Aleida Edevane, Victor of the 88th Hunger Games
The Capitol - ?
When he opens his eyes, he's overwhelmed with a white light that washes out any possibility of seeing color or contrast.
When he closes his eyes, it's no better. In place of darkness, his mind shows him the last thing he saw before it all went white.
Capitol doctors. Needles. Tools he didn't recognize, and some he did. Some of the same tools that fixed his eyes after he won his Games, that cured him of his glaucoma.
The Capitol twice robbed him of the life he tried to set for himself. The first was when he didn't die in their damned Games, despite throwing himself into it willingly, accepting the death that never came. The second was when they fixed the one thing he had left of himself. His imperfect eyes.
Now they've done it again, they've injected themselves in places they don't belong. They've reversed their fix. And he can't see shit.
That part doesn't bother him. He spent the better half of his younger years preparing for blindness. He thought he could avoid it by dying in the Games. When that didn't work out, he learned to accept it. When he accepted that he wouldn't have to accept it, he turned to drinking, and that made it pretty easy to accept anything.
What bothers him really is how intentional it all was. He was awake for every fucking moment of the procedure. He was sedated, basically immobile as they did it. They made sure he felt every second. Every cut and laceration, they took their damn time with it. They whispered the same fucking question in his ear.
"Where is she?"
Like he could've provided an answer anyway.
He opens his eyes and pulls himself away from the memory and into the light.
"Nausicaa?" he calls out for her. He doesn't know if she's still here, or still around. He thought he heard her screams, or maybe they were his own. Time and sound blur down in this shithole and he'd believe anything to be true at this point.
Silence lasts for a while until she responds with a weak grunt.
"What did they do to you?" he asks weakly. He expects anything. Lost limbs. Avoxed. Poisoned. Deafened. No, not deafened. She heard his question.
Anything she could say wouldn't surprise him.
"Nothing." Except that.
"Really?" He can't make sense of it. Certainly not an oversight. She's here for a reason. He is too, although he could be here for many reasons. The bullshit he did to protect Mishra. Harboring Conrad. Any number of things he did over the years to cope with his new life as a fucking Victor.
"They have him," she confirms what Aleida already expected. It explains why Nausicaa is left unharmed. It explains why they did everything they did to him, with very little time for questioning.
"Is he alive?" Aleida asks. Quiet fills the air around them, for how long, Aleida isn't sure. Her silence could mean many things, and he doesn't know what answer he's expecting.
(He doesn't know what answer would be best for him, or for Conrad. The longer he dwells on it, the longer he's convinced there isn't one.)
"I don't know." Aleida appreciates Nausicaa's honesty, as hard as it might be for them both. They tried. They tried so hard.
(He tried so hard to give his life meaning. To do good before he drank himself to death.
Hasn't he learned that trying never gets him anywhere?
Clearly not.)
His mistake.
He pities Conrad more than himself. Aleida could argue he deserves every single thing he's ever gotten dealt to him. His brother certainly agrees. There's a reason Aleida hasn't seen him since he said goodbye to him.
Maybe that's why he doesn't regret what's happened to him. What's the point of living if you don't have anyone to share it with? Maybe that's why he let Conrad in.
It's a shame it might've gotten him killed, in the end.
Aleida sighs. There's nothing more to do. Nothing more to dwell on. His life will end, or it won't, and nothing he can do will change that.
As he settles into his new normal of a sightless future, he can't find a place in his heart for anger or regret. He's had too much of that for a lifetime already. Instead, he finds peace. Peace with the choices that led him here.
Aleida Edevane has made a lot of reckless decisions, and until he takes his last breath, he will continue to do so, because that's what makes him who he is.
Not even the President can take that away from him
Tatiana Emery, Survivor of the 95th Hunger Games
District 5 - 0600
Where is he?
Samson left hours ago, with the promise of relocation. In truth, Tati would have preferred to leave days ago, when the hype of the start of the Games would distract most District civilians. Samson said he needed more time to coordinate. Tati just started to believe he abandoned her when he showed up at midnight and told her to get ready.
She's been ready, but she doesn't remind him of that. What help would that be?
As far as she's aware, Conrad is still lurking in Victor's Village. Tati almost suggests to Samson that he relocate Conrad as well, but then she has to remind herself he's not her problem anymore. He made his choice, with who he would trust.
She can only hope it works out for him.
(She tried to make things work. She fought, she sacrificed, she was harsh, but what else could she do? With Kate missing, everything Tati has worked for has vanished.
Except her. She's still around.
….Should she be?)
Stop, she tells herself to no avail. All these nights alone, all these unanswered questions, it's enough to drive her mad.
She's spent her entire life trying to get things done. She's always been good at it. That's why she was selected to volunteer at only fifteen. That's why she escaped the arena. Years passed and she got things done.
She doesn't know when it fell apart, only that once the cracks started breaking apart, there was nothing she could do to fix it. And it seems she's the only one still trying to glue it back together.
(For what? For who?)
The sound of someone climbing down the bunker ladder catches her attention. With the little supplies she has left to her name, she moves to lean against the wall with a knife in hand. She expects it to be Samson, of course, but she hasn't made it this far without being careful.
Sure enough, his familiar voice can be heard on the other side of the door.
"Come on," he says. Tati hears the sounds of footsteps retreating back up the ladder, and when she opens the metal door between the bunker and the ladder, he's halfway up.
She slips her knife into her belt and starts the climb to follow him. Nothing but moonlight seeps through the cracks at the top, and it reassures Tati that no one should see them.
(If she were thinking more clearly, she'd notice Samson's strange behavior.)
He reaches the top before her and pushes the hatch open. He climbs out and disappears from her sight.
When she pulls herself out of the ground, her eyes search for him. She doesn't see him, nor does she notice the unmarked guards hiding behind the trees.
Time slows down around them all as guns emerge from the trees shouting commands at the rebel, too many of them for her to count. She could run. She could fight, and force them to shoot her down.
It's so much easier to surrender.
Over ten years of running, hiding, of supporting a rebellion that died years ago that everyone but her accepted.
She closes her eyes as she feels the handcuffs wrap around her wrists. More commands are shouted at her, but she just lets them move her around. She lets them take her to the hell that awaits her.
(She accepts, deep down, that she might deserve this. And, truthfully, she's happy Conrad left when he did. Maybe soon, things can go back to normal for Panem.)
Tati just pretends the 'normal' for Panem is an acceptable way to live.
Pain shoots through her back and there's nothing but silence.
President Pitheart
The Capitol - 1100
Orion leans against the edge of his desk as Cassius Anthou stares him down from the doorway. The disheveled old man holds a stack of papers under his arm, his tie half undone from the lack of sleep that's plagued him this Games. Orion tries to understand his Head Gamemaker's frustration, but every single time he comes bearing another problem, any ounce of sympathy evaporates.
Tampering with the plates. Tampering with the boats. How hard can a Hunger Games be to run?
"Make this quick," he snaps. "I have more pressing issues to handle."
"The rogue ship has been dealt with. One casualty. Everything else seems to be working as intended. My lead engineer believes he has fixed the issue, to ensure others don't manipulate any more Capitol technology." Cassius says, bringing his papers in front of him to review.
"Outstanding. You're dismissed." With that, President Pitheart expects Cassius to leave and shut the door behind him. He waits ten seconds, still expecting the same. By the eleventh second, he tilts his head.
"I…was checking in on the Victors. People are whispering, about their absence. I don't want the whispers to continue." Cassius explains quietly.
The Victors. The word itself sickens the President. The word lends itself too far to the concept of winning, privilege, and power none of them deserve.
Too much power given to the survivors of the Hunger Games, and for what? For them to try and undermine an entire government?
President Pitheart doesn't have the patience for that anymore. Nor does he have the desire to defend his decisions to his Head Gamemaker, of all people.
"Don't you have an arena to run?" Orion clenches his jaw, letting his eyes fall to his own desk filled with unread papers, memos, and letters, some from Cassius himself. He makes his assistant filter through the useless clutter, the party invitations and notes from Capitol citizens that range from threats to thank yous, but still so much makes its way to him.
"Of course. My apologies." With those words, Cassius does what he should have done minutes ago and finally takes his leave.
One by one, he's been able to round up the most disruptive of the Victors. One by one, his team has been breaking them down, stripping them back of the layers that make them a nuisance. That hasn't even been the most gratifying part of the whole thing. No, that only came recently.
Conrad Martell. A boy that has so successfully alluded the President, he never thought he'd meet him face to face. Except, Orion tends to always get what he wants.
He got more information out of Conrad than he was expecting. It's amazing what a handful of lies can do to a boy already broken by time and distrust. Conrad thinks the President is on his side. Conrad thinks his friends or his rebel partners gave up his name.
If Orion is being honest, he was hoping for more information. The little information Conrad did share only corroborated what he already knew.
Conrad asked for freedom for the other Victors. Orion agreed, mostly because he knew it would be the quickest way to get him to talk. He was right in that sense, yet unfortunately, he still doesn't know where the last of the rebels are hiding.
He feels like he has no use of any of the Victor's left in custody. All they've done is cause him trouble, and for what? Victors used to be so much easier to control when there were less of them. When they limited each other's interactions. Orion makes a mental note to implement more of that in the future.
He adds that to his list to tackle after the Games conclude. After this whole mess comes to an end. He crosses off the note to provide immunity to the family that inadvertently revealed Conrad's location. How marvelous, how someone taking a simple walk around the District could lead to them reporting a strange person in a Victor's Village home. They don't know who they reported. As soon as the Peacekeepers arrived on the scene and they realized the gravity of their find, they were smart enough to inform the upstanding citizen that there was no one inside. So, President Pitheart doesn't feel the urge to unnecessarily complicate things with a reward.
That's his logic with Conrad, too. The boy didn't reveal anything, so it's hardly appropriate to process a reward. President Pitheart is no stranger to providing false promises.
Besides, it's safer to leave them all behind bars, where they can be closely monitored. Safer for them. Safer for the country.
Orion Pitheart has just started to wrap everything under his control again. He has just started to return the order to the unforgiving chaos that has controlled his attention for far too long. It would be irresponsible to release it all again.
Orion is anything but irresponsible, after all.
So, the Victors will stay under his control until he's certain they will play by the rules. And he will make certain the newest Victor is capable of doing the same.
It should only get easier from here, he reminds himself.
He leaves his notes and anger and frustrations behind as he prepares to meet his newest guest. She should just be waking up now, anyway.
Hopefully, she provides more information than his new best friend Conrad.
Calix Agnes, Hunger Games Announcer
The Capitol - 0400
Calix sticks to the darkness as she traverses the production area. It's so late, only a couple Gamemakers remain to monitor. Many of the tributes are asleep, as are the Capitol citizens. There's not much to monitor or do at this hour.
Calix wishes that were true for themselves. No, for them, there's too much to do.
She needs to find Cassius.
The previous day's conversation weighs heavy on her mind.
….
She's in her apartment. If she's honest, she prefers to sleep in her office when possible. Rat droppings don't line the baseboards in her office, and at least there she has access to food or drink or whatever she needs.
She's here, however, because what she's doing requires zero chance of eyes falling upon her.
Calix has always been a rule follower, they would say. They excelled in school and earned herself a scholarship to a higher education. Her family name pulled no weight, yet their reputation led them to where they are.
So under no circumstance did she ever imagine she would be looking at ways to undermine the President. Under no circumstance would she even have considered it before this week.
They just can't stand the sound of the screams that haunt her at night. The Victors' pain is so loud, so horrible, Calix couldn't believe those noises were human.
It's not right. They're supposed to protect the Victors, not harm them. They've already been through so much already…
Calix wipes away the tears that are fast to form. Tears don't get anything done, and it's not like anyone else is fighting for those imprisoned.
It's so obvious none of them have the answers the President wants, Calix doesn't understand what the point is anymore. Control? Fun?
She wishes she knew where better to start. She's only been an announcer for a few years, compared to the decades the President has been in power, the task is daunting.
How long does she pour over her notes before a knock at the door makes her jump out of her skin? She's not certain. They're also not certain they should open the door. She almost doesn't, until she remembers that, technically, they're on the clock. Anything could happen in the arena that requires her attention.
She opens the door and doesn't have any set expectations of who it could possibly be. So they're shocked by the fact that the person in front of them shocks them.
It's not every day a Victor is at your door.
Darrah pushes her way inside and shuts the door before Calix has the chance to react.
….
An unexpected shift in her research makes it feel like things are finally in motion. They're still not quite sure how Darrah located them, or knew to confide in her, but Calix doesn't take it for granted. She has to do this now because the clock is ticking.
Lives depend on them.
Calix pushes her way into the Head Gamemaker's office. His face is locked into the monitor on his desk, and many seconds pass before his attention falls to his announcer.
"Calix. Shouldn't you be resting?" he asks, yet inviting them inside to sit.
….
"Darrah. Shouldn't you be…" Calix doesn't finish their sentence because they don't know where Darrah should be. Mentoring?
Not putting herself in harm's way, that's for certain.
"Conrad is here? In the Capitol?" Her eyes widen, searching for the truth in her words from Calix. Calix, although unintentional, provides the answer she is searching for.
The answer she didn't want.
….
"I wanted to discuss what is coming up, for us. As a team," they say. Cassius' stoic demeanor doesn't shift.
"Apologies, but I don't think I follow." He moves his attention away from the screen and gives Calix his undivided attention.
"The Games are moving along. Days will pass and we will be closer to a Victor. But…what will happen to that Victor once the show is over? In fact…what will happen to the Victors left alive, held inside the Capitol?" Their words soften yet Cassius listens more intently than before.
It's his Games, after all.
"That is…certainly a consideration my team has. Respectfully, I do not understand your concern," he says carefully.
….
"No one feels safe. Victors are talking about running. Returning to their Districts to never be seen again. If you guys aren't careful…you'll be in the same position you were after the 95th," Darrah's words cut so sharp and yet, Calix can't find the words to dispel them.
Because they know she's right. The President continues to light the flames under the Victors, forcing them to band together to extinguish it.
Calix also knows she's not the only one to fear it.
….
"He doesn't respect the Victors. And if he doesn't respect them, they don't respect him. They stop fearing him. Without either of those things…they're capable of doing a lot more, and they'll do it together, with no fear of repercussion."
Cassius doesn't respond right away. Calix doesn't know if he agrees, thinks they're crazy, or both. Calix certainly thinks she's a little crazy, for even braving the topic with the man closest to the President. She's seen the recent hesitation in his eyes, the slouched posture when walking by, the quieter words that fill the Gamemakers' production offices. Doubt can be louder than confidence.
"What are you proposing?" he asks bluntly. Calix has a list of things they could ask for, some more important than others. But there's only one thing they could ask for that Cassius could provide over anything else on their list.
"Change."
waow a tiny subplot chappy
Apologies for a delay in Games chapter, life has been super hectic and I've been wanting to move the subplot along for a while now so I thought this was a good break. I plan to be back in 2-3 weeks with a Games chapter. There will definitely be one more before the annual Victor Exchange starts at the end of June, if I can do two before then I will, but I will be taking a break to focus on VE throughout July.
til next time ~moose