IV. Slipping Away

There much is lawful which is here unlawful
Unto our powers, by virtue of the place
Made for the human species as its own.

Liana Taylor. 41.
Head Gamemaker.

Another day, another instance of Liana Taylor turning off the news the moment she sees her face on the screen, Not like I should be surprised or anything, of course all they can do is talk about me— even though there's way more interesting things to talk about. Once somebody who embraced her newfound spotlight, the fact she's now Head Gamemaker, celebrated for her brain and not her appearance and viciousness like the other lesser victors, Liana finds that she'd rather be ignored these days. And the worst part of that is, well, she isn't even to blame for the fact this media rampage has charged against her. Well, not all media, just the people, the snakes from The Cancult deciding that she killed Clemensia and Lysistrata with her bare hands because apparently she was jealous of their status, so jealous she couldn't even wait another year to take control.

Which is… laughable, to say the least, because the very thought of taking over the Games just hours before they commenced was and still is nightmarish to Liana. If she was going to kill them, she'd have done it at least a month before the Games so she'd be able to properly prepare, but she didn't. And well, the Games certainly reflected her lack of preparation considering the nature in which she destroyed her own arena was well, problematic to say the least. The intention of the decaying rings of hell was to force the tributes to get closer and closer together so that they'd eventually have a final matchup for the ages, and while that did in fact occur, there were many blunders before that such as the Calathea Matheny and all her madness paired with the absolute disaster that was Luminosity Abrixus… okay, well that part was at least entertaining to some people, and it just overall felt unfortunate to watch. But at least it wasn't dull, she'd pat herself on the back for that one. Still though, it seems the Capitolites weren't too pleased with the arena choice since it meant they couldn't tour it afterwards, not that Liana can think of a situation where that would be enjoyable.

Some time ago, she'd gone on a tour of her own arena, and well, she felt bad, but it was hard for Liana not to chuckle every time the unnecessarily cheery tour guide pointed something out.

They were walking through a forest when he gestured at the ground, "Here's where our lovely victor Liana Taylor ripped out Piper Sanderson's neck veins," everyone clapping at her, something that was only worsened by the tour guide offering an unfortunate fun fact, "Did you guys know that if you look hard enough you can still see some of Piper's dead skin?" Because yes, apparently that fact was "fun."

Liana considers it a blessing in disguise that the 51st arena's almost entirely ashes and she doesn't have to hear stories of a tour guide saying, "And here are the few parts of Sable Hayashi's brains that Luminosity Abrixus didn't eat. Now now, let us hurry on, we don't want to miss getting a good look at the forest she killed herself in because she felt bad."

She doesn't need that to be somehow on her conscious, much like how she doesn't need the late night musings of Quinto Clancularius, a news anchor rising in popularity despite the fact he's a certified ass, going on about how she's a threat to the "sanctity of Panem" as if the country ever had any of it in the first place.

Yet… just because she doesn't need it, doesn't mean Liana's not curious what he'll have to say about her this time, especially because she knows people are going to ask her about it the next day and she might as well formulate some responses in advance. So, she turns on the television once more and scrolls down all the way to the last channel once more, where Clandestine Talks with Quinto Clancularius is about to begin, scoffing the second she sees the smug look on his face.

Green hair in a braided wig, red eyes that likely aren't his, and skin so white it doesn't seem real, the best Liana can do is be pleased with herself over the fact her personal arrival to the Capitol didn't mean similar body modifications, because well… that's just gross. Even if her becoming a pseudo-Capitolite means she's thrown out all the pre-existing morals that those in the Districts are supposed to have, she maintains the opinion that eyes shouldn't have their colors surgically changed and skin shouldn't be bleached. Maybe that's proof that she's still that innocent little fifteen year old who's too quirky for her own good underneath her newfound layers of prestige and glory, even if she fails to recognize that at times.

As expected, he starts off his little show with Liana's face being plastered all over the screens in the newsroom, his urgent voice saying, "We've got breaking news on the Liana Taylor case."

What've they got to say now? All I did since last night's instance of slander was order some bananas from the market and play with the cats… The only thing breaking is… well, me, but they don't know that— She sighs, Minerva (who's somehow still kicking it at twenty-six) on her lap whilst she scratches the soft spots on her stomach, "At least you don't think I'm a domestic terrorist trying to destroy the country, right Min?"

The whole being a cat thing prevents Minerva from responding, but the small meow that escapes her mouth is enough to validate Liana when she looks to see Quinto saying, "It's been nearly a month since Liana's last public appearance, as most of you may know by now, and I'm left wondering, why exactly is she hiding. Something tells me our lovely President is her next target, and then what? Do we really want a District-born leading our country?"

Well first off, I'm not in public because consider this: I don't want you or any of your minions to kill me, even if I have bodyguards, and second… Liana sits upright, her hands buried in her hair and a disgruntled expression on her face, The Games are… soonish and I need to plan them so they're not as messy as last time. But really the most concerning thing she heard was him even implying that she'd kill President Snow. Liana Taylor's no idiot, she knows he killed Clemensia and Lysistrata and had something to do with Livia and Lucien's disappearance, she doesn't want to be next and surely she wouldn't kill to have a job that just seems so miserable, Being Head Gamemaker is stressful enough, I don't need to run an entire country on top of it.

The District-born comment is concerning on an entirely different degree. Everyone knows that Liana was always destined for better than District Three, the brightest person of her generation, and probably the next one as well considering Luminosity sort of ruined her reputation with the mining explosion and the… yeah. As much as Liana's disturbed by the bad reputation she graced her home District with, in a way it's soothing to know that she's still top dog, not that she needs to care about Three now.

Because I'm better than Three, damnit, I was always better than Three and the Games were proof. Sure, sure, they've got their other victors now, but could Beetee and Wiress do what I'm capable of? She rolls her eyes at that very implication, Hell no! It's a good thing they've stuck to science, neither of them could engineer a muttation for the life of them.

She knows it's a toxic mindset but it doesn't mean she's going to stop, after all, there's a reason she's here in the Capitol making moves instead of rotting away in Three, right? She's here because she's the best, and not even a Capitolite could do what she's capable, right? And it's silly that Quinto would even argue that Liana's on the same level as anybody from Three when she's so clearly not… Really, It's a funny implication. They all said Luminosity could be my successor but did I kill myself after decimating somebody? No— she often forgets that there was a long time where she felt like it.

There was a long time where Liana Taylor deemed herself worthless, undeserving of all the nice things that were thrust away because she was a monster for fucks sake, but she can't let her head get there anymore. She can't let herself be wrapped up by the implication her intentions in the Capitol are impure, because she know's she's here for success and if she forget's that, she'll fall apart. She'll fall apart and be forced to think of the fact she's made a demon out of herself to cope with her atrocities, and Liana doesn't have time for that.

She doesn't have time to feel.

Another fifteen minutes of Quinto's bullshit pass before she turns off the television, I don't need more of this nonsense. And she looks at her reflection in the black screen before sighing, If they want a monster, then I'll give them one, I'll give them something to worry about… the once blank notebook on her desk calls her name so she reaches for a pen and writes on the first page, "Victors' Purge."

Liana takes a long hard look at the paper, That'll show them not to mess with me, that'll show them that I'm better than the rest and I deserve to be here.

Yet there's something stopping her from writing more.

Haymitch Abernathy. 18.
Victor of The 50th Hunger Games.
TW: Talk of suicide, alcoholism, and prostitution.

There's a small joy in the monotony of doing nothing but drink all day. Sure, that implies Haymitch has something better to do than sit on his bed and watch himself go to waste, which is… untrue. Well, actually there's Noel, who doesn't want to to sit and drink with him, and that's his personal problem to be completely honest. Maybe it's sad that he's spiraled and plummeted to the ground so quickly, but Haymitch Abernathy's long past the point of caring, hell he gave up on even trying to care that night with Sapphira in the bar, and before that… well he was already getting close to falling.

Sapphira… the headlines in the paper still send shivers down his spine, memories flashing back to the day he found out what had happened. Going outside to get the newspaper has always been one of those small consistent tasks that Haymitch enjoys since he's never quite in the mindset to watch the news telecast at night. But mornings are fine. He's less … angry… in the morning.

Though he was angry when he saw the headline that morning, "Quell Victor Killed Herself," the very phrasing similar to his own thoughts, though that's only made worse by the text underneath, "Or did she? Find out more about Sapphira Starlett's mysterious death." He'd crumbled it in his hands, The hell would I want to "Find out more" about this?

It sat on his nightstand for a week or two before he finally gave in to reading it, which he surely regrets because… Well shit… she really was right… Haymitch remembers the last night of the Games where they spoke in the bar, apparently the last time she was ever seen in public according to Noir Dinaro who'd said, "It was clear that she was in an awful mood, but I didn't think she was on the verge of killing herself, so I doubt it was that." He sighs, Does that mean I was one of the last people she talked to? Because he knows she has her wife and her daughter but like… how many other people could she have spoken to? Being one of the last people someone spoke to before dying is… a lot to take on. It's not like the Games, no not at all because death was expected there, it was the norm and there were many people Haymitch spoke to right before they died… like Maysilee— but this, oh this was unexpected.

She just… wasn't supposed to die, she couldn't die. Sapphira escaped the arena and that meant she was supposed to be good for the rest of her life, right? She wasn't supposed to die this young and Haymitch knows other victors die young just the same but he'd never spoken to any of them, he'd never been warned by any of them about just how bad life could be.

… And he already has a feeling it's about to get worse.

It's a good thing the alcohol's around to keep him sane, keep the voices in his head from taunting him too loudly. He's got a distraction, now, and unlike Noel who could leave at any moment, should leave at any moment if he's being honest, the beer and the gin and the scotch will always be there for Haymitch, always willing to comfort him and drag him out of his ruts. Alcohol doesn't judge him, doesn't tell him it'll all be okay because alcohol knows it's never going to be okay, so why bother trying? So what if it's made him the slightest bit irritable, it's better than him having to live in reality all the time.

Haymitch always considered his life to be a movie, but he never considered that not all films have happy endings.

A month before the Reapings for the 52nd Games marks the beginning of the nightmares, the sequence of events always the same: Noel's named gets pulled from the bowl, without hesitation he tries to volunteer in his place because he's won before and he'll do it again, he's dismissed because that's against the rules, and Noel's the first to fall when the gong rings. Yet it gets worse from there, Snow tapping on his back before Haymitch can even mourn, gesturing to his office and telling him he's his property.

Every night it's the same dream, and every night it just goes longer, more vivid until he wakes up in the morning shocked to see he's in his own room and not a jaunty Capitolite's and Noel's face is just the way it was when he went to bed, not covered in blood and ashes.

One morning, he awakes to his own screams, Noel jumping out of the bed like a stray cat, "What happened?"

It's like something's controlling Haymitch when he speaks, when he says, "Why are you still with me, Noel? Why don't you understand that you're risking your life whenever you talk to me, whenever you exist in the same space as me? What made you decide that I'm even a good boyfriend, huh? Do you just love me for my money, is that what it is?"

Tears begin to fall down Noel's face but in that moment of rage, Haymitch can't be bothered, instead grabbing his flask off the ground and taking a gulp of whatever's inside it, "Do you see this Noel? This'll never leave me so if the only reason you're with me is because you think you're all I have left, then get that stick out of your ass and leave."

"This isn't you," Noel stutters, his hands swaying by his sides, "Haymitch I know this isn't who you are."

"Because you know me better than myself now, don't you," He scowls, his palms beginning to sweat from rage, "You know it's funny, I didn't realize we'd gone through the same things, Noel. I didn't realize you were forced to kill people only to return to your dead family. I didn't realize you were told that you'd be turned into some sort of a sex slave if you didn't kill yourself first?"

Noel tries to grab the flask from Haymitch but he swipes it away, "How dare you try to take away the one thing in my life that can never be taken away from me."

Again, Noel says, "This isn't you. It's the alcohol talking, not you," because of course Noel Alighieri's so fucking quixotic he can't acknowledge how fucked Haymitch is, how he's ripping at the seems and he needs a sewing machine not a single needle. And Noel's just a patch to cover up the tears.

He won't last, he'll fall off into the dirt eventually, just like mother and father and everyone who's ever loved me… why doesn't he understand, what about it does he not get? He's in love with a hopeless case, a fucking screwup who never had a chance… so why does he even bother with me?

It's too much to deal with, he needs another drink, dammit… The flask's empty so he needs to saunter on downstairs yet Noel's at the top of the stairwell and he's blocking it so Haymitch can't get past and he's not going to swing at him because Noel's taller and stronger and… "Shit."

There's a look in his eyes, so desperate and so... lost, the same way he is and... he starts to break a bit.

"Hay?" Noel notices him crashing, Haymitch's shoulders loosening, knees melting, "Are you… okay?"

The slightest of smiles blossoms on his face, "Better than… a few seconds ago," and then he waits, "I'm sorry."

Noel tries to comfort him, hands on his shoulders, "That wasn't you."

Haymitch inhales, then exhales, "It wasn't me… I'm sorry… Noel…"

"You'll get better," He knows damn well he's lying, "You have to, okay? Do you maybe want to… not drink for the rest of the day. Will that make you feel better?"

It won't, why would it? Haymitch has to physically restrain himself from not letting his eyes roll in the back of his head, "I'll try."

"For me?" He extends his pinky.

"For us."

Yet as soon as Noel falls asleep for his afternoon nap, Haymitch finds himself right where he started, a glass of whiskey in his hand and the cares of the world slipping away.

He needs something stronger.

These bitches toxic, good for them! No, seriously… these two are not doing so hot right now, but in a different way than Crista and Ludo which is why I put them together for this clusterfuck. That and the theme of them both being exposed to rumors, I guess… and naturally they're going to be worse. I think a blessing and a curse of writing a beloved character in canon (Haymitch) is that everyone knows where his story is at the beginning of the first book, yet that also leaves me wondering if he's ever acting out of character, yet I justify myself by saying he's eighteen here and fifty-two in the main series, so naturally he's still growing into the drunkard we know and love.

Which leads to Liana, who's just as fun in her own way because she's had a role in the Games beyond the average victor yet she's not mentioned in canon and that does create issues for sure, but her mindset is a unique one and it's always a pleasure to explore it. I've always had fun merging my verse's characters with canon worldbuilding so I hope you find it interesting too… there's more of it coming in this story by the way, and I don't think you'll expect it but my brain is massive, what can I say. Before I get too off track, I just wanted to say happy birthday to Ms. Liana Taylor as June 28th is in fact the day she was born. I adore her so much, and Laney again thank you for this lovely little lady (who now has a cat older than us, what the fuck).

Alright, submissions are almost closed, so get those in if you haven't. I'll see you all… sometime after the 30th with the cast list and some words from… well a certain ginger we haven't heard from in a hot second, he's doing just as badly as you'd assume he is.

Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds