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jsehungergamesau · 4 months

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Against All Odds

CHAPTER 2

No. No. No. No. This can't be real.

Heads turn towards Chase as someone from behind him gives a push right into a peacekeeper. He tries not to gasp. He forces his legs to move and keep his head up high as he makes his way to the stage, but he can't seem to broaden his shoulders, folding inward on himself as he walks. His throat is dry, and he can distantly hear Stacy’s protests and cries, begging for someone to volunteer for him while being shushed by the crowd.

His footsteps don't even creak on the solid wooden stairs as he climbs them.

He looks over the crowd, his home, his community. Watching faces morph into everything from relief and mourning to utter shock. He feels a cold hand touch his back, keeping him upright, and distantly registers that he locked his knees so he wouldn't run.

“Any volunteers?” The cupcake woman asks the crowd.

Chase prays again, this time to the crowd directly, someone out there has to know he’s about to be a dad. Someone has to volunteer. They can’t leave Stacy to be alone with a child. Someone must have some pity. Please. He begs them with his eyes.

Nobody steps forward to volunteer. The entire district remains silent.

Chase's stomach drops like a mangled stump into a wood chipper.

“Well, there you have it, District Seven! Your tributes this year: Ivy Cinder and Chase Brody! Let's give them a big hand!"

He doesn't see anyone move, but if they did clap, Chase wouldn't have heard it. Blood was rushing in his ears as his brain spun out, trying to keep up with what was happening to him.

Chase feels numb as the peacekeepers usher him into the clock tower. The old building doubles as a city hall for the district and has been well maintained despite the rest of the town crumbling to sawdust around them. If he bothered to look directly up when they entered the door, Chase would be gazing up the spiraling steps of the clock tower itself and see the gleaming gears ticking away steadily high above their heads. Well-oiled and sturdy to the tests of time meanwhile, Chase could feel his entire life burning around him like a raging forest fire in contrast.

They escort him to a private room to wait for visitors and the first thing Chase does after the doors close is scream.

He wants to throw something. So instead of something breakable and expensive- the tray of crystal drinking glasses looks very tempting- he rips off his flannel and wads it into a ball with harsh digging fingers, flinging it with all of his strength into the plush leather couch. He grabs his hair and begins to pace the freshly cleaned hardwood floor.

Okay, Brody. Get your shit together. Keep calm. Keep calm. You can figure this out-

He doesn't have much time to calm himself when his father walks in. Douglas “Chip” Brody looks at his only son, and for a rare moment in Chase's life, his father walks over and hugs him without prompting. His massive frame dwarfed his boy as he held him close.

Chase freezes for a split second before he quickly latches on tight to his dad's shirt like he was a little kid again. He certainly felt that small in this moment. Shoulders shaking with a cocktail of anger, fear, and despair, Chase lets out one sob into his father's broad chest.

"You-" Chase swallows thickly, "You can't let Stacy be alone, okay?" He begs his father. "Please don't let her go hungry or leave her alone to suffer. Please. Do whatever you can to support them. I won't be able to now but I promised her. Please, Dad…"

Chase doesn't hear a word but can feel his father nod against his head and hold his son tighter.

Chase's father, in many ways, could be described as built like a boulder. Both in stature and in the amount of words typically spoken. He has always been a man of very few words, even more so when Chase's mother passed away a few years ago. They never needed many words to communicate between them. But at this moment, the father speaks to his child.

His rumbling voice coming from deep in his chest, he says, "You're strong and resourceful, Chase. Find an axe or a knife." The older man pulls away to look Chase in the eye. People always said Chase got so much of his mother in him. Does his dad see her when he looks at him? "Never forget your roots." He places a broad hand on his son's chest, "Your roots grow deep and sturdy here in Seven. Whatever you show out there, never lose touch with who you are and where you came from."

Chase blinks away his tears, "Only one person lives, Dad."

His father lowers his gaze for a moment before looking back up, "Then be the one who walks out." He said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Chase wished he believed that it could ever be that easy.

They sat quietly together for the remaining time on the couch, the older man's arm around Chase's shoulders as he listened to his dad's steady heartbeat. It was over way too fast- Chase quickly hugs his dad again and they whisper "I love you" to each other before the older man is taken away.

The silence in the room is deafening.

Chase is starting to fiddle with the simple metal band around his finger when a peacekeeper opens the door and Stacy does her best to run to him while seven months pregnant.

They clutch each other tight and Chase feels her sobs racking her whole body. He gently strokes her hair and hushes her before pulling her back and firmly holding her shoulders.

“Stacy, hey, look at me. You don’t let her take out any tesserae okay? You do not let her take anything from them." Stacy begins to protest but Chase keeps going. "I’ve already asked my dad but I'm also gonna ask my mentor to take care of you. If I get in good with him, maybe he’ll take pity on you. Give you bread and stuff.” Chase rattled off every last thing he could think of. Anything Stacy needed to know as thick tears pooled in her eyes.

"Chase please-" She begins to plead but Chase takes her face in his hands and she places her hands over top of his.

"Sell all of my stuff the moment you hear my cannon."

"Stop-"

"Everything. Clothes, furniture, my tools. Everything, Stacy. You get as much money as you can and you save it all for her, okay? My carving tools are worth a decent amount, don't settle for less than what they're worth."

Stacy shook her head at every word Chase said, not wanting any of it to be true. "No. No, No, No, NO, NO!! STOP THAT!! Just an hour ago you said it would be okay- That we would be together and okay! You can't go! I refuse to have our baby grow up without a father!" Stacy cries and pleads, weakly pounding a fist against Chase's chest, knowing it won't do her any good, but it's one thing she feels she can control at this moment.

"Starlight," Chase implores, feeling his heart break as he watches Stacy go quiet when he gently holds her wrists, "I'm... I'm so sorry." He barely whispers but clears his throat, resting his forehead against hers, "I'm so sorry this is happening. But it's out of our hands." Chase slides one hand from Stacy's wrist to her stomach, gently resting it over the baby bump and rubbing his thumb over it like he always did.

He steels himself. He can't leave her. Not alone like this. He will not leave her behind like her father did to her family. He promised he would be a better man than that. But did he really have a chance..? He certainly didn't have a choice.

"You can win." Stacy starts, and Chase looks back up at her eyes her beautiful brown eyes with flecks of gold in them when the sun hits just right. "You're good with an axe. I've seen you throw them in the backyard with Birch. You're strong and fast on your feet, and I've seen you climb trees faster than a squirrel. Hell- you're 18, as old as any career. I genuinely think you have a shot of winning, Chase." Stacy's voice was firm, much more confident than Chase felt about himself despite tears rolling down her cheeks. But at this moment, he believes her. "You have to win." She swallows hard, "You have to come back home."

Chase slowly nods. He barely gets his voice to cooperate enough to say, "Okay." Before he pulls her in for a kiss. He tries to tell himself it won't be the last one, but he still attempts to pour all of his heart and love into this one kiss.

When they break away, Stacy pulls off the ring Chase gave her just over an hour before. He's confused when she presses the piece of jewelry into his palm and closes his fist around it, "You're bringing this back to me. And if you don't, I'll kill you." She said, and Chase almost laughed in disbelief. This is why he fell in love with this woman. He takes his simple band off his own finger and trades it to her. Quickly going to the couch to grab his reliable thick gray flannel and wrapping it around her much smaller shoulders, and kisses her again. She clutches the ring tight in her hand and the flannel close like a security blanket as she kisses him back.

"I love you so much, Stacy."

"I love you, too.” She gasps at a sudden thought, “What do we name her?" Stacy asks quickly and Chase panics, distantly hearing peacekeeper boots coming their way.

They had discussed name ideas before, but he wanted to wait and actually see his baby's eyes before making a choice. But if he never got the chance to do so- Chase has to think quickly. They don't know 100% if it will be a girl, but if she is then what do they name her? Think, Brody, think-

The door handle begins to turn and Chase hugs his girl, almost crushing her to his chest as he blurts out the first name that came to his mind, "Willow."

Stacy nods and clings tightly to him. The peacekeepers come in and all too quickly she is being pulled away from him. He wants to shove them off her. She is crying, screaming "I love you so much!" as they drag her away. Chase calls back to her, but the door is slammed shut in his face.

He tries to go for the handle, but he hears the deadbolt coldly thunk into place. He slams his fist against the hardwood before pressing his forehead against it in defeat.

Chase desperately goes to the window to try and see her again, but the shutters are also locked tight. He feels like screaming again. His eyes burned but he swallowed tightly around the lump in his throat. Goodbye…

One more person comes to see him.

His best friend, Birch, is a tall twig of a person who fits their namesake almost scarily well. Pale skin with darker patches around their eyes and mouth, and scattered across their arms and legs. Dark hair and matching black eyes, they wore an orange flannel normally but today it was just a gray button-up and a somber expression to match. Birch had been Chase's closest buddy growing up, despite how little they spoke. Chase never minded, he was good at talking enough for the both of them and Birch was a great listener.

They don't hug, but Birch reaches their hand out and Chase clasps their arms together in a tight grip.

"I'll watch out for her," Birch mumbled, already knowing what Chase was going to ask of them. They were always a soft-spoken person. Chase compared their voice to a gentle breeze once and Birch just shrugged, outwardly indifferent but Chase could tell they appreciated the compliment.

"You mean that?"

Birch nodded, serious. "Her. The ankle biter. And your old man. I'll make sure they're taken care of if your dad slips up somewhere."

Chase let out a steady breath. Birch has always had Chase's back ever since Chase pulled their little brother out of the river, the one where they floated the trees to the lumber mill. The peacekeepers did nothing and the boy would have been crushed between massive logs if Chase didn't go after him. Guess this debt will finally be paid off in Birch's eyes if they do this for him. "Thank you," Chase says sincerely. Birch just nods again.

And that was it. Birch left as quietly as they came. No lingering. No tearful goodbyes. Just a promise to set Chase's mind at ease.

It's probably better this way. Birch always got uncomfortable when people cried.

Chase is then whisked away to the train station, several cameras pointed right at him and the other tribute girl as they get ushered onto the car like cattle heading to the slaughterhouse. Chase does have half a mind to smile and wave for the people across the country watching the broadcast, giving a small wave goodbye to his home as they stepped onto the train. He hoped they all didn't notice how puffy his eyes were or how clenched his jaw was.

The games have already begun.

°○°○°○°

Chase enters the dining car and looks out the window one last time at his district. He scanned the crowds who were seeing them off, waving goodbye but knowing in the back of his mind that he wouldn't see Stacy standing among them. No, Birch has probably escorted her back home by now and is trying in vain to comfort her.

The thought of Stacy when Birch inevitably has to leave, in her empty house crying, sets him on edge again. Chase stalks up and down the dining car like a caged animal, not even noticing the incredible speed of the train once it pulled away from his home. The trees stretch on for miles and blur past in a wall of green that Chase can barely register as it takes all of his power not to destroy the table setting.

Instead of causing total destruction, he sits heavily on one of the plush chairs at the dining table and doubles over himself, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes until he sees stars bursting behind his closed lids. Chase couldn't stop his leg from bouncing if he bothered to try. There was so much rage, fear, and grief pent up inside him that he reconsidered throwing an expensive glass through a window when he heard the mechanical door slide open.

Chase snaps his head up to see the same man who stood with them on the stage. He vaguely realizes this must have been the person who kept a hand on his back so he didn't keel over on the spot.

He wears a rich blue vest with a simple swirling design embroidered into it, a crisp white shirt, and pressed black slacks with matching polished shoes. His black curly hair is tamed back with gel, but the thick curls were already beginning to crack and spring back to life in defiance. It seems like his mustache beat his hair to the punch- being styled to curl at the ends towards his nose. But that's about where the similarities to a potential resident in the Capitol stop. No, Jameson Jackson may have gotten a little plump around the edges with his victor's salaries, but he still had the hands of a worker. And shoulders to match if he didn't actively curl in just slightly enough to appear smaller. Appear more meek. The smile on his face was hardened like it was petrified into place, like a piece of fossilized bark. But his deep blue eyes still seemed kind.

Chase didn't know what to think of him just yet.

Jameson walked with a limp over to Chase. The cane in his grip was fashioned from a tree branch, lovingly stripped of bark and polished to an almost orange shine. A knot at the top of it acts as the handle for Jameson to grip onto as he reaches his free hand out to gently grip Chase's shoulder.

The man tilts his head to the side while looking down at Chase- he can just catch the sight of a scar under the man's collar even though his black bowtie keeps the shirt closed. Jameson raises his brows in silent question. Chase knows that Jameson knows it's a bitter and dumb question to ask, but he still feels compelled to.

Are you okay?

Chase shakes his head, refusing to let tears fall. The next week is all about impressions. Getting people on your side, making friends with the Capitol scum that are rooting for his death, and placing bets on how fast he’ll die.

Realistically he’ll probably last a few days, but he can’t do anything important like gather food that won’t kill him, or patch up wounds so deep you can see your bones. He’ll make it to the top twelve, maybe ten, then die a slow, hungry, painful death.

He turns back to Jameson and grabs his hand that rested on his shoulder.

“I have a girlfriend- a fiancée. She’s pregnant with our daughter. I need you to take care of her when I die. I won’t ask for anything else from you. Just please, take care of Stacy Wells.”

It probably wasn’t the best idea to beg right off the bat, but that’s all Chase could think to do.

Jameson blinks rapidly at Chase's pleading, taking a moment to compose himself from the small outburst before gently removing his hand from Chase's death grip. He begins to use his hands to make movements and strange signs at the younger man but slowly stops when he sees Chase's lost look. Jameson hesitates again, hands hovering in front of him as if he was debating something, before turning and plucking a butter knife from the table behind him. He begins to tap on his cane with the blunt end of the knife and Chase immediately perks up in recognition.

The quick taps are a bastardized Morse code that the people of District 7 developed as a way of communication to mimic the sound of woodpeckers- and slip conversations past the peacekeepers. Back in the days of the rebellion it was used quite frequently, but now it's mostly reserved for the folks who actually go up the high canopies to strip the branches. Usually to signal for bears or other dangers they spot nearby, but more often than not it is used to warn those goofing off of approaching peacekeepers.

It's by no means a perfect system, it's mostly just a collection of quick and simple phrases. But Jameson taps out a sentence that Chase roughly manages to translate to, "I understand. But first, let's talk."

Chase nods.

Jameson pulls a chair out and spins it around so he can sit facing the 18-year-old. Once he leans his cane against the side of his chair, he pulls out some strange copper domes that look like a handful of sewing thimbles. He carefully places them on each finger before pressing them all into his scarred palms, causing them all to activate with tiny blue lights all at once.

"Test. Test."

Chase jumps as a calm robotic male voice speaks from Jameson's breast pocket as he moves his hands to sign.

As Jameson signs, the movements of his hands seem to translate into a digital dialogue. Must be some kind of high-end Capitol tech, Chase wonders how much they cost Jameson. "These things are a huge pain to wear all day, but I will say, it is a nifty bit of equipment."

“Did-did the Capitol give you those?” Chase curses himself at the question. Of course, he got those from the Capitol, most injured loggers would be lucky to have a decent cane or a wooden appendage if the worse came. Of course, the Capitol gave him everything he needed to communicate, he’s a victor.

Jameson gave the young man a bemused smile, "Yes they are from the Capitol, but it was my friend from District 3 who designed them himself."

“They look nice at the very least.” Chase tries to compliment him. If he was going to win Jameson over, he could start by not antagonizing him. But what does he even say? What could he even say? Everything depends on the next few sentences.

“I want to win. But I don’t think I have a good chance. I want to go back home to my family.”

Jameson's smile slowly drops at Chase's self-doubt and he kicks himself for it, "What makes you so sure you don't have what it takes?"

“I-I’m not a career. And I can’t forage or hunt properly, let alone treat wounds or find water. I’m good with an axe and strong but that’s about it.” Chase runs his hands across the silky tablecloth. It’s a texture unfamiliar to him but it’s nice anyway. He thought it felt as if water was woven into a flexible solid and he could dip his hand through its cool surface.

"Not every winner is a career. Our district has had its fair share of victors, after all." Jameson gives Chase a grin but he immediately drops it when it's returned with a deadpan stare. "There will be a few days of survival and basic weapons training before the games. You have the opportunity to absorb as much knowledge as you can then. But that's not for a few more days. When Ivy comes in we will discuss the next immediate steps. Like what happens when we get to the Capitol."

"What are the next immediate steps? Creating my image or something?" Chase tried hard not to roll his eyes, this was important. Likable and impressionable tributes win, he can't be just another scared kid in makeup, he has to stand out. If they managed to get Stacy's wails on camera maybe that would boost his image? It definitely would be something to talk about. A very pregnant woman crying out for her love to come home to her and their unborn child? Pulls on the heartstrings of even the gruffest lumberjack.

"First step," Jameson reaches over and plucks a small golden puffed pastry drizzled in chocolate from a silver platter, popping it into his mouth, "Enjoy the food. While you can stomach it." Jameson quirks his eyebrow when Chase sends him a scowl, "We have some time. Try to use what we have now to calm your nerves and get some meat on your ribs. We will figure everything out soon."

Enjoy the food? He was going to either be killed or kill children in a week and he was supposed to enjoy the food? That’s it? He was supposed to eat and revel in all the luxury that the oh-so-gracious Capitol provided for him? Chase holds his head in his hands and forces himself to take a few deep breaths. There’s no use getting mad at Jameson after all, he was going to be his only lifeline for the next few weeks.

The door slides open to the dining car before Chase can reply, and a girl with the most brilliant green eyes Chase has ever seen steps through the door.

"Ah, Ivy!" Jameson signed cheerily, the strange voice box nestled in his breast pocket didn't fully portray his cheer, but Jameson made up for that with his smile alone.

Chase and the girl both jump at the electronic voice. Chase was still not completely used to it. He turns back to see the other half of the team, Ivy, accompanied by the District Seven escort.

Ivy Cinder stiffens a little but returns a kind smile that doesn't reach her eyes to Jameson, “Hi. Nice to meet you.” She mutters, tucking a stray red curl behind her ear with stiff movements. She was wearing a simple gray dress that she didn't look at all comfortable in, with a green flannel over top with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She was also still wearing logger's work boots that Chase recognized almost immediately.

Ivy looks over at Chase, unsure when he waves to invite her to sit down with them. She walks around the table and sits heavily across from Chase and Jameson. Her leg starts bouncing like crazy immediately as she fidgets with a necklace charm Chase can't make out from his seat. Her shoulders were stiff but Chase could tell she was trying to not make her nerves obvious.

Jameson's shoulders bounce in a silent chuckle, "I know, this thing takes some getting used to. I tried talking to my good friend Henrik about changing the voice audio but he-” Their mentor looks between the two tributes who were staring at him with blank looks and his smile falters. There is a beat of awkward silence before Jameson's face turns to soft sorrow, "I know it does not mean much, especially coming from me, but I am so sorry this has happened to you both." Jameson glances at the district escort before continuing, "This isn't going to be easy, but me and Miss. Whisper here are going to do everything we can to help you."

"That is absolutely right!" The Capitol woman who was to be their escort, Teefee Whisper, clapped with glee while taking her seat next to Ivy in a puff of magenta glitter. Chase could see Ivy was trying her best to not make a face about the cloud of shimmering plastic particles that went everywhere. "I'm here to make sure we are all happy and punctual to get where we need to go. Oh! And I'm SO happy that I get to teach you proper etiquette! Ah! It will be just..." Teefee pauses a moment to search for the correct word and her face brightens with a snap of her perfectly manicured fingers, "Exceptional!"

Jameson smiles very patiently at the Capitol woman, "Indeed." He turns back to Chase and Ivy with his expression more serious again, "As your mentor, it is my job to help you from the sidelines while you are in the games. Do you both have a general idea of how sponsors work?"

Chase and Ivy both nod and Ivy subtly scoots away from Teefee, not wanting any glitter to touch her. Chase has watched people come back from the dead thanks to sponsors. Some water or food or even a simple set of matches made all the difference.

"I don't think Ivy will have difficulty with sponsors. I've seen her make friends with even the grouchiest of the lumberjacks." Chase says.

Ivy raises an eyebrow in surprise at his praise, "I highly doubt the other districts will see that as a strength-” Ivy says, idly rubbing her thumb against her token as she grins a little, "But the loveable sunshine girl and the determined father-to-be sound good together, I think.”

Even if Chase thought Ivy wasn't going to last long, she was certainly going to be a Capitol favorite. If Chase showed them all that they were a team, a duo, maybe some of Ivy's sponsors could roll over to him. And talking about Stacy and Willow would definitely help too. Everyone loves a baby after all.

Jameson nods while listening to the both of them, "Yes, we can definitely work with that. It helps that we won't have to reach too far to carve out a personality for the cameras.” He leans back in his seat a bit, “Just remember that this is all a big show. We will coach you later for the interview, but as soon as we pull into the station in the Capitol, consider yourselves on camera until the games are over. Start building up what you want the sponsors to see as soon as the train stops. Typically sponsors want to spend their money on someone who they think has a chance of winning, or that they want to see win because they take a shine to their personality," Jameson leans forward again for more emphasis that the digital voice can't portray, "Show them that your life is worth investing in."

When Ivy doesn't respond either, Chase assumes that she was also chewing on the weight of Jameson's words. Pretending to be something other than your true self so people can sit back and daintily throw their money at the ones who they think are the most deadly, funny, or attractive? That if they don't perform for their amusement it could mean the difference of a struggling life or a slow and cruel death. They have to prove to these complete strangers that their life is worth something.

A hard glare fixes itself between Chase's eyebrows as a literal banquet is set in front of everyone. He had half a mind to not eat a single bite, but the wafting smells of fresh sourdough bread, beef and vegetable stew, and an array of cheeses and pastries- it could make any man break, and Chase's mouth is a dam ready to burst. His stomach betrayed him further as it growled. He couldn't be too embarrassed for himself because Ivy's stomach echoed his.

The two of them share a look before they simultaneously give a snicker, serving themselves towering plates of bread and cheese with bowls of thick soup the size of their heads.

The tributes haven't eaten this well in... ever. And everything is delicious. Chase has to force himself to slow down or else he fears being sick. But once the main course was finished he dragged over the bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries.

Chase almost melted as the mix of bittersweetness hit his tongue. It was incredible. But it was Capitol food, he reminded himself after the third strawberry, pitching the leafy greens at one of the flower vases in the middle of the table.

“Ivy’s also really smart.” Chase says in between bites of another berry, “I’m good with an axe but she knows how to forage and stuff.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, red juice staining his skin, "I think if we trade knowledge we have a chance to make it far.”

But Chase knows making it far counts for nothing. Doesn’t matter if you die first or last, you’ll be in the Capitol’s coffin either way. A vague memory in the short-term minds of frivolous people lost to time. You needed to win. You needed to come first in order to be seen.

Ivy pauses stuffing her face with warm bread and various cheeses, her freckled cheeks turning a bit red. "Hey give yourself some credit, Brody! Any skill is a good skill in some way and I know you have some." Ivy says in between bites, taking her first sip from a mug filled with something sweet and inspiring delight in her eyes, "What do you know about hunting?"

“I uh, I don’t know too much about hunting. But like I said I’m good with an axe. I can throw them pretty far and with decent accuracy.”

He looks to Jameson for… something, and just finds him listening to them talk while sipping a very ornate-looking cup of tea.

Chase looks over the banquet laid out for him and grabs another sandwich and shoves it in his mouth bitterly.

“Can you climb?” Teefee pipes up cheerily, wanting to be a part of the conversation but obviously not knowing that much about which district she's talking to. Obviously, all kids from District 7 knew how to scale up trees as fast as squirrels, with little need for equipment like them as well. Guess the woman didn't do her homework before coming.

“Uh yeah, I guess. I’m pretty decent with a throw weight as well. I used to help cut some of the branches up high when I was a kid. And I can tie some pretty decent knots.”

Jameson nods approvingly, and turns back to Ivy, giving a gesture as a general prompt, What about you?

Ivy perks up mid-chewing on some meat and wipes her mouth clean. "I'm fast, a good hider, and good at throwing an axe, same as Chase. My dad taught me how to hunt with a crossbow and my older sister taught me what herbs to use and avoid. I'm good at climbing too... if I hype myself up."

How in the world did she manage to get her hands on a crossbow?! Chase looks down in his lap as he tries to assess the situation. Fuck. Ivy might have a shot after all. Her survival skills are much better than his, and when it comes down to it, he’ll be relying on her, not the other way around. Especially when it comes to finding food that is actually edible. And when the time comes he knows that she’ll have to be the one to pull the trigger. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit! His one and only plan was crumbling down around him. He’ll be dead in the first three days! He knows it.

Chase wipes a tear from his eye, refusing to show weakness in front of anyone here. He’s gonna die. All because some stupid rebels tried to storm a mountain 37 years ago. He wasn't even born yet when that happened so why does it have to be him paying for what they did?

If Jameson sees Chase crying he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he nods to Ivy, finishes his tea, and carefully puts his thimbles back on after having removed them to eat.

"As I said before, there will be a chance to train for three days before the games. You two can either pool your knowledge and work together, or decide now to train alone. If you do decide to be a team, I suggest that you don't show the other tributes your greatest strengths in the training center.” He explains, “Show them that you are capable of holding your own- hell if you think you're charming enough, make some friends and team up with others." Jameson doesn't look too thrilled at his own idea of teaming up with others, so he adds, "Just don't get too attached. And be careful.

“Excuse me,” Chase says suddenly as he gets up.

He can’t be here. He can’t be here. He reaches for the door, finding that it opens automatically before he can even find a handle. Chase doesn’t listen to it shut behind him or anybody possibly calling out to him. He’s already taken off looking for a place to cry.

#hunger games au #chase brody #jameson jackson #jse hunger games au #jse fanfic #jacksepticeye #Writers of Jack #writersogjack #Mod Parker #jse #jse egos

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jsehungergamesau · 3 months

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Against All Odds

CHAPTER 4

The sun finally breaks over the mountain horizon and it seems to bring the train to life with it. Attendants glide in and out of the dining car, bringing in breakfast foods and drinks and replacing the broken vase and glasses without a word.

Around 10 AM Teefee and Ivy join Jameson and Chase at the table. Ivy looks like she didn't sleep a wink and Teefee is bewildered to find the two of them covered in wood shavings. Chase can't help but flick a shaving at Ivy with a small grin as she takes a seat next to him, giving a weak attempt at a grin as she rubs her eyes tiredly. Teefee huffs and pours herself a large cup of coffee with half of it being cream.

"Today is going to be so much fun!" Teefee sings like a chattering squirrel. Today's outfit was just as ridiculous as yesterday's, this time giving her the appearance of a blue cotton-covered cloud with, of course, streaks of pink glitter. "Once we arrive in the Capitol you will immediately be sent to meet your prep team and stylists so they can prepare you for the opening ceremony!" The woman explains, and Chase wonders two things: how she can hold a pen with such ridiculously long and decorated nails, and how any human being can be this chipper so early in the morning. He's tempted to try the coffee, but it smells far too bitter, even with only a dash mixed into a mug of hot chocolate.

Jameson had retrieved his thimbles when Ivy and Teefee first arrived and he continues Miss. Whispers’ description of the day to come, "Don't resist what they do to you in the remake center. It will hurt a bit, but these are professionals and know how to make you look pretty for the people," Chase caught Jameson actively resisting rolling his eyes at his own words, "We talked about it a little yesterday, but did we decide what angle you two are going to present yourselves? Bold and hostile, clever and witty, charming and sexy?" He does allow himself a grimace at that, "Unfortunately you're both a bit rugged to pull off sweet and innocent, so we may have to pivot.”

It's obvious he despises talking like this, especially since Chase has seen a truer side to Jameson. But with Teefee in the room, Chase assumes he has put his pleasant mentor mask back on tight and talk Capitol to get by. Poor guy.

"The choice is yours but we need to send word to your stylists so they can make adjustments to fit your performance demeanor." Jameson finishes, taking a sip from a cup filled with amber-colored tea.

“I-I honestly don’t know. But back in Seven a lot of people thought I was pretty handsome and fun,” Chase shrugs, unconvinced by his own words, “I got asked out a lot but I only really had eyes for Stacy so I always said no.”

The idea of flirting with Capitol citizens honestly wasn’t the worst idea. He’s seen the Careers do it about a dozen times through this life and flirts always got the biggest sponsors. He remembers one year when a tribute from District 1 won in five days because he kept getting sponsor after sponsor. Food, water, new weapons, he got it all. All because he played up the charm with a pretty face to boost.

"Yeah, a real ladies' man back in school!" Ivy jokes with a chuckle as she looks over the breakfast table, "I also had my fair share of getting asked out, though I think guys saw me as more naive and.. fragile." Ivy grits her teeth as she says that.

“But I’m also gonna be a dad, I think that I have more to lose than just my life. I don’t think many other people can say that.” Chase offers.

“Well, the two flirts of District 7 might be a halfway decent angle.” Ivy groans, pressing her forehead against the table. Chase slides the plate of the orange fruit towards her and when she looks up he nods toward it. You should eat.

Ivy looks between the oranges and Chase, her eyes asking if it's really ok to take it. He nods again and nudges the plate closer. She gives Chase a weak smile and hesitantly picks up an orange wedge. She examines the rare fruit and pops it in her mouth. Eyes sparkling the same way Chase's must have looked when he first tried it.

Jameson sighs quietly across from them, "Seems like it's probably our best shot. Okay, Miss Whisper, please send notice to the stylists as soon as possible." He skewers his fork through a sausage and pops it in his mouth. "Just be aware that if either of you make it out, these personas will follow you forever. Do you understand?"

Chase and Ivy glance at each other, orange slices in each of their hands. Where did that come from? Jameson probably knows what he's talking about, but it was somewhat hard to grasp the context outside of what they can only assume.

“Well, having a kid is pretty permanent too. I’d say that part of me would follow me, games or not.” Chase shrugs and lets the fruit burst on his tongue.

Ivy's attention fixed on Jameson, she gives a sad nod, “I-... I understand. But it's what we gotta do to survive, right?”

Jameson's expression was stiff, but he gave a nod in return.

Before the silence broken up by forks scraping against plates could stretch too long Chase speaks up, “Speaking of stylists, is it going to hurt? Jameson mentioned it hurting.”

"Oh not much!" Teefee exclaims, leaping at the opportunity to fill the quiet, "Jameson, the jokester, was just kidding! It's not so bad." She takes a sip of her coffee, pinky out, and picks up her little silver clipboard to look over the schedule absent-mindedly. "It can even be quite relaxing! I went and got my eyebrows done a week ago and it only hurt a little!" She smiled brightly.

Jameson levels both of the tributes a flat look but says nothing.

“Okay, are we talking ‘splinter pain,’ ‘I just feel from 10 feet’ pain, or ‘Holy fucking shit a tree just fell on me and my ribs are broken’ pain?” He barely even acknowledges Teefee as she talks, keeping his full attention on Jameson. This annoys the woman, but Chase tries to ignore her.

Jameson looks up to the roof of the train car to think before signing in response, "Intense bathing, waxing off all your body hair, nail filing, hair cut..." He trails off, and Chase wants to reach out but keeps to himself this time, busying his hands with loading a ham steak and some kind of fried potato onto his plate.

Chase can see Ivy's eyes widen before Jameson drifts away, “Sooooo splinter pain times 10 and all over our bodies... greeeeaaaaat,” She says sarcastically as she peels another orange with subtly trembling fingers.

“Here, Iv, let me.” Chase mumbles and takes the fruit from her, but before she could protest he was already peeling the rind off and laying the slices on her plate. She fidgets with her necklace again and nods towards him with a small smile. Thanks, her eyes say silently as Chase picks up the talking, “So, stylist, parade, training, then interviews? Is that right?” He asks Jameson, but he's still unresponsive.

"Yes, that's the short of it!" Teefee nods, teeth white as snow as she takes over the conversation, not wanting to be left out. "Each event takes its own day and then training takes roughly under a week."

“So in total, we have seven-ish days to win the Capitol over. Right?” Ivy asks quietly.

“Right! So at this time be prepared to do your very very best for the cameras! Everyone will be watching you.” It's hard to tell if she was trying to comfort or threaten the two of them, but with Teefee it seems like it could go either way. The image of sugar-coated barbed wire flits through Chase's mind as he watches the two talk.

Quickly Chase tunes out their conversation with an internal roll of his eyes and reaches over to quietly take Jameson's still hand in his. That seemed to work before. Maybe James needs as much comfort as he does right now. Watching potentially two kids die year after year must be draining, to say the least.

Jameson doesn't immediately respond, but he does squeeze Chase's hand in return.

"We'll be at the train station by nine, so you both should be dressed and ready to greet the people of the Capitol! The city is dazzling, children. You're going to love it!" Teefee giggles. Actually giggles. It's high-pitched like a young schoolgirl's. Playful and innocent despite coming from someone who watches children slaughter each other for entertainment every year.

The entire train car getting plunged into darkness is what seems to jolt Jameson back into his own body and Chase holds his hand a bit tighter. Their eyes are locked in mild fear as the train pulls back out of the tunnel, spitting them all out into the mountain-surrounded boundaries of the Capitol.

°○°○°○°

Jameson's electronic words bounce around Chase's head as he clenches his jaw to suppress a yelp of pain, Don't resist what they do to you. Grit your teeth and bear it and it'll be over sooner.

"You kids from District Seven always have so much body hair!!" One of the members of the prep team with their skin dyed purple, Toynia, exclaims as she prepares another wax strip while two others buzz around Chase like tracker-jackers.

He's lying down on a table with his skin glowing a raw pink from being scrubbed down hard. His nails were filed into perfect ovals with no more cracks to be seen, and much to his dismay his beard was completely gone. They shaved most of it off before rubbing a thick cream that smelled like chemicals on the stubble and shining a weird light over his lower face. With another wash of more goo, Chase felt like he was more akin to a prepared turkey than an 18-year-old boy.

They haven't allowed him to look at himself just yet, trying to get him to a "beauty base zero" state so his stylist can see exactly what she's working with in his natural state. If the Capitol's standards of natural beauty were looking like he rolled out of bed looking ready to get married and smelling like roses, Chase wonders what their standard of being grubby-looking meant. Because certainly he's heard one of his prep team members chattering on about how one year a girl had so much gunk under her bitten nails she gagged.

The only way Chase was able to keep his mouth shut was by locking his jaw shut.

By the time these strangers are done, he feels completely exposed. His face was as fresh as the day he was born, and every inch of him scrubbed to sparkling. They took all his clothes from his home, including his father's flannel he gave him years ago, even after he begged them not to. He pleaded for them to at the very least give it to Jameson to hold onto. The prep team just laughed in his face and giggled amongst each other. Little chattering birds and probably with the same amount of if not less empathy.

Chase sat there on the table completely naked except for a nice thick robe that they were kind enough to supply. Thank god for that at least.

He felt bare without his stuff, without his beard, and without his things. He twists Stacy's ring around his pinky finger as he stares at the wall across from him, thanking whoever was listening that he was able to at least hold onto this one precious piece of home.

To Chase, the completely white chamber felt almost akin to a cage. A small, bare cage you’d maybe keep a dog in. But even the dogs here seemed to be treated better than all of the tributes. Certainly, they were more well-fed than any of the humans were back home.

Oh god, home. Chase would give just about anything to be back home right now. To have a peacekeeper shouting at him to climb faster or to stay in line. Hell, he’d even let them flog him again if it meant that he’d be back in District 7. His body itches to run into the familiar woods and get lost in the trees. He knows he wouldn't get far, but getting shot amongst the pine sounds far more merciful right now than getting paraded around before his inevitably much more gruesome demise. At least at home, he could die with some dignity. Will they even recognize him when his body gets returned in a box after the games?

It takes a while for Chase to even consider that they had forgotten about him here, until eventually, somebody enters through a nearly invisible door. Chase schools his face to not instantly glare at the woman before him who was to be his stylist.

She was tall, very tall, and fashionably thin as opposed to the dying-of-starvation thin Chase was personally more acquainted with. She wears an oversized fur jacket that hangs off her slender shoulders. Blonde hair was styled into two triangular buns on top of her head that brought to mind some kind of animal in Chase's head. Was that her real hair or just a wig? It was hard to tell the difference. Her spiked heels added even more height to her figure so she towers several inches over Chase even when he finally stands reluctantly to greet her.

He doesn’t know whether to stick his hand out to shake her hand or just wait for her to speak. He just stands still as she examines his body and does his best not to squirm.

The woman at first doesn't say anything as she just circles chase, eyeing him, taking him in. Like an animal circling its prey, which is fitting with her facial tattoos making it look like she is in fact some kind of cat. A tiger is the first thing that comes to mind, though Chase has never seen one in person. Maybe it was a photograph? Whatever. She stops circling and stands in front of him about two feet away. Chase has to tilt his head up to look her in the eye.

"It's very nice to meet you, Chase. My name is Tigris and I will be your stylist. I hope the process has been... bearable for you."

Her voice sounds very different compared to the prep team members. Their voices were so high, cheery, and posh. While Tigris sounds calmer and more serious. Calming in a weird, level way. Each word was carefully chosen like every sound had to be run by a council before coming out of her mouth.

“Well I’m not dead yet, so I’d say it was bearable enough.“ He tries to joke it off, trying to see if she can smile under all those tattoos and Botox. “So do I meet the Capitol’s standards yet, or do you need to send more people to scrub another layer of my skin off?”

The corners of Tigris' mouth go up a little. Chase assumes that's a smile. Does she have any idea how terrifying she actually looks? "The prep team is done cleaning you for now. I will say, you and your teammate are both a rarity. Most, if not all, other tributes are the complete opposite of each other but.. you both complement the other.”

Chase has no idea what on earth she's talking about. So, cleverly, he responds, “Uh, thanks?”

Tigris makes a motion with her hand. "Can you de-robe? I need to see you."

Chase rolls his eyes to the heavens and removes his robe, letting it drop to the floor unceremoniously. Any dignity he had has been stripped away from him. Which he guesses is the point. Strip them of everything they are so they become animals in a zoo. Animals that tear each other apart for their entertainment. “Your team was very thorough don’t worry.” He can't help but snark.

Tigris doesn't say anything. She just circles him like before, slowly. She stops abruptly and gently takes his hand, noticing the small metal band on his finger. She pauses and looks at Chase with a surprisingly sad expression. “You must think we're despicable, don't you?” Tigris doesn't say that sarcastically, or jokingly, or even tauntingly. She says it genuinely as if she truly pities him and this situation.

“Yes.” Chase doesn’t hesitate. He’s held hatred for the Capitol his entire life. Selfish awful people who take pleasure in watching children die. People who take and take and take and don’t ever give back. They say they provide order and security, but Chase knows they provide fear and danger. They’re monsters. They’re the animals, not the people from the districts. "But I don't think I'm allowed to say that while in your care."

"You can with me, dear. I do not mind. Between you and me, I feel like you could say worse if you wished. As long as you are clever, what else can they really do to you? President Snow has already sealed your fate. And I'm certain he has heard worse as well.” She lets go of his hand and finishes pacing around him. “You can put your robe back on and follow me to chat." Tigris walks away, motioning him to follow.

She just committed treason. Chase thinks to himself. Saying anything negative about Snow or the Capitol was considered a rebellious thought. Rebellious words. And considering what they did to 13, rebels were not welcome in Panem.

Tigris leads him to a room with two big black plush couches facing each other, in the middle is a low table with a small banquet of food. Lunch. A silver chandelier that looks like rain falling hangs overhead. Three of the walls are normal aside from the ugly pale green paint while the fourth is entirely made of glass, a window looking over the Capitol. Tigris sits down and invites Chase to do the same with a graceful wave.

He sits across from her, making sure as much of him is covered as possible with the robe. At the very least they could give him his reaping clothes back. They might not be up to Capitol standards, but they're home. Home and better than absolutely nothing.

“Can I have proper clothes?"

"Don't worry, your outfit for the ceremony won't be as uncomfortable as you fear. And the clothes you came with are safe. I made sure of it." Tigris says, pouring herself some wine. Chase's mouth waters at the spread despite his reluctance to indulge.

He's never had seafood before. Chase subtly watches Tigris as an example of how to eat the unfamiliar things on his plate and follows her lead on slurping the soft meat and sauce directly from the shell. Oysters, his mind supplies. The slippery texture was a bit much for him, and it was weird eating it seemingly raw, but he moved on to a shrimp dangling on the edge of a glass filled with thick red sauce and found the texture much more tolerable. Delicious.

"So, as you know, each of the tributes wears an outfit representing their District in the opening ceremony. Since you're from lumber we want to lean more towards nature and the wood. Not just throw a tree costume on you and call it a day. We want you both to look remarkable.” Tigris practically purrs as she interrupts their eating.

Chase nods along, trying his best to focus on this stranger's words as he bites into a roll consisting of seaweed, some sort of unfamiliar grain, and fish. It was incredible even if the roll fell apart in his fingers. "Okay, sure. So what do you have in mind?" He asks with his mouth full. A part of him really wants to believe that she wants to help him, but another more reasonable part knows she's here for her own gain. The best stylist of the year probably gets all the Capitol citizens clamoring after their clothes. Even more so if the tributes they clothed win.

Tigris takes a concerningly big sip of wine before addressing Chase again. “Your outfit will echo a… romanticized lumberjack. Your escort called ahead to us so I've made the proper adjustments to your costume already. My partner and your fellow tribute stylist have already done the same for her." Chase's dread sinks in. Oh god, they really are going to dress him up like a fucking doll. But at least he won't be entirely naked with only a maple leaf covering his junk and skin painted like bark. He remembers that already being tried a few years ago.

Remember what Jameson said. Chase grits his teeth and smiles with an encouraging nod, hoping to get a better idea of how ridiculous he is going to look.

“It shouldn't be too cumbersome. A corseted tank top, tastefully baggy work pants, and boots. I had quite a fun time designing your flannel to be made out of actual wood tiles of different colors, but it will be worn around your waist instead of an actual shirt. You'll practically feel right at home.”

That’s what the Capitol citizens think they look like back in Seven? Yeah, they wore flannels but they were thick and isolating for those cold winters and kept them safe from the rough raw bark as they climbed. It wasn’t a fun fashion statement. Everything they do in the districts, it’s to keep yourself and your loved ones safe and alive to the next day. Here, your clothes were just to show how much wealth you have. How much money you can spend to make yourself look as tastefully poor as possible. But not too poor because you didn't want to actually look like you clawed your way out of the districts.

But whatever. It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s for the Capitol, it’s for survival. It’s to play a game he has to win in order to get back home to his fiancée and future child.

“Okay. When can I change into that because this whole situation isn’t exactly a pleasant one.” Chase deadpans.

"In a few hours. My team needs to make the final touches on your outfit and then we have to give you back to the prep team for hair and makeup. What happens after the ceremony is your mentors' responsibility, but more comfortable clothes will be provided for each of you in your rooms."

But Chase just nods, pretending that he cares.

For a long while they just sit in silence. Chase polishes off his plate and asks Tigris if there are any oranges available. With a push of a button, she summons a small bowl containing miniature versions of the fruit Chase secretly delighted to have on the train. He peels and eats them while staring out the large window, not even bothering to try and make conversation with his stylist. He just watches the colorful dots that were the Capitol citizens move around like painted ants. An idle curiosity flits through Chase's mind if he could break the floor-to-ceiling window if he threw the table at it. He pops another miniature orange in his mouth before the idea can stick.

At some point at what Chase assumes to be around 4 pm, Tigris sets down her empty wine glass and stands. He follows her through the hidden door as he tries to savor the last orange wedge on his tongue as they walk. She leads him to a new room and releases him to the same prep team as before. He tries to crane his neck and silently beg Tigris for help when they grab his wrists, but the lanky woman is walking away.

Don't resist.

It takes everything for Chase to not have a permanent scowl on his face as these freakish people paint his face and tug at his hair. He feels one of them painting some kind of varnish on his fingers, but when he glances down it looks like there's nothing there at all. What's even the point?

"Here we are," Tigris says smoothly as she enters the room again an hour later with a large black bag.

Unzipping it, and the faint smell of wood wafts up and it actually catches Chase's attention. "I was experimenting with some new... materials. Hopefully, it's not too uncomfortable." If she had a real tail, Chase thinks it would be swishing around her in the way cats do when stalking prey.

Tigris shoos off the preps and helps him into his outfit personally. The tanktop was the worst part: made of some kind of stiff treated canvas and boning so it could be laced up in the back like a tight pair of boots. Chase felt like his air was getting cut off almost instantly. Everything was textured like rough bark which strangely brought some comfort, but the worst offender of the entire outfit was the "flannel." It wasn't even a real shirt. The "sleeves" were just two decorated flaps that clicked together under the "knot." It resembled more of a shingled roof with alternating squares of different wood samples, all held together by some flimsy shimmering orange material under it. The tiles all rattled together as Chase moved, and he felt ridiculous. Even more so when Tigris took some orange cord the thickness of a finger and started weaving some strange harness or belt around his hips.

To avoid cussing out these people for how stupid this all was, Chase just stares off into space, trying to think about how Stacy was doing. Was she home in front of their small television with her moms, or with Birch? Or will she be out in the square to watch the broadcast in public? He hopes that Willow is okay under all of the stress Stacy might be going through right now. Is Stacy eating? She had a bad habit of not taking care of herself properly when she was worrying about something too much. Birch should be able to convince her to eat. They're soft-spoken, but when Birch is heard they have a convincing way with words. Words that have comforted Chase so many times before. He wishes they could speak again. He wishes he was home-

The tightening of the laces behind his corset brought him back with a small gasp.

Before he knew it, Tirgis was finished. She and the team all stepped back to admire their work and Chase just stood there unmoving. Tigris gestures a manicured claw to the mirrors behind Chase and…

Chase looks almost nothing like himself. It’s like they stripped him of all that made him, him. Not just physically but emotionally as well.

His clean-shaven face was painted with harsh shadows that sharpened his face more than it naturally was. Some kind of brown eyeshadow that he thinks was supposed to be a “natural” eye but did manage to make his blue eyes pop out brighter. The makeup followed down his neck and to his exposed collarbone where everything seemed to be unnaturally accentuated as if he was more an exaggerated drawing than a person. Were those supposed to be branches in his hair? Ugh.

The outfit was tacky as hell. He registered bits and pieces as they were being put on him but all together it was terrible. The “tanktop” had a birch wood texture decorating it and it made his chest squeeze even more with the thought of his best friend. The dark brown pants were baggy with the printed bark texture of some tree Chase couldn't immediately place, and black boots with leaf designs laced up just under his knees. The bright orange cord laced around his upper legs and hips were obviously meant to frame and draw attention, so Chase was at least thankful that most of that gets obscured by the least functional flannel ever to curse the earth.

Now that he looks like this he has to go out there and pretend like he’s happy- like he’s grateful for this opportunity and all of it.

At least he gets to keep Stacy's ring on a copper chain Tigris provides him.

“It looks…nice.” That’s all he could muster up without showing any true emotion.

Tigris purrs from her chest, "You look ravishing, Chase. They will love you. Oh, one more thing." She slides a piece of green paper out from her work table and begins delicately folding it strangely. Chase can't help but watch as her pointer finger presses against each fold so it comes out crisp, folding and creasing the paper into different triangles until finally it takes a shape.

It's some kind of bird.

"There is a very old legend," She explains as she walks over to Chase again, "That if you fold one thousand paper cranes you get a wish." She says slowly as she carefully attaches the little paper bird to his shoulder. "My wish is for your..." She looks into his eyes, and he notices her pupils are ever so slightly slit. Were they contacts? Or did she pay to get them physically altered? "What is her name?"

"Stacy." He replies, trying not to grit his teeth at the whole ordeal.

"I wished for Stacy to be safe for you." Tigris finished simply, stepping back to take in her work with pride.

“Thank you.” He tried to muster an ounce of sincerity in his voice. But after the last two days, he can’t. He can’t feel anything except anger and disgust. Even this act of kindness felt fake. Like he was just a prop for Tigris to feel better. Oh, she made a beautiful outfit for you! She made you stand out! Her outfit is the reason you’re gonna get so many sponsors! Please. This whole thing, these games, were so ridiculous.

Tigris steps back, heels echoing in the room as she gracefully turns to the door, "Your chariot awaits."

°○°○°○°

Chase finds Ivy standing with Jameson and their horses in the closed-off corridor. The doors to the audience barely muffled the cheers and chatter of the Capitol civilians just beyond. Everyone is dying to get a first look at this year's tributes! And Chase was dying to get out of these stupid clothes as soon as possible.

The other tributes stood by their simple chariots and this was the first time Chase was seeing any of them in person. He tried to block most of them out when they were forced to watch the recaps of all the Reapings, but most if not all of them were.. younger than Chase. His stomach sinks. Was he one of the only 18-year-olds drawn this year? That is nearly impossible. But no, he looks around again and locks eyes with another boy seemingly around his age.

He was skinny, all lean muscle and his dark brown hair almost spiked up. If it was natural or gel Chase couldn't tell from where he stood. Brilliant green eyes seemed to illuminate with mischief and he held himself tall but a little off-kilter. He looks different for someone from District 2. Typically they're much more bulky from their (illegal but ignored) training. But this kid looked fast and lethal rather than hulking and brutal. The word sharp leaps to the front of Chase's mind.

Chase breaks eye contact first but can still feel the other boy's eyes on him as he approaches Ivy and Jameson.

Jameson was showing her how to carefully pet the horse with brown fur and white spots so they didn’t get spooked.

"Gently like this," His voicebox said before using the backs of his knuckles to pet the horse's muzzle where it could see them. "If you try petting them from the back they could get scared and kick your teeth out." He chuckles silently, allowing Ivy a turn.

"I've never seen such a beautiful animal like this.. they can do that and you guys just keep them as pets?!" Ivy says to Jameson gently petting the horse the way Jameson showed her, amazed.

Ivy’s gaze lands on Chase, and by the way her lips curve up into a smile, Chase could tell she was holding back a laugh. “Oh, my- is that really how they view lumberjacks?”

“Apparently.” He looks over Ivy’s outfit, her head nearly engulfed by her namesake. They put her in a skin-tight dress that must have had some kind of padding to make her curves more pronounced. It was all brown, textured with, obviously, bark patterns and fake vines wrapped around her like long snakes. Like ivy growing on a tree. Most of it crawled up her form and spilled into a ridiculous collar that swooped above her head to look like a tree canopy, but on closer inspection, it was more of those little paper cranes making up the leaves. He had to hold back a snicker at her outfit. “Well, at least no one will forget your name!”

“At least you look somewhat normal while I look like a fucking tree.” Ivy sticks her tongue out past the bright red lipstick. “Covering me in ivy. Not exactly subtle.” Small green gemstones shimmer on her face as she rolls her eyes.

Jameson laughs through his nose and gives them a small smile, "Yes I think that's the idea."

Chase gives a smile to Jameson in return as he joins in petting the horses. He really was the only one keeping them both sane. The only person from home and the only one who had an understanding of what they were going through. He didn’t glamorize a single moment of this, just explaining what would happen and being as sympathetic as he could. It was nice to have him through all this.

Tigris and Ivy's stylist, Jeuon, join them and help the two tributes step onto the chariot.

"Be sure to hold on tight." Jeuon explains with a lopsided grin, showing off a golden canine, "These carriages aren't the most stable." His black hair was styled in a collection of small braids that wrapped around each other in a large round bun on his head. Lips painted green to match Ivy's vines, but it was a shade too light. "Smile and wave to the crowd! Blow kisses, flirt. If we're going to sell your angle of sensuality then you have to play the part." He explains with a flourish of his hands for emphasis, showing an example of a coy wave with lowered eyelids.

"Smile and wave, flirt with the people. You're going to be great." Tigris purrs at them both.

"The horses know where to go. We'll meet you on the other side." Jameson explains as the grand doors begin to open at the end of the large hall. "Good luck." He and the stylists step back as the horses begin to pull the chariot.

Chase just shrugs, any words he could say would just be drowned out by the roaring crowd.

He grips the carriage as it starts to move, the constant wobbling throwing him off his balance. He can’t imagine what it must be like for Ivy in those heels.

The bright lights hit him hard and fast, nearly blinding him at how dazzling everything was. And the crowd, god he might go deaf from how loud it is. Chase has seen this whole show on television his whole life, but it does not truly capture the grandeur and noise of it all. He forces himself to smile and wave at the crowd, even winking and blowing kisses to every woman he can see. He watches as the girls his age, and even the older women and men, catch his kisses and even blow kisses back. Roses of all colors are thrown onto the ground and in his general direction. They all look as ridiculous as he feels. His face, his smile is on all the screens, his name and district underneath them. His smile grows wider, but it isn’t genuine. He tries to smile the way he would with Stacy, a goofy grin that she says makes her stomach do flips, but it just isn’t right. It’s too forced, but no one besides her will notice. He looks happy to the cameras, and that’s all that matters.

Chase feels Ivy’s grip tighten on his arm. The constant wobbling of the chariot paired with the high heels must be making her feel like she could fly off any moment. He grabs her hand on instinct, gripping it hard making sure that she doesn’t fall out. There was no need for District 7’s future victor to get trampled by horses on the avenue of tributes.

Eventually, their horses park in front of the grand white stage where President Snow stands over all of them, commanding attention and respect. Chase was so grateful that he could put his arm down and stop smiling. There was no way that the human body was meant for 30 minutes of constant waving and kisses. Even if it was, his body was not meant for it. The screens around them flash to each pair of tributes in their chariots as the fairly young president speaks to the nation.

"Welcome," His voice echoes and slowly quiets the crowd, "Welcome, tributes, to the 32nd annual Hunger Games." The crowd cheers, and Snow looks across the 24 children in costumes with a deadly smile, "May you bring honor and glory to your districts in these games. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

He’s watched Snow make announcements before, and everyone has agreed that he looked and acted like a snake. But now, in person, he could confirm it. His lips were puffy, yes, but his eyes were like that of a predator. And Chase was just a mouse scurrying away trying in vain to avoid his fate.

The president continued talking about the glory of the games like he did every year and wishing the tributes good luck. But Chase couldn’t hear it, all he could focus on was those eyes. Tigris’ were slits like cat eyes and Chase can’t be sure, especially from a distance, but Snow’s almost matched it. They were blue, an unnatural blue but those pupils, they were the real mystery. He never saw it on TV, but those pupils weren’t human. At least not in the way Chase would describe them. They were one of a beast, of a monster. A mutt.

Chase grabs onto Ivy making sure she doesn’t fall off as the chariots lurch into motion again. The crowd roars as the horses lead all the carriages away, plunging the pair back into darkness. But even then all he could think about was the cold and unforgiving eyes of that little man.

As promised, everyone met Chase and Ivy in the holding area, the prep teams ecstatic and chittering away like multi-colored songbirds. Chase tenses up as the flock crowds the two of them, all their hands clambering to touch them.

"Oh, you looked fabulous!"

"My heart stopped at that wink, you're a natural!"

"I was so sure those cranes would take flight! Along with my composure!" They all laugh but Jameson steps up and holds out a hand to help Ivy off the chariot.

"Well done. You didn't fall." He smiles, but his grey eyes look tired.

Teefee comes up and holds Chase's face in her hands, it takes everything in him not to smack her away like a fly, "You both look like a fantasy!" She gasps in wonder, her smile wide with pride, "Everybody will want a piece of you." The woman giggles, releasing him with a pat on his cheek, and leads everybody to the elevators. “I’ve already heard some sponsor talking~”

Tigris walks past Chase and nods approvingly but says nothing, sauntering on with her fur collar up high and long legs bare aside from some striped tights.

Chase looks around the room again while following his team, seeing the boy from District 2 again as he looks up. And the boy smiles at Chase. But before he could decipher if it was friendly or a threat, Chase was pulled into the elevator as the glass doors shut behind him.

Chase rests his head against Jameson’s shoulder, he didn’t know that a seemingly simple thing could be that exhausting. The attention, the cheers, the giggles, and the laughs drained him of everything he was. He feels like a hollowed-out tree, eaten alive by beatles and left with absolutely nothing inside.

“I want to go home, James.” He whispers just enough for Jameson to hear it. “I want to get out of these clothes. I can’t breathe.” Jameson doesn't say anything, but he takes one of Chase's hands in both of his and soothingly pats it. And that’s all he can do.

#jse hunger games au #chase brody #jameson jackson #jacksepticeye #jse fanfic #jse egos #mod parker #writersofjack #Ivy cinders #against all odds

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