Chapter 31: He Said, She Said
TW: Brief discussions and implications of forced prostitution (second section)
By lunchtime, the outer-districts had already organized themselves into groups; potential alliances one could even say, though Venatrix knew from her Games Strategies class that the chance of what she saw now sticking through to the arena was small. By forcing the tributes to sit down for lunch, however, the current state of things was much easier to visualise.
From her place between Percy and Shannon, Venatrix let her gaze wander while she staunchly shoveled the provided lunch – a significantly better quality than Academy food – into her mouth.
The alliance between the pair from Thirteen, the Eight boy – who Venatrix had heard Zavian colloquially dub "Tooth" – and the boy from Five hadn't grown since this morning, but their easy chatter drew the eyes of the Career pack more often than the other four-person groups. Even Ochre from Seven shot the group a glare before turning back to his own hushed alliance with his district partner and the pair from Ten. On the other end of the cafeteria – big enough so most tributes could sit alone if they preferred but small enough to force them to acknowledge each other's existence – the Eight girl had cautiously placed her lunch tray next to the Six boy, though now they passed easy conversation and knowing looks between themselves.
Nobody seemed inclined to approach either of the Nines, however, and though they sat at the same table, not a single word passed between them, separated by a number of chairs as they were. While the girl wore an apprehensive look, the boy seemed unfazed. The only other person sitting completely alone, Venatrix noticed, was the fidgety girl from Six, Vita.
"Lots of proto-alliances, aren't there?" Shannon remarked from her side, following her gaze. "Fairly normal for this stage of the Games, but I wish I had a pen and paper to write this all down."
"What happened to your photographic memory?" Grethel jibed, grinning.
"It would still help."
Fork in hand, Venatrix mashed a clump of butter into her steaming baked potato. "I doubt they're all gonna last," she said, her eyes landing on the pair from Eleven. They'd taken a seat next to the Twelves and the girl from Five, though the oldest boy, Erryn, had slightly distanced himself from the group of babies, looking displeased at the turn of events.
The Three boy inclined his head. "Well, obviously not."
"We'll probably get most of them in the Bloodbath," Viper supplied.
Percy nudged her with an elbow, pointing his fork at the alliance in question. "Hey, how much do you wanna bet Twelve boy murks one of the little ones?"
"Him?" Mariposa interjected from his other side, glancing in their direction. "Nah, he's a softie, I can tell."
"He hasn't gone to any of the weapons stations yet, so we don't know what he's capable of," Venatrix reminded her, thinking out loud.
From the opposite side of the table – the farthest he could get from his district partner – Viper rolled his eyes. "Who cares, he's from Twelve. What we should really talk about is who's going to lead the pack."
Venatrix's eyes narrowed, but Mariposa spoke before she could. "What, did you want to be the leader?" Viper's scowl deepened at her mocking tone, and she turned to address the rest of the table, definitive. "If you guys want him leading us, you can count me out. I'd rather stick it out with Twelve."
"Perfect," Viper shot back.
Venatrix raised a hand to halt the One girl's pending riposte. "Hold up–"
"Trix is leading, obviously." Percy interrupted.
"But why?" Viper's stare was expectant, as if waiting for Venatrix to bring up her pedigree, and she couldn't deny her annoyance. No doubt it was deliberate; so much for his attempts to get on her good side this morning. The challenge, the tone, the need for an explanation all spoke of his innate self-importance, as if Venatrix needed to prove herself to him, and not the other way around. Bold. And irritating – no wonder Mariposa can't stand him.
"Yeah, why not me?" Idris piped up from next to Viper.
"You would get us all Bloodbath'd," Patience quipped, drawing chuckles from around the table, Idris included; he raised his glass of water in acknowledgement before chugging it.
Venatrix cleared her throat, bringing the attention back to the debate. "Based on last year's volunteers – or lack thereof – nobody but Two will be leading this pack." Nobody but me; her stare was flint.
The pair from Three exchanged a look. "Not our fault our mentors decided it wasn't worth it," Shannon said neutrally. "Nobody's ready for the Games at twelve."
"It was a Quell."
"We won the last one," Grethel reminded her with a shrug. "Don't think they'd let us win again. Though Two could've used a Quell Victor, I guess, so I can understand why you guys went through with it."
"Yeah, would've been real great," Venatrix ground out, belatedly regretting breaching the topic.
Grethel blinked in surprise at the venom in her voice before understanding flashed in her round eyes. "Oh, 'Makers, I forgot your sister was in it last year… Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."
At a subtle nudge from Percy, Venatrix nodded sharply; the Three girl seemed genuine enough in her apology.
"Anyways," Viper drawled, picking at his food, "so the Fours were just pussies–" Patience shot him a heat-filled glare at that, which the One boy deliberately ignored– "and Three gave up before they even tried…"
"One didn't have any volunteers either," Percy pointed out.
Viper only shrugged. "Our boy said it in his interview, didn't he? He was set to volunteer anyways and then ended up being Reaped." His features twisted into a mirthful grin. "Heh, what are the chances, right?" He wasn't wrong; Venatrix remembered the kid's Reaping, the way he'd demanded the escort not to ask for volunteers. Sol Pyrion, Bell's closest ally in the arena aside from Tauren.
Either way, the kid was dead. Venatrix didn't see what was so funny about it.
"Doesn't count," Percy clipped.
"That's why we changed our Reaping this year, duh," Patience reiterated, annoyance coloring her tone. She fixed Venatrix with a testy stare, jabbing a finger at Percy. "So why you and not him?"
Percy raised his hands defensively. "Trust me, I've known Trix since forever. She'd do a better job than me."
Which Venatrix knew was Percy's way of saying that he didn't want the responsibility. "Thanks, Perce." They'd discussed this at length months ago, even though it had been assumed between the two of them that she'd lead. This entire discussion is a waste of time; thank you Viper. "Anyways, we have more important things to focus on."
Viper raised a brow. "Like what?"
"Like figuring out which of the outliers are going to be the biggest threats."
He scanned the room leisurely, his features laced with scorn. "Compared to us? None of them."
Setting down her utensils, Venatrix leaned forward to study the One boy silently; the others quieted in curiosity. Either he's doing this on purpose, or he's actually as stupid as Mariposa thinks.
Viper shifted uncomfortably under her blatant scrutiny. "What?"
If he wants to play stupid, he'd better be prepared for the consequences. "Viper," she said slowly, bleeding enough condescension into her tone that he immediately bristled. "Do you not see the two kids the Thirteens have managed to pick up? What about the Sevens and the Tens, they look pretty comfortable. Or Six and Eight, hm?" She paused, letting Viper – and the rest of the table – stew for a tense heartbeat. "Remind me, please, who won the Hunger Games last year."
"District Eleven," Viper muttered.
"And the year before?"
"Nine."
"And the year before?"
"Okay, you've made your point," he hissed, clearly displeased at the turn of events. His sour glare landed on each member of the alliance in turn. "I've already called dibs on the Nines," he said pointedly, and Venatrix cursed inwardly– perhaps he wasn't entirely stupid.
A sharp choking noise cut off the thought, and Venatrix glanced over her shoulder to see the Nine boy in question – Yaroslav, if she remembered correctly – hack up a bite of potato, bright red under the sudden attention.
"Maybe you won't get the chance," Patience said with a snort.
Hearty laughter danced over from the Thirteens' table, most likely at the Nine boy's expense, though when the Careers turned to the noise, Zavian only gave them a friendly wave of his tattooed hand. Once he realized he had their full attention, however, he placed his fingers to his lips, blowing a kiss in their direction. Venatrix huffed in amusement as Idris lunged in front of Viper to snatch the kiss from the air, ignorant of the latter's snarl. "I want the sewer rat too," the One boy said darkly.
"Sure," Venatrix said. The others shrugged, unbothered.
Her stare floated across the room, back to the table of little ones keeping their heads down while they warily observed the two confident alliances. The boy's eyes flitted briefly to meet hers before turning back to his meal, as if he could pretend he didn't have a target on his back.
But Venatrix intended to get what she came here for. "And while we're on the subject," she said, leveling her fellow Careers with a look that offered no argument. "The Elevens? They're mine. And if anyone tries to interfere," she warned her allies, "I will kill you."
Logically, Oberon knew he needed to get out of his head, but he found it harder than usual to fall into the persona he usually presented during Games season.
It was more important now than ever, yet instead, he merely tiptoed through the motions, moving slowly as if he could drag down the passage of time with him, lengthen the hours before the Games when he would have to let his last daughter go.
She'll be fine, he argued internally. We'll help her through this. Now get moving, dammit.
No time to sit at the breakfast table and scroll through the Jabber feeds like some mindless Capitolite, even if it was important to monitor Venatrix's (and by extension, Silverhorn's) popularity this year; Oberon had enough on his plate today.
By the time he'd finished a lethargic breakfast, his wife had disappeared off to the exercise gym for a workout, giving him a quick kiss goodbye. Not the weapons gym beneath the building, as the tributes still occupied it, though once they entered the arena, the mentors would be allowed to use it too. It tended to be popular with the younger Career Victors, those who still itched to feel a weapon in their grasp or blow off some steam after things got tense in the arena. Sparring matches between the Victors ranged from friendly bouts to going so far as betting their tributes' sponsor money among themselves.
Oberon was long past the point of the latter (which wasn't technically allowed, though he'd benefited from it more often than not), but he'd bet his Victor's salary that Proxima would still be looking for a rematch for the year before last. Perhaps he should've let her win after her kid got gutted in the finale by the Nine girl, but he'd never been one to throw a match out of kindness.
He'd have to figure out a way to avoid her. If they fought now, he had a feeling she'd win, and he didn't need to add that to the still-growing pile.
Thankfully, neither of the Quell Victors had graced the mentoring room by the time he arrived, his apprehension firmly locked beneath a mask of casual confidence. The circular room reserved one half for the mentoring stations, organized in a semi-circle by district order. Oberon picked his way towards Two's station on the left, booting up the computer and trying to forget that he'd been sitting here – right in this chair, staring at this screen – when he'd watched Bellara die, could very well end up doing the same with Venatrix.
No. Not if either of us can help it. He had a meeting this afternoon to set up his cards on the table; if he were lucky, he could get himself an ace up his sleeve.
The stares of his peers were just as hard to ignore, most of them – especially the outer-district mentors – no doubt wondering just how stupid one person could be, if he were judging the looks sent by Janus and Coraline of Eight and Elspeth of Seven correctly. Most of them had been here last year too, had watched him crumble when they'd sent in the hounds. Nobody aside from his fellow Career mentors greeted him, and even then it was only to exchange pleasantries.
Absently, he scrolled through Venatrix's stats on the screen, making sure everything was in order; he didn't bother sitting down.
Through the haze of half-concentration, he caught the tail end of an exchange between the Ones, the only present Careers, from the adjacent station; Gervaise could never manage to keep his voice down. "...and Two's already hijacking the Jabber polls, but I don't think anyone expected differently, given–" He paused, and Oberon could feel his stare.
Taking that as an invite to the conversation, Oberon acknowledged him with a raised brow. "I doubt that will change anytime soon, unless your kid gets more likeable overnight."
Gaspar only huffed in agreement. "Unlikely," he quipped, leaning backward in his chair to prop a heeled boot against the table. Oberon caught a glimpse of rhinestones embedded in the leather; some people clearly took more to the Capitol than others.
Cellular in hand, his counterpart rested an elbow on the table, presumably browsing the social media polls. Alecto's eyes flicked observantly between Oberon and Gaspar before returning to her device. "Right now, all four of our tributes are outranking the non-Careers," she supplied neutrally, her fingernails clicking against the screen; she'd gotten them done to match the azure color of her tribute's parade costume. "Eight and Thirteen are pretty high, though."
Three harsh chimes peeled suddenly from her device; the girl flinched, looking embarrassed about it, though the standard Capitol notifications were enough to set Oberon on edge as well. Closing her eyes, Alecto let out a near-inaudible sigh, and even Gaspar had nothing snarky to say about it.
Pity wormed its way into Oberon's gut. Poor thing was far too young for this, though it had been the same for him; Dagmara too.
Still was; he expected a similar call sooner rather than later, though nobody would see any sponsorship money until the Games started. With Eridan inaccessible to the public eye, that left Morwenna and both Pykes as the youngest of Two's Victors – another issue in itself. Popularity came with a price, locking himself and Dagmara in the spotlight, forced to remain presentable by Capitol standards. For him, that meant he kept the gray streaks in his hair, though whatever they'd put in it each year must've kept it from falling out, otherwise that would've started a long time ago. As the two of them aged, they could get away with avoiding this particular responsibility every few years, though Oberon had known this would not be one of them; desperation tended to attract the worst kind of people.
By any means necessary, Oberon intended to keep this aspect of Victory far away from Venatrix once she won, but that was another day's mountain to scale.
Right now, he was more worried about Proxima's similarly grey-streaked bob striding stiffly through the door. Quickly, he ran through one last check of his station before shutting down the computer; he passed a nosy glance towards Proxima as she did the reverse, but she'd already converted her terminal into a non-graphical interface for this sole reason. "Nice try, Pyke," she clipped. He only shrugged, making his way to the exit before she could think further. "Once these Games start, you owe me–"
"Not now, Proxima," he tossed over his shoulder, already out the door.
"Get back here, coward!"
Oberon ignored her; he had far more pressing matters to attend.
He'd set up the meeting yesterday, called ahead to organize it with the secretary. A car waited for him already outside of the training center, bearing the sharp edges and tinted windows of an official vehicle; the driver threw him an impatient glower at his apology. Oberon didn't say a word throughout the journey, too busy shuffling and reshuffling his thoughts into something presentable, and again when they left him to stir in the elaborate reception area; it took every bit of self-control he had to temper the bounce in his knee.
Something about the president's manor always left him feeling a bit on edge.
Finally, an attendant appeared to guide him deeper into the behemoth, her shoes clacking loudly on the tiled floor. Oberon recognized the route; he nearly breathed a sigh of relief when she paused outside the president's private study rather than the grand office she used to intimidate her fellow politicians.
The relief was short-lived; the door shut behind him, quiet but distinctive, though his focus was demanded by the tyrant herself, leaning casually – expectantly – against the deep mahogany of her desk. In all the years he'd known Venera Valorius, she'd never quite dropped the faux-friendly mask she wore for him, her singular eye glittering with anticipation; never a good sign. "Madame President," he greeted, accompanied by a reverent bow of his head.
"Oberon, my friend; please, make yourself comfortable." She unfolded her arms to gesture to the stiff leather chair in front of her desk intended for company. "Rough year for you, isn't it?"
He acknowledged her with a nod, careful not to let his features betray just how accurate the statement was. "For both of us, I think," he said, eager to let the topic slide for the moment. "You look well, all things considered."
Venera only huffed, shifting to seat herself on top of her desk. "Hm, yes. Such a shame, but marriage isn't for everyone, I suppose."
"...And Mirach?" he asked, cautiously referring to her recent ex-husband.
"Alive and still capable of speech, if that's what you're asking," Venera said blithely, crossing her legs. "No reason to burn a functioning bridge. Besides, I have far more pressing matters to deal with than waste time on Arjun's idiotic shenanigans." She heaved a dramatic sigh, flicking an imaginary speck of dirt from her fingernails. "Sometimes I envy you parents out in the districts; I'd be lying if I said I'd never considered throwing him into the arena as a warning."
She chuckled at the thought, and Oberon didn't trust himself to respond.
No matter; Venera kept talking anyway. "He'd probably win, the little fucker." She fixed Oberon with a knowing stare, her lips curling into a smirk that dispelled any notion of her previous casualness. "That's what you're here for, isn't it?"
"I…" Oberon swallowed, his shoulders nearly sore from the rigidity. "Please, Venera–"
She tutted warningly. "Obi…"
"Madame President," he corrected, trying not to visibly cringe at the nickname. "Please; my daughter deserves to be Victor, far more than some brat from Eleven. She's put her whole life into this–"
"'Deserves'?" Venera raised a brow. "What has she done? She hasn't even gotten to the arena yet."
As if you don't already have her entire training record. Oberon's expression darkened. "She'll prove it," he promised, his voice low enough to be a threat had he been talking to anyone else. "Whatever you want her to do in there, she'll do it. Your Gamemaker made a mistake last year, Vene—Madame President; I don't understand why you haven't gotten rid of him."
The President only laughed, a sign that he wasn't supposed to. "Who, Killian? Please, I've seen his plans for this year; they're exquisite." Elbow resting on her knee, she peered down at him, yellow light glinting off her chrome-plated eyepatch. "You should see the ideas he's come up with for these mutts. That man is ingenious."
Predictably, Oberon's eyes widened; he bit his tongue around whatever wanted to come out next. If he played his cards right…
Venera seemed to sense it; she leaned forward, her voice lowering. "I bet you'd like to know, wouldn't you?"
"If…" He cleared his throat. "If you are willing to share."
Her smirk widened, eating up the way he fixated on the carrot she dangled in front of his nose, completely enraptured. She hummed indecisively, and Oberon's heart pounded in his ears. "Can you keep a secret, my dear Oberon Pyke?"
He answered without hesitation. "Of course."
With one finger, Venera beckoned him to come in close.
Half afraid he wouldn't be able to hear her over the sound of his own heartbeat, Oberon obeyed, holding his breath as he stood from his seat; as she spoke, however, he almost wished she hadn't. Dread crept down the back of his throat at her whispered words, a viscous pool in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed, attempting to speak around the dryness in his throat. "Is… Is that allowed?"
Venera shrugged, giddy. "Why not?"
Since Dagmara's arena, Gamemakers tended to wield a more cautious hand in the mutt department; the Face-Eater had gotten her Head good and fired, though how permanently, Oberon never found out. After the 149th, he'd expect them to be even more so.
Evidently, Killian Aquila held no such restraint. Anyone with a beating heart would be sickened by what Venera just told him, unless… well. He could fill in the gaps himself. But the thought of his daughter in the proximity of such a creation made his hands shake; Oberon clenched them into fists behind his back, shakily resettling himself in his chair.
Judging by the President's cheshire-cat grin, she'd gotten the reaction she'd wanted out of him. She leaned back expectantly, leering down at him. "Just wait until they kill it, it'll be spectacular."
Does she mean she wants Venatrix to kill it? Oberon did his best to plaster an equally eager smile across his face as he thanked her profusely; she'd given him the information for a reason.
"Now, remember, not a word, Obi." Venera raised a brow. "Not even to your daughter."
"I–what?"
"You heard me." She pinned him with a sharp, one-eyed glare. "Breathe a word to her, or anyone, and… Well, I'll tell our dear Killian to ready his hounds." Her lips curled into another devious grin at his stunned expression. "And believe me, I'll know."
Oberon blinked, realization washing over him.
What a fool he'd been. He'd known Venera for how long, at this point? When had she ever chosen to help him when she could play her mind games instead? Venera's crossed leg swung aimlessly, the pointed toe of her shoe hovering close enough to strike out and kick him if she so desired. It would be a more welcome feeling than the one currently writhing in his gut, flooding like ice into his veins.
Venera dismissed him quickly after that; she'd done what she needed to do. He thanked her again like the loyal dog he was before taking his leave, half-dazed on his journey back to the Training Center.
The information swirled relentlessly in his mind, constraints and all; if any of the other mentors roamed the lobby of the center, Oberon didn't notice, too lost in his own head. It was enough to make a lesser man sick – he headed straight for his bathroom in the District Two suite just in case. Once he shoved down the nausea, he hopped into the shower to clear his head, letting the hot water ease the urge to panic into something useful. Back in the common area, his wife had made a reappearance from her own endeavors, hovering by the dining table with a fresh mug of coffee in hand despite the hour.
Her gaze pinned him immediately, anticipating news of his meeting. "What did she say?"
"I…" Slowly, Oberon lowered himself into one of the dining chairs, half-questioning the abilities of his legs. "She won't guarantee anything." Dagmara didn't look surprised, but they'd both known she wouldn't. He'd known, and yet he still had to try; who would he be if he didn't? "But she… I…"
Dagmara waited for him to continue.
"...I can't."
"She told you something?"
'Can you keep a secret, Pyke? …Believe me, I'll know.'
He bit his tongue, pressing his lips together. Venera hadn't specified whether or not he was allowed to tell anyone that he even had information, but with so much at risk… "Of course not." He shook his head, begging Dagmara to read between the lines. "You know how Venera is. Champion of all things fair."
'Makers bless Dagmara and her sharp wit.
Pulling out the adjacent chair, she sat, heaviness in her motions. Oberon ached to tell her, but she'd just have to trust him with this. And, in turn, he had to trust in Venatrix and her capabilities, as much as he'd rather take her place in the arena and kill the mutt himself. He couldn't fight her battles anymore.
Scenarios raced at lightspeed behind his wife's eyes despite her immediate silence; he knew her well enough to know. After a pensive minute, she opened her mouth to speak, but three gratingly familiar pings jolted between them. The pair stiffened; Oberon patted his pockets, but he must've left his cellular in the other room. Across from him, Dagmara gripped hers, her face expressionless.
"I'm sorry, honey." He took her free hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. They've been down this road before; there was nothing he could do about it now.
Dagmara was silent for a beat. "...Actually, it's for both of us."
He blinked. His grip on her hand tightened before he released it to lean forward onto his elbows, fingers digging through the strands of hair at his scalp. We're too fucking old for this bullshit.
true vengeance 151 . weebly . com
A/N: First off… I am so sorry. I hate it here.
Every time someone calls Oberon a nickname, I take 2d6 psychic damage. And yeah, Jabber is basically like. Twitter LMAO. The internet works in funky ways in Panem. Also the Career victors beating each other up just for fun seems very on brand for them hjfdhjdf.
We finally meet President Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss here too ! :D Any thoughts on our mutt ? My uh. My spoiler buddies have confirmed that it is indeed just as horrifying as I make it out to be here.. I don't think I've seen the concept around in any other story I've read so far, which is kind of surprising to me.
Anyways, here are the alliances so far:
Careers (8): Mariposa (D1F), Viper (D1M), Venatrix (D2F), Percy (D2M), Grethel (D3F), Shannon (D3M), Patience (D4F), Idris (D4M)
Babies (5): Genera (D5F), Paprika (D11F), Starling (D11M), Rosemary (D12F), Erryn (D12M; tentative)
Disaster kids (4): Valkan (D5M), Tooth (D8M), Vaylani (D13F), Zavian (D13M)
No-nonsense (4): Heather (D7F), Ochre (D7M), Palomina (D10F), Lucio (D10M)
Sly observers (2): Zarim (D6M), Caitlin (D8F)
Loners (3): Vita (D6F), Gaberlee (D9F), Yaroslav (D9M)
Quick housekeeping… still in the middle of exams/assignments and stuff, so I've got no idea when the next chapter will be around. Haven't really been able to do too much reading because of that either, sorry friends ;-; But yeah, one more chapter for training day 1 and then we move on ! Feel like it will probably be shorter than these last two? Idk ! We're just playing things by ear lol. See y'all when I see y'all !
- Nell