resurgence // amethyst

[lance]

"-No, not the orange one, the red one, you imbecile! Ugh!"

Ordinarily, whenever someone had barely slept over the span of three days worth of Games, it was because they were either a hardcore enthusiast, an insomniac, or had found themselves in one of the never-ending celebrations that took place across the gleaming city.

For Amethyst, her reasoning was that it was the only way to ensure that her muttations' unpredictability didn't lead to her finding herself a head shorter by the Games' end.

In all honesty, things hadn't gone so badly that her fate was a foregone conclusion like it may have been under different circumstances. The Experiments, as she had called them, had largely kept to the shadows in the immediate aftermath of their unexpected escape, opting to bide their time and watch from afar instead of leaping directly into the action. A preferable action, but frustrating at the same time - without a proper method to track their behavior, it had taken away precious hours as she and her team had tried in vain to rein the rampant beasts back under her control.

She knew that engaging with chimp DNA was a risk, as the animal's relative similarity to humans made many of the mutts that used such genes unpredictable, but at the time of their conception, she hadn't cared. Risks were needed in order to reclaim a spot in the position of authority, and after eight long, tiring, agonizing years of being passed over again and again, well, even the most patient of Gamemakers could get exasperated. It had been mere coincidence that the dangerous muttations had just achieved their completion when she'd gotten the official summons, and in her hubris, she'd thought it a great idea to introduce them into her rainforest-y biome. After all, weren't the jungles supposed to be filled with deadly, dangerous beasts?

But she'd underestimated her own creations' desire for blood. Desire for freedom. And they'd escaped from their containment cages, far, far ahead of schedule. It'd taken every favor she'd had and then some to keep the cameras off of the Cornucopia as her beasts developed minds of their own, tore into each other in the absence of human flesh, before darting off into the unknown to lick their wounds.

"How the hell do you confuse pink for red? Okay okay, fine! I will do it myself, thank you for asking!"

And for days she struggled. Until she'd come up with the genius plan of luring each of them out with their own separate fights in the vicinity of each location they'd taken to hiding. And like giving candy to a baby, they'd emerged. Just long enough to go on the offensive themselves, just long enough for neural patterns and brain synapses to be captured by her team.

And finally, with the press of a red button, she'd reestablished control. And just like that, the weight of the world fell off of her shoulders as she collapsed onto a chair.

No one dared comment, but the baggy-eyed woman with frazzled hair and smudged makeup was a far cry from the professional Gamemaker that had once prowled through the room like she had owned the place. And in a sense, she had. Far from being the bright-eyed newcomer to the head position, she was a veteran who had done eight years of waiting to reclaim her throne.

Right now? She just wanted to take a nap. For like, three days straight. Having to run an entire games while also dealing with eight foot tall muttations exploring their teenage independence did that to a person.

But that wasn't going to be an option. Just shy of the final eight, where each and every action was critically observed with microscopic efficiency? No, she needed to be personally on deck for that one.

And what a cast of characters for her resurgence into prominence. Sophie Fray, the Career legacy. Gala Thomas, the vengeful lover. Georgina Hayward and Laurent Crest, the unlikely wallflower set of Threes (and yes, she'd already heard about the comparisons to Fer and Throes half a hundred times). Beck and Noel Hailsham, the deadly siblings from Four. Walter Blake, the youthful maverick volunteer. Eloise Abramovich, the silent enigma.

Four that would be much preferred. Four that wouldn't. A fifty percent chance of getting a Career across the finish line, or a fifty percent chance of getting another Teddy Ursa. Other Gamemakers had done worse with better odds. Better with worse.

And that was all she thought, before she passed out right then and there in her seat.

[lance]

It was funny how things could change across the course of eight games' time. Her first Games had seen her putting all of her cards and coins into one basket, one hope, one Lux Pelotte to claim victory and give her the model victor that she had desired ever since her first day as an intern twelve years ago. Back then, there were worries of candidates that would put her job in danger, candidates that brought mystery and mystique to her realm, and no fewer than a solid five out of eight that if they weren't able to prove themselves worthy, would mark bad fortune.

In the end, it wasn't the tribute from Eleven, a mere five years after his districts' improbable three year win streak in a row, or the Lowe legacy that had the potential to start another streak from the tenth district in terms of unlucky wins in a row (well, almost), or even her chosen champion, but a quiet, amnesiac, unassuming boy from District Six to claim victory for his home for the first time in living memory after the failures of such combatants like Galaxy Rose-Clements and Wyatt O'Connor. Teddy Ursa had been an oddball, an enigma, and yet he'd defied each and every expectation she'd set for him - emerging the superior in the narrative of those that must prove that they were worthy between himself and Ree Fer, outlasting the heroine narrative that she had given to Emberly Lowe, and managing to prove himself superior to a weakened Lux Pelotte on her waterborne finale.

No wonder Charlie had retired in the aftermath. Even as Callie had gotten herself another job well before her, a job that had seen another Eleven take her place in the victor's circle in the aftermath, she had waited, and waited, and waited. And perhaps that had been a blessing in disguise - for amongst the victors that had followed her own stint included not one but two Twelves, the most unnoteworthy Career victor she had ever seen (Justice Fray included) in a Games where being the victor didn't matter since everyone managed to hold onto their lives, another Career that fell moreso in the Opal Shore or Justice Fray section of the alignment scale instead of the Julian Bryze section, and two separate Sevens that fell on the opposite of the worthiness spectrum for her - a girl that had managed to kill a brutal Career with her last breath before fading into obscurity, and a golden boy that become the face of his district in the aftermath of a games where he had outlasted a brutal series of opponents to claim victory over a kid that had slain one fourth of his arena.

A mixed bag, to be sure, but no one that she would have liked seeing get to the end at any rate.

But this time...

This time, she almost dared hope that she might finally get a victor worthy of her services, that Snow had been wrong in sidelining her for almost a decade when it was her that got the most noteworthy Victor of the decade into their circle. And given who was amongst her cast of characters and the matchups she had so painstakingly organized, well, there really wasn't much room for anything else.

First off was the grudge match, but not only for the tributes involved but for herself as well. Sure, it may have been eight years since an unnoteworthy boy from Six had struck down her favorite, the girl from Four, in single combat, but she had not forgotten what had almost been in place of what had ended up becoming reality. And despite the passage of time, there was much to be found in the realm of similarities - Walter Blake was an unassuming kid from an interesting background who had largely slid under the radar to reach the final third, while Noel Hailsham had been the sole recipient of her greatest gift, the score of eleven she granted only to those she had thought the most worthy of claiming the crown. No matter that they already had plenty of reason to hate each other that had nothing to do with the actions of eight years ago, no matter that Blake had taken an early lead in his fight with a strike to the chest that had only served to barely slow the Career girl down. This was the fight where she would accept only one outcome. The fight that would either settle a debt, or add to it. Her champion against the embodiment of the upstart that had sent her spiraling down the totem poll year after bloody year. This was personal, in more ways than one.

Then there was the contingency plan. She was no stranger to how unpredictable the Games could be. Untrained kids could claim kills on fully trained Careers year after bloody year, and no matchup was set in stone. So that was why, instead of four matches of Careers against upstarts, she had ensured that even in her worst case scenario, there'd be one to hold the mantle through to the final four. And of the four, Beck Hailsham and Gala Thomas had, in her eyes, the most to prove. Oh, they had their own developed compelling narratives - the former not only as part of the second straight set of Hailsham siblings, but a compelling story with his ally the Fray girl as well, while the latter had her gamesmance with her district partner and now the label of vengeful widow - but in terms of actual accomplishments, compared to their Career brethren, they were somewhat lacking. Hailsham had just claimed his first kill in the half-dead boy from Eight the previous day, while for all of her bluster, Thomas had yet to strike up a notch for herself at all. In this duel, one would prove themselves more worthy than their opposition - and in a worst case scenario, would be the sole flagbearer of a worthy victor come the next day.

Another grudge match presented itself in a different manner - a dark horse from Eight who was to duel with the ally of the killer of their district partner, the third and final Career legacy from a well-known and well-established family. Of the lower district candidates, Abramovitch was the one that struck her as the most dangerous and most likely to claim the crown, and though Noel Hailsham was the favorite in her eyes, Sophie Fray made a compelling case to fight for the spot herself. Following a ballsy Private Training Session, the girl had shown that she had the skill to back up her claim that she was, in fact, going to win - striking an early kill on Vallanso in a manner eerily reminiscent to her brother Justice in the Seventy Third before killing Sarina Izar with an entirely different weapon a few days later - but whether she had the fortitude to continue such a streak remained to be seen. But right now, Abramovitch embodied the Teddy Ursas of the Games, the scrappy underdogs from the lower districts who saw themselves thronebreakers, while Fray was the queen herself, looking to swat the upstart from her field of view before moving on to other matters. Each fighter had the chance to prove themselves worthy, but in the end, only one would escape.

And the last one? Well, that was more out of necessity than anything else. For the second straight stint in a row, both tributes from Three had made a compelling case for the crown, finding themselves within her top eight. Like last time, both had been underdogs that had gotten there through as much luck as anything else. Unlike last time, there was no guarantee that one would die before the top eight, for there was no Adelaide Throes who would think it a good idea to attack a brutal, fully armed Career with her bare hands. So she'd have to take matters into her own hands. For Laurent Crest or Georgina Hayward to truly prove themselves in her eyes, they'd have to strike their district partner down first. That was a right of passage amongst worthy District Threes, right? Klaus Goravich, Atticus Manor, Akira Sokatoa - hadn't they all struck down their district partners before getting to within touching distance of the crown? That was a tradition she'd be fine with encouraging - in the best case scenario, they'd tear each other to death. And even in the worst, one of the two thorns in her side would find themselves six feet under before the sun went down.

Two fights made up of contingencies. Two fights to determine worthiness and settle grudges. Not the most ideal scenarios she could have possibly had - but all things considered, it was still pretty damn close. No tributes that would result in having her head lopped off her shoulders (like a certain girl from Twelve that had gained a devout following and had made her sweat more than once), and a full four out of six Careers making a determined push for the crown.

Like with everything, she'd just have to wait and see. And there was still a chance this could all blow up in her face. But right now? These were some pretty good odds.

[lance]

When Beck Hailsham had struck down Laurent Crest the day before, she had let out a breath that she did not know she had been holding on to.

Eight years later, and she had ended up right back to the very same place she had found herself back then. A Four against a Six. The Career favorite versus the scrappy upstart from a middle district. Sure, there were changes - Beck was nowhere near the fierce, ruthless Career that Lux Pelotte or even his sister had been, and Walter had proved himself to have more of a deadly touch than Teddy Ursa ever had despite his years - but the fact remained that, out of all the possible combinations, this is what she had ended up with.

Which was strange, because contrary to her first time around, she had ended up with almost the worst possible outcome when it came to projected outcomes for the top four. In both of her Career vs lower district matchups, the upstart had prevailed over the favorite - Blake had struck Noel Hailsham down with a nasty strike through the eye socket, while Eloise Abramovitch had chopped up the heir to the Fray legacy limb from limb before putting an end to her suffering. And on top of that, there was no clear winner to come from the clash of Threes, so Crest putting an end to Georgina Hayward was somewhat lackluster in the aftermath of that, whereas Beck Hailsham and Gala Thomas came so close to killing each other that her knuckles had gone white at the very real prospect that she'd lose her contingency plan before it could ever be executed.

But fate had granter her a reprieve, in the end. Her decision to have the former allies of Blake and Abramovitch paid off, with the two parties likewise nearly tearing each other apart in the end. And, as it turned out, Crest had proved that his victory meant something, as the idiot had lost his supplies right before running into Hailsham. And though there had been valiant examples of tributes beating each other to death with their bare hands in the past, even a wounded Hailsham proved more than capable of striking down Three's last chance at an underdog victory.

And that was how she found herself, watching through narrowed eyes as the one-legged Career boy and the haggard thirteen year old from Six tore away at each other as if their lives depended on it. Which, she supposed, they did. As she watched, Blake cut so deep into Hailsham's remaining leg that had she been a lesser woman she would have winced, noting that it was a wonder he didn't slice clean through it. Hailsham struck back, slicing Blake's head where his left ear had once been.

A glance at their vitals - Blake's nearing critical, Hailsham's holding steady - did little to reassure her. She'd seen what'd happened in the past when Gamemakers had assumed their victories were all but assured. She'd heard the rumors surrounding Xenia Montague after an Eleven had claimed victory over a Twelve in a lose-lose situation. She'd heard the rumors as to the disgrace that Zaya Reine had faced after she'd gotten her third straight Twelve in a finale and second straight victor from the poorest of districts. She was aware of Jacinta Salazar's stunning upstart victory over Cynthia Rose Delgado, a move that had caused the entire head-Gamemaking team to retire in disgrace.

Walter Blake still had a chance. Her sought-after Career victor wasn't set in stone yet. The last time she had thought it had been all but assured, Teddy Ursa had struck her would-be champion down to the depths of her island arena.

She wouldn't be so foolish, so naive, to allow herself to hope this time. Not before the last cannon had been fired and the Hailsham boy was well on his way to the medical bay.