Hunger Games: Fandom Style

Alms for a Ranger

Will stared down at the bat mutt. He'd cut it open and been disgusted to find twitching wires wrapped around and through unnaturally deformed organs.
He considered eating it anyway. He hadn't been able to get any food from the Cornucopia in the bloodbath, and opportunities for hunting or foraging were limited in the arena.
Instead, he turned away, still operating under the cold haze that had descended upon him after Cassandra's death. It smothered most thought, but one bright idea flickered through.
Most of the supplies in the Cornucopia remained unclaimed. True, it was trapped under a layer of ice.
But what kind of Ranger couldn't start a fire?

"Alms! Alms! Alms for a Ranger! Avenge Cassandra! Buy our remaining tribute a loaf of bread! Will Treaty needs you! Come on, Thorn, skip the bar of soap this week, we all know you don't use it anyway. Every little bit helps! Donate now and get your name entered into a drawing for this excellent deer, shot by Crowley himself! Alms! Alms! Alms!"
Horace wound his way through the smoky, crowded atmosphere of District 7's black market towards the corner where Gilan was shouting. A huge black pot for coins sat at his feet. Behind him, a truly impressive buck hung on a spit. A crowd of people had begun to gather around him. Horace had to shove his way through.
"What are you doing?"
Gilan grinned at him. "Taking up a collection. There's not much food in the arena this year, so we've started an initiative to send some in. Hey, Sean, come spell me for a minute."
Sean o'Carrick took up the call as Gilan led him to a quieter part of the warehouse.
"How's it going?" Horace had forced himself to shove all thoughts of Cassandra to the side. He could grieve when Will was safely home. Until then, he turned sorrow into fuel to keep him going.
Gilan leaned against the wall. "Better than you'd think. Will's pretty popular, so the collection's not doing too badly. Plus, most of the Ranger's had something saved up for bad times, and these definitely count. The Corps don't have so many apprentices we can afford to throw them away, and we owe Will this. Owe it to Halt too, for that matter."
Horace shook his head in frustration. "I should have been the one in there, not him."
"It was his choice, Horace."
"Kind of wish he hadn't made it with his strikers," Horace said ruefully, rubbing his bruise.
Alyss's silvery laugh came up from behind him. Even laughing, the strain she was under was clear.
Horace turned to look at her. She looked as tired as he felt. He hadn't slept since - since he'd become absolutely certain that he wanted Will to win.
"I just came from the Justice Plaza," she said. "Both the tributes from from 4 and 10 are dead." She shivered. "It was so strange. The girl from 4 didn't even look human." She swallowed. "They're both dead now, so I guess it doesn't matter. Will's safe for the moment. Oh!" She dug in her pocket. "Here. Will you put this in the bucket for me, Gilan?"
Gilan's jaw dropped. "How'd you get that much?"
Alyss gave him a small smile. "I can be very persuasive. And Jenny's selling her pies to raise more."
Gilan whistled. Horace dug into his own pocket. "Here. It's not much, but - "
"Every little bit helps."
Alyss nodded. "I have to get back to work, but I'm helping Jenny some more come closing time."
Gilan looked at her. "Just going to skip sleeping then?"
"Whatever it takes to bring Will home."

After hours of hard work, Will managed to liberate a box of now soggy crackers. No one had come to investigate the smoke, much to his disappointment.
He chewed mechanically. Might as well camp here for the night.
The trumpets blared. Faces began flashing across the sky.
Jack. Tia. Clint. Natasha.
Will stared at the sky for a long moment before slinging his bow over his shoulder. He felt the cold for the first time.
On second thought, he didn't think he could sleep.