𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞.

The promise of reuniting with her loved ones brought a sense of peace to Prim, but she already knew being locked underground would make her antsy sooner rather than later. It hadn't even been a full day before Prim asked to volunteer at the medical bay-- insisting that she would be more useful healing the injured tributes than waiting around in her dorm. Plus, this way she could keep a close eye on those she cared about.

Perhaps that's why she found herself wandering over to Finch's room. She told herself it was merely to see if they were okay, but truthfully, their heart had missed Finch from the moment she left their apartment the night of the interviews. She knew the victor may never reciprocate her feelings, but even just being around them was enough to make her content.

She quietly peeked her head into their room, eyes widening when she saw they were awake. Her heart raced as she gently slipped into the room, a light smile perched on her lips as she settled next to their bed. ❝Hey, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?❞

well — except one. head in their hands, finch hadn’t seen her walk in. the moment the door opened, they’re cursing about leaving them alone and fully preparing themself to throw whatever’s closest at the door if they didn’t. they’d spent the last two days or so in and out of sedation — everytime finch woke up, they’d go into a fit of rage. they’re fairly certain their kicking and punching even as they were held down made contact somewhere, and it only made them feel a little better. they’d woken just under an hour ago, still feeling slightly loopy, but now they just seethe.

Annie settled in beside Peeta, a soft smile crossing her features before it quickly faded. ❝Only to me. I'm sure the rest of the room doesn't suspect a thing.❞ She listened to his question, a hesitance in her eyes as she thought about the answer. Did she truly know how she was feeling? One moment she felt elated at the extra time to spend with her family, the next moment the realization of their fate began to sink in. After a while, she finally answered, ❝I feel... lost. I don't know whether to feel happy or sad. I just--❞ She paused, reaching for his hand. She needed a tether to hold onto, or else she was afraid her mind would begin to slip away once more, ❝I thought this delay was a blessing, but I'm beginning to wonder if it's just another punishment from the Capitol.❞

peeta has been in the capitol for a long time - granted, not as long as some others, but long enough to know they hadn't expected to make any genuine connections while being here. especially during a games where his family is supposed to be competing against other families going back in. but in reality, he simply felt safe with annie - they were both dealing with the same insane circumstances, and no matter what outcome snow intended for it was nice to find a friend here for once.

when she takes his hand, he does not waste a moment squeezing it, taking both hands to hold hers. though the years have hardened him in some ways, peeta would never truly be able to shut himself off completely from the connection of others. in part, it's what got him here. they think of the day outside of the tribute center, walking around the block with her -- if annie needed grounding, peeta would gladly be that for her. they think for a moment at her words, a slight frown on their lips. "i think we just have to take the blessings as they come, annie," they decide. "there's not many going around. but i wouldn't blame anyone if they felt the opposite. it feels like there's more than one game being played."

something is wrong. like a slightly out of tune piano, the current aura surrounding the games felt peculiar. the victors have yet to step foot into the arena, and already does madge suspect that some underlying force would alter the games in ways they least expected. she clutches the charm of her necklace out of a habit, her free hand coiled self soothingly around her waist. it is her obligation as someone who’s never entered the arena, someone who never had a relative reaped (not including an aunt reaped prior to her conception), to remain composed and steadfast— a grounding presence for those around her. it is the least you can do, they remind themself, pleading with their heart to decelerate. 

the count down is replaced with a dull ringing that pervades all her senses. an unfortunate side effect of playing in an orchestra for so long— and one that seemed aggravated further by stressful situations. the crashing of a chair in a nearby room whisks her away from her anxieties. madge shudders in response, whirling on her heels to uncover the source of the noise. 

they are met with their dear friend peeta mallark, a reoccurring presence since their early childhood— and one of the few friends she maintained contact with after her departure to the captiol. their present condition is alarming. madge hurries to his side, eyes returning momentarily to the screen, and it abruptly dawns on her that there is a significant amount of tributes missing. katniss and peeta’s child, for one. she instinctively reaches for peeta and eventually retracts, not wanting to startle them further. compassion is woven throughout her composed demeanor. “you don’t have to apologize for having emotions,” madge insists. “how are your injuries. do you need medical attention?”

the first thing you learn in this world is that there are few people you can truly trust - doubt, doubt, and doubt again. everything is a performance, you must give them what they want. the hardships endured in twelve instill even worse things in you, but if there is one thing peeta knows they have had, it's a sense of community - peeta has always felt kinship with those in twelve. they struggle together, though he realized too late that even that was not entirely true. peeta and madge were both townies - they had it easier than those in the seam. peeta is grateful for their friendship, especially now. a grounding force, kinship -- this is what they need.

he relaxes a bit once able to recognize their voice. "i - i don't know," he answers honestly. "i haven't looked." he doesn't care enough to look, his own well-being so far down on the list of his priorities at the moment if not the very last. eyes glued to the screen, he struggles to formulate a sort of plan. "i've got to talk to sponsors." he decides. he prays haymitch and effie have more sense than he does at the moment. "that's the only way i'll be able to help them - have they said anything about - about where they're at?" peeta asks, finally tearing his eyes from the screen to his friend.

Ash would never admit it, but Blanche not being on her screen made her scared. She was supposed to be the last Dewitt sibling sent into the arena, not Blanche. Her little sister was supposed to be free from the pain and trauma she went through, but instead, she was nowhere to be found two days into the games. Was she already dead? Or was she out there alone, scared, and fighting for her life? Ash couldn't decide which outcome was worse.

Like always, Ash determined that the best way to cope with this circumstance would be to destroy stuff. It might not have been the healthiest way to express her frustrations, but she long gave up on healthy coping methods after almost dying in her own arena. Instead, she grabbed a few lighters from her room and the trash from the kitchen and set out to distract herself from her family's potential fate.

Ash threw the trash into one of the trashcans and was about to light it on fire when she noticed a shadow lurking behind her. She quickly turned around, eyes narrowing when she realized it was none other than MAXIM CRANE. The man had become a semi-regular presence in her life, but she wasn't quite sure whether he was a welcome presence or not. Right now she was leaning towards an unwelcome presence. ❝Fuck off, Crane. I'm not in the mood to listen to you reminisce about your glory days right now. ❞

maxim, despite being a twin, was the youngest of his family. he'd been told many times he acts this way, and despite his adamancy that he doesn't see it -- he's never seen it more than when he interacts with the dewitt child. you could say he's getting a taste of his own medicine, but he'd absolutely never admit it. so when he exits the tribute center for one moment of peace (laughable in itself - you were never really alone in the capitol, he knows) and is greeted by the sight of ash dewitt with a lighter in hand, he cannot help but sigh. since when did he become a babysitter?

really, he isn't. he could just as easily walk the other way and ignore that she ever spoke to him. he could save himself the headache of one of their conversations that usually just consisted of bickering and max stooping down to her level. but ash looked upset - not out of the usual for her, but considering two of her sisters were in the games right now, he felt as though it would have been a little rude to leave her alone despite her telling him to fuck off. the thing with maxim crane is that it would take much more than a few mean words to scare him away, and if there's one thing he knows he can do in this situation, it's distract her from whatever is on her mind with stupid banter.

"glory days?" he scoffs, strolling up beside her. "even on my worst skating days am i better than you, dewitt." he rebuts easily, hands stuffed in his pockets. max glances from the lighter to the trash can and raises a brow and speaks dryly. "what is this, a new pastime the kids in the districts have come up with?"

"Lo-Lo, you are literally the sweetest," She says, playfully batting at Aloysius' arm. "And you're totally right, I look amazing in pink – that's why I was so excited to wear it to the launch party today, but it's been, like, postponed, so I got all dressed up for no reason." She huffs, brushing a loose strand of hair back over her shoulder. She shakes her head at the question, "No, I only spill stuff on myself when I'm wearing white. I think I'm like cursed or something – I'm not even going to be able to have any cake when I get married because I'll just ruin my dress." A brief pause, as she considers this, "Unless I get a white cake, then you won't be able to see where it spills. That's such a good idea." She'll need to add it to the scrapbook.

whereas most people in the capitol seem to speak with him in an unkind fashion, or have him question whether they were laughing with or at him, he never had to guess with celestia. mostly because she was too busy talking about herself to really do any of those things, and if alo could appreciate one thing, it's not being the center of attention in a conversation. so really, talking to cece helps way more than it ever hurts, even if he does struggle to keep up with how fast she changes topics. it's usually easy enough to reel back in, though - she was extremely easy to talk to. and after the days he's been having, alo could use a good distraction.

he rubs at his arm where she'd hit him absently, a nervous chuckle falling from his lips. alo nods as she speaks, once again trying to keep up with her. he thinks back to his conversation with the stylist the other day - if he had retained any of that knowledge, he might be able to contribute a little more. "i do the same thing," he admits. "but i also spill stuff on myself with any other color, too." alo considers her resolving statement and tilts his head a bit, "aren't wedding cakes usually white?" he asks rhetorically, mostly to himself.

DISTRICT THIRTEEN was many things, but forthcoming was not one of them. The task Prue had been assigned was simple enough – safe enough. Or, at least, this is what Prue had assumed. She'd been instructed to head to the city centre, to keep an eye out for peacekeepers, for Capitol reinforcements. Just simple intelligence gathering – apparently, there was going to be some sort of resistance activity happening later in the day. What, exactly, Prue didn't know – she didn't have the clearance for that kind of information. There had been the consideration to simply go by herself – but when Nazanin had offered to tag along, Prue had been quick to agree. Then again, she was quick to agree to most things that Naz suggested. Especially if it meant spending time alone together.

nazanin has always struggled with stretching herself thin. if she could multiply herself and be several places at once, she would -- especially when things begin to get more and more tense with each day that passes. she knows this is what they've been waiting for, that this is the sole reason they are in the capitol. but it's when she sees her loved ones suffering -- in any way, no matter how small -- it's as if something comes over her, a natural instinct to protect. and no matter how much she would like to, naz cannot be in multiple places at once. so she settles for what she's done since childhood -- follow prudence.

two things were guaranteed when they were together. one, naz felt safe -- there was no performing around prue. there had never been any expectations, nothing to bring except what was authentically her. and two, she did not have to worry what danger her best friend might be in, because no matter where she was, this was a given. all of her thoughts, rambling and coherent alike, would return back to prudence warren like a boomerang.

so it's almost a comfort to know that they were side by side when the city caught fire. it's a comfort until they lose her in the streets and rubble surrounds their every direction, casting them in darkness save for dusty streams of orange shining through cracks in the building surrounding them. they tried to stay close to prue, holding onto her hand for dear life and trying their best to remember the layout of the city but everything looks the same when it's engulfed in flames. everything looks the same when you're underneath the buildings.

the first thing they hear is her voice -- like some sort of beacon, guiding her out of a haze. their neck aches from where they'd been smushed up against one of the fallen pieces of architecture around them. if they're injured more than aching limbs, naz cannot tell from the pure adrenaline coursing through their veins once fully awake, and if they weren't before then hearing prudence beside her is like a bump of the capitol's finest. "i'm here." they manage weakly, though it's more of a croak than a real sentence, so naz tries again louder and coughs through it. they go to open their eyes and squint, trying to make out the curly hair and small frame and panic rises when they can't. "where -- where are you? i can't see you, prue."

her fingers fly over the keyboard , glowing blue buttons hover in the air before her as libra takes part in this collective condemning of twenty four children . she watches them , the wolves which circle them , those waiting in the tree line , searching for a way to their loved ones . she is despicable , and libra is certain that she needs a break , she needs a drink .

she frees herself of the gamemakers room , walking as fast as her feet will take her to the downstairs bar when she orders a drink , breathless . " pretty big , isn't it ? another twist in the games . . . those poor kids . "

if there is one thing she is certain of, it's that not a single person in the capitol can be trusted. but trust has little to do with her job - as long as the quickest and smoothest course of action is executed, bellona could care less who is taken under the current. that includes the children and former victors surrounded by mutant wolves in the arena right now.

she looks to the girl that joins her - libra, if memory serves (she makes a habit of familiarizing herself with anyone who works within the games) - and her brow raises. "it certainly is -- just one big twist out of many. ratings have never been higher. aside from - well, the whole everdeen thing."

Their words did nothing but make him laugh--- a sinister, agonizing laugh that could turn anyone's blood cold. He always liked to play with his food, and Finch's sharp tone only made him more eager to fight the victor. ❝Tough words for such a helpless lamb.❞ He called out, continuing his leisurely descent towards the victor. At their demand for a quick death, Caius scoffed, ❝You can't rush art, Delval.❞He slowed down in front of them, head tilting to the side as he examined their haul. Killing them almost felt too easy, so Caius thought he'd level the playing field by tossing his ax to the side. At least then he might get a little bit of effort out of them before it comes to an end. He cracked his knuckles before finally making his move, lunging forward to try and wrap his hands around the victor's throat.

to their credit, they do try not to laugh. the first thing in their mind is that the viewers must love this, the melodrama with which caius speaks, drawing out his kill. anyone that's rooting for this guy had to be out of their goddamn mind - or maybe they've got it all wrong, and his ruthlessness is exactly what they should be taking notes on to get out of this hellhole -- again.

"helpless lamb?" finch nearly chokes on the words through their breathy laughter. "you sound like you walked right out of a soap opera. you're a real class act, gallio." granted, they should not be prolonging this - they should use this time he's wasting to wax poetic about art and murder and run around him, but when he tosses the axe to the side they figure it's likely too do it the smart way. he cracks his knuckles and they roll their eyes as they make their move -- at first faking him out, attempting to go one way and darting the other, just barely missing his grasp.

Livinia feels the fight drain out of her almost instantly. She's exhausted, cognisant enough to know that's why she'd been so furious in the first place, and that is was also why, the moment Max doesn't bite back, she feels as though she could collapse in on herself. "Thanks." She says, voice dripping with sarcasm rather than vitriol, this time. "We don't all have a personal make up team, you know." She nods at her brother – his face still made up from being on stage. They'd managed to cover the bruising better than she'd expected. Livinia, for her part, had done her makeup – unfortunately, that was about thirty-six hours ago, and she hasn't deigned to look in a mirror since. "The rest of us just have to make do."

it feels almost like a mirror to just days ago - when livinia had been the one to try and calm maxim. it was often said twins had a particular way of communicating, and for a lot of his life max had just deemed that cheesy and complete bullshit - but it had always been true, in some way or another, whether he'd realized it or not. usually not, considering the stubborn refusal to believe anything that was not what he already firmly believed in. and yet he watches the fight drain from her expression once realizing who stands before her, and he believes it a little more.

"oh, i'm only reminded of it every time i see your face," he teases dryly, bumping her shoulder a bit as they walk. usually, the tribute center is crawling with people - gamemakers, sponsors, anyone of influence. even peacekeepers - max tries not to dwell too much on their presence, and it's easier when he's in the company of someone else, but in the end it does little when he remembers that he had been surrounded by people before - well. before. "well i won't be the only one of us that eats something. that's embarrassing," he says, already ordering two of the first thing he sees. maxim begins making his - what, third? - coffee of the day but stops short at her words. "it certainly got a reaction," he says, a dry, humorless chuckle falling from his lips. "sure do know how to put on a show, don't we, livi?" sardonicism drips from his tone and his smile is stretched thin across his face as he brings the coffee to his lips.

"I am," She says, nodding as she answers Peeta's question. "Probably not for much longer if Caius has anything to say about it, though." She chuckles softly, though it sounds forced even to her own ears. They're away from prying eyes, now – she glances left and right to make sure that the room she has led Peeta to is deserted, the only signs of life coming from the television mantled in the corner, the games proving inescapable. Prue shakes her head emphatically as Peeta continues, "You've got nothing to apologise for," She says, "If anything, they should be apologising to you."

Maybe it's not fair, what she does next – but Prue has been eaten alive by guilt since the countdown had begun. Guilt that she couldn't stop the games. That her efforts weren't enough. That, now, Peeta's family was paying the price for the rebellion's shortcomings. "I'm sorry, too." She whispers – allowing the facade to slip, but only slightly, always careful of ears in the Capitol. "That this is happening, I mean – we tried, and I –" A pause, and she shakes her head again, "It wasn't supposed to go like this."

the joke might have landed if they were anywhere else, if peeta's mind was clearer and able to focus on anything at all. it's just two thoughts playing in their mind - katniss is fighting for her life. rye is missing. in reality, they can barely hear a word that comes out of her mouth. it feels like one big line of interference playing on a loop in their ears, but they do catch one thing she says - it wasn't supposed to go like this. we tried. they turn to her then, as if snapped out of the trance they feel like they are in. katniss is fighting for her life. rye is missing.

"it's not your fault," they assure softly, almost shocked that she so clearly blames herself, at least in part, for what has happened. as if she has had any say in these things as much as peeta has. they find their way onto a nearby chair, thankful to be off of their feet but making sure a tv was in direct view. caesar flickermann's voice greets their ears and they suddenly want the tv on mute. they are silent for a moment before speaking, as if debating on whether or not to really speak to her. "to be honest, talking about it at all might just get me in more trouble," peeta chuckles but it ends in a grimace - no one in the rebellion, save for maybe three, knew about the lie they'd told on stage during the interviews. putting prudence in even more danger than she is already in would not fall on peeta's conscience. it wasn't right. they sigh frustratedly, turning back to her. "doesn't this just feel wrong? it's all off. not just because of --" peeta falters, refusing to speak of his son's whereabouts out loud lest he breakdown completely, and ends up gesturing broadly to the screen. "this whole week has felt off."

Roberta Colindrez

The Cut - Oct 2020

She is only pulled from her thoughts when she hears a commotion on the other side of the room. She is not the only one who turns her head – several other oddly dressed inhabitants of the viewing area each glancing at Peeta Mellark in unison. Though she does not know the victor well, she is instantly hit by another wave of guilt at seeing them – at seeing their rage, their pain. Prue knew what it was like to lose family, but not like this. As the Capitolites in the room become quickly bored when Peeta collapses, head in hands, Prue instead tentatively approaches.

peeta knows better than to be making such a public scene. it was irresponsible - peeta has seen the repercussions of such firsthand. katniss and his' victory tour, four one -- loud bangs still make him jump from time to time. so many innocent lives lost because of them, and now perhaps one more - their son.

so when someone comes to calm him down - to save him really, peeta should be thankful. he's already caused more than one stir in the capitol, he's paid more than enough consequences for it, the last thing he needs is to continue that streak. he needs to be strong, to be there for his family - as much as he possibly can be. which, admittedly, was not much.

they look up to the girl - small in stature, looks like a timid thing, really. but peeta knows how deceiving looks can be, and this girl certainly is no capitolite. over the years, they've become too acquainted with them. that fact should sadden them, that they've had no choice but to become aware of who they speak to, but that's how you grow up in panem when you're on the outskirts of the country. "i have to keep watching," peeta says, gesturing to the tv. then again, there are TVs in every room of this building, making sure no one wasn't watching the games. so they nod, agreeing to follow her out of the room and somewhere quieter. "you're the stylist, right?" peeta asks quietly, once they're away from such prying eyes. "i shouldn't have done that. i've already made quite a mess." he laughs but there's no humor in it, self-deprecating as a sigh falls from his lips.