Chapter 39: Picking Favorites
Interview Night, the Capitol
"I swear to god, I'm gonna kill the little bastard myself!"
"Dad!"
"I'm sorry, honey," her father sneered, blocking the entrance to the District Two suite. "Would you rather I say I can't wait to watch you rip his throat open?"
Shoes in hand — she'd taken them off in the elevator, finally — Venatrix had no response.
The truth was, the same corrosive acid had seared through her own brain at Starling's words. Vaguely, she recalled Percy's restraining hand as the rest of the interviews flashed by in a seething haze of anger; she could barely focus beneath it, unable to pay attention to the Twelve boy blabbering on about his numerous cats, Veylani openly disparaging her district partner, or even Zavian's witty closing remarks.
The truth was, she'd be the one to actually follow through.
"That's enough, Oberon." Dagmara's hand clamped firmly on her husband's arm, dragging him firmly into the suite; the rest of the entourage followed in yet another awkward silence created by yet another of Oberon's violent verbal outbursts.
At least it's not directed towards Percy this time.
The tribute in question let out a sigh, inaudible but noticeable in the sag of his shoulders. Venatrix's own anger, the heated voices of her parents now locked in a vitriolic back-and-forth, kept hers tense. Her mother seemed to realize; it wasn't long before she silenced Oberon with a withering stare, migrating their discussion to the privacy of their own quarters. "Jesus Christ," Percy muttered, plopping down on the couch in the common area with another exhale.
Venatrix followed, seating herself slowly on the opposite end of the couch.
"You holding up okay?"
Of course not. Not between her father, her brother, and her future victims. Venatrix let out a breath, accompanied by a half-shrug that said why bother asking?
"Yeah, me too," Percy agreed softly. His eyes floated towards the blank screen in front of them; with a click of the remote in his hands, it flickered to life, automatically displaying some sort of post-interview talk show. Bethia Apheleot chattered away on-screen, something she seemed incapable of not doing. Venatrix let her eyes slip closed so she didn't have to see the woman. "Do you want me to change it?"
"I don't really care."
In the dining area, Kitty and the stylists created their own sort of muted chatter, too low for Venatrix to pick up on outside of the escort's excitable intonations. Not that she particularly cared. The pitter-patter of claws on tile caught her attention, and Venatrix glanced up to see Anita making her rounds by the couches, looking for an extra scratch behind the ears. Venatrix let her hand trail along the coarse fur at the dalmatian's back as it passed over her for Percy; instinctively, he obliged.
More distinctly human-like footsteps approached the pair; Venatrix expected to see Stefania in pursuit of her dog, but it was Morwenna who stepped into vision bearing two bowls of ice cream. "Here, you kids deserve this."
Venatrix took the bowl with a murmured thanks; a kinder gesture than she expected from the usually-irascible woman. The familiar pistachio flavor settled coolly on her tongue, a relief despite the red print left by her lipstick on the back of the spoon. It was easier to focus on that than the words that bled from the screen.
Even then, they were impossible to ignore once Venatrix caught her name.
"Now, I love our Venatrix here, and I love District Two; don't get me wrong," Bethia's compatriot, a man dressed in an abhorrent turquoise suit, was saying, "but we've seen this last year already, the whole Victor's kid thing."
Bethia hummed, urging him to continue; Venatrix's spoon faltered on its way back to her bowl.
"Listen, I do love her whole angle; it's very sweet—"
"Truly."
"—but, I mean, it's been a year. Like, come on. That kid from Eleven — what's his name again?"
"Starling."
"—Starling, yes. He's right. Your sister's dead, sweetheart," the Capitolite said with a shallow laugh. "Get over it."
Venatrix blinked. Get over it. Like Bell was nothing more than last year's fashion trend, and not a living, breathing, person. Nevermind both Venatrix and her parents sitting right in front of the Capitol's nose, nevermind the glaring gap in their lives without Bellara's presence.
Get over it. The sentiment dressed in Capitol clothes slinked through her consciousness. Be proud of fifth place.
You're the ones that threw her into our jaws– it's no secret our appetites are insatiable, and you fed her to us anyways, to the ever-churning machine of our Games. You let us chew her up. What did you expect when we spat out her corpse?
We're still hungry, Venatrix. We'll chew you up too.
"Turn that shit off," Morwenna demanded.
Before Percy could make for the remote, Venatrix found her bowl leaving her hands, hurtling towards the screen. It erupted in a shower of ice cream and shattered ceramic; the deafening noise drowned out the talkshow, loud enough to draw gasps and flinches from the rest of the suite's occupants. Neon-static glitches spiked outwards from the impact point, partially obscured by a pale-green smudge, though the bowl itself took most of the damage. Venatrix barely noticed her parents poking their heads out at the sound, too focused on quelling the shaking in her hands, her breath.
"Venatrix?" The previous anger was gone from her father's voice, obscured beneath a layer of concern.
Venatrix only shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. The fabric of her dress seemed to wind tighter and tighter around her throat with every breath, and she barely resisted the feverish urge to rip it from her body. More than just the dress; every layer of skin beneath it that the Capitol had touched. Shooting to her feet, Venatrix made a beeline for her quarters to do just that.
She practically slammed the door behind herself, pawing frantically for the zipper at the back of her neck until she managed to yank it down far enough to let herself breathe. It was less of a relief than she needed.
Forcing air in through her nose, out her mouth, Venatrix peeled off the rest of her clothes; she stepped hastily into the bathroom to scrub viciously at her made-up face, and when that wasn't enough, she stumbled into the shower, not bothering to wait the necessary five seconds for it to warm up. When it did, she switched it back, letting the bitter cold seep into her scalp, beneath her pores, as if her chattering teeth could drown out the sob trapped in her chest.
It took a solid few minutes for Venatrix to remember to actually clean herself; when she did, the task demanded all of her focus.
The shivering continued even after she shut the water off, even after she donned the warmest-looking set of pajamas within the provided wardrobe. Venatrix barely managed to squeeze the water from her now-tangled hair when a soft knock at the door interrupted her.
"Venatrix? Are you alright in there?" Wordlessly, Venatrix opened the door to her mother's voice. Dagmara took that as an invitation to enter, her expression softening as her hand came up to cup Venatrix's cheek. "Oh, honey, you're so cold… come here." Firmly, she bundled Venatrix into a warm hug, softly patting her frigid hair.
All the work she'd put into calming herself down nearly collapsed right there.
It might have, if her mother pushed her to speak, but Dagmara only pulled her back into the bathroom, seating her on a nearby vanity stool. From within one of the drawers beneath the sink, she pulled out a comb that had been provided in addition to the Capitol's automatic drying current. Its teeth tugged at her scalp as Dagmara parted her hair, careful not to be painful, and began working through the ends of her gnarled waves. Venatrix watched in silence, eyes fixed on Dagmara's expression, blank but not unkind.
Midway through the task, her mother spoke. "Try not to listen to what they say, honey, okay?" Her tone was as gentle as the comb. "Trust me, I know it's so much harder than it seems, but the most important thing is for you to focus on yourself."
"The interview–" Venatrix choked out. "Iago…"
She couldn't help but notice the way Dagmara's careful breathing slowed. "Your father and I will worry about that later," she said firmly. "You know what? Why don't you give him a call?"
Venatrix's hair snagged on the comb as her head snapped towards her mother. "I can do that?"
Dagmara only shrugged. Dragging the comb through the last of Venatrix's tangles, Dagmara set it down, pulling out her cellular in the same motion and setting it next to the sink. Venatrix couldn't remember where she'd left her own cellular – the only possession she'd taken with her to the Capitol aside from the clothes on her back had been Agate's statuette, all in one piece at the time – but she scooped up the device without hesitation. Quickly, she tapped in her mother's passcode, Iago's cell number. As Venatrix held the phone to her ear, Dagmara gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder before heading out to let her have some privacy.
It rang for all of three seconds before he picked up. "Mom? What's wrong—"
"Iago, It's me."
A sharp intake echoed through the device. "Holy shit, I— are you allowed—?"
"I don't know. I don't care. I just… I needed–" Venatrix cut herself off, the words lodged in her throat.
"Yeah; no, yeah. I get it."
Venatrix swallowed, long past caring that she wasn't able to keep her voice from wavering. "Listen, I'm… I'm so sorry about the interview, I just– I didn't know what to say, and then they—"
"Hey, it's okay." A harsh exhale rattled through Ventrix's teeth. "Don't– don't worry about that, okay?" The words washed over her, and Venatrix nodded. "You need to focus on the Games, okay Trix? You need to focus on winning, please—"
Beneath Iago's resolve, she could sense his apprehension, and Venatrix felt a sharp wave of guilt pass through her, chipping away at her brief initial sense of comfort at hearing his voice after so long.
Venatrix frowned.
Had it really only been a week? With the uncertainty of her return, it felt like ages.
She shouldn't be calling him like this, on the edge of fate and tipping ever-closer. This was her burden to carry.
She just… she never got this chance with Bellara.
"—if you need to stab someone in the back, don't think about it; just do it, okay?" With a start, she realized Iago hadn't stopped talking. "It doesn't matter who you have to kill as long as you get back. You know what, just— don't think about anything outside of the arena at all; you can worry about all that shit once you win, yeah?"
"Yeah." Venatrix nodded even though she knew he couldn't see. "Yeah, I got it, I just… needed to hear your voice again before I— god, that sounds so stupid."
Iago's huff of laughter echoed through the receiver; immediately, the sound filled her with a longing for something that no longer existed, an ache for a home she knew she could never return to. Did you really think that coming here would change that? That killing in Bellara's name would bring her back? That it would make everything better?
It was far too late for her answer to matter.
"Nah, it's not stupid." Iago heaved another sigh, any trace of previous lightheartedness vanished. "I miss you, Trix." There it was again, that hint of vulnerability that anyone without the last name 'Pyke' would never, ever see. Her brother may be a goofball and an idiot at times, but he was just as proud as the rest of them. "I just— I really need you to come home, okay?"
"I will," Venatrix promised.
(She was making so many of them these days.)
All of which I intend to keep. No matter who or what stood in her way, be it District Eleven or Viper. Or Percy, the ruthless part of her brain forcefully added. "I'll see you soon, I promise."
"I know."
Venatrix couldn't help the stupid grin nor the wry huff of laughter that his words managed to pull from her restless state. "Love you, dumbass."
"Loser."
"Hey!"
Iago laughed. "Love you too, Trix."
Reluctant to hang up, Venatrix stared at his number on the screen until the sound of voices outside the bathroom pulled her attention away— her parents. Venatrix strained her ears, phone still held close.
Her father's agitated voice filtered through the half-open door. "We can't just— we need to be more careful, we can't go breaking their rules whenever we want—"
"Funny coming from you," Dagmara cut him off. "When did they say we couldn't make calls?"
"Dagmara…"
"Don't do that with me. I don't care what rules we have to break to help her, and I know you don't either."
"We can't afford to mess this up, okay?"
"What's up?" Iago's voice was hushed through the receiver, ever-perceptive.
"Mom and Dad," Venatrix murmured.
"She wants to speak to her brother, let her speak to her brother," Dagmara continued firmly. She let out a pained sigh. "We should've done this with Bell, too. They never got to… For all we know, this could be the last—"
"Don't." A sharp pause followed Oberon's snapped interjection. "I'm sorry, I just…"
"I already told you to pull yourself together." Dagmara's voice was so low Venatrix could barely hear it. "For Venatrix's sake."
"I am!"
"You're not. I know you, Oberon."
"I am," he insisted again. "And it's not like it matters, as long as Venatrix is fine. Which she will be, if we follow the rules. She'll be fine." He exhaled loudly, as if he were trying to convince himself. "It's not like we haven't been planning this since before she was born."
The phone nearly slipped from Venatrix's grasp.
She didn't realize she'd pushed open the bathroom door until she found herself staring down both parents, unsure of what must be showing on her face. Nothing good, judging by the contrite looks plastered across their own.
"Venatrix," her father started carefully.
You knew this, Venatrix reminded herself. When has anything in your life ever told you differently? Hadn't she acknowledged this long ago? Why should it matter that she was born with the intent to kill? To die?
For some reason, it did.
Isn't that what you're so proud of?
"Whatever," Venatrix ground out.
"Trix? What is it?"
Venatrix ignored her brother, staring at Oberon's expectant outstretched hand. Wordlessly, she passed the cellular over; he held it to his ear. "Iago— hang in there, bud; your mom and I will call you later." Oberon promptly disconnected the call, and immediately, Venatrix felt the absence in her chest.
Dagmara tried again. "Honey—"
"Is that it then?" Venatrix cut her off, impudent and uncaring. "I just— no wonder it hurt so much when Bell died; it was supposed to be me."
Oberon's voice rose in instinctive protest. "That's not—"
"Bell's always been your favorite," she interrupted, shooting him an accusing glare. Ignoring their immediate protests, she turned to her mother. "And I know Iago's yours."
"We're your parents," Dagmara insisted. "We don't pick favorites.
But Venatrix only shook her head. "Yeah, sure," she said nastily, ignoring how much her voice wavered. "I'm just the one that was meant to die, wasn't I?" Her parents exchanged a wounded glance; the rational part of Venatrix's mind knew her words stung, but she didn't care.
"You know that's not true," Dagmara said quietly.
"But it is! That's why you're so willing to throw me in there after Bell," Venatrix spat. "Would you even bother if it was me who died instead?"
It wasn't up to them. Callithyia had told her that months ago. Nothing was; Venatrix knew that, and yet she couldn't keep the words from pouring out.
"Venatrix," Oberon said, almost dangerously. "You are not going to die."
You don't know that, Venatrix intended to say, but all at once, there wasn't enough air in her lungs for more words, let alone enough to breathe. She tried anyways, desperately sucking in oxygen only for it to escape her grasp with choked sobs. Only when her mother brushed the tears from her cheek did Venatrix realize she was crying, her head tucked beneath Dagmara's chin like she was a child again. A hand at her back alerted her to her father wrapping the both of them into a solid hug, and for a minute, Venatrix let herself sink into it.
Even now, embarrassment flooded through her; shame for her weakness. There was a limit to how much comfort Venatrix could draw from their embrace, decreasing by the minute.
They couldn't stop tomorrow from coming.
They couldn't change her fate any more than they could turn back time to her Reaping day; to Bell's Reaping day.
And Venatrix wouldn't dare let this side of her slip through the cracks after tonight. When the tightness around her throat offered some mercy, Venatrix began the arduous process of sealing up the fissures, inhaling steadying breaths until she felt sturdy enough to pull away from her parents' warmth. You can't bring this into the arena. Grimly, she buried the emotion — the panic, the unsteadiness, the hurt — beneath a layer of stone. Iago was right. This has to wait.
Right now, Venatrix needed to be the person that drove a knife into a seemingly-innocent man's throat, not the person that collapsed crying into their parent's arms. A sharp huff traveled through her nose. That person was a part of her; embrace it, she would.
Venatrix didn't have time for mercy, not for herself and not for her fellow tributes.
"Trixie? Are you alright?" Concern pooled in her father's eyes. It dissipated at her staunch nod, replaced with almost-relief. "You'll be okay, honey. You know everything you need to win. Best thing you can do now is get a good night's sleep, hm?"
She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak as each parent pressed a quick goodnight kiss to her forehead, offering another round of meaningless words of encouragement before leaving her to her rest. Venatrix followed them to the door; they'd replaced their masks before exiting and she had too— just in time to catch Percy on his way back to his own room, long-since changed out of his interview outfit. Once they were alone in the corridor, he gave her a small smile. "There's food out in the common area if you want."
The thought of eating right now made her stomach churn; Venatrix shook her head.
Percy's face could've been a mirror of hers, for how it betrayed his own apprehension. With the abruptness of their futures on the horizon, he didn't seem to know what to say; he settled on something easy. "Ready for tomorrow?"
"As much as I'll ever be," Venatrix said quietly.
"Hey." He nudged her gently in the arm. "Whatever happens in there, I've got your back, alright?" Yet again, she nodded. "And you've got mine. That's our deal, yeah?"
"Yeah," was all Venatrix could croak out before they practically collapsed into a tight hug. It was instinctive, involuntary; utterly visceral. Her chin dug tight enough into his shoulder to hurt, his short hair brushing her ear. In the familiarity of their embrace, Venatrix was struck with the knowledge that this would be the last she saw of him before the Bloodbath. 'We don't have to be ruthless just yet,' she'd told him when they'd last embraced, curled up the cold floor of her bathroom after their graduation ceremony.
Their time was up. Somehow, that would have to be okay.
They didn't speak after they separated. There was nothing left to say between them. No need to wish each other luck; the sentiment was tethered to the scars buried deep in their palms already. Only small half-smiles passed between them before they parted for the night, and Venatrix's door closed with a soft click.
At once, everything seemed too quiet. A calm before the storm.
Venatrix's breath was steady now, though still all-too-loud in the deafening silence that weighed upon her shoulders. It echoed almost painfully in her ears, the shuffle of her footsteps across the padded carpet, the rustle of blankets as she crawled into bed.
Too loud to sleep; too quiet to do anything but think.
Dutifully, Venatrix slipped back into the nightly task she'd begun after the second day of training. This time, however, it wasn't just the Elevens alone with her.
It was all of them, one at a time.
The outliers. Zavian, who reminded her so much of her brother; Caitlin, who had the guts to point out the truth; Starling, who grew too tired, too embittered, to please his executioners. Little Paprika, who never stood a ghost of a chance.
Her allies. Grethel and Shannon, their straightforward, honest determination; Patience's fiery verve and Idris's casual flippancy; Viper and his hateful, conniving vitriol. Mariposa and her round, sparkling eyes, her undeniable skill.
And Percy.
(Even Percy.)
Over and over again, twenty-five faces appeared before her, washed out by white walls, and for each one, Venatrix carved a smile into their skin.
true vengeance 151 . weebly . com
A/N: Yeah I said one more pre-Games chap but that was a lie; dw tho I'm posting both now c: Also since I don't feel like doing an AN for the next chap, I'll say it here.. I've already started killing people and I'm. yeah ...
- Nell