HG au notes

[mismanagement]

 Maketh was not supposed to be the tribute that year. The exact details of this were hidden from the audience, but the training academy had been undergoing a number of political shifts and sacrifices were made. District Two's chosen were Alexsandr Kallus and another female cadet who dropped out due to a sudden and catastrophic illness before she could volunteer. Strangely, the same fate befell the next cadet in line. And the one after that. An alternative had to be selected last-minute. Maketh was at the top of her class but she was the daughter of a peacekeeper and a tailor - neither of whom had enough influence to keep her out of the Games. So instead of becoming a military officer as she'd been expecting, Maketh entered the games. 

It didn't go well, initially. She was a Career without the charisma, who resisted fancy clothes and gave stilted, too-polite answers when interviewed. She was too scripted, too tightly wound, and despite a high score in training, was not exactly anyone's favorite. Kallus was the favorite for the year. But she was still a Career, still highly trained, still very deadly. Quietly, nearly everyone wrote her off as gone once the Careers thinned out the herd. 

The games were set in a dense forest that year, with persistent darkness and bat-shaped Mutts hiding in the shadows. Maketh and Kallus survived the initial melee and banded together with the other Careers, moving systematically to hunt down the other tributes. 

It took less than three days for Kallus to earn himself a prestigious sponsor gift: a set of night vision goggles. His victory seemed certain. 

That night, Maketh killed the remaining Careers and Kallus while they slept, and took the goggles for herself. 

Her games were remarkably quiet, despite netting her a surprisingly high kill score. She utilized the darkness and waited until the other tributes were asleep before attacking them. Few saw her coming and only one actually had the chance to fight back. As such, her game persona was of the icy professional. Quietly, the audience found her either too boring or too cold. Her opponents never had a chance to fight back and Maketh herself showed incredibly little emotion during the games. There was nothing to root for. She didn't seem bothered when it was done, either, giving candid interviews and surprisingly casual responses to everything. Nothing about her quite fit the proper Victor handbook. She wasn't glamorous, she wasn't clever and witty, she wasn't traumatized and frail, and she wasn't much fun at parties. What she wanted was to be a military officer and it took her a surprisingly long time to realize that she couldn't be one.

Things have gone a touch downhill since then. She's been retained as an instructor for one of the Career academies and works as an engineer in her spare time. It's rumored that people end up dead whenever someone tries to throw a party at her house, but that's definitely just a rumor. Right? 

Comments

post game - cw for prostitution, unhealthy relationships

[mismanagement]

Pryce is waiting when Maketh wakes up in the medical ward, sitting on a metal chair by the bed. Her back and the line of her bangs are both perfectly straight.

"Congratulations. Five days and ninety-seven minutes. A very quick Game."

There's no smile on Pryce's face, but something sharp and watchful. Almost, but not quite proud.

"You're three hours short of a record, Tua."

Pryce stands abruptly. Maketh stares at her.

"Get dressed. We have work to do."

**

There's work. It's done. The stylists put her in a uniform this time instead of a dress. Laced tight, a collar all the way up to her neck. No heels. It's better that way.

"Was it difficult to turn on your district partner like that? I understand you'd known Kallus for several years...."

Maketh stares at Caesar. He's an annoying man. Asking questions that shouldn't be humored with an answer, as if the whole world doesn't already know. She wants to crack his shiny teeth out with a hammer. "No. It was simple."

"Isn't she ruthless! I love it. Love it. And I must say, you look dazzling tonight, my dear."

There's been some tittering that she's wearing trousers and a stylized jacket, a uniform, instead of some ball gown.

Maketh holds herself still and waits for him to ask another question. Pryce told her to smile for the interview, to practice in front of a mirror beforehand, so Maketh does.

She smiles and smiles and she waits, back perfectly straight.

Caesar clears his throat. "Anything you'd like to say?"

"Glory to the Capitol," she says simply. It feels like enough, though the applause is lackluster.

**

Pryce gives her a disgusted look when the interviews are done. Maketh unpins her hair slowly, trying to recognize the face that greets her in the mirror. That face has too much makeup to be hers. "You thought I'd die."

Of course she did. Kallus was the favorite. Their sullen golden boy, so proud of the beard he was growing. Almost a man. He looked so surprised when he died.

"You child."

Maketh turns, frowning.

Pryce rolls her eyes. They're shockingly blue now that she's taken the contacts out. Most of the time her eyes are black - utterly plain. Now they're a dark, roiling blue. And utterly disgusted.

"I'll give you one piece of advice, since you're from Two and we do things properly here. Get a script and stick to it. Play a good little role because nobody likes the one you're trying now. You're the bitch who killed everyone in their sleep. Not very sporting, was it?"

"I won," Maketh points out. Because that's what matters, isn't it? She won because she was better, faster, smarter. She won because she deserved to and that's how it's always gone.

Pryce bares her teeth. "Your mother's dead."

There's a strange buzzing in the air then. Maketh pulls the last pin out of her hair. It falls around her shoulders. "What?"

"So sorry to bear the bad news. Tragic accident. You know how it goes. Rest assured, the responsible parties have been harshly reprimanded."

Pryce shrugs. Her sympathy is surface-level. There's something deeper that Maketh recognizes as a threat - ill defined, but there. "You've got a father somewhere, don't you? And an uncle too, I heard."

Maketh doesn't say a word. She holds.

"Better keep an eye on them, Tua."

**

Her father and her uncle move to the Victor's Village when she comes back. Neither of them know her anymore. They haven't spoken since she began training as a cadet.

Dinners are awkward. Eventually, Maketh stops eating in company.

Her uncle offers to spar. They bruise each other and sometimes that helps.

One of them leaves a kitten in her room. A runty little thing with a black coat and three white feet. It curls against her neck when she holds it, and Maketh is sure to be very quiet when she weeps into its fur.

Appearances must be kept, after all.

**

She follows Pryce and a few of the other victors from Two to parties. All of them are sharp and barbed with their words, dangerous to maneuver with. Most of them drink too much and none of them care that she joins in. The parties are strange and stilted until she gets a few drinks in, the strong ones, and then they're all right.

Later, Pryce and another victor, an old man they call Jones, take her aside. "Pick one," Pryce tells her, indicating the crowd.

"What?"

"Pick one," Pryce says, eyes narrowed. "To fuck. Before they chose for you."

"An officer," Jones suggests quietly. It is the first and only thing he will ever say to her. "A married one."

"Preferably someone you can stand," Pryce suggests coolly, "but you really can't be difficult now, Tua. Not many options unless you're pretty or clever."

And she's neither. As Pryce has often implied.

Jones gives her a quiet pat on the arm, then disappears back into the crowd.

"Chop chop, soldier. I wouldn't dawdle if I were you."

Maketh almost asks if Pryce had to do this, after she won her game. She doesn't. She drinks and drinks and eventually she sleeps with someone. It's not worth remembering.

**

Later, she meets Kismet and they make an arrangement. It's not so bad. Kismet is a strict officer, properly disciplined, but simple with her needs. Not so old, either, and handsome in harsh sort of way. All thick arms and an engineer's scarred hands. She gives Maketh a generous allowance with few requirements. Show up in public a few times a year, come to her bed when called, offer up advice when relevant.

Sometimes they just talk. That's nice, too.

**

Later, though not much later, a girl from Three is buried in a pit. A slow, mean death.

But she lives, and she lives, and eventually she wins.

Maketh rests her head against Kismet's shoulder. "Did you lose money on her?"

"I won more than expected," Kismet says, running her hand absently through Maketh's hair. Tomorrow she's leaving on assignment and Maketh will be left alone to avoid her father and her uncle. Perhaps she'll build explosives in the basement again. "I think we'll go on vacation, my girl. Have you ever seen a beach?"

"On TV."

Kismet snorts. "I meant for real. I'll buy you some books. We'll go swimming. Enjoy the sun."

"It sounds lovely," Maketh murmurs. She's watching the girl from Three get her crown. Brennan. The quiet one. Apparently she's in love with her mentor. How sweet, the audience coos, how sweet.