Chapter 27: Preps, Jocks, Nerds, and Clownfish

Reaping Day, the Capitol

The closet in Venatrix's room at the Training Center contained far more clothes than her own, at least of the formal kind. Generally, she didn't need an innumerable variety of evening gowns or cocktail dresses, not at home where most of her daily wear consisted of something that would eventually be covered in sweat, and not now, where, for the majority of the single week that she'd be in the Capitol, she would be clothed in outfits specifically designed by her stylist.

She didn't take long in picking out what to wear for dinner, grabbing the first shiny thing that caught her eye.

Said shiny thing turned out to be a spaghetti-strapped calf-length dress of shimmering gold fabric, slick beneath her palms. It hugged her form gently, the fabric light against her skin and loose enough below the knee that she could actually move. A lightweight golden shawl had come on the hanger, now hanging delicately from her elbows. She'd kept her hair up, though her mother had helped twist her ponytail into a bun on top of her head.

She'd belatedly discovered the dress's best feature as Dagmara had touched up her makeup: a small, discreet pocket sewn into the hem along the side. Her mother's mouth twitched in amusement at Venatrix's delight.

After slipping on a pair of matching half-dangerous heels, she rejoined Percy in the common area of the suite. He'd donned a suit with matching accents to hers, though pale midnight blue in color. "Looking slick, Perce," she said appreciatively, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his lapel.

He bowed dramatically, saying, "Touché, Trix," and they exchanged a quiet huff of laughter. "Feel like we're still a little early, though."

"Yeah, we don't want to be the losers that show up first," she jibed, and Percy took the cue, the two of them settling into the plush couches to wait.

Leisurely, Venatrix picked at the grey corduroy fabric of the couch. According to her parents, it was a sort-of tradition to leave the Threes waiting for a couple of minutes, despite the fact that they've specifically shifted their Reaping ceremonies to the morning in order to dine with the rest of the Careers. Kind of petty, but also kind of funny that they kept falling for it, though she assumed Four would be late enough as it were. How much this year's Careers would be playing up to their district stereotypes remained to be seen; it could be a useful strategy for some. Either way, Venatrix was eager for a first impression.

She poked Percy in the shoulder. "What do you think of the pack so far?"

"Hm… hard to say this early, aside from the Fours being a little..." He circled a finger around his ear, and Venatrix snorted. "I'm curious what the Capitol has to say about them though. And us."

Venatrix hummed in agreement. "Think we should keep an eye on the Ones too."

"Oh, for sure." He pursed his lips. "I know we're planning on you leading; do you think they're gonna go for it?"

She huffed. "They'd better."

"Venatrix." At her fathers voice, she turned her head in curiosity; belatedly, she recognized the penitential tone he took on when something had gone wrong, evidenced further by his matching expression— a stark difference from the cold mask he'd been wearing all day. "Come here, please."

Exchanging an apprehensive glance with Percy, Venatrix stood from the couch, following Oberon into his quarters. Her own voice was tentative. "What is it?"

Venatrix found it weird that he didn't seem to want to meet her eyes. When he did, though, reluctantly pulling the broken marble pieces from his pocket, she wished he hadn't. "I… I am so sorry, Trixie. I know you trusted me with this; it was—" he scratched at the back of his neck anxiously— "It was an accident, I promise. I can ask your friend to make you another one when you get home…"

What good would that be if I never come home?

Venatrix bit her lip, trying to ignore the creeping rawness in the back of her throat. It's just a token. It's just a token. It's just a token. It was just a little chunk of marble that her friend, one of her best friends, had put hours into carving to Venatrix's likeness; there wasn't another like it in the world.

Ruined now, because of her father's carelessness.

Unless it wasn't an accident.

Gingerly, she held out her hand, accepting the pieces. Her tiny stone limbs scraped against each other as they landed in her palm, room-temperature from being in her father's pocket. He said he didn't have a token. Maybe he doesn't want me to have one either.

Maybe he just wanted to show her how stupid she'd been to put sentimental value in a mere object. His expression looked genuine, but that didn't mean shit, she knew.

"I'm sorry," he said again, waiting for a response.

Whatever he meant, it didn't matter. The statue was broken either way.

"It's fine," Venatrix said flatly.

Oberon shifted uncomfortably. If he wanted something else out of her, he wouldn't get it; she was determined. He had no right to chastise her for being snippy either, and he knew it.

She discarded the pieces of the statuette on top of a nearby dresser, pretending to forget about them.

Her father followed her movements, first with his eyes and then physically, striding over to the dresser and reaching into a bag her mother must've left there. "Here, if you like, you could take this instead." He held out his hand to her again, an even tinier metallic statuette sitting in his palm.

Venatrix took it, inspecting the silver figure up close. She recognized the Capitolopoly piece instantly; her sister had always loved playing as her namesake, the first Hunger Games Victor. "Was this..?"

"Bellara's token," he confirmed.

The notion pricked at her chest, though at the same time, she felt reassured. With a sharp nod, Venatrix slipped the token into her pocket; she'd be keeping it close from now on.

Through the door, Kitty's voice called to the occupants of the suite, rounding everyone up for dinner, despite not being invited to attend herself. Ignoring her father's quiet sigh, Venatrix heeded the escort's instruction, stepping back into the common area where Percy, Morwenna, and Dagmara now waited. Once they'd mobilized, they descended via elevator, which Venatrix's pinched toes were grateful for. She'd think that in the Capitol, they'd have figured out how to make comfortable shoes, but even that was apparently beyond their reach. Who knew? she thought sardonically.

When they stepped outside the building, a sleek black limousine waited for them at the curb; Venatrix let out a low whistle.

"Only the best for the Capitol's favorite district," Kitty chirped proudly.

Thanking the escort, Oberon reached for the door handle, opening it and gesturing for the party to climb inside. Venatrix obliged, scooting in after Percy. The drive wasn't long; the two tributes spent the entirety of it admiring the interior of the car, all soft leather and colorful dancing lights overhead.

The limo stopped outside of the elegant exterior of a restaurant in what Venatrix judged to be the richer part of the Capitol (though, considering her baseline was Two, that wasn't saying much), the platform outside the doors full of cameramen eager to get a snapshot of a pair of Career tributes. Venatrix plastered on a smile as she stepped out, linking her arm through Percy's as they strode confidently through the sea of paparazzi. Inside, atmospherically-dimmed lighting threw flecks of light from chandeliers dangling overhead; a hostess guided the party upstairs into a private dining room.

As expected, the Threes stood ready at the table, cream-colored note cards indicating the assigned places for each guest, as well as—

"Oh, look at that, right on time!" The silvery voice of Gaspar Gervaise, Victor of the 137th, drew her attention as he glided over from where he stood with his fellow Ones. Dark hair swept out of his face, he wore a charming smile as he shook Venatrix's hand, then Percy's, before squeezing between them to greet her parents and Morwenna. The jewel thief, Venatrix remembered. The one whose brother was killed in the Bloodbath. It was impossible to tell from his cordial demeanor whether or not he intended to seek revenge, though based on his reputation, she wouldn't put it past him.

Judging by her father's scowl, he was thinking the same thing.

"Gervaise," Oberon said stiffly, shaking the younger man's hand. "Pity you're here instead of Clarion; One might've stood a chance otherwise." That earned him a cuff to the head from Dagmara; Venatrix's lip twitched as her mother hissed inaudible but no-doubt sharp words into his ear.

Gaspar only patted him cheerily on the shoulder. "Love this guy. Isn't he great?"

The sarcasm was so thick it seemed almost genuine, enough to draw light snickers from the One pair, though the other Victor, Alecto Harris, remained politely silent.

"Nah, Clarion's letting some of his own have a shot," Gaspar continued, throwing an arm around Alecto, who'd appeared to pass around her own greetings. "Guy's got enough Victors as is."

"Well, I'm not complaining," Alecto said wryly, disengaging herself from his grasp. "And neither should you."

Unlike her tribute, Alecto didn't sport One's traditional blonde locks, though nothing about her was traditional. As One's most recent transgender Victor, she'd used her story to win the hearts and sponsorships of the Capitol, and, eventually, the 145th Games. A prime example of how a good angle trumped skill, though Alecto certainly had both in spades.

The Threes had floated over by the time Alecto dropped her hand, and Venatrix exchanged quick introductions with Hipparcos Kelvin of the 129th and even quicker ones with Proxima Greer of the 125th. The cold, flat smile of the infamous Quell Victor unsettled her; Venatrix remembered having been glad they'd gotten the sibling pair twist out of the way before the 150th, as she'd been intending to compete before it had been revealed. Her parents had told her multiple times that it was rude to judge a Victor by what they'd done in the arena (a rule which didn't seem to apply to a certain District Eleven Victor), though Venatrix couldn't help but think about how the woman in front of her had killed her own brother in cold blood during the finale of her Games. Proxima didn't seem to notice or care about her internal judgement, ignoring Venatrix in favor of conversation with her parents.

Leaving the Victors to their devices, Venatrix and Percy peeled off to where the Ones and Threes had gathered by the dining table, in the middle of passing around handshakes like cookies.

"Nice to finally meet you all in person," Mariposa was saying; she brightened when she saw the Twos, offering Venatrix her delicate, gloved hand.

Mariposa's grip was surprisingly strong, the glove cool and smooth on Venatrix's bare palm. "You too," Venatrix said, finding that the sentiment was genuine. The One girl had chosen to clothe herself in a silky chocolate gown, the rich color bringing out her deep eyes. Artistic cutouts in the fabric wrapped around her waist, and her matching gloves trailed up to her elbows to make up for the dress's lack of sleeves. "Wow, you look… nice."

Mariposa smiled, batting her eyelashes almost sheepishly. "Oh, this? It's nothing," she said, her gaze flicking over to Percy. "You should see what my stylist wants to put me in for my interview."

"They let you see?" Percy asked in surprise, glancing away from Viper and the Threes to give her a questioning look. "I haven't even met mine yet."

"Neither have I," Venatrix said.

Neither had Grethel or Shannon, and Mariposa flipped her blonde locks carefully over her shoulder, conscious of the attention of the five tributes. "Well, they'll dress me like a whore either way," she said with a flippant shrug.

"Fitting," Viper snipped under his breath, ignoring his district partner's subtle glare. Oh, hell no. Venatrix exchanged a glance with Percy as Viper offered her his hand. "Viper St. Valleroy. It's a pleasure, Venatrix. Perseus."

"So I've heard," Venatrix said steadily.

Percy accepted the handshake as well, but quickly dropped it. "You guys can just call me Percy," he corrected, nodding to the Threes as well.

"Grethel," the girl said, passing out her handshakes and nudging her counterpart. "And this dork here is Shannon, obviously."

"Grethel, come on."

"I'm just teasing," she grinned; Shannon, at least, only seemed mildly embarrassed. "Looks like the Fours are late."

Venatrix exchanged a look with Percy, though she raised a brow when Mariposa inserted herself between them. "They seem like an interesting bunch this year, the Fours. What do you think?" Her eyes flicked between the pair, her head tilting at a curious angle.

"Their Reaping ceremony sure was something," Percy agreed with a huff.

"My dad thinks they wanted to make sure nobody chickens out this year," Venatrix added, extracting a thoughtful look from the One girl.

Commotion from the stairway interrupted any further discussion, the loud voice of the Four girl, Patience, bleeding into the dining room. "Cut that out, Idris, this is a nice restaurant." Venatrix caught the Four boy's face twist into a mocking expression as they came into view, though he dropped it as his partner dragged him eagerly over to the gathered tributes, passing over the Victors entirely. "Hey! Sorry we're late; this asshole spent three hours in the bathroom gelling his hair."

"Did not," Idris protested, self-consciously brushing the sides of his hair. "It was Medusa's fault, she needed my help. She's your mentor anyways."

Patience rolled her eyes, glancing over to the 119th Victor. "Sheesh, yeah; somebody needs to tell her the perm isn't doing it."

"Believe me, she knows," Idris quipped.

"It's alright," Mariposa said amiably, shaking the hands of the two Four kids. "I don't think it's possible for you to use more hair gel than him anyways." She elbowed her district partner unkindly, practically basking in his glare and the resulting snickers from her jibe.

Following another short round of introductions, a legion of white-robed servers appeared at the table carrying steaming plates of appetizers, fresh loaves of bread, and crystal pitchers of water. The party promptly seated themselves at their assigned places, and Venatrix found herself in between her father and Gaspar of One; each tribute had been placed next to their mentor. "So, Venatrix, tell me," Gaspar said, accepting a glass of wine from a nearby server. "What is the significance of Arabella Fairfax?"

Venatrix froze with a slice of tomato bruschetta halfway to her mouth, cocking her head in question. With a half-smile, he showed his hand, Bellara's — her — token sitting lazily between his fingers. Right. Pickpocket. Her eyes narrowed. "Give that back."

On the Victor's other side, Viper's mouth split into a grin. "Oh, but I have something even better," Gaspar said with a mischievous smirk, extracting what looked like a wedding band from his sleeve.

That caught her father's attention; he checked his hand. "That better not be—"

"Don't worry, old man, I've learned my lesson," Gaspar said cheekily. "This here belongs to the lovely Isador Karkarros, though I sincerely doubt he'll be missing it."

"Not if I tell him you've got it."

Gaspar grinned, brandishing the Capitolopoly piece again between his pointer and middle finger. "You won't if your girl wants this back."

Alecto shot him a glare from a couple seats down. "Gaspar, please."

"This is what Clarion gets for letting the kids mentor," Proxima sneered over her glass of wine.

"Oh come on, I'm just kidding." Gaspar rolled his eyes, plopping the token onto Venatrix's empty bread plate with a metallic clatter. "You guys are no fun."

Wisely, Grethel spoke up from the other end of the table, changing the subject as Venatrix irritably slipped the token back into her pocket. "So, what do you guys think the arena will be?" she asked, the question more directed at her fellow tributes. "I'm betting it's something urban; it's been a while since they've done one of those."

Shannon nodded in agreement. "That would be ideal."

"For you, maybe," Venatrix scoffed lightly, taking a bite of her bread and washing it down with a sip of water. While an urban arena wouldn't be too bad, she'd much prefer one in a natural setting, something similar to Two's terrain. In the very least, something that wouldn't give the Threes an outright advantage.

Idris stabbed his fork at the pile of spiced meatballs on his plate. "Last year's was kind of urban, though."

"A grand palace isn't urban, you dipshit."

"Patience," Medusa chided, but the red-haired girl only shrugged her off.

Her district partner wasn't phased by her language. "Well, it wasn't natural," he argued; a fair point.

"Depends on how creative the Gamemakers can be, to answer your question," Mariposa said from the end of the table at Venatrix's left, nodding to Grethel. "Seems like this new guy's got plenty of ideas."

"Maybe he'll give you kids a moor and get fired for it," Oberon said hopefully, only half-joking judging by the edge to his tone, though he got a couple of chuckles from around the table.

Gaspar leaned forward, hovering over his plate. "Look, don't tell anyone," he said, ignoring the fact that a party of seventeen would hardly be able to keep a secret, "but I really do love it when they fire the bastards." Venatrix wasn't sure if she should laugh, though some of the other Victors did, nodding along despite Gaspar's somewhat-bloodthirsty grin. "One of these days, they should really give me the job instead."

That one earned him no small amount of contempt, especially from Venatrix's parents.

"Bad taste, Gervaise," Alecto said, shaking her head.

He only raised his hands defensively. "It was clearly a joke."

After a beat of awkward silence, Proxima changed the subject to the topic of Four's eventful Reaping day; according to the other Four mentor — Nautila Firth, Victor of the 134th — Oberon's speculation had been correct. "Worked well enough this year," she said with a shrug, thanking the server as they placed a plate of steaming steak in front of her. Patience and Idris preened proudly from across the table. "Though perhaps next time, we ought to warn the escort."

Venatrix chuckled at that, the sentiment echoing around the table. It had been the highlight of the entire program for sure, in her mind.

One of the uniformed servers gently set a dish in front of her, and Venatrix thanked them as well. Letting the conversation flow between the others while she ate, Venatrix relished the savory meat, the buttery mashed potatoes; they only got steak of this quality in Two if her parents went out of their way to order it all the way from Ten. Another came around with a bottle of red wine, pouring it steadily into Venatrix's glass.

She kept a keen ear out for interesting trains of conversation, seeing fit to ignore the greater part of Patience and Idris's mindless but friendly bickering; a mere five minutes of it would tell her all she needed to know.

Though he was three seats down, Percy felt miles away from her, the two separated only by Venatrix's parents. She found herself leaning forward more often than not to shoot him glances throughout the dinner while Medusa complained about her hair. Patience had unfortunately been right about the perm; the older woman had somehow wrangled it into a braid around her crown, though bits of frizz still stuck up. "I really should just get a wig for the Games season at this point," she huffed, causing Proxima to snort in amusement. "At least they stopped making me put it in locks; I clearly don't have the type of hair for that."

Sipping at her wine (she supposed it was exquisite, though the didn't have the experience to pass judgement), Venatrix grimaced, internally hoping that the Capitol wouldn't impose any ridiculous fashions on her once she won. Hailing from Two would benefit her there; they usually saved the superficial stuff for districts with more lax reputations.

"Maybe you should shave it off," Patience suggested, and Percy choked on his glass of wine, disguising his laughter as a cough under the Victor's glare.

He stuttered out an apology between breaths, Morwenna patting him firmly on the back.

"No more wine for you, Perce, huh?" Venatrix said, shooting him a wry grin.

"Listen," he said, his cheeks flushed bright red. "I blame her." He pointed to Patience, who let out an exclamatory "Hey!" in defense.

"I think your hair looks great, Ms. Dreadnought," Shannon said sincerely, leaning forward to send the Four Victor a warm smile.

"Nicer than hers by a long shot." Viper jerked his head at his district partner.

"Oh, please," Mariposa drawled, resting her chin on her hand to shoot him a sneer. "If I pulled out a dictionary and searched up the word 'greaseball', I'd find your name sitting right underneath," A snort of laughter crawled up Venatrix's nose; she hid the rest of her snicker behind her hand, though Gaspar didn't even bother, laughing at his tribute's expense. "Did you even shower today? Shit's a fucking fire hazard."

"You're one to talk, bottle-blonde—"

Alecto cut him off. "Can we not do this here?" she said sternly, her fingers digging into her temple.

Turning her head, Venatrix shot another look down the line to each of her parents and then Percy, and they weren't the only ones either. Thankfully, the silent servers interrupted the round of awkwardness with plates of various tiny desserts; Venatrix selected a slice of chocolate cake and a cup of fruit trifle at her father's indication that she could take more than one.

Idly, Venatrix's gaze wandered back to the District One end of the table, drawn to the matching desserts on Mariposa's plate and the small smile the girl sent her way when she noticed as well. The cake in front of the One girl perfectly matched the color of her dress, save for the bright red cherry now fixed between her teeth, and Venatrix found herself impressed that she hadn't gotten a single crumb or sauce staining her gloves throughout the entire meal.

The rest of the evening passed fairly cordially, to Venatrix's relief, with Proxima carving out a minute or two for each of the Three kids to give a little spiel about the projects they'd worked on during their time at Three's Career Institute and how that would supposedly benefit their alliance.

"I worked on stabbing things with a trident," Idris said blithely once they'd concluded, resulting in a round of snickers from Patience.

As the evening drew to a close, the party migrated back to the ground floor of the restaurant with a vague plan to tackle the paparazzi and leave by district as their cars arrived. While they waited, the tributes passed around cordial wishes of luck for a good stylist and a decent outfit at tomorrow's parade.

"Dibs on Bloodbathing the ugliest parade costume," Viper snipped on his way out, to which his district partner rolled her eyes.

Venatrix couldn't say she was disappointed when the One team finally climbed into their car to head back to the Training Center. During their own return journey, Venatrix didn't see any of the other Career teams; she half-wondered if that was by design.

As soon as they breached the suite, her father nodded in the direction of their mentoring room. Venatrix wanted to protest — her feet were killing her, and not to mention the creeping fatigue — but she followed.

"Alright," Oberon said once she'd closed the door. "Let's start with the Ones…"

true vengeance 151 . weebly . com

A/N: Ohh my god I didn't think I was gonna finish this one in time... but I had to do it.. for Iago ;-; Happy birthday Iago this one's for you 3 I added some art of him to the blogand honestly it might just be my favorite one yet (he uh. he started moving of his own accord, funky little man)

Anyways, I'm loving these lads so much so far ;-; Both the kids and the Victors (especially the Ones, I love them so much, you can probably tell jhfdh. Y'all have no idea how excited I've been to write Gaspar he's such an asshole I love it jhfdhjfd)

So… What do you guys think the arena will be ? (I'm pretty excited for it, it's a good one c: ) No idea when the next chapter is gonna be out.. NaNo Exists but also uhh five chapters a month is a Lot for me ahaha.. So I guess.. See you when I see you? Yeah ;-;

- Nell