chaotic thoughts

When their eyes meet, Shane looks away and sips his glass of beer. It was tempting to gulp it all down and order one more, but he decides to take it easy today. One less glass for the day, maybe. Yet he fails and opens his mouth, about to ask for another when he realizes the farmer was still there and was now speaking to Gus who was drying off the glasses in his rack with a towel.

"Oh, hold on. Let me just give Shane a refill." He tells the farmer when he notices Shane's empty glass and his faraway look that had his eyes on them, watching and half-drunk already.

"Okay." The farmer chirps as she watches Gus give Shane a new glass filled to the brim with beer from the keg.

Shane was also watching Gus make his glass as when he finally receives his order, the farmer and his eyes meet again. He grumbles and looks away, like all of the encounters they had. Even when he was walking through town on the way to Joja as he passes her by with rudeness as he ignores her. He didn't care for her, truly. Or anyone for that matter. Anyone but one.

Grabbing the glass and another muttered thank you to Gus, Shane's eyes darts again at the farmer. And he looks away.

She had been staring at him and due to his recklessness and disobedient eyes that she may realize he was deliberately ignoring her gaze.

The farmer then smiles and shyly waves at him, unsure to attempt talking to him like she does most of the time. It was evidently clear that he didn't want to talk with her with how he often frowns and grumbles and his short replies and of course: his plain dialogue of actually telling the farmer that he doesn't want to. After a few rounds of those, when fall came by, she realized she hadn't talked to him since spring.

"Hi."

Shane looks up from his glass and sees the farmer in front of him. She had hopped off the stool and now stands in front of him. Looking to talk to him, Shane guesses.

"…Why are you bothering me? I want to be alone." He furrows his eyebrows.

"Here." She gives him a glass of beer and walks away, talking to Leah who had just walked in the saloon. Shane had gulped one too many beers that his face had turned red, at least, he hopes it did. He didn't want her too see that he appreciated her "gift" as it were.

"I know you're a prickly one, Shane…" Like how a bartender begins to give life lessons and needed advices, Gus stands a few stools away from the side of the bar, continuing to wipe off the never-ending glasses that Emily, the blue-haired bartender, had dropped off a few moments ago. "…But, you're not close with anyone here in town."

"I'm close with you." Shane furrows his eyebrows.

Gus lightly chuckles and shakes his head. "You're my customer, Shane. Sure, you get drunk and I help you when you're vomiting or too drunk to leave the Saloon, mumbling and stumbling…" He trails off and sighs, putting down a glass on a tray. "You don't tell me anything. Not that we're obliged to be friends once you pour your heart out to someone, I would still want you to be able to tell me your grievances. I know you're going through things with…Jas—"

"I'm close with Pam." Shane raises his glass across the bar towards a passed out blonde and middle-aged woman. Her face has planted on the wooden table. Gus turns his head and quickly comes to her aid.

"Oh, geez, Pam…" He mutters as he tries to position her head that wouldn't let her choke on the vomit that would inevitably come. Something Shane was all too familiar with.

He looks to the bottom of his glass. It was empty. He hadn't realized all the sips he was taking had been gulps. Huge gulps. He wondered if he could still even afford a few more nights like this, drinking until morning. It would be hard on his pockets, harder for his liver, harder for Jas to see him like this. But they rarely do ever see each other now, don't they?

If he left now, would he be able to read her stories as they did? Maybe go out to see the stars. He was sure Marnie wouldn't allow her to leave too late at night. She probably misses the stars that clouded the sky right about now. He recalls her hands that were as small as his pinky that tried its best to reach out as if wanting to touch the stars, to hold it in her hands and cherish it forever.

He burps.

And orders another glass of beer.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Not entirely sure if I should post it on ao3, but I am thinking about it.

I wanted to write a Shane fic since I wanted to show how most players would usually go for Shane first given how he’s probably the first few characters players would interact with. But even so, his story is very interesting and beautiful that I wanted to share more of what Shane is (to me in my headcanons) and how much of an influence us, the players, and in-game, the farmer influences Shane.

There were four other tributes left. Boy from 1, Boy from 4, Girl from 7, and… Boy from 5. He wasn’t necessarily good, not on par with any of the rest left. Or even the ones that didn’t make it. So I don’t understand how he could have gotten this far.

He had, what, a 6 to his name? He had strength, some skills, and maybe a few techniques.

His breathing was off. He looked as if he couldn’t concentrate and like something was banging in his head. I look to his belt. There were no canister or any container that could hold water. No one sent him anything. Couldn’t even grab one from the other tributes?

I gasped for air and find all the strength in me to move my body as I try to push him off with my legs. He yelps from shock and falls beside me. My hands were shaky from the numbness and I couldn’t get them to move, much less grab the dagger from my boot.

So I do something.

My teeth had dug into his neck, and I could feel the vibration from his shriek. I tore his skin off. He falls and wriggles, reaching for his torn neck. Blood spews from it, but not enough to have made him weak or unmoving. Yet it did.

Then, I noticed the long, cylindrical, metallic shape on the side of his belt. It was a spile. He couldn’t have been dehydrated to be this weak or distracted. Could it have been something from the Games?

Blood drips from my mouth, and I know the Capitol and the Districts are watching me. Their eyes glued to the screen or maybe turned away from it. I could taste the iron, but I don't rinse it off or wipe it away. A feeling in my chest weighed heavily, not the kind where the boy from 5 decided to sit on top of me, but something I had never felt extremely before.

It's different from when you're wielding a knife, a bow, or a weapon when you take someone's life. It's different when you do it yourself. Something the boy from 5 seemed to be willing to do. And me.

The cannon goes off.