So, I have no idea how this started. Call it what you will, whatever ship names you want, whatever universe you want. I'm excited about it though. For those of you who don't know, this is set within the Toxicverse. A beautiful universe with three beautiful stories (and an ongoing fourth) involving some of the best written SYOTs out there. Seriously, these characters are not mine. Though I wish they were. One is (kinda) but not really XD. Basically, go check out Crush or be Crushed: The 204th Hunger Games if you want more context. Though if you haven't read it, you'll hopefully still get the gist.
Enjoy.
The rain could be heard softly against the window pane. The faint knocking echoed around, in-and-out. Each drop sounded distinct, sharp. A creature of its own, perhaps, who could tell. Iroas enjoyed the sound of the rain. It created an almost ghost-like sound that reverberated harshly throughout the vacant hallway. The water made the absence more bearable.
Only a sociopath would enjoy the silence. Iroas knew he was no sociopath. He was a smart boy. Smart because he knew the density of rain. He knew such smart things. Such smart things on how blood was only a red, liquidated clump of cells that spilt from a wound. Such smart things, as how crushing a man's esophagus with your thigh (and adding the right amount of torque), can snap his neck. In five different places, as a fact. Things on how to keep close watch, how to eat your body weight, and holding your breath underwater for three minutes.
Baths were dangerous because of Dad. Noted.
Dim light fluttered in, the spectrum casting private silhouettes and shadows where none stood. The house was distilled, as if in a snowglobe. Something rotten was in the basement, yet nothing lighter in the attic. Iroas could tell. He felt such security in that knowledge. A bang came from upstairs. Mom was up. She would be coming down soon. Then, the day would start.
Iroas perched up, knocking on the window twice for good luck. Dad would want him to help clean the locker room. To be honest, he'd rather be with mom than with him. At least she was honest. Dad always kept him at bay, though Iroas could tell something was…simply off.
He'd asked Mom about Dad. All she said was "the fucker'll teach, and you'll listen, Iss. Or I'll bash your brains in."
Iroas deemed it suitable to not bother asking further questions.
The clouds coated a blanket against the outcroppings of the Village. It was early dawn. Already, Dad had noted, behind schedule. Iroas noted that too. He was proud of that. The tight grip was loosened as Mom got ahead, looming over her father. She always loomed. Iroas hated when she did that. She always had to have the air, had to have the significance he lacked. Dad stood there. He paid her no mind.
Iroas kept close to them as they entered the market, cutting through the common folk as if they were water. The rain had let up some, though drops continued caking the ground. A hovercraft went overhead. Iroas murmured the anthem under his breath, making sure to keep iambic pentameter with each syllable. As they neared their destination, Iroas saw the Capitolian flag loom ahead.
The Justice Building.
Dad had told him to keep silent. He'd said it was a test. Iroas hated his tests, he had no idea what he was being tested on. And every time he completed one, all Dad said was "well done, son." A sly wink. "You're like a fish in water, aren't you?" As if that was suppose to answer everything.
So Iroas kept himself composed. Silent. Mom went first (she always went first), and Dad followed suit. As Mom went behind the huge wooden doors, he motioned for Iroas to come close to him. That meant he wanted to talk.
"Now, son, you must have some inclination as to what we're doing here, don't you?"
"Yes, Father."
"Well, what might that inclination be?" It was phrased as a question, yet sounded more like a demand.
"Mom is putting bad people away." A smile.
"Good. You know why, don't you?"
"Because she's the only one who can." Another smile.
"Do you know why?"
"Because she's strong, stronger than any of the other puss-people here." Iroas caught himself from using Mom's language. He only got to speak like her on the weekends, when Dad was working.
"Exactly! Well, I'll be, you'll be winning the grand prize in no time!" Hair ruffle. It was supposed to be playful, yet Iroas felt the detachment in the action.
"Dad?"
"Hmm?"
"Is she stronger than you?"
A pause. Iroas looked up at his father, his golden hair still feeling a tug from his father's hand. The blue eyes pierced back at him. Mute, unmoving, mirthful, empty.
"Oh, oh yes she is, son." A smile. "Strength, such a funny word." That was more to himself.
"I want to be as strong as her someday."
Dad laughed at that, which upset Iroas. He didn't think that was very funny. Though Dad patted him on the back, and kneeled down to him. "And I'm sure she'll be incredibly proud of you. Just…like I am." Another hair ruffle.
Iroas would have responded, but the doors opened. They were ushered inside the large room, where Mom stood near a bench to the side. As Dad walked them through the aisle, the spectators in the room started taking pictures. Mom seemed angry. Though, she always seemed angry.
There were two wooden chairs in front of the bench, with a metal desk. There were two holes in the desk. The desk was placed in the center of the room, the only source of light being a barred window in the high right corner. Two Peacekeepers were guarding a small door in the left corner. Seven others stood around the room in total, which was in a pentagonal shape, Iroas noted. Mom and Dad stood together, unmoving, until a faint moan was heard in the distance. Suddenly, the two Peacekeepers guarding the little door moved aside, as three more ushered in a prisoner in chains.
The three dragged her across the room, keeping a dark bag on her head. She hardly moved. A faint muffle was heard from behind the bag.
They sat her down, lifting her forearms and locking them into the chain posts on the desk (Iroas was forgetting the name of them). The three Peacekeepers then left the room through the door, as the other two resumed their place.
A group of black-suited men (and women) entered the hall. They took positions around the prisoner, with the one in the white pantsuit taking front position. The white-uniformed woman focused her eyes down on the slumped body sitting in front of her. With one swift motion, she removed the bag. The prisoner's body jolted, her eyes wide as she took in her surroundings. Iroas could tell she probably was unused to the light.
The White Woman cleared her throat.
"We are gathered here today to discuss the crimes of the accused against our beloved Capitol. The accused stands against having committed disruption of the beloved Two-Hundred and Fourth Hunger Games, as well as aiding the release of fugitives Mr. Reid and Mr. Keating, now labeled enemies of the state. Aiding and abetting rebel intentions, encouraging anti-Capitol sentiment, and using lethal force on Capitolian agents. Gathered here are witnesses, to attest for your crimes." There was a moment of contention as the woman stopped speaking. The prisoner only kept her head down, with what seemed to be a considerable amount of restraint.
The White Woman seemed dissatisfied with this. She motioned over to where Mom and Dad were standing, with what seemed like a look of pride. "The Victors of the Two-Hundred and Fourth Hunger Games; how do you find Miss Tarsus?"
The prisoner raised her head. Her eyes locking right into Mom and Dad.
Mom and Dad looked at each other. Then, together, back at the prisoner.
Dad smirked at her.
Mom snarled at her.
"Guilty."