CHAPTER XV: WHITE TEETH TEENS
Lisung Jarstova • Head Gamemaker
Head Gamemaker's Office / July 4th, 1:59 PM
Head Gamemaker Lisung's been told that the most exciting — and most stressful — part of every year is receiving her official list of tributes. Besides the designated volunteers from the three Career districts, Lisung's working with a blank slate. Lisung will finally get to know the names of her little playthings, the living bodies that'll soon bring the Arena's population to twenty-four.
Right now, Lisung has the skeleton of the arena mapped out; with all the information she can find on her tributes, she'll be able to flex and tailor her arena towards their talents and their vulnerabilities. The horrific ideas she's thought of, written down, and kept secret in the journal she's had since childhood might finally be able to see the light of day. But within twenty-eight hours, she'll need to figure out every relevant detail about their lives to ensure that the Games go off without a hitch.
It's a rigorous process, but Lisung refuses to be anything short of ready. She's got her endless supply of energy drinks. Screens are pulled up, ready to go. And of course, there's Kishor on her left, perched in her usual spot on Lisung's desk.
First impressions are usually something the Head Gamemaker does alone, but Lisung figures the Master of Ceremonies could stand to gain something from them as well. After all, Kishor would be the one overseeing the parades, interviews, and public relations on a macro level.
Yesterday morning, Lisung had called the Master of Ceremonies. [ Miss Mahadio — can I get you in my office tomorrow, 2:00 PM? ]
[ What for? ]
[ Business. ]
[ Business business? ] Kishor had asked, [ or business? ]
Lisung had flushed at the other woman's playfully suggestive tone, thankful that contact lines could not transmit heart rate. [ Mahadio, ] she reprimanded sternly, though she might've betrayed a slight smile. [ Tributes are officialized tomorrow. I'd like you to be there with me for the initial look. ]
Sure enough, Kishor came into her office with a couple minutes to spare, perching in her usual spot on Lisung's desk. To Kishor's right, Lisung stands upright with her arms crossed, suit pressed and prim. Her heart thrums steadily in anticipation for what's to come - it's time to show the Capitol what exactly Lisung Jarstova is made of. She isn't going to let a single thing slip out of her control.
When Lisung gets the notification that the last District has submitted their tributes, she can't help but feel giddy. She turns to Kishor, eyes alight and earnest. "Ready to meet our tributes?"
Kishor smiles. "Whenever you are, Head Gamemaker Jarstova."
Lisung presses a button on the remote and a icy blue hologram blooms to life in front of them, the lavish main square of District One projected in the middle of her office. Lisung accelerates through the recording, right up to when the escort is about to draw a slip from the ladies' bowl.
"I wonder what One will pull out for the theme this year," Kishor says. "Their matching volunteer outfits are always fun."
Lisung let out a short laugh, eyes still glued on the screen. "I wouldn't get my hopes up for that."
The escort pulls out a slip and starts to call out a name, but before she can finish a confident, assertive voice calls from the crowd. "I volunteer," she says, and out steps a blonde girl styled in a shimmery, golden dress. Everything about her is golden, really, from her dress to her heels to her makeup. She is radiant, sunlight dancing on her as she makes her way up to the podium and takes her spot next to the escort. "Reverie Berlusconi," she says before the escort can prompt her, "and I'll be District One's female representative for the 99th Hunger Games."
Kishor makes an approving sound. "Reverie looks fierce," she says. "You don't think they'll match?"
"You'll see."
Sure enough, when the male representative volunteers and lumbers up the stage, he pales in comparison next to his District partner. His brown leather jacket and jeans are a stark understatement compared to the roaring glory of his District partner — strangely casual, but it kind of works. "Kieran Locke," he says simply, and flashes a practiced smile, sending the audience into deafening applause for their two tributes. Lisung can't help but smirk knowingly when the two representatives from One shake hands, the boy's grip all too stiff.
"Hm," Kishor says. "He's got a rugged sort-of charm, I suppose? Why didn't the Academy give him something like Reverie was wearing?"
"Are you disappointed that Locke didn't volunteer in a short golden dress?"
"You know what I mean."
Lisung laughs. "The Academy offered him something nicer to wear," she says, "but he turned them down. He didn't want to match with his District partner."
Kishor looks at her, one eyebrow raised. Wordlessly, Lisung gestures towards the other screen, where Reverie's record is pulled up. She scrolls down to charges, where there is a suspended case; Kishor skims down the page, unreactive. "What's Aurelius's relationship to Kier?"
"His younger brother, younger by a year. Aurelius is the same age as Berlusconi here."
Kishor's lips curl up into a smile. "Fascinating. District Two?"
The second Career district isn't as known as One is for their visuals, but Lisung is not disappointed by the tributes that they yield. Sergeant Andronicus sports a red button-down and ripped skinny jeans. His gold watch glistens in the crowd as he raises his arm and volunteers in a confident voice, loud enough to be heard but not enough to be boasting. Cassia Cosmos shortly joins Sergeant on the stage, her starry-blue dress twinkling as she eagerly shakes everyones' hands.
"Now isn't she just a doll?" Kishor hums.
"Quite," Lisung agrees, smiling. "She reminds me of a little puppy."
District Three's tributes aren't too much out of the ordinary. When the Three escort calls for Shaffa Zorp, a tall girl with reddish-brown hair and purple glitter on her eyelids walks up to the stage. She plasters on an unsteady smile as she turns to the crowd, hands stiff at her side. The slip from the boy's bowl summons Orion Amsel, who looks almost pleasantly surprised to be called.
"That girl's name sounds familiar," Kishor says. "Zorp, Zorp… could she be related to that one cosmetic surgeon who does work here?"
"Neffilus Zorp." Lisung nods, recalling the name with little trouble. "He's her father."
"Can't imagine that he'll be in the mood to work anymore. It's a shame for the clients that've already booked."
Lisung switches to the next stream, the main square of District Four adorned with palm trees and seashell-lined streets. Kishor's eyes are fixed onto the hologram, eagerly awaiting the last pair of Careers.
The District Four escort reaches into the ladies' bowl and pulls out a light-pink slip. He opens it greedily. "Narissa Selkin!"
"I volunteer!" calls out a husky, commanding voice from the square. The camera zeroes in on a girl with two braids, whose expression is steely and fierce. The crowd parts for her like water as she treads through them, clean and without hesitation.
The escort asks her name when she takes her position on the podium. "Jupiter Fairhope," she says. "I'll bring glory to District Four."
He gives a single, dainty clap with his hands and wades over to the gentlemen's bowl. He is barely halfway through a name before he is cut off by a "I vol—" and a sickening squelch. The square immediately goes silent, the camera panning to the wide berth made around two figures in the crowd.
"I volunteer." the taller figure of the two says. He yanks something from the side of the boy in front of him. Blood starts to pool out in a steady stream from the boy's wound, and he falls to the ground in a heap. Silence hangs over the square for one more fragile beat, and then the crowd is thrown into chaos. Screams echo from the square as people try to pry past the Peacekeepers, who use their batons to keep them corralled inside. Meanwhile, taller boy stalks up the steps, much to the escort's horror.
Lisung's mouth hangs agape. "He just— he sta—"
"Yup," Kishor affirms softly, the flicker of surprise already smoothed from her face. "Looks like the Careers'll have fun this year."
The escort cowers almost comically behind Jupiter, who looks severely off-put but tries not to betray any emotion for the cameras. The escort gulps, then shakily points the mic in the boy's general direction. "Y-y-your name," he sputters.
The boy gazes at the agitated crowd, voice low and sonorous as he says, "They call me Bone Demon."
"I don't think anyone calls him that," Kishor says.
The escort's shrill voice erupts from the hologram once more. "Y-your government name!"
He pauses and frowns like he has to think about it. "Kai Thana," he says at last. Lisung pauses the stream and starts to type furiously on her keyboard before letting out an exasperated groan.
"The database doesn't have anything on a Kai Thana from District Four," Lisung says, running her hands through the front of her ponytail. "He's got a dead mother, a father, and a brother, but none of their records have been updated in years. Check for hits on 'Bone Demon'?"
"Already on it," Kishor replies, sifting through news feeds projected from her wrist device. "A string of twenty or so gruesome murders started on the northern coast of Four about two years ago. The exact number can't be determined, because supposedly the serial killer resides in the part of Four with the highest homicide rate. There's still been a stark increase from prior years, though."
"What the fuck," Lisung says, crossing her arms under her chest, remote buried in the crook of her elbow. "We can't—"
"Listen, he's essentially just a Career with a couple more completed kill tests under his belt. If he gets too crazy, we can put him down in the Games," Kishor says. "No reason to worry. Let's go through the other kids."
"All right," Lisung says weakly. She heaves a sigh and navigates to the next stream, praying that she won't have to witness another attempted murder onscreen. Another one outside the Arena, anyway.
District Five starts with the gentlemen's bowl. As the camera pans over the citizens of District Five, a couple flashy figures catch Lisung's eye, but none stand out more than one exceptionally well-dressed boy in in the sixteen year-old section. She is taken aback when it turns out to be his name that's read out, and even more so when a look of pure delight comes across his face, unable to contain his ectasy as he barrels up the stage with an unmatched gusto. Fioynder Itamor-Nilth gives the escort a blindingly white grin, voice barely able to contain his excitement as he says, "Happy Birthday to me, am I right?"
Kishor starts laughing. "I like this kid already."
The female tribute isn't nearly as flashy as Fioynder. In fact, Lisung can't even tell where she appeared from. One minute she's nowhere to be seen in the crowd, and the next she's stomping up the podium with her combat boots, head held high and assured. A pair of black sunglasses obscures her eyes. Lisung doesn't know what to make of her.
"Keesha Cathode, huh," Kishor says. "She oozes cool."
"I don't even know how she got on that stage," Lisung mutters, still perplexed.
Juno Rovenstine and Crossland Vectra don't look out of the ordinary from what Six usually procures. Juno's clothes hang loosely on her bony frame, and she hurriedly scampers up the stage to take her place, head held low. As for Crossland, he does a poor job of concealing his rage. His jaw is strained with the effort of keeping his face unexpressive, but his facade breaks when the corner of his mouth twitches with displeasure. He gives Juno a very strong handshake, practically rocking the girl off her feet.
The next District is quite peculiar— specifically, the male tribtute. When the escort calls out the name "Lucifer Bishop," a heavily-clad boy with gloves takes his position without fuss. His clothes make it hard to tell what his build is like besides stocky, but that was hardly out of the ordinary for Seven kids. Still, Lisung finds his steely gaze and elaborate gear intriguing. Lucifer's page on the database doesn't yield much, but Lisung issues herself a mental note to do more extensive search.
His District partner, on the other hand, bursts into tears when she registers that the named called belongs to her. Ginseng Clarkson, dolled up in a little black dress with a bow, seems to be somewhere else as she sniffles up the stage, her petite form in stark contrast to Lucifer's heavyset one.
"Poor thing," Kishor pouts. "I'm surprised that's the first crier we've gotten so far."
"Most of them cry as they're heading into the Justice building or during their Goodbyes," Lisung says almost immediately, as if she were reading from a book. "Outer-District tributes that cry on camera are 33% less likely to get sponsors than the ones that don't."
"Hm," Kishor says. "That can't be true, can it?"
"It is. There are several studies that back up that finding," Lisung says. "Of course, it's not damning, and past tributes have used crying as a strategy to get pretty far in the Games. It's just not something sponsors like to see."
District Eight, surprisingly enough, brings in quite a cute-looking duo. Delano Astarte wears an oversized t-shirt, a pleated skirt, and several chains around his neck and wrists. The barettes in his hair and his shoes are the same shade of pink, and he even wears a little bit of nail polish and eyeliner. Lisung watches as Delano makes his way through the square, trying his best to conceal his nerves.
"He's got style," Kishor says. "That's too bad."
"Astarte also doesn't have an arm," Lisung points out, and frowns. "I think I want to do something about that."
Reaped from the ladies' bowl is Dottie Dressel, whose sage dress and wild curls bounce recklessly behind her as she climbs up the podium. She appears to be almost smiling. Lisung's suspicions are cleared up when Dottie suddenly bursts into a fit of giggles.
"I don't think Dressel's all there," Lisung says. She frowns as she scrolls through the sparse information on Dottie's page. "Seems like it might be due to a traumatic childhood experience."
Kishor hums at this, but doesn't offer a reply. Lisung flips to the next stream.
There's not much to comment on for District Nine. The girl, Wisteria Peak, wears a pretty hairdo, her dark coils adorned with little flowers. Her eyes are wide when she hears her name, but she does an all right job at putting a stop to the tremor in her hands. Emilio Carver, however, poorly masks his terror. He looks pitiable as he slowly drags his feet to the podium, white-button up already drenched in sweat. Wisteria offers him a shaky smile and pats his shoulder consolingly. Emilio returns her smile, seeming grateful for the reassurement.
Lisung doesn't expect District Ten to surprise her as much as it does. A girl by the name of Falo Tarandrus has her name pulled out of the bowl, and she seems absolutely bewildered to hear the escort call out for her. Lisung watches as Falo's viridescent, meticulously-tailored dress flows behind her as she shuffles through the square. Lisung purses her lips; she's heard the name Tarandrus before, but she can't recall from where.
Kishor fills in the blanks for her, almost as if on cue. "I'm pretty sure that's the eighteen year-old heiress of the steak company," Kishor says, watching the escort stir through the gentlemen's bowl. "I've never spoken to her father directly, but the company's done catering for a couple of my events before."
Lisung briefly peels her eyes from the screen to look at Kishor instead, clicking her tongue. "That's bad luck," Lisung says, but before she can say anything else, the escort yanks out a slip and calls out for a Bakar Ocejo.
The camera pans over to the boy, who isn't even given a chance to react before a booming voice erupts from the crowd. "I volunteer!" an older boy shouts, slightly flushed and out-of-breath. His eyes are wide as if he can't believe he's doing this, but his jaw is firmly set with resolve. Both of his fists hang at his sides, fingers whitening as he clenches them harder.
"Holy shit," Kishor says, lips curling back. Her eyes are focused and ablaze with curiosity, and Lisung knows that the mysterious Outer-District volunteer has piqued the woman's interest.
Lisung can't deny that she's intrigued as well. "It looks like we've got ourselves a little knight in shining armor."
The escort is beyond thrilled when the boy finally meanders up the stage. "Please, please, say your name for the cameras, hun!"
He turns towards the crowd and chuckles nervously. He gives a not-so-subtle glance at Falo, who is wide-eyed and still. "A-Asahel," he says, "Cervantes. Asahel Cervantes." A note of recognition enters Falo's expression as she and Asahel shake hands, yet it appears to do little to quell her palpable unease. She looks much more unnerved than she is comforted by his presence, but Lisung can't seem to clock why.
Lisung zeroes her attention back to the screen, attempting to analyze their behavior further. "They definitely know each other," she says as Falo and Asahel hold up their clasped hands for the square. But with his off-white button-down and slightly ripped khakis, Lisung feels confident that Asahel isn't near Falo in terms of economic standing. "I don't think they're close, though. He might be one of her employees or something, but thatstill doesn't exactly explain why he'd volunteer alongside her."
"They're not close," Kishor says simply, briefly inspecting her nails, "she barely knows him. But I'm sure Asahel's feelings run a lot deeper."
At times, it alarms Lisung how disturbingly introspective Kishor is. This is one of those times. "Might be," Lisung responds, but she offers no other comments as she switches to District Eleven's recording.
Eleven's Reaping is a return to normalcy. Yuly Montreal is reaped from the gentlemen's pool, causing quite a lot of commotion and tears from twelve and thirteen year-old sections. He attempts to console them as they wail, and the Peacekeepers are forced to pry Yuly from the children's clutches. Jillion Morgan, the female tribute, initially freezes in shock when her name is called. Then she suddenly starts cursing loudly, storming up to the stage in a fit of anger. Jillion almost kicks over the microphone stand before seeming to think twice about it; instead, she crosses her arms and bites down hard on her lip as if to keep them from trembling.
At long last, Lisung and Kishor reach the last recording. The unlucky Twelve girl is named Mavis Marigold, who looks near sickly in her pale-pink dress several sizes too small. The escort wholly ignores Mavis as she starts to dry-heave, her breaths making a rattling noise as if her diaphragm was threatening to cave in on itself. As for the boy, Artan Steffins, he's shocked as well, but his face suddenly becomes resolute when he stands on the podium, takes the microphone in his hands. "Melisandra Terris and William Farza k-killed someone two months ago!" Artan squeaks, entirely unconvincingly. He is immediately berated by the escort, who yanks the microphone back from Artan and admonishes him in front of the entire District for "being a bad boy."
"Well," Lisung clears her throat, "those are our little chess pieces for the 99th Annual Hunger Games."
"Fun cast we got here." Kishor smiles broadly. "You've got your work cut out for you."
Lisung laughs, slightly preoccupied. She's mentally going through the extensive list of things she'll need to take care of. "Let's hope I can give these tributes a fun time."
"Oh, love," Kishor hums, "you'll ruin them."
holy shitskies is that a motherfuckin d&d update?!
hey guys what's poppin it's ya boy brooke and we're back with another chapter [fuckboy laugh] okay let's get the pregames train started at last. i'll keep it brief bc idgaf. everyone say thank you goldie for betaing + LINDS UPDATED THE D&D BLOG! I'M FUCKING FROTHING they deserve some sloppy toppy
blah blah update soon or something whatever
q: how hard r ur nipples rn 1-10
$wag im out this bitch,
jar jar bink
