XIV. The World Is A Stage
Sometimes, I ignore you, so I feel in control
'Cause really, I adore you, and I can't leave you alone
Fed up with the fantasies, that cover what is wrong
Come on, baby, let's just get drunk, forget we don't get on
Sapphira Starlett. 17.
District One Female.
Tw. depiction of drugging/abuse
Every single breath Sapphira's taken for the past seventeen years has been in preparation for this moment. If the stars are capable of personally blessing her, she hopes they chose to do so now.
She's referring to her interview, of course. Her guaranteed five minutes in the spotlight before the Games officially begin. More than anything, Sapphira's determined to make the most of each and every second.
Her time in the Capitol has been nice so far, yes; Talisa from District Four practically bends at her feet, and Clarion and Charon make the most excellent of friends. It goes without saying that Gremory is, as always, excellent and welcome company. Still, Sapphira wants more. Getting the attention of her peers and clasping it tight in the palm of her hands is one thing, but it's not nearly as impressive as charming legions of Capitolites into focusing on her and only her. Being second does give Sapphira an advantage in a way, but it also puts pressure on her to be memorable. There's twenty-two interviews that'll follow hers, so she needs to stand out, show them all an act that's impossible to follow.
"Best of luck out there," Talisa says, her thumb gently rubbing Sapphira's arm as she waits by the curtain. "I'm not sure you need it, but I figured it'd be kind of me to assure you anyway."
"Thank you, dahling." Sapphira reaches up to stroke the Four girl's cheek. "Between you and me, I don't think Gremory's interview is giving me much competition."
She knows damn well that her District partner can be charismatic and enthralling if he wants, but today, in front of the roaring crowd, he's stoic and monotonous. Perhaps he's nervous, though Sapphira's never thought Gremory Rossmani to be the sort of person who easily worries.
"I hate to admit it, but I think you're right," Talisa coos.
Sapphira's not sure where the girl's sudden admiration and even affection towards her came from, but she sure as hell isn't complaining. Gremory brought Talisa over to Sapphira just yesterday and whispered in her ear, "I think she likes you. She's been giving you puppy-eyes these past two days. I figured it'd be kind of me to give her a formal introduction to you."
(Deep down inside, she knows she doesn't deserve Talisa's love, or anybody else's for that matter. Sapphira's had more than her fair share of lady lovers in District One, yes, but none of them ever lasted. They told her that she's as fickle as the light on a firefly's tail: iridescent and beautiful at first, but moribund when the daylight comes and it's time to face life outside of an ecstatic intoxicated haze. She'd be imbecilic not to take their words to heart.)
(She once expressed this fear to Gremory, devastatingly hungover. He had assured Sapphira that she does deserve love, just like everybody else. Even though she wasn't fully cognizant, she still didn't believe him.)
The audience claps the loudest they have all night, hinting to Sapphira that Gremory's interview is over and done. She smiles, pleased that her time to shine has finally arrived. As she hears her District partner's footsteps getting closer to her, Sapphira cranes her head over her shoulder and makes eye contact with Talisa. "I'll see you soon, dear. If you see Charon and Clarion, tell them I'll see them later as well."
Ever since the two of them met, they've been spending nearly every minute together, typically with their tongues shoved down one another's throats. She's happy for them both – really, Sapphira is – but she can't stop herself from feeling a bit excluded, abandoned even.
(She should've known they'd leave her eventually; everyone does. It's fine though. Sapphira has Talisa, and even though he's constantly busy and seems to be close friends with the Twos, she likes to think she has Gremory too.)
"Good luck!" Gremory offers her a polite wave as their paths cross.
Sapphira grins and waves back. "Thank you, Gremgrem! You were amazing."
Based on his expression, Sapphira gets the feeling that Gremory knew she was lying, but she also knows that he'll never address it. She knows Gremory better than she ever thought she would, but at the same time, she sometimes thinks she doesn't know him at all.
(Sapphira doesn't know anybody, not even herself.)
Her heart flutters when she gets her first peek at the audience she'll soon be addressing. She sees what has to be nearly every man, woman, civilian, and child in the Capitol all dressed to the nines, their eyes glistening with stars and their smiles the sun itself. She pretends their grandiose glamour is all because they're seeing her. Maybe soon it really will be.
"Following Mister Rossmani is his ravishing District partner, who earned a score of eight yesterday," Lucky Flickerman announces, his voice as bright as the lights shining down on his face. The mention of Sapphira's training score makes her stomach swirl. She was hoping for higher, considering she put everything into her private session, but, of course, she's still happy for Charon and her ten. Sapphira swears she is. "Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for Miss Sapphira Starlett!"
She prances onto the stage with her hands on her hips and her head held high. When she looks at the audience, each and every one of them positively delighted to be in her presence, her cheeks swell to an embarrassing shade of red. Sapphira cups her hand and gestures at the crowd as if she's the fairest princess in a blockbuster fantasy film. Even if she seems self-important, it's justified. This is her moment, not anybody else's. Her eyes lock with Lucky's, and he motions towards a cushy red velvet chair. Sapphira's glad that her stylist, Tigris, decided to dress her in blue instead of maroon like she initially planned, because then Sapphira would have blended in with the chair she now sits proudly on.
"Good evening, Mr. Flickerman," Sapphira intones, her voice even more high-pitched than usual. "Thank you so much for having me here tonight. You look absolutely stunning, by the way."
It's true. Though Sapphira would never be so flamboyant as to wear yellow and purple in the same outfit, she can appreciate Lucky's audacity and courage.
"Thank you so much, Miss Starlett," Lucky says dryly. Immediately, she's put off by his sudden lack of enthusiasm. "I love your outfit as well. Was it Tigris who designed it?"
"Why yes it was," Sapphira replies, tilting her head to make eye contact with the audience who's viewing her so eagerly. "She said it was her first time working with tulle, but I think she made it work." She gestures to her dress' pastel underskirt, the frills making Sapphira look even more extravagant than usual.
"She most definitely did," the Master of Ceremonies agrees. He leans in close to Sapphira,furrows his brows, and continues, "So, as I'm sure you know Miss Starlett, this year's Games are special. We have perhaps the most exuberant cast of Tributes I've ever seen. How do you fit into this wonderful web of mavericks?"
"Well, Lucky, first off, that's an excellent question," Sapphira drawls. Maybe it's immature of her to smother him with praise, but she knows that Capitolites like being told of their superiority, so hopefully this is making her more popular with them. "My mother and father run a small film company back in One known as Starlett Studios. They mainly work in post-production and distribution, but it's their business that inspired me to do what I do best."
"And what's that?" Lucky asks. "Do you work on editing films with them?"
"Oh heavens no!" She gasps and puts her hand to her mouth. "Growing up, they'd show me movies all of the time, and it made me want to be an actress."
"Really? That's lovely," Lucky says, and Sapphira glances at the audience to see a few heads nodding in agreement. "Have you been in anything that we might be familiar with?"
Sapphira sighs. Now's the time to humble herself, unfortunately. "I made a small cameo in that soap opera, Buoyancy and Bloodlust. I didn't do much, but it was a mahvalous experience regardless."
"Oh don't say that,." As Sapphira expected, Lucky responds well to her slight self-deprecation. "I'm sure you were brilliant." He pauses for a moment then continues, "Is there anything else you were in?"
"A few independent films, yes," she answers. "None of them have been released yet, but hopefully you'll see me in them soon."
(It's then that it dawns on Sapphira – there's a damn good chance she'll never see the various films she mentioned. Worse, there's a damn good chance she'll never get the chance to act again. If she dies in the next few weeks, her career could be over before it truly begins.)
(She reminds herself that if she wins, her career will soar high into the clouds above her. That's why she's here, after all. To win, not to fizzle out and die. And she will win; she has to win.)
"I look forward to possibly speaking with you about these movies," Lucky remarks. It makes Sapphira smile with every muscle in her face. She'd do anything to be presented with the chance to give an interview as glamorous as this one. "With the Games tomorrow, Miss Starlett, how are you feeling? You did score an eight in training, so I'd imagine you feel well-prepared."
"Well, I was hoping for a ten, so I don't feel prepared at all." When nobody laughs at Sapphira's joke, she quickly takes it back. "I was kidding. I actually feel quite optimistic about tomorrow, and all of the days that'll hopefully come after. I've accumulated a fair bit of allies which will definitely put me at an advantage."
"Yes you have," the Master of Ceremonies responds, an impressed look on his face. "After talking with you today, I can definitely see why. There's something about you that's just… magnetic."
"Why thank you!" Sapphira does her best not to hunch over, embarrassed by such a lofty compliment, especially one given by such an important person. "You're quite electrifying yourself, you know. I'm not the most experienced with interviews, but you've made this one incredible."
"I'm glad to hear it." Lucky smiles, then turns his head to the audience. "Before you go, Miss Starlett, there's something else I need to ask you."
"Before I go?" Her expression shifts to one of worry. "But Lucky, I was just getting started."
"I'm sure you were," he says, pointing at his watch. "Unfortunately, there's a limited amount of time allotted for each Tribute. There are twenty-four of you, after all. We don't want to be here forever."
Sapphira knew that she'd only have five minutes with him, but she figured her charisma would compel Lucky to interview her for even longer. I don't get it. It's not like the other Tributes are going to be as interesting as I am. This is the best interview of the night; it should last forever!
She sighs. "Yes, Lucky. You make a fair point."
"Thank you," he replies. "Now, what I wanted to ask you… Your District partner, Gremory Rossmani. A few minutes ago, he mentioned that you two know each other from back in One. I didn't get the chance to ask him to elaborate, so would you mind telling me more?"
"Not at all," Sapphira responds. A nervous feeling sinks into her stomach, because what's she supposed to say? She can't tell all of Panem about how generous Gremory is, how willing he is to gift her something to numb her mind, allowing her to sink into oblivion when the burden of being alive becomes too much. She can't tell them about how devoted Gremory is, how he works night after night at the same bar where she gets wasted, passing out on the floor as if she truly is nothing, has nothing. She can't tell them about how compassionate Gremory is, how he and his sister were both there for her the night she got into a real bad fight with her father, showing up with a black eye and scratches on her neck, a fallen star.
And so, she's given no choice but to lie. "Gremory works at a pub that I frequent for dinner. He's always been my most favorite waiter, and I was shocked to see him voted in alongside me. He is, perhaps, one of the kindest, most empathetic people I know."
Though she's fond of him, Sapphira knows damn well that Gremory Rossmani's far from a benevolent man. Anybody who deals drugs and euphoria can't be entirely pure. Sapphira's never met somebody who gave her only unconditional kindness, and she knows Gremory most definitely isn't such a person.
"I'm glad to hear that, Miss Starlett," Lucky remarks. He stands up and grabs Sapphira by the wrist, then leads her center stage. "Well, this has been lovely, but we've got to hear from everybody else now." He raises her hand up above her head and shouts, "Ladies and gentleman, Sapphira Starlett!"
The sound of their applause is so loud that Sapphira can't hear her own thoughts as she ambles backstage. All she knows is that they loved her. And that love is something she's going to hold onto tomorrow, and then the day after, and then every day of the Games as well.
Her eyes scan the greenroom in search of Talisa. Sapphira's sure that the Four girl was remarkably impressed with her performance. Maybe that'll even earn her a kiss. Instead, Sapphira sees Lorian, who's interview is next.
"Best of luck," she whispers. The two of them aren't close – or, at least, they aren't close yet. That can still change. He's probably stressed out because Sapphira's interview gave him so much to live up to, and chances are, Lucky's going to ask him about his lackluster training score.
But Lorian doesn't say anything back, and Sapphira feels the permanent hole drilled into her heart get slightly wider.
She sighs, then continues her search for Talisa, or maybe even Clarion and Charon, shouting, "I'm back, guys! Where are you all?"
"I'm right here." Sapphira hears a voice that she knows doesn't belong to either of the three people whom she was looking for.
She tilts her head at Gremory and asks him. "Do you know where my friends went? I mean, not that you're not my friend. I just told Talisa that I'd meet up with her, Clarion, and Charon."
"I sent them off because I wanted to talk to you," Gremory says.
Suddenly, Sapphira's incredibly nervous. Whatever it is that Gremory wants to talk to her about, she worries that it won't be good. Was he actually offended when she said earlier that he did amazing during his interview and it was awfully obvious that she was fibbing? Oh, Gremory should know by now that Sapphira has never had any vicious intentions towards him. Did she once again make a social mistake that she'll never recover from?
"Sure thing," Sapphira says, hoping that she's done a decent job masking her nerves. She follows Gremory into a quiet room, far away from everybody else, then looks at him with eager eyes and asks, "What did you want to talk about, Gremgrem?"
Her District partner sighs. "Now why did you go and make a fool out of yourself on stage?"
"What do you mean?" Sapphira panics. She was positive that her interview was absolutely spectacular. Hell, Lucky seemed to be enjoying it, as did everybody watching. She answered every question the best that she could, and only had one slip-up, though she was able to recover from it. She even painted Gremory in the most positive light possible.
(Or, was that all in her head? Did Sapphira's active imagination get the best of her once more and wrongfully convince her that she's worthy of admiration?)
"You gave Lucky so many meaningless compliments, he probably thought you wanted to blow him after all this is over," Gremory elaborates as Sapphira gasps. "Do you really think he wants to hear that he asks good questions? That's his job, Sapphira. To ask good questions."
"I was just being nice," she pleads with her District partner. "I didn't mean to make him uncomfortable, and I certainly don't want to—"
"I know you don't, Sapphira," Gremory cuts her off and frowns sympathetically. "But how's Lucky supposed to know that? And do you really think anybody cares about your minor roles in films and movies? I care, obviously, but they don't. The Capitol wants something more… impressive."
"How do you know?" she asks him. "I thought that they were invested. Or at least, they seemed like they were."
"That must've been your mind playing tricks on you," the One boy informs her. "I saw at least a dozen people asleep when I looked at the monitors. And that was just the front row. I know you wanted to do well, my friend, but I don't want you thinking something that isn't real."
Oh. Oh.
It takes everything in Sapphira not to hunch over and cry into her dress. She really is a moron for thinking that she'd actually do well in her interview. She should've known that everybody in the Capitol would think she's ridiculous the same way the people in One do.
"I'm sorry," Sapphira says, face beginning to crumple. "I didn't mean to let everybody down."
"There's no need to apologize," Gremory assures her. "I'm just upset you couldn't see it for yourself and that I had to be the person to tell you. I don't want you to be sad, Sapphira."
"I don't want to be sad either," she remarks, wiping her fingers underneath her eyes to block her tears from falling. "I just thought that I did really good. And I was feeling really confident about tomorrow, but now I'm worried."
(Is this really the beginning of Sapphira's end? No; it can't be.)
"There's no need to worry." Her District partner pats her shoulder. "I'm going to protect you in there for as long as I can. But I just hate seeing you like this. Do you want something that will help?"
Sapphira's eyes widen. "What do you mean?"
Gremory reaches into his left pant pocket and pulls out a small clear bag filled with a pastel pink powder. "I think you know exactly what I mean. By the way, do you really think the Capitolites believed you when you said I was your favorite waiter? That's so obviously a secret code for something else."
"You're right," she says, her fingers reaching for the bag. Sapphira's sworn to herself so many times that she's done with Gremory's stardust, yet her mind's hardwired to crave it along with anything else he may want to sell to her. Sapphira tells herself that yes, addiction is a vice of hers, but it's one she can stop whenever she wants.
(She can't.)
"Are you sure you don't mind sharing with me?" Her fingers wrap around the bag, and Gremory lets go. "Usually I shell out the big bucks for this stuff, but obviously I don't have any money on me right now."
"I'm positive; it's my treat," Gremory enthuses, clearing off a table so Sapphira can pour a line of stardust onto its surface. "Like I said, I don't want you to be upset, and stardust always helps you."
She nods, and lowers herself onto the table. With just a single inhale, the dust fills Sapphira's mind with the beginning of a thick fog of blinding radiance and bliss. "Thank you Gremory. I mean it."
"Anytime," he says, again patting her on the back. "I'll get going now so you have some time to yourself. Don't worry about giving me the rest of the stardust. It's yours to keep for as long as you'd like."
Gremory's gone before Sapphira can thank him once more.
She pours another line onto the table and sighs. Sapphira Starlett always thought that someday she'd be strong enough to not need stardust or alcohol to keep her afloat. She always thought someday her happiness would come from the results of her actions, not the result of Gremory handing her something. She's reminded now that's impossible. She's spiraled too far down into the depths of the Viper's Nest, and nobody can save her; not even herself. She'll never be able to experience joy if she isn't high, and that'll never change.
Sapphira should have stayed a child forever. She never should've left the screening room of her family home's basement, where she watched vintage movies alone in the dark, dreaming of the day she'd be watching herself.
The stars are in the sky instead of on the ground for a reason. Sapphira isn't meant to touch them or even get close. At least she knows that now, before it's too late.
Belacaine Beaufort. 18.
District Two Female.
Her interview's going great so far, if she does say so herself. When Belacaine saw her total flop of a training score, she knew immediately that she'd have to make one hell of an impression during her interview. Judging by the glint in Lucky Flickerman's eyes, she's doing a stupendous fucking job.
"I'm glad to see that you're so fond of the Capitol," he says. Belcaine's just finished going on an egregious rant about all her favorite things about the place and Lucky ate it up like it was fucking candy. "If you could pick a favorite thing about it, what would that be?"
"Oh, you can't possibly be asking me to pick just one thing!" Belacaine enthuses. She leans back in her chair for a moment and taps her index finger to her chin. Hopefully, the audience sees that as Belacaine thinking hard about what her answer to the question will be, when in reality she already knows exactly what she's going to say. "I think my favorite thing about the Capitol is the Hunger Games themselves; the Quell if we want to be extra specific."
"That's a very interesting answer, Miss Beaufort," Lucky replies. "It also prompts me to ask for elaboration. There are so many incredible aspects of life here in the Capitol, so why the Games? I can't imagine that answer's going to be common amongst your peers."
I know it isn't, and that's why it makes me special. All the interviews before her have sung the Capitol's praises. Considering the nature of the Quell, this isn't a trend that can go on forever. If Belacaine's able to not only condemn the Games, but also fawn over their most horrendous iteration yet, that's sure to give her a shit ton of sponsors. If only the other Tributes knew that half of being here is putting on a show. The Capitolites don't care what your answers are as long as they're remotely positive and involve kissing ass.
"I see them as a challenge," Belacaine says, her voice sugary sweet. "Like so many people here, I did not choose the Games out of my own volition. Still, the fact that my District has deemed me worthy of this tournament of mass slaughter has led me to realize, perhaps I deserve it."
"Oh?" The interviewer gasps. "Why would you say that you deserve it?"
"Back in District Two, I made a lot of mistakes," she begins, doing her damn best to feign genuine remorse. "My father, Tourney Beaufort, was involved in a scam business. He told the people of my District that if they drank his strength serum, they'd be more fit for Peacekeeper training. I knew he was lying, but I let him continue telling that lie. I'm not at all surprised that Two had enough of a grudge on both my father and I to the extent that they sent me here. If I'd been less of a coward, perhaps things would be different, but there's no such thing as dwelling on the past in the Games, and thus, I'm using this experience to learn. It is my duty to repent for my sins."
"That's very meaningful," Lucky remarks, unaware that Belacaine's not telling the full story as to why she was voted in. "If you don't mind though, I'd love to hear you elaborate more on what you said earlier about the Games being a challenge."
"Of course!" Belacaine nods. "When the Games come to a close, one of us Tributes will be returned to our District, the very same one that sent us into this mess. Thus, in the arena, we have two options. We can either let the toxic traits inside us all that led to our reaping get the best of us, or we can fight like hell to earn our Districts' forgiveness. If they're going to have to welcome us back home, we might as well ensure we're as loved and admired as any other victor. I assume the Quell was created as a punishment, but there's still something inside of me that sees it as an opportunity instead."
"That was beautiful," he stammers, raising one hand to wipe a tear he never should've shed. It takes every last bit of strength that Belacaine has to not burst out into hysterical laughter. If Ethereality was still alive, lord knows she'd be doing the same – not just at Lucky, but at Belacaine too.
(Is it bad that there's still times where Belacaine misses her? It is sort of her own fault that Ethereality's not around anymore. Maybe they could've gotten over the whole fucking Ronin thing and became sort of friends? Eh, it's too late for Belacaine to ponder that now. She made her choice when she swung the mace at Ethereality's head that first time. Belacaine can't be assed to regret it now.)
(Especially not when she craves the sense of power she had as her ex-lover cowered in fear, her breathing quick and screams shrill. Belacaine misses how whole she felt when fragments of Ethereality's skull were splattered on the locker room floor and she was able to walk away knowing it was because of her. She misses the attention it brought her, the way people feared her as she walked along Two's streets. Belacaine'd do anything to feel that way again.
It's a good thing she doesn't have to wait much longer.)
"Everything I say is beautiful," Belacaine quips, earning a round of laughter from the audience. "Just like you Lucky, and everybody else here in the audience tonight."
She's unsure if Lucky's the sort to buy into her flirtatious bullshit, but it certainly doesn't hurt to try. Earlier today, Belacaine suggested to Lorian that he do the same.
"All you gotta do is tell the guy that you like his face and clothing, and everyone will be swooning over you," she had told him. "Besides, you've gotta do something to make up for that four, my friend."
"I'll make up for it in the Games, not my interview," Lorian responded, ever so stoically. Belacaine's not sure why that surprises her at this point. Cleary, her District partner hates the idea of fun or anything remotely similar.
(She was only partially able to soothe him after his meltdown from private sessions. Belacaine assured Lorian that scores didn't matter and said that she had a damn good feeling she too did a shit job. He was relatively stable until it was revealed that he gave it his all yet still somehow scored lower. Belacaine never thought she'd feel bad for him, but Lorian's almost like one of those sick puppies on the side of the road that you pity so bad, you've got no choice but to take it in.)
"I appreciate the compliments, Miss Beaufort," Lucky says, then glances over to his wristwatch. "But unfortunately, my time here with you is done."
"Aw, shucks!" Belacaine jokes. "Well, I guess I'll just have to wait until after the Games to talk to you some more."
"If you're lucky enough, yes." Lucky grabs Belacaine by the wrist and walks with her center stage. He claps then raises her hand and proclaims, "Everybody give it up for Miss Belacaine Beaufort!"
The audience cheers louder than they have for anybody else that night – or, at least, that's what Belacaine chooses to believe. She offers them a curtsy, lifting up the edges of her black skirt suit, then walks off the stage.
She can't say she's too surprised to see that Lorian's waiting for her right in the entryway. At first, she swore up and down that the rat bastard fucking hated her, but now she doesn't think so. Maybe it's because he realized there's nobody else willing to deal with his petty bullshit, or maybe he actually realized that Belacaine's the best companion that anybody 'round here can get.
"Congratulations," Lorian tells her with a submissive yet respectful wave. "You actually did really damn good out there."
"I know I did," Belacaine teases, slapping him on the wrist.
"It's because everything you said was bullshit, but they did like it, so I'll give you that," he says. Damnit, of course Lorian couldn't let her have one moment in the spotlight. He's always moping around with his cynical pragmatism.
"The reason you're here is bullshit," she combats him. "Or it isn't, because you refuse to fucking tell me."
"I already said you don't want to know!" Lorian shouts. "It's a long story and I don't want to get into it."
Belacaine crosses her arms. "Fine. Then I won't tell you why I'm here either."
"I know why you're here." Her District partner rolls his eyes. "Because your father is a fraud and you helped promote his bullshit."
"That's not all," she reminds him.
"Right, right." Lorian crosses his arms. "How could I forget about the brutal murder thing?"
"I don't know," Belacaine remarks. "Maybe you were too busy thinking about how you hate yourself and will never live up to the ridiculous expectations you have for yourself. You do that a lot, you know."
"That was a rhetorical question—"
"Oh, I know!" She cuts him off then smiles. "Look, I'll make a deal with you, my friend. I'll tell you why I thought it'd be a good idea to gank Ethereality if you tell me why the fuck you're here."
"I don't really care!" He admits. That doesn't change the fact that Belacaine's still a nosy little slut and is basically on her hands and knees begging to learn what the fuck Lorian Naciri's deal is. She knows that whatever it is, it's probably stupid as shit, but she still needs to know, just to quench her insatiable thirst for hot gossip. Gremory was able to give her some crumbs about Charon last night, but for fuck's sake, that's not nearly enough.
She grabs him by the wrist, making room for their meat-shield —fuck— ally Clarion to pass through for his interview. Belacaine waves at the Three boy. "Good luck out there!"
"Yes, good luck!" Lorian turns and waves as well. He then whispers to Belacaine, "I can't fucking believe that he got better scores than we did."
"That sounds like a you problem," she responds. "I knew from the moment I stepped in there that I would fuck around for the sake of it. Maybe you'd have done better if you did the same."
"Fuck off!" Lorian sneers. "It's not my fault I still have an ounce of dignity left in me."
"Do you really now?" Belacaine teases. "I don't think knocking down a bunch of racks in the training center is dignified behavior, but what do I know? I'm just a woman."
She doesn't give him time to reply, instead strutting away because she knows Lorian will follow her. Oddly enough, he always does. Maybe it's just because everybody else in their alliance is sort of ridiculous, but Belacaine will take any sort of attention she can get.
"Listen!" Belacaine turns around to see Lorian poking her shoulder. "If you want, I can tell you why I'm here, but you have to promise not to make fun of me."
"Yeah, there's no way in hell I'm not making fun of you," she says. "You can tell me anyway though. I know your secrets are tired of staying trapped in your flimsy little body for so long."
He sighs. "You're right, unfortunately."
I'm always right, Belacaine thinks, but doesn't say out loud because for some reason she actually cares about what Lorian has to say. That goes against everything Belacaine's ever believed in, but she's not going to fight it, at least not now.
"I cheated," Lorian reveals as if it's some sort of a big secret that Belacaine never would've guessed in a million years. "My mom works for Two's mayor so it was pretty easy for me to just… sneak in there and change some things. I didn't realize I'd changed so many until well… nevermind."
"Yeah, no shit," Belacaine says. She's about to laugh, but the disheartened expression on Lorian's face tells her that wouldn't be a good idea. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you actually feel bad about—"
"It's complicated!" He waves his arms. "I'll tell you more later, but for now I just wanted to get that out there. It felt… good."
"Well, I'm glad," Belacaine replies. "I'm not sure what for, but I'm glad I was able to help in some capacity."
"Thank you," Lorian says. He pauses for a moment then smiles that same devious grin Belacaine remembers from reaping day. "Now what about you? What compelled you to beat Ethereality to a pulp?"
She sighs. Hopefully this doesn't change what he thinks of her. Somehow, she doesn't think it will.
Melchior Kolmogorov. 18.
District Five Tribute.
As they stand, eagerly waiting for their interview, Thana whispers into Melchior's ear, "Please don't try to embarrass yourself out there."
"I can't make any promises." They turn around and wink at her. "I'd think you'd want me to embarrass myself, personally. I can't see you doing much better, so at least this evens the playing field. You know, getting a one in training—"
"Don't remind me," Thana hisses.
"I already told you that I think it's iconic," Melchior says. "I'm just saying that, if I embarrass myself, that sets the stage for you to embarrass yourself even worse. These Capitolites love consistency; trust me on this one."
"I would if I had even half a clue of what you were saying," she remarks.
"Eh, that's fair enough."
Truthfully, Melchior's the most tired they've been in their entire life. They've always applauded themselves for having what seems to be a limitless source of energy behind their skull instead of a brain, but for some fucking reason, that energy's been drained and it's really starting to show. Melchior swears to himself though, tomorrow they'll have a crap-ton more energy. After all, they do still plan on making the Games their bitch, especially with their favorite woodland demon-creature-girl at their side.
(Friend, Melchior reminds themself. Thana Achillea is your friend.)
"I suppose you can say stupid shit if you'd like," Thana relents.
Melchior smirks. "Well actually, I wasn't planning on saying stupid shit. I was planning on saying shit so incredibly smart and intelligent that the Capitolites are overwhelmed and embarrassed because their brain isn't nearly as girthy or as massive as mine."
"If this is an example of shit that is incredibly smart and intelligent, I think the Capitol will understand it just fine," the Eleven girl says. "But you know what, bless your little heart for trying."
"I'm not just going to try – I'm going to succeed, too!" Melchior boasts. "Believe me, Thana. This is going to be fucking incredible!"
Yeah, Melchior was so fuckin' smart for choosing Thana to be their ally. She's like if Kelvin was a bit more funny and a lot more productive. Sure, she hasn't said shit about what landed her in the Capitol for a murder contest, but Melchior's perceptive enough to know that she probably did an arson. It'd make a lot of sense considering her fire hyper fixation and the fact she burned everything in the training room. Lord, Thana's an absolute legend. What did Melchior do to get so lucky?
"And now from District Five, Melchior Kolmogorov!" They hear Lucky's voice ushering them onto the stage.
"May the odds be ever in the— you get the point," Thana says, then shoves Melchior forward. They regain their balance and put their hands in the air, standing tall and proud for everybody to see.
"Good evening, Capitol," Melchior shouts. "Are you guys ready for a real interview!"
"Please take a seat, Mister Kolmogorov," Lucky instructs them, aggressively pointing at the chair beside him.
"Take it?" Melchior asks, grabbing onto the red chair's edge. "Thank you so much Mista' Flickerman. How did you know I was looking for a new chair?"
"I meant sit down," the Master of Ceremonies deadpans. "Please."
"Right, right," they say with a snarky laugh. "I totally knew what you meant by that."
They did, by the way. Melchior knows that Lucky wouldn't actually want them to take a chair when there's still over half of the interviews for him to get through. They were just making a silly goofy joke and some of the audience members seemed to like it so Melchior considers that a smashing success.
They slump over the chair's edge, tilting their body's weight until they fall over onto the cushioning. They lick their lips and then remark, "Well then, my little Luckster-fuckster. Fancy seeing you this evening!"
"My name is Lucretius!" The man tilts his head in disgust. "I was expecting you'd be dignified enough to address me formally, just likey since your fellow Tributes were."
"I didn't realize I was them," Melchior scoffs. "Forgive me, but I'm just trying to be unique and stand out."
They know that even if Lucky thinks they're a fucking awful little shit (they sort of are) by the end of their interview, at least the Capitolites will remember them. Most of the people before Melchior sucked the Capitol's ass like a popsicle, so they figure it's time for a change of pace. Those little shits can't get too cocky now, can they?
"You definitely don't need to be rude to stand out," Lucky says, probably referring to Melchior's scars that peek through the white mesh top their stylist's got them all fitted up in. "Care to explain the origin story behind those scars?"
"I was struck by lightning and thought I was going to die and then I didn't," Melchior explains, like it's common sense, which it is. "So yeah, best of luck to everybody in the arena out there, because I'm pretty sure I'm, like, immortal or something."
Eesh… Melchior's not just "pretty sure;" they know they're immortal, but sometimes they have to act humble. That's a lesson Thana taught them. Or rather, last night when they were watching the score reveals together, she shouted, "If you could get over yourself for like thirty seconds, that'd be nice."
(He immediately did.)
"Immortality's not something to joke about," Lucky chastises them. Melchior knows that, hence why they're literally not joking. "But hey, tell yourself whatever you want if you think it's going to help you in there. Now, I'd like to ask you—"
"I'd like to not answer!" They immediately cut him off. Melchior folds their hands in their lap and then continues, "Y'know, I reckon you're pretty tired of doing interviews. Is that true Mista' Flicksies?"
"It's my job," he drawls. "So no, I'm not tired actually."
"Well, that makes one of us!" Melchior enthuses. They notice Lucky's lips are about to move, so they quickly jump to their next talking point before he can say anything. "What I was getting at, dear lad, is that I would like to ask you some questions. Would that be alright with you?"
"Something tells me you're not going to give me a choice either way," Lucky says, the audience laughing in response. "So sure, ask me whatever you want."
"So now you get it! I knew you would eventually." Melchior leans forward, the way Lucky did when he was interviewing people earlier. They glance to the side, pleased to see that some people are getting a kick out of their sensical nonsense. That's just about the best they can hope for. "Now Lucky, give us the juicy gossip. Who here has been your favorite person to interview thus far? And before you ask, no, you cannot say me."
"I wasn't going to say you, don't worry," the Master of Ceremonies answers. Again, the audience laughs and Melchior isn't sure if it's with them or at them. Either way, they must be having so much fuckin' fun! This has easily got to be the best interview any of them has ever seen. Even in Games past, Melchior is sure that nobody has been as thrilling or as compelling as they are. "But I will say that I really enjoyed my conversations with Sapphira Starlett of District One and Clarion Bohr of District Three."
"And Melchior Kolmogorov of District Five," they add. "I know I just said you can't say me, but I changed my mind. The Capitol changed its mind on how kids are selected for the Games this year, so you should be cool with that."
"We didn't change our mind," Lucky explains, as if whatever he says is going to have any impact on Melchior's thought process. Seriously, how does this cuck not realize by now that Melchior literally could not give a rat's ass? "The idea of the Quell has been ingrained in our country's rich history since the Dark Days."
"So true king!" Melchior deadpans. Despite their completely genuine and heartfelt compliment, Lucky doesn't react. Fucking boring of him. Besides, our country's history is poor as fuck. It's been twenty-five years."Anyway, now onto our next question. Of all of the upcoming interviews, who are you most excited to talk to." Lucky again opens his mouth but Melchior again doesn't let him get in a word. "I know, I know, you so want to talk to Thana Achillea from Eleven. I can't blame you, Lucky. You know, I've been basically Thana's best friend for three days now, and let me tell you, dude, you are in for a fucking treat!"
"Please," Lucky scowls. "If I'm excited to talk to anybody, it's not the person who got a one in training."
"Yeah, a one because she's number one," they say. "As in, she's kind of the best. You wouldn't understand, Lucky."
"She got a one because she destroyed Capitol property," he replies. Again, bold of him to assume that Melchior actually cares about the legality of her actions.
The Thana slander makes Melchior unreasonably pissed. Sure, she's kind of a nut job and she's very strange and unsettling, but like, Capitolites have puke-green skin and neon orange hair, so really they should be more understanding.
"So did your face when you looked into that mirror and it fuckin' broke," Melchior snaps back at Lucky. That snide comment earns a laugh from the audience. "I hope your seven years of bad luck ends soon, by the way. That's got to be a bad bounce."
"I'm starting to think you're a part of it," Lucky proclaims. "Hypothetically of course. A face as dashingly handsome as my own isn't breaking any mirrors. You can count on that."
"Sure, buddy." Melchior sighs then rolls his eyes. "Whatever helps keep you up at night."
Lucky's eyes dart back and forth. He looks at his watch and groans, "Technically you still have a minute left, but I think it'd be best if we end your interview right now. Before you say something you'll regret. Or rather, anything else you'll regret."
"Are you not having fun too?" they ask, pretending to be offended. The fact he isn't is his own personal problem because Melchior's having a fuckin' blast."Oh damn, that's just a shame."
"Even if I was, I wouldn't admit it," Lucky answers. "And for the record, I am not having fun."
"You're also lying," Melchior says. They hop out of their chair and straighten their shit posture. "But fine, if you insist on parting with me so tragically soon, I suppose I will. Because I just care about you so much. And I really enjoyed our time together. Yes, Lucky, you've really touched my heart today. Someday I hope you can touch my—"
"Melchior Kolmogorov, everybody!" Lucky interrupts their feigned declaration of love — rude of him.
They spin their hand in a circle and then gracefully bow. "It was my honor getting to know you all tonight, and I hope we can all hang out together sometime soon."
It's a mix of applause, laughter, and silence as Melchior walks backstage. That's a satisfactory reception, they suppose. After all, Melchior's whole goal was to make a large impression on everybody, whether it be good or bad. Yet again, they have gone above and beyond, and it was sort of legendary.
The first thing Thana says when her eyes meet Melchior's in the greenroom is, "Dear lord, you're a harlot."
"You're allowed to call me a whore, you know," Melchior says, pouting his lips like a Capitolite model. "I think I'd prefer you call me one, actually."
"Okay well then you're a whore," Thana remarks, once again smiling 'cause she does a whole lot of that when she's with Melchior. "A melchi-whore."
The two of them both laugh louder than her comment warranted. What can they say, Melchior's kind of a slut for a good pun. Once their chuckling settles, Melchior asks Thana, "Did you appreciate my shout-out to you? Apologies if now having to live up to that hype is a struggle, but I just couldn't resist the opportunity to brag about you."
Her face softens. "Whatever hype there was for me, there was no way I was going to live up to it anyway."
"Woah there!" Melchior gasps, swinging one of their lanky arms around Thana's shoulder. "You live up to all of the hype in my head. Like every day, I say to myself, there's no way you could ever get cooler, and then you do! You're actually incredible at exceeding the hype, and I can't wait for all of the Capitol to see that."
"With you I do maybe," she says softly. "It'll be different during my interview. I actually like you. I don't even know them."
"You like me?" They raise a brow. "Why Thana, that has got to be one of the nicest things I've ever heard you say to me."
"Sure I do." Thana shrugs as if this isn't a big fucking deal when it very much is. "You're nice to me and good company. It'd be rude of me not to."
Her words make Melchior want to explode with happiness. Ever since their first conversation, Melchior's been determined to establish some sort of a bond with her, and the fact that it's actually happening? Lord, it's thrilling.
(Because without Thana, Melchior would be forced to be alone. And if they were alone, they'd have no choice but to think even more than they already do. Intense rumination could lead to Melchior accidentally reminding himself that there's literally no such thing as immortality, and they sure as hell don't want that.)
"You make excellent company too, T-money!" Melchior enthuses.
"Please don't call me that," she replies. "But yeah, it's been nice to have you with me here. Especially considering tomorrow and—"
"Who gives a damn about tomorrow?" Melchior says. "I mean, I know you do, but it's not tomorrow now, it's tonight. Why don't we make the most of that?"
"By doing what?" Thana's brows furrow. "Tonight I was planning on drawing alone in my room. I don't let anyone watch me while I draw."
"Okay, but would 'ya let me watch?" Melchior pleads. "I'm still not over the drawing you showed me on the first day of training."
Thana sighs. She watches as Melchior's eyes widen like a sad little dog. Before they can get on the ground and start panting, Thana answers their decree, "Fine."
And that's all Melchior needs from her. Despite the thick gray smog that clouds their mind, it's clear now that they're not just anyone to Thana. Fitting, because she's not just anyone to him either. Even if they've yet to acknowledge it, the two of them are partners in this whole ordeal and it'll take all the fire and lightning in the world to bring them apart.
Starring Role - MARINA
"But Lindsay, isn't this whole fic for Sapphira? Why are you so fucking mean to her?"
Cope, seethe, mald, etc.
Don't blame me for this shit. Blame Will for being like "What if I subbed somebody who's whole purpose is to torment Sapphira and eat shit?" Okay, maybe you can blame me for nodding eagerly at that prospect, but also no you cannot. I am a god.
If you want to see me being really mean even more, check out the crap I wrote last week. I did the impossible: making Icarus angsty and emo. I'm sorry Laney, except no; I am not. What I am is thankful that you beta'd this chapter [daps myself up for making such a smooth transition].
Question of The Chapter: If you had to personally kill Gremory (not in the fic, in real life), how would you do it?
I think yes, you will see more WTP2 next week. I'm finally in the mood to write again, it seems. But also, you should know by now that I am not to be trusted.
Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds