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Chapter Text

The chirps of songbirds outside my window is what wakes me. What a lovely way to start such a horrible morning.

The only upside to today is my dear Haymitch’s birthday. After the horror of the morning we’ll have more than enough time for ourselves. It’s a rare occasion that Haymitch can spare the time for just us, his ma keeps him busy, but I’m almost certain that she’ll offer some leniency for the occasion.

I slip out from under the covers and pull on some dirt streaked overalls. Not the prettiest choice of wear, but they’re comfortable, and I’ll change before the reaping anyway. I tuck a colorful handkerchief into my pocket, a pop of colour to brighten up the outfit. There isn’t much point in trying to pretty myself up since no one will see me like this, but I’m sure my geese will appreciate.

Next to my bed sits Haymitch’s gift, wrapped in a scrap of dove colored fabric and tied off with a green ribbon. I put a lot of effort into his gift this year. I collected enough eggs from the geese to trade for the metal and made the design myself, with a bit of help from Tam Amber. He was the one who made it, and Tam Amber’s work is guaranteed to be something amazing. Everyone knows that he’s the best hand forger in the entire district. I tuck into my pocket for when I’ll see Haymitch later.

In the kitchen, Clerk Carmine is lent over the stove cooking breakfast, some more eggs from the geese. He shovels them out onto some plates and hands me one.

“Where’s Tam Amber?” I ask as I accept the food, taking a bite. He doesn’t reprimand me for eating with my hands, but he does hand me some cutlery.

“Getting some work in before the reaping.” Clerk Carmine looks down at his food.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it.” I can tell that’s what he’s thinking. “Four kids.”

He nods somberly. “Terrible. But, don’t let it get you in trouble, we don’t need none of that today.”

I’ve been arrested twice already, back when I was twelve. I was so young they let me off easy. It wouldn’t like that now. So I nod and finish my egg. “No trouble.” I reassure him.

I snatch my tune box from the table and flash him a witty smile.

“I’m off to the meadow. I’ll tell the geese you said hello.”

I push my tune box under the fence and climb after it. Being past the fence surrounding twelve is technically against the law, but its a rare occurrence for the peacekeepers to chase me off the meadow. Most days they don’t mind, since I’m not causing any harm.

The meadow is my favorite place, ‘‘the friend of the condemned” as I like to call it, on account of its ability to hide you from the peacekeepers.

The geese pick up on my arrival and hobble over, my own personal crowd.

I perch on a rock, my favorite to play on, and double check for any prying ears. No one comes out here this early in the morning, so I start a melody.

They hang the man and flog the woman

Who steals the goose from off the common,

Yet let the greater villain loose

That steals the common from the goose.

The law demands that we atone

When we take things we do not own,

But leaves the lords and ladies fine

Who take things that are yours and mine.

I’m not allowed to sing this one around twelve. My uncles insist that its ‘too rebellious’. I think that’s a good thing, but I’d be sure to get an earful if I went around singing it. Too much trouble.

The poor and wretched don’t escape

If they conspire the law to break.

This must be so but they endure

Those who conspire to make the law.

The law locks up the man or woman

Who steals the goose from off the common.

And geese will still a common lack

Till they go and steal it back.

The geese hiss, and I turn to see who’s warranted their reaction. Haymitch tosses some corn from his pocket and they are placated enough for him to lean in and kiss me. I kiss him back, again and again.

“Happy Birthday.” I tell him once we are finished. “I didn’t expect to see you until after.”

“Hattie let me go early” He pulls out a bottle of bottle of white liquor to show me. “Even gave me a present.”

“That won’t be hard to trade today.” I know Haymitch doesn’t drink, and I’m glad for that even. People will be getting drunker than ever today, as they do most years. “Four kids…” I shake my head sadly.

“It’s going to be alright.” He leans my head on his shoulder, holding me close.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I try to.” Haymitch says. “No matter what I believe, the reaping is going to happen. Sure as the sun will rise tomorrow.”

I frown. “There’s no proof that will happen. Just because something happened in the past doesn’t mean that it will happen tomorrow. That’s faulty logic.”

“Is it? Because that’s kind of how people plan their lives.”

I love Haymitch, but he can be very good at being complacent at times. “That’s our trouble, no one believes change is possible.”

“I guess so, but I can’t really imagine the sun not rising tomorrow.”

“Can you imagine it rising on a world without a reaping?”

“Not on my birthday. I’ve never had one without a reaping.”

He tries to kiss me again, to distract me I suppose, but I need to make him see what I’m saying, so I stop him. “No, listen. Think about it, your saying ‘Today is my birthday and there’s a reaping, last year on my birthday there was a reaping, so every year on my birthday there will be a reaping’. You have no way of knowing that. Fifty years ago there wasn’t even a reaping. Give me one good reason why it sot should keep happening just because its your birthday.”

“I didn’t say it was just because it was my birthday I said-” He pauses. “Sorry, you’ve lost me.”

I feel a pang of guilt. Haymitch hasn’t done anything to me. “No, I’m sorry. It’s your birthday and here I am, going on about who knows what.” I dig into my pocket and offer him his gift. “Happy Birthday. Tam Amber made it. I helped him design it.”

His face immediately lights back up as he takes the present. He eagerly unwraps it, a thin strip of metal shaped like a C, adorned with two animals. A snake and a bird.

“It’s beautiful.” He breathes, turning it over in his hands. “Its to wear, right?”

“You know I like my pretty with a purpose.” I respond. Haymitch is smart, he can figure it out on his own.

He ran his fingers over the smooth steel edge. “It’s a flint striker.” He concluded.

I nod. “It is! Not just for flint either, any decent sparking rock will do.”

I’d told Haymitch’s little brother, Sid to go find some flint rock down by the gravel road for him. He came came by yesterday to show me all the rocks he had found, said that they would be his present that year. I like Sid. He’s a nice kid.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

Haymitch murmurs.

“You won’t, that’s what its made for.” I touch the adorned heads, first the snake, then the bird. “It’ll take a lot to break these two. They’re survivors.”

“I love it.” He kisses me, soft and sweet. “And I love you like All-fire.”

I fall in love with Haymitch just a little more every time he uses Covey talk. When I first used the expression, I had to explain it, but since then its become ours.

““You too.” I don’t smile or blush today, I can’t bring myself to. Not on the reaping day. Because both of us know that the morning could very well end with one of us dragged away on a capital train.

We kiss again, but this time my eyes water and tears slip down my cheeks.

“It’s okay.” Haymitch cradles my face in his hands. “We’re going to be fine. Lenore Dove, we’ll make it through today, just like every other year and move past it.”

I wish I could hold that same optimism.

“But we won’t really,” I say bitterly. “None of twelve will. The Capital will make sure the games are burned into our brains.”

“Lenore Dove.” Clerk Carmine calls. He’s standing on the edge of the meadow, watching us. “Better be getting ready.”

“I’m coming.” I wipe my eyes and try to ignore the glare that Clerk Carmine is sending Haymitch. He isn’t very fond of Haymitch, once he told me that he was ‘The type to die young.’ I ignore his aversion, because no boy in all of twelve can compare to my dear Haymitch.

“I’m definitely growing on him.” Haymitch grins and I can’t help but laugh just a little. “We’ll go to the woods after, okay?”

“We’ll go to the woods.” I agree, kissing him once more.

Once home, I strip off my shabby overalls and pick out an acceptable reaping outfit. If it were up to me, I’d show up to the reaping in the worst clothes I own and show the peacekeepers how much I care for their death game, but if I did that they’d probably drag Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber off to prison for letting me, so I don’t. Instead I dress in one of my performance outfits, a apple-red dress and some metal combs in my hair from Tam Amber. Looking in the mirror, it looks more like I’m off to a party than the reaping, but I suppose that’s just what the Capitol wants from us.

This time of year, town is drowning in Panem flags, peacekeepers and posters. The stage sports a banner of President Snows face, accompanied by the bold lettered slogan PANEM’S #1 PEACEKEEPER. I almost gag at the sight. How good he is at keeping the peace, sending us off to die for capitol entertainment.

I duck under the orange ropes and find a spot close to the back of the girls pen just as the Panem anthem starts to play. It earns me a glare from a peacekeeper, but I’m here, and being almost late to the reaping isn’t something they can arrest me over.

I don’t sing along to the anthem, I don’t sing in public and this is no exception.

I’m not worried about my name being drawn, I don’t collect tesserae, so my name’s only in the bowl once. It’s Haymitch I’m concerned for. His name is in the bowl twenty times, and while there’s a whole lot of District twelve boys with the same odds, its not a nice number.

Mayor Allister takes the stage to read out the treaty of treason, and is then moved aside for the stay the star of the reaping, Drusilla Sickle. I swear she gets uglier every year I see her up on that stage. This year she’s wearing some horrid arrangement of everything yellow.

“Ladies first,” She makes a great deal out of drawing the names, mixing the paper slips around a good deal before picking one, unfurling it with a smirk. “And the lucky girl is…..”

“Louella McCoy!”

I look down. I know Louella, she lives right near Haymitch. Over in the boys pen, I can see the devastation on his face. Louella steps up onto the stage and I can tell she’s trying her best to act tough, but her eyes look watery and her hands are shaking by her sides.

“Now for the second lady! Joining Louella will be…..”

The paper rustles and a second name is drawn.

“Lenore Dove Baird!”

I freeze, and heads turn to stare. For a moment I can’t even believe it, maybe I misheard, but Drusilla calls out again.

“Lenore Dove!”

The girls pen parts, giving me an open view of Drusilla staring right at me. I walk forward slowly, hushed whispers ringing in my ear. I’m sure that somewhere in the crowd of people, Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber are watching on in horror.

“Lenore Dove!”

I hear a pained voice cry out. Burdock Everdeen and Blair are holding Haymitch back from the rope. I stop, locking eyes with him. A peacekeeper tried to usher me forward, onto the stage, but I won’t go, not like that. So I do something I know will come back to bite me later, and punch him right in that stupid helmet of his. The peacekeeper stumbles backwards, and before anyone more can come to drag me up, I straighten up and scale the rest of the steps.

Drusilla looks positively mortified, as does most of the crowd. It’s not every day you see a kid attack a peacekeeper, especially not in front of the entire district. I look her directly in the eyes, put on a defiant smile and bow. I don’t feel very confident, but I’m sure I look it.

Surprisingly, I am not swarmed by peacekeepers as I take up a space beside Louella. Instead, Drusilla scowls, mumbles something underneath her breath, and moves on to the boys bowl.

I flash a look of concern over to Haymitch, who meets my gaze.

“And the first gentleman who gets to accompany the ladies is . . . Wyatt Callow!” Drusilla announces.

Wyatt doesn’t cause a commotion like I did, he just calmly walks to the stage with his head down. I feel horrible for him, I don’t know him very well but I do know is that he’s almost 19. So close to freedom, what a shame.

Drusilla plucks the final name from the bowl and I glance back at Haymitch once more. Only one more name, one more and he’s safe.

“And boy number two is . . . Woodbine Chance!”

I smile weakly, but almost immediately turn to search the crowd for Woodbine’s face. There’s a popular rumor around twelve that around twelve that I’m related to the Chance’s on my fathers side, so I’m quite close with them. Woodbine’s the youngest, and I know he isn’t the type to go down easy. Once he watched the peacekeepers kick me off the meadow and I swear he would have fought them bare-handed had I not asked him to walk me home.

He takes a few steps forward, feigning obedience before he turns and dashes. The rest of the Chance’s cheer as he sprints, moving to block the peacekeepers way. I want to cheer with them too, but my lips stay sealed.

Go Woodbine, go. I think to myself, grinning like a madwoman.

He’s fast, if anyone could outrun a peacekeeper it’d be Woodbine.

He’s free, far enough ahead that no one will be able to catch up to him now. At least that was what it seemed like, before a shot rings out across the square and Woodbine falls forward into the dirt.

Chapter Text

Woodbine cries out as he hits the ground, clutching his leg. It takes me a moment to understand what’s happening, but when I spot the crimson red pooling beneath him, I realize.

They’ve shot him. They’ve shot Woodbine in the leg.

I can’t do anything to help, I’m stuck on stage. A few good Samaritans from the crowd try to rush and help him, but the Peacekeepers shove guns in their faces and they are forced back into place.

“Five minutes!”

Drusilla hollers, and I think she’s gone mad. Then I spot the screens, which have gone back to displaying the Panem flag. They must have stopped broadcasting.

Woodbine is hauled upwards onto his feet and dragged back into the center of the square.

Drusilla fixes her dress and clears her throat.

“Alright, from the top!”

She motions for the cameras to start recording again. Woodbine is grimacing in pain, held in place by the peacekeepers. I can’t just stand by and watch.

“You can’t do this!” I yell at Drusilla, and once again the cameras cut. “It’s inhumane!”

My words are meant with a groan and an eye roll from the capitol woman. “Shut her up, would you?”

A pair of white-gloved hands grab me, covering my mouth and silencing my shouts.

“and the second boy is….Woodbine Chance!”

Drusilla calls out again.

Woodbine has no choice now, not with the state he’s in. He limps up the steps, hissing in pain from each step. I wonder how the capitol will explain this away.

I’m let go once he reaches the top stair, though I’m very much aware of the rifle pointed at my head. They wouldn’t shoot me while recording… I hope. I’m not willing to test that theory though, so I stare straight ahead.

“Ladies and gentlemen, join me in welcoming the District Twelve tributes of the Fiftieth Hunger Games!” Drusilla plasters on a forced smile. “And may the odds be EVER in your favor!” Recorded applause plays over the speakers, and the screens cut.

Drusilla sighs and leans against her podium, lighting up a cigarette. One of her assistants brings over a tray of drinks. She takes one, glaring at the dazed district citizens. Well, what are they staring at? Filthy beasts. Go home! All of you!”

Peacekeepers start to push the crowd backwards, and I look desperately for Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber.

“Take them to the train!”

Drusilla gestures for the peacekeepers. An officer grabs my arm, but I yank it away.

“We’re supposed to get a goodbye.”

I snap at our escort. I know how the reaping works, they’re supposed to take us to the justice building so we can see our family.

Drusilla doesn’t even meet my gaze, talking to the peacekeepers as though I don’t exist. “No good-byes for them, not after that display.”

It’s hopeless to try and argue, and I am gripped by a peacekeeper once again. It seems I won’t get any good-bye at all… until a nicely dressed man appears, followed by the camera crew.

“I don’t mean to be a pain, Drusilla, but I’m really low on reaction shots for the recap. Could I just snag a few?” He asks kindly, glancing over at the families gathered near the stage.

I can see my uncles now. They’re behind the blockade of peacekeepers, looking at me with teary eyes.

“Fine.” Drusilla groans. “Fifteen minutes. Anything more and you can walk home.”

“Perfect.” The man hums. “Leave me the two girls.”

Wyatt and Woodbine are pulled away to the Justice building, while me and Louella are released. We rush for our families, but the man intervenes. “Footage first.”

The cameras zero in on the McCoy’s, who are huddled in together in front of the bakery.

“Just react exactly how you did when you heard them call out Louella’s name.” They are instructed. “Three. Two. One, action.”

The McCoy’s don’t react.

“Cut!” Calls the man. “I’m sorry, maybe I wasn’t clear. When you heard her name, it was a big shock, yeah? You might have gasped, or called out her name or something. Do that again for the camera, okay? Three. Two. One, action.”

Still not a single face changes. They won’t let their grief become a show for the capitol. The man sighs, shakes his head and waves for the peacekeepers. Only once the peacekeepers are yanking Louella away do the McCoy’s drop the stony faced act. They push forward, crying out her name and are promptly pushed away, but not before a few clips of their tears can be captured.

I tense up when the camera’s swing over to Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber. They won’t do it, I’m sure. Though for good measure, I give a grave look and shake my head at them slowly.

The man rakes his eyes over my uncles with a puzzled look and turns back to me. “Where are your parents?” He demands.

“The graveyard,” I reply bitterly, “Maybe you’d like some shots of their tombstones? I’m sure they’d just show so much emotion.”

The colour drains from his face. “My apologies.” He mumbles. ““Well, back to the train!” He waves over the peacekeepers, and I suddenly feel panicked. I will never see Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber again, never hug them again and never see their faces in the morning for breakfast.

My uncles try to push through the peacekeepers, but are unsuccessful. The capitol wishes to tear us apart, and who can stop them?

A tiny body squeezes through the commotion, making a beeline for the edge of the stage.

“Lenore Dove!” Sid Abernathy calls me, and I’m leaning over the stage before any peacekeeper can stop me. He presses the contents of his hands into mine. “Haymitch said you’d want this.”

I tear up at the mention of his name, because I won’t see Haymitch ever again either. “Thank you.” I choke out. I close my hand around the gifts, a bag of rainbow gumdrops and a stark white goose feather.

I am yanked upwards, onto my feet and I try to struggle. “Clerk Car-!” A jolt of pain shoots through me and my body drops limply into the peacekeepers arms. Unceremoniously, I am dragged to the train and thrown into the train compartment carelessly. Everything hurts, my head, my body and my heart.

I’m not quite sure how long we wait in the train before it begins to move. When the wheels finally begin to turn, my body can move again and my head has cleared. Rain is beating down on the windows, but I can only focus on the trees passing in a blur. I always wanted to leave twelve, to travel like true covey; but not like this.

As we pass the hills, I see him. Haymitch standing idly among the trees, watching the train. I clutched the bag of gumdrops in my hand tight. Neither of us can do anything as the train rushes past. I bring my head to my hands and sob.

“I love you,” I think, silently so no one else may hear. “Like All-Fire”

Chapter Text

It takes hours for my sobs to die down. Neither of the other tributes attempt to comfort me, I’m sure they know it no use. Never again will I lie in the meadow with Haymitch, Never again will I play my tune-box in the square, Never again will I have breakfast with my uncles. Its all over now.

I can’t even pretend that I have a chance of going back to twelve alive. They won’t let a Covey girl win twice.

I only compose myself when the compartment door slides open. Woodbine limps in, his leg now bandaged up nice and tightly. He collapses onto one of the plastic chairs beside Louella, empathically glancing at my state. I give him the same look for his leg.

Next to him is an open spot, so I slide onto the chair. “How’s the leg?”

“Doesn’t hurt no more.” He shrugs. “They stuck me full of needles and stitched it all up.”

“Can you run?”

Solemnly, he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

That’s bad. Woodbine’s one advantage in the arena would be his speed, and if he can’t use that, he’s got no chance. He clearly knows this, judging by his watery eyes.

“Don’t worry,” I lean over and place a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll watch over you in the arena, promise. Allies?”

“Allies.” He nods.

“Can I be your ally too?” A small voice pipes up. I forgot that Louella was sitting next us. You couldn’t really tell on the stage, but here she looks so small. A scrawny thirteen year old who will stay small for eternity.

“Of course,” I whisper softly. “How could I leave out Haymitch’s sweetheart?”

Louella’s face warms. I remember Haymitch explaining her nickname to me after he’d called her sweetheart in front of me once. Apparently when they were kids, she’d become set that he was her one true love and trailed after him for a week until she moved on to some other boy. He kept the name as a joke, and never once has he ever called me his sweetheart. That was for Louella only.

I briefly glance over to our fourth tribute, Wyatt. I don’t know anything about him, and his vacant expression betrays no emotion. Whether he would be a good ally, I’m not sure. I’m against the idea of just leaving him to die out there, but I can’t just trust anyone. If Wyatt wants to be allies, he can come to us I suppose. I won’t refuse him as an ally, but I won’t seek him out as one either.

The compartment door slides open and an attendant enters with a tray piled to the roof with sandwiches. Its more food than we could possibly need between the four of us, and more meat than any district 12 kid’s probably ever seen in one place. Me and my uncles always had things a bit better than the seam kids, but even we couldn’t afford that amount of food.

Woodbine takes a heap and drops them onto the table for the three of us. He is more than happy to dig in, shoveling sandwiches into his mouth. Louella seems overwhelmed by the options presented to her, so he hands her one.

“The ham’s really good, try it.”

He urges her, with a mouthful of food.

She takes it from his hands. Immediately after the first bite, her eyes lighten up.

“It really is!”

I have to admit, the food is good. High quality stuff that not even the richest of district twelve could ever afford. I glance over to Wyatt. He’s gotten himself good amount of food as well, so if we end up with him as an ally, he’ll at least be in good shape.

Once we have finished our feast, we are led to another compartment of the train featuring a large screen and soft armchairs.

Me and Woodbine both squeeze onto a chair together, and Louella perches herself on the arm like a bird. There wasn’t any reason that we needed to share, there are more than enough seats for all of us, I suppose we just want a sense of closeness.

Drusilla waltzes in with us, and I don’t even try to suppress the groan of annoyance I let out. She scoffs at me, sitting in her own chair and mumbling a few insults.

“How did I look today Plutarch?” She demands from camera man, who I hadn’t even noticed standing with us.

“Not a day over thirty.” He assures her, turning on the screen in the compartment. It flickers to life, and District 1 is projected on screen. I watch the career tributes climb the stage and shudder. In just a few days, one of the people on this screen will be my murderer.

Districts 2 and 4 inflict the same terror. On screen, they all seem so brawny, like they could snap my bones without any trouble at all. In the non-career districts, there are a few scrawnier kids that I’m sure won’t bring me trouble, though it doesn’t make me feel any better. Those poor kids don’t deserve to die.

A tall boy mounts the stage in District 11, and I hear Drusilla mocking us. “You lot better be able to run.” Woodbine shifts uncomfortably beside me, pulling his leg closer to himself. I rest my arm on his shoulders and hold him tight against me, glaring at Drusilla in the same moment. I’ll protect him, no matter what happens in that arena, I’ll do whatever I can do make sure he and Louella have the best chance possible, even if that’s just a sliver.

The screen cuts to District 12 and all three of us on the chair wince. I think Louella is about to cry as we hear her name and watch her tiny frame walk to the front. They show clips of her family, crying and calling out for her, and her face finds a home buried into my shoulder until it is over.

Next is my own drawing, and unsurprisingly they’ve removed the footage of me punching the peacekeeper. They show Wyatt after that, and seamlessly transition to Woodbine’s name. For anyone who wasn’t there, you’d never even know the footage was edited.

“You changed it.” I glare at Plutarch. “The capitol even lies to it’s own citizens I see.”

“You’re welcome. A girl who punched a peacekeeper wouldn’t go down very well with the audience, would she?.” His smile is disturbing, and very, very fake. “Consider it a favor, a bit of card-stacking to give you a fair shot.”

“A bit of what?” Louella pipes up.

“Card Stacking.” Wyatt speaks for the first time yet, responding before Plutarch can. “He shuffled things around to give us an advantage, stacked the deck in our favor.” He speaks monotone, expressionless, but I notice the slight sparkle in his eyes as he explains.

When Plutarch beams at him and commends his knowledge, his eyes shine even brighter, and his lips curve to an almost smile.

“Isn’t that cheating?” Louella asks, scowling.

“Yes and no. You need all the help you can get, and showing the audience what really happened wouldn’t put you in a great position. Lenore Dove punching the peacekeeper and Woodbine running from the reaping would paint you as rebels, which would cause a whole lot of troubles for you down the road.”

“You should be down on your knees thanking him.” Drusilla’s horrid voice stings my ears once again. “He’s the only reason you bunch have any shot at sponsors after that disaster.

“Sure.” I roll my eyes, standing from my seat. “Where are the beds? I’m tired.”