prologue one: beholden to it
Oriana Elissir has been a free woman for ten months, one week and three days.
Supposedly, at least; the topic of freedom is a contentious one where she is concerned, the naive little Capitolite whose tender-hearted temperament led her to throw her lot in with a rebel. And not just any rebel, either - something the press has been keen to point out since the day of her sacking, nearly two years before. No, Oriana's crime was associating with Valentin Verduin, Panem's scourge. A man whose very presence seemed to darken the energy of a room… just as his words could lighten even the most dire of situations.
(Is it wrong for her to admit she considered him a friend? Is it wrong for her to confess that when she'd heard about his execution… heard about his death… she'd felt distraught, even if only for a few moments? Probably - Oriana knows well enough that Valentin was no friend to the Capitol, even before the massacre in the Twenty-Fourth. And yet she'd liked him. Sure, they hadn't been the closest of people - there hadn't been enough time for real camaraderie between the Gamemakers' meetings and Maryse's plotting and all the chaos with Snow, Newmahr and Hellebore - but she enjoyed his company, in between those late nights finalizing mutt designs and discussing popular fantasy novels. If things had been different… if the circumstances that brought them together weren't quite so harsh, quite so tense…)
Stop it, Oriana reminds herself, her lashes fluttering as she tries to dispel the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, impossibly close to spilling over. It's like Tal always says, there's no point getting my head stuck up in the clouds, all worried over things I can't even try to change. Maybe I am too much of an idealist…
(Idealism's what got me into this mess to begin with. Really, I should know better by now…)
(Bless you, Oriana, you're acting like a child. Stupid, stupid, stupid…)
The former Minister of Revelry bites her lip, her fingers curling tighter around the handle of her coffee mug. The liquid inside's probably gone cold by this point, but Oriana really doesn't have the heart left to care. She feels…
… uncomfortable. Not empty, exactly, not quite, just… sullen. But not morose, not depressed. It's more subtle. Muted. Quiet.
… it's too quiet.
The observation's almost laughable; she spent eleven months in a prison cell, and yet it's only now that she's out that she's starting to find silence overwhelming. Maybe because she's at home, and home was never quiet before, even in the wee hours. There was the rustle of wind against the window shutters, the creaking floorboards, the soft, plaintive meows of her cat, Blackberry, nuzzling up against her side at two in the morning, desperate for attention. And there was Sara. Her sweet, darling Sara, the most beautiful woman Oriana had ever laid eyes on, her love of nine-plus years.
They were supposed to have a lifetime together. 'Til death do us part, that's what the vows said. But the trial changed things.
Valentin changed things.
Oriana never fancied herself a rebel, even in her most wild, romantic, whirlwind fantasies. To be cast aside as one now feels strange at best, if not downright disturbing. She was born in the Capitol, raised in the Capitol, even dedicated her life to serving the principles of the place she'd always known as home. She kept her head down when she was supposed to, stayed in her own lane when she was asked. For fuck's sake, she was even put in charge of revelry - propaganda, press, pictures and prettiness, what's more patriotic than that? She spent years trying to paint herself as the ideal of Capitol life, years trying to portray herself as bubbly, optimistic, and unquestionably loyal, yet what did all that conformity and cheer even get her in the end?
Nothing.
(Snow and Delacroix needed a scapegoat to pardon for their own plans. They outplayed the system and made her their patsy to cover up the fact they were the ones who'd hired Valentin on as a Gamemaker in the first place. Oriana didn't need to ask to know they'd been planning something big, back when all this began. She'd just been naive enough to think that their scheme, whatever it might be, was something designed to promote the good of the Capitol... and all the people who lived in it.)
(She didn't want to believe it was a power grab. Even when the evidence was staring her right in the face.)
(Valentin tried to tell her about it. Some might call him a terrorist, but he wasn't that, Oriana's certain of it. His heart was always in the right place, despite the occasional insanity of his he'd derigged Elowyn's platform back in the Twenty-Third, she even let him get away with it; claimed plausible deniability where she could, because what Maryse didn't know wouldn't hurt her, would it? Outspoken dissident or not, Elowyn Eiken was a child. Oriana supported the Games because she'd grown up with them, but she didn't support outright slaughter like what the other Gamemakers wanted her to do. Blowing up a seventeen year old girl for speaking her mind… just the thought of it appalled her. It was horrific. It was disgusting.)
(The Games are disgusting too. And as much as the loyalist in her wants to argue that they exist for a reason, she's seen enough to know better. She can't defend the Capitol anymore. She can't defend her father, the peacekeeper, or her mother, the prosecutor, or her sister, the Master of Ceremonies, or even herself.)
(Minister of Revelry, they'd called her once, and now Oriana has to laugh.)
(There's no revelry to be found in violence.)
(There's no joy to be found in abuse.)
She's done with the Capitol.
Fuck the system.
(And fuck you, Snow. You didn't save me. You ruined me.)
A/N: Well, well, isn't this a surprise? The prologue for Floccinaucinihilipilification, posted on May 1 as originally intended? Honestly, I'm surprised too - the past month hasn't given me much time to focus on writing, much less on the SYOT community. But here I am, returned in part from a relatively long hiatus with the final installment in the Dealing With Devils trilogy, and a call for submissions once more. Hopefully there's at least a few of you out there who are interested.
The verse summary (containing spoilers for the past two works in the series) and guidelines are up on my profile. I will be accepting between twelve and fifteen tributes, and submissions will be open until June 15th (which means you have a solid six weeks to brainstorm and send me your children should you be so inclined). A huge thank you to anyone who chooses to follow along with this final leg of my series - your support is immensely appreciated. Until the next!