literature

Bloodsong: Chapter 2

Deviation Actions

By
Published:
291 Views

Literature Text

There is absolutely no feeling like the feeling of winning the Hunger Games.

Truth be told, Dave Karofsky can't testify to this himself; in fact, he was only picked to go in yesterday. But that's okay, because there's no doubt in his mind that one day he'll have a house in Victor's Village. He'll be the fifteenth victor.

No matter what.

In fact, it's the last year that he can go in, so even without being called, he would've volunteered, like that girl-faced kid from Eight did. Except the world would've seen him first and the shock would've worn off by then. That lady-face wouldn't be the one that, according to Waldorf, "ahb-soh-lew-tly eh-vree-one is taw-king ahb-owt!"

Waldorf Matrex- the green-skinned, green-haired, green-eyed, green-wearing, fast-talking District Two escort, with an accent even weirder than the normal Capitol citizen's- has a social network "even big-guhr than Pah-nem ih-tsel-fuh!" and keeps them informed on what people think of the tributes. The ones who go for brute strength are going for Dave, much to his pleasure; the ones who go for the sob-stories are in love with Ladyface from Eight and the parents from Nine, and to some people, the "buddies" from Three. The ones that look smart are Santa or whatever from Seven- more cunning than genius, Dave thinks- and the cripple from Three. (That lucky bastard from Three, being a sad story and smart!) The girls from Six and Ten both look equally pathetic, and the lookers are the girl from One and the guy from Five.

Dave is very pleased that he's considered the strongest of the bunch; that's an advantage before they've even reached the Capitol. On the other hand, Rachel- his District partner- was raging last night about how she was born to win and she was supposed to be the one everybody talked about, not idiots like Dave.

There'd been no apology for that, but that didn't matter. He could get even later.

Waldorf had done searching after that and finally found that many people thought Rachel was "cute" and sort of "tricky", which she accepted gracefully and then flounced off to bed.

"What a diva," Dave had muttered. Behind him, Dakota Stanley- his primary mentor-to-be- had snorted, probably in agreement. Shelby Corcaron, the diva's mentor, hadn't said anything. She'd probably just rolled her eyes.

Of course, being a brat doesn't get you anywhere in the arena. Dave knows what the real world is like- he's worked in the stone quarries and trained for the Games for years, sometimes having to train while mining rocks (and that's all right, because now he's good with a pickaxe and heavy stones). He doubts that Rachel has any experience with either of these.

And there's another advantage. He's getting good at this "positive thinking" bullcrap his parents told him about.

His parents. Now, there are two people who won't be living with him in the village. Maybe his brother will, but not them. They don't support his ideas and dreams of winning the Hunger Games. They're probaby the only two people in all of District Two that think the Games are a pointless slaughter. When he'd been pulled and they'd come to see him, they'd fed him all these lies about how they were so sorry for his plight, and how they hoped he would win (as if he wouldn't!) and how he needed to make the best of his situation.

That's where the "positive thinking" stuff came in.

Well, maybe that's one thing they were right about, because it's put Dave in an even better mood than he was in before.

Finally, after a couple of minutes of reflecting on how amazing his "plight" is, as his parents chose to put it, Dave pushes himself out of bed. It's going to be his second tasting of Capitol food, after last night, and he could barely get enough of the stuff last night.

Breakfast isn't nearly as good as dinner was. He's third to arrive- Shelby and Waldorf are already in the train compartment. Sometime while Dave is piling something that looks oddly like green fried potatoes on his plate, Dakota comes, followed by a whining Rachel.

Welcome to the waking world, Dave, he thinks to himself. Get ready for hell.

"But I don't see why we can't train separately!" Rachel cries, throwing her arms out dramatically. "Mr. Stanley, you said that you wanted us to, and I quote, 'each develop our own tactics privately to employ them against each other,' is that correct?"

Dakota looks ready to shove his face into his own pile of green potatoes.

"Yes, Ms. Berry," he replies acidly, "but you will be forming an alliance with Mr. Karofsky, and as such you should train toge-"

"I'm with diva," Dave says, suddenly realizing that he is. He does not want to be stuck with Rachel Berry during training. "It's fine, Coach."

Shelby nods quietly, her dark hair bouncing up and down in such a Rachel-ish fashion that he wonders if they're related or something. "I think the kids are right, Dakota," she says softly. "They can form an alliance just fine."

Dakota, flustered at being attacked on three fronts, sighs. "And I suppose you want the girl, that's right?" he asks snidely. "Because I don't."

Rachel gives an offended "hmph" and begins ladling green potatoes of her own onto a plate.

Dave rolls his eyes at her. She probably thinks he was trying to help her- which he's fine with. It's not worth telling her she's wrong. Even if that is something one of those stupid strategy people would do. He's not about the strategies, he's about the fighting.

And, if given the chance, the opportunity to actually smash someone's head in. Preferably Rachel's, actually. He's practiced on things like melons, but he's never actually smashed someone's skull before. It's a rare chance- one that, luckily, will probably come to reality in the Games.

Smashing in Rachel Berry's skull.

How cool would that be?

=O=O=O=

There are many strange ways to wake up- some of which Mercedes Jones has experienced. She's woken up facing her pillow before, and in a boat, and standing up a couple of times. Once, in one of the scariest events of her life, she woke up in the water after she fell out of a boat while she was fishing and fell asleep.

None of these compare to not knowing where you are. Or why you're moving.

Mercedes' first thought is that she must be on a boat again; that's probably why she can feel herself moving. But then there's a loud bump, the kind that only comes from being on land.

After a minute, she finally remembers: she's on a train.

Going to the Capitol.

For the Hunger Games.

Instantly a wave of homesickness crashes down on Mercedes. It's not like her to get so down, but if there ever was a time in her life where it's okay to be upset, it's right now.

She wants to go home. She wants to be with her family, in their huge fishing boat, trying to light a match with a flame big enough to cook a clam. She wants to go and see all her friends one last time, to go to Magdalena's family restaurant and have some fried scallops, to see her own bedroom one more time.

It's a strange thing, Mercedes thinks idly while her mind is going through what she'd like to do. It's almost as though she's already given up on her survival. They haven't even reached the Capitol and she's forming a 'I wish I could do this before I die' list. What did Magdalena call it? A bucket list. That's it.

"As in, kicking the bucket," Magdalena had clarified, tossing her glossy brown hair over one shoulder as salt sprayed in their faces. They were on a shark boat- something that was such a rare opportunity that both girls had jumped at the chance to actually go shark fishing. "I think it's what they said in the old days. Like, things you want to do before you, y'know, kick the bucket. I bet there are people who have fishing on their bucket list."

Mercedes had laughed at that- it'd seemed funny at the time, although she can't remember why now. "I just had shark fishing on my bucket list!"

Well, she thinks to herself, there's one thing you managed to do.

None of the other things that Mercedes had included in her bucket list seem important. There was something about guys, and something about Magdalena, and that's all she can remember. Because now, her entire mind is filled with just one overwhelming desire.

Swimming.

It's almost as though her body aches for the water. It isn't something she's used to living without- normally she'd find some time between school and fishing to go swimming, maybe with family, maybe with Magdalena, maybe sometimes on the rare date. And she really, really misses that freedom. Oh, what she wouldn't do just to go into the ocean one more time, just to swim past another fishing boat, just to splash seawater at Magdalena again. But instead, she's being carted off to her more-than-likely doom.

Mercedes is ready to die, because she's not ready to kill. Not yet. The idea of taking a human life is somehow different from that of trying to steam a live clam or something. It's the most frightening concept she's had to face in a while. Could she ever murder someone, someone who could look her in the eye and beg for mercy?

No.

There's another thing- the other people. The only person who'd really stood out to her as worth getting to know was the kid from Eight- Kurt, that was his name. The kid freaking volunteered- that's something that nobody would ever consider doing. All for some twelve-year-old he didn't even know.

In Mercedes' book, that makes him one hell of a guy.

Everybody else had seemed... just not right. Oh, she'd felt sympathy for the mother from Nine and the girl from Three, but it wasn't the same. She felt sorry for them- she didn't admire them, not like she admires what Kurt did. And there's no way, in this world or any other, that Mercedes will ally with Mike Chang.

Oh, Mike's fine. But it's really his mentor, Ken Tanaka, that gets on her nerves. Because according to Ken Tanaka, there's only one tribute worth training, and it's not her.

Ken always prefers the guys. He almost sort of babies them, telling them they'll make it out no matter what. Which is probably why all the guys step into the arena with too much swag in their step and not enough skill to win. No District Four boy has made it past five days in the past four years since Ken won.

Shannon Beiste, on the other hand- all the girls got closer to winning. Admittedly, she's the only one who's won so far, but there's no doubt in Mercedes' mind that one day, Shannon's girl will kill Ken's boy and whoever else stands in her way. It just probably won't be Mercedes, that's all.

D'rick Jett- their punk-rocker escort- insists to them all that the Capitol likes it when they train the tributes together, and so Ken and Shannon train them together every year. But it's sort of like there's a screen- Mercedes has the feeling that even with the co-ed training, she won't see a lot of Mike. Which, honestly, is fine by her. It's not Mike that she has a problem with; it's that she doesn't really know him well.

Truth be told, seeing as the idea of killing someone makes her so queasy, Mercedes has her doubts about her even learning to use a weapon. It's not the kind of thing she wants to know how to do. What's she supposed to do if she gets to go home, anyway- hold up a hammer and say "See this? I can break your spine with this in two seconds."

Yeah. So charming.

Maybe she can learn enough survival skills to outlast everyone. Mercedes knows that the chances of this happening are slim to none, but a girl can dream- especially a girl with big dreams like hers. It doesn't hurt anything to try and learn a little, too.

Of course, she still understands that the odds are not in her favor (as D'rick so elegantly shouts at them every year) but there's nothing wrong with at least trying to live her probably-last days without learning how to kill. She holds strong to her principles: killing clams for survival is one thing. Killing people for survival is another.

And she's not about to try the second yet.

=O=O=O=

Kurt Hummel is not a coward. He's not a scaredy-cat and a chicken and whatever else people can think of. Oh, no. He's anything but these.

He just doesn't want to face his dad.

Burt won the very first year of the games, before the age limit was set (because his father had been the oldest, and they'd assumed that this gave him an advantage; never mind the nineteen-year-old that nearly won it all). He'd been Kurt's father before he went out and won. When he came back a victor, the Hummel family was rich enough to raise Kurt right.

Well, as right as a "queeeeeer" kid could be brought up, as all the village idiots so charmingly called him.

And then when Kurt's mom had died, that hadn't helped things. Everybody noticed that the kid that normally didn't care what people said started snapping if they said something wrong. They could tell that he was kind of broken, into more pieces than he would ever care to admit. They could tell that he was getting better when he regained some of his poise, and that he was normal when he ignored everything negative that anyone said. Again.

In any other case, Kurt knew that the resiliency would be admired. But he's the queer kid and thus can't be liked by anyone.

And through everything he had his father. Burt was his lifeline, his last vestige of sanity. Without his dad, Kurt knows he would still be lost.

It's probably the same the other way around. Which is why Burt will probably kill him for volunteering for someone he doesn't even know. Which is why Kurt does not want to see his dad before it's necessary.

It makes enough sense for Kurt to really not feel like getting out of bed when he wakes up.

Instead, he thinks about everything else. He thinks about the atrocious color of the boots Shannea Karze- their escort- wore yesterday and how badly they clashed with her "naturally" carrot-orange hair. He thinks about Shannea's annoying, fake old-Southern twang and how much he hates it. He thinks about the way Lauren winces every time she hears it.

Kurt then thinks about Lauren and how average she is. Lauren wasn't exactly popular in the district either, but she never really stood up to anyone. Not like he did. He doesn't dislike Lauren; rather, he just doesn't exactly like her. He feels absolutely nothing towards her.

Now he thinks about everyone else forced to death. He thinks about how the boy from Two looks like he would break bones like toothpicks, and how the girl from One looked vacant but sweet. He thinks about the sympathy he felt for both tributes from Three and Nine.

And then there was that boy from Five, Blaine. Oh, how much he would give to hear Blaine say that he's just as queer as Kurt is. It's probably too much to hope for- after all, the only other cute one was Finn from Eleven and he also looked as straight as a ruler. It'd be too amazing to hear that Blaine's even "half-queer," as people in his district say. (Burt says it used to be called "bisexual", and now he's thinking about his dad, and he should really get back to thinking about the other tributes before he gets too nervous.)

On the other side of the gender spectrum, he'd fallen in love with the girl from Four, Mercedes, from the moment he saw what she was wearing. It was bright and eye-popping and it looked amazing. And she looked like she had attitude. That's enough to make Kurt want to ally her before he even really meets her.

Somehow this very thought is enough to depress him, and there's another reason for Kurt to stay in bed: to figure out why. After a couple of minutes of heavy thinking, he realizes that it's the way he thought it. He doesn't want to befriend Mercedes, he wants to ally her. There's such a difference between the two, and it's painful to realize that he's thinking like a tribute. One thing he swore he would never lose is his state of mind, his outlook, and already it's been warped.

Right then and there, he re-enforces his promise to never, never slip up again.

After this rather depressing epiphany, he feels even less like getting up, but he knows eventually he has to either face the day or Shannea will help him. Even with this in mind, it takes a very long time for Kurt to actually get out of bed, and do his hair, and pick his clothes, and et cetera, et cetera. But he's going to be arriving in the Capitol, and if he looks anything less than fabulous, then there's something not right. So he takes his time and makes sure that he looks perfect, and then steps out into the next compartment.

And very nearly runs smack into his dad.

Oh, no.

Kurt's mouth opens and then closes. No sound can come out; he doesn't know what he wants to say. It takes him looking at his dad and seeing the look in his eyes to decide that maybe, he should say something. In fact, it's probably a better idea than not saying anything.

He opens his mouth again, painfully aware of how much nothing he's saying, and finally says, "I can explain it."

Burt looks torn between wanting to hear and wanting to walk away. It breaks Kurt's heart so much, to see this and understand that it's his fault, but he forces himself to keep going. "I couldn't let them send him in. I couldn't, Dad. He's only twelve, he's too young-"

"And what about you?" his father asks, his voice somewhere between icy with faked indifference and hot with fear. "Kurt, you're fifteen, and only barely! That's just three years-"

"How can I let them send a boy who's not even in his teens to slaughter?" he answers, his voice rising in emoton and intensity. "There's no way-"

"Kurt." His father has regained calm in his voice, along with a healthy dose of sadness. "I can't lose you too."

Kurt's breath catches in the back of his throat, but he forces himself not to cry, not to give up. It's too late for any of that, anyways. "You won't. I promise, Dad."

"You can't promise," Burt argues, almost unwillingly. He can see how much he hates saying these words, but they still need to be said. "You can't know for sure."

He smiles sadly. "Dad. I promise you. I'll get out alive."

Burt watches him; his eyes are sad with hope twisted inside of them. "You'd better try," he says at last.

Kurt nods seriously. "I can't think of any reason why I wouldn't try."

And actually, it's kind of weird, but it's the truth. Before, he was a lot more scared than he would ever admit to himself. But now there's a sense of peace, a sense of "come what may, I'll let it happen." Or, rather, a sense of "come what may, I'll make sure I make it."

Because at this point, he's not just fighting for himself, or to prove all those village idiots back home (and isn't that word distractingly bittersweet?) that he's not useless because he's queer. No, right now, he's fighting for his dad, too.

And that's enough to carry him to the end.
I KNEW I COULD DO IT.

Chapter name is "The Way It Hurts", taken from Love the Way You Lie by Rihanna and Eminem. (What? I can listen to hardcore stuff... lol.)

Not too much to say... third chapter has been started though. Hooray.

Next time you can expect someone who can't decide what to think, a boy who's nowhere near arena-ready, and a girl ready to strategically take the cake.

Hope you liked it. Say something if you did. Adios.

---wait, almost forgot. If anyone catches the THG-canon reference they get a free oneshot.
© 2011 - 2024 silvercocoa
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In