A/N: This is coming out quite a bit faster than I've been getting them out because it is the weekend, and spending 3 days in DC without time or tools to write filled me up so much with creative energy that I just got right to writing as soon as I could! XD Today we have two Mentors to visit as the tributes prepare for the last day of training. We're visiting Esquiria Pasquale of District 1, as well as Takami Wired of District 3. Enjoy your reading everybody, and I hope it's a good one! :D
Trigger warnings: Profanity and a very undescriptive sexual situation
And there's no remedy
For memory
Your face is like a melody,
It won't leave my head
Your soul is haunting me
And telling me
That everything is fine
But I wish I was dead
(dead like you)
Every time I close my eyes
It's like a dark paradise
Takami Wired, 22
District Three Mentor and Victor of the Sixteenth Hunger Games
I think it's a dream at first. I wake up to find that Emma isn't wrapped snugly within the grasp of my skinny arms. A soft, honeyed glow cascades across our bed, and I shift, burying my face in the pillow and splaying out my limbs. My hands and feet squirm around, feeling about for my little lover. When, face down, I've explored the entirety of the mattress and the covers and have found no sign of her thin form, I sit up, looking around groggily.
"Emma?" I mutter huskily, my raspy voice a byproduct of sleeping with my mouth open. No answer.
I slip out from under the covers, looking around sleepily for the source of the fuzzy glow that has consumed most of the area of the room. After stumbling around for a minute, I find it. The large flat screen TV that sits on the dresser now sits on the carpeted floor, a tangle of wires trailing behind it and connecting it to the power socket in the wall behind the chest of drawers. Emma is squatting on the floor, propped up against a mound of puffy pillows and covered by a thick lavender comforter she must've rooted out of the closet. Her eyes are half closed and she's in a trance like state.
I crawl to her side and stoop over her, pawing at her exposed left wrist. A pulse drums adamantly underneath the pressure of my fingers, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She starts to perk up once she feels my warm hands across the cooler skin of her wrist, and her eyes slide open. I caress her hair, and I lean over and press a tiny kiss on the right corner of her mouth. She sighs and smiles, tugging me weakly down onto her chest. I can see the shiny trails of dried tears on her bony cheeks, and I wrap myself around her, nuzzling my head between her shoulder and her neck in the exact place she likes it.
"Whatcha watching?" I rasp, lifting my mouth from her skin as I speak.
She doesn't answer, and I draw my head back enough for me to be able to turn and see what is on the television screen. She weakly lunges for the remote, but she's too tired and defeated already, and my eyes are on the TV before her hands can hit the power button. She sets down the remote once I've seen.
"I was missing her," she mumbles, refusing to look at me. "I just wanted to watch the parade, to see you two grinning on the chariot in those sparkling costumes. I wanted a good memory. But I couldn't stop it. I saw the bad score, the terrible interview, and then...and then...I just started watching the Games. I muted it so the screams wouldn't wake you up. Just...just as the arrow lodged...I paused it and couldn't look away..."
"Oh fuck, Emma," I whimper, pulling her close. "Oh honey, it'll all be fine. Let's just go back to bed and turn this off." I can't bear to look at it any longer. She needs to go to sleep and I need to turn off this television screen. I have never rewatched my Games, despite having reviewed all of the other Games a couple of times to remember the charges I failed, and those that came before me, so that I can connect better with their families. But I never needed a refresher to remember myself or Elodie, my little ally. I never needed to watch us sprinting away from the Bloodbath, the boys and girls falling to my improvised traps and weapons, and the One boy shooting her dead only days from the end with his curving, springy bow. On the screen is a frozen vision of Elodie, the arrow skewered up to the fletching through one temple, the tip poking out the other. Her face, still forever, is nearly emotionless beside the grimace of fear; the pain and the death came quick at least, so quick she didn't even notice until she was cold and face first in the mud with only a second left before her cannon fired.
"Takami, I'm sorry," Emma grunts, worming her ways into my arms. I slam my fist into the remote, shutting off the TV and probably screwing something else up. Plastic cracks under my forceful blow, and a few keys become jammed or broken. Emma looks into my eyes fearfully, and I lift her up in my arms, carrying her back to the bed. I set her down and I look down at her, licking my lips. I need a distraction from all of this; we both do.
I trace the tendons of her neck with my tongue, and she shivers beneath me, her shaking hands twisting themselves in the loose hem of my cotton bed shirt. She works it off of me as I kiss down the rest of her body, undoing her clothes. Everything else except Emma Sprocket leaves my head, and she's as beautiful as ever, her starkly naked body bony and skinny still, but glorious. Her cute face is framed by her limp black hair, and she's swathed in the silky sheets, her almost black eyes meeting mine in the near absolute darkness. I can no longer resist the tug, and I pull the covers over us as I take control.
By the time it's over, the morning sun is streaming through the translucent blinds, and we're both tired out beyond belief. I cup her small face in my hands, grazing her sweet lips with mine one last time before hobbling out of bed and across the room to the dresser. She groans in protest, pulling the blankets around her still bare form. I have to get ready for the day, however. Today's the last day of training, Private Sessions, and Scores all wrapped into one. I pull on a pair of grey boxer briefs and then some khakis and a navy V neck. Emma slips out of bed, shooting me a flirty look as she stumbles off into the bathroom to take a shower. I grin a little and rummage through the dresser for the other things I'll need for my outfit. As I pull on some socks, I hear pounding on the door.
"TAKAMI!" Luizy's tinny voices squeals. "Get going, get going! You didn't change your alarm, did you?! Remember training starts an hour earlier today, you imbecile! The kids are ready to go and we still need to review what they're doing at their sessions!"
I burst out of the room despite not being fully put together. Fuji and Millard are both waiting by the elevator. I grab a mango and bite into it, gulping down the food into my grumbling stomach before turning to my tributes. I wipe away the sticky fluid running down my face as I speed talk.
"Remember what I told you, do whatever you're strongest at and don't give them anything to critique, cause hell, does Ludum like to critique. Do your best and give them hell. It doesn't matter what you get; Uriah won with a 3. Annelise, Esquiria, and Pumpkin won with a 5. Lots of others won with 6s or 7s. Anything in that range and you have a great shot. Go get 'em, guys. Give it your all, and that's all that really matters today."
They both nod and smile, and they begin to chat as they wait for the elevator to arrive and pick them up. As I stride away, relieved, Luizy speaks up.
"Were you okay last night, Takami?" Luizy squeaks, her hands on her hips. "I heard all types of moaning and groaning. The kids had to turn up their movie so loud that I could barely fall asleep!"
Fuji and Millard are snickering wildly, both obviously knowing the origin of the sounds that I created in my bedroom with Emma. My cheeks burn brightly, and I'm indignant. Before I can say a word, however, the elevator's arrived, and my charges quickly step on. The doors snap shut, and I turn to Luizy, exasperated.
"I asked you a question, Takami!" Luizy yelps. "I was seriously worried for your safety. I almost went in there, I was so frightened!"
I just shake my head, stifling laughter. This isn't even a joke like I thought it was. Sometimes I forget how sheltered and idiotic Capitolites can be. I tell her that I'm fine and to leave me be when she hears "sounds" from my room. She looks relieved and nods dutifully before taking some sponsorship forms out to the balcony to work on. Once she's gone, I break down into giggles. I run back into my room and collapse on the bed, waiting for Emma to get out of the shower. I can't wait to tell her all about the insanity of this place.
I want money, power and glory
I want money and all your power, all your glory
Hallelujah, I wanna take you for all that you got
Hallelujah, I'm gonna take them for all that they got
The sun also rises,
On those who fail the call
My life, it comprises,
Of losses and wins and fails and falls
Esquiria Pasquale, 32
District One Mentor and Victor of the Fifth Hunger Games
"They requested that you get the blonde hair back, darling. There's nothing I can do," Junova sighs as she pins up my hair. Rich and glossy and above all, dark brown, it's gorgeous and natural and I like to keep it this way. Last year they let me keep it without problems, so I decided to try my luck again. Junova received an unsigned letter on Presidential Palace stationery requesting that she revert my chocolate curls to a blonde waterfall. I know who the notice is from; Snow never wants to let any of us get comfortable or have full expression of ourselves, even if you are the founder of District One's Academy.
I am the root of the trend I so thoroughly hate. I was playing around with my younger sister Signora a couple of weeks before my Reaping. I slathered lipstick all over her mouth, and then she accidentally spilled a whole canister of blonde hair dye across my head as she was putting it away before our mother caught us. It would not wash out, and I went to the Reaping with dark brown hair splotched with shimmering blonde. My stylist couldn't get the dye out well either, and he just dipped all my hair in blonde dye and left it at that. I was the first buxom blonde to strut the screens of Panem, to coast to the end with blood flying all about me. Even though I got out the hair dye the moment I could after the Games, the image of the latina girl with blonde hair stuck. Girls all across the District copied my style, and all the blonde girls became popular and coveted. Most of the women in our District are blonde now, even if half of them wear wigs or dye. The last volunteer I had that wasn't blonde was all the way back in the Twelfth Games, and she died too early under the blazing sun before anything could be done to help her. I spurred the creation of the monster I hate, the legions of bottle blondes with itty bitty waists and too loose legs, just because of a simple mistake from when I was 15 years old. It goes to show how important the little things tend to be, and also why I tend to hate them dyeing my hair with a hellish passion.
The Capitol wants to see the woman who started the trend, who brought District One onto its pedestal and established it as a powerhouse. They recognize me best with my false, glossy blonde hair. Wigs don't fit well over my curly mane, and it's easier just to dye it, anyway. Wigs are itchy and always come off at the worst times. I can't rebel against this order as much as I can't take back the birth of the One stereotype.
I sit down in the chair that Junova has brought into my expansive Capitolite bathroom. Adjoining with my luxurious bedroom, it has two granite vanities, a huge shower, a toilet, and a deep clawfoot soaking tub. A chair's set up in front of the vanity where I sit, and Junova stands behind me, prepping my hair for the ordeal. One of the prep teamers, one of Zircon's if I'm not mistaken, is finishing setting up the twirling stand that holds all of the makeup and accessories and tools needed to dress me up. For today, I am going to have an interview with Fabula as a teaser of sorts before the scores are released. Brick, Oisin, and Paula are having ones too. They need to see me all dolled up, looking like the girl who won the Fifth Hunger Games again. I'll have to give them what they want. There's no way around it.
I won't back away from it. I'm brazen, as usual. I stare into the mirror, right into my own dark brown eyes. They look emotionless; the only thing I can scrounge from them is mild antipathy, barely perceptible. And that's always there. I look as normal as always as Junova and her helper recline the chair, fanning out my gorgeous brown locks and squirting out the dye. I can't look at the mirror anymore, so I stare at the smooth, blemish-less ceiling as they quickly do their work. Within five minutes, I'm sitting up again, a blonde once more. The helper's already pulling out swatches of concealer and eye shadow while Junova precisely orders and Avox to grab the three dresses she thinks will work best with this new hairdo from her basement designing studio. They work as if nothing is wrong, and I just sit there, staring at my eyes, averting them from looking at the tresses of golden blonde. They've even smoothed them out, and I look alien. I sigh a little, a barely audible hiss of air, and I try not to bite my lip as Junova expertly slips a stick of pale pink lipstick across it.
By the time they're done, it's well into breakfast time. My interview's in under two hours, and our tributes are going to be departing for their last day of training within the hour. I thank the two beautiful women who've prepped me curtly. They take my words rightly as a dismissal, and they both march out. I look at myself in the mirror for a moment. Waterfalls of straight golden hair drip across my tan face and down my exposed shoulders, the ends strategically splayed across the chest of my crisp maroon cocktail dress. My face is all done up, and I even have jewelry and my heels on. I nod at my reflection before clacking out of the bathroom, across my bedroom, and into the dining room.
Kenyan is plowing through a plate packed with carbs and proteins, and Zircon heartily gobbles down sausages, scrambled eggs, hash, and sliced fruit. Iono picks delicately at his plate, filled with a block of chalky tofu and a peeled orange. Someone's trying to diet again. And then there's my charge, Trinity, looking as beautiful and prissy as ever. She's already mostly cleaned her plate, which from what I can tell held toast, eggs, and bacon. She has a cup of milk in her hands, and when she spots me she immediately stiffens and smiles. I turn away from her, shaking my head as I spear a triangle of watermelon with a fork. I bite into it, making sure none of the juice dribbles out of my mouth, where it could destroy the makeup that the girls have slaved over.
After eating a small breakfast, I stand to go do some sponsorship paperwork in my room for the hour until I have to depart. Zircon's already lacing up his shoes to go, but Trinity isn't ready yet. She hangs nearby me, and I can see a questioning look on her face. After she hovers for over five minutes, watching me collect sponsorship forms from where they've been scattered across the dining and living rooms, I finally break.
"Shouldn't you be going to training, Asparagus Teeth?" I inquire sharply, turning to her.
"I wanted to talk to you," she replies smoothly, not a hint of emotion in her voice.
"Make it quick. I have an interview with Fabula," I hiss as I shuffle the sponsorship forms. I saunter across the apartment towards my room, and Trinity strides along beside me, her legs longer than mine. She towers over me by a good half foot, and I want to strangle her as she looks down on me.
"I-it's just...I want to strategize with you," Trinity says calmly. "Zircon and Kenyan talk for hours, and the only words I can get out of you are insults."
"We don't need to talk," I return curtly, setting the gathered forms down on the dining room table besides an exasperated looking Iono. "You learned everything you need to know and more during your years at the Academy, Miss Vegas. All the boys do is time wasting."
"But we need to talk about my competitors," Trinity grunts. "About sponsors, about what I should be showing at training today, about specifics-"
"You're smart despite your looks, I hope. You can figure it out. Now excuse me, Miss Vegas, but-"
"Why the hell do you hate me?" she asks in a murmur of a voice, staring intensely at me. I'm dumbfounded; my tributes rarely have the tenacity to look the Deviless in the eyes, not to mention boldly proclaim such words. "Did I do something to you? Did my great grandmother kill your grandfather? Do you have some secret vendetta against my family? Give me a reason, even if it's utter bullshit, why you refuse to even talk to me like I'm a real human being. I just want help, Esquiria. I just want some help."
I just look at her, not speaking, for a long time. She's seething, and she takes deep, gulping breaths, trying to get herself back under control. Her question resounds through me, and I can't think of a correct way to answer. I cannot just walk away. I cannot give her a noncommittal answer. I cannot tell her the truth. I cannot lie to her. So I just stare. I just stare, so long and so hard that she just has, has, has to walk away.
"Tell me," she demands weakly.
"You remind me of my mistakes. You remind me of the death of what our District once was, before I stepped onto that Games stage," I mutter, looking down in fake interest at my bare toes. They squirm in anxiety against their bonds in my stilettos.
"Does it have to do with the reason you're suddenly blonde?" Trinity replies, her voice suddenly softer and kinder.
"Yeah. Yeah, it sorta does."
A/N: So today we had Esquiria and Takami! I hope you liked reading about these two. I didn't really explore tributes very deeply in Takami's, but his character's just so fun I couldn't resist turning to focus away from the kids you guys have submitted. I also really enjoyed writing Esquiria; she's another nicely built Mentor in my opinion, and I hope you like all the worldbuilding and history! :D
I can't believe how far we are into this. Sure, we're not anywhere near the end, not to mention the Games, but we're over halfway done based on how I have everything laid out by a couple of chapters! Almost to fifty, wow, and with almost 700 reviews. Y'all are truly amazing!
This day's going to be full of a lot of fun. We get to see the last 7 tributes yet to have a training day feature, and then we have Private Session report and the Scores/reactions. Should be a whole lot of fun to write, and after that everything just keeps getting better as we near the Games! :D
Did you like these POVs? Anything that I need to work on? Anything you'd like to see in the future? And, just curious: who knows who sings both of the songs used in this chapter? :)
Trivia:
Takami (1 pt.) - What fruit does he eat when he comes out of his room?
Esquiria (1 pt.) - What color is her cocktail dress?
Until Next Time,
Tracee