CHAPTER THREE;
rooftop whispers

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     Vesper wakes up with a sharp gulp of air. She finds her arms swimming through the thick swamp water that isn't there. Her sweat peels off the sheets when she moves, while her goosebump-raised skin is ablaze with adrenaline.

Head pounding, Vesper tries to slow her breath down. She reminds herself that she isn't in the arena, and she never will be again. The floor is not crawling with alligators, waiting to snap her like a twig in their jaws. If she wanted water, it would be crystal clear, not infested with bugs and who knows what diseases. The final reminder Vesper has to tell herself is that she will never catch up to Icarus — no matter how much she fights or runs in her dreams, Icarus has been gone for a long time.

It isn't comforting; it is a medicated shot of reality straight into her veins.

Vesper finds that her nightmares often worsen when she comes back to the Capitol. Being in the Training Centre again makes her re-live the anticipation and the aftermath of her Games, thereby filling in the blanks with all she endured. The worse ones are the night terrors, where she can thrash about but can't wake up. At least this way, she can be released with less sleep at the very worst. It isn't as though Vesper would be having restful nights in the Capitol anyway.

She squints through the darkness at the clock on her bedside table. Two o'clock. Still early, but the Capitol partygoers may start easing themselves to bed. There is no way she can try and go back to sleep now. Being as quiet as she can, Vesper pulls on the trousers and shirt she wore today, then tosses a black cashmere sweater over the top.

Vesper manages to slip out of their apartment silently, then allows herself to be more audible when she reaches the staircase. The elevator sickness is the last thing she needs right now. Besides, the mechanical journey of taking one step at a time calms her down, giving her something to focus on. She goes slowly and feels the burn in the legs by the time she reaches the top. Then she pushes open the doors, immediately met with the moonlight and the stars raining down on the skyline.

It has become an occasional haunt of Vesper's, during the summers when she is mentoring. Here, she is not so cooped up in the same four walls, and she can inhale the fresh air. She can also observe the constant hum of activity down below, whether that be the traffic in the luxurious Corso, or the illuminated clusters of Capitolites celebrating.

Of course, this place also comes with the memories. It's never lost on her that it was Levin who first showed her here; when the wind blows particularly frigid on the rooftop, Vesper thinks of him.

     Vesper sinks her hands further into her sleeves to keep them warm. Then, hugging her chest, she turns to see the rest of the view — she is instead met with a pale, rather startled-looking face.

     "Holy sh—" she gasps angrily, "What the hell!"

     "Sorry! I'm sorry!" Emrys apologises.

The interruption leaves her feeling off-kilter. She uncurls her fists, letting her body know that she isn't in danger. Not that she was likely to be in danger, anyway — Vesper takes one look at Emrys and doubts he has any fight in him. He leans wearily against the ledge of the rooftop, his face whitened by the cool breeze whipping through. Even the thick sweaters he's been wearing, rain or shine, seem to be doing little right now.

     "How long've you been standing there?" Vesper asks.

     "... A while," Emrys admits sheepishly. "I just– you stormed out here, and I tried to say something, but it looked like you were having a moment."

     "Well, I'm definitely not having one now," she grumbles.

     "Sorry."

     "You said that already."

     They both go quiet. It feels tense all of a sudden — not with hostility by any means, but tense like they've both been caught staying up past their bedtime. (Which, Vesper supposes, they are). They stand like two deer in headlights for a few moments, though trying to focus on themselves and ignore the other's presence at first.

     "Can't sleep?" Emrys asks suddenly.

     Vesper finds the truth slipping out easily. "I was sleeping, but... I'd rather not for a while now. You?"

     "No," he says, almost like it's a joke to assume he slept at all.

     "That figures..." She looks him up and down as she says it, which only pushes them back into another awkward silence. She hadn't meant it to come out as a jab, but it came out rather differently. Great, thinks Vesper, now you've gone and insulted the guy for looking like a tired ghost.

     Lucky for her, Emrys doesn't seem to take offence, just staying quiet for a few moments. This has all been a mess. Vesper wasn't expecting to have company. She thought she would be up here alone, as bitter and tired as she wanted to be.

"I'm sorry," Vesper sighs, "I'm not really in a chatty mood."

"Oh, me neither."

She raises her eyebrows at him and asks, "Really?" It isn't often in this place that she is expected not to perform.

"Yeah," Emrys shrugs. "But... can I stay for a little longer? I kind of figured this was my spot, and I was here first. I promise I won't talk."

"... Sure."

To Vesper's delight, this is exactly what they do. They look out from the rooftop in their own spaces, feeling no obligation to make small talk, or discuss at length the reasons that they aren't asleep right now. It is refreshing to meet someone who doesn't want to chat... although, she can't stop herself from glancing over at Emrys once or twice. Whereas with the current pool of victors, she feels like she knows most of them well enough, Emrys Hertz is a blank slate.

When she starts shivering, Vesper calls it a night. "I'm gonna go inside now," she announces as she leaves.

"Okay," she hears Emrys murmur, not moving from his spot.

Vesper lingers by the doorway for a second. He was here long before she was, and yet he still wants to stay outside. She gets the sense that Emrys is slipping back into a state of contemplation. So, Vesper figures she should probably leave him to it.

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For what feels like forever, Jason has been fiddling with his cutlery against the restraints of his cast. Possessing even less arm strength than he already lacked, Vesper stares despairingly at the boy, as he slowly saws at the braised pork loin going cold on his plate.

     Meanwhile, Avia is talking about their second day of training between mouthfuls of figs. "So we did what you guys said, and we spent the first half of the day learning the survival skills stuff. Turns out Jason's pretty good at knowing the edible plants from the poisonous, but I think he just memorised 'em. And I can make a decent fire in no time at all now. I watched the District Seven girl do it and I copied her..." Avia pauses to wash down her food with a gulp of juice. "... She and her district partner tried to sit with us at lunch, but we just ignored them."

     Irma frowns slightly. "Why did you ignore them?"

     "Why? Because they'll kill us the moment the Hunger Games start."

     "Or, they could be your allies in the arena," Vesper suggests.

     Avia furrows her brows cynically. "What's the point of having allies, anyway? We all know how it ends, only one person comes out alive. Someone will have to kill the other at some point."

     "You're not wrong," Irma winces, "but... allies can be a huge leg up in the arena. You can keep each other alive for longer."

     "And after that?"

     Irma swallows thickly, a shadow passing over her face. Vesper decides to interject: "No point thinking about what comes after that," she says. "You need to get there first. And you know, you can learn some valuable skills that we couldn't have known in District Six."

     In her head, Vesper makes a mental note to keep tabs on the District Seven mentors. Who are they this year? Johanna, Blight? Maybe they can work together on this. It has happened before, even if the tributes didn't make it out of the arena in the end — in the Seventieth Games, until the flood, Vesper made her tributes last a decent length of time thanks to their alliance with Ten, and the co-operation she had with their mentors in securing sponsors. They also learned tactics from one another — her kids from Six had exceptional spatial awareness and navigational skills (one of the only survival advantages that comes from District Six), while the boy and girl from Ten showed them how to skin animals and cook them.

     "So! What about the rest of your day?" Hermia asks.

     Vesper catches eyes with Jason, who's only just managed his first bite of pork loin; he accidentally drops the square of meat into the gravy, a small splattering staining his shirt. This could be his opening to talk, but instead, Avia swoops back in.

"Then we focused on weapons in the afternoon. I did okay with an axe, but geez, my arms and shoulders are killing me. And Jason—"

"How about Jason tells us?" Vesper cuts her off calmly, then indicating to the quiet boy.

His eyes widen even more behind his glasses. "Uh– yeah, I... couldn't do much. Obviously." To demonstrate, Jason gives his cast-clad wrist a little wave. "I think focusing on the survival skills is probably a better route. But I think I still have some options for weapons. Maybe a blowgun or something. I have good enough hand-eye coordination, it's just this stupid wrist..."

Irma suddenly has an idea. "Hermia, do you think this could help with sponsors?" she asks, nodding to his injury.

"Yeah, like sympathy sponsors!" Vesper adds on.

"You want people to... pity me?" Jason asks.

Yes, thinks Vesper. She is sure the Capitol would love to fawn over an underdog.

"Perhaps we could play that angle," Hermia agrees, sipping some red wine. "Just so long as it isn't associated with Cato."

"Why not? He did it!" Avia huffs; she took the words right out of Vesper's mouth.

"It will have to be branded as an accident. Otherwise the scandal would be enough to bury any sponsor hopes."

Vesper folds her arms across her chest, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "Why isn't Cato being penalised? Or District Two?"

"Because it would be futile with the arena days away," Hermia sighs tiredly, "and because... well, he didn't outright attack Jason, did he?"

"Didn't outright attack him? Cato shoved him and he fell, causing him to fracture his wrist. What more proof do you need?"

"It's flimsy, but it is the rule. And rules are rules!"

Jason suddenly pipes up: "It's okay... really." Everyone at the table quietens, staring at him. His lip quivers nervously into a slight smile. "I– I'm not afraid of Cato, or the Gamemakers, or any of them. I won't let them. And neither should you, Avia." Jason looks directly at his district partner, who has been left speechless for once.

     "I– I'm not, either," she murmurs.

     Reluctant affection for these two lands with a thud in Vesper's chest. She feels proud to see them holding their heads high, in the face of almost certain death. It is the one thing you can clasp onto when you enter that arena — your identity — so you can at least die untainted. But it's also this moment that makes Vesper hope, perhaps naively, that they don't die this time. Not both of them. Please, please, please let it be different this time.

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The next night is not any more merciful to Vesper, so she gravitates to the rooftop once more. It is warmer than it was last night, although the wind blows cool enough at this height to make that irrelevant. It stabs her skin with little pin-pricks of chilliness.

     Naturally, she isn't alone.

     Emrys is there again, sweater-clad and hunched over the railings. This time, they see each other first. Vesper gives a gentle roll of her eyes — it seems she will never know peace again after meeting Emrys Hertz. She attempts to create the illusion at first, standing a stone's throw away and staring out at the Capitol skyline. After a while, it seems ignorant not to say anything, as much as she would enjoy some quiet.

"You must really like this spot," she then says pointedly.

Initially startled by her speaking voice, Emrys then shrugs. "I guess. At the start, I didn't even know you could come up here. It was only after Finnick showed me, in his first year as a mentor."

     Vesper feels herself slide back into a memory, as though across the slippery deck of a ship at sea — she is a teenager, and she is here with Levin. "You know, it was actually Finnick who introduced this spot to me," she hears his voice saying. "He took me up our first night in the Capitol. Said it was the best view in the house." The thought of it makes her smile. Vesper is suddenly reminded that she isn't special, and that countless other tributes have likely discovered this spot. Imagining a revolving door of kids coming to the rooftop evokes a slightly bitter chuckle from her.

Emrys notices. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," Vesper shakes her head.

He turns back to the metropolis around them and sighs. "I don't know. It's not just that," Emrys thinks aloud; she swears she can see the cogs turning behind his darting eyes — his brain is like a machine, it seems, never quite resting. "When I came to the Capitol for the first time, I remember just watching all these lights at night, knowing that's where most of our power was going to. All the streetlights, the electricity, everything that was keeping Panem going. It was kind of weird... seeing it from the outside like that."

     Vespee nods, finding his words to ring truer than she expected. "Actually, I... remember thinking the same thing. Well, kind of. I look down there, and all I can see is the hard work that's gone into connecting the railroads, or building their hovercrafts."

     "Exactly. There's a connection and a disconnection to home."

     "Yeah... I guess."

     They fall silent for a few moments. Emrys keeps looking out, and the glance that Vesper steals towards him soon turns into a full-blown stare. She finds him hanging in the balance between two states of being. The first thing she saw in Emrys was that little boy who won the Hunger Games, stunning everyone who ever doubted the kid would make it. Even now, there is still something perpetually young and boyish about him, frightened but marvelling at the world. But Vesper is also starting to see something else. He looks so tired, in more ways than one. The kind of weariness he should only have far beyond his years. Those two old and young sides mesh together in Emrys, leaving someone who seems... entirely uncomfortable in his own skin.

     "Emrys, can I ask you something?" Vesper breaks the silence.

     "Sure," he looks to her.

It's a question that has been bugging her since Emrys arrived in the Capitol.

     "Why did you come back to the Hunger Games this year? As far as I knew, Porter, Dean, Mallory —" Vesper lists off some names, all victors and mentors she knows from District Five, "— they were covering for you. I just don't understand why you would choose to come back and mentor again."

"What makes you think I chose?"

Shivering at the implication, Vesper folds her arms. "Well? Did you?"

"... Sort of."

There is that look again, of Emrys lost in thought. He sighs before answering her properly.

"When I mentored my first tributes, I was thirteen. I was up against these two seventeen year-olds who– who knew so much more about the world than I did. And they thought it, too. They thought it was stupid to listen to advice from a little kid. Well... one didn't make it out of the Bloodbath, and the other one starved. It was the same story every year. Until I... had enough, I guess." Emrys falters now, swallowing thickly and scratching his ear; he seems oddly vague about the ending. "I didn't choose to stop mentoring, it just kind of happened. So, I guess I came back this year for that same reason."

     Vesper exhales sharply. "I don't think you missed much," she says, her voice sounding cold and hollow.

She still feels lacking in the whys. What made him vanish like that, and where did he go?

     Maybe it seems odd that she hardly knows Emrys, and yet they can talk like this. Then again, secrets are easier to tell to strangers than your loved ones. And maybe there is something in them both being victors, too — Vesper knows she feels it with many of the others too, an unspoken kinship that comes with the gut-wrenchingly unique experience that is the Hunger Games.

     "How are your tributes doing so far?" Emrys asks.

     "They're..." she trails off at first, not sure how to sum it up. "I think they're very brave."

     What Vesper means is, she roots for them, of course she does. But she figures the chances that she sees either Avia or Jason on the other side of that arena are pretty slim.

     Emrys seems to read this, for he furrows his brows. "Well, don't you have to believe in them a little?"

     "I do believe in them," Vesper insists fiercely, "but the general optimism rubbed off me a few years ago. How're yours? You know, after being out-of-practice since you were..."

     "Sixteen," he tells her. He was sixteen the last time he mentored someone. "I think it's going okay. They're picking up a lot from the training. Finch is a little anxious, but great at memorising stuff. Chi's smart too, and he's even pretty strong from playing sports at school. You know, I always think it's less important to focus on the weapons, head to the survival tactics first. You can get pretty far just by using your brains or hiding out."

Of course you'd believe that, Vesper thinks. She has a hazy memory of a twelve-year old Emrys, trudging through the snow by himself, or making himself even smaller than he already was to hide from the Careers. Although she thinks that is probably how most of the District Five victors have won, much like District Three — brains over brawn.

"It feels weird there's only a couple days left," Emrys adds.

"Yeah..." Vesper shudders. "It always comes around too fast."

"And then it's over, if you're unlucky."

Neither of them try to hide the pain that this thought instills in them. But when Emrys notices Vesper shiver again, he snaps out of it. "You don't have to stay," he says, "I'm sorry, I go off on a tangent sometimes."

"I think I'm just tired after all," Vesper murmurs. "I think I'll go back to bed."

"Okay."

She blinks at him. "Well, uh... thanks for the talk."

"Oh, uh, yeah. You too," says Emrys.

Vesper walks back to the doorway; yet again, he doesn't come back inside either. This doesn't seem like a healthy way of being nocturnal to her. "You coming back in yet?" she asks him.

"No, I'll stay a little longer."

"Okay..." Vesper lingers. Then, as an afterthought, she adds: "Don't freeze up here, okay? It's not as warm as it looks."

"I won't," she hears Emrys reply. He peers over his shoulder, studying her curiously as she shuts the door.

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Nervous energy simmers in the living room on the sixth floor — most of it comes from Hermia Winkle, who despite her anxieties surrounding the training scores, insists on having champagne for the occasion. Benedict and Lysander have also joined the team, twinning on the couch as they guffaw with their prep teams.

     Avia and Jason hunch over in their seats, toes tapping on the tiled floors. Vesper is trying to think more optimistically for them. Believe in them a little. Despite his limits thanks to his injury, Jason said he tried to demonstrate his intelligence with edible plants, extracting poison with shaky hands into a blowgun... unfortunately, he ran out of time before he could take a shot at a target. Meanwhile, Avia started three fires in quick succession, then had a go at axing some dummies in combat.

     It sounds quite promising. Vesper just hopes that the Gamemakers agree.

     "So, what's considered a good score?" Jason asks.

     "It depends on the year," Vesper replies, "but generally, you don't wanna be too low to be unnoticed, or too high so that you'll have a target on your back."

     Hermia sits herself down, one of her sparkling, thorny shoulder pads almost taking Avia's eye out. "These training scores are crucial. It is one of the very last opportunities you have to give sponsors a chance to bet on you. This can change the odds."

     "Until tomorrow, of course," Benedict grins, "when we shall make you the belles of the ball for the interviews!"

     "You mean fattening us up before we go to the slaughterhouse?" Avia suggests with a snarl.

     The stylists and prep team all laugh together, as if she just made some hilarious joke; Hermia tenses up uncomfortably, seeing her remark as highly vulgar. All Vesper can do is exchange a sullen look with Irma, who just shakes her head not to provoke anything.

     "Oh, it's starting! Turn up the volume, Benedict!" Hermia squawks.

     He hits the holographic buttons on the remote, heightening the anthem's fanfare. Caesar Flickerman looks less frightening than some years, his hair, lips and eyelids dyed powder blue. He sits behind a shining marble desk and updates the viewers on the concept of private sessions, and how the training scores can range from 1 to 12.

     Caesar begins with Marvel and Glimmer from District One, predictably high with scores of 9. District Two manage to top this, as Cato and Clove both receive 10s. The scores then dwindle sporadically from there. Vesper finds herself paying attention when District Five pops up, Chi and Finch getting 5s.

     "And now, the half-way point..." Caesar announces.

     "Oh, goodness!" Hermia presses her fingers to her temples in a panic.

     "From District Six, Jason Cappitani..."

     Please don't be too low. Please.

     "... A score of 4."

     Some moderate applause ripples through the room. "You know, I thought that would be a lot worse. A lot worse!" Hermia sits up straighter, patting Jason on the back. "But considering your injury, young man, you did very well."

     Vesper does feel relieved. 4 isn't too bad, just slightly below the average rating so far. And Hermia is right — with his injury, he could have done far worse. She had been bracing herself for 2s, or even 1s. Perhaps the fact that Jason still persisted and managed to make poison darts was worth awarding points.

     Before they can analyse it much, the broadcast moves on to the next score.

     "Avia Vettel... a score of 6."

     "Ooh!" Hermia claps her hands together in delight.

     "Is that supposed to be good?" Avia asks uncertainly.

     "As good as we could hope for," Vesper sinks back into the plush cushions on the couch. Relief floods through her. Not too high, not too low. She and Irma can work with that.

     "Well done, both of you," Irma encourages them.

     As generally pleased as the room is, they wait with popping any champagne until the rest of the scores come in. There are some surprisingly higher ones towards the end in District Eleven, Thresh scoring a 9, and little Rue receiving an impressive 7. Then it is time for the last district.

     "From District Twelve, Peeta Mellark... with a score of 8."

     Avia shrugs. "Well, he is pretty strong. In training, he tossed this giant weight in front of the Careers. Made it look like it was a bag of feathers."

     "Haymitch will be happy with that," Vesper remarks. "That's a damn good score for Twelve."

     "And finally, from District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen."

     Caesar turns to the final page of scores on the screen. Something in his breath hitches, a sort of excitement. Vesper finds herself leaning forward in her seat to hear this.

     "With a score of... 11."

The gasps around the room are totally involuntary. Hermia leaps to her feet and exclaims "ELEVEN?!", while Benedict whoops and seizes the champagne bottle. A score of 11 is no ordinary feat, especially for the brunt of the districts. Vesper can only think of one other tribute — not a Career — who snagged such a high score in the private sessions.

Telle.

"What do you think she did?" Irma asks breathlessly.

"Whatever it was, it worked..." Vesper scoffs. As much as she expects the District Twelve team is celebrating this, the score does taunt her slightly. What does it mean for her tributes if they meet an 11-scoring Katniss in the arena?

"A toast! To our fine tributes," Benedict laughs jovially. He has already popped the cork off the champagne, filling glasses for all the adults to drink from. Two empty glasses remain where Avia and Jason had nervously drained some lemonade.

Vesper considers this for a moment. Then, reaching for the bottle, she pours a small amount of champagne into each, just to cover the glass bottoms in a thin layer.

"Um, are we allowed to...?" Jason eyes the drinks nervously.

Lowering her voice to a whisper, Vesper replies, "A little drop of it won't hurt." She figures it could be the last chance they get to try it.

So, they raise their glasses with the rest of the team as they toast — "To District Six!" — and then sip away at the champagne. Vesper has to laugh as she watches Jason's face crumple in distaste. He sets the glass back down on the table and shudders.

"Tastes like fizzy piss," he critiques.

"Well, now you know. What do you think– whoa, Avia, slow down!" Vesper's arm shoots out and blocks Avia from taking another gulp. She had downed the slither of champagne in an instant, and had discreetly poured herself a full glass to start drinking from. Draining the contents into her own glass, she glares at the girl. "Are you trying to get a hangover before you talk to Caesar?"

"What? The drink was there..." Avia grumbles.

Vesper sighs. She remembers that tomorrow morning, she'll be coaching Avia in preparation for the interviews. That should be fun.

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A/N;

long time, no see! sorry it's been a while since the last update (*checks calendar* almost six months, actually) — i was giving some attention to my other fics and juggling those. but i knew that reading SOTR would give me inspiration, and alas, i was right. it was actually kinda helpful to wait until reading that too, because it helped me with some lore or backstory for some OCs 👀 that's all i'll say on that front...

this chapter featured more of my boy emrys. what do we think about him so far? also i kind of love the fact that vesper and emrys both think the rooftop is "their" spot... when actually, katniss and peeta went there too, and probably countless other tributes as well.

an extra note: "finch" is is meant to refer to foxface! i have seen theories that this was meant to be her canon name, because it was used in dubs if the movie, but i'm not sure. either way, my brain has accepted this is foxface's real name. emrys would be mentoring her, and i feel like she would actually act upon his advice a lot. and "chi" is just a name i made up for the district 5 male.

an extra extra note: "porter" is porter millicent tripp, a maybe/maybe not canon district 5 victor from the 38th games. but the names "dean" and "mallory" are original characters of mine, also victors from district 5, and you might meet them in a later chapter!

thank you for reading! i've been kind of worried that these mentoring chapters pre-games are a bit boring to read, so i hope they're okay.

[ published: 6th april, 2025 ]

— Imogen