L. Rebehold The Stars
The Love which moves the sun and the other stars.
Calsin Verrillo. 18.
Survivor of The 52nd Hunger Games.
He hasn't quite gotten used to everything yet. He doesn't think that he ever will though, because the whole thing about dying in the Hunger Games is that it's permanent, and he really did think that he was dead. Or… maybe Calsin didn't, because there's no possible way for somebody to feel like they're literally dead without actually dying, and that's not an experience he's ever had. Lord, it's going to take me a while to wrap my head around that…
Metaphorically speaking though, Calsin Verrillo does understand what it's like to be dead. He thought he understood it when Sevilin left, but that was a mere teaser for the pain in his chest he's felt ever since Atlantis' cannon fired. He's spent the vast majority of his life being utterly hopeless, and even now that he's laying in Crista Cray's backyard— his backyard underneath an umbrella, he feels the exact same way.
Not that he's not grateful for Crista saving him, of course. He definitely would not have preferred dying to the hands of a sixteen-year-old girl with rabies; it's just… a lot to take in.
It's been a week now, and Calsin's still shocked whenever he wakes up in the morning with a smile on his face and a beating heart in his chest. The train ride from the Capitol to Four was an odd experience, standing in the corner in a stolen Peacekeeper uniform as Caspian watched Calsin's death again and again, meaning he watched his own death again and again. Well… not death.
"What good is watching that over and over?" Crista must've asked him a million times.
Caspian always answered, "I'm just really glad the sea rat is gone."
It took everything in Calsin not to fall to the ground laughing each and every time.
(But because he couldn't laugh, he was forced to think about everything that had happened with a frown on his face. He was forced to think, Wow! District Four really doesn't want me. Calsin knew they didn't; he knew that all sorts of riots would surely break out if he came back with a crown, riot's he wouldn't even see because he'd be killed immediately, but hearing it out loud wasn't something he was ready for.)
"Did you put on sunscreen?" He cranes his neck to the side to see Cressida Starlett-Cray, Crista's daughter and his new sister standing over him with a concerned look on her face.
He chuckles to himself. "No, I don't think I did. Oh well!"
"Go inside, right now!" Cressida says, her tone rather harsh despite the lightness in her voice that comes from being only eight years old. "That's an order."
"It's fine," Calsin quips back, rolling his eyes. "I only plan on sunbathing for maybe another half an hour. I'm trying to get a tan, you know."
"And you're trying to get skin cancer and die," she instantly responds. "That'd be pretty sad considering the efforts my mom made to save you."
He knows that he should be taking her seriously, but it's basically impossible for Calsin to not burst out into hysterical laughter. Cressida has quickly taught him that everything sounds at least a hundred times funnier when it's said by an exceptionally precocious child.
Calsin humors her by rising to his feet and turning to face the door back inside. Cressida calls out from behind him, "I knew you'd make the right decision."
He walks into the house and sits down at the kitchen counter, watching as Crista cuts up vegetables, leaning over to feed a slice of lettuce to one of the four family dogs. "That's a good boy, Oscar!"
Calsin's never been a dog person himself, but Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony do make good company. He wonders how they'll get along with his cats, Delphin and Brack. Crista said that as soon as they tell Adrian that Calsin's alive, him and the cats will be allowed to live with them in the victor's village house, since it really is too big for just three people. That's a whole separate ordeal though, that's probably not going to take place for quite a while. There's still some business that he and Crista need to attend to before that can worry about his not-boyfriend and cats. Still, Calsin can't stop himself from worrying that maybe Adrian's found somebody new in his absence.
"Good afternoon, Crista," he says, twiddling his thumbs.
She turns around and looks him in the eye. "Oh, Sin! Are you hungry?"
"I mean… depends what you're making," he jokes. The past few days have taught him that Crista Cray is an exceptionally good chef, and he'll eat just about anything she puts on the table.
"Kiwi salad," she declares, a beaming smile on her face.
"Oh, you know that I abhor kiwi salad!" Cressida hisses, climbing up the chair beside Calsin.
"Cope," he deadpans, giggling as she rolls her eyes sarcastically.
"Why did you teach her the word abhor again?" Crista asks.
Calsin shrugs his shoulders. "It's really funny when she says it, okay?"
"I'm not funny!" Cressida scoffs. "I'm hungry though, and not for kiwi salad."
"I'll make you chicken nuggets or something in a minute, but I need to talk to Calsin about something first, if that's okay with you, your highness." Crista teases her, then looks at Calsin before pointing at the living room. "I'll meet you in there, okay?"
"Why are you excluding me?" Cressida pouts, dramatically sighing and draping her entire tiny body over the counter. "You all hate me. You all abhor me!"
"We don't, but go off I guess," Calsin says, leaving his chair and stretching his arms. "Me and your mom just have to have a talk about well… important things."
"You're lucky I'm getting chicken nuggets." She crosses her arms. "Otherwise, I'd be a whole lot less nice."
Even though Crista swears that Cressida is rather fond of him, sometimes Calsin isn't sure he believes her.
He follows her into the living room and collapses on the couch. Before he can say anything, Crista tells him, "I'm sorry about Cressida. She's been going through a lot of life changes this past year."
"Don't apologize, she's fuckin' hilarious," he replies. He means it too; he never got to be a big brother back with his parents, and so far he's found it oddly endearing.
"She's definitely something." Crista sits down beside him and laughs. "But we're obviously not here to talk about Cressida."
"I figured as much." Calsin grins. "Please don't tell me you regret saving my life and you're about to throw me into the fire place. That'd be really rude of you."
"What the fuck?" She bats her eyes, unamused. "You don't actually think that I'm going to—"
"No, I don't." He cuts her off. "It's just a joke, obviously."
"Right." Crista nods her head. "I wanted to talk to you because well… tonight's the night, you know."
It takes Calsin a moment to realize what she's talking about, but as soon as he does, he sighs and says, "Oh! You don't say."
"I literally just said it," she responds. "Are you ready?"
That better be a rhetorical question. Calsin Verrillo's been waiting his entire life for this moment, for fuck's sake. He didn't think it would ever happen, but lord knows he is fucking thrilled to be a part of what destroys the stupid ass Collective for good. Maybe Crista's idea is a bit more harsh than what he was thinking, but it's incredibly badass of her, and he's excited that he gets to be involved.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Calsin jests. "You know how important this is to me too."
"Just making sure," she says. "I'm also… very ready and very excited. Maybe excited isn't the right word; it's bound to be a bit bittersweet. But I'm definitely ready."
He knows that Crista's involvement with the Collective has been far greater than his, so he can't even imagine what she must be thinking right know. She's definitely on point with it being bittersweet, since the Collective's basically all she knew for a while, after all. But at least she's also aware that they need to go, for the sake of District Four and ultimately Panem as a whole.
(This mission is for Crista, not for him, but Calsin still can't help but think about what it'll mean for him. Maybe once they're done, the word will get out to Sevilin somehow. If he's still alive, of course. Maybe destroying the Collective will be enough for him to come back, and Calsin will be able to surprise him. Even now, he just wants to make his older brother proud. He just wants to make him, and Attie proud.)
"Well then, let's fucking go!"
Crista Cray. 43.
Victor of The 27th Hunger Games.
She's just the slightest bit nervous, even if she shouldn't be, cause she's rehearsed everything they've be doing soon with Calsin maybe a hundred times. Perhaps it's because Crista has too much experience with things not going according to plan, but she sincerely hopes that this is one of the few things that actually does. It's beyond that. Crista needs this to go off with without a hitch, not just for her own sake, but for Calsin's and Cressida's too.
(And for Sapphira's. Even if her wife isn't physically with her to cheer her on, Crista feels her presence with her, and prominently so. She left big dramatic gestures for the sake of impressing Sapphira far in the past, but regardless, she still wants her lover to feel something. Maybe that's dumb because dead people aren't supposed to feel anything, but if Sapphira's ghost truly is standing by Crista's side, she hopes that she can do something that'll sweep her off her feet once again.)
"You seem worried." Calsin clocks her as they trudge through the Havenside shores with their supplies nestled in their arms. "It's going to be okay; I promise."
"You don't know that for sure," Crista retaliates, her voice more harsh than she intended it to be. "I'm trying to be optimistic, though. I promise, I am."
"That's the best you can do then," he says, a giddy and nearly childish expression on his face. "Even if we don't deal as much damage as we're hoping, it'll still be fun."
"And cathartic," she adds. As much as she wishes she could consider setting the Lotus Academy ablaze and destroying all the sick freaks inside entirely "fun," Crista worries that would make her a bad person, and she wishes to get her vengeance on the world while maintaining as moral as possible. Eh, who's she kidding, it's pretty difficult to morally commit arson, but if there's a will, there best be a way.
Calsin nods. "Yes, cathartic too. That's more important."
They're relatively quiet the rest of their walk, only stopping when they catch their first glimpse at the Lotus Academy. Crista sighs, Where the hell did I go wrong?
She built the Academy with her victory money because she wanted to reform District Four. She wanted to be the change they needed, and put all of Lana's cronies to good use now that they didn't have their leader to guide them into insanity. Looking at it now, it's hard for Crista to believe what it's become. Maybe if she never moved to One, she wouldn't be once again thrust into this mess, but moving there was probably the best thing she ever did, because it was one of the few things she ever has done for herself and not for anybody else. She moved to One for the sake of love and returned to Four heartsick, not just because Sapphira's dead, but because her dream of making the world a better place is gone as well.
Or at least, gone for now.
The one thing she's ever agreed with the Collective on is their desire to chase after life's most unobtainable and impossible dreams. She chased after Panem's dazzling starlet centerpiece with her heart on her sleeve, never in a million years thinking she'd actually have the honor and privilege of falling head over heels in love with her. She extracted a Tribute from the arena to shape in her image and gave him the second chance victory would've never given him. Yes, she's yet to reform District Four into her own perfect union, but past experiences have told her that nothing is truly unobtainable as long as you believe hard enough.
May the unobtainable dream continue not to fail her today.
Crista's now the closest she's ever been to the Academy in maybe twenty-five years, and it still doesn't feel real to her. The wooden walls she never expected to burn and the wicker chairs she always imagined herself retiring in are basically fiction now. Because this isn't the Academy she had in mind when she first conceived it. No, this is Crista Cray's personal hell, and it deserves more than anything to go up in flames.
"It's been a long time since I was last here," Calsin says, his voice a mere whisper. "I imagine it's been even longer for you."
"You'd be right," she mutters back. "It looks almost identical to when I left it, yet completely unrecognizable at the same time."
The hubbub from inside gets louder and louder the closer they get to the building. Calsin told her that the Collective has annual meetings within the week after the Games, hence why they've decided tonight is the perfect night for them to strike.
"Let's do this," Crista whispers to Calsin. "You go around back, and I'll wreak havoc on the front?"
He nods. "On it. I still know the escape route, not that it'll be helpful for any of them, of course."
"But for you," she says. "It's important you don't die."
"Exactly."
And just like that, Calsin runs off, leaving Crista alone with only a can of kerosene and a lighter.
I'm really doing this, aren't I? She muses in disbelief.
A voice coming from the stars encourages her, "Reclaim your life, my love."
She takes a couple of deep breaths before she begins, tightening the hood of her black sweatshirt before she gets too close to the building.
The first thing she douses in kerosene is the straw statue on the porch that's supposed to resemble Lana. She smirks, whispering to herself, "Stay dead this time, please."
Next are the walls, which Crista splashes her oil against with a vindicated grin. Her hands are shaking, with a mix of disbelief and nervousness, but she pushes her feelings aside, just this one time. The smoke rising in the distance tells her that Calsin's already started setting things ablaze, so Crista takes it as a sign to light a small piece of wood, slightly distanced from where she put the kerosene. The embers flicker into a full blown flame as Crista steps away pressing down on the lighter and throwing it at the statue of Lana.
As the inferno continues to rise and screams begin to erupt inside of the building, Crista runs into the ocean and smiles. Shades of orange and red consume the building, a cloud of black smoke forming above it and blocking the stars in the sky. Crista knows though, that the most important star is still with her in spirit.
"What the fuck?" A familiar voice echoes in her ear, and it's not Calsin's. "What the fuck are you doing?"
She turns to the side to see Shane Odeen, his brows furrowed with bitter rage. She's confused, because she thought he'd be in the building, bubbling and burning to a crisp just like everybody else. But Crista doesn't have time to be confused for long, and she doesn't have anything to say to him besides a snide, "Fuck you!"
It's been a long time since she's had to fight somebody, but the movements come natural to her. Curls her fingers into a fist and punches him in the throat, backing away before he can get a swing in at her. Bile foams at Shane's mouth as Crista prepares for her next strike. She grunts, then thrusts her palm at his eye, her pointed nails digging deep into his skin.
"Fuck you," she repeats.
Shane spits at her. "How does it feel to know you've ruined everything?"
"Great, thanks," Crista fires back. She bends her left leg and forces her knee into Shane's stomach, then kicks her right leg at his ankles to send him flying to the ground. She crouches down and grabs his long blonde hair, gritting her teeth to resist his incessant flailing.
"I hope all of this was worth it," she says as she drags his limp body into the ocean. "I hope all of the lives that you ruined were worth it."
Before Shane can answer, Crista submerges his head into the water. She watches as bubbles emit onto the sea's surface, a signal that he's still alive and breathing.
Calsin's voice cheers her from behind, "Knock him dead!"
Sapphira's voice praises her from above, "You're almost there!"
She continues to press down until the bubbles stop. When she lets go, Shane's body floats face up, his eyes white and skin pale. Crista pushes him further into the ocean, then runs back to the sand and sighs.
Calsin sits beside her but doesn't say a word as Shane Odeen becomes one with the sea he should've never claimed people were spat from.
"Long live the unobtainable dream," Crista says under her breath.
He floats further and further away from the shore until his corpse is a mere speck of dust against the night sky.
Crista lays flat on her back and gazes up at the stars above her. "I did it," she shouts.
A phantom arm wraps around her shoulder and whispers in her ear, "Yes you did, my love. Yes you did."
And for the first time in a year, Crista Cray is no longer fading.
Fin.