IX. Lifting The Gauze

My patience running thinner on this melting clock
Cerebrum jailed with thoughts, most would consider rot
To think you're any different from an animal
A creature sick as you should be put down

Ripley Sabyn. 17.
District Five Tribute.

If only she could've hidden behind Melchior for longer.

Ripley's District partner is certainly far too exuberant for their tastes, but at least they're a nice distraction - or rather they were a nice distraction. Since stepping onto the train, Ripley was latched onto Melchior's side like a puppy on a leash. She didn't say much to them, no, she simply listened as they recounted story after story of everything they'd gotten up to back in Five and even chuckled a bit at his misplaced arrogance.

Ripley never expected that Melchior would want to ally with them, but they did make nice company. That, and people tended to stare at her less when she was in the company of somebody with yellow, blue, and purple markings on their back that resembled bolts of lighting. Melchior liked the attention, too, going up to the reporters and telling them the story about how they were struck by lightning yet lived. Ripley doesn't really believe him, but they sure do take a long enough time when they tell that story, to the point where nobody ever even expressed slight interest in her.

She knew, though, that her time fading away into Melchior's shadow would soon come to a close. That end came when their escort led them into a barren hallway where two Capitolites were waiting for them.

"Can you two please stand side-by-side?" one of them, a petite lady with her hair in a bubblegum pink bob, asks. "Quickly, too. I don't have all day."

Hesitantly, Ripley steps out of Melchior's shadow and maneuvers herself to their left. He looks her in the eye and smirks before exclaiming to the Capitolite, "We're done!"

(They wish they were confident enough to talk to somebody in authority so comfortably.)

The other Capitolite, a tall, slender man with a wispy mustache dressed in all blue, steps forwards. "Which one do you want, Steph?"

The girl points to Melchior. "Can I take him?"

With a silent scoff, the man walks over to Ripley. She trembles as he looks her up and down, flinches when he touches her hair and sighs in relief when he steps away from her.

"I want the boy too," he finally says, also pointing to Melchior.

(How sad is it that even in a place where she's been sent because she's unwanted, there's still somebody other than Ripley that people prefer? How sad is it that she doesn't even care? The less people notice her, the less likely they are to kill her. The more people focus on her flamboyant and eccentric District partner, the higher Ripley's chances are that she'll be able to get away somehow.)

The female Capitolite rolls her eyes and then looks Ripley up and down. She sighs. "I guess I can work with this."

"Great!" the man enthuses. He runs behind Melchior and ushers them into another room, leaving Ripley alone with the lady who hardly wanted them.

But, the least Ripley can do is still be polite to her. Maybe she'll give them a chance if they're polite to her. Or maybe, she's just in a bad mood today, and it's not Ripley's fault that she already seems to hate them without even speaking a word. There's still a chance that Ripley Sabyn's capable of being loved, right? There's got to be a chance that she's at least worthy of being more than an afterthought.

"Hi, I'm R-Ripley," they stammer, extending their hand. "It's n-nice to meet you."

The lady pushes their hand away and sneers. "I'm Stephania. I'll be your stylist while you're here."

"T-thank you," Ripley replies. They can't help but wonder what Stephania and the man dressed in blue have planned for her and Melchior. She's always found Capitol fashion somewhat obnoxious and excessive, so hopefully whatever they dress her in will be more subtle. That's a silly thing for her to hope, but there's not much else for them to ask for.

Stephania grabs them by the wrist and leads them into a stark white room littered with various trays of makeup and other items meant to prepare them for the parade. Ripley doesn't particularly want to think about what they'll do when they're expected to stand tall on the chariot next to Melchior. Hopefully he'll, yet again, be able to hog the attention so that she can go unnoticed.

"Sit," the stylist instructs, aggressively pointing at a white stool. "It's hard for me to talk to you when I'm constantly craning my neck upwards."

"I'm s-sorry," Ripley says as they sit against the leather cushions.

Stephania tilts her head to the side and asks, "So, are you really that tall?"

"What do you m-mean?" They answer. Typically, people just make impressed comments at their height. They never seem confused by it. "Y-yes. B-both of my parents are r-really t-tall…."

"It's just odd for a girl to be so… tall and lanky." She puts her hand on Ripley's thigh and leans forwards. "Are you sure that you're actually a girl? Or, are you pretending, and is that why you're here?"

Ripley yawns. What an odd question to ask…

Technically speaking, she's not entirely a girl, but she sure was born as one. And her body is, undeniably, a female body, so the stylist's question confuses her. Furthermore, one of her mothers, Eko, was assigned male at birth, but Ripley still considers her a real woman and has for her entire life.

"Yes, yes! I'm sure that I'm a girl." Ripley shouts. "I don't feel comfortable proving it; I'm sorry. But please, trust me."

"What is wrong with you?" The stylist asks, her hands over her ears to block out the sound of Ripley's scream. "I was just trying to ask you a question. There was no need for you to yell at me. What is your problem?"

"I'm s-sorry," Ripley repeats for what has to be the billionth time that day. Tears dwell in their eyes, so they lift their hand to their face to swat them away.

Not missing a beat, Stephania continues what appears to be a full-scale critique of Ripley's body.

"Your hips are a bit thin."

"Why are your knees covered in bruises?"

"You have got to be one of the palest people I've ever seen."

After a while, Ripley begins to block it out. They pretend they're back home in their mothers' office, getting inspected for their annual check-up. They treated her with love and care, the same way Ripley treated their patients back when their mothers would let them help with physicals. She never wanted anybody under her wing to feel uncomfortable, much less completely violated. No, Ripley knows that doctor's offices can be scary, and if she were able to become a doctor of her own, she'd work to fix that stereotype. There doesn't have to be anything scary about getting checked out to ensure you're as healthy as possible.

"And now for your hair."

Ripley's jolted out of her imagination when Stephania pulls at her curls. They've always been Ripley's favorite thing about themself, so hopefully she doesn't see anything wrong with them. Not only do they frame her face well, but they also provide an excellent place for them to hide when things get overwhelming. Maybe they should be brushing their hair more than they do, but she still considers her hair one of her most valuable assets.

(As if there's anything about them that can be considered "valuable.")

"W-what about m-my hair," Ripley inquires, though they don't really want to know what Stephania's thinking.

"It's too much," the stylist says with disgust. "Not only that, but Spartacus and I prepared matching costumes for you and your partner to wear on the chariots, and you'd look like a ridiculous sheep with that mop of yours."

"Oh…" They wish so badly that her mind would be able to wander off again, but they're devastatingly stuck in this present moment now. "M-maybe you can cut it? Just a little?"

Stephania plasters on a delighted smile, one so forced even Ripley can tell she's being mocked. "Oh, sweetie! That's the first substantial thing you've said all day. That's exactly what I was thinking, just a bit more drastic."

She turns around and rummages in the drawer until she finds a white hair razor. Before Ripley can ask what it's for, Stephania tells them, "I was thinking we'd shave it all off. So you and the boy can match one another completely."

"Please don't," Ripley tries to plead, but the words aren't able to leave their lips. Instead, she nods solemnly, something Stephania surely interprets as them agreeing.

They run their hands through their hair for what she fears, no knows, will be the last time. Her breathing quickens, and there's nothing she can do to calm it.

No, there's nothing Ripley can do to change their life's unfortunate newfound trajectory. She's forced to be complicit here the same way she was at home, only now she's the one suffering instead of her mothers' patients. Karma sure does work in odd ways, doesn't it?

(This is what they deserve. Deep down inside, Ripley Sabyn knows she deserves to watch as her curls fall to the ground, her only remaining safety blanket being ripped out of her hands. They deserve to suffer after allowing so many others to go through much worse. A shaved head is nothing compared to poison running through somebody's veins.)

Stephania holds a mirror to their face and asks them, "What do you think?"

Ripley examines their new look, horrified by the shape of her head now being fully exposed. It's almost like the skin's already rotted off her bones, and she's lying six feet under. It's almost like she's looking straight at her barren skull.

It's almost like she's already dead.

"It looks g-great," they tell Stephania, not wanting to be rude even after all of this. "I agree. It's m-much b-better."

Now more than ever, Ripley Sabyn's become a prisoner trapped in their own skin. Now more than ever, she wants to free herself from the binds that restrict her, that are all her fault. Now more than ever, she doesn't have a way out.

Elio Basanti. 15.
District Ten Male.

He's still not too sure why he's here.

Well, Elio knows objectively that yes, he's here because enough people in his District decided that he should be, but he doesn't understand what led to them voting him in.

Okay, he knows it was his adventure freeing the cow-cows that led him here because people literally told him in the hallways, "I'm voting you into the Quell for freeing my family's farm!" But, Elio still doesn't understand how freeing the poor, helpless, little cow-cows is grounds for him to be sent here.

Even though one of Elio's classmates told him that everyone was upset 'cause he got rid of their food supply, he failed to get it. It's not like they're being held up at gunpoint to only eat meat from cow-cows. Other food exists for a reason!

He's especially confused as to why he's here with Levine. It'd be one thing if Elio were in a room full of other people who just goofed up one night, but if his District partner's any indicator of what everybody else is like, he's the odd one out, as usual. Levine's really not the best person in the world. In fact, she's on track to becoming one of Elio's least favorite people that he knows, just based on how she gloats 'bout how happy she was when she rounded up the ponies of people in Ten and hung them from trees.

Elio doesn't even want to imagine how horrified those poor little ponies were when Levine went and maimed them. If he was uncomfortable hearing the story, they must've felt even worse when they lived through it.

He doesn't think he'll ever understand how him freeing the cow-cows suddenly puts him on the same level as somebody who's repeatedly wreaked havoc on the land. If the world really does think he's a bad person, Elio would prefer to live somewhere else.

(Not that he can anymore. When he got off the train and was first ushered into the streets of the Capitol, Elio's head began to spin. At first, he thought it was reverse motion sickness from being on the train for so long, but he quickly realized it was all the bright colors and flashing lights instead. Immediately, he wished he was back home in Ten roaming wild. His poor ol' brain's been throbbing in his skull ever since.)

Elio can't stop itchin' and twitchin' as he makes his way towards the chariot pitch. His stylist, a mighty nice lady, named Zephonia, did a not-so-nice thing and made Elio wear a tight-fitting spandex suit covered shoulder to toe in bright white feathers. From the outside, the costume ain't so bad. With his hair slicked up straight and the makeup on his face, Elio looks just like a chickie-chicken! It'd be even better if Elio couldn't feel the quills from the feathers scratching him up real good.

He passes by Districts Eleven and Twelve's chariots and offers their Tributes a friendly lil' wave. The girl from Twelve, who's dressed in what seems to be a trash bag, is friendly enough; she smiles back. But, the boy, who's dressed the same, just laughs. Because Elio's fairly close to him, he can hear him whisper, "It's a chicken," all menacingly. Of course, Elio's a chickie-chicken! What else would he be?

(A cow-cow. If only Elio could be a cow-cow in the Cowpitol since he couldn't take any of his family's cow-cows with him. By the way, that's not for lack of trying.)

The girl from Eleven seems fairly reserved, clearly not loving that she's draped in rotting apples and bananas. She doesn't even acknowledge Elio's greeting, 'cause she's too busy with her head in the clouds, dreaming some silly little dream. Elio wishes the boy didn't acknowledge him. When he waves, the boy shrieks at him, "Get away from me, you frick-frackin' pansy!"

Except, frick-frackin' wasn't really what he said, and the whole things a bit ironic 'cause he's covered in rotting eggplants and oranges. Fruits are way closer to pansies than chickie-chickens.

Finally, Elio makes his way to Ten's chariot, which is decorated to look like a spiffy ol' farmhouse. It's a bright and beautiful shade of red, but it isn't nearly as radiantly stunning as the two ponies standing up front.

Elio knows that he's supposed to climb onto the chariot and stand on the bay of hale next to Levine, who's currently staring him down, but he can't help but want to give the ponies a little pat on the head. Elio doesn't have much experience with ponies, but if he closes his eyes, he can pretend the black and white splotches on their fur mean they're secretly cow-cows.

"Elio!" His District partner hisses as he saunters on closer to the lil' pretty ponies. "Get your booty-butt back here!"

"It'll just be a second, Lev," Elio chirps like he's one of the birdies that fly in the sky and not a measly chickie-chicken.

As he gets all up close and personal with the first pony, Elio can't help but notice that it seems pretty sad and even a bit mad. He wonders, did Levine give it a nasty, nasty poking? She kind of really hates ponies, after all. Or maybe, the pony is just all sad because it sure doesn't like being in captivity and forced to pull kids around year after year.

He runs his fingers along the little steel chain connecting the pony's reigns to the chariot and tries to find a weak link for him to snap off. Just because Elio's in captivity doesn't mean this pony who's never done a sour thing in its entire life has to suffer and be enslaved.

After three minutes of restless pulling, it becomes abundantly clear that the locked-up chains sure aren't budging. Elio sighs, then whispers into the pony's ear. "I'm sorry, my friendly friend. I wanted to free you, but it seems the stars have different plans."

As if it could hear his apology, the pony extends its tongue and gives Elio a smooch on the nose. It's then that he notices its dry course, texture, which can only mean one thing… this poor pony is mighty hungry!

Instinctively, Elio reaches down to dig in his pockets and see if there's anything he can give the pony as a treat, but he doesn't get very far, 'cause his chickie-chicken costume doesn't have any pockets. With a sigh, Elio stares back at the hay bales in defeat, or at least he does until he realizes he can feed little strands of the hay to the pony.

He bolts back to the main part of the chariot and rips off little pieces of hay from one of the bales. He completely ignores Levine when she asks, "What are you doing, Elio?"

Just like when he freed the cow-cows, Elio Basanti is a certified man on a mission. This time, the mission's just giving this pony and its friend something tasty to snack on.

The pony's eyes light up big and bright when Elio gets up close to it, hay in his hands. It widely opens up its chomper so that Elio can place some of the hay inside, but before he can do that, he hears a violent scream.

"What the frickle-pickle are you doing, young man?" A deep male voice booms from the sidelines, startling Elio into dropping the hay on the ground. As he bends over to pick it back up, the same voice shouts, "Stop where you are!"

Elio assumes they're talking about the rude boy from Eleven 'cause he doesn't think he's doing anything wrong, and continues picking up the hay. Once he's done and standing up straight again, though, he's quick to notice that everybody's staring at him. And not just the Tributes, no, a man dressed in a deep purple suit with long yellow hair is staring at Elio, straight through his soul.

"Nice to meet you, sir!" He's never seen this man in his life, but he seems to want something to do with Elio since he's standing real close to him. The best he can do is be polite to him. "I'm El—"

The man puts his hands on Elio's mouth, causing him to wiggle and squirm. "Why were you trying to poison the horses?"

"I w-wasn't d-doing that, s-sir." He struggles to speak with the man still blocking his mouth. "I w-was just giving it a s-snack."

The man rolls his eyes. "Yeah, kid, sure you were."

He whispers something into a screen on his bracelet and then walks away. Before Elio can get up and onto the chariot, ready to cut his losses and get this day over with, he feels two warm hands wrap around his wrists.

"What are you doing?" Elio screams, his vocal cords throbbing inside of his throat. "I didn't do anything wrong, I promise."

With a thump, Elio's entire body collapses to the ground. He looks up and sees a Peacekeeper nodding his head in frustration. Elio shouts out, "Officer! I promise; I'd never poison a pony."

Even though they had their disagreements from time to time, Elio is used to his father actually listening to him. Generally speaking, most adults in Ten are at least somewhat willing to hear Elio out. He likes that he is, for the most part, somebody to be trusted. It seems that the Capitol thinks much differently of him, though.

He cranes his neck and notices that both Tributes from Nine are glaring daggers at him, which makes Elio assume that everybody in this darn chariot pitch is staring him down. He tries to get up once, but based on the second Peacekeeper that rushes to the first's side, Elio knows he won't be so lucky.

The second officer pins him to the ground and tries to hold him steady as the first one takes out a needle from its pocket. Elio whimpers, wondering if this was what his Loona-Moona felt when she was sent through the slaughterhouse.

Everything around Elio goes fuzzy, as he holds onto one of the chariot's wheels, begging for mercy. He turns his head away from the Peacekeepers and tries not to wince in pain when pinch!

Elio blinks once, twice, then a third time just to ensure he's still alive. When he opens his eyes, the officers inject Levine with whatever it is that they pumped in him, and everything else seems silly and dizzy.

He feels an officer wrap their hands around his waist as they hoist him up and onto the chariot and then hears a loud clang as he attaches a metal shackle to his leg. Elio watches as the officers do the same thing to the chariots in front of him and behind him, his eyes growing heavy even though he isn't tired.

As he stands and waits for the parade to begin, Elio feels a lot. He feels the weight of Ten's cattle industry crashing down on his shoulders, Levine's laughter when she found out why he was voted in cutting through his skin, and the phantom pain of the Peacekeeper's hand on his shoulder when they pushed him to the ground for everybody to see.

More than that, though, Elio feels the one emotion he's gone his entire life trying to avoid, shame.

Gremory Rossmani. 18.
District One Male.

The shackles around his ankles, which anchor him to the chariot, are inhumane. Even though Gremory knows they'll be off soon, they've already more than demeaned him. Only animals get chained to posts. Only animals get injected with a thick substance that temporarily sedates them. Only animals are put on display for elitist pricks to clamor over. Gremory Rossmani is far from a pathetic, sordid, shameful animal.

With the chariot at a complete stop, a Peacekeeper finally frees him. Gremory sighs. Finally. It's about time one of those pitiful bootlickers made themselves useful. The officer instructs Gremory, "Go back to your apartment as swiftly as possible. We'd hate for something like this to happen again."

"Believe me, I'd hate for it to happen again, too," he replies flatly.

The foulest thing about this situation is that it wasn't Gremory's fault. Apparently, the boy from Ten tried to poison one of the horses, so some moron decided that all of the Tributes would be bound to their chariots and tranquilized to avoid "another misstep." It was an idiotic decision, in Gremory's opinion. Don't the Capitolites know that punishing the Tributes will only make them more hostile, and more willing to rebel in the future? Don't they know that inhibiting the forces of madness will only come back to bite them in the ass? How naive of Gremory to have expected better from them.

He was wrong to assume that the Capitol would be any better than One. Through living deliciously, Gremory expected that they'd be more refined, but it seems the opposite is true. Instead, Capitolites are even more primal and thoughtless as everybody from everybody at home, nothing but slaves to their own indulgences. Using the Ten boy's actions to justify punishing everybody is just one example of what will soon be many.

"Do you want to go meet up with the Twos?" Gremory cranes his neck to ask Sapphira, only to realize that she's already gone. Ridiculous of her, but entirely expected.

Regrettably, Gremory never caught their names, but both Tributes from Two approached him and Sapphira before the parade began. They couldn't say much before the officers came around with their poison and chains, but Gremory promised them that he and his partner would join them once the festivities concluded.

But of course, of course, Miss Sapphira Starlett has other plans. After being in her company semi-frequently for nearly a year, you'd think Gremory'd be more accustomed to just how sporadic she can be. He assumed that in the Games, he'd be able to have at least some form of a grip on her, assuming that the nature of a death pageant would cause her to mellow out, but alas, she's proven him wrong, yet again. His mistake; he can't afford many more of them.

Whatever, Gremory muses as he steps down from the platform. I guess I'll just have to go and talk to them without Sapphira. Her loss, not mine.

He meanders over to the Two's chariot, his head held high with the utmost of sophistication. Based on how austere the Boy presented himself, Gremory can tell that he's previously trained at one of Two's academies. One has its own facility to prepare Tributes for the Games, but it's never been as rigid as Two's seems to be. Not that it matters to him, really. Gremory's family never had the money to send him to Valhalla, and even if they did, he'd rather be dead than give into something as swine-like as actively preparing for the Games in all their crudeness. Even though they're getting more elaborate, it's ridiculous to dedicate your life to training for them.

The Twos seem to be bickering with one another when Gremory approaches them, which is information he stores in his pocket for proper use later. They're both covered head to toe in gray powder to resemble broken statues. Gremory taps the boy on the shoulder, displeased to get power on his finger, and sighs.

"Oh!" The Two boy exclaims, brushing Gremory off of him and turning around. "You actually decided to come back. How thoughtful."

"I told you not to worry about him," his District partner remarks, her voice light as the air. "He'd be a fuckin' fool to not come back to us."

"I wasn't worried," the boy scoffs. He extends his hand towards Gremory and smirks. "I never introduced myself earlier - Lorian Naciri. It's a pleasure."

As Gremory shakes his hand firmly, the Two girl adds, "Don't call him Lori, by the way. It makes him really upset—Oh, and I'm Belacaine. Belacaine Beaufort!"

"Gremory Rossmani, it's nice to meet you both," he says, unable to help the sinister smile curling on his lips. He can already tell that these two are going to be a handful. In a good way, though. As serious as Lorian comes off now, it's easy for Gremory to see that he's breaking at the seams. There's something that he's hiding, and Gremory's going to figure it out. Belacaine, on the other hand, she's quite exuberant. It's always the girls like her willing to give up life's madness without much thought.

"Where's your partner?" Lorian asks, causing Gremory to roll his eyes. "She was with you earlier, no?"

He licks his lips. This guy thinks he's going to be the leader of their blossoming alliance, doesn't he? Gremory will allow Lorian to get that impression for now, since he knows that he will be the most dominant figure in the end.

"Right, her," Gremory replies with a slight chuckle. "She ran off once the Peacekeeper took off her shackles. I have no idea where she's—"

"I'm right here!" As if she's following a cue from a director, Sapphira pokes her head into the three of them's circle. "I'm sorry for being so fashionably late, it's just that the girl— or maybe it was a boy— from Eight was wearing such a gorgeous outfit, and I had no choice but to compliment them."

"Ah, and there she is." Gremory does his best to mask his frustration with her. It's a difficult task when she's dressed like a doll, black makeup running down her face to mimic tears. Sure, he's dressed similarly, but at least he doesn't have to look at himself. No sight was more horrific than Gremory's reflection when he realized just how depraved he looked. "Sap—"

"Oh! Are we introducing ourselves?" She cuts him off with a high-pitched squeal. "Hello, fair Tributes of District Two. My name is Sapphira Starlett; you may know me from my thirty-second cameo in the most recent episode of Buoyancy and Bloodlust. I played a stunning vampiress who I lovingly named Cassandra. I'm not in character now, though, of course. That'd be absurd! So call me Sapphira, not Cassandra." She claps her hands together and twirls on the ball of her foot. "Right! And what am I to call the two of you? Excuse me for getting so excited. I just know that we and Gremmie are going to have an utter ball together!"

Both her introduction and the fact Sapphira really isn't going to quit with the nicknames make Gremory cringe. He recalls walking in on Glasya in the basement one day as she watched Sapphira's episode of Buoyancy and Bloodlust, where she really was quite ridiculous. He can only assume that her father paid a pretty penny to get her on the show. And, of course, Glasya would be the sort to watch a ridiculous soap opera.

Clearly overwhelmed, and understandably so, Lorian stammers, "I'm Lorian, and this is Belacaine."

"Wait! You were on Buoyancy and Bloodlust?" The Two girl asks, visibly amused. "That used to be my favorite show when I was younger!"

"I sure was," Sapphira drawls with a prideful smirk. "If you'd like, I can autograph your training outfit tomorrow."

"Training tomorrow!" Lorian interjects, eager to change the subject. "That was exactly what I wanted to talk to you two about. As I'm sure you know, it's become a bit of a tradition for Tributes from One and Two to ally, as theoretically, we've all had some sort of training. I know, though, that's not necessarily the case this year due to the nature of the Quell, but—"

"Lorian's trained his entire life!" Belacaine buts in. "I only trained a little bit, but trust me when I say that I know what I'm doing too."

"Oh, dahling! We are just so similar," Sapphira exclaims. "I also only really trained a little bit. Gremory hasn't even stepped foot in Valhalla— that's our academy – once, but don't you worry, he has his own unique and special skillset. Isn't that right, Gremgrem?"

"Sapphira, please." He holds his hand up to her face, signaling that she should quit while she's ahead. "Lorian was trying to say something; why don't you let him."

Gremory knows that Belacaine initially interjected, but he doesn't know how to push her buttons just yet. He does, however, know that Sapphira's not a fan of being blamed for things she didn't do and being silenced. The pout on her face says everything Gremory needs to know.

"Right." Lorian nods at Gremory, the two exchanging a look of mutual understanding. Well, one that Lorian surely thinks is of mutual understanding. Indeed, he doesn't yet know that Gremory's analyzing him meticulously, learning what makes him tick so that it's easier for him to be consumed by madness when push comes to shove. There's clearly so much that Lorian Naciri craves: control, admiration, respect… It's really a shame Gremory won't give him any of those things.

"So, what I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, is that we should try working with one another, at least for tomorrow, to see if we're compatible," he continues. "It seems that Sapphira and Belacaine have already gotten off to a good start. Perhaps Gremory and I will be similar."

"Perhaps," Gremory echoes him, morphing his own face to match Lorian's evidently exhausted expression. He looks down at Sapphira and asks her, "What do you think?" pretending that he actually cares about her opinion. Really, it doesn't matter what Sapphira thinks. The two of them will be allying with Lorian and Belacaine, at least for now. Being with the Tributes who are heralded as two of the strongest will allow Gremory to gain information on everyone below them quickly. Additionally, getting the Twos under his thumb certainly won't hurt him.

"Oh, well, I'd simply love to!" Blessedly, Sapphira agrees.

Before anybody can say anything else, a Peacekeeper puts his hand on Gremory's shoulder and grunts, "What did I say earlier about getting back to your apartment as quickly as possible?"

"I'm so sorry, sir," Gremory lies with a nonchalant shrug. "We'll get going right now. I'd hate for anything bad to happen before the Games."

"That's what I thought," the officer shoves Gremory forwards. He grabs Sapphira on the wrist and begins to move her as well. "You'll see the Twos tomorrow at training, I trust. Now please, get to your apartment."

"Goodbye, Belacaine," Sapphira turns around and shouts. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Gremory glances over his shoulder and offers Lorian a curt wave. "Sleep well, sleep well."

Even though it's utterly animalistic for the Peacekeepers to usher him away, Gremory can't bring himself to care. All of his pawns are beginning to fall perfectly into place, and it's only a matter of time before he takes his throne as king.

Freak - Sub Urban

Everything is fine! I told you pre-Games would be happy and fun and there was nothing to worry about. I would never lie to y'all.

I can't believe I'm running out of shit to say in these… umm… thank you Laney for beta-ing very cool of you.

Question! I decided I don't care about keeping track of the numbers: What iconic Lady Gaga outfit would your Tribute look the most slay in? Personally, I think Elio would rock the meat dress.

That's all for this week; I'm too hungry to keep writing this A/N. Gonna go make some ramen, poggies!

Fuck this shit, I'm out (but not as gay bc that'd be gross),
Lindstraight