Hey everyone, Paradigm here with a brand new prologue for Declaration of Death - I think I'm just gonna shorthand it to Declaration, soon, as every story SYOT I have ends up being either changed into an acronym (like Liberty's police department of LLPD) or a single moniker: Slaughter, Bullets, and Liberty. Anywho, we started the story off last chapter with a new Capitol OC named Felix Fiore, a sponsor who thinks he's he uh, hot shit - his inclusion in Liberty's finale definitely speaks to that - and he... had a request for the darling Poem Cavalli, victoress of the 1st Hunger Games. Here, in Prologue #2: A Marriage Without Communication, it is coming from the Master of Ceremonies, Richmond Anvil, and we're going back in time for this prologue (I switched them out of order). This prologue is going to be continuing immediately from where I ended Lydia's final pov in Liberty so if you are confused, look at that pov. I hope you guys enjoy Chapter #2: A Marriage Without Communication.
"Failure is never final when love exists to keep it in check," ~ Alistair Bragg
Richmond Anvil: Master of Ceremonies P.O.V
In the six and a half years Richmond Anvil has known his wife, Lydia, there has never been, after a night filled with fighting and fraught nerves and words one cannot ever take back where he doesn't come home. Even though he watches his wife leave the restaurant last night after their fight, where he feels bad enough to actually pay the check since the dining staff had to watch the whole battle go down over watercress and cooled tomato tortilla soup. In their fights, if one of them leaves early to head back home before the other, it is expected that whoever is left behind trudges in like a wet dog coming in from the rain.
They're expected to shuffle inside with their head tilted down, gaze centered on the floor, and only until their name is spoken five or six times in a row, with each occasion the other's voice filling up with concern, will they look up and apologize.
That has not happened.
Richmond sits by the vanity near their bed, wiping the latest days' worth of mascara and blush off of his cheeks and down his eyelashes, for being on camera always requires him to be fully swathed in makeup, and he doesn't like using the products offered down to him at the TV station. Lydia's makeup, however, is ripe for the picking, and there's always been a lot of it since her job as the Head Peacekeeper doesn't give her many opportunities to glam up, since her face is always hidden behind the visor.
The problem is, he hasn't seen Lydia all day. He doesn't come home after last night, instead going to Nyria's place, as it is the only place in the Capitol that wouldn't bombard him with fifty million questions. He's been caught up in work all day, after the Mutts Designer asks him what's wrong and sends him on his merry way, yet Lydia isn't home either when he slides the key into the lock, expecting to be the one to do the soaked dog routine.
"What happened last night?" Nyria asks him, she holding a mug of tea in her hands. Richmond tightens the blanket wrapped around his shoulders some more, turning away from her inquisitive stare, picking at a button of one of the pillows pressed into his side of the couch. "You didn't even speak two words to me, and you're always one for conversation."
Richmond recalls inhaling and exhaling for roughly a minute, listening to the ticks and tocks of the clock sitting in the corner, grateful that Nyria only asks the singular question, for there is so much packed into it. "It's like a question I'd ask my interviewers," he smirks to himself, faintly, the irony not lost on him. He preps himself, for he knows that she'll just widen her eyes and gasp regardless of what it is he actually tells her. "I asked Lydia if she and I could try to have a child," he scratches his nose, the crack in his voice louder than he wishes it to be. "And we fought…" Richmond pauses again, digging his nails underneath the buttons of the pillow once more. "I thought we were ready…"
He cannot say he doesn't understand his wife's decision, where being away all the time for work, as well as his job, since he is put in front of the camera daily to do press releases and interviews – with the Games it is a steady stream of content now, between sponsors, Gamemakers, stylists, the escorts who accompanied the tributes, interviews in the districts of people who knew those that went into the Games… Richmond is sitting at the interviewing desk for ten hour stretches at a time without a chance to get up and move around – and for the longest time, a child is something neither of them want to do. Being in their mid-30s, however, at this point, when Richmond sets his soup spoon aside… it is a conversation they cannot be holding off forever, when one day he is too old, and Lydia dies in battle or…
"And what did Lydia say?" Nyria's next question comes out after she lets him sniffle out his feelings in a pathetic trickle down the front of his mouth and onto his dress pants.
"She didn't want to bring a child into this world."
Even saying it for a second time, where the first is difficult enough to hear at dinner with there being tears in Lydia's eyes, it brings a new round of sobbing from his chest. It isn't just that Lydia doesn't want to bring a child into the world after the existence of the Hunger Games comes into play, as to not rub the tragedy of loss in the faces of the mothers and fathers who no longer have their own children… Richmond knows it, even though she doesn't say it.
"She doesn't want to have a child with me," Richmond scoffs, grabbing the last napkin to blot out the streaks of black that soak into his sideburns and under the crook of his jaw. "She's probably out there with Cain right now, cheating on me," the Master of Ceremonies spits out, jutting his head in the direction of the outside, wherever that'd be behind him.
She's out on business with the Vice President, a man that Richmond believes to have the talent of a shrew, and the likability of a speck of dust, yet somehow everyone everywhere believes the man is completely charming. Luminescent, effervescent… every -escent there is to be had, and the man has it in his cap.
If Lydia is to come home tonight, which Richmond expects, she leaves business at the door. Not wanting to worry about him, her precious husband who must have the mind of a pea. It is late, however, far later than Richmond anticipates her being gone. He stands up from the vanity, throwing away the last napkin. He may be in his pajamas, but the two of them have been separate from one another for over twenty-four hours, and Richmond does not care that it is past midnight now, but-
The Master of Ceremonies makes it to the door of their bedroom, about to wrench it open, when it swings out in his direction instead. He falls back with a yelp, hands instantly taking a defensive position, before his eyes adjust to the washing stream of golden light from the outside hallway.
"Lydia!" he exclaims, his wife in the flesh, standing in the center of their bedroom door, her eyes dead ahead, as if they've been devoid of all life. Richmond frowns, taking a step back, looking over her appearance. She… something's different about her. It takes a minute to realize it is her hair… and it is braided. He deepens the frown, taking a precautious step forward. "You changed your hair style?"
She's always been one in ponytails or wearing her hair down to let the curly locks free, but never braided, as in the fishtail braid that crosses her back and sits atop her shoulder. Lydia doesn't even look at him, busting right past Richmond and into the bedroom.
"Hello," Lydia says, and that sounds off as well, Richmond pausing to a dead stop in the middle of their bedroom. She's never sound so… apathetic like this before, so cold and distant.
"Lydia?" Richmond says her name again, concern creeping up in his tone, his lips quivering. "Honey, what's wrong? You sound…" he cannot come up with another word; he's never been at a loss for words before. "You sound distracted, and you haven't called me once, and-" It is hypocritical of him to say, for Richmond does not pick up the phone to see how she's doing either, but this behavior is strange, especially for her.
Lydia walks dead over to the vanity, almost clunkily, as if she were robotic, sluggish movements with the angles of her limbs done in a ninety-degree fashion. Her head is angled downwards, and she doesn't speak again, even as she begins to start stripping out of her uniform. Richmond watches as the outfit slips out of her body, another hint of confusion rising in the croak of his voice. She wouldn't have worn her Peacekeeper uniform to dinner with the Vice President; when he gets back to the house, he saw that her silver gown had been out of the closet, yet the dress doesn't seem to be anywhere in her arms.
"We're…" Lydia's voice comes out harsh, like two bricks smashing into each other. "We're fine."
Richmond takes another step over to her, before reaching out to grab at her arm. "Are you okay? I know we had we were rocky last night when you left, but I didn't expect you'd be this cold." He has her firmly by the arm, but Lydia doesn't turn to him; his wife wrenches her arm out of his grasp, pushing back with the palm of her hand into his chest. The strike is forceful enough that it pummels Richmond back onto his ass. He sputters out a perplexed noise of indignation and surprise, for she has never struck him before.
"No!" he exclaims, grunting and getting to his feet. "No, we are not fine! Lydia, what is the matter with you?" Richmond goes around the other side, rubbing a hand at the spot where she struck him in the chest. He knew his wife could throw a mean punch, but damn it hurts more than he thought it could. She turns her head away from him, taking off the rest of her uniform, letting it sit in a pile of rubber and mesh down between their feet. "Lydia, seriously what-" the words catch in the interviewer's throat as his wife strips to complete nakedness.
That… that's new.
"Just tired," Lydia says, her words filled with sluggishness and morosity, like watching amber colored molasses drip off of a spoon onto a stack of pancakes. Richmond's eyes bug out of his head at the fact that his wife has taken off all of her clothes in the middle of their bedroom, and she's… it's unlike her, ever the prude on even wanting to shower with some form of underwear on.
"Can you please put your clothes back on?" Richmond asks her, but Lydia simply smacks him aside again, this time he falling back onto the bed as she heads into the bathroom. "Lydia, what the hell!" She slams the door shut, he rushing out towards it, jostling the handle back and forth in his grip, but it won't budge. "Lydia, seriously! This isn't cool!" he shouts, rapping his hand on the door. "You're scaring me!" Richmond backs away from the door, licking his lips, noting how his heartbeat seems to have travelled up from his face and into his ears. "Just- come out and unlock the door so we can talk about this!" He presses his face against the door, trying to listen for any sort of sound, but it as if she's simply frozen on the other side without movement. "I'm not even upset with you; I understand how you feel…"
Richmond whimpers, desperate and pleading, the wetness of fresh tears spilling down his cheeks as he sinks to his knees, even with the occasional rattle of the door handle or him knocking on the door with his knuckles.
The only response Lydia can give him is, "I'm tired." How are you? "I'm tired." Why won't you answer me? "I'm tired." Did Cain fire you at dinner? "I'm tired."
"I'm tired…" Richmond groans, pressing his forehead against the door. "I love you Lydia," he says, over and over again, rapidly, with as much feeling and live and fervor as he can muster into the words. "I love you. I love you so much. You're the one I want to be with forever. You are my rock. You are my light. I love you…" he lifts his head up, the crying resuming once more, his breath hitching in his throat nervously. "Can you please say it back, Lydia? Please?" he whimpers.
There's the sound of rustling, as if Lydia were rising to a standing position from being seated the entire time. Another pause, as he can feel her getting closer to the door by the sound of her footsteps, Richmond lifting his head towards the knob expectantly, waiting for it to wiggle in place.
"I'm tired, Richmond," Lydia says, in the same tone, in the same manner she had been speaking all evening. Cold. Unemotive. Robotic. Dead.
Richmond lowers his head down against the door, unable to stop the sobs that ripple through his throat, incapable of lifting his hand up to wipe the tears away from his face.
Lydia stays in the bathroom the entire night.
Alrighty, ladies and gentlemen, that was Chapter #2: A Marriage Without Communication, or Prologue II, with the pov from Libertyverse's own Master of Ceremonies, Richmond Anvil. If all of it is confusing to you on what just happened, like I said, Liberty's epilogues (in this case Chapters 40 and 41) will provide all the answers you need! Beyond that, this is the start of another Capitol plotline happening - there are... a lot in this story haha - and each prologue is only going to build more and more towards the mystery.
Next chapter, Prologue/Chapter #3: A Building Without Foundation is going to be from the pov of the District 1 escort Adriane Lantham, and boy oh boy do I have a lot of fun prepped for her! Please do keep the submissions and all of them coming in, the support so far has been lovely! Again, rules and guidelines and the form, as well as the chart of submissions I've received is on my profile + the form again is in the ending AN of the first prologue too. Beyond that, thank you all again for showing up! I will see you all soon sometime in the next week and a half with the next epilogue. I love you all so much! Bye!
~ Paradigm