May The Odds Be Ever In Our Favour {PurplePhone | Hunger Games}

One.

Scott sat perched high up in a paperbark tree, peering down past the pale branches and lush leaves to the dappled forest floor below.

The kid was on the move again.

Scott wasn't a fighter. He wasn't strong, he wasn't brave, he had a weak stomach and hated violence. Which is why, from the moment the gong rang - no, from the moment his name had been pulled out of the thousands of paper slips - he'd decided he needed someone else to do the killing for him. Someone to lead him to all the good water, the berry bushes, the hiding spots, while killing any enemy in Scott's way.

At least not as long as he was caught. He tried not to think about what would happen otherwise.

The boy below whistled as he moved noisily through the bush. Scott felt a pang of jealousy as he crept through the foliage above him. A Career Tribute like him could make as much noise as he wanted, knowing that he was more than capable of slitting the throat of anyone who dared oppose him. Scott? Scott had to act like cornered prey, watching from afar, always looking over his shoulder, making as little sound as possible.

The boy stopped walking, and Scott paused as well. From here, Scott got a clear view of him. He was a District 1 kid. He'd obviously spent some time in the Capitol; his skin was dyed purple. He'd had long hair at first of the same shade, but he'd cut it off with a blade right at the start of the games. Scott had been secretly disappointed. The boy was rather attractive with long hair.

The silence was broken when the boy below's deep voice rang out, "You know, judging by the fact I haven't killed you yet, I think it's safe to assume I'm not planning to. For now."

Scott looked in front of him at the bushes, looking for the tribute he'd spoken to. Somebody else had been following them, probably since the last killing. Was Scott about to watch an alliance form? Or a brutal murder?

Everything was silent for what felt like hours. Mockingjays called out, a trilling, desperate sound. They'd last mimicked someone screaming. A beetle crawled over Scott's fingers and continued on its path down the speckled tree. Somehow, Scott knew that the cameras were trained on him and the Career Tribute below.

Scott had just begun to come to the realisation that he was the only other tribute in the clearing when the Career turned and looked him straight in the eye.

Scott froze. How long?! How long had he known Scott had been following him?! More importantly - why had he just let Scott follow alongside? It would be so easy to send one of his daggers straight through Scott's eye, or his heart, when he had briefly descended from the tree-tops to gather what he needed to survive. Scott had even stolen from his food supply, once, when the boy had stupidly left it in clear sight while going to refill his water bottle.

They held eye contact for a long time. This boy had eyes the same colour as his skin. He was around 16 years old. That put him two years older than Scott. Lanky and obviously underfed, but with a kind of strength to him that told everyone that he meant business. Scott had watched him at training with unbridled awe as he threw daggers from fifty metres away that hit straight on target. As he picked up weights and threw them effortlessly. As he strung up a bow and shot an arrow clean through the gap of the 'A' of the sign that said 'Archery'.

That, partnered with his incredibly good looks... he must have all the girls in the Capitol swooning. Scott felt another pang of jealousy.

"What are you afraid of?" the boy gave him a slightly unsettling grin, showing all his teeth. They had been modified so that they were all razor sharp, and fit against each other perfectly like the smile of an alligator. "I'm not going to bite."

Scott didn't believe him for an instant, but nevertheless, he stood up and climbed down to a lower branch. The boy knew he was here now, which meant Scott probably wasn't going to last long either way. Might as well do everything he said and hope it was quick. He continued to carefully lower himself down until he was huddled on a branch around eye-level with the boy. He tensed, ready to leap up the tree branches again should the other pull out a knife.

The boy leaned forward to examine him closely, and Scott figured he'd never been closer to death in his entire life.

"You have cute eyes," the tribute said at last, and leaned back.

Scott started at the compliment, so shocked that he unbalanced himself. His arms flailed as he looked to grab on to another branch, but he missed entirely and fell backwards into the leaves with quite the unimpressive yelp. It wasn't the first time someone had complimented him on his eyes; they were unusual. Deep brown with flecks of gold in them, and they were large, too, giving him a fragile look that was actually really frustrating. Nobody ever took him seriously.

It was just... surprising... to be complimented by someone who will ultimately be your cause of death.

The purple boy laughed out loud at the sight of Scott falling over backwards. He stood over Scott, and held out a hand.

In that one moment, Scott knew he could trust him. After all, any sane person would have dropped to their knees and speared him through the heart by now. Not that the Career tribute in front of him probably had to do even that. He just had to flash that amazing feral smile and Scott would probably go into cardiac arrest.

Shakily, Scott took his outstretched hand, and was pulled to his feet. The boy didn't let go; instead, he shook Scott's hand, "Vincent."

"Vincent," Scott repeated. The name echoed in the silence. "I'm Scott. It's, uh, nice to meet you."

"Scott, huh? I love it. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful alliance," Vincent grinned. "With my weapons and your stealth, there's nobody that could get in our way!"

Scott smiled uneasily. Yeah. We'll see if you feel the same when there's just the two of us left.