Myrtle Raude – Capitol – 2nd Market Place, Villanon Apartment 322, Floor 4, Second door down on the left

5 years ago

epiphany…

It was warm in the room.

The middle of summer had brought with it an unkind, sweltering blanket and the room's poorly equipped air conditioning unit could not battle it any longer. The only sign of life was the slight sputtering draft coming from the vent in the ceiling. It was dented a little, but the frame was begrudgingly holding fast above. The ceiling was cracked slightly too; flakes of paint hung precariously from the corners where the beige met the dark shadows. But it was most flaked around the one vent, still pumping that tiny bit of fresh air.

It was cold under the vent.

So that was where Myrtle sat, sweat dripping across her temple, form hunched over the ancient wooden desk. Her place was small, but her desk was even smaller. The area had just enough space to cozily fit herself and her prized computer. The 'L' shaped room was complete with a bed in the nook a small closet to the right of it. The bathroom was even smaller, but let's not go there.

The aged wallpaper glistened in the humidity – pink and cream wallpaper lines shining under the setting sun. Myrtle tossed open the patterned curtains earlier so that the window could be open – just a crack and nothing more. The curtains were ugly. Everything about the room that Myrtle was renting was horrendous. But it was almost free- the rent was so cheap as the landlord used it as an old storage unit prior to selling it for living. It would never sell to any normal Capitol-going individual.

Only to Myrtle. Only Myrtle would lease a run-down hole on top of the building overlooking the long blocks of the Capitol.

Aside from the boiling heat and the crummy air conditioning, Myrtle liked to say her home was peaceful and quaint. With a little paint job here and there – or everywhere – it could be cleaned up.

But that was a thought for 'Later Myrtle'. The heat was gluing this Myrtle to her chair, and there was no way she was leaving her spot for anyone or anything.

She tapped the pencil on the table, listening to the tell-tale signs of a bustling city as the sun descended over the horizon. Soon enough there would be a roar of crowds and cars and chattering to and fro – Myrtle didn't fancy the night scene. It just wasn't for her. So, as the sun finally shed its last ray across the old wallpaper, she shut the window and threw the ugly brown, patterned curtains across. While they didn't do much to block out the charming sounds of Capitol frolicking, it was good enough.

Myrtle sighed deeply, a slender hand gripping onto the back of her chair as the other reached to her face and wiped under her eyes. She had been working on this project for so long, so long, and did not know if she could continue. She was put out. The demands of the Capitol put her on a pedestal that showed her off like some prized pig at a fair. It was horrifying to think that if she messed up now, everything would fall. And even Myrtle was aware that no one would be able to catch her if she did.

A knock interrupted her thoughts, and her head swiveled to where the door would be just around the corner. She didn't know who could be visiting her so late in the day – the time had flown so fast – but nonetheless she wiped her shirt in attempt to rid its wrinkles and paced over to the door.

"Who is it?"

"A burglar, Myrtle," The high pitched voice responded mockingly. "I've come here to rob you of your dusty rugs and dead roaches."

Myrtle unlocked the door, throwing it wide. "Not funny, Rebekah."

Rebekah raised her eyebrows and lifted her arms. In each hand was a white bag, no doubt some kind of home-cooked meal gone wrong. "But I bring gifts, so you forgive me." And without waiting for an answer Rebekah strutted into the room, ivory white hair flowing behind her like an ocean breeze.

To Myrtle, Rebekah was very much like the sea: calm but turbulent, playful yet scary. Closing the door and placed the chain back in place, Myrtle turned back around and crossed her arms. "So what brings you to my hole-in-the-wall, Stylist-to-be Morrison?" Myrtle quipped, narrowing grey eyes at the woman before her.

Rebekah, either to absorbed in her own daze – muttering something along the lines of how Myrtle should really get to redecorating – or didn't hear her, proceeded to place the bags onto the shaky coffee table and clap her hands quickly.

"Oh! Such good news Myrtle!" She gasped airily before falling onto the couch with a dramatic flourish. "I heard from, well, you know who I heard it from, who heard it from Maximus, who heard it from Nygel, that the serum you've designed tested positive!" She crossed her long legs over each other, displaying shoes that looked like a cross between a traffic cone and a combat boot. "Oh, Myrtle. Gosh! This means everything! So, I thought it would be nice, as your loving and dear friend, to bring you a gift! To celebrate of course!" Rebekah continued, her high, silky voice pouring into the room with an energy that Myrtle always left outdoors. More specifically, the Capitol energy that Myrtle left outside. But the assistant Game maker was never able to truly escape the suffocating aura that came with the living in such a place.

Myrtle sighed, reaching up to wipe the lenses of her squarish glasses that hung on the bridge of her nose. She was already aware that the results would be positive. She had already accounted for it to work. But, Myrtle supposed that the notion by Rebekah was… touching.

"And I know that you've already heard all the crazy buzz about. It's really sending some of the upper executives scrambling!" Rebekah giggled, bringing a gloved hand to cover her face as if keeping a very nasty secret from spilling past her pale, orange-glossed lips.

"What do you mean?"

"Ah- You mean you don't know? Golly, Myrtle it's a dog eat dog world out there!" She laughed uncrossing her legs and leaning forward.

Myrtle couldn't tell if it was the obnoxiously high laugh or the suspicious glint in Rebekah's deep brown eyes that made her freeze.

"I mean," Rebekah started, lacing fingers together. "That Head Gamemaker, Lukas Archimedes, is dead."

Myrtle felt the breath leave her body. It was like someone had taken an icy claw and twisted it straight around her heart. Was it still pumping blood? She couldn't hear it anymore. Where did her breath go? She needed to sit down.

"Passed away this morning!" The guest continued, hands now threading through her long, light locks. "Tragic really, I know how close the two of you were…" Rebekah let the last words slowly roll of her tongue, eyes watching as Myrtle slid into the seat next to her.

"Yes," Myrtle finally spoke, placing her glasses back onto her gaunt face. "It is such a pity."

Rebekah smiled and delicately placed a gloved hand onto Myrtle's knee. "Cheer up, love. I have food for you! Free of charge because I am quite amazing!"

Myrtle nodded numbly and watched as the stylist in the room unpack the white bags, unpack the white boxes, and lay out the silverware delicately onto the teetering wooden table. Throughout it all the ivory haired woman was chattering on and on, laying her sweet words and ignorant rants onto deaf ears. Of course, Myrtle would provide her own two cents here and there, but Rebekah was a self-propelled motor. And just talking about her future, and the latest gossip was enough to keep the amicable environment for a few hours.

At long last, the plates were clear and the boxes empty. The food wasn't bad – unlike a home-cooked meal, this was sure to be from one of the nicer restaurants in the promenade. Rebekah picked up the boxes, shoving them with little care back into her dainty white bags, and made some comment about how she would be with more care if she didn't have somewhere to be. Myrtle reassured her of course but Rebekah was flushed and ready to go.

Opening the door once more, Rebekah said quick goodbyes and goodnights before shutting it and strutting down the hallway. Her traffic cone boots felt like a solemn call to what was to come; the marching of soldiers perhaps? Or maybe something more?

Rebekah, stepped into the elevator, pressing the ground floor button, and pulling her white fur coat closer to her frame.

She knew that Myrtle was an asset to have on her side. The assistant Gamemaker was key to the future, and when Rebekah would finally step into her role, she was sure that Myrtle would as well. Pressing the 'close door' button several times, the door finally slammed shut.

But what was that expression? Rebekah pinched the bridge of her nose, her mind frazzled.

And why was Myrtle's apartment always so cold? There's no reason for it to be! The weather had just begun to warm up, maybe enough to bear without a coat but still cold enough for boots to stay in style.

Rebekah heard the final ding and rushed out of the cramped space, quick to find the exit and back onto the considerably quiet streets given the time of night.

She shook her head. No, she must be imagining it. Almost scared to, the ivory haired woman turned to look at the window on the fourth floor that Myrtle occupied.

Did the curtains rustle or was it too dark to tell?

Rebekah quickly walked away from the building, nervous.

What was that expression…

When the stylist had announced that the Gamemaker was dead…

Why did Myrtle smile?

Hi again! So I've been really inspired lately as I've been going crazy with boredom and my gears started turning and well... Look where I am now. I guess I should probably introduce myself more formally for those that don't know me! You can call me Zero, Isa or Regi (Most say Zero because it's way easier but Isa/Regi are my irl nicknames!) I am definitely new to the SYOT realm but I have done a crazy amount of research and I would love to give this a shot. I am currently trying to make a blog so just send me some tributes and we will get rolling!

Also! I've been noticing that some people have been doing chapter questions, so why the heck not?

1. Thoughts on Myrtle?

2. How is y'alls quarantine going? Mine is very relaxed other than all this unpacking I still have to do haha rip