Chapter 56: Dormant Serpents
Day 10
TW: Discussions of past underage sexual abuse/rape, and mentions of eating issues (third section).
I've written a tl;dr in the author's notes for this chapter. If you are uncomfortable with reading this, or even feel like you might be, scroll down to the bottom and read through that first before deciding if you want to read this chapter. Mental health comes before fanfiction, always.
Today will be an easy day.
Seven tributes left. Three dead just yesterday. The Capitol and her Gamemakers would be more concerned with broadcasting the Final Eight (Seven?) interviews than making trouble for them, Venatrix was sure of it.
They needed the rest. Sorely.
Percy's sniffles had upgraded to a throaty cough overnight. Both of Venatrix's shoulders had seized up in pain so acute she barely got a wink of sleep; what she did manage was clouded with flashing teeth and howls. And Mariposa…
Everything that happened yesterday seemed to have rattled her to her core, as much as she tried to pretend it hadn't. Curled up against Venatrix's side, her dead stare said she hadn't gotten much sleep either. Firelight danced in her dark eyes, yet somehow they lacked warmth. She seemed to feel it, curling into Venatrix when she pulled the other girl closer and wrapped the blanket of cloaks more tightly around their entwined bodies.
But they were here. All of them.
With only four other tributes left in the arena, that mattered.
In the dim grey light, it was hard to tell how much day had passed. It felt like morning, but Venatrix hadn't seen the sun in far too long. The sun, the moon, the stars— all stolen by the swirling blanket of clouds, their masses taking ominous shapes every time she looked up. The grey haze only ever broke to display the dead in blinding arrays of color; she'd been surprised to see Grethel's face wreathed in deep blues and purples the previous night. And disappointed— she'd been hoping for Patience.
An easy day it may be, but that didn't mean sleeping through it would be smart. With a groan, Venatrix shifted to an upright position. The slowness of stiff muscles — and Mariposa's bodyweight — hindered her movement, but she managed to toss another handful of twigs into their little fire. Last night, Percy had been kind enough to go out hunting before the aurora. Using another long twig, Venatrix speared the leftovers of their rabbit and squirrel meat to reheat over the flames.
The scent was enough to fully rouse her allies, and they scooted closer in anticipation of the meal. They ate in silence, and both Venatrix and Mariposa seemed content to keep it that way once they finished.
Percy apparently disagreed. "So… Should we, um. Talk about what happened yesterday?" He glanced at Mariposa who shrugged.
"Sure." She cleared her throat at the hoarseness in her voice. "Congrats on the kills, Percy. You're a very efficient archer. I think — if I'm counting right — you're tied with Vee now. Five right?" Her casual laugh felt distinctly off, but she rambled away. "Guess I need to catch up, I'm only at four, I think. Yes, that's right. Though that last one… wasn't refined enough, it wasn't…"
"Mariposa," he said slowly. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Do you need—"
"I am fine."
Percy swallowed at the sharpness in her tone. He didn't press further, thank the 'Makers; the warning look Venatrix sent him was ultimately unnecessary. She laid a hand on the One girl's shoulder, her expression softening once Mariposa met her gaze. "Hey." This close to her, Venatrix could see the flecks of dried blood that still lingered in her tangle of darkened roots. "Why don't we take care of this?" She pinched a blonde lock between her fingers.
"What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing, it's just…" Venatrix leaned back, peering around her crown. "Your braids aren't really… braids anymore."
"Oh."
"A bit too cold for a swim unfortunately, otherwise I think we could all use a wash."
"Yeah, do not recommend," Percy interjected.
That got a weary laugh from the girls, and at Mariposa's nod of assent, Venatrix untied the leather strings holding the scraps of her braids together. With a light hand, she combed gently through the tangles, starting at the bottom. Though the One girl's hair was much thinner than hers, Venatrix still ended up with an array of shedded blonde strands strewn across her lap.
"You could make a sweater with that," Percy joked.
"I should add mine to the pile."
Mariposa made a face. "Ew."
"Come on, you guys don't want matching sweaters made of your own hair?"
"Okay, that might be a little much," Venatrix said with a grimace. Turning back to Mariposa's hair, she smoothly separated it into halves. With deft fingers, she sectioned out a smaller piece to begin the plait but paused. "Hm." Venatrix frowned at her bound arm. "I need more hands." She dropped the chunk of hair, shuffling around beneath her sweater in an attempt to free her hand.
Mariposa's direct tone almost stopped her in her tracks. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, uh…" Mariposa turned to look over her shoulder and Venatrix flashed an innocent smile, hoping to distract her from the half-unbound arm. "It needs to be rewrapped anyways."
The One girl narrowed her eyes. "You're not supposed to be moving it."
"This is important, okay?" At her disbelieving look, Venatrix discarded the bindings but kept the arm pinned close to her chest. "It's fine, I won't move it too much. Just— sit still." With a huff, Mariposa obeyed, and Venatrix attempted the task again, using her lame hand to hold the locks of hair and the other to maneuver them. She found herself stuck in an awkward squat in order to keep her hand close to her body as well as Mariposa's head; quickly, her muscles began to strain.
This is… harder than I thought, but Venatrix didn't admit it out loud. Instead, she beckoned Percy over to help, passing him locks of hair to hold, and instructing him when to give them back. When the first plait was done, she had him tie on the leather strap, taking a minute to shake out her arms. With the rhythm a little more familiar now, the second braid mercifully didn't take as long, and Venatrix exhaled in relief when they finished. "There you go. Good as new."
Mariposa scooted around to face them; the effort was worth it for the renewed warmth in her expression. "Thank you guys. I mean it."
With the hair cleared neatly from her brow and the red scrubbed from her face, she looked almost like the girl Venatrix had first met all those weeks ago, wrapped up in finery and barely-false confidence. With one hand — then the other, when her right flared in protest — Venatrix brushed her own hair back out of her eyes. "Of course, Posy. You look— you look pretty."
For a heartbeat, Venatrix thought she'd make some joke about how she'd rather be covered in blood again. But there was nothing funny about Mariposa's smile now.
"Has Dagmara spoken yet?"
Oberon's head turned at the sound of his old mentor's voice. Immediately, all three members of his prep team — his daughter's prep team? Whatever — scolded him for it. The pink one dabbed at something on his face with a cloth, and it was all he could do to sit there and let them. "I don't know," he said through gritted teeth as one of the Capitolites poked a makeup brush at the dark bruises under his eyes. "Why don't you ask her?"
His for-the-moment wife had spoken during their scuffle, sure, but how much effort had that taken?
Enough to break my arm, Oberon thought bitterly. Whether he was more mad about that or the rest of it, he didn't know, but the truth remained — Venatrix could've so easily died while they were fighting. They'd gotten lucky.
No, not luck. Venatrix did that all on her own.
All he'd managed to do was get himself fucked up on the outside this time. They hadn't bothered to try and hide the injury; the heavy cast now entrenched around his forearm only drew more curious stares, though at least it fit underneath the sleeve of his jacket. That's probably what they want. Maybe they could've healed it faster, but no. More drama and intrigue both inside the arena and out— it was what those damn Capitolite leeches thrived on. Like any of that really mattered.
Callithyia's sour expression lingered in the corner of his eye. "She's gonna have to start."
Oberon grunted in agreement. He didn't miss the glances tossed above his head between the eavesdropping prep team. As far as he knew, the news of their impending divorce hadn't yet broken into the public sphere. No doubt they were waiting for just the right moment. The sinking feeling in his gut told him he knew exactly when that would be.
Oberon shoved the thought away. He couldn't spare the energy to think about a life without both his wife and his eldest daughter.
(It wouldn't be much of a life, the darker thoughts insisted.)
Enough.
As gruff as Callithyia was — towards him; he'd seen how she coddled his children, and he couldn't say he didn't appreciate it — he was grateful to have his old mentor still looking out for him. She'd been just as furious about their fight, about his arm, even after Oberon filled her in on the ugly details of his own actions. Her advice hadn't exactly been news—
("Focus on your daughter, Oberon."
"I'm trying—")
But it helped to hear it from her. To have someone outside his head do the talking.
"I'll talk to her," Oberon said out loud. He didn't elaborate; for all he knew, their entire conversation would end up in the Jabber feeds or some news column in a half hour's time. He sighed. At that moment, the birds finally stepped back, setting down their brushes and paints and whatever other tools they'd used to make him look presentable.
And he did— barely a hint of the bruises Dagmara left across his cheekbone remained. Whatever they'd done managed to lessen the bags under his eyes too, the light kohl and shadow giving their once-dulled green some semblance of the vibrance they'd lost a year ago. If only the inside could keep up.
Nevertheless, Oberon thanked the ladies for their efforts. They disappeared, leaving him alone with Callithyia. She raised a brow. "Are you sure that's wise?"
He scoffed. "No."
"Then go."
"Right." Somewhere, most likely nearby, Dagmara was receiving similar beautifying treatment. After a second's thought, he took off after the prep team, catching up just in time to watch them disappear into the dressing room next door. Figures. Oberon barely noticed his own white shadow trailing behind as he pushed his way inside.
The first thing he noticed was her— the mane of curls, the stiffness in her back. The mirror ahead captured her face, done up as his was for the stage, yet her reflection avoided his gaze.
The next thing he noticed was the stylist. Her claws combed lightly through Dagmara's hair; as he watched, her hand reached for a device he belatedly recognized as a hair straightener.
"Hey." Four sets of designer-clothed shoulders flinched at his voice. "What's going on? Stefania, you know she hates it straightened."
The stylist whirled around to face him. "She said it was fine."
"Did she actually say it was fine, or did she not say it wasn't fine?"
Stefania's pleasant smile flickered.
"Thought so. If you don't mind, I'd like a minute with my wife, okay?" He hadn't signed any damn papers yet. "Thank you," he said sarcastically as the prep team filed out the door; the stylist and her dog, however, lingered.
"Oberon, there isn't time—"
"You'll have plenty of time now that you're not messing around with her hair, hm?" In the mirror, he thought he caught Dagmara's eyes roll.
Above the glass, a smooth screen displayed the first of the Final Eight — Seven, he reminded himself — interviews, a back-and-forth between Bethia Apheleot and one Gaius Perrington of District One. They'd have to wait for the interviewer to travel to Two before it would be their turn; Oberon assumed they'd be using the same setup as last year in order to get screentime with both parents and the kids at home. Just Iago in this case, came the painful reminder. Because that's such a great idea…
With the amount of fake smiles dancing between the pair on-screen, Oberon was glad to be on this side of the television. "She's always been one of my favorites to teach." The volume had been muted, but words ticked across the screen as they spoke.
"Why's that?"
"Look at her; beautiful poise, a showstopper with those swords— real natural skill, if you know what I mean. You don't find that just anywhere." The man, Oberon assumed he was a trainer of sorts, chuckled. "My little star student."
Oberon scoffed. "God that guy looks like an asshole, am I right?" He trailed off when it was clear Dagmara wasn't listening. The awkward attempt at small talk dropped.
Again, she wouldn't look at him. Forcibly, he buried the frustration that threatened to scorch the back of his throat, the anger. They were different now, her downcast eyes, brewing with something that might be guilt. Shame. Fixed on his arm, Oberon realized.
It would be so easy to bring it up. To start this battle afresh.
Instead, he lowered himself to her level, resting his free hand on her shoulder. Dagmara flinched, and belatedly, he realized that was the one he'd bruised. "Sorry." Not long ago he'd slammed her into the floor, and she drove her fist into his face, her axe to his arm— nevermind that she'd hurt him worse; he felt awful for hurting her at all. What are the chances she feels the same? Oberon dropped his hand to rest on the back of her chair. "Listen to me, please. You need to start talking again."
Dagmara's lips pressed together in a thin line, her eyes still caught on his arm.
"Dagmara, look at me, you can't do this right now." In his frustration, Oberon's voice was almost a growl. "Stop looking at it. Look at me instead, okay?" He reached out to turn her chin.
Quick as lightning, she grabbed his wrist; her glare met his before melting away. She let him go again.
Oberon exhaled. "Look at me. I am still very mad at you. I get to be mad, okay? You—" He cut himself off before it could all spill out. Maybe it was the pain medicine making him more agreeable; a good move on Callithyia's part. "It doesn't matter. This has to wait.
"But they—" with a heavy hand, Oberon pointed to the screen, the inevitable audience— "will not wait."
Something between a whisper and a croak slipped through her lips. "I know."
"They are going to put you on that stage, Dagmara, and expect you to talk, and you need to be able to handle that."
"I know."
"What do you need to snap out of this?"
"I don't know," she murmured. "Hit me?"
"No." That already didn't work. "Just— act like it's Trixie's life on the line here. Because it is. Do you understand?"
Her nose wrinkled at the patronizing note in his tone. "Yes."
"Great." Oberon smiled weakly. "I'll be there too, alright?" She nodded. "Now let's hope our menace of a son doesn't fuck this thing up even further."
"So." Mariposa broke the silence following the most recent inventory of their dwindling supplies. Percy had just returned from another brief hunt, with two more rabbits in tow and even redder cheeks. "Who do you think they'll be dragging onstage for you guys?"
The question, Venatrix figured, was mostly directed at Percy, given the fairly obvious nature of her answer.
"My brothers, probably," he said, settling down to begin skinning one of the rabbits. "Or my moms. …Maybe Lance too? My boyfriend," he reminded Mariposa. "Hopefully everyone if they can get them all in the same room together." He chuckled at the thought. It turned into a chest-wracking cough, and Venatrix grimaced. She wasn't surprised that he'd left out his father, though; Percy didn't deserve to be associated with that jackass, especially not on public television. "Probably not Theseus, though, since he's all the way out in Six." At Mariposa's curious head-tilt, he elaborated. "My oldest brother. He's a Peacekeeper out there; got assigned back when I was sixteen. Haven't seen him since."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
Percy smiled sadly. "We've exchanged letters and stuff, so it's not so bad. Would be nice to see him again though, y'know?"
Venatrix nodded, though it felt stiff. "I'm sure he's watching." Percy shot her a smile.
"Maybe they'll be able to squeeze it in, since there's one less tribute than usual?" Mariposa suggested feebly. Percy only shrugged, unwilling to press the matter. They all knew it was unlikely.
"I've got three at home already. Jason and Achilles — they're twins — and Hercules. Man, they'll be so excited to be on TV…" Venatrix caught his eye, and suddenly she remembered the fear he'd lived under for the months leading up to the Reaping; her father's threats, how she'd told her mother just before boarding the hovercraft. It better be enough.
She cleared her throat to dispel the flicker of nerves. "I know Iago will be. It's like he was made for it."
Percy chuffed. "Yeah, you guys were interviewed last year, right?"
"I think I remember seeing that, actually," Mariposa said. "How was that? Well, aside from…" She gestured vaguely.
"Honestly, I don't remember much," Venatrix admitted. She couldn't recall what questions she'd been asked, hadn't even remembered that she'd met the interviewer when she'd been up on stage nine days ago. Or was it ten..? Eleven? "I know they'd set it up somehow so my parents could still participate, even though they were in the Capitol at the time. They'll probably do something similar this year." The thought of her father made something tighten in her chest. What will he say? Something arrogant about how of course she'll win, it's what she's supposed to do, no doubt. But what's his excuse? For ignoring me like this? For leaving me to the Wolf?
Boxing away the thought, she sent a look over her shoulder, where a camera might catch it. "Iago, I swear to god, if you say something stupid or embarrassing from when we were little, I will kill you when I get home." Both Mariposa and Percy snorted at that. "What about you?" Venatrix turned to the One girl. "Anyone from back home? No, uh. No girlfriends, I hope..?"
As soon as she said it, Venatrix felt embarrassment flood her cheeks, and her friends burst into snickers. "No, it's just my mother. And Gaius, my tr— my, uh, instructor back home. From school. No need to worry." Mariposa fidgeted with the bandage at her bicep. "And I've already told Alecto I'd rather they interview him since, y'know. He was the one who actually supported me."
Venatrix's lips flickered in an awkward smile. She picked up on the not-so-subtle dig, though something about it nagged at her. The One girl had never spoken of any siblings, nor a father; the opposite in fact. 'Can't have daddy issues if you don't have a dad,' she'd said.
Melodic flute song cut through her musings, and three heads turned as one towards the entrance of the tent.
They watched in anticipation as snow-speckled winds guided the parcel to rest just beyond their small fire. Closest to the entrance, Percy scooted around the fire to snag it, setting aside his now-skinned rabbit. He tore eagerly into the gift, a pouch no bigger than his hand, and instantly, his eyes lit up. "Ohhh my god, guys…" Beaming from ear to ear, he pulled a fat marshmallow from the bag. "Everybody say 'thank you, Morwenna,' this is the greatest thing I've ever seen."
Venatrix and Mariposa chorused their thanks as he handed out the mallows, skewered through on skinny twigs for roasting. Tossing his mentor's note into the fire, Percy held his stick gingerly over the tongues of flame that sprouted around the curling paper, beginning the delicate and gentle process of broiling the marshmallow's exterior. Ever-impressed by his patience, Venatrix shoved hers directly into the fire. She held it there, letting the heat scorch the skin into a blackened, bubbling matter, before extracting the mallow and extinguishing the flame with a sharp breath.
Mariposa, on the other hand, popped the candy directly into her mouth. Immediately, she winced. "Oh, mo'herfuh-er."
"What is it?" Venatrix said with a frown.
Hand over her mouth, she forced the mouthful down before she spoke. "That is so sweet."
Percy raised his brows in amusement. "What, do you not have marshmallows in District One?"
"No, we do, I was just never allowed to have them." Greedily, she reached across Percy's lap, grabbing another from the bag and shoving it down the hatch. "Too muh' sugar," she said through a mouthful of mush; she gave her head a shake as it all rushed to her brain.
Venatrix huffed. "That's stupid."
"Eh, not as stupid as when my mom tried to put me on a no-carb diet back when I was fifteen."
A distinct memory of running trails, sweeping dizziness, and cold dirt on her cheek resurfaced, and Venatrix grimaced. If missing one meal had taken such a toll on her, she shuddered at the thought of making it a habit. "God, I can't imagine that went well."
"They forced me to stop after I kept passing out during tr—ah, school. 'Gym class.' Whatever. Gaius, he said—"
Abruptly, she cut herself off.
The silence began to stretch uncomfortably, broken only by the crackle of fire, Percy's quiet cough. Tongues of flame licked relentlessly at Mariposa's marshmallow, curdling and consuming until the barest shred of sticky goo remained on the twig. Even then, orange fingers curled around the stick itself, and Mariposa let it fall into the pit. She didn't continue.
"What did he say?" Venatrix pressed carefully.
"It's whatever. It doesn't matter."
"Are you su—"
"It doesn't matter, okay?"
Both Venatrix and Percy visibly recoiled at the unexpected harshness in her tone, the sharp glint in her eyes. It wasn't like her to lash out like this; not at them. It matters, the pit in Venatrix's stomach told her. "Mariposa. What did he tell you?"
Mariposa looked away. Perhaps she figured silence would accomplish what harshness couldn't.
Fat chance. "Posy—"
"I passed out in the middle of exams." Still, she couldn't meet their eyes, drawn instead to the glare of the fire. "He—he was so disappointed in me. He asked me why. Why I was trying to ruin myself." Mariposa wiped angrily at the glitter in her eyes; tears, Venatrix realized. "I was fifteen! Just a stupid little girl!" She spat the words like they'd been shouted at her before. "I didn't fucking know any better!"
Once again, silence sucked away her voice, consumed by the omnipresent wind outside their shelter.
Venatrix couldn't see the One girl's expression behind her hands, the palms pressed into her eyes. Her shoulders trembled ever-so-slightly. Unable to ignore the wrench in her heart, Venatrix reached out, intending to take her hand, but Mariposa flinched backwards.
She dropped her arm. It seemed all she could do was wait.
Eventually, Mariposa spoke. "…They were going to take away my scholarship."
Her voice had never sounded so small.
"Gaius, he. He helped me out." A silent hiccup shook her frame. "He put so much effort into my—my education, all of it, he said he just wanted to help… God, I don't even know why I'm crying, he helped me. I just had to—" She cut herself off again, pawing at her face. "Well. You already know my reputation. That fucking snake was always right about me, wasn't he?" A hysterical laugh tumbled from her lips, not unlike the one that filled the air when she'd beaten the Ten boy to death.
Venatrix almost preferred that one. "Mariposa." It felt like her voice was coming from outside her body. "What did he do to you?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes it does! You can't just let people take advantage—"
"Venatrix—"
"Oh, fuck off!" Mariposa spat. "You have no idea what it's like! You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to sit there and just let him take whatever he wanted—"
Again, her voice faltered. With a sharp breath, Mariposa visibly forced herself under control, her fingers tightening into fists, and Venatrix felt the knot in her stomach twist. "What the fuck does it matter now? I'm here, aren't I?"
In the dim light, Percy's face had taken on a greenish shade. "Mari…"
She shook her head violently. "It doesn't fucking matter, okay?"
"Yes, it does," Venatrix growled.
"Let it go already! He helped me out, and that's all that—"
"Helped you?! Mariposa, you just told us he fucking raped you!"
"It wasn't fucking like that! It wasn't!" Her voice climbed to a shriek, shoulders curled inwards in defensiveness. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him, okay? You're making him out to be this awful guy, and he's not, I just— what was I supposed to do? Come crawling back, like, 'sorry, Mom, I fucking failed, just like you said,' I-I couldn't— he-he knew my situation, he wanted— to help— but my scholarship… and Gaius, he-he-he didn't…"
Every word, every insistence, felt like a knife in Venatrix's chest. It twisted her heart, a new kind of nausea that had nothing to do with physical pain but far more potent, more insidious. The truth became clearer the louder Mariposa shouted, the more she so clearly wanted to ignore it, and fucking 'Makers, stop. Stop talking, please… The One girl's words dissipated into ragged breath and shaking shoulders. "Hey," Venatrix said. "Hey, look at me. Please…"
When she didn't, Venatrix reached out with a shaking hand, gently touching her cheek. She turned her head; 'Makers, those eyes, round and watering and cold and pleading, don't make me, they said, don't make me face this, I don't want to believe you, please don't—
"Mariposa." The sound of the girl's name burned her tongue. "Why are you defending him?"
She shook her head. "He-he's—"
"Why!?"
The question was as desperate as it was furious. Venatrix didn't mean it, but her voice spilled out in a shout because it didn't make sense. In an instant, her nausea seemed to combust into familiar red anger, almost comforting in its viciousness, but why would she defend him? I don't understand, why would she? "Why, Mariposa, it's not okay! You can't just—"
"Venatrix, stop—"
Mariposa rounded on her, batting Percy away. "He was the only one!" she spat. "The only one who ever fucking gave a shit! I'm not just some dumb whore, okay? He— he cared—" Another choking sob cut her off; she gasped for breath as more fat tears rolled down her cheeks. "He was there for me. He said— he said he cared about me. He wanted me to-to win for him."
Venatrix bit her tongue around the harsh response that wanted to cut the air.
But the One girl's stare had already drifted away again, lost amidst the howling abyss outside the tent. "H-he wanted me here," she insisted through the waver in her voice. "He wanted me here… and when I die, he'll just move on to the next dumb whore."
In the silence that followed, Venatrix again reached for her hand. "Posy…"
All at once, she shattered.
A scream tore from her throat. "God, stop calling me that!" she shouted, raw and vicious and loud enough to drown out Venatrix's blubbered apologies. "I fucking hate when he called me that!" Curled fingers clawed at her artificial blonde hair. Through clenched teeth, she screamed again, features twisted with something akin to the rage of a dying star.
It was enough for Venatrix to fear she'd tear herself to pieces.
Ignoring the blur in her own eyes, Venatrix reached into the smoldering fire that had engulfed her ragged girl, prying Mariposa's hands from her scalp. Whether the other girl registered it or not didn't seem to matter— wrung dry from the effort, she collapsed into Venatrix's lap, screams-turned-gasps-turned-sobs wracking her hunched frame. Tentatively, Venatrix wrapped her arm around the girl, pulling her closer. Mariposa all but melted into her, burying her face in the fabric of Venatrix's sweater as she sobbed. Shadow flickered, and Venatrix glanced up to see Percy drape his cloak over her form, fresh tears glinting in his own eyes; he didn't bother hiding them.
An ugly knot still writhed in the pit of Venatrix's stomach, fed by the current of anger at how cruelly Mariposa had been hurt, how thoroughly she'd been manipulated into believing otherwise. It sat heavy on her heart.
But for now, all Venatrix could do was be her tether.
Tl;dr: Mariposa asks Percy and Venatrix who will be interviewed for them. Percy talks about his brothers; Venatrix talks about her remaining family members, and how she was interviewed last year too. Mariposa says that she hopes they interview her instructor, Gaius, rather than her mother. The tributes receive a gift of marshmallows. Mariposa comments about how she's never had them before because she wasn't supposed to eat sweets. She dovetails off of that, mentioning how her mother put her on a no-carb diet when she was 15, which caused her to pass out multiple times during training, including during her exams. She expresses anger over this, saying the Academy was going to take away her scholarship for failing. Through an intense and upsetting conversation, Venatrix and Percy figure out that her trainer helped her keep the scholarship in exchange for forcing Mariposa to have sex with him. They are horrified by this, and even more so when Mariposa defends Gaius, saying he "helped her" when no one else bothered to. Mariposa grows more distressed as the conversation progresses, and she realizes that Gaius didn't actually care about her or her success, and that by ensuring she gets into the arena, he is effectively getting rid of the evidence of his actions. This realization takes its toll on Mariposa, and the scene ends with her breaking down and being comforted by Venatrix and Percy.
true vengeance 151 . weebly . com
A/N: This is the one chapter of this fic I've genuinely not been looking forward to, and honestly, probably the most difficult thing I have ever written. That being said, at this point I've probably written at least like five different versions of this dialogue. Back when I was still in the early writing/planning/Part I stages of this fic, I went back and forth with myself (and my spoiler buddy) about whether I even wanted to write about this at all. I didn't. I still don't. It makes me nauseous to write (even that one line Mari said just after score reveals made me ill to write). Honestly, before this started, I didn't ever really think I'd be writing about this kind of subject since it's so heavy.
But… one thing that I didn't want to do with this story (or this series as a whole from the get-go) was tone down the horror of this universe. Probably not a difficult thing to see just from the rest of the content of this fic. Writing blood and gore and violence is fun.. This is not. But the story just kept coming back to it. Like… sure, I could just not write it. But then I would simply not be writing This Story. I can't just cut it without losing a huge element of the story. Trust me, I've thought about this.
I just hope it's clear that this isn't a plot point I'm writing about lightly, or just shoving in for shock value, or whatever. I don't imagine it will be taken that way; this isn't a dramatic left turn or anything. The signs are there. But this was not easy for me to write by any means. Or plan. Or reread. Or even think about. Maybe this is what they mean when they say to write what makes you uncomfortable. Idk if this makes sense. I hope it does. Sorry for the long rant by the way; it's not that I feel required to give an explanation or anything, it's just. This has been sitting in my head for like two years now and I need to get it off my chest. Usually after I write something out like this, I can finally stop thinking about it, so hopefully that will be the case with this scene.
I do intend to post again this month, mostly because I don't want to leave on this note for so long, so there's that. See you then.
- Nell
