2The ads were all over 7:
The GOOD TIMES FAIR. The GREATEST SIGHT in SEVEN! SECOND in EXCITEMENT and AMUSEMENT only to the HUNGER GAMES! ACTS — RIDES — GAMES — something for everyone! Feat. the WILKES TWINS; TUQIQI, bear-fighter; BENJAMIN BYTHESDA, Blight of the Arena; ELMER and ÎSTA: puppet-dancers. To be seen SATURDAY and SUNDAY!
Veronica gasped, standing on tiptoe like a dog, her pale hands fluttering against her chest. "Blight's gonna be there?"
Savannah was only on something for everyone and had to quickscan to find the victor's name in the center. She knew he would be coming — word of mouth traveled faster than words on paper — but still she looked as if it only just occurred to her that Blight would be at the fair. With her best friend's enthusiasm brightening her cheeks and lighting up the freckles in her face, Savannah smiled back even though there was a dull pain in her chest.
Blight. She tiptoed around his name, as though not to wake him up. Quiet or not, he was there and his presence was too large for Savannah to avoid. He was more of a bear than Tuqiqi's, with his long brown hair and beard, those hairy muscular arms ending in blunt, curved fingers. Even when he was a cub, he frightened her. Only an animal would rip out a tribute's intestines and pull and pull as the tribute tried to get away, or wrench another's head from their shoulders while the tribute screamed and struggled to escape. She left the room in the middle of his third kill and heard the rest from her parents. His eyes had been the worst when he started, black and dull, with only the lamplights showing there was something alive behind them.
Everyone seemed to admire that side of Blight and couldn't wait to catch a glimpse of him even if it was behind a curtain. Savannah found it unnerving. How could such a creature be so admired even if he was from 7? The worst had come from the interviews, in the years following his victory. He'd been scrubbed, shaved, dressed in suits to appear more human, but his smiling laughing image couldn't undo the frenzied, bone-thin mania she'd witnessed. She heard that he even had kids. Someone thought he would make a good dad, a monster with dead eyes and a gibberish laugh.
If she were reaped (god forbid) she wouldn't lose her mind and she wouldn't fight dirty. She would fight like Rock Barley, skewering tributes with hardly a drop of blood; or Joseph Spangler, the Neck Breaker, with the highest scores of any tribute from 7; or even like Johanna Mason, who feigned weakness only to give those Careers a taste of their own medicine. She saw herself with a bow, hugging the shadows, pausing only to draw and release an arrow that would pin a tribute's heart to their chest or back. She would be a hero worth looking up to, and she wouldn't need to show off in some fair like she was an act. She would be better than that.
"Pygmy rabbits! Budgies in all colors! Docile and handleable, good pets for the young ones! Only twenty bits!"
"Watch Tuqiqi and her bear, Siku! She can pin it down! Can you? We're not responsible for broken arms or bitten fingers!"
The sun was low enough in the sky for the fair lights to really shine in colors Savannah only saw on Capitolites. It made everyone — the punters, the fair-goers, families and their kids, chaperoned or not — glow and pop like the ads she'd seen on TV. A family stood around the budgie peddler as though they were posing for a picture, though there was no photographer to take it. A kid Savannah recognized as Rowan's little sister was thronging around the crowd, a basket of empty glass bottles tied against her chest. She was picking them off the ground like they were mushrooms, taking them to be recycled in exchange for a few bits or some candyfloss.
Savannah didn't need the extra money. Her parents gave her enough to be comfortable, alongside a promise to make sure she was home before nine. She had been at the fair for at least an hour and gotten on the Scrambler three times with four of her friends from school. Then she'd shared a cone of shaved ice topped with a dollop of cherry syrup with Veronica, giggling as the syrup turned their tongues blood red.
There was just so much to do, with stands selling everything from cricket bars to bone carvings handmade by the northern 7s who lived up in the oil rigs of Farflit and Siqiniq. A woman in blue face paint winked at passers-by, holding a tray of buttons. Savannah was thirteen, too old to be swayed by the childish characters advertised…yet when Veronica went to buy one, Savannah left with a child's rendition of Johanna Mason's sigil, a rampant weasel on green, pinned to her upper breast. Veronica, unfortunately, chose Blight, his sigil white tree rings on black.
They lingered by a tent where the Wilkes twins were getting ready for their show. They made a strange pair: one legless and the other blind from a mill accident that nearly crushed her skull. Together, they performed a comedy routine which portrayed 8's garb as so cumbersome and lacking in the Capitol's brilliance that they flopped around in too-long scarves, tripping over the tassles. Savannah was glad to see the Wilkes giving a little mini show outside: they were rail-thin and gray-faced, gaping myopically in a dead-on representation of someone from 6.
"You think Six has a fair like ours?" Veronica asked.
"Maybe. Oh, maybe…do you think…Veronica?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you think in their fair, they see us as a pack of wild savages holding axes?"
Veronica giggled. Savannah gave a sardonic smile, thinking, of course they would.
The game booths were, in her honest opinion, the best part of the fair. She recognized ole Laffy-Taffy — a classmate who you couldn't help but like because he laughed at everyone's terrible jokes — throwing shots at cardboard caricatures of victors from District 1. He'd already blackened three large, perfect teeth of one of them, a woman with long curly blond hair and emerald-green eyes. An older woman, possibly his mother, squeezed his shoulder and shook it for every successful hit. Another game had people sit on benches and roll a ball into holes that activated a row of cardboard tributes running from a muscular, cold-eyed 2 that could only be Brutus. The first tribute who made it to the hovercraft at the end of the track was saved, and their sponsor, the winner of the game, left with a toy prize.
"Oh, that looks like fun," said Veronica.
The booth Savannah really wanted to try was only a few steps over, but after a moment she relented and followed Veronica. Then she froze. The only vacant seats for the upcoming round were next to a gaggle of teenagers and younger kids she'd rather not sit next to, especially the boy seated closest to her.
It was Devon, a wiry, mouse-haired, pimpled teenager. He was chewing on a cricket bar and had the remains of a fox pelt — the family pet as he often bragged — tied to his belt. His older sister kept the tail, and his mom kept the head. Savannah only talked to him because her friends did (Martha even found him attractive), and she felt like she couldn't vocalize an opinion that went against the others. Devon was just a lankier, shaved version of Blight she thought. Then another thought came to her; The fair's for animals too. She kept that one down with a nervous swallow.
Devon didn't react when she sat next to him, his gaze intent on the track, one slender hand gripping a blue ball. She could feel her skin curling away from his heat and she sat as tightly as she could to avoid touching him. When the bell sounded, he hurled his ball with a force that made her wince. She passed her own ball up the slope towards the blue ringed holes that would score the most points and push her tribute the furthest. Soon she had to stop breathing out of her nose from the exertion. She expected Devon to smell like wet dog but all she could smell was sweat, not even a little suggestion of animal from his fox pelt.
Neither Veronica nor Savannah won that round, nor the next, though Veronica came close. It was with a sigh of relief that Devon and his group finally left, leaving behind a younger child who was still sitting in his seat. He was wearing a too-big hoodie that pooled around his stomach and swallowed his wrists. He looked after Devon with a curl to his left cheek that reminded Savannah of a question mark. She didn't recognize the kid, but he looked as lost as any younger sibling who wanted to tag along with his brother one only to find himself abandoned.
"Hey kid," she said, waving a hand over her head. The boy's eyes went opaque before settling on her. He cocked his head to one side and it made her giggle. "Yes, you. Come here. Did Devon just leave you behind?"
"Devon?" His voice was rougher than she imagined it to be, though maybe he was just trying to sound older to fit into the hoodie he wore.
Savanna paused. "You're not with him?"
The boy's face folded inward. "No. I just heard them talking about that bear wrestler." He said the words with such vehemence that Savannah wasn't sure if it was meant for the bear or for Devon.
"Wanna hang out with us?" Veronica piped in. "I mean, if you're not with anyone…"
The boy blinked. "Really? But you don't know me..."
It trailed off, more of a question than a statement. Veronica leaned forward and squinted. The boy stiffened. He reminded Savannah of a tanager, those little bright birds that she saw sometimes from her window. At any point, he could fly away.
Savannah held out her hand palm up as though offering him treats. "Nope, but that's okay. You don't know us either."
"Nope!" Veronica said, giggling. She took a strand of her long auburn hair and chewed the end of it.
"I'm Veronica. My friend's Savannah."
The boy curled up, suddenly bashful. "My dad calls me his little branchling."
So he was from an old fashioned woodsfolk family. At least he smelled okay and didn't look savage despite the too-big hoodie. Maybe it belonged to his dad.
"So, Branch?"
The boy shrugged. Savannah couldn't make heads of it. Maybe he was embarrassed about his name. She would be too, and be quick to change it, but it wasn't polite to suggest that to him.
"It's unfair that there's no…we tried prize," Veronica said, so quiet no-one but Savannah could really hear it.
"There's no prize for second place in life," Savannah said. "That's how they get you." To her left, she heard the familiar sound of an arrow buzzing through the air and landing in a target. Turning her head immediately, she felt herself smile. "Here, let me try and win first place." Rather than trying Beat-the-Brutus again, she led Branch and Veronica to the game she'd anticipated most: the archery section.
When they arrived, there were four bows on a table, all undersized and made of plastic and a taut length of rope. The arrows were tipped with rubber instead of hardened points. They were meant to hit a tin target far in the distance. It was the only game she could theoretically win each time, if the bow was as good as the one she had at home.
It was her great grandfather's legacy from before there ever was a Panem. He'd used the bow to provide food and protection for his family when they lived deep in the wilds of 7. He'd had two rifles as well, but bullets were scarce and a bow was easier to maintain. So it had been cautiously passed down: first to her grandmother, then to her father, and now to her.
Savannah watched the archers, none of which she recognized, string up the bow and let their wobbly arrows fly off-target. The woman in charge of the game clucked her tongue and waved at a small boy to fetch the arrows.
Then it was her turn.
Her father had always told her not to let anyone know she had a bow, and showing that she could use one was also a bad idea. She had broken that promise with Veronica, but it was Veronica, her best friend. Veronica would never turn her in.
The plastic bow was so light in her hands, far unlike the heavy one she kept beneath the floorboards in her room. The only people allowed bows were Careers in the Games — people who probably had great grandparents on the Capitol side to teach them archery. It was easy for her to hide what she knew by holding it the way a kid watching TV would see a Career hold it. The target was a hundred strides away and gleamed fully in the overcast light, like a stripe from a tribute's jacket reflected briefly in the grass.
Blight had used his weapon like a butcher. When Savannah practiced, she did so with fruit that never bled when they were run through. The target wouldn't know what hit it and neither would a tribute if she were (god forbid) ever reaped. Their death would be pristine and she would come out of it pretty and shining.
Her hands shook though not from the tension as she pulled on the string. She tried to swallow around a lump that swelled in her throat. The skin of her cheeks and forehead burned. She blinked and even though the target was just a tin can on a table, it began to turn human-shaped when it thought she wasn't looking.
"Come on, girl," the woman at the counter said. "There's other people waiting for their turns, you know."
"Sorry!" she burst out, nearly throwing the bow into the woman's face. "Sorry." She turned away, a half sob growing into a cry as she wiped furiously at her face.
Veronica looked at her, her mouth hanging open. Branch regarded her with odd understanding, like an adult would a child. It brought her up short.
"It's okay," said Branch. "My dad gets that way sometimes. Do you want to walk over here and get some air?"
"We could see the bear," said Veronica.
"No," Branch snapped, his soft voice eroding away into something else, a voice far unlike that of a child. "Don't give that woman any of your custom!"
Custom. Custom. Such a weird thing to say. Savannah's mind lingered on the word like it called to her. The event, as she was calling it now, was slipping seconds behind.
There was a crowd forming in the gaps her panic left behind. It was strange to see so many people at once even though they weren't looking at her. Their muttering was quiet, distant, incomprehensible syllables of words. Branch was still looking at Veronica with something akin to distaste. "She abuses that bear to get it to fight. It doesn't have any teeth!"
"Blight," someone whispered. The crowd's fragmented words quickly became clearer and Savannah looked in the direction of their attention.
Her heart shot up into her throat, immediately replacing her earlier panic with the heat and tension of prey locked in the sights of a predator.
The man stalked through the crowd with careful confidence, moving his shoulders to avoid brushing against the people who stood speechless, gaping open-mouthed. His eyes were so dark as to be colorless in the dying light, brooked by dense, furry brows — stern yet somehow gentle. His dark hair, long enough to reach his back if he untied it, was tied up messily at the back of his head, leaving loose waves to escape down the sides of his face. His chin was swallowed by a dark, thick beard that framed his face in a way that made him look like the bear Savannah knew him to be.
The man — Blight — planted his hands on his hips and stopped right in front of the three of them, narrowing his eyes down at Branch like he was…disappointed. It wasn't something Savannah had seen in Blight before, that gentle, very human emotion. She didn't have a chance to look at Branch's reaction because in that moment, Blight turned his eyes on her.
Savannah gasped. Frozen. She was frozen.
"Are you alright?" Blight asked. It almost frightened Savannah even more. His voice was gentle, careful, like he was speaking to a spooked animal. He must have smelled the fear on her, because he tilted his head and his eyes turned soft. "If you need someone to take you home…"
"It's okay," Savannah said, but the words came out like a squeak, barely squeezing out of her clenched throat. She felt Veronica's fingertips brush against her hand — it would have brought her comfort had Blight's shrewd eyes not immediately landed on the movement, reading them both completely. "I'm fine, it was just a…" Savannah gulped. "I got nervous."
Blight held her gaze for a long moment, and Savannah knew he saw through her like polished glass. But whatever he saw, whatever dishonesty he found, his eyes were still gentle as ever, quickly filling with sympathy. The corner of his mouth quirked in a gentle smile she knew was for her benefit. "That's okay," he said. "It's okay to be nervous."
Savannah's face was hot as simmering coals when Blight refocused his attention on Branch. She released a long, heavy breath, and Veronica tugged on her sleeve softly, a comforting gesture Blight was thankfully unable to notice. "He's nice," she whispered. Savannah wanted to stamp her foot to quiet her.
"Briar," said Blight.
Briar. Not Branch. Savannah snapped her gaze to the younger boy, finding him staring down at his worn shoes, his hood shadowing his face completely. Blight crouched to his level and rested an elbow on his knee, looking him in the face. "Briar, look at me."
"Dad." Branch whined the word in a voice quiet enough to be a whisper. Savannah exchanged a quick glance with Veronica, whose eyes were just as wide as her own. "People are looking."
Blight smiled up at the boy, revealing perfect white teeth the Capitol had paid for. He reached up and brushed the hoodie off the boy's head, letting it fall down around his shoulders like a cape. "It doesn't matter," he said gently. "Let them look."
Branch glanced up at Savannah, then at Veronica, then back to his father, his cheeks stained red. "But I—"
"Listen to me, son. I've told you before."
By now, the crowd had begun to slowly disperse, even the nosiest of onlookers made uncomfortable by a scene quite so intimate. Even Veronica pulled at Savannah's sleeve, but, to her own shock, Savannah wanted to stay. This bear, this beast, this animal — was not what she'd thought him to be. She felt like a Capitolite enraptured by a particularly gruesome kill. She wanted to see how it ended.
"But she took out its teeth!" Briar moaned, wringing his hands in front of himself, pale fingers swallowed by his massive hoodie sleeves. He looked even younger with his curly black hair rumpled into his face. His eyes were even watering. Savannah couldn't look away. "She beats it!"
"It's all a performance," Blight said gently. "Think of it this way. You remember the dogs Miss Marigold brought to the orphanage? How they knew to go up to the kids who needed them most?"
Briar nodded, wiping his eye with his sleeve. "Yes," he said in a tiny voice.
"That was their job. She trained them to be therapy animals. It's the same with the bear. The exact same thing. She play-fights with the bear and then she feeds it treats. It doesn't hurt. She'd never hurt it."
Briar took a shaky breath. "But—but its teeth."
"I know, branchling," Blight said gently. It was the first time Savannah truly felt like she was invading their privacy. It still didn't stop her from listening. "But that wasn't her decision."
Briar nodded. Savannah saw his throat bobble, saw him dart from Blight to her, though his gaze was opaque. He made a hollow, choked sound as Blight seized him in a hug. Briar's arms spasmed, then returned Blight's thick embrace.
Savannah could no longer see a bear or monster in Blight. Even when the moment passed, when she knew she should've been angry at Briar for not letting her know he was Blight's son, understanding that maybe he didn't want others to know, that Savannah would have thought he was trapped and miserable. Her mind was as clear as sky. What happened she determined never to forget.
Savannah belongs to Greywolf44
Partial Blight scene written by oldflowers.