LEGENDS ▹ the hunger games au

𝐯𝐢𝐢

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐋

LIFE BEGINS WITH A SCREAM. And it ends with one too.

This much was clear when Will woke up in a cold sweat, a hoarse scream dying in the raw depths of her throat.

The girl thrashed in the foreign bed and threw back a blanket to expose herself, expecting to be covered in blood. But she was still clean. Still pure. There was nothing but sweat clinging to her pores, hair drenched and glued to the edges of her face.

Will's knees were too weak to carry her, so she crawled to the shower, and Will let herself pretend the hot spray made her feel better.

Despite the angry red of her skin, Will shivered when venturing down the long rocking corridor of the train. She stopped outside the dining car; the ground swooping beneath her shoes, her head swirling like she might topple any second.

Will clenched the Mockingjay pin in her hand, relished in the pain of the edges poking into the soft skin of her palm.

The Mockingjay would make her strong.

The Mockingjay would give her strength.

The door whooshed open and she braved the inevitable storm.

At the table, Effie and Haymitch were in a disagreement of some kind, the former looking flustered as she mumbled obscenities under her breath and the latter looking rather pleased with himself. Peeta looked more amused than embarrassed, but the same could not be said for Katniss.

Will was fairly certain she didn't want to know.

"Well, look who it is: the girl of the hour!" Haymitch swiveled to stare at her, bringing a flush of color to her unusually pale cheeks. "Still playing the part of tragic hero, Dollface?"

A part of her was inclined to feel hurt, or even insulted that he could mock her desire to save her brother, demean her noble sacrifice. But anger served her no purpose now. If she wanted Haymitch to follow through on their deal, Will would have to play nice.

"No. In fact, I've been thinking."

That caught their attention, bringing a pause to the quiet cacophony of forks against plates and cups on saucers. Will's shoulders rolled and her face remained impassive when she sat down at the dining table. She allowed the silence to linger, taking a long sip of what she guessed was the hot chocolate her father told her about.

The burn overwhelmed the sweetness, which felt appropriate.

Will could feel their eyes on her, and she could feel her mother eyeing how her hand shook holding her steaming glass mug.

When she finished Will made a point to match each critical gaze before she very astutely opened her notebook.

And then she squinted and struggled to decipher her own messy handwriting, "Uh oh, um... oh right, the girl from Three, the girl from Seven, and... oh! The boy from Eleven; all seem like they'd make good allies in an arena."

"Don't forget about the boy from Four." Haymitch added off—handedly.

Katniss glanced at him.

But Will only nodded.

"I'll make nice with all the tributes I can. No use in missing out on potential allies because some people don't want to get along," she wore a smirk, getting away with the insult because her brother wasn't there to defend himself.