``sunshine on my back }{ rade ]

[aya]

sunshine on my back is the only kind i like
sunshine in my brain is the lonely kind of pain
it's the sunshine of a lonely mind

While he wouldn't describe the giant's defeat of District Four's kingslayer as altogether surprising, it still astounded Arbor Halt that the Eleven was still alive at all. There were only a handful of tributes left, and he'd expected Rhodes to be strung up by the hellbeast two days prior. Or, if she never drew her claws across his throat, perhaps the twelve-foot monster might have been commanded to. Neither devil had done the job, however, leaving Harbinger very much alive — for the time being.

The pit in Arbor's stomach wasn't hunger, wasn't distain for the boy who'd slain his own tribute. He'd been here before. He'd been at the precipice of a third victory for his own underdog district with too few years in between. He'd marched himself up to the sponsorship office — no, wait, he'd sent Aranica — but it hadn't made any difference. They'd done everything they could to bring Heron Kimberling back home, against all odds.

He hoped he'd be in time to keep District Eleven's duo from making the same mistake. This time, he didn't send a proxy to the sponsorship office. Rhodes may have been victorious in his fight, but he was still bleeding — badly. And with supplies running low this late in the Games, there was only one place any mentor worth her salt would be. This time, he didn't send a proxy to the sponsorship office.

With so few tributes — and so few decent mentors — remaining, Katelyn Persimmon was an easy find. He steeled himself, strode over, and hoped to hell he wasn't too late.

"Don't do it," he cautioned. The thirty-two year old tugged at his beard, unable to keep his fingers from fidgeting. Stone sober, the seasoned victor's somber-set eyes stared right through the novice mentor, two decades of loss and liquor spilling out before him. He'd meant to warn her sooner, but he'd never mustered the will to rain on either of the rookie's victory tours through his district.

The eve of the final day — no, penultimate, if Gamemaker Copperview's track record was anything to go by — was the worst time in the past two years for Arbor Halt to approach District Eleven's shrewd young champion. (Perhaps barring the day before, when her titan had taken down his latest last hope, but he had been at this too long to cast blame on the others for the actions of their charges. He'd been in their shoes too recently to condemn the tributes themselves.) But the fact of the matter was that Katelyn Persimmon's acumen and savvy had unsettled Arbor Halt.

There had been exactly two iced over arenas since the District Twelve himself had been crowned champion, lower districts both. But a broad line separated the rough-edged, dead-eyed Mace Emberstatt and the feisty blonde he sought.

"I know you think you're saving him." His voice was low, stern, but neither patronizing nor unkind. "I get it. One more victory means one more year of prosperity, one more year of plenty for your district." One more battered body and broken soul to shepherd and mentor - for life. One more friend to grow apart from, to watch from a distance as they struggled and suffered.

"You're sharp, clearly you are." The comparisons drawn between them were plastered all over the Capitol since she brought her first young charge — her only tribute — back home. They may not all be true (good, he thought, for her sake) but that much was undeniable. There hadn't been a tribute half so clever as the one that had claimed his crown with no eyes, no training, and no mentor of his own — but by the look of things, Katelyn Persimmon was a close second. He dropped his baritone to a dire whisper: "But have you realized it yet? The Capitol plays a far more dangerous game outside of the Arena."

"At the expense of the next dozen, two dozen, three dozen kids — at the expense of your own life and future — you have to ask yourself: Is Harbinger Rhodes worth it?" He pocketed his hands, locked his dark eyes on hers. "Don't think I'm playing you, Persimmon. I've stood where you're standing. I'm sure you've heard what they say about me these days. Maybe they're trying to defame me, maybe they're trying to bolster my image. It depends on the day, really."

He chuckled, despite himself, but it was dark and hollow as his life had been, and did little to add levity. "Assume that the rumors are true. Do you want to see yourself where I am, fifteen years down the line?" Drunk, he did not say. Alone. A washed up recluse with nothing but a golden crown to keep him warm as he shouldered his impossible burden year after year after year. Always waiting for the latest axe to fall, anxiously anticipating the next Brendon, the next Anani. Petrified that they would be Kieran, would be Cedar. Helpless for when it did, for when they were.

tags - charade

[charade]

KATELYN PERSIMMON

He was still breathing.

A hairs breadth away from death perhaps, but still breathing. The fight had been excruciatingly painful to watch, but he had emerged alive. Missing an ear and half a leg, but he was still alive. Katelyn knew it was dangerous to feel this hopeful, but then, who would have expected Harbinger to strike a killing blow that late into the fight? He still had some fight left in him, and sometimes, one good hit was all you needed. Katelyn knew that from personal experience, and she wasn’t going to give up on him, despite what she knew people were saying.

With the fight between Krearns, Heather, and the queen of death (as the commentators were calling Beretta) still in progress and certain to end in at least one fatality, Harbinger had cemented his place in the final four, and there was buzz about the possibility of district eleven winning three years in a row. If there was any place Katelyn needed to be, it was in the sponsorship office. Kirito was there somewhere too, but she had lost sight of him in the throng, and anyway, it was easier to cover more ground if they split up. It made it easier to find more sponsors. And this late in the game, that was a challenge.

The other four tributes were sure to have sponsors as they all had something going for them. People doted on Septys for his looks and for avenging his lost love. Beretta was a theatrical career taking after Cricket Antoinette with a fashion sense that was already being imitated by eager Capitolites. Someith…Well, people that enjoyed watching tributes like Iago or Chaske were getting their fill of ax crazy and blood. As for Heather, there were plenty of Capitolites who found her antics amusing and hopeful for a district seven victor. When it came to Harbinger it felt like kind of a mixed bag, but Katelyn was alright with that. Harbinger was a survivor. And that’s all he needed to be.

The real problem wasfiguring out what he needed more. There were several things that he could stand to use, and not that much left to pick from. Seven didn’t have any mentors, but she hadn’t seen any of the career mentors around yet. Not that she really wanted to run into any of them with perhaps the exception of Opal Earnest. So it was surprising to see Arbor Halt making his way towards her, for what reason, Katelyn couldn’t fathom, though she could guess it had to do with what had happened in the arena yesterday.

“Don’t do it.”

The look he gave her was surprisingly unnerving. It was experience tempered with sorrow and regret and she wasn’t sure why he intent on staring a pair of holes into her. She’d never met any of the victors from twelve, they seemed the type to keep to themselves, so she had never tried to seek them out. Emberstatt she had talked to, but she hadn’t gotten a chance to sit down with Lowe at any point, and they were closer in age. It didn’t seem like victors got together in general, but she couldn’t blame them. Victors could only really identify with other victors, but what terrible things to bond over. Most victors chose to be reclusive because it was the mentally safer thing to do.

Arbor, she had only heard of and read about. According to the official hunger games history wikia on the Capitol.net, Arbor had been blind when he had been reaped, but that hadn’t stopped him from killing five tributes and coming out of the arena alive. Must have had damn good hearing. But what really had caught her attention in the vids was the arena he had been in. Frozen tundra. Along with Emberstatt’s frozen wasteland and her own winter wonderland, the three of them were the only victors to survive icy hells. The shared experience put them on a slightly more even footing. But that still didn’t explain what he had just said. "I’m sorry, what?” she replied innocently.

“I know you think you’re saving him." Him? Harbinger. “I get it. One more victory means one more year of prosperity, one more year of plenty for your district.” It also meant one more life saved. Another person that got to return to their family. One more friend to grow stronger with, facing the next games as a force to be reckoned with. One less funeral to attend. One less family to console.

“You’re sharp, clearly you are.” A compliment from him? Well, the Capitol commentators had gone on at length to compare the two of them. Arbor would know about her. From piddling little things like the fact that Arbor and Aranica’s names started with the same letter as did Katelyn and Kirito’s, to more important things like how both Arbor and herself had won with no training or mentor and that Kirito and Aranica had both won Quells under their mentorship. Some eagle-eyed fans had even pointed out that twelve’s streak had been broken by district one, and that district one still had a tribute in the running.

Arbor lowered his voice and Katelyn inclined her head to hear him better. “But have you realized it yet? The Capitol plays a far more dangerous game outside of the arena. At the expense of the next dozen, two dozen, three dozen kids… at the expense of your own life and future…you have to ask yourself: Is Harbinger Rhodes worth it?” Katelyn grimaced at that and recoiled slightly. She had had her suspicions. When Harbinger had made the top twelve, she had noticed people following her. Arbor’s warning confirmed that she and likely Kirito were being watched. After all, the Capitol loved their careers more than anything; But what Arbor was insinuating...

"Enjoy your time living in a world of dead men walking, Katelyn Persimmon.”

The words were brushed away with some difficulty as she turned over the implications in her head. As for Harbinger, well, she knew the answer to that. But she waited for the older victor to finish before replying. He went on to say that regardless of what people said or didn’t say about him, his intention was to help, that he knew what was going through her mind, and to take his current standing as a cautionary tale, lest she wind up like him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too Mr.Halt.” she responded demurely. “For what it's worth, I’m…sorry about Chloe. I told my tributes that if they allied they needed to cut ties and run before it got too hard. I didn’t expect him to turn on her like that.” She forced herself to hold his grave gaze, vibrant blue piercing the gloom. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do but it’s not entirely up to me. If like Turner, he surprises the nation and dispatches tributes stronger and in better shape than him; if like Kimberling or Shore he kills his opponents faster than his missing limbs can bleed out, then that’ll be his victory, not mine."

She sighed softly and shook her head. "I can’t control people’s perception of me anymore than you can control what they say about you. Whether they want to praise or revile me for another district eleven victory is up to the masses.”

In the end that was all anyone could do, but she decided she’d rather try and fail than not do anything and know she didn’t give it her all. The earnestness started to pick up in her voice. “I know another victory could paint a target on every tribute I have from this point on if he wins, but I can’t stop myself from helping. I can’t just…turn my care off for the greater good. It's not just about the district's prosperity. It's about the tributes."

Katelyn's eyes dropped to the tattoos on her arms. "Kirito was worth my effort. Annora was too. Harbinger is still worth it, nine to one odds be damned. Whether he lives or dies, the tributes next year are going to be worth my effort too. What’s worse? Watching them die, or watching them die and knowing you didn’t do everything you could have possibly done to help?"

A small wry smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "No offense meant Mr. Halt, but if I wind up where you are fifteen years from now, it’ll be because I stopped trying."

"It's all in my head, there's not much I can do

You set your pace, I keep mine too"

table coding (c) ghosty

[aya]

she says
after today
then there's nothing you owe me

He offered her a sheepish grin at her own hasty introduction. "Yes," he said, a nervous chuckle breaking in his throat. "Pleasure's all mine. Welcome to the fold, Katelyn." And what a sorry lot to be welcomed to. What a sorry lot they were, the victors. Having seen life beyond the Arena, Arbor Halt could not understand the Career mentality. Even though his comrades had experienced varying degrees of success and varying degrees of loss, in his expert opinion, there should be no more than twenty-four people desiring the victor's crown at any given moment. Each tribute. No more.

He'd been doing this for so long he'd all but stopped reaching out to the new damaged souls as they were added to the ranks of the weak and the weary. Perhaps he shouldn't have. At this point, he'd spend more years beyond his snowy grave than before it. Much as he might like to deny it — and much as the higher-ups might like to forget about him — Arbor was a fixture at this point. Part of the gilded furniture.

He'd forgotten what new victors could be like, before the naïvety was beaten from them.

Caught off-guard, he winced when Katelyn offered amends on behalf of District Twelve's last best-bet for this year. He shook his head, refusing her apology. He hadn't come for that. He didn't want that. He'd spent the better part of the last two decades convincing himself that it wasn't the mentor's job. "Don't apologize. That isn't your burden. Isn't his, either — though I'm sure he'll carry it to his grave all the same." However near or far that may be.

Arbor Halt would be a hypocrite to hold a grudge against a tribute. They'd all done what they'd had to. Some took more pleasure in it than others; even seventeen years down the road, he was still ashamed to count himself in the former category. Even if they'd been hailed as his moments of glory, even though his life had been largely downhill from there, Arbor Halt was ever-reluctant to claim ownership of his actions during the 54th Hunger Games.

His Seam-grey eyes twitched at her reference to the last tribute that Arbor had brought home. She couldn't've been much bigger than a toddler when Heron had won, he realized, suddenly feeling his age. Some victory that had been, though; it was clear that the odds had been stacked against her — one of Gamemaker Copperview's Games again, as Ara's had been. Arbor Halt didn't mistake the stony woman for having some hidden sympathy for the lower districts. Over the years he'd come to learn each Gamemaker for their individual craft; hers reeked of precision, pride, and impassivity.

That wasn't to say that Heron hadn't seen more adversity than perhaps any victor — hell, any tribute — since. Surely having both of her legs melted into stumps within the first few days of the Games put her in the top percentile; as she was carried closer and closer toward victory by that District Five boy — Storm, he remembered. His name was Storm Wie, and she couldn't've done it without him. — they'd even taken a lightning strike, Copperview attempting to play god from above. If even the more impartial gamemakers weren't above smiting the tributes who should not win, the rest were in sore shape.

The corners of his lips twitched downward, drawing the worry lines on his forehead into a tighter crease. "I suppose that much is on Copperview and on Kin— King at this point..." he mused, although with so few tributes left, he did wonder if the Gamemakers would bother to interfere, or if they'd let the end of the 71st Games run their course. "I'm not sure I'd count it as a victory, though. For him or you."

Seventeen years down the road, and Arbor Halt had never felt anything that resembled victorious.

Try as he might though, he didn't seem capable of getting through to Katelyn Persimmon.

"Target? No, no — you misunderstand me." He shook his head once more, plucked one stubborn too-long hair from his chin. "Target doesn't begin to describe it. Don't expect it to end with careers like the Creel boy gunning for them. Plate malfunctions, packs of vicious muttations with impeccable aim... expect the very ground to give way beneath their feet, for branches and boulders to rain down from above, and for every hell imaginable to come for them between the two. You think the odds weren't in your favor? You've never seen odds as insurmountable as what's coming for your tributes. All of them."

Running a hand through his thinning hair, he dropped his gaze. A moment of silence for those who had died because Ara, because Heron had lived. Because Arbor had lived. He didn't think he could name them anymore. Not the twenty-three others that had stood around the same Cornucopia he had. Not the twenty-three others that were swallowed up by the storm that had seen Aranica to victory, not the twenty-three others that had died in the shadow of Heron's volcano. Not the thirty tributes who'd died on his watch since then.

Even if he'd inked their names onto the back of his eyelids, he couldn't know more than that. Maybe he remembered how Ocean Jones volunteered, remembered Charas Harp's astonishing 12, remembered the look of disappointment and anger in Almar Nichols' eyes when Arbor told him not to win, remembered the sickening crunch as Scout Watson broke open his nephew's skull (and truly, he could never forget the bloodcurdling scream of his older brother coming in from the telephone receiver) with her flail. But apart from Brendon, he hardly knew a damn thing about them. He'd never know what made Jim Deer laugh, or Eira Craft's biggest fear, or what Erik Strauss ever saw in him, or what Asunder Hayes wanted to be when if he grew up.

Beyond that, it was complicated. All of them, they were only one district. None of them deserved it. To say that he ought to have brought Anani Petros home was to say that his best friend ought to have been on the receiving end of the hellhound's rampage. To say he should've saved James Mocking was to say that Mace's kids ought to have stayed orphans. To say that Kolton or Gaia should've come home was to say that Katelyn Persimmon did not deserve to be standing in front of him. The Birdbrook sisters meant no Cricket, no Opal.

Even if Arbor Halt's responsibilities lay with the children placed in his charge, it was too much to ask him to decide who should live and who should die. Spending the time in the Capitol that he did, getting to know the other victors... it made it difficult to say for certain that District Twelve ought to be champions, even though that's where his loyalties ought to lie. It felt wrong for him to make that call.

"Twenty-three die," he put forth, a noncommittal shrug punctuating the sentiment. "Which ones shouldn't be up to me. I can't handle that responsibility. I don't deserve that power." He stared at his shoes, as he was wont to do when overwhelmed. "Don't see why—" he searched himself for the names "— why Jequirity or Keeni or Heather Tenley ought to die just because they don't have a mentor to get 'em through it. Or why the kids from District Three should die sooner just 'cause Klaus is too busy with whatever zoo he adopted. Or why Hannah had a target the size of her brother painted on her back."

He didn't even flinch at her jab. Nobody knew as well as Arbor Halt that his best effort had long since been exhausted. Ferrying the kids from a slow death in District Twelve to a quick one at the behest of the Capitol for two decades had thoroughly drained him.

"Maybe me trying means someone else standing in front of me," he suggested, a grim smile pulling his lips into a thin line. "It isn't as if they deserved to die any more."

tags - charade

[charade]

KATELYN PERSIMMON

Arbor Halt was a strange man.

Even so, she still thought that he was trying to help her in his own way. He was one of the oldest victors that still trudged out to the Capitol every year, having won seventeen years prior. Katelyn was sure that there were other, older victors than him still around, but none of them stayed in the public eye; or were too old and feeble to be of any use as a mentor in the first place. She wondered if he was on his way to joining that category. The welcome to the ranks of victors was a wry one and not for the first time, Katelyn felt that a victor was welcoming her to the ranks of the damned. Of the cursed. She knew why they saw it that way, even if she felt differently herself.

Two years of doing this, and already Kirito was there beside her. A familiar face. An anchor. The only tribute she had mentored during the quell. Her first year. She supposed it was harder for other mentors to reach out to newest victor when they had their own problems and generally didn’t know a thing about the tribute that won. Once the shock and anger from losing her first tribute had died away, she had decided that she didn’t hate Someith for killing Annora. Everyone did what they had to do to survive another day. Some enjoyed it and that’s what she had a problem with concerning him, but she could agree with Arbor’s sentiment about it not being her burden, though she still felt responsible to a degree.

She hadn’t gone out of her way to kill anyone; hadn’t wanted to. Dillon she had killed out of reflex and shock upon feeling something touch her leg from the ground. Chaske had surprised her and very near ended her life on the seventh day, and would have if she hadn’t broken his rib. Even Margaret had attacked first, stabbing her in the throat before she could defend herself. She hadn’t wanted to kill any of them; but she had wanted to live slightly more. She imagined that at least some of the victors felt the same. He agreed that the story being spun to the public was up to the gamemakers, but said that it wasn’t much of a victory for either of them. “Well, victory in the games just means coming home alive. I don’t care for the so-called glory that comes with it. That’s meaningless.”

Judging by the tirade that followed about tributes, He seemed a bit upset that she didn’t grab the gravity of what he was trying to get across and pelted her with horror stories of all the ways that the gamemakers would enact their vengeance. But for what? Because careers didn’t win? Because a district that had no business winning their contest in their eyes had a streak of good luck? It seemed childish. Petty, even. But he wasn’t wrong. There hadn’t been a victor from twelve since Heron, and some of the tributes had died in odd ways. There was a weight on Arbor halt, whatever he had been before his games, before losing so many tributes was dead and buried. He seemed to think that he was helping her; he was saying that he tried years ago, and he had suffered for it. He was broken, and it killed him to think of other victors becoming like him. Which meant that though he denied having the responsibility to care, he still did.

He claimed that he didn’t understand why the tributes from the middle districts deserved to die in part because they didn’t have a mentor, or why the tributes from three died early so often because Klaus Goravich was too busy to attend to them. That putting his tributes first was selfish as it meant he was saying the rest were less important. That the other victors were less important. But Katelyn could see a flaw or two in that line of thinking. “Twenty-three die.” She repeated. “One doesn't. But we’re not the ones who decide their fate. We can only equip them to face it as best we can. The Capitol, the other tributes and the choices they make for themselves have the power over them.” Katelyn crossed her arms and sucked in a breath that was blocked by her teeth.

“By the logic you’re using, then I don’t see why Neptune or Chloe should die because their mentor has had the good beaten out of him. I never said that any tribute besides my own deserved to die. Everyone matters to someone. Equality, Mr. Halt.” She said with a dour smile to match his. “If I didn’t deserve to die any more than my fellow tributes did, then they deserved to come home as much as I did too. Does that courtesy not extend to your own tributes?“

A quick glance at the line revealed at least four other people ahead of her, some of whom were whispering about the pair of victors in the line behind them, so she kept her attention on the older victor. “I won’t pretend that I fully understand where you’re coming from. You’ve buried more tributes than years I’ve been alive. Maybe you’re right, maybe one day I’ll be a hollow shell of my former self, rationalizing the deaths of dozens of tributes away by disavowing any responsibility and drowning my sorrows in the bottom of a bottle.”

It could have been too harsh, too personal to say that when she barely knew him, but she needed him to understand her as much as he apparently needed her to understand him. Katelyn sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think the other tributes are worth any less than my own. Who lives and who dies isn’t up to me and what I teach. But right now? Right now I’d rather face the reality of the situation than pretend that it isn’t there. I’d rather shoulder the burden than be crushed underneath it or stop caring because it’s the easier thing to do." Her voice stayed level as she continued talking, neither getting angry or getting tired. “In another world, in another life, you’re giving this advice to Velocity Rush or Margaret Dubois. I was mentored by a girl named Ingrid who won the sixty-seventh and I died in the snow two years ago.”

Katelyn shook her head yet again. “Any year could have gone any number of ways but they went the way they did. Should I tell the Rhodes that they should prepare to bury a second son because I know the other three tributes deserve to live too? Should I tell Opal Shore that Leon matters to his family too so it’s alright that Potato didn’t come back to her?  If I must bury tributes,  my conscience can rest knowing that I did what I could.“ Because if she did anything less, she wouldn't be able to live with herself.  

“You still care.” She said accusingly. “You can deny it, dress it up in a designer jacket of apathy induced inaction, but if you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t have any reason to talk to me." It was probable at this point that some of the people around them were listening to their exchange, but she hardly cared about that. Let them listen. Maybe they'd get some insight into the bullshit they cheered for every year. "I survived eight days in a frozen hell and it still follows me. I have the dreams. Sometimes I swear I feel a chill on my skin, even on the hottest days in eleven. But the Capitol’s taken enough from me. I’m not going to let them take my choice to help too."

"We're suspended in time from the likes of you, but I'm willing to prove you've got more fight left in you. "

table coding (c) ghosty