"Echoes"
A/N: And we're back. I sat down to try and stockpile a few characters I felt comfortable with while I waited for TTS submissions, and then all of a sudden I only have like 2 intros left, so I guess I might as well post these if they're done.
As an aside, there were two tributes (Lane and Beth) that were withdrawn, so I've shuffled some things around. Arkus has been made non-POV and moved to D9, and Ciera has moved to D11. That means that D9F and D6M are technically open, but I'm leaning towards just making them non-POV as well to simplify things. If you're interested in one of the spots though, feel free to PM me to chat about it.
Kind of short intros? But yeah, these two got tons of stuff planned out for the pre-games so I don't feel too bad. Plus, I think both of these two work best without revealing every little detail of their life and who they were first.
Warning: Marquise's POV skirts along some dark places in relation to homophobia and some other things I won't get into here. Basically just know that D11 in my verse is a very sexist, homophobic, racist place, which has heavy parallels to the pre-civil war South.
~But I believe there's more to life than all my problems, maybe there's still hope for me to start again
Get my feet back on the ground
Pull my head out of the clouds
I think it's time for me to figure me out~
Ciera Ocussia, 18
1 Week ago.
Ciera laid in her bed and watched the ceiling fan as it spun in circles above her. Cracked red eyes struggled to keep up as they followed the blades. Her head pounded in what she couldn't decide was ecstasy or pain. Sweat covered her skin. On the other side of the room, Saffron danced in place as he pulled his pants back up. His mouth was moving, but Ciera couldn't hear a thing.
Ciera.
Ciera.
"Ciera!" Her eyes snapped off of the rotating blades and landed on the man standing across the room, looking at her in bemusement. "Like I was saying, your parents are giving me the week off since the reaping is coming up, so I won't be stopping by to tutor you until next Monday."
"Okay," she said.
Saffron took a step forward, eyeing her up. "Are you alright?"
Ciera jumped up onto her feet, a smile crossing her lips as she walked over to him, a bounce in her step. "Of course. I am tired though." She winked, running a hand down his chest. "You're a fantastic teacher you know, I hope you have more lessons prepared for our next meeting."
The conversation carried on a bit longer, Ciera only halfway paying attention as she flirted him out the door. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy his company, she did. But between her headache, the strain that her entire body felt, and the overwhelming sense of fatigue that took over her, she wasn't sure how long she could keep up a smile.
She was Ciera Ocussia though, the golden girl, the prodigy, the perfect everything. That image, the way that everyone saw her and treated her as, felt less and less real every day. The previous night she hardly slept, tripping too hard off of something that Ivy had given her to even close her eyes. She spent the night with Narcissa instead, the two of them trading conversations that were all just a haze now, spending it with people whose faces were a blur. Ciera wasn't even entirely sure how she had gotten home.
But sure enough someone had come knocking on her door early in the morning while she laid awake in bed, calling her to get ready. She showered, brushed her teeth, scrubbed at her eyes and threw on makeup, but none of it was enough to make her appear like she was before.
Her parents hadn't said anything at breakfast. They liked to pretend that nothing was changing, that Ciera was still the perfect child she was a year ago. It felt like that facade they were holding up was weaker every day, though. Her mother doted on her less, her father didn't brag as often or as loudly about her to guests, Tanya and Briony were almost vengeful of the praise she still did receive. Only Delilah, still little enough to be oblivious to the world around her, saw her the same as before, idolizing her big sister who was the shining star of the Ocussia family.
Ciera wasn't sure when she fell asleep, or how long she was out before the knock on her door shook her awake. She forced the fatigue out of her voice as she called out a greeting, and told her mother she'd be with the family for dinner as soon as she finished reading the chapter. That bought her enough time to stretch the bags out of her eyes. With the cracks in her eyes gone, and the sweat dried up and covered with the scent of perfume, Ciera allowed herself to feel impressed at how presentable she looked.
By the time she made her way downstairs the rest of her family was already seated. She smiled and quietly took her seat, not allowing her shoulders to slump as she looked at her father and waited for approval.
"Let us eat." He nodded, and Ciera's sisters immediately dug into their food. Ciera took her time dishing herself up, resisting the urge to wolf the food down. "So Ciera, how were your lessons today?"
"They were adequate," she replied calmly. "Saffron and I focused on biology and chemistry." She supposed that wasn't quite a lie.
"Anything in particular?" Her mother asked.
"Saffron introduced me to Endocrinology and in my private studies I read up on the thermodynamic properties of chemical systems. I also continued my work on multivariable calculus, vector-valued functions specifically."
"Seems like you were quite productive," her father said. "Glad to hear somebody around this house is showing some intelligence and dedication to their work."
Ciera glowed at the compliment, and paid no mind to the way Briony and Tanya sunk into their seats beside her. Those pieces of praise were what Ciera thrived on, the assurance that despite everything else she was still the golden child she was expected to be. That she was smart, and pretty, and everything else that she was supposed to be.
"Did you hear about Korus?" Tanya blurted out, the thirteen-year-old finding a burst of confidence as she spoke up.
"Tanya, you will speak when spoken to," their father hissed.
"He got accepted into university in District Three," she continued, staring directly at Ciera now. "That's where you wanted to go, wasn't it? Oh well, maybe you'll get in next year instead. Hopefully there's nobody else that's also smarter than you."
"That is enough insolence out of you, young lady!" Their father erupted, slamming his fist on the table. "I should have half a mind to smack some obedience into you, but I will not let your childish outbursts ruin our family dinner. Poppy," he turned to his wife, and motioned to her. "Go deal with her."
She nodded her head, quickly climbing from her chair and bustling over to Tanya. She offered little resistance as she was dragged away by the arm, seeming almost satisfied with herself.
"You too, Briony, go to your room," he said dismissively.
"But-"
"I did not ask for your opinion on the matter," he said firmly. "Now go, you could use the extra time to study, not that it will do you any good."
Briony left at that, fists clenched as she pushed in her chair and swiftly left the dining room. Ciera kept a neutral expression, not allowing the dig to show. Korus going away to a different district could almost be a good thing. It meant no more running into him and being reminded of what she had lost. Of what he had taken away and crushed.
Three years of her life with him, and she thought that meant something. She thought it meant there were more years to come, that he was something special, and that she was something special to him. It turned out that second part wasn't true, and it was up to Ciera to pick up the pieces of her life that had been shattered while he continued on unfazed. To him she was just one of many, nothing special, nothing unique. And now he was taking the university spot that she had spent so much time dreaming of. The one she had confided in him about, her dream escape from District Eleven and out into a larger, intellectual world. And he had taken that too. And here she still was. An object to be paraded around, a golden statue of a daughter, the shining gem of the Ocussia family, left trapped in her box when she wasn't in use.
"I certainly hope that news doesn't trouble you," her father said, testing the waters as he looked Ciera over.
She had walked the dance before, though, and the words came as easy as the smile that crossed her lips. "Of course not. I'm happy for Korus, he's made his family proud. My place however is here, exactly where you want me to be."
Her father smiled at that, satisfied with himself as he leaned back into his chair. "Good, you always have been good at knowing your place."
Ciera smiled, but for once, the compliment rang hollow. The praise didn't satisfy her, filling the void that nothing else was able to fill. Instead it echoed inside, only emptying her even further than she had been before, so that she felt less like a human, and more like a shell. An empty shell, hollow on the inside, and painted to perfection on the outside so that every little detail matched exactly what they desired.
You always have been good at knowing your place.
She was empty on the inside. Maybe that was why the words kept on echoing.
Marquise Clifton, 18
1 week ago.
All life has value.
Those words, that simple philosophy, was all that Marquise Clifton had. The sun was hot, beating down on him. Sweat soaked his dark hair while the heat baked his face. Narrow eyes squinted ahead as he trudged through the empty street. His feet burned as they pressed against the gravel with every step. Blood trickled down the back of his neck. When he brought a hand up to the back of his head, it came back soaked a deep red.
Still he pressed forward. Because there was no other way. No other direction to go, no path or purpose other than the one he was on now, aimlessly wandering down a road he had never before traveled down.
Settling down in one place never did him any favors. It certainly didn't help the people around him. The ones he loved or the ones he had hated, all of them had suffered.
He stopped for a moment, kneeling down to the ground and pulling out his waterskin. It was nearly empty, and he drained the rest of it, left unsatisfied as he strapped it back against his waist. Coins jingled loosely in his pouch as he stood back up.
While wandering aimlessly was nothing new for Marquise, it was rare he could call himself lost in the way he was at that moment. A dozen miles back was a town that he couldn't return to, and ahead lay nothing but open road, he wasn't quite sure it even led anywhere at all. He hoped that wasn't the case. Dying of dehydration in the middle of nowhere, left to rot in the scorching summer sun, would be a waste.
His feet ached though, and his throat burned, so he decided to take a new course of action. A lone tree stood in the barren deadlands, and he found refuge under its shade. He sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and focused his thoughts.
The lingering regret and self-loathing from his previous life were always the first emotions to come. Those had become easy to push aside, like swatting at a mosquito. Automatic. Fresher scars proved to be more difficult.
The emotions that came with that most recent scar weren't entirely negative. Above everything else, it was love that tugged at his heart. And from that stemmed regret and pain and hurt, but it all came from that same source. Omére dominated his thoughts. The feeling of his hands brushing through his hair, gentle prickles against his fingers with every stroke. His easy smile. His lips, pressed against his own, their own secret sin. The comfort that came as the world slipped away, wrapped in his grasp. The pain when the world came back into view. The rope around his neck as he slipped to the edge of death before being released. Watching the whip crack against that smooth skin he had lost himself in just moments before. The sting of rocks and insults being hurled his way. His feet burning against the pavement as he kept his head down and walked on. Away from the life he thought he had found.
It was his own fault, he was sure of that. He hadn't balanced his karma, not even close to it. He wondered sometimes how many lives were on his hands. Counting was impossible, and did him no good, but still he sometimes tried. Aledia was always the first. Célésie and Lurita, for all their faults, came right after. It was too long ago to remember how many had died from his hands, if any, but the thirty-seven that were strung up by Peacekeepers always sounded out in his thoughts. He wondered how many of their families had suffered or perished. How long of a chain of suffering had he created? If a good deed could grow like a wildflower, a bad one grew like a weed. Strangling, suffocating, and stubborn, finding room to flourish wherever ignored.
Eventually he was able to contain his thoughts, and with great effort, pushed them aside. No counting, no recalling, no questioning. His mind was empty, a desirable state of calm taking Marquise over as he focused on his breathing, the way his blood flowed from his heart and out to his finger tips with every beat.
He lost track of time, seconds phasing into minutes and those minutes accumulating into hours. The sun rose higher into the sky, and then began its descent. A soft breeze started up and sent dirt kicking up into the air. A wagon kicked up dust, hooves galloping against the dry ground as the wheels spun with ferocity.
Marquise's eyes flickered open, his gaze fluttering to the approaching wagon. It was small, led by two horses that were being hurried along at a breakneck pace. In the carriage a young man had hold of the reigns, a fearful look carved into his face. Next to him a boy a few years his junior bit fiercely on a piece of leather, while bloodied hands gripped onto his shoulder.
Marquise rose to his feet as the wagon screeched to a halt in front of him, a cloud of dirt coating him in dust.
The man began speaking before Marquise could see him, his voice rapid and panicked. "Please, sir, you have to help us."
Marquise said nothing. He reached into his pouch and began digging around, plucking out a few items and placing them into his open palm.
"Some bandits," the younger boy panted, spitting the piece of leather out of mouth. He winced with every syllable. "They jumped me and my brother here, told us to hand over everything we had. We did what they asked, then they shot at us anyways."
The older boy spat. "Damn roads aren't safe travelling anymore. You'd do best to turn around, friend."
"I'll make do," Marquise said in a calming voice. He reached up and placed a handful of plants into the older boy's hands. "This will quiet the pain. Use this to staunch the flow of blood. A few miles ahead is a town, they have a healer there by the name of Esther." He reached into his sac and pulled out a few golden coins. "This should be enough to acquire her services."
The young man stared at the coins in disbelief.
"The bandits were how far along the road?" Marquise asked.
"A couple miles," he said hesitantly. He quickly shoved the coins into his pocket and began administering the herbs to his brother. "We have room in the carriage if you need a ride into town, friend. Like I said, these roads aren't safe to travel no more, certainly not by foot."
"You're kind to offer, but I'm headed in the opposite direction." Marquise reached his hand up, and grasped the young man by the forearm. "Safe journeys, friend."
"Safe journeys." The man nodded.
He kicked the horses into action, and the wagon continued down the road, another wave of dust clouding the road. Marquise turned away from the quickly retreating strangers, and followed the trail.
It took him about half an hour to stumble across what he immediately recognized as the bandits. There were four of them, an older man with dark features and farmhand's clothes, two similarly dressed younger men he figured to be his sons, and a woman with light skin and blonde hair who covered her face with a bandana. A pistol was holstered by the woman's side, the two younger men hid daggers in their boots, and the older man had a thin sword strapped across his back.
Tall wheat fields surrounded the road to either side, making for an easy escape or ambush. The man with the sword stepped forward to meet Marquise as he approached. The two younger men seemed to not even notice him, while the woman kept her hand on the holster of her pistol, blue eyes piercing him.
"Well hello there," the man said with a front of amiability. The suspicion was hardly veiled. "Don't see many travelling down this road by foot. It's dangerous country, young man."
"So I've heard," he replied calmly. "You wouldn't happen to have any water, would you? I've run out."
The man looked at him for a long moment in thoughtful debate. Finally, he nodded. "Samyr," he yelled. "Fetch us some water!"
One of the boys grumbled as he began to dig around in a bag for a flask. While he did that, the older man continued looking Marquise over with suspicion and curiosity.
"Whatcha got there?" He asked, motioning to the pouch strapped to Marquise's side.
He shrugged, and unclipped the pouch, tossing it to the man. "A few herbs, some coins. You're welcome to whatever you need."
The man eyed him suspiciously. "And what if I were to say I need it all?"
There was a long pause. "Well then," Marquise finally said. "I suppose I would need to find a new pouch. I am quite fond of that one, though."
The man almost smiled at that. He yanked the water flask from Samyr when he came, and then quickly shooed him away. "You seem awfully fine parting with your belongings," he said casually. He tossed the flask over to Marquise, who caught it deftly.
Marquise took a few healthy gulps, stopping himself short of finishing the entire flask. He wiped the water away from his mouth with his sleeve and shrugged. "If you have more need of something than I do, I see no reason to hold onto it."
"That's an interesting philosophy," the man said, flipping through the pouch and pulling the coins out.
"Aikido."
"Is that it?" He said, only half-paying attention as his focus shifted to the gold.
"Yes," Marquise said. "It's rather straightforward, really. It's the simple belief that all life, no matter how small or large, has value."
"Really?" The man wasn't listening at all anymore.
Marquise nodded his head, and switched his glance to the woman with the pistol. "Yes," he said, his voice low. "Which is why it worries me when I see bandits running around, shooting a boy and leaving him for dead."
The man dropped the pouch, his eyes flickering up and meeting Marquise's hard gaze. "What was that?" He asked, any pretenses of amiability dropped.
"You need to leave," Marquise said. "Head down this road and don't turn back, and don't be bothering any of the folk in the town up ahead."
The man whistled, and the woman drew her pistol, training it on Marquise. The man smiled unkindly. "I'm sorry, I consider you reassess your situation."
Marquise didn't so much as blink, his voice eerily calm as he spoke. "I consider you to do the same. I just ran into a few boys travelling in a wagon to that town a few miles down the road there. And when word gets out that Marquise Clifton headed on foot down a road with a trigger-happy gang of bandits, it won't be long before people come following after." That was a bluff, but the Clifton name carried enough weight to loosen the woman's grip on her pistol, and bring a damper on the man's confidence.
He paused to take another swig of water, and no interjection was offered, so Marquise continued. "And when they find me shot dead, left in the middle of the road, well, it won't take them very long to find the four plantation runaways who did it. Trust me, wheat fields won't do you a lick of good once the dogs come out." That was another bluff, there was nothing to get their scent, and the heat was far too brutal for search dogs to be out for long. They certainly wouldn't be wasted on four measly bandits. The plantation runaway bit landed with its intended effect, however, and so Marquise pressed on.
"If you're lucky, they'll only string you up. From what I've seen though, the Peacekeepers have been in a sour mood, the crowds too. They'll like to make a show of it." That was no lie, the burn marks on his neck and the dry blood on the back of his head a testament to that. "Alternatively, we can all leave here happy. I'll walk on down this road, and you lot will take my coins and go buy yourself a plot of land from that town just down the road where you won't have to bother a soul."
The silence was deafening, the man waging an internal war while Marquise stood calmly, already sure of the outcome. The man scooped the pouch up from the ground and stuffed it into his pocket. He whistled in a low pitch, and waved his arm, brushing by Marquise. The two boys quickly followed after with their heads held low. The woman stared him down as she walked by, her hand not moving from the holster. Something about her was familiar, he realized as she came close. But before he could pinpoint it she was past him, and all he could see was her long blonde hair coated in dirt.
Before they were out of earshot, Marquise called out to them. "If I hear any more stories of bandits around here, try to remember, I never forget a face."
The man was the only one to turn around, and he spat in Marquise's direction. "Anything else I can help you with?" He asked dryly.
"One more thing, actually." He glanced up the long, straight road that seemed to lead to nowhere at all. "What's the next town up ahead on this road?"
The man blew air from his nose and spat again. "Ain't no town. It's the District Center."
The man turned and walked away at that, leaving Marquise with no room for any further questions. Marquise looked ahead, and stopped to think for a moment. A minute passed. He took one last swig of water, then slid the flask onto his belt, and continued down the dirt road.
A/N: And there's D11! Thank you so much to VR and Micah for Ciera and Marquise. Both of them are incredibly complex characters who are really interesting to write, because their emotional arc actually started about a year or two before the Games. It made writing these intros an interesting challenge, and has me excited to reveal more about them as we go along. I also had fun getting to write a Samurai/Western sort of genre fusion thing in the middle of a Hunger Games story, so thank you Micah for that XD
And of course a big thank you to everyone who's stuck with me, and this story, through everything. Y'all are real ones.
Trivia(1 point): Since we've now reached our halfway point, I've put up a poll on my profile that I'd love for you all to go vote on! I'll just go by honor system and assume everyone who's reviewing has done this, so free point for y'all XD
Trivia(1 point): Another honor code/freebie to those of you who have been kind enough to stick around despite the delay. Just go and skim through the names and faceclaims on the blog, or re-read your reviews or something to remind yourself about the tributes that have already been introduced.