intermission || katelyn & beck training center

k a t e l y n .

You're just like me when I was your age
We all knew better, name it, we've been there

One of the most terrible parts about being a mentor was having to watch the tributes from the other districts. Determine which of them were threats and which of them would probably die at the start. It was sickening, but it was something she had learned how to do. There were only so many sponsors, and those were the people she’d have to convince to send items to Cyro and Arabella. If she was unable to tout the children in her care and hold them up to a potential sponsor, then sometimes her job meant implying that another tribute wasn’t worth spending any money on.

And she hated it herself for it.

There was an alarming amount of volunteers for the quell. Fully half of the tributes. The most concerning ones were Emmett Le Roux and Will Johnwayne. Both came from career families. Strong families that had a history with the games. That wasn’t to say that the other careers weren’t dangerous, but these were the ones she expected to get the high training scores and quickly soak their hands in their competitor’s blood. It’d be her job to make sure that blood didn’t belong to her tributes.

As she wrestled with the contradictions in her head., she watched the newest victor struggling to train his tributes, she felt a pang of guilt. Beck Hailsham reminded her of Annie. A victor from a career district that was out of his depth. The look he wore on his face wasn’t calculating. Wasn’t indifferent. It was the face of someone who was trying their best to be the person they were expected to be and drowning in the process. She supposed the smart thing to do for her tributes would be to let him sink. But as Margaret had told her all those years ago, she had too much heart, and it was her downfall.

She couldn’t just stand by when there was someone in need. When there was someone that needed a life jacket. Beck excused himself from the trainer and stormed away, his nerves fraying and his hand over his mouth. Because of that, she could guess. Because of that, she knew. She could have gone for the niceties, asked him if he was alright when he clearly wasn’t. Smiled at the little white lie he probably would have responded with.

But sixteen years after the cold, Katelyn no longer wanted to dance around issues, pretend because it was easier. Life had taught her to be straight and to the point. Too much time was wasted on smiling to hide the pain, too much pain held inside because it was inconvenient; because it could be dealt with later. It had always been later, and then it had hurt all the more when the bandage finally came off.

So she detached herself from the wall she'd been leaning on and grabbed a pair of energy bars off the refreshment table, hoping he liked chocolate or cinnamon and followed him out the door. “Hey. Beck.” She called out, catching up to him. “You should keep your strength up,” she said holding out one of the bars to him. “It’s easy to get overwhelmed by the pressure of all this. I’m Katelyn by the way. It’s nice to formally meet you.”

k a t e l y n .

You're just like me when I was your age
We all knew better, name it, we've been there

“But you already knew that.”

He apologized for running out of the training center, and she smiled good-naturedly, letting him talk. He was upset, as he should have been. There’d be another twenty-three coffins going back to the districts in a few weeks. Kids were going to die in pain, in confusion, and all the training in the world wouldn’t help when they were staying death in the face.

“Did it ever make me mad?” she wondered aloud, thinking about little Carrita Nessage’s body being desecrated by that bitch from twelve. About Jacob and Kass being forced to fight each other. Rex standing over Arianna’s corpse. The ever-growing number of headstones in the tribute graveyard bearing the name Izar. “Everyone deals with this differently.” she said instead. While she knew the Capitol had eyes and ears everywhere, the training center was more watched than most.

She studied his face, the slump of his shoulders. The way his cheeks were drawn like he’d forgotten how to smile. Maybe he had. After coming home, she hadn’t smiled until the moment the last cannon sounded in the seventieth, giving her a miracle in the form of Kirito Miristioma. Beck was young. So young. Still tossed about by the whims of an unforgiving public as they crafted an identity for him.

That was the worst part. Forgetting who you were. Having to find yourself again.

“You’re here,” she said after a moment, smiling kindly. “You’re trying, instead of quietly fading into the background. That’s brave, even if you feel like you’re faking it.” Sometimes she wondered what would have become of her if Kirito hadn’t come home that first year. That first quell. She’d felt like she was faking it up until that point, holding everything in, letting the ice coalesce around her heart. “I don’t fault you for running out here. It’s unnerving, the first year back. Because they don’t get it. They watched you fight and kill and bleed and they cheered. Expect you to help someone step into your shoes before you've even figured out how to get the bloodstains off.”

And a victor like Beck more so. A career in name if not in spirit. He reminded her of Annie. Of Opal when she was younger.

“Right now you’re the newest victor. All eyes on you.”

It had taken around five years for the eyes to stop following her, but then, most victors didn’t have back to back successes at the start of their career as a mentor. Or loudly voiced their displeasure with the Capitol when they were a teenager. The trauma was a different matter. She’d gotten over the pain from her games, or so she liked to think. But there’d been plenty of trauma after that as well that she was still trying to work through.

“The spotlight will fade in time,” she said quietly. “As long as you don’t give them a reason to keep watching.” she paused, not wanting to scare him off. But some things needed to be said. Beck looked miserable, and he wasn't going to be any help to his tributes."But the knife in your gut? the pressure behind your eyes and panic in your chest?" she sighed. "Well, like I said. Everyone deals with this differently."