XLVI. Bleeding Green
Then unto us more nearly one approached,
And it alone began: "We all are ready
Unto thy pleasure, that thou joy in us.
Verdigris Ahane-Voclain. 16.
Victor of The 52nd Hunger Games.
Tw: Mention of body dysmorphia, prostitution, and drugs.
They wake up in a state of immense confusion.
For a split second, Verdigris thinks they're dead. They know that there's no rational reason for them to be dead considering they heard their name be called as Panem's 52nd Victor, and remained conscious for most of the hovercraft ride out of the arena. Still, for a moment, they thought that this hospital room was hell and the tall figures standing over them were devils.
"Good morning!" They're shaken out of their introspection by the voice of a man with pale skin and long blonde hair. "You were out for a while."
"Oh…" Verdigris mumbles, still confused. "I'm so sorry?"
"No need to apologize," the man says, extending his hand towards them. "My name's Gossamer, by the way."
"Nice to meet you," they reply, shaking his hand. "I'm Verdigris."
Gossamer, alongside the other fancily dressed people bust out into laughter. "We know, you silly goose."
A perplexed look springs on Verdigris' face. "Right. Because I won."
"That you sure did, my little friend!" He enthuses. "Compared to previous victors, you didn't sustain that much damage either. You were just a smidge malnourished."
"A smidge?" The man next to Gossamer remarks. "Please, we have no idea how you even survived. It's alright though; we've got you hooked up to the best supplements money can buy!"
Verdigris looks to the side to see a needle poked into their arm. Instantly, they flinch, letting out a shrill, wordless scream.
"What's the matter?" Gossamer asks, his tone hurried.
"I. Just. Really. Don't. Like. Needles." Verdigris' stammers, their cheeks turning read. "Take. It. Out."
He raises a brow. "Alright."
"No, we can't do that," the other man argues. "She's going to run out of nutrients."
"Please Ardalion," a girl from across the circle scoffs. "Let her make her own choices."
"You don't know shit about medicine, Jolene," another girl says. "I do, and I say that we keep the IV in there."
The more the circle of people argues, the less able Verdigris is able to decipher who's saying what.
"Are we forgetting the fact Verdigris doesn't want it there?"
"It doesn't matter what she wants; she's a victor now."
"Yeah, and that means we can't have her hating us."
"She'll learn to hate us eventually; they all do."
"Why are you saying that in front of her?"
"Back to the task at hand, please!"
Eventually, Verdigris can't make out any words at all. Instead, their mind flashes back to their mother injecting their father's face with chemicals, primping him and calling him "her precious little doll." She'd wipe the tears from his eyes and dismiss his pain as something to be celebrated, all while Verdigris watched out of the corner of their eye.
"Someday, you're going to do this too," Mayuko would say as she prickled Viorel with yet another needle. "Pay attention, my dearest."
They shake their head in disgust, and again look down at the needle. There's no reason for them to be afraid, at least Verdigris doesn't think that there is one, but they're scared that the Capitol is going to turn them into something to be shown off just as Mayuko did their father. They're petrified that they'll soon turn into a trophy, cherished for all of the horrible things that they did.
I don't deserve this, they muse, as everyone continues arguing around them. No, this is exactly what I deserve, isn't it?
"I'll keep the IV in," Verdigris says, everybody in the room coming to a stop at their words. They're not used to that. They're not used to people caring that much. "I'm sorry for the trouble."
"Don't worry about it, dearie," a girl with short black hair who they think is named Cher replies. "Everything is going to be fine, fine, fine."
Unsurprisingly, Verdigris doubts that. They've been conscious for less than three minutes and already their world has turned into a delirious shithole that doesn't make a lick of sense. Having this much attention makes them feel far too vulnerable. Was nearly dying for the entire nation to witness not enough?
They sigh. This is what you deserve, remember.
"Clear the area," they hear a female voice shout from behind the door to whatever room they're in. Everybody backs away from their bed and Gossamer opens the door so that their mentor, Porter, can walk into the room.
She up a chair next to Verdigris' bed and speaks to them with a smile. "Congratulations, Verdigris! You did it; we're so proud of you."
"No thanks to you," they mumble, quiet enough that Porter can't hear.
"What was that?"
Before they can say anything, Gossamer answers, "She said thank you!"
"They." Shockingly, Porter corrects him, Verdigris sighing with relief.
"They said thank you," he repeats.
Porter inches closer to them and lightly pinches at their cheek. "Oh you are so very welcome!"
Being asleep and not having to feel anything was far better than whatever the fuck is currently going on. Maybe they were selfish to not jump straight off the clouds yesterday. It would've saved them from these troubles, not to mention whatever happens next. That's not something they particularly want to think about.
An awkward silence persists within the room until the door swings open once more, this time to reveal a petite ginger woman underneath.
"Greetings, Ms. Taylor," Gossamer says, extending his arms towards Verdigris' bed. "I reckon they'll be thrilled to see you."
Verdigris' brows furrow as they whisper to Porter, "Who's this supposed to be, again?"
"I heard that," the ginger scoffs, her expression souring. "Liana Taylor. Head Gamemaker. Does that ring a bell?"
"Right." They nod. Verdigris has never particularly cared about the Games, only watching what the government required of them and the family's in Five, and nothing less. Not being invested in the Games means that they've also never had any knowledge regarding who runs it, but they do know that this Liana Taylor person is objectively important.
She pulls up a chair next to Porter and smiles. "I won the Hunger Games too. I get that this can be a confusing little awakening."
Verdigris remembers hearing that about her. In a perfect world, they'd ask her questions, mainly about how the hell they'll ever possibly get out of this toxic mindset that they feel positively plagued by, but this is very much not a perfect world, and Liana seems too sycophantic to give a good answer.
"When I won, the Head Gamemakers personally greeted me after I woke up because it was their first Games," Liana continues, though Verdigris notes that she's unable to maintain any sort of eye contact with them. "Because this is technically my first Games, I wanted to do the same thing."
"Thank you very much," they say, but their words feel meaningless in their mouth.
Everything feels meaningless to them at this point. Yes, they won, and that's supposed to mean that they can finally be at peace, but Verdigris feels more uneasy than ever before. They know that they're safe, and they no longer have to keep running, but for some reason, that makes them uncomfortable.
(They spent the past week and a half living on borrowed time, and now that they're guaranteed to live, they don't know what to do.)
It certainly doesn't help that Liana seems so… dissatisfied with them, like they weren't the victor she wanted. Are they the victor that anybody wanted? Verdigris would like to think that their family back in Five was rooting for them, but based on their actions in the arena, they wouldn't be surprised if even they no longer wanted them.
"Do you want to see something cool?" Liana asks them, her voice hesitant.
Verdigris tilts their head to the side. "What is it?"
"Again, this is similar to what Lysistrata and Clemensia did when I won." The Head Gamemaker smiles. "You're going to see the whole thing tonight, but if you wanted a sneak preview of your time here in the arena, I'd be more than happy to show you."
She stands up, gesturing Verdigris to crawl out of bed and follow her, but they're unable to move. They also don't want to move. The idea of watching their Games, bearing witness to their own atrocities… it's something that Verdigris knows they have to do, but not something they want. They'd prefer to hold that trauma off for as long as possible, especially now that they have a choice.
"I'll pass," they say, doing their absolute best to sound polite.
Liana's expression drops and her face grows a pale shade of red. She marches out of the room and mutters to the ground, "I was rooting for Hedy anyway."
Oh.
And thus, Verdigris' hypothesis is confirmed. They are in fact, not the victor Panem wants, and Hedy was right when she said they were boring and dissatisfactory.
"I'm sorry," they whisper, knowing that Liana won't hear them because she's already long gone.
Gossamer stands beside them and gently rubs his hand against their shoulder. "You don't need to feel bad; Liana's been going through some hard times lately. I promise, she doesn't hate you."
Even if his words are true, the Head Gamemaker's actions have already impacted Verdigris and left them hurt. Perhaps, it's the sort of pain they deserve, though. They know damn well that they're not supposed to be alive, and any mental pain is objectively better than being dead. Even so, it doesn't seem that way.
…
They're not used to feeling so exposed.
Standing before their prep team and wearing nothing but a tank top and boxers, Verdigris can't help but shiver from the wind the air conditioner emits.
Sure, they've gone through this process before with the chariot parade and their pre-Games interview, but their stylists were just trying to make them look passable then. Now, they're tasked with the job of making Verdigris Ahane-Voclain look like they're royalty, even though they can't help but feel like a mere peasant in their skin.
"You really did lose a lot of weight in there," Damien, their head stylist remarks. His words sting, even if Verdigris knows they weren't supposed to.
"They've always been on the skinnier side," Damien's assistant Vanya says, pulling against Verdigris' skin. "This is just, worse than previously."
"I was a bit too concerned with not being killed to care about my weight," they whisper, hoping that the team won't hear them.
Unfortunately, they do, erupting in laughter. "You're funny," Damien says.
Verdigris simply nods. They don't know what they're supposed to respond to that, because they weren't trying to be funny.
Robin, Damien's other assistant hands them a white bathrobe and instructs them, "Put this on so you don't get cold when I fix your hair."
They oblige, happy to no longer have all of themselves on display for them and equally thrilled to not be cold. The bathrobe feels warm, almost like a hug. It's been a while since Verdigris has been hugged, but hopefully their father will still want to hug them when they eventually return back to Five. They know that they can't count on it.
Robin leads Verdigris to his styling chair, gesturing for them to sit down, which they do. He stands behind them, running his fingers through their hair with slight disgust. "Your roots are awful!"
Verdigris examines their natural black hair color peaking through the bleached blonde they've had for two years now. It's always been hard to maintain, and obviously they couldn't have done anything to it in the arena.
"My bad," they say with a sigh. They have a feeling this is going to be a long, long day, and the fiasco in their recovery room was just the beginning.
"You don't need to apologize," Robin responds. "Just, no offense, but whoever bleached your hair did a pretty awful job."
Dying their hair was a special bimonthly tradition between Verdigris and their father. Even if Viorel was never able to get the tone completely even, probably because he wasn't very experienced and would always buy the cheapest bleach, it was fun to spend time with him as the bleach set in their hair.
They role their eyes in the mirror. "I've never had a problem with it."
"Well, you should now that you're a victor," Robin says. "Your hair is incredibly damaged, we might just have to shave it all off."
Verdigris shivers. Their hair has always been an integral part of who they are, and without it, they fear that they'll no longer be able to recognize themself. They blink, imagining what they'd look like if they didn't have any hair, and the sight undoubtedly frightens them. Already, Verdigris can hardly recognize themselves, they don't need it any worse.
"I'd really prefer if you didn't." It takes every bit of strength left in their body for them to tell Robin that, and they can't help but feel slightly guilty too. "I just, really like my hair."
"Understandable," he responds. "We'll just bleach it again then, and maybe tone it a different color. Would you like a pastel silver?"
Verdigris nods. Speaking takes up far more energy than it's actually worth, even if their words suddenly mean something in this world now.
The bleach makes Verdigris' scalp itch as Robin applies it to their roots. It never hurt much when Viorel bleached their hair, but maybe Capitol hair products are different, because they're a higher quality. They don't have it in them to complain either, because that would just make them seem selfish. They're alive, for heavens sake, they should never complain about anything ever again. No pain they feel will ever amount to a fraction of the pain felt by the twenty-three kids that died when they should've instead.
As they sit, Robin, Damien, and Vanya attempt to ask them questions about the Games, but Verdigris is unable to give them any real response. Nothing feels real anymore, and talking about it certainly isn't going to help. They have no idea what they're even going to say when Caesar talks to them about the Games later that evening. Perhaps they should figure it out. They're not sure if they can.
Robin rinses their hair with cold water after an hour, their entire body shivering uncontrollably, the same way it did when they were without the bathrobe. He applies a silver-colored foam to their entire head next, and waits a few minutes before rinsing that out as well. Once he's done, he dries their hair in front of a mirror.
"You look stunning," he says as he styles their hair with a clear gel.
The new silver color is objectively nice. There's faint undertones of purple, and overall it compliments their hair quite nicely. The slicked-back style also serves Verdigris well, making them look like some sort of a luxurious Capitolite model.
They'd like it if they could actually recognize themselves.
Even though their mind undoubtedly changed in the arena, Verdigris at least had comfort in the fact they looked the same as they did before. Now that their appearance is different too, they might as well be a completely different person.
They try not to blink as Vanya applies a thick layer of eyeliner to their lids, which is already more makeup than they've warn their entire life. Back in Five, they could never afford their own, and they didn't want to bother their father's either. She applies silver glitter on their cheeks, and deep mauve lipstick on their lips. Once again, Verdigris doesn't recognize themselves.
Damien opens his closet to reveal a dark green velvet suit. It's the sort of outfit they've always wanted to wear, but now that it's in front of them, they don't feel worthy. As nice as it is, they shouldn't have had to kill two people for it, and therefore they shouldn't be wearing it at all. The only thing Verdigris should be wearing is a long white shroud as they're placed in a coffin and buried six feet under.
Before putting on the suit, Damien gives them a frilly white shirt. With pride, he announces, "I made this just for you!"
"Thank you," Verdigris says, slipping their arms into the shirt. It fits perfectly, and they're not used to clothing that fits them perfectly. Again, they feel unworthy.
The suit is also perfectly tailored to their frail body, even though it shouldn't be. They wish they could actually appreciate that they look rather nice, but they're unable to do so. Damien hands them a black bolo tie and sequined loafers, which they put on with ease.
As they take in the stranger in the mirror standing before them, even more numbness settles in. They wonder if they'll ever feel like themselves again. They doubt it.
…
No amount of closing their eyes and breathing heavily could possibly prepare them for their interview.
When Caesar Flickerman called Verdigris' name, announcing them to the country as "The Victor of the 52nd Annual Hunger Games," they could've sworn they were about to pass out. As they walk onto the stage, they can't help but tremble. All the people screaming their name feel fake, and the same thing goes for the lights beaming down on their face and the large portrait of themselves projected on a wall behind them.
Verdigris pinches their wrist, hoping they'll wake up back home in Five in a world where none of this happened, but it's useless. This is their life now, whether they like it or not. They feel guilty for not liking it more; they feel selfish.
"Good evening, Mx. Ahane-Voclain," Caesar says, meeting them in the middle of the stage with an extended hand. "Congratulations on the victory!"
"Thank you," they respond into the microphone looped around their neck on a string, their voice wavering. "It's good to be here."
"I'm so glad to have you with us." He grandiosely points to a white leather chair, the same one Verdigris sat in the first time he interviewed them. "Please, take a seat. The entire nation is practically dying to hear from you."
His casual mention of death tempts them to frown, but they know that they can't, because they're supposed to be happy, damnit. They sit in the chair and cross their legs, leaning forward towards Caesar but also slightly pivoted towards the audience.
They sigh. "I'm happy to answer any questions."
"That's excellent news," Caesar enthuses, "because I have so much that I am eager to ask you."
Whatever his questions are, Verdigris already dreads them. At least this'll very likely be the last time they're forced to talk about the Games before their victory tour, which surely will be it's own separate nightmare. At least they'll have half a year before that.
"First things first, I'd like to ask you about your final moments in the Games," he begins, a wide smile on his face. "What were you thinking as you poured the vial of poison on Hedy Lovelace's chest? We all saw her give you that vial on the Games very first day, and then you took it from the underground city when you made that incredible getaway, but did you ever think you'd use it to kill her?"
(They remember the feeling of the vial in their hands, their fingers sweating as they held it steady above Hedy's chest. They remember their deep breaths and nervous musings, and just how desperately they wanted everything to be over.)
"Mainly, I just didn't want her to be in pain anymore," Verdigris answers. "She'd taken quite a beating, and yes, some of that was my fault, but I'd rather anybody die quickly as opposed to slowly and painfully."
"Very interesting," Caesar says, nodding his head back and forth in fascination. "Again, I'll ask you, did you ever think you'd use the poison on Hedy?"
(They always had a feeling the poison would lead to either them or Hedy's demise, but Verdigris never thought it would be like this. They never thought they'd be the one who watched the other wither away.)
"Nope."
There's not much else they can say about that.
Caesar waits before speaking again, as if he was expecting Verdigris to say more than their one-word response. "It was an incredible moment, and of course just one of your many incredible moments throughout these Games."
They don't consider anything they did in the Games incredible. All of their actions were geared towards survival, not towards entertaining those Verdigris was sure wanted them dead. Maybe some still do. "Thank you."
"I'd also like to bring up your other kill," he says, Verdigris instantly growing nauseous. "I don't think anybody was expecting you to be the person who fired that gun, fatally shooting Ascot Vionet. What compelled you to do that?"
Ascot. They note her name in their head. Somehow knowing it and no longer being forced to refer to her as simply the "Eight girl" makes them feel worse about the whole thing. Now that Verdigris knows her name, she's more human than she previously was, not that she wasn't human before.
"Hedy told me to," Verdigris answers the question succinctly. "She's rather frightening when she's angry, and I didn't want her to attack me. So, when she told me to shoot Ascot, I had no other choice."
"I appreciate your honesty," Caesar responds. "You know first hand now that the Games can be intense at times, and sometimes we have to do things we never thought we were capable of."
"Exactly." They nod their head. "I was just trying to survive."
"And survive you did," he says, prompting an enthusiastic cheer from the audience. "How about we take a look back at your journey, where you won the Games against all odds?"
Caesar pulls a white remote out of the pocket of his suit, leaving Verdigris with no option besides nodding in agreement. They shift their body in the chair to look at the projection screen behind them, wishing they could close their eyes and stick a needle in their ears so they don't have to absorb the worst nine days of their life yet again.
They hardly recognize themselves at the beginning of the Games, gleefully following around Hedy and taking notes on her antics. Verdigris looks hopeful, not yet broken by the terrors they committed. Their first physical tussle with her is almost a relief, reminding them of who they've become and breaking their disassociation.
Watching Eight die is just as awful as Verdigris remembered it, but somehow it's not as bad as sitting through her ally, the boy from Ten, singing her lullabies before burying her beneath the ice. He clearly had a special connection with her, and all Verdigris is a cruel villain in comparison.
There's also so much about the Games that Verdigris had no idea transpired, as they were busy doing their own thing. They hold their breath as the girl from Two gets possessed by a lake, later being killed by her own ally out of fear. They cringe as the girl from Twelve stuffs the Nine boy in an iron maiden, later prompting the boy from Two to drop his remains onto the ground. And oh, the poor boy from Two. Verdigris watches in horror as he's berated by the One boy and the Four girl before being decapitated. They can't think of any reason he deserved that.
There's a slight disconnect when they watch the Six girl suffocate them only to cary their body across the arena and into the city they later awoke in. It feels like forbidden footage, as does watching their own getaway, which prompts cheers from the audience. They close their eyes as they realize Hedy was telling the truth when she said she literally popped the Six boy like a balloon, only to open them and see the One boy willingly fly himself into the sun.
(They worry that Hedy was right when she said that they were one of the most boring parts of the Games. Watching everything transpire in technicolor makes Verdigris feel even less like they deserve to be here, because nothing they did was nearly as memorable as the actions of others.)
The loudest applause of the whole affair comes when Verdigris lights the barn house on fire, and even they're impressed with themselves for that move. As they run away from Hedy, they watch her getting repeatedly injured, something that sends them straight back into their disconnectedness. The finale comes, Hedy brutally pushing the Four boy off the clouds and to his doom, and then Verdigris pours poison on her chest and it's finally over.
It's just as bad as they had a feeling it would be, all of horror and misery that they never thought they'd bear witness too, mainly because they don't deserve to. They're just as underwhelmed as everything they did in comparison to the other Tributes as the entire nation really should be.
"Wasn't that something?" Caesar says, turning his chair forwards as the film stops playing.
All Verdigris can do is nod.
"Give it up again for Verdigris." They nearly flinch from the audience's applause, because they know they're so terribly unworthy of it.
"Your parents must be so proud of you," Caesar continues.
Verdigris doesn't know if they can agree with that statement. Well, surely their mother is proud of them, but they've never wanted her to be. They're mortified at the way they've surely scared Viorel and Viridian, and have no idea how they'll ever get their trust and love back, or if they'll even be able to.
"I'm sure they are," they lie.
Caesar reaches under his chair and pulls out an elaborate crown, "But hey! I've got something for you."
He stands up, prompting Verdigris to do the same, and then directing them to the center of the stage towards the front. He places the crown on their head and enthuses, "Panem's 52nd Victor!"
The weight of the crown on their head isn't nearly as heavy as the weight of the world which now rests on their shoulders.
…
Porter's invitation to party with her after the coronation ceremony is one that Verdigris quickly rejects. After this nightmare of a day, there's nothing they want more than to go to sleep, so that they can wake up and begin their journey back to Five, and hopefully back to comfort. They take the elevator to Five's apartment and drop their jacket on the ground the second they step through the door. It was getting rather uncomfortable due to the warm weather.
It's odd seeing the apartment without any noise, but Verdigris doesn't exactly mind the quiet. They walk over to the room where they spent their time before the Games, eager to put on a nice pair of pajamas and sleep the night away, however it seems that the world as per usual, has worse plans for them.
"Congratulations, my dear!" Verdigris opens the door to see their mother sitting on the edge of their bed next to a pale man, a smile on both their faces. "I was hoping that you'd come home soon."
Their face turns red with disgust. There's no reason for her to be here; no reason at all. Why is she here? Why the actual fuck is she here? Maybe they're an idiot for thinking they'd never see her again. If they so desperately didn't want to see her, they should've just died. This is their fault; it's on them.
"How did you get up here?" Verdigris trembles as they walk closer to the bed.
Mayuko smirks. "I asked the man at the front desk if I could be let up. I said I was your mother, and it was quite easy."
"You're not my mother," is what Verdigris wants to tell her, but their actions in the Games say otherwise. There's no denying they're their mother's child. Instead, they respond, "Can you leave. I'm not in the mood to talk to you right now, or ever."
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Mayuko drawls. "I came all this way to have a word with you, and I very much intend on getting what I want." She turns over to the man sitting besides her and says to him, "Hollister, could you leave the room for a moment? Verdigris and I need to have a conversation."
"It would be a monumental indulgence to follow such a commandment," he replies, his voice uncannily whimsical. "I shall escort myself to parlor to accommodate your colloquy. I will yearn for your companionship in the meantime."
He gets up off the bed and heads towards the door. Mayuko waves to him. "Enjoy yourself!"
"I will try my best to be placid during this brief sabbatical of yours." With that, he closes the door, leaving Verdigris alone with Mayuko.
"Isn't he oddly charming?" She asks them, looking at the doorway. "Hollister is definitely unlike your father."
He's something, Verdigris thinks, hoping that the fangs they saw when he first smiled at them were merely a tired hallucination. They get the feeling that this Hollister character is unlike anybody, and not just their father. Perhaps an oddball is most suitable for Mayuko.
"He seems sweet," Verdigris answers through gritted teeth. "I'm glad you're happy with him."
"Happier than I ever was with your father," Mayuko says, letting out a subtle laugh. "It's nice having an equal, you know?"
"I'd prefer if you didn't talk ill of my father," they snap, speaking with the most energy they've spoken with all day. "Just say whatever it is that you need to say to me, and then just leave, please. I'm tired as hell, and you're just about the last person I'd like to see."
"Okay, okay, I'll oblige. Not that I should, because this isn't how you're supposed to be speaking to your mother," she responds, her sinister smile still unchanged. "I wanted to ask you first, if you know what happens to those who win the Hunger Games?"
"Trauma?" Verdigris guesses. "I think that's pretty obvious."
"Beyond that," their mother says, sending a shiver down their spine. "Now that you're a victor, you're just about one of the most desired people in Panem. The Capitol isn't stupid, Verdigris. They know how to make a profit. Do you get it?"
"Not quite," they admit. They do have a feeling at what Mayuko is getting at, but they'd prefer if what they're thinking wasn't the truth.
"You're the profit," she explains. "Or rather, your body is. I will say, most of these clients are upper-class, unlike the people I whored your father out too. They are however, still rather adventurous with their tastes in the bedroom."
Verdigris heart sinks. Is this what their mother's been doing in the Capitol? Does her domain of terror go beyond just drugs? And would she really… just let them be sold the same way she sold Viorel?
"And you manage this shit?" Verdigris asks, though they're not sure they want the answer.
"Oh, heavens, no!" Mayuko responds, a look of disgust on her face. "Our dearest President does. I just provide substances to those who wish to further elevate their experiences."
Drugs are just about the last thing that Verdigris wants to think about. They can't help but worry that Viridian has ventured into avenues even worse than alcohol in their absence.
"Is this going to happen to me?" They tilt their head to the side. "I recognize that you're a horrible person, but I thought even you'd be above letting your own child be turned into a prostitute."
"Rude." She frowns. "I just wanted to tell you that I would be more than willing to protect you from these cruelties, provided you stay with me here in the Capitol and assist with my business."
There's no chance in hell of Verdigris doing that. Maybe they're just naive, but they don't know how their mother could prevent them from being sold, even if she does have some say in the President's prostitution ring. They know enough about the country to know that Snow controls everything, and as powerful as Mayuko may seem to them, she's nothing to him. They also question how exactly they're desirable to any client, considering they're only sixteen and look like a rat a good portion of the time. Then again, Capitolites are weird. Still, Verdigris refuses to believe her.
(Maybe part of that is because despite this conversation's sourness, Verdigris still feels like her and Mayuko are more similar than ever before. While they'd never sell drugs or encourage sex trafficking, their mother would shoot one child and somewhat torture enough without blinking. Even if Verdigris hasn't been corrupted by all of their mother's vices, it would be ludicrous to say that they're more different than they are the same.)
(Is it horrible if they say that facing oppression could be worth it if it makes them feel closer to being like their father again? Not that they want to suffer, of course, as much as they do truthfully deserve it.)
"As if I'm falling for that shit," Verdigris sneers, their nose pointed upward. "I appreciate the offer, but there's no way I'm spending any more time with you than I have to?"
"Are you sure?" Mayuko asks, Verdigris nodding their head in assurance. She walks off the bed and glares at the door. "That's your mistake, then. Don't say I didn't warn you when things get so much worse."
A part of Verdigris thinks that they should just kill her. They're not sure how, but it really would be such a relief if their mother was death. The only thing that stops them is a fear of becoming Hedy once they have the blood of their own parent on their hands.
(They could've so easily been Hedy. It would be a terrible mistake if they turned into her now. It's not one Verdigris can risk making.)
Mayuko slams the door shut, and more than ever, Verdigris wishes that they were at home. Even if they don't know if their home wants them, it's still better than being here. It's still better than being so terribly afraid at virtually every moment.
Still wearing their formal attire, Verdigris collapses against their mattress. They wish they could say they feel at peace, but they have a sinking feeling they'll never feel peace again. At least not if they want to bring about their mother's downfall, not just for themself, but for Viorel too. Even if they don't kill her, Verdigris still wants to see Mayuko suffer, even if it's the last thing they see in this miserable life.
It'll be a long road ahead of them, but it's one that they have to venture down if they want to destroy the person they're still so horrified they'll become.
Well, that was fucking sad, now wasn't it?
Verdigris is… very baby, and it makes me sad to make them sad, but sometimes we have to do things we don't like. I don't have much else to add, but hopefully you somewhat enjoyed this? I'll see you soon with the next epilogue.
Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds