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

Three.

"Are you going to come down yet, or what?" Vincent called out.

Scott peered down at Vincent through the speckled leaves, just being able to make out his frustrated expression. He shook his head.

"Son-of-an-avox!" Vincent rolled his eyes, "It's the Hunger Games, Scott, you're supposed to kill people!"

"You could at least respect that you're taking someone's life away," Scott shouted down at him. "That District 2 girl has a family at home! A family that just watched their daughter be hacked into small pieces by an unstable 16 year-old! For goodness' sakes, you didn't even stop when she was dead!"

Vincent sighed, putting his head in his hands, "You're never going to win these games."

"I'm well aware of that!" Scott snapped, "I at least hope - for my sake - that when you kill me, you're at least a little bit civil about it!"

"You're missing the point of the games, Scott," Vincent replied, as if in his defence. "We're on TV! This is a sport! We have to get the audience's attention. Get the views up. Go down in history as tributes!"

Scott scoffed, "That's right. That's all it is to you, isn't it? Your 15 minutes of fame. Doesn't matter if the blood of twenty-three other children is on your hands, as long as every eye in Panem is trained on you."

"Well, when you put it like that," Vincent shrugged. "Exactly."

Scott growled slightly, "You know what? I don't need your protection." He tensed, ready to spring off into another tree. "I'm going to go live off in the bush somewhere, maybe hope that at least some other tribute will have the goodwill to kill me quickly. Good luck with winning."

"Wait!" Vincent called out, but no lie or plead that the devious tribute could spit out could ever stop Scott from jumping up and grabbing on to one of the higher limbs, heaving himself up onto the branch and instantly jumping again - this time onto another tree's branch.

Scott blocked out all of his thoughts, ignoring Vincent's pleads, bribes and finally threats as he concentrated on keeping his arms moving, pulling himself higher and further away from the boy. He passed a mockingjay nest, the birds poking their heads out and peering curiously at him as he muttered a string of curses to himself.

"Stupid career tribute kids think they're the stars of the show. No care for other people who have to live every day knowing they're about to be killed."

By the time the anger drained out of him, the sun hung low in the sky lazily, as if too tired to stay in the sky. Scott felt the same way. He tried to lift his burning arms to grab onto the next branch, but they felt as heavy as lead, and weren't gripping very well.

Well, here's as good a place to stop as any... Scott thought, his stomach grumbling in agreement. He'd have to have travelled a few kilometres at least, and it had been a very hot day. He settled in the fork of a tree and pulled his pack off of his back. He opened it, and his gold-brown eyes widened.

Son-of-a... He'd forgotten that Vincent had insisted that he carried Scott's supplies on him, so that the stronger, more competent one made sure that none of the food got stolen. Not that Scott's meagre supply had been that impressive. He remembered when Vincent emptied his pack on the forest floor, and Scott almost fainted.

Vincent had been right in the heart of the Cornucopia, slaughtering anyone who got in his way. Scott had watched in horror from a tree. Vincent had literally been dripping in blood as he tore a dagger of the corpse of a twelve year old and took the pack she'd been in the process of stealing. As a result, he had a tent, traps, food, water, sleeping bags, jumpers, an entire array of daggers, bows, spear-heads and clubs - he could have lived easily in the Arena for months!

In comparison, as soon as the gong had rang, Scott had turned on his heel and pelted way from the bloodbath, scooping up a single pack in his frantic hurry. The pack had held one thin plastic tarp, which Scott had been sleeping in. The rest of what he had, he'd stolen. One good thing about Scott was he was very, very good at stealing.

But now, all that remained in the bottom of the pack was a handful of uncooked roots. He scooped them out and put them into his mouth, chewing aimlessly. He missed meat.

Scott pulled out his plastic sheet and wrapped himself in it, staring up at the stars through the canopy. He shivered, his teeth beginning to chatter as he curled himself into a tight ball. Sleep didn't come for him, but that was okay anyway. He needed to be vigil at night.

Especially because today, he may have made a very powerful enemy.