Box of Glitter {Jayne/Leticia} Day Four

Too many cannons fire after her escape from the winged mutt - she counts each one, each blast of the cannon sending fear through her body. The rest of the day is spent hiding, walking and wondering if Ronan has killed or been killed yet. She's sure he's capable of it, considering the way he talks to others, and the way he so easily broke the blind boy's nose on the second day.

If he wasn't her district partner, she'd feel more scared of him; but, despite its past, there is some kind of solidarity within District Six these games. Her, Ronan and Teddy, a small team for a district where victors are few and far between. It's in stark contrast to her family back home, where there's too many kids to give attention to any of them and all they were seen as was helpful hands around the bakery.

She much prefers the extravagant life she was given in the Capitol to life at the bakery, but she'll never give the Capitol the satisfaction of knowing that, and she knows that this adventure can only end one of two ways for her.

She emerges from hiding for the anthem. In the sky, the faces of the dead begin to flash, a face and a number to match each cannon fire she heard that day.

The boy from Four. She thinks his name began with a B, but she's never come across him in the arena or in the training centre. The next boy is familiar - Stanley, the boy from Eight, the one who greeted her at the rock on the second day. He had been so alive then, until he wasn't. Her heart grieves for a boy she never even greeted back. The girl from Nine, the girl from Ten, and both tributes from Eleven. She wonders who killed them. The cannons were scattered through the day, but occasionally there would be two in close proximity to each other, only serving to scare her more.

The sponsors are not as generous as they were on the first day. Having eaten the cheese, there's nothing left for her, so she finishes the rest of her water and vows to fill it up again the next day.

Resting her head upon the mail sack, she tries to push away all her thoughts, choosing instead to think of home and her siblings and everything that is right in the world.

♆

When she wakes, the first thing she does is trace the outline of the wound on her back. It trails down her back, resembling something like stripped angel wings. She thinks of the wings on the horse, and how yesterday she managed to fly, even if just for a few moments. 

Ideally, she'd like to view it in a mirror, but she knows that the arena does not provide such petty luxuries. Besides, she's not sure if she wants to see herself right now - unkempt, filthy and blood-stained. She attempts to tie her hair back the same way it's been the whole time in the arena, and feels how matted it is. She sees dried blood on her shoulder, staining the poncho, and realises - it doesn't matter.

Battle wounds. The blood adorning her poncho is reminiscent of how she slayed two mutts and lived to tell the tale. The beating of her heart represents her vitality. It's more than what can be said for those shown on the anthem last night. She may not live for much longer - although the thought makes her shiver - but while she lives, she fights.

She comes across an expanse of grass as she travels, and finds a strange sight laid out for her.

Straw bales, guitars, jugs - and other tributes.

She grips her weapon, until she realises she doesn't have to.

It's peaceful - nobody fights, and from beside her, she hears the gentle strum of a guitar. The tune is soft, and she turns to find the source, which turns out to be the girl from Twelve. She's not sure of her name, but the girl stops playing and smiles at her, which makes her jump, realising the only tribute she's spoken to since the Games started was Ronan, and even that was just a few words.

The girl doesn't speak, so she pipes up, somehow finding her voice after days of silence.

"Did you learn that in Twelve?" She didn't know they even had guitars in Twelve; it's the poorest of all the districts, so she assumed people would be too focused on trying not to starve. Maybe that's a rude assumption to make. Maybe this girl was on the richer side of Twelve.

Maybe you should just stop thinking, Leticia.

It sounds like a good idea, but she knows it'll never work.

The girl responds, and she's almost wistful that the gentle music had to stop. The air feels empty without it - how long has it been since she last heard music? She doesn't have time to ponder it, and is somewhat grateful for that.

"Yeah, I taught myself on my father's old guitar back home. I love music." She is curious about the girl's use of the word 'old', but decides against questioning it. She's never been passionate about music, never teaching herself anything due to her daily schedule being busy enough as it is. She wishes she had more time to learn about nice things.

Being faced with the possibility of her life ending allows her to fully reflect on everything she's accomplished. And, as much as she hates it, she ends up resenting her parents; not only for forcing her to work for their bakery in her free time, but also removing any other opportunities from her life. Any chance she had of picking up a new hobby was taken away by the extensive hours spent baking bread.

Resentment feels ugly. Her skin crawls with the desire to go back and change things. Stand up to her parents, tell them she was tired of being some kind of slave to them. If her and Delia protested together, they could have done anything. Anything.

But Delia's there, and she's here, and she's not sure if she'll ever be there again, and there's no simpler way she can say it.

"I'm Jayne. What's your name? You seem kind, and I'll make a point to remember that kindness and your name."

Is Leticia Neptune kind? She thinks of her time in the arena - she sliced off a girl's ear, killed two mutts and took some hits along the way. In terms of the tributes in the arena, she's probably one of the cleanest, hands not yet tainted with the death of another. Her conscience is as clear as it can be in the circumstances, the weight of her attack on the girl in the bloodbath still heavy on her shoulders, and the faces in the sky haunting her every time she closes her eyes.

But she's not sure a normal person would call her kind. Normal people don't hurt others. Just because she hasn't hurt as much or as many as some of the others here, it doesn't mean she hasn't hurt at all.

Then again, Jayne is here as well. She wonders if she's killed anyone yet, or helped in killing someone. The thought disturbs her, so she pushes it aside; the girl is not hurting her, and she won't hurt the girl. She imprints the image of her face in her memory. Kindness is hard to find here, so she makes sure to remember it.

"I'm Leticia." Her voice comes out somewhat monotonous, so she attempts to smile to make up for it. "Leticia Neptune. District Six. Thirteen." She tags her age on the end - there's some pride to be had in being the youngest tribute, yet surviving this long.

There were plans for her fourteenth birthday, at some point. But she's sure they're long gone now.