Here we are with the first official chapter. I hope this serves as a decent introduction to the original characters and my take on this twisted world they exist in.
A small note: my original character's last name is styled after the Roman mythology of the Parcae. I've heard different pronunciations of this name, but I intend for it to be read like Parcey. Think Percy, but with an -a in place of the -e. I hope this helps.
Finally, a special shoutout to the guest who left a review on the previous chapter: thank you for not only reading but also leaving such a touching comment. It can be a bit intimidating to explore an old fanfic, and your kind words really meant a lot.
"Perhaps his presence gave the evening its peculiar quality of oppressiveness."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
GOSSIP AND PLEASANTRIES
"We are so late."
"You need to hurry!"
Hearing the excitement in her friends' voices, Nell gently rolls her eyes as she messes about with her rather elaborate updo. "I'm trying! I don't understand why people do this every day. I feel ridiculous."
While Capitol citizens were rather well-known and identified by the flashy couture they wore, the genuine elite didn't feel the need to put on such a garish display. Not daily anyway. No, they preferred to look normal and stand out amongst the crowd in that way. Still, on some occasions, it was fun to go all out for the festivities, and The Victory Ball was certainly demanding of such a display.
While typically, the obnoxious fashion trends of the Capitol would have Nell sneering, on nights like tonight, there was fun to be had by her and her friends, so they embraced the absurd nature of it all—but just for tonight. Because not even ten minutes in, she was already questioning her decision to forgo her usual attire.
As the daughter of the Head Gamemaker, Cornelia Parcae never wanted for anything.
Whatever her heart desired was hers for the taking and, for the most part, without question.
After making it known that she was looking for a new team to help her create a memorable look for this years festivities, she hadn't been surprised when almost every relevant designer and styling team in the Capitol sought the honor of curating a look for her. She was well used to her money and status buying her way into rooms and allowing her to have the prime pick on most things.
Only the best for the Parcaes.
In this instance, in particular, she had chosen exceptionally well.
The long train of her white, satin dress made her feel the part of true Capitol royalty. But her updo, while stunning in appearance, was causing her major agitation. Her dark brown hair had been teased to the heavens and adorned with ornate flowers that had been genetically modified to look and move like butterflies. Butterflowers, or inadequately named Flowerflies, were going to be all the rage in the Capitol after tonight, and Nell was pleased that she would once again be viewed as fashion forward. If only she could make it through the night... As if on cue, the butterflowers begin to rustle amongst her hair, and it takes all the self-control she has to not begin swatting at them.
The feeling was unpleasant, to say the least, but that was the cost of beauty.
Looking over her friends, she can't help but grow envious that, while their outfits weren't nearly as impressive, they looked like less of a hassle.
Venus was in a shimmering silver dress that clung to her body like skin. In fact, if not for the cascading sparkles of the encrusted jewels, one might even suspect she was completely nude. The Opeias were not exactly known for their modest nature. Still, with a body like hers, no one would be complaining.
Sabina Cole had been dressed by her cousin, an up-and-coming designer who had little clientele as of yet. However, despite being done by somewhat of a novice, Sabina's design was impressive. The massive red tulle dress was draped from one shoulder across her body and cut off just above her knees. This, combined with the light gust of the evening wind, created the look of a beating heart.
"Red really suits you, Sab." Nell was never one to give compliments, which made the rare times she did all the more sincere.
Pleasantly surprised by this gesture, Sabina can almost feel the warming of her cheeks as she smiles. Truthfully, she had been nervous about tonight. None of the girls wore red, ever. That was Calista's color of choice, and no one wanted to go against her. But tonight's look had been done by Cinna, and it was special to have her loved one create something for her, so who was she to argue? She only hoped that since this would be such a public event, Calista would be kept in check. Surely she wouldn't want to draw the attention, or ire, of her grandfather by creating a scene...
As the three girls finally complete the trek up the massive stairs leading to the Presidential Palace, they breathe a collective sigh of relief as their senses are overtaken by the joyful atmosphere. The sound of music, laughter, and the smell of wonderful food brought each of them out of their heads; any previous worries they possessed now dissipated entirely, allowing them to fully immerse themselves in the party.
As an Avox passes by with a tray of drinks, each girl takes one and makes a small cheer before downing the contents quickly. They were clearly on a mission to get inebriated as quickly as possible.
"Red, Sab? Seriously?"
Having spotted the trio as they sauntered in late, Calista Snow had made quite the beeline for her friends. But not because she really cared to greet them, but rather because she was eager to call out the perceived slight against her. Red was her color. They all knew this.
Picking up on the hostile air that was brewing between them and knowing that the timid Sabina wouldn't stand up for herself, Nell does her best to alleviate the growing tension by stroking Calista's ego a bit. That tended to do the trick. "When someone looks as stunning as you, Cali, you can't be upset when they find inspiration in your beauty. Many here tonight do."
Out of everyone in the group, Calista and Nell had been friends the longest, but this didn't make them the closest. In fact, none of the girls were all that close, as that would require a vulnerability that none of them seemed to possess. Or, at least, it wasn't something they wished to share with one another. Still, for appearances sake, if nothing else, the four were the best of friends, and Calista and Nell were at the center of it all and seemed to understand each other best. Or perhaps they just saw through each other the best. At least, when they wanted to...
Pursing her lips for a moment, Calista's pale blue eyes looked more like ice as she stared at Nell critically. She was clearly debating whether or not she wanted to fan the flames of this potential argument further, but finally, with a dramatic and considerable sigh, she resigns to letting this one go. "Do any of you have an extra tab of Glöm? I'll get you back when I get my refill."
Desperate to make up with her, Sabina rushes to dig through her evening clutch in search of the recreational drug of choice at the Capitol. Fishing out the small blue pill, she presents it to Calista in the hopes that this gesture will be the first step in mending things between them.
Calista doesn't say a word of gratitude as she pops the pill in her mouth and chases it with the bubbly contents of her glass: "Your mother just told my mother that she suspects an engagement is soon to come for Melene and Seneca."
At the mention of her eldest sister, a small scowl works its way across Nell's sharp features. "Well, it's certainly about time. She's not getting any younger, and she's only been chasing after him since even before their time at the academy."
Her tone wasn't bitter, but she also didn't sound completely indifferent to this news, despite her best efforts.
Nell was competitive by nature. Perhaps that was the consequence of growing up in a family dominated by women who were constantly looking to outdo each other. Their mother, Onyx, treated her daughters as either a therapist, an extension of herself, or a threat. Additionally, from a young age, she trained her girls to view one another as competition. From the point in which they were old enough to realize the dynamic at play, they vied for her attention, acceptance, and love. None of which came easily or seemed to last for long, and in turn, a ruthless nature and deep need for acceptance from others was bred into each of them.
The Parcae sister's relationship was contentious at best, and while her friends knew this, they also found some humor in getting Nell worked up about it.
Having otherwise been bored of this interaction, once the subject changes to something more favorable—gossip—Venus seems to come to life as she shares her own knowledge of the subject: "I heard he had several options commissioned by the finest jewelers out of District One and is going to let her have her pick."
Considering Venus was in no way close to Seneca or the Crane family, for that matter, it was questionable how she managed to find such information, but Venus always seemed to know everything about everyone. The girls would often joke that she was the Capitol's secret keeper. However, while she did seem to know everyone's business, she also lacked loyalty. She wasn't the most trustworthy friend, but she kept them entertained nonetheless.
Nell could already imagine Melene's smug face as she was surrounded by the finest jewels available—hers for the picking. As the eldest, it only made sense that she would be the first to marry, but Nell had secretly been hoping she might beat her to the punch. Just another move in their ongoing game of chess.
How delicious it would be to watch her face crumble as she watched her baby sister, who, at this age, would practically be a child bride, get married before her.
"Good for her." With a shrug, Nell takes another sip of her drink.
If this were all true, it would be a good thing. After all, Melene was nearing thirty, and by Capitol standards, she was essentially a spinster. Besides, Seneca Crane wasn't exactly the most thrilling option. Laughing to herself, Nell looks around the large group of partygoers until she spots him. Once her eyes land on Seneca, she can't help but laugh some more. He looked decent enough, but mostly just plain. His dark hair was always perfectly groomed, and his outfits, while uninspired, were tidy and neat. He was a rule-follower and stuck to his schedule and plans meticulously. He was also kind—much too kind for the likes of Melene. She would surely eat him alive if just given the time. Still, despite his fine qualities, he was just that. Fine. Simple. Boring. Yes, that was just the type of husband Melene deserved. This thought causes her to laugh once more.
"What's so funny?" Sabina found genuine humor in watching Nell amuse herself. She also desperately wanted to be in on the joke. Unlike the other three girls, her family was not as well connected within the Capitol, and as such, she often struggled to keep up with her friends. This, however, didn't stop her from trying.
"Oh, nothing. It must be the Glöm setting in finally." With a hint of mischief in her eyes, she offers Sabina a small wink before directing her attention back to Calista. "I know he's usually offended by these sorts of displays, but did your brother decide to grace us all with his presence this evening?" Despite the hint of mocking sarcasm in her tone, Nell was thrilled at the prospect of seeing Caius. Or rather, him seeing her look as well as she did tonight.
At the mention of her twin, Calista rolls her eyes, clearly vexed at even the mention of his name. Like the Parcaes, the Snow family had their own dysfunction. Caius and Calista had grown up close, but over the years, their beliefs had begun to veer off in very separate directions, creating a rift between the once inseparable siblings.
Caius and Calista were truly fire and ice, and that just wouldn't do. Snow's were ice. They were cold, not only in appearance but also in nature, and staunch in their beliefs. Caius was warm, passionate, and proclaimed himself a freethinker. Calista thought and spoke in the way her family mandated. She never strayed from her grandfather's image or expectations. Caius, on the other hand, had his own opinions—many of them—and he didn't have any qualms about speaking on them. This greatly dissatisfied his grandfather and most other Capitol elite, making him not only a black sheep-type in his family but somewhat amongst the Capitol as well. Despite this, Nell had always had a special spot in her heart reserved just for him.
"Of course he is. I think he knew Grandfather was gearing up to finally ship his ass off to one of the districts because he's miraculously fallen in line." A small smirk pulls at the edge of Calista's bright red lips. "I was begging Grandfather to choose one of the lowly ones, like Eleven or Twelve. Serves him right. Maybe working as a Peacekeeper would quell that rebellious spirit once and for all." No one could deny that the young Snow's eyes lit up at the prospect, but after a moment, her face faltered, and she became indifferent once more. "But the two of them seem to have reached an understanding, and so here he shall remain. For now."
The idea of Caius being shipped off to one of the districts was almost too much for Nell to bear. That lovely face being hidden beneath some simple, uniformed helmet would be a true tragedy. Even by Capitol standards, he was beautiful, and those districts were not worthy of such beauty. No, he belonged here among the aristocracy. Here with her.
"I hear he's engaged to Virgilia Ravinstill."
Venus says this so nonchalantly that Nell can't help but hope she's misheard her. She chokes on her drink as she rushes to ask, "What? Where did you hear that?"
Sabina, perhaps the only one in the group ever paying enough attention to pick up on Nell's obvious affection for Calista's brother, tries to dispel the rumor: "Oh, Venus. That can't be true. I've never even seen them so much as speak to one another."
This was true. Nell can feel her heart beating against her chest and quickly picking up pace as she allows hope to restore her. Virgilia was a lot like Seneca Crane in that she was kind but plain-looking, and she was boring in the same way he was too. There was nothing passionate about her, and someone like that didn't belong with Caius. He would be bored, and she wouldn't understand his fire while also knowing how to keep it in check. No, she would just extinguish it completely with her utter monotony.
Doing her best to keep some composure, Nell looks to the only person who can confirm if there is any truth to this vile rumor.
Calista can feel all eyes on her, and she savors the moment of making them wait. After taking a long drink, she finishes the contents of her glass before shoving the empty cup into the hands of a passing, unsuspecting servant. "I have no idea where you heard that, Venus, but it is true. Grandfather handpicked her for him. I suppose he hopes that marrying a quiet girl like that will help him fall in line. But if you ask me..."
Despite still seeing Calista's lips move and knowing full well that the conversation is ongoing, Nell can no longer keep up. A high-pitched ringing in her ears is all she can hear. Her head becomes fuzzy and grows heavy as she wonders how nice it would feel to lie down now and never wake up again. This couldn't be true. It just couldn't.
"If you'll excuse me, I - my father wanted me to come find him once I arrived. I'll catch back up."
Hardly giving a chance for any of them to respond or notice her odd behavior, Nell turns away from her friends and disappears amongst the crowd.
Unlike for the many other partygoers, tonight wasn't about pleasure—at least not his own. Finnick was working, as he always was when in the Capitol. However, tonight he was double-booked. As a winner of one of the previous games, it was required for him to be in attendance at The Victory Ball. But tonight he had also been rented out by one of the elite attendees.
Tonight's buyer was Orion Sickle.
He was a banker here in the Capitol and important enough that appearances mattered greatly to him. He was married to a woman who clearly knew nothing of her husband's proclivity for young men, or worse, turned a blind eye to it. Still, Orion's internalized homophobia allowed for a relatively easy time for Finnick. He wanted him close but wouldn't be able to talk to him much, and he couldn't risk touching him at all, not with so many eyes always watching. The thrill of knowing Finnick was close but that he couldn't do anything was apparently enough to get the client off. At least for tonight. And either way, Finnick had to be here, so he didn't really mind.
He spent the evening indulging in the food and alcohol they offered him and making gracious small talk with the crowds of people he encountered. Every now and then, he'd catch the eye of one of his fellow victors, and they would exchange a mutual look of barely noticeable dread and contempt for this life and these people. Still, some amusement, regardless of how small, could be found in conversing with some of the attendees—more so at their own expense. He had learned to present a perfect mask when dealing with these types. He could smile, be charming, and say all the right things while internally ripping them apart in his own mind. How ridiculous they looked, their vapid conversations, and the fact that they seemed to truly believe he had any interest in them at all.
It did help a little bit, and it was fascinating to him how simple-minded some of them truly were.
But not all of them were so easily manipulated.
President Snow tended to see right through any charade Finnick tried. He was all-knowing and all-seeing.
Despite not having the faintest idea where Snow was tucked away at this party, Finnick could still feel his eyes on him at all times. After their first encounter, when he had won his games, that feeling had never fully gone away.
It was unsettling, but so were most things in this life, and with time, he was learning to find new ways to deal with it.
For tonight, he was taking a page out of Haymitch's playbook by finding comfort at the bottom of empty glasses. This had been doing the trick, but once he began thinking of Snow, new worries began to plague his mind, and the mixture of alcohol and anxiety was doing nothing beneficial for him.
He needed to find a quiet space to collect himself.
Perhaps he had overdone it a bit tonight. He was all too eager to drown away his sorrows, knowing he didn't need to worry about performing since he wouldn't be going home with anyone, but that was risky of him; if Snow saw him making a drunken fool of himself, there was sure to be swift and cruel punishment.
Fresh air would serve him well. Or, sober him up at least.
While tonight's festivities were not strictly indoors, most of the attendees opted to stay inside, where the atmosphere was far more lively. Finnick was craving just the opposite. He needed to be alone, with no one around to put on a mask for. He needed to feel the winter air against his cheeks, and he needed silence. He couldn't have even one more conversation where he was asked, 'How are you?', feigning that they actually care, while he in turn was forced to respond positively despite feeling anything but.
Suddenly, he recalls that the president has a well-maintained and vast rose garden back behind the palace. Finnick had only ever seen it once, and it was during the day, and still he worried about losing his way out. Now, the idea of getting lost in the floral maze seemed like his best option for an escape. Eyeing an exit of the main hall, directly across the room from where he was currently, he carefully maps out his plan, but as he begins to move in that direction, he hears someone call for him.
"Finnick Odair..."
He hated the way his name sounded coming from their lips. They made it sound like a dirty word.
Or perhaps he just felt dirty hearing them say it.
Still, he knew his role and knew how to play it well. Turning in the direction he heard his name called, a small grin becomes present as he rolls his shoulders back to make himself appear taller, broader, or maybe more confident. That is what they wanted from him. That is what was expected.
The group he was approaching was an array of mostly unknown faces, but his eyes quickly locked in on the one person he recognized instantly. He encountered many people in his time at the Capitol, and it was becoming more difficult to remember names as he became further acquainted with this world. Still, some were hard to forget. Even despite his best efforts.
"Mr. Parcae." Extending his hand, he offers the Head Gamemaker a handshake in greeting. He was firm enough to show he was assertive while still allowing the man to have a stronger grip. Another thing he had learned over time was to never emasculate the men he encountered unless they asked him to. Men respected—some even lusted over—his confidence, but he had to toe the line carefully so as not to offend. This wasn't something he had to worry about as much when it came to the women he dealt with, but they still presented their own challenges. And Finnick was in a constant state of juggling all of this to be able to present the best, and most desirable, version of himself to all that were watching.
Fascinated with Finnick, as most were, Erebus Parcae seems to almost savor the handshake before dropping his hands back to his side. "Please, surely we are on a first-name basis by now? Call me Erebus."
The small circle surrounding them begins to chortle amongst themselves, to which Finnick forces his own chuckle to stay part of the mix.
Erebus had been Head Gamemaker for almost two decades. This was an impressive feat, considering the esteemed position had previously been seen as a rather volatile line of work. Most that had come before him didn't stay in place for long—certainly not as long as he had. Finnick could maybe appreciate the dedication that had to be put forth to retain such a position if Erebus hadn't played a hand in almost killing him and killing hundreds upon hundreds of others.
The man was evil. As most with any sort of power in the Capitol were.
"Fantastic work on last year's arena, sir. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to be one of the tributes." The group once again laughs amongst themselves at this thought. As if they could possibly imagine that scenario for themselves. They quickly break off into separate conversations, happily recounting the details of the 69th Hunger Games. Unlike in prior years, the elements of the arena seized more victims than any tribute. The hot and dry desert landscape had been harsh and unforgiving. And watching the tributes slowly and painfully die off as they succumbed to dehydration and sun poisoning at the hands of no one but the Gamemakers had been especially poignant to Finnick. Still, he had a part to play, and so here he was speaking of their deaths in jest.
"I don't think I would have fared well. Not that any of them particularly did."
After he says it, Finnick subtly chews on the inside of his cheek. The sharp pain of tearing at the already raw tissue felt like a small act of self atonement for saying such a thing. They fought as best they could; he knew this. The odds were never in their favor. Not when sick bastards like the one in front of him were in control and doing all they could to break people like him.
"Well, not everyone can put on as impressive a performance as you." Erebus slightly tips his head down to show his admiration, almost as a way of bowing.
At the reminder of his own games, Finnick refrains from recoiling. He didn't like to think about his win or the things he had done to achieve it. These people would never understand the shame that came with surviving. They couldn't. To do so would require viewing the victors and tributes as humans. And to them, they weren't. To them, Finnick and the others were entertainment at best and, at their core, a commodity to the Capitol.
"You flatter me, sir." Reciprocating the slight bow Erebus gave him, Finnick sports a tight grin as he continues to gnaw on his cheek until the familiar metallic taste of his own blood reaches his tongue.
As an Avox approaches the group with a tray full of drinks, Erebus takes two, saving one for himself before offering the second to Finnick.
Once he reaches forward to take the glass, Erebus pulls it back towards his chest—almost teasingly, or perhaps it was a taunt serving as a stark reminder of who was in control here. "Fancy yourself a drink, Finnick?" The amused flicker behind his dark eyes told the full story. He was making a point.
You don't drink, unless I allow it.
You're alive because I allowed it.
"Yes, please." Finnick keeps his charismatic front despite feeling intense frustration towards the fact he was having to essentially plead for the drink. He's relieved when Erebus doesn't push him to beg but instead relents fairly quickly.
Perhaps he knew all too well that one shouldn't play with their food.
And Finnick knew well enough to know that was what he was to people like this.
Somehow, this encounter had made him feel dirtier than any other, and he didn't even have to strip his clothes or experience unwanted kisses and touching. Swallowing the shame, he offers the group a cheer before chugging the contents of his drink. The acid from the liquid burned the open sores in his mouth, but the ache it caused felt fair.