dead end drive [seven]

[dars]

MACKENZIE PRYCE "I'll handle the introductions." It was a formality, an attempt at being polite. Of course he was going to handle introductions: he had pretty much every year since he won. But with Violet around, things were more complicated than ever, and at least now Jacinta had a valid excuse, he supposed. Even if- or perhaps especially because- one of this year's tributes was yet again tied to Jaci. And she was still reeling from the near miss of last games. He kissed his daughter on the forehead while she played with a wooden toy, kissed Jaci on the cheek. "Be back soon." It wouldn't ever be easier. He wished he'd had the forethought to smoke ahead of time, but alas, it looked like he was stuck with coffee until they touched down in the Capitol. He made a mental note to go and find Nico as soon as they unpacked, tossing in a dollop or two of bourbon and pretending to not notice how tired he looked in his reflection of the cupboard's glass door. Fuck, he thought, I'm getting old. Not in the traditional sense; late-twenties was hardly a feat or an accomplishment. All it was ever proof of was that a person had avoided the Games, but Mackenzie hadn't avoided the Games. He'd survived them. Which meant when he said he was getting old, meant that he'd aged mentally to the point of exhaustion. And for what? He hadn't been a successful mentor a single time, his daughter cried every time he held her, his girlfriend was a barely-tangible ghost at the best of times and he could only imagine that was going to be worse in the days to come, his sister hadn't spoken to him since she'd moved out, his mom's cough was getting worse- there wasn't much that was going right for Mackenzie those days. And yet. And fucking yet, he still cared. And he still felt like it was his ridiculously overbearing responsibility to try and save these kids, because they didn't ask for it anymore than he had. Both of them were about as good as a mentor from Seven could hope for, meaning they both looked like they could be impressive by way of brute strength, but they both had a quiet vacancy between their eyes that most from Seven had. They weren't a particularly studious bunch, unless they went to Abadeer or Eden, and even then it was a craps shoot. Kyler had been a student at Abadeer and that boy couldn't figure his way out of a wet paper sack. He took a seat across from them, a long and exaggerated pause as he struggled to order his scattered thoughts. They were afraid. They should have been. Of the games, of each other, and of Mackenzie himself. He remembered a part of him hating Jacinta at this point, because she held so much power over his survival. One mistake, one cross remark, and he was dead. One clever observation, or good marketing opportunity, and he was sponsored something like antivenom that would save his life. It was terrifying, and he had trust issues. It was hard not to in a world like this one. "I'll be honest right out of the gate: there is no secret to survival. There's no trick. It's mostly luck and being marketable, with a bit of real-time strategy on your part in the arena, and a bit of relief from the sponsors I gather for you both." He had a headache. "We are treated like Careers by proxy, but we aren't careers. Which means we don't have the training of an actual career, but we also lose the sympathy vote of being an underdog. The first step is making you both memorable, which is going to make you feel ridiculous and angry and less human, but it is necessary if you want to live." He looked them over, and decided that they easily could have stamped themselves into the minds of the Capitolites. Aspen was pretty, and looked confident and capable, and the close proximity to past victors or tributes was always a slight boost in sponsorship availability, at the very least. The boy, Reece, had a homegrown charm, unpolished and rugged in a way that would surely make the tweens of the world go insane for him. He was the type of boy people wanted to hear stories from, but Mackenzie couldn't tell yet if the boy knew that or not. He already had potential strategies for both of them, but he decided to wait until he was one-on-one with them before he went any further. One of them could have potentially killed the other, after all. Stranger things had happened. A legacy and a bad boy. He could work with that- he'd been forced to work with a lot less. "And it might be worthless to you, but you both have my word that I'll do everything in my power to get one of you back home. Okay?" At some capacity, he knew that was never enough. One person out of the two of them would never be enough- those weren't chances any sane person would willingly take. But it was the best he could have ever hoped to offer to them, and he hoped they understood it. Or, at the very least, that they didn't hold it against him.

[sidney]

REECE JACKSON The first time he woke since everything went dark was in the Justice Building, surrounded by Keepers and hands zip-tied behind his back. His head pounded and as soon as he dared to move an inch from where he was, he felt a steel-toed boot slam hard against a rib. Followed by a stern "Don't move," from a voice he didn't recognize, and everything went black once more.  The second time was already after the train had been boarded and set off toward the Capitol. He roused atop a plush chair, head resting on the back, chin open as drool spilled down the side of his cheek and onto the collar of his shirt. Reece snorted a breath and blinked hard, not really understanding his surroundings until he pushed himself up in the chair and noticed a familiar blonde sitting across from him. The girl who's name they'd called just before his. What was it again? Ashley? He asked himself, but it didn't feel right. It wasn't as plain, he remembered that much. Hopefully someone would say it again so he didn't have to ask.  "What --" he grasped the arms of his chair and looked around confused. "Whe-where the fuck am I?" Eyes pulling toward the passing greenery beyond the windows, he let out a long sigh before pinching the bridge of his nose and then instantly wincing as he did so. "Fuck!" He cursed out, bringing his fingers up to his left eye to press down lightly and investigate. A black eye? Already? Great. But before he can really do or say anything about it--and trust him, he had plenty to say about getting decked by a Keeper--the door at the front of the train car slid open and an all-too recognizable figure stepped in. Mackenzie Pryce. In the flesh. A legend to some within Seven, but Reece never really thought it smart to invest so much into the Victors. Even the ones from home. He knew some, even a few grown men who worked with him at the lumberyard, that looked up to Mackenzie like he was a god. And in a sense, Reece guessed he was. Just as merciless and cruel.  He had seen the way the boy from Seven had died last year. And the year before that. And the year before that.  So what was the point of having a mentor exactly, if you still died all the same?  He listens as the speech begins, tried not to get too distracted by the huge, buggy eyes of girl who sat across from him. But he had never been too good at focusing, really. It was always something Rae yelled at him about. She'd be talking and talking and talking, telling him something important like where to meet her after her shift at the Mill or what chores he was supposed to finish before supper. She'd usually pull him out of it with a snap of her fingers in front of his face or a light smack to the side of the head, but this time it's Mackenzie's word. Or rather, a promise. One Reece doesn't believe for a second.  "...you both have my word that I'll do everything in my power to get one of you back home. Okay?" "Yeah, sure," he scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest defensively, side-eyeing-- what was her name, again? Fuck, I don't remember. "But which one of us, though?"