tamery looked panicked as she slapped her good hand over his mouth. Jameson was about to protest when there was the sound of something inside the tunnel.

Breathing. Low and slow. Sleeping.

Their eyes silently met and communicated. As fast as they dared, the two picked up their camp and carefully made their way to the mouth of the tunnel. Pausing every few steps to let the faint crunching sounds of their boots on rock settle back into harsh silence.

A shift and rumble of an unseen beast's body made them pause after a few more steps. Daring to look back, they saw a set of glowing yellow eyes illuminated in the darkness.

There was a beat of stillness.

Jameson and Tamery bolted, practically threw themselves out of the mouth of the tunnel and down the mountainside like two bullets shooting from a gun. All the while an enormous furred beast chased them with slobbering snarls and booming steps. When it roared, Jameson and Tamery couldn't stop their own screams of terror as they fled, half running and half rolling down the lower part of the snow covered mountain. 

Adrenaline gave them the wings to fly through the ice-covered powder in the dim early morning light and Jameson's mind reeled.

Where could they even go? 

There were very few places to hide, and there was no way Tamery could climb a tree fast enough with her leg. His head throbbed with the remnants of his lingering concussion. 

Suddenly, an idea hit Jameson like a block of ice. 

"Get to the cornucopia!" He yelled, turning on his heel as he threw the axe at the hulking white monster that was all dingy white fur and yellowed teeth. Some kind of muttation that Jameson vaguely figured was inspired by a bear of some kind. If the bear was built like a brick house and had two extra rows of shark teeth where its gums should be.

The axe struck the creature in the shoulder but it easily dislodged from its flesh, the weapon flying away in an arch before being lost to the powder immediately. But it bought Jameson enough time to catch up to Tamery who was limping as fast as she could. He managed to help drag her along and he forced himself to ignore her cries of pain. He yelled encouragingly at her to keep moving. Just keep running. They were almost there!

As soon as they broke through the trees that surrounded the golden cornucopia, the careers who made camp inside it immediately burst out with weapons drawn. When the beast shatters two trees in its rampage, however, the tribute's faces turn from a pack of dogs on a hunt, to a bunch of terrified children.

There was a flurry of confusion as Jameson and Tamery ran across the ice- the cleats on their boots gripping into the ice and allowed them to not slip on their asses. In fact, it allowed Jameson to shove Tamery out of the way as they split off, sending her skidding across the ice with a shout and allowing the giant beast- with no traction on the ice- to slide right into the career pack.

The sounds of screams and crunching bones filled the crisp morning air and Jameson froze for a moment to witness the carnage. 

The stark contrast of bright red blood on the pristine white snow was dizzying. He could feel the meager dinner from last night churn in his stomach, but he had no time to throw up,  as one of the careers from District Two tackled him to the ground. She was furious, yelling at Jameson and trying to plunge a massive hunting knife into his head. He dodged left and right before getting his spiked boots under her and kicking her off to go sliding- away from the beast. 

A couple arrows stuck out from its matted fur but it barely seemed to notice as he was tearing into the stomach of the girl from 1. Jameson quickly scrambled to his feet and looked for Tamery in the confusion, spotting her darting into the mouth of the cornucopia. He quickly joined her and they both hid behind a black crate, splattered in the blood from the other tributes. 

Tamery clutched her freshly bleeding leg. Teeth clenched so she wouldn't cry out when Jameson put pressure on her reopened wound with a cloth. They both listened for an agonizingly long time as the beast tore the small career pack to shreds. The wet sounds of meat being torn from bone and whimpers of agony ringing out into the air as snow began to fall. Snowflakes immediately melting into the warm pools of blood.

Jameson located a small handheld crossbow among the piles of supplies located inside their hiding place. He loaded it as quietly as he could. He knew it wouldn't do much against that creature, but if a tribute came in there all it would take is one shot to the head…

The sound of the three booming canon shots seemed to scare the beast back to its cave, grunting and huffing with every step to keep its balance on the ice.

Jameson and Tamery stayed where they were, not wanting to expose themselves to survivors or draw the attention of the monster back. 

They waited and listened as the hovercrafts retrieved the dead before they let out matching sighs of relief. Jameson handed the crossbow to Tamery before moving to check on her leg. The torn cloth bandage was soaked through so Jameson turned his back to look for a medical kit, “They have to have some proper bandages stashed somewhere in h-”

He froze in place when he heard the click of the safety being flicked off of the crossbow. Horrified, Jameson didn't need to turn around to know that Tamery had the bolt trained on Jameson's back. He slowly lifted his hands in surrender and turned around to face the stand-alone twin. 

Jameson searched her face and could barely get the whisper out around the knot in his throat, "Why?" 

Tamery just shook her head, face hard set with tears cutting through the smudges of grime and blood on her face. "Get. Out." She spat through her teeth. Jameson felt himself shaking.

Confused and still pumped with adrenaline. He shook his head and went to speak again but she cut him off, "Get out, Jameson Jackson! I don't want anything more to do with you!" Her voice was rough, it starkly contrasted the anguished scream from last night with a coldness that cut through Jameson's bones. "You have put me and my brother into so much danger. It was your idea to climb that mountain and it was your idea to lead that THING into the careers! How long until you get me killed with your stupid plans! Just like Tim!" Her eyes narrowed, “Was that your game plan from the start? Make us trust you then get us all murdered?”

“No! Tamery I would never-”

“Bullshit! One one of us walks out of here Jameson Jackson and it shouldn't be you.”

"Then why don't you pull the trigger?" Jameson asked, his chest twisted into a harsh knot. This is probably the first time in his life he has truly felt betrayal.

Tamery hesitated. Jameson could see her hand shaking the small crossbow, "Because," she took a deep breath, her hazel eyes once holding glimmers of a rainbow, now were dark like a raging thunderstorm, "Because Tim would be so disappointed in me."

For the second time in 24 hours, Jameson's heart shattered.

“Tamery-”

“Go.” She growled, baring her teeth with a cornered animal.

Jameson swallowed hard and slowly stood up, never turning his back on the crossbow trained on him as he grabbed a sack of random supplies. He wanted to say goodbye, but something from the treeline startled him. He took off running as soon as left the mouth of the cornucopia.

He swore he could feel his heart bleeding in his ribcage. 

This was the nature of the games. It was better this way. Better than having your friend kill you at the end of the line. He held in a sob.

Jameson ran deep into the forest before scaling a tree, wrapping his arms around the trunk and allowing himself to break. Just a little. Hastily wiping the tears from his cheeks before they could freeze to his skin. Taking deep shaky breaths he tried to center himself again. But the images of Tim dying and Tamery's fury flashed in his mind and the tears started up all over again.

He had to get it together. Tamery had half of the supplies when they escaped the cave so Jameson maybe had a day or two left of food if he rationed. She took the flint and steel as well as his silver thermal blanket. Upon searching the sack of supplies he hastily grabbed, all he could find was more rope, a knife, and some sort of.. wheels? He picked one out of the bag and realized it was a pulley. There were only a few of them but the rope threaded into them perfectly.

Gears turned in Jameson's mind and he started formulating a plan. Afterall, there were only so many of them left.

Going back to their old camp in the cluster of trees, Jameson began using his ice pick to dig a new burrow. But he wouldn't be sleeping in there. No, under a layer of snow, Jameson carefully laid out a rope snare that led back to the highest tree in the cluster. Carefully weighted with a heavy branch, all Jameson had to do was wait for someone to go inside and investigate and the trap would go off.

He built a fire, not caring that it gave away his position in the quickly setting light. That was the point. He toasted the last apple, boiled more snow into water, and sipped the hot chocolate. The sweet creaminess of it felt bitter in Jameson's stomach now, but it was warm and filling. He threw some green pine branches onto the fire, immediately making it more smoky, before he traced his own steps in the snow towards the big tree. Jameson had made sure to thoroughly stomp around the area so his tracks would be harder to follow to his hiding place. He shook some of the lower branches free of their snow, just for added measure.

Then he hunkered down in a high up branch and waited.

This was by far his worst night in the games. 

Without Tim and Tamery's body heat or the protection of the thermal blanket, Jameson could feel his body heat being leached out of him with every gust of frigid wind. He tried to see it as a blessing when the snowflakes started coming down in larger globs. The fact that it was snowing at all meant it was technically warmer than a cloudless night sky. And feeling the snow pile against his back, he convinced himself it would add more cover from the wind. Jameson pulled the hood of his jacket tight over his face and tried to stay upright. 

His head was pounding from his concussion and the exertion of the day. Between that and the bitter cold he wanted so badly to just sleep. He didn't feel the cold as much when he slept, but he knew it would be a bad idea.

Catching himself dozing, Jameson began to wrap some extra rope around himself and the trunk of the tree when he heard it.

Snap!

Jameson tried not to jump, instead freezing in place and listening carefully to the movements below.

In the distance he heard a canon fire.

Who was that? Tamery? Jameson thought to himself before getting thrown back into his own situation. 

He looked down and saw a tribute, cautiously walking into his fake camp like a nervous rabbit, ready to bolt at any moment. It was hard to tell who it was- they were bundled so much in a long blue scarf that Jameson couldn't see much of their face. But it didn't matter. 

Setting his resolve, Jameson put a hand on the log weight attached to his trap and watched as the tribute approached the fire. He watched the tribute take their thin gloves off to warm their hands- Jameson could see from his place in the tree that their fingers were blue. Almost touching the licking flames with seemingly no fear of being burned.

They did this for a minute, giving up as they turned to the burrow, carefully crawling inside hoping to seek shelter from the wind. 

There was pressure on the rope.

With a heaving push, Jameson shoved the heavy log out of its wedge and the rope snapped tight, ensnaring whoever was inside by their ankles as it dragged them out. The burrow collapsed on top of them before their body got ripped across the firepit. They let out a scream as the hot coals caught on their clothes and started to burn almost immediately. But the rope and pulley system Jameson rigged wasn't finished in its trajectory. Jameson must have miscalculated-  because it practically flung the tribute into the air before gravity clutched them in its fist and slammed them back down onto the frozen earth. It looked as though something invisible grabbed the tribute's chest and tried to drag their heart directly into the ground.

There was a sickening thud and crunch, but no canon fire. Jameson scuttled down his tree with his knife in his teeth. He didn't want whoever that was to suffer- so without even registering their frostbitten face, he plunged the knife down. Through their scarf, and into their throat. 

The canon sang. 

This was the first person Jameson had directly killed. Sure, he led the beast to the career pack, but before that it was Tim and then Tamery who had actual blood on their hands. This was the first time it properly stained his now-gray gloves.

Red oozed from the tribute's neck, seeping deep into the pristine white snow. Globs of snowflakes were already working hard to try and cover the red as Jameson cut the tribute's ankles free and backed away into the shadow of the falling sun's light.

As soon as the craft crested back over the mountain out of sight, the Panem anthem began to play, displaying the faces of those who had fallen that day.

Three out of four members of the career pack, someone Jameson barely recognized from the training center, and the little boy from 10. The one Tamery wished would join their party if they ever found him. Was he the one Jameson just killed? 

He immediately discarded the thought, knowing it to be true deep down but if he let it, the thought would break him. 

No, that person was too big to be the boy. He remembered the twelve year old being so much smaller. It couldn't have been him. But he was so much lighter than Jameson expected for any of the older tributes…

He slammed the lid shut on that train of thought before it could go any further. He screwed it tight and hid it away deep in his mind. He couldn't afford to lose his grip now.

Only one walks out.

It shouldn't have been Jameson.

It should have been that little boy.

What did they all think of him now back home in District 7?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jameson carefully took apart his trap and stashed everything in his backpack. Sparing a glance to the blood stain in the snow before turning harshly and walking out of the ring of trees. 

He couldn't stay here and let the guilt swallow him whole. 

°○°○°○°

Trudging through the snow was difficult when it had gotten to knee-height and he could barely see in front of his own face. Jameson forced himself to keep moving, steering clear of the hollow areas under the trees where no snow collected. 

He remembered his aunt warning him and Maria never to play in them when they were children. Yes, it looked like a perfect place to build a fort, but Marry grabbed one of the branches and gave the whole tree a harsh shake. It sent pounds of snow crashing down through the branches and filled the gap almost instantly. 

"You would be buried under there and suffocate in the snow. Nobody would be able to find your tiny bodies until spring when it all melts away." 

Maria had burst into tears at the scary thought, but they both got the message loud and clear. 

Still, the patches of dry-ish earth under the canopy of a pine tree looked extremely inviting. A shelter ready and waiting to keep someone trapped forever. Maybe one of the faces in the sky had tried that already.

How many of them were left now? Jameson thought to himself, shivering with each step he took. He counted in his head as he wrapped his arms around himself. 

He had to stop when he realized. 

Killing that other tribute meant that Jameson was now in the top three. Everything was happening so fast in the games he barely registered that they had made it that far.

It was him. Tamery. And the career girl from District 2.

Jameson immediately scaled up a tree to hide, a new shot of adrenaline heating him from his core. Surely the game makers wanted a grand show for the finale. So what on earth could it be?

It took about an hour of him clinging to the tree, the cold slowly tempting him to doze off when he got his answer.

The mountain with no snow on its top, it wasn't a mountain at all.

It was a volcano. 

The top of it burst into a shower of orange fire and rock. All Jameson could do was watch in horror as the lava rapidly spewed out like a giant canopy, sending burning rock and magma across the entire arena.

But after the first spew, Jameson watched helplessly as the main river of lava flowed directly towards the cornucopia. Replacing the ice field with boiling magma. The steam from rapidly melting snow connecting with the unrelenting lava blocked out any visibility in a barrier of white. Jameson couldn't see what was happening down there but all he could think about was Tamery.

All of the lava seemed to flood directly into the ice field, but burning hunks of rock still flew across the entire arena, catching some patches of the forest on fire in an instant. Jameson knew he had to move, but where could he go? 

Even if he did try to run away, the game makers would try to either flush him back towards the others or lead them to him. He was paralyzed with indecision until he heard the canon fire. Jameson snapped his head up to the sky to see the image of Tamery, his friend from District Eight, blaze across.

“Tamery…” Jameson whispered, willing himself not to let it come out as a cry.

Something inside of him shifted. It was like he was drawn back into his own mind as his body moved without his input.

Jameson climbed down the tree, ignoring how the top had caught alight. 

He couldn't fully comprehend what he was doing or what was happening around himself. His hands moved independently from his mind.

Tying knots, looping rope around branches, a small ball of fire whizzing past his cheek-

He chased the ball of fire to where it landed. It had melted a deep hole through the snow and partway into the ground. He followed it with his ice pick and started to dig.

By god did he dig.

His icepick moved fast but rhythmically down, down, down into the earth as the world around him began to glow brighter.

At some point he found himself grunting with effort to climb out of the hole he had made. 

How had he dug that so fast? It didn't matter. 

Jameson watched his stiff hands as they set up a very similar snare to the one he made earlier that morning. The one that killed the small boy from District 10. Only someone so small could have flown so high.

Jameson found himself wishing that this trap would actually work on someone bigger than a scrawny twelve year old.

It didn't matter. His mind blurred as he finished his project, not fully sure what this thing would do but he covered the pit with a layer of pine branches and snow. 

Jameson climbed a tree that wasn't on fire and waited.

Naturally, the game makers didn't want this going on forever, so it wasn't long until Jameson heard crashing footsteps and unhinged laughter from the woods. The girl from District 2 staggered into view from below, and Jameson felt nothing.

Dancing flames licked at the trees behind her as she called into the night air in a sing-song voice, “Jaaaamesooonnn,” She sang and Jameson became an ice statue. 

“Jamie-son, Jamie-son, Jamie-son JACK-son!” The girl sang in the same jaunty tune that Lucky Flickerman had playfully done at the interview. He could see her now through the branches, half of her body was covered in cuts and burns, her snow clothes flaked away from her in chunks of ash. “Come on out, little songbird.” She mocked in a cooing tone, another cackle seemed to rip from her throat unbidden, “COME ON OUT!” She yelled, arms throwing her loaded bow around with an arrow nocked into place.

Between the cave beast attack and the volcano, she must have completely lost her mind. Her voice dipped low as she scanned the trees around her, singing quietly in a haunting tone,  “Come out, come out wherever you are…” She giggled as if this was a child's game of hide and seek. 

Jameson felt himself slipping, so he carefully tried to shift his weight to get a better hold onto the tree-

The branch snapped under his hand in betrayal. As quickly as it broke the girl from 2 let an arrow fly, striking him directly in the knee. 

A cry rips from Jameson as he feels his entire kneecap shatter on impact. One hand shook as it hovered over the arrow sticking out of his body and he debated if he should pull it or not.

Jameson's gaze locks onto the girl just as she shot another arrow at him like he was an unsuspecting squirrel clinging to the bark. His hand flew up instinctively to try and catch the bolt as it lodged right into his throat.

He tried to gasp as Jameson fell from the tree like a bird shot from the air. His leg with the arrow through it slammed against a branch on his way down before he fell onto his side in a pile of snow. He was choking on his own blood as he tried to grip the arrow in his neck, too in shock to pull it out or do anything at all except struggle to breathe through the blood.

As he desperately struggled to breathe, the girl from two couldn't stop laughing. Her cackle ringing like scrapes on a chalkboard through the air. He looked at her with one eye that wasn't full of snow and just watched her, unable to do anything else. 

Her arms were clutched over her stomach, her laugh howled like one of those hyena muttations Jameson had seen the year prior. She dropped her bow and stumbled around in circles, smiling wide at the sky, “Ladies and gentlemen!” She called, the cloud of her breath easily seen as she stepped backwards towards Jameson, “Your winner… of the HUNGER G-” 

Her words were cut short as she stepped back, directly into the hole that Jameson had dug. 

Her weight broke through the thin layer of branches that concealed the pit and her body dropped down like a bag of stones. She screamed before the rope caught around her throat- cutting off her windpipe and quickly snapping her neck thanks to the extra height of the short drop. 

Jameson lied there, dumbfounded and drowning in his own blood when he heard the canon fire.

It was like a dream when a disembodied voice spoke like a fading radio in Jameson's ear, “Ladies and gentlemen, our winner for the 26th Hunger Games!” 

Jameson allowed himself to close his eyes as the fire blazed around him. He finally felt warm even as the snow tried to blanket him in white.

°○°○°○°

They told him it was two days later when he woke up.

For what felt like a short eternity, floating in the darkness of his own head, Jameson Jackson was certain that he was dead. 

He was certain that if he kept searching this void he was in, eventually he would find his parents and maybe the twins somewhere. But no.

When his eyes fluttered open, he knew immediately he was alive because everything hurt.

His head was pounding, he couldn't move his leg, and his throat felt like he swallowed some of that lava directly. When he cried out in pain his voice sounded gargled, completely unrecognizable. It had even hurt to whisper. 

Very quickly the doctors ordered him not to speak as they injected morphling into his system. The drug dulled the pain almost instantly, and all other emotions that tried surface as well, allowing him to float on a pink cotton cloud of blissful nothingness.

He was very lucky, so they told him. It was hard to believe anything when his mind felt like cloud soup. 

They said they were quick to extract him from the arena. That they were able to save his leg for the most part though he would probably walk with a limp. And they said they managed to drain the blood that had collected in his lungs. But there was something else. 

A doctor with a soothing voice, one that was kind and had a soft face full of sympathy, gently told Jameson that they weren't so lucky with his vocal cords. 

It was a miracle in itself; the chin of his locket had caught the arrow just enough so it wouldn't fully enter his throat. It was that small amount of extra resistance that saved his life. But he was still pierced in just the right way. The woman held his hand and told him he would probably never speak clearly again. 

These words didn't sink in until they weaned him off the morphling two weeks later. Then it came to him all at once like a crushing wave.

Jameson Jackson would never speak again. 

Jameson Jackson… would never sing again.

He followed the doctor's orders and did not even so much as hum. They gave him a wheelchair that his mentor used to push him onto the stage to meet Lucky Flickerman again. The show host obviously carried the conversation after a joke about him being quieter than an avox as they went over the two hour highlight reel of the games. 

The world around Jameson was completely gray. Eyes not able to focus on anything as everyone's words sounded like his head was completely underwater.

He felt hollowed out, like an empty puppet getting moved across a stage without any of the strings in his own hands.

At some point, Jameson registered that he was finally home, back in District 7, but it wasn't his original house. No, they carted him directly to one of the houses in the Victor's Village where his Aunt Marry had already begun moving some of their belongings into it.

For a long time Jameson just stayed curled up on the couch. Staring off into space or gazing into the fire with a heavy pile of blankets over him. He vaguely understood when people came to see him, but none of the pairs of legs or blurred faces registered in his brain. The gentle fingers that ran through his hair were unfamiliar as they lulled him into fitful nights of sleep.

He didn't really know when he came back to himself. But one day, Jameson found himself sitting in front of the fireplace as it was burning low with glowing embers and.. wood shavings?

Jameson looked down, confused, at his hands and was surprised to find a whittling knife in one and a piece of wood in the other. The wood didn't have a defined shape, not really. He slowly turned it in his hands trying to decipher what it was he was making with curiosity. It looked vaguely like an oval. All the corners and edges were rounded, but nothing else remarkable aside from the texture. 

Looking down at himself again, he found his lap full of wood shavings, some shifted as he lifted his arms in mild bewilderment. There was way more than what should have accounted for the wood piece currently in his hand.

He blinked, unsure how he got here, but tentatively resumed adding to the pile. The glide of the small sharp knife steadying his mind.

Some of the wood shavings flew off into the fire as he worked and Jameson realized that's probably why he was sat here. To get as many pieces as he could into the fire and then mostly likely sweep the rest in afterwards.

But he didn't remember where he got these things. He didn't remember moving from the couch. How long had be been sat here?

Upon registering that he did, in fact, have a body, his leg screamed. 

Jameson tried to scream too, but it came out sounding horrible. Choked off and gnarled and like it's still full of pine smoke. Jameson dropped his tool and gripped his leg tight, trying desperately to stop the shooting pain that traveled from his knee to his ankle and all the way back up to his hip and spine. Every movement felt like knives in his bones as hot tears rolled down his face as he let out strangled sobs. 

This seemed to alert someone nearby because Aunt Marry quickly came around the doorway, completely in shock. But it passed as she rushed to him with someone Jameson couldn't see behind her in tow.

When they got Jameson back to the couch and brushed off most of the wood shavings, they carefully helped to prop his leg up on a stool. He kept his eyes screwed shut as the waves of pain rolled through him. A hand found his own and he squeezed. 

A minute later when the pain finally subsided, Jameson opened his eyes to see tanned hands holding out a small plate of food and a cup of water. He takes the cup and plate in shaky hands as he finally looked to his Aunt beside him, and up at the girl before him. 

Maria. His Maple. She was here and smiling down at Jameson with barely contained joy.

“Map-” He tried to say, but his throat felt like it caught fire again, sending him into a coughing fit. He felt soothing hands on his back and heard Marry gently encourage him to drink the water. 

He did and it's the most refreshing cup of water he has ever had in his life- downing the rest of the cup quickly. 

Maria pulls one of the plush chairs over and sits in front of Jameson as his aunt sits close at his side, an arm wrapped around his shoulders protectively. 

Maria begins to sign, “I… We thought you were gone for good, Jamie.” 

It takes a second for Jameson's brain to click back into place to remember how to sign, but tentatively he does so back, “I think I was. For a little while.” 

Maria's honey brown eyes sparkled with tears, “But you're back. You're home.” 

For the first time, it actually hit him.

Jameson Jackson had won the Hunger Games. 

He had won and now he was home again. Home with his aunt and his best friend and his District. He felt a lump form in his throat trying not to cry. He just opened his arms out to Maria.

She didn't hesitate as she threw herself from the chair into his arms, both of them clinging to each other like either of them would disappear if they let go. Aunt Marry wrapped her arms around both of them and they sat quietly like that for a very long time, bodies shaking from time to time with tears of relief.

°○°○°○°

The flashbacks had become part of Jameson's new normal. Alongside with his leg occasionally giving out from under him and needing a cane to walk, and almost exclusively using sign language to communicate, the flashbacks and nightmares have become part of his routine. 

He does pick up the lumberjack's woodpecker code for easier translation around town- tapping out small phrases against his cane fashioned from an off cut oak branch- but he doesn't get much of a chance to use it when something reminds him of the games. A sound of breaking bone from the butcher, a particular cackling laugh, the first cold wind of winter- his mind slipped back into the arena. 

Most often it just makes Jameson freeze, mind drifting off and becoming unresponsive. But on more than one occasion now, Jameson has snapped back into himself when a large pair of peacekeeper arms hoisted him into the air. He quickly took stock and realized he attacked another person in the middle of the square. The people around him looked a mixture of angry and terrified.

Another part of his new normal, for obvious reasons, was the people of District 7 began to avoid Jameson. Either from politeness, a fear of awkward conversation, wariness due to his actions outside the games, or even to avoid their own sadness of never hearing him sing again. It didn't matter.

They kept their distance. And in turn so did Jameson. 

He would only leave his house to purchase food or more off cuts of timber, then go back to his house as quickly as his leg would allow. No friendly waves. No lingering. No small talk. Keeping everyone at arm's length so he wouldn't reach for them when his mind replaced their faces with the boy's who killed Tim.

°○°○°○°

The Victor's Village was left mostly untouched for a long time in 7, having only been built a handful of years ago along with Snow's changes of the entire proceedings of how the games were conducted. 

The houses were a bit gaudy in Jameson's opinion. Though, he did enjoy the extra privacy being separated from the rest of the District gave. But he knew Aunt Marry wasn't as thrilled about it.

Before going on his Victory Tour, Aunt Marry told Jameson that she had decided to move back into their old home over their small general goods store. Jameson tried not to take it personally, he knew Marry's knees weren't like they used to be and the shop was on the opposite side of town. He told her it was alright and pulled his childhood wagon that carried her things.

The camera crew came a week before he was set to board the train, and Jameson gave them a tour of his new home. Showing off a small collection of the creations he has whittled since being home again. 

It was a new thing the Capital was trying along with many other ideas. The victor of the Quarter Quell, a girl named Marvin from District 4, was so fascinating to the citizens of the Capital that they wanted to see more of her after her victory. So they sent a crew to her home and interviewed her. She showed off the hobby she picked up to spend her free time and the people adored it. Marvin's pastime was tying overly intricate, decorative nets- weaving beads and crystals and colorful pieces of coral into some. So because of this popular concept,  Jameson was advised to do something similar to show to the people of Panem on television what the heck he's been up to. Minus the nightmares, the flashbacks, the crippling anxiety, and the chronic pain he now dealt with.

So he stuck with wood carving.

He whittled a myriad of things by that point. Mostly animals he would see running around their forests. Figurines of squirrels, birds, little bears. He also tried creating more complicated things. Spinning tops, perfectly smooth spheres, pipes. And… dolls. 

The camera crew actually flinched when Jameson first pulled them out.

Little dolls with linked-together limbs, they could be moved about by strings from above. Jameson had made a little under a dozen wooden marionettes that were carefully carved and painted to resemble tributes from his games. 

The girl from District Two who shot him. The little boy from District Ten he killed with the trap. The three careers that were killed by the snow beast mutt. The two larger tributes up on the mountain that killed Tim. Tamery and Tim. And finally, one of himself. That one wasn't as carefully made as the others, Jameson's stylist pointed out, “I think the leg on this one is broken. And there's some kind of scratch here on the neck.” Jameson pretended not to hear the comment.

“I plan to carve all the other tributes,” Aunt Marry translated Jameson's sign for the cameras when they started rolling. “I may not have interacted with many of them personally, but it's my way of trying to honor their memory.” That collected a round of heart-warmed coos from the crew, despite their obvious discomfort of how creepy the whole hobby seemed to them. 

“The faces freak me out, JJ!” One of the members of his prep team had cried when he first saw them, “They almost look dead!”

“They are.” He signed and Marry translated uneasily.

They stopped making comments about the puppets after that and tried to wrap up filming quickly. Good. He wanted them all out of his house.

Yes, Jameson did want to honor the fallen in some way of his own. But in reality, this strange hobby was one of the only ways for him to stop seeing the dead in his nightmares. 

He would lock himself away in the attic of the house and spend days, sometimes even weeks on a single marionette. Carving and painting away in hopes that the subject's ghost would stop haunting him in his dreams. But they would always come back eventually. 

The completion of each project gave ease for a few days, not showing up in Jamesons dreams at all. But a new face would take their place. The previous ghost would come back occasionally, but they were no longer screaming.

Each stroke of the knife dug the tribute out from a prison of wood, revealing their features so they were no longer trapped in an awful, dark place. The only time his hands didn't tremble was when he painted them. 

°○°○°○°

Returning from the Victory Tour around the entire country, Jameson was exhausted. 

Smiling for the cameras and standing in the center of the stage signing to the families of the fallen tributes. He didn't try to say anything other than what was written on the cards. Jameson found out quickly when trying to say more to the parents of Tim and Tamery in District 8, that his Capital escort did not actually know sign language, so she was completely lost as a “translator” if he went off script. He tried not to be too upset, it wasn't her fault, but he felt completely silenced by the restraints. There were so many apologies and pleads for forgiveness that the lone standing parents would never get to hear. Jameson just prayed that they could see all the anguish in his eyes and hoped it would be enough. I would never be enough.

The only positive thing out of the entire trip was that he got to meet a handful of the Victors from previous games. 

Marvin from District 4, and Henrik from District 3 connected with Jameson quickly and he really liked them. He made pleasant conversation with them once he had acquired a small notepad and pen. 

Marvin was clever and playful in that almost sharp cat-like way. She laughed easily and was liberal with any shreds of gossip she heard from her time in the Capital. Jameson was surprised somebody so vicious and cold in the arena could act like this afterwards. But then again, he knew all too well how strong certain masks could be.

She put Jameson at ease immediately when she glared daggers at the host behind the camera. The young hotshot made a joke about Jameson needing to speak up, and if they weren't being broadcast live, Jameson was sure Marvin would have ripped the host's throat out for good measure. She gave him a hug and told him to write and not be a stranger. Jameson hugged back tightly and promised he would try.

Jameson was genuinely surprised that Henrik was the last Victor in the original arena based in the Capital. A broken down gladiator-inspired theater that once upon a time hosted events like the circus. But was transformed into the death ring it was inspired by originally to host the Hunger Games. Henrik lived in terrible conditions before the games even began and it was remarkable that he didn't die from exposure or infection before entering the arena. 

President Snow changed the proceedings of everything for the 25th Hunger Games. Henrik, for better or for worse, had just missed the change in management.

He was still lanky and thin, but not quite the sickly skeleton he was when he stepped in the ring. Henrik was very intelligent and curious, asking Jameson almost endless questions about sign language and how he learned it.

Jameson decided he liked Henrik when he started taking notes on his palm for an idea, “I lost hearing in my right ear during my games.” Henrik explained, “Learning sign language could prove to be very helpful. Though not many know it in Three… I think I might have an idea.” 

Jameson really did try to follow along with Henrik's techno-babble, but the drinks had started getting to him by that point so he just listened to the soothing tones of his voice without much comprehension.

Jameson wished he could have spoken more privately to both of them, about their experiences in the games and how they try to cope with it all. But the cameras never left his back on the tour, so neither did Jameson's pleasant mask.

He entered the attic almost as soon as he returned home, planning to lose himself into a new project before the ghosts could even try to find him. Stepping inside his now familiar space, his small haven, he stopped in his tracks.

By his work desk, surrounded by piles of wood shavings he never bothered to sweep up, stood Maria. Her frizzy golden hair acted as a halo against the gray snowy backdrop of the window. In her hands she held one of the wooden dolls Jameson had started making before leaving for the tour. 

She turned, revealing to Jameson what he already knew, and his cheeks burned with shame. It was the beginnings of a carving of Maria.

Maria ever so gently set the wooden version of herself back onto the work table, supporting the head as if it were an infant, and turned to fully face Jameson, “Do you see me as dead too, Jamie?” She signed, face trying not to twist in hurt but failing.

“It's not like that, Maple,” Jameson signed back quickly. The only sound in the room was the winter breeze trying to push its claws into the cracks of the house. He repressed a shiver and pushed forward, “I don't make these just for the dead. I make them because I don't want to-” 

“What? Not to lose me?” She snapped, knowing Jameson too well, “Jamie- you're the one who is pushing away from you! Your friends at the paper mill have only seen your face a handful of times since you've come home!” 

“They don't look at me the same anymore! They treat me differently.” He tried to reason.

“Because you can't be their personal radio anymore?” She rolled her eyes with a bitter laugh.

“Because I've killed people, Maple!”

Jameson and Maria had fought only a small handful of times before. Words choked Jameson's throat when he was upset, so they both signed in rapid fire at each other. He remembers once Maria's father had broken them up by saying “Stop yelling!” And it made them all burst into giggles. But in the attic space, they were alone.

Jameson frowned deeply, “I killed innocent people! Children! It doesn't matter that it was the games, I still have their blood on my hands and it can never be washed clean. And since I can't tell anybody what actually happened in my own words, they see me as a murderer. I can't tell them! They think I'm a monster so now they treat me like I'm- Like I am a-”

“A freak?” Maria finished for him, a scowl deep in her features.

Jameson flinched, immediately realizing what he said and his anger flowing out of him in an instant, “Maple-” 

“You think they see you as a freak because you can't speak anymore?” She scoffed, “Jamie, they see you differently because you are different now. When you came home from the games you were catatonic for days! Barely able to move or show you were still alive in your brain! When you did start moving around, all you did was carve. Not even making anything, you just shaved blocks of wood into kindling. And when you did finally wake up you started avoiding everybody like they were going to stab you in the back!” 

“Can you blame me for that?!” 

“No! I understand that! But I do blame you for pushing us all away when all we want to do is help you, Jamie! You have barely spoken to me at all since you've come back!”

“Not like I can speak anymore!”

Maria laughed, bitter and a hint of self-deprecating, “I wonder what that's like!”

Jameson growled in his chest, he didn't care that it burned, “I don't want to hurt you! I've attacked people!”

“You can't control-”

“I don't want to hurt others-”

“I don't want you to hurt yourself!” Maria hiccuped, roughly scrubbing her eyes with the back of her hand and glaring at Jameson, eyes damp but not allowing tears to fall. 

They stand in the silence. A cold draft danced by Jameson and he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself with a harsh shiver. He hated the cold now. When the first snow of the year came he rarely left the warmth of the fireplace for anything. The first draft he felt sent him into a panic attack. 

Maria sniffed loudly, signing slower, “You don't take care of yourself when you lock yourself away up here.” She looked around the room, it was still somewhat empty, but a shelf held a collection of small statues, and the marionettes of the fallen tributes hung from the rafters. “You ignore me when I knock and throw pebbles at your window, and you don't eat the food Aunt Marry brings you. You… You disappear, Jamie. And it scares us so badly. We think that you won't come back again every time.” 

Jameson was stunned. He didn't realize he got so engrossed in his work. He looked to his side and seemingly for the first time, noticed a small stack of plates next to the door, untouched. He looked back to Maria and didn't know what to say. His hands fluttered, stumbling over his words and unsure how to respond. 

“Let me stay.” Maria said suddenly.

Jameson was completely bewildered, “What? Why?”

“So you don't have to be alone anymore. So someone can be there to take care of you.”

“No I don't-”

“Why?” She asked quickly, “Why do you so badly want to push me away, Jamie?”

“I don't want to hurt you!”

“You could never hurt me, you're so kind and gentle-”

“I hurt Aunt Marry!” He burst out and that made Maria stop. Jameson took a slow breath, not meeting her eyes for a moment in complete shame. Once he gained the courage again, he looked her in the eye, “Once when I was…” He laughed bitterly, “Gone. She tried to bring me back by touching my shoulder. I must have been back in the arena because I lashed out at her. I wasn't in control of myself, I didn't know what was really happening.” Jameson took a deep breath, “But I hurt her… and if you stay, I could hurt you too. I could kill you, Maple.”

Maria closed her eyes, hiccuping again before wiping her cheeks of the tears that managed to escape. 

He tried to step forward, tried to go comfort her, but his leg screamed, sending daggers from his knee outward. He didn't have his cane so he reluctantly froze in place, putting his body weight onto his other leg with a hiss.

When she opened her again, she looked at Jameson with a hardness of finality that sent an icicle through his heart. He immediately regretted his words and wanted nothing more than to take them all back.

“Maple, wait-” He reached for her.

“I can't do this.” She started to walk towards him, moving to the door behind him. “I'm not standing by and watching as you push me away. I-” Maria shakes her head and throws her hands down in frustration, trying to shove past Jameson but he catches her in his arms.

Maria struggled for a moment before they both lock eyes. Maria's honey brown steady and wet, and Jameson's pale blue desperately searching for… what? A sign that she was joking? No, it was obvious that she was very serious about not wanting to stand by and watch him destroy himself. Perhaps he was looking for a second chance? Again, nothing. Jameson's shoulders slowly slumped in defeat as he forced his eyes not to water.

Maria scanned his face and sighed, standing slightly on her toes to kiss his cheek so lightly he almost didn't feel the whisper of her lips, “Goodbye, Jamie.” And she stepped back slowly, Jameson released his grip, and she left.

Just like that she was gone. Jameson stood still, frozen in time until he heard the front door open and close downstairs. He tried to tell himself that this was for the best for the best, that Maria would be safer and happier away from him. 

His resolve crumbled as another draft of cold wind swept through the room, cutting through to his bones. He finally let his leg give out and he crashed to the floor on his hands and knees. When the pain stabbed him again he rolled onto his side on the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. He tried in vain to curl so tightly into a ball that he would completely disappear. Fold in on himself enough times he would become a speck of dust and fly far, far away from here. But he didn't turn into a speck of insignificant dust. He laid curled on the floor, ignored the splinters from the stray wood shavings, and screamed.

It took over three weeks for him to finish the doll of Maria.

°○°○°○°

As the years go on, Jameson is expected to be the mentor for the tributes of the reaped District 7 children. Every year he sternly told himself to not get attached or grow actual bonds with any of these children. It would be harder to let them go if he let them find places in his heart. He never followed his own instructions. Because for the next 5 years, he watched over, cared for, and witnessed the death of 10 children from his district. Every time the canon fired for one of his own, it shattered his heart like the arrow shattered his knee. Even though he knew that he did everything he could by treating these children with kindness and encouragement and empathy, it felt as crushing as Tim's death each and every time.

He had marionettes of them all, alongside several others now.

Capital people that taunted and gawked at Jameson like he was an animal at the zoo, filler for his nightmares, they looked more like actual colorful puppets with their ribbons and feathers. You would think that they weren't real people at first glance, with all of their bright colors and painted faces. But they were. And they were discarded into a corner of the room when he was finished. It felt satisfying in a way, throwing them aside like they did to him when his novelty ran out.

Among the colorful cabinet of Capitals, there was also one marionette that was made to look like the young President Snow. A small silk flower acted as the signature rose on his lapel, and Jameson had added the detail of painting the president's hands red. He thought about Tim telling him about the red dye and how it stained his skin to look like blood. Jameson added some gloss to the red on Snow's hands to sell the effect better.

This one, this likeness to the president of Panem, had its strings knotted beyond hope of untangling and wrapped tightly around the puppet's throat. It was thrown harshly into a dark corner of Jameson's workshop, broken and almost buried in the wood shavings that carpeted the attic space up to Jameson's ankles now in certain piles.

This year, like all the others, Jameson put on his clean shirt and favorite blue vest. Carefully doing up the buttons with clever hands and adjusting his simple black bowtie snugly around his throat to hide the scar. He trimmed his mustache and brushed away the remaining wood shavings off his black slacks. Grabbed his cane, and made his cryptid-sighting appearance on the stage. 

His knee always ached worse on Reaping day, but he tried to stand and smile at the blurry faces of his District. He forced himself not to search for Maria in the crowd, again, as he took his seat and waited as the tribute's names were drawn. He forced his hand to not grip and wrinkle his pants against his bad leg.

Ivy Cinders, and Chase Brody. This year's District 7 tributes for the 32nd Hunger Games. And Jameson's new wards.

Seeing the young woman in the crowd, who was obviously pregnant, crying her eyes out for the boy on the stage made Jameson's heart twist in a strange way. And he knew right then and there that he would be breaking his own rule to not get attached for the sixth year in a row.

[jsehungergamesau]

Good morning/ evening dear readers! Mod Oakley here to update yall on whats happening with the JSE Egos Hunger Games AU fic.

The long and the short of it is that we took an accidental break from working on the project.

Behind the scenes the 3 of us have just under 100k words of unedited writing for this thing- SO FAR-, but the kicker is we gotta edit it. And life has been kinda kickin our butts irl, so to avoid burning ourselves out on a project we're super passionate about, we're not pushing ourselves too hard to rush it.

However, we are so sorry that we left yall in the dark with no updates. So as an apology, we have decided that later this week we'll post the 10k word fanfic of Jameson's hunger games that I wrote. I wrote the bulk of it in 3 days because Im pretty sure JJ grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, said "I need my story to be told," and fucking posessed me. /j

And considering it's Jameson's turn for the Ego Art Party this week, the 3 of us think it'll be perfect to tide yall over for a bit until we can get a handful of chapters edited!

Thank you all for being patient with us and we hope you are enjoying reading this as much as we are writing it. 💛

[jsehungergamesau]

Against All Odds

Chapter 5

The elevator dings onto floor 7 of the building and everybody is let out. The space is larger than three houses back home and lavishly furnished with beautiful hardwood and glass pieces. Everyone pours into the living room and Chase immediately throws the “shirt” off to the side allowing himself to breathe again. 

He flops down on the dark green couch and groans. Shock waves of pain ripple through his bare chest as he breathes. That corset was far too tight, what was even the point of that?! He was still skinny without it, but maybe it was to make him “slender” he heard some of the prep team throw around that word. Back home it was seen as an incredibly good thing if you had a few pounds to spare. 

A cold chill sends shivers down his spine reminding him he was still bare-chested. Something that he really didn’t like being unless he was with Stacy. It was just normal with her. Sure he knew she admired him- hell she was the most beautiful girl in Panem to him- but she never ogled him or made him feel like his exposed skin was fresh meat.

“Where in Panem are some comfortable clothes? Preferably my comfortable clothes?!” Chase shouts out to the room, not giving a shit if he was being rude or not. He was being sent to his death in a week, what did he care about other people's feelings?

"There are clothes for you in your rooms if you wish to change." Teefee huffs at his poor manners. Honestly poor manners or not, he deserves a lot better than Teefee’s awful attitude. And honestly, walking to his room might as well be walking back to District 7. Thousands of miles away and utterly unobtainable. It wasn’t going to happen. 

“I’m not moving from this couch, Teefee.” Chase says as chucks a pillow in her general direction.

Jameson uses his cane to bat the pillow so it doesn't hit her, but she just huffs again and waves at one of the servants standing at the ready by the wall. The young man goes off without a word, most likely to Chase's room to fetch a change of clothes. He hears Ivy chuckling as she takes her shoes off and discards them on the floor, kicking them away with a groan. “Need a hand, Brody?”

“Yeah…” Chase groans. “And some new pants. “

Chase watches Jameson roll his eyes as he whispers to Teefee causing Chase to grow a genuine smile on his face. The man hobbles over to join Chase and Ivy on the couch, carefully sinking into the cushions with a groan. His leg must have been acting up. His face immediately lost most of its tension now that pressure was off of his leg.

"You both did good." Jameson reiterated, looking tired but the robotic voice from his chest had a neutral cheer that lightly called back more to a Capital accent. "Tomorrow is the first day of training. We'll talk more about it at breakfast tomorrow morning, so for now you can relax and scrub your makeup off. Teefee said dinner will be ready soon." 

When he finished talking, the servant returned with two sets of clothes, one on each arm. Handing a matching simple soft yellow shirt and loose black pants to each tribute.

Ivy is the first to take the clothes, taking off the choker they gave her and pulling out any bobby pins that are hidden in her hair and discarding them on the floor. Teefee lets out another huff making both Chase and Ivy grin at each other as Ivy continues to do it.

Chase smiles at the attendant in thanks and throws on the shirt immediately. At least it’s yellow and soft. But it doesn’t reek of maple or pine, it smells of odd flowers and soap. It’s not his. It’s not normal. It’s Capitol. He stands up as he smooths out the shirt.

“I’m gonna go change out of these pants, do you want anything? Anything to eat?” He smiles over at Jameson. 

Their mentor leans his head back and closes his eyes, waving Chase off as he props his leg up on the coffee table, "In a minute. Wipe that paint off your face, you look like you stepped out of a bad romance novel cover."

Chase gives a light chuckle though he's not quite sure what Jameson means. Wandering to his new bedroom he tugs off the wooden abomination that calls itself a flannel and struggles for a few minutes to untie the decorative harness around his hips. If he had a knife he would not hesitate to slash everything to pieces, but he manages. He tosses off the pants and puts the new ones on quickly. They’re soft and hardy, bringing him a sense of warmth that only his friends and family could bring. 

He goes over to the sink and the water comes on like magic. Like it knows he’s there. Chase splashes the rose-scented water on his face and begins to scrub with bare hands, washing the skin-colored paint down the drain. He pats his face down dry with, what he can only assume is one of the fluffiest, warmest towels he’s ever experienced.

The boy looks back up at his reflection, he looks more like himself, now that everything is off. The dark circles are back under his eyes and his skin looks rough once more. The callouses on his hands are mostly gone but they’re still rough and ready to handle an ax. He doesn't bother with the strange shower- all of the buttons confuse him- so he just dunks his head under the sink tap to wash the products from his hair.

When Chase finishes he gives a soft smile to himself before going back out to the central living area, grabbing two of those orange fruits from a bowl on his way out. 

Ivy must have gone back to her own room to change so he offers the orange to Jameson as he takes his place next to him on the couch.

Jameson opens one eye and quietly takes the offered fruit with a small smile. Chase realizes he took his thimbles off and they’re resting on the coffee table next to his leg. Jameson quietly peels the skin off and pops a slice into his mouth.

“Do you want anything more to eat? I can grab you something if you want.” Chase offers, just simply holding his fruit for now.

Jameson makes a face and shakes his head, about to sign again before remembering he doesn't have his translators on, and instead making a vague gesture towards the dining area that seems to read as, Yeah, but if you go over there they'll start talking to you. And I don't want to deal with that right now.

“Okay,” Chase leans back and closes his eyes. Someone will wake him when dinner is ready, he supposes. The chatting in the dining area was a low drone of white noise to Chase as he rolled the orange in his hands. Feeling the texture of the skin and its slight give.

After a few minutes of quiet, Jameson taps Chase's knee to get his attention. He opens his eyes and turns to his mentor with slightly raised brows in anticipation.

“Dinner?”

Jameson shakes his head with a grin, sitting up a bit to turn more towards Chase. He pauses a moment, not really sure how to start, but taps out in code on Chase's knee to the effect of, "Learn something new?"

“Uh, sure.” Chase nods. “But I’m not the brightest so I hope you’re a good teacher.”

Jameson gives him a small smirk before shifting to fully face Chase, one leg tucked under himself while the bad one hangs over the side of the couch. 

He starts off by pointing to himself and using one hand to spell his name. "J. A. M. E. S. O. N." Then points to Chase and spells out his name.

With a smaller grin, Jameson tilts his head as if asking if Chase was still interested in learning the basic alphabet.

“Yeah, I think that would make things easier to communicate.” Chase nods and signs his name into his lap getting the feel for the language.

The two men take some time to learn how to spell Chase's name and half of the alphabet. Jameson is very patient and never seems to get upset or bothered when Chase fumbles. He just gently shows him the sign again and off they go. They practice until Teefee announces it's time for dinner. Then Jameson uses his cane to help him stand with a bit of effort, turning towards the bedrooms presumably to go get Ivy.

Chase takes a seat at the dining table and waits about thirty minutes, fiddling with Stacy's ring hanging from the chain that Tigris gave him.

Eventually, the two walk out and join the others at the dining table, which was laid with a feast of hams and vegetables and hearty roots.

Jameson sits between Chase and Ivy and quietly plates himself some food. Glancing at Chase with a look that said, "Don't bring it up" and glanced at Ivy quickly to indicate what he meant. Ivy looked like she had been crying for hours. And she might have been.

Chase nods and passes a few of the fruits over to the two of them. He puts a few deserts on his plate first followed by various meats and breads. The capitol was awful, fucking awful, don’t get him wrong, but man if he was fed this well every day, he’d definitely be more susceptible to the garbage propaganda that they spew out.

If the stylists and prep team notice the down energy in the room, they are very good at pretending not to. Chatting away with Teefee about silly unimportant things. Like if they had the exact shade of teal lipstick they wanted or not. Or if so-and-so were still having an affair that everyone seemed to know about already. It's all just noise. And the tributes from District 7 both old and new, sit quietly in each other's comforting company. Some of the last things from home they have are each other.

Chase eats most of his dinner in silence. He finds the random chatter to be distracting, uncomfortable even. He wants to get away from the fur and glitter and feathers that were so alien to him. 

“Well, I’m fucking exhausted,” Chase says wiping his mouth with the back of his hand specifically to make Teefee gag. He’s honestly surprised that she hasn’t chastised him for swearing as much as he had. Maybe after 10 years of mentoring District 7, she was forced to get used to it. 

"Mmmm... same. We did so little yet it was so much." Ivy looks over at Chase with the same tired eyes he has. She has eaten all her dinner and a few desserts before just resting her head on her arms just staring either off into space or at the luxury art pieces on the wall. 

“Hey, why don’t you go to bed and get some rest? You deserve it.” Chase gives a small smile and squeezes her shoulder when he stands. 

Ivy lifts her head from her arms and shakes her head. “I'll get nightmares, there's no rest in that.. plus what about you? Aren’t you tired?”

Chase shrugs “Nightmare-filled sleep is better than no sleep at all. Training starts tomorrow, and if you’re exhausted during training, people will notice.”

Ivy groans, and Chase can tell she wants to argue more, but she sighs in exhaustion. 

"I hate that you're right, Brody." She pushes herself away from the table and stands up.  "But you better get some rest as well! I won't be able to teach you how to shoot if you're tired." 

“I will, don’t worry.” 

Her lips form a tired smile as she grabs her dirty plate, and lets the attendant take it from her. For the first time her thank you is kind to the servant, and just like that Ivy walks back to her room.

Chase could feel the exhaustion and fatigue crawling over him, but he decided he needed to get the rumor mill started. 

Back in 7, it was the easiest way to get what you wanted. People in the shops talking about their neighbors, then it would be the paper mill workers, then the crafters, then it would be the loggers until everyone knew about how the Mayor was cheating on his wife. It can’t be that different here. His eyes landed on the two who were leading the gossip earlier, they seemed like easy enough targets. 

“Did you hear what Oiolyka did for her party?” The man says to the woman with a similar face. 

“Only that it was a complete disaster. She didn’t even show up in the right colors and she was the one who insisted on the dress code.” She says, leaning in closer to the man with a conspiratory smile, “Do tell.”

“If you want some real drama, come to the districts,” Chase smirks, cutting into their conversation. “You won’t believe what goes on there.”

One of the two perks up and looks at Chase up and down then gives him the fakest smile he has ever seen. The man practically struts over like a model in front of cameras, holding a glass of something Chase can't even begin to guess what. Something colorful and way too sparkly to be consumed, Chase thinks. The man's extravagant moon-themed outfit and makeup are a show in and of itself as Chase tries not to get distracted by how ridiculous it is.

"No offense, but District gossip is always so bland and boring, it's always 'so and so stole this from this person and got karma' or 'this person ran from a peacekeeper, and it turns out they were sleeping together.' Like- we get. Been there and done that. Boring."

From behind, the woman comes up and punches the man's arm with a stern look. She looks just as ridiculous as her moon counterpart except her outfit and makeup are themed to the sun.

"Oh shush Lameer! You wouldn't even know good gossip even if you were looking at it!" 

"Ow!! Dema!!" He squawks.

"Don't mind my brother, handsome!” Demali's attitude immediately changes when she looks at Chase, “Please, share if you'd like of course, and don't leave anything out!" Her shimmering yellow eyes were lovestruck and smitten. Chase has seen that face about a hundred times, especially when girls hung around the drop site. He and his friends carried big logs around working up a sweat, it always made the girls back home go wild. 

Lameer just scoffs, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of his drink- but still looking at Chase expecting a story.

“Someone nearly killed Ivy over a grade.” Chase lies through his teeth, but it’s to get the word out about Ivy. Anything to help District 7. He looks back to the man, with a solid smirk. “That juicy enough for you?”

The twins act as mirrors, looking at each other and then back to Chase with wide eyes. Both filled with intense morbid curiosity. It seems like Jameson tries to make an effort to ignore the exchange, but Chase does catch a glance of his ear tilting towards their conversation.

Lameer scowls at Chase, taking another sip of his drink, this time louder and longer but he doesn't disagree or leave. He stays and listens. "Who- who doesn't kill these days." He says dismissively.

"The redhead!?" Dema gasps genuinely, it's so animated Chase thinks it's fake for a second but judging by both their eyes- he's got them hooked. "But she's gorgeous! And the confidence she presented at the ceremony made my jaw DROP! But I wouldn't imagine- Please do tell~" Dema says, scooting closer to Chase, grabbing his arm in awe. Chase puts his hand over hers- not forgetting his own fake image of being a charmer- and smiles up at her. 

“Well, you see, Ivy is so smart, brilliant even. You’d mistake her for District 3 if she wasn’t so good with an ax. Anyway, not the point, her brilliance is the point. I don’t know how it works here in your glorious Capitol schools, but if you’re smart, like as smart as Ivy is, you’re practically guaranteed a good job one day.” 

Chase watches as Dema, in awe of his words, clearly falls for every little thing he says. He could say he went to the moon and she’d believe him. Well, maybe not that far but still. He looks over to her brother and then back to her. 

“I don’t think your brother over there seems very interested, maybe I shouldn’t continue.”

Demali gasps in horror, "Well you can't just start and not finish! That's so rude, Chase!" She bats her golden eyes at him and Chase thinks for a second her eyelashes will fly away like a dragonfly. "Pretty please?"

Lameer rolls his eyes but looks at Chase, still intrigued. Perfect. "Oh just- just continue! Like what Dema said, it'd be rude not to." Lameer says trying to not seem interested, but his mask is slipping and Chase knows he's got them both.

“Oh, alright. Only for you.” Chase smiles and grabs her hands. “So this girl, she worked out in the forest with me. I didn’t know her all that well, but she also wasn’t the brightest in the world. She tried to hide a bunch of live squirrels in Ivy’s bag in hopes that one would bite her and make her sick. Obviously, it didn’t work because Ivy saw that her bag was moving, and let the squirrels loose. I think the girl got expelled, and the peacekeepers found it more funny than dangerous so she’ll be stuck in the woods with me. So it’s not all that bad for her.” Chase laughs.

The twins burst into identical high-pitched laughter that sets Chase on edge.

"There's no way that's true, darling." The brother countered while pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. "How would they ever find the time to do such a thing?"

"What makes you so sure, Lamey? It's District 7! I'm certain they find so many ways to fill up their empty lives!" Demali giggles. "Isn't that right, love?" She smiles brilliantly, bouncing on her toes.

“Oh most certainly. The peacekeepers can be a bit…tough while we work but the second that shift is over, we know how to have fun. Music, dancing, love.” Perfect, a segue into his own life, his strengths. Time to market himself. He forces his face to remain in a bright smile. 

For Willow. For Stacy. Can’t leave them alone. I promised. I promised.

Lameer taps one of his many rings against his glass, smiling so mischievously. "Well, for starters, way to go Ivy! Our brilliant queen and second, you surprised me darling~ You gave me a good story to tell at the next party!" Lameer boasts, taking another sip at his glass and winking at Chase.

Chase hopes his skin doesn't visibly crawl. “Oh, I’m so glad! Do you want another?” He smiles picking up his own glass of shimmering liquid from a tray offered by a servant and swirls it lightly. “I mean it’s not quite as interesting but, hey, it’s a story.” Chase tries to take a sip but immediately his body wants to reject the sickly sweetness. He forces himself to swallow it down alongside his pride.

"Oh well, aren't you spoiling us!! Please, darling, tell us while I go get my sister and I a drink." Lameer says walking away with such power and confidence.

"My usual please!" Demali calls back and then giggles like an innocent schoolgirl. "Is the story about you and Ivy?! Tell us! Tell us!”

“Oh no, nothing that interesting I'm afraid. I think those are stories for another day. I was going to talk about my baby and fiancée.” Chase pretends to take another sip while waiting for their reaction.

Demali covers her face with a faint gasp, her eyes sparkling, "You have a fiancée?”

"You’re a father?!" Lameer says quite loudly coming back with two fresh drinks in his hand. Almost dropped them with how stunned he was. Chase held back a smirk, this was going better than he could have ever planned. 

“Oh, yeah, back in Seven, that woman who was sobbing at my reaping, that’s my fiancée, Stacy. She’s pregnant with our child.“ He watches as intrigue gleams in their eyes. Like moths to a flame. They were definitely going to tell all their friends tomorrow, and those friends would tell everybody they knew. Chase smiles towards the twins, his eyes sparkling as he holds his bleeding heart in his rough hands, “She's my whole world, ya'know. Beautiful and smarter than I could ever dream to be. It's a miracle that she said yes to me in the first place.” He’ll keep the bulk of everything between them secret, but those little moments he’ll give out. The Capitol will eat it up. Hopefully.

Lameer wipes an actual tear away this time, setting both drinks down next to his sister to applaud for Chase, "Awwww! You're gonna be a daddy?! Oh, how bittersweet.”

“Well, if I have enough sponsors and enough luck, I think I might win.” Chase forces his mask to stay up. He takes a deep breath and continues. “I have to win.”

"And you will win!! I'll bet on you to win- I will cheer for both of you!!" Demali says, snapping her fingers happily.

“Well make sure to tell your friends that District Seven is gonna take it home this year.”

The twins laugh again as they walk away, chattering nonsense as the other members of the prep team and stylists follow them out the door. As soon as it closes on their conversation Jameson turns around and gives Chase a smirk. "You really think you can keep that act up, Chase? That was exhausting from here." He laughed through his nose, but his body language implied that he was impressed.

Chase groans, letting his head hit the table as soon as he sits back down. He wraps his arms around his face blocking out any light that might hit his eyes. “I don’t have a choice. I want to live. I want to go home.”

Chase can't see it but he hears Jameson stand. The young man gently pats Chase's shoulder as he walks away from the dining table.

“Goodnight, James.”

°○°○°○°

"Remember, while you're training, try to keep your strengths close to your chest. The others will be watching to see what you can do. So instead, try to focus on upping your skills in other departments. Learn something new that'll keep you alive." Jameson explained that morning at breakfast and Teefee reiterated in a higher pitch while riding down the elevator with them.

The combat and survival training was located under the tribute center. It was filled with fighting rings, target practice, and obstacle courses. Alongside them were different stations to teach basic survival. How to start a fire, how to properly cook trapped food, identify plants and berries, how to treat a wound- the list went on. Each station was manned by a trainer from the Capitol ready to teach those who wanted to learn.

Chase looks over at Ivy and gives a small smile. He’s already decided that he’s going to focus on the basics of survival training. He’s good with an ax and okay with knives. But it’s the basics that he needs to focus on. Finding food, shelter, water. He can’t rely on sponsors for everything. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

She smiles back at Chase, taking his hand for a moment and squeezes it. A sign of reassurance that Chase returns easily.

Stepping onto the training floor, most eyes glance in their direction. Some only briefly and with disinterest. But others were laced with a mixture of curiosity and hunger.

Chase watches the already forming Career pack from afar, assessing the biggest threats. They’re all definitely younger than him, with the youngest looking about 15. His eyes lock onto the District Two boy for just a moment, but Chase quickly looks away and focuses back on the knots on his hands.

“Two keeps staring at us,” Chase whispers to Ivy.

The District Two boy's intentions are unclear to Chase because every time he looks at the boy, he turns his head away, going back to what he was doing before. In this immediate case, it was throwing knives at dummies.

"Mmm?" Ivy doesn't look away from her knot at first, but when she looks up to see the boy Chase is referring to she is quick to look away. "Oh, you're right. Maybe he's just studying us like the others? Or can you tell that it's something else?" She whispers at Chase, going in to practice on another knot.

“He smiled at me at the parade and he’s the only other 18-year-old here. Do you think you can work your Ivy Charm on him? Get him on our side? James said we need more allies and he's already eyeing us.”

"A Career with us? I mean- it would give us an advantage." Ivy mutters softly as she keeps sealing glimpses at the boy. His all lean muscular body and tall stature come off as a little intimidating, but he's still just a kid like the rest of them. "He- he doesn't seem like a talkative kind of guy but I can try." Ivy shrugs.

“Thanks. You’ve definitely got more charm than I do.”

"Should I just- train almost next to him til he says something?" Ivy suggests, getting up and casually stretching.

"I don't know, you're the one who's good at making friends." Chase yanks the rope a bit too hard leaving a small burn on his hand. "Just, be safe. Come back to me if you think he's trouble.”

"We're in a whole new forest, Brody" Ivy takes a quick, subtle breath and nods. "But I can do it."

Ivy finishes stretching and Chase watches as she casually walks over to the station the boy is at, keeping her distance by one dummy apart. He watches the trainer briefly walk her through, then she starts throwing her own knives.

At first, it seems like the boy from 2 is just going to ignore Ivy, but from a distance, Chase watches as after they both empty their hands of knives the boy saunters over to her. Seemingly at ease and relaxed. Well, as relaxed as someone probably could be in a place like this. But it's forbidden for the tributes to fight each other outside the games. Still, this boy looked like he was almost prowling towards Ivy like a wild dog on a hunt.

There was almost a light laugh in the boy's tone as he spoke. It didn't seem to fit in his throat and Chase strains his ears to listen to their conversation.

"You're pretty good, Seven! But you're using too much of your shoulder." The boy takes back the set of throwing knives from the station observers once they are collected and holds one up between himself and Ivy. The blade glitters under the stark white lights and a shine is reflected back into his bright green eyes. "It doesn't take much force. It's all in the wrist." He grins, turning and throwing the knife into the chest of the dummy, off-center. 

The boy gives her an almost charming smile, but something about it doesn't sit right with Chase. "Try again." Two says, passing one of the knives to Ivy with the handle facing her. The boy seemed friendly enough though. The interaction was bizarre to be sure, but maybe it was just because he was a District 2 career. They aren't exactly known for being helpful to people from the “lower districts.”

Ivy gives the boy a matching grin as she throws the next knife and hits the outer ring of the target. "Guess I never thought knives would be harder to throw than axes." She giggles and bats her eyelashes. Chase was impressed, she was a lot better at this than he thought.

“They're a lot lighter, it's okay. Like this.” The boy squares up to the target and extends his arm with a knife to aim before pulling back and hitting the target in the center.

Ivy asserts her presence and takes a small step toward him with a small smile, "What's your name, Two?”

The boy grins down at her, holding out a free hand to shake, "Anti. Anti Slate. I would ask the same, but I think your uh, stylist was a bit.. on the nose with the embellishments of your costume."

“He told me it was an opportunity he couldn't ignore. Poison Ivy, he nicknamed me~" Ivy says as she throws another knife at the dummy, but it skits past its shoulder. "Cinder is my last name.”

"I've been told it's always the pretty plants and flowers that are the most deadly," Anti says, balancing the tip of a knife on his finger. "Do you think that's true, Ivy?" He asks with an almost impish grin as he tips the knife to catch the handle- turning and throwing it in a single fluid motion. This time, sending the knife into the center of the dummy's throat.

Chase can't help but jump.

But Ivy isn't phased at all or pretends to not be as she picks up two more knives and replies, "They could be! Nature's deadliest plants are always so cleverly disguised to be beautiful." She smiles at him again almost flirtatious, "Though, if you know your way around... you won't be as endangered~”

Anti takes the other knife from her, absently twirling it between his fingers with precision. "Would you be willing to show me?" He asks with a raised brow. "Show me which plants I can eat without choking." Anti lowers his voice and Chase can't catch what he whispers to Ivy before he straightens his back and throws the knife again- lodging it into the target's leg.

"Tempting, I will admit~" Ivy smirks, unaware that she copies Anti when straightening her back and throwing her knife at the dummy, lodging it in its chest. Through the heart. "Though if I may add, considering where we stand, how do I know my teammate and I won't end up like that dummy?”

"Aww, you think I'd be that cold, Poison Ivy?" Anti presses a free hand in mock hurt to his chest. Ivy raises a brow. "You're probably right,” He relents, “But I think you two pose a bigger threat than you think." He grins looking over to Chase which makes Chase's blood run cold. But he's still talking to Ivy when he says "He seems pretty strong, yeah? Could probably cut through someone like a tree if given the chance. And you," He smiles wickedly when he turns back to look directly at her two pairs of brilliant green eyes locking, "You seem like you can handle yourself. Clever as well. So why not keep my enemies close?" Anti leans back on his heels, twirling a knife around his fingers and sending a wink to Chase across the room. Anti holds out the knife between them both, tip facing the floor, "Think about it." He says cooly, letting the knife drop and point of it sticking right into the floor as Anti walks off to join the girl from his district.

Chase watches as Ivy looks down at the knife, picks it up, and throws it at the dummy with a small burst of emotion. It hits the very center. 

It seems like Ivy is going to stay at knife throwing for a minute so Chase keeps weaving the rope in his hands into different types of snares. He's not very good at it. Ivy's encounter with Anti was a lot, to say the least, but Anti was obviously capable of holding his own. Maybe he could keep them both alive longer? 

Chase looks up to check out the other tributes they will be up against soon. The tributes from Six at the camouflage station, both from One doing poorly at archery- a small collection of the younger tributes lined up to try the obstacle course.

It hits Chase again that the majority of kids this year were under 18. Maybe 17 at the oldest but still, it made his chest tighten. All of their odds were supposed to be better than this. That 14 and 15-year-olds should have had a few more years before they got really nervous about their names being drawn. But what did Chase know, really? They probably had their own families they needed to take the tessere for. And besides, he thought his own odds were better because he had friends with larger families who needed more than just him and his dad. Despicable. Maybe it's good that he was the one picked. 

Chase is brought back to attention as a body crouches beside him, takes a piece of rope next to his foot, and walks away. The knot-tying instructor calls out to the boy to stop but he keeps walking.

Chase curiously watches as a boy with a number 4 and a long braid going down his back strides over to a girl with the same number on her uniform. He hands the thin rope to her and they share a few words, the boy's back still to Chase. He watches as the girl ties the cord to the top of a trident, just under the head of spokes, and hands the weapon over to the boy, who nods and takes a position by another set of targets. He throws the trident with such force that it nearly knocks the dummy over, but with a yank, the practice dummy flies back towards the boy who is waiting with a knife in his other hand. 

Chase blinks as the boy drops both the knife and trident, leaving the dummy to collapse as he swipes his braid decorated with a few small beads off his shoulder. Chase only catches the profile of the boy's face but he had to admit that he was... handsome. Light brown skin and pretty eyes to match. 

Like the boy from Two- Anti- when the boy from Four glances at Chase he immediately averts his gaze, but this time the tips of his ears turn pink from… something. Some other emotion Chase didn't have time to pin because Ivy was walking back over to him.

“Hey Iv.” He says finishing off the knot of the noose he was making- much to the bemusement of the trainer. “Anything good from Two?”

Ivy shifts, slightly uncomfortable as she crouches next to Chase again. "Umm.. the whole thing felt kind of off, to be honest." Ivy clears her throat but he still catches the slight warble. "His name is Anti Slate. He's clearly good with knives and is very strong. I felt it in his handshake- like he could easily snap my bones if he wanted to… He asked if I could show him what plants are good to eat or to avoid. Towards the end though.. he said I seemed like I could handle my own. So ‘why not keep my enemies close’." Ivy whispers rubbing the back of her neck, "He kept eyeing you though, even winked. The whole thing was fucking weird.”

“I saw that.” Chase sighs, “Well the career pack doesn’t look quite as deadly this year. I’ve had my eye on the boy from One, and he’s missed all the shots he took on the bow. But we’ll have to wait and see for his evaluations if that’s true.”  Chase hands over the rope to Ivy, letting her have a turn. “I think we should practice fire starting next.” He whispers.

Ivy sighs clearly trying to move on from the moment. "Yeah.. yeah ok! I can get behind that.”

“Then after that, you have to teach me edible plants before you teach Anti. I know we’re a team but I want to help you hunt and gather.”

"Aw thanks, Brody! Plus if we separate, which will happen at least once I'm sure, it'll be one less thing to worry about." Ivy says practicing how to tie a knot tight to a post. "Here's a general tip to keep in mind: No matter how hungry or thirsty you are, stop and check what you're about to eat. That impulse could be the death of you if you don't think twice.”

“I’ll always run it by you, don’t worry.” Chase nods over to the fire-making station behind them. He really needs Ivy to show him how to survive, and apparently throw knives. Since when was she adept in knives?! Good thing she has so much empathy, or else he’d have a knife in his back from day one.

They move over and find someone already at the fire station, a skinny girl with dark skin and hair up in two buns. She glances nervously at Chase and Ivy approaching but she looks back down at her own hands, trying her best to use a flint and steel in shaky fingers. She couldn’t be younger than 12, but even then she looked 10, maybe even nine due to her stature. Chase felt his heart break into pieces as she shook.

The instructor woman greets them with a warm smile and gestures to all of the supplies in front of them. No matches or lighters in sight, but there was kindling, sticks, twine, a small collection of stones, and a warped piece of glass- the woman showed them how they could use unconventional tactics to get a fire going. 

The girl- from 12 by the number on her uniform- kept darting her eyes from her own work to Chase and Ivy. Too nervous to speak first so Chase gently cleared his throat.

“Here, take a deep breath, it’ll help with your hands. And move closer, you want the sparks to hit the grass first then move to the bigger sticks.” Chase doesn’t know why the instructor isn’t telling her any of this. He scoots over towards her and guides her hands closer to the kindling. Every part of this feels like an antithesis to everything he’s learned. In 7, you learn everything you can to not start fires. To not destroy the entire district's economy and cause everyone to either burn up or starve. Fire was bad everywhere, but they were, unfortunately, devastatingly common in District 7 during the summer months.

The girl looks at him warily, but takes a deep breath, cheeks puffing out as she does what he says. There is a single spark for her efforts. She gasps in delight and does it again, this time the sparks catching onto the dry grass. She let out a cheer and smiled brightly at Chase who added some dry twigs.

"Thank you." Her voice was quiet but genuine. Soft-spoken. "You're both from Seven, right?”

“Yeah, you’re from 12? What’s your name?” Chase adds a few more sticks to the fire letting it all grow and catch to the bigger logs.

The girl nods, "Nima. What's it like being in the trees all day?" She quietly asks, before quickly adding as a second thought, "What are your names?”

“Uh, well it's quite a view once you get up top. And Chase, Chase Brody. And this is Ivy.”

"Nice to meet you, Nima! And yeah, the view is incredible, especially for sunsets." Ivy says, trying to work on starting her own small fire.

"That sounds nice!" Nima says, using an extra stick to poke the logs around a little. "There's a big fence around 12. We're forbidden to go into the woods, there are wild dogs and bears in there." She explains, voice getting softer like she's walking away from them. Nima throws more grass into the flames and watches as it burns and curls into ashes. 

The instructor warns them to not make the fire bigger as they retrieve a small canister of some kind. With the press of a button a small spray of light green foam coats and put out the fire quickly. They clear away the ruined logs and give them fresh ones to try again.

“Oh yeah, we see bears too from time to time.” Chase picks up the conversation for once, “Most of the time it’s behind district lines, but sometimes a bear will wander into our logging forests. Those are the best days to work on shifts.”

He doesn't say it out loud, but the specific reason he loves it when bears wander through their section of the woods is because it scares off the peacekeepers who threaten them to work. The peacekeepers get chased around on the ground while the lumberjacks get to rest up in the trees and enjoy the longer lunch break and show.

Nima's eyes widen slightly, "Really? That's kinda cool." She looks back down at the flint and steel in her hands, this time getting a spark to catch the first try. "My pa tried going past the fence once, to try and hunt in the winter. But he was chased out by.. something." She knit her brows together trying to recall the memory, "Whatever it was, it had teeth.”

“Is he okay? I mean, can he still work in the mines, or…” Chase looks at the small girl and then back to Ivy. Her eyes meet his and she narrows them slightly in warning but it's too late. There’s no way he’s gonna let her be all alone during this. If Nima is gonna die, let her die surrounded by friendships and with her stomach full. He's talked to her for maybe 2 minutes and has already made up his mind.

Nima shakes her head, "The infection killed him." She said it so simply, so detached. "We don't go past the fence anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Well um, my mom died when I was young too.” Chase adds a few more branches to the kindling and lets it grow again. “So I kinda get it.”

Ivy looks at Chase with worried eyes as she finally sparks her little fire, adding more dead sticks to it. "How old are you hun?”

“Twelve.” 

Shit. She’s just a kid. They’re all kids, but she is a kid. Chase scoots carefully closer to her, knowing that he must be seen like a big predator in her eyes so he tries to remain open. 

“Hey, why don’t you come with us to the next station? Once Ivy can get a fire started she’s gonna teach me how to find edible plants. You should join us.” 

Nima looks back and forth between the two of them and Chase has to do pretty much everything he can not to scoop her up and take her with him. She eventually nods, lighting up Chase’s face.

Ivy smiles at Nima and Chase, "I'm more than happy to teach you as well, hun! With all our skills, we can keep each other safe." She says sweetly, Ivy's fire keeps going out too quickly so she puts a bigger log on it.

“Iv-don’t smoother it. You gotta add a small fuel first. Here, try some pine needles.” Chase helps Ivy before he looks down at Nima again as she is focusing on her fire. 

He silently hopes her death is swift. That she dies in the first ten seconds so she won’t have to be scared and alone for days and days. But maybe she could come with him and Iv, she’s so small and helpless in his eyes. Chase can’t help but latch onto the small girl and want to protect her.

He couldn't help but think of home. Of Stacy and little Willow who will be joining the world soon if he was there or not. Chase wondered what she would be like. Will Willow have her mother's eyes or his? Will she be a ball of sunshine and energy or more reserved and quiet? Chase looks at Nima and gently wonders what Willow will be like when she gets older.

If she gets older.

If he gets the chance to see her grow up.

"Make a spark and put small fuel so it stays lit, right?” 

Shaking himself from his thoughts Chase responds to Ivy, "Uh- y-yeah." He clears his throat. "Yeah. Spark on the grass, small twigs, and then larger as it catches.” Chase abruptly stands, wanting to get away from his own thoughts, “Let's try out the plants.” He holds a hand out to Nima as an offering for her to join.

The frail girl hesitates but takes his hand, following him and Ivy to the next station with a small smile.

The three tributes walk over to the plant identification station which is just a big screen with various plants and their effects. A matching game of sorts.

Okay, a matching game. This should be easy. Chase picks a plant that he thinks is safe and matches it with what he assumes to be its match, and a big red X flashes up on the screen showing that he failed. Okay, okay, this is the first round, no pressure. He tries again. And again, and again, and again. And every single time he fails the screen shines red onto his face. He looks over at Ivy with a sense of helplessness but makes sure that Nima doesn’t see. Why is he failing? Why can’t he get this? It’s just plants! He’s worked with giant plants for the last five years! How is this so difficult?!

After a few more failed attempts and reassuring pats on the back from Ivy that felt more demoralizing than intended, Nima taps on Chase's arm, "Can I try?" She asks quietly.

Cheeks flared red in embarrassment and hoped another failed X would cover it up. Chase just steps aside with his hands up in defeat.

Nima steps in front of the console and can barely see the screen in front of her. Standing on her tiptoes, she swiftly begins matching the different plants together. Each time the pairs match they flash green. She's not as quick as other tributes, whom Chase has seen playing this, but that's mostly because she was so small she had to reach farther to click the buttons. 

Chase's shoulders slump in utter defeat and Ivy pats his back again, "Hey hey it's ok! No one is perfect at anything on the first go plus a lot of plants look more alike than you realize!” Ivy said, trying to cheer up her district partner.

Once Nima finishes the game, the whole screen turns green with a big check mark. The girl beams, turning and smiling brightly at Chase and Ivy, "I got it!”

Chase can hear Ivy holding back a laugh, “Good uh- Good job, honey! You got them all right!" Ivy looks over at Chase who is probably looking absolutely dejected at the fact a 12-year-old got them all right on the first try. "Well uh heh.. what you lack in skill, you make up for in great sparkling personality at least!!" Ivy says, trying so hard to cheer up Chase, but she can't stop a snort from coming out.

Chase sighs and gives back a smile to Ivy. He knows she means well. He knows she’s joking but it still cuts deep. He looks back towards the axes, maybe he should have a go at that, to prove that he’s worthy of something. But then he looks down at Nima, her cute little face and big brown eyes. He kneels down to her level and gives a smile.

“You’re pretty good at this, you know anything about first aid?”

Nima smiles shyly, hands folding behind her back, "Only some. My mama is a healer, and since most folks can't afford the doctors they go to her. She taught me all about plants and even how to use some of them for medicine." She puffs her chest a bit with pride as she talks about her mother, "She's really kind and smart. She even has a medicinal herb garden growing in our windows back home.”

Well, looks like they got their own little pack going. Ivy and Nima could get food so he wouldn’t starve to death, and Chase could protect the two of them. They’d make a good team as long as they outlast the others. Yeah. Yeah! With the two of them, Chase could stand a chance. Nima could stand a chance.

“Well, Ivy and I have an alliance. Do you want in?”

Nima's eyes widen in shock, quickly looking around the room to see who heard before locking eyes with Chase, "You're being serious?" She seems weary, and cautious as if she's waiting for the punchline to a cruel prank.

“I’m being serious.” Chase smiles and gives her hands a small squeeze “I’m no good at the smart things, first aid, finding food. But I’m strong and pretty good at protecting the people I care about. So what do you say, kid?”

Please say yes. He thinks, begs to himself. He can’t let this kid die. He can’t let her be scared and alone. He can’t let the Capitol win this time, and take this child’s life.

Ivy stands behind Chase, putting both hands on his shoulders and smiling at the small girl from District 12.

A small smile creeps across Nima's face, "O-Okay." She whispers, bouncing slightly on her heels at the prospect of people wanting to protect her. "We can make a plan at lunch.”

In the corner of Chase's eye a shadow darts out of view. When he glances to see who it was, they were already gone. He tried to shake it off and smile brighter at Nima, "That sounds good. Shake on it?" He asks, putting his hand out between them.

Nima laughs, a light twinkling sound as she clasps her hand in Chase's, shaking as firmly as she could muster.

[jsehungergamesau]

Against All Odds

CHAPTER 4

The sun finally breaks over the mountain horizon and it seems to bring the train to life with it. Attendants glide in and out of the dining car, bringing in breakfast foods and drinks and replacing the broken vase and glasses without a word. 

Around 10 AM Teefee and Ivy join Jameson and Chase at the table. Ivy looks like she didn't sleep a wink and Teefee is bewildered to find the two of them covered in wood shavings. Chase can't help but flick a shaving at Ivy with a small grin as she takes a seat next to him, giving a weak attempt at a grin as she rubs her eyes tiredly. Teefee huffs and pours herself a large cup of coffee with half of it being cream.

"Today is going to be so much fun!" Teefee sings like a chattering squirrel. Today's outfit was just as ridiculous as yesterday's, this time giving her the appearance of a blue cotton-covered cloud with, of course, streaks of pink glitter. "Once we arrive in the Capitol you will immediately be sent to meet your prep team and stylists so they can prepare you for the opening ceremony!" The woman explains, and Chase wonders two things: how she can hold a pen with such ridiculously long and decorated nails, and how any human being can be this chipper so early in the morning. He's tempted to try the coffee, but it smells far too bitter, even with only a dash mixed into a mug of hot chocolate.

Jameson had retrieved his thimbles when Ivy and Teefee first arrived and he continues Miss. Whispers’ description of the day to come, "Don't resist what they do to you in the remake center. It will hurt a bit, but these are professionals and know how to make you look pretty for the people," Chase caught Jameson actively resisting rolling his eyes at his own words, "We talked about it a little yesterday, but did we decide what angle you two are going to present yourselves? Bold and hostile, clever and witty, charming and sexy?" He does allow himself a grimace at that, "Unfortunately you're both a bit rugged to pull off sweet and innocent, so we may have to pivot.”

It's obvious he despises talking like this, especially since Chase has seen a truer side to Jameson. But with Teefee in the room, Chase assumes he has put his pleasant mentor mask back on tight and talk Capitol to get by. Poor guy.

"The choice is yours but we need to send word to your stylists so they can make adjustments to fit your performance demeanor." Jameson finishes, taking a sip from a cup filled with amber-colored tea.

“I-I honestly don’t know. But back in Seven a lot of people thought I was pretty handsome and fun,” Chase shrugs, unconvinced by his own words, “I got asked out a lot but I only really had eyes for Stacy so I always said no.”

The idea of flirting with Capitol citizens honestly wasn’t the worst idea. He’s seen the Careers do it about a dozen times through this life and flirts always got the biggest sponsors. He remembers one year when a tribute from District 1 won in five days because he kept getting sponsor after sponsor. Food, water, new weapons, he got it all. All because he played up the charm with a pretty face to boost.

"Yeah, a real ladies' man back in school!" Ivy jokes with a chuckle as she looks over the breakfast table, "I also had my fair share of getting asked out, though I think guys saw me as more naive and.. fragile." Ivy grits her teeth as she says that.

“But I’m also gonna be a dad, I think that I have more to lose than just my life. I don’t think many other people can say that.” Chase offers.

“Well, the two flirts of District 7 might be a halfway decent angle.” Ivy groans, pressing her forehead against the table. Chase slides the plate of the orange fruit towards her and when she looks up he nods toward it. You should eat.

Ivy looks between the oranges and Chase, her eyes asking if it's really ok to take it. He nods again and nudges the plate closer. She gives Chase a weak smile and hesitantly picks up an orange wedge. She examines the rare fruit and pops it in her mouth. Eyes sparkling the same way Chase's must have looked when he first tried it. 

Jameson sighs quietly across from them, "Seems like it's probably our best shot. Okay, Miss Whisper, please send notice to the stylists as soon as possible." He skewers his fork through a sausage and pops it in his mouth. "Just be aware that if either of you make it out, these personas will follow you forever. Do you understand?"

Chase and Ivy glance at each other, orange slices in each of their hands. Where did that come from? Jameson probably knows what he's talking about, but it was somewhat hard to grasp the context outside of what they can only assume. 

“Well, having a kid is pretty permanent too. I’d say that part of me would follow me, games or not.” Chase shrugs and lets the fruit burst on his tongue.

Ivy's attention fixed on Jameson, she gives a sad nod, “I-... I understand. But it's what we gotta do to survive, right?” 

Jameson's expression was stiff, but he gave a nod in return. 

Before the silence broken up by forks scraping against plates could stretch too long Chase speaks up, “Speaking of stylists, is it going to hurt? Jameson mentioned it hurting.”

"Oh not much!" Teefee exclaims, leaping at the opportunity to fill the quiet, "Jameson, the jokester, was just kidding! It's not so bad." She takes a sip of her coffee, pinky out, and picks up her little silver clipboard to look over the schedule absent-mindedly. "It can even be quite relaxing! I went and got my eyebrows done a week ago and it only hurt a little!" She smiled brightly.

Jameson levels both of the tributes a flat look but says nothing.

“Okay, are we talking ‘splinter pain,’ ‘I just feel from 10 feet’ pain, or ‘Holy fucking shit a tree just fell on me and my ribs are broken’ pain?” He barely even acknowledges Teefee as she talks, keeping his full attention on Jameson. This annoys the woman, but Chase tries to ignore her.

Jameson looks up to the roof of the train car to think before signing in response, "Intense bathing, waxing off all your body hair, nail filing, hair cut..." He trails off, and Chase wants to reach out but keeps to himself this time, busying his hands with loading a ham steak and some kind of fried potato onto his plate.

Chase can see Ivy's eyes widen before Jameson drifts away, “Sooooo splinter pain times 10 and all over our bodies... greeeeaaaaat,” She says sarcastically as she peels another orange with subtly trembling fingers.

“Here, Iv, let me.” Chase mumbles and takes the fruit from her, but before she could protest he was already peeling the rind off and laying the slices on her plate. She fidgets with her necklace again and nods towards him with a small smile. Thanks, her eyes say silently as Chase picks up the talking, “So, stylist, parade, training, then interviews? Is that right?” He asks Jameson, but he's still unresponsive.

"Yes, that's the short of it!" Teefee nods, teeth white as snow as she takes over the conversation, not wanting to be left out. "Each event takes its own day and then training takes roughly under a week."

“So in total, we have seven-ish days to win the Capitol over. Right?” Ivy asks quietly.

“Right! So at this time be prepared to do your very very best for the cameras! Everyone will be watching you.” It's hard to tell if she was trying to comfort or threaten the two of them, but with Teefee it seems like it could go either way. The image of sugar-coated barbed wire flits through Chase's mind as he watches the two talk.

Quickly Chase tunes out their conversation with an internal roll of his eyes and reaches over to quietly take Jameson's still hand in his. That seemed to work before. Maybe James needs as much comfort as he does right now. Watching potentially two kids die year after year must be draining, to say the least. 

Jameson doesn't immediately respond, but he does squeeze Chase's hand in return.

"We'll be at the train station by nine, so you both should be dressed and ready to greet the people of the Capitol! The city is dazzling, children. You're going to love it!" Teefee giggles. Actually giggles. It's high-pitched like a young schoolgirl's. Playful and innocent despite coming from someone who watches children slaughter each other for entertainment every year.

The entire train car getting plunged into darkness is what seems to jolt Jameson back into his own body and Chase holds his hand a bit tighter. Their eyes are locked in mild fear as the train pulls back out of the tunnel, spitting them all out into the mountain-surrounded boundaries of the Capitol.

°○°○°○°

Jameson's electronic words bounce around Chase's head as he clenches his jaw to suppress a yelp of pain, Don't resist what they do to you. Grit your teeth and bear it and it'll be over sooner.

"You kids from District Seven always have so much body hair!!" One of the members of the prep team with their skin dyed purple, Toynia, exclaims as she prepares another wax strip while two others buzz around Chase like tracker-jackers.

He's lying down on a table with his skin glowing a raw pink from being scrubbed down hard. His nails were filed into perfect ovals with no more cracks to be seen, and much to his dismay his beard was completely gone. They shaved most of it off before rubbing a thick cream that smelled like chemicals on the stubble and shining a weird light over his lower face. With another wash of more goo, Chase felt like he was more akin to a prepared turkey than an 18-year-old boy. 

They haven't allowed him to look at himself just yet, trying to get him to a "beauty base zero" state so his stylist can see exactly what she's working with in his natural state. If the Capitol's standards of natural beauty were looking like he rolled out of bed looking ready to get married and smelling like roses, Chase wonders what their standard of being grubby-looking meant. Because certainly he's heard one of his prep team members chattering on about how one year a girl had so much gunk under her bitten nails she gagged. 

The only way Chase was able to keep his mouth shut was by locking his jaw shut.

By the time these strangers are done, he feels completely exposed. His face was as fresh as the day he was born, and every inch of him scrubbed to sparkling. They took all his clothes from his home, including his father's flannel he gave him years ago, even after he begged them not to. He pleaded for them to at the very least give it to Jameson to hold onto. The prep team just laughed in his face and giggled amongst each other. Little chattering birds and probably with the same amount of if not less empathy.

Chase sat there on the table completely naked except for a nice thick robe that they were kind enough to supply. Thank god for that at least.

He felt bare without his stuff, without his beard, and without his things. He twists Stacy's ring around his pinky finger as he stares at the wall across from him, thanking whoever was listening that he was able to at least hold onto this one precious piece of home.

To Chase, the completely white chamber felt almost akin to a cage. A small, bare cage you’d maybe keep a dog in. But even the dogs here seemed to be treated better than all of the tributes. Certainly, they were more well-fed than any of the humans were back home.

Oh god, home. Chase would give just about anything to be back home right now. To have a peacekeeper shouting at him to climb faster or to stay in line. Hell, he’d even let them flog him again if it meant that he’d be back in District 7. His body itches to run into the familiar woods and get lost in the trees. He knows he wouldn't get far, but getting shot amongst the pine sounds far more merciful right now than getting paraded around before his inevitably much more gruesome demise. At least at home, he could die with some dignity. Will they even recognize him when his body gets returned in a box after the games?

It takes a while for Chase to even consider that they had forgotten about him here, until eventually, somebody enters through a nearly invisible door. Chase schools his face to not instantly glare at the woman before him who was to be his stylist. 

She was tall, very tall, and fashionably thin as opposed to the dying-of-starvation thin Chase was personally more acquainted with. She wears an oversized fur jacket that hangs off her slender shoulders. Blonde hair was styled into two triangular buns on top of her head that brought to mind some kind of animal in Chase's head. Was that her real hair or just a wig? It was hard to tell the difference. Her spiked heels added even more height to her figure so she towers several inches over Chase even when he finally stands reluctantly to greet her.

He doesn’t know whether to stick his hand out to shake her hand or just wait for her to speak. He just stands still as she examines his body and does his best not to squirm.

The woman at first doesn't say anything as she just circles chase, eyeing him, taking him in. Like an animal circling its prey, which is fitting with her facial tattoos making it look like she is in fact some kind of cat. A tiger is the first thing that comes to mind, though Chase has never seen one in person. Maybe it was a photograph? Whatever. She stops circling and stands in front of him about two feet away. Chase has to tilt his head up to look her in the eye.

"It's very nice to meet you, Chase. My name is Tigris and I will be your stylist. I hope the process has been... bearable for you." 

Her voice sounds very different compared to the prep team members. Their voices were so high, cheery, and posh. While Tigris sounds calmer and more serious. Calming in a weird, level way. Each word was carefully chosen like every sound had to be run by a council before coming out of her mouth. 

“Well I’m not dead yet, so I’d say it was bearable enough.“ He tries to joke it off, trying to see if she can smile under all those tattoos and Botox. “So do I meet the Capitol’s standards yet, or do you need to send more people to scrub another layer of my skin off?”

The corners of Tigris' mouth go up a little. Chase assumes that's a smile. Does she have any idea how terrifying she actually looks? "The prep team is done cleaning you for now. I will say, you and your teammate are both a rarity. Most, if not all, other tributes are the complete opposite of each other but.. you both complement the other.” 

Chase has no idea what on earth she's talking about. So, cleverly, he responds, “Uh, thanks?”

Tigris makes a motion with her hand. "Can you de-robe? I need to see you."

Chase rolls his eyes to the heavens and removes his robe, letting it drop to the floor unceremoniously. Any dignity he had has been stripped away from him. Which he guesses is the point. Strip them of everything they are so they become animals in a zoo. Animals that tear each other apart for their entertainment. “Your team was very thorough don’t worry.” He can't help but snark.

Tigris doesn't say anything. She just circles him like before, slowly. She stops abruptly and gently takes his hand, noticing the small metal band on his finger. She pauses and looks at Chase with a surprisingly sad expression. “You must think we're despicable, don't you?” Tigris doesn't say that sarcastically, or jokingly, or even tauntingly. She says it genuinely as if she truly pities him and this situation.

“Yes.” Chase doesn’t hesitate. He’s held hatred for the Capitol his entire life. Selfish awful people who take pleasure in watching children die. People who take and take and take and don’t ever give back. They say they provide order and security, but Chase knows they provide fear and danger. They’re monsters. They’re the animals, not the people from the districts. "But I don't think I'm allowed to say that while in your care."

"You can with me, dear. I do not mind. Between you and me, I feel like you could say worse if you wished. As long as you are clever, what else can they really do to you? President Snow has already sealed your fate. And I'm certain he has heard worse as well.” She lets go of his hand and finishes pacing around him. “You can put your robe back on and follow me to chat." Tigris walks away, motioning him to follow.

She just committed treason. Chase thinks to himself. Saying anything negative about Snow or the Capitol was considered a rebellious thought. Rebellious words. And considering what they did to 13, rebels were not welcome in Panem.

Tigris leads him to a room with two big black plush couches facing each other, in the middle is a low table with a small banquet of food. Lunch. A silver chandelier that looks like rain falling hangs overhead. Three of the walls are normal aside from the ugly pale green paint while the fourth is entirely made of glass, a window looking over the Capitol. Tigris sits down and invites Chase to do the same with a graceful wave.

He sits across from her, making sure as much of him is covered as possible with the robe. At the very least they could give him his reaping clothes back. They might not be up to Capitol standards, but they're home. Home and better than absolutely nothing.

“Can I have proper clothes?"

"Don't worry, your outfit for the ceremony won't be as uncomfortable as you fear. And the clothes you came with are safe. I made sure of it." Tigris says, pouring herself some wine. Chase's mouth waters at the spread despite his reluctance to indulge.

He's never had seafood before. Chase subtly watches Tigris as an example of how to eat the unfamiliar things on his plate and follows her lead on slurping the soft meat and sauce directly from the shell. Oysters, his mind supplies. The slippery texture was a bit much for him, and it was weird eating it seemingly raw, but he moved on to a shrimp dangling on the edge of a glass filled with thick red sauce and found the texture much more tolerable. Delicious.

"So, as you know, each of the tributes wears an outfit representing their District in the opening ceremony. Since you're from lumber we want to lean more towards nature and the wood. Not just throw a tree costume on you and call it a day. We want you both to look remarkable.” Tigris practically purrs as she interrupts their eating.

Chase nods along, trying his best to focus on this stranger's words as he bites into a roll consisting of seaweed, some sort of unfamiliar grain, and fish. It was incredible even if the roll fell apart in his fingers. "Okay, sure. So what do you have in mind?" He asks with his mouth full. A part of him really wants to believe that she wants to help him, but another more reasonable part knows she's here for her own gain. The best stylist of the year probably gets all the Capitol citizens clamoring after their clothes. Even more so if the tributes they clothed win.

Tigris takes a concerningly big sip of wine before addressing Chase again. “Your outfit will echo a…  romanticized lumberjack. Your escort called ahead to us so I've made the proper adjustments to your costume already. My partner and your fellow tribute stylist have already done the same for her." Chase's dread sinks in. Oh god, they really are going to dress him up like a fucking doll. But at least he won't be entirely naked with only a maple leaf covering his junk and skin painted like bark. He remembers that already being tried a few years ago.

Remember what Jameson said. Chase grits his teeth and smiles with an encouraging nod, hoping to get a better idea of how ridiculous he is going to look.

“It shouldn't be too cumbersome. A corseted tank top, tastefully baggy work pants, and boots. I had quite a fun time designing your flannel to be made out of actual wood tiles of different colors, but it will be worn around your waist instead of an actual shirt. You'll practically feel right at home.” 

That’s what the Capitol citizens think they look like back in Seven? Yeah, they wore flannels but they were thick and isolating for those cold winters and kept them safe from the rough raw bark as they climbed. It wasn’t a fun fashion statement. Everything they do in the districts, it’s to keep yourself and your loved ones safe and alive to the next day. Here, your clothes were just to show how much wealth you have. How much money you can spend to make yourself look as tastefully poor as possible. But not too poor because you didn't want to actually look like you clawed your way out of the districts.

But whatever. It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s for the Capitol, it’s for survival. It’s to play a game he has to win in order to get back home to his fiancée and future child.

“Okay. When can I change into that because this whole situation isn’t exactly a pleasant one.” Chase deadpans.

"In a few hours. My team needs to make the final touches on your outfit and then we have to give you back to the prep team for hair and makeup. What happens after the ceremony is your mentors' responsibility, but more comfortable clothes will be provided for each of you in your rooms." 

But Chase just nods, pretending that he cares.

For a long while they just sit in silence. Chase polishes off his plate and asks Tigris if there are any oranges available. With a push of a button, she summons a small bowl containing miniature versions of the fruit Chase secretly delighted to have on the train. He peels and eats them while staring out the large window, not even bothering to try and make conversation with his stylist. He just watches the colorful dots that were the Capitol citizens move around like painted ants. An idle curiosity flits through Chase's mind if he could break the floor-to-ceiling window if he threw the table at it. He pops another miniature orange in his mouth before the idea can stick.

At some point at what Chase assumes to be around 4 pm, Tigris sets down her empty wine glass and stands. He follows her through the hidden door as he tries to savor the last orange wedge on his tongue as they walk. She leads him to a new room and releases him to the same prep team as before. He tries to crane his neck and silently beg Tigris for help when they grab his wrists, but the lanky woman is walking away.

Don't resist.

It takes everything for Chase to not have a permanent scowl on his face as these freakish people paint his face and tug at his hair. He feels one of them painting some kind of varnish on his fingers, but when he glances down it looks like there's nothing there at all. What's even the point?

"Here we are," Tigris says smoothly as she enters the room again an hour later with a large black bag. 

Unzipping it, and the faint smell of wood wafts up and it actually catches Chase's attention. "I was experimenting with some new... materials. Hopefully, it's not too uncomfortable." If she had a real tail, Chase thinks it would be swishing around her in the way cats do when stalking prey. 

Tigris shoos off the preps and helps him into his outfit personally. The tanktop was the worst part: made of some kind of stiff treated canvas and boning so it could be laced up in the back like a tight pair of boots. Chase felt like his air was getting cut off almost instantly. Everything was textured like rough bark which strangely brought some comfort, but the worst offender of the entire outfit was the "flannel." It wasn't even a real shirt. The "sleeves" were just two decorated flaps that clicked together under the "knot." It resembled more of a shingled roof with alternating squares of different wood samples, all held together by some flimsy shimmering orange material under it. The tiles all rattled together as Chase moved, and he felt ridiculous. Even more so when Tigris took some orange cord the thickness of a finger and started weaving some strange harness or belt around his hips. 

To avoid cussing out these people for how stupid this all was, Chase just stares off into space, trying to think about how Stacy was doing. Was she home in front of their small television with her moms,  or with Birch? Or will she be out in the square to watch the broadcast in public? He hopes that Willow is okay under all of the stress Stacy might be going through right now. Is Stacy eating? She had a bad habit of not taking care of herself properly when she was worrying about something too much. Birch should be able to convince her to eat. They're soft-spoken, but when Birch is heard they have a convincing way with words. Words that have comforted Chase so many times before. He wishes they could speak again. He wishes he was home-

The tightening of the laces behind his corset brought him back with a small gasp.

Before he knew it, Tirgis was finished. She and the team all stepped back to admire their work and Chase just stood there unmoving. Tigris gestures a manicured claw to the mirrors behind Chase and…

Chase looks almost nothing like himself. It’s like they stripped him of all that made him, him. Not just physically but emotionally as well. 

His clean-shaven face was painted with harsh shadows that sharpened his face more than it naturally was. Some kind of brown eyeshadow that he thinks was supposed to be a “natural” eye but did manage to make his blue eyes pop out brighter. The makeup followed down his neck and to his exposed collarbone where everything seemed to be unnaturally accentuated as if he was more an exaggerated drawing than a person. Were those supposed to be branches in his hair? Ugh.

The outfit was tacky as hell. He registered bits and pieces as they were being put on him but all together it was terrible. The “tanktop” had a birch wood texture decorating it and it made his chest squeeze even more with the thought of his best friend. The dark brown pants were baggy with the printed bark texture of some tree Chase couldn't immediately place, and black boots with leaf designs laced up just under his knees. The bright orange cord laced around his upper legs and hips were obviously meant to frame and draw attention, so Chase was at least thankful that most of that gets obscured by the least functional flannel ever to curse the earth.

Now that he looks like this he has to go out there and pretend like he’s happy- like he’s grateful for this opportunity and all of it. 

At least he gets to keep Stacy's ring on a copper chain Tigris provides him.

“It looks…nice.” That’s all he could muster up without showing any true emotion. 

Tigris purrs from her chest, "You look ravishing, Chase. They will love you. Oh, one more thing." She slides a piece of green paper out from her work table and begins delicately folding it strangely. Chase can't help but watch as her pointer finger presses against each fold so it comes out crisp, folding and creasing the paper into different triangles until finally it takes a shape.

It's some kind of bird.

"There is a very old legend," She explains as she walks over to Chase again, "That if you fold one thousand paper cranes you get a wish." She says slowly as she carefully attaches the little paper bird to his shoulder. "My wish is for your..." She looks into his eyes, and he notices her pupils are ever so slightly slit. Were they contacts? Or did she pay to get them physically altered? "What is her name?" 

"Stacy." He replies, trying not to grit his teeth at the whole ordeal.

"I wished for Stacy to be safe for you." Tigris finished simply, stepping back to take in her work with pride.

“Thank you.” He tried to muster an ounce of sincerity in his voice. But after the last two days, he can’t. He can’t feel anything except anger and disgust. Even this act of kindness felt fake. Like he was just a prop for Tigris to feel better. Oh, she made a beautiful outfit for you! She made you stand out! Her outfit is the reason you’re gonna get so many sponsors! Please. This whole thing, these games, were so ridiculous.

Tigris steps back, heels echoing in the room as she gracefully turns to the door, "Your chariot awaits."

°○°○°○°

Chase finds Ivy standing with Jameson and their horses in the closed-off corridor. The doors to the audience barely muffled the cheers and chatter of the Capitol civilians just beyond. Everyone is dying to get a first look at this year's tributes! And Chase was dying to get out of these stupid clothes as soon as possible.

The other tributes stood by their simple chariots and this was the first time Chase was seeing any of them in person. He tried to block most of them out when they were forced to watch the recaps of all the Reapings, but most if not all of them were.. younger than Chase. His stomach sinks. Was he one of the only 18-year-olds drawn this year? That is nearly impossible. But no, he looks around again and locks eyes with another boy seemingly around his age.

He was skinny, all lean muscle and his dark brown hair almost spiked up. If it was natural or gel Chase couldn't tell from where he stood. Brilliant green eyes seemed to illuminate with mischief and he held himself tall but a little off-kilter. He looks different for someone from District 2. Typically they're much more bulky from their (illegal but ignored) training. But this kid looked fast and lethal rather than hulking and brutal. The word sharp leaps to the front of Chase's mind.

Chase breaks eye contact first but can still feel the other boy's eyes on him as he approaches Ivy and Jameson. 

Jameson was showing her how to carefully pet the horse with brown fur and white spots so they didn’t get spooked.

"Gently like this," His voicebox said before using the backs of his knuckles to pet the horse's muzzle where it could see them. "If you try petting them from the back they could get scared and kick your teeth out." He chuckles silently, allowing Ivy a turn.

"I've never seen such a beautiful animal like this.. they can do that and you guys just keep them as pets?!" Ivy says to Jameson gently petting the horse the way Jameson showed her, amazed. 

Ivy’s gaze lands on Chase, and by the way her lips curve up into a smile, Chase could tell she was holding back a laugh. “Oh, my- is that really how they view lumberjacks?”

“Apparently.” He looks over Ivy’s outfit, her head nearly engulfed by her namesake. They put her in a skin-tight dress that must have had some kind of padding to make her curves more pronounced. It was all brown, textured with, obviously, bark patterns and fake vines wrapped around her like long snakes. Like ivy growing on a tree. Most of it crawled up her form and spilled into a ridiculous collar that swooped above her head to look like a tree canopy, but on closer inspection, it was more of those little paper cranes making up the leaves. He had to hold back a snicker at her outfit. “Well, at least no one will forget your name!” 

“At least you look somewhat normal while I look like a fucking tree.” Ivy sticks her tongue out past the bright red lipstick. “Covering me in ivy. Not exactly subtle.” Small green gemstones shimmer on her face as she rolls her eyes.

Jameson laughs through his nose and gives them a small smile, "Yes I think that's the idea." 

Chase gives a smile to Jameson in return as he joins in petting the horses. He really was the only one keeping them both sane. The only person from home and the only one who had an understanding of what they were going through. He didn’t glamorize a single moment of this, just explaining what would happen and being as sympathetic as he could. It was nice to have him through all this.  

Tigris and Ivy's stylist, Jeuon, join them and help the two tributes step onto the chariot. 

"Be sure to hold on tight." Jeuon explains with a lopsided grin, showing off a golden canine, "These carriages aren't the most stable." His black hair was styled in a collection of small braids that wrapped around each other in a large round bun on his head. Lips painted green to match Ivy's vines, but it was a shade too light. "Smile and wave to the crowd! Blow kisses, flirt. If we're going to sell your angle of sensuality then you have to play the part." He explains with a flourish of his hands for emphasis, showing an example of a coy wave with lowered eyelids.

"Smile and wave, flirt with the people. You're going to be great." Tigris purrs at them both.

"The horses know where to go. We'll meet you on the other side." Jameson explains as the grand doors begin to open at the end of the large hall. "Good luck." He and the stylists step back as the horses begin to pull the chariot.

Chase just shrugs, any words he could say would just be drowned out by the roaring crowd. 

He grips the carriage as it starts to move, the constant wobbling throwing him off his balance. He can’t imagine what it must be like for Ivy in those heels. 

The bright lights hit him hard and fast, nearly blinding him at how dazzling everything was. And the crowd, god he might go deaf from how loud it is. Chase has seen this whole show on television his whole life, but it does not truly capture the grandeur and noise of it all. He forces himself to smile and wave at the crowd, even winking and blowing kisses to every woman he can see. He watches as the girls his age, and even the older women and men, catch his kisses and even blow kisses back. Roses of all colors are thrown onto the ground and in his general direction. They all look as ridiculous as he feels. His face, his smile is on all the screens, his name and district underneath them. His smile grows wider, but it isn’t genuine. He tries to smile the way he would with Stacy, a goofy grin that she says makes her stomach do flips, but it just isn’t right. It’s too forced, but no one besides her will notice. He looks happy to the cameras, and that’s all that matters.

Chase feels Ivy’s grip tighten on his arm. The constant wobbling of the chariot paired with the high heels must be making her feel like she could fly off any moment. He grabs her hand on instinct, gripping it hard making sure that she doesn’t fall out. There was no need for District 7’s future victor to get trampled by horses on the avenue of tributes. 

Eventually, their horses park in front of the grand white stage where President Snow stands over all of them, commanding attention and respect. Chase was so grateful that he could put his arm down and stop smiling. There was no way that the human body was meant for 30 minutes of constant waving and kisses. Even if it was, his body was not meant for it. The screens around them flash to each pair of tributes in their chariots as the fairly young president speaks to the nation.

"Welcome," His voice echoes and slowly quiets the crowd, "Welcome, tributes, to the 32nd annual Hunger Games." The crowd cheers, and Snow looks across the 24 children in costumes with a deadly smile, "May you bring honor and glory to your districts in these games. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

He’s watched Snow make announcements before, and everyone has agreed that he looked and acted like a snake. But now, in person, he could confirm it. His lips were puffy, yes, but his eyes were like that of a predator. And Chase was just a mouse scurrying away trying in vain to avoid his fate. 

The president continued talking about the glory of the games like he did every year and wishing the tributes good luck. But Chase couldn’t hear it, all he could focus on was those eyes. Tigris’ were slits like cat eyes and Chase can’t be sure, especially from a distance, but Snow’s almost matched it. They were blue, an unnatural blue but those pupils, they were the real mystery. He never saw it on TV, but those pupils weren’t human. At least not in the way Chase would describe them. They were one of a beast, of a monster. A mutt. 

Chase grabs onto Ivy making sure she doesn’t fall off as the chariots lurch into motion again. The crowd roars as the horses lead all the carriages away, plunging the pair back into darkness. But even then all he could think about was the cold and unforgiving eyes of that little man.

As promised, everyone met Chase and Ivy in the holding area, the prep teams ecstatic and chittering away like multi-colored songbirds. Chase tenses up as the flock crowds the two of them, all their hands clambering to touch them. 

"Oh, you looked fabulous!"

"My heart stopped at that wink, you're a natural!"

"I was so sure those cranes would take flight! Along with my composure!" They all laugh but Jameson steps up and holds out a hand to help Ivy off the chariot.

"Well done. You didn't fall." He smiles, but his grey eyes look tired.

Teefee comes up and holds Chase's face in her hands, it takes everything in him not to smack her away like a fly, "You both look like a fantasy!" She gasps in wonder, her smile wide with pride, "Everybody will want a piece of you." The woman giggles, releasing him with a pat on his cheek, and leads everybody to the elevators. “I’ve already heard some sponsor talking~”

Tigris walks past Chase and nods approvingly but says nothing, sauntering on with her fur collar up high and long legs bare aside from some striped tights.

Chase looks around the room again while following his team, seeing the boy from District 2 again as he looks up. And the boy smiles at Chase. But before he could decipher if it was friendly or a threat, Chase was pulled into the elevator as the glass doors shut behind him.

Chase rests his head against Jameson’s shoulder, he didn’t know that a seemingly simple thing could be that exhausting. The attention, the cheers, the giggles, and the laughs drained him of everything he was. He feels like a hollowed-out tree, eaten alive by beatles and left with absolutely nothing inside.

“I want to go home, James.” He whispers just enough for Jameson to hear it. “I want to get out of these clothes. I can’t breathe.” Jameson doesn't say anything, but he takes one of Chase's hands in both of his and soothingly pats it. And that’s all he can do.

[jsehungergamesau]

Against All Odds

CHAPTER 3

Chase is quietly waved down by a train attendant and is shown to his room in the sleeper car. It takes a bit too much effort for him to not snap at them to fuck off. But he knew they didn't do anything wrong, so he just bit the inside of his cheek.

The luxury space is decorated in deep maroons and greens, and the silky sheets on the bed are smooth to the touch. Dark red curtains framed the single window, and a vase of fresh white roses sat on the dresser no doubt filled with brand new clothes. 

Chase waves the attendant away when they offer to get him a drink and finally, he is alone.

He’s forgotten his roots. Chase thinks as he paces back and forth, feet sinking into the plush carpet as he seethes with anger. That’s the only explanation on how Jameson can stomach saying those things to them. How he can eat and drink like everything will be okay when nothing– nothing is okay. 

He’s practically Capitol. That must be how he won the games. A soft exterior to make people like him when in reality he’s no different than the monsters who bet on children slaughtering each other. Who see the districts as no more than lab-made mutts for their twisted self-fulfilling entertainment. Forget anything Jameson did back in District 7, that all was part of the facade, get people in close before he strikes like a snake in the woods. But he was all Chase had. He couldn’t get another mentor, so he was stuck with the Capitol bootlicker.

And then there was their escort. A cheery cupcake full of glitter beside him. How on earth was she supposed to help? She probably laughs and cheers when a cannon fires. She’s never suffered a day in her life. Her worst day was probably when her dress wasn’t finished being tailored on time so she had to wear last year's outfit to a party. Meanwhile, Chase couldn’t even count how many worst days he’s had. The day he lost his mother, the day he got flogged so hard he couldn’t walk for weeks, or maybe today when he was sent off to his death with a Capitol brainwashed bootlicker, an airheaded cupcake with glitter for brains, and his former classmate who was basically sunshine in human form. Or maybe his worst day yet will be in the arena as he inevitably starves to death, or has blood poisoning, or something that the sadistic game makers choose. If there’s any mercy in the world, his death will be swift and off-camera. But he doesn't think he'll get that lucky.

He sits heavily on the bed and the mattress tries to swallow him whole.

He misses Stacy. He misses Birch. He misses his dad. He misses his mom. He misses his district and the smell of the spruce trees already. He lets out a silent sob, refusing to let anyone on this God-forsaken train hear him cry. He doesn’t want to die. But he might as well be from District 12 in capabilities and die in the bloodbath. Unremarkable, forgettable, and most importantly: alone.

He didn't realize he was digging his nails into his own arms when a knock at the door made him jump out of his skin and to his feet. Thankfully, he didn't make a sound at the initial scare but did indeed groan once it clicked someone wanted to speak to him.

“Go away, Jameson. I don’t really want to talk right now.” He calls bitterly to the person behind the door, continuing to walk a trench into the white carpet with his dirt-coated shoes.

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not him," A girl's voice responds behind the door.

Right, sunshine girl. Ivy.

“Ivy, I’m not- I’m not in a good mood right now.” He says, quickly scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. Great. Just great. What did she want?

"Even more of a reason to try these desserts I brought you, I know it's scummy Capitol food but... anything sweet when you're sad can go a long way!"

Chase rolled his eyes and almost hoped Ivy could feel it through the door separating them, “I don’t want the Capitol’s food.” Maybe if he refused to eat, he’d starve to death before the games even started. Wait, no, that’s a dumb plan. He should be focusing on eating and getting as much protein and carbs into his body before the games. “I don’t really like sweets anyway.”

Chase doesn’t know why he lied just then, probably to push Ivy away and keep her at arm's length. His dad always said he got too attached to people too quickly. But pushing her away is the exact opposite of what he should be doing in this situation. But he can’t help it. Too many emotions and thoughts churned his stomach and swarmed his head like beetles. He didn't want to talk to her right now.

"If you don't let me in I'll get Teefee.” Ivy threatens light-heartedly, “She'll probably fill your room with glitter before stepping a high heel in there." Ivy laughed a little. Chase could tell she was trying to break the awkward tension, but he crossed his arms tight across his chest. There's silence for a moment before she starts again, "I don't see a point in avoiding each other, Chase. Whether we like it or not we're here now... no use starting things off bad when they're only going to get worse.” He could hear her upbeat tone drain away as she spoke and the guilt that took over Chase drowned him.

The door opens, revealing the girl to him and the plush room behind Chase as he stood in the doorway.

“Fine. Come on in. Just don’t bring that glitter curse near me.” He says before stepping aside to let her in.

“Thank you!” Ivy snorts, walking in with a faint smile. Chase watches as she pauses to take in the space and is almost taken aback by Chase's bedroom, “Don't worry, I wouldn't actually do that to ya. Her voice is enough to make me wanna bash my head through a wall.” Ivy sets the silver tray of desserts down on an end table and turns to Chase with a serious expression, “Did uh.. what I say before upset you?”

Chase deflates now that the door is closed behind them. “No, this whole thing upsets me. It’s not your fault. It’s just- I’m going to be dead in a week. And this morning I was proposing to Stacy, and getting ready for my baby.” He could feel the words catching in his throat as fresh tears burned against his eyes, “And now… now I’m going to die and Stacy will be left all alone! And I’ll never get the chance to meet my baby!” He hiccups quietly, one hand gripping his chest while the other slips into his pocket where he safely kept Stacy's ring.

Ivy frowns at Chase as he explains his story, "I don't think you'll be dead in a week. I know you're pretty strong. Plus, despite how disgusting it is being one of the Capitol favorites, it could give you a chance! People love a baby!” She says encouragingly.

"Yeah," Chase scoffs. "A slight chance." 

"I mean it," Ivy says seriously, her brows creasing together, "You can turn off your emotions if you have to. It's all for show." 

He looks over at Ivy and really looks at her as a tribute. Strong, versatile in many weapons, knows how to hunt and find food, smart, and kind. She could easily be mistaken as someone from 1 or 4. Yeah, she'll definitely be a victor. Chase can practically see the golden crown shining across her red hair.

"Ivy, I need a favor from you." He says suddenly.

Ivy raises an eyebrow, worry in her eyes, “What?”

"When you win,” He starts slowly, already accepting that he is never making it home, “Make sure that they bury me in my yellow flannel, not whatever the Capitol puts me in. I don't want to be buried looking like one of their little mindless dolls." Chase wraps his arms around himself and glares at the floor. If he's going to die in their games, then he doesn't want to wander the next stage looking like a total stranger. How would they find him?

Chase is snapped out of his thoughts when one of the feather-stuffed pillows smacks him in the face. Completely bewildered and caught off guard, he looks to Ivy, who was gearing back to hit him again.

Chase catches it this time, "What the hell was that for?!" He's not angry, just surprised. A pillow? Why on earth would she do that?

"Stop it!” She yelled, which also surprised him, “That was for not giving yourself even the slightest chance!!!” Ivy goes to hit him again but Chase easily blocks it, “If you give up now you're giving up on your baby,” She hits his arm again, “And that baby deserves to grow up with both parents!!” Her face was red, tears spilling out of the corners of her eyes.

Chase could tell she wasn't actually angry, but he can't stop himself from snapping back at her. "I'm being realistic! 24 go in, one comes out, and I don't have any chance! I don't know how to survive, and I have- what? Three, or four days to learn? You have all the skills, you're practically a Career and I bet you'll be able to charm your way into the group!" 

He's exhausted. That's all he can feel. Exhaustion and anger. He doesn't know which is better.

"Don't you dare compare me to them.” She hisses, “I'm being realistic too. Sure, I know how to hunt, but I'm too sympathetic! I cried when my sister killed a rabbit one time!” Ivy fumes as Chase sees her eyes dart to the dessert tray but quickly abandons any idea she might have had about it. Instead, she tries to hit him with the pillow again, and this time, he just takes it from her and throws it across the room.

They stare at each other for a tense moment before Ivy squares her shoulders.

"You say I have all the skills? Fine. Let me teach you then. I thought I wasn't gonna make it back in District 7 if it wasn't for Amber and my dad. If I can learn, so can you. I can't do this on my own, Chase…"

Chase goes to war with himself. He knows that he doesn't really have a shot at winning. He knows that he might be good at fighting and starting shit, but keeping himself alive has always been his greatest struggle. He looks at Ivy and sees a classmate comforting her friend in the hallway when they lost their sibling. He sees a girl who stands up against schoolyard bullies and shares her precious little lunch with a kid who hasn't eaten since yesterday. He sees her splitting a sugar cookie with him that her sister somehow stole from the baker when they were six. He sees her helping him survive. And himself protecting her in turn.

Chase takes in a deep breath and sticks out his hand. It would be helpful to have her around. And going in with a partner would be better than going in alone, he thinks.

"If you find us food and keep us alive, I'll keep us safe from other tributes. Deal?"

Ivy sighs in exhaustion, he feels the same way down to his bones and they haven't even stepped off the train. She nods and takes his hand, shaking it firmly in agreement. "Deal. I can grant you food but... killing will be the hard part."

“Unfortunately for me, I think that’s going to be the easiest part.” Chase tries to laugh and tries to make it into a joke, but it tastes bitter on his tongue. But he knows it’s not a joke. He knows he’ll have to kill to keep Ivy and himself alive. For Stacy, for Willow. 

What choice does he have?

Chase grabs a large oatmeal cookie and breaks it in half, offering the bigger side to Ivy. They both share the treat after Ivy tries to trade him. After finishing the sweet, Ivy returns to her own room, leaving the tray behind for him.

He doesn't admit he finished all the treats before dinner.

°○°○°○°

Sleep comes and goes for Chase through the night.

They were told that it should only take about 10 hours from 7 to the Capitol, but Teefee informed them that they would arrive after breakfast so they have some time to sleep.

Yeah. Sleep. What a joke.

Every time Chase closes his eyes he either sees Stacy's face, red and puffy with tears. Or a faceless opponent running a spear through his stomach. Or he hears the sounds of a baby crying and he desperately searches for the source, unable to find them.

It’s somewhere around 4 AM when he gives up the illusion of sleep and goes to the dining car. Clothed in a clean tank top and a pair of soft sweatpants, Chase shuffled in his hole-free socks through the train. Only one attendant was awake but Chase waved them away again, saying he was okay, thanks.

When the door slides open near-silently, Chase is surprised to see Jameson Jackson already sitting at the table in the dim light of early morning.

The slightly older man looks up from what he was doing and he looks as tired as Chase feels, which is really saying something. His hair is back to its natural messy curls and his mustache lacked any styling product. Gone was the vest and now he wears a plain dusty blue shirt- the open collar of it low enough to show off one of the scars he earned from his games. His skin was healed but it still left a gnarled scar on his pale neck next to his clavicle.

Chase noticed that Jameson's cane was haphazardly thrown onto the table without caring for the breakables across it. But what surprised him more was that the older man was holding what appeared to be a knife from dinner as well as a piece of wood. Maple if Chase had to guess from his place at the doorway. Where did he get that?

Chase stands there in silence, both men staring at each other for a long time.

Jameson levels Chase with a soft look that he can't quite place, and without breaking eye contact, he takes hold of his cane- and deliberately breaks a vase of flowers along with a few cups while moving it off the table. Placing it beside his chair as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. His mouth quirks up into a wry smile and Chase can almost hear the sarcasm in his actions. Oops.

Chase takes a step back in shock. Holy- huh, maybe not all Capitol after all. Chase picks up a crystal glass. The cool texture against his palm is like nothing he’s ever felt before, it’s cold but not like snow, and heavy, full of weight. He runs his thumb across the texture before he chucks it against the train's wall, right at the seal of Panem. He looks back up at Jameson with the same expression on his face. 

“Oops. My hand slipped.”

Jameson smirks with an almost innocent shrug. Accidents happen, he says before going back to his work. Chase now sees that he’s whittling something, a small pile of wood shavings collecting on the pristine white tablecloth.

It’s still too early for the attendants to be awake, or maybe they couldn't be bothered at this hour, so the two young men have some time alone.

Chase opens and closes his mouth a few times trying to decide what to say. Jameson looks good in the casual clothes of District 7, but Chase is more focused on what he’s carving. And more importantly how he managed to sneak a piece of wood onto the train. 

“I like carving too.” Chase finally settles on. He thinks it’s lame until Jameson looks at him again with raised brows in interest.

There was a moment where Jameson stared off beyond Chase, but he quickly refocused, inviting him in with a wave and an offering to a seat on his left.

When Chase sits down, Jameson does two things. First, he shows him what he's been working away at this morning. 

It was the beginning of a face. No details yet and the cuts were still rough, but something was beginning to emerge from the grain like someone was completely submerged in water except for their face. It makes Chase a little uneasy if he was being honest with himself, but the last thing he wants is to come off as rude now that Jameson is giving him a chance. So he smiles, “That’s.. really good so far.” It sounds fake even to him, but Jameson doesn’t seem to mind, grinning back with a nod of thanks.

The second thing his mentor shows him was another piece of soft wood. He seems to materialize it from under the table like magic as he hands it over to Chase, sliding another small dinner knife across the table to him. An invitation.

As Chase stares in mild disbelief, Jameson goes back to his work, steady hands making small nicks in the wood to slowly bring more of the head out of the wooden lake.

Chase hesitates for only a moment before he grabs the wood and the dinner knife and starts carving away without much of a plan. The knife wasn't ideal for carving, but Chase thought he was spoiled by his good tools anyway. He got them for a deal at the black market and Old Robbie even showed him how to sharpen them. He doesn’t know what he’ll carve just yet, but he knows it’ll be something for Willow. A little toy or treasure. Something she could have of him when he was gone.

“Ivy and I made an alliance before dinner yesterday. Decided that it’s best to go on with each other.”

Without looking up Jameson nodded in approval, turning the knife in his hand to tap out a quick code phrase on the table quietly with the handle, Any more? Unknown?

There wasn't any indication that Jameson had his strange translators on him, so Chase guessed he had to make due knowing that Chase doesn't know sign language. The language was not very common in 7, but thankfully, Chase also knows how to read a person of very few words thanks to his father.

“Any more allies? Uh no, I think Ivy and I will go it alone for now. I’ll keep her safe, she’ll keep me alive.” 

Chase carves out a big chunk of wood, almost hitting his hand on accident. He doesn’t even flinch and keeps on carving. He’s almost lost a finger or two about a dozen times. Small mistakes don’t phase him much anymore. A few more strokes of the knife and it’s starting to get the rough shape of something.

Jameson looks up again and gently nudges his elbow to the young man's arm, eyebrow raised as if asking, Are you sure? That's all?

“Well, I’m sure Ivy will make a friend or two. Why, do you think we need more? More allies just means more people to betray. I already feel bad enough pairing up with Ivy.”

Jameson lets a sigh out from his nose, carefully setting his work down before holding his hands in his lap, contemplating something for a long minute with a crease between his brows. Chase waits patiently.

Eventually, Jameson tilts his head slightly and nods in agreement, biting his lip in thought before looking to Chase again, Better odds for a while, anyway. He seems to say, before staring off past Chase's head again to something in the distance.

Chase hesitates for a moment but reaches over and gives a squeeze to Jameson’s hand. He’s more District than Chase originally thought. Maybe Chase needs to give him another chance, maybe Jameson hates this whole thing just as much as he does. Maybe more since he's been mentoring for the last several years now. It must take a toll on you watching so many children you looked after die…

Jameson blinks rapidly at the contact and comes back to himself, taking a deep breath through his nose and slowly letting it out through his mouth before returning focus to Chase. Squeezing his hand while lifting the other with his palm out in a shrug, It could keep you alive longer. And that's all he can really give for now without his thimbles.

Chase nods and goes back to the wood carving. There was clearly a story there but Chase didn’t want to pry it out of him. He’s sure if he dug around he’d find the answer, but it probably wasn’t a pretty one.

With the two of them actually sitting together... Jameson doesn't look that much older than Chase. Maybe early twenties? He won his game about 6 years ago, so all in all, he's still fairly young compared to many of the other mentors Chase has seen on TV.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Chase says after a while of comfortable silence.

Jameson gives Chase an easy smile, a real one. No worries. He pauses and reaches over to gently squeeze his shoulder, Me too. Wood shavings fall from Jameson's shirt onto the table and floor, but he doesn't seem to mind.

Chase gets up without a word and begins to clean all the curled shavings up. He isn’t quite sure why he’s doing it, but he feels like it needs to be done. The attendees probably have far too much to deal with, no need to bother them with this.

Jameson watches Chase clean for a minute before he uses his cane to stand up. Chase was about to offer a hand but Jameson shook his head before walking to the other end of the train car. Returning a moment later with a broom and pan, blocking the attendant from entering the car with a wave and a few quick signs. The attendant looks torn but gives a small bow and leaves them both be.

“Here, let me.” Chase reaches for the broom and starts brushing the scattered shavings and broken glass. “Ya know my first job was cleaning up all the wood shavings for the carvers.” Chase speaks to fill the quiet, “Then when I turned 13 it was off to the woods and I’ve been there ever since.” He gives a small laugh as he thinks about all the fun and stressful times in those woods. How peacekeepers would shove him and his friends and keep them in line even though it was just wood. It wasn’t a precious commodity like what they produced in District 1, or even food like from 4, 9, 10, or 11. It was lumber and branches, and there was an abundance to be found in 7.

“When I was a kid, I wanted to be a carpenter like my dad. I've been told I got a really good eye for the details. But I think I’m gonna be stuck in those woods forever.”

Air escaped Jameson's nose in short bursts- laughter- and he couldn't help but smile. Jameson mimes out the well-remembered motions for spreading bleached tree pulp evenly into the paper press, waving a hand up and down in front of his face, puffing out his cheeks, and blowing as if it was sweltering hot.

“Oh shit? Really? I always-huh. Never would have guessed you worked in the paper mill. You look like you would have thrived in the forest with me and my friends.” Chase gathers all the wood chips and broken glass into the pan and dumps it into the nearest trash can. “Do you, do you ever wish you could go back? I know the presses aren’t the best job but… it seems lonely in Victor Village.”

Jameson stops to think, but eventually, he shakes his head. He indicates through mime that the people were very lovely, but the peacekeepers tolerated little in the factories.

Besides, he essentially says by rolling his eyes in disdain, It's not like they would treat me the same as before.

Once the glass is cleared away Jameson carefully sits back down where he was before, absent-mindedly rubbing the scar on his throat. He looks back up to Chase, circling his hand over his stomach, Hungry?

“Starving. I didn’t really touch dinner. It looked… fake.” Jameson raises his brows and nods in sound agreement. That’s the only word Chase could use to describe the shiny-like qualities of the food. Fake. The steak looked covered in lacquer and Chase had never seen potatoes that brightly colored. The water seemed dyed a light blue, and the red liquor next to it smelled awful. He avoided most of it but did nibble on some of the more familiar greens like a rabbit.

“Do they have any decent bread around here?”

Holding up a finger, Jameson reaches across the table to a covered basket and picks up a golden roll, tearing it in half to reveal melted cheese inside. He offers half of it to Chase and the boy carefully takes it.

Breaking bread. More than a truce in Chase’s eyes. An act of friendship and compassion. He heard stories from his dad that during the war, breaking bread became something sacred, something to do with your friends and family when grieving or celebrating. He just did something similar with Ivy yesterday without much thought, like it was just natural to do with her.

He takes the bread and taps it against Jameson’s. He gives a small smile before taking a big bite.

Once the two young men finish their shared roll, Jameson slides the rest of the basket to Chase. Chase is about two more fist-sized rolls in when Jameson slides across a peeled orange, splaying the slices out on top of the rind for them both to share. Oranges, along with a lot of other fresh fruits, were rare in District 7. Sure, they weren't the worst-off district like 12, but they also weren't the richest either. They occasionally had crisp apples, but most of the food came from elsewhere. So they enjoyed whatever treats came through when they could. Better than chewing on the soft inner bark to keep stomach cramps at bay. Chase was much more familiar with that than the strange brightly-colored fruit before him.

Chase’s eyes glimmer at the sight of it, he's only seen oranges very rarely from the shop windows or candied versions on top of cakes. Neither of which he could ever dream of affording for himself. He takes a slice and carefully examines it before taking a bite. There was a burst of juice as the citrus flavors took over his mouth, making his lips pucker at the sour tang. He immediately fell in love.

“Oh my-” Now he realizes why there was a rebellion. Screw oppression and dictatorships, this alone was worth rebelling for. “Do they have these all the time in the Capitol?!” Chase asks, taking another slice and biting it in half to savor the flavor and suck the juices out.

Jameson let out more short puffs of breath from his nose in an almost bitter laugh, sweeping his arms across the table, More than they can ever eat themselves.

Chase polishes off the rest of the cheese buns and the orange by himself as Jameson goes back to whittling. He hasn't felt this full in a long, long time. Chase tries to reach his memory back to the last time he had a proper meal that didn't leave him feeling hollow. 

It must have been Stacy's last birthday several months ago in early fall. Both of her moms had scraped and saved enough to throw a quaint dinner party for Stacy and they invited Chase and Birch as well. Chase's father sent him there with two plucked and roasted chickens he earned for fixing the mayor's roof, and Birch had some of their mother's famous blackberry jam for dessert. Stacy's mama prepared a dense herbal bread stuffed with dried apples and berries, and her other mom traded it for a wheel of cheese and some greens. 

That was probably the best meal he had ever had, and both Chase and Birch were sent home with an extra plate to share with their families as thanks. Chase remembers giving Birch his extra bread because Birch had more mouths at home, more than just Chase did with his dad.

The two fall into a comfortable quiet as Chase rolls the memory in his mind, Jameson carving away while Chase eats as much as his stomach would allow. When he couldn't take another bite, he picked up his tools and continued working on carving out a simple heart for Willow. He doesn't have time to do anything more.

[jsehungergamesau]

Against All Odds

CHAPTER 2

No. No. No. No. This can't be real.

Heads turn towards Chase as someone from behind him gives a push right into a peacekeeper. He tries not to gasp. He forces his legs to move and keep his head up high as he makes his way to the stage, but he can't seem to broaden his shoulders, folding inward on himself as he walks. His throat is dry, and he can distantly hear Stacy’s protests and cries, begging for someone to volunteer for him while being shushed by the crowd.

His footsteps don't even creak on the solid wooden stairs as he climbs them. 

He looks over the crowd, his home, his community. Watching faces morph into everything from relief and mourning to utter shock. He feels a cold hand touch his back, keeping him upright, and distantly registers that he locked his knees so he wouldn't run.

“Any volunteers?” The cupcake woman asks the crowd. 

Chase prays again, this time to the crowd directly, someone out there has to know he’s about to be a dad. Someone has to volunteer. They can’t leave Stacy to be alone with a child. Someone must have some pity. Please. He begs them with his eyes.

Nobody steps forward to volunteer. The entire district remains silent.

Chase's stomach drops like a mangled stump into a wood chipper.

“Well, there you have it, District Seven! Your tributes this year: Ivy Cinder and Chase Brody! Let's give them a big hand!" 

He doesn't see anyone move, but if they did clap, Chase wouldn't have heard it. Blood was rushing in his ears as his brain spun out, trying to keep up with what was happening to him.

Chase feels numb as the peacekeepers usher him into the clock tower. The old building doubles as a city hall for the district and has been well maintained despite the rest of the town crumbling to sawdust around them. If he bothered to look directly up when they entered the door, Chase would be gazing up the spiraling steps of the clock tower itself and see the gleaming gears ticking away steadily high above their heads. Well-oiled and sturdy to the tests of time meanwhile, Chase could feel his entire life burning around him like a raging forest fire in contrast. 

They escort him to a private room to wait for visitors and the first thing Chase does after the doors close is scream. 

He wants to throw something. So instead of something breakable and expensive- the tray of crystal drinking glasses looks very tempting- he rips off his flannel and wads it into a ball with harsh digging fingers, flinging it with all of his strength into the plush leather couch. He grabs his hair and begins to pace the freshly cleaned hardwood floor. 

Okay, Brody. Get your shit together. Keep calm. Keep calm. You can figure this out-

He doesn't have much time to calm himself when his father walks in. Douglas “Chip” Brody looks at his only son, and for a rare moment in Chase's life, his father walks over and hugs him without prompting. His massive frame dwarfed his boy as he held him close.

Chase freezes for a split second before he quickly latches on tight to his dad's shirt like he was a little kid again. He certainly felt that small in this moment. Shoulders shaking with a cocktail of anger, fear, and despair, Chase lets out one sob into his father's broad chest. 

"You-" Chase swallows thickly, "You can't let Stacy be alone, okay?" He begs his father. "Please don't let her go hungry or leave her alone to suffer. Please. Do whatever you can to support them. I won't be able to now but I promised her. Please, Dad…" 

Chase doesn't hear a word but can feel his father nod against his head and hold his son tighter. 

Chase's father, in many ways, could be described as built like a boulder. Both in stature and in the amount of words typically spoken. He has always been a man of very few words, even more so when Chase's mother passed away a few years ago. They never needed many words to communicate between them. But at this moment, the father speaks to his child.

His rumbling voice coming from deep in his chest, he says, "You're strong and resourceful, Chase. Find an axe or a knife." The older man pulls away to look Chase in the eye. People always said Chase got so much of his mother in him. Does his dad see her when he looks at him? "Never forget your roots." He places a broad hand on his son's chest, "Your roots grow deep and sturdy here in Seven. Whatever you show out there, never lose touch with who you are and where you came from." 

Chase blinks away his tears, "Only one person lives, Dad."

His father lowers his gaze for a moment before looking back up, "Then be the one who walks out." He said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Chase wished he believed that it could ever be that easy.

They sat quietly together for the remaining time on the couch, the older man's arm around Chase's shoulders as he listened to his dad's steady heartbeat. It was over way too fast- Chase quickly hugs his dad again and they whisper "I love you" to each other before the older man is taken away. 

The silence in the room is deafening.

Chase is starting to fiddle with the simple metal band around his finger when a peacekeeper opens the door and Stacy does her best to run to him while seven months pregnant. 

They clutch each other tight and Chase feels her sobs racking her whole body. He gently strokes her hair and hushes her before pulling her back and firmly holding her shoulders.

“Stacy, hey, look at me. You don’t let her take out any tesserae okay? You do not let her take anything from them." Stacy begins to protest but Chase keeps going. "I’ve already asked my dad but I'm also gonna ask my mentor to take care of you. If I get in good with him, maybe he’ll take pity on you. Give you bread and stuff.” Chase rattled off every last thing he could think of. Anything Stacy needed to know as thick tears pooled in her eyes.

"Chase please-" She begins to plead but Chase takes her face in his hands and she places her hands over top of his.

"Sell all of my stuff the moment you hear my cannon."

"Stop-"

"Everything. Clothes, furniture, my tools. Everything, Stacy. You get as much money as you can and you save it all for her, okay? My carving tools are worth a decent amount, don't settle for less than what they're worth."

Stacy shook her head at every word Chase said, not wanting any of it to be true. "No. No, No, No, NO, NO!! STOP THAT!! Just an hour ago you said it would be okay- That we would be together and okay! You can't go! I refuse to have our baby grow up without a father!" Stacy cries and pleads, weakly pounding a fist against Chase's chest, knowing it won't do her any good, but it's one thing she feels she can control at this moment. 

"Starlight," Chase implores, feeling his heart break as he watches Stacy go quiet when he gently holds her wrists, "I'm... I'm so sorry." He barely whispers but clears his throat, resting his forehead against hers, "I'm so sorry this is happening. But it's out of our hands." Chase slides one hand from Stacy's wrist to her stomach, gently resting it over the baby bump and rubbing his thumb over it like he always did. 

He steels himself. He can't leave her. Not alone like this. He will not leave her behind like her father did to her family. He promised he would be a better man than that. But did he really have a chance..? He certainly didn't have a choice.

"You can win." Stacy starts, and Chase looks back up at her eyes her beautiful brown eyes with flecks of gold in them when the sun hits just right. "You're good with an axe. I've seen you throw them in the backyard with Birch. You're strong and fast on your feet, and I've seen you climb trees faster than a squirrel. Hell- you're 18, as old as any career. I genuinely think you have a shot of winning, Chase." Stacy's voice was firm, much more confident than Chase felt about himself despite tears rolling down her cheeks. But at this moment, he believes her. "You have to win." She swallows hard, "You have to come back home." 

Chase slowly nods. He barely gets his voice to cooperate enough to say, "Okay." Before he pulls her in for a kiss. He tries to tell himself it won't be the last one, but he still attempts to pour all of his heart and love into this one kiss. 

When they break away, Stacy pulls off the ring Chase gave her just over an hour before. He's confused when she presses the piece of jewelry into his palm and closes his fist around it, "You're bringing this back to me. And if you don't, I'll kill you." She said, and Chase almost laughed in disbelief. This is why he fell in love with this woman. He takes his simple band off his own finger and trades it to her. Quickly going to the couch to grab his reliable thick gray flannel and wrapping it around her much smaller shoulders, and kisses her again. She clutches the ring tight in her hand and the flannel close like a security blanket as she kisses him back.

"I love you so much, Stacy."

"I love you, too.” She gasps at a sudden thought, “What do we name her?" Stacy asks quickly and Chase panics, distantly hearing peacekeeper boots coming their way.

They had discussed name ideas before, but he wanted to wait and actually see his baby's eyes before making a choice. But if he never got the chance to do so- Chase has to think quickly. They don't know 100% if it will be a girl, but if she is then what do they name her? Think, Brody, think-

The door handle begins to turn and Chase hugs his girl, almost crushing her to his chest as he blurts out the first name that came to his mind, "Willow." 

Stacy nods and clings tightly to him. The peacekeepers come in and all too quickly she is being pulled away from him. He wants to shove them off her. She is crying, screaming "I love you so much!" as they drag her away. Chase calls back to her, but the door is slammed shut in his face.

He tries to go for the handle, but he hears the deadbolt coldly thunk into place. He slams his fist against the hardwood before pressing his forehead against it in defeat.

Chase desperately goes to the window to try and see her again, but the shutters are also locked tight. He feels like screaming again. His eyes burned but he swallowed tightly around the lump in his throat. Goodbye…

One more person comes to see him. 

His best friend, Birch, is a tall twig of a person who fits their namesake almost scarily well. Pale skin with darker patches around their eyes and mouth, and scattered across their arms and legs. Dark hair and matching black eyes, they wore an orange flannel normally but today it was just a gray button-up and a somber expression to match. Birch had been Chase's closest buddy growing up, despite how little they spoke. Chase never minded, he was good at talking enough for the both of them and Birch was a great listener.

They don't hug, but Birch reaches their hand out and Chase clasps their arms together in a tight grip.

"I'll watch out for her," Birch mumbled, already knowing what Chase was going to ask of them. They were always a soft-spoken person. Chase compared their voice to a gentle breeze once and Birch just shrugged, outwardly indifferent but Chase could tell they appreciated the compliment. 

"You mean that?"

Birch nodded, serious. "Her. The ankle biter. And your old man. I'll make sure they're taken care of if your dad slips up somewhere."

Chase let out a steady breath. Birch has always had Chase's back ever since Chase pulled their little brother out of the river, the one where they floated the trees to the lumber mill. The peacekeepers did nothing and the boy would have been crushed between massive logs if Chase didn't go after him. Guess this debt will finally be paid off in Birch's eyes if they do this for him. "Thank you," Chase says sincerely. Birch just nods again.

And that was it. Birch left as quietly as they came. No lingering. No tearful goodbyes. Just a promise to set Chase's mind at ease.

It's probably better this way. Birch always got uncomfortable when people cried.

Chase is then whisked away to the train station, several cameras pointed right at him and the other tribute girl as they get ushered onto the car like cattle heading to the slaughterhouse. Chase does have half a mind to smile and wave for the people across the country watching the broadcast, giving a small wave goodbye to his home as they stepped onto the train. He hoped they all didn't notice how puffy his eyes were or how clenched his jaw was.

The games have already begun.

°○°○°○°

Chase enters the dining car and looks out the window one last time at his district. He scanned the crowds who were seeing them off, waving goodbye but knowing in the back of his mind that he wouldn't see Stacy standing among them. No, Birch has probably escorted her back home by now and is trying in vain to comfort her.

The thought of Stacy when Birch inevitably has to leave, in her empty house crying, sets him on edge again. Chase stalks up and down the dining car like a caged animal, not even noticing the incredible speed of the train once it pulled away from his home. The trees stretch on for miles and blur past in a wall of green that Chase can barely register as it takes all of his power not to destroy the table setting. 

Instead of causing total destruction, he sits heavily on one of the plush chairs at the dining table and doubles over himself, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes until he sees stars bursting behind his closed lids. Chase couldn't stop his leg from bouncing if he bothered to try. There was so much rage, fear, and grief pent up inside him that he reconsidered throwing an expensive glass through a window when he heard the mechanical door slide open.

Chase snaps his head up to see the same man who stood with them on the stage. He vaguely realizes this must have been the person who kept a hand on his back so he didn't keel over on the spot.

He wears a rich blue vest with a simple swirling design embroidered into it, a crisp white shirt, and pressed black slacks with matching polished shoes. His black curly hair is tamed back with gel, but the thick curls were already beginning to crack and spring back to life in defiance. It seems like his mustache beat his hair to the punch- being styled to curl at the ends towards his nose. But that's about where the similarities to a potential resident in the Capitol stop. No, Jameson Jackson may have gotten a little plump around the edges with his victor's salaries, but he still had the hands of a worker. And shoulders to match if he didn't actively curl in just slightly enough to appear smaller. Appear more meek. The smile on his face was hardened like it was petrified into place, like a piece of fossilized bark. But his deep blue eyes still seemed kind. 

Chase didn't know what to think of him just yet.

Jameson walked with a limp over to Chase. The cane in his grip was fashioned from a tree branch, lovingly stripped of bark and polished to an almost orange shine. A knot at the top of it acts as the handle for Jameson to grip onto as he reaches his free hand out to gently grip Chase's shoulder.

The man tilts his head to the side while looking down at Chase- he can just catch the sight of a scar under the man's collar even though his black bowtie keeps the shirt closed. Jameson raises his brows in silent question. Chase knows that Jameson knows it's a bitter and dumb question to ask, but he still feels compelled to.

Are you okay?

Chase shakes his head, refusing to let tears fall. The next week is all about impressions. Getting people on your side, making friends with the Capitol scum that are rooting for his death, and placing bets on how fast he’ll die.

Realistically he’ll probably last a few days, but he can’t do anything important like gather food that won’t kill him, or patch up wounds so deep you can see your bones. He’ll make it to the top twelve, maybe ten,  then die a slow, hungry, painful death.

He turns back to Jameson and grabs his hand that rested on his shoulder.

“I have a girlfriend- a fiancée. She’s pregnant with our daughter. I need you to take care of her when I die. I won’t ask for anything else from you. Just please, take care of Stacy Wells.” 

It probably wasn’t the best idea to beg right off the bat, but that’s all Chase could think to do.

Jameson blinks rapidly at Chase's pleading, taking a moment to compose himself from the small outburst before gently removing his hand from Chase's death grip. He begins to use his hands to make movements and strange signs at the younger man but slowly stops when he sees Chase's lost look. Jameson hesitates again, hands hovering in front of him as if he was debating something, before turning and plucking a butter knife from the table behind him. He begins to tap on his cane with the blunt end of the knife and Chase immediately perks up in recognition. 

The quick taps are a bastardized Morse code that the people of District 7 developed as a way of communication to mimic the sound of woodpeckers- and slip conversations past the peacekeepers. Back in the days of the rebellion it was used quite frequently, but now it's mostly reserved for the folks who actually go up the high canopies to strip the branches. Usually to signal for bears or other dangers they spot nearby, but more often than not it is used to warn those goofing off of approaching peacekeepers.

It's by no means a perfect system, it's mostly just a collection of quick and simple phrases. But Jameson taps out a sentence that Chase roughly manages to translate to, "I understand. But first, let's talk." 

Chase nods.

Jameson pulls a chair out and spins it around so he can sit facing the 18-year-old. Once he leans his cane against the side of his chair, he pulls out some strange copper domes that look like a handful of sewing thimbles. He carefully places them on each finger before pressing them all into his scarred palms, causing them all to activate with tiny blue lights all at once.

"Test. Test." 

Chase jumps as a calm robotic male voice speaks from Jameson's breast pocket as he moves his hands to sign.

As Jameson signs, the movements of his hands seem to translate into a digital dialogue. Must be some kind of high-end Capitol tech, Chase wonders how much they cost Jameson. "These things are a huge pain to wear all day, but I will say, it is a nifty bit of equipment." 

“Did-did the Capitol give you those?” Chase curses himself at the question. Of course, he got those from the Capitol, most injured loggers would be lucky to have a decent cane or a wooden appendage if the worse came. Of course, the Capitol gave him everything he needed to communicate, he’s a victor. 

Jameson gave the young man a bemused smile, "Yes they are from the Capitol, but it was my friend from District 3 who designed them himself."

“They look nice at the very least.”  Chase tries to compliment him. If he was going to win Jameson over, he could start by not antagonizing him. But what does he even say? What could he even say? Everything depends on the next few sentences.

“I want to win. But I don’t think I have a good chance. I want to go back home to my family.” 

Jameson's smile slowly drops at Chase's self-doubt and he kicks himself for it, "What makes you so sure you don't have what it takes?"

“I-I’m not a career. And I can’t forage or hunt properly, let alone treat wounds or find water. I’m good with an axe and strong but that’s about it.” Chase runs his hands across the silky tablecloth. It’s a texture unfamiliar to him but it’s nice anyway. He thought it felt as if water was woven into a flexible solid and he could dip his hand through its cool surface.

"Not every winner is a career. Our district has had its fair share of victors, after all." Jameson gives Chase a grin but he immediately drops it when it's returned with a deadpan stare. "There will be a few days of survival and basic weapons training before the games. You have the opportunity to absorb as much knowledge as you can then. But that's not for a few more days. When Ivy comes in we will discuss the next immediate steps. Like what happens when we get to the Capitol."

"What are the next immediate steps? Creating my image or something?" Chase tried hard not to roll his eyes, this was important. Likable and impressionable tributes win, he can't be just another scared kid in makeup, he has to stand out. If they managed to get Stacy's wails on camera maybe that would boost his image? It definitely would be something to talk about. A very pregnant woman crying out for her love to come home to her and their unborn child? Pulls on the heartstrings of even the gruffest lumberjack.

"First step," Jameson reaches over and plucks a small golden puffed pastry drizzled in chocolate from a silver platter, popping it into his mouth, "Enjoy the food. While you can stomach it." Jameson quirks his eyebrow when Chase sends him a scowl, "We have some time. Try to use what we have now to calm your nerves and get some meat on your ribs. We will figure everything out soon."

Enjoy the food? He was going to either be killed or kill children in a week and he was supposed to enjoy the food? That’s it? He was supposed to eat and revel in all the luxury that the oh-so-gracious Capitol provided for him? Chase holds his head in his hands and forces himself to take a few deep breaths. There’s no use getting mad at Jameson after all, he was going to be his only lifeline for the next few weeks. 

The door slides open to the dining car before Chase can reply, and a girl with the most brilliant green eyes Chase has ever seen steps through the door.

"Ah, Ivy!" Jameson signed cheerily, the strange voice box nestled in his breast pocket didn't fully portray his cheer, but Jameson made up for that with his smile alone.

Chase and the girl both jump at the electronic voice. Chase was still not completely used to it. He turns back to see the other half of the team, Ivy, accompanied by the District Seven escort. 

Ivy Cinder stiffens a little but returns a kind smile that doesn't reach her eyes to Jameson, “Hi. Nice to meet you.” She mutters, tucking a stray red curl behind her ear with stiff movements. She was wearing a simple gray dress that she didn't look at all comfortable in, with a green flannel over top with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She was also still wearing logger's work boots that Chase recognized almost immediately.

Ivy looks over at Chase, unsure when he waves to invite her to sit down with them. She walks around the table and sits heavily across from Chase and Jameson. Her leg starts bouncing like crazy immediately as she fidgets with a necklace charm Chase can't make out from his seat. Her shoulders were stiff but Chase could tell she was trying to not make her nerves obvious.

Jameson's shoulders bounce in a silent chuckle, "I know, this thing takes some getting used to. I tried talking to my good friend Henrik about changing the voice audio but he-” Their mentor looks between the two tributes who were staring at him with blank looks and his smile falters. There is a beat of awkward silence before Jameson's face turns to soft sorrow, "I know it does not mean much, especially coming from me, but I am so sorry this has happened to you both." Jameson glances at the district escort before continuing, "This isn't going to be easy, but me and Miss. Whisper here are going to do everything we can to help you." 

"That is absolutely right!" The Capitol woman who was to be their escort, Teefee Whisper, clapped with glee while taking her seat next to Ivy in a puff of magenta glitter. Chase could see Ivy was trying her best to not make a face about the cloud of shimmering plastic particles that went everywhere. "I'm here to make sure we are all happy and punctual to get where we need to go. Oh! And I'm SO happy that I get to teach you proper etiquette! Ah! It will be just..." Teefee pauses a moment to search for the correct word and her face brightens with a snap of her perfectly manicured fingers, "Exceptional!" 

Jameson smiles very patiently at the Capitol woman, "Indeed." He turns back to Chase and Ivy with his expression more serious again, "As your mentor, it is my job to help you from the sidelines while you are in the games. Do you both have a general idea of how sponsors work?"

Chase and Ivy both nod and Ivy subtly scoots away from Teefee, not wanting any glitter to touch her. Chase has watched people come back from the dead thanks to sponsors. Some water or food or even a simple set of matches made all the difference. 

"I don't think Ivy will have difficulty with sponsors. I've seen her make friends with even the grouchiest of the lumberjacks." Chase says.

Ivy raises an eyebrow in surprise at his praise, "I highly doubt the other districts will see that as a strength-” Ivy says, idly rubbing her thumb against her token as she grins a little, "But the loveable sunshine girl and the determined father-to-be sound good together, I think.”

Even if Chase thought Ivy wasn't going to last long, she was certainly going to be a Capitol favorite. If Chase showed them all that they were a team, a duo, maybe some of Ivy's sponsors could roll over to him. And talking about Stacy and Willow would definitely help too. Everyone loves a baby after all.

Jameson nods while listening to the both of them, "Yes, we can definitely work with that. It helps that we won't have to reach too far to carve out a personality for the cameras.” He leans back in his seat a bit, “Just remember that this is all a big show. We will coach you later for the interview, but as soon as we pull into the station in the Capitol, consider yourselves on camera until the games are over. Start building up what you want the sponsors to see as soon as the train stops. Typically sponsors want to spend their money on someone who they think has a chance of winning, or that they want to see win because they take a shine to their personality," Jameson leans forward again for more emphasis that the digital voice can't portray, "Show them that your life is worth investing in." 

When Ivy doesn't respond either, Chase assumes that she was also chewing on the weight of Jameson's words. Pretending to be something other than your true self so people can sit back and daintily throw their money at the ones who they think are the most deadly, funny, or attractive? That if they don't perform for their amusement it could mean the difference of a struggling life or a slow and cruel death. They have to prove to these complete strangers that their life is worth something.

A hard glare fixes itself between Chase's eyebrows as a literal banquet is set in front of everyone. He had half a mind to not eat a single bite, but the wafting smells of fresh sourdough bread, beef and vegetable stew, and an array of cheeses and pastries- it could make any man break, and Chase's mouth is a dam ready to burst. His stomach betrayed him further as it growled. He couldn't be too embarrassed for himself because Ivy's stomach echoed his.

The two of them share a look before they simultaneously give a snicker, serving themselves towering plates of bread and cheese with bowls of thick soup the size of their heads.

The tributes haven't eaten this well in... ever. And everything is delicious. Chase has to force himself to slow down or else he fears being sick. But once the main course was finished he dragged over the bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries.

Chase almost melted as the mix of bittersweetness hit his tongue. It was incredible. But it was Capitol food, he reminded himself after the third strawberry, pitching the leafy greens at one of the flower vases in the middle of the table.

“Ivy’s also really smart.” Chase says in between bites of another berry, “I’m good with an axe but she knows how to forage and stuff.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, red juice staining his skin, "I think if we trade knowledge we have a chance to make it far.”

But Chase knows making it far counts for nothing. Doesn’t matter if you die first or last, you’ll be in the Capitol’s coffin either way. A vague memory in the short-term minds of frivolous people lost to time. You needed to win. You needed to come first in order to be seen.

Ivy pauses stuffing her face with warm bread and various cheeses, her freckled cheeks turning a bit red. "Hey give yourself some credit, Brody! Any skill is a good skill in some way and I know you have some." Ivy says in between bites, taking her first sip from a mug filled with something sweet and inspiring delight in her eyes, "What do you know about hunting?"

“I uh, I don’t know too much about hunting. But like I said I’m good with an axe. I can throw them pretty far and with decent accuracy.”

He looks to Jameson for… something, and just finds him listening to them talk while sipping a very ornate-looking cup of tea.

Chase looks over the banquet laid out for him and grabs another sandwich and shoves it in his mouth bitterly.

“Can you climb?” Teefee pipes up cheerily, wanting to be a part of the conversation but obviously not knowing that much about which district she's talking to. Obviously, all kids from District 7 knew how to scale up trees as fast as squirrels, with little need for equipment like them as well. Guess the woman didn't do her homework before coming.

“Uh yeah, I guess. I’m pretty decent with a throw weight as well. I used to help cut some of the branches up high when I was a kid. And I can tie some pretty decent knots.”

Jameson nods approvingly, and turns back to Ivy, giving a gesture as a general prompt, What about you?

Ivy perks up mid-chewing on some meat and wipes her mouth clean. "I'm fast, a good hider, and good at throwing an axe, same as Chase. My dad taught me how to hunt with a crossbow and my older sister taught me what herbs to use and avoid. I'm good at climbing too... if I hype myself up."

How in the world did she manage to get her hands on a crossbow?! Chase looks down in his lap as he tries to assess the situation. Fuck. Ivy might have a shot after all. Her survival skills are much better than his, and when it comes down to it, he’ll be relying on her, not the other way around. Especially when it comes to finding food that is actually edible. And when the time comes he knows that she’ll have to be the one to pull the trigger. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit! His one and only plan was crumbling down around him. He’ll be dead in the first three days! He knows it.

Chase wipes a tear from his eye, refusing to show weakness in front of anyone here. He’s gonna die. All because some stupid rebels tried to storm a mountain 37 years ago. He wasn't even born yet when that happened so why does it have to be him paying for what they did?

If Jameson sees Chase crying he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he nods to Ivy, finishes his tea, and carefully puts his thimbles back on after having removed them to eat.

"As I said before, there will be a chance to train for three days before the games. You two can either pool your knowledge and work together, or decide now to train alone. If you do decide to be a team, I suggest that you don't show the other tributes your greatest strengths in the training center.” He explains, “Show them that you are capable of holding your own- hell if you think you're charming enough, make some friends and team up with others." Jameson doesn't look too thrilled at his own idea of teaming up with others, so he adds, "Just don't get too attached. And be careful.

“Excuse me,” Chase says suddenly as he gets up. 

He can’t be here. He can’t be here. He reaches for the door, finding that it opens automatically before he can even find a handle. Chase doesn’t listen to it shut behind him or anybody possibly calling out to him. He’s already taken off looking for a place to cry.

[jsehungergamesau]

Against All Odds

CHAPTER 1

Chase can't help the goofy smile that takes up his entire face. 

"What are you smiling at?" Stacy asked with a fond laugh. The early rays of morning sunlight shone through her brown hair, lighting it up into a rich auburn color that matched the oak trees in fall.

"You," Chase replied simply with a soft look in his pale blue eyes, scooting closer to his girlfriend as they lay together in her bed. 

The young woman laughed and pretended to push him away, "You're being incredibly cheesy for how early in the morning it is, Mr. Brody." She let out a squeak when her boyfriend practically engulfed her in a bear hug, trapping her in his arms as he nuzzled into the junction between her neck and shoulder.

"I can't help that you're so incredibly beautiful this early in the morning, Miss. Wells!" Chase teased her before blowing a light raspberry into her skin, making Stacy squeal again. 

She pushed his face away as Chase laughed to himself. He could practically hear her roll her eyes when she said, "Cut it out! You're gonna upset her." 

"I'm still suspicious of how you're so sure that it's gonna be a girl." Chase mused, taking Stacy's hand from his face and tenderly kissing the back of it on top of a freckle.

Stacy scoffed lightly, "I thought you said you wanted a girl."

"I do!" He defends himself, placing a hand over his heart, "And I'd be happy either way! I just.. wonder how you're so certain." 

Her deep brown eyes sparkle, and Chase smiles while listening intently, "My mother has this trick that she learned from Granny when she had me." Stacy gently rolls onto her back and places Chase's hand on her stomach. Chase immediately starts to gently stroke his thumb over her shirt as he listens. "You take a wedding ring- eer or a ring you wear a lot- and tie it to a strand of your hair. You hold it steady over your tummy, and if it swings back and forth, it's a boy, but if it swings in a circle, it's a girl."

"A wedding ring, huh?" Chase grins, catching his girlfriend's hint immediately, but watches as she shrugs with a sad smile on her face as she places her hand over Chase's.

"We used my Granny's ring the first time, and it swung in a circle." Stacy smiles warmly down at their hands, and Chase weaves their fingers together. Stacy's hands were callused but remained soft, whereas Chase's hands had already grown somewhat leathery due to his work of handling an axe and climbing trees nearly every day. But it didn't matter to the two young lovers, they fit together perfectly.

Chase Brody had known and loved Stacy Wells since they were little kids. She was a year older than him, but they naturally gravitated toward each other, spending their free time wandering the streets of District 7 and enjoying each other's company. The peacekeepers kept a pretty tight leash on the people they watched over, but very rarely, the pair managed to slip by them and hide in the outskirts of the forests. On more than one occasion they were caught and Chase took the brunt of the punishment. But when they did manage a clean slip, they followed ancient deer trails to the river and would climb their favorite tree to spend the afternoon in peace. 

But more recently, the two of them have been much more cautious since reality has smacked them in the face.

Stacy was pregnant. 

It was terrifying for her when Stacy first told Chase. She said she was so worried about how he would react and if he would leave her on the spot. But it was immediately clear that Chase was over the moon. He was so excited that he picked Stacy up and spun her around her family's small kitchen before peppering her face with a million kisses. Stacy was so relieved she wanted to cry as Chase turned his brain to making plans for their future together.

Chase would go on and on about how he would build them a house near the outskirts of town where they could see the river- with Stacy gently reminding him that housing was assigned at marriage. He went on to say how he would work and trade to support them both- she already makes her fair share by mending the climbing ropes and helping her mothers in the apothecary, but wasn't upset about the prospect of a combined income. And Chase would very seriously tell her how he would do anything for her and their future child. He swore to protect and take care of them. It warmed Stacy's heart like a soft flame. 

But in the quiet moments, there was an obvious undercurrent of anxiety. Not only were there going to be incredible challenges with raising this child- their child- at such a young age, but in the back of Chase's mind there was another looming fear.

Stacy was already 19, she has aged out of The Reaping. But Chase was 18. This was his last year of having his name in the pool for the Hunger Games. And since he realized his child would be coming one way or another, with or without him, he needed to get extra tesserae for both him and his family, including Stacy. 

He has entered his name 21 times. 7 for his age, and 14 more for the grain and oil rations. He had to do it for his family to get by, but in the back of Chase's mind, he knows the odds were slightly more in his favor. He has the terrible thought that, unfortunately, he has friends with much larger families than him. So they must have more name slips in that glass bubble than he does… Chase always feels a wash of shame whenever the idea crosses his mind. Anybody but me.

Today was Reaping Day, and Chase was content to pretend like it was a rare day off. Just another Sunday with no work and no school. Soaking in the warmth and love of his girlfriend as much as he could. Avoiding the growing anxiety in his chest about the Reaping. It's just one more year. He thought to himself, I've slipped by 7 years already, maybe it will be okay. What's one more year?

Though he dared not say this out loud, instead opting for, "Well, if you didn't use a wedding ring, then how do you know if it was accurate?" 

Stacy scoffed, voice warm but tinged with sadness, "It's not like I have one of my own, Chase…" 

Chase leaned up and tenderly kissed her forehead, "Starlight…" He gently squeezed her hand and reached into his back pants pocket with the other. 

Stacy gasped at the sight of the palm-sized wooden box. It was small but clearly made by Chase himself, his craftsmanship is unmistakable. It was carved with delicate swirls and blueberries, stained a deep brown-caramel color, and embellished with blue ink on the berries. The polish alone must have cost him a fortune, let alone the paint, but when he opened the box Stacy covered her mouth with a hand. 

Inside was a ring. It was somewhat simple, being made of a polished gray metal of some kind, but in the center was set a small yet beautiful chip of golden amber, bracketed by thinner metal swirls to keep it secure. 

Chase smiled sheepishly, "Working with metal isn't my strong suit, but I hope this will do." He forged the ring (and a matching band for himself) out of a heavy broken bolt used for securing climbing gear to the trees. He had to smuggle it out and then asked his father for help at his small forge. It came out somewhat rough but he hoped the intention was there to see.

Chase took much more pride in the wood carvings. His father had shown him the box that he had made for Chase's mother when he decided to marry her. And it was truly inspiring for Chase- burned designs of delicate flowers and detailed acorns. It was a tradition in District 7 to give your love a ring in a box that you created yourself. Chase worked hours into the night trying to sand everything perfectly smooth and ensure the varnish was evenly coated.

When Stacy didn't say anything immediately, Chase took a deep breath and tried again, "I don't know what's going to happen today…" He starts, voice low so only the two of them can hear, "But I know I want this. With you. I-I know I'm not the brightest man in the world, or the quickest with a saw, or talented in anything besides using my hands… But I know that I want to be with you, no matter what might come. When I'm with you it feels… It feels right. Like I'm coming home to something worthwhile." There is a pause, and Chase looks into Stacy's eyes which are brimming with tears. "You mean the world to me, Starlight. You're brave and creative and sharp as a thorn. You inspire me every day to fight for something, to get out of bed every day because there is someone worth loving and protecting." Chase sees tears rolling down her rosy cheeks and his smile wavers just slightly, "So… hah, what do you say, Miss. Wells? Will you be mine? Do you want to marry me, Stacy?"

Stacy barks a wet laugh and Chase can feel his heart sinking. But she nods her head quickly, hand falling away from her mouth to reveal her huge, brilliant smile, "Yes." She replies, tears warbling her voice, "Yes, yes I do." 

A smile breaks across Chase's face like a blinding flare in the night sky. As they both move to hold each other close, Chase kisses her like he needs air as she holds his face in her hands like he is the world.

When the two finally pull away, Chase takes the ring from the box and delicately slides it onto her finger, gently rubbing his thumb over the gem to try and shine it while holding her hand. He gives her the box as well and Stacy takes a moment to admire both gifts and then Chase's face again.

Stacy was about to say something when they froze at the sound of the old clock tower. 9 AM. One hour until the Reaping ceremony. Stacy shakes as anxiety fills her, looking from the window back to Chase before throwing herself into his tight embrace. He quietly tries to calm her while rocking them back and forth. 

Running fingers through her short hair Chase tries to comfort her, "It's okay. It's going to be alright, I promise you, Starlight. I promise it will be okay." He whispered into her hair as he held her head close to his heart. 

"But what if-?" She started but stopped herself. "I can't do this alone, Chase. I can't-"

"You won't." He says more firmly than he believes himself, holding her impossibility closer. "You are not going to be alone, I promise. I promise you won't be alone…" Not again, he thinks to himself.

The two young lovers hold each other tight for a minute more before Chase forces himself to pull himself away. He stands up and quickly puts his work shirt on before leaning down over the bed again, gently brushing hair from Stacy's face and using his thumb to wipe her tear-streaked cheeks.

"Hey, I'll see you later, okay?" He tries to smile, praying his eyes don't show his true fear to her. 

Stacy nods and smiles unevenly, "Okay." She whispers, then Chase kisses her forehead and quietly leaves out the back door, waving to Stacy's mom, Lilly, who gives him a sad smile as he goes. Shrugging on his thick, sap-stained gray flannel, Chase heads towards his home in the Seam to prepare for what's to come.

As soon as he enters the small home, Chase's father looks up from the table. The two men have a silent conversation with just their eyes and subtle gestures in their heads.

Did you ask her?

Yes.

Did she say yes?

Yeah, she did. I'm so happy she did.

I'm happy for you. Go clean up.

Yes, sir.

And just like that Chase went to the small bathroom and used the tub of lukewarm water to scrub himself clean. Picking splinters out of his thick skin and dunking his entire head underwater to wash his hair. He took extra care to trim his close-cropped beard so it was even and tried his best to smooth out the wrinkles of his father's hand-me-down pale orange button-up shirt. Stacy told him that the color made his eyes pop but never really saw the difference himself. Dark brown slacks, polished leather shoes with an unseen hole in the bottom, and clean socks- also with unseen holes. There was a small stain on the collar of his shirt, but there wasn't much either of the men could do about it so Chase just tried to pretend like it didn't exist. 

Like he was pretending the Reaping wasn't going to happen today. Instead, he pretended he was going for a nice walk with Stacy, his fiancée, around the square.

But his delusion barely took root when he heard the half-hour chime and felt his skin grow cold. 

Chase's father came in without a word and helped his son with his hair. A quiet, somber air about them as the larger man carefully brushed and styled back his son's unruly dark blonde hair. It used to be lighter when he was a baby, but it's grown dark as the years have passed. When his father is finished, Chase stands and they look at each other quietly. Chase's father nods, and Chase pulls on his gray flannel and leaves. It was way too hot for it, but he needed the comfort today.

Much sooner than he'd like, Chase was heading to the town square. 

°○°○°○°

It's the same proceedings as every year. Get in line for your age, check in with a finger prick and blood sample, stand in a roped-off area for your age bracket, listen to how the rebels are the reason for the games, draw names, and go home. Everyone would celebrate their children not being reaped except for two families. All of the kids stood in the front near the stage while the rest of the district stood behind them to watch. 

It's mandatory to watch. 

Chase remembers how his classmate's older brother tried to skip it a few years back and the peacekeepers dragged him from his house kicking and hollering,  only shutting up when they pointed a gun at him. 

The square was decorated with harvest-colored banners that paled in comparison to the actual trees in the fall. They did look nice Chase supposed. All things considered, anyway. The buildings were normally blank, the Justice building being the only one made entirely of concrete in stark contrast to all of the wooden ones that made up the rest of the town square. Storefronts, mostly. But in the center was the clock tower and city hall. There was talk of the clock being torn down to make way for the Justice building way back in the day, but to everyone's amazement, it stayed erect.

The young man scanned the crowd behind him looking for his love. So many somber faces but Chase couldn't find the one with a birthmark just below her ear and nose dusted with freckles. His attention was quickly drawn back forward to the center stage that sat in front of the mostly unused Justice building.

Chase holds his breath as the national anthem starts to play, his fingers playing with the stray threads at the bottom of his flannel. Just one last time. Someone, anyone besides him had to be picked. There had to be what, five maybe six hundred other slips of paper in that bowl, he would be fine. He’s lasted this long.

One more year then he'd be free from the games.

He watches as the previous victor, a man named Jameson Jackson, drags his shoes back and forth on the stage while leaning heavily on a cane.

Chase remembers that year well, Jameson managed to use traps and hide in the trees until the girl from District 2 shot him down. An arrow to his leg, and an arrow to his throat. The entire district grieved thinking that was it, District 2 would win again. But when the final canon went off, Jameson was still alive. The girl had wandered into one of his traps, making the mistake of not finishing him off right then and there, then falling into a carefully covered pit. At least she broke her neck in a way that she died almost instantly. Jameson lost his voice to the arrow but, miraculously, never seemed to lose that cheery exterior. 

Chase would hear about him buying loaves of bread for the kids whose parents died in the forest while cutting trees down. Giving his coal rations to the parents who needed them most. Hell, he's even heard that he carved wooden toys for the kids who live in the Seam and couldn't afford such frivolous items. Chase still has no idea how someone seemingly so kind could have won the games.

The Capital woman came out wearing a gown even more lavish than last year's. Pink lace draped off of her hips making her look like a cupcake and her body the candle, with her orange and red hair being the flame. Every inch of her was covered in a layer of glitter that was flaking off with every movement. The mayor and the previous victor sit down in their chairs when she reaches the microphone, waiting for this to be over with. To Jameson's credit, he did try to put on a smile. But Chase could see it was strained.

“Happy Hunger Games!” The bubbly woman exclaims into the microphone, her shrill Capitol voice echoing throughout the town square from the old speakers and spotless TV screens. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.” She brightly nods her head and another cascade of golden glitter falls from her hair.

Chase took in one last deep breath as he waited for the names to be called. 

“Why don’t we start with the ladies?” Her heels click as she moves across the stage. Chase watches as her white-gloved hand dips into the bowl plucking a white slip out from the bottom. She moves back to the microphone, opening the slip with minor difficulty thanks to the gloves, prolonging the announcement of someone’s worst nightmare. The square is silent until it is cut through with a crisp reading of a name. “Ivy Cinder.” 

Chase feels his stomach twist as he hears a former classmate of his scream out in agony. As if someone had already killed her. The crowd around her backs away as if she were poison- as if her fate was contagious. 

Peacekeepers in bright white uniforms grab her arms, dragging her to the stage as she tries to thrash out. Chase licks his lips and grabs the ends of his flannel. All things considered, she could do well in the games. Well-built, and good with an axe as far as he knows, she could be a force to be reckoned with. Well, if she wasn’t so kind. Chase knows that poor girl won’t last ten minutes, she couldn’t take a life, and she’d probably step off the platform and save the other tributes the trouble. He remembers her crying over a dead bird once in school. Her choked sobs were heard through the speakers and everyone tried to ignore them.

“Any volunteers?” The Capitol woman says, voice far too enthusiastic. The crowd remains silent, except for a few stray sniffles from her friends and family. “No? Well then, onto the boys!” 

Chase bites his lip as his body freezes like it has every other year since he was twelve years old. He watches as she plucks a name right from the top, fumbling a little while unfolding the slip. The districts don't really practice religion anymore. Believing in a God gave people hope, and that was a very dangerous thing. Still, Chase slipped his metal band onto his finger and prayed. To whom? He had no idea. But it didn't matter. It's obvious he wasn't heard.

“Chase Brody,” she says right into the microphone. His name echoes through the air like the breeze was trying to carry it away into the trees. 

--------

Tag list:

@brokentimewatch

[jsehungergamesau]

24 hours remain

until chapter one of this AU is posted both on this account and on AO3! (A link to AO3 will be posted tomorrow with the chapter) We really hope you guys take the time to read and enjoy what we have been working on!

We haven't figured out a proper posting schedule as of me writing this, but we had the gentle plan of posting a chapter every-other week. 'Cause lemme tell yall, a number of these chapters are gonna be BEEFY.

Anyway, to hype folks up a bit, here are some fun facts to know going into the story! I'm putting them under the cut if you don't want to be spoiled.

Thank you again to our beta readers and thank you ahead of time to everyone who decides to read along!

Happy Holidays, ○Jelly○ @jellyfishdoodler

Fun facts and minor spoilers heading in:

Both Chase and Jameson are from District 7, who's district is known for all lumber and paper productions. Located around the area of where the Pacific NorthWest of America used to be.

The main fic occurs during the 32nd Hunger Games, taking place about 22 years after the events of Susan Collins' Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.

In this AU, President Snow has come into power roughly around the time of the 25th Quarter Quell. Ramping up the stakes of the games and being the massive change of how things are done.

Unfortunately the other egos (Marvin, Henrik, and Jackie) don't play a huge roll in this first fic, but will make more appearances down the line.

I, Jelly, was outvoted in having all of the boys thrown into the same arena, so its just Chase in this one with JJ as his mentor. That it would have been "too sad" if they all had to kill each other or watch each other be killed. Instead, we have plans to write shorter fics of how they each won their respective Hunger Games. So you have Parker and V to thank for that one!

We really hope you enjoy this fic, the three of us have been pouring our all into this one and been having so much fun doing it. 💛

[jsehungergamesau]

I'm already soo excited for this AU! You guys really have the whole JSE theorist server Hyped!

I wanted to ask would you guys be able to @ me when Chapters get posted?

- Hunter/Fizzarolli

Absolutely! We’re also so excited to show everyone what we’ve been working on and see everyone’s reaction!

-Parker

[jsehungergamesau]

Trigger Warnings and A General Disclaimer

This is a DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT piece of fiction Please mind the following triggers:

Child Death

Child Murder

Starvation and food insecurity

Classism

Police brutality

Abuse

Cheating

Themes of ableism

Alcohol and drug abuse

Gaslighting manipulation

Implied pedophilia

Sexualitzation of minors

Non-speaking characters written by speaking people

All main characters are depicted as minors.

Just because the authors have written these characters into certain scenarios does not mean they condone those behaviors. If anything they are writing to criticizes those behaviors and show struggles depicted in the main Hunger Games series.

If you are struggling with any of these topics please proceed with caution.

If you are struggling with any of the problems listed above or would like to learn more please check out the links below

Find a Food Bank Near You

Police Brutality

Why Police Brutality occurs and how we can stop it

National Domestic Abuse Hotline (American Only): 800-799-7233

Canadian family violence resources and services

National Suicide and Crisis Hotline (American Only): 988

Learn about Supervised Consumption Sites

Harm Reduction Resources In Your Area

Learn about Abelism

National Alliance on Mental Illness

If you have any resources or triggers you feel we should add please let us know and we will add them.