XV. The Beginning of The End
Even as a falcon issuing from his hood,
Doth move his head, and with his wings applaud him
Showing desire, and making himself fine.
Ascot Vionet. 13.
District Eight Female.
If there's one thing she really should know by now, it's that no matter how bad her life seems to be, fate always has plans to make it even worse. Really, when the escort called Ascot's name just a few hours ago, she was an idiot to believe that was the full extent of just how awful her pending circumstances were, but alas the universe seems to have even more suffering to inflict upon her.
"This is all your fault. I don't know how, but it is," She hasn't done much talking to her District Partner, but maybe that's for the best because really she'd rather be dead then have to exchange any more words with Adrian Tamarind, "You're going to have to talk to me at some point, Azzie. You can't just ignore me forever."
Of all the degenerates in that family, Adrian was perhaps the one she least wanted to be in any life or death situation with. If she were with Vienata or Riora, they'd probably kill her the minute they got the chance, but Adrian's too scrawny and weak to actually kill somebody, which just means dealing with all his incessant brooding monologues as she slowly forms the desire to rip her own eardrums out.
She's done with it all at this point, or at least Ascot should be done with it. She really does wish she could stop giving a care about Adrian and the rest of the Tamarinds in what's likely the concluding song in her miserable concerto of a life, yet his presence makes it practically impossible. She's got no choice but to remember that the demons who've haunted her for the past two years are still going to be a part of her, even in death.
Being reaped should have been the best thing that ever happened to her. It's a promise of a quick death and considering how utterly inadequate she's been her entire life, she was always bound to die sooner rather than later, yet now she doesn't even get that luxury without being forced through another week besides one of the primary sources of her melancholy.
Her Mentor, who she's pretty sure's named Carolina sits beside her at one point and tries to sympathize with her, "You know, I was just as afraid as you were when I was chosen."
Please, it takes everything in Ascot not to roll her eyes at that remark. Sure, she hardly knows anything about the woman, but what she does know is that she took out a large chunk of the alliance from One, Two, and Four during her own Games, so clearly she wasn't too afraid to take an axe to several throats.
And for the record, Ascot Vionet is not at all afraid of the Games. She's already accepted that she's been dodging death for far too long to survive one more time, she just wishes Adrian wasn't there to see it in person. That sick fuck would probably laugh at it too, jeez.
Now that she thinks of it, Ascot doesn't even remember if she at all cried when her name was read, which just goes to show how aware she is of the fact dying young was always in her cards. She looks up at Carolina and mutters, "Well you also weren't barely a teenager so I imagine that helped," because that's all the insight she has on the matter.
The Mentor tries to hug her but Ascot awkwardly scoots away on her bench, the denim of her pants creating enough friction with the velvet that she feels a small burning sensation on the back of her legs, "I don't need your pity. I promise."
Dejected, Carolina looks around the cart, probably trying to see if she can bribe Ascot into opening up to her with food or something, which wouldn't work by the way, but of course Adrian decides it's his turn to say something, "She's right. If you're going to pity anybody, it should be me."
Ascot points her eyes at the little demon, his teeth forming a wicked smirk as he leans against the wall with his arms behind his head. There's death in her eyes but it doesn't really do much to deter him from monologuing, "Azzie here's been through enough damage for her life. The Games are nothing to her, I promise you she's probably excited to die like some sort of a bumbling idiot. Personally, my life was perfect up until now, and all my glorious potential is soon to be wasted."
She scoffs under her breath, "What potential?"
Adrian's always been insistent that the Tamarind family is wildly rich and successful and that he's going to inherit their printed fabric company and become some sort of an aristocrat. Maybe he's too young to understand it, and hey even Ascot was impressed by how nice the house was when she first moved there, but clearly they're not as rich as they claim to be if they need to foster her in order to get checks from the Capitol.
"Could you speak louder, Ascot?" He sneers in response, his voice pitchy and obnoxious, "If you have something to say about me, perhaps it would be best if you shared it with everybody here."
The bickering seems foreign to Carolina, which likely makes sense considering she's probably never had a set of District Partners who can't stand one another from the get-go, but she seems willing to be somewhat of a mediator in the discussion, "I just have to ask, do you two know each other?" She sits on the ground in between them with her legs crossed, "I can't help but notice that there's some tension between the two of you."
Ascot's quick to speak because she knows whatever Adrian'll say on the nature of their relationship is bound to be an awful lot of nonsense, "I've been living with his family for the past two years." She doesn't feel the need to dump all the trauma of her life onto this complete stranger who likely won't care when push comes to shove, so she figures her answer is simple enough.
"Unfortunately," Adrian adds, and she does roll her eyes this time, "Believe me, if I had a choice in the matter she wouldn't be allowed anywhere near my house."
The nearly unrealistic rudeness from his twelve-year-old mouth doesn't come as much of a surprise to Ascot these days. Adrian's always been sort of the worst, even when he was just ten, and while she's wondered on more than one occasion why exactly he's become so terribly foul and developed such a bitter outlook on the world and all so young, she'd be a hypocrite to say he's overdramatic, no matter what it is that's probably happened to him behind closed doors to make him the way he is. Also… no background information would change the fact he's utterly insufferable.
But Carolina's clearly never seen somebody like Adrian, so it's no wonder that she's taken aback by his words, "That's not really nice of you to say."
"Which is why I said it," He flashes that same mischievous smirk once more, "Ascot knows I'm telling the truth, anyways. She's said it a million times, that she's—"
"Unbelievably tired of you and your attitude?" Carolina cuts him off to scold him, "Because I can't really say I blame her based on my first impression of you. Learn how to treat her with respect or I won't help you make it out of the arena to access the peak of that so called potential you speak of."
"Well I was going to say that Ascot always says she's deficient," Adrian mutters under his breath, just loud enough that both Ascot and Carolina hear it, the latter looking at him with eyes of disgust, "But whatever suits you."
Ascot turns around on the bench and lifts her legs to her forehead to form a ball, still refusing to let herself cry and give Adrian that gratification. A few moments pass before she feels a gentle hand tapping her shoulder, but this time Ascot doesn't flinch and instead slowly peers her head at Carolina standing above her.
"I'm sorry that he said all those things about you," She speaks in a genuinely remorseful tone, "Really, I don't know what the problem is with some of these kids nowadays."
Ascot sighs, "You don't know the half of it." Because unfortunately she's right. There's so many battles she's fought in solidarity that neither Carolina nor anybody's ever going to know a thing about because at the end of the day, Ascot's just one of many kids who happens to be stuck with the short end of the stick. She's not special in her misery, especially now that she's going to the Games to be surrounded by even more of it, "But thank you for talking to him like that, really."
She slowly realizes that there's never been a time where she could say another person stuck up for her, and that just makes her feel worse.
Calsin Verrillo. 18.
District Four Male.
Good lord Atlantis is somehow at least twelve times worse than Calsin remembers her to be, and what's worse is the fact she doesn't even try to act polite to him, instead choosing to be… well a massive bitch to put it politely and the spawn of the devil himself if he's being fully accurate.
"It was disgusting when you chewed with your mouth open earlier," She makes an offhand remark as they step away from the table, "Not that I'm surprised, I just thought it was worth mentioning. If I were a Capitolite, I'd never spend a cent on you."
And I'm supposed to die for this lady? He nearly mocks just how fucking loathsome his circumstances are, You've got to be fucking kidding me… Yet unfortunately it's the truth, as Caspian had so kindly reminded Calsin when the two of them were boarding the train with a snide whisper, "I'm relieved you actually went through with your position as sacrifice."
That just made Calsin want to scream, "As if I had a fucking choice in the matter; your lunatic friends were going to kill my boyfriend… er— best friend," yet he had restrained himself. That doesn't change the fact he misses Adrian already though, and probably more than he'd ever admit out loud. Because he'd actually be comforting in this riptide of a train ride instead of reminding Calsin that the whole wide world's apparently out to get him.
He rolls his eyes at Atlantis with disgust, "I don't understand what your problem with me is," but really he knows. Hell, everybody knows that Atlantis Seasbane hates practically everybody just for existing, that horrendous monster without a cause.
"You're a spoiled brat, that's what your problem is," She bats her eyes, the innocent look on her face one Calsin knows all too well. It's the way she looks at people before she attacks them with her words, and as familiar as he is with it, he wishes he could say it doesn't scare him just a smidge,.
"Literally how am I spoiled?" Obviously, Atlantis doesn't know shit about him if she thinks that to be the case. The way his parents treated him… please, Calsin wouldn't exactly say they spoiled him in any meaning of the word.
"Well for starters you ran away from the Academy because you didn't have what it took to actually work hard to get the volunteer spot like I did, only to come back eventually with the help of your mommy and daddy's money," She twists her hair between her fingers and giggles, which just makes Calsin even more angry.
"That's not what happened!" He retaliates, not caring how loud his voice is growing, "Besides, everyone knows you were chosen because—"
Before Calsin can continue, Caspian approaches him from behind and covers his mouth with his hand, "Maybe you two should be separated for a while."
"Well I for one think that's a wonderful idea," Atlantis smiles, probably getting a kick out of the way Calsin's kicking and screaming, "Provided Mr. Verrillo here can spend a long amount of time without verbalizing how obsessed he is with me."
I am not— He grunts to himself with displeasure, The only person obsessed with you is yourself, Atlantis. He wants to say something to her, somehow tame her raging waters that seem to be incapable of stopping until all of Four's in a hurricane of agony, yet whatever he says to her, Calsin knows it's not going to do a thing and she's going to continue being miserable to the world around her for no damn reason. What a pathetic life she must live, He'd pity her if he didn't hate her so much.
"Whatever you say, Seasbane. Whatever you say…" Instead of yelling, he just muses in a passive tone, because clearly all she wants is to get a reaction out of him.
He looks across the room to see Crista Cray and her young daughter huddled together in the corner of the train car which is where they've been since dinner ended. Neither of them said much both at the meal and when everybody was gathered in the main car together besides just formalities. Calsin's never quite seen a young child as inequitably miserable as Cressida Starlett-Cray, but just judging on everything he know's she's been through, it makes sense for her not to be the happiest of campers.
…Maybe he should talk to Crista, because lord knows if Atlantis gets to her she's going to say something and it's not going to end well for either of them. She's always been the tamest of the Collective's prominent members that Calsin's met, though he's heard she doesn't really associate with them anymore which is probably for the best. He walks closer to her, softening the seething expression on his face because the last thing he wants is to somehow scare Cressida, but he's quickly intercepted by Caspian's hand on his shoulder, "You're coming with me."
He squints, "What do you need me for, huh? I've known you for years, Caspian. I want to get to know my other mentor." It's hard for Crista to hide the smile on her face, so Calsin winks at her which makes Cressida laugh a smidge.
She tries to say something too, but Caspian projects his voice louder, "Well traditionally speaking, the male mentor is in charge of the male Tribute, so I believe it to be a wise use of our limited time together if I don't allow you to go off schmoozing with somebody who isn't important to your training."
"You're full of shit," Calsin whispers, luckily not loud enough that anybody can hear him, then sighs and follows Caspian back into the main room while Atlantis wanders to sit besides Crista and Cressida in the dining hall.
The door slams shut behind them and Caspian scowls, "Alright, so what the hell was that about earlier?"
Calsin bops his head from side to side, amused with his frustration, "You'll have to be more specific." Yeah, he's done a lot today that would surely piss Caspian off, which is obviously his intention.
"Well I really didn't appreciate you introducing yourself to Atlantis while screaming profanities at her, but really I should've expected that from you by now," Caspian sits on a leather couch and runs his hands through his curly brown hair, clearly stressed out, "But what I was talking about was when you nearly tried to tell her about the Collective. I already told you that she'll learn her role as savior when the time comes."
"Yeah, well you all can collectively suck my dick," He rolls his eyes and laughs a bit too hard at his own joke, "You're acting like something horrible's going to happen if Atlantis knows about the cult fuckery she's supposedly destined to lead."
Caspian sighs, "You really don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?" Calsin leans on the side of his chair and gets close enough to his face that he flinches, "I already volunteered for you bitches like a good boy, why can't I have my chaos before I kick the bucket?"
He's hoping that doesn't happen though… As much as he acts all tough, deep down inside Calsin Verrillo wants nothing more than to live through this and restore the light to Four as it's deserved for so long now.
"Because Atlantis Seasbane is very unstable," Caspian sighs, gently shoving Calsin off him, "She's perfect for Shane's purposes, I'll tell you that much, but we really don't need you and your quote-unquote chaos getting in the middle of our goals. Need I remind you who's back home if you don't listen?"
His brain flashes to Adrian, and then Sevilin, which is enough for a small frown to form on his face. Calsin wonders if Sev saw him volunteer earlier that day, and what he thought of it all too. Was he proud of his little brother for doing what he couldn't do, or does he think Calsin's a stuck-up Academy snob now? He doesn't know what's worse, the most important person in his life being proud of him but unable to express it, or the very same person being disappointed in him and not seeing him for who he really is.
"Understood," Calsin gives into Caspian with disappointment, "I just think perhaps you should listen to me too."
"Or else?" He quirks his brow, "What do you know that I don't?"
"Well, I know that it sure would throw a wrench in all of your plans if I gave all of Panem a little pep-talk on everything going on back in Four," Calsin pushes back his hair and slyly smiles, "If I were you I'd let me have a little talk with Crista."
Would he actually expose them all onstage? That's to be determined, but at least Calsin Verrillo's slowly learning how to get what he wants around here. Atlantis' isn't going to see what hit her, hell all of Four isn't going to see what hit them if Calsin has his way about it. It's just a matter of how far he can push his newfound luck.
Vancouver Easton. 17.
District Twelve Female.
TW: Mentions of drugs and alcohol.
After all the hundred of ways she'd heard Haymitch praising him, Vancouver really thought that he and Noel would actually get along. While none of their conversations back in Twelve were of much depth, just small-talk really, they always included the Victor saying something about how much he loves his boyfriend and hates the emotional turmoil he's forced him to endure. It sure doesn't seem that way now though, the train to the Capitol beginning to slow as the two of them bicker from opposite sides of the cart.
"I just can't believe you lied to me," Noel rolls his eyes by the window glass, "What in Panem were you thinking?"
"I was just protecting you," Haymitch groans, head in his hands, "I obviously didn't think this was going to happen!"
"You didn't think that if you brought the world's worth of drugs onto this train, I would see them. Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you think I'm dumb, Haymitch?" It's like he's completely different then the way Haymitch described him, not gentle or soft, just… bitter.
Vancouver's nearly taken aback when he snaps his head in her direction, "I hope you're glad you created this!"
… Well he's not entirely wrong, but still how the hell was she supposed to know that she couldn't mention seeing Haymitch in her Kingdom just yesterday? It's like Noel said, the cocaine in his messenger bag would've been found eventually anyway, all Vancouver did was accelerate the inevitable misery.
She did nothing wrong; it wasn't like Vancouver slowly coerced Haymitch into buying from her or anything, no everything was of his own volition and if he can't accept that then so be it. And if Noel can't see that she's the one making his lover so happy all without laying a finger on him, then that's his fault just the same. She tried to be optimistic about him, thought, Maybe he's really not as much of a hardass as Haymitch said he was but lord was Vancouver wrong. She'd hardly even gotten to saying much the previous day before Noel scolded her and called her a "disgrace to society."
Because sitting around and doing nothing makes you a valuable asset, obviously. She rubs her face and tries to forget all the nonsense from the boys, yet it's hard when the past day and a half's scolding replays in her mind… selfish, corrupt, wicked, demoralized, again and again. It makes her want to scream because she tried to give Haymitch a chance after he all but ruined District Twelve through his Games, yet now it seems he's just as much of a prick as the rest of the world.
The same world that wants to destroy her it seems, not that she plans on letting it. Really, being Reaped is almost all but a challenge to her. The Games are her calling, almost, like proof that Haymitch Abernathy was never the best Twelve had to offer and it should have always been her who broke their forty year dry streak without a Victor. It's fate, the same way it was when her parents had to die in order for her to soar, and it'll be fate again when cannons sing lullabies at her disposal. Judging by the mess the Career packs going to be, it shouldn't be too hard for her to ruffle their feathers. Just the Reaping alone prove them to be a budding mob of soulless douchebags.
She's what Twelve needs, after all. She saved them from the Big Boom with her company, her job opportunities, her enterprising, and winning the Games is just going to help them rise further. Twelve could never fly with somebody as pathetic as Haymitch behind the helm, that should be a given.
He'd never valiantly push himself in the Games even when people tried to volunteer in his place now would he? He'd never accept his part in all the darkness in the world and then flip it on it's head to change it into life. He'd never do any of that shit, yet he mouths off anyways as if he's completely harmless. As if it's not his rebellion that lead to Twelve being nearly brought to it's knees.
Vancouver Easton is not selfish. She's not corrupt or wicked and she's got her morals in check too. Vancouver Easton is a fucking savior, and it's about time people begin acting like it.
She rolls down the window of the train car as it begins to pull further into the Capitol and all its glory. It's hard for her not to feel important with so many people staring at her. It's hard for her to not feel so powerful amongst them.
Of course he's not here, She glances down at Noel who's still sulking on the other side, It's like he doesn't even want to do well, probably relying on his boyfriend's money to get him out of here. As if that would work when the Capitol's as dog-eats-dog as it is. As if anybody would dare to give a shit about Haymitch Abernathy's freeloader.
Inklings of noises begin as Vancouver sticks her head outside of the window, one hand in the air waving like a princess and the other rested gently on her heart. She flashes a smile at the crowd in front of her and takes a deep breath, only to realize that they're not screaming with delight, but rather… disgust.
"Go back to mining coal, you filthy animal," She hears a small boy call out to her before bending over and laughing to his friend, "We don't need you in our Games anyway!"
Said friend responds with equal snarky, "What's the point in even coming here if you're just going to die first, Twelve? Probably would've been more interesting if you chucked yourself off the train when you had the chance."
She quietly stammers, "Do you not know who I am?" but the embarrassment can't be undone. Vancouver's been in the Capitol not even a minute and she's already becoming a shell of herself, already becoming the nation's laughing stock and it's all because of her apparent idiot of a mentor.
"Don't look so angry," The first boy laughs again, "Don't want you running into a forcefield. That's so boring!"
Haymitch walks behind her and muses, "They don't know who you are, isn't that funny," his voice soar from all his screaming and yelling, "Welcome to my life. There's no Diamond Dust Kingdom that can protect you now."
Vancouver rolls her eyes, "You said my Kingdom was the best thing that ever happened to you."
It's true. She saw him in all his ecstasy yet he now has the audacity to say she ruined his relationship when he did it all himself, "Noel was the best thing that ever happened to me."
"Then why don't you act like it instead of lying to him," It's a harsh truth, but he needs to hear it especially considering how flippant he is, "Just because I gave you the goods, doesn't mean it's my fault you took them."
The car stops and Vancouver readjusts her posture before getting up. The joints in her legs crack as she balances herself across the velvet carpeting, not particularly excited to see what sort of an angry mob greets her when she makes her way outside.
But she can't let them matter to her. She can't let anything matter to her besides Twelve and her Kingdom, her legacy waiting in the wings to be fully idealized. She watches as Haymitch tries to reason with Noel once more in hopes he'll get up from his chair but it's a lost cause. Those two don't matter to her either.
And to hell with it, soon those boys who screamed at her, tried and failed to push her off her throne, soon they're all going to laugh for messing with her. She'll bring Panem to their knees and show them Twelve's not just where Haymitch's loser friends roam about and rebel without causes. She'll show them she's of worth, of value and of high esteem, and by the time the arena's been through what she does to it, it'll have no choice but to break itself for her just the same.
She doesn't let the hissing deter her again when she opens the door to the outside world, to the people that'll soon be screaming her name instead of cursing it. No, instead Vancouver Easton walks with her head held high, not just into her future, but into Panem's future.
It's just a matter of putting her cards into the right positions. It's just a matter of getting in with the major players.
Now which one of those Careers seemed the easiest to overpower, Vancouver licks her lips. Now that she thinks of it, that boy from Two sure looks like prey.
In a dog-eats-dog world, Vancouver Easton will be the predator.
Malin Mardari. 17.
District Six Tribute.
Their District Partner, Mozi keeps rolling her eyes at them from across the makeup room and Malin doesn't know if they're supposed to be insulted or turned on. Judging by the… sharpness or lack thereof of her nails though, they're inclined to believe the former. A shame.
It's not like Malin Mardari should be looking for love anyway, all things considered. Not having a tongue doesn't exactly make somebody a hot commodity, and nobody cares about what you can do with your fingers if you only have seven of them. Then there's the whole being emotionally unavailable thing due to having a traumatic experience with an ex-boyfriend that landed you in prison thing, but please— Mal would rather think about their missing body parts, which didn't feel so great when they were being removed, by the way.
When the stylist lady isn't looking, Mal turns their head to the side and slowly raises their middle finger at Mozi, quickly putting their hand down again at the sound of footsteps.
They hear her whisper, "Fuckin' dork," which makes Malin cock their head upwards. Again, Mozi rolls her eyes and slightly laughs, "You're acting like it's not the truth."
As to how she got that (very correct) first impression of them, Mal doesn't know. They'd ask, but not being able to talk kind of puts a hinderance on that and it's pretty hard to make paper airplanes out of napkins with only seven fingers and nothing to write with. Hmm… They rest their head on their hand— the one with all five fingers, not just two and sigh, Maybe it was my little stint yesterday?
They've already heard people whispering about their little decision to volunteer for the Games in the hallway, which is honestly laughable. There was this little girl who said that she was "almost almost a hundred percent sure," Mal volunteered because they were some sort of a nutty prisoner who just wanted to kill people and— Wait a minute! She's not that far off... Please, as if I'd go out of my way and go all the way here just to kill people, shit's messy as fuck.
Eh, maybe that's the narrative that the Capitol's trying to push, "Malin Mardari enters death match for the soul purpose of escaping prison." But again, that's not too far off. Call them stupid (you'd be right), but it all boils down to this: prison is boring and monotonous but the Hunger Games are fun and exciting. It's not like Mal's always had these grand ambitious of living well into adulthood anyway. If they never went to jail they'd probably still get fucked over by Orsino somehow and wind up diseased when they tried to fuck a stranger as a rebound. If they're going to die, they rather their body be lifted into the clouds on a hovercraft than swept off the side of the road in the freezing cold.
"Can you open your mouth?" Their stylist leans down to apply lipstick, which Malin can already tell is going to smell like horse shit. They oblige, if only to see the scream she lets out when she's reminded, "You really don't have a tongue!"
Mal remembers on one of the first days of prison when this girl Helen came up to them and asked, "What's it like not having a tongue?" and the answer then is the same way Malin feels now… like nothing, because they don't have a tongue that can tell them what it feels like… duh!
At least Helen found them endearing whenever they would write little messages on the wall with chalk, and maybe Mal can even consider her a friend at this point. It sure would be nice if they could say the same about Mozi… but again… no tongue means talking hard and no paper or pen means writing hard.
The lipstick clinks against the table as Madame Fancy Stylist de Capitol, as Mal's now decided is her name goes to wash her hands… and that in fact gives them an idea. They use their hand (again, the one with five fingers, not two) to unscrew the lid, searching for anything that they can write on when they find a sheet of paper labeled, "Official Plinth Plaza Stadium Map," in bright blue ink. That doesn't seem important! With care, they write three letters on the paper… "S… U… P…" and a question mark before sliding it across the table to Mozi.
Her own stylist looks down at the paper before glaring at Mal, "Don't touch that, it's important," flailing her hands like some rich baby princess, "And you've completely ruined the lipstick, why would you do that, Malin?"
They simply shrug and laugh to themselves, Why the fuck not? These ladies work at the stadium, damn it if they don't know where everything is then that's a sign they should look into changing their careers. Meanwhile Mozi's at least had a second to look at the little note whilst her hair is braided into two extravagant buns, "You know, we probably should figure out a method of communicating with one another. I can tell you're trying, but I suppose it's difficult given your situation."
Bout' fuckin' time she says something, Malin smiles. It was just so awkward and weird on the train with neither of them being able to communicate with one another and their stupid ass Mentors not even making an effort. Would've been so easy for them to just give Mal a pen and let them write down their thoughts but, nope! The train just meant a day and a half of looking pissed as fuck in a corner while Mozi failed to get any reasonable advice out of the Mentors as well.
Finding the lipstick again, Malin writes on their own arm this time "Y… E… P…" lucky that it's not covered by the neon rainbow weird vest thing they're being forced to wear. They extend it far enough so that Mozi can see and nod their head.
"Okay first of all, stop writing on your arm you little disco stick," Mozi chuckles then glances to her stylist "Hana, could you please get him—" They can't stop themself from hissing… "Them?" Mal smirks at the correction, "Could you get them a paper and a pencil?" When the stylist leaves, Mozi whispers to herself, "I should've known you were a they."
What gave it away? The stolen fish-net tights or the bleached hair and bad attitude? At this point all they can do is laugh. That was what was nice about prison. They didn't really care what was crawling around Malin's pants as long as it was put away and they acted like a submissive little bitch. Both of those things were an adjustment but whatever. Is it weird they somehow felt safer sleeping behind bars than when they were living with the Maquis? Well… maybe, but lord know's they're going to sleep like some sort of a fuckin' god in the Capitol. See? They're not a complete idiot for volunteering.
Malin's own stylist comes back before Mozi's and immediately comments on the lipstick on their arm, "Do you think this is all just a joke? Do I really have to wipe all that off now?"
"They were trying to talk to me," Mozi luckily answers for them, "They probably do think all of this is a joke, but at least they had good intentions just this once."
She really thinks she knows me, huh? I have never had good intentions once in my entire life— well there was that time with Orsino when we were running and then I looked back and the Peackeekeer was holding a gun— or that time, again with Orsino where I didn't want to just leave him alone with the body— and the third time, with you guessed it, Orisno and I in the alleyway when this weird hooker lady— You know what? Maybe I shouldn't have good intentions.
Because here at the Capitol, Malin's supposed to start fresh. They aren't supposed to dwell around on their shitty ex-boyfriend and obnoxious ex-mob and repressed as fuck childhood trauma. That's not who they are anymore.
"Here you are," Hana, (that's her name, right?) sets a notepad on the table in front of Mal and hands them a pencil, "Hopefully this'll help you." Her smiles soft, like she's some sort of a puppy dog that hasn't been fucked over by the fact the world hates puppy dogs yet, and it's oddly comforting to them.
They flip open the cover and slowly press the pencil against the page. Deep breaths! You can do this! No more emotional withdrawal and no more Orsino! You can do this! In their best attempt to be legible, Mal writes on the paper, "I think we could be allies!" before sliding it against the table.
"I like the way you think," Mozi looks down and smiles, "It's a pleasure doing business with you."
Endellion Dubois. 18.
District Two Female.
TW: Mention of drugs.
It all feels real once she's on the chariot, standing tall wearing —whatever the fuck this cloak-thing is with the wind weaving between her hair as she's carried onto the track by a notably depressed-looking pair of horses. With one hand on the front railing and the other in the air, Ellie smiles, "This is so fucking epic!"
"We've only moved five feet," Her equally depressed-looking District Partner, Beowulf feels appropriate to point out through gritted teeth, "You're going to embarrass us."
He's been saying that non-stop since the Reapings, that she's "making a fool out of District Two," whenever she does anything slightly in the wrong. Okay well… maybe feeding Kareen Kazami enough edibles that she passed out and couldn't wake up to do the whole being a Designated Volunteer thing was a bit more than slightly wrong, but hey, Ellie told her what was in those brownies. She didn't say how much was in those brownies but still. Besides, Kareen was a total ditz and Ellie's still bewildered as to how she won the Final Tournament. It's not like Ellie thought she'd win herself or anything, even if Chad's training was progressing at an above-average rate, but she didn't think it would be Kareen who was doomed to the fate of being too high off her ass to volunteer for a death match.
Okay maybe all of that was awful, but like, what else was Ellie supposed to do? Killing Kareen would be way too dramatic, and wherever the hell Reina is now, Ellie doesn't need her calling her a "drama queen."
Because it's Reina who should be here, standing tall wearing the dumb cloak bullshit and waving in the air, not Ellie, and such a point certainly isn't lost on her whenever Beowulf opens his mouth.
"Seriously, you need to calm down," He condemns her, but it's definitely not Ellie's fault that she's jittering like a bug because she's in the Capitol after all. This is supposed to be exciting and a once in a lifetime experience, so really Beowulf's in the wrong for acting like it's some large corporate meeting.
"They don't want us to stand still like drones, Wolf-boy!" She attempts to tease him, but the stoic look on his face tells her it isn't working, so she tries to grab onto one of his hands, "Shake your hands in the air like you just don't care!"
"My name is not Wolf-boy," The boy shudders and pulls his hand away, "Can we just… not talk and instead look at the people around us and not each other?"
"You're no fun," Ellie scoffs before returning to her waving and screaming.
She does her best to ignore him, per his request, instead staring at all of the bright lights and shiny objects ahead of her and cooing at the men and women holding cameras, "I love you! I love you all!"
Whenever she speaks, she just gets more attention, and that's odd to her too. For so long, Ellie's always said that she's fine being the fun background twin in the spotlight who doesn't need to put up with anybody's bullshit, but she's quickly learning that getting far too much attention is actually fun? Who'd've thought? Certainly not Ellie, she typically doesn't do much thinking. And so, she has to remind herself, This isn't actually for you. It's for Reina, who could be dead as a dog for all you know, and that's why you're here instead. For her, not you.
What a disgusting reality! Ellie much prefers to relish in the feeling of happiness and sunshine she feels when lights flash in her direction time and time again, because ultimately these Capitolites are just as dumb as she is. They don't know anything about the Academies and how Ellie's not supposed to be here. They just see a confident girl from District Two and assume she's the hottest of hot shit. She could get used to people making that assumption about her.
"Take off your shirt," A photographer calls in their direction, his camera primed and ready, "The people are going to love it."
"Please… no…" Beowulf stutters to himself, his face completely void of emotions or anything that could possibly resemble one, "Please…"
"I'll do it" Ellie pats him on the back and then looks down at her own cloak, the buttons easy enough to loosen that within minutes the garment is between her hands and she's bare-chested for everybody to see, "This is how we do it in District Two!"
That just leads to more paparazzi and more blinding lights embracing her, Beowulf bewildered in her presence as he sighs, "I do not know this woman. I have never seen her in my entire life."
She wants to just… tell him to scream something vulgar or just take off his shirt too, because now practically everybody's looking at their chariot and they don't want to see some shit-faced loser looking pissed off next to a prettier version of Coriolanus Snow if he was a girl, which is Ellie, obviously.
As soon as the chariot stops, Beowulf lets out an exhausted yawn, "Can you please put back on your shirt, Ellie?"
"Do you think I'm ugly or something?" She looks down at her naked skin and laughs.
"Please, shirt," He covers his eyes which gives Ellie the clue to hunch over while she searches the chariot for her cloak because, it has to be somewhere, right?
Fanning her way through bushels of rose petals on the wooden floor, she hears footsteps chasing towards them. The other star students from Murder Academy! I was hoping I'd meet them! She's… not really that excited, to be completely honest. If they're anything like Beowulf, then Ellie's sure about to wish she bought psychedelics as her token with her.
"I'm Beowulf Haleot, please to meet you on this fine evening," She overhears her partner introducing herself to who she assumes are the bastards in suspect, "Ellie's just searching for something, she'll be here shortly."
A sarcastic male voice snarls, "Is she looking for her shirt? That was fuckin' hilarious."
"Calsin, please," A female voice silences him.
But alas, Ellie's still without luck so she turns around hunched over and still half-naked to see Beowulf with four other people… her new allies. Nice.
"Hi! I'm Ellie. It's so nice to meet you," She extends her hand at the first person she sees, a tall blonde boy wearing a velvet robe who looks relatively unfazed by her, "You're Icarus, right?"
"I'm sorry she's not wearing a shirt…" Ellie hears Beowulf whispering to himself in the background, which just makes her want to laugh at his sorry self.
"Icarus Schuyler St. Augustine, District One," He speaks with a sense of utmost confidence, the sort Ellie was expecting from this genre of an alliance, "And this is—"
"Lethia Aphelion," His Partner cuts him off to introduce herself, "I can talk for myself, thanks though."
Ellie can already tell that there's bound to be some interesting tension around here, with her and Beowulf being practically from separate planets and Lethia and Icarus already arguing. She heard the pair from Four too bickering earlier.
"Alright well since nobody asked me, I'll just introduce myself, Atlantis Seasbane, District Four," An abnormally tall girl in a dress filled with oceanic patterns speaks cheerily, "I'm looking forwards to looking with all of you, as is my District Partner, I'm sure of it."
Really, her Partner Calsin just looks extremely pissed off in his ensemble for the evening, a skirt made from the same material of Atlantis' dress, "Calsin Verrillo. It's going to be great!"
Yeah, that boy very much does not think it's going to be great, and at this point Ellie doesn't really think she can blame him. Still, he's interesting enough so as the group breaks to mingle more individually, she decides that it's going to be him who she talks to first.
"So, what's it like being a little gay mermaid?" She's always been stunning with starting conversations amongst her peers.
"Okay thank the lord you're actually not as stuck up as the rest of them," Calsin lets out an exhausted sigh and puts his hands on his knees, "I am so tired of pretending to have a superiority complex and so ready to actually be superior."
Ellie crouches down besides him and smiles, "We are superior, I don't know what you mean."
He nods, "Yes. Definitely."
Maybe Calsin's actually going to be her saving grace in this messy group of individuals, because obviously it's not Beowulf, and then Lethia and Icarus seem to have their own history while she already gets the feeling Atlantis is going to be too overbearing for her.
There's just one thing she needs to ask him, "Do they smoke pot in District Four?"
Right so welcome to the real fun part of the ladyqueerfoot experience which is Pre-Games where all the clownery ensues. As you can see, the aforementioned clownery has already begun, and boy-o-boy we are in for the ride of our lives as this Capitol adventure continues on and on until you're so sick of my dumb attempts of writing comedy that you're ready for me to kill them off. Yeah… we're in here for a good time and not a long one, thank you very much. I love how this chapter started off with Ascot experiencing immense emotional distress and ended with Ellie being shirtless and asking about District Four's drug life. I really have so much range it is just immaculate of me, I have got to say.
As per usual, let me know what you thought of today's chapter. Ascot is sad, the Careers are messy, Vancouver is scheming, District Six is vibing, and the Careers are still messy. I'll see you all soon with Training Day One, where even more messes will occur and even more actions will have consequences.
Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds