Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new prologue chapter of Liberty (again, keeping it shorthand), and I love what I'm gonna get to talk about today with this one, as it is time for another lovely dynamic between these characters in the Capitol cast I've been putting together. You guys are killing it with the submissions, but I can say that I am planning to keep them open until no earlier than April 30th, a Thursday, and no later than May 3rd which is a Sunday. If I have an entire cast that I wish to use before then, I'll let you know and post the last prologue chapter for it. I hope you all enjoy this upcoming one, Chapter 3: The Tale of the Attack Dog.
"There are no second chances in life, except to feel remorse." ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafn
Lydia Wickervein: Head Peacekeeper P.O.V
She feels like an attack dog. Perhaps she is one, she isn't sure, as why would someone willingly want to decide that would be what they're most like, or resemble? At the very least, for Head Peacekeeper Lydia Wickervein, she doesn't look like an attack dog, as she stares at herself in a mirror as she walks down one of the many carpeted hallways of her home, dressed in her all white Peacekeeper gear, gear so strikingly pale that a splotch of blood spreads across it like morning dew on blades of grass. Lydia keeps her helmet off, having left in her room for a reason to go back home rather than waiting around and sweating inside the cocoon of white. It isn't an easy fit, nor an easy wear, and by the time she gets to take it off, Lydia is a puddle of sweat that her husband has to get a towel to dry off.
Her hair is a lighter shade of brown, pulled back into a ponytail, which admiringly highlights her jade eyes, alit with fervor and perspiration of a hard day's work, but her mouth is set in a firm single line without moving, as Lydia isn't so sure smiling and doing your job are able to be combined when out and about. There are a few other Peacekeepers in the building, they nodding at her behind their dark visors. She can't see their faces, but Lydia knows who is who, and who is out of place, like Soldier 55 - they have names, but sometimes it is easier to use their numbers instead of embarrassing them out in front of the others - who is stopped in front of one of the paintings on the wall, some sort of rose with a gray stem and the flower dripping blood droplets onto a chandelier which is cracked, resting on the floor. Lydia stops in front of the painting, crossing her arms in front of her, clearing her throat.
The Peacekeeper looks at her, and just by the way their arms twitch, she can tell they've been caught and embarrassed, at a different post. Soldier 55 is supposed to be watching the back door, no one needs to be staring at house paintings. They can come by and do that later when they're off, if Emrick gives them a break, after all. Her orderly races off back to his post, Lydia sighing and rubbing her brow with her thumbs. Another headache; she's been starting to get them more frequently than normal, but she isn't sure if that's due to watching her husband speak and test the microphones on stage in the auditorium, or ensuring Emrick and Cain survive yet again another press conference. Cain constantly looks at her, whether her helmet is on or off, and she can feel his stare full of hatred burn into her very being.
He is the one who vouches for her to be in the position of Head Peacekeeper, bypassing another twelve male candidates, she the only female of the bunch where the men, as Lydia claims would've been better representatives of the role, and she fails him. When Cain Passionia needs her the most, Lydia is off protecting her husband and Emrick, who happen to be together on preparing a statement when Nathaniel Coin from District Thirteen sneaks into the Capitol, slitting Cain's son's throat from ear to ear, and throwing his wife onto the family bed, all the while Cain is forced to watch, two men pointing guns at him.
"You weren't there for me," Cain's voice is rugged, as he inhales on the butt end of a cigarette, tapping ash out of the other end onto the pavement below, probably sprinkling it on some passerby's head. The light till of raindrops splattering on the aluminum roof above them helps ease the pain in the vice president's voice, and Lydia has one hand on the sheathed knife in her back pocket kept there the entire time as he looks at her. "When I needed you the most, Lydia, you didn't protect me."
"I'm sorry, Cain," she starts to say, but he gives her another one of those decisive looks, and Lydia feels like she's back in grade school again, wetting her pants when the teacher and her outrageous blonde wig tells her to speak to the entire class. She has lost first name privileges. "Mr. Passionia, I'm sorry. Is... did Nathaniel give you a motive?"
Cain huffs a drag on the cigarette, a thin vapor following an exhale, and he smashes it onto the railing, leaving a trail of cinders and ash. "Because I was the one he had access to," and she's never heard a man's voice speak with such an edge to his tone. "That's what he told me, Lydia." Oh, but she's on a first name basis, huh? "I vouched for you, and fought for you to get you this position, and you can't even protect me."
She has no response to that, even when Cain tells her that ten months ago, and she still has no response to it standing in front of the bleeding rose painting. Two and a half years, the Dark Days did last - Cain calls it the Ash Wars, for all that remains of the old Panem is ash, empty graves, and piles of bodies lining the streets Disappointment floods her gut, then, Lydia placing a hand over her stomach, cringing and turning away from the art. The closed door to her and her husband's bedroom is in front of her, Lydia pushing it open with a hefty creak, a magnificent oak piece of craftsmanship with golden swirls down the sides to a silver heart in the center which acts as the door handles, a gust of air conditioning hitting her in the face as she crosses the threshold of tile to carpet.
Lydia takes two steps into the bedroom, before stopping, hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow.
"Richmond, what are you doing?"
The man in question that she is referring to is sitting at her vanity in the far corner of the bedroom, applying mascara to his eyelashes, leaning over the chair rather than sitting in it. Richmond Anvil, the Master of Ceremonies and main face for the Capitol and all of Panem in her room, using her makeup. He waves at her with his right hand, his free hand, but doesn't turn to look at her. Lydia stutters a laugh, the door to the bedroom closing behind her. The room is a lot more spacious than what it needs to be, with a wide sweeping carpet of some sort of oriental design on the floor, to the billowing curtains in the corner, the windows wide open spilling pillars of sunlight onto the floor. She moves into the pillar of light to bask in the warmth, faintly perking her lips upwards. Being with Richmond means she isn't working, and she can smile.
"Well, Lydia dear, as you can see, I'm getting ready," he replies back to her, his voice sweeter than a jar of huckleberry jam. Richmond finishes applying the mascara, putting the wand back in the tube, turning to her. Lydia absorbs his appearance, an adorable stark gray suit with a sharp blizzard white dress shirt underneath, to his tanned face adorned on the sides by thick and curly onyx waves, the mascara-adored eyes that sparkle like the bluest ocean, and then he smiles at her. "For once I think I look better than you."
"Better than me?" she says back, and she cannot hide the full smile on her face, Lydia stepping over to him. "This outfit is starting to smell and it's white. White is boring and overrated," Lydia finishes her statement, connecting her lips to his in a short kiss. Her husband wraps an arm around her waist, kissing her again, before setting the tube of mascara down.
"Lies, Lydia, all lies," Richmond brushes a strand of her hair out of her eyes, putting it back over her ears to mesh in with the ponytail. "I mean, I would know, it's my job."
"Your job is to look pretty on camera," Lydia pats his chest, removing herself from his grip. Her other hand gently brushes up against the knife tucked into her waistband, still in its sheath. It's a safety precaution, one that Richmond is totally okay with, as she always needs to be on task and on target, her pistol in the other pocket. She looks at Richmond for a split second, but he's facing the vanity once more, smoothing out a lopsided curl on the top of his head. He has asked that she no longer brings the weapons in the room, for their house being so well protected, but his hands were a bit higher... if they were any lower... she shudders the thought away. "Sometimes you look prettier than Emrick and Cain's wives, and we know that's normally not possible."
She moves over to the bedframe, sitting on the wooden swoop, a perfect spot to rest. Richmond looks at her through the vanity this time, a bang of electricity flowing through her veins. "Where's your wedding ring?"
Lydia looks down at her hands, cursing to herself. Shit. Her mouth goes dry suddenly, an oasis in her husband in front of her. "Emrick asked that I don't wear it, since I'll be on camera alongside you, him, Cain, and Willa. Something about how the head of the military showing the country that they have another life besides the love that is Panem," she says, but she knows she's lying. Defeat settles into her shoulders, and the sunlight streaming through the windows no longer feels as warm as it did just a few moments ago. "I forgot to tell you, I'm sorry."
He rights himself, turning to look at her. "Did you ask him for his blessing in our marriage, Lydia?"
"No, I haven't," Lydia responses instantaneously. There's no need to hold a pause when the answer will be disappointing. Disappointment is inevitable when it comes to Lydia Wickervein, she supposes. A Wickervein family curse that has been in her name for generations. A father with his throat sliced open in a robbery gone wrong, her great grandmother who had living in District 4 drowning at sea one windy evening never to be seen again... and with her husband looking at her like she's one of those kids going to be reaped for the Games today.
Richmond sighs, running a hand through his curls, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, I love you, and if you aren't committed to me, just-"
"Don't say that," her voice breaks, Lydia holding back a tear, running her hands down her pants, fingers rubbing over the coarse landscape, tips jutting into the crevices and flicking over the bumps. She stands up, going to the closest window of the four in the room. Lydia rests her elbows on the windowsill - it is the same windowsill where Cain extinguishes his cigarette, actually, and she swears the scent of smoke is still there like a phantom's kiss, or the lingering cherry backsplash of wine against her throat - and squeezes her eyes shut. Disappointment, disappointment, disappointment!
An attack dog only knows how to heel. An attack dog only knows how to follow orders, but sometimes they turn around and attack the wrong person. She feels like an attack dog, with a tail constantly lowered and trailing behind her on the ground, but this time there is no treat for her being left outside. She's done everything she's supposed to, triple that in fact after Cain's funeral for his son, and when Emrick makes the first call to send the hovercrafts out to Six and Thirteen, the masterminds of this whole 'rebellion'. She is the one whispering in his ear about Friedrich Calvary being brought in and made an example of, while Cain is swearing at the sky to bury every single thing District Thirteen has ever touched, but if that means killing everyone else, he'll do it.
It is Richmond's smooth hands into her shoulder blades at night that has her cry, but Lydia isn't sure if she's crying for herself or the state of the nation as she leads attacks in the forests of Seven, or the campaigns into the mountains of Twelve. She watches as half of the Nut, the military base in Two, is shredded into bits by a retaliatory attack that she gives the order for, hearing the screams of many innocents die on the inside, and her heart dying on the outside. But she does not speak up, she holds back while Richmond takes to the camera, cards in hand, and his ever present smile on his face. Lydia is committed, a Wickervein is always committed to their future, and her future includes her husband and the safety of the Israel administration and all those in it.
The Hunger Games are a good punishment, that she agrees with. Does that many kids need to die? She isn't so sure, and Lydia doesn't know if she'll ever have an opinion on that. It surprises her, during that meeting, after the two and a half years of Cain seeing his dead son and his defiled wife and his soiled name that he is the one telling Emrick to stand down from the nuclear warfare while their president, often the man of caution, is pulling his hair out, Nathaniel Coin in front of him in shackles as the districts have surrendered. The districts have always looked to One and Two, even when there had been prosperity - "Depends on the person you ask," Richmond would snort into his morning tea, "Of what it means in Panem for life to be prosperous and good." - and so when they surrender, One because they're forced, and Two because the mayor is one smart cookie who can tell a losing battle when he smells one, the others fall suit. Twelve follows after Two, then Eight, Eleven, Five, Four, Nine, Ten, Three, and lastly Six, the other mastermind behind the operation since Six had been the one to hold the keys to the ways of mobilizing an army.
Richmond sighs to himself, wiping away some lipstick off of his mouth, Lydia not even noticing that when she walks in, crumbling the tissue in his hands and throwing it away in the waste bin on the side of the vanity. "Lydia, it is more than just the ring-"
"It's resting on my nightstand if you were to check," she sniffles to herself, keeping a steely gaze out on the Capitol horizon, a gorgeous platinum city that has not been ravaged by the Dark Days surprisingly, with a sun breaking out over the horizon. She hears Richmond go over to her side of the bed, which is the one closer to the vanity, and a slight chink as he picks it up in his hands. Lydia hears the whistle on the wind as it flies through the air, she catching it without moving her head. Everyone in the Capitol expects her to be a sappy woman in love with their country, but as the Head Peacekeeper, a job only held by men in the past, it is the expectations that she can't do it. Everyone in the districts views her as a mindless killing machine devoted to the cause of brutality... and she is neither, towing the line with a red wagon following her. The wedding ring is the attack dog, not her. She slips it on her hand, which is a bit odd, having the ring over the glove, but she is not going to be the one in the center of the shot.
"What's bothering you?" her husband asks her, after a moment, but he's still standing by his side of the room.
"Nothing, Richmond," Lydia lies again, this time a tear spilling down her face, wiping it away with a gloved hand, leaving a pale streak in the gray of her gloves. "Just doing my job. I was told to escort you to the stage, while Cain would personally protect Emrick."
"Nyria doesn't need one?"
"Nyria has her pets to be her attack dogs."
"Then-"
"Should we have killed them all?" Lydia asks suddenly, turning around to look Richmond in the eyes.
He jumps somewhat, as if she had barked at him instead, Lydia biting down on her tongue so she doesn't cry anymore. There were more than just military strategy folk in Thirteen, but mothers, fathers, children, oh God the children - her body gives a light shake - but she gives the order anyways, and the Capitol fleet bombs the hell out of Thirteen and back, and the land will be so radioactive that no one can ever, ever settle there or plant food or... Lydia breaks into a hiccup, but she holds the tears back. Richmond raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side slightly.
"What, honey?"
"Thirteen," her jaw trembles some, but Lydia keeps her head still. "Should we have killed all of Thirteen? Bombed them as bad as we did?"
Richmond scoffs, eyes cutting to lock with hers. "Lydia, that was ten months ago and-"
"Should we have?" she barks back at him. "Just answer the question."
Lydia cannot read the expression in her husband's eyes very well, for he simply shakes his head, but she can't read that either. He steps up to her, wrapping her in a hug, kissing her forehead. Richmond smells of clover and vanilla, a strong and strange combination, but she finds comfort in it. He squeezes her a bit tighter than what is necessary, but she wraps her arms around him too, smiling faintly to herself. But she has the answer, alright. She has the perfect answer from him, as she looks at her wedding ring, glowing gold in the halcyon rays shooting through the windows.
Bombing Thirteen, killing every single last one of them where the land will never be hospitable again... it is not enough to remove the irrevocable damage they've caused.
Lydia closes her eyes, tightening the hug right back.
There had once been a tale of an attack dog, who could roll over and drool on command, but her heart had not being in the right place. So she's put down with a silver bullet between the eyes, all the while her barks are morphed into cries, into words, whispers more like of 'I'm loyal. Don't shoot me, I'm loyal.'
"Bad dog..." she whispers to herself, whereas Richmond mutters a "I love you too," back at her.
Alrighty, ladies and gentlemen, that was Chapter #3: The Tale of the Attack Dog, which is another prologue chapter for Liberty. We got to meet our Head Peacekeeper Lydia Wickervein - I am really proud of the names I've created for this cast for some reason - and Richmond Anvil - also another favorite of mine - who is her husband, the Master of Ceremonies. There are just two more prologue chapters on my radar, but I'm gonna hold out on posting the 5th one too early before I have submissions closed, so I'll work on Bullets a bit more before getting this cast set in stone.
Our next chapter, #4: Wilted Gravestones, is gonna be from Mr. Cain Passionia's perspective, which I'm excited for, and we'll meet another character as well in the administration which is gonna be a lot of fun. I hope you all review and let me know what you thought, as well as submit if you haven't already; I'd love to have ya potentially join, just look at the statistics on my profile alongside the form. I love you all so much! I'll see you all again with another update for Bombs and Bullets on Thursday - God I hope so - before the fourth prologue for here. Have a great day! Bye!
~ Paradigm