reapings, part one: under the graveyard
Today I woke up and I hate myself;
Death doesn't answer when I cry for help.
No high could save me from the depths of hell…
I'll drown my mind until I'm someone else.
ailith echeverry, district two female
…
She wants to believe she made the right choice.
Ailith's spent weeks - months, actually, if she's being honest with herself - thinking about what happened at the Quell meeting. About what happened to Emric… and to Pallas, who she's often tried to put out of her memory the past couple years, despite their bonds of connection. She'd never seen eye-to-eye with her brother, but she hadn't wanted him dead. She hadn't wanted him to suffer for his split allegiances, for his political leanings. Even if he was in the wrong, he was still blood to her. A sibling she loved, no less than Emric and Jade.
She never meant for it to come to this.
There was so much blood. It had pooled into the cracks of the wooden floor and dripped through the boards into the basement, streams of red teardrops saturated with the sound of a dozen screams. Emric had been shouting - telling her to get down, to run, Ailith, we need to run. He'd put a hand on her shoulder, grabbed her by the arm to steer her toward the hidden tunnel behind the radiator along with the other rebels - the few that were lucky enough to be in the meeting room rather than on guard duty. Ailith's warning was the only thing that had saved them from a massacre.
Saved them. She shakes her head, a wry laugh parting from her lips as she reaches up to slide her reaping dress from a wire hanger, unable to disguise her disgust amidst the cacophonous silence. As if. It was still a massacre. Only thirteen of us made it out of that hellhole. Thirteen out of dozens. So many deaths and for what? What purpose did it serve?
(Progress, she tries to remind herself. All of it was for the sake of progress. The rebels knew what they were doing when they arranged that meeting. Ailith knew what she was doing when she chose to attend it. Nobody wanted to die, but they were willing to all the same if it meant their work could be preserved. And regardless of what happened after, it was her intervention that gave them a fighting chance.)
(That's something she can't bring herself to regret. Not now, not ever.)
(Even if it meant signing her own death warrant.)
She doesn't waste any time before stripping down, peeling her nightclothes off one item at a time before walking toward the bathroom and stepping into the shower. Her fingers grasp hold of the curtain to pull it shut before she turns on the water, the spray of icy liquid from the faucet chilling her skin wherever it hits. Somehow, the cold is almost pleasant - jarring, Ailith thinks, and yet the pain of it is like a balm to her aching soul.
She wonders if her brothers suffered. Hopefully it was quick when they went - Emric deserved at least that much. Pallas too, even if…
Her hands rise to push thick strands of hair back from her face, head tilted upward to face the ceiling as water paints her skin, cleansing her of her sins as much as dirt.
(It was raining when she'd left. She remembers that clearly; the grey stormclouds that hung throughout the sky, casting shadows across the whole of Two. It hadn't seemed ominous then, but looking back on it…
The shadows should've been an omen. They embodied only a fraction of the darkness Ailith experienced in the bunker - a fraction of the tumult that's haunted her ever since. Even in the light of day, death is present everywhere she looks. She'd seen it draped across her brothers' bodies and felt it tight across her neck like the weight of a hanging noose. There's a shroud that's imprinted itself on her heart… and on the Echeverry name. Her anguish weighs heavy on her shoulders, oversaturated with the dampness of tears, and sometimes it seems that there will be no end to the burden of it.)
Her guilt is eating her alive.
"Ailith!" A voice calls from beyond the shuttered door, and Ailith practically jumps, jolted out of her reverie by the sound of her sister's voice.
"I'll be out in a minute!" She calls back, giving her body a chance to untense as the water finally turns from cold to hot. There's too much clutter in her head these days - too much clutter, and for what? It's not doing her any good to hold onto the memories of what she's lost. She's dwelling on her pain, rather than focusing on what must be done. And focus in times like these is…
Necessary. Extremely necessary.
(Things used to be so much simpler. For her, and for Jade, and for everyone else. The Ailith before the massacre was so bold and determined, able to chase after whatever she wanted, and set her mind to attaining even the most unrealistic of goals. She'd been golden, fighting for what she believed in, striving to match her ambition with her ideals… a rebel ready to set the world aflame just like any revolutionary should. Sure, she could be a bit headstrong, a bit quixotic, but she always knew that her will would allow her to persevere even when she wasn't sure she could. Ailith Echeverry was a phoenix.)
Jade's voice once more breaks through her muddled mind, a twinge of annoyance in her tone.
"Hey, Ai? Hate to break it to you, but I do have to get ready, too. It's been thirty minutes."
"Shit," Ailith curses, and quickly lathers her hands up to wash her hair, using her fingers to evenly spread the soap. "Sorry, Jade - time sorta slipped my mind!"
"Wish it could slip mine," Jade snarks back, her voice pitched low enough that Ailith can only just hear the frustrated quip. "Whatever - I'm just going to get dressed."
Her footsteps recede from the door, back in the direction of her bedroom. Ailith sighs, and starts to rinse her body. She's never understood her sister - always so conformist, so dutiful and quiescent. Where she's always been one to press back against authority and defy the idea of odds not in her favor, Jade's typically preferred to stick to the rules and keep her head down. Like it doesn't matter to her if change is made or not. Like it doesn't matter to her that she's little more than a statistic on the spreadsheet of the world, another cog in the machine of Panem's inglorious monotony.
Ailith Echeverry was a phoenix, but Jade most certainly was not.
(Maybe that's for the best, really. After all, her twin's the only sibling she's got left.)
velezen vilarys, district five male
…
Fourteen days.
That's how long he's been in lockup, now. Fourteen days. Fourteen fucking days have passed since they dragged him off to the penitentiary, his vestments covered with a thin sheen of blood, glowing like garnet beneath the fluorescent bulbs of the prison's halls. There were ashes in his hair and smeared across his cheeks, the entirety of his skin burnished by soot from the aftermath of Aurelio's "ceremony" - the aftermath of a betrayal Velezen was never meant to survive.
He'd escaped due to a stroke of luck; nothing more, nothing less. Some idiot forgot to double-knot his bindings before they'd begun the proceedings. It hadn't taken Velezen more than a few minutes to wriggle out of them, his deft fingers undoing the loose rope about his right wrist, then snapping the twine on his left. A recently lit candle had done the rest - burned right through the table, the altercloth and his last set of restraints. He'd been out the door before any of his former fellows had the mind to notice, his exit precluded only by screams and the scent of melting flesh… charred meat seared right to the bones on which it lay.
It was a pitiful end for a sect of pitiful cowards.
But Aurelio hadn't been among them.
He hadn't even been close.
It was probably for the best, Velezen thinks. After all, if Aurelio had perished in the ritual chamber, he wouldn't have gotten to end his life personally. He wouldn't have been able to hold him down and watch the life drain from his eyes, wouldn't have been able to scream or cry or spit in the bastard's smug face, how could you do this to me, I thought you loved me! What happened to us against the world, Aurelio? What happened to forever?
(Was I a fool to have trusted you? Was I a fool to believe you wanted me, as a partner and not a pawn?)
(Was I a fool to give you my heart?)
... yes. I was.
They'd found him standing over the body. He'd been a wreck at the time - barely capable of standing, much less of fighting. Velezen hadn't even fought it when the Peacekeeper squadron slapped their irons around his arms and forced a burlap sack over his head, putting an end to his life as Velezen Vilarys, the long-reviled outcast. He'd been branded a criminal the second they connected him with the Order - and criminals in Five didn't have names.
They had numbers. Just numbers.
"Prisoner Three-Seven-Zero-Nine, please proceed to the holding unit," a guard's voice rings out from over the loudspeaker, and Velezen rises, his legs stiff from so many hours left in a fixed position. He's been sitting in the processing room since about 06:00 this morning - arms locked in place behind his back, a scratchy grey blanket left for him to huddle under on the offchance he wanted more sleep. There weren't any bunks in processing, so he'd laid down on the floor, the cement cold and unyielding beneath his body as he shut his eyes in an attempt to rest.
Naturally, it hadn't worked. He had too much on his mind for sleep to come without pressure. Prison, his parents, Aurelio, Theia…
Theia. Hells, he misses her.
(He hasn't thought about his sister for months. Possibly because he knows what she'd think if she could see him now, and it makes him seethe. Not at Theia, but at himself - at the mess he's made of himself by virtue of running away, at the mess he's made of everything. He's not an anarchist hero fighting the system, or a rebel revolutionary beloved by all. He's a downtrodden beggar that's survived by throwing his lot in with cultists, delusional zealots seeking a salvation he doesn't even believe in.)
(It's no wonder his family was ashamed of him. It's no wonder Five is disgusted by him. He's pitiful. He's wretched. He's…)
(Nothing.)
(He's nothing.)
Velezen eases his body up from the floor, struggling to get his knees under him, and struggling more to push himself up to his feet. It's tricky without the use of his hands - granted, it would've been less so if he'd laid down on the bench like the guards probably intended, but when does he ever do what he's supposed to?
A door opens in the wall before him, and Velezen ambles towards it, stepping out from a fortress of white cement and into the embrace of yet another waiting guard, this one armed with what appears to be an electric baton. Velezen raises an eyebrow, runs his tongue over his lip.
"You gonna hit me with that?"
"Only if you do something to deserve it," the guard says, and Zen shrugs one shoulder, blithe as ever.
"Shame. I've heard electrostim's pretty hot. Although I usually prefer to be on the other end of things…"
The peacekeeper seizes him by the collar and shoves him forward before he can finish speaking.
"Get your mind out of the gutter. Start walking."
"It's just order after order with you people. Doesn't anyone here have a sense of humor?" Velezen gripes under his breath, before deciding it's best not to push his luck. He starts to walk through the cellblock, keeping to the pace the guard has set for him the whole way. The obedience grates on him, but he doesn't say anything. He just keeps walking. Keeps walking. Walks into the grip of monotony and keeps walking still.
After about ten years they reach their destination.
Another door. Another guard.
A transport truck, paint as grey as the penitentiary's exterior.
The new guard opens the door on the back while the one with the baton gives him a sharp poke in the back, prodding him forward, pushing him in. It takes actual effort to mount the step on the exterior, much less to let the transport officer pull him up and strap him to a bench, his metal cuffs exchanged for leather bands instead.
"This is a nice change of pace," Velezen remarks with a lazy smirk. "My wrists were starting to chafe."
"Sit down and shut up," the officer snaps back, plunking themselves down on the bench beside him, with little apparent concern for personal space.
Velezen sighs, turning his head to watch the doors close.
Melancholy sits deep in the pit of his stomach, causing his gut to turn and his lungs to roil. There's a sense of dread corded around his bones, taut and tight with the sense of failure - the knowledge that no matter what he's accomplished these last few years, his influence ends here.
In two scant hours, he is to be reaped for the Hunger Games.
In two scant hours, he is to be condemned as a pariah, discarded by the entirety of Five's leadership just as he was discarded by his parents, by his peers, by -
By him.
(Damn him.)
(Aurelio Alamilla had been too good to be true. Velezen knew it as soon as he'd first set eyes upon him, that tense night in the back of a grimdark alley, when he'd been little more than a rat surrounded by filth and piles of trash. He was foolish to believe the bastard saw him as anything beyond a passing fancy, anything beyond a tool in his arsenal. They weren't partners, weren't lovers. Aurelio was the boss. Velezen was only useful so long as he minded his position - second-in-command, lieutenant, but never leader. He had overstepped by sheer virtue of his charisma… and he'd paid for his mistakes dearly.)
The only reason he's here is because Aurelio got jealous.
Envy is a vice for a reason.
Velezen watches from the transport window as the penitentiary fades from sight, the grey building overtaken by a cloud of dark smog and the presence of heavy rainclouds in the sky. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, the palms of his hands sweaty as he flexes his fingers.
So this is the end for me. Why am I even surprised?
Whatever. If the world is meant to end this day, then let it end in fire. If the world is meant to end this day, then let it end in chaos.
If the world is meant to end this day, then let the people face judgment for their sacrilege. Let their souls be purified by the bloody flame lit over the graves of a hundred rebels, born in darkness but given to light.
If the world is meant to end this day, let the Order persevere. Let them rise from the ashes of society's death, and exalt in the lives they were meant to live. Let them live in a realm of freedom, no longer bound by the constraints of conformity they've had to suffer. Let the world define itself through steps and missteps, and let its citizens make their own undoing.
If the world is meant to end this day, let it end only for me.
Your scion. Your Solar King.
ailith echeverry, district two female
…
She and Jade go down to the reaping square together, same as they always do.
They've been thick as thieves since they were little - the two Echeverry girls, both fiercely independent, full-to-bursting with their strength of will. If it weren't for their differences in temperament, Ailith isn't sure anyone would be able to tell them apart. They have the same face, the same hair, the same eyes. The same curved brows and slight shoulders and neatly-trimmed nails on the ends of their calloused fingers.
They dress the same, too - on reaping day, at least. It's a tradition at this point, seven years and counting; they pick out their clothes together, dress together, put on the same accessories and the same makeup. Jade's grown tired of it with age, but Ailith always got a kick out of the effect their identical appearance had on the Peacekeepers - not to mention their peers. The frequent inquiries of "Which one are you?" rarely failed to prompt her to laughter - even better from the jackasses in uniform.
(Not that Ailith would admit such a thing aloud. She's smart enough to mind her mouth in public - it's just in private that it's a different story. Why bother to mask her barbs of bereavement in the comfort of her own home?)
Her sister's eyes linger on her when she steps forward to extend her hand toward the authorities, a hint of warning apparent in her gaze. Ailith gives her a tiny smirk, a little shrug.
"Quit worrying so much, sis," she teases. "It's just a little blood."
"It's not the blood I'm concerned about," Jade says, but Ailith's quiet when the peacekeeper jabs her finger, quiet when they wave her through the checkpoint into the reaping pens, knowing full well that she's had enough trouble this year to last for a lifetime. She doesn't need to cause more friction on reaping day, especially when she knows there's a possibility her name might have wound up in that election box.
"I think I see Kenna over in our section," Ailith remarks, nudging Jade's rigid shoulder good-naturedly. "Isn't that her in the blue dress?"
"Looks like it," Jade replies, and Ailith chances a glance at her twin, unsurprised to find that she's crossed her arms over her chest, a serious expression turning her lips.
"Oh, Jade, come on. Don't be such a downer. It'll be over before you know it."
Ailith hooks her arm around her sister's elbow and begins to pu her along, tense posture and all. Jade's sullen the whole way, even quieter than usual, but she relaxes a little bit when Ailith ushers her toward Kenna, clearly somewhat glad to see her best friend even if she won't fully admit it.
"Hey, Jade," the aforementioned friend greets. "And Ailith. Long time no see."
"Sorry about that. Things have been a little complicated since…"
"No need to explain. You've been dealing with a lot." Kenna gives her a sympathetic frown, then raises the rope barrier separating the eighteens from the aisle, just enough for the twins to duck through and enter. "Stelios was looking for you earlier, by the way. Don't suppose you've had a chance to talk to him yet?"
"Unfortunately not," Jade sighs. "We got here a bit late because someone decided it was a good idea to take a forty minute shower after only getting up an hour before we had to leave." She shoots Ailith a look. Ailith smiles back.
"We still got here, didn't we? Perfectly punctual, too."
"You know I prefer to be early -"
"Even though there's no point -"
The Capitol anthem sounds before their squabble can finish, accompanied by the sight of the latest Capitol escort ascending the steps of the reaping stage. In his hand are two envelopes, nearly glowing against the backdrop of black that surrounds the accompanying projection - a video detailing the end of the Dark Days, and the institution of the Blood Tributary that would become the Hunger Games.
It's all bullshit, Ailith thinks, biting her lip. Demented Capitol propaganda meant to wither the minds of their citizens, paint the rebels out to be some sort of monsters. And the only thing more disgusting than the fact they market it is the fact that Districtspeople literally buy into it. When did people stop thinking for themselves?
She doesn't realize that she's grabbed hold of Jade's hand until the music cuts out, and the projection suddenly stops. The escort is still upon the stage, their envelopes gone - to where, Ailith doesn't know, although she's sure she'll find out soon enough. Her fingers twine with Jade's own, seeking the reassurance of her sibling's eternally grounded presence, so stable in moments when Ailith's not.
"District Two," the escort speaks, and their voice booms. "Your tributes for the Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games, chosen by popular vote, and sent forth by the people's will…"
It's not me. It won't be me.
"... are Kellen Akos and Ailith Echeverry."
The world shatters.
Ailith's hand falls from Jade's own, her knuckles white and her palms sore and red. Bile wells up the back of her throat, acrid and foul on her tongue as she freezes, heart hammering away in her chest before stopping all together.
She's been reaped.
She's been reaped, and she's going to the Hunger Games.
Her knees start to give, the muscles in her legs all seeming to weaken at once. If it weren't for the arm that's suddenly wrapped around her back, she's certain she'd collapse then and there. Certain, because this isn't possible, the chances were so incredibly slim that even though she knew there was a possibility, she never imagined it would actually…
Somebody's moving.
Somebody's moving, and it's not her.
Ailith watches with dread as Jade slips out from the reaping pen and into the aisle, walking forward with her head high, her steps even. She seems confident - too confident for someone headed to the Hunger Games, too confident for a fraud, and what are you doing, they picked me, they called me, Jade, not you, I'm the one who deserves this, I'm the one who's supposed to be dead, come back, please come back - !
She wants to scream. Her body pitches sideways, leaning into Kenna, whose grip on her arm has become so tight that it nearly hurts.
"It's not -" she chokes out, tears flooding her vision as Jade stands on the stage, her arms behind her back, her face an utter mask of stoicism. Kenna pulls her close and Ailith buries her face into the other girl's chest, entirely lost on what to do.
"Jade, I'm so sorry," Kenna whispers, rubbing at her back, but all Ailith can do is shake her head. Because she doesn't know, doesn't even realize, and it's wrong, everything's so fucking wrong.
I'm not Jade, not Jade, Jade, she's killing herself, dying for me, my sister, I can't lose my sister…!
She turns her head toward the stage to see her sister's face on the projection - a face identical to her own, a face that should be her own - and she wants to scream.
Yet she can't.
She can't, because if she does, Jade's death would be almost certain. Ailith doesn't know what exactly the punishment would be for lying to the Capitol like this, but she knows it's nothing good - and with her already marked as a rebel, she wouldn't expect lenience.
So she watches, helpless, as her sister is led away into the justice building, wondering if their paths will ever cross again.
velezen vilarys, district five male
…
Velezen is used to standing on ceremony.
He's had practice - more than enough practice, if he's being honest. Even when he was a child, his parents used to cart him around to ceremonies and events - socials, sorties, merit celebrations for his sister's successes, so on and so forth. They'd dress him up in expensive clothes - little gowns of satiny-silk, the nicest things he'd ever owned - and walk him around with their hands on his back, on his shoulders, squeezing, tightening, trying to keep his rambunctious personality in check.
Sit still, stop fidgeting!
Can't you ever just keep your mouth shut? Can't you ever shut up?
We taught you better than this - I mean, really, traipsing around with Capitol knows who, doing Capitol knows what -
Haven't you any shame, child?
Bloody stars, Elaina, you're making a scene - !
(Elaina. Velezen has always hated that name, enough that just the utterance of it could be a curse. His parents never accepted the truth of who he was; never accepted what he was, even after they'd put forward the money for his hormones. They'd only done it as a concession. Only done it because they thought he'd finally shape up if they gave him what he wanted, be the even-tempered, over-achieving normie he was supposed to be to begin with. They never really considered him a man…)
(They'd never really considered him at all.)
Not that it matters now; Velezen's outgrown his parents. He stopped caring what they thought the day that Theia died, the last vestiges of love for his family severed by the loss of her presence. His sister had been the heart and soul of the Vilarys clan, capable of mending any hurts and patching any wounds with the sound of her voice alone. She was so full of life… life and light, enough to set the world ablaze all on her own if she had the mind to. And yet death had seen fit to claim her before she'd even hit twenty, had taken her from the world before Velezen -
What happened to her was worse than a tragedy.
She's the one that should be here today, alive and well and breathing above the ground. Not Velezen.
And yet it is he who lived where his sister did not. It is he who was given opportunity to reside in the world, to fail and to flourish as he saw fit.
(Why is he still here? He doesn't deserve it. He never deserved…)
Anything.
(He deserves justice. He deserves reverence. He deserves…)
Everything.
The peacekeepers throw him out onto the stage, let him regain his bearings beneath the dark gaze of a rumbling sky and the eyes of ten thousand voyeurs, all of whom Velezen knows will gawk at his pain in the arena, mock him and laugh at him, to the moment he takes his dying breath. His District has never held him in high regard. They'll all be glad to be rid of him. Him, and Aurelio, and the girl standing next to him on the stage, so stoic even as she bounces on the balls of her feet, an odd sense of elation hanging in the air around her. She tilts her chin up, looks to the side, and Velezen sees a beast in the shape of her smile. Chaotic. Devilish. Hungry for blood.
… I think we'll get along well.
Velezen grins. He sticks out a hand, waits for the girl to grab it.
"I killed the mayor's brats," she says as she shakes it. "Maybe I'll get to kill you, too?"
"I like you," he replies, not letting go. "How about an alliance instead?"
He turns around, faces the District. The girl at his side starts to laugh when she notices the red faces in the crowd, no doubt thrilled by the sight of madness soon to occur. Velezen's own heart skips a beat when he notices them, because this was not something he anticipated - not after Aurelio's death.
Not after the Order lost their leader.
"Hail to the Solar King!" A man's voice screams, and a fist is pumped into the air, high as high can be.
"Hail to the Solar King!" A woman's voice echoes, and the smoke starts to fill the aisles, coloring the area around the stage black with ash.
An explosion sounds as something bursts, and Velezen's knocked off his feet by the dais caving in on itself, stone cracked and wood breaking under his feet.
"Grab them!" A peacekeeper shouts, and something hits him in the head, sending Velezen to his knees. From beside him, his District partner is cackling, making comments about how their escort writhes in the grasp of flames, how it's disappointing they won't get to watch her decay, if only we had a little longer, we'd get to see Five burn, I wish I could tell Bruin, he'd get a kick from this too -
"Those are my people," Velezen tells the peacekeeper whose hand is at the nape of his neck, steering him back indoors. "My people, and they will be exalted! Rebellion is coming, Five, and you can't stop it! You won't stop it! If we're going to burn, then you burn too!"
The doors to the justice building open, and he and Argenta are shoved inside, pressed down on the floor in turn. Something static zaps him in the back, and there's a prick in Velezen's neck when he tries to move his head. He has just enough cognizance to watch Argenta bite their sedater before the world goes black.
Consciousness leaves him and he is alive.
A/N: Under the Graveyard by Ozzy Osbourne.
Two more down, and with that we're almost halfway through! A huge shout out to DD and Dyl for sending in "Ailith" and Velezen - I truly adore them and am so excited to be writing for them as this story progresses. Thank you for your support and I hope I wrote your children well!
As a side note, check out the blog when you have a chance. There may be a slight change…