A/N: And so the story continues! We're inching closer and closer to the Games, and while we are close, we still have a little bit of a way to go. Today, we're visiting Lord Parthenia, the District Twelve male tribute, and Calla Espenson, the District Six Mentor, on the fourth night of these Games. I hope you like seeing them! Enjoy!
P.S. one thing I wanted to say about scores. I wasn't necessarily scared to give any Outliers above a 7, I just felt that none of them were up to par with Tyberios and the others to get said scores. I feel like tributes like Thresh and Katniss are anomalies in my personal opinion, and my scoring system is even tougher than the series', as in the series Rue got a 7 just for running around and doing edible plants, which would only earn about a 5 in my SYOT. It's not impossible for an Outlier to get higher than 7; they could score a 12 if they're that good. It's just that only 1 out of every 200 Outliers scores above a 7, so 8s and up are just noted as Career scores most of the time, as that's what they are 99 percent of the time. Just something I wanted to note :)
P.P.S. 750 reviews and counting, you guys are truly glorious!
Also, I have an explanation for why Carmen isn't allowed to be helped with the birth at the bottom. I was gonna put it up here, but it's too much to have that all up here xD This A/N is getting wayy too long.
Trigger warnings: We have ALL the crap today. Profanity, recreational drug use, mentions of porn, almost sex, mentions of rape and abortion. It's not terrible necessarily? But if you're rather sensitive to the darker stuff, tread lightly and maybe skip through these. I can summarize if you wish.
Lord's song is Heaven in Hiding by Halsey, and Calla's song is We Die From It by Brenda Xu. (Sorry for all the Halsey, Hopeless Fountain Kingdom, her sophomore album, came out recently. I've been waiting forever for more work from her, so I'm currently addicted, and all that's really on my mind is Halsey XD)
And when you start to feel the rush
A crimson headache, aching blush
And you surrender to the touch, you'll know
I can put on a show, I can put on a show
Don't you see what you're finding?
This is Heaven in hiding, oh
And when you start to look at me, a physical fatality
And you surrender to the heat, you'll know
I can put on a show, I can put on a show
Don't you see what you're finding?
This is Heaven in hiding
This is Heaven in hiding, oh
Lord Parthenia, 16
District Twelve Male
I retreat to my room for a little after standing in the doorway of Carmen's bedroom for a half hour, just watching but trying not to watch as she groaned softly and the smallest contractions started. It was a little dismaying, and I didn't have any place to be crowding around her bed and getting in anyone's way, but I also felt like it would be disrespectful or something to just stay on the sofa and watch a hilarious Capitolite soap opera to drown out the noises. I've done my time, however, and now I'm alone in my room.
My hands grab onto the remote that will turn on my wall. Yes, my wall. Apparently, it's some sort of giant screen. I'm almost tempted to put on porn and see what their reaction would be. It would drown out the noises. That's a joke by the way. Even I'm not creepy enough to play a video of two people going at it while a woman's giving birth to her baby.
I flip through the scenery on the wall for a few minutes, quickly becoming bored. It's just a picture. There's nothing interesting about this. Sure, someone like that nerdy looking Eight girl is probably having the time of her life, dissecting the differences between the two rainforest scenes, but for someone like me, I need something more substantial to entertain myself. That gives me just the idea.
I walk out of my room and hang on the sides of the door frame, looking around. A skittish looking Avox is cleaning up the dining room table, and I call her over. She bounds over, quivering a little as she looks up at me. The poor, hideous little thing. They must've mutilated her face before they cut out her tongue, too; it's crisscrossed in scars, and her face looks barely human. I put that aside and ask her my question.
"Is there a way to communicate between floors? Like a way for me to contact another tribute?" The Avox hesitantly nods, and she walks away to go get a pen and a pad of paper to write down how to do so. "Also, Ms. Glasshine wants some wine and some bourbon to calm her nerves. Bring it to me, and I'll give it to her."
The Avox gives me a strange look, but she isn't the type to disobey orders even though she knows full well that Eris would never be drinking either wine or bourbon at this time, not to mention both. She's gone for a couple of minutes, and I poorly amuse myself by flipping through the rest of the scenes of the wall screen. When she's back, she waddling as she carries a large bottle of bourbon, a skinny bottle of red wine, and a folded note. I take them all from her with ease. I nestle the bottles of liquor in the pillows of my bed like beloved stuffed animals, and then I unfold the note and follow it's instructions.
Using the remote with the wall screen, I exit the scenery app and scroll through the rows upon rows of other apps until I find one discreetly named "Chattis". I select it, and it pops up. There's a choice to contact dozens of groups of people, and I scroll through until I find the one named "Tributes." I eagerly click on it, and it pops up with the option to contact any tribute. They're labeled with the district and gender of each tribute, as there aren't the same tributes every year obviously. I go down to the Eleven female, and then I click on it. The note says to type in whatever I want, and it'll show up on her wall.
DTwelveM: Come to my room. Carmen's giving birth, and everyone's distracted. I need someone to keep me company, baby.
I wait for a couple of minutes, and then I get a reply.
DElevenF: Lord how are you doing this?
DTwelveM: My Avox showed me how.
DElevenF: You sure it's alright?
DTwelveM: Of course. It's not like we're going to have sex or anything. We're just going to strategize!
DElevenF: Everyone up here's asleep. I'll slip out.
DTwelveM: See you in a little, baby.
I turn off the wall screen, smirking. I walk out and grab two unused glass flutes from the dining table. I stash the huge jug of bourbon under my sink; that's for when I get bored at a later date, and I can't get Soya down here. No, I'm treating the lady to her first experience of expensive red wine, and possibly her first experience with...other things. I won't fuck her. I can't bring myself to do that for some reason yet. But there's things besides fucking kids like us can try.
She arrives a couple of minutes later. She's out of her training uniform unlike myself, and is wearing a cute red sweater and a pair of ripped up jeans. She dressed up for the occasion, which is so damn cute, and the way she's blushing as she sits on the edge of my bed is alluring.
"What do you have planned for this evening, sir?" Soya asks, folding her legs and cocking her head at me. She looks so damn innocent, but I see the same desire burning underneath the gloss of her pretty eyes. Everything is pulling me to her, as if she's a siren and I'm a distressed sailor.
"I-I have wine," I answer, and I think that's the first time I've stuttered around a woman in a year or so. I pop of the cork and hand it to Soya. She giggles as I make a show out of pouring the wine into the flutes perched on my bedside table. I hand her one, and I take the other. She delicately takes a sip and spurts it all over the pristine white bedsheets of my bed, gagging and almost spilling her glass. I take it from her, laughing, and I set it down on the bedside table and she wipes everything off of her tongue, trying not to look too strange.
"Alcohol is disgusting," she hacks.
"Alcohol is beautiful," I say, and then I take a measured sip from my glass. "But not as beautiful as you."
"We're not strategizing, are we?" Soya quips, and I can see the glimmer in her eyes growing.
I set down my flute of wine and crawl across the bed to her. She doesn't object as I reach out and brush the tips of my fingers across her left cheek. She's breathing heavily, and before I can make my slow descent to her lips, she smashes her lips against mine and knocks me flat against the bed. Her fingers tear off my training shirt, and I find my fingers hooking around her sweater and tugging it off out of habit. She unclips her bra, and my mouth falls open and she tugs off my pants as I stare at her assets. I'm now just in my underwear, and she's kissing her way down my six pack towards my crotch area. Something inside of me shivers and I roll away.
Soya looks up at me, frightened. "Did I do something wrong?" She glances down and sees my obvious arousal, and she looks confused.
"Umm...the Avox said she didn't have condoms?"
"Oh," Soya mutters, looking disappointed. "Well, there's other stuff we can do."
I don't know if it's just my libido failing because I'm heading off to die sooner than later, or if it's really because the dirty scoundrel inside of me can't bear to deflower such a pure virgin, but I find myself content with just sitting on my bed and making out naked except for our underwear as the wall screen shows a scene of a sunrise over a beautiful vista. It's a better night than I ever pictured, and I find myself feeling cold when Soya's gone.
Of course. I've gone and made myself start to fall in love during a death match. I know I need to nip this in the bud, but I don't know if I can.
oh what if I am this way all my days
oh what if I am this way all of my days
oh mother it's getting a little scary
oh mother it's getting late
oh what is heart
oh I die from it
I die from it
we die from it
we die from it
we die from it
Calla Espenson, 31
District Six Mentor
The cigarette in my hand is a normal one. No weed wrapped up in it, no infusions of opioids or amphetamines. Just a normal, damn good cigarette. I take a long draw and watch as the smoke streams from my mouth and floats out across the balcony, fading into the blurry rainbow lights of the inner city's clubs and penthouses. There's something so poetic about smoking. The beauty of the burning embers at the end of the cigarette, the smoke released from a willing mouth, the destruction of a body so pure and so young through the voluntary action of breathing in from the end of a smoldering stick of rolled up tobacco. It's not smoking itself that draws people to it; the same can be said of any vice. No, the beauty and the artistry that blooms from such self destruction at the high point of youth is what leads to addiction, is what leads to dozens of youth piling up in Six's alleyways, cold and overdosed. Beauty is what leads to death.
Libby smokes next to me. We don't talk to each other, we don't look at each other, we don't even really notice each other as we puff clouds of grayish smoke out into the twilight. She's staring at the glittering lights and I'm looking at her for some reason now. My next exhalation of smoke floats around her face, and she blinks sluggishly, turning to me with half lidded eyes. Her lips start to quiver, and she's shaking as she draws the cigarette out of her mouth and breathes out a wobbly cloud of smog. She tries to suck more from the cigarette, but her hands shake too much and it drops to the ground. She keeps acting as if the cigarette is in her hands, taking measured inhales and exhales, moving her hand to and from her face as the tears brim in her eyes.
I poke her on the side of the face with a new cigarette. She turns to me with glazed over eyes. Not glazed over from drugs; I made sure that her room was clear of morphling, and I destroyed what was left of my small stash after she stole it from me. I only keep enough around to overdose intentionally if I get stuck in a dire situation. It fits my lifestyle better than a gun to the head. I've never tasted morphling before, but this girl somehow stole half of mine and got high off her ass after I had to literally drag her back to her room and lock the door after she tried to roll off of the balcony, talking about how she didn't want my drugs.
"What," she grunts, turning to me. Dr. Endell told me that a day after the intake, the head clears somewhat. It takes two weeks for everything to be gone, but by the end of the first week things should be closer to normal than jacked up. And he also told me that it isn't an entirely altered reality; just some details are tweaked, like names and appearances, and a few major events are tossed up and destroyed before being reformed with new events. That's what he said probably happened the night Libby tried to commit suicide and stole my morphling, as she seemed totally shocked to learn that she was on drugs.
I don't get attached to my tributes. It's a simple rule of thumb that any smart Mentor pledges their allegiance to the day before they meet their first pair of mentees. I've already been through enough shit in my life, and I already take too many things to drown stuff out. So I don't need to go through more shit and take more stuff just to try and futilely help a duo of kids who have next to no chance of surviving no matter what I do.
But with Libby, it's a little different for some reason. I can't explain it, but she reminds me of not myself, but of who I could have become. I was on a darker road before the Games. I...I rarely talk about what happened when I was 17. Actually, I've never talked about it. Not a soul left living knows about it. Because I refused to prostitute myself, my sole remaining relative, my mother, was murdered. I was fine with that. She was the one that forced me to have an abortion after I was raped by some random dude at a party in the slums. She was the one who paid the cheap street doctor who mutilated a baby in my body and left me infertile. She was the one who left me cold and empty, along with the rapist, but even then he was drunk off his ass, and so was I, and he thought I was his girlfriend, and I was just too shocked to fight him off. But I was on a dark road. Suicide and drug abuse were rampant in my head, and I remember almost buying morphling a couple of weeks before I got Reaped for the Ninth Hunger Games. Surprising that a death match could actually brighten one's life, but it did rejuvenate my belief in mine. I realized the fragility and sanctity of life, and I wanted to hold onto my own, even if I still do smoke and drink so much every night that I see stars.
I would have become a Libby if the Games hadn't, in a sense, saved me. I'm no fucking patriot, but they did save me. And I wonder if they can do the same for her. And being saved starts with having a Mentor that isn't a total distant bitch who tells you that you're worthless.
"Here's a new cigarette. I'm sorry about how I've been acting, I guess. It's not fair of me." I light the new cigarette off of mine and hand it to her.
"I have my own-" she begins, and then her eyes focus on her empty hand. "Well fuck," she groans, and then accepts the burning weed from my hand. She takes a long drag and then turns to me, more alert and more clear headed than I've seen her since she was Reaped.
"So I'm guessing you want to apologize to clear your mucky consciousness?"
"Libby, I...I want to help, alright? Don't bite the hand of the distant bitch who's finally trying to feed one of her tributes for once."
"So what's your advice?"
Well I guess I never thought about what I would actually say...
"Uh...give me a minute?" I murmur hesitantly.
"Such a loon," Libby sighs, shaking her head and standing. She stamps out her cigarette and heads for the doors. "Bitch can't even mentor after being a Mentor for thirteen years. Get back to me once you read the handbook, Calla." She slides open the doors and drifts inside, closing them behind her. That leaves me sitting outside in the buzzing summer heat, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of my mouth as I realize that I actually have no fucking clue about how to Mentor.
This is going to be interesting, to say the least. Didn't she say something about a handbook? I really hope that's real.
A/N: Wow. These two were a ton of fun to write. I like writing the more nitty gritty sides of characters, and romance is always a ton of fun to write. I hoped you liked this chapter, I'd have to say it's one of my favorites yet probably for some reason, just is really striking a chord with me.
Carmen explanation: The Capitol does not fix any injuries or such that occurred before the Games began. Like the boy with a limp in Katniss's Games; they didn't help him, since his injury was prior to the Games. Since a pregnancy is technically a medical condition, helping Carmen would be breaking that rule, since she got pregnant and gained her condition prior to the Games. That's my explanation, and it's that plus Snow being a sadistic ass.
We're soooo close to 200,000 words! The next update should break us into the third hundred thousand! :D
Thoughts about this chapter? Think Libby will recover enough by the Games? What's up with Lord and Soya?
Trivia:
Lord (1 pt) - What liquor does Lord order from the Avox and hide in the bathroom for a time when he gets bored?
Calla (1 pt) - Which drug does Calla keep around to overdose if she gets stuck in a bad situation?
Until Next Time,
Tracee