XI. Conflicting Machinations
We swore that death will do us part
They'll call our crimes a work of art
You'll never take us alive
We'll live like spoiled royalty, lovers and partners
Partners in crime
Asherah Uzeram. 18.
District Seven Female.
The whole "putting herself first" thing is already proving to be easier said than done.
Asherah barely lasted until eleven yesterday morning before she saw Elio from Ten all alone and afraid and offered him companionship. Yes, Asherah, too, did not enjoy the fanfare at the Parade, but she's smart enough to know that it wasn't Elio's fault. She's sure the Peacekeepers were waiting for somebody to slip up so they'd have an excuse to pull out the tranquilizers, and Elio just so happened to be the unlucky one. Besides, after just one conversation with the kid, it's clear to Asherah that Elio would never even hurt a living thing, much less try to kill one.
She knows that being by Elio's side puts a target on her back, but there's something about his pathetic yet soft smile that makes it impossible for her to leave him. She knows that the goal of training is to set herself up for success, not to help some poor kid she's hardly known for a day, but if she left poor Elio all on his lonesome, Asherah doubts he'd even live to see the arena's countdown.
Unfortunately, it seems that her judgment will only continue to come into play as this hellish process continues. On the second day of training, Asherah finds herself at Elio's side by the trap-setting station, her eyes laser-focused on Dasani Amato Yamato from District Four.
"And I just… I couldn't save him!" The boy stammers, his hands shaking as he recounts the events that led him into the Quell. "I know, I know. You don't want to trust me because Four's reputation is getting increasingly more like One and Two, but I promise I'm not like them." Dasani pauses for a moment, looks at his hands, and gasps. "Okay, okay! I know, there's blood on my hands just like the Careers, but it's different. Besides, this year, I'm probably not the only one."
"Hey there, hey there!" Elio puts his arms in the air and grimaces. "I'll have you know there's no blood on my hands. I'd never make something bleed."
(For so long, Asherah said the same thing. And technically, she can say the same thing now. It still stands true. It wasn't Asherah's advice that killed the baby; it was how Hadassah interpreted it. Still, she can't help but feel the guilt eating away at her flesh with every passing moment.)
"That includes mosquitos, by the way," the Ten boy adds, clearly embarrassed like he forgot something extremely important. "In fact, I wouldn't hurt a moo-squito, even if it had my own blood on its hands. Because, after all, the mosquito could need my blood to feed its family. And it goes without saying that I'd never ever ever do anything not nice to a cow-cow because—"
"You love the cow-cows, yes, I know." Thankfully, Dasani says what Asherah was thinking, but she'd hate to be rude. "You've only mentioned cows ten times in the five minutes I've known you."
Elio interrupts, "They're actually called cow-cows!"
"Make that eleven times."
Asherah can tell that Dasani's annoyed, and quite frankly, she feels the same way. Teenage rants about cows will always be less bothersome than the wails of newborn babies. But it's clear that Elio doesn't have much experience socializing; she doesn't want to fault him for what he can't control.
"Elio, sweetie," Asherah addresses him, doing her best not to sound like her mother. "I understand that you're excited about the cow-cows, but Dasani here was talking about his experiences in District Four. Would you mind letting him talk?"
The Ten boy eagerly nods. Even though he's only three years younger than her, Asherah can't help but feel as if they're an entire lifetime apart. After all, working as her mother's prodigy meant growing up fast. Asherah never had time to be as blissful and carefree as the countless babies she helped deliver.
(Now, she never will.)
"Don't sweat it, little dude!" Dasani assures Elio, noticing the distressed look on his face. "Back to what I was saying. Wait— what was I saying again?"
"How you're not like other Careers," Asherah reminds him.
"Right!" The Four boy sighs dreadfully. "They're all very self-centered, so to speak. My District partner definitely is, so I suspect she'll join up with them soon enough. Personally, I'm done living like that. I'm a lifeguard, you see, but I let the people of Four down. I couldn't save everyone, and I guess I could say that I'm here to repent. I don't really mind either, I'm willing to go with the flow these next few weeks. I've always thought that life is sort of like an ocean; you're never in control, so the best thing you can do is sit back and let it carry you."
Even though Dasani seems to wear his heart on his sleeve, Asherah knows better than to instantly trust somebody. Despite everything foul she'd heard about Olathe, Asherah decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. That was a decision she regretted within five minutes of the train ride.
"What was your most arousing experience when delivering a baby," her District partner had asked her, a devilish grin etched on his face.
Asherah remembers sighing, then telling him, "Being a midwife has nothing to do with fornication."
Luckily, once it was made clear that she didn't share his salaciousness, Olathe left Asherah alone. She definitely didn't mind the quiet. It'll never make sense to her, though, why Seven's deemed them both useless and unwanted despite their very different crimes.
"Does that make sense?" Dasani asks. It's then that Asherah notices she's staring into space and unintentionally ignoring him.
"It sure does!" Elio answers even though Dasani was making eye contact with Asherah and not him. "I agree; maybe it's best that we should all just play things by ear. If we have a plan and one little thing goes wrong, our whole alliance is going to be screwed!"
"Alliance?" Dasani questions. "You are getting several steps ahead of yourself, young man. Like, at least thirty steps; maybe more. I've known you for all of fifteen minutes. How am I supposed to trust you guys?"
"I consider oversharing trauma to be a somewhat decent sign of trust," Asherah says with a light chuckle. Before Dasani thinks she's agreeing to an alliance, she quickly adds, "Unless, of course, you're lying. Why should we trust you in return?"
"You're a smart one, Asherah, I'll give you that," he admits. Admittedly, it's somewhat nice to hear words of encouragement that aren't from her mother's mouth. "To be honest, I wouldn't trust myself either. Not after what I've done…"
Asherah thinks she'll soon tire of Dasani's tendency to play the victim at any given moment. At least she herself knows that, yes, she allowed something bad to happen, but that doesn't make her a wretched person. That doesn't mean she's unworthy of love, trust, and respect.
It's almost sad. The longer Asherah spends here, the more she's convinced that she's not going to find anybody she can actually relate to beyond the surface level. It's probably better that way, at least, if not intolerable.
"Oh my goodness, you should so join our alliance!" From the corner of her eye, Asherah notices Elio talking to a tall girl dressed in neon orange, the number six decorating her windbreaker. Trailing behind her are a boy dressed the same as her and a girl dressed in yellow wearing a five. "We're always looking for new friends!"
Asherah rises to her feet and rushes over to him, frustrated. She furrows her brows and whispers to him, "Elio, what do you think you're doing exactly?"
"I'm asking them to be our allies!" He answers eagerly and loudly. "I noticed they were staring at us three, so I decided it'd be a nice gesture to go over to them and introduce myself."
He's got to be kidding, right? There's no possible way Elio saw these strangers and immediately decided to trust them. There's no way he—
"I'm not so sure you should be making such bold offers, Elio. I promise, we're not going to hurt you, but the next person you introduce yourself to just because they glanced in your direction might not be as kind." The girl in orange attempts to rationalize with him. Based on the focused look on Elio's face, it seems to be working. "You didn't even ask me my name before deciding that you could trust me. It's Moxie, by the way. And behind me's Edric and Ripley."
"I'm sorry about him," Asherah tells her. "I've been trying to tell him to be less gung-ho considering our circumstances, but he hasn't quite gotten the message yet."
Moxie walks over to Asherah's side and pats her on the shoulder. She whispers, "I didn't realize telling Elio what he can and cannot do is your responsibility. Last I checked, it's every man for himself in here."
"So then, why are you being nice?" Asherah mutters back, incredibly confused. She can already tell there's more to Moxie than what meets the eye, but at the same time, her first impression is much better than Elio or Dasani's were. And Edric and Ripley seem unobtrusive enough. She's definitely getting ahead of herself, though. These people are here for Elio, not her.
Moxie's lips curl into a smile. "I'm just being strategic, Seven. Perhaps you should do the same."
Asherah knows she should. As sympathetic as she's always been, she's got to fight for herself, not the people around her. Still, Elio's pathetic smile endears her, and it's abundantly clear that more than anything, all Dasani needs is a friend. Staying with them doesn't necessarily mean dying for them.
Still, if she really does want company, Moxie, Edric, and Ripley are clearly the better options. Asherah squints and mumbles at the Six girl, "I can do things for myself without wanting to do them alone."
"I like the way you think," Moxie says. "Would you be willing to get to know my colleagues and I a bit better?"
Now, Asherah still has to play things smart. She can't have Moxie think that she's willing to get rid of Elio and Dasani so quickly because that just makes her seem desperate. She doesn't know Moxie well enough to trust her, and being foolish now could easily backfire in the future.
"Only if you're willing to get to know mine," Asherah responds, each word lingering on the tip of her tongue. "I'm not saying this is the start of a formal alliance, but being the largest consolidated group of Tributes definitely will have some advantages."
This is definitely true. The more people Asherah's with, the less room there is for her to get attached to one individually and the less responsibility she'll hopefully feel for their well-being when push comes to shove.
(The more it'll hurt when the numbers start to dwindle, and she's forced to make choices yet again. She used to claim she was good at acting well under pressure, but considering her failure to do so got her here, she's no longer sure that's the case.)
Moxie's eyes dart to Edric and Ripley and then over Asherah's head towards Elio and Dasani. She pauses for a moment, steps back twice, then grins. "Deal."
Sapphira Starlett. 17.
District One Female.
Two days later, the Capitol is still a dream she hopes she never wakes up from. There's something about the people here that Sapphira understands, a tier above One's glitz and glamor. It's almost as if her hometown was the prototype for all the Capitol's glory, never fully able to compete, never entirely up to par.
Back in One, everybody was so superficial. Sure, the same could be said about some Capitolites, but overall, everybody here is about a thousand times more interesting than anybody she could ever meet back home. Such is true about the other Tributes she's met. Though Lorian's quite austere, he seemingly embodies a film director with his firm rules and regulations. Belacaine may be overbearing and offbeat, but Sapphira gets the feeling she's an actress much like herself.
And then there's Clarion. She never thought that Lorian would ever agree to let somebody from a District without a training facility join their alliance, but recruiting the boy from Three was actually his idea. He noted the energy Clarion displayed during his Reaping as kinetic and said that he'd be a great addition to the team. Gremory, too, seemed wary at first, but yesterday afternoon made it clear that Clarion's an excellent fit.
Of course, training has been hard work, but being a star was never meant to be easy. Sapphira sweated more than she ever had in her entire life yesterday, and today her muscles are still sore. She reminds herself, though, that soon, this will all be worth it. Sapphira's certain it will be.
"You're really improving tremendously," she tells Gremory during their morning spar. Yesterday, Lorian insisted the two of them should split for sparring, saying that he wanted to "evaluate" Gremory, whatever that means. Today, Sapphira was expecting Lorian would do the same with her, but instead, he's off fighting Belacaine, leaving her and Gremory to duke it out while Clarion eagerly watches.
Gremory turns his wrist, allowing his rapier to block the light toss of Sapphira's naginata and knock the weapon to the ground. "That makes one of us then."
Sapphira laughs as she ducks to the ground to retrieve her spear; Gremory truly can be hilarious at times. That's something about him she's known for a while, but here in the Capitol, he truly shines. "You just got lucky, Gremgrem!"
"Sure I did," he says, batting his eyes. Sapphira's noticed that Gremory's been more receptive to her nicknames as of late, which is truly surprising. Her father taught her that, with enough luck and effort, she could do anything she put her mind to, but she never thought that'd apply to getting Gremory Rossmani to lighten up, even if just a little. Perhaps Lorian will be next to let his guard down; Sapphira does think the nickname Lori is quite nice.
"Quit the fighting," Clarion playfully calls from the sidelines. "You're both better at this than I am."
The compliment warms Sapphira's heart. Her trainers back at One's Valhalla often laughed at her face, telling her that her fighting style is too extravagant and showoffish to be any useful in practicality. They warned Sapphira she'd never be chosen for the Twenty-sixth Games if she wasn't able to learn from their advice and improve her technique, but Sapphira always knew she'd end up here. She always thought it'd be at eighteen instead of seventeen, but who would she be to say no to an opportunity as grand as the Quarter Quell? They all warned her that she was making a terrible mistake by campaigning to be selected, but that'll only make her victory sweeter as she proves them wrong.
"Why, thank you, dahling!" She tilts her head towards Clarion and offers him a curtsy. He smiles at her and laughs.
Gremory taps her on the shoulder with his sword. "We're supposed to be fighting, remember?"
Ah, and there it is. As much respect as Sapphira has for Gremory, he truly can't go too long without being a prick. She scoffs, "Well, excuse me, mister! I was just making sure our ally feels included. If you wanted to fight so bad, you could have joined me at Valhalla."
She knows there's no way Gremory would ever step foot in that building. Not only has he consistently failed to see the appeal and the glamor that comes with the Games, but he's also not as well-off as Sapphira and would never be able to afford the hefty tuition. Of course, there's always the possibility that he could've earned some sort of scholarship, but considering Sapphira met him when he was seventeen, he was far too old for Valhalla to take such a risk. Then again, it doesn't really matter at this point. Much like her, Gremory has beaten the odds stacked against him and wound up in the Capitol, just as blessed as she is. Hopefully soon he'll be able to appreciate this opportunity just like her.
"You must think you're so hilarious," her District partner teases her. She chuckles in response. Gremory drops his sword and walks closer to Sapphira. "At some point, I'm going to want to spar with Clarion too."
"That's a bit unfair," Sapphira says. "You didn't want him to join our alliance at first. I think that means I should be able to spar with him before you."
"Not necessarily," Gremory replies. "I think I should spar with him first, for the sake of assuring me I made the right decision by giving into Lorian and allowing Clarion to join us."
"You realize I'm right over here, and I can listen to your conversation, right?" The Three boy reminds them. "I really don't have a preference, but Gremory, I do plan on proving you wrong eventually."
"You don't need to worry," he tells Clarion. "I trust Lorian's decision wholeheartedly and think you'll be a great addition to our team."
"Right, but I still want to prove myself to you," Clarion insists. "I guess now will do, too. I'm sorry, Sapphira. I truly am."
Thank the stars he's expressing some sort of remorse, because Sapphira's less than thrilled. Gremory knows very well by now that there's little Sapphira values more than her autonomy, which is probably why he's eager to take it away. Sapphira has to remind herself that even if she and Gremory got along well at home, the Hunger Games are still a competition, and he's wise to use what he knows about her against her.
(He offered her a line of stardust that morning. Sapphira has no idea how he got it into the Capitol, but maybe she'd be happier now if she'd taken it. Instead, her eyes feel heavy in their sockets, and her nose occasionally stings.)
"I'm going to take a break and get some water then," Sapphira tells the boys. If she doesn't, there's a good chance she'll lose her temper, which would be embarrassing. She can't get the reputation of a ridiculous diva that's impossible to cooperate with until she's big enough that any rumors wouldn't matter.
As she saunters to the water station, Sapphira notices a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye. A couple of days ago, at the parade, she noticed a girl dressed in the most beautiful servant's gown, and she had wanted to talk to her for longer, but her escort dragged her away after just a few minutes. Sapphira never even got her name, just that she's from District Eight and has incredible energy.
She worries, though, if she approaches the girl, maybe she won't be recognized. Though their time together was brief, Sapphira likes to think she made a lasting impression on her, but she can never be sure. People in One say that it'd be impossible for them ever to forget her, whether that be for better or for worse, but maybe people in Eight are different.
Worrying about it isn't going to help her much. It's best she just cuts to the chase and approaches the Eight girl again. Carefully, she reaches up onto her tiptoes and taps Eight on the shoulder of her purple windbreaker. She whispers, "Excuse me, ma'am!"
The girl Sapphira tapped doesn't respond, but a figure from behind her steps to the side and scowls. "What do you want from me?"
She, too, is wearing the number Eight on her jacket, which means the person Sapphira previously thought was a girl is instead something else. She was never completely sure anyway, her sedated and druggy haze from Parade night making her vision hazy.
"I'm sorry, I thought you were a girl," Sapphira says to the person she tapped, ignoring the petite girl at her side.
"I'm whatever you want me to be," the person mutters. She frantically snaps her head to the side, making direct eye contact with Sapphira and immediately grinning. "Oh damn, it's you! I was looking for you yesterday, but couldn't find you."
"I was looking for you too," Sapphira lies. Belacaine kept her too busy to even give her a chance to search for Eight, but Sapphira did think of her on several occasions. "One of my allies kept insisting that I train with her, but whenever I caught a break, I looked for you. If only I'd have been luckier."
"You have allies?" Eight says, enthused. "That's so magnificent of you. I have Lycra, but she's sort of a bitch."
"Hey!" the more petite girl says, slapping the taller on the wrist. "That's rude."
"It's true," the taller one replies. "She's kind of batshit, and I'm not sure how much of her I can take, to be honest. Would it be okay if I join you and your allies?"
"I'm coming too," Lycra sneers.
"No, you're not, whore!"
"Now, now!" Sapphira tsks, "Us ladies need to protect one another. You shouldn't be calling her a whore."
(Sapphira'd know. There were days back in One when she'd be wearing her favorite blue dress with a slit up the left leg down the street, only for a man to roll down his windows and yell out, "Slut!" She wanted to curl up into a ball and cry about it, but she knew that'd only make the men stronger, drunk on the power they held over her. So instead, she continued to strut with her head held high, convincing herself that negative attention was better than none at all.)
"Well, in that case, I'm not a woman," Eight rebuts.
Instantly, Sapphira bursts into a fit of laughter. "Oh, you're a funny one. They're going to love you; I just know it!"
Truth be told, Sapphira isn't sure if they will. None of the others seem to match Eight's level of exuberance the way she does. But, they seem to all be partnered up - Lorian with Belacaine and now Gremory with Clarion, leaving Sapphira the one that's isolated. Sapphira deserves her own companion. She deserves a friend.
"So, I'm coming with you then?" Eight asks, hands on her hips and a smile on her face. "Take that, Lycra. I told you that being an annoying flop with a bad attitude would backfire."
Before Lycra can say anything, Eight grabs onto Sapphira's wrist and begins to run away. She whispers into her ear, "By the way, where are we going?"
Sapphira chuckles and then points Eight in the right direction, back to where Gremory and Clarion are sparring. Once the two of them arrive, Sapphira notices that Clarion's got Gremory pinned to the ground beneath him. She shouts, "Oh my goodness, Clarion!"
"What?" Eight blurts out. "You don't need to yell at me. I'm right here."
Sapphira thinks for a moment, then realizes she never asked her what her name is. "Wait a minute, is your name also Clarion? That's so crazy!"
"Oh, holy fuck, no, it isn't," she quickly replies. "Sorry, I thought you said his name was Charon. That's my name. What's yours?"
"Sapphira. I'm sorry I didn't ask you for yours. I sort of got carried away."
Charon flashes her a thumbs up. "Right on!"
Sapphira notices that Gremory and Clarion are now staring at her, so she takes a step closer toward them. Her District partner cocks his head to the side, points at Charon, and asks, "Now, who is this?"
Sapphira smiles brighter than the Training Center's fluorescent lights. "This is Charon! She's going to be our new ally!"
Charon Tricolette. 18.
District Eight Tribute.
They're somewhat accustomed to being viewed as a spectacle. Being a performer meant receiving hostile glances and looks of bemusement; this Charon understands. They also know that now is different. Now, standing next to Sapphira and in front of her District partner and this Clarion character, they're being seen in the same light the Peacekeepers perceived her as. He hasn't even spoken a word, but he already knows what the two of them are thinking, "Freak."
It's what everyone thinks of Charon at some point in time, after all, and it's not completely untrue. But Charon knows from their bloody and lustful conquests, things are much more complicated if the person they desire already thinks negatively of them. Not that they're already thinking about maiming One and Three; no, as thirsty as they are for the thrill of rotted flesh and crimson sheets, Charon knows they must wait.
(If there's one good thing they learned from Dice, it's that every good thing is worth the wait.)
"What do you mean she's going to be our new ally?" The One boy scorns Sapphira. Parade aside, they've only known her for a few minutes, but Charon already can tell she's going to be good friends with her. There's something about the electrifying glint in Sapphira's eyes that Charon recognizes from his own reflection. They can recognize the perfervid expression of an aspiring performer from miles away.
Sapphira shouts back at the boy, "She's who I was talking to back at the parade. It'll be a ball; I promise!"
"We aren't here to have fun, Sapphira," comes her partner's smoldering reply. "What do you think Lorian is going to say about this?"
The One girl rolls her eyes, "He was the one who encouraged we ally with Clarion. I'm sure he's going to be fine with Charon."
They dart their eyes to the Three boy, taking in their curly black hair and slender physique. Charon's type has always been tall, dark, and handsome, but Clarion still doesn't hurt to look at. He offers the boy a shy smile and is met with an equally coy wave. Interesting.
Sapphira wanders back to Charon's side and whispers in their ear, "I'm so sorry about Gremory. He can be a bit rigid, to put it lightly."
He wants to tell her, "Oh, I'm used to it," but Charon knows they won't make any friends by prodding for pity. Now that they're away from Lycra and all her ridiculousness, Charon intends on staying away.
(She too is a performer, but pageantry isn't nearly the same as the circus, just as Charon isn't the same as her. Lycra may be here for a similar reason to them, but she killed her biggest rival out of jealousy, not for the thrill of it like Charon's various murders. She's selfish, whereas Charon is selfless for giving up so much of themselves to the Circus of the Divine, only to be paid crumbs.)
"I'm not worried," he instead says to the One girl. For the most part, they're not lying. After taking a closer look at Gremory in all his serpentine glory, Charon is sure they could carry themselves against him if need be. Perhaps thinking so is embarrassingly prideful, but Charon's already maimed men that are taller and bulkier than Gremory's already impressive physique.
Sapphira's smile softens. "I'm glad."
Just moments later, Gremory returns with a shorter boy, one Charon assumes is the aforementioned Lorian. He's not exactly the most muscular man Charon's ever seen. In fact, the cocksure grin on his face mixed with his twiggish structure makes them snicker.
"This is the guy whose validation you're all crazy for?" Charon mutters towards Sapphira. With all due respect, which isn't much, there's very little about Lorian for anybody to be afraid of. Even if he trained at one of Two's academies, his body certainly doesn't reflect it.
"Gremory seems to be, yes," Sapphira replies with a nod. "Lorian's sort of a hardass, but I know you'll get used to it."
Of course Charon will. They see nothing to fear when confronted with the runt of Two's newest brutish litter.
"Alright, now what's this all about?" Lorian asks Sapphira, his thick brows tightly furrowed. His evident anger is almost seductive, but ultimately not enough for Charon to be intrigued by him.
"As I said to Gremgrem, Charon's going to be our new ally," the One girl explains. "If you got to recruit Clarion and Belacaine and Gremory and I, it's only fair we spread the love."
"Can he even fight?" Lorian sneers, crossing his arms. "I knew Clarion could before I even introduced him to you guys."
"I don't know, actually," Sapphira admits. Luckily for her, Charon can do more than just fight.
They perk up from behind her and blurt out, "Actually, yes, I can! I was a knife thrower back at Eight's circus."
Sapphira turns her head back and beams at him. "See, Lorian, I told you she can fight."
"I still don't buy it." The Two boy shakes his head. "Belacaine and I will evaluate him at the knife throwing station to validate his claims. You three are welcome to join us." Lorian tilts his head to make direct eye contact with Charon. "You come with me; please don't stray."
They follow Lorian to the knife-throwing station, where a girl they assume is Belacaine seems to be waiting eagerly. They turn around to see that Sapphira and Clarion are following behind them. However, Gremory's nowhere to be seen.
"Charon!" Lorian's stern voice diverts their attention back to him and Belacaine. "I'm going to give you four knives. If you're able to properly hit the target in a way that impresses me, I'll consider allowing you into our alliance."
"That's a bit objective now, isn't it, Lori?" Belacaine quips. Charon isn't sure whether or not she's being serious, but it's funny nevertheless. "What if we all think he's great, but you decide they suck."
"I think it'll be abundantly clear that I know what I'm doing." Charon decides it's best for them to butt in before things get too out of hand.
An unamused laugh escapes through Lorian's teeth. "Well then, big guy. Go ahead and get to work."
He hands Charon the four knives and directs them in front of the target. They're a decent enough distance away from it, and they've made further throws back in Eight. This should be fine. Charon spins the first knife in between their fingertips and smiles. It's showtime.
(When they're performing, it's like Charon's no longer himself. On the makeshift stage in front of hundreds of people, Charon Tricolette becomes merely "Trick." They're no longer a freak, no longer a monster. No, when they're Trick, they actually have purpose. Isn't that what everybody wants in the end?)
They relax their body and stand up straight, eyes locked on the target in front of them. With a sigh, Charon wraps his thumb around his other fingers and positions his left leg behind his right. They square their shoulders, raise their elbow beside their head, then snap their wrist downwards with one fluid movement.
Their knife plummets towards the target with increasing speed, landing square in the middle with an audible thump. Charon shrugs. They weren't expecting anything less than perfection, especially not when performing such an easy throw. Still, they can't help but smile when Sapphira cheers, "That was wonderful!"
Charon must admit, it's nice to hear people cheering for him again after six weeks in the dark.
Less than amused, Lorian barks at them, "Alright, now do it again."
They roll their eyes and reach for another knife. Though Charon's used to condescending audience members, she still doesn't really like them. He'll just have to do something more impressive with their next throw.
Charon turns away from the target but positions their body in the same stance as before. Once they raise their knife, Clarion gasps and says, "Oh my lord, please don't fucking throw that at me!"
"Why would I do that?" they reply with a wink. "I'd hate to ruin a pretty face like yours."
"Oh…" The Three boy stammers.
Charon can't afford him any more of his attention for now. He has a show that needs to be put on.
Again, they hold the knife above their head, this time twisting their wrist so the blade faces behind them. Their grip is less secure now, too, two fingers pinching the handle instead of their entire hand wrapped around.
Charon flicks his wrist, releasing the knife, but doesn't turn around until he hears a thump. Nonchalantly, he looks over his shoulder to see that he's once again made the bullseye.
As he reaches down for the third knife, Lorian deadpans, "That was better."
They don't really believe him, or rather, they're worried that the Two boy perceives her as merely a joke. For his next throw, Charon chooses to face the target again. Their stance changes, though; they bend their knees and point them outwards.
He raises his knife again, bends closer to the ground, then launches themself high into the air. Once they're several feet up, Charon extends their legs into the splits, and lets go of the knife. By the time she's back on the ground, it's yet again landed center.
Again, Sapphira claps, Clarion blushes, and Lorian's dreadfully unamused. "Can you hit places besides the center?"
Charon smirks. "I sure can, but I'd need a volunteer to help me."
Without missing a beat, Clarion enthuses, "I'll do it; I'll do it!"
"Excellent." Charon walks toward the Three boy and wraps their hand around his wrist. They hear the boy pant with excitement as they lead him to the target and instruct him, "Put your back against the wall and stay still. I promise I won't hurt you."
(At least not yet.)
"You'd better not!" Lorian shouts.
Charon ignores him and returns to her spot away from the target. They pick up the final knife and turn towards the opposite wall again. With a deep breath, they press their knees together and squat. On the exhale, Charon flings himself into the air, his legs hurling backward over his head. When they've completed half of their rotation, they flick the knife towards the target, then spread their legs so they can land in the splits.
Though Clarion looks horrified, the knife is planted inches away from his head, just as Charon intended. Again, they wink at him. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you, didn't I?"
The glance to Lorian, his slow clapping overwhelmed by Sapphira's vigorous applause. Charon curtseys at the Two boy and asks, "How was that for a demonstration, huh?"
"Personally, I loved it," Belacaine admits from beside Lorian. He gives her a disgusted look, then returns his vision to Charon.
The Two boy sighs. "It was impressive; I'll give you that. Based on your behavior at the Reaping, I'm just not sure that you'd mesh well with our alliance. Especially since we already have Clarion and—"
"I say we take him!" The boy from Three rushes to Charon's side and pleads. "Do we really want somebody that good at throwing knives to have a vendetta against us? What's the worst that could happen?"
(The worst thing that could happen? Oh honey, you have no idea.)
"A fair point," Lorian admits. "Charon, if we let you into our alliance, do you promise you'll be on your best behavior?"
His chastising voice reminds Charon far too much of Dice's, but he nods his head anyway and says, "I pinky swear!"
"Good," The Two boy speaks, then glances over at his District Partner. "Belacaine, we need to talk. Let's find Gremory first."
The girl nods then follows Lorian away. Once they're far enough, Sapphira runs towards Charon and clasps her hands together. "Oh, Charon! I had no idea that you were such an incredible performer. I knew there was something dazzling about you, but that was beyond what I'd ever imagined."
"It really was incredible," Clarion says, grinning sheepishly.
"It wasn't the best I've done. Back in Eight, my boyfri—" They pause to correct themself. "My ex would hoist me up on his trapeze with him and then let me throw knives while dangling from his hands."
"Oh, that sounds simply amazing," Sapphira remarks. "I'm more of an actress and singer than a circus performer, but I really do value my fellow entertainers."
"Yeah, I'm a fucking nerd, and I only really know how to hack a computer and beat up a Peacekeeper," Clarion chimes in. "But good for y'all two and your special artsy talents."
"I bet you could be a dancer if you wanted," Sapphira enthuses, excitedly grabbing at the sleeves of Clarion's windbreaker. "It's not too different from fighting."
"Then you'll have to teach me sometime." The Three boy then winks at Charon. "You should join us too."
Charon nods, both Sapphira and Clarion's voices fading as he escapes to his mind. There's a feeling that swirls in his chest that they recognize but can't quite define. It's similar to how they felt when Satara first welcomed them into the circus, unmistakably warm. That was the first and only time Charon could say he had a family.
(Or at least he did before he gave in to his own horrid temptations and ruined it. All he can do is hope this won't be the same.)
Lucifer Deathrage. 12.
District Twelve Male.
While it was kind of fucked up of his father to send him to the Capitol, at least he didn't send Lucy alone. Nope, Lucy's lucky enough to have District Nine's Aleister Darski at his side, acting as his very own familiar, guiding him on his mission to unleash his full potential.
It all makes too much sense. Of course, if there's any place for the Devil to put his most special son to the test, it's the Hunger Games. Finally, Lucy's been blessed with the opportunity to show all of Panem the might of his hellish father. Finally, Lucy's going to be shaped into the dashing demon he was always destined to blossom into.
So yes, while Lucy's father's means are definitely unorthodox, at least Lucy will soon be able to say that he's peaked. At least soon he'll be able to bend the world's fiery tides in his own favor.
(He pays no attention to how the entirety of Twelve voted him here. He chooses to ignore the fact they saw his painted pentagrams and small wildfires and decided he was now worthy of potential death. No, Lucy takes their fear of him as nothing but a compliment. If they didn't truly believe that Lucifer Deathrage was indeed the Devil's son, they wouldn't have blamed him for the mines collapsing and the terrible storms. If they weren't right, he wouldn't be here.)
Still, there is much work that needs to be done. At the end of the day, Lucy is still one of twenty-four, and he's not dense enough to think that he'll automatically win since the Devil's his father. No, he knows that this test of sorts is one he can fail. Even now, his father whispers to him in the back of his mind, "𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓'𝖙 𝖉𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖒𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖙𝖔 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖉𝖆𝖞 𝖘𝖔𝖓. 𝕬𝖗𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖚𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖘?"
"ℑ'𝔪 𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢, 𝔉𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯! 𝔍𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔢, ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔞 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔫," Lucy whispers, standing hunched over one of the training center's trap-making sections.
Aleister taps him on the shoulder and asks, "Who were you talking to just then?"
"My father," Lucy eagerly admits. "He crawls into the back of my head sometimes, and I've learned that it's best to humor him."
"Why wouldn't you?" His ally inquires, brows squinted. "Aren't you excited whenever your father decides to communicate with you?"
Lucy blinks. "Yes, right. Of course, I am."
In their brief time together, Lucy's already deciphered that Aleister thinks higher of Lucy's father than he does himself. It's probably because he's never spoken to him, Lucy rationalizes. Even though he's never met his father, he's dealt with his voice peaking through the corner of his mind time and time again. Lucy's dealt with taunts of his inferiority and threats of never quite being good enough that made him want to curl up into a ball and scream, but even then, Lucy knew the right choice was to rise above and pretend he was stronger. Aleister still sees the Devil as something abstract, somebody who can be senselessly celebrated. At times, Lucy wishes he thought the same.
"Well?" the Nine boy beckons Lucy for more information. "What did your father have to say then?"
His typically cheeky smile softens into something of a frown. Aleister seems to notice his disheartened expression and continues to speak, "I assume nothing good."
"You'd be assuming right," Lucy says with a nod. He darts his eyes away from Aleister and back to the garroting station. "Don't worry about me, Aleister. It's going to be fine."
Back at home, there were times when Lucy feels like little more than a burden. He can only imagine the immense pressure his mothers must be under when choosing how to raise Panem's antichrist. His uncontrollable temperament can only make that job harder for them. But it's not like Lucy can help himself either. When he lies awake at night, an urge to cause chaos lights up his soul with flames so bright he can't put them out. Lucy knows that he's not entirely to blame for his volatility. If his father truly is real, then it's all his fault.
(But if he isn't, does that make Lucifer Deathrage anything more than a fraud?)
"It's in my nature to worry about you," Aleister admits, crouching down next to him. "Your father wants me to protect you, no matter the costs. If something is bothering me, you need to let me know."
"Fine," Lucy groans. "When my father spoke to me, he said that I need to be doing more. He fears for my demise in the Games if I don't be more productive in training."
Now that he says it out loud, he realizes that his father makes a damn good point. Telling Head Trainer Hollister Crowe that he thinks he's a vampire isn't really the best use of time, but it sure was funny. In fact, Lucy thinks that the idiotic bumbling bastard actually believed him.
"You're working at your own pace, and that's fine," Aleister attempts to reassure him, placing his hand on top of Lucy's and helping him tighten the garrote around the wooden pole. "Besides, you said yesterday - and quite loudly, may I add - that you don't need to train because you're ready on your own."
"I did say that," Lucy recalls, getting a kick out of the memory of his mirthful laugh when Hollister screamed at him for being disrespectful. "And I believed it, too, until my father told me differently. First, he said I wasn't ready, then he sent me a fuckin' babysitter, and now he's still not pleased."
"Babysitter?" the Nine boy intones, his voice a smidge upset. "Is that really all you think I am?"
Truth be told, Lucy isn't sure. He's never been the best at socializing with those close in age to him, and Aleister hardly treats him like he's a god. Sure, it's nice to be respected, but Aleister sometimes borders on smothering him. Though Lucy doubts it, there's always a chance the Nine boy's fucking with him and will kill him as soon as he gets the chance.
"Unsure," Lucy says. Quickly, his mind searches for something else they can talk about, eager to move away from something that could quickly turn awkward. "Anyway, do you think we need more allies?"
Surely that can't hurt, right? Lucy's mother, Countess, has truckloads of followers, as does his father. It only makes sense that Lucy should be the exact same way. Sure, he was building quite the reputation in Twelve, but being here means starting from scratch.
"That sounds like a good idea," Aleister replies, but Lucy can tell he's still dubious.
He tilts his head, "Are you sure?"
Aleister nods. "I'm positive. Who were you thinking? I have some ideas myself, but I'd be more than willing to hear—"
"The Seven boy," Lucy cuts him off. He's seen how Aleister looks at him, embarrassed but intrigued, and he knows exactly what that means. It means that his ally has a crush on Seven! Now, Lucy's no expert, but he's made a few successful matches back in Twelve, so surely he can do it again. Besides, Seven's definitely going to be a valuable ally for the two of them. Between his strong stature and smug expression, he clearly knows what he's doing.
"Are you sure?" Aleister says, his cheeks reddening.
I called it, Lucy thinks. He pumps his fist in the air to celebrate this success, then blurts out enthusiastically, "I'm positive!"
He drops the garrotes handles to the ground, stands up, and tugs at Aleister's sleeve towards the knives station where Seven lurks. As far as Lucy's aware, the boy hasn't spoken to anybody else during these first two days of training, but he sure has observed people, and Lucy swears Aleister was one of them.
"Do you want to say hi to him?" Lucy asks Aleister once Seven is mere feet away. He teases, "Or are you too much of a weenie?"
Aleister's expression shifts to one of genuine discomfort. Lucy amends himself, "Or actually. I'll talk to him. Don't even worry about it."
He can't slip up and make Aleister want to leave his side, especially now when they hardly know each other. Lucy walks closer to Seven, cranes his head upwards so that his eyes meet his, and stammers, "Why hello there!"
Immediately, Seven's brows furrow. He stares down at Lucy and sneers, "Now, what do you want from me, child?"
"First of all, I'm not a child. In fact, I'm mere days from being a full-fledged teenager." Lucy corrects the boy with a laugh. "Second, I just wanted you to meet my good friend Aleister. I don't mean to embarrass him, but he's been stealing glances at you, and I think you should have a conversation."
"Why do you think he's been staring at me?" Seven bites his lip and smirks. A warm sensation rises in Lucy's stomach that he chooses to ignore. "If you don't know, that's fine too. But do you think maybe he—"
"Has a crush on you?" Lucy attempts to fill in the blanks. "Well, you'd have to ask him that yourself. Besides, he doesn't even know you."
The boy nods. "Right. Take me to him if you're willing."
Of course Lucy's willing! In fact, he's rather surprised that this seems to be working so well. He turns his head to ensure Seven's following him, then walks back to Aleister. Once he arrives, Lucy notices the starstruck expression on his ally's face. He laughs to himself. Oh, this is going to be fun.
"Why hello there, Aleister," Lucy greets him. He steps to the side and extends his hands towards Seven. "This is—"
He realizes that he never even asked Seven his name.
"Olathe." Luckily, the boy can pick up on context clues. "Your ally told me that your name is Aleister. Is that right?"
"Yeah, I'm Aleister," he replies, his voice quivering. "I like your name, by the way."
"And I like yours," Olathe intones. There's something undeniably suave about him that Lucy reckons he isn't the first person to pick up on. "Your little friend didn't introduce himself to me. What may I call him?"
"I'm not little!" Lucy interrupts. "I already told you I'm almost thirteen."
"I wasn't asking you." Olathe puts his index finger on Lucy's lips and returns his gaze back to Aleister. "What's his name, dear?"
"Lucifer, but people usually call him Lucy," Aleister mutters, his skin quickly reddening until it's the same shade as a tomato.
Olathe grins. "That's a funny name. Fitting for a funny guy, I suppose."
He removes his finger, allowing Lucy to speak. "Thank you! My father picked it out for me."
"Your father?" Olathe asks, clearly intrigued. "Who's that?"
Lucy laughs. "Um, the Devil, duh. He sent me here to prove myself to him, and he sent Aleister to help me out."
"This is true," Aleister admits.
Olathe nods his head and chuckles. "I apologize for my brusqueness earlier. I didn't realize I was in the presence of royalty."
Lucy isn't sure whether he's being serious or not, but he chooses to give Olathe the benefit of the doubt since he doesn't know him very well yet. "I forgive you, and my father does too."
"Very good, thank you," Olathe offers Lucy a polite curtsy. Lucy recognizes the glint in Seven's, his pensive stare reminding Lucy of Vionei.
He smiles. His father sent him a succubus and a familiar? Oh, this is a bit excessive, but Lucy'd never complain about being spoiled.
"My father loves his succubi, don't even worry about it," Lucy assures Olathe, in case the boy thinks he's made some sort of a terrible mistake.
A look of confusion blossoms on the Seven boy's face that he quickly tries to hide. "Yes, succubi. That's what I am!"
"I knew it!" Lucy exclaims.
He turns around back to Aleister, still overwhelmed with redness and now sweat. The succubi tend to have that effect on people. Out of everyone here, Aleister should know this.
"Did you just want to say hi to me, or is there something else?" Olathe asks the pair.
Aleister tries to speak, but nothing comes out of his mouth. So instead, Lucy puts his hands on his hips and asks Olathe, "Would you perhaps be interested in allying with us?"
His lips curl into a sinister smile, his teeth bright. "Why, I thought you'd never ask."
Lucy releases a sigh of relief. One additional ally may not be an army, but it's one step closer to making his father proud and reaching his full potential. He taps his head, hoping his father will make his presence known and offer Lucy praise. When he doesn't say anything, the best Lucy can do is hope his dearest, most deadly father'll respect him soon.
Partners in Crime - Set It Off
I will be honest, I thought I wrote an A/N last night. It is now 7:30 in the morning and I don't really want to think of something interesting to say. Hope you're all having a good morning and enjoyed the chapter or whatever. New alliances innit.
Thank you Laney for doing the beta and thank you fans for being so supportive and yass.
Question of The Week: What's your favorite cut of steak?
Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds