Post-Reaping. On the trains. Daylight.
There's hardly much of a ride between One and the Capitol. Subtle perks: a span of any additional hours to be dedicated to sponsorship effort cannot be thrown away. Satin will actually have the time to make her late lunch with Decius Fring. Joy. Although, in other small perks, Fring may be inclined to lay more than a hundred-k pittance on her tribute this time.
Mellifluous 'but you can call me Mel if I like you' has made a killer first impression. Enthralled by her most compelling traits, which are both nestled into a shimmering and nigh gravity-defying scarf, a dramatics-prone pundit from the National Games Network termed her a "glorious golden idol straight from the heart of her district." Parade magazine picked up on it, and ten cloth-of-gold chariot costume concepts were spattered across the front page before the train departed One. Temporary hair bleach sales are rocketing. High golden heels are out, while hourglass waists are in; our idol this year is short and full-bodied. The Chanay product line has been swarmed for its all-new Long Lasting Golden Glitter and its Dolce Mellifluous, a 'precious scent that will treat you to a musical flourish of District One-grown tuberose and honeysuckle — an all-Panem symphony for the all-Panem girl.' All of this before one in the afternoon. Not bad.
"Golden knives are a given, at this point," Satin says, ankles crossed comfortably as she skims the feeds on her tablet. "Not that they're going to leave them in the Cornucopia, unless you sweep the training sessions with an 11. I can pose it as a conditional sponsor gift for your finale weapons. You'll want a brace of them. At least three. They won't come cheap, so we might have to bide and build — there's a chance you'll go hungry in the midgame."
"Aww. Not much of a chance." Mel beams as she pants, cycling through a stretching routine that showcases more genuine athletics than sex. The publicity crap can wait for the health and fashion magazines. Her curly ponytail bounces against her back, sweat-darkened from rich gold to reddish honey. "Didn't you catch the rest of the pack? Four Girl is a little cute. Two Girl isn't anything. A little inbred, maybe. Which of the boys am I shacking with, wise mentor mine?"
Satin allows her a smirk, closing the tablet off and splaying her fingers across her knees. "Give your wise mentor a chance to hobnob with Jupiter and Adrian first. As a first-year mentor, Adrian's most likely to play it conventional. Jupiter's less likely to agree. He's already slated a meet tonight, so I assume he has a tactic. I can tell you he doesn't value showmance or pack dynamics like he does a good endurance arena. Both his Victors came through at the lower popularity end for it, but they came through heavy on kills, and both saw the One Girl fall in the Career split or earlier."
"Alaric Vogler and Augur Dorne," Mel recites, unconcerned. Her face and throat gleam flawlessly as she pops up and down into crunches. "But is Four Boy worth picking with the first-year thing? Adrian's not even a Career. I'll look weak if they're knocked out early on some rookie mistake."
"You might, but if you could knock him out yourself, assuming fullest performance, you'd be inches from the golden knives." Satin raises an eyebrow. "Frame it as the alternate ending to the 60th, even: if Rapture had cut the boy's throat out instead of his ear."
"That sounds fun. I'll have to lean on Stephenson to help take down Two Boy if that happens, though, won't I?"
"In this year especially. For sheer physical force, nobody matches up to Jupiter's boys. And I'm not sure what Kieran was thinking, but the girl has to be some sort of combat savant. The last thing you want is both Twos together through the split. I'm thinking you can drain her support pretty naturally on the sponsorship level. Don't hesitate to pose a rivalry, unless it seems like she has some way to gain the upper hand." Frowning, she taps the note into her mobile. "After the last decade, this one should be a Career era. Four set the 60th up for it. Being optimistic, I would say this comes down to One versus Two more than ever."
Mel winks. "But you're not optimistic."
"Who do you think I am? I'm not peddling defective body glitter to every teen with pocket money in the city just to get there on optimism," Satin says with severe good humor. She crosses to the carpet in front of the sofa, touches Mel's straining golden forearm. "Wrap it up for now and hit the shower. You should like it. It's already fitted with the tuberose products."
"For the all-Panem girl," Mel schmaltzes, slinging the scarf over her shoulder as she heads for the anterior train car. "Oh, mentor mine?"
"Mmm?"
"I won't have to set up the showmance with Stephenson," she says, which sounds more like a question than a surety. "Even if the biggest players are One and Two."
"You shouldn't have to, unless Two and Four are both nixed. It's not typically done. Why?"
"Just curious." A reflection of relief passes over her eyes before she's gone, sashaying topless past an Avox who bangs his elbow on the doorframe. Satin can hear her humming the outro of the NGN. And with that, your hosts will leave you with one more clip from our favorite national pasttime. Stay alert, and keep the popcorn handy!
Satin wraps a hand around the back of her neck, regarding the far end of the train critically. What would the concern with Stephenson be? He's made a keen impression, but nothing that's outshone Mel or the behemoth from Two. Based on his lighter frame, and on Rowella's usual picks, he'll be in the right place to play the sadist in the pack. One commentator called him the 'off-brand Argent Beaucaire.' Which was...almost amusing. If not for the obvious.
She misses the boy. His anger and his purpose. She used to wonder how she ever pulled him out. That much anger, for so many people, and he fought that hard just to come back and give himself to them? And then...
Maybe the commentator was onto something. It would probably be a first.
She stops the Avox after he tops off the fruit bowl, lowering her voice. "Report to me how Rowella's boy treats the staff. I'm assigning you to the district floor in the training center. You may alert me to an extreme situation by leaving poinsettias outside my door if I'm not in the building. Do you understand?"
The Avox blinks, then nods.
"Wonderful." Whatever comes of that, it isn't her priority now. There's too much on her plate. Sponsorship dealings for the rest of the day, catch-up with Two and Four by the evening. Satin touches her chignon, contemplating the appointment with Chairman Fring. He prefers hair long and loose. And if Amber Lindell's been his fancy, it wouldn't hurt to straighten it at the ends. She's got time to make herself over before the train comes in.
Threading her fingers through the chignon to disassemble it, face inclined to the mirror screen of her mobile, Satin stops, and delicately pinches one strand out from behind her temple. Her jaw locks into place.
Is that a gray fucking hair?
"Dogface." One of Aurelia's legs is folded beneath her like a child's as she travels through the channels on the viewing room screen. She points to a purple-haired entity from The Panem Report, currently suffused with artificial glee at his co-host's wit. "I mean, not him. He called me one. He said maybe the Stonebrook product line will be coming out with Aurelia le Chienne, 'a pungent flavor of wet fur and marrowbone to challenge the hardiest palate.'"
"He should do his research better, because there's no Stonebrook product line." Kieran is traveling the feeds as well, an insistent ache thumping in the back of his head, but he's in the private betting threads rather than the public sector, where the opinions will genuinely weigh in. "They're just jumping on the bandwagon. You have enough skill to get the edge in the arena. Once training footage starts to leak, first impressions won't count for much."
Underage. Unprepared. Reliant on an unexpected personality role? Doesn't hit the mark for what's shaped to be a classic Career decade.
2-F playing off as backup/midgame support for 2-M.
Stonebrook taking the L for Grantforth. Big money says Cadmus makes Grantforth's 3rd Vic. Stay alert and KTPH folks!
The Morning Line Odds are pitching Aurelia at 8 to 1. The lowest in the pack. Not atrocious, but low. He'd hoped the unexpected role would count for something. They just have to give her a chance.
"I'm not worried, sir." Disciplined, she sits tall at attention, even while she examines an lopsided orangeish apple from the coffee table. She's likely never had a real one that wasn't processed into a nutritional bar before. Clear, focused eyes meet Kieran's, and he lowers his mobile. "I'm learning how I'll have to handle the pack dynamics. District One will have the alpha girl. She'll show me up in the early and mid-game, but if I get the chance to beat her in the final eight, it'll turn into a heroine arc."
"Correct. Try the apple."
With every network blowing up her Reaping footage in comparison to One's, it's impossible for Kieran not to take note of her crooked teeth as she sinks them into the crisp fruit, and the thin brunette wisps that keep slipping from her bun. But she's not a dogface. If it were really about that, the anchors would be brutalizing the pug-nosed Six Girl, who's earned about as much attention as her stocky, forgettable green mentor. It's just the bad luck of One and Two polarization. That's the premise he's going to operate on for now.
"Permission for a Games question, sir?" Aurelia says, drying her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Hit me."
"Did you choose me to run interference for Cadmus?"
For a second, it's as though she's genuinely hit him. Kieran turns sharply to her. "As in backup before his endgame?"
"Yes." The way she is calm for this. The slightest tremor comes through her hands around the apple, but her eyes are stolid as the sockets of a skull. "I won't hesitate, sir. When you chose me, I knew there had to be a reason. I haven't graduated yet. You didn't want to waste Pallas or Jericho after we've lost our best ones for this many years. But I know I can defend Cadmus as long as I'm active — "
"Listen to me."
She seals up immediately, tracking him as he leaves his seat and hovers awkwardly before her on the faux stone floor. What the hell is he supposed to say to this? Expecting him to send her on a one-way mission. Maybe he's never earned a Victor yet, and he's had sixteen years to try, but he'd feed his leg to mutts before he would pull some backhanded shit like that.
(Still, a feeling of dread — if she continues to poll low, lower than any of the pack, dips below the more promising outliers. If she plays out as 'unready' and 'childish' instead of human and real. The unsaid expectation would be on Cadmus to rise above her. Would be on Kieran to know when to fold.)
(Piss on that.)
"They've had Cadmus before," he says. "He's the same card Jupiter always plays. They've had Mellifluous and Stephenson before. They've had fun, wild Fours. If I were doing the same thing, I would've chosen a darker pack leader who could hold a grudge. I'd choose someone pretty."
She doesn't flinch. He doesn't expect her to. It's honesty.
"You're the line between the pack and the outsiders. You show the Capitol what they want the most from both sides: reliable, loyal talent, plus modesty and ability to improvise. If you made a splash at the Reaping just for playing it like a pornstar, you'd be in the wrong place. Tell me what happens if she takes a mace to the jaw or loses an eye in the bloodbath."
Slowly, Aurelia's lips turn up. "Her gimmick is gone."
"The sponsors drop out like flies. But if it happens to you, it's part of your story. You're powered by it. They see you fall to your lowest, then they see you get back up. You think you could get back up from that?"
He's leading her. The tactics are transparent. But the wan, empty acceptance of her sacrifice is leeching out, superseded by a flash of almost radiant belief. "Yes, sir."
"Correct." Kieran lodges his thumbs in his belt. "You going to tell me any more shit about what I chose you for?"
"No, sir."
"Finish your apple. When they take you down for chariot prep tomorrow, they don't want you eating beforehand. Something about all the chemical treatments they use. And I might not be able to talk them out of minor cosmetic surgery."
Her nose wrinkles, but she's been briefed on this already. "Understood."
"They call it a Holstein." He nods at her from the other end of the car before he steps out, and she reexamines the off-color fruit. "Kind of weird. Not as fancy as the apples they used to stock, but I got tired of Red Delicious. Never really had any flavor."
She grins at him. He gives a long, skeptical stare in return. "That's not a metaphor. I'm telling you they're expensive. Eat the damn apple."
Rubbing the back of his skull as he moves to rejoin Jupiter, Kieran realizes his headache is nearly spent.
"You need to pull yourself together before I do it myself, kid."
"Kid? You think I'm the kid here? Next to him-"
"You can use some respect for him and you can sit down pronto is what I think."
"Respect? Unbelievable. That's unbelievable." Murray bares his teeth at Kaito and rounds on Adrian again. "Are you gonna say anything? You just gonna let him take care of whatever while you freak out and cry in your room? If Ebihara's mentorin' me and Quill, I don't have a problem, but you sure coulda saved the trouble of wanderin' on stage to make me look like an idiot."
Kaito may be one-armed, but the one can pack a lot of weight. It packs Murray off his feet by way of his clavicle, and when he's down, it keeps him there. Kaito reinforces it with his knee in the tribute's ribcage. He makes more noise, but he's not getting up.
"Huh." Kaito's girl hasn't shifted from the countertop. She toasts him with a salt-rimmed lemonade. "This must be the district unity they told me about in class. Hey, if Murray kills his mentor when you let him go, does he become the mentor by osmosis?"
"Now is not the time, Quill." Kaito exhales, pressing down through the burn of his shoulder as Murray thrashes and cusses. What a top committee choice. Stony enough at least to keep the disgust off his face when he Volunteered and shook Quill's hand under the vacant-eyed observation of Adrian, but that didn't last long.
If this were just Murray's piratical brand of sociopathic Career belligerence, Kaito wouldn't have a qualm about handing his ass to him and letting him storm it out. But the problem is that he sort of has a point, and there's nothing any of them can do about it.
One and Two are the heart of the pack. Four is more than a hanger-on, but some years, when there isn't anyone right for the choice, or when the committee's pick loses their nerve, it can happen: a tribute goes in Reaped. And they'll still have the edge over the average middle or outer district, and if they're reasonably fit, with a head on their shoulders, the pack will let them slip in. Last year, Adrian did. A sixteen year old fishing kid, quiet and lanky. Fair to say nobody took much notice of him till he polearmed three opponents in the Career break and did the last girl in when she stopped by the water. Everyone loves a happy ending.
"I'm older'n him," Murray grunts, head beating the floor as he tries to lever Kaito off him. "I'm better'n him. Saner'n him. Killed more'n him. Trained ten years for the committee. But they fucked me. If I had a mentor knew what he was doin', I'd be guaran-fuckin'-teed the win."
Quill raspberries him. "Speak for yourself. The Twos haven't bagged it for eight years, and they're professional mentors. I could take or leave the help, me."
"I killed sharks in training. I got their teeth on a string. I'm a KILLER. I'm bringing pride to my DISTRICT — "
"You're mopping the floor with your hair is what you're doing. Leave off." Kaito compresses Murray's chest until he wheezes. "I'm not going to tell you again. Either you play nice, or you drop into that arena and hope to Snow your allies feel like sharing their sponsor gifts. You've got one shot at this. You want to throw it away because you don't feel like Waller's killer enough for you?"
Slowly, Murray relents, breath hissing through flared nostrils. He pulls himself to his feet and spits. One hand protectively closes around his weathered shark tooth string.
Quill sips her lemonade, one pinky stuck out like a socialite's. "Nice necklace, Mo-ray."
"It's a string."
"Round your neck."
"It's got teeth," he snaps, shoving it into his shirt. "Still say they shoulda given me Luther Ness. If he saved this moron, he can miracle anyone out."
Kaito approaches Adrian gently, like a frightened dog run over on the road. The boy still hasn't moved. "Waller, how we doing?"
For the time being, Waller isn't in here. It's plain as the blood on his lips. He's been chewing them to hell. He trembles like dry grass, and when Kaito takes hold of him, his legs go liquidy. Fortunately, there's not much weight to catch. But he starts to gasp, convulsing against him, with his lips caught in his teeth again. A new stream of blood forks down his chin.
"Quill, get his sedative, front pocket of my bag. Murray — help me lay him on the floor." Kaito's tone dares the boy to disagree. After a suspicious huff, Murray takes the place of Kaito's missing hand, lowering Adrian to his side. Quill wings the capped needle at them with an easy fastball; Kaito uncaps it with his teeth.
"Squeeze his arm. Upper arm. Roll it a little for me. I need to hit a vein."
Quill's tongue pokes from the side of her mouth. She holds Adrian's legs steady without getting told to. Murray pinches the flesh like it owes him money.
"Uh, let off on that. There it is. You're doing good." Kaito takes his aim. The short needle sinks in, delivering Capitol-grade calm to Adrian's bloodstream. In fifteen seconds, he stops shuddering, though his breath is coming in weak wet spurts that Kaito realizes are words.
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
"Shit." Sat back on her heels, Quill laughs spontaneously. "Me and you might have the wrong plan this year, Murray."
As to say, living through it. She only means it in jest. But Kaito winces.
Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm trying.
"Speak for yourself. When I'm in the Village, I can eat sedatives for breakfast if I got to." Murray is strangely looking at Adrian with a kind of worn, sour toleration. If that's what it takes to skin that bucket of fish, at least it's skinned.
Adrian reaches out, eyes bloodshot and half-closed. Finds Murray's wrist and starts to sit up. "Sorry. I'm trying." His thin chest caves in with each breath he draws. "I'm trying. I'm working on it. I'll fix it."
"Is that gonna help me?"
Adrian's thumb wipes his mouth, comes away scarlet. "If I made it out, I think you can do it."
The eyes on this kid, like he's been sucker-punched in both. He still looks so tired. Kaito feels about the same. He'd be ready to throw himself in bed and sleep for the week if they weren't hours out from the Capitol. He has sponsors to court. Mentors to catch up with. A Talent shoot to sham his way through with Arnav's packed goods. And the kid. He doesn't want to think it, but Adrian might have been right, back at the Governor's party. He might have preempted mentorship by years and doomed his tribute as good as kicking him off the platform in person.
"You know what?" Quill chirrups, startling the crouched cluster of them. "I think we're gonna give One and Two a run for their money."
Adrian laughs weakly, rubbing the swollen injection spot in his arm. "They won't even know where to start with you."
"Already know what I'm startin' with them." Murray pops his knuckles as he stands. "I got my sights on the One chick's scalp."
"Snow protect us," Kaito says mildly, helping Adrian to his feet. "If you can keep it on the level for half an hour, you can sight all the scalps you want. I'll be needing to rest my eyes."
The trouble might be defused for now, but how much longer is this going to work? How much longer can he handle this? It has to be worth it, he drills into himself. It's always been worth it.
It sounds less convincing each time he tells it.
Some sets of moments before we make it to the big show in the Capitol. Let me know what you think. C:
