#since I'll only have ONE assignment urgently due by that point

[frick6101719]

WIP Wednesday

I now live on the West coast, where it is still Wednesday. In my mind, at least. 

The latest chapter of It Might Kill Me has been a complete and total bitch, so I thought putting a little bit of it out there in the world might help create the brainpower I need to get the damn thing under control. And I’ve gotten a couple new followers since the last chapter was posted, so I thought this could be a fun chance to plug my own work (yuck. I know we’re always saying that promotion is just a part of being a content creator in fandom but that doesn’t mean it has to feel good!) 

It Might Kill Me is a fic I never meant to write yet has been in the works for a solid eight years now. It started with thoughts about how the Career Districts work, exactly, and what would happen if the Career-iest Career of them all, our murder boy, Cato, was shocked into awareness of the horror of the Games before going into the arena. It quickly grew out of control, and now it’s a giant detour through character development into a world where he gets a second chance, all delivered through the eyes of a goofy but determined District Ten Tribute assigned as his partner for the Quarter Quell. And, because I’m still certifiable Grade-A Everlark trash, there are lots of Everlark-y themes and moments (I like to think of it as inside-out Everlark, where the romantic deception is explicit from the get-go but gets murkier as time goes on until no one really knows what’s real, or not real). 

Alright that’s already more than I wanted to say. Here’s a wee snippet from the chap-in-progress!

~~~

Fra takes a seat at the table beside me. I almost burst into tears.

Whether he realises my emotional instability or not, Fra just takes my hand quickly and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He accepts a bowl of oatmeal from an Avox with a polite nod, like this is just a normal breakfast in the Capitol. Only it’s not. It’s not normal at all. This could be my last breakfast—not just in the Capitol, but anywhere.  

How could anything feel normal?

The roof is unusually cold. I take several deep breaths--the air almost stings my lungs. “I’m fine,” I say. Am I talking to the air? To the Capitol? To him? “Rolling with the punches is what I do.” Another deep breath. “This is just… really unexpected”

Cato is silent for a long moment. “Your feelings will not help you,” he says, voice deadly quiet. “You’re not an idiot. Trust that. And trust your gut.”

The atmosphere of the apartment is tense and joyless. Rhodendra doesn’t seem to notice, flitting about as usual with pep in her step and barely-restrained impatience at the schedule we’re keeping. The Capitolite is always a little out-of-place in our company, but this morning her presence itself feels almost garish. 

But despite the grey tension hanging like a wet blanket over all our shoulders, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to get in the elevator with Fra, leaving Rhodendra behind to energetically prod Jace and Clyse along. I don’t want to feel my Mentor’s hand on my shoulder, or listen to him tell me he believes in me.

“What if there’s too much space between the Cornucopias? What if you can’t get to me within twenty-four hours?”

I’m calm now. It’s time to consider the possibilities, to prepare. I won’t get a chance to talk to him tomorrow, so we need to make sure we are on the same page about everything tonight.

“Who cares?” Cato paces back and forth in the gazebo, long legs covering the distance in just two strides. “We don’t need a ‘material advantage’ to win. We have sponsors to help us if we need it.”

He’s right. I hate the idea of missing out on any assistance available to us, but he’s right. I have to trust that we know what we’re doing, that we’ve done enough, that we can do this on our own terms if we have to.

I have to trust that I’m not an idiot. I have to trust my gut. No matter what happens tomorrow.  

~~~