What You Want // [Starlords, Day 1, Wealth]

〖    b r e n n a n    f i t z g e r a l d    〗

It's only when every face I see within a fifty-yard radius is an ally that I drop my weapon and hold completely still. Only Pierce, Ama, and Haze stand with me now, no other bodies in the center of the Cornucopia– dead or alive. I stayed in the bloodbath with them out of sheer obligation, not an actual expectation that we could win and be able to hoard all of the leftover goods for ourselves. I pull strands of sweat-glossed hair back and away from my forehead.

I mutter a quick 'holy shit' filled with disbelief and relief, the best sort of recipe in a situation like this. I turn to Haze, who already has excitement and exasperation written on her face. I run to her, arms out ready for an embrace. It’s a rare feeling to know what’s best for myself in the moment; things in my life have been complex and jaded and riddled with tricks and games. It’s hard to know my true feelings from the ones that others wanted me to feel in order to accept me. This time, I know exactly what I want: to celebrate with my friend. I pull her in for a hug. "That was so awesome! Awesome as in terrifying, but awesome! You were so good out there, swinging that knife at people and- oh, shit."

Pain around the stomach catches my attention. I drift away from Haizea to see a stain of red gathering around her purple-wrapped torso. I wince, ready to ask her if she needs any help cleaning it up, but she stares right back at my chest. It's me who has the long cut across my front side. I rip some of the bandages out from one of the medical kits in the Cornucopia and begin to apply them before the adrenaline makes a clear path for the pain to really settle in. The looseness of the hakama lends itself pretty well toward tending to wounds as just a few twists and tugs reveal my chest, pale as ever, and a few beatings more than five minutes ago. A few stitches with thread should aid the healing process throughout the rest of the day.

Pierce puckers his lips as he wanders through the sand, mixing all of what's left of the clean beige sand with the bloodied grains. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that he's missing the toys he has grown to love over his life.

My gaze upon his pacing is interrupted by the rattling of the ground and a shocking clap of thunder against one of the boulders nearby. The boulder cracks in two like the toy capsules from the vending machines. Twenty-five cents a toy, which was twenty-five cents we could never afford but spent anyway. The pedestal showcases several items, shining and looking like they're of significant value. Pierce is unphased, still thinking about cigarettes.

He's staring at me now.

Oh god– why's he staring at me now? I look away, but his blue eyes follow me like I'm the last star in the universe.

"Sometimes you gotta ask for what you want." He stands beside me. I know he knows exactly what he's about to say. "Know what I mean?" Pierce's suggestive comment catapults my spirit toward the pedestal.

"I…" Don't entertain his allure. "It looks like there's a plaque! We should read it."

The wealth will be yours
Here sits more than you have earned
Beware what greed implores.

It looks like a lot of prizes on top of the hoard we've already got. It feels like a trick, though. My mind goes back to those toy capsules from back in Three. The catch with them was that those toys were cheap and broke within seconds.

I'm hesitant to go much closer. There's always a catch.

﹙    a m a t e r a s u    y a m a m o t o    ﹚

When her name had been pulled out of the bowl all those days ago, she'd resigned herself to death right off the bat. From the first day, the first hour, the first minute of her post-reaped life, she knew she was doomed. Sure, nothing was one hundred percent, not in the arena, but she was nothing if not a realist. The sun rose in the east and set in the west, her mother would always prioritize her medical research over her children, and victors don't come from District Six unless you're a skinny white boy with perfectly capable hearing. Better to nip the hope in the bud and accept death with open arms, in her mind.

And then she'd arrived at the Capitol, and read about a girl from the first decade of Games who had lost her hearing halfway through and won nonetheless. Sure, she was no warrior like Terra Montague had been, but she'd also had eighteen years to learn to live with her disability, whereas Ten's first victor had had closer to eighteen minutes.

And then she found three capable allies. Pierce, Brennan, and Haizea were a motley crew, a band of rejects, really, but they were friends. Friends who didn't care that she would otherwise drag them down, or did their best to communicate with her however they could (maybe a little too over-the-top, in Pierce's case, but it amused her.)

And then, apparently, she'd won the fucking Wealth. A Career reject, a doomed legacy tribute, a twink, and her. Winners of the Wealth.

For once, she was glad she'd simply pruned the bud of hope instead of uprooting it, because the feeling of it blossoming anew in her chest was too good to ignore. Sure, she'd regret it eventually, once the realities of the Games set in once again, but for now?

For now, she'd take it. She'd take Pierce and his broad gestures and exaggerated words, she'd take Brennan and his tendency of wearing his heart on his sleeve, she'd take Haize and her mysterious allure, she'd take having the bulk of the supplies found in the Games right at her own two feet.

For now, what came first was claiming the spoils.

"What do you think, Ama?" Haize's words are easy to pick up, even though she doesn't exaggerate half as much as Pierce does - she wonders briefly if that's from experience or not - before returning her focus to the rock that had nearly given Pierce a heart attack. Weapons, armor, even a jar of tar - clearly, this was intended for one alliance and one alliance only.

"Fascinating," she replies aloud after a minute, gaze traversing over a glimmering purple sword. That had to exist like that for a reason, right?