XIX. Freedom (Or Lack Thereof)

From this reply experiment will free thee
If e'er thou try it, which is wont to be
The fountain to the rivers of your arts.

Ascot Vionet. 13.
District Eight Female.

"What do you mean I can't go out?" Simeon jeers at his mentor whilst Ascot lies back on the couch in the Ten apartment.

"How should I put this lightly?" Roberto— I think that's his name— paces in front of them with his hand on his chin, "The Capitol doesn't really want you participating in free day because they feel it'll put civilians at risk due to—"

"The fact I killed people?" He rolls his eyes and collapses next to Ascot, "I'm more than positive all those trained sycophants have some sort of blood on their hands, and I told you why I killed—"

"I understand," Roberto cuts him off in an attempt to calm him down, "I'm not saying I agree with their decision, I think you deserve a day of peace just like everyone else. But at the same time, Ayala screaming during her private session that you killed her father didn't really do you any favors."

"Yeah, well how was I supposed to know that? They liked me enough to give me an 8 yet they do this within the same breath?" He puts his head in his hands and glances over to Ascot, "I'm sorry. I thought we'd actually get to go out and do something today."

She's not too sure what to respond, which also draws back to the point that Ascot isn't sure what to make of her alliance, if she could even call it that with Simeon in the first place. He's a capable guy for sure, and she has no doubts he'll be able to help her in the arena, which begs the question of whether or not Ascot's actually worthy of receiving such help. They'd talked yesterday about how if Simeon wins, he's supporting and saving his entire family, but if it's Ascot? She goes back to nothing, and it seems unfair of her to actively hinder somebody with noble intentions considering her own inadequacy.

"It's fine, I don't know what the two of us would do anyway," she sighs with a weary expression. Really, Ascot's never been the biggest fan of the Capitol, so the idea of being free to masquerade around the streets that'll soon applaud or cry or both when she dies is an odd concept. It's like they're softening the blow by saying, "We're all eagerly awaiting the gory manner in which you're ripped apart to shreds, but we're not bad people, we swear. See? We're letting you pretend you're us for the day and we're even feeding you!"

It would be funny if it wasn't so inherently upsetting. Ascot wishes she was in a position where she could see a nation of pain and laugh at them as they experience their last taste of normalcy before being slaughtered.

Simeon notices the distressed look on her face and reasons, "I mean, we could still have fun here—"

"There's so such thing as fun in a place where we're supposed to die, Simeon," she rolls her eyes. He seems to have grown accustomed to her rather sour temperament which she certainly appreciates. More than just about anyone in her numerous temporary homes could do, which is the bare minimum now that she thinks about it. Still, she can't help but feel like a bit of a burden to Simeon, a soul so noble and well-intentioned whilst all she is is bitter.

"I'm sorry…" Ascot says when she realizes that he hasn't come up with a response after nearly a minute, "I know you were excited to not have to worry about all of this Games shit for a few hours."

He gives her a glare when she curses but that just makes Ascot laugh, so Simeon does the same. He takes a series of deep breaths then leans back so his head is facing the ceiling, "Y'know, I just really do worry a lot."

"You do?" She isn't quite sure what the adequate response is because if Ascot's anything, it's not a grown man's therapist, "I also worry, but I think that's fairly obvious."

Really, the madness in Ascot's brain goes beyond simply "worrying," but a simplification of her inner turmoil's always helpful. Simeon knows the gist of her trauma anyway, even if he doesn't know the nitty-gritty of every single foster home. Those places matter less and less to her these days. And if this is going to turn into a trauma contest, Simeon's the winner by miles because he shot a whole lot of awful people for good reasons, yet nobody seems to see him as a hero.

"It's weird that they were people," he sighs, folding his hands behind his head. "Like obviously they were people, I saw them, but it's weird to think that they had lives. Like how Ayala said her father would always make her cookies on Tuesday nights, but he can't now because I killed him. It's weird that he had an entire life, but I ended it."

Immediately, Ascot can relate, even if it's in a somewhat different way. "I think the same about my old families," she says with emphasis on families because lord is it unfortunate that there was more than one. "Like my first foster family, they gave me up because they didn't want a baby, and sometimes I wonder why that was, like they could've had a perfectly good reason for it, but I'll never know," she suddenly realizes that she's getting a bit too emotional than she'd like to be, "But like, that's just weird or me to think. I'm not making much sense, I'm sorry."

"No, no, please continue," Simeon reassures her.

Ascot takes a deeper breath, "And then my second family, they'd dress me up like I was a doll and showed me off like some sort of a toy. I used to think they cared about me then they gave me up for a pair of blondes." There's audible disgust in her tone for that last part, "It was offensive to a certain point, but they were blonde too so maybe they just wanted kids who looked more like 'em."

She continues to detail her homegrown tragedy until she's told Simeon about them all, the Dressels and the Villanuevas, all that they've done to her and how she'll never forget them, but maybe she was wrong. She talks about the Tamarinds too, until she realizes… "This has nothing to do with your situation, I'm sorry for making it about myself."

But really, there's a weight that's been lifted off Ascot's chest as soon as she's done because for once in her life she's actually shared something to someone and he's not even mad at her. He's just nodding his head and saying, "I'm glad you felt you could tell me that."

And it's something Ascot doesn't know how to react to, because she's gone thirteen years being told vulnerability's a disease and now she's torn herself apart through the seams in front of Simeon and it would be so easy for him to just snap at her tomorrow, and then she'd be dead.

…But then again Ascot's going to die within the next week anyway, there's simply no way around that. Well, she's going to actually die instead of dying in her mind day after day, and it's a harrowing thought. "I'm sorry," she just nods because Simeon actually has a chance and now her death can be part of his gameplay.

"Nothing to apologize for," he smirks, and there's a gentleness in his eyes that resembles the way he looks when he's talking to her about his family. "I'm sorry we had to meet like this but if we met in different circumstances—"

"We wouldn't have," Ascot cuts him off, "but maybe I'm glad we met now."

She wants to say he's her friend, but at the same time such a word seems rather drastic considering the nature of their meeting, and Ascot's also never really had a "friend" before, so this is all so different, and she doesn't know whether or not she likes it.

No. She does. She does like it but she doesn't like how it could all end, and how it will all end.

"I'm glad we met too," Simeon says, extending his hand for a handshake since it's clear he doesn't know what else to do.

As usual, Ascot brushes his hand aside but instead of completely withdrawing from him she wraps her arms around his chest, "Is this okay?"

He hugs her back, but lets go soon enough, "You're a good kid, Ascot. I hope you never change."

"You're a good person," she can tell that's what he needs to hear because he smiles brighter than ever.

And then it's just the two of them, silent side by side on a sofa, absolutely dreading that the worst is yet to come.

Endellion Dubois. 18.
District Two Female.
Tw. Depiction of drug use

"Do you think dolphins are just gay whales?" Ellie leans back in her seat, heels clicking together, "I've been thinking about that ever since you told me about your weird beach shit."

"What the fuck?"

Sinny returns his blunt to his mouth and inhales before forming his lips so he looks like a fish, blowing to reveal rings of smoke. The back dining room of Shelly's, some kitschy Capitol restaurant continues to fill with clouds as Ellie uses a golden fork to pack bud into her thick grey rolling paper, fumbling on the surface of the table until she finds a lighter. "You mean you never think about this," she says before lighting her carefully crafted roll of fun and sticking it between her teeth.

"Not really?" Sinny laughs, rotating his neck in a circle and admiring all the smog, "I'm more concerned with where the fuck you got this weed."

"Milan's dresser," comes Ellie's response, "said I could take as much as I want if I leave her alone."

It actually stung at the time, when her mentor basically said she didn't even have the slightest bit of belief for her and then mumbled something like "Reina wouldn't have made me feel this way" before turning her head away. Sure, Ellie's always said that if she ever does something right, it's completely by accident, but even absolute shitheads have feelings too. Kind of fuckin' rude of Milan to verbalize what should've stayed in her stupid little brain, but hey— at least I got weed out of it! How often does my sanity being questioned by authority end in free weed, huh?

"That's legendary of her," he takes another hit and smiles. "All my mentors do is be really fucking sad and yell at me and Atlantis for yelling at one another."

Sinny's sure talked a lot of shit about this Atlantis bitch over the past few days, and Ellie's grown quite the hating for her. Seriously, how much of a cunt could someone be? Bullying people into making messes of themselves, no thank you— if I'm going to make a mess of myself, I'll do it of my own free volition— just, she is disgusting. And now she's in some sort of a mental panic because she found out she's the messiah to Four's idiot whale society? Ellie's pretty sure that being the messiah's a good thing, so why the sour attitude?

"Everything you've said makes me glad I got my ass out of Four when I did," Ellie inhales, remembering what her father said— Dangerous times are on the horizon here; I reckon there'll come a time when nobody is safe— before the family packed everything up and fled with the others as fast as they could, "Seems to be a real shithole."

Though part of Ellie wonders now, what would've happened if her family had stayed in District Four? She'd probably be roped into all of the cult bullshit, because she knows how impressionable she can be, but that means she wouldn't be here, en route to a tragic death that nobody will care about at the end of the day. Maybe Reina'd still be here too, and they'd just be gathered in their yard as they awaited their father's freshly caught shrimp, and they'd just be a normal happy family instead of a shattered glass of isolation and mystery. Besides, she's never really liked Two all that much anyway, way too stern and uptight— kinda like 'Wulfie–– and not at all the place for her free spirit to roam.

"Eh, it's not all bad," he shrugs dropping his blunt on the ground, "I was actually having a good time before those whale bitches came and got me, y'know? Never had much to worry about, just the waves and when I'd get my next tattoo."

She reaches down to grab his blunt for him and darts her eyes cross the art he's chosen to decorate his body with. Tridents on each of his arms, a shark on his inner wrist, several skulls scattered throughout, all juxtaposed with two small cats on his ankle. Ellie fiddles with the lighter, igniting Sinny's blunt before handing it back to him, "I didn't have to worry much either. It was just parties I couldn't remember filled with people I'll never forget, but look where that got me?"

"Absolutely nowhere!" Sinny pumps his fist in the air and Ellie giggles.

"Damn right," she thinks back to the people at home watching her, Chad, Machete, and Brutus all probably laughing when Flickerman announced that she got a four in training. They'd turned the Hunger Games into their own drunken activity these past few years, taking shots whenever anything interesting happened, like a trained Tribute fucking up or a young child getting killed in a way that shouldn't be shown on television. It made the 50th Games especially fun to watch, everyone chugging their bottles as soon as Haymitch pulled that shit with the forcefield. Never in a million years did Ellie think she'd be the subject of one of these games— but who am I to complain? I chose this, remember?

It's funny how her and Sinny both chose to be here but didn't really want to, well maybe funny's not the right word— it's pathetic. And as much as Ellie says she relates to him, ultimately his situation for being here is way fucking worse, and literally nobody in Two would've batted an eye if she wasn't here in the arena. Hell, they'd actually prefer if she was sitting at home, drunk off her ass.

They're probably all calling her names by now, the idiot twin of Reina Dubois who's embarrassing the entire District just by breathing, and Ellie isn't sure whether or not she cares what they think. On one hand, she's obviously not fond of the place, but at the same time the concept of a group of people wishing she were dead as punishment for her stupidity is a bit, well harsh. But maybe that's just part of Reina's plan for Ellie's childhood headassery, getting her to die because she was stupid when she tried to drown her–– hell what am I saying? Reina leaving was an accident— but at the same time, she'll never fully know that to be true.

It's too much to process so Ellie just takes a hit and sighs, "Sinny, what'd ya' think people at are Districts are thinking 'bout us right now?"

"They're probably pleased Atlantis did better in training than I did," he grunts, and Ellie remembers that she told him she'd killed someone during her session— fucking gross–– still Sinny got a nine and that's way better than her four.

"Makes sense," she nods her head as her mind drifts back to Two, "I bet everyone thinks I'm a fuckin' idiot. I mean, who the hell pisses themselves during their private session?"

"Apparently you do," Sinny blows smoke into the air, his brows furrowed in concentration, "Don't feel bad about it though, everyone has to pee sometimes. It's a bodily function."

"I bet Atlantis doesn't pee," Ellie taps her finger on the table, "probably why she's always such a stuck-up bitch." It takes her a minute to notice that Sinny never denied her claim of being a "fucking idiot," so Ellie's heart dampens, so maybe I am, fuckin' hell.

"—Or maybe she peed herself during her private session and everyone was so shocked she could actually do it that they gave her a ten," he laughs at his own joke, even if it's by no means that funny and Ellie shouldn't be laughing the same. "No offense Ellie, but you're exactly the kind of person I'd expect to pee during a private session. Atlantis on the other hand? I could see why she said she'd killed someone, can't let me know her secret ability to process liquid with her bladder."

She takes a hit without adding anything, because Sinny still hasn't negated her stupidity and it fuckin' hurts. He's 'posed to be her friend, and even he can't deny the fact Ellie doesn't know shit and is as worthless as a stripper with a flat ass. She puts her head on her shoulder and watches the smoke fill the room realizing she has to change the conversation, "How do you feel, Sinny?"

"I feel the whale god in this Shelly's," he responds with a sly smile. "How do you feel?"

Insignificant… Worthless… Moronic… Unwanted… Ellie rattles the buzzwords off in her brain, Idiotic… Nonsensical… Scummy… Deficient… but she decides she can't bother Sinny with the truth, not when he has something worth fighting for and she does all the same.

"I feel great," she nods, taking a hit and letting the world fall away for a brief moment of bliss, "I think we're going to do great tomorrow."

But really Ellie has no clue why she's gotten herself into this mess, and she's not so sure she can get herself out this time.

Guess she'll have to wait and see…

Malin Mardari. 17.
District Six Tribute.

Free day fucking sucks!

Well, it ain't supposed to suck, Mal reckons it's actually intended to be pretty damn great, but it sure as hell sucks right now. Mainly 'cuz— well actually entirely 'cuz Mozi's not there with them and Judas. She'd told the two of 'em right before her private session that she was gonna cut up the old ass corpse she brought along with her, and Mal had laughed at the time, but it seems the Gamemakers didn't quite like it because when they got back to their apartment last night, their mentor Oscar had said that Mozi exhibited "repugnant behavior," during her private session, and apparently that meant she'd be stuck in some cell by Snow's office, only being let out for her interview and then the Games.

And that's pretty funny, that they're locking her up 'cuz she's some sort of a "threat to society," and can't participate in free day, while Mal and Judas have literally also killed people, yet they're allowed to just roam about, kinda fuckin' sexist if you're asking me. I wish they'd given me a warning before they locked Mo' up, yanno I know a thing or two about jail and––

"Malin," their train of thought leaves its station when Judas taps them on the shoulder, his hand lingering just enough that Mal shivers, "I finally have an idea for what we can do today."

They shrug and Judas keeps talking, "I know you'd told me that you wanted to go on some rides at the amusement park, but what if I said there's something better we can do?"

It's true, Malin did want to go to Theo's Theatrical Thrills since they'd read up on it in some shitty tourism guide in their apartment, but of course that opinion can easily be swayed, especially when there's so much to do around here. That and the fact rollercoasters probably won't be as fun without Mozi to scream her little head off whilst they— don't scream at all 'cuz they can't, but still. They look Judas in the eye and mouth a question, "You think we should break Mozi out of prison?"

He fumbles around in his pockets, "No, actually I had a better idea." Judas pulls out a lighter and makes a small spark in front of his face, "It's kinda irresponsible that they'd make a roller coaster out of wood, don't ya' think?"

Mal nods, but then their mind backtracks so they move their lips to ask, "How the fuck did you even get a lighter?"

"They said I can bring whatever I want as a token," Judas smiles, gritting his teeth and nodding his head, "I assume they're gonna take this away from me before we go into the arena when they do their body checks, so we might as well have some fun with it now."

Then my token's dumb as fuck, they muse whilst fidgeting with the bobby pin tucked in the hair behind their ear, I guess, if I want to pick a lock? Why'd I even think there'd be locks— wait! Malin holds the pin up to Judas and mouths, "Or we could use this to break Mozi out."

No, no, that's pretty stupid! Obviously they're going to protect whatever prison she's in with something better than a lock, they think in frustration. Lord, this whole thing is fucking annoying. Of course prisons in the Capitol are gonna be way harder to bust into than anything back in Six.

In Six, it was like they were some sort of a monarch. The Marquis would always say Mal had the "best set of sticky fingers" he'd ever seen, which is a stealing term, not a sex term, which they know because they never jerked him off but they did do a whole bunch of stealing for him. It was why Orsino got so jealous of 'em in the first place, his fingers simply weren't as sticky, meaning he had the tendency to screw things up on quests, and Malin simply could not relate.

They were quite good at being a burglar in fact, because yes, believe it or not Mal is capable of being good at something, and the one time they fucked up it was obviously Orsino's fault, not theirs. No actually, Orsino had one job— alert Mal if there was any authorities nearby, and he didn't, yet somehow it was still their fault when a Peacekeeper ended up dead on the ground, and the Duke gave them a beating about how they're not even a good burglar after all. Fuckin' Duke, thinks he's so cool… what a loser! Nah, Malin's a loser too for still agreeing to escape with 'Sino when they got done having their asses handed to them.

"A hairpin isn't going to work in a federally mandated facility," Judas says what Mal's already thought through and again waves his lighter, "but I reckon we'll get sent there too if our little stunt with this goes to plan."

He makes a good point in fact. Sure the Capitolites can lock them and Judas up the same way they did Mozi, but it's not like they can kill the two of 'em. That'll just give them two less players for their little death game, and really that's a lot less fun for them. They're doomed to die anyway, and Mal's used to being on the run as a target, so why should that change now? It's not like they'll actually die, at this point they're pretty sure they're physically incapable of that. They thought they'd be dead when the Duke waterboarded their asshole, or when that Peacekeeper was doing the whipping thing, but it turned out just fine then and it'll turn out just fine now.

"What a lovely reunion," Mal mouths with an expression of clear enthusiasm on their face, "I say we do it… well not say. Um… let's do it!"

Maybe they're being an idiot for all of this, but at least they have the dignity to embrace it. They came to the Capitol to live life to its fullest before they die, and quite frankly they've always wanted to try arson so they might as well do it before they go up in flames themselves. Besides, their zero in training isn't intimidating any of their opponents, but maybe the fact they committed a full on crime in the Capitol will.

Judas grabs them by the hand and walks them towards the wooden beams that hold up the coaster, "Do you want to be the first to light it, buddy?"

Mal nods, carefully holding the lighter and attempting to press on the buttons, which is actually quite hard with only seven functioning fingers, since Mozi's little transplant didn't work. Unable to produce a flame, they grunt, mouthing, "This lighter is stupid as fuck."

They hand the device back to Judas and watch with wild eyes as he starts a small fire in his hands, "Oh, this is going to be fuckin' brilliant." He smirks, then touches the lighter to a wooden beam and glares as it begins to produce smoke, embers skipping off the surface. He carefully lights another spot on the same beam, then grabs ahold of Malin, running backwards, "See? Brilliant!"

The beam begins to engulf in flames and soon people are noticing, a middle aged lady screaming "Fire!" which is enough to get Peacekeepers' attention. And obviously Mal and Judas, the two idiots standing there in awe are prime subjects.

One of them glances at Judas so he scoffs, "You think I did that?" then squeezes Mal's wrist as he runs.

"What are you holding?" They hear the officer ask, but Mal can't reply obviously, and it seems Judas doesn't want to outright confess he has a lighter.

A Peacekeeper uses a red cylindrical bottle to extinguish the mess and Malin's vision gets less clear and more drenched in white clouds. At one point, they notice Judas' wrist leaves theirs and they hear a familiar scream. They look to the right and one of the Peacekeepers is staring them dead in the eyes, so Mal just mimics the letter 'L' with their hand and holds it up to their forehead.

It's pretty clear— I'm going to get arrested again, back to fuckin' jail— and of course that was the plan, so now's just a matter of making things as obnoxious as possible for their captors. They try to sprint, but their knees lock and buckle, and it must be something in the air 'cause now they're on the ground so Mal's kicking their feet, and when the smog clears an officer's looking them straight in the eyes.

"Buddy, you're coming with me," he grunts, and Malin tries to run away but another officer's got his legs now and shit— his hands are cold.

That second officer chimes in, "I guess you'll be joining your District Partner then," and that's the last thing Mal remembers before waking up in a cell to a familiar face and a familiar voice.

"Good lord, you're fucking stupid!"

Coriolanus Snow. 60.
President of Panem.
Tw. Implied prostitution references

He wasn't particularly expecting visitors this close to the Games, especially not from somebody in that family. It's already been a busy day for Coriolanus, after all. He'd just gotten back from personally reprimanding the foolish boys from Six and Seven for attempting to set a rollercoaster ablaze during their little free day, the two of them locked up alongside the girl from Six for such poor behavior. It's fine though, they'll be free for their interviews and for the Games, and he's already told Liana to take "extra good care" of the terrible triad in the coming weeks.

I've really got to stop letting the Tributes out for a free-day, he muses as he awaits the dreadful woman, sitting on his throne with a chalice of grape juice in his hand, I try my hardest to be nice to them, and this is what I get in exchange?

Coriolanus tries his best to be a President for the people, hence his removal of threats such as Clemensia, Lysistrata, and Livia, yet this is the thanks he gets? Such rebellion is especially uncalled for from the Six boy, unruly bastard decided to be here yet he still acts out. Fucking repulsive, he coughs, then glances at his mess of a son, Lucien in a smaller chair beside him with a meek look on his face. He wishes it were more socially acceptable to lock him in the same zoo as the misbehaving Tributes, and even if he's never done a thing that could be considered "socially acceptable" with Lucien, at least he commits familial sin out of public eye.

"What do you think of them?" Coriolanus scoffs, knowing that the boy won't be able to answer, a good thing considering the sharpness of his terrible tongue, now on the ground or burned to ash, "Are you also bewildered they'd betray us like this?"

Lucien shrugs, face still fairly expressionless. He moves his lips in an attempt to say something, but Coriolanus turns his head to ignore his stifled way of communication, nothing he says is particularly important anyway. There's a knock at the door of his office, a quiet one followed by three more of increasing volumes, so he boasts, "Come in."

He watches the metal handle twist, and then his advisor Seamus steps through the entrance and announces, "She's here, Mr. President."

Coriolanus will never admit it, but there's a shiver that runs up his spine in nervous anticipation for Aquila Ferncliffe's arrival. 'Cause he remembers all of her letters to him, proof of the carnal sins he committed to make it to his position of power, and maybe he shouldn't have invited her to speak with him in person, but some things mustn't be in writing. He just, didn't think she'd be here now, so close to the Games either, but he can't dismiss her when she knows what she does, and he reckons her pitiful family does all the same.

And to think I trusted them, he thinks in frustration before telling Seamus, "Let her in."

He steps aside then two Peacekeepers walk in, Aquila in between them with a devious smile on her face, "Thank you for agreeing to speak to me, Mr. President."

Coriolanus nods at her, then looks at Seamus and the officers, "If you don't mind, I'd prefer this conversation stay private."

"Understood, sir," Seamus says whilst they all file through the doorway, slamming it shut on their way out.

"I appreciate you obliging by my request to keep this out of writing," he nods, taking a sip of his grape juice and swallowing, "Did you want to discuss more about your request for me?"

Aquila folds her hands neatly in her lap and presses her lips into a smirk, "Well yes, that would be ideal, Mr. President. Are you fine with your son being here whilst we have such a discussion?"

He glances at Lucien, still clearly dead inside, "Well, it's not like he can say anything, right buddy?"

Lucien rolls his eyes so Aquila says, "I meant to ask, how's he doing?" I just feel so terrible for the poor guy after everything that's happened this past year."

Ahh yes, Lucien Snow, the unfortunate First Son who's mother fell ill so suddenly and passed away without much time for the two of them to say goodbye, and the depression that swarmed him until he cut out his own tongue, his wonderful father "saving him from choking." Yet again, he's made Coriolanus a martyr for his own madness, and he represents all the better change that'll soon happen if he has it his way. His dear cousin Tigris is an idiot for letting him go without much threats, but he sure as hell is not complaining.

"He's fine," Coriolanus switches his tone to be more somber, "just taking things day by day, right?"

He doesn't look to see Lucien's facial response, instead gesturing to Aquila to keep talking, "I imagine you're aware that you've robbed my family of a victor twice now?"

"That's just the nature of the Games, Ms. Ferncliffe," he attempts to correct her in spite of the fact she's a hopeless cause, "But yes, continue."

"Right," Aquila scoffs, "I'd just think you'd be more conscious to the fact that somebody with the knowledge I have's family is without a victor, especially considering the Shengs have one now."

Coriolanus rolls his eyes, "So what you're saying is you want the next Ferncliffe who volunteers to be automatically victorious?"

"Not necessarily," she folds her hands, "I don't know when we'll have another volunteer ready, so I'd like something else instead."

It doesn't take much time for Coriolanus to realize that whatever it is, it has something to do with Ludovicus. To be honest, he never got the impression it was him who killed her Cyra, but then again he also never got the impression that the Ferncliffe's kept the reciept for the nightlock he purchased to slaughter Ravenstill, so perhaps he's underestimated the family a bit.

Aquila continues, "Would you execute Ludovicus if I asked you to?"

It's an immediate no from Coriolanus, but he mustn't phrase it as such when she's still got information about him that could spawn a revolution. Because everyone in the Capitol is smitten with Ludovicus Jornmark, especially since he's got more charisma in one arm than Haymitch Abernathy could've ever had in two. It's almost like Ludovicus is the star of a Quell victor, and Haymitch is his predecessor who was never relevant again, like he's the Micah Fairforge to his Sapphira Starlett.

"Now now, Ms. Ferncliffe," Coriolanus speaks with a firm, serious tone, "If you really want revenge on the kid, killing him would be pretty boring, would it not? He's dead, and then what? Don't you want to see him suffer?"

Coriolanus is still nervous for his plans with Ludovicus, since he's far more outgoing than the other victors whom he's done this to, Diana Vera and Sloane Trainor giving in to him with ease. He's also… well a man, and he doesn't know how many Capitolites would desire him, but who's he kidding? This place is infested with queers. And there were a few ladies who have into Diana and Sloane, and couples who needed to spice things up too. Ludovicus will be perfect for them, provided Coriolanus can get him to submit.

"What did you have in mind?" There's a wicked look in Aquila's eyes when she speaks.

He crosses his arms, "I'm sure you know that so many people would kill to sleep with a movie star."

"Wouldn't he like that?" She asks, clearly unimpressed.

"Not if it were with people who intended to worship him while treating him like shit," Coriolanus attempts to rationalize with her, "I'm sure there's plenty of men who've been waiting for an opportunity like this, and women too. Most of the whores around here are women, you know. He'll be a hot commodity, and that'll just make him more."

"But what if that doesn't work? What if he doesn't give in to you?" Aquila seems more convinced, "Then do you kill him?"

"Then I do what I did with Haymitch," he smiles, "I kill everyone he loves, slowly until he just drinks himself to death and our hands are both free of blood."

"I'll see where this goes then," she steps away from the desk, "I'm optimistic, but just know I won't hesitate to re-evaluate what I want if Ludovicus refuses."

Just like that, she's gone, and Coriolanus' palms are filled with sweat, if Ludovicus refuses and gets aggressive, I'll just kill you and that family of yours, though that's difficult, and really Coriolanus does need to get more active with victor promotions.

He knows a man is sure to sell, and if it's not Ludovicus who complies to him, well it's not like Lucien has a voice to deny him. Maybe he'll be the starting point, then. The President's son is on par with any movie star after all.

Ahhh! Okay now ACD has hit 100k so that's pretty fucking funky! Go me, TBH. This is the latest I've finished a chapter before posting in, fun fact. I'm writing this AN a mere 6 hours before I post, but rest assured, I have the first POV of next week's chapter already done, and I have less schoolwork and thinking about Phoebe Bridgers this week so we will be big ballin' with the stockpile soon enough. I realize this chapter was a bit dumb, but I needed a reason to abolish free days and Malin always gives me reasons. And then of course we have tea with Ludo and Snowboy and Aquila so um… stay tuned, I guess? I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyways, and I'd love to hear any thoughts you may have. Interviews will begin next week, so hopefully y'all find those fun, since the first one was real fun to write.

Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds