Blinding Shadows. The 78th Games.
X. All The King's Horses.
Feed me your fiction
Give me just one taste
To sustain this addiction
Blissful affliction
I'll swallow your poison
'Til it runs through my veins
Fills my heart with deception
Twist my perception
Aeolus Galvani. 12.
District Five Male.
✦✦✦
There's been so much for Aeolus Galvani to take in these past thirty-six hours. He isn't sure he can list it without making his head hurt, but it's going pretty well so far.
First of all, the sun. Never did Aeolus dream something could be so incandescent and beautiful at the same time. Back in the Realm, the rooms were illuminated by neon lights which emitted a faint humming sound. But here? During the whole train ride, Aeolus was able to look out the window and see nature in all her glory. He hated the lights in the Realm, but the sun is beautiful.
Second, Aeolus has learned that people talk a lot if you want them to. He's used to being the social butterfly of the Realm for better or for worse, but on the train, it was pretty hard for him to even get a word or two in edgewise, as Zeppelina Skansen kept chirping along.
The older girl seems friendly too, which, of course, goes against everything Vulcan said about the outside world. Aeolus was warned about monsters and villains, but instead, he's faced with—
"Good luck in there," His District partner says with a grin on her face as she's pulled into a room by a stylist dressed in rainbow hues, "I'll see you soon!"
That's another thing Aeolus likes about the Capitol; everything is so lovely and colorful, a stark contrast to all the grey back home. He's rather curious about the parade too. He knows it exists, same with the whole week of festivities before the Games, but he's never been allowed to watch it.
There's so much that Aeolus is excited for, so much that he has to look forwards to that. He doesn't even dare think of death. Perhaps the end of his life is inevitable at this point, and maybe that's his own free will, but nobody else in the Realm has ever been able to say they lived a life as enjoyable as the week he'll surely experience here in the Capitol. Maybe death is better than having to return to Five after everything is over.
"Aeolus Galvani," His head snaps up when he hears a woman dressed in fuschia calling him by the door, "Your team is ready for you."
He follows the lady through a hallway with murals of clouds painted on the walls and dangling blue lights hanging from the ceiling until he's led into a room where a man dressed in green seems to be waiting for him.
"G'day, Mr. Galvani," The man says, extending his hand, "You can call me Bijou; I'll be helping you with your attire for this next week."
Two identical blonde girls peer from either side of Bijou's bulky build. The girl on the right announces, "And we're Parys and Londyn, his assistants."
Aeolus smiles and shakes their hands, "Pleased to meet you," he tells them.
Londyn giggles, and Bijou offers a grin in return. He claps his hands together and brings them up to his lips before saying, "Well, I suppose we've got our work cut out for ourselves, don't we?"
Confused, Aeolus asks, "Work? What do you mean?"
"Just look at your hair," Parys snickers, pointing at the black layers which drape over his head.
Aeolus looks down and notices a few strands falling in front of his eyes, but he pushes them away. He shrugs at the girls' teasing and states, "Well, I don't know what you're talking about, but I like my hair just how it is,"
Bijou grunts and shakes his head, crossing his arms and muttering, "No way," under his breath.
Aeolus catches him, though, so he asks, "What does that mean?"
"It means you have no taste," Bijou informs him.
Aeolus tilts his head, "I'm sorry?"
"You need to cut that," Parys laughs, pointing down at his hair.
Aeolus scrunches up his face and crosses his arms in defense, saying, "Hey, at least it's sort of soft?"
"Yeah," Bijou replies, nodding in agreement, "but I bet you haven't washed it in weeks."
"Maybe," Aeolus shrugs again, "Why do I need to wash my hair if you're going to cut it anyway?"
Bijou rolls his eyes and explains, "Your hair gets all oily and greasy."
Londyn agrees and adds, "Plus, you don't want to get dandruff—"
"Or worse, lice!" Parys cuts in.
"—So most of your hair needs to go," Londyn finishes, "or it might become an issue in the arena. It can get pretty intense over there; you don't need hair as a distraction."
The funny thing is, Aeolus never considered his hair a problem until now. Sure, the way it's cut isn't perfectly even, and he gets hair in his eyes every now and then, but he never thought that was a big deal. Clearly, he's still got a lot to learn if he wants to survive in the real world!
"Okay," Aeolus agrees reluctantly and turns to face the mirrors set off the wall. He wraps himself in a plastic sheet and then sits in a leather chair, as instructed, and tilts his head back onto a basin. He feels Parys' fingers in his hair, slightly pulling on his scalp before pulling a lever which triggers a cold flow of water onto his head. "Help!" Aeolus can't help but flinch from the sensation.
He hates the cold, and it hurts his hair.
As Parys begins combing the damp locks through his fingers to try and loosen some knots, Aeolus sighs and closes his eyes. After a few minutes, the water is warm, and it feels terrific, soothingly massaging his temples. She puts a foamy shampoo in his hair and rinses it out before following up with a conditioner. "All done!" she announces.
Feeling tired, Aeolus stands and stretches his shoulders, noticing Bijou standing beside him. "Now for the haircut," He announces with a grin.
He takes out a pair of scissors and starts cutting Aeolus' hair short. Aeolus watches Bijou's movements out of the corner of his eye. It is surprised to notice that he's actually quite good at it. He's gentle when he removes the last of Aeolus' hair from around his ears and then carefully works the rest out with the scissors.
When he pulls away from his ears, Aeolus feels lighter; almost light enough to float. "Wow." He mutters softly. Bijou nods and says, "Yup. Now let me just do your eyebrows,"
Aeolus nods in understanding as he watches him prepare a small plastic comb and a brush. "My eyebrows?" He asks.
"Just a trim," Bijou replies.
Aeolus watches as Bijou carefully works the bristles across his brows, careful not to pull on his skin as much as possible. He can't say he notices a difference, but Bijou seems pleased with his work.
"Do I look better?" Aeolus thinks out loud. To be completely honest, he's not sure what about himself the stylists needed to change.
Bijou stops combing to turn to him and answer, "Hm..." he pauses to think, "Better, yeah," he says, looking at Aeolus with a slight smile before he returns to combing his hair.
He can't help but feel like the older man's talking down to him, which reminds him of Vulcan, of course. Aeolus is quick to shake his head and deny it.
"What's wrong?" Parys asks him.
"Nothing," Aeolus responds quickly.
He doesn't tell Parys that he's just feeling self-conscious because the other two look at him strangely. Like he's crazy or something. It makes sense because why wouldn't he be feeling awkward being in the same room as three complete strangers and having a stranger's hands all over him. That's something he doesn't understand, though—why would anyone find it necessary to touch his hair, face, and neck?
Back home, his mother would always caress him whenever she wanted to have a serious conversation, and Aeolus didn't quite understand that either. He's always been told that he'll learn when he gets older whatever he doesn't know, but that isn't all that comforting. Not knowing something isn't reassuring. Knowing something and experiencing it aren't necessarily the same thing.
"Are you sure," Parys comments, "I know I seem cruel, but trust me, I understand how stressful it must be, preparing for the Games, and whatnot?"
"I wanted this," Aeolus admits, staring at his reflection, "I volunteered because I knew this experience would be revolutionary... and well, I want to see everything life has to offer!"
Bijou hums, turning back to his hair once more and saying, "That's a great mindset to live with," He states, "You should probably keep it that way too—I'd hate to see you get killed in the arena."
"Yes, sir," Aeolus nods, "Thank you."
Somehow, this whole experience has only made Aeolus feel bad about his decision to volunteer, though. He wanted freedom, and even though Bijou and the twins probably had good intentions, he can't help but still feel trapped. If he's going to die, he wants to die exploring. Not stuck here in a cage where all he can do is be lectured on what he can and cannot do.
He tries to convince himself he did the right thing by volunteering, but a heavy feeling continues to sink deep into his chest. He tries to ignore it, but it just won't leave his thoughts.
"You alright?" Aeolus hears Londyn ask behind him.
He lets out an annoyed sigh and snaps, "Don't tell me what to do!"
Parys chuckles and states, "Oh, calm down; we were just wondering whether you were alright."
Aeolus huffs again and mutters, "I'm fine," as he stares down at his feet.
"Sorry, I was just asking, that's all," Parys assures him.
Aeolus sighs in defeat and shakes his head, telling him to stop apologizing. He knows that he should relax and enjoy the present moment rather than worry about everything.
That's the purpose of an adventure, right? He needs to live now and not in the past or future.
Sterling Satinette. 17.
District Eight Male.
✦✦✦
Sterling Satinette doesn't deserve to be here.
Even though he's dressed to the nines in a checkered suit and a leather newsboy cap, it doesn't deserve this. He looks around at all the other Tributes, misery lining their faces the same way it does his own. He gets the feeling he's expected to feel some sort of camaraderie with them. Twenty-four gremlins doomed for the slaughter, but he's above all of them.
The Houndstooth family may have declared it a pariah after Alexander's death. Still, Sterling's always known he was destined to touch the stars instead of wallowing in their clouds.
As shitty as these wretched Games are, they're just its beginning.
He leans against the side of his chariot, a toothpick in his mouth while it waits for the parade to begin. His District partner Darcy stands beside him, again trying to make side talk.
"I like your outfit." She offers, taking a step forward to reveal her pleated skirt in the same pattern as his attire. "The stylists really did go above and beyond."
Sterling can tell her chipperness is fabricated, remembering how she shook when the escort called her name back in Eight. Nice of her to try, he supposes.
When it doesn't respond to her, Darcy keeps blabbering, "I know, I know... being here isn't great. But what do you say we make the most of it?"
Oh please, Sterling rolls his eyes. He's long grown past the days of "making the most" out of life. He traded stealing for killing in a pathetic attempt of finding purpose in life... and look where that got him. Here. Its not an idiot; he knows the Houndstooths pulled some strings to doom it like this. Good lord, does that make him angry.
Even though she's a year younger than him, Darcy's just a child. She hasn't seen how wretched the world can be the way Sterling has, but all that means is that the arena will be a rude awakening.
He crosses his arms and pouts, "I, for one, will not be 'making the most' out of my time in a place that was created to kill me, but suit yourself."
It may not have been intended, but they've already taken to treating it like an animal.
Sterling remembers the cry his stylish unleashed when he took off his shirt for her, "Oh good grief; what on Panem are those ugly lines on your chest?"
"Don't worry about it," It had replied, not wanting to draw more attention to one of his few flaws.
But of course, the stylist kept pushing, "Are you okay? Are you injured?"
"In the head, definitely," He muttered to himself before rubbing his hands over its scars, "They're just from a surgery; I'm fine now."
They're just a reminder that he'll never truly be the man he wants to be. Just a reminder that he was born in a body that isn't his, and now he's doomed to die in it.
"Suit yourself," Darcy says, the corners of her skirt in her hands. She twirls once, twice, examining the way the thick fabric moves. "If you're going to be a downer like this, I'll just go talk to other people."
He doesn't care to bid her goodbye.
Not even five minutes pass before Sterling feels two fingers tap against its leg. He looks down, but there's nothing. Another minute, another slight sensation on his leg. Without raising its voice, he says, "If somebody is bothering me, I'd strongly suggest they stop."
He watches as a tan-colored hand appears from under the chariot and then a head of brown hair. The figure beneath it grunts before crawling out and standing in front of him. "So sorry 'bout that."
"Who exactly do you think you are?" Sterling asks the boy who can't be older than fourteen. "I'm not annoyed with you, but I'm definitely perturbed."
"I don't know what that last word means," They admit before extending his hand and flashing a wicked smile, "But my name is Atra Methusael. District Ten!"
Atra. What a stupid name.
It sighs, staring at his hand before rolling his eyes and holding out his own to shake. "Sterling Satinette. District Eight." He says before letting go of the boy's hand and turning away. "Now, leave me alone."
"What's wrong with you?" Atra calls out after him. "Didn't anyone ever teach you manners?"
"That would require my parents not abandoning me at birth, so no." It replies without missing a beat. "Why don't you mind your own business?"
Atra frowns before scurrying to catch up with Sterling. "What business? We're just standing here and waiting for a parade. There's plenty of time for you and me to have a little chat!"
Sterling shakes his head. "I don't want to talk to you. I don't like you."
"You don't like anyone." Atra points out.
"Well," He says, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of its checkered pants. "That doesn't mean I'm obligated to share pleasantries."
Atra rolls their eyes. "I didn't come here to annoy you. I came here because you're kinda cool, so..." he pauses for effect, "I guess I'm impressed."
"I'm flattered," Sterling says dryly. "Really. That's charming coming from someone I barely know."
Atra shrugs. "Look, I don't like the idea of dying and all that shit, and I'm sure you can relate."
"I suppose," Sterling concedes before looking up at the sky, the sun slowly starting to set. The Capitol's buildings are lit by lanterns and torches, illuminating the amphitheater they'll soon ride off to. The sun dips below the horizon, bathing the city in orange light.
He doesn't realize Atra hasn't spoken until the boy clears his throat next to him. "Hey, uh, are you alright?"
"I knew you'd talk to me eventually!" Atra exclaims with his usual enthusiasm.
"I have no intention of talking to you," Sterling states bluntly. "I'm not particularly interested in wasting my time."
"Why are you acting so hostile?" He presses. "You just spoke to me so clearly you're a bit interested in what I have to say."
Unfortunately, he's right. As odd as the kid is, Sterling's curious about his intentions. But its not going to appease him aloud. "Well, you were blabbering non-stop, and I just thought your silence was weird, that's all."
Sterling snorts. "Sure is."
With that said, they both fall silent. A few people walk past, but none of them spare Atra or Sterling a second glance. Still, Sterling can't help but wonder if people are judging him for humoring this pipsqueak.
"Have you seen anyone die?" Atra breaks the silence to ask. "I don't want to be forward or anything... okay, actually I do, but when I saw your Reaping... you seemed dark and mysterious, and I love when people are dark and mysterious."
"Dark and mysterious? Is that why you followed me around?" Sterling asks, genuinely surprised. Atra nods, smiling wide and their teeth glinting in the light. The young boy looks positively innocent.
"Yeah, I'm not quite sure why, but I like you." He admits, "You didn't answer my question... have you ever seen somebody die?"
Alexander, Sterling remembers. There is no need to relive that moment, the one that permanently shattered its life, especially in front of the little guy. At night, he's still plagued by dreams of Alexander's lifeless body, no matter how hard he tries to forget.
So instead, he whispers, "Can you keep a secret?" He doubts Atra has anybody to say anything to if he's so keen on acting like... well himself.
"Yup!" Atra nods their head with glee, "I love keeping secrets."
"Well," Sterling starts, his voice so quiet he can hardly hear it itself, "I actually have killed a few people back in Eight, if that's what you were wondering."
"Wow, that's awesome!" Atra enthuses, clapping his hands in the air, "My best friend in the whole world, Azrael's killed some people too!"
"Really?" Sterling smiles. "How interesting."
"Yes! It really is. My best friend is pretty great."
Sterling chuckles. "I can imagine." They fall back into silence, Atra clearly trying to find something interesting to talk about, and Sterling watching the crowd move into the amphitheater.
"All Tributes return to your chariots!" A voice booms through the speakers.
"Ah, well, I'll be leaving now!" Atra says with a wave, "I hope to talk to you soon, Sterling."
Once alone, Sterling takes a deep breath, shaking its head. Why does everything have to be complicated? And what's he supposed to think of this kid? Why is he still even thinking of this kid? Panem's national anthem plays on as he makes his way toward his chariot, which he slides open. Before stepping inside, he stops to stare up at the moon that's high in the heavens.
"Hey!" Darcy shouts, hopping next to him and frightening it a tad, "I saw you talking to the boy from Ten. What was that about?"
"Nothing," He snaps quickly before slamming the door shut. "It doesn't concern you."
Darcy purses her lips. "Oh please, so you did want an ally after all, didn't you."
"Atra's not my ally." So then, what are they? Just some weird kid Sterling talked to once and, for some reason, wants to talk to again?
The chariot lurches forward, and he grabs onto the handle above him. Its heart races in anticipation, not just for the prospect of being perceived by Capitolites but for the entire week ahead.
Being Alexander's evil henchman was indeed an experience. Perhaps it's time Sterling has his own minion to do his bidding.
Kezaeh Wren. 17.
District Six Female.
✦✦✦
The sheer frivolity of the parade grew old on Kezaeh Wren quickly.
After the first loop around the track, she was more than happy with the fact that she could get off and get back to... well... her plans.
Davidson hasn't bothered talking to her much, and Kezaeh can't really blame him for that. She knows she has a trash reputation around Six, but that doesn't mean it has to stay that way in the Capitol. Besides, from her first impression of the boy, he doesn't seem to be the sort to spread rumors.
She can't say she blames Avon for being repulsed by her, either. She did maim and make love to his brother after all, but of course, that wasn't without reason.
That day... something within her just snapped.
He was dragging Ismael away, Kezaeh's own brother trashing his hands in fury, and she just had to do something. The urge to kill and kill and kill had been bubbling inside of her... and she just snapped.
She knows she's a monster, but she's embraced it. It's all she can do at this point, after all. Mistakes were made, and more of them are soon to be made. Not dumb mistakes, of course. But murder's one significant mistake, isn't it?
Kezaeh really cannot wait to kill again. Keeping her locked up for the next week is sure to be a nightmare, but it could be better with friends...
"Join the Careers" is what her mind said to her last night as she attempted to rest. "You'll get to do lots and lots of killing with them."
But how to get in with them? She figures talking to them is an excellent first step.
After disembarking her chariot, Kezaeh spots the pair from District Two in the distance. Nessa and Seth, she recalls.
With a deep breath, she prepares to approach them. This will probably be harder than expected.
But she thinks she'd rather risk being stabbed than talk to them like this. They don't know that she's killed before and that she's more than worthy of being with them.
She's about halfway there when she feels herself freeze in place. A chill runs through her body like a shiver down her spine, and Kezaeh begins to tremble. "Nessa? Seth?"
Nessa turns around and sneers at her, "What do you want?"
Kezaeh finds her voice, "I... wanted to talk." She manages.
Seth scoffs beside Nessa, "What makes you think we're interested in talking to you?" His voice is so angry Kzaeh can almost see steam coming out of his ears.
"Well, I'm not some shitty outlier if that's what you think I am." Kezaeh shoots back defiantly.
Nessa crosses her arms over her chest, "Then what are you?"
Her words come slowly. "My name is Kezaeh Wren; I'm from District Six." She extends her hand, but neither Seth nor Nessa take it. "I'm not exactly well-liked there, though. It turns out, killing a Peacekeeper isn't exactly the best way to become popular."
Seth raises an eyebrow, "You killed a Peacekeeper?"
"I had to, or else he would have killed my brother Ismael," Kezaeh explains, her tone firm but still soft and cautious. "But also... I kind of wanted to kill him. And I kind of... really enjoyed it."
She pauses, letting her words sink in.
"...You like killing people?" Nessa asks softly.
It takes a moment to answer, but she does. "Yes. More often than I'd admit. And I'd like to be with you guys if that's alright." She smiles softly.
They exchange looks but eventually nod.
"So," Seth starts, "What makes you think that our other allies are going to approve of you if we just introduce you as our friend from District Six who really enjoys killing people? Why should we believe you aren't just going to kill us?" He asks, crossing his arms.
"I won't kill you two or your other allies." Kezaeh answers. "You've barely spoken to them anyway; why are they suddenly authority figures?"
It's true. Kezaeh's observed the Careers all evening. They haven't spoken much, which means that if there's a time for her to put her foot in the door, it's now.
"She makes a point," Nessa whispers.
Seth glances at her for a second. His eyes are narrowed suspiciously.
Then he gives Kezaeh a sharp look like he's trying to decide whether to trust her.
"You're still not trained like we are," Seth says.
"I know that already." Kezaeh snaps back at him, glaring daggers. "Look, if you want to know my whole story, fine. Ever since I was a kid, I've been slightly off. Mainly it was my fascination with blood. I'd pick at myself to see how much I could bleed, and then I'd show the other kids, but they never really liked me. Hence why death became more of my niche... it's just... well, beautiful."
She's always wanted to know what it feels like to die. She's always wanted to know how somebody feels when the light leaves their eyes. More so, she's curious how close somebody could be to death without outright dying. That's why she wants to join the other Careers. To be part of that group where death is beautiful. Where death brings joys and sorrows. Where she'd no longer be a monster; she'd actually be helpful.
"And I know you two think the same." She adds. "I know you two are bloodthirsty sickos just like me, and you want somebody else to help you get your hands dirty."
She takes another long slow breath before speaking.
"Please, give me a chance." Kezaeh pleads softly. "I'm just like you guys, and even if I haven't trained practically, I know how to survive. I promise." She promises, holding her right hand palm out towards the duo. "Give me a chance."
There is a tense moment. Both Nessa and Seth glance at each other, and Kezaeh holds her breath. There's an unspoken conversation between both of them for a few seconds.
"Alright..." Nessa nods, "How would you feel about just training with us first, and then we'll see how things go?"
"We can't do that!" Seth hisses at her. "If just so much as let her train with us, she'll still know her plans if we give her the boot. It's all or nothing; we need to decide."
"Then let's ask the others, okay?" Nessa retorts, raising her voice. She looks up to meet Kezaeh's gaze. She turns behind her at Morgan, the shaking girl from District Four. "Morgan, get over here!"
She motions at her District partner Ridge, then turns to face Nessa. "What do you want?"
"Meet Kezaeh," Seth says, mocking a grand gesture towards her. "District Six. When you see her, what do you feel?"
The dark-haired girl looks at her, seeming to stare into her soul for a moment. For a brief second, Kezaeh wonders if the girl sees her as just some crazy little freak... but then she speaks, her voice soft.
"You seem nice."
"Nice…?" Kezaeh rolls her eyes. "I mean, I'll take it."
"Why does my opinion of her matter, though?" Morgan asks Seth. "She seems pretty strong if that's what you're wondering too."
"We're thinking of having her join us," He announces. "As in, ally with us."
Kezaeh's heart races and her breathing quickens a bit, but she tries her hardest to keep her expression neutral. Part of her can't believe this is actually working.
"Do you think Darling would be okay with that?" Morgan points out. "Something tells me that if she saw us bringing an outlier into the pack, she'd scream."
"I didn't realize she's the boss," Seth scoffs. "We can handle her. I want to know what you personally think of Kezaeh being our ally. Trust me, she's experienced."
"You're just saying that 'cause she killed someone," Ridge cuts in.
"We didn't ask you." Seth glares at him. "And stop eavesdropping on our conversations. This is the second time today."
"Wait—" Morgan interjects. "Kezaeh k-killed someone?"
"A Peacekeeper," Seth clarifies. "He attacked her brother, and she had no choice. That's the spirit I'm looking for."
Morgan's eyes widen, "Is that true?"
Kezaeh nods.
"Like you've actually done it? Kill a man in cold blood?" Ridge asks her incredulously.
"I don't see why it's such a big deal." Kezaeh shrugs.
"That doesn't seem very ladylike," Ridge remarks. "You seemed rather... proper to me."
"I am not ladylike. I'm a killer." Kezaeh states bluntly.
"What was it like?" Morgan asks.
Nessa nudges at her. "Stop asking questions. We just wanted to know what you think of her allying with us."
"I mean... if she doesn't kill us, then I don't see the problem." Comes her reply.
Kezaeh sighs, "I won't." She shakes her head, "Not unless one of you tries to kill me first."
Silence falls between the group. It takes Kezaeh a while to break it.
"Okay. So, what's the plan for training tomorrow?"
The four turn towards Kezaeh simultaneously. Nessa sighs, then finally extends her hand. "Don't make me regret trusting you."
"You won't!" Kezaeh says, accepting the handshake and flashing a sinister smile. "I look forward to working with you."
Keep Lying - Donna Missal
So, I realize it's been a while since you've heard from me. Apologies; the holidays got busy and I wasn't left with much time to edit, but I'm here now. I hope everyone had a great holiday season, and of course I wish everyone the happiest of new years! Lets pray 2022 is much kinder than the past two years. I'll admit, writing the chariot chapter was a bit of a struggle. Coming up with original outfits was a bit of a challenge, so I simply didn't, and instead chose to focus on Tribute interactions. I realize a few Tributes may feel oversaturated at this point in time, but I promise everyone will have equal screen time by the time we reach the arena.
Having an update schedule stressed me out, I realized, so instead I'll just post whenever I feel ready. As usual, thanks for all the kind words, and I look forwards to seeing you all again soon.