How odd this girl is.
Isn't she from 8?
She is? Then why is she like this?
Like how? Don't you see it? The monster hidden in the deep?
Well this might be fun.
(I know, not the type of title you expect for a Hunger Games fic, but I couldn't hold myse...
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"Still nothing?" Bera asked the doc, leaning against the back of his chair and looking over his shoulder.
"No." He sadly shook his head. "I believe that you, young girl, will not be able to talk. You are lucky to have even survived that shot."
Bera sighed, having hoped that it wasn't the case, Jess is already depressed enough .
She spent her days locked in her room and doing nothing but laying in bed and staring at the wall, she is more then sure she is not a drunk like Haymitch because even if she is a victor, she is still a minor and her parents won't buy it for her and she doesn't leave the home to spend her victor given money to get them... Not that Bera would let her.
She was not the best at society as a whole so she had brought Cecelia along so she could comfort the young girl if the news was bad.
Bera felt awkward watching her cry against the older victor, standing with hands in her pockets and tapping her foot on the ground.
"This is why you should have survived, not me."
Will there be a moment she can fulfill her promise of living her life truly like she means it instead of it being almost like a job? Will there be a moment where she would be happy she lived instead of him?
She knew that future might exist but that would require a change, a drastic change, to their lives as a whole.
-----------------------------------------------
"Come on, move it." She gently pushed the girl in front of her.
Cecelia had left them as her home was right at the gates of the victor's village, Bera lived near the middle of it but Jess' home was on the complete opposite side, another way in which she was isolating herself and her family.
She had a hand on her upper back to make the girl walk, knowing she'd just stop otherwise.
"It will get better, I've seen injuries worse back here in 8 even." She tried to reassure her. "Something about a cotton press catching the hand of a worker in it, he was never meant to use it again but despite what the docs said he is back at work. Maybe currently you can't talk but I am sure with training you'll be good again." She could have mentioned her own head but she wasn't keen on talking about it, she spilled the beans to Enobaria only because of stress during the games and all of that. She preferred forgetting that there is a wire mesh with bone growing over it with a dent under the skin, with a missing eye. (I forgot the scar left actually started a much lower on her face then I remembered, right by her nostril and reached up to a bit over her ear and catching her eye on the way. I needed to reread that part tbh.)
The tired and meaningless smile made her sigh and stay silent, walking the girl all the way home. She didn't need to protect her from 8 but Bera felt like she'll always feel responsible... Was it the same? With Cecelia and Woof, did they look at her like that? Someone still under their care? Someone they still need to protect?
Sure Woof was losing brain cells as the days went on and it was visible from his actions, always shadowing either women he was with like a guard dog.
Cecelia was more... Nuanced she'd say. But she too would drop what she could to be there if asked, her own kids don't even question it anymore.
Haymitch not giving a damn about his tributes almost seemed enviable in the long run.
Then again this all made her think, will Bera ever put in as much effort as she had for the 69th? Jess was a special case for her. Would she fail her other tributes?
...
She might not succeed in getting a lot of them home but she must try to at least give them the chance.
Life of a victor is complicated and not just because of the guilt and nightmares or the parties.
She looked up, huh... Already here?
The parents were already waiting at the open door.
Bera pushed the child towards the house, stopping at the gravel pathway leading up to it, walking away when the father put a hand on the child's shoulder.
