who's gonna hold you down?

Hemingway was still a moment as the lights came up and the tributes first emerged into the arena. It was a moment he had grown accustomed to over the years, but what followed it was nothing he had grown used to. How could you get used to watching children die? Year after year…

Quietly, he swore under his breath. This wasn’t what he had been expecting at all. Inside. They were bringing the games inside more alike the Seventy-second Games. “What the hell were they thinking?” He asked as he slammed his glass down and tried to gather his thoughts only.

“DAMN IT!” He cursed as he threw the glass against the wall. He had made himself very clear when he had told the tributes do not step off that pedestal early. “Why do we even try?!”

@thqstarter​​

...

He should’ve expected such a move from the Gamemakers. The pair from Twelve proved too resourceful for their own good and now the tributes of the Quarter Quell would be left to pay that price. Sticking them inside a building ensured that they would be less inclined to pull larger stunts especially at the risk of the structure’s integrity. Perhaps Cab was simply thinking like a mechanic, but it didn’t make him wrong. 

His inner thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a glass shattering. If Hemingway had been a part of the Games for this long and still worried to this extent, what could it possibly mean for his peace of mind? 

“I often wonder the same thing,” he replied, his eyes glued to the screen as he tried to spot Monroe. “Does it get any easier? It feels silly for even asking.”

“Well, how it’ll ever will be sucks.” She retorted with a huff. Of course, Monroe hypothesized Cab doubtlessly understood the unjust nature of the Games. The thought caused the smallest flutter of optimism to settle into her core. If victors like her mentors survived the arena, then what was to say she had no chance at all? “I guess you’re right. Let’s say for a second that I do with the Games. No one will watch over them better than I can.” Monroe agreed, lips curling into the faintest smile at the sentiment. Her smile widened at Cab’s poorly constructed wordplay. “If it only were that easy. I left a lot of unfinished work back home. I bet my boss is panicking trying to replace me. I’m pretty good at what I do, if I do say so myself.” She relayed, a chuckle escaping her lips this time. “Alright, if I play along and try to be a good tribute, what’s the first step? I’m already dreading the interview.”

...

Cab’s face lit up as soon as a spark of optimism came out of Monroe. “No, not just saying. I think your prospects are quite impressive. Ariadne and I will be the first one’s to greet you as soon as you make it out of the Arena,” he said, trying to inspire confidence. It wasn’t a mentor’s job to ease their tribute into the Games, some even choosing to make it all the more difficult for them. Cab just didn’t have it in him to tell her that the odds had been more dire than previous years with trained tributes. Monroe had enough to worry about as it is. The mention of work back in Six piqued his interest as he wondered what projects his tribute might have been tasked with at home. Unfortunately, his questions would have to wait until she returned from the Games. “Charm them, I suppose, but you already know that. Caesar will do the heavy lifting so all I ask if that you keep any outspoken opinions to yourself. Bite your tongue, smile, and you’ll be fine.”

‘can our boy learn?’ aria wanted to ask, while she believed in each and every one of their tributes equally, she knew district six wasn’t full of fighters. it was full of tinkerers and too skinny kids. “sure you didn’t,” an easy smile graces her lips, then hardens into a thin line, tributes — always a hard subject. “are you sure they even want to learn?”

she loved cab, she really did, he had, since she’d known him, been an excellent person to have around, but she would never understand his insistence on being quiet. normally, she would laugh, and carry on talking about whatever she had been saying, but this time was different. she was worried about her tributes this year, and she wanted them to go home more than anything. “you’re right,” it was something she didn’t concede easily, “though keeping out of trouble has never been my strong suit.”

...

“It isn’t like they have much say in the matter,” he admitted. “Nobody should learn how to survive under these circumstances.” Cab hated to speak on a tribute as if they were already a lost cause, but there was something to be said about managing his expectations after years as a mentor. It didn’t get any easier, but how could he go on dwelling about every tribute he’d failed?

Cab let out a sigh of relief when Ariadne agreed with him. He’d always known her to be quite headstrong and it might have been the very reason she escaped the Arena, but the pressure mounting after the 75th Games was almost too much to bear. “Trouble is what got the pair from Twelve where they are now. Six feet under,” he said, quietly. “Even the slightest hint of discontent could be a problem.”

Snowflake was glad he didn’t seem too bothered by the fact that she was here, more that the fact that she worked here. “well… sure. kids my age intern at all the positions in the tower.” baristas, stylists, escorts, trainers… she’d once heard, even, of someone who interened under the gamemakers after he graduated secondary school at 17. her mother had wanted her to be like that. or date them. “tributes are a lot younger, it’s not like this place isn’t kid friendly.” Frankly, snowflake thought it wasn’t anybody-friendly. but that was neither here nor there.

...

“It must be quite unsettling to see people your age compete as tributes while there are others in charge of coffee machines,” Cab commented as if speaking his inner thoughts aloud. It certainly puzzled him, though he thought it best to keep that to himself. Odder that she didn’t have to be surrounded by the Games, but had chosen to anyways. “Would it be too much to ask how exactly you’re involved in the Tower?”

Training had never failed to bring butterflies to Aspen’s stomach. As a tribute she had been so nervous she had spent the first day fighting the urge to be sick. Now, she still felt the urge to run away, but she didn’t. Her tributes needed whatever guidance she could give them, although she wasn’t so sure they were keen to get it. District Nine’s tributes were older than her and the thought that made them wiser.

Instead, Aspen headed to the one place she felt at home at. The first-aid station. It was not as nearly as fun as the camouflage station, but she knew a fair bit about medicines. “That plant there is aloe.” She said pointing to the plant laying beside the tribute’s hand. “Great for burns…” Ugh, she hoped the tributes wouldn’t have to face anything where they could get burned in their games. “My advice to you is stay away from mushrooms,” Aspen looked at the assortment sitting to their left. “I hear most of them are poison if you don’t know which is which and I have never been able to master it. How about you?”

@thqstarter​​

...

Cab listened carefully while the mentor from Nine offered her advice, memorizing her words as if he could bring it back to his own tributes. The more practical survival skills were often overlooked in favour of the flashier weapons stations, but even infections got the best of Careers. “I, for one, would stay away from anything that didn’t come from a parachute,” he admitted, examining the aloe between his fingers. Although the entertainment value relied on tributes fighting it out with one another, Cab couldn’t help but think how the Gamemakers made the arenas deadlier and deadlier every passing year. “I think I’d be more concerned with finding a source of water than anything else. Though, I don’t suppose you had any problem with that in your Games.”

“yes, cleo, I’m sending it in. don’t worry.”

Snowflake was having a day. she was walking down the hall, phone pressed against her ear as her more businesslike of the two bosses she had asked her where her articles were. Snowflake pinky promised she was doing it, and even clio melted (and she could hear cali sighing through the phone). she knew she was cute.

but she wasn’t sending it in, she’d been lying. she wanted to see what was going on in training. just for a minute or two, then she’d head back outside. she only wanted to peak in, even if she wasn’t really supposed to be here. so she peeked her head around the doorway, jaw dropping when she saw all the weapons and stations. she creeped in, looking around, and then realized someone was looking at her.

“please don’t tell my boss. o-or my mom.”

@thqstarter​

...

Cab was just about ready to leave the training center. What use would he be with throwing knives and swords, anyways? Though the idea of schmoozing with sponsors seemed nauseating, at least he didn’t have to risk any vital organs in the process. He was on his way to do just that when the younger girl stepped inside the doorway, bright-eyed and fascinated. It was unlike the way tributes typically looked when adjusting to their new surroundings. No, she was someone else entirely. “Boss? Am I to assume that someone your age actually works here?”

Monroe understood the odds never seemed in her favor. Her misfortune started with her father’s death and catapulted her to that very moment. She recalled her parents’ teachings about maintaining the status quo, but what prosperity had that brought into their lives? One parent was unjustly taken, while only the exterior shell of the other remained. These sentiments gave Monroe enough reason to express her frustration, even though she knew Cab had no part in them.

“Who do I blame it on then? My mother, the Peacekeepers?” She retorted, obsidian irises flicking to her mentor before focusing on her lap. “I would too, and I know I’d do it again. My only regret is that it probably changed nothing. My mother is too far gone, and it’ll only get worse after I’m gone. My brother won’t be able to save her.” Monroe muttered, giving Cab an apathetic smile for his attempts to console her. She imagined someone in his position must be equally frustrated watching their tributes perish. “I doubt I’m worth it but thank you. I’d prefer not to die just yet. I’m probably not making your job easier, am I?” 

...

Cab wanted to say that it was entirely everybody and nobody’s fault  — it was just the way things worked in Panem. Any attempt at changing it could come at the cost of their lives. Instead, Cab bit his tongue. There was no need to put any ideas into her head just before the Games.  It’s how it is and how it’ll ever will be,” he admitted sadly. It said a lot about the younger tribute that she was worried about her family while putting her own wellbeing on the backburner. “I think it’d be best if we focus on you at the moment. Your family will have to wait until we bring you home,” he said, hoping his positive attitude may just transfer over. “If I wanted easy, I would have stayed in Six to work on trains. But, we know something about chugglng along, hm?” It was a sorry attempt at a bad joke, but one he hoped might get a smile out of Monroe.

aria couldn’t help by scoff at her fellow victor, “please, cab, you know i could hit that target with my eyes closed.” she gave it a go, despite being out of the games for nearly fourteen years, she had continued to practice, mostly out of pure fear. hitting the bullseye, she raised her arms in victory, “YES!” perhaps it was a little dark, but also poetic, celebrating victory when 23 of the people in the room wouldn’t be able to.

“i’m hoping someone threw something at them,” she crossed the room to pull the weapon out of the dummy. “maybe an axe, throwing knives…” she hated those guys, always had, always would, she hoped one day she could get a punch in, but that was wishful thinking. “or maybe it was the infamous girl on fire. shot them.” she had to admit, if six couldn’t have won last year’s games, she had hoped it would’ve been the boy from twelve. he seemed good-hearted, which was difficult to come by.

...

Aria’s company was a welcome sight for Cab. It was one thing to have gone through mentoring the Games alone, but to have his failures and victories shared by at least one other person made the weight of the world that much easier to carry. “I never doubted you.” he said, honestly. “Maybe you can teach our boy something while you’re at it. I’m sure even Monroe can learn a thing or two.”

Cab stared at Aria dumbfounded, shocked that she could so speak so openly about the very people who had a vice-grip on their lives. “I suggest we keep out of trouble and that includes any unkind remarks about, well, you-know-who,” he said, nodding his head subtly towards the Gamemakers. “It’s the last thing this district needs, don’t you think?”

“Sometimes there is, but it’s never enough for everyone.” Lincoln replied with a somber tone. District Four prevailed when compared to other areas, but economic disparity also existed at home. Where had his neighbors been when his own family floundered with his father’s passing? Yet, the younger victor believed District Six had considerably worse fortune. He noticed on his Victory Tour and saw it reflected in the eyes of some tributes from the transportation district. It would frustrate him too.

Lincoln glanced down at his lap, cheeks reddening with his comprehension of the Games. If his old instructors at the Academy could hear him, they’d beam with satisfaction. They prided themselves on producing volunteers with laser focus. It seemed sickening that his life once revolved around the Games, but his knowledge also helped the tributes. “I think this is a solid group. With older tributes, each one has probably gotten a taste of their district’s trade by now, right? Depending on what that might be, I think there will be some unexpected standouts, even more than last year.”  

His brow furrowed, and he attempted to recall all the tributes in his mind. When his memory failed him, Lincoln chuckled and shook his head. “I still have to watch the recaps from a few Reapings.” He admitted with a sheepish smile. The victor from District Four normally honed in on certain districts, but the field of potential contenders felt larger than before. “Doesn’t help that half of the tributes are probably older than me either.”

...

“Well, your knowledge is much appreciated,” Cab answered. “Though, I suppose you could even argue that those from the Career districts, such as your own, might have had more time to train.” He didn’t believe that was very fair, but such a sentiment went without saying. Or, that it might have even made those from the lower districts more skilled at the cost of their weariness and aching backs. Cab knew all too well that the work back in Six aged even the teenage tributes he was sent every year. What did it make of someone who’d spent the better part of their life breathing in fumes and tinkering with dangerous machinery?

Esme turned her head slightly, keeping the bow string taut as she glanced at the man that had spoken. “I assure you, I don’t miss.” She pointed out. “If I do, it’s on purpose.” Then again, wouldn’t it be something if someone did accidentally injury a tribute in training. For a moment, she wondered what the Capitol would do. Would they make them go in the Games injured? Would they replace the tribute if the injury was catastrophic? It was an interesting thought to ponder.

“An unfortunate incident?” Now he had Esme’s full attention. Training sessions were supposed to be secret but she doubted that was completely true. If something juicy happened she was willing to bet all the Victors heard about it. She lowered her bow a moment. “If I hit the target, how about you tell me what it was?”

...

“Spoken like a tried and true Career,” Cab commented, picking up on her confidence. He’d often wondered what it must have felt like to have such arrogance. The feeling that winning the Games wasn’t a question, but an inevitability when you’d trained your entire life for such a moment.  Cab, on the other hand, couldn’t be certain of anything in the slightest. A part of him felt rather burdensome for interrupting her training in the first place. 

- 

The notion of starvation in District Six caused Lincoln to shift uncomfortably in his seat. He only visited the region on his Tour, but he had been there long enough. It seemed unjust that the Capitol reveled in magnificence while districts like Six suffered. Even Four managed to maintain slivers of wealth by winning the Games, despite not being the most affluent district. No wonder they always appeared at odds with each other. Lincoln’s family suffered at moments, but those misgivings paled in comparison to the hardships thrusted onto Six’s residents. “You’d think they’d be willing to share, wouldn’t you?” He murmured with a gaze toward Cab.

“I don’t know, the Games can mean various things to different people. The Capitol loves a good story, right? People here want to see things that set some tributes apart from the rest. They can throw their money behind one or two tributes, but there’s a better chance of making a profit by supporting a few, isn’t there?” Financial wagers had never been something Lincoln considered himself well versed in. “They want something entertaining, and the shock value of promising tributes from unexpected places may give it to them.” Evenly matched tributes put his own district at a disadvantage, but he supposed everyone deserved a win now and again. After all, decades passed between victories in some districts.

...

“I agree. It sounds like there’s enough to go around in Four.” Cab hadn’t meant for his voice to be dripping in disdain, resentment seeping through the cracks. It wasn’t Lincoln’s fault that his tributes would show up, year after year, frail and tired. Perhaps he benefitted from the very thing they were murmuring about, but Cab didn’t have it in him to place all the blame on the young man. It was just an outlet for Cab to put his frustrations on when he knew he couldn’t do much of anything.

Cab listened intently while the mentor from Four went on about his spiel. Lincoln was years ahead of him as it concerned the Games. They both might have survived the same ordeal, but the Academy must have given these Careers an edge that couldn’t be afforded to someone like Cab. “Very insightful, Mr. Conway,” Cab responded, pleasantly surprised. “What do you make of the tributes then? Do they seem promising thus far?”

One thought consumed Monroe Zimmer on the train ride to the Capitol. There must have been some type of mistake. She pondered this notion bitterly many hours later, as District Six’s team arrived in the Capitol. She seethed at the notion while Six’s prep team poked and prodded her in the Remake Center until she met the Capitol’s ridiculous beauty standards. Even now, as she stood alone with Cab Pallavan on District Six’s floor, the female tribute still pondered the same question. Of the thousands upon thousands of people in District Six, why was she chosen?

Monroe admittedly knew the answer to her question, even if she feigned ignorance. She knew her outspoken nature landed her on death’s doorstep, and there was nothing she could do about it. Did she have a chance to prevail in the arena? Perhaps she did; however, the Quarter Quell changed all the rules by allowing tributes beyond eighteen to step foot inside the arena. It was uncharted territory, and Monroe despised she would be one of the Capitol’s guinea pigs to test on now.

“Am I nervous? You’re really asking me if I’m nervous?” A shout escaped her lips before she could gather her emotions. “No, not nervous. Try furious, infuriated, and betrayed.” Monroe continued, slumping an open spot on the couch. “I know exactly why I was chosen. I stood up for my mother and what’s right, and now the Peacekeepers are making me pay for it. They already mess with her, so why should I pay too?” The question came out as a whisper filled with a combination of vexation and hints of remorse. “Sorry. I know you’re just trying to help.” 

...

Cab wanted to apologize. An apology for the one in Six who had nominated Monroe; to the unfair circumstances that they both found themselves victims to; and to her friends and family who might have just seen the young woman for the last time. But, what use would they be in the face of death? No, it would feel hollow and Cab knew that. He refused to provide empty promises to his tributes if he could help such a thing. 

He waved away her sorry with a flick of his hand, his mouth forming a hard line while he tried to think of the right words. Cab was never good at finding those. What could you say to someone who’s been singled out for doing what was right? “You can’t blame yourself for any of this,” he said, sighing. “Especially if it was done with the best of intentions. I would prefer to die knowing I stood up for my mother than if I just let it happen. Then again, I suppose I wouldn’t prefer to die at all. I’m...” Cab let the sentence linger, stopping himself from saying the very thing he wanted to avoid. “Often times, we owe ourselves a lot more than we give ourselves credit for. And, I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of there and see that your mother gives her thanks.”

Because it’s your punishment. It’s a way to keep you controlled…

“Maybe because the food is great?”  He shrugged when the man made a profund question. Finnick preferred acting like a clueless idiot. It was safer.  Every time someone tried to ask a meaningful question that could get him into troubles, he went the easy way.

...

“Fair point, my friend,” Cab agreed, though not wholeheartedly. “Have I told you that I’ve never had seafood before coming to the Capitol? It seemed like such a frivolous luxury in Six. Now that I see them toss it out unfinished and barely touched, I think the food has left a rather unpleasant taste in my mouth.”

Cab strayed around the Training Center, his rusty skills keeping him from staying in one area too long. It was hard to shake the feeling of restlessness now that the training period had started. Having been part of the Games for as much as he had, he’d found it to be as fascinating as it was morbid. Tributes from lower districts would be well versed in survival skills due in part to their work at home while Careers hadn’t a clue about telling one plant from another. Meanwhile, he noticed that those from One, Two, and Four knew more about weapons and combat from their time in the Academy. Some flourished where others simply paled. Considering that Gamemakers kept their cards close to their chests, only time would tell which tributes could stand out from the bunch. 

Flexing his fingers, Cab watched from a distance as someone readied their aim with a ranged weapon. He couldn’t tell heads or tails if they could meet the target, but he still held his breath in anticipation. “Please, don’t let me keep you. Even if you miss terribly, I doubt you’d be hitting anyone too important,” he smiled with a knowing wink as he looked over at the Gamemaker’s Box. “I heard they installed a barrier after a rather unfortunate incident last Games. I wonder what for, though...”

The other couldn’t have had made it anymore obvious that he had no interest in talking to Finn. Normally, he would take the hint, and find someone else to speak to. But, this wasn’t exactly a normal situation to him, and he would much rather be an awkward conversation rather not at all. “I can’t imagine they’ll get to see anything exciting, what a waste of time,” he says, before shrugging slightly, “Though, I guess they do have all the time to waste.” He nods at the question, glancing back at the man. From the way he spoke, he had to assume that he wasn’t another tribute, which was a relief. “Yup, first time,” he says, and hopefully not the last. “Though, you could normally see the lights of the Capitol in One. Just didn’t think it would actually live up to what we saw on TV.”

...

It felt odd speaking to trained Career when most of them had been responsible for most of his tributes’ deaths. Cab tried to ignore the lingering feeling that had uneased him about the young man, trained killer or not. “If I were you, I would try my best not to get on their bad side,” he offered. A tribute from One certainly didn’t need advice from someone like Cab, but rich Capitolites made for generous sponsors if they liked you well enough. “It’s even more than what you see on TV, if you can believe it. Is it better? Well, I can’t say for sure.” The Capitol was known for it’s decadence and luxury, but people from the outer districts didn’t see it’s ugly underbelly. “I take it that you’re adjusting to everything well?”

Had they chosen to sit elsewhere, perhaps Lincoln would have asked Cab about the word he’d use. The victor from Six might have won the Games fifteen years prior, but Lincoln felt familiar enough with him — or at least his Games. Years of study at Four’s Academy engrained a copious amount of trivia into his mind. Cab’s arena was easily among that glossary of knowledge. Therefore, Lincoln preferred not to draw more attention by asking a question that could potentially raise some eyebrows.

“That would be something, wouldn’t it? I’m sure everyone here would go crazy over 24 able bodied tributes.” He chuckled with some bitterness of the Capitol’s bloodlust. “The sponsors might just go insane trying to bet this year.” A dark thought floated into his mind that an unfortunate end to the sponsors wouldn’t be the worst thing. Lincoln felt uncomfortable around most Games sponsors, especially the ones with wandering eyes and lingering hands. “Guess that just means we’ll have to work harder to get the best ones.” He loathed groveling at the their feet, but he’d do it to help his tributes prevail.

“It makes me wonder what the Gamemakers will do to tip the scale.” There seemed years where the arena’s design gave an advantage to certain districts. “Unless they’re really trying to make it even.” He countered moments later, brow furrowing in an attempt to understand the Gamemakers.

...

“All the money in Panem, yet kids still go hungry in Six,” Cab said, instantly regretting his words. He knew to mind his manners in the Capitol, especially when they were surrounded by reporters looking for their next story. The idea of sponsors spending their money on the lives on children just didn’t sit well with Cab. Still, such a thing could only work to a Career district’s advantage. He hated to let his own biases get in the way, but he didn’t see Lincoln any differently than the rest of them. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the Games all about overcoming the odds? Wouldn’t it make it meaningless if tributes aren’t evenly matched? It would defeat the entire purpose that the Gamemakers are trying to prove.” Cab didn’t know why he felt the need to run his mouth, posing questions to a man who might not have even cared in the first place.