zeal. (zeal) wrote in gamesofpanem, @ 2015-05-13 16:22:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ! arena, tribute: 66th jamie foxglove, tribute: 66th zeal camber |
WHO: Jamie Foxglove (D12) and Zeal Camber (D6).
WHAT: It ain't easy, being green. Or being allies.
WHERE: Their hideout/building.
WHEN: Day 11.
STATUS: Complete.
The last few days in the arena had been easier for Jamie, especially when Zeal had found food, but it was still overwhelming. Jamie didn't want to admit that he'd had another breakdown on a bathroom break earlier that day. Even though he knew his continued hysterics were broadcast to all of Panem, none of them were sharing food with him or keeping watch while he slept. He kept the spear laid across his lap. Since joining with Zeal, he hadn't let the thing far from his reach, using it as a walking stick during the day, and even sleeping on it at night -- or at least trying to sleep. Finding a comfortable way to rest curled up with a spear would have been tough, even when not worried about getting murdered while dreaming. Jamie had seriously begun to wonder if it was worth it, just as he had before the arena. Jamie pulled the blanket around his shoulders and glanced over at his ally. He wondered vaguely if he should share, or even just give it to Zeal. "Do you actually want to win?" It drew only confusion from the other boy, who looked up from his rationing their remaining supplies with the same expression he'd had days earlier when Jamie had suggested he ask politely for the pack. "Yeah?" Zeal's tone was incredulous, borderline insulting, as if he couldn't imagine anyone, any tribute in the entire arena, would answer no to that. Particularly while being taped. With a grunt and a huff, he went back to it as if that were the whole conversation. Jamie sighed and tightened the blanket around his body, even though he wasn't cold. Silently, he watched Zeal organize the supplies, not quite seeing, his mind elsewhere. If Zeal had taken that moment to turn on his ally, Jamie might not have noticed in time to fight back. But he didn't. After a long moment, Jamie spoke, in a hushed voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't want to die, but if I live, then what? I become like Coalette and Haymitch? She never leaves her house in Victor's Village, and he's a miserable drunk." His partner only looked at him in silence, stoic on the outside, unsure on the inside. Jamie turned his head upwards, looking for the invisible camera. "I bet you're not even watching, are you, Haymitch?" he asked, louder, accusing. "You don't give a shit." It was too obvious that Zeal was startled. He had let go of the supplies, the dwindling rations and the knife he kept always at hand, and was watching Jamie with something that too much resembled worry. Maybe they could play it off as concern the Twelve was losing his mind. Preparation for a fight. "Somebody gives a shit," came his awkward response, thinking of Jamie's family back home, whoever they were, whoever they'd been. But then all at once he remembered what he knew of Geo's games, heard his statement the way the Capitol audience must have heard it, and inwardly cringed. He'd seen how that ended, too. A good show. A terrible story. "My family figured me for dead as soon as that stupid bitch from the Capitol called my name at the Reaping," Jamie muttered bitterly. He didn't care anymore how his language might play on the Capitol, what people thought it might mean. If Snow didn't want people in District 12 to hate the Capitol, maybe he should have bought more coal. "You wouldn't understand. Your district actually wins." Though District 12 had won within Jamie's lifetime, their only other victor had been in his grandparents' generation. District 6 had won twice since the Quarter Quell, and even when they didn't, at least a few tributes had made it to the final days. The difference between the Games performance of Districts 6 and 12 might as well have been the difference between Six and the Careers. "Besides," Jamie added. "They wouldn't want to see me come home and become like Haymitch. It's not worth it." Zeal was silent, studious, watching the other boy work through bitter emotions and frustrations that seemed impossible for him to grasp. That Jamie himself said were impossible for him to grasp, as a potential winner with a life beyond loneliness and drunkenness. "What is it you're hoping for out of this, then?" Came the question, slow, lingering on a tongue that didn't want to ask the question any more than he wanted to know the answer. Zeal looked Jamie right in the eye, leveling with him. There wasn't much other choice, he thought. Particularly not if the cameras had panned to them, if they wanted to see the Twelve's anger, if it would build up into a fight they were surely eager for. Jamie didn't deliver. Instead, he held Zeal's gaze, more lucid than he had been since entering the arena. Brown eyes stared into brown, unblinking, until Jamie finally turned away. "I'm going to die," he said, not quite answering the question. "I don't want to, but everyone knows it. They've known since the reaping." "All but one of us is going to die," the Six answered, sturdy, unyielding. "That's how the game works." "I know how the game works," Jamie snapped back. His voice took on the mocking tone of an affected Capitol accent. "We all have to play. And may the odds be ever in your favor." He shook his head. "Fuckin' bullshit, is what it is." Alarm shot across Zeal's face, his glance going upward as though searching for cameras or boulders about to drop on them or something, and when he spoke, he spoke sharply, a hiss that was practically under his breath. "You trying to get us both killed? Yes, I actually want to fucking win. I want to go home and see my little sisters again. I want to finish my goddamn car." He was seething now, stepping forward into Jamie's space without realizing it, without clutching his knife tighter. "I want to see a sunrise they didn't fucking engineer, all right? And if you don't, then leave me out of it." "Fine," Jamie huffed. He rose to his feet, the blanket falling from his shoulders. The spear rolled to the ground, finally out of his immediate reach. "Get out of here. Maybe while you're at it, you can kill me and take all my shit. It's what you wanted to do in the first place." The words surprised Jamie almost as much as they did his ally. They were more immediate than his musings on the state of District 12's victors, and he couldn't take them back. His whole body trembled, not quite in rage or fear. Maybe it was anticipation. "They'll love watching you do it. Maybe it'll help you get to your sunrise." He wasn't the only one trembling, though Zeal's was rage, was fear, was also some of that unspeakable uncertain emotion. His words came instantly, a retort readier than he liked knowing. "Your spear's on the ground." A threat, a truth they both knew as surely as they both knew how close the blade was in his own hand. In one motion, Jamie bent over, scooped up the spear, and thrust the handle into Zeal's hands. He had already passed the point of no return, and it'd be over sooner with a sharp spear than a tiny retractable blade. "Now it's not," he spat. His hands were trembling. This was a test, a game, the whole thing was a game, all based around what the kids were willing to do, how far they were willing to go, how far they were able to go. Did he have a choice at this point? What would the Capitol think of this strong stoic idiotic persona not taking the kill when it was handed to him? What had they thought when he didn't try for it in the first place? He fought the impulse to tell Jamie he'd do it, fought the impulse to have some show of compassion, a visible struggle in his furrowed brow, fingers gripping too hard around the wooden shaft of the spear. And then he lifted it in one sharp angry motion, driving the point of it straight underneath his ally's chin. It was quick, and maybe that's what Jamie wanted. His eye bulged for a moment before they went dim, and it was only seconds before the cannon sounded. The weight of his body slumped to the ground, pulling the spear with it. Zeal only stood still. He showed no emotion in his face: his eyes were hard, his shoulders tense, everything about him the picture of the stoic boy from Six that he believed he had to be. Even with blood spattered over the front of his shirt. But after a long, long minute of silence, he knelt into the puddle of red (let them see you've killed), and with every inch of calm control, gathered the long dark strands of Jamie's hair, the same way he did his little sisters', making a perfect braid that draped alongside his ruined throat. |