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chapter three

CHOCOLATE AND ORANGE CROISSANTS

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During her first Games as a mentor, Yelena was simply too hopeful for her own good. She poured her heart and soul into the tributes, draining her cup to overflow theirs in hopes it would be worth something by the end. Gave them every piece of advice she had. Wandered the crowd of sponsors, begging and pleading like a foolish seventeen year old girl rather than a stone-cold mentor for their support. Woof would frown at her, while Cecelia would offer a smile out of pity. Rudy just dragged his cigarette silently.

All she could muster was Caspian Steele, her former sponsor, who she realized later on she wouldn't even need to ask. His support of District 8 tributes would become a tradition each year, but his resources were more limited than one would think.

The girl, Henley, died shortly after dragging herself into the woods following the Bloodbath to succumb to her wounds. The boy, Cress, was butchered by the District Two tribute within the first day. Yelena cried over their deaths for months.

Then there was the 69th Hunger Games. She had hoped to change her tactics. Not only work on sponsors, but also work on her fellow mentors. Particularly, those of the Careers. All she had to do was convince them that her tributes were assets in the Games their tributes would need as alliances to survive. Can you imagine that? Advertising two starving tributes that don't even know how to start a fire or throw a punch as necessities to trained killers?

Yelena had thought she had given the young boy and girl under her wing a chance to live. In reality, she'd given them a death sentence. The boy was killed by a tribute from Six. And when it was only her girl and the Careers left, her allies, who do you think they turned on first?

For the 70th, a twelve year old girl and fourteen year old boy were reaped. Rudy didn't even attempt to help, refusing to look in their eyes and always glowering at the wall silently. This infuriated Yelena. Woof and Cecelia were more useful, but they knew the children were already lost.

By this time, she was nineteen. Having already begun giving her desirable services, as Snow would put it, she decided to utilize her skill set the best she could.

They say that her tributes of that year had received the most sponsors any of Eight ever had.

It didn't matter anyway. Lucy was eaten alive by mutts. Jax drowned in the flood. Not even numerous sponsors could save them from the Game Makers.

Like molten gold, parts of her soul have finally hardened. She didn't think that would happen, or at least, she hoped it wouldn't. Her tattoos for each tribute are a way for her to resist everything inside her growing cold. And to remind every Capitol man and woman who dares to claim her body that they are part of the reason why they're there.

She's running on four and a half hours of sleep. Literally. Her feet pound on the uneven sidewalk, knees feeling like rubber and lungs burning. Cold air brushes against her flushed cheeks and chills the inside of her throat as she takes a sharp left turn, following her typical route of her morning jog.

There's a faint and dull pink attempting to break through the thick rolls of smoke in the sky. The factories have just warmed up, most of District 8's population already arriving from their early morning commute to work. Yelena purposely schedules her morning runs shortly after the dense traffic has made their destination. When her dark gaze flits toward The Latch, she can see the familiar tower of her own father's factory that constructs some loose materials for Capitol designers and other knitwear.

Another turn. Her measured and calculated strides dodge the cracks and missing chunks of pavement with familiarity. Her reflection blurs past several shop windows of Silk Road.

It's when she smells that sweet aroma of pastries that her runner's high is almost subdued. Yelena begins to slow to a stop, her stare eventually finding the familiar wooden sign hanging underneath a tattered and stained awning. Engraved are the words "Suede's Sweets."

A bell rings over her head as she pushes their door open, or at least attempts to, it sticking slightly. She braces her weight into it, finally jutting it open completely, the bell ringing awkwardly again. Her chest is still heaving from the running, and she rubs the back of her cold hand along her clammy forehead. A tall and slender man appears from the back.

"Yelena, good to see you," Suede Sharma greets. He wipes his floured hands with a damp rag, a bead of sweat dripping down his dark brow from the heat of the ovens. "Finishing up your morning run?"

The dark-haired girl smiles, peering through the cases with interest. "Yep. Good to see you too, Mr. Sharma." She gulps in air, still out of breath. Her hands find her hips. "I came to find whatever smells so good. My mouth has been watering the last two blocks."

The baker grins knowingly and with a twinge of pride, nodding. He turns to what must be a freshly cooled tray of pastries and lifts them in the air for her to see. "That would be my triple chocolate and orange croissants. Fresh out of the oven and still warm, just ready to eat!"

Yelena stands on her tippy toes to get a closer look. She inhales deeply, mouth watering as she sighs. "I'll take six of those."

"You've got it."

He wraps the pastries in a soft pink box, wax paper crinkling. Yelena hands him double what they cost, and before he can protest, bids him thanks and strides out of the bakery. She walks several doors down to her aunt's tailor shop. When she enters, she spots her cousin waving her duster in the air boredly.

"I think you're actually supposed to dust shelves and ceiling fans," Yelena advises, shutting the door behind her gently.

Chenille whips around at her voice, eyes lighting up despite the scowl forming on her features. "What are you, the dusting police?"

"No." Yelena plops the pink box of pastries on the counter. "But I did bring breakfast."

Her cousin beams, tossing the duster on the floor as she hurries around the register. "After another one of your crazy runs?" She opens the box, immediately grabbing one of the croissants. Hardly wasting a second, she takes a bite, speech garbled as she chews. "You do know you're crazy, right?"

Yelena nods, grinning. "Totally unwell."

Chenille takes another bite, almost moaning into the croissant. A strand of blonde falls into her face as she waves the pastry in her cousin's face. "But you do understand balance. Run all of District 8 and stuff your face with chocolate. I love it."

"The croissant, or my morning routine?"

"Both." Another bite. "The croissant a little more though." Yelena chuckles softly, and Chenille licks some melted chocolate off her thumb. "We still on for Thimble tonight? Big birthday girl bash, eh?"

The reminder makes Yelena sigh. She leans along the counter, shrugging her sunken shoulders absently. "Mmmm, I don't know."

Her cousin pauses, pulling her gaze away from her half-eaten croissant. She studies the dark-haired girl carefully. "Why? Something wrong?"

Another shrug. Yelena picks at her nails as she averts Chenille's stare. "I don't know... it just feels weird to go out. To... celebrate something." She peers over her shoulder through the shop window, Silk Road mostly empty besides the few shopkeepers tending to their signs and porches. "The Victory tour is coming and..."

The mention of it draws recognition and understanding to her cousin's eyes. She nods knowingly. After the 70th Hunger Games, the people of District Eight were even more disgruntled than usual. Watching two tributes so young be brutally murdered by the arena, not even blades or arrows from the Careers, sent a strange ricochet of rage throughout the alleys and towering tenements. Those blank, glazed and empty eyes were filled with something harrowing now. The people of District Eight weren't just angry. They were vengeful.

Yelena inhales sharply when her cousin's needle pricked hand gently finds hers. "It is your birthday... and I know to you it feels wrong. You— you knew them. The kids." She's gnawing on her bottom lip now to steady the quivering she feels inside. Almost like her ribs will cave in. "But you still deserve to celebrated."

A tear slips from her right eye, and she jerks her hand to wipe it away before it can run down her cheek, it almost startling her. She didn't realize her eyes were even watering. It's embarrassing. Crying for them. For the children she failed. She failed them. She failed, she failed, she failed. What right does she have to cry? What right does she have to mourn? And what right does she have to attempt any kind of happiness?

She was their last hope.

The bell to the shop rings, signaling a potential customer. Yelena straightens very stiffly as she snatches the box of pastries. Chenille gives her a small but supportive smile. "If you don't change your mind, I'll bring a cake over. Okay?"

Her voice is barely audible as the Victor and mentor hurries out the door. The grief and shame has grown hard again, molding into something to keep her alive. "Okay."

━━━━

Yelena is almost positive Rudy hates her guts. Always has and always will, ever since she was the one to come home from the 67th Hunger Games, and his little brother was not. She remembers the way her gut sank like a boulder when Reed Twill was reaped alongside her, almost solidifying her death sentence. Surely, his older brother and mentor would set out to sabotage her in attempts to save him. That's what would make sense. She didn't have siblings, but Chenille was pretty close, and a part of her could rationalize doing whatever necessary to ensure her survival if she were reaped.

Despite drawing this conclusion that her fellow mentor probably wishes she'd drop dead every second, she still visits him daily. Much to his annoyance.

Yelena's boots stomp up the stairs of Rudy Twill's porch, her cold knuckles rapping against the wooden front door twice. Her other hand still holds the baby pink box of pastries, a dull warmth  seeping through to her palm. She inhales a breath as she waits and listens. It's when she does that she catches the faint scent of fresh cigarette smoke.

The wood creaks beneath as she shifts her weight, leaning around to peer down the rest of the porch. She catches sight of a familiar callused hand with a cigarette in its grasp. A soft plume of smoke floats through the air, and the hand disappears, Rudy likely taking another drag.

"Hey." Yelena strides toward the back of the porch, passing the windows along the side of the house. She stands behind his old rocker. There's an empty one beside him as he gazes out at the edge of District 8. "I knocked."

Rudy doesn't even look in her direction. "I heard."

A pause. She tries to follow his stare. There's really not much to look at. District 8 is a labyrinth of looming factories and tenements, the only two acres of land unscathed by pavement being the Victor's Village at the edge. Rudy and Woof are the one's with an "exciting" view of the Wall, towering gray cinder blocks at least thirty feet tall and barbed wire at the top.

"Can I sit?" Yelena asks, clearing her throat. "I brought breakfast."

His voice comes out dull and dry. "Be my guest."

She weaves behind his rocking chair, carefully plopping down into the one beside him. The wood is icy cold, and she stifles a shiver, crossing her legs quickly. Her heart hiccups when the chair rocks backward at her shift of weight, and she tries to steady herself. The pastry box slides on her lap. Silence falls upon them again, uncomfortable for Yelena, but quite comfortable for Rudy.

Her eyes study him briefly, noting he still sports his five o'clock shadow, hair greasy and unkempt as he wears just a stained white tee and worn jeans. She frowns. "You don't have a jacket on. It's freezing."

"I just came out for a quick smoke," he explains, releasing a puff of smoke into the cold air. Yelena wrinkles her nose at the acrid stench. "Cecelia's kids were bugging me to build a snowman with them. So if you could please withhold my location to them on your way back over, that would be greatly appreciated."

Yelena glances down to the earth, a small chuckle of amusement escaping her. There's maybe half an inch of snow dusting the ground. Barely enough to muster up a snowball, and certainly not enough for a full snowman.

"They like you. That's nice."

Rudy wrinkles his nose at that, green eyes narrowing. "Can't tell you why."

"Probably because you're so charming," Yelena muses, sarcasm dripping through her tone. She couldn't help that one.

He ignores her, glancing to the box in her lap. He quirks a brow. "From Suede's?"

"Yep." She opens the lid, parchment rustling as she snags one of the croissants, it mostly cooled by now. She offers it to the fellow Victor. "Chocolate croissants."

Rudy pauses, glaring at it. It's a moment before he speaks again as she awkwardly waits. "What's the orange stuff?"

Yelena struggles to withhold an eyeroll. She offers it to him again. "Just eat it."

"Well what's the orange stuff? What is orange that goes with chocolate?"

"Oranges." Annoyance washes over as she practically shoves it into Rudy's spare hand. "Just eat it. You need to start eating breakfast more."

He floats the cigarette balanced between his fingers in her face, the smoke making her eyes water. "This is my breakfast. Lunch and dinner too."

She smacks his hand away with disgust. "You're so obnoxious." The cigarette flies out of his grip and through the railings of the porch, landing softly in the light snow. Fortunately, it's enough to sizzle it out. Heat still bores into her cheek, his nearly murderous gaze ablaze.

"That was a good cigarette."

Yelena bites into one of the pastries, leaning back into her chair. "And these are great croissants. Shame we can't appreciate each other's indulgences."

Silence. Rudy's chest heaves as he glowers at her, a deep scowl setting on his tired features. She continues to snack on her croissant, rocking back and forth in the chair, it being her turn to stare at the mind-numbing wall. She's surprised when she feels his hand reaching into the box. He studies the pastry carefully, before tearing a small piece off and chewing slowly.

They both wait.

"Do you like it?"

Rudy shrugs, taking another bite. "It's alright."

A corner of Yelena's lips tug upward as she watches him from the corner of her eye. This time, they both allow the silence to fall between them again. The gray cement in front of her has a strange effect. Instead of boring her, it calms her, softening the frantic chaos within her mind. It almost makes her forget about another Victory Tour looming, where another tribute that isn't hers will be paraded around in front of a mourning District.

At least it's not another brutish and arrogant Career of One or Two. Just a quiet girl from Four. Annie Something. She was the only one left that could swim in the flood that killed Jax.

"Don't you have stuff to do?" Rudy's voice chirps, drawing her out of her haze. She feels herself anchored back to reality, turning to meet his irritated stare. He's finished the croissant by now, wiping his greasy fingers along his shirt. Explains the many stains.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Dropping off Woof's groceries, small talk with Cecelia. Embroidering with your mother?"

She mimics his dry tone, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "You underestimate me. Those were all done an hour ago."

"Hm."

"Yep."

She can tell he wants her to go. Well, actually, he probably always wants her to go. Her millionth try at extending the olive branch the last three years has failed miserably. She inhales a sharp cool breath through her nose, standing steadily from her chair. It rocks softly into the back of her thighs as she adjusts her grip along the pastry box. "I do need to do my laundry, though," she lies.

Rudy is already digging into his back pocket, snatching his box of cigarettes. "Oh, not the laundry."

She quirks a dark brow, eyeing that stained shirt again. "Want me to run a load for you?"

He wedges a new cigarette between his teeth. "Nope."

Yelena's not surprised at his refusal and just nods softly. Defeated, she ducks back around the rocking chairs behind her fellow Victor, stalking toward the front of the porch. She's just getting to the part where she can see her house past the edge of Woof's, the kitchen and living room lights on. A bad wooden board creaks loudly beneath her boot, overlapping Rudy's voice.

She swivels on her heels a bit too hopefully. "Hmm?"

He huffs with annoyance, his back turned to her as he stares back out at the wall, the same way she found him. She just blinks at him patiently. Rudy sighs, glancing over his shoulder at her. For a moment, she swears he's almost remorseful. His shoulders slump, lips forming a tight line.

"I said... Happy Birthday."

Her brows raise as she questions if her ears deceive her. But doubting he's willing to say it again just for her validation, she instead sucks in a breath, offering a curt nod. "Thanks, Rudy."

And with that, she leaves him as she found him, smoking a cigarette on his back porch. She glances back up to his home, noticing the light on in his mother's room. A part of her wants to ask him how she's doing, but she's already crossing the drive, and she doubts he'd be happy for her to go past their fifteen minute limit of conversation. She takes her small win as she stomps up her own steps, striding into a warm house.

"I'm back," Yelena calls. She can smell the mouth-watering aroma of bacon, it sizzling and popping in the kitchen.

"Good morning my birthday girl," Yvette Hart cheers from the stove. "Breakfast will be ready in two minutes!"

Yelena is just hanging up her coat by the door when she hears her father's footsteps. She glances up lightly, about to smile. The grim look on his features makes her stop.

"We got a letter for you today." He extends the envelope toward her. Her gut bubbles nervously when she recognizes the seal. "From the Capitol."

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Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to comment, I love to hear from you! However please do not ask me to update.

Soooo I know this chapter might have been boring but I'm going to be doing a few chapters pre-Quell to really build up Yelena's story, District 8 and their role in the rebellion and her and Finnick.

Opinions on Rudy or Chenille or Yelena? Im really excited to get to the Quell so you can see how Rudy and Yelena's relationship grows as well as Yelena and Chenille's. Just some extra info, Rudy won the 62nd Games at 17 and he is about 5 years older than Yelena! Grumpy guy lol.

Also peep here are their Quell posters!! I'm so excited for them :)

Word Count: 3300