*trumpet sounds* Everyone, hello! If we haven't gotten a chance to meet yet, I am Paradigm of Writing, someone who loves to write SYOTS. What you are all looking at is the first prologue to Declaration of Death, which is a sequel SYOT to a piece that is near completion called Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Death, which focused on the 1st ever Hunger Games. Declaration of Death, as a sequel, focuses on the 2nd Hunger Games. Without getting too technical here (setting that for the closing AN), all of the rules and whatnot concerning submissions for the story, and the complete form will be down at the bottom. As I have come into routine with these sorts of things, as this is my 4th major SYOT, I have five to seven (I am setting on five, here) prologues before we dive into the cast. These prologues center around the characters and storylines that'll go into effect for the Capitol side of the plot, which those that are familiar with my stories, matter. Beyond that, everything is situated down at the bottom. Welcome to Prologue #1: A Peacock Without Feathers, the intro chapter to Declaration of Death. Of course, the ending to Liberty's arena (but not the epilogues) is heavily spoiled here, so be careful when venturing in (Felix meets the victor of the 1st Games for an important conversation).
"If it doesn't ruffle some feathers, then it's probably not the truth," ~ Anthony Manuel Villavicencio
Felix Fiore: Capitol Sponsorer P.O.V
Felix Fiore prefers his tea to be a more mild temperature, than those who wish to have theirs given to them piping hot. He doesn't trust those people. Their voices are always too high pitched, their faces covered in so much powder that he believes they spent the day lying facedown in a sack of flour. Their conversations tend to carry the most in crowed restaurants, while shoving their faces with forks filled with strange meat and drinking concoctions that look like a witches potion.
They are the ones he knows that cannot be trusted to keep a secret.
Such as what Vice President Cain Passionia believes to be the President's real age, or why the Head Peacekeeper, Lydia Wickervein, has so many bags under her eyes.
Felix sips his tea, clutching the lukewarm saucer in his grip, clean hands that have just been dipped in pools of aquamarine liquid – Scented jasmine, of course, he has to add, though there isn't anyone to disprove his point. What do you take me for? A heathen? – with his fingernails glistening in the sun. Those who want their tea cold, he doesn't trust either, but at least those people have some class. The head designer for the mutations program, for instance, with her cold tea and a drop of honey.
He knows this because of the warm idiots who do not know how to keep their voices down, where the Avoxes snicker in the corner because they don't care if Fiadore Jaskier can only drink coffee on Sundays while smoking a cigarette.
Felix wonders what sort of tea Poem Cavalli would like, but he supposes he'll find out soon enough.
It's been two weeks since her victory in the 1st Hunger Games, Felix watching from his leathered couch and comfortable cushions that smell of lavender and latex, and he cannot believe the upmost disrespect the girl shows from not accepting his invitation to tea. It is as if the Capitol skies knew it'd be a special occasion, for the sun is shining; it is a far cry from the pissing rain and gray blankets that cover the sky, making Felix have to stay inside and watch reruns of the Games.
Servants dote on him, so it isn't completely terrible of a time, but having to be resorted to reruns? Oh, the humanity.
Felix stirs his tea, adding a sugar cube, an extra going into his mouth, as he chews down on the sweet particles.
She'll arrive at his doorstep, and she'll prostrate herself at his feet. If only she knew who he is. It is a question Felix debates sometimes, laying awake in the dark, watching the ceiling fan spin lazily in a motion that leaves subwoofer hooves in his head even when he does eventually get to close his eyes.
The doorbell rings a moment later, as Felix finishes crushing the sugar cube with the base of his spoon, his gaze snapping directly to the doorstep.
"Early!" he exclaims, happily, setting his tea done. "So she isn't a complete idiot after all! She knows the decency of being early!"
He walks gaily over to the front door, leeching himself away from the veranda, from his closed curtain balcony that overlooks the main city circle. The presidential mansion looks quite gorgeous in the sunlight, pale pillars stretching towards the heavens, glowing gold and sparkling with a fresh trim of paint; he has the most expensive apartment in the city circle, but everyone knows that. The deed is taped to the front door, after all.
Felix is careful to not step on the nail protruding from the carpet, a rustic piece of the old world sticking through his decadent, blooming rose. It is a nice accentuate to the monogram mahogany look of his living room, swathes of brown and warm reds that make him feel as if he's plucked a bit of District 10 out of the air and into his abode.
He wrenches the door open, keeping the smile on his face, to the sight of… "Miss Cavalli," Felix greets her, holding out a sugar cube. "Pleased to meet you!"
The girl, the sixteen year-old from District Eight, who against all odds, survives the Hunger Games and comes home as a victor – "What a strange word," Felix muses, "I'd prefer to use the word whelp. Or idiot. She volunteered for it after all." – is beaming from ear to ear in the hallway. She is wearing another one of her own designs, some yellow dress that looks like spilt mustard mixed in with vinegar… her hair parted back, a golden necklace sitting at the nape of her neck, bringing attention to her smokiness, a debonair quality wafting off of her.
She's been his favorite from the get-go, only because her sobbing face is one of perfection when he snapshots it on interview night.
"Mr. Fiore," Poem accepts his hug with a briskness in her voice, slightly caught off guard by the warmth that is Felix wrapping his arms around her shoulders. They're around the same height, Poem's hairdo adding an extra inch to the look.
"Please, Poem," Felix says, his tone slick as velvet, smooth and buttery, when he removes himself first from their embrace. "I do not know strangers in my home," he keeps his smile. "Call me Felix, I insist," and then, as he steps away from the doorway to allow Poem to step inside, he holds out the sugar cube towards her. "This is for you."
The victor's smile falters, her eyes zeroing in on the food in his pale hand. Paleness is his way of life, with white gaunt skin that almost makes him look deceased, varicose veins rippling down his neck, bridging off into fords by his wrists. His hair, a freshly laid January snow, to the almost completely white look that is his eyes… all of it, flawlessness.
And she's somehow seeing a problem with him? He should just slam the door in her face.
"You offering me ecstasy?" Poem asks, her brow scrunched up, she frowning. "That's the fifth time a complete stranger has offered me drugs, and I don't do drugs cause of Niklaus and-"
Yawn. Niklaus Peverell, her district partner, her rut mate, Felix has to change the channel away from the Games because he cannot watch the passion. He cannot watch two lovers walk into each other's arms when there are foes out there, hiding in the trees, with curved blades by their hands.
"It's a sugar cube!" Felix tilts his head back and laughs, wispily, as if there is no sound coming from his mouth at all. "I promise you; I don't do drugs either, Poem," and then, ushering her inside, he closes the door swiftly. "Please, sit."
Poem blushes, ruffling out some of the extra frills of her dress that barely glides over the floor. She is a masterful designer, Felix has to admit, but she chooses the most garish of colors, the most hideous of fabrics… her parents, the esteemed Anya and Dion Cavalli haven't taught her one simple lesson in color coordinating?
"What is it you needed me for, Felix?" Poem asks, once she's situated, sitting across from him. There's an extra saucer of lukewarm tea laid out for her, but if she wants it, he'll let her have it. It is not his job, even as a host, to tell her to grab it and to sip it. She's already broken several rules of hospitality. "I have a lot of press releases, have a lot of designs to look at… interviews…" the girl's gaze glazes over. The Capitol paparazzi following her mention that this happens a lot; Felix watches as her lips twitch, and Poem blinks away the confusion, looking at him with another sweet smile on his face.
The girl hasn't even mentioned how pretty his home is. Nor has she accepted the sugar cube still sitting in his hands.
Felix crushes the sugar cube, keeping the grin on his face as he takes his seat on the couch, she facing him in a chair.
"I always cut straight to the chase, so I anticipate this meeting will be brief, Poem," Felix wipes the crumbles of sugar off of his hands, letting it sit on the carpet. He makes sure to throw the granules onto the white part of the rug where they won't show, and the only reminder will be them crunching underneath his feet. "I was in charge, essentially, with your Games, to spur the sponsorship program," A flicker of recognition flashes across Poem's face, the furrowing of her brow, but nothing else beyond that. "There were several items I provided. The box of weapons, for instance, that the trio of Catalus Drachma, Magnus Winterthorn, and Diana Kratovska used," Felix keeps his eyes on her face.
He sees it all happen, the battle in her eyes. Blood splatters, raised blades, golden arrows streaking through the sky. Felix admires her tenacity, at how Poem doesn't up and run. He saw the end; she is there in the thick of it. "Magnus's weapon powered by photonic light," Felix drones on, and this time, the two land eye-contact with one another, Poem shivering in her seat. She is there when the boy from Two's weapon slices through the girl from Nine, a poor, hopeless darling named Camilla Rodriguez goes down for the count, blood spilling all over the grass… Poem's gaze still does not waver. "And one very important, last minute decision," Felix adds, rubbing his cheek with his hand.
It is marvelous to him, how humans react when they hear what he's done. The Fiore family is respected in the Capitol, reporters and personality stars that fill every screen on the Capitol when the Master of Ceremonies, Richmond Anvil, isn't hogging all the spotlight. Money pours off of all of the pockets Felix can have, and with the 2nd Hunger Games dead ahead in a matter of eleven months, it is a program that needs to be funneled and kept together.
Poem reaches out for the cup of tea, Felix noticing a tremble in her hands. He always gets to them eventually, no matter how hard they try to hide, no matter how safe and secure they may feel in their heads… he knows; he's commanded by Cain Passionia to execute a task, and that is what he does.
"The needle…" Poem whispers, and her right hand, left still holding the cup of tea, goes to her pocket. "You sent in the needle?"
"A bit mean of me, I must admit," Felix holds his hands up, taking a sip of his drink. "But, that gift saved your life, didn't it?"
The girl nods her head, setting the cup of tea down, she not even having taken a sip of it. Poem digs into the sides of her dress, Felix noticing for the first time that there are pockets sewn into the side. Handy, he supposes.
Poem finishes fishing for whatever it is, and then, there, glinting off of the sunlight streaming through the curtains, a gray pinpoint. The needle. It is no longer covered in the blood of District Three's Vesuvia Vocanova, but it is no surprise to say the least for Felix to see that Poem has kept it. Did she sew the dress she's wearing with it? It'd be a level of morbid he's never seen before.
"You kept it?" Felix asks, his voice hollow, as if it were echoing inside the room. He cannot take his eyes off of it. It has a legacy, this piece of steel that is no longer than six inches.
"I kept it," Poem affirms, setting her voice low, shame filling the syllables; he hears it handedly, her shame. Ashamed by its usage, ashamed she still is holding onto it. Her eyes widen, the level of her voice rising into a frantic pace. "Do you want it back? Do you need it? I don't need to keep it, Mr. Fiore, I swear, I-"
He holds his hand up, silencing her in an instant. All of those from the districts are the same, easily subdued by just a raised hand… yet this girl believes she has the power to fight gods all because she's now surrounded by them in gold plating?
"Poem, the needle is yours," he says, appraising it with care. "I had it specifically designed for you, sharpened so you could keep it when all other methods of defense fail," Felix leans forward, pushing Poem's arm back to her, the look in her eyes subduing under another veneer of confusion. "The weapon saved your life, but it also means I saved your life, too."
Poem's free hand goes to her left side. Felix knows what is there. A scar unlike any other, one that stretches down her hip, and curves around the bone, where Vesuvia Vocanova's knife finds her skin. A lasting memory that'll never go away.
Penance for her stupidity, as Felix will never forget the girl volunteering, because she believed that the Hunger Games were to be a fashion show…
"You-" Poem stutters at the words, disbelief, and an anger too, for Felix knows what narrowed eyes mean when pointed at him. "You want a thank you?"
"Oh, I want more than gratitude," Felix says, leaning forward again, grabbing her right hand, holding it close to him. Poem is still holding onto the needle, and he knows it could pierce his heart just as quick as it did the girl from Three, but he knows that Poem in her two weeks in the Capitol since the end of the Games that she's getting smarter. She's learning… which is almost impossible for him to even believe.
"What do you want?" Poem whispers, fear coalescing at the corner of her eyes. A fear that is delicious and radiant, one that Felix imagines tastes of cheesecake and smog from a District 8 smokestack. Sulfur and ash, strawberries and brandy soaked in a lemon perfusion, an acrid acidic drop splashing on his tongue. He laps up fear like a horse eats sugar cubes, how an ignorant Capitolite spreads gossip.
Felix smiles again, keeping his hands from squeezing too hard. He could break her right wrist, but the girl has been through enough.
His sentence causes Poem's eyes to widen more, and the needle trembles in her grasp. "There's a favor I demand of you, Poem," he harshens her name, dropping his smile. "And I won't take no for an answer."
She may have won her Games, may be safe in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of the president and the Head Peacekeeper, and every adoring Capitol fan who wants to kiss her feet.
But she's never played one of Felix Fiore's games.
And he only knows one thing when it comes to those. He knows how to win.
Tribute Submission Form
Name:
District w/ two backups:
Age:
Gender and Preferred Pronouns:
Appearance:
Faceclaim: (If you are unsure what this means, please PM me. There will be a blog for this story, but I need appearance and a faceclaim)
Personality:
Backstory:
Family/Friends: (no need to be too overtly descriptive)
Reaped/Volunteered?:
Reaction/Reason?: [volunteering reason needs to be a knock out of the park]
Weaknesses: (personality based; four needed)
Strengths: (personality based; four needed)
Weapon(s) of choice:
Token:
Reaction to seeing the Capitol for the first time?:
Any allies or alliances?:
Training Strategy?:
Private Gamemaker Session Strategy?:
Preferred Range of Score: (1-3, 4-6, 7-8, 9-12) and why?:
Potential interview strategy?:
Preferable Placement and why? (Give me a range of four to six placements):
Preferred Cause of Death?:
Blog Quote:
Theme Song:
There we have it, ladies and gents, the first chapter of my next SYOT, Chapter #1: A Peacock Without Feathers, for Declaration of Death, an SYOT detailing the 2nd Hunger Games. Above is the criteria for the tribute submission form, and if you have any questions about any of its content, please let me know. Submissions will only be through PMs; I do not accept submissions given through the reviews by guests or from registered site users. I also do not do reservations or first-come, first-serve; each slot is open till the duration of the submission period unless I personally believe I've locked in the sub. All twenty-four slots are open for submission.
Unlike the last two SYOTS I have done (Bombs and Bullets / Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Death) where I had one tribute per one submitter, I am taking whomever I believe is to be the best of the cast and who I want to use. A max of three submissions, please. Submissions are open now, starting on September 19th, 2021, and will be closed on Halloween, October 31st, 2021. Please do not sub a tribute that is currently alive in a story, and please do not submit a tribute that has died and you were just discontented with the results (resubmissions like that are highly disrespectful, and they will not be accepted!) If the story was discontinued without getting too far into the Games and their fate was left unknown / tribute sub was previously rejected, they are alright to submit.
Despite making this clear last time around, these games focus on the 2nd Games. Careers, so far (although that is already changing) do not exist in this story; if a tribute is submitted from One, Two, or Four, they are not trained Careers, the sub will not be accepted. On worldbuilding and whatnot, Panem just got out of the Dark Days. While listing every element would be too much for this AN, the five prologues of Liberty (primarily 1, 3, and 4) have all the information needed in case you get things down to the nitty gritty. Also as seen by the form, there will be a blog for this story, which I am excited about, as it'll be my first one ever.
On my profile, there'll be a statistical breakdown per district / gender of what has been submitted, for my benefit and yours. We will be seeing the rest of the Capitol cast in the coming prologues, and I am also rolling out the epilogues for that of Liberty. And, also, as a forewarning... I write a lot. My SYOTS are very large, with Liberty at the end of its run going to be hitting 500k. My chapters are long-winded, and the pace can be quick at times, and slow at others... as an element to mention. I don't want people to be overwhelmed by a story, it is just how my writing style develops. Beyond that, not sure I have much more to say. I do hope you submit, I do hope you leave a review giving me your thoughts, and I hope I see you for more. I love you all so much! Have an amazing day! Bye!
~ Paradigm