muted-like-sunset

• alcohol/drugs

• blood/gore

• death

• hospitals

• illness/disease/injury and symptoms

• insects/arachnids (ex. moths, spiders, scorpions, etc.)

• mutated/anthropomorphic animals

• needles

• survival situations

• swearing

• violence

• weapons (biochemical/biological)

“Your actions reflect badly on all of us!” Effie scolds, pointing again with her fan. She scoffs like she has been personally offended, continuing. “I have never-”

Haymitch chooses then to arrive and, bless him, speaks immediately. He’s fighting down a grin, his eyes strangely proud when he looks at her. “Nice shooting, sweetheart.”

Effie gapes at him, huffing high. “You would approve. You know-”

He cuts Effie off again. Either he’s done putting up appearances or he feels sorry for her, because he crosses the living room and nudges one of the chairs with his leg until it's facing the couch. He sits with a huff, kicking up a leg to rest over his knee. “You know, I didn’t think you had all this,” He laughs when he finds the word he’s looking for, watching her. “Fire in you.”

“I don’t. I wasn’t trying to hit anyone.” She says unconvincingly. She’s still angry, a little, and terribly embarrassed, but Haymitch is grinning like she’s told an incredible joke. She shifts her weight, casting a short glance to where Peeta stands closer to Effie than the couch. “I really am sorry.”

Haymitch shrugs, but Effie huffs again. “Sorry. Did you hear that, Cinna?”

Great. With Cinna here too, she dips her chin again. It would be much, much better to deal with this with just the other three, but with the stylists too? Even Peeta can’t help the feeling settling in her chest. 

“What did they say?” Cinna asks cooly, always so calm. 

“Nothing. I mean, not while I was there.” She explains quickly, picking invisible lint from her dark pants. She schools her face, prepping for the inevitable explosion. “I walked out.”

“You what? Without being dismissed?” Effie almost shrieks, pressing her manicured fingers against her forehead as she steps from the side of the room and towards the bar cart. In truth, she feels guilty. If shooting at the gamemakers wasn’t already enough, now she’s driven poor Effie to drink. 

“Well, that's that.” Haymitch says, swirling his own glass. 

Y/N shifts, mind running fast as she works through the potential consequences to her actions. She has a thousand questions, most revolving around the persistent mental image of her family being dragged out of their home by peacekeepers. Their things gathered up in a pile in the middle of the house and set ablaze or, worse, the whole house going up in flames. Images of her brother being the first in years to swing in the old hanging tree. She squeezes her knuckles between her hands individually, listening to the little pops Asher hates so much. She’d never do it again if she could just go home. “Are they going to arrest me?”

“Nah,” Haymitch hums, almost like none of this is all that exciting. He isn’t grinning anymore, his face flatter. “Be a pain to replace you at this point.”

“Are they going to punish my family?” She asks quieter, sitting forward in her chair like the whole room isn’t listening. She presses her nails into her palms, the sharp pain practically unnoticeable when her heart is racing like this. 

“Wouldn’t make any sense.” Haymicth says, his eyes focusing on her. He uncrosses his legs, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees. His glass rests between his hands, his thumb swiping through the condensation mindlessly. “See, they’d have to say what happened in the Training Center for it to have a worthwhile effect. People would have to know what you did, but they can’t since it’s supposed to be secret. It’d be a waste of effort. More likely they make your life hell in the arena.”

“Isn’t that already the plan?” Peeta says almost under his breath, sitting a seat away from her on the couch. It’s nice not to be the only one sitting here, facing the whole room alone. Peeta looks at her like he’s thinking. “Or did they bring us here to play dress up and go home.”

She can’t help the way the corners of her mouth lift, looking over to him with a small smile. Its not really clear if he’s just generally irritated by the situation or if he’s maybe trying to make her feel better. She mumbles back, making her voice higher in an imitation of their escort. “Manners, Peeta.”

Across from them, Haymitch huffs a laugh, shaking his head and glancing to Effie where she’s rejoining the room. Y/N feels a little better seeing her return without a drink, instead holding some little gem colored confection between her fingers. Haymitch hums a little like he’s thinking before he speaks. “What were their faces like?”

She looks at him, tilting her head for a moment before she answers. “Uh, surprised? Terrified, I think one of them knocked over their drink.”

Haymitch outright laughs at that, doubling over a bit before sitting upright again to wipe at his eyes. Everyone gives at least a small laugh, the tension diffused. Everyone but Effie.

“Well it serves them right.” She says suddenly, puffing her chest out a little as she speaks. Y/N tries not to look too shocked. “It's their job to pay attention to you, they have no right to ignore you just because you’re from District Twelve.”

Haymitch’s brows raise as he looks at her, fighting a grin. She jerks like she’s realized what she’s just said, like it was something to be appalled by. She purses her lips, doubling down. “I’m sorry, but that's what I think.”

Instead of moving to the table for dinner, they sit in the living space. Avoxes bring their meal and set it on the large coffee table and they pick over it. It's almost comfortable, would be if not for the rising bile in Y/N’s throat. Punishment, they’ll certainly make her life hell in the arena. Does that extend to Peeta? Will the careers still want her when she gets her score tonight? Picking at the meager portions she put on her plate, she speaks before she can stop herself. “I’m going to get a bad score.”

“No one really pays attention to scores unless they’re very good.” Portia says wisely, spearing a cube of fruit on the plate on her lap. It's odd to see them all look so casual. In their varying colorations, Effie’s bright pink hair and Octavia’s green skin, they look like they’ve spilled out of a candy bowl. “For all they know you’re hiding a talent and scoring low on purpose, people do that.”

Its true. There was a tribute a few years ago, this wisp of a girl from District Seven who she didn’t even remember until halfway through the games. It was a mistake she shared with the careers that year. The girl cried when she was reaped, had been weepy every time the cameras were on her until the arena. Only, her crying meant no one thought to spare her a second glance. She turned out to be skilled with an axe. Y/N hardly recognized her when they put that golden crown on her head.

“I hope that’s how people feel about my score.” Peeta says. “I might get a four, if that. I mean, what’s less exciting than watching someone throw a heavy ball? I swear, I almost dropped one on my foot.”

She grins, looking at him. It's then that she realizes how hungry she is, taking a bite instead of pushing at her food. Things are alright. Effie isn’t really mad, maybe just shocked. They can’t arrest Y/N. Her family won’t be punished. Really, things are just the same as they were before. 

They don’t have to move for the announcement of the scores, everyone finds a place to sit as avoxes come to clear away the meal. She looks for the redheaded girl among them to no avail, it seems like she has almost disappeared. They work through the districts one by one, showing a picture of the tribute and then revealing their score. The careers all score as expected, anywhere from an eight to a ten. Glimmer gets an eight, Marvel and Clove score nines. Cato’s picture is of him with his arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face as though to say I’ve already won. He scores the highest of the careers, pulling a ten.

Everyone else scores somewhere around a five, but Rue manages a seven. Y/N can’t help but feel good about that. Who knows what she showed the gamemakers, but it must have been impressive. She’ll get a sponsor for sure with a score like that, people love rooting for the underdog. 

When it comes time for District Twelve, they start with Peeta. His picture comes up on screen and the announcers talk about him for a few quick seconds, remarking on his size. They try to figure out if he’s a contender in all of this or if maybe being from Twelve cancels out any abilities he might have. He scores an eight and she can’t help the breath that leaves her as they announce it. That's the score of a career, someone must have been watching him for a score like that. Portia pats him on the knee with a smile and he straightens, looking between her, Haymitch, and Effie before starting to smile. He looks at Y/N, nodding like they’ve spoken.

“Good job.” She says quietly to him as the announcers discuss his score somewhat excitedly. No one from District Twelve ever scores very high, especially not as high as the tributes from One. “They must have thought you were a lot more impressive than you let on.”

“Maybe they just didn’t see me almost drop that weight.” He jokes. It's nice for him to be somewhat relaxed again. A score that high combined with his charm? He’ll have more sponsors than Haymitch will know what to do with. She swallows, sitting back as her face comes up on screen. For a moment, it's quiet in the apartment. She’s not even sure what the announcers say, her blood rushing loud in her ears. Then, they’re flashing her score up on screen. 

Eleven.

She doesn’t know whether to be relieved or confused. Effie cheers, standing from her seat in an excited little bounce as people congratulate Y/N. It’s hard to focus, her brows knitting together as she stares at the screen. “No way.”

“They must have liked that fire, sweetheart.” Haymitch muses, looking at her with a sort of proud smile. “They’re putting on a show after all, they need some heat.”

“Y/N L/N, the girl who was on fire.” Cinna grins, coming over and pulling her into a hug. He pulls back, a mischievous sparkle in his brown eyes. “Wait until you see your interview dress.”

“More flames?” She guesses, giving a nervous laugh. 

“I have a few things up my sleeve.” He lilts, his hands running down her arms to hold her wrists, holding them out from her body a bit as though still considering final changes. 

They stay up a while longer before Effie encourages them to sleep. Their coaching will start early tomorrow morning, an undoubtedly long process. She and Peeta hesitate at their doors and then look to one another. Peeta speaks first. “Do you want to go to the roof?”

She nods, moving to the door just down the hall that leads to the stairs. They go to the greenhouse immediately this time, welcomed into its warmth. She leads Peeta back to the bench where they talked last, sitting sideways and pulling her legs up. Peeta sits next to her. The windchimes are quieter tonight, the artificial wind in the greenhouse less than before. She can’t help but wonder if its to hear them better. 

“Guess I’m lucky we’re allies.” Peeta muses with a small smile.

“Maybe, maybe not.” She hums, fingers rubbing the seam down the leg of her pants. She looks away from him and into the greenhouse, eyeing the blooms and thinking of the meadow in Twelve split by the fence. Are the yellow daisies in full bloom yet? There had been a few buds poking up all year until one bloomed a few days before the reaping. 

“Maybe?” Peeta echos, his voice strange. Happy, almost, but not quite. “You scored higher than anyone else, no way the careers won't want you now.”

She sits up rigid, looking back to him like she’s been caught. It makes no sense, the way she feels her face heat and her chest tighten. “What?”

“Oh come on, Y/N.” He breathes, his voice mild. His hand comes to take hold of her ankle, encouraging her legs out from where she has them pulled tight to her body. “I saw you talking at lunch, it's not like you all were being quiet.”

“I don’t-” She takes a breath, keeping her body rigid. He doesn’t seem upset, his hand is gentle where it holds her ankle. His finger taps her skin after a moment and he gives her a nod, readjusting how he’s sitting and pulling her legs to lay across his. It’s more comfortable like this, but that doesn’t keep the heat from her face. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?” He prompts, turning a little so he can face her without pushing her legs off of his lap. He’s warm even through the layers between them. They’re quiet for a second, then a minute. She doesn’t know what to say, how to explain that the entire time she’d been telling him they were allies she had also been buddying up to the careers. She drops her chin down closer to her chest, thinking. His hand shifts, laying on top of her calf. “Look, I’m not mad, if that's what you’re thinking. Confused, but not really mad.”

She looks to him again, studying. “Why not? I lied.”

“Did you?” He asks, tilting his head. His breath huffs in a small laugh and he shakes his head. “You don’t look like you’re lying when you say we’re allies.”

“Then how do I look?” Even she thinks she sounds quiet.

“Honest, maybe a little conflicted.” He matches her volume easily, lips splitting in a smile that doesn’t brighten his eyes like it should. “That hurts, by the way. I know I’m no career, but an eight is pretty good.”

She laughs back and his eyes do brighten then, looking up to watch her. His fingers trace a small, senseless pattern on her calf while they talk. “I think an eight almost makes you a career.”

“Oh, so my chances are good, then?” He teases. She likes this much more than being weird and distant with him, almost more than she liked holding his hand in the tribute parade. “I mean, Marvel seems great and all, but I know not to cross you or risk getting shot at.”

“You’re terrible.” She says, grinning. It has no bite, almost more fond than anything. It's strange to think that just days ago they were practically strangers. The pressure of death, of being alone in their final moments, seems to push them to honesty. His hand comes up to his chest in faux offense, his slack jaw betrayed by the crinkling at the corners of his eyes. They descend into giggles all over again. 

“Really, though.” He starts, leaning his head against the back of the bench. She matches his posture, infinitely more relaxed than when they came up. “Are you actually thinking of joining them?”

She shrugs, lips pulled sideways as she thinks. “I don’t know, maybe. It’d be smart, wouldn’t it?”

“If you’re not worried about trying to sleep around them.” He jokes, but his tone is tense. Almost like the idea itself if horrifically laughable. 

“I’d be safe for a while, at least.” She tries. It’s true that the careers usually don’t break down until there's not many tributes left, but what’s to say that having one too many allies won’t change that. “They get plenty of sponsors, they always seem to have food. I’d leave before things got bad.”

“And when they start hunting tributes?” Peeta prompts, his fingers stilling their pattern. She knows what he means, what he won’t voice. What happens when you have to kill someone?

They stay up for a while longer, just until they start to yawn. Peeta watches her for several seconds when they reach their rooms, like he’s thinking, but then he relaxes. “Goodnight.”

The day seems to catch up to her then, her eyes drooping as she shuts her door. She hardly opens her eyes to undress and don sleep clothes, the cool fabric waking her just enough to crawl into bed and pull up the blankets. The voices of the announcers calling her score echo in her mind as she drifts off. 

The morning is bright, sunlight bouncing off of everything shiny in the streets of the Capitol as though seeking her room specifically. Her instinct is to cover her face, roll over, anything to get the light out of her eyes. It’s a Sunday, after all. A day of rest. 

In Twelve, at least. 

She groans, stretching her arms high above her head and squinting back out of the window. Sunday. She wonders if Katniss and Gale might already be in the woods, hoping they’ve managed to get Asher under the fence. 

It’s almost funny to imagine him in the woods. She pictures him like she once was, huddled against the base of a tree and looking for help. She tries to imagine him in her place, how he would have looked if Katniss and Gale had found him waiting there instead of her. How he would have done setting snares or stringing a bow. It wouldn’t be hard for him, he’s strung instruments for people in town before. His hands are lithe in a way that lends itself to music more than carrying a pickaxe or shoveling coal. 

Effie’s knocking is sharp and quick, her voice to match. “It’s going to be a big, big, big day!” She’s not wrong, exactly. Tomorrow night will be the interviews, her final shot at winning sponsors before the Games start. 

She gets up slowly and heads for the shower. Curiosity has her picking over the buttons with a closer eye, eventually picking one with a scent like the powder compress in her Mama’s top drawer. It's sort of softly floral in a way that makes her wonder if she’s imagining it, clean and soft like soap. She doesn’t let herself think on it long, wary of missing home, and instead focuses on dressing and heading to breakfast. Peeta, Effie, and Haymitch are huddled around the table when she arrives, speaking in hushed voices. It’s odd to say the least, strange in a way that makes her eye them as she fills her plate.

Little fruits, a roll she pours honey over, a stew with chunks of lamb and plum. She manages a few small mouthfuls before she gives up on pretending not to notice, setting down her fork and sipping her orange juice. She wipes her mouth with her napkin, looking between the trio. “What’s going on? You’re coaching us today, right?”

“Right,” Haymitch agrees.

“You don’t need to wait on me, I can listen and finish breakfast.” She watches him for several seconds, eyes narrowing. He’s off this morning, but beyond just being sober. It’s like he’s avoiding something, so she presses. “Everything’s okay, right?”

“Change of plans,” Haymitch says, his voice plain. “The current approach is out.”

“Okay,” She says slowly, brows furrowing. She looks to Effie, who keeps her eyes on her plate, and then to Peeta before looking back to Haymitch. “What’s the new plan?”

“Right,” He nods, reaching his left hand to brush through his hair. You wonder, for a moment, how it doesn’t get caught in his blond waves. “Look, I’m sure you’ve heard the formal is coming up?”

“Is that a question?” You retort, sitting up a little. This is where the teasing starts, you're sure of it. Any minute one of his friends will pop out with a video camera. “Yeah, I know about the formal. What about it?”

“Yeah. I was just wondering,” You hold up a hand to stop him, heaving a sigh as you hike up one of your legs and throw your arm across it, resting on your bent knee. 

“Yeah, I’ll pass, Mellark.” The words come out dry, having done your best to mask any hurt. It isn’t rejection, not really, but you’re hurt nonetheless. His brows furrow as he straightens, clearly caught off guard. “What, is this a joke or something?”

He has the decency to look confused, at least. You're starting to grab your bag when he collects himself, shaking his head vehemently. “No, no. Nothing like that.”

“Right.” You deadpan, hauling yourself up. With your bag thrown over your shoulder, you pause on your way to the sidewalk. “You know, I never pinned you as the kind of guy to play with girls like that, Mellark. Thought your friends had that handled.”

“Wait!” He calls, trailing after you as you begin your trip toward the dorms. For a moment, you consider making a scene. “Let me try that again, please? I just, I need to ask you something.”

You ignore him, irritated that he’s still following you. He never seemed all that mean, but you can’t always be right. You don’t cut him off again, letting him follow behind you as you make your way across campus. It's almost funny, Peeta Mellark trailing you desperately, walking backward at your side as you ignore him. His blue eyes are bright and wide as he peeks back on occasion when his foot catches on something. 

“Go out with me? Just, just once and you never have to talk to me again.” He pleads quietly, a hint of something else in his voice. Something like a bargain.

You relent, not looking his way as the sidewalk gives way, temporarily, to a stone bridge over the river. “What's in it for me?” 

He perks up, brows shooting up as he stumbles at the change in the path. He catches himself easily, one of the perks of athleticism, you guess. “For you? Uh…”

Across the bridge, some of his usual friend group are gathered. Clove Kentwell and Cato Hadley, the school’s on-again-off-again couple who must be on-again, are pressed against one another at the edge of the bridge. Clove is perched on the wall, her pretty face pulling into a grin at their approach. Beside them, Glimmer Belcourt gives you a saccharine grin. You falter in your steps momentarily, considering backtracking and making your way around campus to the dorms. 

“Ooh, what’s happening here?” Clove calls, cupping a hand next to her mouth. Already spotted, you dip your chin and hasten your steps. It isn’t enough for them to leave you alone, Glimmer steps into your path before you can exit the bridge. 

“Peeta, hey.” She purrs, reaching a hand out to rest against his chest. You grimace, stepping to the side to continue your path. Glimmer, when she isn’t totally sleeping with Cato and maybe even Clove, is pretty well known to have her eyes firmly on Peeta Mellark. You don’t want to be in the middle of her affection any more than you want to be in a closet with a bobcat. Peeta’s hand shoots out, wrapping carefully around your wrist to keep you from leaving. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, Glimmer’s eyes trail down his arm to you quickly. “Need something?”

“Me? No.” You manage, trying to pull out of Peeta’s grasp. You’re opening your mouth to speak again when he cuts you off.

“We were just about to drop her stuff off and go get some food.” He smiles, rubbing your wrist with his thumb. A shiver shoots up your spine at the contact, but you don’t pull away. It feels like your body is betraying you, relaxing under his grip when you should be ripping your arm away. “Right?”

Your brows furrow, watching him for a moment. His blue eyes meet yours, pleading. You shouldn’t, you really really shouldn’t, but leaving him with them feels inexplicably bad. You’ll have to ask for something impressive in return.

You turn your hand to grasp his back, encouraging him away from Glimmer and to your side. Your other hand comes up to his arm, wrapping around the inside of his bicep as far as your fingers will go. Glimmer’s brows knit together and you give her a slow smile. “I think the plan was Sae’s.”

His eyes brighten, easing away from Glimmer’s hand on his chest and toward your side. You exit the group with a little tilt of your head, trying to look teasing and not irritated. His hand stays in yours until you make it past the bend in the sidewalk that takes you between dorm buildings. 

“Your friends seem really great.” You say, turning to face him as you reach the door to your dorm building and stop on the first step. Keys jingle in your hand as you fish them from your pocket, working to unlock the door. The key sticks, as it sometimes does in the heat, and you pull it back out before trying again. 

“They’re alright.” Peeta says after a minute of quiet. You throw a look over your shoulder, squinting at him in disbelief. You can’t imagine, after that interaction, that he genuinely thinks that. Then, maybe he does. You can’t say you know Peeta any better than you know the rest of them. “They can be a little bit much, I guess, but they’re good people.”

You have to bite down a laugh, nodding as you get the door unstuck. It’s swollen in the heat and humidity of early fall, the late summer conditions seem hellbent on sticking around a little longer. You push in on it hard, stepping into the dorm and turning to face him. You’re deciding what to do when he speaks up. 

“I can wait here.” He says easily, giving you a reassuring smile. It broadens a little, shier as he looks to his feet. “I mean, if you want to actually go. My treat, of course.”

“You’ll do anything to get that date, huh?” You tease, trying to keep your cool. His persistence is endearing, especially since it isn’t accompanied by any leering or needless touching. Sighing, you throw a look down the main hall of the dorm building like you can physically feel the calling of your bed before leaning against the frame. “Fine, just – give me ten minutes. You wait here.”