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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 20, 2020 14:45:37 GMT -5
Macaria’s choice had been made with a simple note from Louden. A piece of paper requesting they meet, and a copy of the contrast she had signed with the Academy when she was six years old. She’d gone to meet him, despite her better judgement, and from that moment she had never returned to the the rebel base
But now the Capitol was burning, and the air was full of smoke and ember. Ash settled in Macaria’s long dark hair as she stood, knife polished and glinting in the low light. A figure was approaching, short and slight with jet black hair and with eyes that glinted green through the grey.
“Holly,” Macaria greeted, turning the knife in her palm
“Macaria,” Holly replied in return, voice flat and cold as she stepped closer and emerged into full view
For a long moment neither girl moved, but seemed poised to strike at any moment. Two predators finally going head to head after all this time.
“Holly, I almost killed you once and I guarantee I won’t lose this time,” Macaria warned
“I wouldn’t be so convinced,” Holly snarled “now get the hell out of my way.”
Macaria did not move an inch from her spot in front of the doorway. The door to the building in which Louden had sequestered himself to protect against rebel attacks.
“You’re throwing your life away, I’m warning you,” Macaria replied “I’m telling you, Eight, turn around and walk away.”
“Oh please,” Holly scoffed “don’t make me laugh. Talking about throwing your life away. Why are you helping him, why did you join him? I was really fool enough to think you’d changed.”
“Don’t be a child, Holly,” Macaria shook her head “Louden helped me see a lot of things. I might not like who I am, but it was wishful thinking to believe I could be good.”
“The Capitol took everything from you!” Holly yelled “Are you stupid?”
“I’m seeing clearly for the first time,” Macaria said venomously “yes, the Capitol took everything from me, but it also made me who I am. I owe everything I am to them. And they don’t make me feel guilty about what I did, they don’t make me feel bad for the messed-up parts of me. They accept me as I am, celebrate it even. They’re not scared of me, or wary of me, they don’t keep their distance. They let me be powerful and free.”
“And that’s it? All you’re thinking about is you?” Holly asked “not that I should expect anything different from you, Macaria. What about the rebels?”
“You say that as if you don’t know,” Macaria laughed “you’re not that blind, Holly. Don’t you see how bad they are? How dangerous? How willing to sacrifice us they were? The trackers, the note? Oh yes, I know about the note they sent you in the Arena. They’ll use you, every single one of you. Until one by one, like Alessandro and Halina, you’re all dead.”
“The Capitol killed Alessandro,” Holly pointed out “not the rebels.”
“I don’t blame the Capitol, Holly!” Macaria cried “It was the rebels who sent us in there to get you, it was them who left us to our own devices when we were captured. They didn’t lift a finger to protect me or Alessandro after we got captured. How long do you think they would’ve been happy to let us rot if Burton hadn’t come? No, Holly, they don’t care. You’ll die, and so will Burton, and they’ll give you pretty words and a grave, but when all this is over the rebels won’t be remembered. It’s no different from the Games, they’re using teenagers and letting them die for their own political agenda. If I have to have an evil government, I’d rather pick the option where I’m most likely to live.”
“Shut up, shut up!” Holly growled “I can’t listen to your stupidity anymore.”
“Alright then,” Macaria smiled slowly, lifting her knife and looking at it before turning her gaze back to Holly “if you won’t leave, let’s dance. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to use this, I’ve been itching to. Let’s give the Capitol a show then, shall we?”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 26, 2020 13:20:10 GMT -5
Burton sat with Holly, both of them sitting in their usual place on the roof of the rebel building, watching as sunset began to give way to the darkness of night. The first evening stars glittered palely above them.
“What’re you thinking about?” Burton asked Holly, his voice soft in the cool evening air
“About how nice this is,” Holly replied, turning her head to look at him “and how sad that makes me.”
Burton furrowed his eyebrows then, blinking for a moment in confusion.
“I think you’ll have to explain that,” Burton said “I can’t understand how this could possibly make you feel sad.”
Holly have a small, bitter chuckle in response to that.
“Because everything good leaves me. I watch the way the people around me find romance and happiness, and I know I’ll never have that because everyone leaves.”
Each syllable was like a bullet to Burton’s chest, like his heart was being ripped apart. But suddenly that was replaced by a flash of anger, uncharacteristic for him, and he clamped his mouth shut and rose to his feet.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
Burton paid no heed to Holly’s confused words, instead stalking to walk away and go back inside. The boy hadn’t gotten far down the corridor when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Holly behind him.
“I’m sorry, do you want to explain what all that was about?” she asked
“I might ask you the same question,” Burton replied, having to grit his teeth a little as anger burned into his words “honestly, Holly, what the hell? How blind can you be?”
“What do you mean?” Holly questioned, still confused but some anger now rising into her own voice
“Everyone leaves you?” Burton asked with an incredulous laugh “Do you not see me? Am I invisible to you? I’ve never gone anywhere”
Holly’s eyes seemed to light with understanding for a moment, her mouth opening in surprise, but she quickly shut it again and narrowed her eyes.
“You went to the Capitol, Burton, of course you left me!” she challenged
“I’m here now! Right with you.” Burton replied “and yes I left but that was to protect you, and everyone else. Because I love you.”
Those words seemed to surprise Holly once again, throwing her off. It seemed to steal the words from her mouth for a moment, and her expression seemed to soften a little. But she soon had a reply.
“And how’s that then?” she questioned
“How?” Burton asked “because I saw you, that’s how, and you mouthed those defiant things at the reaping, and I just knew m. Because you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met in my life. You’re witty, and clever. You’re stubborn and brave, and unafraid to speak your mind, infuriatingly, maddeningly so. You have this fire, this stubborn little flame of defiance and hope and it never goes out, even if you’re the one trying to extinguish it. And I think that’s beautiful. Being around you feels like being under all those spotlights at the Capitol interviews. Bright and dizzying, but exciting. And you deserve so much better, so much more than what you’ve gone through, so much more than I can give you. You deserve someone interesting. But I love you, and whether you feel the same way or not you should know that. I love you, and I’m sick and tired of waiting for you to finally see it.”
God, it sounded so stupid. But the words had come tumbling out before he even knew what he was saying. Before he could even register what on Earth he was talking about. And he was probably such an idiot for telling her, and she probably didn’t feel the same way. He might have just destroyed everything they had.
But what else was he meant to have done?
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 5, 2020 17:15:24 GMT -5
Chapter 1 After his early morning walk around Camp Half-Blood and his breakfast, Burton had returned to Apollo’s cabin in order to get his things for training. He intended to head to the archery range and do some shooting as he’d planned. Alistair, also from his cabin, had told Burton that he might join him.
But as he headed to the door of the cabin, bow in hand and quiver on his shoulders, a figure appeared at the door of the cabin. Zelos, a son of Hermes and one of the fastest demigods in the camp.
“Chiron sent me all round the camp,” the other boy explained “he wants to talk to you and some of the others in the Big House.”
“The Big House? But we only had a camp meeting two days ago,” Burton answered, furrowing his brows “and I’d know if we had a new camper.”
Zelos just rolled his eyes and folded his arms.
“Listen, Acton, I’m just the messenger. Chiron wants you at the Big House, you go to the Big House. I gotta go.”
With that, Zelos was off like a flash, darting to another cabin. With a sigh, Burton put down his archery equipment. It seemed likely that he’d be at the Big House for a while, so he figured it wasn’t worth taking his stuff. He’d come back later and get his stuff again.
So the son of Apollo made his way across the camp. He soon realised, however, that he wasn’t the only one. Holly seemed to be heading in the same direction.
“Holly,” Burton greeted, surprise in his voice “Chiron asked to talk to you too?”
“Do you always state the obvious?” Holly asked “yes, that’s why I’m heading to the Big House.”
Okay, well that was a little uncalled for but he supposed she was right. It was kind of obvious that Chiron had summoned her too.
“So is it a camp counsellor thing, then?” Burton questioned
Holly was, after all, head counsellor for Hecate’s cabin. Granted, she was the only occupant, but that was besides the point. In response, though, the demigod shrugged.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Acton.”
That was reassuring.
At last the two entered the Big House, where they heard voices from the rec room. Exchanging confused glances, they entered to see Chiron talking to a group of campers. Alessandro, Amadrya, Macaria, Mallory and two other campers.
Elena Mendoza was a daughter of Aphrodite and head counsellor of Cabin 10. Very beautiful, with a gorgeous singing voice. She was also not to be underestimated, being a dangerously powerful demigod and very gifted with the ability of Charmspeak. Not to mention just generally kind of manipulative.
Halina Flynn was a daughter of Poseidon who had been in the midst of challenging Diana Helios, Alistair’s sister, for the counsellorship of Cabin 3. She was young, blonde, and very tough. She had been on fewer quests, however, than most of the campers around her. Her abilities of hydrokinesis and atmokinesis were at this point still a little raw and untamed given that she had not been at the camp as long, but Burton himself had seen the potential in her abilities. She was strong.
“Ah, good,” Chiron smiled when he noticed Holly and Burton standing at the doorway “come in, come in. It’s good to see that we finally have the group all together.”
Still uncertain and a little hesitant as to what was happening, Burton and Holly obeyed Chiron and stepped closer to join the rest of the group.
“Alright, well I suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here.”
“Yeah, I'd damn well say so,” Amadrya commented with a raised eyebrow
“Alessandro here received a prophecy from the oracle.” Chiron explained
“What?” Halina’s incredulous voice filled the room “a prophecy? There hasn’t been one in ages.”
“Yes, and I’m sure Alessandro will recite the prophecy in its entirety at some point. But for now, what you need to know is that Hebe’s cup is missing. That cup is the source of immortality for the gods. If the gods don’t have it, they won’t be able to remain immortal. And even worse if it falls into the wrong hands. Immortality is something far too many of Olympus’ enemies would like to gain.
“Now, as Alessandro is the one who received the prophecy and the most experienced camper, naturally he is the leader of the group. However, Amadrya, Elena and Macaria are also very experienced so they will also be senior in this questing group. Alessandro has chosen all of you, at the suggestion of the prophecy, to accompany him.”
Mallory, who had been listening from the corner of the room, perched on a desk, finally spoke up at this point.
“I’m sorry, there are eight of us,” Mallory pointed out
“So what?” shot back Halina
“So, the lucky number for quests is three. More than that and bad things tend to happen,” Mallory explained, aimed a pointed look at Halina in the process
“The prophecy called for a larger group,” Alessandro assured her “it asked for a large and varied group. Which is why there are eight of you all from different cabins.”
“Alright,” Elena said, cutting through the discussion “so we’re going for Hebe’s cup. Where do we start?”
“To find Hebe’s cup, you will need to retrieve Clio’s scroll. It’s located in Washington, the National Museum of Natural History. That will tell you where to find the things you’ll need, including the cup. I warn you, this quest will be dangerous. That it requires such a large questing party does not bode well.” Chiron warned “I’m urging you to take care with this one. Get the cup as fast as possible, and protect it with your lives. If it falls into the wrong hands, it will not end well. Do you understand?”
Once the centaur was satisfied by a general murmur of assent from the group, he gestured towards the doorway.
“Go, pack your things. You’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. And go talk to Pascal. We told him about the quest last night and he’s had the forge going ever since.”
And that was that. Still in shock at the idea of a prophecy, and a quest, and Hebe’s cup, Burton left the big house in silence with the rest of the group.
He could feel the silence hanging over them, too. Confusion, shock. Nobody seemed to know how to process the sudden need that had been dropped on them, except for Halina. She was smiling excitedly; Burton imagined she was thinking about how good it would be for her to get another quest under her belt. Ideal for supporting her claim to Cabin 3’s head counsellor position.
Burton hadn’t been on a quest in a long time, and when he had it hadn’t been anything as big or as serious as this one. He had no idea what lay ahead of him.
And he was a little scared to find out.
————————
Burton had spent the rest of that day organising his things and training at the camp. It wasn’t until the evening that he finally had the chance to head to the forge where, sure enough, Pascal was still working.
The thirteen-year-old was the adopted brother of Mallory. Some young kid who’d been abandoned, and it didn’t take long for him to appear on the camp’s radar. He was too young to really join the camp, but they already knew about Mallory and her mother, who had lived nearby at the time. Pascal was adopted by Mallory’s mother and the rest was history. Honestly, he was like everyone’s little brother at the camp.
”Hey, Pas, heard you might have something for me?” Burton said
Pascal offered Burton a smile of greeting then. He had a streak of soot from the forge across his forehead but he looked pretty happy.
”Right, that I do,” Pascal replied, for some reason giving Burton finger guns, “so a quest, huh? Sounds big.”
”Yeah, I guess,” Burton shrugged “I haven’t even really
processed it yet.”
”You’re a bow and arrow man, correct?” Pascal questioned “one of those Apollo kids.”
”Uh.. yes, that’s right,”
The younger demigod made a relieved sound before producing what seemed to be a backpack. It seemed empty apart from a water bottle in one of the holders made of netting on the outside of the bag. It seemed to be made of a bronzish-goldish metal that gave off a faint glow. He also produced a ring which looked to be made of the same metal and had a sun engraved on it.
”They’re both made of celestial bronze. The water bottle is actually your quiver. There’s a small button on the side you can press to make it transform. The water bottle even functions as a normal water bottle, but just make sure it’s empty when you want to make it turn into a quiver. The ring transforms into your bow when you take it off. Chiron told me you were working on seeing if you could make yourself invisible, so I’ve got you on that one. Everything here should turn invisible with you should you develop that ability,”
”Woah,” Burton murmured, impressed “you did this by yourself? They’re amazing.”
”That’s what I do, isn’t it? Now shoo, you’ve got stuff to pack and I’ve got a forge to clean up. A kid has to sleep eventually.”
Burton waved his goodbyes to Pascal and left with his new things. They would be perfect for heading out into the outside world; one couldn’t exactly stroll into a museum with a bow and arrow, after all.
And as he packed the rest of his things in his cabin, Burton couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the start of something really big. He didn’t know if it was for the better or the worse, but either way a strange heavy feeling settled in his stomach.
This wasn’t just any other quest, he knew it. |
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 11, 2020 12:40:38 GMT -5
My name is Lea Acton, and I’m fifteen years old. I was born in District 8. Long oppressed by the Capitol, like every other district in Panem, but not the poorest. My family, however, was relatively poor compared to the other families in the district. Not enough that we relied on tesserae to live, but enough that we needed it to shore up our food stores and enough that my brother couldn’t finish his schooling.
I had an older brother, Burton, and a younger sister, Twylla. Burton was funny, and always seemed optimistic. He could cheer us up when we hadn’t even realised we needed it. But he took on far more responsibility than was his share. Twylla was shy, but incredibly sweet. She needed Burton and I to encourage her to stand up for herself or to speak up but she had the most caring heart of anyone I knew.
We had a pretty good childhood. We grew up with the ruined city as our playground, and we ran around and played games like every kid that’s ever existed. When we got older, Burton would take us on picnics on Sunday afternoons. Pack up a worn old basket with whatever food he could find in the cupboard and we’d wander the district until we found a nice picnic spot to eat in.
The last day we had one of those picnics was the day before the reaping.
——————
We’d found a bank of earth behind what looked to be an old abandoned shop of some description. It was one of the few places in the district where there was that much free space, so we’d set up there. Twylla and I had often asked Burton if we could find somewhere outside the district boundaries, but he’d said he didn’t want to put us in danger or something like that.
The three of us had lain out a little blanket and settled around the basket full of food; it had been packed with rolls, some cheese, even a little bit of meat as a special treat for the day before the reaping. Burton always did that at reaping time. Last year before Twylla’s very first reaping he’d spent half his wages on putting on a nice meal to cheer her up. Proper picnic food and everything.
Today we had the district’s flat, cracker-like bread along with a few cheap rolls and some of the fruit tarts our mother made. Tesserae grain went into most of the breads in the meal, but it was better than nothing. There was some kind of salad too, but it was looking a little wilted. The food in District 8 was rarely fresh, since the urban landscape of the city didn’t exactly lend itself to self-sufficiency in terms of food production. All the food there was brought in, not like in District 12 where people could hunt illegally.
For us, though, this was a wonderful feast. We looked forward to our picnics every week, and so we tucked in happily.
“Are you guys worried about tomorrow?” Burton asked after a moment, looking between me and my sister as the three of us eat
I just gave a shrug. The Games were nothing new to me, it was to be my third reaping, as at the time I was not quite fifteen yet. By then I had it down to a science. Go in, let them take their blood sample, and stand in the pen with the other girls my age. Try not to think too much about what’s happening or about the poor girl who gets chosen. Find my sister afterwards, and then find Burton as he leaves the boys’ section. We always had a quiet evening after the reaping, eat a good meal as we head into the grim weeks ahead of us relieved that our family is safe. It wasn’t so bad.
Twylla, however, thought differently than I.
“Last year was scary,” she said softly “but it won’t be so bad this year, right?”
“No,” Burton assured her “it’s never as bad as the first time, I promise.”
That seemed to work, as Twylla gave a shaky smile and a nod. She believed anything Burton told her, trusting him implicitly. I did the same; even though he hid things from us sometimes, we could always trust him.
“And what about you?” I asked “aren’t you nervous, with your name in thirty-six times?”
Burton went evasive then, seeming particularly interested in the roll he was holding
“Not really,” he replied “next year is my last year, I’m almost done.”
“Yeah, but what if you get picked?” Twylla tagged on
“Then I get picked,” answered Burton matter-of-factly “and I go to the Capitol, and whatever happens from there happens.”
“Burton, you’d die,” I’d say, surprised that he doesn’t seem to comprehend the gravity of the situation
“Hey, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Burton replied with a snort, before growing serious again “okay but honestly, don’t worry about it. Even with my name being in so many tines, the chances are still quite slim. None of us are getting picked, nothing bad is going to happen. It’s not like a Quarter Quell, the rules aren’t changing. We have the same chance of being picked as we did last year, really.”
Quarter Quells. None of us were old enough to have ever witnessed one, and the next one wasn’t for ten years. Our parents, though, were both in their twenties for the last Quarter Quell fifteen years ago; they watched that happen.
I couldn’t argue with Burton’s logic, however. I could point out the fact that his name was in six more times that year than the previous year, that he did have more of a chance of being chosen, but I chose not to do so. That would only upset both him and Twylla.
“At least you get a day off work tomorrow,” I smiled, my voice becoming hopeful “maybe we can all do something after the reaping.”
“Sure,” Burton nodded “you guys can help me cook the meal if you want, it’ll be fun.”
That seemed fair. Ideally I’d have liked us all to do something outside, but people didn’t go outside after the reapings. It was like respect for the families whose children got chosen. Everybody closed their curtains and kept to themselves. Besides, the Games coverage began the night after the reapings with reruns of the reapings.
It’s yet another year of the Games, but Burton is right. Nothing bad is going to happen.
——————
The next evening, I sat huddling my sister on the couch. Our mother, who already looked tired, old, like she was grieving, pulled the curtains closed. We’d gotten back about half an hour before from the justice building, but for the last thirty minutes none of us had even been able to move.
We were missing only one person from our family of five, but the room felt startlingly empty without him. He used to make everything less scary with jokes and stories. It made everything seem better, more colourful. And now without him we had only our old house, which was somehow cramped and cold at the same time, with its dull walls rickety furniture.
I have my arm around Twylla, whose head is on my shoulder as she sobs softly. She screamed so loudly when Burton’s name was called. I know I did too, but Twylla’s heartbreak was like a crack in the silence. Even the girl who had been reaped with Burton had looked at her in the crowd. Her tears as wetting my best dress, the one I’d worn for the reaping, but I didn’t care. I was too wrapped in my own grief.
It was like he was already dead.
The tears soon started flowing from my face too, but as I closed my eyes and sobbed into Twylla’s hair, I felt someone sitting down on the couch. A pair of arms gently pulled me from Twylla as my dad leaned me against him, rubbing my arm comfortingly as I cried. Our mother soon sat on the other end of the couch, pulling Twylla close to her in the same way.
We would have to get through this somehow, until Burton came back to us either as a victor or in a coffin.
All four of us startled a little as our television suddenly flickered to life. The mandatory Games coverage, starting with a recap of the reapings.
There on the screen were two faces side-by-side. One was a girl with dark hair, pale skin and striking green eyes. She had a sharp kind of toughness about her, but I didn’t get the sense that she was one of those cruel, bloodthirsty tributes. She seemed good, honest. The other was my brother, who somehow hadn’t even managed to not smile in the photo they’d taken of him. Only Burton would smile in a photo taken of him for the Hunger Games. He was all warm brown eyes, golden-toned brunet hair. Those were their official tribute images, the photographs that would be displayed in the sky should they die. Which at least one of them would.
Then they went on to show their reaping again. There was the girl being called, stepping to the front of the crowd. She seemed powerful in her anger, her movements deliberate and graceful but still buzzing with defiance. She looked over the crowd almost like a queen displeased with her subjects. Like she wanted to make everyone pay, if only she could.
Burton’s name was called afterward. There were the screams of me and Twylla, the two of us fighting forward to be held back by the crowd and the peacekeepers. We couldn’t help him. Burton has stepped through the crowd, shaking hands with the girl as the two of them exchanged words briefly. Then there was the anthem, and that was it, the two of them escorted off the stage by peacekeepers, though the girl fought the peacekeepers to let her walk on her own.
The footage from the train station was only brief. The girl continued to express her apparently characteristic disdain for the cameras. Burton... he looked good. He’d cleaned his face of the tears from the goodbyes with us. He wasn’t smiling, thank God, which was good. His face was kept pretty neutral, and I suspected he’d had some coaching from either Holly or one of his friends who’d spoken to him. He was certainly not going to look weak in front of the Career tributes.
That evening was heartbreaking. Doing everything like we normally did without Burton being around just felt wrong. Twylla didn’t stop crying, and we didn’t move from the couch. Not that any of us were actually really watching what was on the screen. We couldn’t. Couldn’t watch the bloodthirsty smiles of the Careers who volunteered.
We didn’t know if Burton had a chance
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 12, 2020 15:39:11 GMT -5
I had exchanged very few words with Ari, my district partner, on the day of our reaping. Walked to the train in silence, and when we got on we had a brief conversation. About showing the Capitol what our district was capable of and, for some reason, about loading up on carbs. But once our mentor and our Capitol escort cane into the mix, I became very quiet indeed.
The Capitol escort - Larunda, her name was - didn’t seem to enjoy my surly disposition.
“Come now, Amadrya,” she sighed “the cameras won’t enjoy that frown. It’s not ladylike.”
“The cameras are at the Capitol, more than a day’s journey away,” I countered as I folded my arms “so I think I’ll frown until then if that’s alright with you.”
It was just Larunda, Ari and I sitting together on the train. Larunda had only joined us five minutes ago and I was already sick of her.
“There are so many nice things to enjoy on the train, though!” Larunda chattered excitedly “it really is a feat of engineering. And then you’ll get to go to the Capitol, where you get your own floor, and-“
“Can you shut up for a goddamn second?” I yelled, startling the woman into silence
“Amadrya, you are eighteen years old, and you’re acting like a child” Larunda replied after a moment, struggling to keep her voice even
“Eighteen is an adult now?” I asked “it’s young enough to be killed alongside twelve-year-olds. That’s why I’m here, because I’m the only one who cared enough to try and protect a twelve-year-old who clearly would never have had a damn chance. You certainly didn’t. Yes, I’m mad. Shit, this was meant to be my last year.”
I rose to my feet after those words, unable to stand being in the same room as Larunda. She was everything I hated about the Capitol. Frilly, airheaded, and so augmented I had no idea what her face really looked like. And, the most Capitol trait of hers, she enjoyed telling me what to do no end.
“She’ll come around,” I heard Ari saying as I left
__________
It was hours later as I sat in my room on the train. It was beautiful, I had to admit, and I had everything I needed. My hair was clean and left loose, softer than it had ever been. The expensive Capitol shampoos and conditioners did wonders for my hair. I’d even changed into some new clothes; a soft grey shirt and black trousers.
The knock at my door gave me a slight surprise, but before I could answer to tell whoever it was to go away, the door had opened and Larunda entered, silently approaching and taking a seat on the bed next to me.
“Amadrya, my dear,” she began “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you so.”
“Larunda, I don’t know what you want-“ I started to reply
“I want you to let me help you. I know we’re very different people-“ she continues, shooting me a glare when I scoff at that understatement “-but my job is to prepare you for the Games and what lies ahead. Which means you have to let your anger about what happened today go and work with me.”
I took a moment to look at her. This was a woman whose job was to prepare me, groom me to be murdered for the Capitol’s entertainment. But I also knew that her words were earnest. She did want to help, in whatever way she thought she could. And I was painfully aware that, as narrow-minded and typically Capitolite she seemed to be, allies were about to become all too few in my life. I needed as many friends as I could get, and if she was going to help get me sponsors when I was in the Arena I needed her on my side.
So I nodded.
“And what do you suggest?” I asked “I’m not ladylike, and I’m not exactly cut out to be a Capitol darling. So when I step off that train what do you want me to do?”
Larunda tutted then, as if it was obvious and I was stupid.
“You play to your strengths, that’s what,” she explained “Ari will be his usual authentic self. He’ll wave to the crowds, look overwhelmed by the Capitol. He can charm them all on his own just with that. You, you have the tough thing going. You get off that train and you look right through the crowds. You look at the Capitol like it’s your home, like you own it. Back straight, chin up. No smiling, no waving, no talking to anyone.”
I couldn’t help but smile then.
“Now you’re speaking my language.”
—————
I do exactly what Larunda says when we get to the Capitol, and as soon as I get inside I am whisked away by a group of Capitolites in colourful clothes. They soon explain that they are some of my styling team, and that they’re going to prepare me for my introduction to Rova Chelsey, my stylist.
First they wax me from head to toe. Then the plucking of my eyebrows, at which point I start to wonder why the Capitolites hate hair so much. My hair is washed again, my skin covered with a million different oils, lotions and products. After all that is over, I’m made to stand naked on a platform in front of the three of them, who circle me slowly to admire their handiwork.
“I just don’t know what Rova is going to do with you,” one of them sighs despairingly
“You’re just so tall and... bulky,” continues another
I’m assuming they mean my body shape. I have muscle, and I’m certainly not the kind of skinny that is the fashion in the Capitol. I’m solid.
Back home in District 7, this is what lots of people look like. Nobody works in the lumber industry like that without packing on some muscle. I can’t climb a tree as high as Ari or some of the lighter people in the district, though. Still, back home, this is conventional, it’s the norm. District 7 women are strong, tall, athletic. Not dainty with tiny waists.
“You look like you chop wood all day,” the third Capitolite agreed, a hint of disgust in their voice that makes me narrow my eyes.
“I do chop wood all day,” I snap
“Oh...” the first one speaks up again “how quaint.”
I just roll my eyes and fall silent, letting them circle me a few more tones.
“Alright,” the second stylist smiles “I think you’re ready for Rova.”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 16, 2020 11:49:19 GMT -5
Burton sat with his family for the first time since his return from his mission in the Capitol. All of the other tributes and rebels seemed busy with training or preparations for missions, so he and his mother and sisters had the living area to themselves at this point; his father was outside, taking a walk. He did that a lot lately.
Satine was sitting on the couch sewing, seemingly patching up one of Twylla’s shirts. Lea was a half-decent sewer and could patch up her own clothes, but Twylla had never gotten the knack. Burton sat beside her as he read through a briefing given to him by Diana for a propaganda shoot he had the next day, talking about planned Capitol attacks on District 8. Lea was stretched out over almost a whole couch as she tried to knit, while Twylla sat on the floor at her feet as she did the same.
Burton looked up from his reading when he heard footsteps, greeting Holly with a smile as she entered the room.
He knew Holly was a little nervous around Burton’s family, and he registered this all the more clearly in the way she stopped for a moment when she realised Burton was not on his own, and in the slight tightness of the smile she returned. To try and put her more at ease, Burton shuffled closer to his mother so Holly didn’t have to sit between them, before patting the spot on the couch where he had just been sitting.
Holly obliged, and when the girl had taken a seat Satine offered her a warm smile before returning her gaze to her sewing.
“So, Holly,” Satine began, only looking up from her work momentarily “I’ve been meaning to thank you for looking after my son in that Arena.”
“Oh!” Holly blinked, surprised “You're welcome.”
Satine continued to work quietly for a few moments, but it was clear that Holly had some interest in watching the older woman work. Gradually her expression shifted to one of curiosity, her head tilting as she watched with interest.
“Did you make that yourself?” Holly asked, nodding towards the shirt
“Oh, this?” Satine answered “yes.”
“I remember the first time I saw Burton,” Holly continued after a moment “he’d failed miserably at stealing some material from the factory.”
Burton groaned with embarrassment then, covering his face with his hands as he leaned further back into the couch.
“Oh, I remember that day. Couldn’t believe any son of mine would get caught.” Satine chuckled
“I’m right here, Mom,” Burton pointed out, despite knowing it would change absolutely nothing
Holly was taken aback then, brows furrowing for a moment.
“Wait,” she said “you mean-..?”
Satine just gave a knowing smile and a soft laugh, holding up the shirt she was working on for a moment.
“What do you think I made this out of?” Satine asked with a wink
Holly gave a chuckle then, sounding impressed. Before she could reply, though, Lea gave an irritated groan from the sofa. Her knitting was hopelessly knitted and tangled, and put the work on her lap with a huff.
“I can’t get my stupid knitting to go the way I want it to,” she muttered
Without even thinking about it, Holly rose to her feet and headed over to the couch. Gently pushing Lea so she sat up properly and Holly could sit beside her, the black-haired girl took hold of Lea’s knitting to examine it.
“Oh, I can show you how to untangle this,” Holly assured her “and how to fix your stitches, they’re far too big and loose.”
Burton must have looked surprised, because when Holly caught her expression she quirked an eyebrow, as if challenging him to comment on the situation. When he didn’t, Holly proceeded to begin unpicking the stitches, taking care to explain to Lea how to fix her mistakes as she did so.
—————
Later that evening Burton was getting ready for bed, when Lea appeared in the doorway of his room. She too was ready to sleep, in a pajama too and shorts and her hair in a loose plait to protect it from tangles. She rested one hand on the doorframe as she gave her brother a mischievous smile.
“So... that Holly girl is nice.” she said
Burton knew the teasing expression on her face all too well, so he was immediately wary.
“...Yes, she is” he replied, clearly unsure of where this was going
“Much nicer than I thought she seemed in her interviews for the Games.” Lea pointed out
“Yes, well that’s because she spent most of her interview trying not to punch the host,” Burton explained “she hates the Capitol and the Games just like the rest of us, just she’s honest enough that she didn’t try to hide it.”
“You two seem like good friends,” Lea stared, folding her arms
“Yeah?” Burton replied, clearly still confused
“So, have you kissed yet?” Lea asked
“No!” Burton snapped defensively “of course not, we’re just friends, Lea. Nothing more.”
“Oh, please,” Lea smirked “I’m fifteen, not stupid. You’d have to be blind not to see that you two like each other.”
Burton scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t be stupid, Holly isn’t interested,” Burton responded
“A-ha, but you are?” Lea grinned triumphantly
“Lea, go away before I throw this goddamn lamp at you.” Burton threatened, reaching for the lamp on his bedside table
Of course, he would never actually do that, but it was enough to make his sister disappear down the hallway, her giggling audible all the way to her bedroom.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 20, 2020 16:14:31 GMT -5
Burton Acton
And either victory, or else a grave
”So... are we going to talk about it or not?”
Burton walked alongside Holly as the group headed back to the Capitol. A group which also included Robin and, even more bizarrely, Paxton, the son of Louden himself. And yet, to Burton, Paxton’s decision to join the rebels wasn’t the biggest event of the day.
He didn’t need to explain what he meant by ‘it’, he could tell by the slight tightening in Holly’s shoulders that she knew what he was talking about.
He’d specifically let Robin and Paxton get ahead for this. It served the dual purpose of giving him and Holly a little privacy to talk about the situation while also allowing them to keep watch on the other two teens, neither of which Burton and Holly completely trusted.
”That depends,” Holly said breezily, looking ahead as they walked
Burton raised an eyebrow then, looking at the shorter girl walking alongside him.
”On what?” the boy questioned
Holly looked at him then, offering him a shrug and a small smile, a smile which he could swear was the same kind of mischievous smile she used to tease Amadrya and Everest about the two of them being a couple.
“Whether you want to die or not,” explained Holly
Burton chuckled slightly, pretending to consider it for a moment as he raised a hand to his chin.
”I think it’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Burton replied
”Fine, if you must,” answered the girl “but I am not liable for anything that happens as a result of this conversation.”
There was a pause for a moment then, before Burton shook his head with an amused chuckle, almost to himself. Holly shot a look at him then, narrowing her eyes.
“What’s so funny, glitterboy?”
Burton looked at her, looked away, and chuckled once again before he returned his gaze to Holly.
”I just can’t believe that you were willing to confess your feelings on television to the entire country, but having a one-on-one conversation with me about it is somehow a no-go.”
”What can I say?” smirked Holly “I’m unconventional. Besides, you were being insufferable and I just couldn’t resist.”
Burton couldn’t help but smile there, elbowing her gently.
”Insufferably cute? Insufferably handsome? Insufferably charming?” Burton teased
Holly rolled her eyes. “Only you could try and turn insufferable into a compliment. Reason #279 of why you’re insufferable.”
Burton looked at her then, his face softening a little as he did so, his eyes losing the teasing spark, all the joking. He was being serious now, because what Holly has said meant more to him than she probably realised and he needed to talk to her genuinely about it.
”Hol, did you really mean what you said?” he asked “On camera, I mean.”
Holly looked almost confused then, as if she couldn’t fathom why Burton could possibly doubt her.
”Burton, I never say anything I don’t mean,” she answered “you know that by now. That includes wanting to push you off buildings, but the two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Burton didn’t reply for a moment, looking at Holly as if he were almost a little lost or confused. Holly let out a slight sigh.
”Yes, Burton, I meant it,” she clarified
Burton wasn’t sure how to feel then. He felt surprise, and relief, and happiness. His cheeks warmed a little as he looked away for a moment, trying to regain his composure.
They walked for a few more moments in silence, but a question kept rattling inside Burton’s head until eventually he had to blurt it out.
“So where do we go from here, then?” Burton asked
Holly looked at him for a moment, her green eyes meeting his brown ones.
“Well, that’s really up to us, isn’t it?” |
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 23, 2020 17:24:12 GMT -5
Amadrya Darrow had been pulled out of her cell by Louden to do yet another interview or photoshoot. Whatever he wanted, that was the deal. He'd put her in another glittery dress. It was pure white, and seemed to glow and shimmer like soft moonlight. They were clearly going for the whole innocence thing, the youth. Her hair was even curled and pulled back a little, wispy locks left to frame her face. They’d even put small clear gems in her cheekbones and fake eyelashes that flashed silvery when she blinked. If you asked Amadrya, it looked stupid. It was impossible to make her look like an innocent little kid, with her being 6' tall and of sturdy build. I looked like I was playing dress-up.
Louden sat with her in front of a camera, looking at the girl as crews buzzed around them setting up lights and cameras.
"You read over the script?" Louden asked shortly
Amadrya gritted her teeth as a flash of anger rushed through her body. Unable to speak calmly, she chose instead to nod stiffly.
"Good, and there's a small addition. I want you to condemn the rioting in District 7." Louden explained with a smirk
Amadrya froze then, turning her gaze to Louden.
"There's rioting in my district?"
"Yes," Louden rolled his eyes "in support of the rebels and Ari Casas. It also seems they aren't convinced by your little performances for me in front of the camera."
"Yeah," Amadrya snapped "because the people in my district know me. They know I would never wear these stupid clothes or say any of this stuff."
Louden's eyes seemed to darken, his gaze sharpening.
"Doesn't matter," replied Louden "your job is to convince them. So you're going to try your damndest to have even one shred of believability, and you're going to condemn the criminal actions in that district."
Amadrya looked down, clasping and unclasping her hands for a few silent moments.
"No," she muttered
Louden's eyes widened for a second, flashing as he rose out of the seat.
"What did you say?"
"No," she repeated, louder this time.
Louden approached in a rush then, grabbing Amadrya by the wrist and yanking her to her feet. He took hold of her chin, forcing her to look up at him.
"Look at you," Louden spat with disgust "who do you think you are? You really think you're some kind of hero. Volunteering for that girl at the reaping, killing the boy who tried to kill Slayte. Talking all big at your interviews. Don't think I don't know the things you and your family got up to either."
“Please,” Amadrya scoffed, shoving Louden’s hand away from her face “you know nothing about my family, or about me.”
”You mean your dead parents? Your troublemaking uncle and cousins? I know all about your worthless family. The Darrows have been a nuisance as long as I can remember, and it’s a wonder I didn’t have every one of you put down years ago.”
Amadrya positively flushed red and, shaking with anger, spat in Louden’s face. The disgusted president leaned back, wiping his face with the back of his hand before regaining his composure.
His face contorting into an ugly scowl, Louden grabbed a handful of the girl’s hair, yanking it so the girl’s face was close to his. Amadrya cried out, clawing at his hand to try and get him to release it.
”I’ll make you regret that, trust me,” Louden hissed “You seem to be labouring under the misapprehension that you can treat me as if you are my equal. Let me make something absolutely clear; you are not a hero, and you are not my equal. You are a stupid, naive child. A thousand girls exactly like you died in the Hunger Games before now, and the fact that you have survived so far does not make you an exception to that rule.
“You’re only a hero because the Capitol made you into one. To be frank, I have dirt on the bottom of my shoe more charming than you, and I’ve seen a hundred tributes die that are better fighters. Don’t delude yourself, this is not a game anymore. This is real life. A real life where I will kill Everest and Holly if you don’t do exactly as I tell you. Do you understand?”
Amadrya nodded, and Louden released her from his grip and stalked back to his seat, Amadrya shaking as she sat down herself.
And as Louden plastered a fake smile on his face ready for the cameras, Amadrya following suit, the cogs were turning in her brain.
She wasn’t as stupid as Louden thought. She knew standing up to him like this was not the right move for the moment, and she couldn’t let her temper get the better of her again. For now, she had to comply like a perfect Capitol lapdog. Eventually she would get the chance to make her move.
Until then she had to be patient.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 26, 2020 18:20:27 GMT -5
Burton shot up in his bed, startled awake by a terrible nightmare. The kind of nightmare that had bathed him in cold sweat and had him panting as he struggled to slow his racing heart.
It was a nightmare that had taken him from the terrors of the Arena, Macaria brandishing her knife in the moonlight of the ruined city, to his fine in the Capitol, fear and stress tying him in knots as he tried to keep cool in front of cameras or talking to a Capitol citizen. It had finally ended in his fears of losing Holly. Sometimes it was his sisters or his parents, but more than anyone it was Holly. He didn’t know what he would do without her.
Lea’s room was close by, and he must have cried out when he was startled awake because he heard a soft knock on his door, and the younger girl entered, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Her eyebrows were already pulled together in concern as she approached the bed.
“Hey,” she greeted in a hushed voice “did you have a nightmare?”
Burton gave her a shaky smile, laying back down in bed as he lifted the bedcovers for his sister to join him. She clambered in beside him, laying down and facing away towards the wall.
“Yeah,” Burton whispered simply
He reached out to touch a lock of his sister’s hair, idly playing with it. He’d always done that when they were kids, especially since Lea had possessed longer hair back then. In fact, as kids he always used to go and see his sisters if they woke up with a nightmare.
“You get those a lot more lately,” Lea murmured
Burton froze, stopping playing with the hair for a while. Of course he did, and he knew Lea knew why he did as well. Nobody got through what he had without nightmares. It was a wonder he wasn’t more messed up - not that there wasn’t still time for that yet.
Tense, Burton just made a soft noise of assent before continuing to play with Lea’s hair.
“Who doesn’t?” Burton answered evasively
He wasn’t lying, though. Amadrya woke up with nightmares almost on the daily, and Holly and Everest were no exception. And Burton knew for a fact that both Lea and Twylla got nightmares now. Twylla said her nightmares always seemed to be Burton being chosen at the reaping again.
Obviously sensing that this wasn’t something her brother felt comfortable talking about, Lea changed the subject.
“I get my medic’s uniform tomorrow,” Lea said hopefully, obviously praying her brother had changed his mind since their last conversation about her becoming a medic.
“I don’t agree with you becoming a medic,” Burton chose just words carefully “but I’m not going to stop you. You know what Mom always says..”
He heard Lea chuckle then.
“She says she’s cursed because two of her three children always do the exact opposite of what you tell them to.”
She’d said that when Lea crossed the district limits, when Burton signed up for tesserae. Twylla was usually more well behaved than her older siblings. Shyer, less of a rule-breaker. Burton was less of a rule-breaker than Lea, but only because he couldn’t afford to be like that.
Burton watched as his sister rolled over to face him, poking him with her knees and elbows as she did. She was a skinny girl, though Burton had always tried to make sure his sisters had a decent share of food.
“Do you want this, Burton?” she asked “The government, they’re saying all this stuff about you. Sedition, treason...”
Burton reaches out his hand to take Lea’s, squeezing it gently.
“I didn’t choose this,” he replied softly “and I don’t want it. But I need it. You need it, we all need it. Those words are good, it means I’m doing something. More than I would have ever done back home. Don’t you worry about me, Lea.”
The girl looked at him uncertainty, frowning.
“Whenever you say we shouldn’t worry about you, you always give us something to worry about.”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 6, 2020 11:37:56 GMT -5
Burton sat with Holly in their favourite spot on the roof. It was the very same evening he’d returned from the Capitol after Holly went to bring him back, and neither of them seemed like they’d be getting much sleep that night. That day has been tense enough. Which was why they’d come up there, where they could talk without keeping the others awake. Burton was completely back to himself now though, apart from his hair which remained blue. He’d traded out the Capitol suit for his usual t-shirt, and his makeup was all gone now too. No more contacts, or shoes with inserts to make him taller.
The night was quiet and clear, which meant the two teenagers had no problem hearing the distant rumbling. Guns and bombs. The war was getting closer; it was always getting closer.
They didn’t have to think about that now, though. They could just focus on one another for a little while - after all, Burton had missed Holly more than anything in the Capitol.
“Thank you,” Burton said quietly, and when a confused Holly turned to look at him, he elaborated, “for going out there to help me. Louden would’ve killed me the moment he got bored of keeping me alive.”
It remained a shock to him that Louden had known about the trackers. All that time he’d been nothing but a plaything for Louden, who could take pleasure in watching Burton pretending to be a Capitolite until it no longer entertained him. And what was worse, Diana and Alistair has sent him out there knowing he still had his tracker in.
“Please, like I’d make all that time I spent keeping you alive up until now futile,” Holly joked, but the tension with which she held her body told Burton she’d been worried about him.
“Saving my life does seem to be a favourite pastime of yours,” Burton agreed with a smile
But he was already turning behind him, grabbing for the bag he’d brought up there with him and had tried his best to keep Holly distracted from throughout their conversations.
“What’re you doing?” Holly questioned, craning round to try and see
But a moment or so later, Burton turned back to her holding something in his hands.
“Well, it’s going to get cold soon, and I wanted something to do when I was in the Capitol, so...”
The boy revealed a scarf, knitted in soft green wool. Holly’s name was stitched on one end of the scarf - because Burton knew for a fact that Macaria was in the habit of borrowing the other girls’ clothes and Burton kind of wanted to prevent that. On the other end of the scarf Burton had stitched the small black silhouette of a cat. Partly because Holly loved cats, and a little bit because Burton had been missing Catastrophe.
“It’s not much, but it’s green to match your eyes. Well, not exactly, I couldn’t get quite the same shade of green-“
No green quite matched Holly’s eyes. They were such a beautiful colour and Burton couldn’t have replicated it if he tried. And he tried.
Either way, his words were interrupted when Holly suddenly reached over and hugged him.
“Thank you,” she murmured quietly into his shoulder
Breaking away from the hug, the ravenette took the scarf and wrapped it happily around her neck, with a bigger smile than Burton had seen on her face in a long time
But Burton still sat astonished, not having moved from when Holly hugged him. He’d been so surprised he hadn’t even hugged her back.
“Did you-“ he started “did you just hug me? You hate hugging.”
Holly looked up from the scarf, which she’d been adjusting on her neck, a flash of realisation in her eyes as what she’d just done hit her.
The surprise and possibly even... vulnerability... he saw there quickly morphed into a confident expression.
“Yes, I did,” Holly asserted “and we will never speak of it again.”
The District 8 boy couldn’t help but give a knowing smile then, elbowing Holly.
“You know you love me,” he laughed
“Shut up,” Holly huffed, but she was unable to keep the annoyed expression on her face and it soon morphed into laughter
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 8, 2020 16:54:37 GMT -5
Macaria had been practicing her sparring in the training room when Holly had entered too. It was only a few days after Holly had fully recovered after the group were rescued from the Capitol. She had barely spoken to Macaria since, and in fact she took one look at the girl and moved to train as far away from the other girl as possible.
Macaria was still in mourning after losing Alessandro, and she didn’t look her usual self. Pale, with dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. Puffy skin from crying, red eyes. She came to the training room often these days; training was the only way to take her mind off it. In fact, training was the only thing that had ever worked for Macaria when things were at their worst.
But now the dark haired girl stopped her sparring, turning to Holly and raising her hands to her lips.
“Okay, I don’t know what the hell your problem is with me that you can’t even stand to train next to me,” Macaria snapped, her voice both exasperated and frustrated.
Holly rolled her eyes, freezing from her position where she’d been about to strike a training dummy and fixing her green eyes on Macaria, approaching the girl slowly.
“What the hell is my problem? My problem is that I’m not so goddamn stupid as everyone else here to think you’ve all of a sudden become a decent person. You’re a Career, a Capitol lapdog. A psychopath who saw a chance when that Arena opened and took it. Rats always do whatever it takes to stay alive, though, don’t they?”
“That’s what you think? You don’t know anything about me. I risked my life, my goddamn life to get you out of that Capitol-“
“-I know everything I need to know about you!” Holly shouted, interrupting Macaria “I know you tried to kill me in that Arena. I trust that more than I trust that you risked your life to save me. There’s no reason you couldn’t have let me live in the Arena, waited until another day. There’s every reason you had to follow rebel orders. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a manipulative little snake.”
Macaria closed the space between them, then, as she looked Holly up and down.
“I can’t believe I risked everything for such an ungrateful piece of shit. ‘Get Holly back,’ they told me, ‘she’s more important to this rebellion than you are,’ they said. And the thanks I get for doing that? These insults. Alessandro died to get you and the others to freedom.”
Holly scoffed then, shaking her head.
“Give me a break. Alessandro died because he followed you around like a puppy on a leash. And you were manipulating him, stringing him along. I could see it the whole time. You were too good for him, and he was a fool to ever trust you. Your commitment to this rebellion is so weak it’s laughable, and you’re going to be about as useful as a sheet of tissue paper in these fights.”
With those words, Macaria sprung at Holly, knocking her to the ground and drawing a knife from her belt to hold it at Holly’s neck as she knelt over the other girl. As much as Holly struggled it didn’t take too long for Macaria, with her career training, to have Holly deftly pinned down.
“You really don’t know when to shut your mouth, do you?” Macaria asked, forcing her words through gritted teeth as she struggled to keep Holly down “You know, it’s really hard for a girl to try and change when nobody lets her. I’m trying my best, Eight, but it’s hard to not want to stab you when you keep running your mouth like this. So let me make one thing clear; you don’t know shit about me or the hell I’ve been through, and if you were half as smart as you think you are you’d shut up. I’m not asking you to like me, but if you could not be outright hostile it would be helpful. And if you talk about Alessandro like that again, I’ll cut your tongue out. If you ever want to talk like adults, come find me.”
With that, Macaria unpinned Holly and rose to her feet, looking at the younger girl with an expression that seemed a mix of anger, disappointment and disgust. She returned her knife to her belt, looking as Holly struggled to try and sit up.
“Stay down,” Macaria sneered, stepping away to return to her training.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 11, 2020 17:54:42 GMT -5
As the rebellion began to grow stronger, Diana and Alistair had put more and more emphasis on the media and getting their support for the rebels. According to them, the press ruled in Panem, even over the Capitol. Only Louden seemed to be above them.
If they could get the media on their side, they had a chance of really getting somewhere.
Which was how Macaria found herself ambushed by cameras outside the rebel base. It was unbeknownst to her, but Diana had invited TV crews and reporters over for interviews with the former tributes.
The District 2 girl had barely stepped outside the door of the base before being hounded, and she was now surrounded by flashing lights from cameras, voices yelling at her from all sides.
“Why do you support the rebels?” shouted one reporter
“Do you have anything to say to the people of Panem?” demanded another
“How do you feel about your behaviour in the Games?” asked a third
“What’s the next move for the rebellion?”
“How do you respond to Louden’s allegations against you and the other tributes?”
“Have you changed since the Games?”
Questions came from all directions, so thick and fast that even if Macaria had wanted to she couldn’t respond to any one of them. Instead she just froze, overwhelmed as she stuttered unintelligently. It took a lot to faze Macaria, but this situation was definitely succeeding.
However, one question caught her attention.
“Can you talk about the death of Alessandro?”
“I can,” Macaria responded “but I’m afraid the odds of whether I will or not aren’t in your favour.”
“Please, Macaria, can we have one statement about Alessandro?” asked another reporter desperately
Macaria sighed, folding her arms to hide the stiffness of her body language, to try and conceal that she’d balled her hands into fists and was digging the nails into her palms.
“Alessandro’s true self wasn’t really shown in the Games,” Macaria admitted “much like mine. But I know who he was, and his family knows who he was. Arlo was brave, and at the end of everything he truly cared. He gave his life for a cause, he gave his life for mine and the others. I’m proud of him, and I love him. And yes, losing him broke me, so do with that information what you will.”
With that, she set her face into its usual hard, sharp expression. It had been too in danger of looking heartbroken, vulnerable. Macaria couldn’t have that in front of the entire nation.
“If those answers satisfied you, can I go about my day in peace now?” asked the girl
But the reporters weren’t done, one of them speaking up.
“At least he died with honour; wouldn’t you say so, Macaria?”
Macaria swallowed then, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat, a bitter taste filling her mouth. She just scoffed, shaking her head.
“Please, we all saw the execution. There was no honour in that, even less than there is in the Hunger Games. That was Louden’s entire point, stripping him of as much dignity as he could. No, he didn’t die with honour, he just died.”
Her voice was getting thick at the end, as she felt hot stinging tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.
The girl was startled, though, by a noise behind her and turned to see a furious looking Holly stepping out of the base, closing the door behind her as she stepped forward to stand next to Macaria.
“Haven’t you vultures got anything better to do than harass us? Who in their right mind thinks it’s okay to ask a mourning girl about the murder of her boyfriend? And yes, say murder, because calling it an execution makes it sound justified. All he was doing was rescuing people from torture.
“I was never friends with Alessandro and it’s debatable whether I’m friends with Macaria but I have a shred of goddamn decency. So I’ve come out here to tell you all to shove it and leave us alone for ten bloody seconds.”
Eventually, though with much grumbling and complaining, the reporters did leave, and the two girls found themselves alone. Macaria rapidly wiped away the tears that had spilt onto her cheeks, offering Holly a grateful smile.
“Thanks,” she murmured
That was rare enough, to get a thank you from Macaria. Especially if one was Holly, since the two only got on about half the time anyway.
The girl’s smile, though, changed from grateful to teasing.
“Debatable whether we’re friends, huh?” Macaria smirked “that’s an upgrade. Dare I say you might be starting to like me, Holly?”
Holly just rolled her eyes, turning back to enter the base again.
“I’ll deny it and say I felt sorry for you,” Holly said over her shoulder, prompting Macaria to chuckle, rolling her own eyes as she followed the other girl into the base.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 18, 2020 6:37:36 GMT -5
A thirteeen-year old Macaria sat on a hard, uncomfortable chair. Her dark hair was messily pulled back from her head, and she wore the athleticwear she had been wearing for training earlier.
Right now she sat in a small office, a harsh fluorescent light above her head bathing the room in a stark, cold light. The kind of light that brought out all the tiniest flaws, where not even the smallest imperfection could hide. The young woman sat with her legs crossed, her hands clasped around her knee to stop her from being tempted to fiddle or do anything that might make her look nervous. Nerves were preyed upon in the Academy. Fear destroyed you.
It was a couple of weeks before what would be her second reaping. One of the eighteen-year-olds would end up going to the Games, that was always how it went. They’d volunteer no matter who was picked, and keep volunteering until someone terrifying enough volunteers that nobody else dared try to take their spot in the Games.
The atmosphere in the academy had been electric for days, the students buzzing at the excitement of another year of the games. The oldest children bragging to one another, arguing among themselves. Making the usual sneaky deals they always did this time of year to try and make sure that when they volunteered they kept their place. It very rarely worked. But this year was the eighteen-year-olds’ year. What they’d been training for their entire lives.
One day that would be her.
But as of right now, the young teen sat straight-backed and tense in front of the man who stood on the other side of a clean white desk. It was one of the mentors, probably the scariest one in the academy if Macaria had to rank them. He’d been there right from the very start, when Macaria was six years old. He’d broken her out of that rebellious phase where she’d tried to insist upon being called Carena. Beat every bit of disobedience out of her.
“Do you know why I called you here, Miss Slayte?” he asked, twirling a pen in his fingers.
“No, sir,” responded Macaria, with a rapid shake of her head
The man nodded slightly, as if this was the answer he had been expecting, before leaning forward and pushing a sheet of paper across the table to the girl.
Macaria scanned it, eyes widening as she took in the text, scanning the top five on each list.
ACADEMY ANNUAL RANKINGS
13-YEAR-OLD DIVISION
BOYS 1) Everest Stonewell
2) Maximus Larkin
3) Ferris Dunstan
4) Cairn Rochester
5) Cadmus Arriola | GIRLS 1) Macaria Slayte
2) Sela Rochester
3) Callista Halvard
4) Syrinx Stanton
5) Vala Beaumont |
Macaria caught her name at the top of the list, looking in astonishment between it and the mentor in front of her. She couldn’t believe her position in the rankings. The Rochester twins? They were from a victor family, their father had been a victor and their older sister won a couple years back too. Syrinx Stanton? She’d been considered an academy golden girl ever since she’d walked in the door. Beautiful, tall and athletic, and a capable killer to boot. Everest Stonewell? He also had victor blood in him, and had distinguished himself easily in the Academy.
She turned her green and brown eyes to the mentor standing in front of her.
”I don’t understand, sir,” she explained “I’m at the top of the rankings?”
The man just huffed impatiently, rolled his eyes.
“We taught you to read, didn’t we? Yes, of course you’re at the top of the list. Which is why I thought I should give you some advice.”
“Advice?” Macaria echoed dumbly
“Yes,” the man nodded “I’m sure it’s become clear to you that you are considered something of an asset to the Academy. It’s very likely, or at least I consider it so, that you will ultimately find your way into the Games once you turn seventeen or eighteen.”
“Which would be an honour,” Macaria interjected
“Shut up and listen, girl,” the mentor snapped, taking a deep breath before continuing “now, there are two things you can do to make sure the Capitol notices you, to make a name for yourself. You can kill in great numbers, or you can kill creatively. Killing in numbers is hard, but if you kill an unprecedented number of tributes it’s a surefire way to get people’s attention. Even most victors only have a few kills under their belts. Killing creatively is more achievable. The Capitol craves entertainment, and get impatient if the Games are boring. If you make death into a game, keep them entertained with a show, you’ll keep them on your side. Which is important because..?”
The man looked at Macaria expectantly, and the girl stiffened even more as she recited what she’d been taught by the Academy.
“You must entertain the Capitol. Doing so keeps them on your side, which gets you sponsors, which saves your life. It is our duty to entertain the Capitol either with our lives or by our death.”
The man nodded approvingly, folding his arms.
“Good, you have learned something. You might make something of yourself yet.” he answered “Don’t forget that the best way to get to where you want to go is to play the Capitol’s game. Entertain them, kill people, and you might just live to become a Capitol celebrity. You’re dismissed, Miss Slayte.”
Macaria nodded then, rising all too quickly to her feet and heading rapidly towards the door. She’d just laid her hand on the doorhandle when the man’s harsh voice spoke up again.
“Slayte? Always remember to give the Capitol a show.”
Macaria nodded, stepping outside and closing the door behind her.
_____
It was five years later, the year of the 90th Annual Hunger Games. Macaria Slayte had gone exactly as far as her teacher in the Academy had predicted, but at the loss of her humanity.
She’d been trained harshly, with shouting and beatings and being treated like a piece of meat. But finally she was living her life’s purpose, and finally she had a chance to become something more than just that girl who’d been taken in by the Academy. She might start to regain what had been stripped from her.
Whooping in the glee of the hunt, she had chased after the District 8 tribute until a well-aimed throw of her knife had felled Holly, allowing Macaria to approach her prey with ease.
She’d had another knife in her hand almost instantly. The blade felt like an extension of her arm as she turned it slowly, allowing it to glint in the dim light. As she stepped towards Holly, the black-haired girl yanked the knife out of her leg, looking up at Macaria.
The District 2 tribute didn’t have to dodge much as Holly threw the knife back at her, just watched the knife - one of her good knives, by the way - land somewhere behind her before turning her gaze back to Holly.
She’d better be able to find that knife again. Or if she lost it, this had better be worth it.
“Wow, someone’s got some anger issues” Holly had taunted, somehow able to look triumphant even now.
Macaria just looked at Holly with some frustration and disgust, kneeling in front of the girl.
“Shut it,” she snarled
She took Holly’s face in her hand, turning it from side to side as if examining it. When the girl tried to yank her face from Macaria’s grip, the girl just grabbed harder, forcing her face to the angle she wanted it.
She cupped Holly’s face in her left palm, tilting it up slightly to look at her. This was a girl her own age, she knew that. A child like her, really. But what was the point in dwelling on that?
No, this girl had mocked her in the training centre. This girl took no small pleasure in undermining her whatever chance she got. Most of all, this girl was a threat. Smart, capable.
And, like her mentor had taught her, she had to kill with creativity. She’d already embarrassed herself and probably lost sponsors when she didn’t notice that boy throwing the weapon at her at the bloodbath. She’d had to rely on that backwoods tree-hugger Amadrya to save her life. No, she had to regain what she’d lost. Prove to the Capitol that she was a force to be reckoned with, that she could entertain them.
That she could kill with creativity.
She started to smile, tilting her head slightly as she looked at Holly with glee.
“Now, let’s give the Capitol a show!”
She let her voice become sickly sweet then, feigning innocence like she’d done before the start of the games
“Where’s your little partner?”
And after that, the rest was history.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 23, 2020 16:25:41 GMT -5
Macaria had been sent to infiltrate the Capitol herself. Burton had done a good job, but Diana and Alistair has elected to send in the big guns. Macaria, Macaria was the big guns.
She was from an upper district, so she knew more about the Capitol. She was witty and could think on her feet, she could fight her way out of a dangerous situation, and (most importantly) where Burton’s charm had failed, Macaria’s skill in manipulation might just succeed.
The Capitol was able to do magical things. It could give Macaria’s skin a golden glow, and make it soft and satiny. It could make her brunette hair shine richly and fall down to her shoulder blades in delicate but perfect waves, and tiny diamonds glimmered in the locks. The Capitol could clothe her in what seemed like starlight, an elegant dress that shone pearl-like. Her green-brown eyes were lined, her face made into some kind of night sky. Her eyes were surrounded with a dark navy blue like the night, and tiny diamonds decorated her skin like stars, surrounding her eyes and curving onto her cheekbones, along with the blue. Even her eyelashes had tiny bits of silver in them, flashing when she blinked. Even her lips shimmered. In her ears and around her neck sparkled tiny stars.
This wasn’t normally the look she went for; she generally went for pinks, and dark pinks at that, and kind of a floral vibe. Right now she looked like some weird star/angel being. But that was the point, she supposed. Making her not look like herself.
And with the amount of makeup she had on, she had to hope to every deity she didn’t believe in that nobody recognised her. Her disguise wasn’t exactly as good as Burton’s had been.
She swirled around a huge and opulent ballroom, struggling to keep her step with dances she was unfamiliar with. Worse, she had to carry it off if she made a mistake so nobody noticed.
She spun, then her blood ran cold as when she came to a stop she found herself face-to-face with Louden. His expression was unreadable. He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes, as he extended a hand to Macaria.
“May I have the honour of this dance?”
Macaria tried to focus, doing her utmost to slow the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she fixed Louden with a demure smile, dipping into a slight curtsy to acknowledge the president. Every cell in her body told her to refuse the dance. Louden screamed danger; he was cold, shark-like. Made her hair stand on end, especially when he gave that smile.
She had been silent too long, though; she had to give an answer. The next song was about to start.
“But of course you may,” she answered as she laid her hand in his
As much as she wanted to say no, she could not refuse him. Not only would it seem like a slight to the president, which would make her all the more suspicious-seeming among a crowd with whom she wanted to fit in, but it would jeopardise her mission. She’d come here for information. To walk away from this would be foolish.
The band struck up with a new song, and Louden was leading the way across the dance floor. Macaria was, at this point, just being careful not to step on his feet in this ridiculous heels. She liked heels as much as the next person, but this felt unnecessary somehow.
As they danced, Louden seemed to lean in closer. It wasn’t long before he began to speak in hushed tones. She could already tell that nobody would hear him above the music. It was just him and her now.
Fool me once, shame on you,” Louden’s said softly ”fool me twice, shame on me.”
Macaria tensed slightly, trying to keep the fear out of her eyes and resisting the temptation to swallow.
“I’m sure I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” she answered
Louden rolled his eyes slightly there, before leaning in slightly once again, the pair of them turning as they did so, continuing to move across the room.
”Doesn’t surprise me. I wouldn’t consider it a sign of intelligence to side with people who would attempt the exact same espionage technique twice in a row.”
Well, shit. If it wasn’t clear before, it sure was now. Louden knew exactly who she was, which wasn’t exactly ideal. What it meant, in fact, was that Macaria had found herself in the heart of Louden’s territory, in his very grip. And now he knew her real identity.
When Macaria answered with silence, silver flashing as she tried to blink away the shine of fear in her eyes, Louden simply looked at her as if she were a child he was trying to explain a very easy maths problem to.
“I know who you are, dear. I think it would be easier for the both of us if you dropped the act so that we might speak plainly.”
Macaria held his gaze for a moment, refusing to drop it before she nodded slightly.
“Fine,” she agreed
“Good,” Louden smiled “I knew I could count on you to be reasonable. You always were such an obedient little girl. You probably don’t remember the time I came to visit the academy when you were maybe six or seven. You couldn’t stop gushing about how much you loved the Capitol.”
Macaria could remember that day very clearly. It wasn’t that long after she’d joined the Academy, in fact. She’d worn her very best dress, done her hair by herself and wound it with ribbons. The Academy has been very eager to present Macaria to Louden, seeing as she was such a young student at the Academy and was pretty much owned by the Academy and, by extension, Louden. Their version of a super-soldier. The ideal tribute, being bred for the Hunger Games.
Louden had looked at her as if she wasn’t even a person, like she was some kind of Capitol mutt. A tool.
Macaria clamped her jaw shut in anger, before remembering herself and relaxing a little, giving Louden a forced smile to at least try and keep up the facade for those watching.
“Yes, well brainwashing and abuse does so often look like obedience, doesn’t it? An easy mistake to make. It will disappoint you, I’m sure, to learn that I’ve grown out of obedience lately.”
Louden’s look was sharp then. He twirled Macaria then, keeping up with the dance, before catching her again with his hands and continuing with their conversation.
“Yes, I noticed. A pity, really, because it is always such a shame when you have to destroy something you created.
“You see, Macaria, when we develop our mutts, we inevitably end up with a few who have glitches. They’re not aggressive enough, maybe. Maybe they’re a little too smart and begin to question why they have to obey their masters. They infect the rest of the pack with their behaviour instantly, it’s fascinating to see, really. It is a secret of statecraft, as of mutt-breeding, that to succeed you have to kill those bad mutts.”
Macaria continued to step in time to the music, but found that she was feeling sick to the stomach by now. Macaria was unafraid in a fight. But in a situation where she had no control and no means to defend herself? Even she started feeling scared.
One could be as ruthless and bloodthirsty as they liked if they were the one with the knife.
“Yes, I understand the rather obvious analogy.” she replied
Louden smiled once again then, chilling the girl further.
“Good. Then perhaps you’ll use it to help you consider how to answer my questions. What information have you been uncovering here in the Capitol?”
Macaria shook her head, ignoring the way Louden’s face tightened with barely contained anger.
“You can’t teach a bad mutt to be good, President Louden. You must know that better than anyone.” she taunted
Even if she gave him what he wanted, she didn’t see the outcome being good. She might as well make this as difficult for him as possible.
Louden seemed to move then, and Macaria felt a new pressure against her stomach, concealed from the view of everyone else in the room by the dancing figures of her and Louden. She didn’t need to look to know that he held a knife to her stomach.
She tensed even further then, closing her eyes briefly to expel a nervous breath.
“Can’t teach, no. Brute force often does the trick, I find. If I had my way you wouldn’t live to the end of this song, but as it is you have information I want. Which means you’ll be coming with me to answer some questions.”
Macaria was barely listening to his words. She tried desperately to move her hand, trying to edge it down to where Louden held the knife to her. But he caught her eyes and shook his head, tutting.
“Come now, Carena, don’t draw attention. The thing you and I have in common is that we both know that you have to keep up the pretense for the sake of everyone watching.”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 26, 2020 6:13:07 GMT -5
A six-year-old girl with dark chestnut hair and green eyes, the pupils ringed by a warm brown, had wandered through the streets of District 2 for many hours, so long that she had lost track of the passing hours. All she'd known was that the sun had dipped beyond the horizon and plunged the district into a shadowy night.
She was glad for the darkness, though, because in the sunlight the looks the people of her district had given her were not in the least bit friendly. She was skinny, a little too skinny, for the food they had been delivering to the quarantined sector of the District had been far too paltry. Not to mention that they'd given up on supplying the sick with food about a week ago now. Her hair was dull, and straggly. The tangles in it told that it had not seen a hairbrush in at least a few days. Her skin was pale and even slightly greyish, having none of the healthy complexion it should. Her lips were dry from lack of water and chapping and turning pale in the cool wind. Even her eyes were dull, and red-rimmed from crying - which was probably the most shameful part of all of this. She'd always been taught that you don't cry in District 2.
But it was cold, she was alone, and she was scared.
She'd walked through the district, at first watching the lights go on in the houses as the sun went down, casting slivers of golden light onto the street, chinks in the darkness. But gradually, as she had walked further and the night waned on, the golden lights had disappeared one by one as the district went to bed.
That was when the rain started. Freezing cold, and coming down fast and hard in icy sheets. The droplets stung her skin and soaked her hair and her clothes, which were worn and a little too small for her now; the quarantined sector had been focusing on more important things than their children growing out of their clothes.
The bracing wind that began to whip the district, the first signs of a winter storm, told the girl that she could not go on much longer. If she stayed out here without shelter she would freeze to death, that much was obvious to her by the slowing of her movements, the aching cold in her limbs that seemed to gnaw hungrily at her bones. No, she did not get out of that place just to die in the streets.
What had her sister told her when she'd snuck her out of the quarantined sector? If she had nowhere else to go, she should head for the Academy. They would take her in, give her a bed at least. They'd done that for other children before, and they would do it again.
Even with her addled brain, which could think of little more than her grief, and how much she needed some food, some warmth, some kindness, she knew this was her best option. She had nobody else to turn to; sure, her mother had family, but they'd chosen to have nothing to do with her or her children after she'd married someone they saw as being below her station. They would not be sympathetic to the girl, and in fact she'd never even met them.
Her father had family, but they also had nothing to do with the girl's mother after finding out about the attitudes of her side of the family to the marriage. They would be useless too, that much was obvious. Nobody in the district would show her kindness, so the Academy was her only option.
The Academy. She knew where that was.
It was a short but slow walk to the Academy building. Once there, all the girl could do was take shelter in the doorway, huddling against the door out of the wind and rain. she closed her eyes, and drifted into a cold and restless sleep.
_______
"Carrick! You're not going to believe this"
The voice that the girl heard, almost as if underwater, as she woke from her slumber was a clear, silvery female voice. Behind it she could detect some hardness, though. Clear and pretty, but tough like diamond.
The girl kept her eyes tight shut, slowing the rise and fall of her chest. She was too scared yet to let them know that she was awake.
"What?" called back a low, gruff male voice. It was muffled, presumably coming from somewhere inside the building, and had a note of annoyance to it.
"Just get your ass out here and you'll see," called back the female
The girl could here grumbling and then heavy footsteps, which approached and then stopped abruptly close by.
"Holy shit, Niobe," the man said in almost hushed surprise, "it's a kid."
That's when the names hit her fully. Carrick Rochester and Niobe Torsten. Both former victors of the Hunger Games who now taught at the Academy; there were now younger victors than them who could take their place mentoring the new tributes. Carrick had three children, the girl remembered; an older girl named Pedra, who was already a prodigy in the Academy, and two twins the same age as the girl; Cairn and Sela.
"Is she even alive?" Carrick questioned doubtfully, and the girl felt him nudge her with his boot.
Then came some shuffling of footsteps as if Niobe were pushing him away in annoyance.
"Leave her alone!" Niobe snapped "Yes, she's alive - look, she's breathing."
"Kid! Hey, kid!" Carrick hissed, gently shaking the girl's shoulder to wake her up.
It was at that point that she opened her eyes to see two figures standing in front of her. One, withdrawing his hand from her shoulder, was a bulky man in his forties with close-cropped mid-brown hair and sharp features. The other was an elegant woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties. She had straight, inky-black hair cut to just above her shoulders and perceptive dark eyes.
The girl remembered seeing reruns of Niobe's Games. She'd won when she was about fifteen, and her black hair had been far longer then, all the way down to her waist. She'd cut it down to a pixie-cut on stage during her interviews the night before the Games, not wanting the long hair to get in her way. A brutal fighter, as the girl remembered her. She'd gone through the Games as part of the Career pack but had let others lead, staying quietly in the background. The whole time she'd been quietly sowing discord among the pack, whispering rumours in their ears, stealing supplies from one Career's pack and hiding it in another to frame them. Eventually the pack fell apart and Niobe was easily able to take them down.
The girl looked a little fearfully between the two Academy tutors, scrambling up into a sitting position.
"Who is she?" Niobe asked Carrick quietly, almost as if she thought the girl wouldn't be able to hear.
"I don't know," Carrick murmured "some street kid?"
There weren't too many of those in District 2, but there were some. The unlucky ones who'd been orphaned, losing both of their parents to the mines or to Peacekeeper work.
Carrick's blue eyes met the girl's, and he gestured to her as if in expectation of an answer.
"What's your name?" he asked
The girl lifted her chin as if in pride. Her mother had always told her to do that; to be proud of the family name. It might not be a family of victors but they were a good, strong, respected District 2 family. Her father's side raised honest, hard-working people. Her mother's raised smart, cunning kids. The girl had been that way, much like her older sister, though she'd also enjoyed doing thinks like picking flowers, drawing pictures.
She would be proud of who she was.
"Carena Harlow," she said confidently, looking Carrick up and down as if he was somehow inferior to her. As if he wasn't the man she would later rank the most frightening of all the Academy's tutors, the one who would break her out of her rebellious phase.
Carrick smirked then, clearly finding some amusement in this little girl suddenly growing so confident. There was even a glint of approval in his eyes. Niobe, however, furrowed her brows in thought.
"Harlow?" she repeated "You're Lucasta Harlow's little sister?"
Carena nodded hurriedly, relieved at somebody making the connection. Lucasta hadn't been at the Academy very long before the sickness started to spread and their sector of District 2 had been quarantined, but she'd made an instant impression on the tutors there. She always had been the stronger, tougher one. The obvious one of the Harlow sisters to bet on to make something of herself. A future victor, maybe.
The two Academy tutors shared a look, as if in agreement, and nodded.
"We'd better bring you inside."
-------------------
It was barely a week since the Academy had taken Carena in, and she already looked far better. A healthy complexion, sparkling and clear eyes, shiny hair. She'd even started to put some weight on again, eating ravenously whenever she got the chance.
Now she sat in a room with a small desk, starkly lit with fluorescent lights. A man she didn't recognise stood in front of her in a suit, a case in his hand from which he had produced a document, sliding it across the table to the little girl. Behind Carena stood Niobe and Carrick, on either side of the doorway into the room.
She took the document with a nervous glance up at the suited man, pulling it towards herself. The first thing she noticed were the two seals on the top; one was the District 2 seal, the other was the Capitol seal, both in gold at the top of the document.
The six-year old looked down at the page in bewilderment; she could read a little, but she certainly couldn't parse complicated documents like this one, full of words she didn't recognise or understand. She looked back up at the man in the Capitol suit, furrowing her brows.
"I can't read this," she explained, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment
"You don't need to," explained the Capitol man impatiently, his words even more clipped than was normal for the Capitol accent, "this document just explains that in order for the Academy to be able to give you food, lodging, healthcare and training, you must become a ward of District 2 and, by extension, the Capitol. The state essentially adopts you and looks after you."
Carena gave a doubtful look, lowering her eyes once again to the document. She couldn't read all of the parts talking about how this would mean she came under the Capitol's protection, but a lot of her rights would be stripped away. About how the Academy, and the Capitol, would essentially own her, be able to treat her however they wanted. She couldn't see the fact that District 2, the Academy, and the Capitol all saw an opportunity. A chance to raise a perfect victor and a dangerous fighter.
But there was one part of the document she should read, and she shot a glare at the suited man.
"I have to change my name?" she spluttered, shocked and angry
The man opened his mouth to start some long spiel of explanation but Carena wasn't interest, rising to her feet rapidly. It was only then that Carrick stepped forward, pushing her down harshly and keeping his hand gripping her shoulder tightly.
"You have to sign this," Carrick threatened "unless you want to be back out on the streets again. We're the only people willing to take care of you, so if I were you I'd take it."
Carena was afraid now, her heart thumping in her chest and her breathing speeding up. But it didn't take much thought for the girl to realise that she didn't have an option here. She exhaled, nodded, and grabbed the pen that the Capitol man was leaning across the table to offer her as Carrick released her shoulder from his grip.
Pen in hand, she scribbled her name across the bottom of the page. With that done, the man in the suit smiled for the first time in the entire interaction, grabbing the document and putting is swiftly back into the case he carried.
"Thank you, Miss Macaria Slayte,"
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 26, 2020 17:25:09 GMT -5
Burton had just been sitting with Holly, lounging on the training equipment that the two of them just used as a playground most of the time. Talking about nothing, really. Little things about life back home. Or talking about how cute Everest and Amadrya were as a couple. Or what stupid thing Macaria had done lately. It didn’t matter, none of it did.
That was when they heard a crash somewhere in the building. It made both teenagers jump, sharing a slightly confused and concerned look. It was probably nothing; this was a building full of teenagers, they were all loud and slammed doors and broke stuff, that was just par for the course at this point. Except for Ari, of course, who as far as everyone else was concerned (especially Amadrya) could do no wrong.
But Burton’s eyes widened in panic when he heard what sounded like gunshots. And not rebel guns, he knew after all this time what they sounded like. No, these were Capitol guns.
He wanted to freeze to the spot, his muscles seizing up as his blood ran cold, but the sound of heavy footsteps growing gradually louder spurred both teenagers to spring to their feet. They shared a look before locking eyes on the weapons rack in the corner of the room, but before either of them could make a move and grab one the doors flew open. Peacekeepers swarmed in, pointing their weapons instantly at the two teens.
Burton and Holly stood side by side, Burton’s heart thudding in his chest as he moved closer to his district partner. He felt more comforted around her, even though it was stupid. Yes, he always seemed to be able to rely on her to find a way out of bad situations, but this one didn’t seem like a situation they were going to get out of.
He was about to reach out and take Holly’s hand when she suddenly stepped away, taking a decisive step towards the weapons rack. More guns were suddenly pointed at her as one peacekeeper out of the crowd spoke up.
“Move another step and you’re dead,” the peacekeeper warned “we will shoot.”
Holly froze, but Burton could see the way her eyes were still on the weapons. She seemed to be calculating, he could practically hear the cogs whirring in her brain. And then over her eyes came a strange and unsettling decisiveness, a certainty. She looked at Burton with a look that terrified him. One that told her she’d made up her mind.
And Burton has no doubts. He knew exactly what she was doing, and exactly what he needed to do too.
That was why when she made her move towards the weapons rack, Burton was already prepared, and rushed to jump in front of her, taking the bullet he’d known would be coming.
A searing pain filled his abdomen as he hit the ground, and as soon as Holly realised what happened she stopped too. She turned, rushing back to kneel beside Burton, turning him over. She laid her hand on the wound, her face almost crumpling when she pulled it away covered in Burton’s blood.
The boy tried to crane to look at the wound, but Holly shushed him, gently pushing his head back down to the ground.
“Hey, don’t look at it,” she said softly “look at me. Look at me, okay? Stay with me.”
Burton wasn’t away of the way his body shook, of the stray tears moving down his cheeks. Holly’s voice as she spoke to him was the gentlest he’d ever heard it in his life. She never sounded like that, at least he’d never heard her that way.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice thick “this is all my fault.”
“No it isn’t,” Burton managed to get out “that’s just the kind of relationship we have, right? We take risks for each other.”
He was, of course, referring to the time Holly had almost died in the arena when she knocked him out and led the careers away from their camp.
Holly smiled sadly then, placing a hand gently under Burton’s shoulder to support him. A new wave of pain came over Burton.then, his breathing growing quick and shallow as he struggled against the pain.
“Hey,” Holly soothed “it’s okay, you’re going to be okay. I promise.”
Burton chuckled, wiping away blood from his mouth that he hadn’t realised was there until now.
“Don’t promise me that, Holly, that’s stupid. We don’t lie to each other,” he murmured “just promise me you’ll look after my family, that you can do.”
Holly nodded then, getting out an emotional ‘I promise’ to the boy. Burton could see in her eyes now the panic, that she obviously felt that she was losing him. She knew it now.
“Please, Burton, I need you. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose another person, and I definitely can’t be without you,” Holly pleased, wiping away a tear
Burton just smiled weakly, grabbing her hand and squeezing it with his, not that he could muster enough strength to really do it properly.
“Nobody tells Holly Alandria what she can and can’t do,” Burton said simply “you’ve gotten through worse things than this, Holly. Have faith in yourself.”
Holly just looked broken now, hopeless. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her look more desperate, gripping him as if holding him tightly might keep him there, alive with her.
“You stupid idiot,” she said affectionately as she brushed a stray lock out of his face, but her voice cracked “why’d you have to go and do something like that? Should’ve just let me take the shot.”
Burton fixed his gaze on Holly then. He wished he could tell her everything he felt. But there wasn’t the time, and he didn’t want to burden Holly with the knowledge that he’d loved her. Because that’s all it would be to her. How much worse would all this be for Holly if she knew how Burton had really felt?
“You know you love me,” he said, his voice quietening almost to a whisper.
And his hand let go of hers, and his brown eyes lost their warmth.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 27, 2020 14:20:09 GMT -5
It was the night before the Hunger Games. The interviews had ended not long before, and Burton and Holly had talked for the last time with their teams. They would be lucky to get a few final bits of advice from their mentor the next morning, and they'd see the stylists who would outfit them with whatever clothes the Capitol had given them for these Games, but other than that they were officially on their own now.
He sat out on the balcony they had been given. District 12, as the penthouse, had access to the roof, but District 8 didn't. Luckily they had a balcony and were high enough up on the building to still get a pretty nice view of the Capitol. The boy had taken off the tie, waistcoat and suit jacket from his interview outfit but still hadn't changed into his nightclothes (attempting to sleep seemed pretty futile), instead perching on the balcony with the top few buttons of the button-up shirt undone. The edge of the balcony was broad enough that he could sit on it, the back of his head against the wall of the building as he sat sideways on the edge. His knees were drawn slightly towards him, his hand loosely resting on one knee as he looked out over the city below.
He could hear the muffled thud of music, see the colourful lights from the streets and the bright clothes of the Capitolites. The night before the Games was always a massive party in the Capitol, like some sort of deranged carnival. He could see electronic posters on the street, with the text '90th HUNGER GAMES' and underneath a headshot of one of the tributes that seemed to change every few seconds. It was quite distant, but he was sure he could recognise the red hair of Robin at one point, then the blonde curls of Halina. And his photo, one of the few (apart from maybe Carlo) who had actually smiled in his headshot.
It was the same one on the new District Identification Pass he'd been assigned on his arrival at the Capitol, with that updated photo of him (his old ID card's photo had been at least two years old) and updated information. It even listed his new 'assigned occupation' as 'tribute', which was dumb in about a million different ways.
He was interrupted from this thinking when he heard the glass door to the balcony open behind him, turning to see Holly standing behind him. She was in pyjamas, a simply pyjama top and shorts, and her hair seemed freshly brushed through. All the last remnants of her interview makeup were gone, and Burton couldn't help but imagine her furiously scrubbing at the makeup in the bathroom. Holly had made her dislike of makeup abundantly clear, but Livia was just as stubborn and Holly hadn't gotten anywhere on that front.
The girl approached him, looking at him with an unreadable expression that Burton could only assume was curiosity, before hopping to sit on the balcony too, mirroring his pose with her back to the opposite wall. He couldn't help but notice the way her green eyes seemed to take on a new glow in the city lights. When the bright and colourful lights from below caught her eyes in fractals of colour against the green irises, they looked like kaleidoscopes.
They lost their kaleidoscope quality and returned to their bright, glowy green when she turned them away from the streets below to look at Burton.
"Can't sleep?" she asked "You know, if you don't get a full night's rest you're likely to get cranky, and if you get cranky in the Arena I will kill you myself."
Burton actually found himself smiling then, the whirling storm of thoughts in his mind quieting for just a moment. Holly was like the eye of a storm for him. Or maybe she was just her own storm, and Holly's own comforting brand of hurricane fought off Burton's tornado of thoughts.
"Just thinking about tomorrow," he shrugged "this, our time in the Capitol, was the part I'm good at. And no matter how well I did here, it's not going to be enough once we get into the Arena."
He wasn't a fighter, he knew that much. He might have done enough to get himself and Holly a good few sponsors, but he didn't think he was actually going to be much use in the Arena. In fact, he didn't really know why Holly was choosing to ally with him. Once they got in there, Burton was only going to be a liability.
Holly seemed unfazed by this, though.
"Let me worry about the Arena," Holly answered "I think you'll find you've done a damn sight more to save our lives than you think. You have a chance of winning, you know."
Burton looked at her then, letting out a bitter chuckle.
"I have no chance of winning!" he snapped, before calming his voice "come on, Holly, you can't really think that even if I got right to the end I'd manage to beat anyone in a close-quarters fight."
"So, what, you're just going to give up before you even start?" Holly challenged "You know, you could at least try to use your time in the Arena for an act of defiance to the Capitol. Show them they don't own you, that they can't just kill kids."
Burton looked briefly back out into the city, at the crowds of people. Holly was right, they did think they owned him. His image, his personality, his life. Everything about him was the Capitol's to do with as they wanted now. He hated that, but he also knew one incontrovertible truth, the one he spoke to Holly when he turned to look at her again.
"You can afford to think like that," he replied "I have my parents and my sisters. They might not be able to take anything out on me when I'm in the Arena and they're killing me anyway, but they can sure as hell take it out on my family."
Holly didn't respond to that, obviously thinking he was right. His family would be in danger if he defied the Capitol. She also seemed to think better of staying on the subject of his family, clearly thinking it might upset him to talk about them right now, when he was contemplating the chances of his death. Perhaps there would be time in the Arena to discuss that kind of thing.
"I don't want to die someone my sisters won't recognise," Burton said softly after a moment "they've looked up to me, and I've tried so hard to be a brother they can be proud of. I don't want that to change in there."
Holly looked at him quietly then, before tilting her head.
"What, you're afraid you're going to go on some kind of murderous rampage or something?" Holly asked, smirking somewhat at the image of Burton running around on a killing spree
"No, I-" he began, trying to explain, before sighing in exasperation "it's okay, you don't get it."
That was when Holly reached over to place her hand on top of the one Burton had resting on his knee.
"No, I get it," she said softly
Then she shuffled a little closer to Burton, moving slightly to keep her balance as she did so.
"Listen to me," she said "you're going to do great. You're not going to mess this up because I won't let you. And for the record, I want you to know that I feel safer going into that Arena with you as my ally."
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 28, 2020 9:32:37 GMT -5
Amadrya stood on the roof of the rebel base. Her brown hair was tied in a braid wound through with a chain that was silver but seemed almost a bronze in the twilight. She had taken off the outer layers of the dark armour the rebels had given her, the dark heavy-duty clothing with a special holder on the back to secure a couple of axes should she need them. She'd been wearing it for training that day, but no longer needed it now the day was done.
Underneath she wore a comfortable, loose-fitting cotton tank top and some comfortable bottoms. It had been a busy day, and comfortable clothing was essential; she'd done a couple of propaganda shots for the rebels, been to a briefing by Alistair and Diana, and then training afterwards. She still wore the token from her time in the Arena, had never taken it off even in the Capitol. A simple woven-grass bracelet with wooden charms of a leaf and a tree.
She had stood looking out over the landscape when something caught her attention. A scar which seemed to hook round the top of her shoulder, one of many from her time in the Capitol. She tried to ignore them as best she could, even covering them up sometimes. She hated when the rebels would put her in a dress for one of their photos for more reasons than just not liking dresses now; they showed off the scars that now decorated her skin both from the Games and the Capitol torture.
Her grey eyes narrowed a little as she focused on it, her hand teaching to touch the scar as it came round to her collarbone, tracing it with her finger towards her shoulder.
She was so focused on it that she didn't notice Everest join her on the roof.
"Hey," he said gently when he saw the way the girl traced the scar
He put one hand on her upper arm before kissing along the route of the scar on her shoulder.
"You're beautiful," he assured her
Amadrya turned then to look at Everest over her shoulder, before turning completely to plant a kiss on his lips. Ever since they'd come back from their imprisonment in the Capitol the two of them had been inseparable. Their relationship had been official from that moment on, in no small part thanks to Holly and Macaria's encouragements. It had been quite some time since then; this rebellion had been raging on for quite some time now, and things hung just as much in the balance as they always had. Things always seemed on the verge of being perfect, the rebels finally about to take down the Capitol, the straw that broke the camel's back, but every time the Capitol did something that pushed the rebels back again, always pushing them beck a month or two.
"So are you," she responded before smiling "Hi,"
Everest kept his hand on her upper arm but moved to stand beside her so his arm was round her shoulder.
"This reminds me of when we talked on the roof," Everest said "before the Games."
She'd barely taken in what he'd said because of the fact that he was gently brushing her arm with his thumb, moving it in circles, which felt nice and was so damn distracting. And he had that dopey, tired smile on his face which was so ridiculously cute she couldn't think of anything else. But she had to answer him.
"Right," she smiled, resting her head on his shoulder "the first thing you said was that my hair looked different."
God, she was always smiling. She wasn't a particularly smiley person, but when she was around Everest she couldn't control it, didn't even realise she was doing it most of the time. He just made her smile.
Everest nodded then, in recollection, before removing his hand from Amadrya's shoulder and taking her hand instead. It was then that he started to lead her back towards the building. Amadrya stopped, looking at him in confusion.
"Where are we going?" she asked
"Just trust me," Everest responded.
Amadrya followed after these assurances; she did indeed trust Everest, and so she followed him willingly then.
He led her back down into the rebel base and then through the building, so that he and the confused Amadrya stepped out through the back of the building. They started to head through the grass, already a little wet with dew even though the night was only just approaching, and towards a clearing in the forested area behind the base. A clearing from which Amadrya could make out a golden glow filtering through the leaves.
When they finally reached the clearing, Amadrya couldn't help but inhale in surprise as she took in the sheer beauty of the place.
The golden glow she'd noted earlier was from beautiful little lanterns strung up in the trees, creating beautiful dappled patterns of gold on the ground and bathing the clearing in warm light. The lanterns, she noted, looked a lot like the festival lanterns from back home in District 7. The lanterns they'd had up on display the year she'd met Ari.
And the clearing wasn't empty either; already there, standing round the edges of the clearing, were some of the people most important to Amadrya and Everest; Holly, Ari, Burton, and Macaria as well as Amadrya's uncle and cousins.
Everest led her to the centre of the clearing, and Amadrya looked around, still in confusion. Her heart was racing as if she was expecting some shock.
"What's going on?" she asked Everest, looking around at the people gathered around them.
They all seemed to have this knowing smile on their faces, and Macaria had her hands clasped behind her back for some reason. Still unsure, Amadrya turned her gaze back to her boyfriend.
"When I first met you, it was the first day of training and you were struggling at the shelter-building station. I had to go and talk to you because my mentor had shown me the reapings and I'd seen the way you volunteered for that girl. Volunteering made sense for a Career, people fought to volunteer. But for a non-Career to volunteer for a stranger was something I couldn't fathom. It was so brave, and selfless. As I got to know you it became obvious to me that you were exactly that; brave and selfless. And really damn good with an axe, but that's besides the point. You made me so much better. And we've been through hell together, and the only thing that kept me going most days was you. I can't imagine a day without you, and I certainly can't imagine losing you, or even spending another day without you."
Amadrya, of course, knew what was happening by now.
"Everest-" she began
But he had already gone down on one knee, Macaria stepping forward to place a ring box in his hand before stepping back again.
"Amadrya Darrow, will you marry me?"
He opened the ring box to reveal a gold and diamond ring with a delicate leaf design. The diamond seemed to glow with a gentle fire in the light of the lanterns.
Her heart was filled with a pang of love for Everest then. He loved her for exactly who she was, and appreciated everything about her. Understood the fact that she was independent, not a helpless maiden, and that she wouldn’t ever give any part of herself up for him. She knew the same about him. They could trust and depend on one another, stand back-to-back in a fight and defend one another. She loved that more than anything.
Amadrya smiled and put her hand under Everest's elbow, gently pulling him to his feet. He looked a little uncertain, as if worried she was going to reject him somehow. But she smiled.
"Yes," she said as the smile widened to a grin.
She took the ring and slid it onto her finger before kissing Everest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and she did the same, as if neither ever wanted to let the other one go. Both ignored Holly's usual joking protests about the two of them needing to get a room. When they pulled away, both had the happiest grins on their faces they ever had before. Amadrya stretched her hand out, looking at the ring and admiring the detail on the leaves.
"God, it's so beautiful," she said in a hushed tone
"It copies the leaves from the trees in your district," Everest explained "Holly, Macaria and Burton designed the ring but they needed Ari's help with the leaves. Alistair had it made."
"Really?" Amadrya asked "they all helped?"
"You bet," Everest nodded "The lanterns were Ari's idea, this clearing was Holly's, Burton helped with the speech, and Macaria was the main designer on the ring."
As he spoke, he gestured towards each friend in turn.
"Well, I couldn't let my district partner propose to his girlfriend with an ugly ring, now could I?" Macaria smiled when Everest mentioned her.
"Please," Holly smirked "you wanted to put tiny daggers on it,"
Amadrya smiled at Holly's teasing before turning her gaze to her cousins and uncle.
"And what did you lot do?" Amadrya questioned
"Made sure he was good enough to marry you," Ackley replied with a chuckle
The girl chuckled too, before looking back to her new fiancé.
"It's beautiful, you did a great job," she commented, giving him a light peck on the cheek.
The newly engaged couple stayed then, to chat with their family and friends in the warm glow of the clearing. It was at some point a little later in the night that Holly approached her and wrapped her in a hug. Holly, Amadrya and Everest had become good friends since their imprisonment in the Capitol. They understood one another in the way the others didn't; knew all their triggers, their coping mechanisms, their worst fears. They'd been through more pain together than most of their friends would likely ever know.
"I'm so happy for you both," she said "look after one another, okay?"
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Jul 29, 2020 23:28:53 GMT -5
(I recommend listening to Taylor Swift’s Death by a Thousand Cuts while you read! If that song is unavailable or you want a miniature playlist, I’d also listen to Safe and Sound, and Red by Beth Crowley.)
The screams that night were loud, one after another, rising in volume, and bone-chilling. The air had a soft bite to it, a cold, and inside buildings, screams echoes as the sounds of wave bounced between concrete slabs.
The source of it all was a much tinier issue than one may regard. Hollow eyes filled with tears, though the tears were not the main source of the mess.
Sloppy cuts, smooth cuts, many bleeding crisscrossed and stood out against pale skin, which seemed paler by the minute. Cold sharp metal used on a canvas, dragging red paint with ever pressured stroke. A symphony of screams to follow.
For a career, it was art. For Holly, it was simply torture. At some point between the pain, being hunts down like an animal, and going out like carved prey, the screams subsided into rasps. Each new cut brought fiery pain, but it became suddenly quiet.
Macaria, looming over her head, had her hand in Holly’s hair, holding back the messy curls to keep them from her cutting board, and so Holly’s head was elevated, giving her view of what was left of her body.
The pool of blood was concerning, and try as she could, Holly didn’t see any hint of unstained skin. Her left wrist had a deeper cut, part of the later strokes Macaria completed, and for what it was worth, that was as much a mercy as anything.
Holly could see something haunted in the career’s eyes, but Macaria still picked up Holly’s right arm, letting her head fall back down, and prepared to mirror the deep cut.
Using what strength she had, Holly tore her hand back, finding some part of her anger, hiding in that, and spitting out blood at the career, disdain in her eyes as she scurried back as much as she could.
Even as she supported herself to a crawl, her palms, cut open as well, slipped upon her own blood, and the girl was sent back into a ball.
“Happy?” She bit out at Macaria, finding some energy to chuckle as the career started to clean her bloody knife, “I hope it’s worth it in the end. I hope your sad pitiful life is worth everyone else’s.”
The sarcasm still dipped from her lips, as she forced herself up slightly, supporting herself on cut hands, nerves burning with the action, Macaria paid little attention, more interested in the knife.
Coughing up some blood, she was sure at some point Macaria stabbed her, she flashed a bloody grin at the other Careers, standing off to the side. “Tick tick, the time’s running out. Can’t keep playing domestic forever,” She swooned at Alessandro, who seemed to take a step forward, brandishing his sword.
Macaria grabbed his shoulder, and Holly glared at her for it. If Alessandro killed her now, at least it would save Holly the suffering. “Big words from the small dying girl. We’ll give Burton our condolences.”
Holly snarled at her, grabbing at her own bleeding wrist, and forcing her hands to cover the wound as best as possible. If she didn’t get a mercy kill, she was going to prolong her death for as long as she could. “Well, my condolences to all of you. ‘Til death do you part, and oh....soon it will.” She forced a laugh, grinning at Macaria, whose face twitched into anger.
Scowling, Macaria and the others left. Though Everest and Amadrya seemed to linger longer. Amadrya mouthed an apology, nodding in respect to Holly, and Everest simply looked away, unable to meet her eyes.
As soon as they were out of sight, her arms gave out, all fight leaving as she collapsed, fear gripping her heart. She would give anything to not be alone. A part of her wished that she could have simply snarked Macaria out until she died.
She’s never was a fan of silence. Back in Eight, at her job, she would strike up little nothings to keep her mind sharp, to keep the thoughts out. At home, she would talk to Catastrophe and would even reply back as if she could speak for the cat. Or she would get meows in return.
Catastrophe She mourned softly, guilt eating at her slowing heart, eyes closed against the onslaught of tears. Holly had found the kitten abandoned, just as Holly had been, and had said that she would never do the same, and here she was, leaving the cat all alone. Like her mother did to her when she died, like her father did when he left. Absently, she tugged her amulet off her neck, pulling it roughly from her tangled hair, and rubbing her thumbs over it in order to keep calm.
In the silence of the arena, she chose to focus on other things, as she laid on her back, hair spread in a halo, matter with blood. The feeling of the wind, she could particularly feel it rustle against her right cheek.
She longed for her friend, for Burton to be there. If she thought about it, the wind felt nothing like fingers, but the exact points it hit. She could imagine him there, illuminated by moonlight with his warm eyes, with a golden tint to them as he laughed at her jokes, or stared sorrowfully at her prone form. His brunette hair hanging over his face, ad those scars, not even visible, would still be there on his back, because he was so ridiculously selfless.
“Funny, isn’t it?” She pondered aloud, knowing somewhere in her mind that none of it was real, but she would take it. A last, false gift from her mind, to believe someone was there. His lips would quirk downwards sadly, hand stroking her cheek, thumb wiping away a tear, and would press his forehead to hers in a silent manner.
She could feel the droplets of tears, in reality, they were just her own. He would take one hand of hers in his, and softly press a comforting kiss to a knuckle. Not romantically, no, no, Burton didn’t feel for her like that, but as a friend, the closest of friends.
Opening her eyes, she could almost see him there, and extended one of her own hands, trying to reach out towards him as he backed away, “No, please.” She choked back, voice faint, faint and weak and broken and why was he leaving her?
“Please, don’t go.” She begged, and he would stare at her, with some soft, sad look on his face. Because he knew what that meant, soft whispers exchanged in the night. Stories. She was so scared to be forgotten, and she opened up to him, whispering so softly that not even the Capitol could hear her. Everyone leaves, please. Please stay.
He stared imploring at her, as if daring her. Yes, staying would cost. He always supported her rebellious spirit. Even her mind had a way of reminding her through her hallucinations.
Even now, though, even that was being forgotten, “Why do we have to die?” She questioned, the words broken and slurred, it was the best she could do, the edge of her vision darkening. She didn’t even know if she said the words, but she fought to remain awake. He couldn’t leave her. He couldn’t-
She opened her mouth to add something else, but no words would come, I love you. I love you. Don’t leave me, I need you. I need you to fight for me, I need you to fight for you. I need you to live.
He turned, stepping away, and he seemed too fuzzy and blurred and she couldn’t see his strands of hair, or his warm, caring eyes, and she reached out a hand, bloody fingers catching moonlight. The beads of a necklace lace in the blood fingers, eyes imploring. But then all fight left, eyes drooping, and outstretched hand colliding onto the pavement.
Glinting in the moonlight, the amulet lay in her fingers, a last memoir to the small girl from District 8.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 30, 2020 4:39:12 GMT -5
Cover the scars, dress them up. Burton watched in the little room backstage, brightly lit and garishly decorated, as makeup was put on his face for the cameras.
Layers of concealer, foundation, powder. The most heavy-duty products in their makeup bag, applied layer after layer on Burton's face to cover the scar on his cheek, to cover up the thing that reminded him he was human when he saw it in the mirror every day. A scar that reminded him that the Capitol did not own him like they thought they did. That it was he who had won the Hunger Games. He'd fought for his life and if it weren't for his sisters he would do it again.
He was glad, though, of two scars they could not touch. The first was on his thigh. An injury given him by the very same girl who killed Holly. By some miracle, the wound had not hit a major artery, and he'd survived another day to end up winning the Games. Keeping it from getting infected had been a difficult task of its own, as he remembered. It still gave him pain, and his walking was stiff some days, but the Capitol treatments had been effective. Just not effective enough from to stop the jagged wound from healing in the messy way it had; he'd done his own stitches in the Games, and all he'd had available was a normal sewing kit, not a suture kit. It had already started to heal badly by the time he'd gotten out of the Arena.
The other was much older; a single scar on his back. He'd stolen some fabric from the factory he worked at when he was about sixteen in an effort to sell it and feed his family during a particularly lean month. He'd gotten caught, and they were going to flog him as punishment. He only had one lash before his parents stepped in and were able to talk the peacekeepers out of it.
He still remembered the first time Holly saw that wound.
______
"Hey, I remember that,"
Burton had lain down, his back to Holly, to try and get some sleep in the Arena when his shirt must have ridden up a little to reveal the scar on his back. Burton had immediately tried to reach up and pull his shirt back down but Holly gently batted his hand away, moving closer to lift his shirt more and see it properly.
"No, let me look," she'd insisted
"Right," Burton had replied, "I forgot you were there when that happened."
She had stood out to him at the time. Around his age but short, and distinctive with her pale skin, dark hair and bright green eyes. Really the opposite of his brunet hair and brown eyes.
"Why did you do it?" she asked "steal, I mean."
"Factory hadn't paid our wages for a month," he said "we were in danger of starving."
He'd said as little as possible there, obviously indicating to his friend that this wasn't something he wanted to talk about.
He had heard an exhale that sounded almost like a quiet chuckle as Holly let his shirt go, moving back to where she'd been sitting before once again.
"You're so selfless, it's ridiculous," she had said, and he could almost hear her shaking her head "you know that martyr complex of yours is going to get you killed one day."
A martyr complex. He hadn't known if that applied to him so much as it applied to the girl from District 7, who'd volunteered for a 12-year-old who was barely a family friend. But he had supposed Holly wasn't wrong; his family especially were his weak spot, he would do anything to protect them.
The boy grabbed the jacket from his Arena clothes, which he'd been using as a pillow, and threw it at Holly with a laugh.
"I do not have a martyr complex," he insisted
"Oh, please," Holly had laughed "I had you pegged the moment I saw you for the type to get themselves killed with stupid self-sacrifice."
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 31, 2020 15:15:20 GMT -5
Macaria's eyes flickered open to reveal a small room. Lit brightly with harsh lights, surrounded by clear walls that seemed to be made of plastic. It was like a cage, one where she was on display completely.
She had been lying on the floor, knees tucked up towards her chest and her dark hair fanned around her as she lay on her side. Every limb felt heavy and numb, her mouth and throat dry, her head rent with a splitting pain and her mind foggy.
Her memory was hazy, but the events leading up to her capture flashed across her mind like vague impressions in a photograph. They'd been doing a mission in District 2, her home district. And of course Macaria, like a predictable idiot, had broken off from the rest of the group to go and visit her old family home in the sector of the district that had once been quarantined. Just to see her old house one more time. And of course they'd been waiting for her there.
What was the first rule the Academy had taught her? Never put yourself out in the open and vulnerable. She'd had that drilled into her head since she was six years old and she'd thrown away that most basic lesson.
Disoriented, the girl tried to move away from the wall, or even rise to her feet, only for her hand to fly to her neck as she realised she was held back by a chain. It was like some grotesque dog collar around her neck, and she knew better than to try and test the restraint by moving too far. It would only choke her.
She caught movement and realised there were guards outside, and one of them had just stepped aside for a figure who was approaching the cell.
"Sir, she's awake," she heard, muffled by the cell walls.
President Louden stepped inside, seeming satisfied to see Macaria kneeling, one hand at her throat.
"Miss Slayte," he smiled "Or since it's just you and I, perhaps I can speak plainly and call you Miss Harlow. What a pleasure it is to see you again. I trust you find these accommodations more suitable than the last."
He was, of course, referring to her brief period of captivity after her attempt to help free Holly, Everest and Amadrya. The plush room she'd been kept in with Amadrya, unhurt while she watched the District 7 girl dragged out day after day to be paraded in front of the cameras,
Unwilling to speak, Macaria just fixed her captor with a fierce glare, which only seemed to make Louden smile. The more defiant she was, the more pleasure Louden seemed to take from it.
"What striking sentimentality," Louden mused "going back to your old family home like that. I almost hadn't expected it from you."
"What, because you think I don't feel?" Macaria asked, her voice hoarse and painful, scratching against her throat.
Louden just smiled then, his unsettling gaze seeming to stare right through her.
"No, because I thought you and I were the same. Able to put emotion behind us for what we need, able to use others for our own benefit and leave them behind as if they never mattered. Or was I mistaken in your manipulation of the dearly departed Mr Rune?"
That name made Macaria furious, rushing towards Louden on instinct as it to take him down, only for the force on the chain to choke her, pulling her back down to the ground, where she sat, hanging her head and staying hidden behind the curtain of dark hair so she didn't have to look at him. If she did she'd try to kill him.
When he spoke up again, though, Macaria looked up again to meet his eyes.
"I thought you were smart, too," Louden chuckled "but obviously not. You seriously thought what that girl from District 8 did was enough to keep you safe?"
He nodded towards Macaria's arm, and her eyes followed his gesture to look at the mark on it from when Holly had cut out her tracker. Memories of Holly's taunts, and of the blood freckled snow, flashed across her mind.
"I'll never be like you," Macaria snarled "not with a thousand years of that disgusting Academy brainwashing."
Louden chuckled then, kneeling in front of her, just tauntingly far enough to be out of her reach with the chain.
"It's a pity, really. You could've been adored in the Capitol - had all the jewels and riches you wanted. But you let your weakness destroy you, and now you sit there with a collar like the filthy rebel animal you are. A rabid, feral creature that I'll have to put down soon enough. But not yet. Tell me, Miss Harlow, what happens in a career pack if the leader dies and it isn't due to one of its members?"
Again Macaria knew this one, it had been drilled into her for years and she could recite the answer without even really thinking.
"It creates a power vacuum, and the others fight to fill it. Usually it ends with the entire pack destroying one another." Macaria answered
Louden nodded, as if proud, and leaned closer to Macaria. He put a hand under her chin, lifting it to force her to keep his gaze.
"You rebels would love to see me dead. But let me assure you, my dear, of its cost. Imagine the Districts fighting among themselves, on top of the destruction the Capitol will rain down upon them. They'll destroy one another, fall one by one like dominos. If you will, Carena, I'd like you to imagine District 2 burned to the ground. The ruins of your pathetic little quarry settlement smouldering for weeks. Or perhaps with those mountains that surround you brought down on top of it, burying it under enough rubble to hide it for a thousand years."
Those words, those threats seemed to be enough for Louden, who rose to his feet and headed towards the door, pausing to say only one more thing before he left the girl in peace.
"I suggest you get what rest you can. We'll be making a little film tomorrow morning to let Panem know we have a new guest. If you learn to behave yourself and do what you're told like Darrow did, maybe we won't have to launch any attacks on the rebel base for a while."
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 17, 2020 12:11:25 GMT -5
Macaria really should've known what was happening right from the start.
The moment the rebels won the way they started treating Macaria differently. Not putting her in photoshoots, avoiding giving her interviews. And when they did either of these things she was never on her own, and she was usually shunted off to the side, out of the spotlight.
It had been maybe a month after the rebel victory that the new house the former tributes now shared was stormed. Well, stormed was perhaps the wrong word; their familiar rebel uniforms had led to the others letting the soldiers in without any complaint, thinking them friends rather than foe. Sure, it was unusual for the rebel soldiers to just show up to the house like this, but there had been no reason for them to assume they meant any harm, given that they were rebel fighters themselves.
Macaria had been sitting in the living area on a couch, but she instantly rose to her feet when the small group of soldiers entered the room, trailed by the rest of the tributes. Her training had told her never to assume that any unfamiliar person didn't mean harm to always be on alert and on your feet if anyone who was armed was nearby. And she knew these few soldiers would be armed.
"Macaria Slayte?" one of them questioned
Macaria nodded, but did not relax even slightly. Holly, who was standing a little behind the group of soldiers, shared a look with her. A look that told her Holly understood her wariness, that she would have reacted the same way too.
"Macaria Slayte, otherwise known as Carena Lethe Harlow, I am arresting you on suspicion of being a traitor to the rebel cause and an opponent to the new government of Panem…"
The girl tuned out then, in shock as she seemed to watch the soldier talk without hearing any words. A traitor to the rebel cause? She couldn't have been further from it, at least not since she'd left the Arena and certainly not since Alessandro's death. She couldn't think of a thing she'd done to arouse suspicion.
Deep down, though, she recognised the true reason behind this. She was too controversial. She'd murdered, and not in the Amadrya kind of way where it was in self-defence or to protect someone else. Just pure, cold-blooded murder. She was a career, traditionally ardent supporters of the Capitol and certainly not considered trustworthy, and she knew she must had alienated her home district with her plans from the Arena to kill Everest. She was a good fighter, a weapon, but ideologically she was dangerous now that the fight was political, not physical. She was dangerous for the image and could not be controlled. Even Holly had a way the rebels could control and moderate her; Burton. She was truly a loose cannon.
"It would benefit all of us if you came quietly," one of the other soldiers started "I'm sure none of us want to cause a fuss here, Miss Slayte."
She could make a fuss, if she wanted to. Refuse to go with them. But it didn't make any sense to do so. It wouldn't benefit her, it wouldn't benefit any of the others.
Holly caught her eye again. She'd stepped forward as if to stop them, only to be stopped by one of the soldiers holding an arm out in front of her. There was fury in Holly's eye, though, barely contained. She knew her own gaze must be looking the same. This was disgusting, really. What kind of repayment for Macaria's services in the rebellion was this?
Holly have her a nod, though, a small but determined one. Macaria returned it as two soldiers stepped forward to grab her, one taking each arm and marching her towards the door. Immediately, though, she struggled, wrenching her arms from their grip.
"I can walk," she insisted stonily, and the two soldiers accompanied her side-by-side out of the house.
________
Macaria sat in a relatively small cell in what had been the Capitol, but was now the new seat of government for the rebels. It was much nicer than the cells the others had been held in when they were in the Capitol; this one, while a little bare, wasn't cold or too uncomfortable. It had a bed and even a small window, through which the girl could keep track of whether it was night or day.
In fact, it was around noon when she heard footsteps heading down the corridor, which soon were revealed to belong to one of the guards that constantly kept watch there.
"Slayte, you have a visitor." was all she got by way of an explanation for the unusual appearance of the guard at her cell.
The door opened to admit a girl shorter than Macaria, with pale skin and raven hair. A girl whose brilliant green eyes looked Macaria up and down before raising one dark eyebrow.
"Jesus, Two," Holly commented "you've looked better."
She probably had. Getting a brush to her hair hadn't been easy, and the food portions hadn't been particularly generous. She knew she must be looking tired, pale, drawn.
However, she was able to give her fellow tribute a smirk.
"Why, thank you for noticing, I was trying something new," she replied, before the smirk changed to a genuine smile and she continued, "Hey, Holly."
The door shut then, and Holly knew the guard would most likely be waiting outside the room for a while before it was time to come in and tell Holly to leave. That left them with at least a little privacy.
"So," Holly said as she took a seat next to Macaria on her bed "they're giving you a trial?"
"Yeah, in a couple of weeks," Macaria nodded, tucking some hair behind her ear "a public one."
She had never felt so vulnerable or young. So much like a kid. She was so used to having someone telling her what she should be doing that without it she felt a little afraid, confused.
"They're just trying to bolster their image," Macaria continued "and getting rid of me sends a clear message that they don't approve of anyone who even slightly seemed to support the Capitol at any point. That they can't include careers, former loyalists, or murderers in the new Panem. I've heard the guards talking, they think it's a certainty I'll be convicted, and from there I'm not sure. They'll want to make an example of me."
That was the way of it. Perhaps she'd die the same way Alessandro did, publicly executed for political gain. And ironically, perhaps even convicted of very similar crimes.
"We're not going to let them do that," Holly said firmly "they've agreed to let all of us speak at the trial as witnesses. I'm going to lead, make a statement in your favour. Burton, Maddie, Ari and Everest too. From people you tried to murder, those statements are going to hold plenty of weight."
That spark of hope that ignited in her must have been visible even in her eyes when she looked at Holly then, her eyes widening.
"Really?" she asked, before becoming a little doubtful "but why are you doing all this for me? After everything I did to you and the others, I can't see why you'd be so determined to stick your neck out, put your reputation on the line, to help me."
"Are you dim?" Holly replied with a laugh "we're teammates, right? Sisters, even though you annoy the shit out of me. You deserve more after everything you did for us and the rebels than all this. Just trust me; on the day, leave it to us. We'll speak up for you, as the people who've seen you at your worst. Okay?"
Macaria nodded her assent and then wrapped Holly in a hug, not caring that the other girl stiffened for a bit before she finally hugged Macaria back. Holly still didn't like hugs, but who cared about that right now? Certainly not Macaria.
"Thank you," she whispered
It was just as they pulled away from the hug that the door opened, the guard finally returning to tell Holly she had to leave.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 28, 2020 14:35:25 GMT -5
TOPIC WARNING FOR BLOOD AND TORTURE
Macaria remembered sitting in the rebel base with Holly shortly after the latter’s rescue from the Capitol. An uncomfortable distance was kept between the two girls; Holly and Macaria were starting to get along, but as of yet Holly still firmly maintained that she hated Macaria.
She was, of course, still in mourning for Alessandro. Just starting to spend more time out of her room and with the group, even staring to manage training again. It was a long road, though, and she couldn’t see the pain ever going away.
She wore dark clothes, her dark hair tied back in a messy braid. Alessandro’s ring sat on her finger, for she never took it off. Sometimes she looked at it when things were hard, ran her thumb over it to calm herself down.
Unable to bear the tense silence, at last Macaria sighed and looked at the dark-haired girl sitting near her. Holly had been resolutely avoiding any interaction with Macaria the entire time they’d been alone in the room together, but now the District 2 tribute wasn’t going to give her a choice in the matter.
“Okay, help me out here,” Macaria began, ignoring the irritated sigh from Holly, “what am I supposed to do?”
Apologising wouldn’t help. One thing Macaria knew about Holly was that she wasn’t the type to just accept an apology like that, no matter how genuine. Words didn’t mean much to the District 8 girl.
Holly levelled her green eyes at the former career. Normally the vibrant colour seemed to have movement and life in it, like a moving canopy of leaves. But looking at Macaria they were hard and cold, like emeralds. It was enough to make a knot form in the girl’s stomach.
“Show me,” Holly said sharply “Prove to me that you can do just one unselfish, half-decent act in your life. One good thing.”
Macaria raised her brows then, looking at Holly with a mix of pleading and curiosity. She was relieved Holly had even spoken to her, but now she needed more answers. Needed to know more about how she could prove to Holly that she was in the rebellion for the right reasons. That she could be trusted.
“Like what?” she questioned, twisting Alessandro’s ring around her finger in the midst of her nerves.
Holly rolled her eyes then, seemingly not impressed with that response.
“Still playing dumb after all this?” Holly responded “you’re a smart girl, Macaria, you’ll figure something out.”
——————
She remembered waking up in Everest’s arms, aching with the sharp pain resulting from Holly knocking her out. Blood dripping on the snow from the new wound in her arm after the girl had cut out her tracker.
Hair soaking on one side where she had lain with her head in the snow, the other side dry but still with some snowflakes in it that had frosted into her hair while she lay.
From then, the war had begun.
Macaria’s personal mission to take down Louden, by Holly’s side or otherwise, resulted from it. Unfortunately for her, it hadn’t been successful.
She’d been knocked out for a second time during an attempt to infiltrate Louden’s building.
The next the girl was aware, she lifted her head from her chest, blinking a painful light out of her eyes. But the groggy expression on her face soon melted into one of pure fear.
She had tried to move only to find she was held fast. Sitting in a chair and bound with her arms behind her back and her feet tied to the chair. Her hair was messy, her skin covered in cuts and bruises. The knives she always carried were gone, her rebel clothing removed to reveal only a ripped, dirty tank-top that had originally been white, and black pants. It seemed she’d put up more of a fight than she remembered.
“Ah, perfect,” said a voice “that look of terror, very cinematic. Just beautiful.”
That was a male voice, one Macaria recognised all too well. A voice that made her blood run cold. She hadn’t seen him before; he’d been standing behind the blinding light that she now realised was a light for the camera that was pointed at her.
“We’ve been steaming live for several hours now waiting for you to wake up,” Louden continued “this camera feed is going directly to the rebel base, and all of Panem too. So they can all see how weak you and the rebels are.”
Macaria didn’t say anything then, her gaze fixed on Louden for a few moments before moving to the camera lens. The rebels were seeing this?
Louden moved then, clicking his fingers to force Macaria’s gaze to snap to him. Jolting her back to reality, keeping her senses sharp despite the fuzziness still in her head.
“Don’t go all spacey and numb on me,” he mocked “I want you aware for this. It’s so much more boring when they shut off.”
Apart from the light behind the camera, the room was relatively dark. However, there was still enough light for her to catch the glint of a knife blade in the president’s hand. She looked at it, and Louden must have realised she noticed it from the way she stiffened, because he smiled a low, menacing smile.
“That’s right, we’re going to play a little game. This is one of your own knives, not unlike the ones you used to attempt to kill Holly Alandria in the Arena, yes? All those cuts? I thought we might do something like that today, since Panem never got to see the ending. I’m going to ask you some questions, and if you don’t answer, you get a new cut every time. Got that?”
Macaria didn’t need to nod or respond then, because he was already approaching her, rolling up the sleeves of his suit as he stood in front of her.
“I don’t take any pleasure in killing children, Miss Slayte. But the rebels have forced my hand here, choosing teenagers as their figureheads.” he said idly as he stood by her, examining the blade to ensure it was sharp enough.
“And yet you’re having so much fun,” Macaria said with a raised eyebrow, before letting her expression drop and her eyes fix firmly onto the camera “go ahead and ask your stupid questions already, I don’t have all day.”
Louden seemed to smile then, taking another step so he was right next to her, gently pressing the tip of the blade into her arm until a small bead of blood bubbled above the surface, coating the metal slightly.
“Where are the rebels getting their weapons from?” Louden questioned
“Sapphire Ridgeway, District 1.” Macaria said calmly in response, “Elliot Sawyer and Destiny Ghere, District 3.”
Louden’s brows furrowed then, his jaw clenching as he pressed harder, causing Macaria to grit her teeth.
“What are you talking about?” Louden asked lowly, his voice full of barely contained frustration already
“I’m naming your victims. Only from this year, of course. Just kids who didn’t matter.” Macaria said defiantly, only looking at Louden briefly “Jonas O’Dell, District 4. Otto Wildes and Astrape Vetton, District 5.”
Louden’s eyes seemed to flicker with anger then, and he abruptly shut the girl up by making the first cut, a deep gash with the knife in her arm, causing Macaria to cry out and blood to trickle down her arm.
“Where,” Louden repeated, emphasising the words in his anger “are the rebels getting their weapons?”
Macaria still didn’t flicker then, keeping her eyes on that glass lens. Knowing they were watching.
“Carlo Valentine and Ireena Pivy, District 6. Elijah Korryn and Corvina Briar, District 9. Hunter-“
Another cut, this time just under her collarbone. Another cry from Macaria, who dropped her head for a second as she struggled in the chair. That just wouldn’t do for Louden’s beautiful shot, though, and he pulled her hair to force her head back up. Macaria obliged, looking once again at the camera. The rebels would be watching. She could do better than this.
“Fine. Who are the rebel contacts within the Capitol?”
Macaria could just name Livia then. It would make the pain go away, at least for a little bit. Louden might go easier on her if she gave him a little bit of information.
But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
“Hunter Williams and Riley Romanov, District 10. Harper Leighson and Darius, District 11.” Macaria continued, her voice strained now as she struggled with the pain, though the torture had only just started, “Gus Fairwish, District 12.”
Another cut to the arm this time, but lower. More towards the wrist. A scream this time as hot, thick blood ran down her arm and her hand, dripping from her fingertips behind her.
“I’ll try that again,” Louden continued impatiently “who are the rebel contacts within the Capitol?”
“Alessandro Rune!” Macaria blurted out, tears in her eyes now “District 1. Halina Flynn, District 4. And those of us still alive. Everest Stonewell, District 2. Amadrya Darrow and Ari Casas, District 7. Holly Alandria and Burton Acton, District 8. Robin Etienne, District 12.”
Another pained cry and desperate struggling in her chair as Louden started to carve a pattern into her face, using his hand covered with her blood to keep his canvas steady.
“What is the date of the rebel assault on the Capitol?” Louden asked, his voice growing more and more impatient now.
But Macaria, trying to calm her ragged breathing, just blinked slowly into that same glass lens.
“Carena Harlow, District 2.”
That was more than just her saying her own name as one of Louden’s victims. It was a message to the rebels. One to tell them she knew she was going to die, sure, but still more than that. A message to tell them her real name. That would help her find her records, or even her mother and sister’s graves in District 2. She wanted to he remembered under the right name.
That answer earned her another cut along her arm and chest, but Louden repeated the question once again, pausing to wipe the blood from the blade.
“What is the date of the rebel assault on the Capitol?”
As he asked the question he leaned in close, grabbing her chin to force her to look at him rather than the camera.
She looked at Louden then, and found herself starting to laugh. A strange laugh that bubbled up in her chest and broke out, blood dripping down her face.
“God, your breath stinks,” she commented with a weak smirk “must be all the shit you spew. No but seriously, you should see a dentist. You might have a condition.”
The mocking went on in that manner for quite some time. Louden questioning her and Macaria responding only with taunts or defiance. Making him angrier with every new comment, but also refusing to give him any rebel information.
Finally, though, Louden has completed his little picture. He’d even cut at her wrists, so she was bleeding out slowly, but now he held the knife at her throat.
“One last chance, Slayte, before I kill you here in front of all of Panem. Who is providing the rebellion with their funds and resources?”
Macaria just smiled then, though at this point she was almost too weak to hold her head up. The world seemed less saturated, colourless and grey. It swam dimly before her.
“Holly, are you watching?” she murmured, her speech slow and slurred by now “Did I do it? One right thing?”
One more cut from Louden, and that was it. All of the rebels, and all of Panem, would see as the light drained from Macaria’s eyes.
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Post by Sparky on Aug 28, 2020 14:50:04 GMT -5
[ damn. Louden does not slouch. ]
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 28, 2020 15:15:22 GMT -5
(No, but at this point who’s surprised?)
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Jan 3, 2021 2:39:41 GMT -5
Getting out of the capitol was strangely uneventful, at least, the main building. Robin was strangely insistent on getting out of that dress she had, though each of her three companions rejected the idea with vigor on claims that they weren't about to let her streak for the rest of the mission.
Holly still remembered her deadpan glare, and comment of "A girl had to do what she had to do." Still Holly pushed the girl practically out of their escape window, and that was that. Both were stuck in their dresses, which was pretty much fine by Holly's standards, since it meant living a little while longer.
Paxton was the quiet sort, it seemed, and Catullus hadn't done much talking either, only nervous glances around. He'd never admit it, Holly was sure, but he could be such a stickler to rules, easily riled up and nerve-wracked when things went awry. It was strange, given the fact that he was friends with a crazy knife-wielding maniac, an ax-wielding forest giant, a poor excuse for a fisherman, a sassy child from District 7, and a nimrod orphan (who was Holly). By Holly's standards, it should have been a given that literally any situation could turn dire and awry, given the fact that they were fugitives in the country.
Literally, she was pretty sure the peacekeepers had some new orders that were just kill on sight.
Sadly, despite pushing the girl from 12 out of a window, Robin's point that they stuck out like sour thumbs still stood. Even a better point, however, was how hard it was to move in a dress. Paxton kept guard as everyone righted themselves in the ally. He seemed to know the coordinates and placement of their escape vehicle.
"Why are you even helping us?" She finally questioned as she shook out some of the nerves clinging to her skin like glitter. Glitter too was sticking to her skin. It was a horrible day.
Paxton scoffed at her, gun in hand, protective stance covering the ally, hiding most of them from view. "My dad's an asshole?" He responded, glaring back at her for a moment, scanning her with his eyes with another scoff, "Why are you helping?" He questioned, almost teasingly as he looked between Burton and Holly.
Gaze lingering on the tall son of the asshole dictator, Holly's green eyes scanned Burton's, whose eyes were wide and searching her own, before she turned back to Paxton with a muttered "Touché."
Silence, a walkie talkie Paxton had came to life, the staticky voice delivering orders to search for the 4 runaways. As Holly would predict, Robin, Burton, and herself were all kill on sight if need be. The son of the tyrant was apprehend with bounty. So killing him was a no go, it would seem, which could probably help them out if they had to play a hostage situation out. Cruelly, and probably uncalled for, she decided to comment on it, "Still you're daddy's golden boy, aren't you?"
He gave her a warning glance, lips clamped firmly to a close. Chuckling, she snatched a knife from his belt, working on cutting the fabric just below her knees for easier management. It was easy for her, given her experience with fabrics in District 8, though she mourned the tattered expensive cloth. Even as a prisoner, the fabric was worth so much, it would have been able to feed Burton's family for weeks back at home.
There was too much of the fabric to keep, though she secured a ribbon from the tatters fabric she cut, tying it resolutely around her arm, unable to waste all of it.
"Holly," Robin whined, pulling at the corners of her own dress, which she stumbled over, "Stop fawning over the skeletons of the dress and get me out."
The younger girl earned a glare, "Robin, I literally have a knife." Holly's warning was a barely concealed threat, "And I might not be Macaria, but I know which end to stab with, and I'm pretty sure that gives me an advantage."
Robin shrugged, and Burton pushed himself between the two. Holly paused her smirking as she spotted the blue hair enter her line of vision, smile falling. She missed the brunet color, though he gazed at her for a moment, smile on his own lips. A sense of normalcy, reminding her that it was her friend. "Sorry, ladies, but we don't have time for a duel," Her turned his back on Robin, resting one of his hands on Holly's, the hand with the knife. "We'll talk about everything later," He assured, and a sudden clarity entered Holly's mind.
Oh shit, She thought, because through the rush of adrenaline, she almost forgot her whole confessing that she loved him and risked her life for him thing. She couldn't do anything about it now, she could barely tell what emotions the asshole before her was feeling underneath all that makeup.
"Y-yeah," The grounding realization that he might have changed caused her to lose her confidence. She loved her best friend, but he left. That hurt, but she wasn't innocent in it all either. What she did, the note, all of it was much too confusing, much too fast. Macaria would never forgive her, of they got out of this alive. She forced out a nod, registering the feeling of him giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, before he pried the knife from her fingers.
"Hey!" The yell was soft, she couldn't be too loud at the moment. Catullus- no, Burton grinned back at her, the upturn to his lips indicative of his good mood as he turned on his heel, offering the knife to Robin.
The ginger girl roughly snatched the blade, scoffing all the while, "Oh look at me, I'm so in love with my best friend, I'm just going to get allll-" someone pushed the girl from 12 as she cut at her dress, the mockery cut short.
"Robin, shut up," Holly ground out, thankful for her own makeup, as she retreated back slightly, hair still held up in fancy ribbons and jewels, "At least I'm not a traitorous little shit who ratted out others just to save my own ass."
Robin stuck her tongue out, childishly, as Paxton groaned out in annoyance. "How do you rebels get anything done? Literally? How?"
"Charming good looks and personality?" Burton threw out, smiling bashfully, as he approached Paxton from behind, keeping in mind to stoop down and hide behind the various pieces of décor and trash that littered the alley.
"You have neither of those traits," Holly threw back, coming to stand beside him as Robin finished messily cutting at her dress. Holly snorted at how horrible the cutting had went for the girl, the closest approximation that came to mind would be is Macaria had her way and cut up Holly. Holly's own dress was not much better, tattered and all, but much cleaner, it looked less like someone tried to cut through Robin with a bone saw, at least.
"If you are done bickering," Paxton commented, drawing their attention back to the tallest member of the group. "Which I sincerely doubt you ever stop as it is," he still didn't waver his gaze, "We have company, 7 O'Clock."
Holly followed his gaze, sputtering the telltale waver in the air that signified a hovercraft, her own eyes widening. "Golden boy, is that good or bad company?"
"The lack of people dying suggests it would be friendly company," Paxton deadpanned, sighing as he rest his head on the hilt of his gun, "I thought you were smart?"
"I just broke into the capitol who wants me tortured and dead just to check on my friend," Holly snorted, pushing past the taller boy without a care in the world, it seemed, "If you thought I was smart you're a dumbass."
"She has a point," Burton piped up, pushing past Paxton to pull Holly back before she went and paraded up the streets of the Capitol. "Holly, what are you doing?"
There was a strong scent of gasoline and the telltale smell of cleanliness to the air, with a gentle wind pushing by that tickled the skin on Holly's face, reminding her of the layer of makeup which felt like it was suffocating her the longer it was on. "The longer I'm in this dress, the more I want to die." She looked back at Burton, green eyes wide, "So I was going to go and tell them to hurry up."
The chuckle she was met with was like a familiar song in her ears, and she was met with a blinding smile. "You can't just walk out like that, what if someone saw you?" The raised eyebrow seemed like a challenge, she shrugged.
"I literally said this dress makes me want to die," the reminder almost made her feel bad, reminded her of Halina, keyword being almost. "There's no one around anyways."
She was right, the streets were bare of people. Well, the location they were in, it was a small clearing between building, but there was no doubt that in some places, one would be able to be spotted by guards or peacekeepers. She had to amend them for their planning, it was perfect. Unexpected. A voice broke her from that reverie, gently, but imploringly beckoning her, "Holly, I'm serious, I don't want to take another chance at losing you."
She paused, freezing in whatever teasing comment she would have normally given. Burton was being earnest, kind, and gentle. It felt like a confession, a reaffirmation of the bond they had before he left. Maybe more, maybe less, but it was a reminder.
"Gross, gross, stop." Robin butted in, pushing herself between the two of them, rolling her eyes. "How do the others in the rebellion put up with this all the time?" She questioned, to which Paxton seemed to agree to her comment, "Is that why they sent Burton off."
"Another word, 12, and I'm going to kill you myself." Holly ground out, roughly pushing at the younger girl to get her away from herself. The interaction caused her to pause though, glaring back at Paxton as she was reminded of his presence, and of the others back in that hidden base.
The son of Louden was disconcerting, to be fair, he looked like someone who had her friends and herself tortured. He was related to him, and trust never came easily to Holly as it was. She wouldn't be too surprised to see this all as some dramatic reveal Louden planned out, just to have fun with them. Make them think his son was on their side, make fun of them when he turned his back.
He was their only shot, though, so she elected that she had to trust him for now. That didn't prevent her from being rude, or asking questions, however, "So, golden boy," the small twitch of his eye gave away that the name irritated him, which meant she would keep using it, "What exactly are we waiting for?"
"The others," He retorted back, vaguely, waiting it seemed. The comment gave no answers to her questions, and she sighed out, deeper.
"And who are the others?" the question hung in the air for a moment as the hovercraft finally made an actual movement and appearance, shimmering into view. It landed, heavy metal scratching the Earth before them, loud and yet impossibly quiet.
"You're smart, Alandria," Paxton retorted, snorting at her glare, "You figure it out."
When she glanced forward, she hadn't expected to see the open doors containing the person it did. A person she had hurt, who surely must have hated her. Macaria's eyes met her own, scanning her with the common apathy that reminded Holly so much of the manipulative girl that used to hide those emotions. A girl who lost someone she loved, a girl forced to kill someone she looked at like a sister.
A girl Holly hurt, and betrayed, and knocked unconscious just days prior.
Macaria's shadow loomed over the 4 as she ran out of the hovercraft, pulling her fist back as she socked a good hit on Holly, who immediately buckled back slightly, glaring up at the career. Slightly gearing up for a fight, mourning that fact, mourning that fact more because she was in a dress, and even more because they were here, of all places.
No second hit came, and Holly was surprised when she heard a soft cry from Macaria, who pulled her then into a hug. Macaria had pulled another person into a hug as well, Burton it would seem, and the three lingered, reunited.
"I guess I deserved that, didn't I?" Holly chuckled out, wetly.
"Shut up, 8."
ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ Sparky Hope you enjoy the new chapter.) |
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Feb 1, 2021 8:44:55 GMT -5
Nobody had been able to convince Macaria not to join them on the hovercraft to the Capitol, no matter how much they tried to encourage her to stay behind and get her wound checked. And to make sure she hadn't frozen half to death lying in the snow like that - which, for the record, she hadn't. Holly had made sure of that by leaving her close to the base and easy to spot.
Macaria Slayte was more than a match for her fellow rebels, even with her injured arm. Amadrya was strong but not as fast. Everest had been her district partner and they'd trained together in the Academy. She knew his fighting technique as well as her own. Fighting was like breathing to her.
Not that it had come to fighting. She'd looked so scarily determined that nobody had dared stop her.
Eventually they'd reached the Capitol, and Macaria had moved to stand at the doors of the hovercraft. She'd get them safely inside the hovercraft, she'd agreed with the others. Besides, she had to settle a score with Holly. You didn't knock out Macaria Slayte and not expect her to have something to say about it.
She knew betrayal was part of the game, whether for the right reasons or not. Betrayal had been her entire Hunger Games strategy, after all. But she hadn't expected it from Holly. They might not like one another much but they respected one another, they were sisters. This hurt.
When the hovercraft landed, Macaria was already in position. The brunette watched the doors slowly open, revealing four figures on the other side. One blond boy she'd never met but recognised instantly. One brunet boy - or, well, he should be brunet naturally. Instead, tones of blue caught the light in his hair. A redheaded girl, and at the sight of her it was hard for Macaria to calm her boiling blood. She'd been there when Arlo died.
But then Macaria's eyes settled on the final figure. A short girl with black hair, standing in a dress that had been hacked off (though maybe hacked wasn't fair, the cuts actually seemed fairly neat, the deft work of a District 8 resident) below the knees.
And when the District 2 tribute saw her, a wave of relief and emotion washed over her. Happiness that Holly was still alive; Macaria had obviously been carrying fear for the welfare of the girl that she hadn't even realised she held before.
Still, she worked hard to suppress a smile, approaching the group at a run. The very first thing she did was draw back a fist and sock Holly as hard as she dared. That was for knocking her out and leaving her bleeding in the snow.
The smaller girl moved back slightly, and her green eyes glared as sharply at Macaria as one of the career tribute's own throwing knives. Macaria noticed how Holly seemed to prepare for a fight, muscles tensing in anticipation of having to defend herself or hurt Macaria once again.
That was what made Macaria stop. That Holly really thought she had come all that way just to hurt her for what she'd done gave her pause. More than that, she was once again overwhelmed with emotion at the sight of her friend. Macaria in general didn't emote much, or if she did it wasn't extremely genuine. But she couldn't avoid the tears pricking at her eyes this time, the relieved leap of her heart. The lump in her throat and the tightening of her lips.
She let out a cry, involuntarily. It was some strangled sound she was sure she'd never made before apart from perhaps when Alessandro died. She pulled Holly into a hug, another thing Macaria never did, as a rule. But this situation was different. She thought she'd lost Holly. Thought she'd lost another friend. The last person who understood her.
She thought another sister had died for her.
After a second, she reached out and looped an arm around Burton, pulling him into the hug too. The boy had let out a surprised yelp at the suddenness of the thing, and was stiff. He never truly relaxed into the hug, which Macaria understood. Not only had Burton just gone through a lot, but he still struggled with Macaria sometimes after the hurt she'd caused him. He treated her kindly enough, didn't treat her differently from the others really. Burton was too kind for that. But he got nervous sometimes around her, struggled to be close to her. Which normally suited Macaria just fine because she didn't like being close to anyone.
"I guess I deserved that, didn't I?" Holly chuckled, wetly
Macaria let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, though it got choked by the emotion in her voice. She was trying exceptionally hard not to cry; she had a reputation to keep up, after all.
"Shut up, 8" responded the taller girl, affectionately, as she released her friends from the hug and shoved Holly affectionately.
Holly, as always, had a quick response to that. One Macaria should have predicted, really.
"Which 8?" she asked, and Macaria could see the beginnings of a smirk on her face.
"Just get in the damn hovercraft before we change our minds and leave you here, okay?" the District 2 girl smiled, rolling her eyes
And so they did; all four of them headed into the hovercraft, Macaria at the back of the group. Once inside, the doors closed behind them and Macaria took a seat next to Holly.
The seats looked very much like the ones in the hovercraft that had brought them to the Arena. She was sure it was an unpleasant memory for most of the tributes, though Macaria had actually been kind of excited at the time. Scared, but exciting. This was the thing she had been training for her whole life, and no matter how scared you wanted to be that brought a certain amount of excitement.
Macaria cast a sideways glance at Holly, taking in the dress once again before she faced again to look at the metal wall of the hovercraft opposite them.
"You look good, Alandria. What do you call that hemline in District 8? An 'angry goblin child'?" Macaria joked as the hovercraft prepared to take off, clicking the seatbelts together as she spoke.
"I call it an 'I'm going to kill you if you don't shut up'," Holly shot back, but she was still smiling
"I mean it, you know," Macaria said after a moment, her tone far more genuine this time, her words more gentle "That dress is nice on you."
Holly didn't say anything to that, but Macaria could tell by the way that Holly's eyes dropped back down to the dress and her gaze softened a little that she appreciated the compliment, even if she didn't like the dress. Which Macaria could tell she didn't.
There was another moment's silence before Macaria spoke again.
"Is knocking people out a habit of yours?" she asked, obviously referring to the story Burton had told of Holly knocking him out in the Arena "because if this is going to become a regular thing, a heads-up might be nice."
"Only when said person is being stupid," Holly answered "which you were."
Normally, this was the point where Macaria would point out that Holly had gone and done the very thing she'd knocked Macaria out to try to prevent her from doing. The irony of that wasn't something that was lost on the District 2 girl. But right now she was far too happy that Holly was alive and safe to want to start an argument.
"You ever do that to me again and I'll cut your hand off and feed it to your cat." Macaria warned "but I'm glad you're okay, Holly."
Holly looked at her properly, then. Her green eyes mat Macaria's own green-and-brown ones. They shared a proper smile, then.
"I'm glad you're okay too, Macaria."
Neither of them needed to say anything more. Neither of them were the type to elaborate on their feelings and get all dramatic about things, anyway. Well, Macaria might, but only if she needed to.
Another pause, before Macaria's expression turned mischievous and her eyes gained a new glint.
"So..." she began quietly, voice hushed so as to stop the others from overhearing "did anything happen with you and Glitterboy over there?"
Holly groaned in annoyance at the question, which actually made Macaria burst out laughing. It really was as if nothing had changed.
Good. That was the way she'd hoped it could be.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Feb 7, 2021 9:16:34 GMT -5
"Ladies and gentlemen of Panem, may I present the victor of the 90th annual Hunger Games!"
That voice had rung out across the empty Arena, bouncing off crumbling walls, as Burton stood over Everest's broken body, shaking as he dropped the weapon he'd held in his hands. It fell to the ground with a dull thud, throwing up a small cloud of the dusty earth.
He hadn't known what else to do. Burton had never wanted to actually kill anyone, not that it was easy in the Hunger Games to avoid it. He'd known that, known it right from the start. He'd never been the type to claim he wouldn't take a life in the Hunger Games; Burton liked to consider himself a good person and even an optimist, but he had seen too much of the world to truly believe he'd stood any chance of winning without killing people. And he cared more about returning home to his sisters than he did his own morals.
He staggered back, weak. He'd sustained many wounds in the Arena. Some from fights, some from Arena events; some of them he couldn't even remember. He'd done his best to keep them from getting infected, cleaning them out like his parents had shown him when he was young. Still, he'd known when the skin around an injury to his torso had started going red and tight, when his head had begun to feel warm, that he didn't have much time to get out of the Arena if he wanted to live.
His head was swimming. The light hurt his eyes, his thoughts occasionally bled into incoherent rambles, and every limb felt weak. He wouldn't have killed Everest if it had been a fair fight; even in Everest's own weakened state, the career could have killed Burton no problem. God, one could push Burton to the ground with one finger in the state he was in at that moment and that would have been it for him. But Everest had begged for Burton to end it.
Everest looked like he hadn't eaten in a long time, nor cared for his wounds. Burton knew for a fact it was nothing to do with starvation; the supplies the career pack had gotten at the start of the Games would've still kept Everest going up to this point. No, it was the guilt that had caused the other boy to waste away. Guilt over killing Amadrya. Burton remembered her, remembered her interview and had seen her in training. She had been one of the older tributes in the Arena, she'd volunteered if he remembered rightly. Tall, strong; built like a truck, really.
But it was love that had brought her and Everest down. Trust was a mistake many made in the Hunger Games, in fact one Burton had made himself. Thankfully Holly had been honest and trustworthy and it had worked out for him. Not so for Everest and Amadrya.
In the end it had been an act of mercy.
He was really going home, he realised as the familiar drone of the hovercraft could be heard, its winds whipping at Burton's dirt-stained skin, tugging at his dust-thickened hair.
____________
After his recovery from the Arena, it was a simple matter of healing him and getting him back to the Capitol. He'd allowed the healing of most of his wounds, but he'd stubbornly placed a hand over the injury to his cheek when the Capitolites suggested removing it. They thought he'd want his smooth, unhurt face back.
In the end Burton had agreed not to the cut's removal, but to its tending to so it didn't get infected. The infection he'd already had was curable within moments with Capitol medicine, every injury gone as if it had never been there. Except for that cut on his cheek, which would scar because of his refusal to have it removed.
Good. Burton wanted to remember.
"Remember?" Burton's mentor had scoffed "believe me, kid, they'll never let you forget. They'll trot you out like a zoo animal once a year. They'll show your Games whenever they feel like it. No aspect of your life is going to be private, and nothing about your Games will ever be forgotten. You'll have plenty to remember, trust me."
How Burton wished he could say he didn't believe his mentor, but he did. He'd have to watch a summary of his Games during his interview that very night, and then in six months he'd have to go on the victory tour around the Districts. Be reminded of the people who had died. The 23 children who had lost their lives so Burton could stand there that day.
Holly. They were bound to want to discuss her, it was just the sort of sadistic thing the Capitol would want to focus on. Just to rub salt in the wound so the Capitolites could sigh over their doomed love - or friendship. He was sure they had been debating whether the two had been in love or not for weeks already.
He needed to get home to District 8 as soon as possible and see his family. That was the only way he would ever start to feel alright.
But for now, he had to let the Capitol fawn over its newest victor for a while.
So he stood in a suit, Livia's signature blue but with a gold laurel wreath embroidered on the lapel and around each button of the suit jacket. To symbolise his victory, no doubt. The material felt foreign after the outfit he'd been wearing in the Arena. Too fine, too rich and too heavy.
He knew the routine, had seen it many times before. The victor was crowned and then sat down on a 'throne' for their interview and to rewatch their Games. He was about to have it all brought back to him, the feeling of relative safety (at least, compared to the Arena) that had only just started to return about to be torn away.
Still, if there was one thing Burton Acton knew well, it was how do play the part for the Capitol. So he'd come out onto the stage all smiles and waves. A modest, slightly nervous smile. As if he hadn't just fought for his life. As if he hadn't just killed. As if he hadn't spent the entire Games terrified out of his wits. No.
Just as if he was a nobody factory worker from District 8 who was surprised and thrilled to have won such an honour, to have been given the admiration of the Capitol.
He'd stood on the mark they'd told him to walk to, stopping and watching as Louden approached him, smiling a tight smile as he laid a gold crown on Burton's brunette hair.
Burton had stood a little stiffly, hoping and praying that this would be it. Louden would crown him and step aside, no further interaction.
But of course it wasn't so; Burton caught the President's eyes drifting to the boy's cheek.
"You kept your scar?" Louden commented, a mix of surprise and curiosity in his voice "interesting, not many choose to do that. I didn't take you for the type who liked to keep war trophies, Mr Acton."
Burton had to swallow down bile at that. Of course Louden thought that was what it was; it was normally careers who won and in their cases, if they chose to keep a scar it probably was some kind of hideous trophy. A celebration of the killing they'd done. The very thought of it was disgusting.
"I want them to see it," Burton replied evenly, looking over Louden's shoulder at the crowd.
He hadn't just kept the scar for him to remember. He'd kept it for everyone else to remember too. For the Capitol to never forget what they'd done to him. To be reminded of his humanity when they felt tempted to treat him like an object or a doll. A plaything.
The boy's blood ran cold for a moment, though. Because he could swear that Louden's gaze had hardened at those words, lips thinning and body tensing a little. He'd made him angry.
Good.
Somebody should. If Holly had been around it would have been her; it was the least Burton could do to get one dig in at Louden for her sake.
Besides, he was angry about what they were about to do to him. He needed to show Louden that it wasn't okay. Damn the consequences.
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