Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"This way, Ms. Everdeen." The tailored man motioned for her to follow. He stopped in front of the study room and waited by the side. It was clear that he had no intention of entering with her.

Katniss' mind raced as she questioned the identity of the visitor, to have paled her mother so much. She opened the heavy wooden doors by the bronze handles, slipped inside, and took a deep breath. But, that proved itself to be a bad decision, as an uncanny scent of cherry blossoms overlaid with blood attacked her senses. Katniss almost staggered as she shut the door behind her and focused on the figure in the room.

She's snuggled in the armchair with a book against the window, and for some reason, more at home than Katniss who's an actual residence. Katniss recognized the young woman, of course. She had seen her before, on broadcasted announcements and during the 74th Hunger Games.

Kristine Fel Snow. She became the president recently, some years prior, when she was reaching twenty. After Coriolanus Snow, her grandfather died of an undisclosed sickness – rumors say otherwise, as fatal illnesses are so very rare in the Capital, or for a man his position, for that matter – and her sister was barely thirteen, Kristine was the only fit candidate to inherit the presidency. Katniss never cared to learn about the details of the events, a change in who's on top brought little to no changes to their lives in District 12.

Kristine turned at the presence of Katniss, a smile spreading from her lips. She climbed up from her nested position and propped herself up straight. "Please," She motioned to the chair across the desk, "Take a seat."

The candle flame flickers with the wind Katniss brought with her. Although the woman appeared innocuous with her chummy attitude, Katniss persisted in her approach to her like she would a snake. A venomous one. With soft, careful steps, eyes locked on the threat, prepared for any sudden attacks.

"So, I think we can save ourselves a lot of hassle by agreeing not to lie to each other, yeah?" Kristine folded the top corner of the page* and set the book aside, finally meeting Katniss' eyes.

Despite her dry throat, her words came out perfectly, "Yes, I think that would save time."

Kristine nodded, pleased with the answer received. She crossed her hands together, "We have a problem... Katniss. You remember when you pulled those poison berries out at the arena?"

...

Katniss bore her eyes into the wood desk, suddenly intrigued with the lines on the surface while Kristine got up from her seat. She collected her book and picked a biscuit from the tray, laying it atop the stack. Her steps were silent as she slithered around the table. Leaning down, she whispered in Katniss' ear, "Also, I know about that kiss."

The flower scent emitted from the flowers embedded in her bangs, the smell of blood, however, was somehow entangled within the petals. What do they do- water the cherry blossoms with blood?

The Victor's Tour was disastrous.

Katniss hadn't been able to pacify the districts as per the president's request, and now everyone she loved is in danger. She's considered running, or stirring up a rebellion. But, with Gale hurt and Haymitch bursting her rioting bubble, there was little she could do but comply with Kristine's schedules.

The Capitol had sent people over to take photoshoots of the multitudes of wedding dresses Cinna designed. And as Prim predicted, the footage was edited and on display tonight. Before Katniss could turn off the television and shut Ceaser up about her involuntary wedding, he asked the viewers to stay tuned for another big announcement.

Katniss looked to her mother for an explanation. She remained lost in thoughts, eyes unfocused and muttering softly, "Must be the readings of the Quarter Quell."

On the screen, Kristine stepped forward.

"When the laws for the Games were laid out, they dictated that every twenty-five years call for an anniversary celebration, a Quarter Quell. To glorify the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion."

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, every district was to hold an election and vote to decide their tributes, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying to their choice to initiate violence."

"On the fiftieth anniversary, to remind everyone that there were two dead rebels for every death of a Capital citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," Kristine let out a light chuckle, casting a soft glance at the camera before turning to the side. A child dressed in white stepped up to present a box with its lid opened, exposing a thick stack of envelopes. Kristine drew the foremost, with the number "75" printed.

She slid her fingers underneath the flap and pulled out a small card. Setting the envelope aside, she read aloud, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games. We would like to remind the rebels that even the strongest amongst them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, so, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors."

The nauseous disgust for the president grows everlastingly strong as Katniss realizes what the news means for her. The words couldn't be more pointed, really, Kristine might as well have been pointing names.

As the situation dawns upon everyone, only the cracklings of fire accompany them as Katniss bolts out of the room.

Following Peeta's request, or rather, demands, Katniss and Haymitch endured career-leveled training for a whoopin' six months. Effie sent them tapes of past games, and Peeta took careful notes of the surviving victors.

The inevitable reapings have arrived, there's no reversing Peeta and Katniss' destined fates of heading back into the arena. But this time, they are dealing with enemies who've had more experience, time, and resources to hone their skills. The only good news this year, Peeta's made sure they are more prepared.

They were given no time to watch the live action of the reapings. Only after they got on the train, had they finally found the peace in their minds to watch the recap, now with commentary. Peeta sat with his notebook on his lap, staring wide-eyed into the screen and a pen ready.

Throughout the video, Haymitch kept his gaze on the screen, seemingly focused but reactionless. Effie sighed and made futile comments, while Katniss was struggling to remember the tributes.

Haymitch left the second the screen faded to black, Effie too bid goodnight soon and left the two in the room. Katniss watched Peeta flip through the pages, picking off victors spared from the games. Catching her eyes and deciding this was no time to give cold shoulders, he shifted over and shared his now-organized notes.

(skipping over the other tributes, i don't wanna rewrite known information)

"...Male tribute of District One, Ivan Animated." Peeta reads, "Because Cashmere is the other tribute, I really thought Gloss would volunteer... Anyway, he won the seventy-third Hunger Games at age eighteen. Despite being a career tribute, he came out of his game by poisoning the water. Smart move, considering there was one lake available in the game."

"But, not much of a fighter, is he?" Katniss pointed to a section of the notes, "Judging by how he 'Avoided Physical Combat'."

He hummed an agreement and flipped the page, "The female tribute from District Two, Cypher Den. She was sixteen when she won the sixty-ninth Hunger Games. During her game, she strayed from the career pack in her game, pretty much lived her best life talking forward and back to a parrot, and stabbed whoever came her way."

"Yeah, I think I remember her. Wasn't she a favored one? That they chose to send everyone else to her instead of-" Annoyance laced her voice, directed towards the game makers that blasted her with fire. "Her screen personality is quite appealing to the audience, no wonder they wanted to keep her alive."

"Male tribute of District Two, Curt Richy. He was seventeen when he won his game... The seventy-second. There's not much footage of him actually fighting, the game makers decided to release a dangerous tentacle mutt into the game and he was the last one alive. He's smart- Or rather, he's just wise."

"Huh?"

"For one, he stuck to traveling with large groups to limit the probability of himself getting attacked. He also seemed pretty gentle in nature, having only ever killed out of self-defense."

...

"The male tribute in District Four, Frugal Aesthetic."

"Wait," Katniss interrupted, "I thought you said District Four had Finnick?"

Peeta flipped the page back, "Oh, yeah, then why..."

"Oh!" He stifled a laugh as he recalled the events Katniss blanked out for, "Annie Cresta was picked and Mags Flanagan tried to volunteer for her before Frugal took her place."

"But I thought he was... A guy?"

"That's what they said too, but he just told them that they needed to 'respect their elders', and 'forget gender roles'." Peeta shook his head, "He won the sixty-eighth game at fourteen. It was him and another guy who survived a volcano eruption, and he attacked the other tribute emotionally, earning him enough time to push him back into the magma."*

...

"District Ten's female, Chilly Panda. She is, and probably will be, the youngest tribute to ever exist. She turned twelve the day of the reapings and she was reaped that day," Peeta glanced at Katniss, it was so similar to the cause for Katniss' volunteering.

Katniss turned to the moon outside the windows evasively, "I guess the odds weren't in her favor."

"You'd be surprised," Peeta offered, "She won her game by pure luck. The game makers released an animal stampede that was supposed to corner all tributes to a dried river bank where they'd fight amongst the animals, but she avoided it by falling asleep in a hole in the ground and waking up after the stampede passed."

"..." Sensing that Peeta was waiting for a response of some sort, Katniss blinked slowly, "Strange people we're up against."

He chuckles and moves on.

Cinna, as always, did a splendid job on Katniss’ costumes. With her and Peeta’s flaming costumes, it was all everyone could pay attention to.

Descending off the chariot, Katniss finds Haymitch waving the two tributes from District 11 over. Seeder greets Katniss with a hug which Katniss associates with Thresh and Rue, while Chaff steps up and kisses her soundly on the cheek. While Haymitch and Chaff are guffawing, Katniss stands baffled before something hits her in the back of her head.

Almost instinctively, Katniss spun on her heels and caught the airborne object, which revealed itself to be a small piece of paper, rolled together tightly to resemble a scroll. Frustrated with all the teases and taunts from the victors, Katniss glared at the direction where the note came from. Although, this one seemed to mean no harm. She waved at Katniss.

She was dressed in a gladiator-like fit, the golden plates reflecting her short pink hair. Katniss watched her motion towards the note, before finally unraveling it. On the paper, written in roundish, slightly hasted handwriting are a string of numbers along with a heart at the end. Confused, Katniss looked back at her, just in time to watch her get tackled to the ground.

For a moment, she only laid still. Katniss started to worry if she had gotten a concussion, before she suddenly rolled to the side and kicked off her attacker. She tried again, to wave at Katniss, but several others jumped out to keep her restrained.

Katniss took a small step back and whispered to Peeta, “I thought fighting amongst the tributes before the games was against the rules.”

He seemed a bit lost for words too, “Yeah… Maybe the rules are different for the victors?”

They were about to consult Haymitch, but the Capital attendants interrupted their tracks. They ushered them towards the elevators with scarce room for negotiation.

“Today, in training, you’ve got two jobs. One, stay in love. And two, make some friends.”

Haymitch’s order rang in a deep corner of Katniss’ mind, but she ignored it. Besides, she and Peeta split up to “cover more territory”, so she can avoid socializing and leave it to Peeta.

However, things don’t always go as one would wish.

Not long after Katniss settled down with the knots instructor, she found herself with some company.

“Hey.. Katniss,” The end of her tone was raised upwards in a lighthearted tone, but her voice sounded rather tense.

Katniss had gone over Peeta’s notes last night, she recognized the woman from District 2, Cypher Den. She was accompanied by a few others, but they remained a good few steps away. Far enough to leave themselves out of the conversation, but close enough to get a jump on the woman, if they needed to.

“Cypher?” Katniss tried.

“Oh, um, just Den.” She shook her head, “Den’s fine.”

“What do you need?”

Den tucked her hands behind her back and bounced a little, “So, um, I wanted to apologize.”

Katniss watched her exchange looks with the others, receiving a couple of encouraging looks and threatening fists. Den forced on a grin, “For sending you my uh- My number… I didn’t know…”

Katniss frowned, struggling to understand what the woman was getting at. Her expression seemed to have worried her a bit, as she glanced profusely behind.

“I don’t really, go outside that much, nor catch up with the news,” Den explained, Yesterday, you looked really pretty, and, just, not your age, and- I mean, I didn’t know you were a minor! And I’m sorry about flirting with you, and I mean, you are very hot, and-”

“Den!” Someone hissed from behind her.

“Ugh! Just have the guards take me away..” She gave up.

“Jail! Jail! Jail!”

“What were you thinking, Den?!”

The others swarmed forward and pulled the dispirited woman away from Katniss.

Subscript: 

*i feel like Kristine would have started dog-earing to p-ss people off and it accidentally becomes a habit

*out of all of them, i feel like "frugal" is the only name that'd look normal in panem

*don't worry it's not barney, the other tribute was raptor wrangler roberto

Chapter Text

In just a few minutes, the 75th Hunger Games will begin. 

Her stylist was so resolved with babbling Chilly’s ears off with futile suggestions that she failed to notice her tribute’s zoned-out eyes. Something about how Chilly needs to stay safe, needs to find water, remember to avoid trouble, etc. The same thing stylists say to every year’s tributes, so it wasn’t like she’d be missing anything important by daydreaming. Chilly slurped what could possibly be the last cup of coffee in her life, and blanked out on her stylist again. 

This year’s game is going to be very different. Even if you throw away the fact that the tributes are selected from victors rather than average citizens. 

For starters, her friends. Ivan’s from District 1, Den and Curt from District 2s, and Chistian coming from District 4. Though no one explicitly stated, they practically formed the Career group. It’s a strange idea to consider, since they’ve unanimously counted Brutus out of their pack. The other victors must know more about their friendship, which produces a reason for their decision, the audience is left more in the dark. They could only assume Brutus was kicked out of the Career pack, for a girl from District 10, nonetheless. 

But, that won’t matter, not this year. The band of the “Careers” stand insignificant to the bigger groups. Outside of the fourth wall.

To be frank, Chilly wouldn’t mind a chance to put Ivan’s life on some lines, or Curt’s. When things got heated, she definitely wished she could drive knives through these nuisances like Den does Ivan on a daily basis. But, not in this way. Not when it’s a part of the Games, not when it’s a part of the Capital’s big, grand scheme to ruin everything even relatively nice. 

There were… Troubles in her district too. The unexpected ending of last year’s game has really brought on some changes below the acts. 

Minutes after the rules of the Quarter Quell were announced, the five of them had gathered to discuss their response. At first on calls, but then they’d meet up and even sneak into the wilderness, to avoid the Capital’s surveillance. It was decided that there was no way all five of them could avoid participating- especially with Curt’s luck- they might as well volunteer, if not already selected. 

But, slowly, changes progressively took place in their strategy. Their list of allies grew from the original one another, to nearly half the tributes. Their utmost priority changed too, from surviving the game to protecting the Mockingjay and her loverboy. 

Chilly knew there was more to it. Something is going on behind the scenes, and she wasn’t let in on the full plan by whoever had more information. But she didn’t pry, nor try to guess. She wasn’t Ivan, she’s no b-tch. 

Besides, if Den's trust exercises have taught her anything, it’s to have faith in each other. Secrets are either kept for the greater good or caused by incompetence. 

To avoid suspicion, they were to separate into smaller groups. Christian was to stick with Finnick or the Mockingjay, while Chilly fought Den to team up with Johanna.* The three remainders would form their own party. If possible, they would find one another later in the games and form alliances that way. 

There was an obscured plan, one bigger than the one she has a copy of, but one that could possibly keep everyone Chilly cared about alive. Why wouldn’t she follow it? 

The voice instructed the tributes to board the launching pad. Chilly patted her stylist’s outstretched hands reassuringly and stepped on. Glass walls rose up, separating her from the pressing launching room, where her stylist was still trying to talk to her, for some reason. 

Squinting under the bright sun, the Cornucopia was located at the center of a large, circular body of water, with a briny smell reminiscent of the ocean. All around was land enclosing the saltwater lake. 

There was nothing between the tributes and the Cornucopia, only water. It so appears the only way to get anywhere is in the water. Luckily, Chilly was good at swimming, if not one of the best. She did win the Ultimate Swimmer award in her district, after all. 

She plunged into the water with the gong. The first surprise was how the jumpsuit tributes received felt similar to a swimsuit would when drenched. Second, was how the bright purple belt kept her waist afloat in a gentle way. 

Chilly pulled herself up onto the Cornucopia. She had spent the preparation minute observing the supply pile, and locked her eyes on a heavy war hammer. Her panda ears tilted to the side, picking up sound. Being soaked doesn’t affect her ability to catch two splashes behind her. Probably Finnick and… Out of curiosity, she looked behind to find Katniss reaching towards a set of bow and arrows.  

“Oh shit.” 

Without wasting another second, Chilly darted towards the hammer. As soon as her hand was on it, she dropped down low, hugged it to her chest, and rolled behind a pile, just as an arrow missed her. Chilly groaned, Someone’s gotta tell this girl to get her shits together.

She crouched behind crates and made sure she was out of Katniss’ aim. More people have arrived at the Cornucopia, but none are attacking her just yet. Johanna, Blight… Chilly muttered under her breath, searching for the two tributes from District 7 she was supposed to travel with. 

Even though the gong released them from their platforms, Christian held his ground and scanned the waters. He knows how to swim, of course, but he just needs to make sure… 

Alright, Finnick’s in the water, the Mockingjay too. It’s a bit surprising that she had somehow learned to swim, but it was nothing to linger and waste time on. 

However… Christian located Peeta. Like him, he too stayed atop his platform, but with an edge of nervousness to his stance. Although, the mere fact that he hasn’t left the plate by now states better than words about his inability to swim. Oh well, it looks like there’s a bigger task at hand than sourcing himself a weapon. Christian slid from his platform into the water and made his way toward the stranded figure. 

“Oh my god!” Peeta jumped a bit when Christian climbed onto his platform. 

Christian brushed his bangs aside and held his hands up, the universal show-tell of peaceful intents. Knowing there wasn’t much Peeta could do with bare fists, Christian ignored the stuttering man and slipped a quick glance back at the Cornucopia, checking the situation. Katniss had an arrow nocked in her bow, but Finnick’s talking to her, distracting her for at least the moment. He could only hope the pretty boy had got a tongue smooth enough to get the Mockingjay to fire arrows at ill-intenders instead of him. 

“Hey,” Christian faced Peeta with a smile, “As you can see, I mean no harm.” 

No visual hints of distrust, which was good. His voice softened as he slipped into his persuasive coat. “If I wanted to kill you, wouldn’t I have gone straight to the Cornucopia for weapons? We’re allies, alright?” 

Peeta’s series of reactions confirmed Chirstian’s suspicions. Back when Haymitch told them the two were “still considering” for the third time, he guessed the two possibly wanted to fly solo, or as a duo. Although, the clues were all in between the lines anyways.

“I mean, what am I supposed to kill you with? These hands?” His eyes twinkled with the joke. 

Peeta chuckled too, in response, “Yeah, talk about a lethal weapon of choice.”

“So, if you will excuse me for a quick second,” Christian turned again to locate Finnick for a clue on the next course of action, who waved towards the land before diving in the water. Christian raised his eyebrows, that’s a lot of trust put into the Mockingjay’s hands. He met Peeta’s eyes and extended a hand, “We’re here to help, okay? We’ll get you to the land.” 

“Katniss is-” Peeta peered over his shoulders, tracking Katniss with his sight. 

“Yep, she’ll follow Finnick.” 

Curt secured his hands around the handle of a fierce claymore and tugged it free from the pile. Amongst the collapsed items, he easily located a leather strap that paired neatly with his sword. He buckled the strap across his back and fixed the sword in. 

As far as he’s aware, the sizes of arenas tend to be limited, no matter how peculiar the game can get. Within what he could see, this year’s arena consisted only of water and jungle. What might he need? With Den and Ivan by his side, he’d probably be safe starting a fire. Clean water is important too, so if there are any water-purifying supplies… 

A hand tapped his shoulder, he turned to them. “Oh, you guys are all ready? We’ll go then?” 

Den hummed with a hand dragging Ivan, who was still kicking the supplies around. Finally accepting he won’t find whatever it is he was looking for, he asked, “Curt, how’d you know it was Den?” 

Curt needn’t provide Ivan an answer before Den swung him into the water, jumping in after him. She called to the head bobbing afloat, “Because if it was anyone else, they’d be tapping with a knife. Now, swim you fuck!” 

Curt sighed. He had only now realized the forgotten factor when he sent Chilly to Johanna. Perhaps assisting the rebels shouldn’t be on the top of his agenda, keeping these two from killing each other would have to be the most difficult. He checked behind him. The other tributes have gotten into a mass quarrel, which was good, since no one could get concerned about their departure. But he couldn’t find Chilly or Christian. Well, at least he could trust them to keep themselves alive… To a degree. 

Deciding remaining on the open beach would be too dangerous for numerous reasons, the three trekked into the jungle spiking up just beyond the sand. The steadily elevating terrain drained energy from anyone daring to venture in. 

Among the twists of this year’s Hunger Games, the Cornucopia hosted nothing except weapons. So, the other essentials like food would have to come from the arena. 

Hence, after they had gotten a fair distance from the beach, the three began to slow their pace. Ivan pointed out edible plants along the way. Some they’d take with them, and others they’d mark in their head and note to come back later for. It took a while before they found themselves a relatively flat area suitable for camp. By now, their arms are full of resources, so Curt deemed it no use to journey deeper. 

While Ivan and Curt busied themselves with clearing the ground and organizing their supplies, Den volunteered to go hunt. She claims to have noticed squirrels or birds amongst treetops, so Curt let her go under the condition that she’d clean the game away from camp, to avoid the attention of large carnivores or mutts. 

For now, another matter awaits them. It’s either that they didn’t look hard enough, or it’s simply a part of the game's design. But, at the end of the day, there were no containers to carry things with. So, the two settled down with stripped vines and bark. 

Everything about it is calming. The very act of weaving baskets, or tying knots. Though few of them ever thought of it in that way, the games are undeniably traumatizing. It may have been a ride, an educational experience, to some more than others. But, there’s no healing the damage caused by the gruesome scenes you’d have to witness, inlaid by the capital or inflicted by tributes. The therapist part of Christian knew this better than his friends, so, he signed them up for arts and crafts lessons, as you do. Victors had nothing to do with their excess time, so beyond the first few teases about arts and crafts being, perhaps, silly, the five of them do enjoy spending time meeting up just to chill and learn things together. 

 It feels even better when you’re making things with nature. Let the greenness stain your hand, shredded wood litter by your feet. You can almost put the irritating heat and moist air of jungles behind your mind. It feels a lot better now that they’ve stopped hiking anyway, just have to endure the mosquitoes. 

Soon, Den returned to them and joined their weaving with glee. 

“I couldn’t find any water,” She found them peering at the bloodstains on her hands, “And I didn’t want to go all the way back down.” 

“Real.” Curt nods. 

“Well, keep your bloody baskets away from mine, Den, I don’t want blood-flavored berries.” 

“I didn’t know you were afraid of blood, Ivan.” Den grinned, misinterpreting on purpose.

“Ugh, no-” Ivan kicked a twig at her, “Whatever. Just use that for like, the dead squirrels you caught or whatever.” 

“Hey, Plum Tart!” Kristine spun into the control room, “Psst, psst, you mind making a few tributes’ lives harder?” 

Plutarch flinched at her request. He stared for just a second too long before heading up the stairs to greet Kristine, since he’s learned by now to ignore the awkward, sometimes demeaning nicknames she’d give to people. “President Snow! You know you really-” 

“Aren’t supposed to be here, yeah, yeah.” Kristine giggled. She didn’t miss the flicker of worry in Plutarch’s eyes. She wondered who it could be for. “But, can you really stop me?” 

“No, no.” Plutarch laughed, shaking his head. Kristine flattened herself onto the door frame and let Plutarch lead her back to the observing room. After she barged in so many times, they constructed a room outside the Control, with only a glass wall separating the two. It’s elevated too, built on the second floor to provide the viewer with a better view. 

Plutarch opened the door for her, gentlemen's etiquette. “May I know who you’re planning on troubling?” 

“I’ll show you. There’s-” Abruptly pausing, she squinted down at her hands, “Uh, four- Uh, three? No, Four.” 

“Yep, four.” Humming, she brushed past the door frame, leaving Plutarch blinking with confusion. “Come, I’ll show you.” 

On a split screen are screenshots of four tributes. Plutarch squeezed himself next to Kristine and followed her gaze, visibly relaxing when he noticed the absence of his star team. Kristine’s smile creased faintly, reminding Plutarch to slip his mask back on. He coughed, “It’s just, I thought the Mockingjay would have been on your list… Or her lover for that matter.” 

“Oh my god, no! I’m not petty like that !” Kristine giggled, waving her hand in front of Plutarch’s face. Kristine made a reminder to find a replacement for the game maker, this one’s annoying her. “My issues with the Mockingjay aren’t very personal. She’s endangering the entire Panem, and I want their death- The Mockingjay and the Baker Boy- to be fair and square.”

“However, these four on the other hand…”

“Ivan Animated, Cypher Den, Curt Richy, and Frugal Aesthetic?” Plutarch suggested. 

“Yes…” Kristine replied in a low hiss, “I want them to have a fun time in the arena. The most… Entertaining time.” 

“We have… Personal beef.” *

“Oh, alright then.” Plutarch smiled awkwardly. 

“Yeah.” Kristine nodded, “And he goes by Christian. That one.” 

“Oh. I did not know that.”