Andrasteia Locket, 17, District One Female
July 3rd, 19 ADD, 5:31pm - The night before Reaping Day
She wondered, not for the first time, if her parents had ever felt as unsure of themselves as she had at any point in their lives. Because by all means, Andrasteia Locket was every bit her parents' daughter in every way - confident, sure of herself, and ambitious without coming across as arrogant just as her father was known for, and wary, reserved, and possessing somewhat of a perfectionist streak much like her mother. And that combination of traits left little room for self-doubt (or indeed, any sort of self criticism) on the best of days.
This was not the best of days. This was the evening of the third day in July, long known across all of Panem as the fabled last night that every family in the nation could know for certain that their family would remain whole without divine intervention. And for most families, that simple fact of life would continue uninterrupted.
For two, that decision was left up to fate. Or, as luck would have it in District One, to the whims of Platinum Royale, the girl who had been plucked from a wealthy family into infamy when she, like Leonidas Feldspar eight years prior, reinvented the way that the Games were played forever.
And this year it would be her family, with Andrasteia herself as their representative, who would be given the privilege - no, the honor, her father had stressed - of stepping up to the plate and saving a poor little girl doomed to die in the Bloodbath from her fate.
Not that she could tell, really, just by looking at them. For all accounts and purposes, her mother and father alike looked altogether unbothered by the prospect that tomorrow, their daughter would be stepping up to Panem's biggest stage an entire year before schedule. And okay, sure, it wasn't unheard of for tributes from One to be selected before they turned eighteen - hell, Platinum had wrapped half the arena and Capitol alike around her pinky finger when she was only seventeen - but last year, Silk and Kingsley alike had both been eighteen. Strong and smart and beautiful and powerful and both capable of reaching the final three and ultimately beating a boy bigger and stronger than either of them.
Not to say that Andrasteia wasn't as capable as either of them. She knew for a fact that neither of them could match her skill with ranged weapons or knives, and neither of them on their own had prepared for whatever arena awaited them as thoroughly as she had. (Such were, after all, the benefits of being told a month in advance that your chances of participating in the Hunger Games had risen up to one hundred percent). But she knew for a fact that as good as she was at seventeen, she'd be even better at eighteen. And surely there was someone else that was eighteen who was capable this year, right?
And here she was, stuck in the midst of an internal crisis right smack dab in the middle of dinner, all the while her parents calmly chewed on roast beef and mashed potatoes. Because of course. Hadn't she wanted this, after all? Hadn't she practically ran home all the way from the academy with the winds of raw excitement at her back the day she'd found out the news? Hadn't this been what she'd trained for - no, excelled at - for literal years? Why would she have any second thoughts now? Why would she doubt herself, so close to the cusp of what was to be her greatest moment?
Failure wasn't found in Locket blood. And she'd be damned if she was going to be the first to experience it.
"Is the food okay, dear?" She finds herself snapped out of her conundrum by the worried tone of her father's voice. Even that is misplaced - not towards the fact that, you know, she was quite literally about to have the weight of a half dozen different reputations shoved on her shoulders, but for worry that the house chef had perhaps, finally, after fourteen pristine years of service, had somehow fucked up. As if that was why she was distracted. Instead of, well, you know.
"No, it's fine, papa," she replied, taking a bite of the meat to prove her point. Like every meal served in the grandiose Locket kitchen, it was impeccably prepared - yet just like the last two bites she'd taken, it tasted little different from ash on her tongue.
Her father hummed his agreement, and inwardly, Andrasteia sighed. She loved her father, truly, dearly, but emotional vulnerability had never been something she'd allowed herself, not with either of her parents. And if they wouldn't broach the topic themselves, well…
She managed half the meal before the churning of her stomach threatened to become a problem. And if she caught her parents exchanging a look at her leaving the table with anything other than a clean plate, well, it made her feel better to pretend that she hadn't.
At least, that's what she told herself as she threw on a jacket and stepped out into the warm summer night.
Lumine Paradisus, 17, District One Male
July 3rd, 19 ADD, 6:13pm - The night before Reaping Day
It'd been satisfying, sitting on the secret for as long as he had despite the pure agony that at times had come with the territory. In truth, it was a wonder that said secret had not left the walls of the academy in the past month precisely because he was known for his deservedly high opinion of himself and using anything that he possibly could in order to add to his sense of superiority. But as much as he was a creature of pride, Lumine Paradisus was even more so a creature of spite - and oh, had he built up quite the reserve over the last several years.
It all started within the walls of the academy proper actually, his grand idea. Right in the very room he now stood in, on the very mat where Platinum kept both the weapons and a seemingly infinite supply of training dummies imported either straight from the Capitol or from District Eight, depending on who was asked. Then, it had been daytime on a cloudless sky, with sunbeams streaming in through the windows and dozens of other warm bodies milling around and the din of raised voices and clashing weapons accompanying the quiet ping of the metaphorical lightbulb that flashed over his head. Then, he'd just challenged and fought and lost a duel to Kingsley Summit, the boy who would soon challenge and fight in and lose the Games, not because of any sort of camaraderie or connection with the boy (such things, Lumine had found, tended to be beneath him) but because of a theory.
Tonight, as the rays of the dying sun light up the virtually empty academy building in a brilliant shade of orange, he impales the dummy set up to be a pale imitation of Kingsley clean through with his favored spear. The weapon gets stuck in the mix of fake skin and wooden bones and pale fluff, but he finds that a fair price to pay.
Just like taking that blow to his pride back then was a fair price to pay for determining that, yes, with a year's worth of dedication and hard work, he too could stand where Kingsley had. The boy had beaten him, yes, but not decisively, not as badly as an eighteen year old tribute might have been expected to beat a sixteen year old upstart days before he was to volunteer for the Games. Lumine had worn that bruise on his cheekbone with pride every time Kingsley struck down another tribute in the Games, and when he ended up placing second fiddle to Silk at the end, well, he had a stash of concealer just for occasions like that when vanity struck him out of nowhere.
Regardless, he'd had his answer. Yes, in a couple of years' time, he could not only meet Kingsley's level of prowess, he could exceed it, too. Then he'd go into the Games himself, do what he had not, and then there'd be no more of his parents treating Adonis like the favored child, no more of his elder brother standing where he rightfully should.
Adonis…
The second dummy had nothing in common with his elder brother, yet that did little to pierce the red veil that enveloped Lumine's vision at the mere thought of him. Adonis Paradisus, older by two years, the primary inheritor of their parents' fortune when they passed from this world in four years or forty, and the better brother, as he never failed to rub it in Lumine's face. Adonis Paradisus, who squandered his youth at weekend parties and getting up to Capitol knows what with his friends during the week. Adonis Paradisus, who by all accounts brought shame to his family, even more so than their useless outcast of a sister, yet through birthright was locked into an inheritance he didn't deserve.
But Lumine had a plan. Yes, Adonis was older, but what use would his age be when he was so thoroughly eclipsed by Lumine himself? What use was a stupid older brother compared to an esteemed victor of the Hunger Games themselves?
So he had told his parents. So he had made the bet, thrown down the gauntlet, asked what he needed to do to earn the inheritance for himself. And, as predicted, his parents had chuckled, their response almost mocking when it came out as "Oh, I don't know, win the Hunger Games or something like that, dear."
Oh, if only they knew…
He doesn't quite notice when the haze recedes, only that when he once again becomes aware of the aching of his shoulders and the heaving of his lungs, what had once been a practice dummy had been rendered into little more than a shapeless pile of fluff and junk, so thoroughly had he ripped and torn and sliced it to shreds.
And that would be where he differed from Kingsley Summit. Because at the end of it all, Kingsley had died saving Silk from their shared enemy, prioritizing friendship and comradery over the steel necessary to kill. But him?
Well, all he'd have to do was imagine his useless, hedonistic, pathetic excuse for an older brother, and his instincts would do the rest.
Oh, I just can't wait to see the looks on their faces tomorrow, flashed across his mind, the thought bringing a grin to his face by the time he'd squared up with the third dummy.
He hadn't saved up seventeen years worth of spite for nothing, after all.
Silk Margrave, Victor of the Eighteenth Annual Hunger Games
July 4th, 19 ADD, 9:57am - Three minutes before Reaping Day
It's surreal, being back here a year later. One year ago to the day, to the hour, almost to the minute, she'd stepped forward at Platinum's behest, claimed her destiny with her own two hands, and for one brief moment before it had all gone to shit, felt powerful.
That'd been when it had all gone downhill. That'd been when she'd stepped up to replace a fourteen year old girl who'd found herself unlucky enough to be selected by the reaping gods and lucky enough to live in a place that didn't matter, taking note how the girl was shivering despite it being one of the hottest summers in recent memory. That'd when Kingsley had stepped up to stand by her side in an unprecedented move, she'd remembered the way they'd clasped hands (the same way they had after every sparring match for the five years they'd been friends) and displayed their strength to the rest of the district with beaming smiles.
She'd felt invincible then. And the irony did not escape her that right here, right now, with Petalia in all of her hot pink glory fishing around the girl's reaping bowl, she felt like she was but mere seconds away from shattering into a million pieces.
("I can't do this," she'd told Platinum twenty minutes earlier. Even now, years of conditioning to never show weakness in front of One's first victor was hard to break, but she was learning.
And Platinum had given her one of her rare smiles - the gentle, closed-lip ones that actually held a modicum of warmth behind them instead of the blinding megawatt grins she gave the Capitol - and had reached out to grasp her hand. "I know," she'd replied, "but do not worry. I'll be right there with you.")
And true to her word, she was. Her media face was fully applied, right down to the steely smirk and cocked eyebrow, yet one of her perfectly manicured hands was grasped in Silk's own, a calming force neutralizing the shivers of nerves.
The irony that she was right in the exact same spot as the girl she'd saved was likewise not lost on her. Only this time, her fear was something different entirely. Though similar, she'd learned that, outside of the Games, fear of death and fear of failure were two different beasts of war to be tamed entirely.
In the Games? Well, when one led directly into the other, then what was she supposed to do but face it head on and endure it?
It could be worse, she thought as Petalia's long pink nails finally plucked a slip out of the bowl. It could always, always be worse.
The girl stepping forward today to replace the unfortunate Reaped - whose name of "Duchess D'Orsay!" prompted a kind-faced seventeen year old who had clearly never worked a day in her life, let alone set foot in the academy to immediately burst into tears - could have been Flair, who'd been a year below Silk when she'd been chosen and had clung to her in an adorable sort of half-friendship, half-hero worship sort of way. Or it could have been Audrey, whose entire family depended on her getting a respectable career in her adult life and had once had to be talked out of volunteering in desperation. Or it even could have been Belladonna, who was second only to Kingsley in taking the role of Silk's best friend and had a mean streak with a spear that rivaled her own. All were eighteen currently, standing in the back row of the lines upon lines of kids in the square. All could have been named as this year's tribute.
It was not any of them - not Flair, not Audrey, not even Belladonna - who stepped up to take the girl's spot. Rather, it was another girl from the seventeen year olds section, and though Silk was anything but surprised when Andrasteia Locket stepped up to the stage dressed in an opulent white short-sleeved dress, her face set in determination, it was a relief nonetheless. For despite all of her obvious strengths and having been in possession of the knowledge that she was to be selected, Silk could honestly, genuinely say that she knew next to nothing about her.
(None of her friends would be dying this year, at least.)
It was only when Andrasteia reached the twelve year olds' section and changed her demeanor entirely that Silk remembered that oh yeah, we're in the Games now, so focused had she been on keeping her limbs still. And as the first of her tributes stepped onto the stage and pivoted into a neat, practiced curtsy towards the audience, Silk took a deep breath and leaned forward.
You survived the Hunger Games for fuck's sake, she thought. Why are you afraid of mentoring - helping - two near-strangers?
As Petalia shifted her attention towards the boys' bowl, Silk gently removed her hand from Platinum's and leaned forward, her old instincts of reading her opponents taking over as she sized up Andrasteia from afar, mind racing as she tried to recall what she could about the girl's file. Though she was tall and well-muscled for her age, Andrasteia's lithe form had nevertheless steered her into a preference of ranged weapons over close combat over the years, while her relentless dedication to perfecting her skills had gotten to the point that she was widely considered one of the academy's best throwing knife specialists, first of her year, and then in general.
Yet the strangest part, at least to Silk, was that despite all of her skill, the girl was still months away from turning eighteen, and therefore had an entire year's worth of growth to add to her potential. And if the whispers, murmurs, and even the handful of eye rolls she saw amongst the various trainees scattered throughout the lines were anything to go by, Silk knew she was far from the only one that recognized the absurdity of it all.
And why shouldn't she? While it was not the first time a seventeen year old had been selected to stand for One in the Games, and while no one would say out loud that sending a seventeen year old into the Games was a bad idea when Platinum herself had been that age at her victory, the last seventeen year old who had gone in had had the unfortunate luck of being selected for the Fifteenth alongside District Seven's Elwood Flume. So already, Andrasteia was starting a step behind where Silk herself had - Silk, after all, hadn't needed to win the confidence of her own people.
But if Andrasteia had potential, if perhaps a bit prematurely, to be a Games-winning tribute, it was Platinum's other selection that had truly stumped Silk. Not because Lumine Paradisus was any less worthy than Andrasteia on paper - the boy was handsome, charming, came from a rich lineage, and was particularly deadly with both the sword and spear to boot - but because of the rumors that he was completely unhinged.
And the first thing that was drilled into the minds of the lucky few that represented One year after year, Platinum had mentioned? Get the crowd to adore you instead of fear you, because nobody wants a rabid beast as their victor at the end of the day.
And sure, the boy could act the part. He was all smiles and waves and swagger in his Reaping best (a black button down shirt accentuated by a white blazer, white slacks, and white shoes that matched the gelled back mop of hair on his head) as he stepped forward to replace a sniveling twelve year old named "Versace Alcazar!", looking much more sure of himself than the friendly, enthusiastic approach that Andrasteia had chosen. Yet Silk's apprehension wasn't born from nothing - she remembered all too well when the boy had challenged Kingsley to a duel for the honor of being tribute mere days before the Reapings last year, and remembered with even greater clarity the barely disguised tantrum that he had thrown in the aftermath. Add to that reports of unprovoked brutality and general anger issues all around, and, well…
She couldn't claim to understand Platinum's motivations. Yet something about this - the way that Andrasteia's and Lumine's handshake was a touch on the stiff side, the way the former's smile didn't quite reach her eyes when Petalia excitedly introduced them to the cameras, the way the latter kept looking out into the crowd with a glint in his eye - just felt off.
And one thing Silk hadn't lost in the aftermath of her Games was the ability to trust her own instincts.
Yet throughout it all, Platinum's demeanor never wavered, her expression never leaving one of serene, almost smug contentment, as if this was some piece of a greater scheme that was going entirely to plan.
And despite her misgivings, Platinum had gotten Silk and Kingsley as far as she could before the Games were outside of her hands. Despite her hesitations, Platinum had proven herself trustworthy time and time again. So, really, who was Silk to question her methods?
Yet as she followed her mentor-turned-coworker to where a dozen flashing cameras were waiting, as she plastered on her winningest smile to truly celebrate her first stint as a mentor, her instincts quietly but firmly repeated the same warning.
Something here isn't as it seems.
It's been a hot minute, hasn't it? Between a terribly busy yet ultimately successful NaNoWriMo in November and a hectic af holiday work month over the last few weeks, writing here has been slower than I would have liked - but at long last, I'm pleased to say: Welcome back to An Illusion of Instability! I'm so happy to be back in the swing of things, and with any luck that'll be the longest period of time between chapters that we'll see right through to the very end! And as always, major thanks to Kkstar47 for submitting Andrasteia and to DariDark for submitting Lumine!
We pop back in for the first of our twelve reapings with two of our tributes, and what better way to start at the beginning with dear old District One? Both tributes bring a sense of unease to what has recently been a relatively established pattern in District One, with the Careers coming in confident, dazzling, and in the case of the year prior, with an unbreakable bond geared towards unity. Yet have the defending champions grown spoiled with their recent victory over the skepticism of two tributes that might not be up to standards? Will Andrasteia's doubts prove justified, or will Lumine's unwavering, if slightly misguided, confidence win the day? And on the victor's side of things, is Silk finding her nerves heightening her misgivings at this seemingly less-than-stellar reaping, or are the cracks in "Platinum's Grand Plan™" something more? All of that and more will be revealed - in due time, of course.
Hope y'all enjoyed the revealing of the first two members of our cast (and the first two characters I've ever written that weren't created by me myself, fun fact), and I'll see y'all soon with District Two!
