Kalanit Al-Amin, 22
Victor of the 115th Games
1904 - June 13, 124 ADD.
It's been a long time since Kalanit has been to a party like this.
Briar and Lynx were always better at hunting for sponsors, and Kalanit was better at strategizing. They all pretended like it wasn't because no one wanted to promise their money to a child.
It's not like Kalanit minds. The party is full of her most vivid memories…
There in the corner, she and Velocity hid from their allies and laughed until their stomachs hurt. There, on the outskirts of the crowd, she ran directly into Ryujin, unaware that he would be the final barrier between her and home. And there, against the wall, she tried to talk Roshan into dancing, to finally do a little something for himself.
A wistful smile crosses her face. In a place like this, she can find good and bad memories alike. Flowers and weeds grow side by side, after all.
Kalanit is aware that no one expected her to be here. She's not on the mentoring roster for the year. She's not a tribute, nor a capitolite. But she knows that this is the best place to find who she's looking for – even though he is making himself particularly difficult to find.
She's able to slide through the crowd almost entirely unnoticed, and Kalanit is relieved. Tributes mill around in clusters, clumsily conversing with potential sponsors as they enjoy the biggest party most will ever attend. Kalanit chuckles at the sight. It's rather endearing, and she remembers being similarly clumsy when she was in the same position. It's hard to sell yourself as a concept, especially when the scores haven't been revealed yet.
(Kalanit has her own predictions, of course, but she's never exactly been the betting type.)
As for her fellow Victors, Kalanit finds them everywhere. A crowd as large as this one allows for a certain degree of anonymity, which they all relish in. Eirian Lockram and Lazara Galvani are sitting at a bar, their joyous laughter floating over the crowd as they drink the night away. Ariadne Valade patiently lets a capitolite flirt with her, smiling just enough to let them believe they've done something to charm her. Anyone with eyes knows the truth: she's merely biding her time, waiting to sink her claws in and wring out a sponsorship. Tessa Ray is laying it on thick for Vitali Strychnos, who almost looks like he's buying into it. The girl giggles and bats her eyes, a facade that you would think more men would see through by now. Madoka Hinode glowers at the crowd from a corner while a taller woman with dark curls pats her shoulder comfortingly. Across the room, Estelle Duvont is taking advantage of the early stages of the party, talking up sponsors with the ease and practice of someone that's been doing this for years. She's flanked by Bastian Allard and Alila Perwane – the former is scanning the crowd as though looking for something, while the latter is watching earnestly, looking to learn.
Estelle is the only one to notice Kalanit's presence. She pauses to wave, and Kalanit returns the gesture. Next to her, Alila looks on with mild interest. Maybe Kalanit will find the time to introduce herself later.
After all, none of them are who Kalanit is looking for. She knows he must be here somewhere.
Rhosyn Balenciaga is close to where the musicians have set up, admiring their performance with a glass of wine in hand. Nerisssa Kitharion has been found by an enthusiastic Thessaly Akaste, and lets herself be dragged over to the bar. Pantheon Lexicus, currently alone, lingers by the stage, carrying himself with all the bravado of a boy who believes himself to be a star.
All the Twos – except one. Callan Levisay must be here.
Kalanit just has to find him.
With each minute that ticks by, the room grows more congested with people. Kalanit finds it all a little overwhelming without Velocity's hand to hang onto, or Roshan's steady presence behind her, or even-
Kalanit swallows. The room is suddenly too full, and she's eager for a wide open space. Her garden back home is so frightfully far away that it aches. The closest thing she can think of is one of the balconies, so she excuses herself as quickly as possible.
It only occurs to her as the door closes behind her, as Kalanit registers that she is not the only person out here, that a balcony behind a closed door is the perfect place to hide. She is not clever so much as she is lucky – a pattern that, if she was in a better mood tonight, might at least make her laugh.
Callan straightens when he hears the door, turns, and stills as soon as he sees Kalanit. If he was expecting someone, then her presence was surely a disappointment.
"I've been looking for you," she blurts out, just as he flatly says, "I'm not interested."
It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and when they do, Kalanit frowns at him. "You haven't even heard what I have to say."
"I know. It won't change my answer. I'm not interested."
This isn't going the way Kalanit thought it would. She had always been convinced that Callan would be her hardest sell, but she'd always assumed he'd at least entertain a conversation with her.
Unfortunately for him, Kalanit Al-Amin is nothing if not stubborn. She approaches the railing and rests her forearms on it, mimicking his stance. She tries not to look at him, so she isn't sure what sort of face he makes when she doesn't immediately leave. Instead, she lets her gaze fall on the vast city surrounding them.
She's never liked the Capitol. It's too big and bright, too far from home. All concrete, no greenery, nothing real. Every time Kalanit visits, she's struck by exactly how out of place she feels. It's like being trapped inside a glass bubble – there's nothing she can do but watch, completely helpless as events play out around her.
Naturally, this means that Kalanit does a great deal of observing. She would never claim to know everything, but she certainly knows more than she lets on. All she needs is a bit of attention in the right direction, and the pieces will surely fall into place after that.
She finally turns her head to study Callan. He's holding a champagne flute in one hand, but the clear liquid inside appears to just be water. He's doing his best to appear nonchalant, but considering the tension in his shoulders and the way he studiously avoids looking at her, Kalanit isn't fully buying it.
That's fine. She can wait him out. There's no way Callan can keep this up forever, and Kalanit doesn't have a better place to be. She had enough foresight to wear comfortable shoes, and her dress is light and breezy enough that the summer heat can't get to her.
(Still, there's a part of Kalanit that worries. She understands that many other Victors don't take her seriously, but this means something to her.)
(She wants it to mean something to them, too.)
"You won't leave until I at least hear you out."
Kalanit nods once, trying not to reveal that she's pleased. "Precisely."
He sighs heavily. Kalanit is briefly startled by how weary he looks. "Say your piece, then. Just know that by the end of it, my answer is still no."
"You drive a hard bargain," she says, attempting a laugh.
Callan takes a sip of his drink and doesn't respond.
Right. Kalanit wipes sweaty palms on her skirt, taking in a deep breath. She feels smaller than ever.
(But that's never stopped her before.)
"I want to put together a… project of sorts. A collection of stories."
He raises a brow. "And you think I have something to share with you?"
"You won, didn't you?"
Callan snaps his gaze away from her. Any potential intrigue he might've had appears to be lost. "If you're looking for my account of the 116th Games, don't bother. Any questions you have will surely be answered by the official recordings. Besides," he says, nearly amused, "you were there, weren't you?"
"I watched from the mentor lounge. You and I both know that's not exactly the same as being there."
He hums and swirls the liquid in his glass. "It's as close as you can get. Unless you're implying that you know something the rest of Panem doesn't, then I'm afraid you're wasting your time here. If you've seen my Games, you know the story. There's no deeper meaning for you to be searching for."
Naturally, Kalanit doesn't believe him in the slightest.
"I doubt that," she says, tapping her fingers against the railing. "You're a stoic brute as much as I'm a lucky child. Isn't there something still to be explored?"
"That was eight years ago."
"And?"
"Some things should stay in the past. Let the Capitol have their reruns. A full recap isn't exactly something people are clamoring for."
"I don't intend to pander to the Capitol. The stories… they're not just about the survivors."
He snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. "Really? You think I have something to say about the kids I killed, other than how it felt to crush their ribs? To drench my hands in their blood? To look into their eyes and see nothing but fear and desperation?"
Kalanit tries not to visibly cringe at his bluntness. "What about Invidia?"
Callan's jaw tenses. "What about her?"
"She was your district partner. But… I also remember the reports. They were in your training group. You were partners for far longer than two weeks."
"And then I killed them. Years of partnership didn't really mean much when I had to bash in her skull to keep them from driving a blade into my chest. Sure, Vidia and I knew each other, but I don't see why that matters now. You of all people should remember that surviving means making hard choices."
Kalanit tries not to flinch – she really does – but the clean air around them turns to smoke in her lungs. "That's true," she says carefully. "But of course it still matters. Vidia is a lovely nickname, you know?"
He laughs once, surprised; the sound is a victory. "Old habit."
She can't tell what he's thinking. Maybe he's replaying the fight in his head, just like she is. There were no real weapons in the 116th Arena, save for one: a sponsor gift - meant to even the playing field, to take out the biggest threat - given to his greatest ally, the one who knew him best.
It was the scandal of a betrayal on such a large scale that caught everyone's attention. When the already short and bloody Games were condensed into the three-hour version played at the crowning, that fight was one of the few things kept fully intact.
"I don't know anything about her."
He's clearly about to say something, and then Callan changes his mind. His expression softens just slightly. His next words are almost too quiet to hear. "Sometimes I feel like I didn't, either."
Kalanit swallows. From here, she has to tread carefully.
"The Games – they're supposed to tell our stories, aren't they?"
"They tell whatever story has the most potential."
"Exactly. Potential. They seek out drama, not truth. Every moment in the Games is stripped of details, is made palatable for the Capitol. A three-hour recap is enough to turn a Victor into something else – a helpless child, a monster – but it doesn't attempt to flesh them out. I don't know the full extent of your Games, just like you don't know the full extent of mine; the nuance is still there, but it's harder to make sense of. Your life becomes isolating as the experiences you went through are exaggerated, as a persona is created for you. And you're supposed to be one of the lucky ones – the ones that died so you could live are more or less forgotten."
Her vision grows foggy, but Kalanit makes no attempt to fight back her tears. "There's so much that only I remember. Roshan lived with his grandparents, working long days to make sure they were well taken care of, even though he desperately wanted to further his education. He would've been a better fit in Three, but then I don't know if I would've met him." She laughs a bit. "I guess it doesn't matter, anyway. I didn't know who he was until we were reaped together. Velocity loved to sew, and proclaimed she would've been a hit over in Eight. She was all about bright colors, said the bolder the better. Same went for her taste in music – she wanted to start a band. She desperately wanted to make her name known. And- and Kaiser had whole books filled with his drawings, of half-finished sketches that he longed to put out into the world. If he only had more time, I know he would've done anything to bring his art to life.
"And… and they're all gone now. And there are pieces that I carry with me that no one else knows a thing about. No one in Panem will remember them for anything but a spectacular death. They're not people, they're tributes - they're their endings. Velocity was too quick and unmemorable, Kaiser too desperate, Roshan too… weak. I don't think that's all they should be remembered as.
"There's a lot I don't know. A lot that nobody knows. But that doesn't mean it should be overlooked. Not even if it's bad. The Capitol loves their shiny, pretty toys, but that's not always how the story goes, is it?"
He doesn't respond immediately. Kalanit finds herself to be grateful for that. It gives her a moment to stare out at the city lights, wipe the tears staining her cheeks, regain her composure. It's not often that the ghosts that live inside Kalanit's chest are able to be shared with someone else.
(She misses them – all of them, even if she shouldn't. Kalanit doesn't believe the innate desperation that the Games awakens in everyone should be enough to damn them for eternity.
They're just children, after all. Children can't possibly know any better.)
Callan stares down into his drink, strangely quiet. "Has anyone said yes yet?"
"Estelle has."
There's a strange, contemplative silence as he nods. "Just… don't ask Bastian about this. Not yet. He's not… it's not the sort of thing he's ready for. Ariadne won't say yes right away, but… she will. Your next best bet will be Tessa. She loves talking about herself."
"Oh," Kalanit says, feeling a little dizzy, "okay."
"And this isn't a yes from me."
"That's fine."
"But… I guess it's not a no, either."
She tries not to smile. "Okay."
He goes quiet again. Kalanit stands still, holding her breath, waiting for something else. When he doesn't acknowledge her again, she figures it's as clear a dismissal as she's going to get. She steps away, angling herself back towards the party inside. She feels like there's something else she should be able to do, another way to try, but the offer of an outstretched hand is all she's got.
After all, that's all this project really is. An offer to listen.
Talk to me. Tell me about everything that happened to you. Share all the people that changed you, that made you into what you are now. Let them live on, let yourself become unburdened. It doesn't have to be such a lonely life.
Callan sighs. The sound is just enough for Lani to turn around, to see him drop his head and rake his fingers through his hair tiredly. It takes him a moment to finally speak, but Kalanit is ready for it. "They were ecstatic when they won the Fortuna Equestris," he says, "because it meant she wouldn't have to be a peacekeeper."
Kalanit's eyes are wide. "A peacekeeper?"
"If you go through years of training and make it to the top of your class, you're expected to do something with it. Trainer or peacekeeper. Vidia was never much of a leader. But they also didn't want to spend the rest of their days as a soldier, mindlessly following orders."
"Oh. Are those the only alternatives?"
"That, or volunteering."
"That's… a big gamble. to spend all those years only to risk being stuck somewhere undesirable."
He shrugs, remarkably unbothered. "It's easy enough. Not many other options exist."
Kalanit has never heard of a life so… limited. A knife twists in her gut; she supposes Ryujin's desperation makes a little more sense.
She nearly apologizes, but bites back the words. Something tells her that sympathy – or pity – won't be appreciated. So instead, she turns her gaze towards the party indoors, watching through the glass.
There are so many faces; year after year, it all blends together. Twenty-four go in, one comes out. Their story is already being written, and no one knows what ending awaits. Kalanit herself will be nothing more than a spectator.
It's frightening. It makes her feel small and helpless, like there's no point in trying.
Kalanit breathes in slowly, and pretends she's back home, tending to her garden. The kittens frolic, turning into white blurs as they chase butterflies and roll in the dirt. The trees are growing fuller, their leaves beginning to provide shade for Kalanit as she works. The flowers are fluttering in the breeze; Kalanit finds herself watching the daisies in particular.
Everything is growing as it should. All Kalanit needs to do is give it some time.
Aleksei Court, 15
District Six Male
2024 - June 13, 124 ADD.
Most of the partygoers tower far above Aleksei's head, which makes his mission of finding Sagan far harder than it has any right to be.
He sighs morosely and takes a sip of his juice. Next to him, Kassiani drinks something far stronger than juice, looking relatively unamused by her company. Aleksei twitches. He knows he should find somewhere else to be, and it would take little effort for him to go mingle in the crowd, but…
Well, no one else is Sagan. And he still wants to try and fix this before he tries to move on to anything else.
Kassiani turns her head towards him, unamused. "How long do you plan on moping around? You're killing my vibe."
Aleksei raises up on his toes again. "Can you see her?"
"Kid, I can't see much of anything. And besides, you never told me who I'm supposed to be looking for."
"Sagan! You know, from Three?"
"The short one with the god-awful bangs?"
"Yeah, exactly!"
"Never seen her."
"Well, how'd you know how to describe her?"
"Lucky guess."
Aleksei pouts and sits back down on the stool. If Kassiani is going to insist on being helpful, then he needs to come up with some sort of alternative plan.
Only problem is, he barely has a plan in the first place. This is all uncharted territory for him. The guests are all capitolites who gawk at him like a puppy in a kennel; they appear to be eager to strike up a conversation with him, but all they really want to do is ask prying questions about his home life, his siblings, his parents. Aleksei's tongue grows heavy in his mouth as he gradually realizes that, to them, he's not a boy. He's something… else.
He doesn't know how to describe it.
This whole situation has made him unbearably lonely and homesick. He supposes that's why Kassiani is such a comfort – even though she is less than thrilled by his company.
He misses his siblings. In recent memory, Aleksei hasn't spent many nights with them – instead finding warmth under a bridge or in a friend's home – but he always tried to make it to dinner.
He hopes they miss him, too.
"You really don't see her?"
"Nope. She's small, like you. If she's hanging out in the middle of it all, you'll never find her."
"Oh." Aleksei thinks on this for a minute, then perks up. "But what if she's not in the middle of it all? She doesn't like people very much."
"You might as well start wandering the outskirts, then. She doesn't have any other choice but to be here, so she's definitely in the room somewhere. If you're lucky, you might run into her before the score reveal."
"You think she might leave after that?"
"I dunno, kid. Isn't she your maybe-ally?"
Aleksei pauses. "She might try to leave after that."
"Then you might as well try to hunt her down now, before she finds a way to disappear."
"Right." Aleksei nods once and gets to his feet. "Thanks for all your help, Kassiani!"
She shrugs and takes a sip of her drink. "Hope you find your friend. And…" She pauses, as if wondering whether she should continue her thought or not. "Well, good luck on your score."
"You too!"
Smirking, Kassiani looks as if they've shared some sort of private joke. "Go find your friend, then."
Aleksei jokingly salutes her, and she returns the gesture. Then, Aleksei sinks into the crowd-
And loses her entirely.
It's easy to get lost in a room as congested as this one. Aleksei soon finds himself battered back and forth by the surge of the crowd, even as he tries to stay close to the wall. People have spread out, taking up every inch of the room, and it's hard to breathe, hard to orient himself. Every so often, a capitolite will grab his arm, eyes glittering with recognition, and ask him about himself. Aleksei stays long enough to indulge them, letting them coo over him, before skittering away when their attention is directed elsewhere.
Pausing to catch his breath, Aleksei places his hand against the wall to stabilize himself. The crowd swarms in front of him, endless and all-consuming. He's too short to see far into it, so his only hope is to circle the outskirts and hope that Sagan isn't doing the same, hope they don't keep missing each other.
The crowd shifts again, and this time someone else comes scurrying out. They're almost in the clear when a capitolite back into them, sending them off balance and directly towards Aleksei.
He barely manages to get his hands free in time to stabilize them – or, at the very least, prevent the person from knocking both of them over.
"Are you okay?" he asks, keeping a hand on their shoulder. Aleksei takes a moment to look at their glimmering dress and long hair, with dark bangs that-
His eyes widen. "Sagan?"
Her arms are wrapped tightly around herself, and she scowls at him, clearly not in the mood. Aleksei has gathered by now that she doesn't really love being around people, so this party is likely something of a nightmare for her.
"Sorry," she mutters. "Wasn't looking."
"I was looking for you, though!" Aleksei takes a step forward. "So I'm uh… glad I ran into you. Really."
She briefly looks surprised, and then wary. "What for?"
"To… to say sorry. I didn't mean to say anything wrong. I missed you today."
Sagan wrinkles her nose. "You had other company."
Aleksei's eyes widen, delighted. "You noticed!"
"I… not really. It's just that your voice is… loud."
"And you were listening!" Aleksei says proudly.
Sagan ducks her head so more of her bangs fall into her eyes. "Not really."
"I like your dress, by the way. It's really pretty."
"It's sleeveless," she comments, balling her hands into fists.
"And pretty."
"And cold."
"And pretty."
"And it's kinda bright."
Its color is the sort of grey-green that's far more grey than it is green. But Aleksei doesn't say that part out loud.
"Well, I like it."
"I guess. What did you want from me?"
"Well, to talk to you. Like this. But also in general."
"Why?"
"I guess… I don't want to be alone," he says softly.
"Well, I do."
"But you don't have to be!"
"Is that why you hunted me down? Because you're lonely and couldn't find anyone else?"
"I didn't want to find anyone else. I wanted to find you."
"Because you think we're friends?"
"You never said we weren't."
Sagan squints, like she can't fully remember either way. Aleksei just holds his breath, fully cognizant of the fact that this is one of the longest conversations they've had. Most of the time, she just lets him ramble on and doesn't try to stop him.
"You don't intend to leave, do you?" Sagan asks slowly. There's clearly a right answer she's looking for.
"Not unless you really want me to."
"We could die. Doesn't that scare you?"
Aleksei shrugs. "I've never thought about it much. Maybe it'll be a whole new adventure."
"You wouldn't run off on your own if things came down to it? Only one of us can win."
"Maybe we could both win."
Sagan scrunches her nose. "That would never happen. It's against the rules."
"It just hasn't happened yet! You never know. I'd make it happen with you."
Her lips twist into a frown. Sagan stares resolutely into her cup, refusing to look up at him. Aleksei starts bouncing on his toes, all pent up energy with nowhere to go. The crush of people around them is starting to get stifling, even for him, but all he's really worried about is Sagan.
"I don't like parties," she says, and then takes a sip of her drink.
"Do you wanna go outside? I saw a whole bunch of doors that look like they lead to balconies, and the sunset is really pretty, I bet we could still catch part of it! And since it's outside the music won't be as loud and there won't be as many people and-"
Sagan interrupts him. "That sounds nice."
"Oh." He blinks. "Nice?"
"Yes. I think we should go."
His face splits into a wide grin. "We?"
She gives Aleksei a look that makes him realize he needs to stop talking and just go with her. "That's what I said." Without waiting for him to follow, she starts walking along the border of the room, making her way towards one of the balcony doors.
"I do really like the music, though," Aleksei says, jogging to catch up to her. "Even if it's kinda loud. Have you ever heard live music like this before? I haven't. Sometimes someone will sing on the streets for money, but that's not really the same thing, and most of them don't have an instrument. Or if they do, it's kinda broken. Or sometimes it gets stolen. I wonder how much money these instruments cost! I bet it's more than I make in… a month? A year!"
"You really do talk a lot," Sagan comments idly as she pushes open the balcony door. Her shoulders relax as she sees there are only two other people outside, and they appear to be… otherwise occupied.
"I know," Aleksei chirps. "It's a lot better than living my life in total silence, yanno?"
Sagan hums quietly. She places her arms on the railing, then rests her chin on her arms. The wind picks up enough to lift her bangs, and Aleksei can see an almost wistful look lingering in her eyes.
He mimics her position and sighs to himself. The Capitol is nicer when he feels like he's part of it – not like he belongs, but that maybe he could.
"You can always tell me to leave," he says quietly. Aleksei doesn't look over at her, but he knows she's listening. "It can be nice to be alone, but… it's not very nice to be lonely."
Sagan sets her jaw. "Don't leave."
"I won't."
Guinevere Solomon, 18
District Eight Female
2046 - June 13, 124 ADD.
Every choice Gwen makes is a gamble.
Each move is calculated, of course, but a gamble nonetheless. In a situation like this, where Scarlet's visage lingers behind every corner, where a single wrong move will mean Gwen follows close behind, there's hardly another choice. Her main weapon is her ability to read people, and she wields it constantly.
She let Akira ally with her because the child is clearly lonely, and their loyalty, while easily won, is the sort that's unshakeable as long as you don't turn your back first. Gwen likes that. She enjoys knowing that even though her ally is volatile, they'll stick around. That's something Gwen values greatly.
She let Svelte leave, on the other hand, because she believes he'll come back. There's no sense in pursuing someone who doesn't want to be with them, but she made it clear that if he wanted to return, he could. And even though he puts up a convincing facade that all he wants is to be left alone… well, Gwen has caught him looking at her, like she's something he's trying to figure out. He's curious. And Gwen suspects that curiosity will one day drag him closer.
For now, Gwen turns back to her ally. Her chosen company spent the opening hour of the night terrorizing nearby capitolites, but they've finally settled down a bit. Turns out all she really needed was something to drink – sparkling water, for some reason – and some company. Most of Akira's plights are easily solved by a friendly ear, which Gwen finds rather easy to provide. Not everything she says makes sense, exactly, but that's alright. The presence of a friend is better than the presence of no one at all.
Since they've set up at a table close to the sidelines, Gwen has a good image of the crowd around them. A few capitolites have skittered close, curious about the two tributes, but even fewer have actually interacted. This is largely due to Akira's insistence on making faces at the capitolites, or occasionally hissing at them.
It's easy enough to tell that most of what the capitolites do is purely for show. They've got skin modifications, clothes worth more than Gwen's entire existence, and they probably spent a ridiculous amount of money just to be in a room full of Victors and tributes alike. Some of them will get to go home and gush about how they spoke with the future Victor, and the others who didn't will just lie about it.
But for anyone that strikes up a conversation… well, Gwen is more than willing to utilize the one strength she has. The setup for this "party" is obviously just a way to get sponsors, and Gwen intends to leave with at least a few.
The next to approach the table is a person with luminous green cat eyes and a mess of tight neon curls, wearing a sequined suit so bright it makes Gwen's eyes hurt. When they smile, Gwen sees that all of their teeth have been sharpened into fine, needle-like points.
"I loved your costume for the parades," they exclaim, pointing a slender finger at Gwen. "Do you really perform back in Eight, or was that just for show?"
Gwen smiles, slipping easily into her old facade. "I don't perform, exactly, but I do have my talents. Would you care to see?"
They clap their hands and sit down across from Gwen, all too eager. Everything they do reeks of overcompensation. Akira scrutinizes them with a sniff, clearly unhappy about being overlooked.
Gwen extends her hands, placing them palms up in the middle of the table. After a beat, the capitolite picks up on what Gwen wants them to do, and puts their hands in Gwen's.
"Do you have a name?"
"Prospero," they say, a glint in their eye. Gwen figures she's supposed to recognize it or something. And even though she doesn't, the name alone certainly says enough.
"Well for one, I predict you'll be sponsoring my ally and I here," Gwen says, winking. "You've been to enough of these parties that you know where to put your money. And it's done good things for you in the past, hasn't it?"
Prospero sits up a little straighter. "I've gotten rather good at predicting the Victor. Only a few have ever slipped past me. Like that Seven kid from a few years ago…"
"Ahh, the underdogs are always hard to track, aren't they?"
"Very." They wrinkle their nose.
"And you're not a fan of the unexpected. That makes for bad business, doesn't it?" Gwen's smile widens. "And that's why you're here, looking for your next investment. Have you found it yet?"
Prospero snatches their hands back with a delicate sniff. It appears Gwen has struck a nerve. "You have no idea what you're talking about," they insist.
"You've got a big change ahead – an imminent one. Good or bad… ah, who's to say? But I'd tread carefully tonight if I were you. Failure isn't much of an option for any of us."
She smiles pleasantly as the capitolite skitters off. Not everyone likes to hear what she has to say, but that doesn't stop Gwen from saying it. It's only a shame she didn't get paid for this mini-session.
"Whoa," Akira breathes. "How'd you do that?"
"Partially good intuition, partially the simple ability to pay attention."
"Do me, do me!" Akira insists, throwing their hands into Gwen's. "I wanna see!"
Gwen laughs a bit. "I'm not sure that's something you really want."
"Why?" Their face screws up into something upset, and Gwen can't tell if they're going to scream or cry. "Do you think I can't handle it?"
"Ah, that's not it at all," Gwen reassures her, even though… that's maybe it a little bit. "My talents are particularly… revealing. And I've talked to you enough that I have more of a basis to go off of. I might find something that you don't want to talk about."
Her brows furrow even more. "I can do it!"
Gwen watches her for a long moment in silence. Akira's attention drifts to the buzzing crowd.
Makes everything quieter. Everything in my head is… quieter.
It's a familiar sentiment, and it makes Gwen's chest ache. Maybe there's a reason why Gwen was so willing to ally with Akira in the first place. Quietly, she says, "I have my own ghost, you know."
Akira squints at her. "You do?"
"I do. Her name is Scarlet. She's here now, at the party. Watching me."
Akira cranes her neck to peer at the crowd. "Where?"
"In a window, maybe. Or the reflection of my glass. I never see her until she's there, pressing ever closer. She wants me to join her."
"Join her?"
"Oh, yes." Gwen laughs and takes a sip of her drink, avoiding Scarlet's wink in the crystal glass. "Scarlet Sicilienne, died in the 119th Games. She was pretty unceremoniously disposed of by one of the Careers in the bloodbath. I guess in a couple of days we'll see if I match her fate."
Akira wrinkles their nose. "I don't get it. You guys don't sound related."
"We're not. But we look like we could be sisters."
Nodding gravely, Akira says, "Sisters," like it's the only part that matters.
"Yeah – you get it, don't you?"
Akira crosses their arms, expression falling into a pout. Not for the first time, Gwen thinks to herself that they have quite a bit in common.
"She said I was a jinx," Akira mutters. "And everyone else has thought that too, even if they don't say it."
"I've been called a curse. Do you think that cancels us out?"
"Did you do anything to them? Something so horrible you could never take it back?"
"I don't think it matters if I did anything or not. It only matters that they think I did."
"And they don't believe you?"
"The ones that matter did. Do. That's why I keep them around."
Akira's fingers tap on the table, inching closer to Gwen's dingy ring. "Like your…?"
"Wife." Gwen pauses before taking off the ring and placing it in Akira's hands, letting them marvel at it. "Shay."
"It's very pretty," Akira says honestly, holding it up to the light. The band barely even glistens. It's a lie, but it's a kind one, so Gwen can't fault them for it.
She holds out her hand, and Akira places the band back in it. "Thank you. We don't have much, but we have each other. And no curse or jinx will ever stop the people that really care."
"And…" Akira struggles with voicing her question. "What if no one does?"
"Impossible," Gwen reassures them. "Sometimes it's hard to see, but you're never alone."
The condensation from Akira's glass is seeping onto the table, and they drag a finger through it, tracing patterns into the wood. Her shoulders slump even further. Their gaze flickers towards something unseen in the crowd.
Whatever haunts Akira is just as real as the ghost that haunts Gwen.
Gwen sighs and stands up. She places a hand on Akira's shoulder, and they look up at her with wide eyes. "Come on, then. It's not good form for us to mope around while the ghouls have all the fun. We're still the living, are we not?"
Pantheon Lexicus, 18
District Two Male
2054 - June 13, 124 ADD.
Most of the night, Theo has taken special care to hang out right by the stage, in the middle of everything. It's a nice visual, really: the whole party revolves around him. Everyone knows his name, every capitolite approaches him with excitement in their eyes.
It's purely magical. Theo is meeting his fans, his fans are meeting him. He's waited his whole life for this – and he knows the rest of them have, as well.
It's everything he ever hoped this moment would be.
His private session went as well as it possibly could. Obviously, Leon has to stay in character and treat them all equally, but Theo's sure the man would've applauded if it had been acceptable. Theo's dream is a twelve, obviously, but he'll settle for a modest eleven just to keep from becoming something of a Mary Sue.
Theo laughs to himself, earning a few strange looks from the people around him. It's really a shame he can't unpack the complexity of his joke without breaking the fourth wall.
Theo's gaze moves to the stage once more, taking in the clips of reapings and parades and interviews. He sees himself more than a few times – obviously – and it's something of a comfort. After all, this is the hero everyone else gets to see.
The whole room revolves around this stage, which is why Theo staked out a spot right in front. There are undoubtedly cameras here, and he wants to make sure they get a good shot of him as he receives his score and placement. His allies will cluster around him too, clamoring for attention and praise and maybe even protection. Theo will be perfectly poised for success as the Games begin.
(The clock is ticking, after all. He's only got so much time left to make a mark.)
"You're starting to zone off on me. Getting nervous? How're ya feeling about scores?" Thessaly asks, nudging him with her elbow.
Theo smiles – an excellent move from his supporting actor. He's been practicing how to be humble, but still confident. He ignores the part where she asked if he was nervous. "Good, I think. It's all up to the judgment of the gamemakers, but… I do think I scored well. What about you?"
Nicely done, Theo thinks to himself. Perfectly vague so I can act surprised when I get an eleven.
"Oh, I've got no idea." Thessaly laughs and shakes her head. "Bastian's gonna kill me. He told me to prep beforehand, and I totally didn't. I just let it all come to me when I got in the room."
Theo's brows wrinkle. "That's bold. But good luck to you, really."
"I bet Ner here is gonna get something really crazy, though," Thessaly says, looping an arm around the other girl's shoulders. She has to stand on her toes to make it work. "Aren't ya, Ner?"
"I'll get a ten," Nerissa says coolly. In place of an elaboration, she raises a single brow.
"Ibai?" Thessaly is doing the rounds, making sure to get everyone involved.
The Four boy stares down at his feet. "I am not sure."
"It's alright if things didn't go well," Theo reassures him. He pats Ibai on the shoulder, ignoring how the boy flinches. "That's what the rest of us are here for!"
"Callum? Zeph?"
Theo blinks when he notices how Thessaly addressed the two of them together. Now that he thinks about it, they have been paired off the last two days of training. Maybe there's some sort of side friendship going on – Theo should remember to keep an eye on that.
"I'd be happy just to get a seven or eight to keep up with the rest of you," Zephyr says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Gotta prove you picked me up for a reason, right?"
"Same here." Callum flashes a quick, awkward smile.
Thessaly spins in a circle, humming. "Now, where did…"
"An eight," Saccharine says, appearing to Theo's right. He totally doesn't jump out of his skin. "I'm sure my performance paled in comparison to the rest of your eccentricities. And besides – a score is just a number. I am more interested in the new rankings."
Thessaly snaps her fingers excitedly. "That's right! Now that the gamemakers know us a little better, we get new rankings! I sure hope I didn't fall off much…"
"Ah, I'm sure you'll be fine." Theo waves a hand. "We'll all be top six – seven, really. Those other tributes won't know what's coming to them."
"Hello and welcome, all of you." A voice cuts through the crowd, amplified by a microphone. "You know the drill, don't you? Leon Kimura, head gamemaker extraordinaire, and I'm here to present scores from twenty-four thrilling private sessions."
Leon lounges in a chair onstage, directly under the screens. They briefly go blank, and then show twenty-four empty spots. Theo eyes the one at the very top, where his name will go.
"Private sessions are a personal favorite of mine, as that's when I get to see tributes' talents for the first time. And although these sessions are indeed private, I encourage speculation on how these scores came to be. There are some particularly fascinating skillsets in this group; some of our tributes really know how to give a good performance."
Theo puffs out his chest. He swears that Leon winks at him.
The bottom few scores go just as Theo figured they would. He introduced himself to everyone early on in training, so Kassiani's bad attitude earning her a one isn't out of the realm of possibilities. He's mainly surprised that she performed worse than Coyle and Marri, whose main talents seem to be crying and zoning off into space.
The recipients of such low scores take it as gracefully as they can. Sagan and Xander get twentieth and nineteenth with matching 4s. Sagan barely blinks at hers, and Xander just wrinkles his nose. At least they both understand that throwing a fit about it won't help matters.
It's also reassuring to note that none of his allies performed as abysmally as Justus from last year. The 5s and 6s are sprinkled around the midway point. Guinevere Solomon, 5, fifteenth. Aleksei Court, 5, fourteenth. The clear divider is, somehow, Kodo, who looks all too pleased to get a 6 and solidify a spot in the top half. Bourbon looks like she can't decide what to be angriest about: placing thirteenth, getting a 5, or doing worse than her boyfriend. Their competitive nature must be some weird form of flirting, but as long as they can keep it to themselves, Theo can look past them for the night.
Anyone who gets a 6 or higher needs to be kept track of. That demonstrates some sort of promise, even if Theo is unhappy about it. He begrudgingly adds Kodo to his mental tally of people to keep an eye on – besides his obvious improper conduct in the workplace – and keeps listening.
Akira and Jasmine round out the 6s. Jasmine's spot in the top ten piques Theo's interest, especially considering her ally hasn't been mentioned yet. Nolan is clearly a physical threat, but Jasmine just proved that she brings something to the table as well.
Svelte lands in ninth and looks vaguely uncomfortable with the looks thrown his way. Callum gets a 7 and winces as he lands just outside of Theo's previously established goal for the alliance. It's Nolan who swipes seventh place, which Theo can't say he's entirely surprised about.
Theo makes a mental note to applaud the rest of his supporting actors later, for a job well done. The top six belongs solely to their alliance, and Theo knows for certain that these are the people who will help take him to the top.
Saccharine barely blinks at her accurately predicted 8, while Ibai just grimaces at his own. Theo doesn't feel all that sympathetic – Saccharine has been barely noticeable even to her own allies, and Ibai just… Theo doesn't know how to explain it.
"And in fourth," Leon says, eyes glittering, "I'm pleased to say is Zephyr Vitale, with a score of 9."
"Holy shit," Zephyr breathes. A bewildered grin spreads across their face.
"Good work," Theo tells him, just as Thessaly exclaims, "Nice fucking job!"
"Third is Nerissa Kitharion, with a score of 10."
Nerissa is quietly pleased, enough that she doesn't even make a face at the kiss Thessaly plants on her cheek. Instead, she makes direct eye contact with Theo and nods once, like they've got some sort of understanding going on.
And maybe they do. Two has spent the last several years digging itself into a rut, chasing its own tail and landing in second place time and time again. One of them needs to do this, needs to win so Two doesn't continue its downward spiral into mediocrity. It was always going to be Theo, but the unspoken support from Nerissa is nonetheless appreciated. District pride and all.
Theo is so caught up in his own head that he completely misses his moment. All he hears is his name, and then his allies are congratulating him as the capitolites applaud in the background. Theo looks up to the screen, squinting to verify his score.
Pantheon Lexicus, 11–
Second place.
"A special congratulations to Miss Thessaly Akaste, for securing her first place with a score of 11. No 12s this year – though I believe we're better off for it. Doesn't an even playing field make the possibilities even more endless?"
The man keeps talking, concluding his speech, but Theo isn't listening. His stomach is twisting into itself endlessly. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to happen to him.
The crowd moves around him – without him. Theo feels strangely lost, like he's committed a grave mistake, done something wrong.
Is this a punishment? Did he do something to deserve this? Is there any way he can take it back?
Second place is the most insulting of all – if Theo was third, maybe, it wouldn't hurt so bad. But to place second, to not know what infinitesimal difference separates him and Thessaly…
He doesn't know.
(He doesn't know. Theo isn't used to not knowing. None of this has been like he expected, and he hasn't even gotten to the Games yet. This was supposed to be his Games, but- but-)
(No. He pushes the thought down. Not now.)
Theo finds himself at the edge of the crowd, in a spot where he can breathe. His allies are still clustered together near the center, and Theo feels very far away from them. His chest is tight, and maybe his eyes are a little watery, and he feels so very stupid that he doesn't know how to verbalize any of this.
"You doing okay?"
Theo quickly wipes at his nose and turns to see Callan beside him, dark eyes looking nearly worried. He takes in Theo's appearance and mutters something to his companion, whom Theo can't quite recognize in this state, and they leave. It's a relief, even if it makes Theo feel strangely small. His fingers tingle with energy, and Theo swallows back something purely electric.
"I don't know," Theo admits. This is one of those moments where he wishes the cameras weren't following him, that he could rely on other people to tell him something genuine.
"So that's a no. Are you up to telling me what's wrong?"
"It's just…" Theo looks over to Thessaly, radiant with her victory. For a moment, he thinks she could look the part – his part. "It was supposed to be me."
Callan follows his gaze. "At the end of the day, it's just a number. Fifteen minutes don't give you an adequate chance to prove yourself. That's what the Games are for."
"But I did everything. I don't… I don't know what else I could've done."
His mentor heaves a quiet sigh. Theo tenses, expecting to be scolded like a child, but Callan just regards him steadily. "You really want this, don't you?"
"It's everything to me," Theo says honestly. His throat is tight. "Everything has been building to this moment."
"You've worked hard for it. That's to be expected. This isn't the end you think it is."
"It feels like it."
"I know. But… well, think of it like a new beginning. It's a twist in your story, but it's not over yet. You decide that part."
Theo blinks. "I do?"
"Yeah. It's all up to you from here. Which… sounds intimidating, and maybe it is, but just… make sure you choose wisely, okay?"
"No pressure," Theo says, forcing a laugh to keep the atmosphere light.
"Definitely some pressure." Callan hesitates before continuing. "But I believe in you."
"Oh." The compliment settles in Theo's stomach, oddly comforting. "Thank you."
"I've seen you fight – you're more than capable of showing they shouldn't have underestimated you. Just… make sure you're still you by the end of it all."
He swallows. "Right. Still me."
"Go try to have fun, okay? I'll handle the sponsor talk. Tonight should be all about you."
That sounds like something Theo can do. He nods once, mouth stretching into a wide smile that the rest of him doesn't feel. He's hollow in a way he's not sure he'll ever be able to explain. "Sounds like a deal, boss."
(Still him. Still Theo.)
(...whatever that means.)
Zephyr Vitale, 18
District Seven Tribute
2138 - June 13, 124 ADD.
"Congrats on the nine," Callum says, sliding into the seat next to Zephyr. "What on earth did you do to manage that?"
"Something impressive, I guess. Maybe it was the climbing up to the rafters – I'm not sure the gamemakers have seen that very often."
Callum laughs and shakes his head. "How'd you manage that?"
Zephyr winks. "A magician never reveals their secrets."
"But really – congratulations. Whatever you did to earn it, you totally deserve it."
"Now you're just flattering me," Zephyr teases. "Good job on yours, too."
The other boy forces out a laugh. "Aw, it's nothing special, really. Especially compared to the rest of you."
And honestly, he's right. Zephyr has been well aware of the fact that there's something off about Callum. He hasn't done anything wrong, but he hasn't done anything particularly right, either.
"Hey, a seven is nothing to scoff at. Better than a lot of other scores. Still solidly in the top half."
"Yeah, but it's nothing compared to…" Callum gestures vaguely, at all their allies scattered throughout the room. "Well, them."
There it was again. Them. There was no contempt in Callum's voice as he said it, but he seems to realize that there's a clear distance between him and the other Careers. That he's not really one of them. Callum has always lingered on the outskirts of the alliance, as if he's aware that his position within them is tenuous at best; he's an outsider just as much as Zephyr themself is.
The others seem to be preoccupied, unbothered with what the last two members of their alliance are up to. Theo chats with his mentor, their heads ducked; Thessaly tries in vain to get Ibai and Nerissa to dance with her; Saccharine… well, there's no telling where she slipped off to.
Zephyr wonders what the best approach would be. He has no intention of ratting Callum out to the rest of their allies, but they'd sort of like to know exactly who they're dealing with here. Asking the wrong question could make him clam up, but the right one…
"Still impressive enough," Zephyr says, swirling his drink. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Have a little faith."
"I have plenty of faith," Callum replies. He plays with a pendant around his neck. "It's a subjective number. At least I'm not like that Two boy from last year."
"Were you worried you would be?"
"Maybe? I dunno. I didn't think I did that bad. Could've done better."
"Stage fright or something?"
He hesitates. "Nah. Not really. Just… not up to par."
He could really stand to be more subtle about it. Zephyr hums quietly.
"Can I ask something?"
Callum's eyes flicker over warily. "About what?"
"Your friend. Your not-brother. Whatever happened with him?"
The boy's shoulders sag immediately. He taps his fingers on the bar in front of them, twisting his lips in lieu of giving a response.
"You don't have to share if you don't want to," Zephyr says quickly, to cover their bases. "It's just… well, you know about me and Zaidra and all, so… does he have a name?"
Callum hesitates, strangely reluctant to admit it aloud. Finally, he mutters, "Rhydian."
The name rings familiar in Zephyr's mind, but he can't place it immediately. "Rhydian," he repeats to himself. "You miss him?"
"Absolutely. More than anything. Like you with your sister, I guess. It's not like he went anywhere, it's just that… things change. Maybe we changed. I don't know how to make sense of it anymore."
"You know," Zephyr urges, "it might help to talk it out."
"That's true," Callum admits. It doesn't seem to ease his mind. "Alila suggested I not talk about it, though."
"Why?"
"It's… not the sort of story that the others would be interested in hearing about."
"I'm not one of the others. Try me."
Callum studiously avoids his gaze, like whatever happened with Rhydian is some sort of massive sin weighing on him. Maybe it is. Zephyr can't help but be curious, but it might be a bad idea to pry. As soon as they open their mouth to offer Callum an out, though, the other boy starts talking.
"You're familiar with the name Rhydian, at least a little. He was reaped, and I volunteered for him. Except… he was supposed to volunteer. He trained for it; he was chosen. I… took his place."
"Why?"
"I didn't want him to die, mainly. I didn't want him to live and be miserable. Watching the Games year after year, I just… didn't think that was the ending he deserved, no matter the exact outcome. I'd rather it be me."
"That… is a very confusing mix of selfish and selfless."
Callum laughs a bit. "You're the first to call it selfless. Rhydian told me he never wants to see me again."
Zephyr winces. "Harsh."
"I don't know if I can blame him for saying that anymore. And I guess at the end of the day, he'll get his wish."
"You really don't think you'll make it out?"
"I don't think it'll matter. I think whoever comes out will be changed. I don't know that I'm coming out, and I don't think you will, either." Callum takes a second to scan the room, looking at the faces of capitolites and tributes alike. "I never understood why people would train for this. Why they'd throw away a whole life just for the sake of… money? Power? Glory?"
"I don't really get it, either. But… they don't seem all that bad?"
"Neither is Rhydian. I guess that's why I didn't want anything to happen to him."
"What about you, though?"
"What about me?"
"Well, you're here now. You've pretty much taken his place. Is that something you deserve?"
Callum goes quiet for a moment. "I think it would depend on who you asked."
"I'm asking you."
"I don't think anyone deserves it, really. But I guess I'd just rather it be me."
As the hours creep by, Zephyr recognizes more and more of the faces surrounding them. And that makes things harder. Because for one of them to live, the other twenty-three have to die. From what he knows, Zephyr can't say a single one of them deserve to be here, to be caught between life and death in such a cruel way.
They're all just kids.
It's something Zephyr has thought about a lot since arriving in the Capitol. Eighteen is barely a step out of childhood, and the youngest here is twelve. Some have trained their whole lives for these Games, while others are barely holding on by the skin of their teeth. They'll be in the Arena in less than two days. In forty-eight hours, some of them will be dead.
(And maybe… Zephyr's a little scared. He's far out of his depth, and even though he's in a good position right now, everything could change in an instant.)
(He doesn't want to die.)
"I'd rather it be me, too. I'm the older one. That's how I thought it should be. We were a team, and then we weren't. My sister hates me for making all the difficult choices so she didn't have to. And… I can see her side of it more now, but that doesn't change anything. Maybe in my endeavor to be selfless, I was more selfish than I intended. Maybe I loved her so much that I lost her. Maybe all my good intentions were really just misguided. The only thing I can do now is strive to be better, and hope I get the chance to see it through."
Callum smiles a bit. "I hope you do."
"And I hope the same for you." A thought strikes them, and Zephyr pauses. "But… if I don't make it back… would you tell her something for me?"
"Tell her what?"
They shrug. "That I love her, mainly. The rest is harder to put into words, but it's the same sort of thing you'd tell your Rhydian. That I'm sorry, that I'd do it again. That she was right, but so was I. That I don't think it was fair for either of us. That I hope she remembers me fondly, because I'll do the same for her."
"And… if it's you, will you tell Rhydian?"
"Yeah, if I can."
"Good," he says, nodding once. Zephyr notices the shift in Callum's demeanor, the way he's not quite all there anymore. He supposes they feel similarly in this moment.
"I wish we'd gotten the chance to meet under better circumstances," Zephyr says aloud.
"Me too. Though I am glad I got to meet you at all."
"Most people are."
Callum laughs, for the first time in a while. "And you're humble, too."
"I've been told it's one of my best traits."
"There you two are!"
Thessaly bursts out of the crowd, a flurry of energy. Zephyr supposes that her high spirits make sense, considering how well everything seems to be going for her. Her smile is blindingly bright as she aims it at them both.
"Won't you come dance?" she asks eagerly. "All of us, just for a bit. I saw Saccharine over here too, we can grab her- ah!"
The girl in question has materialized beside Thessaly, seemingly out of nowhere. She cocks her head to the side inquisitively. "You were looking for me?"
"Yes!" Thessaly grabs her wrist. "You'll come dance, right? All of you?"
Saccharine smiles. "That sounds agreeable."
Zephyr directs his attention to Callum, quirking a brow. "What do you say?"
The other boy shrugs, getting up from his seat. "I could dance."
Thessaly nearly sags in relief. "Oh, good! I was really hoping we could have this, all of us together for once. Before the others decide to run off again."
The idea is amusing, so much so that Zephyr is surprised Ibai and Nerissa haven't tried to make their great escape while Thessaly's back is turned. He supposes there's something particularly captivating about Thessaly Akaste to make them stick around. Maybe it's the same sort of thing the gamemakers noticed.
It's a little strange. Pantheon had them split up so much in training that Zephyr feels like they haven't been around the rest of them all that much. Very strange, but… nice. They almost feel like allies.
Together. As long as it'll last.
Kodo Hotakim, 17
District Nine Male
2210 - June 13, 124 ADD.
It doesn't take a genius to note that Bourbon is incredibly displeased with Kodo.
Kodo supposes this is the issue with hoping that his District partner would be a worthwhile actress. She certainly knows how to sell things when it counts, but she has this nasty little habit of letting her irritation get in the way of a good performance. She could really stand to be more convincing, but that's what Kodo's expertise is for. If she was willing to learn, maybe she could hope to match up to him.
The music has lulled as the night wears on, and the excitement of scores has quieted down. The end is nearing, which means Kodo has to make a move soon. But for now, he's perfectly content to let Bourbon lead him (poorly) in a dance.
Bourbon glances at the people around them occasionally, mimicking their positions. Her hands land on Kodo's waist, while his arms drape around her shoulders. If it was another night, he might pick a fight about this, but Kodo figures he's been pushing it enough considering he got a higher score than her.
"I don't understand how you did it," she mutters.
"Did what?" Kodo asks innocently.
"Your score. I've been with you all three days of training, and you can't do anything. So how the hell did you score higher than me?"
"Technically, I scored higher than many people. I got predicted in the top half, if you recall."
Her eye twitches, and Kodo bites back a smile. "Yeah, I noticed. I'm asking how."
"I suppose there's just this untapped well of potential inside me, waiting to be discovered by the right person…"
"Ew," Bourbon proclaims. She catches sight of two Career girls dancing, and spins Kodo in a circle to mimic them. "You really think the head gamemaker or whatever is giving you credit for something that doesn't exist?"
"No, that would be utterly ridiculous! And foolish. And probably stupid."
"Those all mean the same thing."
"Exactly! So you can feel confident in knowing that what I did was totally calculated and will do nothing but pay off for us."
Her eyes narrow. "Kodo, what did you do?"
"Ah, nothing yet!"
"But you just- yet?"
"Well, I have to make good on my end of the deal before the night is up."
The world spins around him, and the floor falls out from under Kodo's feet. He lets out an undignified yelp a moment before he realizes that Bourbon simply dipped him low. Kodo digs his fingers into her shoulder, mildly impressed at her ability to keep them both upright. Not that he'd ever admit it aloud.
"Are you insane?" she hisses. Her frustration is leaking into genuine anger, clearly displayed across her face. "You made a goddamn deal with him? We have enough shit going on without you dragging us into even more trouble-"
"Ah, my dearest Bonnie," he coos, waggling his brows. "You look truly ravishing when you're angry with me."
Bourbon makes a noise of disgust; Kodo figures the threat of people staring is the only reason she doesn't drop him on his ass. Still, his comment is enough for her to ease him back onto his feet and school her features into a more neutral expression. While she's distracted, Kodo gives her a swift peck on the cheek, just to see her nose scrunch.
"I did what I needed to in order to get a decent score," Kodo explains, "something you should've tried."
"Oh, fuck off."
Kodo laughs, the sound high and bright as they dance past a few other tributes. Everyone else seems to be rather good at keeping their heads down, except for potentially that Five kid and the Four girl. And even then, if they're the only barriers keeping Kodo from making sure they're on everyone's mind when the night ends, he doesn't feel too threatened.
Bourbon 'accidentally' smashes the heel of her shoe into Kodo's foot. He merely keeps up his smile.
"You've heard of improv, haven't you?"
"Are you trying to use your shitty theatre terms at me right now?"
"The basics are simple enough for someone like you to understand, so yes. You've been playing along without knowing the rules, so I figured it's about time I explained them to you."
"Oh, so now there are rules to this?"
"In a sense. Your only goal in improv is to keep the scene going at all costs. Without breaking immersion, without contradicting your scene partner, without causing the scene to grind to a halt. Get it?"
Bourbon grinds her teeth together. "Sounds fucking simple enough. Why are you telling me this?"
"The two most basic words in all of improv are 'yes, and.' The worst thing you could do to your scene partner is say no, because the scene will end shortly after."
"Yes, and make your fucking point already."
He smiles apologetically. "I need to keep eyes on us, and this place is full of sponsors. There's nothing capitolites love more than a spectacle."
She's starting to get it. Bourbon glares at him, nostrils flaring. "Kodo," she says warningly, "if you're about to strongarm me into saying yes to another one of your harebrained schemes in the middle of this party, I swear to fucking god I'll kill you."
"You say that like I'm giving you no choice in the matter," Kodo pouts. "The choice is still yours. No, and the scene stops. Yes, and we keep playing this little game."
"Shit," Bourbon groans. "You Hotakims and your goddamn propositions."
Kodo's responding laugh is tinged with the nerves he's trying to keep at bay. "Something like that."
"Kodo," she warns, but her words are already falling on deaf ears.
"Ah, Bonnie," he says, spinning her away from him. He keeps one of her hands in his, and ducks his head to place a kiss on the back of it. "It's been a true pleasure becoming unforgettable with you."
He leaves her in that state of confusion before she can stop him. Kodo's been scouting out the area throughout their dance, making sure to angle them closer and closer to the empty stage. He needed a clear path, and now he's got it – with one quick stop on the way.
Leon raises a brow at Kodo as he approaches, but Kodo's attention is focused on the microphone in his hand. He extends a hand, but Leon doesn't give it up immediately.
"I only agreed to this because it's an offer I've never heard before. My own curiosity outweighed my senses. You understand that you have one chance to prove this was a worthwhile endeavor, right?"
Kodo lifts his chin. "I understand plenty. I promised entertainment, and that's what you'll receive. Now, and in the long run."
"How romantic," Leon says drily. Doubtfully.
"It can be both," Kodo tells him. "If it's our relationship that keeps us alive, then so be it. We've lived together, and we'll die together, but at least we'll do it fighting."
Leon gives him a strange smile. "Right, then. If together is how you want to do this."
"Now and forever."
"You know," Leon muses as he hands over the microphone, "I can always admire someone that knows how to stack the odds in their own favor. Take care not to get caught up in your own hubris."
Kodo tries not to flinch at the explicit warning. Instead, he flashes the head gamemaker a wink. "Nothing here but love in my heart, Kimura."
The stage is nothing compared to what Kodo is used to back home, but the crowd is so much more. It could swallow him whole if it wanted to. Kodo's just some kid from Nine; what the hell does he know about keeping their attention?
(It's too late to back out now. Kodo has dug his own grave, so to speak. The only thing he can do is raise the stakes, prove his worth.)
(It's the only thing he knows how to do.)
Kodo swallows down any lingering fear and looks up into the blinding lights. At least this is familiar enough to be a comfort.
"Good evening to everyone here," he starts, smiling as the faces in the crowd start to turn towards him. "You should recognize me as Kodo Hotakim, District Nine. And I'm sorry to disturb everyone's night, but… well, I don't know if you noticed, but my time is sort of running out here. I wanted to get something off my chest while I still could.
"You're probably all aware, but through a twist of fate, I came here with Bourbon Jaque, who I've been pleased to call my girlfriend for a while now. Going into the Games together was never the plan, and, well… I've been both grateful and devastated to have her by my side. Grateful because I don't know if I could do this without her, and devastated because… you know the odds. They don't look good, but I don't care about that right now."
He's glad he managed to get her close to the stage – it makes her easier to find. Most of the faces of the crowd have blurred together, but Bourbon's sticks out to him clearly. She mutters something to the tribute next to her – the boy from Seven or Eight, Kodo has never paid enough attention to tell them apart. The boy just gives her a strange look and sidles away.
"Bonnie," Kodo says, breathless. "It's always been us, and I want to keep it that way."
Her eyes widen in understanding and likely horror, though both emotions can probably pass well enough as shock and delight. Her close proximity to the stage means that every miniscule expression will be captured on camera. This is the sort of moment that will probably be played at every repeat viewing of the Games, the sort of moment that people will be gossiping about for ages. Exactly as Kodo hoped.
"Only one of us can make it out," he continues, "and I'd rather it be you than me. Our time has been cut short, but I want it to be ours in every way it can be. Together til the end, Bonnie. As long as we can. It'll be us.
"I know it's not fair to promise you something I'll never be able to make good on, but a promise is a promise and maybe that's all we need. I know I don't need anything but you. For better or for worse, for- in life and death, in sickness and in health."
One of Bourbon's hands darts up to conceal her mouth – a nice touch, Kodo will admit. It hides enough of her face that she can masterfully convey surprise and excitement, even though Kodo knows for a fact any emotion she's feeling right now is the opposite of that.
He's made his question more than clear; this is where it's all up to her. Say yes, and this is the moment everyone will remember them for; say no, and their entire charade stops in its tracks.
Either way, all eyes will be on them as they go into the Arena.
"So, what do you say?" Kodo extends his hand, offers a smile. "Will you marry me?"
so i apologized in the a/n of the odwh party chapter and i made the executive decision to do the opposite for this one. i am decidedly not sorry
i also watched all 8 episodes of fall of the house of usher the night before i wrote the gwen pov so yes prospero is named after that little cunt. if you want to watch a show about a bunch of people dying exactly how they deserve, then you should also give it a watch!
oh right the lani pov is definitely a sort of backdoor segue into the victor oneshot series i've been vagueposting about for ages. so now you sorta know what the format is gonna be! or how it's gonna be compiled or something. i've actually got around 1k down for all of them so far - the goal is to get estelle's up in between tfm and my quell fic, and we'll just see how things go from there. the oneshot order is estelle - callan - ariadne - bastian. more details probably to come when posting estelle is actually imminent. but there's your heads up!
party horns EIGHT POVS TIL GAMES! um. my goal is like a christmas bloodbath? new year's latest. the grind never stops even if the grind sometimes takes a while
love y'all or whatever
~ de laney is out