you can always bleed a little more.

I wish I could live every memory again, 
just one more time /
Before we float off into the wind.

HERE WITH ME / D4VD

﹙ chapter three, act one ﹚

the train, somewhere in panem.
july, 70 att.

                    AVENS SOMETIMES WONDERS IF THE ODDS ARE FASHIONED, OR SIMPLY JUST THAT CRUEL. Does it really happen by chance that two friends are chosen, seemingly at random, from what must be well over a hundred thousand slips of paper? Is it really possible, or does he just have the worst luck in the world? And if he hadn't approached her that day in the orchards, all those years ago, might that have lessened the suffering a little?

                    The moment his name is called, he starts planning. Adapting. Preparing. If living in Eleven has taught him anything, it's how to be quick on his feet. How to lie.

                    He's an excellent liar. It comes naturally to him. He's not sure when, exactly, he started telling people the truths they want to hear, and so readily accept. Then it grew, evolved; to warp the words and bend their meaning to something else, double meanings, half-truths, omitting what he doesn't want known. But, pretty words mean nothing without an even prettier face to back them up ─── it's a mask well-worn, crafted over years of getting out of tricky situations. With a tongue like a weapon, and a mask almost like the real thing, Avens can talk his way out of almost anything.

                    The Hunger Games, though, are proving to be a challenge.

                    He's such a good liar that he walks to that stage and talks with the escort, talking into the microphone with ease. She believes it. Usually, Antonia wilts a little after announcing the tributes ─── but she looks at him and sees someone who might, might just win. And if she believes it, how hard can it be to lie to himself? So might the rest of Panem, and then he might survive.

                    Avens is familiar with grief. And no matter the outcome, he'll either mourn her death or his own.

                    "Avens? You in there?" Mara's voice, a subtle note higher than usual, asks, soft vowels clearing away his stupor. It's not surprising that he can detect vulnerability and concern lacing her guarded self. But something about it irks him: she normally calls him Ave. It's subtle, but it stings. They are, by all instances, enemies now. As if reading his thoughts, she clears her throat to a more neutral tone. "What are you doing?"

                    His face remains flat, silently screaming, as he dimly registers another voice. Mara cannot be his friend anymore. She could kill him. He may even kill her. He'd like to think otherwise, but even the kindest person can turn into a killer under the right circumstances. She's jokingly threatened his murder many times, but he starts to fret that somehow, that could be true.

                    She wouldn't. He wouldn't. Right?

                    "Oh, don't worry about him, he'll snap out of it." Antonia says, voice as bubbly as ever. It dips from the heights of joy for the briefest moment as she says: "They all do eventually."

                    Avens has the most horrifying realisation as he stands there, the train beginning to leave the station. He wants to live. He wants to survive. As terrible as it is, his own thoughts betray him. The shards are sharp and ugly, they scratch his mind and stain his thoughts. If he tries to pick them up, they cut his hands to bloody ribbons, and he has seen enough of that already. No glue he's using is working, no lie will convince him.

                    Still, he ploughs on. The likelihood is that neither of them will return.

                    "I'm on fire." Mara drawls, waving a hand in front of his face to elicit some kind of a response. There's a tremble, ever so slightly, as she's seen people who can't deal with everything thrown at them; the last thing she ever wants to see again is a loved one turning to stone. "Antonia is having a breakdown. You're dead. It's all a simulation." With every word, the muscles of her face tense further.

                    "I can hear you." He sighs. Maybe if he didn't know her as well, he'd roll his eyes at her mildly irritating attitude. But he does. He knows her better than anyone else.

                    "It speaks!"

                    He brushes it off with her other remarks. He's long since learned not to attempt at biting back ─── while he has a charming tongue of silver, she's got a sharp one of steel. Besides, some distance between them couldn't hurt. It seems she's thinking the same thing, as her face falls back into a blank resting expression, revealing nothing more. Instead of letting the hurt fester ─── because he knows it's better this way ─── he takes in the train while Antonia babbles on and on about the production system and the high speeds it can reach. On the outside, it's sleek and shiny, a little too similar to a bullet for his liking, but easily one of the most impressive things he's seen.

                    Walls that curve seamlessly, every doorknob has the symbol of Panem branded into it ─── a golden creature surrounded by a laurel ─── and once he spots that, he sees it everywhere. It's a symbol of the games; of the Capitol's right to rule.

                    As Antonia's voice takes a more serious tone, he tunes back into her words. "You aren't allowed outside the carriage, apart from the dining carriage, which is the last one down that end." She points with a painted fingernail. Avens can't imagine wasting so much time on something so pointless and vain; there are always more pressing problems. "Dinner is at seven, don't be late. Everything you need is here at the plenty, and if you need anything, just knock at my door!"

                    He may pretend to like her, but that only extends to when the cameras are watching. It's shallow, maybe, but he has to consider every possible implication.

                    "And here are your timetables!" Antonia hands him and Mara two tablets. "They contain everything you need to know about our journey. You'll find meal times, resting slots, and best of all, our ETA! Don't lose them." She adds in a menacing undertone, which might have been threatening if Capitol fashion didn't make her look so ridiculous. 

                    "Thanks." He says, not bothering to put up a smile; Mara also murmurs some begrudging acceptance, and Antonia beams brightly. "Which room is mine?"

                    "Third on the left." She ushers them down, so they don't enter the wrong room, "The opposite is yours, Mara." And then heads down the corridor, tottering on her high heels, and enters a door further down.

                    "See you soon." Mara says flatly, before shutting the door behind her.

                    He does so as well; his room is so large and empty compared to what he's used to. The bed takes up most of the space; beside it, there are bedside drawers and lamps and a hundred other things he'll never use. A small door leads to his own private bathroom, complete with a toilet, sink, mirror, and shower that doubles as a bath. It's all pleasant enough, yet still deeply unsettling, almost claustrophobic, and blank, utterly blank. Everything is in shades of grey, everything has its place and never moves. The last tribute probably saw a sight similar to this.

                    It feels like a prison, because it is.

                    Avens sinks onto the bed, smoothing out the sheets with his hands. He abandons the tablet on the drawers and flops onto his back, staring at the ceiling. It's much softer than the camp-bed he sleeps on at home, that's for sure, and much bigger too ─── he can stretch out his limbs and there's still room to turn. It's comfortable, too comfortable. He wants to be back home, with the camp-bed that's too small and Aster constantly stealing the sheets in the middle of the night.

                    A sickening feeling descends on him as he thinks of Aster and his mother, miles and miles away by now. Miles and miles and not coming back.

                    Dead in a month.

                    He sits up, mentally shaking himself, and looks at the tablet. It reads:

15:00 ─── BOARD THE TRAIN
19:00 ─── DINNER
20:00 ─── BED
7:00 ─── RISE
7:30 ─── BREAKFAST

                    It repeats in a similar fashion for another day, before finally:

11:00 ─── ARRIVAL

                    He stares at the screen, reading and rereading the words until they are committed to memory. He could recite them if he wanted to. It's odd to think that the last few days of his life are planned down to the minute. Time passes, and he spends so long simply wallowing that he doesn't even realise when the time for dinner comes and goes. He doesn't even notice his hunger; it hasn't left him since the day he was born. Avens is late to dinner, and only Antonia has an issue with it. Even with a few smoothed over words to calm her, she isn't pleased, but sits down and drops the matter, though she does cut her steak with more force than necessary.

                    The dining room is more pleasant than the rest of the train ─── there are more windows, framed by grey curtains, and therefore more light. A dark wood table occupies the centre of the room, laden with more food than Avens has ever dreamt of. He hardly recognises any of the meals ─── thick stews, roasted meat, fried vegetables, cheeses in every colour. Looking at it, he realises how empty his stomach is, even though he usually waits a lot longer between meals. His mouth waters, and he resists the urge to stuff himself. 

                    Now in a rush, he draws a chair opposite Seeder, who is buttering a piece of bread and humming under her breath. She's a kind-looking lady with olive skin and closely cropped hair; faint wrinkles line her face, but other than a nervous twitch in her hands, she seems rather ordinary. "Welcome," she tries to smile, but it only comes out as a grimace. "Please," vaguely waving the knife in Mara's direction, "sit and eat."

                    There is no conversation when dinner commences; it comes in courses, each as delicious as the next. Avens has never had food as good as this, he never dreamed it would be as rich and satisfying as the stuff before him ─── soups, salads, meats, fruit of all colours, even a cake. The grainy bread and lukewarm water of District Eleven are a distant thought, a far cry from what is now his fourth lamb chop.

                    Antonia tells him and Mara to save space, that more food is coming, but he continues. A few pounds can't hurt for the Hunger Games, can they? As they move on to the dessert course, when his stomach isn't too far from splitting, she says: "For heaven's sakes! Carry on eating that fast and you'll just throw it up like last year's lot. That'll ruin my evening!"

                    "I've never had anything worth throwing up," Mara says, downing a glass of orange juice. She wipes her mouth with the tablecloth, making sure to keep eye contact with the escort. "So shut up."

                    Thankfully, she does. Her voice is really starting to irritate him.

                    Once the meal is over, when even Mara physically can't force down anymore, Avens hates to admit that she's right. His stomach is ready to split at the seams, and sharp cramps jab at his gut while they make their way to the compartment where they will watch the reapings. At least he sees that Mara is also queasy, running off to the toilet before quickly rejoining them, looking unhappy but less tense. If he can keep down bread as hard as crushed bullets, he's determined to do the same with this.

                    "Will Chaff be joining us?" He asks as Seeder shuts the door; the only light in the room is the harsh electronic glare from the screens. Chaff is a famed alcoholic, never seen without at least a hip flask, but Avens never really considered him not showing up at all. Then again, he never considered being reaped.

                    Dead in a month.

                    Seeder seems pained for a moment, her eyes deep wells of sorrow. Quickly composing herself, she says: "No, I'm afraid not. He's occupied tonight."

                    "Liquor or shots?" Mara drawls, slouching on the sofa.

                    She doesn't answer, but gives the tiniest nod, a frown passing across her features. No other words are said ─── even Antonia is quiet, watching the screens with excitement ─── as the footage from other reapings across Panem are played. They're staggered throughout the day, across several time zones, so one could watch them all consecutively; however, nobody has the time to do that apart from the Capitol, since they don't have one to attend.

                    A few of them stick out to Avens as potential threats ─── all four Careers from One and Two, a threat from the moment he first lays eyes on them; a constantly frowning but well-fed boy from Seven that walks with killer confidence; a huge, towering boy from Ten whose strength could probably rival even the volunteer from Two. Other than that, he doesn't think the rest hold anything to mark them ─── yet.

                    There is one other threat he has already missed, and she's lounging around next to him, watching the reapings with her trademark frown.

                    There are also a few others that he remembers; the smallest, most pixie-like girl he's ever seen from Three, a sobbing blonde from Five, a crippled boy whom nobody volunteers for in Six, a mousy-haired girl from Nine. And then, the pouring rain of District Eleven, looking more miserable than ever. He watches Mara walk up, rigid like a board; he sees himself stride up to the stage, cracking a joke and giving a realistic smile. He's such a good liar, he almost has himself convinced.

                    Then, of course, there's Chaff, drunk silly. Rewatching it, this time from the cameras, he doesn't find it funny ─── instead, it's rather pathetic.

                    And finally, there's the tributes from Twelve, a scrawny olive-skinned boy, barely older than thirteen, and a girl with dirty blonde hair; the crowd was shocked when her name was called. All these children are his opponents.

                    After the footage ends with a fanfare and the seal of Panem, Antonia claps her hands together, standing up. "Well then, off to bed! You'll meet Chaff tomorrow ─── don't roll your eyes like that, Mara ─── and we have another day of travel ahead of us! Get some rest, and we'll reconvene at breakfast."

                    "And we won't be late," Mara adds. "Will we, Avens?"

                    "Of course not." For a moment, he's glad she's here with him. He dismisses the thought as soon as it crosses his mind.

⭒ ➷ ⭒ ➹ ⭒ ➷ ⭒ ➹⭒

the train, somewhere in panem.
july, 70 att.

                    AVENS HAS NEVER KNOWN A NIGHT TO STRETCH ON FOR SO LONG. The alarm goes off and he's already wide awake; the minutes and hours trudged by in a unique method of torture ─── knowing what's to come, and the helplessness of not being able to do something about it just yet. His eyelids are permanently open, just as they have been for the past five hours, staring up at the dark ceiling. The only sound is the faint rushing of air through the vents, not even the rhythms as the train glides over the tracks, but he barely hears it; his mind could not be louder, racing through the endless possibilities. Types of arena, foods to forage, weapons to use, alliances to make, tactics to choose. More and more endless tales of tragedy to spin, more and more dread blossoming in his chest.

                    How can he tell which is the worst enemy?

                    He doesn't know anything. It's only then, laying on the bed with the sheets kicked on the floor because of the sticky summer heat that he realises just how out of his depth he is. The Capitol, the arena, the tributes ─── it's all foreign to him, and it's all stronger than him. He doesn't know what sort of mentors Seeder and Chaff are, but he's already not that hopeful. Nobody is coming to save him, nothing will get him out of this, and somehow everything is more hopeless than before.

                    So he will fight and laugh and smile, down to tooth and nail, because Avens doesn't want to die. There will only be one victor, and as the alarm blares, he becomes more determined to try, that it could be him. Another lie, but one he believes wholeheartedly.

                    A happy ending is not in the cards. Yet he ploughs on.

                    After dressing in yesterday's clothes, refusing to take the Capitol's luxuries where he can, he leaves the dark box and heads down to breakfast. Today, he will lay down his plans and earn connections ─── that starts with not antagonising Antonia and learning what Capitolites tend to like and dislike. He arrives a few minutes early; the table has been cleared and is now laden with every breakfast imaginable, no longer courses, but a selection. Avoxes silently carry dishes to the table, laying them in whatever space is left, and more are in the corners, waiting to be called if anything is needed. Guilt ebbs at him; he didn't notice them last night.

                    The other new addition is Chaff, nursing a hangover by refilling his hip flask. His dark eyes are bloodshot and he's unusually relaxed, but other than that he seems more aware. His gaze flits to Avens and then back, no silly smile on his face. He knows he's ignoring his latest tributes, and he's not drunk enough to pretend otherwise. There's no food on his plate, just a glass of golden liquid that he can't stay away from for long.

                    Avens heaps his plate with eggs, ham and bacon, savouring the flavours. He's too busy eating to talk to Chaff, and even if he did, it's unlikely the large man would answer. He tucks into a yoghurt granola while Antonia comes in, still orange but less dressed up, and Seeder follows her, visibly uneasy, hands twitching. Mara comes in soon after, a frown lacing her features, but it quickly vanishes while she shovels down toast at an alarming rate. Antonia daintily cuts a pastry into small pieces, and Seeder sips at a hot chocolate; she offers him some, and next thing he knows, he's downing his own mug of the sweet and filling drink.

                    "So," he breaks the sounds of breakfast, wiping his mouth on a napkin and setting it down. "What are the tactics we're going to look at?"

                    The effect is subtle, but immediate. Antonia and Seeder, different in almost every way, give each other an identical look, before glancing at Chaff. They've heard this before, and have no desire to hear it again. He notices, but Mara doesn't. She never pays attention to the small tells of people she doesn't care about. Therefore, she's the only one who isn't looking at Chaff while he takes a final, lengthy swig from his glass and sets it down.

                    Chaff is very much both unattached and clinging on. He's seen this sight many times; leaning back with a sigh, the mentor stares at him dead in the eye. His scarred face is so serious, Avens almost expects something from him, even if he's known for not caring. He shuffles his chair a little closer, small petals of hope blooming in his chest.

                   ( He doesn't let that happen often. )

                    "There's only one thing you can do." Chaff says, before breaking into a smile and a laugh, which sounds like a deflection; he doesn't know Chaff well enough to tell. Downing the rest of the glass and calling for an Avox to refill it, Avens' hopes already start to deflate. "Embrace the overwhelming probability of your imminent death, of course."

                    Just like that, the petals wilt.

                    Antonia sighs. "Don't take it personally. Ever since he and Haymitch came up with that one, it's been his catchphrase."

                    Mara, however, clearly takes it personally. She twirls a knife between her fingers, a glare pinned at Chaff, and a saccharine voice that doesn't belong to her. "We just cross our fingers and hope for the best?"

                    Chaff nods, a further grin spreading across his face. Another sip, just a quick one. He can't stay away. "Now you're getting it!"

                    Cutting in before Mara gets any ideas with the knife, he sets his fists on the table. "I don't want to doubt your experience here, but───"

                    "But what, boy?"

                    "Your plan isn't exactly foolproof."

                    "So?"

                    "It's your job to help us." Avens blinks, forcing his anger to the side. He keeps his words as short and comprehensible as possible, crystal clear. "And that's not helpful."

                    Chaff finishes the cup, and gestures for a third, focusing on the drink rather than the two tributes steadily travelling towards their deaths. "I really, really don't care."

                    Fingers curling around the knife, Mara hits the table to get his attention and throws it at him, the silver spinning towards his head. He barely dodges, taking care not to spill the drink. "What was that for?" He asks indignantly.

                    "For being useless." Mara spits the words out, fingers already stretching out to the next knife. "You think an open mind will keep me alive? This can't be what mentors are supposed to do. No wonder we lose every year!"

                    "It's called self preservation, sweetheart. Look it up."

                    "It's called being a dick."

                    Avens realises how much he hates Chaff. He is part of the reason that so many of their tributes are the first to fall ─── not just because they're underfed and weak, bones brittle, or for their lack of training. A few of them have been strong or hardy enough to win; yet, they lost with inferior supplies, inferior sponsors. One of the greatest Capitol traditions is to choose a tribute to sponsor; rich, bored people bet on who will win and how, and win bragging rights for a whole year. A mentor's job is to go around and persuade sponsors ─── who'd want to listen to Chaff?

                    And so, he also hates Seeder, despite being so kind; she's clearly never done anything to truly help, either. She's pleasant enough to do so. Even now, she doesn't bother opposing Chaff, rather going along with what he says. Avens now knows what his mentors are like ─── one's drunk, the other's depressed.

                    "Fine, fine," says Chaff. "Here's some advice: stay alive."

                    He exchanges a glance with Mara, whose expression mirrors his. "Hilarious," he says, ice cold, "truly." Without missing a beat, he lashes out at the glass, knocking it from the table and shattering it; the liquor spills everywhere, shards of glass looking almost like crystals. "But not to me."

                    Chaff considers, head cocking to the side, before he makes up his mind. Springing up with surprising speed, his fist makes quick contact with Avens' jaw, the blunt impact sends him against the wall, knees buckling. When he turns to the glass, no doubt to see if anything remains, Mara leaps forward, grabbing his shoulders and kneeing him in the crotch. She points the knife at him menacingly, holding it by the throat, ready for his next move.

                    It doesn't come.

                    "Finally," Chaff says, panting, standing awkwardly. "A pair of fighters. Tell you what, we'll give a few pointers. But you leave my liquor alone."

                    Mara considers, looking to Avens. He nods, and so does she. "Deal." 

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 :
( 3,942 words! )
and so the plot thickens (jk not much really
happens in this chapter but it's setting stuff
up) and we get the first pov from avens! i do
love him sm, especially with all his parallels
to peeta ─── the first half of act one before
the games is the earliest part written and so
the most based on the original book, hence
the similarities ─── some of which are acc
canon, like chaff being an alcoholic.

oh,, chaff,, i love and i hate him at the same
time. he's a lot like haymitch (they've even 
come up with a catchphrase together🥰) &
he has a similar complexity  to him as alec,,
minus being part of her family and so mara
treats him differently. also been introduced
briefly to the other tributes of the games &&
a begrudging promise of some mentoring!!

hope you all enjoyed the update and have
a wonderful day <33