Chapter 28: The Price of Victory

Parade Day, the Capitol

TW: Mentions of familicide and past attempted suicide

Desperation seeped into her skin, coming at her from all sides as she ran blindly through the haze of nothingness. It wasn't hers though, Venatrix could tell, but that hardly mattered. It was now.

"—I just want to see my daughter—"

"Stay back! Get away!"

Bell.

"—can't abandon her—"

"Where are you, Dad?"

Where are you, Bell? Venatrix could only feel the cold pressure of a knife in her hand, snowflakes pricking her cheeks. Bell? Her voice didn't make a sound, only feeding into the swirling dread clouding her vision, the almost-panic bleeding into her gut.

Something grabbed her and she lashed out on instinct, swiping, stabbing— her eyes squeezed shut, refusing to look at what she'd done, what she was doing—

A sharp rap on the door ripped her out of the dream, and Venatrix twitched awake, gasping. The visions were already slipping from her mind, a fog of amnesic wakefulness leaving Venatrix grasping at straws, at the feeling that she'd just let go of something important.

The knock came again.

Whatever. Stupid dream. Sweeping the thick comforter from her body, Venatrix slid off the bed, shaking the jitters from her mind before she answered the door. Her mother's face greeted her, already dressed for the day. "Morning, honey."

"What time is it?"

Dagmara nodded to the clock on the bedside table. "Just after nine. We let you sleep in a bit."

Venatrix only grunted in response.

A look of concern flooded her mother's eyes. "You alright, hon?"

She grunted again, shrugging. Dagmara took that as assent, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze before leaving her to her devices while Venatrix headed into the bathroom to freshen up. Tying her hair into a knot, she showered quickly, assuming her prep team would be fussing with it later when it came time to dress her for the parade. Tossing on a simple yet comfortable set of clothes, she plodded out to the common area where her parents and Kitty waited at the table and helped herself to a full plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and hash browns.

Not a minute later, Percy made an appearance from his quarters, yawning, and Kitty took the opportunity to run them through the week's schedule, despite the fact that it wasn't new information for them. They shared a glance of mild exasperation, though neither spoke up.

"—so you'll have a few free hours until lunch, and then your stylists will need to start prepping you for the parade. Got all that?"

Mouth full of potato, Venatrix nodded eagerly, shooting the escort a thumbs up.

"Now, you're free to do whatever you want for the morning. Usually, your mentors will want to spend the extra time going over whatever it is you do, so that doesn't tend to be a problem, but if you're thinking about leaving the floor, you will need a chaperone; oh, and you're also not allowed to actually leave the building—"

"Thanks, Kitty, we've got it from here," Morwenna interrupted, strolling in from the mentors' end of the flat with a mug of coffee in hand. "Silverhorn, you're with me after breakfast."

Venatrix looked expectantly at her father, who cleared his throat. "I actually have a few things to take care of this morning," he said, exchanging a brief, knowing look with her mother. Catching Venatrix's expression, he added, "We went over enough last night, you should be fine. I'll be back in time for the parade, don't worry."

She stabbed at her eggs, studying him. "Sponsorships?"

"Not exactly."

He didn't elaborate, and Venatrix narrowed her eyes. What's more important than mentoring me? She'd consider the thought arrogant and vainglorious if her life weren't on the line, if they hadn't spent the past year devoting every drop of energy to this sole goal. The irritation bled through the prongs of her fork, scraping against her plate.

"I can run you through whatever you need, honey," Dagmara offered, shooting Venatrix a reassuring look. For a half-second, Percy looked about to say something, Morwenna even more so — why should she get to have two mentors — but Dagmara's hard-set features left no room for questions.

Venatrix could understand it, though that didn't mean she wouldn't take advantage of it.

Still… "Maybe we could work together for a bit?"

Percy pursed his lips, uncertain.

"After you guys have a private session," she amended. She'd had hers with Oberon after they'd returned from dinner yesterday while Percy had gone straight to sleep; Venatrix didn't want him to think she intended to deprive him of that, despite how much she hated the thought of them working separately, working against each other.

"Works for me."

"Excellent!" Kitty said, clapping her hands together. "Anyways, you guys have got to try these croissants, they're to die for…"

Of the innumerable list of valid reasons Oberon dreaded coming to the Capitol, this one was a particularly painful box to tick off. Dagmara had offered to come with him, as she did every year, but they both knew she couldn't. She didn't have the clearance.

Oberon, on the other hand… As Eridan's former mentor, he was pretty much the closest thing the kid had to family now.

He hailed a private cab outside one of the side entrances to the Training Center; the driver gave him a funny look at the destination but they didn't say anything, directing the car towards the outskirts of the city. It wasn't like Oberon was forced to visit the kid, he just… owed it to him. Despite getting Eridan out of the arena, he'd still managed to fail him; it weighed heavily on his mind, what that meant for Eri and what it meant for the future, the ever-tenuous future.

The cab dropped him off outside a large, flat building surrounded by patches of grass and trees, rather plain-looking for the Capitol. Wide spaces and parking lots separated the facility from its neighbors, far enough outside the city to remain undisturbed.

Inside, the staff recognized his annual presence by now. "Right this way, Mr. Pyke," the attendant said cheerfully, guiding him deeper into the building, though Oberon already knew the way— they'd hardly be willing to grant him one of those keycards the woman wore on a lanyard. She swiped it to access the elevator, unlocking the numerous doors along their way.

Even more doors lined the hall, and she stopped at one at the end of the corridor. Flashing the card in front of the reader on the handle, she punched in a code and instructed him to ring the button on the interior when he was ready to go. He waved her off, stepping inside.

Eridan's room was furnished rather simply to look almost like an actual flat, though carefully designed to be harmless to its inhabitant. It sat in the basement of the building, the false window, similar to the changeable ones in their rooms at the Training Center, not fooling anyone. Currently, it was set to a mountainscape similar to Two's, though Oberon suspected they refused to give him an exact replica. The view was duplicated half-gracefully on an easel in front of which the younger Victor sat, brush in hand as if he were merely practicing his government-assigned talent.

The kid — hardly a kid anymore, if he were being honest; Oberon had been around his age when he'd married Dagmara — visibly brightened when he caught sight of his old mentor, setting down his paintbrush. "Finally come to visit me in the looney bin, Dad?"

Oberon sighed wearily, taking a seat across from him at the room's small but comfortable desk chair. "I'm not your father, Eridan."

"You could at least pretend to be," Eri huffed. "Come on, I'm out one dad, you're out one kid; fair trade, no?" His playful smile disappeared at Oberon's glare, expressive as always. "Too soon, huh? Sorry."

Unlike when they'd first settled him in, they now allowed Eridan minor control over his appearance, as if that would help him. He wore a comfortable-looking flannel, loose overtop a plain t-shirt and standard denim pants, though the bright red staining his hands was new; Oberon attributed that to the matching shade of firetruck red now dominating his shaggy hair. Last year, it had been an equally bright purple-magenta color. Poking out from Eridan's cuffed sleeves, Oberon glimpsed the deep, vertical scars along his wrists, internally wincing at the memory.

He'd done his best that night, attempting to staunch the flow by clamping his hands around the boy's freely-bleeding wrists. Ultimately, though, it had been the two inexplicably-present yet faceless Capitol agents who'd stabilized him before whisking him out of the district. Even then, Oberon hadn't expected to ever see the kid again until the president had informed him of his visitation privileges.

Eridan picked up the paintbrush again, tapping it frantically against his leg. "You're the only thing I have left, you know," he said, as if Oberon weren't well aware. The young Victor gave an uncomfortable huff. "In case it wasn't clear, I have severe family issues."

"Stop joking around. It's not funny."

"I'm not joking." Sighing, Eri dipped his brush into a pale pink, swirling it into one of the clouds on his canvas. "Oh well. They're safe now. That's what matters."

"They're dead."

Eridan laughed mirthlessly, propping a precarious foot against his easel and leaning on his knee. "I know! Much better off than either of us, if you ask me. Do you even know what they do to me in here? Hardly safe."

The thought sparked a twinge of guilt in Oberon's gut. "I just want to check in on you, Eri." As he did every year.

"What, like anything's changed from last year? For you maybe, but—" he scoffed— "not for me."

Despite the near-sarcastic nonchalance, his tone held a pleading undercurrent; it had become clear to Oberon over time that the Capitol wasn't helping the kid, didn't intend to, despite what they let him see. They only wanted to study Eridan, to see what happened when a Victor went, in their eyes, mad, though Oberon himself could somewhat understand Eridan's logic, as horrific as it was.

But as much as it pained him to watch, he couldn't do a damn thing about it. It didn't help that Eri kept looking at him like he could.

The younger Victor fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeves, eyes flicking nervously to where the cameras must be hidden in the corners of the room. "Oberon," he whispered. "Please. It's the only thing I ever ask."

But Oberon only shook his head. He tried not to let the pity show on his face; Eri was still a Two after all. "I can't step out of line this year, kid. I'm sorry."

He wouldn't either way; he turned him down year after year whenever Eridan inevitably brought up the morbid request, his own little clockwork tragedy. Perhaps it would be kinder to put the kid out of his misery, but Oberon had enough blood on his hands.

Eridan only nodded, though Oberon didn't miss the way his lips trembled before he pressed them together. "Right. Your girl."

"I'm getting her out." He said it like fact.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Eridan scoffed morosely. "Your little one got it easy."

Oberon squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling sharply. Right, I'm done here. "Goodbye, Eridan."

Immediately, Eridan's face twisted in regret, springing from his seat as Oberon started towards the exit. "What, leaving so soon?"

The attempt at a casual tone failed miserably, pulling at Oberon's heart, but he'd neglected his daughter long enough. He pressed the button for the attendant, ignoring the abandoned-puppy look in Eridan's eyes. The door opened to a different attendant, one whose warning glance halted the young Victor in his tracks.

"Try to keep your head up, kid," was all Oberon could offer him.

"Wait—" The attendant halted Eridan with a rough hand to the chest as Oberon stepped outside. "You should've done what I did!" Eridan called after him, and Oberon caught the desperation splayed across the kid's unstable features as he glanced over his shoulder. "They can't hurt them if they're already dead."

Eridan's voice cracked on the last word; Oberon pretended he didn't hear it as he shut the door behind him for the year.

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A/N: Um, yeah.. not much to say about this one. It's on the shorter side, but I don't really think it needs to be any longer, it's already horrifying enough. Now you all know about Eridan, whether you wanted to or not :v The song that comes to mind most for me when I think of him is Laplace's Angel by Will Wood, if anyone's curious.

I should have a page up on the blog for the Capitol characters (Eridan included) soon enough, though we still have a couple more to meet. Parade is next.. yay? It's mostly written, at least.

- Nell