mistaken history | charade

k a t e l y n .

Darker times will come and go
Times you need to see her smile
And mothers' hands are warm and mild

“I’d recommend you use this time to study past games,” she began, taking a sip of her chamomile tea and debating whether or not to disappear back into her room. “Mind-numbingly gross will soon be your reality.” Had Harbinger talked to her yet? Or was he off being Harbinger and refusing to actually say anything other than non-committal grunts and eye rolls? He was difficult when he was upset, and some small part of her wished Navya was with them to straighten him out.

“There’s a lot to be learned from them, or at least studying them is what I did in the weeks before the bloodbath.” Her mind drifted back to those lonely days, if only for a moment. “I didn’t have any mentors you see; it was all I could do.” It was against her better judgement as she really needed to get some sleep, but she had a job to do, and if one of the tributes needed her, even at one in the morning, she would oblige.

Katelyn took a seat on the couch where Neysa had made space and glanced at the television, a replay of the reaping in one. Deep in her heart, she hoped that if Opal failed again that Olivia and whoever else was pulling strings would not see fit to punish Opal and her son again. A vain hope, perhaps. But one she felt regardless.

“You seem to be taking the impending fight for survival rather well, Neysa. May I ask why you took it upon yourself to volunteer?” Oh, Katelyn had recognized the name all right. Ilana’s brother Drake and a girl named Desimae Warble had been the last tributes she’d mentored before the Capitol had spirited her away. In her own way, she was grateful for it. The only thing worse than failing a family was failing a family more than once.

But it wasn’t worse by much.

k a t e l y n .

Darker times will come and go
Times you need to see her smile
And mothers' hands are warm and mild

It had been a mistake to leave her room for tea, of that much she was certain. The thick, warm bathrobe she was wearing over her nightgown didn’t help matters either as she tried to dissect Neysa’s words for what she was trying to get at. Neysa had a rebellious streak did she? Thought she was following in the footsteps of giants? None of eleven’s victors had asked for this. They hadn’t volunteered, they’d had this thrust upon them.

If Neysa was doing this out of some misguided attempt at trying to emulate the people she looked up or because she thought that participating in the games was the only way to make a difference in eleven—

“You don’t plan on dying, I see.” Katelyn replied, nodding sagely, as though it were the answer to some great philosophical question from ages past. As though Neysa was the first tribute to say something like that. “You do realize that at this very moment there are twenty-three others who also don’t plan on dying? I would hope your plan has more depth than that,”

Do those plans include how to deal with a hostile climate, finding food and water and fighting off mutts twice your size in addition to the twenty-three other tributes? That was what she wanted to say, but it was late and she didn’t want to set the girl off or make her cry.

Katelyn wasn’t quite as irritated as she had been last year, when it had come out that Cyro had volunteered despite having a toddler waiting for him at home, but volunteers in general never failed to raise her ire. Not to mention the weight of things on her shoulders concerning her lover and her best friend. She drained the rest of the tea quickly and set the mug down on the coffee table, turning to look at Neysa.

“Or are you just planning to wing it?”