Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here way later than he'd want to be with the next prologue for Declaration of Death, Chapter #4: A Game Without Players. I wanted to have this out a lot sooner than I did, but my mental health wasn't in the best place for a couple of weeks here and there, and I couldn't muster the motivation to write. Anyhow, that is out of the way, cause progress has been made! Halloween was yesterday, so submissions were officially closed, but the cast won't be revealed until the last prologue, the very next one, is released... we have work to get through. Last chapter showed Adriane and Felix together as they brew plans... and here we're turning focus to our wonderful Mutts Designer, Nyria Kirchner and some interesting developments coming her way. Enjoy Chapter #4: A Game Without Players.
"Play every game as if it were your last one," ~ Gary Lauffer
Nyria Kirchner: Mutts Designer P.O.V
Her headache has gotten worse. At first Nyria notices it building over breakfast as she smiles sweetly with the Avoxes making her breakfast. Despite all of them losing their ability to speak, a few have kept their talents from before… before – Nyria cannot think of the 'before' any longer, it sitting on her frontal lobe like a cancerous tumor that'll grow large enough to decapitate her, where before had been microchips and friendly hands tugging her into late night bars until the firebombs began to drop – their misery and crimes caught up to them. Or so what Nyria has been told at least, as she isn't allowed to look at the files concerning the servants in her house.
"Oh, y'know," Nyria grumbles to herself in her thoughts as she begins to nurse her headache again, fingers rubbing alongside her temples, "I just design and manufacture what make the Games interesting, after all. But I can't learn about the lives of the people who work for me."
The man who makes her the pancakes she has for breakfast used to be a chef, working in a powerplant from Five – Nyria wonders if the avox would recognize her if pressed, but she supposes that is just another fantasy of hers that'll have to go unanswered – that had a mess hall, and the avox had been there early every morning to make the late night workers breakfast before they went home. Nyria only learns this information because she pesters Cain constantly about it one night while the two are out for drinks, to develop 'bonding' as the vice president claims, but Nyria knows it is simply so he can keep his tabs on her. His eyes appraise over her across the linoleum bar, and she tastes his bitterness for her in the martini that she swallows, but Nyria persists all the same.
Such as how the man scares her half to death in the present, slamming his hand down on her desk, a painkiller spinning in a low centrifuge after Cain lifts his hand up off of the table.
"You could've just said you had something for me," Nyria snaps, scooting back in her chair to take the pill.
"Or you can just say thank you," Cain smiles wryly at her, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back on the glass divider that separates her booth from the next intern down the line. The vice president is dressed in all white, various shadows of snow and slush that decorate his body, almost enough where he'd blend in with the pale Gamemaker Center if it weren't for his hair.
They, as well as a few Avoxes and a singular intern, are the only ones called in for work that day. The beginning of spring is an onset when wages and contracts are renegotiated for those who have the ability to do so, but not for Nyria, set in for life – "Or until Cain decides to murder me," Nyria jokes darkly to herself, unsure whether or not it is an actual joke any longer, for there is nothing stopping the vice president from simply encircling his hands around her neck and squeezing, squeezing until she's out of life and – till Emrick decides to have her step down to allow in new talent.
The work is never complete, however, which is the closest thing to the truth. Since Emrick – though really, it is Cain, Nyria has to give the man credit – has decided that these Games are annual, every year needs an arena, and arenas are not something that can just sprout up overnight. Bigger and better is theme for the 2nd Games, and that means Nyria is running on expresso shots and boosts of serotonin directly injected into her veins. Concurrently, the third and fourth year arenas are being excavated and the land exhumed for building, so it is not as if Nyria has found a moment to sleep, let alone breathe.
"Thank you," Nyria sticks her tongue out at the man, who simply waves his fingers back at her, stepping away from her desk and heading back towards the arena display in the center. She tosses back the painkiller, her glass of water set on the lip of her desk being the next thing she grabs. The water even in the Capitol tastes odd to her, still not used to it despite being in the city for as long as she can remember. Richness coalesces on her tongue as she takes the swig, plus a splash of guilt and envy in the back of her mouth.
The administration has been thrown into a frenzy by new appointments and whatnot. Poem Cavalli is back home in District 8, getting to enjoy her life until the Capitol will drag her out to do something called a victory tour, which is starting much sooner than Nyria can believe. Beyond that, Emrick has been furiously busy on smoothing over political tension in District 1 with Friedrich Calvary's absence – "So tragic," Cain mutters about the moment one night when she and the vice president are alone. "He had so many gifts…" – leaving a vacuum that the president is worried will turn into a black hole. There's talk that Catalus Drachma's father will be given the position, a man who has, despite his not spotless record in the past, that he can be turned into a loyal minion.
Most of the escorts are usually nowhere to be seen in Nyria's line of work, but Adriane Lantham, that upstart for District 1, she's in Cain's office plenty of times with that hideous aristocrat Felix Fiore on her arm, if there is any room of course for Adriane is toting around the most massive purse Nyria has ever seen.
As for the loving couple that is Richmond Anvil and Lydia Wickervein, Nyria has seen the Master of Ceremonies more often than usual, for he's at her place frequently. Their apartment is too familiar, and Lydia will not look him in the eye. She's caught the eye of the Head Peacekeeper on occasion, but her light has gone out, and the woman's warmth is non-existent.
Nyria continues to nurse her headache, rubbing over her temples once more, stomach growling all the while. It's nearing four in the afternoon, and Cain hasn't broken them for a meal, much less a snack.
"What say we go and get sandwiches for us to eat, Cain?" Nyria calls out to him as she gets up from her chair, letting it spin a few times to feel it brush up against the back of her legs. Sometimes she's stayed seated for so long in one spot that Nyria is unsure whether or not her feet even exist, and that there needs to be some sort of stimulation that brings them back to life.
"Let's get this situated and then we can eat," he says, without a hint of hostility for once, which makes Nyria pause in her movement, raising an eyebrow at the vice president. Cain's aggression has reached an all time high in the last few weeks, which Nyria has often been on the brunt of, or Emrick if Cain woke up on the wrong side of the bed and felt ballsy about it, but nonetheless, his already less than pleasant demeanor has been dipped into curdled milk more often than the norm.
She sees the way Adriane and Felix, whenever they stop by to go over nuanced conversations revolving around this academy being built in District 1 (and the similar ones in Two and Four), that the veins in Cain's neck bulge out whenever Adriane laughs. Sometimes the two men will talk behind closed doors, and Adriane will approach her, but Nyria pretends to ignore her.
She is above the Capitolite though, in every way, which Nyria is not afraid to admit. She's sweated blood and tears, and has lost a lot of energy in dealing with the gilded city at every turn, whereas the Capitolite has the gold already flowing in her veins. Nyria earned her spot, Adriane whined about it.
Nyria reaches Cain, the two of them standing around the hologram of the arena. There is a lot less of a variety in terrain this time around versus what had been the case for the Norse landscape of the first arena, in which Nyria's head spins at how they managed to make any of that work.
"What's troubling you?" she asks him, setting her hands on the iron bar that circles the hologram all the way around. If she were to tip over and crash into the display, Cain would have certain reasoning to murder her then.
"Where did you place the legion again?" Cain questions, one hand curled into a fist under his jaw, the other pointing around at the holograms of low-rise buildings and the thrush of trees sprawled over the lower left quadrant of the arena. "I can't place them, and since they're-"
"I know," Nyria cuts him off, rolling her eyes. She's heard the spiel over and over again. The gods of the first arena, while quite cool and threatening, never amounted to much, according to a Capitol poll, so Nyria's creations needed to pop out more than usual, bring a fire that Surt, Valravn, and Fenrir had been incapable of doing. "Because they're special, I have to make sure I don't overplay my hand." She pushes him out of the way, stepping on her toes to reach across the display. "The Illyricorium are stationed in the upper right, by the barracks," she says, and then, pressing a switch placed just under her location on the display, the colors of the hologram shift to show bodily masses instead of the landscape. A garish amaranthine blob comes into view where Nyria is pointing at. "They'll start their roving on the second night in the arena, unless you wish to have me change that," she says, looking back at Cain.
Cain hums a noncommittal sound in his throat, stepping up to match Nyria. "It works for me. I don't think anyone noticed Valravn or Surt until the second day either," he says. Nyria sits back on the ball of her foot, sighing. Lunch had been postponed because of a decision that the man had been too blind to see? She rolls her eyes again, noticing that Cain still hasn't said anything else, nor broke them off for lunch.
"What else, Cain?"
"I know we still haven't settled on a temperature for the arena. Weather is important after all," he notes.
She resists the urge to punch the man in the face. "Cain, I am following your guidelines just like you said," Nyria keeps her cool, speaking slowly, all the while reverting the hologram back to its initial state of showing off the landscape. It had been primarily flat, not too many slopes, and besides the massive ravine that makes Nyria's stomach do a somersault – she hopes none of the upcoming tributes have a fear of heights – which had been different from all the slopes and rocky terrain that made up many of the first arena's landscapes. "Temperate climate, and warm, but not too hot. Having all the tributes die of dehydration in three days would not be ideal for us, and probably mean both of our heads."
Cain guffaws at that, which makes Nyria frown. She figured she said something funny, but- "Not my head, at least, dear," he tells her, resting a hand on her shoulder. She swats it away, scowling at him, but he's already moving away from her. "Your ass would be on the line, but I am always protected."
"I am not a spot that can be easily filled," Nyria protests hotly, her ears burning. She goes to say something else, but at that moment, Lydia, who had been bustling about the Gamemaker Center on errands of somesuch importance that she figures wouldn't involve her, brushes past towards the main entrance. The Head Peacekeeper doesn't look at where she's going, colliding headlong into one of the interns that had been coming in, someone Nyria doesn't really know, but regardless, the collision makes her wince.
The two of them collapse to the floor, Cain simply laughing at that as well – what Nyria wouldn't give to just punch him in the face with a boxing glove – but what happens is the most bewildering thing Nyria has seen happen all week. Lydia doesn't even help the intern up, nor, from what the mutts designer can discern, doesn't even apologize. Lydia gets to her feet faster than what Nyria believes to be humanely capable, and rushes out of the Gamemaker Center.
Someone helps the intern to their feet, but Nyria is moving already to get Cain's attention. "Cain, what's the matter with Lydia?"
The vice president clucks his tongue at her, a frown rippling across his face. "Not sure. But, since it wasn't me-"
"You cannot be serious," Nyria groans into the sole of her heels. "Lydia has never just barged into someone and not apologized. She's been acting weird for months. Richmond told me that she won't look him in the eye, she hardly speaks, and all she does is work, work, work…" Nyria liked the Head Peacekeeper, but since the end of the first games, she's been nothing more than a stranger.
Cain shrugs his shoulders. "I'm not sure what you want me to say, Nyria, but isn't my concern," he sniffs dismissively, shouldering a bag as he walks to his desk. "I much prefer her this way, truthfully," he looks back at the way she came. "Perhaps Emrick said something about her performance slipping and she doesn't want to be thrown out onto the street. Whatever it is, doesn't concern what we have to do, Nyria," He isn't wrong there, but his pure dismissal of her is alarming to say the least, but Nyria stills her tongue. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Bella has a marvelous pot roast in the oven, and she's told me it's my job to pull it out of the oven. Have a good rest of your day, Nyria," the vice president tells her.
He nods his head at her, a lot nicer than how he greeted her this morning, and before Nyria can utter another word, or wonder why Bella would even make pot roast, as she's certain his wife has given up meat, Cain Passionia makes his way towards the entrance, leaving Nyria behind with her headache.
She shakes her head, throwing her hands up in annoyance. No one will answer her questions, she's being treated as if she isn't wanted, and her stupid headache will not go away. It twinges in pain again as Nyria reaches her desk, taking another sip of water. As she sets the glass down, the intern that had been who Lydia collided into crosses their way across the Center towards her.
"Here's that encyclopedia you wanted me to get," the intern says, Nyria smiling warmly at the young man when he reaches her. He's her age, upstarting and youthful with an excitement to learn and improve – Nyria had that same excitement too, once upon a time, before the napalm scorched her home to the ground, before she got one last train ticket out of hell and tried riding her way into the heavens – and Nyria has taken him under her wing. She reaches out and grabs it from his hands, she having sent the intern on an errand to receive an encyclopedia starting in the R's. RO- to be precise.
"Thank you," she says, and then, as the intern hasn't left her side, swaying back and forth by her desk, "I hope you're okay, it seems like Head Peacekeeper Wickervein did a number on you by smacking into you like that."
"I'm fine, thank you," the intern says, but the pain in their smile cannot be mistaken.
Nyria flips through the first page, taking another swig of water, but the tension in her body doesn't dissipate. She looks up, keeping the frown on her face as she notes that the intern has yet to walk away. There are more things for them to do, surely, and he's starting to creep her out. "Anything else you need?"
The intern seems to stutter in place, his face flushing a bright red, until he's leaning forward in her personal space, alarm bells ringing off the hook in Nyria's head. He grips her by the arm, a cry of shock rippling from Nyria's throat, but the intern speaks right over her. She almost doesn't hear him the first time.
"He knows, Nyria," the intern says, and her heartbeat roars in her chest. "Felix Fiore knows your past," he continues, Nyria's eyes widening at his words. "You're no longer safe here."
He doesn't have to say anymore, as Nyria simply pushes him off of her, nearly taking herself with the intern as his hand is still clamped to her wrist, but all she can hear is his words.
Felix Fiore, that rat, the gilded scumbag, onto her like wheat on rye… he knows.
Even after all this time spent in the Capitol, Nyria Kirchner is still learning the rules of the great game, and since she isn't a Capitolite, she'll never really know how to master it.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, that was Chapter #4: A Game Without Players, the fourth prologue of five in the set, from Mutts Designer Nyria Kirchner's perspective. She and Cain have been working on the upcoming arena, with a few hints dropped in there for you - perhaps you already know! - as well as something else... Felix Fiore is onto her and her past, which I've been spoon feeding here and there... any ideas? Definitely curious to see them, as they do factor into our tributes eventually.
Speaking of, next chapter, Prologue #5: A Life Without Meaning, which I am aiming to have either late tomorrow night or sometime Wednesday will be the last pov, where we get to hear from the first victor, Poem Cavalli, officially, and lord do I have plans for her next chapter. The cast list as well as the blog and theme song playlist and all that fun jazz will be there for you all to see, plus the prologue - which you definitely won't want to miss - so I hope you guys are excited, cause I sure am! I hope you guys all had a wonderful Halloween weekend, and I'd love to hear from you, it always makes me happy. Have a great day, guys! Love you all! Bye!
~ Paradigm