Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new chapter for Bombs and Bullets, Chapter #29: Death Has No Allegiance, another chapter of the Phoenix Rebellion, once again switching over to the Capitol character side of things. Last chapter had zero deaths on either side - shocker, I know - and had further divisions, such as the Phoenix Company heading for war, Jason brought into Amaris's clutches - therefore Bonnie's - as well as Satin getting caught in the hands of the Capitol... and things are ramping up super quickly, for there's just eight more chapters left after this one, ladies and gents. I must also pay note to the new profile picture for Bombs and Bullets, done by thorne98, which is a portrait of Rennie calling people to join the Phoenix Rebellion... and it's so amazing, isn't it?! Go give him love for it; it is so nice of him! Also, I have a new SYOT called Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Death which is an SYOT focused on the 1st Hunger Games, and with a whole new tribute cast and OC cast: go check it out and submit! Without further ado, I hope you all enjoy Chapter #29: Death Has No Allegiance.
~ And so sayeth the Lord, do not underestimate the powers of wickedness and evil, and what violence they can usher down on the forces of good.
Bonnie Rodney: President of Panem P.O.V
She can tell that she's starting to lose the blonde coloring in her hair. Occasionally Bonnie will brush a few locks of hair behind her ears, and in the tangle of fingers locked with silly strands, a few gray ones will come out from the brute motion. She plucks one from her scalp, holding it out in front of her, frowning slightly. What a strange thing, aging. She knows she can't live forever, nor has she ever considered the idea of doing something that crazy, but it has drifted by her mind once before. Would she be able to concoct some sort of mutt that gave people who drank its blood the ability to live forever? What would living forever look like? Would she age... would her mind deteriorate as while the years passed on? Bonnie has no idea, truth be told, and she's willing to admit that she has no idea.
Rodric Oxford is dead, the rebel armies will be moving into position, her Head Peacekeeper is glaring at her when he doesn't think she's looking, staring at him from across the room, and her second-in-command, Constantine Fallorne has disappeared into her dark playground and no one can conjure her out of her playpen. "Leave her there," Bonnie tells a squadron who had begged to go after the madwoman. "Leave her there to rot. She'll starve to death or rejoin society." She knows that her Head Gamemaker is the one who had given the order to destroy the training center, twisting the knife that is already plunged into her gut. No matter, it can be rebuilt, sure, when the plague has been driven out of the Capitol and out of Panem, when the redhead who shall no longer be named ends up with an axe to the brain stem. She might be the one holding onto it.
Bonnie stands in the back corner of their underground base, craving to go back out and see the sunlight. It had been dangerous, sure, to have the execution out in the daylight hours with the whole city open to them, but Bonnie knows that if anything is going to get those idiots who call themselves The Phoenix - what a stupid name, by the way - need a spectacle to unstick their heads out of the sand, like ostriches. Or emus. Or whatever the fuck, Bonnie didn't pass biology when she had been a little girl. She's standing up against would be considered the kitchen counter, if it that is what it can even be described as, a short elongated piece of concrete with a cabinet above it. There's no coffee, just water, and she does not like drinking something without flavor. Call her immature, if you want. She'll have Lazarus shoot them, is all. Free to say whatever they want with a bullet embedded in their cranium.
The president sighs, resting her head down on the counter, or the concrete slab, she doesn't particularly care which it is. The team of Amaris and Aris should be back soon, from their excursion into the maintenance tunnels after whomever set off the Peacekeeper substation alarm. She is against sending them, but Amaris O'Hara offers to go instead of just sending troops after a group of tributes, but the way Lazarus looks at her, and how Aris Lindel seems to be on the verge on wetting his pants at the idea of being a used soldier, she sighs and relents. Why not make another mistake in war and send these goons to die? They are expendable, truly, but Bonnie knows she needs as many tributes on her side. A collected group of the D1M, D2F, D4F, D6M, D9M, and the D10F is an odd mix of people, people she would've never expected to see survive together, but most of them are Careers or rich, or both, and that's all that matters.
"You thought Rodric would support you," Calhoun's voice tells her in her head, mocking her. Her husband still mocks her, even from the makeshift grave that is the trash bag floating in the river. "And how did that turn out for you, sweetheart?"
Bonnie pulls the cup of water next to her, which she's even placed in a coffee cup, for she is not about to break routine. Breaking routine is fatal, and there is no way she is going to let her mistakes become fatal when fighting a war. If she dies, what'll happen then?
She rubs one finger around the rim, lifting her head up so her stare is bearing into the cabinet, which is not made of concrete. "You'd have been so proud of me today, Calhoun," she whispers to herself, picturing her husband's face in the wall, a mold of plaster and pale flesh, with his dark blue eyes and brown hair and that smile that could melt candlewax... and the hands that could open canyons in her being; sometimes she misses him more than she wants to admit, but she doesn't regret pulling the trigger. It is one of the few things in life she's never regretted. "I didn't physically kill anyone today," Bonnie frowns to herself, lipstick smearing on her teeth as she sucks her lower lip into her mouth. "Okay, that's not quite true, but I didn't give the order."
She sighs, resting her head against a curled fist, blinking away dredges of an ill fated nap. The city might be hanging onto a thread, and the peace of Panem on an even thinner line still, but the country is only as strong as the leader keeping it together, and she needed to sleep. "The Oxfords treated me like trash," and she places a hand over her heart. "I mean, you should've heard what the boy had said to me when he saw the gallows. I should've had him killed right then and there with what he said, but I didn't," she leans forward and smudges her finger on the wall, as if she were flicking her husband's nose. Bonnie only hopes someone isn't looking; Calhoun hated when she did that, so naturally her response is to do it more often. "I had that twerp from Two hang him, and Lazarus shot the parents dead in front of me... and it was glorious," she whispers again, leaning into the wall, grinning to herself.
It had been quite beautiful, taking a sizeable bite out of the forces that Rennie - she blanches for a second, forgetting the rule that she is not to think of the vermin by name, but only be hair color or that stupid title of his - brought with him, right under her very nose. She never took him to be that smart or savvy, but Bonnie forgets that he literally had been an underling of hers for several years designing mutts in the arena. As far as Avoxes go, he's the one with the most brain power, most definitely. She isn't sure of the exact number, Lazarus unable to give her an exact count, but there are two thousand Peacekeepers who'll be fighting tomorrow, at dawn, with whatever firepower she can use in the fight, and if Constantine were to pick her phone up, the mutts of the arena at her disposal.
Who cares if the rebellion fighters don't have bombs or planes or mutts at their disposal... warfare is not about equality.
Bonnie takes a sip of her water, reminding herself to add a hint of lemon to it, as sour tastes have always acclimated to her tongue better, when Lazarus's voice begins to rise in intensity on the other side of the room.
"Where have you been all this time?" her Head Peacekeeper shouts at someone Bonnie cannot see, she whirling around to see Amaris and Aris stumbling back into the base, and Aris pushing someone inside, the person falling out onto the floor in front of Lazarus.
She sets her mug of water down, making her way across the room to them. Bonnie looks up at the monitors as she passes, but there's been nothing to report, she having a majority of the technicians go up into the mansion to sleep. The bomb had been a neat trick, sure, but there's no other device planted anywhere in the mansion, as far as she is aware, and she can rest easy knowing that, for she's returned to her bed for the nap and last night's sleep. Bonnie reaches Lazarus, and her allied tributes, while Amaris scolds Aris, helping the collapsed figure on the floor to their feet.
"Jason Lacey," Bonnie finds herself saying out loud, when finally coming to a stop. The boy from Nine dusts his knees off, his mouth set into a hard firm line, dark hair slightly dirty, and there's a welt just above his right ear, which she looks over at Aris shiftily, who seems to be incapable of maintaining eye contact.
"He's the only one you could get?" Lazarus asks pointedly, and then takes a look over of the two tributes, whose uniforms are splattered in blood. "And what the hell happened to you?"
"Hey, don't talk about me like I'm not here!" Jason bites back, but the Head Peacekeeper is motioning at the sides, where two soldiers come from either side, grabbing him by the arms. "Hey? What the hell?"
Bonnie steps up between the trio, but Jason is taller than her, so she's looking up at him, which is rather awkward to begin with. "Welcome, Mr. Lacey," she smiles. "I hope you had a nice trip, and an even better stay," and then to the Peacekeepers. "Put him in Rodric's old holding room."
"Rodric's old holding room?" the boy from Nine spits out, struggling in the men's grips to no avail, as he's hauled off. "Old?" his voice rises in warning. "You murdered him, didn't you? You fucking bitch!"
She ignores the raved ramblings of Jason, bringing her attention back to the two tributes who seemed to have melted into the walls, trying to hide the shame that is evident on their faces from downturned brows and frowns, and Amaris's posture has morphed some into a hunchback. "I would've never thought a mayor's son could have such a filthy mouth," she affronts, plastering a shocked expression on her face. "As if you're one to talk, Miss Loose Lips," her mind snarks back, Bonnie swallowing heavily.
Lazarus has placed his helmet aside, and his eyes are liquid rage, but he's not looking at anyone else except for Amaris. "I told you by any means necessary to get all six tributes back here, and you only bring one. The least valuable one, who got the weakest training score," he crosses his arms over his chest. "Soldier O'Hara, explain yourself."
The girl from Six glowers back at her superior, and Bonnie sees a bit of herself in the glare, but doesn't say anything. "Well, they used any means necessary to get away from us. They killed four of our squad, and on top of that, had one of the air cannons with them. I'm lucky I got one of them."
"Lucky?" Lazarus's voice rises again, and Bonnie even steps back away from him, keeping one eye trained on the white of his uniform. It is for certain, Lazarus Pietro would make a terrible lover, for he raises his voice way too often. The one time Calhoun raised his voice at her, raiding her office all those months ago with that pair of underwear in a bag underneath his arm is the angriest she's ever seen her husband. Her Head Peacekeeper seems to burst in emotion every ten minutes. "You're lucky, Soldier O'Hara, if I don't revoke your title and have you arrested for failing the mission."
"Look," Aris cuts in, and Amaris raises an eyebrow at the support, Bonnie watching it all like a viper in the sand, waiting for its next meal. "Jason's the best one of the lot anyway," and the boy's eyes glisten with excitement. Bonnie can practically smell it wafting off of him, cinderblock dust and the stench of sweat. "His father is mayor, and he leads a sizeable chunk of the rebellion army, doesn't he? Cut the head off of the snake..."
"And the body withers away to die," Bonnie finishes for him, locking eyes with the Career. She looks at Lazarus, who has lowered his arm which started to rise in the air a bit, but he doesn't say anything. The president tucks another blondish gray strand behind her ears, bringing her hands together. "Unlike Lazarus, I won't scold you. It's better that they escaped and didn't kill you, than everyone dying, as I know Jason will be useful," she lifts her head up some, lips twisting into a smile. "Mr. Lindel, at first light when Lazarus and the others go to meet the rebels in Gamemakers Square, you can join them, soldier."
The boy's eyes widen with glee, he about to explode like a bottle rocket right there and then. "Wait? Are you serious, ma'am?" She forgets that he calls her ma'am, but unlike when Lazarus does it to be respectfully annoying, or Pollux who does it to mock her, Aris's usage is full of child-like behavior, filled to the brim with mirth, and no other ulterior usage of it. "Thank you!"
"Wait?" Amaris interrupts, cutting the Career's carpet ride of love short, he glaring right back at her with the intensity of an erupting volcano, but the girl from Six has her eyes trained on Bonnie. She can see the subdued fury in the way the girl clenches her gloved hands, seeing the tightening of the leather around the bicep. "I- I won't be joining them?"
"No, Soldier O'Hara, you won't be," Bonnie decides, and she doesn't smirk at her; Amaris is likely to punch her in the mouth if she were to smile. The girl goes to protest again, which she might be in the right to do, but Bonnie is not releasing control that easily in the situation. She raises a hand up, silencing Amaris in her tracks, and the girl returns to morph into the wall. "I understand that you're a regular Peacekeeper back in Six, Soldier. But you and Mr. Lindel here both came to me demanding to be useful, and so far, Soldier O'Hara, you haven't been a useful follower. Mr. Lindel on the other hand obeys our orders and doesn't talk back," she crosses her arms together. "He will go into battle, alongside Peacekeeper Pietro and the others, and with him gone, I'll need a bodyguard," the girl locks her jaw, going to argue again, but Bonnie shakes her head. "Do I make myself clear, Soldier?"
Amaris's eyes are weathered thunderstorms, filled to the brim with hate, frustration, and rage. Bonnie has seen that same look in her own reflection a time or twenty. No response at first, but Lazarus takes a step forward, clearing his throat. Amaris's shoulders fall, her arms flopping sagely to her side. "Yes, Madam President, order heard loud and clear."
"Good," Bonnie says back, but she cannot resist the smile this time. "See, Calhoun?" she tells herself, hoping he hears her from whatever circle of hell he has decided to rest at. "I am a competent leader. Eat your heart out, baby."
She's often heard from people that death has no allegiance, that it comes for anyone and everyone, but Bonnie believes in the idea of immortality now, from her mutts.
Death has no allegiance, that is true.
Death has no allegiance except to Madam Bonnie Rodney, and she'll make sure that all of Panem will never forget that.
Kevia Janelle: Victor of the 84th Hunger Games P.O.V
"You're joking, right?" Kevia asks aloud, not realizing she had spoken quite as loud as she did, hands on her hips, looking up at the building before them. "I mean, I really just assumed you were joking, but..." her words trail off as she locks eyes with Hale, raising an eyebrow. "You were serious?"
"Dead serious," Hale nods, smiling. "A safehouse."
"Please tell me that this is not what I think it is," Hector says, finally catching up to the two female victors, he shouldering a backpack, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.
"Arizona and I's apartment? Why yes, yes it is," the victor from Two grins, looking at her companions. A blossoming flare of happiness spreads in Kevia's chest, flowing down to the tips of her fingers. She can't recall the last time she saw Hale smile before her husband had been thrown in front of a train. To see her smiling again... the bitter seed only plants itself deeper into her stomach, as Hale moves on, heading to the front door. There is not a single soul out in the streets, Kevia feeling like she's back in high school sneaking onto the land of the Victors Village homes. Lance Viel had already won, and she wanted to get a glimpse of him, he being five years her senior after all, and tall, dark haired, and handsome. Handsome perhaps being overrated, now that she thinks about it.
It is the red dot of a Peacekeeper gun square in the middle of her chest that got her to freeze in place that night, with the man's voice kindly - it sounds nicer when she plays it back over and over again now, rather than eighteen years ago when she does it at seventeen years-old, hellbent on telling Lance why she deserves the nomination to be volunteer - telling her to stop trespassing. She just wants to see what the homes look like on the inside, cause there's no way they're all identical or anything like that, that simply can't be possible. She needs to see all of them beforehand so she can choose which house she wants to move into after she wins. Kevia tells the Peacekeeper that, but then a second dot appears, this time at her heart, and the water in her mouth dries up instantaneously. She has her hands up in a 'surrender' motion before scampering off back to her house.
A week and a half later she's granted the nomination after taking down Tatiana something or other, clubbing her on the underside of the jaw with the foam sword she had been practicing with. The tributes the year prior didn't do too hot, as she recalls, one falling to their death in the bloodbath of all places, the other making it to the final ten before the girl from Two put a knife into their brainstem. Kevia swears that it wouldn't be her having that fate, there's no way she'd ever let anyone humiliate her that way. Seventeen year-old Kevia Janelle would dislike the woman she's grown to be, and Kevia won't deny that. The years haven't turned her kind, but vindictive, and the jealousy only spikes higher and higher, looking at the back of Hale's head, with her gorgeous hair - Kevia's isn't natural anymore, she lost that ability soon after winning - or having children...
"Not that I've ever tried before," she tells herself with a sly smile, thinking back to summer thunderstorms where the rain pelts the windows at a forty-five degree angle, but all she can hear is her mouth on his, kicking underwear into the corner of the room, and the creaking of a bed. Sometimes she cries during the sex, but Kevia isn't sure if it is because it is painful in that moment, or she is thinking about Hale getting Arizona and having such a wonderful, beautiful fucking life that she's never been afforded. She sees her district partner in his face, though the two look nothing alike, his dark brown hair, and the ally's bright electric curls, and that has her cry, or has her scream... she isn't sure any longer. "But you stole that away from her," Kevia's voice inside her head takes a more charged tone, angry, and ticked off, as Hale and Hector make their way to the back door, sandwiched between another building and an alleyway. "You got her husband killed and her kids taken from her. How happy do you think Hale's life is now?"
She bats away a single tear that has slid down her face, realizing she is simply standing up against the brick wall of the other building, rather out in the open, a ray of sunshine basking down on her face. It is alright, however, as she recalls Hale's assurances. Arizona bought the entire building, having the funds to do so, to just buy an entire apartment building, but it is that the entire building is just one house, just one single home that is their dream pad. There is a charted route that they take, accessible from any point in the city where there's a direct path to take from any singular point to the apartment, dodging the security cameras, and the skies are clear of any planes or hovercraft... the trio is in the clear. Kevia clears her throat, running over to the other victors, trying to wipe away the flushed red spots on her cheeks.
A victor does not cry. A victor never cries anymore.
How does Hale do it? How has Hale somehow not succumbed to the terrible atrocities she's committed in the Games? Kevia stops sleeping with him just because she can no longer remove the identity from the face, to disassociate himself from the man above her. It might have been because she flirted with her district partner, before seeing an arrow sprout out of the back of his head, blood splattering on her face, but Kevia has never sat with the idea long enough to confront it fully. It is one of the reasons she had even entertained the notion of writing down the letter to Bonnie, exactly a year ago today, Kevia realizes with a stunning moment of clarity, one that has her wince. To have the perfect, idealized Hale Cornerstone feel what it is like to be dancing on thin ice, as if she's never been there before.
"And what a fuck up I've done instead," Kevia tells herself, but there are no tears threatening to appear again. She reaches the back door as Hale pats around on the wall, brick pieces sticking in and out like some sort of monument, the door a solid gray color. Hector rests up against it, arms crossed, looking a little worse for wear, but as Kevia anticipates, he's the one abused more in Bonnie's clutches simply because she can do it to him with no one to stop her. He raises an eyebrow at his sister in law, as she continues patting around a empty space, having pulled a brick out and dropping it to the ground.
"Uh, Hale, what are you doing?" he asks her.
The individual in question sighs to herself, maybe a bit more exasperated than what is necessary, but Kevia can understand her frustration. "I hid a key behind one of the bricks and..." her voice trails off as she pats around inside the hole, Kevia half expecting her hand to be bit or stung by a rat or scorpion or somesuch thing. "I know we never moved it, and there's no way the Peacekeepers would've found it or... aha!" Hale yells out triumphantly, wrenching the key out of the brick cell, even holding it out in her hand for Hector to see, her excitement a bit overwrought for such a thing. She inserts it into the lock, twisting left and around in a circle, pushing the door open with a wide swing, the hinges creaking as it hasn't been used in a month.
Hale removes the key from the lock, Hector stepping inside just after her. Kevia takes a step forward, pausing, and looking back behind them. The coast is clear, streets and hallways and building balconies eerily silent. Kevia has never heard the Capitol be so quiet, that she could pick up a pin dropping all the way in the sunset landscapes of District 10. She shakes her head, blonde hair billowing down like a plume of smoke against her neck, it slick and sticky with sweat. Kevia steps into the air conditioned environment of Hale's apartment, closing the door behind her. The owner of said apartment has collapsed onto the floor in the center of the room, Hector chuckling to himself with a smile. Kevia tries to keep the ire from burning too greatly; she feels sorry for the woman, for someone who is supposed to be her equal, but she doesn't have to like her. She's never liked her, to be honest, and this type of behavior simply exacerbates that.
"We'll be safe here?" Kevia asks, trying to remove the frown on her face, for she can feel the muscles pulling downwards ever so slightly, always a change in demeanor, to be the Debbie Downer of the gang.
"We should be," Hale says, and she sits up, but Kevia is unable to read the expression on her face. "There's a security system installed that will go off if someone even as such steps a foot in front of the door, windows, or what have you," and starts pointing. "Locks on every door and window, the plants in front of the windows are rose bushes with thorns that Arizona never had trimmed..." and then with a smug smile, so befitting to her, Hale turns her hands over, palms to the roof. "Three Hunger Games victors to contend with."
The gun in Kevia's waistband feels heavier now, as Hale talks. She's never fired a gun before, and did take a knife from the armory as a backup, just in case, but Kevia hasn't killed anyone in such a long time, that having a gun pointed at her face is nothing she's ever prepared herself for. The army, with just Rennie, Valencia, and Lance would be heading into position to meet the forces from the districts, to fight against Bonnie's Peacekeepers, in which Lazarus will surely be a part of. A seed of guilt buries itself into her stomach, as if she's been sucker punched, and Kevia takes a seat in the chair closest to her, some sort of wooden thing that might fall apart at any minute. Hector has chosen to stay up against the wall, arms folded over each other, his brow furrowed together in pensive thought.
"We leave in the morning?" he asks, but he's asking it to the two of them, not just to Hale.
"Yes. First light. The fighting will be happening, and it'll be the perfect time to slip in undetected," comes Hale's response, a moment later. Kevia has no idea why she isn't freaking out, as her own heart is racing inside her chest.
Kevia squeezes her eyes shut, blocking out the conversation. Did she leave all the others down in the streets to die? Has she abandoned the tributes that she never truly got to know to their fate, fates they willingly volunteered for? Meanwhile, she's racing across the abandoned city in a game of search and rescue, while her friends and her loved ones are sacrificing their lives on the frontlines... a frontline she said she'd be there for. She can't leave now, however, she couldn't do that to Hale, and couldn't do that to Hector, as she is the one to stand up and volunteer herself for the rescue down in the prison cells while the administration is distracted. She knows what she's gotten herself into by choosing to be a part of the rebellion, but that bitter seed of torment grows and grows every day, until it blooms into a flower radiating in pain and suffering, headaches and distracting ivory lights in the sky.
First light. No one is to sleep in the beds, they'll hang out in the living room and keep watch, to see if there are any Peacekeepers that come by, and they'll eat some sort of granola snack in the pantry that shouldn't have gone bad if they're tracking the cards right.
Yet she cannot shake the feeling that she is about to lose Valencia and Lance, feeling that pit burrow and fester, turning her stomach acid into curled milk, a splash of vomit hitting the back of her throat. Valencia, sweet Valencia, her darling cherub, someone she's shifted and molded into the best tribute she's ever seen with all the troubles she's faced in the arena to come out of that cesspool stronger than before... someone who's only briefly tasted a morsel of victory before being swept up in Bonnie's politics... if she dies, did she even get to live? Has Kevia even gotten to live?
Hector and Hale have started to converse with each other, talking about how the sleeping arrangements will be made, but Kevia pays them no mind, her thoughts going to Lance. She swallows a silent sob in her throat, a lump welling up behind her teeth like someone trying to force her mouth open and expel the scream. His hands in hers, fingers interlaced with one another, or the soft kisses to the back of the head. The anger in his voice as he commands her out of his house, or the stains of coffee spilling down the tile, amid broken shards of porcelain from another shattered cup... and the voicemail, god that voicemail. It is the night before the reaping last year, before the Quell, and Lance has stolen a sheep from Emmett's back yard, gotten stupid drunk, gotten bit by the damn animal, and she's in her cups too, some Sherry and a vodka stinger, quite the delightful combo.
Her own phone rings and rings on the receiver, which is by the counter, Kevia not looking around to see if the receiver is the same in the apartment here as it is in the house back home, but she doesn't get up to answer it. The machine trills and trills, an oceanic wave spurring over and over again, before hitting a beep. "Hey, Kev, it's me," Lance's voice can be heard on the machine, but he's slurring his words. She never considered him to be a huge drinker, but here he is. It's how he starts every voicemail or phone call: 'it's me'. "Look, I'm not just saying this because I'm totally drunk and naked with a dead animal in my kitchen, but-"
Kevia no longer remembers what had been the end of that message, for Lance finishes his statement and the voicemail ends. Perhaps he had expected her to run over right then and there, to jump into his arms and kiss him on any exposed spot of flesh there is to be had - in which that'd be his entire body - but she doesn't get up, for she can only half hear it herself with the vodka buzzing about in her brain. She's asked Lance to finish telling her the rest of the message, but he's yet to do it. Now she might not ever get the chance.
She closes her eyes even tighter, arms clenching on the edge of the chair's arms.
"Kevia, you alright?" Hector asks her, concernedly.
"Kev, what's wrong?" Hale jumps on the bandwagon.
"You don't get to use that name with me," Kevia's voice snarls in her head, but in reality she simply nods, and the sounds of the outside world drown themselves out.
Over and over again she hears it play, but Lance never finishes his statement. Just a trill, and the beep, and the sound of her fists pounding against a doorframe, Bonnie's face, Hale's jaw, Valencia's neck, Lance's sex... all of it overwhelms her in a surging tide.
Leave a message after the beep.
Hey, Kev, it's me.
I'm not just saying this because I'm drunk with a dead animal in my kitchen but...
I think I'm going to die tomorrow.
Constantine Fallorne: Head Gamemaker P.O.V
Chaos has a certain smell to it.
Not something ashy, like she expects, having been one to smell it ever since her husband's accidental end, in which she watches his eyes bug out of his head almost quite literally, glasses falling to the ground and breaking underneath her stomped foot. No, chaos - with a capital C for emphasis, she notes - is one of perfume, a sweet fragrance on the air, but mixed in it Constantine can hear the screams of the dead, the wailing of the widows who are over the broken bodies of their loved ones, the popping kernel sound of gunfire, and in it all, her laughter. Her laughter has a scent to it as well, like alcoholic wipes, or the stench of a cage, rusted over and falling apart. She isn't falling apart, no, but she is watching the country collapse under its own weight.
Bonnie is so useless, Constantine can't believe she found herself drinking from that pool of Kool-Aid. The woman is pretty to look at, sure, and has a nice voice and a good glare, but is ineffective at herding in the cows. She isn't so sure if it is due to the idiocy of her advisors, that meathead Lazarus simply telling her to order restraint and march soldiers out to die on a battlefield, because from her point atop the peak, Constantine sees a burning horizon, and the sky is bleak, on fire with sulfur lacing the clouds. The woman is going to lose the city and her title as President before she even had it. She got what she wanted, and staged a coup to do it. Constantine wouldn't have gone about it like that, with a bunch of bullets and Peacekeepers and bodies thrown in front of trains; it isn't a way to be subtle.
There's a method to the madness, Constantine reasons with herself in her head. It has an extra 's' on one end of it anyways, meaning it is plural, and when there is a plurality to something, there's a process. Madness is a process, and she has read the informational guide of it from Step A to Step Z, backwards, frontwards, and even upside down cause madness is someone's unpredictability in a world of predictability. It seems mad to outsiders, because they simply don't understand. Bonnie views her madness as chaos, but Constantine laughs in its face. The president has not sown the fields of chaos, and there are no hummingbirds coming to suckle the nectar of her reign, but wasps diving in and attacking. You can blow up tons of things at once, sure, but what you're left with is a ruin, and ruins are not good for rebuilding.
Chaos needs to be slowly done over time. If someone is to use violence as an answer, the violence needs to be gradual, not all at once. Of course, Constantine withholds the information and keeps it to herself, sitting inside the Gamemaker Center all alone with her pets down below in their cages, in the Mutt Tunnels, breathing reminders or what a dosage of pandemonium looks like, manufactured devices of madness, rather than simply demanding people be killed on a whim. She has her own plans with them, and there's no one asking her about what those plans are, which has her smiling with glee. Watching the boy from Ten be executed in such a barbaric way, rather than being shot to death like his parents, that has Constantine making a tut noise in her throat. If Bonnie wishes to placate chaos and evil into the heart of the rebellion, she should've livestreamed it.
She doesn't. Constantine has to hack into a streetlamp corner to see it happen. She's not surprised to see the kid be one of the first to go, in a way that is not direct battle, for he never looked strong enough anyways, but Bonnie simply leaves the situation once she gets the order. She has all the ingredients in her hands to make an omelet, and instead she's creating a salad. Constantine would go and give her help, but even after she subverts the order and has the training center destroyed rather than kept together, the administration still does nothing, still lets her leave.
"It's because she can't control me," the Head Gamemaker smirks to herself. "She can't handle anyone she can't control."
It's the truth, and she's seen it from afar, in her subservient roles. Watching Lewlyn from a distance, as much as Constantine hates to admit it, the woman made people fear her, yet in that fear, respect her, especially as she started putting up a new leaf. Calhoun, Bonnie had her husband wrapped around her finger until he usurps her position by not telling her, his own wife, about the ending of the Games. He didn't die because he didn't tell her the truth, or that he caught her cheating, or that she simply wanted to be president, although that might've been part of it. He dies because he oversteps his boundaries, she couldn't control him anymore. She could never control Lewlyn either, never has been able to, and Constantine saw the writing on the wall years earlier, before she's hired to be a Gamemaker.
Lazarus she can control with just a glare, and his strange undying devotion to the Rodney family. Rennie has broken away from her, burning the bridge that would've been their lasting relationship. The moment Lewlyn freed him, the moment Bonnie's tangible hold on the man disintegrates and Panem's future has been written long before any motions were taken in place to set the board as it is looking. Constantine herself, however? She likes to give the illusion that she is Bonnie's equal, that she is being ordered around by a woman whose hair is losing the blonde in it day by day, with a baby she never sees or knows how to care for. As if that woman could even compare. All the woman has to do is stand on a pedestal and look pretty, while Constantine orchestrates her affairs from behind the curtain.
She'll orchestrate the affairs just so she can take the mantle from the blonde haired idiot, she deserves it, as she's going to be Panem's savior. Constantine foretold it once at a game of bingo, where her husband drinks one too many whiskeys and makes a fool of the Fallorne name, when she catches the paper slip of the girl's number - an advertisement, actually, she catches her husband sleeping around with a damn hooker instead of a socialite like all the dim-witted higher-up men do - out of his pocket, that she'll save Panem from some dark future, and her husband is only half listening to her, makes bingo, and proceeds to flip the damn table.
Constantine smells a new scent on the air, from what the chaos settling over the Capitol contains, this time a muskier odor, one of machineguns and sterilized hospital beds, and the ruinous rust of copper flowing down people's hands. The scent of battle is being picked up by the tree branches, by the tenseness of the muscles she sees in the Peacekeepers walking the streets. She witnesses the girl from Five fall dead to the ground with a bullet in her brain, and the brave yet foolish boy from Twelve fight the disorderly in one of the business sectors. The last real exciting moment is when Constantine watches, in a bird's eye view of the Capitol, the girl from One doing acrobatic somersaults across the rooftops of the Capitol to aid in her escape. She sees the roof the tribute stops on, and Constantine thinks to herself how silly the girl is being. Satin Spinel could make out like a bandit in the Capitol, really being another favorite for the audience, able to curry her favor with the president, but she's chosen the way of death.
The Head Gamemaker feels nothing but glee as she notifies the nearby squad of Satin's location, and receiving the feedback that the extraction is a success, and she'll be placed in one of the holding cells being constructed just a bit away from the Gamemaker Center, quite literally a cage extending for about a football field in length. However, what has her raising her eyebrows, besides the gaining mass of soldiers out on the Capitol perimeter, in which she can see Rennie's bright blonde hair stick out like a sore thumb amidst all the heads of dark hair - Valencia is noticed still, just the energy that the victor radiates - is two developments that pop up on her radar.
She is picking out the outfit she'll get dressed in for tomorrow, to witness the bloodbath of dead rebels and Peacekeepers lining, some sort of sparkling crimson thing made out of sequins, and it is backless, great for all sorts of affairs, when a new ping hits her server. Constantine frowns to herself, hands flitting between wardrobe options when she sticks her head out of the little closet on the side of the terminal. Her heels make echoes on the floors, rebounding against the walls, going to the center of the room to look at the screens splayed out in front of her. Two monitors have a notification in the corner of them, Constantine turning around to face the holographic display of the city, each divvyed up into sections, tapping the wo sectors where the notifications are.
Sector X, which is around the aquifer system, and filled to the brim with a bunch of apartments, and Sector A... her area. Constantine raises an eyebrow in surprise. She should be the only one inside the Sector, after all, with everyone in the tribute center dead. The notification seems to be pinging from underground, but she addresses the Sector X notification first. There are no assigned Peacekeeper squads or patrols to that section of the city, so it must be someone violating curfew or... oh.
Constantine smiles to herself, seeing the different hair color assortment of victors Hale Cornerstone, Hector Merviere, and Kevia Janelle doing what looks like breaking into a home. A quick search in the database reveals that it is the apartment bought by Arizona, and they're away from the pack. There's only one reason why they'd be out, away from the rebels, right? The smile grows wider, and she has to suppress the laugh threatening to break free from her throat. It might be time to pay the victors a visit soon; the tributes have been graced by her chaos, but the victors have yet to be affected.
She switches screens to the Sector A map, noting how her heartbeat is starting to pick up speed; her blood pressure medicine is inside the closet, on a shelf, and she'll reach if should she start losing her breath, but Constantine figures it is just an anomaly, and anomalies are nothing to be afraid of any longer. Constantine leans closer to the monitor, hit with the darkening corridors of a maintenance tunnel that leads down into the sewers, only about half a mile from where she is standing now. Constantine brightens the image superficially, standing up straight as the occupants of the screen come into clearer view.
"Well... they're far away from home, aren't they?" she whispers to herself, but she doesn't feel the need to smile.
The door to the Mutt Tunnel hallway is wide and open to allow some of the air conditioning to flow into the building, as the air is starting to get stuffy, and she's starting to sweat. Now this, this is interesting... five tributes delivering themselves into her own personal hell, and they had no idea what they've walked into. Constantine rubs her hands together, friction zapping her palms awake, jolts of electricity and excitement flooding through her veins. Acting right now will be too hasty, for she's aware that their group of five used to be six, and Bonnie is reporting having a new hostage in that mayor's son from Nine, so she'll give them some rest from their problems, as the tributes on screen are starting to bicker between one another. The girl from Ten is yelling at the girl from Two, while the boys from One and Six are holding the two apart, until the girl from Four lets out a scream that even Constantine hears through the monitor.
They'll never see it coming.
When the battle is won tomorrow morning, the victors handled, and these poor tributes served up to Death's door on a gleaming platter, Constantine knows that it'll be the perfect time to execute her plan to save Panem from itself. She'll rip its future out of Bonnie and Rennie's hands, left to collect the spoils of war, after losses are reported in the streets, while she climbs over the staircase of corpses to her throne.
"Oh, darling!" she yells out, down to the Mutt Tunnels, a low grunt or roar or some other animalistic sound acknowledging her presence, "Tomorrow is going to be a fun day for you! Try to not get too worked up; you'll get to meet those tributes that the Avox stole from you!" and then in her head, "The kills that Rennie stole from me."
Death has no allegiance, she's heard it said, but it owes allegiance to Constantine Fallorne.
She's going to cash in that winning ticket.
Valencia Shale: Victor of the 100th Hunger Games P.O.V
The air is thick and heavy, a dampening cloud of pressure and moisture, riddled with nervousness and anxiety, the same nervousness and anxiety that flows through her own bloodstream right now as the encampment slowly makes itself known over the horizon. It isn't much, just a random assortment of tents, most of the main encampment being back by the border. The estimates are looking to be about two thousand Peacekeepers, numbers that Valencia didn't even know existed in the Capitol, but it is a pool of Two, Eleven, and the Capitol forces comprising of that... while the rebel numbers seem to be around two hundred from the city itself, with all the work Rennie, Pollux, and the other victors have done, with nearly 1700 people coming in from the districts on the stolen hovercrafts.
One hundred people short, but Valencia knows they'll be fighting a losing battle. Bonnie isn't going to release the control of the country so easily, having all sorts of firepower on their side, and wherever Constantine is, probably going to be causing mayhem herself. It is why Rennie forces those three tributes - Vanya, Ciphra, and Bloom, as Valencia is not going to forget those kids and their names, for their her age too, yet she's put on a pedestal - to stay behind, to garner as much support as they can. Vanya will be speaking to anyone in their home in the Capitol that can fight, to pick up arms and join the, Bloom doing an all call to the districts with Pollux, and Ciphra helping Criston wreak as much havoc on the systems as they possibly can... the sinking sun on the horizon no longer gives Valencia comfort like it once did.
Gamemakers Square can be seen a bit further from their encampment, a world unlike the rest of the city, a monolith made entirely of marble, with platinum sidewalks instead of concrete, and in the middle, a gigantic statue of the Panem logo, Constantine's name etched in some gold font around the rim; the name is replaced every time a new Head Gamemaker comes into power. "When one of them is killed, you mean," pipes up the axe wielding girl from Seven, who Valencia is really starting to like, and the medic guy from Eight smiles in agreement. Their new arrival to the party however is standing there with his arms crossed, a cross expression on his face, a sheathed knife against his pant leg, and a rifle slung over his shoulder. It looks somewhat jarring to Valencia, to see so many normal people armed.
Rennie goes off to meet one of the leaders from Eleven or Twelve, she is not really sure, and Lance goes to show where Sage and Cambric are to be sleeping, leaving Valencia alone with Seth Cables, her attempted murderer. She's read the note from Lazarus, and knows that there had been no way Bonnie would've signed off on something like that. Despite their clear political differences, she sees it in the woman's eye before everything goes boom that she'll always be forgiven by her, even if she doesn't deserve it. Have Galiant or Peri's families forgiven her for ending their lives? Valencia finds herself lying awake at night wondering that. Do Milor, Carrion, Persephone, and Marcus's parents lie awake at night cursing her for coming home before they did? She doesn't believe any longer that she deserves forgiveness from them, but on a second thought, how would Persephone do in her place?
If Annabellina hadn't burnt her alive with a flamethrower, would her darling of the Underworld be taking a stand and fighting for what is right as well? She wants to believe that she would, and that she'd look gorgeous doing it.
Seth clears his throat, looking at a map of the city out in front of them on the table of the command tent. There is a large X through the forces from Ten, but no one still quite knows what happened. Rennie isn't going to force any of them to stay, as the Oxfords who were leading a majority of the people from Ten vanished into the city earlier in the morning, and soon after that, the hovercrafts that brought them took off into the sky, taking two hundred cattle ranchers and other citizens back home. So a force of 1700 to 2000... three hundred short, and Valencia isn't sure any victors were going to change the tide of war. She has the gun that Criston gave her, still having yet to even take a shot, and her sword slung over her back. She has no idea who went back to her glass house to get it for her, but it is there on her bed when she goes to sleep yesterday, the victor hugging the weapon tight to her body.
Valencia eyes the District 5 male with a quick glance, looking back down at the map. Gamemakers Square is a bowl, one way in and one way out from the North and South, a bottleneck, and once trapped, there'll be no way out. They're walking into a bloodbath, she can already tell.
"Are you nervous?" she asks him, Seth jostling in place as if he can't believe he's been spoken to.
He brings his eyebrows together with a frown, eyeing her from across the tent. She nearly falls over in Command when Pollux comes back with Bloom, announcing Seth's decision to join the rebellion, to be fighting alongside them in the upcoming battle. Valencia expects an execution first, if Rennie's bloodlust is anything of note, but the kid chooses it, so she has to respect it. She doesn't hate him, she doesn't, but the guy in front of her would have been dead in an arena setting had she chosen to kill him then and there back in the training center.
Seth stirs some, eyes alit with confusion as he tries forging an answer. Valencia can wait; she's a very patient person. "Of course I am. What kind of stupid question is that?"
Well... well, that's a knee-jerk reaction, isn't it? Valencia hisses out loud, breathing heavily through her nose. It's like Maisey's impatience all over again, but now in a male body and the guy's somehow an experienced killer. She tightens her hand around the hilt of her blade, moving her hands so it looks like she's adjusting her ponytail. "Just trying to strike up conversation," she curves her flatline into a smile, but it is hurting the very crevice of her soul to make the expression. Nothing is to stop her from skewering him on the spot, to give a taste of the justice he might very well deserve for what he's done, but she stays her hand. Rennie has said it, and Pollux has beaten her over the head with it, that they need every man they can get, anyone willing to fight. The battle tomorrow could full and well decide Panem's future for generations with all things considered.
"If I wanted conversation I would've gone with Sage and Cambric," he gruffs back at her, but this time he looks at her, hard jade eyes with her own blue ones. It is just for a second, but she holds the gaze in place, lifting her head with a slight smile, this time genuine. Even Maisey could grin back at her if things called for it. "Okay, yes, I'm terrified," Seth relents, running a hand through his hair. "I feel like I'm gonna shit my pants."
She holds in her laughter, for it truthfully isn't funny, the worry about everyone's doom. "I understand."
"Do you, though?" Seth questions, without hesitation, following her statement right after the other. His eyes pierce through her, like they did a week ago when she witnesses the training sessions, able to taste the darkness that flows from him. He looked the part, she must admit, but hearing it from Bloom on what he's done and who he's killed, it still makes her skin crawl. However, standing here on the grass in the command tent, she no longer feels that trepidation, spider legs turning into a silk embrace instead.
If he is to not give her a moment's peace in responding, she might as well not allow him the same satisfaction. "Yes, I do, Seth," her gaze hardens, jaw locking in place, and for the hell of it, Valencia pulls her sword at. The weapon is one damn impressive piece of metal, but it feels heavy in her hands, not having physically swung it in so long. Seth swallows heavily, she hearing it from her side of the tent, he stirring in place some more. "I know you haven't been in an arena, and this might be worse, for an actual battlefield, but yes, I understand terror. I am a human, y'know."
"No," he interrupts her, as Valencia has more to say, but he won't let her get there. A gust of wind blows through the tent, flaps flipping open, she hugging her arms tight, but she keeps her gaze on Seth. "You're a Career. They enjoy killing."
"And you don't?" she shoots back at him, stepping up to the table, holding onto on end with the sword in the other hand, it stretching out halfway across the table. Seth's focus shifts over to the blade, she seeing his eyes widen some. He must not have a weapon on him. "Seth, I killed people in the Games to stay alive, and I know you would've done it too, so don't try to act like we aren't one in the same," she can see he is biting back some sort of comeback, but Valencia has learned a lot over the year of being a victor, on having to 'adult' as Kevia puts it with a martini glass in her left hand. "Besides, you've definitely killed more people than me. We are not one in the same, Seth."
The male from Five bulks his tongue on the side of his mouth, he standing up straight, rolling his eyes. "Whatever," he goes to leave, heading for the opposite side of the tent. He pushes past one of them, but a lightbulb goes off in her head.
"Seth," she ventures forward with an olive branch, he stopping in his tracks, looking at her hollowly. Valencia swallows, her mouth dry, words suddenly failing her. "I forgive you, for what Mr. Pietro made you do, and I don't hate you," he scoffs, shaking his head, but Valencia isn't finished. "And, Seth, thank you for deciding to side with us. I'll be honored to fight alongside you tomorrow, no matter what happens."
Valencia isn't quite sure what she expects as a response, as he doesn't seem to be the hugging type, for Seth simply scoffs once again, a look of sadness filling in his eyes. He shakes his head, mouth level. "No need to thank me. I didn't volunteer for you," and that's all he has for her, vanishing out of the tent and out into camp.
She has no idea why she follows him, but Valencia does, leaving her sword resting on the table holding the map. Valencia replaces him in the entrance to the tent, watching him saunter off the way Lance is heading back from, the sun hitting the back of Seth's head, and the pale 5 illuminated on his training uniform, as he has yet to change, refusing the offer. The sun is starting to sink beneath the sky, a canvas of blood reds and sunburst oranges and bright flourishes of gold streaking through the sky on one side, and the other, heading further into the Capitol, is the bleakness of night, Valencia looking behind her as Lance makes his way up to the command tent.
The sky is oily and black, thick with the sounds of machinery, Valencia hearing her heartbeat roar in her ears.
Death has no allegiance, regardless of what anyone says. It comes for whoever it can, whenever it can.
The pressure might cause her eardrums to burst, if her heart rate keeps the pace that it is going.
The battle of Gamemakers Square awaits.
Tribute List (Boy - Girl)
District 1: Cyril Barther [Submitted by thorne98] / Satin Spinel [Submitted by Mistycharming]
District 2: Aris Lindel [Submitted by Grimbutnotalways] / Maren Johnson [Submitted by Crashed Ice24]
District 3: Ciphra Longsdale [Submitted by Flammifera]
District 4: Anahita Cascade [Submitted by Reader Castellan]
District 5: Seth Cables [Submitted by Nemris]
District 6: Ponty Carr [Submitted by Queenofinsanity] / Amaris O'Hara [Submitted by LiveFreeOrDie]
District 7: Sage Dagoba [Submitted by AlexFalTon]
District 8: Cambric Vogel [Submitted by dyloccupy]
District 9: Jason Lacey [Submitted by ilvidis]
District 10: Vivian Whiplash [Submitted by SetFiresJust2WatchThemBurn]
District 11: Vanya Vasiliev [Submitted by TheMayflyProject]
District 12: Mirek Bosco [Submitted by curiousclove] / Bloom Estrada [Submitted by LordShiro]
...
Capitol Cast of Characters
President of Panem: Bonnie Rodney
Leader of the Phoenix Rebellion: Rennie Davis
Master of Ceremonies: Pollux Aetos
Victor of the 100th Hunger Games: Valencia Shale
Victor of the 79th Hunger Games: Lance Viel
Victor of the 92nd Hunger Games: Criston Pellock
Victor of the 87th Hunger Games: Hale Cornerstone
Victor of the 77th Hunger Games: Hector Merviere
Victor of the 84th Hunger Games: Kevia Janelle
Head Gamemaker: Constantine Fallorne
Head Peacekeeper: Lazarus Pietro
Alrighty, ladies and gentlemen, that was Chapter #29: Death Has No Allegiance, and holy crap I wrote 7k in like five hours; I'm exhausted haha. Things have happened, chess pieces have been moved, and hot damn, as Valencia can feel it, the battle of Gamemakers Square is on the horizon, which I am so excited for. Jason is now in Bonnie's clutches, Amaris reprimanded while Aris has been praised, the trio to rescue Hale's children have reached their safe zone, Constantine notices a fly has wiggled her web, and the armies of both Bonnie and Rennie are to soon meet face-to-face.
Next chapter will be #30: Battle of Gamemakers Square, what reads on the tin, and will be the first chapter to include a song, like when Slaughter had three. I'll let you all know that music choice in the opening AN of the chapter, so stay tuned! In other news, I have a new SYOT out called Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Death which is open for submissions and I'll have the third prologue coming out on Friday if all the signs are good, and I'd love to have you. Three submissions max is what I'm taking, but I most likely will only use one or two of them given the volume I am receiving. ALSO, give thorne98 some damn love for that amazing new cover photo of Rennie that he drew by himself, cause isn't it great? As usual, I'd love if you review, and get ready for some intensity; it's time to turn up the heat.
I love you all so much! Have a great day! Bye!
~ Paradigm
